Tag: moments

An ‘aha’ moment

Posted on September 11, 2013 by

Clarity

Clarity (Photo credit: fs999)

I had an ‘aha’ moment the other day – you know what I mean? That moment when some obscure part of your reality clicks into some sort of connection with another seemingly obscure part of your brain, and for just a brief second – longer if you’re lucky – you experience clarity.

I just started into my 23rd year of teaching middle school, so actually, the very idea that I could see anything clearly at this moment is something just short of miraculous. But it was in that early, pre-dawn moment when in an attempt to combine first sips of dark roast with some sort of sense of center, that I stumbled on an article on Daily Good about Gary Klein’s book, “Seeing What Others Don’t”. My sleep-deprived eyes fell into focus and I enlarged the article to ‘read more’….and what I saw really made sense.

Gary Klein believes that we can ‘train our brains’ to see, providing us with insight into, perhaps, something that the poor soul sitting next to you at the cafe might be blind to. Klein broke up his insights into five beliefs, and as I devoured the article, I realized my ‘aha’ right there in the dark morning.

Be Curious.

Ah, this speaks to my academic soul. Perhaps that’s why I’ve loved teaching middle school, the age many think is unteachable – because curiosity hasn’t been killed in their early teenage minds. I’ve realized lately that I place a high value on curiosity. My friends are curious – not necessarily about the same things as I, but they move through their days questioning, wondering, thinking. And they make me do the same.

Candle

Candle (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Let Your Mind Wander.

Right now, my life is stuffed to the brim. I teach, I mother, I write, I serve. I often feel exhausted at the end of the day. The curious part is, when I start (and hopefully end) my days with a moment of quiet, of stillness, of centering, somehow the overwhelm retreats. Often it happens out in nature, either on my bike on the way to work, a walk with my son at dusk, or digging in my flowerbed. I remember a professor at Cal who first exposed me to the idea of ‘centered-ness’, and my grateful soul goes back to her on a regular basis.

Pay Attention To Coincidences.

I used to just say, ‘huh’ when I had those moments of coincidence-until my babies, husband and I got smashed into by a drunk driver. At that moment, I realized that not only was there a reason we all weren’t more seriously injured than we were, but that it was no coincidence that my injury kept me from going to a job I was becoming frustrated with. When I stopped and realized that the ‘smashing into’ that happened literally was a sign that I needed to wake up and take control over my life’s direction. Once I started paying attention, looking closely, and thinking about what was happening in my life, I realized that those coincidences were really messages in disguise for me to puzzle out.

Look Closely At Contradictions.

One of my favorite quotes is by Maya Angelou: “When people show you who they are, believe them the first time.” When people present themselves in contradiction to what I know, or what I thought I know, I’m training myself to look closely. It’s a fine line between thinking about one’s options and living in a state of ‘what if’, but I’ve found that when I really stop and pay attention to that which doesn’t seem to be logical, somewhere in the mess of hypothesis and doubt comes clarity.

Act On Your Insights.

Tree reflection silhouette

Tree reflection (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

This is perhaps the most challenging, yet powerful, step of them all. Self-reflection, centering, thoughtfulness, and curiosity can all take a solitary form – but if these insights, these ‘aha’ moments are to really become powerful forces in our lives, we must walk the talk. For me, it sometimes takes a supreme leap of faith to act on what I’ve discovered-and sometimes, a huge dose of courage as well. Insights aren’t always easy, I’ve learned, but using my voice, using my writing, modeling for my students and my children what I know to be true has gently layered a ladder of confidence that breathes power into my every step. I know I can act. I know I can change, and I know that when I do, I feel the giddiness of slipping into my true self.

So as Gary Klein shares, I believe we can train our brains to see what other’s don’t. We can harness curiosity, relax into wonder, and pay attention to that which at first glance, might not make sense. If we look closely at what’s going on around us, pay attention to the signals, and act rather than react, amazing things can happen.

Go with your gut. Step off the curb, and trust yourself. You might just be amazed with the results.

 

 

 

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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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Finding My Muse: Searching In Tahoe Snow and Pine Trees

Posted on April 1, 2013 by

Along the way via mamawolfeto2

Along the way via mamawolfeto2

I set out to find my muse today. Long dormant under piles of paper, loads of laundry and unwashed dishes, her elusiveness is starting to wear me down. Like the moment when you realize your body doesn’t react they way it did twenty years ago, panic begins to take over. Perhaps she’ll never return? Is there something I’m doing wrong? Maybe it’s just not meant to be this way.

Certain she won’t be found within the four pine paneled walls of the cabin, I zip up my vest, grab a camera and head out. The perimeter of the lake is blessedly free of snow, and as I walk I feel the rhythm return. The roads are quiet, the birds have returned, and the sun hovers before dusk. I can breathe deeply, matching the pace of my boots along the pine cone and broken branch strewn path with the breath in my lungs.

Snow art via mamawolfeto2

Snow art via mamawolfeto2

To my right I see the sun glistening through the pines, casting sparkles on what remains of the winter snowpack. It’s fading fast around here; trickles of run-off moisten the path beneath my feet. It’s funny how nature creates such unintended art. I’m fascinated by the randomness of it all; some places deep with ice, others down to the bare earth that will remain until next fall.

Something tells me not to go in my usual direction; she’s not there. I turn left instead of right, past the sign declaring to all that this is not a through road. There is no outlet. Stubborn, I continue.

Love via mamawolfeto2

Love via mamawolfeto2

Someone has created a bench out of cast off logs. Sitting on the edge of the meadow, I imagine returning next month. I suppose I’ll find mule ears just beginning to poke through the muddy dirt. I notice nature’s destruction next to me-it looks like love in my eyes.

The wind whistles through the pines, calling to me. I stop, intent on hearing her words. What does she want me to know? Stop teasing me…I’ve been waiting too long for this.

Pine tree

Pine tree (Photo credit: GaggieITMI)

Making my way to the end of the road, forced to turn around and retreat, I heard it. The whispers again. This has got to be it. The perfect place. Stopping to listen, wait, and absorb her message. In the trees, on the earth, all appears as it should be. Tangled branches push through, waiting for the moment to leaf out. Dusty brown leftovers of something long ago bloomed bend in awkward posture from the weight of the snow. Lime green spikes of grass poke up, the afternoon sun bringing them back to life.

Crossing the road towards home, I continue to see signs of life amongst the schizophrenic ground. Strength shows in the patches of sunlight. It’s there somewhere. I see it. I hear it.

I know it.

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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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Walk With Me: Happiness in the Moment

Posted on February 22, 2013 by

“Be happy for this moment.

This moment is your life.”

~ Omar Khayyam

My son and I took a walk to the local Farmer’s Market last weekend. The sun was out, and finding ourselves on a rare non-skiing weekend, we headed the few blocks north to see what we could see.  Along the way, canvas bag slung over my shoulder, camera in hand, and my son by my side, I savored the moment: pure happiness.

Take a walk with me. Share in my happy moment.

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loaves of bread IMG_3547 IMG_3548 IMG_3549beets peas cabbage

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                  Sometimes it’s the smallest moments that make the largest impact.  Look closely where you are. Find pleasure.

Remember, be happy for this moment – this moment is your life.

Where will you find your next moments of happiness today?

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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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Snow and Sickness and Those Horrible Mommy Moments of Panic

Posted on January 16, 2013 by

12 12 Tahoe and Mammoth 052

I was sick for most of the winter vacation.  Really sick.  Runny, sneezy, want-to-claw-out-my–itchy-eyes sick.  For days.  This is NOT how I wanted to spend my vacation.  I imagined a long, restful break full of cooking, baking, laughing, skiing, long walks in the snow, dinner with friends, games by the fire…not exactly what I got.  Instead, I was on the couch, tissue close at hand, too tired and grumpy and feeling sorry for myself to be pleasant company for anyone besides my family.  They had no choice.  It was everything I could do to not invite the whole Tahoe basin to my pity party.

Why is it that teachers always get sick on their vacations?  Not fair.  Who was the little creep who infected me with this?

The other bummer about being sick, besides thinking about all those sick days you’re NOT using, is that when you’re a mom, no one takes care of you – and you still have to take care of them.

Actually, now that my kids are teens it’s much easier.  Those baby years were rough-I guess I do have it easier now. I don’t have to change diapers, rock them to sleep or read Curious George for the millionth time.  But they still needed to be fed, and in the snow, grocery shopping is a huge ordeal.  I wasn’t up for that at all.  No endless circling the parking lot for a space, slogging into the store, pushing the shopping cart through the snow (that’s a fun one – have you tried it?) or heaving over-packed grocery bags through the four feet of snow to our door.  So, I did what any mom would do: I sent my son to the store.  On foot.

Ok, it’s not as bad as it sounds.  There is a mom-n-pop type store just down the snowy icy, street.  He can’t drive, but he can walk.

I slapped $20 in his hand, gave him a strict lecture about walking on the highway versus the road (I told him to choose the road-he’s quick, but jumping out of the path of a sliding car is not worth it), and sent him off.  It was daylight.  It was just down the street.  It was just for some eggs.

I watched him walk away, headphones over his ears, smile on his face.  Happy to be helping mama, or happy to be out of the house?

30 minutes later and it was getting dark.  No sign of teenager, eggs, or anything else that would alleviate my anxiety.  I was ready to call out the patrol. But, I was sick, on the couch, and in my bathrobe.  I had to fight my natural urge to hurl myself through snow banks to go find him. My baby was out in the snow.  In the dark.  Sensing my impending eruption, my husband volunteered.

As he geared up, amazing thoughts flashed through my mind.  Images of my son taking a detour, going to the highway for a shortcut, bounding through snow banks.  I imagined the sirens racing down the highway on the way to pick him up, the phone call, the hospital…I was way gone into future-trip land.

Just when I felt I was about to burst, something dark caught my eye.  There he was.  I spied him out the window, sauntering down the street, carton of eggs in hand, and headphones on ears.  He wore a huge smile on his face.

I exhaled all my anxiety, and tried to use the next sixty seconds figuring out how to handle myself. I couldn’t yell. I wanted to scream and release all my rage and fury about what he’d put me through.

Angrymamawolfe.

I fought the urge to run out into the snow and throttle him.  I figured the best bet was to play it cool, act as if I wasn’t worried.

Coolmamawolfe.

He walked through the door, stomping the snow from his boots. “Mom, I spent some time down at the lake. It was amazing.  The sky was so beautiful.  I took pictures.”

Amazedmamawolfe.

My heart melted along with the clumps of snow on the hardwood floors.  What a fool I am.  What a silly, foolish worrywart.  What a paranoid, over-protective parent.

I wanted to give him a lecture on the dangers of wearing headphones, but his sheer joy took it out of me.

“You’d be so proud of me, mom.  I checked the expiration dates.  One carton expired tomorrow, so I didn’t buy it.”  I could feel him growing up as he spoke.

You’re right, Cam, I thought as I hugged him close. You have no idea how proud.

Through Cameron’s eyes:

12 12 Tahoe and Mammoth 045

the sky was truly amazing, wasn’t it?

12 12 Tahoe and Mammoth 047

I see why he wanted to get closer…

12 12 Tahoe and Mammoth 044

that’s a little too close, Cam

12 12 Tahoe and Mammoth 051

OK, so there was a bit of goofing around…


Tahoe Pines on Dwellable

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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You Never Know What You Might Be Missing

Posted on January 3, 2013 by

I really didn’t want to walk out the door this morning.  Not because I was snuggled in bed.  Not because it was too early.

I was nervous about driving in the snow.

A few days ago I had a wheel spinning incident.  It was nothing serious, but serious enough to make me second guess the ability of the mighty Prius to make it up the icy road in the dark.  At 6:30 am.

One good thing about having kids, though, is that they don’t let you off the hook.  We needed to get to ski training, and Cam didn’t want to be late.

How can you argue with a teenager who doesn’t want to be late to 7 am ski training?  Even when he knows it’s -4 degrees outside?

He was right.   That’s hard to say about your teen sometimes, but this time he was.

The Prius, in all its glory, delivered us up the hill on time.  And this is what awaited me:

IMG_3382

Notice how there are no other people out there?  That’s because it was FREEZING!  And dark!  And early!

Just as I turned to go in, I saw this:

IMG_3383

And this – one of those little dots at the bottom is my son, waiting for the chairlift:

IMG_3384

And as I stood, mesmerized, the chill didn’t bother me anymore.  I couldn’t believe the beauty:

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Slowly, the sun brushed the slopes with light.  We welcomed a new day together.

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And once again, I was very glad I walked through the  door this morning.  You never know what you might be missing.

Like this:

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He makes it all worthwhile.

Thanks, Cam.


Talmont on Dwellable

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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