Category: loving fiercely

I Love My Ordinary Life

Posted on August 15, 2016 by Jennifer Wolfe

Yes, I love my ordinary life.

I’m fortunate, I realize, to have the opportunity to travel and see extraordinary places and meet people from all over the world. I love the thrill of figuring out how to navigate a new city, find a restaurant serving the best breakfast in town and sipping coffee on a quiet hotel patio. Pushing my introverted self to meet new people stretches my boundaries and opens me to encounter people outside my Northern California teacher-writer-mom comfort zone. I can survive with just a carry on suitcase and my patchwork bag to tote my computer, journal and some (four this trip!) novels I eagerly anticipate snuggling up with under the white duvet covers in an air conditioned hotel room.

But today, the fifth day without a hug from my kid or a kiss from my husband, I woke up reminded of how much I love my ordinary life.

Sunset at Santa Monica Beach – not my ordinary life.

The L.A. cityscape outside my window remains unchanged, only the swirl of red tail lights on the freeway below indicating the time and day. It’s still smoggy, it’s still lit with a combination of neon and traffic and the continual hovering hum of helicopters cuts through the glass every hour or so. It’s beautiful in this room, high up and away from it all, but despite the comfort and quiet, I’m missing my ordinary life.

Hotel rooms – not my ordinary life, either.

Do you get this way when you travel? Do you have those moments when suddenly all the newness and discomfort you feel from being out of your ‘place’ washes over you with a surge of homesickness, and you wonder how you can make it to the airport and on the plane and through baggage claim and to the economy lot and down the freeway until you’re home?

I’m glad I’m not the only one *wink and a smile*.

Oh, how I love my ordinary life.

Home to my ordinary life.

Homecoming, a smile and a hug from my sixteen-year-old, a few dirty dishes on the counter (what, Mom – I cleaned up every day!) and scrounging in the fridge for an easy dinner. Heading out into my garden, sultry summer night breezes kissing my skin. Basil pots look ok, veggie garden a little droopy but nothing that can’t be revived. I mix some yeast and flour, honey and oatmeal, a touch of butter and salt and wait for the scent of fresh bread for dinner. So far, re-entry going well.

Lemon cucumber, tomatoes, and basil in my ordinary veggie garden.

I can hardly wait to snuggle under my patchwork quilt, ceiling fan clicking as it lulls me to sleep. Crickets outside my open window instead of traffic noise. I can see the light from my son’s window, and hear the thud of his weights as he works out downstairs. Tomorrow I’ll fall into rhythm with laundry and grocery shopping, make something yummy for my boys to eat. Chocolate chip cookies, maybe, or pasta creamy with cheese and fresh basil.

Oh yes, I love my extraordinary, ordinary life, I smile as I sink into my pillow.

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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Introverts, Surround Yourself With Love

Posted on July 27, 2016 by Jennifer Wolfe

To be honest, I’m a classic introvert. On any magazine – er, online – quiz, I score shockingly high in everything introverted. I regroup best when I’m alone. I’m most often found at home, or wandering around alone in bookstores or libraries. I love long walks alone or with one other person. I delight in finding secluded, out of the way places to hang out. I enjoy being around people, in small doses, as long as I can retreat and recharge afterward. I don’t mind staying home on a Friday night, parked in my comfy chair with a great novel and the fan gently blowing to block out any distractions.

This can present definite problems -especially when I have to teach. Or parent. Or go outside.

Most days, I’m happy just hanging out with my book. Introverts unite!

As a teacher, I often feel like an introvert in an extroverted job, exhausted by the sheer volume of people and interactions and decisions I need to make within a day.

As a mom, especially when my children were young, I found it nearly impossible to get that precious time to myself that was so crucial to my ability to feel like I could make it through the day intact.

As a writer, introversion suits me just fine. Words, language, silent communication – they all slip neatly into my day, offering the energy I need to not only make sense of the world but to make sense of me.

Thankfully, I’ve learned a few tricks to help me survive in a world that has always seemed pretty overwhelming. I’ve learned how to make small talk (I hate it, but it helps to have a few things to say to avoid people thinking I’m rude when really I’m just shy). I’ve learned to lock my door during my lunch hour to give me at least fifteen minutes of uninterrupted solitude – transitions are hard for introverts. I’ve learned to name my personality type, and to my great surprise, I’ve found that many of the people I interact with each day are introverts, too.

Surrounding myself with love

One of the most important pieces to surviving as an introvert in an extroverted world has been thinking carefully about social interactions and choosing carefully what I really want to do versus what I feel like I should do – and deciding who the people are that I most want to interact with. Introverts, surround yourself with love.

Being an introvert means that social situations involving large numbers of people are particularly problematic. I simply don’t like them, and I’ve decided that I have the power to choose – and most of the times, I go with my gut. I choose to surround myself with people who make me feel good, people who aren’t toxic, people who are thinkers and curious and like to walk through the world showing kindness.

Particularly in times like this, when the media is coming at us from every angle with meanness and hateful words and actions against others…it’s more than I can take. It’s more than anyone should have to see and hear and take in. Too much toxicity, too many unhealthy images and words battling to get inside our psyches.

Introverts, Surround Yourself With Love

Introverts are particularly susceptible to ‘people’ energy, requiring us to think deeply about those people we surround ourselves with. Even though it might not seem like much, when we take a few moments to think about who we are around and how they are making us feel, we introverts (and really, all of us) can take our power back. Just think for a minute how you spend your day, what kind of people make you feel loved and fulfilled and happy. If you consciously choose to surround yourself with love, imagine how infectious that could be. And imagine what would happen if we taught our children to do the same.
Who or what are you surrounding yourself with?

Jennifer Wolfe

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The Teacher’s Summer To-Do List

Posted on July 18, 2016 by Jennifer Wolfe

Some people think teachers like me shouldn’t complain. They think that summers off mean three months of party time, ninety days of freedom to lie around and do absolutely nothing.

Someone, please show me that teacher.

The teachers I know definitely earn their summer ‘vacation’. If you think about it, most teachers work so much overtime during the school year that it equals the time we have off in the summer. And most of us use our vacation time to catch up on our life to-do list -medical appointments, chores, reading, and mostly for me, being Mom.

Honestly, motherhood never feels like a to-do for me; I’ve always cherished my summer free time with my kids.

Summer at Cecret Lake

In my summer, June finds me coming down off the adrenaline crazed end-of-the-school year, and when August comes around I start having those terrifying teacher dreams where I’m not at all prepared for my classroom of terrifying students :). July is the time when I can try to completely forget about school and remember what makes me me, where I find solace, where I can recharge.

One summer ‘shelfie’ pile to-read

This poem certainly spoke to me this July; I, too, find myself pushing through the list of ‘must-do-before-the-end-of-summer’. I’ve been to the eye doctor and the dentist, I’ve visited my daughter, I’ve weeded and laundered and decluttered and cleaned. Now I find myself much more inclined to sink into that novel that’s been haunting me from my shelf, or to take a long walk with a friend. I’m realizing that July really is the time when I need to remind myself to pencil in pleasure not just in the present, but all through the school year. Thank you, Tony Hoagland, for the gentle reminder that the kingdom still exists.

Down near the bottom of the crossed-out list of things you have to do today,
between “green thread” and “broccoli” you find that you have penciled “sunlight.”

Resting on the page, the word is beautiful.

It touches you as if you had a friend and sunlight were a present

he had sent you from some place distant as this morning—to cheer you up
and to remind you that,

among your duties, pleasure is a thing
that also needs accomplishing.

Do you remember that time and light are kinds
of love,

and love is no less practical than a coffee grinder
or a safe spare tire?

Tomorrow you may be utterly without a clue
but today you get a telegram,

from the heart in exile proclaiming that the kingdom still exists,

the king and queen alive, still speaking to their children,
— to any one among them

who can find the time to sit out in the sun and listen.

~ Tony Hoagland

Jennifer Wolfe

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You Should Go Home To Yourself

Posted on July 12, 2016 by Jennifer Wolfe

“You should go home to your hermitage; it is inside you. Close the doors, light the fire, and make it cozy again. That is what I call ‘taking refuge in the island of self.’ If you don’t go home to yourself, you continue to lose yourself. You destroy yourself and you destroy people around you, even if you have goodwill and want to do something to help. That is why the practice of going home to the island of self is so important. No one can take your true home away.”
~ Thich Nhat Hahn

I am such a homebody. I LOVE being in my house all day, all night; honestly, I could stay at home for weeks. Months, maybe.

I recently returned from a stay at my daughter’s new home in Salt Lake City. This is her third year living there, her first summer completely living away from home. Well, our home anyways.

We spent our days puttering around her new apartment, adjusting furniture, picking up little items that she needed to make it feel like home – things like an ironing board, some new spatulas, decorative baskets and cushions for her dining room chairs.

All the while, I was thinking about how I could make it cozy for her, how I could make it feel as much as possible like the home she left behind in California.

Arriving at her home

I certainly tread carefully. I respect the fact that she wants things the way that she wants them, and that if I rearrange while she’s at work she might come home a bit frustrated.

She didn’t seem too frustrated when I cleaned her bathroom, mopped her kitchen floors and vacuumed her living room. She didn’t get angry when I stocked her fridge and freezer with goodies from Trader Joes, or when I froze fresh scones or double chocolate espresso cookie balls, either.

We went on this way for a week; me trying to contain my frantic craziness about getting her set up before I knew I had to leave, and her checking off items on her to-do and to-buy lists. We had a familiar rhythm going, just like at home. I’d make the coffee and her breakfast, and she’d go off to one of her jobs most of the mornings. We’d have some afternoon time together, and then she’d head to her second job. In between seeing her, I’d walk the neighborhood, shop, read, cook, and tidy her home. It felt good to see her more and more settled every day. And for me, it comforted me to know that together we were creating a space for her to seek refuge.

All that time, I knew I would be leaving her alone for the first time in her life. Seriously alone. No roommate, no boyfriend. Most of her local friends are working or traveling all summer, leaving her with a huge amount of time to, as Thich Nhat Hahn says, “to go home to the island of self.”

I would have loved to scoop her up to drive across the desert with me, back to our home. I would know that she wouldn’t be lonely, or wondering what to cook for dinner-for-one. At home, I’d have my HGTV watching homie, my coffee drinking companion, and my constant walking companion. With her home, I wouldn’t lose the part of myself that I left in Salt Lake City, the part of myself that has been creating a home for her for twenty years.

This is one of the hard parts of parenting, the time when you have to let your child go it alone in order to learn about themselves. I know that if she doesn’t go home to herself, she will lose that part of her being that needs to learn that she is the one person she can always count on to take care of her.

I know that , as Thich Nhat Hahn says, without going home she will destroy herself and the people around you. I understand that even if I have goodwill and want to do something to help, the most beneficial act I can do is to close her front door behind me, throw my suitcase in the back of my car and drive away as the sun rises over the Wasatch Mountains.

No one can take her true home away; she’s learning that home is where the love is, and that love begins inside her own heart.

Jennifer Wolfe

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Being Reminded Of Life’s Other Half

Posted on April 25, 2016 by Jennifer Wolfe

Last weekend we remembered and rejoiced the life of a young man who died in an avalanche last winter. His tragic passing rattled any sense of security I was feeling about my own children on the mountain, out doing what they love and the possibility…

There, under the spectacular azure sky painted with swirling clouds, surrounded by oak trees and rolling expanses of green grass, we were reminded of life’s other half – the part where we question, and cry, and consider why.

Carson was a young man, just entering adulthood, happy, healthy and loved. He was exploring life – creating a life – to be lived on his terms.

He was a man I’d watched over the years, sharing my school, karate and ski racing communities.

I remember him from karate classes, his tall, skinny frame clad in a white gi as he willed himself through an arduous black belt test with my son. I remember his legs in horses stance for what seemed like hours, trembling with determination.

I remember his curly, dirty blonde hair and shy glances when I’d see him in the hallways at school. Never his teacher, I still tried to draw him out and connect when I could. He was a shy one back then.

I think about him on the ski race course, carefully navigating slalom turns with the concentration of a scientist studying his experiment. I can see his mother’s smile as he watched him cross the finish line, or persevere through the final round of push-ups, sweat dripping off his face and legs and arms quivering under the pressure.

And looking up at the clouds, I think about the lessons we learn through life’s other half.

His service, full of music and love, reminded me of those ordinary moments we spend with people we love, and that in the face of their absence, we realize how prophetically purposeful they can be. Songs we loved, poetry we aligned with and talks along the beach or on a mountain top that at the time we knew were special, but when in the midst of life’s other half we realize were profound.

Carson’s memorial reminded me of my gratitude for the extraordinary in the ordinary every day. For the love of family, friends and community that surround us. And for the generosity of the universe, to open up the skies, to fill them with clouds and sunlight, and the reminder that we are all here for such brief, sparkling, exquisite moments together.

I hadn’t seen Carson for awhile. I was happy to hear he’d joined up with the ski team again, now as a coach, and he was happily living and working in Tahoe. In so many ways, he was just a regular human, finding his way and discovering who he was.

He was living life generously, with delight.

I am not saying that we should love death,

but rather that we should love life so generously,

without picking and choosing,

that we automatically include it (life’s other half) in our love.

This is what actually happens in the great expansiveness of love,

which cannot be stopped or constricted.

It is only because we exclude it that death becomes more and more foreign to us and,

ultimately,

our enemy.

It is conceivable that death is infinitely closer to us than life itself…

What do we know of it?

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

Jennifer Wolfe

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