patience...

Some people seem to have an endless supply of patience... no matter what challenges or surprises they face; they approach them with complete grace and calm. There are so many moments when I wish to tap into this resource. At times I find myself standing at the edge of a cliff... around me is a state of calm, a presence, a security in knowing that this moment is exactly as it should be... but as I look down I feel myself hover over an abyss of chaos. As I steady my feet, I am strangely aware of the fact that a mere breeze could tip me over. I hold firm. I take a deep breath. I imagine there is no one else watching. I try very hard to remind myself that beyond the frustration, exhaustion and loneliness, I can find strength and exhileration in the simplest acts -- a hug, a smile, a song. The ordinary moments become extraordinary. Yet at the same time, the challenging moments take every ounce of patience I can find to move through. No matter how bad it gets, I know it will pass... and with time and reflection I always realise it was never that bad. But at that very moment when I hover at the edge of the cliff, I am never sure if I will find the patience to be present, to understand, to open my heart. I suppose it is the fear that creates the feeling of vertigo. So, if only I could release the fear, then the feeling of being at the limits of my patience could also be freed? What is it that I am so afraid of... that my children experience pain, unhappiness, illness? I know this is a part of being human and being alive... yet when I see it in the eyes of my children I am completely paralysed. I want to do everything I can to wipe away the pain as I wipe away the tears... whether the pain is emotional or physical, or even appears to be imaginary. Sometimes I just keep searching for answers -- answers to questions that I cannot even articulate. Yet I keep hoping that someone can tell me, show me, guide me. I know in my heart that it is my children who are guiding me, and all I need to do is listen. This is easy to say when I am not tired and feeling burned out... and in turn feeling uncertain as to what steps to take next. The answer is simple: just put one foot in front of the other. But what if in front of you is a screaming child, having a tantrum about something you are completely unable to understand or diminish. It's as if there is a fire burning out of control and there is no water anywhere in sight. I search for something to calm the situation... and I hope that the choice I make is the right one (whatever that means). And through it all, I keep searching for patience. Hovering... trying desperately not to fall; and always getting up each time I do. Someone recently told me that between one and a half and four years of age are some of the hardest years of parenting... as the kids explore their independance and try to find themselves in the myriad of possibilities before them. As we/they get older more means of communication develop and frustrations subsides... we/they learn new ways of expressing their tantrums that perhaps are less painful to the outside world, and we/they learn better coping mechanisms. I suppose this is all part of learning to walk alone... not just with our feet, but with our hearts and our minds too. There will be falls, and there will be bruises... and while they (we) may never really be alone, the steps they (we) take are theirs (ours) to own.

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. ~ Anais Nin