Confessions of a Daughterless Mother

I'm trying to find balance. I'm trying to find a place where hanging on and letting go can play nice in the pool. I called the high school guidance counselor this morning. Cooper filled out several college apps over the past few weeks--I have done little more than proof read for him. He has handled it, finding web sites, making decisions, gathering information. He ran into a glitch with his Saginaw Valley app. The college's website was causing a few errors in the submission process and he was hesitant to send it in. I offered to call for him and help him get it settled. And then I second guessed myself. After all it was during school hours. He can't call then. And it needs to be done. We need to cross it off the list. I called. They were wonderful, helped us -- me -- figure out the issue and even waived our application fee for my trouble. And then I second guessed myself. Should I have let him call? He would have had the feeling of gratefulness that I di...

                                               Energy Flows Where Attention Goes While preparing for savasana in my yoga class on Monday morning my instructor quoted one of the seven Hawaiian--Huna--life principles for us to meditate and focus on during our corpse pose relaxation/meditation.  My practice that day had been a struggle--my back was giving me fits and I was ready to settle into my mat and not move. I heard his words, "energy flows where attention goes" and while they struck me in the moment--which often happens for me and words--I was tired. I was discouraged. I was hurting. I filed them in the back of my mind and settled into a restless savanna. Today, his words came leaping into my mind as I headed out the door for my walk. I quickly googled the phrase before I left--there are many interpretations--and repeated it over and over in my mind tryi...

                                                                 Photo Credit Linda Swantek When I was younger--perhaps 13 or 14--I vividly remember walking out to our mailbox, giddy with life. I was happy, skating was good, my friends were good, my grades were good, my parents were good.  The sun was warm on my shoulders, my heart was light.  Life was good that day. The memory coats my heart like thick honey, not so much for the steps I took toward the mailbox, but rather the comfort I found in finding--the sweet spot. My worries were nil, my small, young life was in a place where I was comforted by what was around me, not anxious or worried or sad.  For years after that, I used that moment as a litmus test--a measuring stick of sorts--how happy am I now compared to the day I walked to the mailbox?...