Tag: loving fiercely

What Is The Best Way To Capture Moments?

Posted on August 18, 2015 by Jennifer Wolfe

“The best way to capture moments is to pay attention. This is how we cultivate mindfulness. Mindfulness means being awake. It means knowing what you are doing.”

– Jon Kabat-Zinn

The morning is glorious. I’m up early, alone. As the sun rises over the quiet lake. I’ve got my legs up on the pier, balancing my notebook and coffee next to me. The sun is warms my face and the breeze blows down my neck thanks to my newly cropped off hair, just cool enough to be glad I wore my sweatshirt. Wild bunnies and chipmunks scurry in the bushes next to me, undisturbed by the water skier gliding by. The waves lap gently against the shore; paddleboarders and kayakers are my only human companions, and they appear as intoxicated by their surroundings as I am.

It honestly couldn’t get much more perfect for an introverted-nature-loving-writer.

This is what summer should be like – distractions including only a jumping fish, the glitter of the rising sun on water, and the slight smoky scent of bacon wafting from down the road.

This moment is mine – simple and free for absorbing every little bit. It didn’t cost me anything, just the price of being awake, rising early to show up and experience it.

My writing over the last four years has evolved into an exercise in capturing moments – the intenseness, the frustration, and the beauty of loving fiercely, thinking deeply and teaching audaciously. As simple as it sounds, it truly has been anything but. Trying to capture the intenseness of the experiences of my life, endeavoring to scribble the sights and sounds and smells to share with an unknown audience challenges me in such an acutely intriguing way. Snatching photos of moments to enhance my words has unlocked my view of what can be contained in a frame, forcing me to stop and think and consider what is around me.

It is forcing me to pay attention.

I breathe deeply, grateful to be here today. As I approach 50 I feel a shift in my gratitude practice – it has become a slowing, a releasing of what is unnecessary, hurtful, and holding me back. Recently, a teacher friend asked me how long I thought she’d be able to keep up her energy for teaching. As I thought about it, I realized that it isn’t the energy level that changes – it’s the level of energy I want to use in different areas of life that changes. The more mindful I become to the moments around me, the more mindful I become to how I give of my time. I’m becoming selective and selfish and miserly with my time and energy, and at this point in life, I’d rather spend two hours soaking in the morning sun on this pier, writing and sipping coffee and thinking about this huge, wide Universe and this one wild life I’ve been given than just about anything else.

And I realize I’m on summer vacation now. I fully understand the gift of having a morning on a pier, the ability to not think about students and lessons and the outside life. It’s not the vacation energy I am so infatuated with. It’s an energy balanced by the peacefulness of aging, of being young enough to still settle in on the wooden dock, feeling the warm wood under my legs. To know all I have is all I need. To trust that my kids will be OK, that my husband will be well, and that my teaching will provide me with the means to fill another area of my life that’s opening up and calling for attention.

It’s an energy pushing me to pay attention, to write just for me while hopefully offering a glimmer into some part of life that needs to open up for you, too. Maybe this moment you’re suddenly paying attention to somewhere you’re stuck, or scared, or maybe you and I can find we’re kindred spirits-another soul who finds joy and happiness in thinking deeply, loving fiercely and teaching audaciously. Someone who doesn’t give a fuck about trying to impress you or do the things women are expected to do. Someone who wants her words to match her actions, and for her children to live fully and help make the world a more awesome place.

Someone who wants her life to matter.

Toni Morrison writes, “At some point in life the world’s beauty becomes enough. You don’t need to photograph, paint, or even remember it. It is enough.” I think I know what I’m doing now.

It is enough to just be here on this dock, at this moment, with the breeze blowing the pages of my spiral notebook and the sun blazing in my eyes, casting shadows as I write. This moment is too blinding to photograph. It’s just me, here, paying attention and capturing its beauty to share with my kindred spirits.

http://www.pasta-recipes.com

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Tolkien, Time, and Why Does It Go So Fast?

Posted on January 23, 2013 by Jennifer Wolfe

“All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

–J.R.R. Tolkien

The Fellowship of the Ring

Observatories always have scared me a little bit. I’m not sure why, other than my extreme childhood motion sickness that kicked in every time the stars and planets swirled around overhead. I much prefer the real thing. Laying on my back on a wooden dock, looking up at the meteor shower, or watching the sunset from my upstairs window, or witnessing the dawn over the ridge of the Sierras creates much more meaning than seeing the entire universe spin before my eyes.

It’s all about time, though. Stretching my brain big enough to encompass the billions and billions of years our solar system has existed simply exhausts and terrifies me. I was born in the 60s, a time of revolution. A time of possibility. A time of purpose.

So today, in the 21st century, how is it that the exact same number of seconds, minutes and hours that every human has possessed, the precise amount of time, does not constantly fill me with possibility, purpose. or revolution – instead of panic?

Live in the moment. Seize the day. Live every day like it is your last.

I’ve heard them all. We are all busy, busy people. We all have a new day every 24 hours to use as we see fit.

So why is it that my day, which starts well before dawn, never seems long enough? Is that why I’m always running a e message in my mind? Slow down, focus, be in the present, there will be time for that later…

I wish it was as simple as Tolkien said.

I wish all I had to decide was what to do with the time that is given us. I wish that such a simple decision wasn’t so complicated.

I’m great at it in the classroom. I maximize every single second. I don’t believe in wasting one minute of the 55 I get with my students each day.

When the school day ends, and I start my second job at home, I feel the same way. The afternoons and evenings are jam packed with chores, homework, lessons, and a bit of reading, writing, cooking, and the occasional chess game.

Weekends- November to April are in the snow.

Summers? Travel, camps, gardening, and catching up on the neglected issues from the school year.

I wish every second I have could be frozen, duplicated, or held in my heart. I am acutely, painfully aware that the time with my daughter at home is rushing by. My son is on the cusp of all that is good and terrifying about adolescence. It’s not really as simple as Tolkien says.

I tick the hours by; days turn into weeks, then months. Then years. Suddenly, it’s been nearly 18.

Time is more precious now than ever.

Someday soon, I will have more time than I can imagine. Endless hours to decide what to do.

Just not who I want to spend it with.

Unlocking Her Personal Code For College

Jennifer Wolfe

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Fearless

Posted on September 11, 2012 by Jennifer Wolfe

My son is one of those kids who goes fast and furious. He always has. He rarely backs down from situations that many kids wouldn’t dream of trying, and usually comes out unscathed. Maybe we can simply attribute his landing on his feet to good balance, or a dash of common sense – I’m not sure. This kid has no fear on zip lines over a jungle, flies down a ski racecourse at 60+ mph, and dives off piers into icy cold water. You’d think nothing would rattle my nerves anymore.

I have to say that I’ve gotten used to his sense of reckless abandon, but never quite used to the fluttering in my gut every time he does something that makes me wrack my brain to figure out where he gets his courage. It couldn’t possibly be from me.

I was pleased that he spent several hours outside today with a buddy- no daring feats of athletic prowess, just good, old fashioned fun in the dirt. I couldn’t tell exactly what they were doing, but they seemed busy and happy, and since no loud noises were alarming me through the window, I thought it was harmless.

Then he came rushing in to ask if he could use a tarp he found under the deck.

It should have sent my radar up when he so quickly agreed to put everything back the way he found it. Wood, bricks, branches gathered from all around the house transformed into a two-boy shelter. Three hours later they came up for air, bursting through the door covered in dust and sweat, grins as wide as could be.

I remembered those days of ‘Mom, look at me’ as I climbed down the deck stairs and into the backyard. Architecturally sound, they had created the ultimate above ground ‘boy-cave’, complete with a booby trap pit that I immediately tumbled into, spawning giggles all around. Pride shone on their faces as they described the elaborate construction and their plans for sleeping outside.

That’s when my fear broke through. Creating the fort was one thing. Sleeping outside–not so sure. We’re in bear and coyote country, it is cold, dark, and full of
mosquitoes…the reasons why this was a really bad flitted around my head. My protective instincts immediately said ‘no’, but out of my mouth came, “Let’s ask your dad.” What a wimp I am.

I guess I hoped that a little bit of time would wear the novelty off of their plan, but I was wrong. After dinner, nearly dark, he started in again. Without much objection from his dad, we relented and they whooped with joy. Although they were ready to fearlessly dive in without preparation, we bargained with them to at least put down some towels, grab a sleeping bag, and douse their faces with bug repellent. We insisted on pie tins and wooden spoons for bear protection, and with great ceremony, and a little trickle of teardrops on my part, tucked them in for the night.

I haven’t had many nights spent waiting up for my kids to come home yet; I naively thought it would involve broken curfews and riding in cars with boys. Tonight, though, I got a taste of it. Too nervous to sleep, I waited in the silence, sure they would come to their senses and creep back inside.

They didn’t. No noise whatsoever emanated from their little lean-to, no bears appeared and not a coyote howl broke the quiet. Everything was silent.

Until about 1:45. I heard steps on the deck, some shuffling, and shot out of bed to the window.

There they were, barefoot and filthy, looking exhausted, but with all body parts intact. “We were uncomfortable – and hot,” he mumbled. I hustled them into the house, and
they clomped upstairs to bed.

I didn’t need to ask questions, didn’t need to say, “I told you so”, because in reality, they told me. As I settled back into bed, a strange feeling came over me – peacefulness, for sure, that they were safe and sound in the next room. But also a disappointment in myself for not trusting that everything would be ok. A frustration that I couldn’t just let them revel in their bravery. A gratitude that through them, I learned a lesson about trust, and courage, and fear.

Maybe I do have a little of his courage after all.

Jennifer Wolfe

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Even 6th Graders Hug Their Moms

Posted on November 14, 2011 by Jennifer Wolfe

In 2002, when my son was just turning three, all he wanted to be when he grew up was a firefighter. Well, maybe Bob the Builder, too. Dreams of saving structures and the people trapped in them was his kind of a dream job. Cameron had it all-the firefighter suit, the plastic ax, and even a pedal powered metal fire truck that his big sister had outgrown. I guess firefighter fantasies run in our family.

I’m not sure how much 9/11 influenced this decision-probably not a huge amount at his tender age-although the media was full of heroic images of brave men and women who fought to save those people trapped in the twin towers. Out of this tragedy the “Twin Towers Orphan Fund” was born, and author Christine Kole MacLean published

Even Firefighters Hug Their Moms to raise money for the children who lost parents in the World Trade Center.

It was a perfect fit for my family – a picture book about a boy and his little sister who love to pretend play, especially fantasizing about firefighters. It became an instant favorite for my son, and as he grew it evolved into a catch phrase for us-whenever it seems like I will never get a cuddle again, I remind him of his favorite story.

Yesterday, I reminded him. Since kindergarten, my husband or I have always ridden bikes with our children to school. At first it was for safety reasons-tippy training wheels for my daughter while my son gloried in the bumps of the bike trailer, we loved the ½-mile ride to and from school each day. Often, my daughter would beg me to ‘drop her off at the corner’, but I always managed to make it into the bike racks, grabbing a last kiss and hug before she trotted off to her classroom. Later, once they were both in school and I went back to teaching my husband joyfully took over the duties. When Lily advanced to 7^th grade, she and I biked to and from our school together and enjoyed the time to talk about what was coming up in her life and how she was getting along with friends. Now I bike alone each day, missing her company.

So when I had the opportunity yesterday morning to ride to school with Cam, I jumped on it. This is our last year of elementary school, and it feels like a chapter of childhood is closing. Eager to squeeze out every moment I can, we hop on our bikes and quickly head out on the bike path. My big red cruiser is no match for his neon pink BMX bike-I have to work to keep up. After a few minutes he slowed and said, “You know, Mom, when Lily was in 4^th grade she rode to school by herself. Why do you still ride with me?”

“Well, it’s not because I don’t think you can do it, Cam. It’s because I want to be with you.” I answer. “Remember how you like me to tuck you in at night? It’s kind of the same thing. It’s just a special time when we’re together.” Silence greets my comment like the calm before a storm.

“Dad never rides all the way anymore. He drops me off at the park just before the bike racks.” Clearly he is ready to hold his ground.” And you know, I ride home with my friends now. You don’t need to pick me up anymore.”

“Really?” I reply, a hint of sarcasm in my voice. “You mean I can’t take you all the way, help you lock your bike and give you a big hug and kiss?” His cold, silent stare gives me his answer. “Even 6^th graders hug their moms.”

“Hi, Max!” Cameron yells, ending the conversation as if on cue. Sure enough, here comes his buddy riding up right behind us.

I take the hint, and quietly whisper, “Bye, Cam. See you after school” as I turn and ride towards home. The pang in my chest carries me, tears welling as I pedal. I realize that my little firefighter may not be wearing the costume, but I still adore him just the same.

Seven hours later, long after the pain had subsided and he walked in the door after school, I was welcomed with a great big bear hug. Yep, even 6^th graders hug their moms. Just not in public.

Jennifer Wolfe

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“The best way to capture moments is to pay attention. This is how we cultivate mindfulness. Mindfulness means being awake. It means knowing what you are doing.”

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