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Wednesday, September 14, 2011

My personal legend: A mother and a singer


I’m the type of person who has a very peculiar memory.  I rarely remember birthdays or what I did over the weekend, but my mind has stored vivid images of scenes from my childhood, as if they happened yesterday.  One such scene was in grade 2, when a substitute teacher asked our class to write down what we wanted to be ‘when we grew up’.  While most of my classmates wrote things like ‘teacher’ or ‘doctor’, I wrote ‘a mother and a singer’.  These two plans felt so personal and embarrassing that I folded my paper in half and asked the teacher not to share it with the class.  She later came over to me and with a gaze of respect and admiration, she assured me that my plans were just fine.  I thought back on that day for years to come and was amused by how sure I always was that I wanted to be a mom…and how hilarious it was that I thought I would be a professional singer considering I don’t have much of a singing voice.  (That idea was likely inspired by the fact that both of my parents are musicians, and that Whitney Houston and Janet Jackson were my idols in the 80’s!)

Anyhow, decades later, when I was pregnant, my sister gave me a book called ‘The Alchemist’.  She knew that I wasn’t much of a reader, but that I was at a place in my life where I was trying to come to terms with my sense of spirituality and purpose.  So I picked up the book and, sure enough, couldn’t put it down.  It took me on an amazing reflective journey of self-awareness and critical thought about the meaning of success.  The author, Paulo Coelho, wrote about the concept of ‘a personal legend’ – one’s authentic calling in life.  Like many of us, the main character spent many years traveling and trying various careers in search of what he was meant to do, only to realize that the answer was within him all along.  He didn’t need education or wealth to fulfill his potential, he just needed to look inside himself to acknowledge his strengths and interests, and choose a path that allowed him to let them flourish.  This story brought me a sense of peace and satisfaction with my own life.  As an anxious and ambitious person, I often second guess my decisions and wonder if I’m where I should be in life.  The alchemist taught me that a personal legend is special and meaningful, no matter how big or small; no matter how simple or complex.

A few days after Mariah was born, I was rocking her and singing her the chorus of a song I love, “Oh Mama” by Justin Nozuka.  I may have changed keys a few times and probably even went off pitch, but Mariah just gazed up at me like my voice was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard.  It brought me back to that moment in grade 2 and tears started rolling down my cheeks.   In fact, it was the first time I had cried since Mariah was born.  I had never fully understood what I had written on that little piece of paper until this moment.  At last, I was “a mother and a singer”, perhaps not in the same way I visualized when I was a child, but in a way much more powerful and meaningful than I ever could have imagined – I was realizing my personal legend. 

The Alchemist has taught me that perhaps we should not be asking our children what they want to be ‘when they grow up’.  But rather, we should be asking them who they are, and respecting their answers.  If our personal legends are truly within us, then perhaps they’re predetermined at birth, perhaps we know exactly who we are as kids and just lose track of it when navigating the complex world around us.  So take a minute and ask yourself if you are living out your personal legend today.  And if the answer is ‘no’, maybe you need to chat with your inner child to remember what it is you were put on this earth to do.  (I know this post is a bit Oprah-esque, but just humour me!)

Monday, September 12, 2011

A little part of me...

Although Mariah used to enjoy being passed from person to person as an infant, she’s recently started to become very fussy when she’s away from mommy & daddy.  During visits with family and friends, she prefers to cling to us than to be carried by anyone else.  When I leave the room, even for a moment, Mariah starts to cry and chases after me.  Background noises that didn't use to phase her, like the shower or vacuum, now send Mariah scurrying to my feet in a panic.  And my poor aunts have been tortured by her loud and dramatic tears & screams when they try their best to babysit.

I was beginning to think we had somehow ‘spoiled’ her already, but I did a bit of research and learned that it is all quite normal for her age (http://www.babycenter.ca/baby/development/socialandemotional/independence/).  Around 6 months, babies usually start to experience some separation anxiety.  Apparently this sense of ‘stranger danger’ stems from the fact that they are starting to realize that they are individuals who aren’t actually part of their mommies.  When I first read this, I thought it was so cute, in a condescending sort of way – that a baby could mistakenly believe they were part of their mommy.  But when you think about it for a moment, a baby is created inside of mommy’s tummy and lives there for 9 months, so at one point, Mariah truly was ‘a little part of me’.  While it’s taken her several months for her to realize that she’s now a separate person, maybe it’s taken me the same amount of time to forget that we were once physically connected.  In fact, I wonder whether a mother's sudden adjustment to losing this part of themselves during childbirth is one of many factors that contribute to post-partum depression.  Another reason for separation anxiety is that babies under one year haven’t yet established an understanding of ‘object permanency’ (i.e. when you leave their sight, even for a moment, they think you’re “gone” and may not return).  Again, my first reaction was ‘silly Mariah, of course I’ll come back’.  But when you put yourself in baby’s tiny shoes from a survival perspective, it’s perfectly logical to fear separation from your parents since “cavebabies” really didn’t know whether their mommy or daddy would return each time they left.  

So I’m starting to give this kid a bit more credit and trying to see things from her innocent eyes.  Next time she gets startled by a dog barking and scoots her little self over to me, I’ll just give her a hug and assure her it’s not a predator (and I’ll try to enjoy those moments of closeness since I’m sure she won’t want to cling to me forever!).