Tag: love

Revisiting Gratitude

Posted on May 28, 2015 by Jennifer Wolfe

I have a friend who is going through a really, really tough time right now. When she confided in me, I felt a mix of honor that she trusted me, and obligation to help her through. What came to my mind first? Gratitude.

I know gratitude is all over the news. I myself have written many essays, book reviews, and poetry sharing the virtues of gratitude and how it has helped me ride out the long, hopeless days of mothering, teaching and living.

So I got her a tiny, blue leather journal. I printed out two of my favorite poems, one for the back and one for the front. And I told her to write three ‘gratitudes’ every day. Without fail. Even when she feels like everything is hopeless. Even when she feels like there is no light to run towards. Even when she feels alone.

And I shared with her my #365gratitude posts on Instagram. And yes, I do both. I give daily thanks for the big and the small things in life. Some days, my gratitudes are easy to find. Some days, I really have to dig. But I’ve found that walking with an intention to find gratitude opens my eyes in so many ways, allowing hope to shine in when I most need it.

The great thing about sharing #365gratitude posts on Instagram is the ability to quickly revisit the images whenever I need inspiration – like today. It’s like revisiting a museum full of life moments – a quick scroll shows me what I value in life, what my eye is drawn to, and what makes me happy. I thought I’d share some of my favorites with you today. And if you’re on Instagram, I’d love to connect – you can find me at https://instagram.com/mamawolfeto2/.

https://instagram.com/p/rKq-HHGm_K/?taken-by=mamawolfeto2

Before the August accident…

https://instagram.com/p/rQqRPgGm01/?taken-by=mamawolfeto2

https://instagram.com/p/rvCfAgGm0v/?taken-by=mamawolfeto2

Keeping my #lookup promise, even when the tears were falling.

https://instagram.com/p/sOHu0fGm-S/?taken-by=mamawolfeto2

https://instagram.com/p/uj0ZQBGm2r/?taken-by=mamawolfeto2

https://instagram.com/p/xDrXbbGm0u/?taken-by=mamawolfeto2

https://instagram.com/p/zln083GmzZ/?taken-by=mamawolfeto2

https://instagram.com/p/06tJ3YGm5v/?taken-by=mamawolfeto2

https://instagram.com/p/2PJTAxGmxv/?taken-by=mamawolfeto2

https://instagram.com/p/2kXlYdmm5T/?taken-by=mamawolfeto2

Notice a few themes here? All things I love – the sky, the mountains, my kids, my dog, my life. Moments strung together, perfectly ordinary, absolutely extraordinary… a life full of love and gratitude 365 days a year.

Hope to see you over on Instagram!

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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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What Would You Do If You Were Guaranteed Success?

Posted on April 20, 2015 by Jennifer Wolfe

What would you do if you were guaranteed success?

Would your life be very different from the way it is now?

If I were guaranteed success….

I would create the perfect cup – or cups – of coffee, deliberately grinding the beans,

hovering over the red kettle as it rises to just before a boil,

grab it, and pour with gusto.

I’d exuberantly throw open the windows, welcoming the morning birdsong from my upstairs desk,

pull the blanket over my lap and scribble my thoughts with my cherished black pen,

and the words would fall into place…

You’d see me wearing the slightly higher heeled boots with black tights,

not worrying about being on my feet all day

or if I could gracefully ride my bike to work.

If I were guaranteed success…

I would call and text her every morning and each night

just to check in and see what life is like so far away,

and send her a few dollars for fresh fruit.

I would zip up my ski parka and snap into my bindings,

jump into the race course and fly down the hill-

my smile blinding the spectators on the sidelines…

then go home to create the perfect tiramisu for her birthday party,

not buying any ingredients fat-free, sugarless or on sale,

and sit by her side savoring every exquisite bite.

If I were guaranteed success…

I would find a way to make a living

that doesn’t trade time and flexibility for income,

and no grouchy, uptight parents would tell me how to do it.

I’d buy a fast laptop

lock myself high up in the mountains or on a seaside cliff,

turning pictures into words, memories into stories

smiling broadly every morning….

opening the chest of love letters from long ago,

letting the words and memories pour into my heart-

dripping through my veins and onto a page

for you to read.

Jennifer Wolfe

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Living In Between Love and Fear

Posted on March 6, 2015 by Jennifer Wolfe

“…the Outside had taught him that there wasn’t much difference between loving someone and being afraid of them. Loving a person meant needing them to stay: alive, around. But the shadow that love can’t help but cast is fear: fear they won’t stay alive or around–fear they’ll be reckless, or doomed, or just walk away and not consider you ever again. With love, you’re scared it will disappear. With fear, you’re scared it never will. The trick…was getting used to both of them at the same time. It was living in between.”

~Michael Christie, from If I Die, If I Fall

Jennifer Wolfe

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Kindness Matters

Posted on February 21, 2015 by Jennifer Wolfe

Six months ago, I wrote an essay about my son’s injury at Mt. Hood. I called it “Broken”, and you can read the original piece here. It was hard for me to write; I was going through some emotional times during the summer, and, as with any time a parent sees their child injured, his accident really shook me up. I needed to figure it out.

As with all my writing, I wrote it for me. I wasn’t out to impress anyone with his injury or our story. I didn’t intend to make my life seem harder/more painful/more dramatic or fill-in-the-blank with whatever word you would like. I was simply telling my story, my experience, and sharing how it made me feel. No judgement, no pity party, nothing but sharing my love for my son, and no evaluation or proclamation that our situation was more traumatic than any other.

My story was about healing, change, and adapting to the ‘new normal’ – something I was dealing with on several levels in my life. At the same time this happened, I was reading a blogpost by one of my favorite writer/bloggers, Katrina Kenison, who so eloquently pens the exquisite agony we feel as mothers adapting to different experiences with our children. It felt like the Universe was speaking to me, sending me ways to cope with my situation.

I ended my story with healing, with gratitude, and with thoughts of moving forward.

Today, the Huffington Post published the same story, with the title “The Phone Call No Parent Wants To Get”. Provocative title, I agree – that’s what happens when stories get published online.

Within minutes, there were dozens of comments. Surprised, I clicked over. I didn’t think it was the kind of post that would garner much commentary at all. It was just a retelling of an experience of motherhood.

What I saw was full of hate.

I fully realize that the Universe deals out trauma much more intense than what we were experiencing. No one wants to see their child – or any other child – experience pain, fear, or injury. I know that some have more than their share of heartbreak, suffering, and agony. I would never presume to understand the pain of losing a child, or watching a child suffer through any trauma.

But that’s not what my essay was about.

It’s too bad that those people who clicked on my post were “infuriated”, as one reader expressed. It’s too bad that they felt they just wasted their time reading it, or that they somehow had to insert their ego/story/opinion into mine.

Why they would waste more of their time spewing hate and vitriolic comments to me is amazing.

Kindness matters, people. Read closely:

You absolutely have the right to say what you think, just like I do. But please, think about how you say it.

This essay wasn’t a piece about politics or religion. It wasn’t a controversial topic. This was a reflection, a memoir, a snapshot of time. It was my experience, not meant to be evaluated or judged against anyone else’s. What would be the point in that? How could one possibly believe that their pain is any greater than another, that their suffering is any stronger? We never know each other’s back story.

While the internet offers an amazing opportunity for people to communicate and connect, why not do so with kindness and seek to understand and be understood? Why hide behind anonymity, freely condemning people for their ideas? Would you yell at me like that in person? Would you hunt down a book author, and plaster your words all over their home?

I’m not impressed by your hate. I’m not even agitated enough to write back and engage in any sort of debate. It’s pointless. I’m even laughing at much of your poorly written, ignorant assumptions you make about me and my son. You have no idea. You don’t know me, you don’t know my story – and to engage with you would be to proclaim that I know yours. Your assumptions make you look like an ass, and give you no credibility. Who are you to judge me?

Life is hard. We all have different challenges. In no way would I equate my son’s accident as anything even close to what many parents deal with on a daily basis.

THAT’S NOT THE POINT.

We are all on this life journey together. We all have a voice. I use mine to communicate, to understand others, and to make the world a kinder place to live in. By spewing your commentary, it makes me wonder what else you do in life that pushes us all backwards in anger, instead of forwards in compassion.

Remember, kindness matters. Maybe I could learn from you – but not if you try to teach me with your hate.

Jennifer Wolfe

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Real Love In Real Life

Posted on February 16, 2015 by Jennifer Wolfe

I haven’t read Fifty Shades of Grey or any of the sequels.

I don’t plan on seeing the movie, and I’m getting tired of all the media hype. Watching women coo and drool and act like what is depicted on those pages and projected on the screen is real love in real life is making me angry.

It’s no coincidence the movie opened on Valentine’s Day – media strategists are clever that way. And it’s bad enough that people feel the pressure to perform and produce on a day created to sell flowers and chocolate, but to add in this portrayal of romance and ‘love’ as some sort of meter for what real love looks like is shameful. And confusing. And frightening.

It’s commercialism at its finest.

In real life, we should be doing the exact opposite. We should be showing what real love looks like, for our sons and daughters and friends and anyone struggling with how to find, define and experience love in real life, outside of the screens and seductions of the media.

Valentine’s Day has never been one of my favorite holidays – I wrote about my youthful experience of feeling like it was supposed to be something – to mean something. I’ve been in love with the same man for nearly 30 years, and I have to say that my definition of real love has definitely changed since that day in my early twenties. Now that I’m a mom, and I’m watching the hype about love and relationships, I’m acutely tuned in to what my teenage son and daughter witness as examples of real love – and I can assure you, it’s not any shade of grey.

In my world, real love looks like this:

* a dad spending the day on the ski hill, coaching other people’s kids so his own can have the opportunity to race.

* a mom painting her son’s bedroom, painstakingly primering over childhood scribbles so he can have a more ‘teenage’ place to be.

* a teenage boy spending the entire day with his mom, doing errands and chores, so she isn’t alone.

* a college-aged couple taking a road trip to Vail, cheering on the U.S. Ski team and enjoying being together under the blue sky in the mountains.

* a furry black dog, nuzzling your hand in search of some affection.

* a young couple strolling along the creek on a sunny morning, pointing out how ducks swim.

* a father and son buying wood fencing at Home Depot, planning a vegetable garden for their backyard.

* a teenage girl bringing her teacher a red rose, just to say thank you.

* baristas at Dutch Bros decked out in pink t-shirts and tutus, gleefully pouring coffee and serving it with a smile.

* parents driving to Vegas and Mammoth and Antioch and Los Angeles early in the morning and late at night so their child can ski and play hockey and make that soccer tournament and they will be right there cheering them on.

That’s what real love looks like. It’s not on Pinterest or the movie screen. It’s not in the pages of a book about submission and domination, or in a box of expensive chocolates.

It’s in real life.

And it’s really, really good.

Bagande (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Jennifer Wolfe

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