My favorite asana in yoga is the shav-asan. Literally translated, the dead body pose.
And it's not just because I'm such a lazy bones, but because of these thoughts that course in my head during that time. Thoughts that aren't really supposed to be there in the first place as the aim of shav-asan is to have reached that point where my mind is empty of all thoughts, all the noise of living, the bad and the good. The 90 minutes of physical activity that precede the shav-asan, where I push and pull myself "beyond my flexibility" are all leading up to this, the most important of all the poses.
However, anyone who's tried meditating in any form knows it's hard. Emptying the mind of thoughts requires practice. Since I'm at the beginner level (a level I've been at for several years now), I instead let my mind drift. And sometimes, just as the oxygen flows into my brain while I breathe evenly in and out, my mind opens to new thoughts, new perspectives.
The other day during shav-asan, I was looking at a statue of the Nataraj that was placed in a corner of my local Bikram Yoga studio. I have looked at a similar statue for most of my life. In fact, I have one at home. But I think I really looked at it for the first time that day. I observed not only the grace and beauty of the pose, but also the majesty and the dignity. And I thought, here's an example of how one should live one's life. With balance, and beauty and above all, with one's head held high. Not with pride, but with a poise borne out of graceful effort.
Late this morning, my thoughts followed me home from the yoga studio. I was feeling pleasantly tired. After a long bath, I tucked Raina next to my napping husband (Rohan was already down for his afternoon nap), and fighting the urge to join them in bed, I headed downstairs to cook. And as I began prepping for coriander chicken, I let my mind drift. I could've taken a quick nap, I thought. But right now, the kids are asleep, it's really the best time to cook. And I thought a mite wistfully of the time prior to the kids, when during the weekend or a holiday, I could've napped when I wanted. And I let myself wonder what I would feel like today if Raina and Rohan hadn't been. If I'd just gotten back from a yoga class, what I would've done.
I was shocked out of my stupor by how empty I felt.
I know there's more to life than having kids. I know lots of couples who are my age and still don't have any. Some don't even plan to procreate, and that's fine by me. I'm not big on lecturing people on how to live.
But it seems to me that having kids has given my life a purpose it had lacked. I'm not a very ambitious person, but even I'm surprised as to how meaningless my life prior to mommyhood seems now. I remember being quite happy: I was working in a job I enjoyed with people I liked. It wasn't terribly challenging, but it was alright. I was happily married and working on acquiring a sense of responsibility (read: trying to cook and clean).
But being a mother, this is my life's work. Where I'm constantly challenged to be more patient, more knowledgeable, more loving. Where what I do has real, tangible consequences. Where I AM indispensable. What life role could be more satisfying?
Is this biology talking? Maybe it's material for another yoga session.
Showing posts with label Philosophy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Philosophy. Show all posts
Monday, February 16, 2009
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
This Parenting Stuff
*Warning: Long, rambling, possibly scatter-brained post.
I am in the middle of re-reading "I Feel Bad About My Neck" -- a collection of essays by Nora Ephron. For those unfamiliar with Ephron, she wrote the screenplays of two of my favorite movies "When Harry Met Sally" and "Sleepless in Seattle" (which she also directed), as well as "You've Got Mail" -- Meg Ryan owes her career to Ephron. She's also the author of numerous funny, insightful books, other than this particular collection, which deals with being a woman "of a certain age."
So the reason I'm blogging about E is what she says in one of the essays "Parenting in 3 Stages." In this piece, she talks about how parenting seemed a fairly straightforward business, until the 1960s, when she had kids. Quoting here, "You can blame the women's movement for it -- one of the bedrock tenets of the women's movement was that because so many women were entering the workforce, men and women should share in the raising of children; thus the gender-neutral word 'parenting' and the necessity of elevating child rearing to something more than the endless hours of quantity time it actually consists of.
"Conversely, you can blame the backlash against the women's movement -- lots of women didn't feel like entering into the workforce (or even sharing the raising of children with their husbands), but they felt guilty about this, so they were compelled to elevate full-time parenthood to a sacrament."
She goes on to make her case with lots of examples, including "playing Mozart CDs while you were pregnant, doing without the epidural, and breast-feeding your child until it was old enough to unbutton your blouse." (! So funny!)
This brought to mind a struggle we women, educated, highly qualified mothers, are facing these days. Let me see if I can articulate my thoughts in some cohesive manner.
If you're a stay-at-home mom like moi, chances are you've patted yourself in the back often with a self-satisfied smug smile, because you've sacrificed your no-doubt high falutin' career for The Greater Good. We are martyrs, we are. Not like our own moms, who, let's face it, didn't HAVE a career and barely any education to sacrifice for The Cause. They were parents just because they didn't have anything better to do.
And if you're a working mom, chances are not a day goes by when you don't feel guilty about having a life that doesn't include your kids. So you struggle. You compromise. Maybe you work from home. Maybe you take a pay cut and work part-time. Or you just live with the guilt of Not Watching Your Children Grow or Not Being There For Them.
Where am I going with this? I really don't know. I'm sure I'm not saying this as well as I want to. What comes back to me is this friend I met at a party recently. She's a biologist, who's worked very, very hard for her Ph.D. She's spent a few years as a post-doc. And she's a mom of two kids. She'd just gone part-time and was feeling glum.
"Why is it always we women who have to make these choices?" she complained. "I'm thinking right now that there was no point in my studying so much if all I was going to do was stay at home with the kids. But I feel guilty for working -- I don't even remember my youngest son's childhood. I want to have it all."
I listened, nodding sympathetically. But I disagreed with her on several points. First, her argument that she might as well have done just a B.S. if all it boiled down to was "just" staying at home. I think any and all education enhances one's life experiences, colors beliefs, boosts self-confidence, even a sense of self. If you're rearing a child, you're passing all that wonderful stuff on, so this should be a no-brainer.
Second, I told her she needed to define what "all" was. She wanted to be a full-time professional pouring all her energy and dedication to her job, as well as a mom who was a constant presence in her kids' lives. Since she couldn't be in two places at one time, that was just not possible. So what did she mean by "all"? And by working part-time, hadn't she come as close as she could to having it all? Why not?
She had man-envy. Her husband didn't have to make that choice, she said. I didn't say anything then, but it did get me thinking. Our husbands don't "have it all" either. They aren't always physically there for their kids -- does that mean they care less? If not, where is their sense of guilt? Is the answer that our kids need moms more than they need their dads? Or that they just need one parent to be always physically there? At what point do they stop needing that constant presence?
My mom was always physically there for me -- she was there when I left for school, when I came home to lunch, when I did my homework, when I had my dinner (except for the weekends when she and my dad transmogrified into party animals, but that's another story). Despite all that, I was always closer to my dad.
So, to stay at home or not? If so, for how long? If not, why feel guilty?
The bottom line I think is for the mother to be happy, whatever she's chosen to do. If she's happy, the kids are happy. If she's happy, she has it all. Simplistic? Possibly. But heck, it works for me.
I am in the middle of re-reading "I Feel Bad About My Neck" -- a collection of essays by Nora Ephron. For those unfamiliar with Ephron, she wrote the screenplays of two of my favorite movies "When Harry Met Sally" and "Sleepless in Seattle" (which she also directed), as well as "You've Got Mail" -- Meg Ryan owes her career to Ephron. She's also the author of numerous funny, insightful books, other than this particular collection, which deals with being a woman "of a certain age."
So the reason I'm blogging about E is what she says in one of the essays "Parenting in 3 Stages." In this piece, she talks about how parenting seemed a fairly straightforward business, until the 1960s, when she had kids. Quoting here, "You can blame the women's movement for it -- one of the bedrock tenets of the women's movement was that because so many women were entering the workforce, men and women should share in the raising of children; thus the gender-neutral word 'parenting' and the necessity of elevating child rearing to something more than the endless hours of quantity time it actually consists of.
"Conversely, you can blame the backlash against the women's movement -- lots of women didn't feel like entering into the workforce (or even sharing the raising of children with their husbands), but they felt guilty about this, so they were compelled to elevate full-time parenthood to a sacrament."
She goes on to make her case with lots of examples, including "playing Mozart CDs while you were pregnant, doing without the epidural, and breast-feeding your child until it was old enough to unbutton your blouse." (! So funny!)
This brought to mind a struggle we women, educated, highly qualified mothers, are facing these days. Let me see if I can articulate my thoughts in some cohesive manner.
If you're a stay-at-home mom like moi, chances are you've patted yourself in the back often with a self-satisfied smug smile, because you've sacrificed your no-doubt high falutin' career for The Greater Good. We are martyrs, we are. Not like our own moms, who, let's face it, didn't HAVE a career and barely any education to sacrifice for The Cause. They were parents just because they didn't have anything better to do.
And if you're a working mom, chances are not a day goes by when you don't feel guilty about having a life that doesn't include your kids. So you struggle. You compromise. Maybe you work from home. Maybe you take a pay cut and work part-time. Or you just live with the guilt of Not Watching Your Children Grow or Not Being There For Them.
Where am I going with this? I really don't know. I'm sure I'm not saying this as well as I want to. What comes back to me is this friend I met at a party recently. She's a biologist, who's worked very, very hard for her Ph.D. She's spent a few years as a post-doc. And she's a mom of two kids. She'd just gone part-time and was feeling glum.
"Why is it always we women who have to make these choices?" she complained. "I'm thinking right now that there was no point in my studying so much if all I was going to do was stay at home with the kids. But I feel guilty for working -- I don't even remember my youngest son's childhood. I want to have it all."
I listened, nodding sympathetically. But I disagreed with her on several points. First, her argument that she might as well have done just a B.S. if all it boiled down to was "just" staying at home. I think any and all education enhances one's life experiences, colors beliefs, boosts self-confidence, even a sense of self. If you're rearing a child, you're passing all that wonderful stuff on, so this should be a no-brainer.
Second, I told her she needed to define what "all" was. She wanted to be a full-time professional pouring all her energy and dedication to her job, as well as a mom who was a constant presence in her kids' lives. Since she couldn't be in two places at one time, that was just not possible. So what did she mean by "all"? And by working part-time, hadn't she come as close as she could to having it all? Why not?
She had man-envy. Her husband didn't have to make that choice, she said. I didn't say anything then, but it did get me thinking. Our husbands don't "have it all" either. They aren't always physically there for their kids -- does that mean they care less? If not, where is their sense of guilt? Is the answer that our kids need moms more than they need their dads? Or that they just need one parent to be always physically there? At what point do they stop needing that constant presence?
My mom was always physically there for me -- she was there when I left for school, when I came home to lunch, when I did my homework, when I had my dinner (except for the weekends when she and my dad transmogrified into party animals, but that's another story). Despite all that, I was always closer to my dad.
So, to stay at home or not? If so, for how long? If not, why feel guilty?
The bottom line I think is for the mother to be happy, whatever she's chosen to do. If she's happy, the kids are happy. If she's happy, she has it all. Simplistic? Possibly. But heck, it works for me.
Friday, July 20, 2007
My 2 Cents Too
Cee Kay (my2centstoo.blogspot.com/ -- I can't figure out how to do the link thing on my mac) just did a wonderful post on people she admires and those she judges, and I agree with her so completely, it's hard to come up with some original points. But she wants me to give it a shot, so here's my 2 cents, folks -- first, the judgmental moi:
1. I tend to laugh at strangers who ask me what cars I own, how much a piece of jewellery is worth, how much income my husband brings in as measures of whether it's worth their while to further the acquaintance or not.
2. I look down on those who look down on those who are socially or economically inferior to them. I was taught at an early age to show a basic respect for all, and I look upon social snobs as appallingly ill-mannered and without class.
3. I dislike parents who hit their kids. I am not talking about an occasional tap on the butt for exceptionally bad behavior, but hard slaps that make kids cower. To me, it counts as domestic violence.
4. I judge others who pass judgments on people based on their race, nationality and sexual orientation. I am especially harsh on U.S. resident-Indians who do this, and then complain of racism when their bosses pass them over for a promotion.
5. I cannot stand those with a martyr complex. I grew up with one such person in my house, and am strongly of the opinion that you should make only those "sacrifices" which you can refrain from announcing to all and sundry who will listen and using them as leverage for sympathy.
6. I have a problem with those who publicly criticize their spouse and humiliate them. You have a problem with him/her, talk to them about it, not to the world.
7. I intensely dislike people who have no respect for privacy. It makes me see red.
Now, the admirable folks on my list:
1. I admire those who are content. It takes a special mindset to achieve peace of mind, one that requires a lot of effort.
2. I admire people who are aware of their duty toward those who are dependent on them -- and do it, even when it's often thankless.
3. I admire those who are focused and passionate about their life's work -- not for aggrandizing themselves, but for the pure joy and satisfaction it gives them.
4. I admire people who deal with frustration and stress in their life without constantly bitching to others. Life ain't a bed of roses for nobody.
5. I admire parents of developmentally challenged kids. I can't even begin to fathom their daily worries, frustrations, exhaustion...
6. I admire good writers.
7. I admire go-getters, but not those who go get by trampling all over someone else. I admire a strong character and conscience.
Well, that was easier than I thought!
1. I tend to laugh at strangers who ask me what cars I own, how much a piece of jewellery is worth, how much income my husband brings in as measures of whether it's worth their while to further the acquaintance or not.
2. I look down on those who look down on those who are socially or economically inferior to them. I was taught at an early age to show a basic respect for all, and I look upon social snobs as appallingly ill-mannered and without class.
3. I dislike parents who hit their kids. I am not talking about an occasional tap on the butt for exceptionally bad behavior, but hard slaps that make kids cower. To me, it counts as domestic violence.
4. I judge others who pass judgments on people based on their race, nationality and sexual orientation. I am especially harsh on U.S. resident-Indians who do this, and then complain of racism when their bosses pass them over for a promotion.
5. I cannot stand those with a martyr complex. I grew up with one such person in my house, and am strongly of the opinion that you should make only those "sacrifices" which you can refrain from announcing to all and sundry who will listen and using them as leverage for sympathy.
6. I have a problem with those who publicly criticize their spouse and humiliate them. You have a problem with him/her, talk to them about it, not to the world.
7. I intensely dislike people who have no respect for privacy. It makes me see red.
Now, the admirable folks on my list:
1. I admire those who are content. It takes a special mindset to achieve peace of mind, one that requires a lot of effort.
2. I admire people who are aware of their duty toward those who are dependent on them -- and do it, even when it's often thankless.
3. I admire those who are focused and passionate about their life's work -- not for aggrandizing themselves, but for the pure joy and satisfaction it gives them.
4. I admire people who deal with frustration and stress in their life without constantly bitching to others. Life ain't a bed of roses for nobody.
5. I admire parents of developmentally challenged kids. I can't even begin to fathom their daily worries, frustrations, exhaustion...
6. I admire good writers.
7. I admire go-getters, but not those who go get by trampling all over someone else. I admire a strong character and conscience.
Well, that was easier than I thought!
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Anatomy and Philosophy
"Mommy, what does Henry have on his pee-pee?"
So, it was finally here. The 3-year-old girl had commenced the study of a lifetime on What Makes Boys and Girls Different. I knew it was coming sooner or later -- just didn't realize it was going to be sooner. But I reacted pretty calmly, I think.
"Henry has a penis, baby."
"What's that?"
"All boys have penises for pee-pee. Like all girls have vaginas." Yeah, I'm big on calling a spade a spade.
"Why?"
"Because boys are different from girls."
"So Josh has a penis too? And Jordan has a penis too? And Hugo! And Owen!" she began a list of all the boys she currently knew. Glad we made that clear.
That was pretty easy. But it got me thinking on how I would reply to Raina when she came up with other inevitable questions -- like the one about God.
I've believed in the existence of God most of my life, even though my thinking mind (and scientific husband) played havoc with that belief. On the one hand, I well understood the Big Bang Theory and the randomness of our own life on earth. On the other hand, I just believed that everything happens for a reason, that there's good in all people, that there was something spiritual about feeling one with the world around us. But lately, believing all that just hasn't been adding up for me. Bad things happen to good people all the time. Some people are just born bad -- and will stay bad all their lives. And what does feeling one with nature have to do with a god at all?
These are just a few of gazillion thoughts that dwell in my mind, and I'm far from having any answers. But believing in God stops the questioning, I think.
How do I convey all these thoughts to my little girl? The U.S. is a very God-saturated country -- a Christian God at that. I think I'd like her to know that mankind doesn't have all the answers dealing with our existence, and believing in any god gives people's lives some meaning and purpose. It makes them accept the elements in their lives that's beyond their control. That although I believe all the gods are "equal" in a sense, most people believe their god is better than anyone else's and will try to change her mind if she believes in the "wrong" kind. Then I will tell her about her heritage -- the pantheon of Hindu gods and goddesses. I will encourage her questions and I will admit when I don't have the answers. And if when she grows up, she decides to believe in God or not, that will be her choice, and I will have to accept it.
When I write this all down, it doesn't seem that answering her about God would be that hard. And if I don't have any definite and satisfactory answers for her, I can at least pass on my questions.
So, it was finally here. The 3-year-old girl had commenced the study of a lifetime on What Makes Boys and Girls Different. I knew it was coming sooner or later -- just didn't realize it was going to be sooner. But I reacted pretty calmly, I think.
"Henry has a penis, baby."
"What's that?"
"All boys have penises for pee-pee. Like all girls have vaginas." Yeah, I'm big on calling a spade a spade.
"Why?"
"Because boys are different from girls."
"So Josh has a penis too? And Jordan has a penis too? And Hugo! And Owen!" she began a list of all the boys she currently knew. Glad we made that clear.
That was pretty easy. But it got me thinking on how I would reply to Raina when she came up with other inevitable questions -- like the one about God.
I've believed in the existence of God most of my life, even though my thinking mind (and scientific husband) played havoc with that belief. On the one hand, I well understood the Big Bang Theory and the randomness of our own life on earth. On the other hand, I just believed that everything happens for a reason, that there's good in all people, that there was something spiritual about feeling one with the world around us. But lately, believing all that just hasn't been adding up for me. Bad things happen to good people all the time. Some people are just born bad -- and will stay bad all their lives. And what does feeling one with nature have to do with a god at all?
These are just a few of gazillion thoughts that dwell in my mind, and I'm far from having any answers. But believing in God stops the questioning, I think.
How do I convey all these thoughts to my little girl? The U.S. is a very God-saturated country -- a Christian God at that. I think I'd like her to know that mankind doesn't have all the answers dealing with our existence, and believing in any god gives people's lives some meaning and purpose. It makes them accept the elements in their lives that's beyond their control. That although I believe all the gods are "equal" in a sense, most people believe their god is better than anyone else's and will try to change her mind if she believes in the "wrong" kind. Then I will tell her about her heritage -- the pantheon of Hindu gods and goddesses. I will encourage her questions and I will admit when I don't have the answers. And if when she grows up, she decides to believe in God or not, that will be her choice, and I will have to accept it.
When I write this all down, it doesn't seem that answering her about God would be that hard. And if I don't have any definite and satisfactory answers for her, I can at least pass on my questions.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Dancing With Daffodils
Was reading an excerpt from Barack Obama's memoir "The Audacity of Hope" published in the latest Time. Obama makes the argument that the nation's divided not by gender or by party-affiliation, but "between those who attend church regularly and those who don't." I don't agree with him that Christianity's grown, but putting that aside for now, I found this part interesting:
"There are various explanations for this trend [growth of Christianity], from the skill of evangelicals in marketing religion to the charisma of their leaders. But their success also points to a hunger for the product they are selling, a hunger that goes beyond any particular issue or cause. Each day, it seems, thousands of Americans are going about their daily rounds--dropping off the kids at school, driving to the office...--and coming to the realization that something is missing. They are deciding that their work, their possessions, their diversions, their sheer busyness are not enough. They want a sense of purpose, a narrative arc to their lives, something that will relieve a chronic loneliness or lift them above the exhausting, relentless toll of daily life. They need an assurance that somebody out there cares about them, is listening to them--that they are not just destined to travel down a long highway toward nothingness."
The husband and I were discussing religion just yesterday, and this is exactly what I was trying to say, though hardly so well. Religion fills a void in people's lives, a need for spirituality. Like Obama's mother told him, it's "an expression of human culture... just one of the many ways--and not necessarily the best way--that man attempted to control the unknowable."
To me, in the best sense, religion helps us feel our immortality. We are all immortal because the only life we'll ever know is this one. Religion helps some of us reach beyond ourselves to touch, be for a few wondrously transcendent moments at one, at peace with humans, the earth, moon and stars, the skies above, the whole world.
Me, I find religion in nature, the touch of the wind, the rustling of leaves, the magic of a snowflake, the crash of the waves. Then my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils...
"There are various explanations for this trend [growth of Christianity], from the skill of evangelicals in marketing religion to the charisma of their leaders. But their success also points to a hunger for the product they are selling, a hunger that goes beyond any particular issue or cause. Each day, it seems, thousands of Americans are going about their daily rounds--dropping off the kids at school, driving to the office...--and coming to the realization that something is missing. They are deciding that their work, their possessions, their diversions, their sheer busyness are not enough. They want a sense of purpose, a narrative arc to their lives, something that will relieve a chronic loneliness or lift them above the exhausting, relentless toll of daily life. They need an assurance that somebody out there cares about them, is listening to them--that they are not just destined to travel down a long highway toward nothingness."
The husband and I were discussing religion just yesterday, and this is exactly what I was trying to say, though hardly so well. Religion fills a void in people's lives, a need for spirituality. Like Obama's mother told him, it's "an expression of human culture... just one of the many ways--and not necessarily the best way--that man attempted to control the unknowable."
To me, in the best sense, religion helps us feel our immortality. We are all immortal because the only life we'll ever know is this one. Religion helps some of us reach beyond ourselves to touch, be for a few wondrously transcendent moments at one, at peace with humans, the earth, moon and stars, the skies above, the whole world.
Me, I find religion in nature, the touch of the wind, the rustling of leaves, the magic of a snowflake, the crash of the waves. Then my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)