Island time, defined.

 Island time

I'd never heard of the term "island time" until I spent some time in the Caribbean, in the islands. When I first heard the term, it was often spoken with Western values...fellow boat owners or ex-pats who were trying to get something done, on Western time, and it just wasn't happening. Long lunches, siestas, red tape, power outages, spontaneous national holidays, etc. From a Western point of view, residents of the Caribbean islands operate at a totally different pace than residents of, say, Washington DC or New York City. (Heck, doesn't everyone operate at a different pace than New Yorkers?!) I get it. Born, raised, and having spent the majority of my life stateside, being impatient is almost like an inherited character trait.

Definitely not on island time. Image courtesy of digitalspy.com

You should have seen me in line at Starbucks the other day. (Yes, that was me. Loudly sighing, tapping my foot, checking my phone, sighing again.) By the time I got to the car and gave the girls their promised cake pops, I was ranting up and down about indecisive people and bad customer service. Then I laughed. The girls were happy and my husband was taking a minute to check facebook. The only person who was upset was me. Hang on, didn't I just write and publish a book all about how to live on island time in the rat race?

Island time, as a state of mind

So what does island time mean? It certainly doesn't mean getting all huffy while I wait in line at Starbucks. If I type "island time" into my Pinterest account, I get flooded with images of turquoise water, hammocks, and white sand beaches. Yeah. That's island time. But, to me, it's so much more than that. It's a state of mind. And if it's a state of mind, it can be independent of geography. Of course lounging in a hammock and sipping a rum punch are very conducive to island time, that's not necessary. How do you feel when you're lying in that hammock?

Relaxed.
Calm.
Connected to nature.
Settled.
Quiet.
Restful.

Easier said than done

I type this as one of my girls is napping on the living room floor after screaming for half an hour that she wasn't going to sleep and the other one is on and off fussing in her bed. Typical toddler: deliriously happy, no, wait, furiously angry. I have a lot of background chatter that pulls at my heartstrings and makes it very difficult to achieve that kind of hammock relaxation.

Relaxing in a hammock, figuratively

Hanging out with my girls. Not on a tropical beach, but definitely relaxed and happy.

But I also know what relaxing like that feels like, and I try to order my priorities and my to-do list to be more conducive to internal island time. I cross things off without doing them. If it needs to get done, it'll get done. I go outside, a lot. I meet with friends, a lot, and create and embrace my community. I do things that make me happy - I cook, I bake, I write. I embrace the concept of mañana, mañana. And I still get stressed. There is always a million things to do and places to be and people to see. But I try to prioritize the here and now with the goal of living the good life today. Being happy, today.

How about you? What does your island time look like?

Intentionally ignoring Facebook

Intentionally ignoring Facebook

multi-tasking. Photo credit: Freja Eriksson

Addicted to Facebook

I am a self-professed Facebook addict. I’m also a stay-at-home-mom and I rely on Facebook throughout the day to fill those conversation gaps that a preschooler and a toddler can’t quite manage. (“What’s the deal with common core testing? What’s going to happen with this new immigration policy? And, “is it okay to drink a mimosa on a Tuesday morning while the kids watch Sesame Street?”)

Despite my dependence, I have made a vow to intentionally ignore Facebook. Why? Because I am going to intentionally recognize my present reality. I am going to make a concerted effort to live more mindfully and be more connected to the here and now.

 Long days, short years

The common meme for parents of young kids—especially those that stay at home full time—is “the days are long but the years are short.” True, but that’s little comfort at three in the afternoon after I’ve already changed five diapers, cleaned up spilled milk, and played endless rounds of Candyland—and I’ve been awake since six in the morning. The days are long. Sometimes they seem endless. It’s important to find things to do on a daily basis that are fun, make me happy, and nourish part of my soul. I’m an extrovert so, for me, that means spending time with other people.

We moved to a new city six months ago and I spent the first four months eagerly chatting to other moms in the park and reaching out to new friends. Then I plateaued. I have a handful of friends I can reach out to and we attend a weekly storytime at the library. We’re busy, but I still miss other adults and I get fed-up answering 37 why questions every day. But between nap schedules and daily household maintenance like laundry and grocery shopping, it’s hard to find time to meet up with friends for a little adult interaction that isn’t with the grocery store checkout clerk.

 Oh, hi Facebook. Will you be my friend?

So I turn to Facebook. Someone is always online and there are always new stories and articles in my newsfeed. I’ve tried reddit and Pinterest, but I always go back to the social site: Facebook. It’s like a quick hit of social interaction.

Does that commitment-free, sound-byte type of social interaction fill the gap of adult conversation that I’m missing? Yes and no. Yes, it certainly acts as a good distraction when I’m bored or frustrated or lonely. No, because it isn’t direct, in-depth human interaction; and no because it removes me from the joys and frustrations of daily life with two little ones.

The gameplan:

I have decided to intentionally ignore Facebook.
1. I’ve turned the notifications off on my phone. Those notifications make my Facebook addiction too easy.
2. I am scheduling Facebook time. At naps for 30 minutes and in the evening for 30 minutes. If I still need the easy entertainment that the internet provides, I can read the news or learn new ways to macrame a hanging plant holder on Pinterest.
3. I am going to stop thinking and looking at the world through a Facebook lens: no more quipping pithy status updates in my head while I push my toddler on the swing at the playground; no more taking just the right photo because it will look so great on my newsfeed.
4. I am going to continue to put myself out into the mommy scene and make new friends for me and my kids.

I am going to intentionally recognize my reality. I am going to be present. I still need you Facebook, but I really need to see other people too.

5 ways to relax without plugging in

 Let's play word association: relax

What do I get?

• beach
• birds singing
• eyes closed
• lying down
• calm muscles
• fresh air

But the reality? When I have a minute two relax, I plug in. I flip open my computer, I check my phone, I turn on the TV. It has become part of our culture to relax by zoning out in front of the TV or some other screen. Except that's not really relaxing. Sure, it's easy and entertaining and requires little thought, but those flashing images actually make us more hyper than we were before we turned the TV on. We don't even pay for cable but I can always find an episode of Law & Order to watch. And then of course I have trouble falling asleep and tend to have stressful dreams. Like I said, not relaxing.

Yet night after night I still mess around on the computer and then watch some TV before bed. Why? Because it's easy. It's hard to really relax. I recently went to the beach by myself and, instead of meditating while watching the waves or getting engrossed in a page-turning book, I found my mind racing. I couldn't relax.

Obviously I need a little more practice at the art of relaxation. Here are five ways to relax without staring at a screen. (The key here: practice. You can't meditate once a week and expect to reach zen or whatever calm state you're hoping for. Practice again and again. Learn to be comfortable with your body and mind at rest.)

1. Meditate. I'm no expert but it's easy to find a local class or guidance online. Here is some basic info from the Mayo Clinic.

2. Read a book. It doesn't need to be high brow literary fiction. Anything in print that can take you away from your daily concerns will work.

3. Cook. Or choose another activity that you like doing if cooking feels like a chore. Get engrossed, get involved, lose yourself in the activity. Get in a state of flow.

Surely I can so something in the kitchen with this massive squash!

4. Exercise. Whatever works. High intensity with some house music or solo yoga on a beach. Again, get in your flow.

5. Play. Do something fun! Go fly a kite. Kick a soccer ball. Take a picnic to the park. Get outside with friends and family and pretend you're a kid. Have fun!

Bonfire on the beach with friends. Definitely fun!

Redundancy

Freja keeps watch on the bow.

Boaters, especially cruisers, like redundancy. Two fuel filters, two Phillips head screwdrivers, solar panel and wind turbine, electric start engine that also has a hand crank, pressure water and foot pump. On sailboats, sails and an engine. And, as sailors cruising on a powerboat, two engines. 

Thanks goodness for redundancy. 

A couple days ago as we were nearing Charleston, SC, our starboard engine sputtered and died. We motored into our anchorage on one engine, checked the obvious (impeller, fuel filters), and, finding no obvious answers, shut the engine compartment and poured a couple stiff drinks. 

A couple hours later, Hans got the engine to start up by cleaning the battery terminals and banging, yes, literally banging, on the starter with a wrench. But it made a horrible, loud, clanking, clanging sound. We quickly shut off the engine and called a mechanic near Beaufort, SC. 

Motoring south the next day, Sunday, I only could think of the worst. Total, catastrophic engine failure. Perhaps because it was Sunday, or perhaps because I was steering the boat through beautiful, winding rivers and creeks that connected to the ocean, my thoughts became introspective. 

I wanted to pray for good news from the mechanic. I wanted to pray that it would be a simple fix that we didn’t see because we don’t know very much about gasoline engines. But I couldn’t. I’ve always been uneasy with praying for things and I’ve always been uneasy when people use the phrase “I’ve/you’ve been blessed.” I don’t think there is a God that bestows favors or grants prayers to specific people. For if that were the case, then what about all the starving children in Ethiopia? Do they not pray hard enough? Are they not blessed?

I found myself then praying for the strength and the grace to deal with whatever verdict the mechanic offered. Because that, I find, is one of the most valuable things about religion: offering a moment to stop, think, (think critically), examine, and observe, about how I can live better on this planet. I’m not necessarily praying to a single God, and I”m not necessarily praying. What I am doing, however, is taking a minute from every busy day to reflect and be introspective, and, in that regard, work towards living a better life. Is Jesus a fictional character? Is the Bible a bunch of stories? Perhaps. But these stories provide a path to follow; a leader to follow; an inspiration to live life more gently, less selfishly, and more gracefully with myself, my family, and the people around me.

A few days later and many miles of running our boat on just one engine to get to Jacksonville, and I’m feeling much calmer. The boat runs fine on one engine, perhaps we’re even saving some money on gas, and we’ll get there. 

Thank goodness for redundancy. 

An engine rebuild is not in our plans and we’ll have to revise and come up with something new once we get settled in Jacksonville, but that’s no big deal. We’re all happy and healthy. We’re still out cruising on the boat every day, anchoring in beautiful wetlands only accessible by boat; life is pretty good, even with just one functioning engine. 

Crossing our fingers that our one engine keeps on chugging as we enter the notoriously shallow and shoal-ridden waters of the Georgia ICW.

Hi shrimp boat!

Here we go, in between the green and the red with a strong moving current.
Keep on chugging port engine, keep on chugging.

Hans (and Freja) drive the boat through the channel at Jekyll Island.
Yes, that is a mud bank off our starboard side; there was an identical one to port.
It was shallow and skinny with a fast current.
Keep on chugging port engine.

Mindful Monday

I've been thinking about my screen time. Am I addicted to the screen? Facebook, email, sailing blogs? Despite the fact that I don't even have a smart phone, I easily log in 3 hours a day online. It seems like  the minute I get a spare moment to myself I flip open my computer and check my email and Facebook. I leave a few comments in one of the groups I belong to, maybe I upload a photo, check the weather, scan the news headlines.

I love the internet for the social connection it gives me when I could otherwise live a rather isolated life, at home with the girls for many, many hours a day. I love the support it provides via a mom's Facebook group; I love the inspiration I get from a women sailors group; I love how sailing blogs feed my wanderlust; I love the connection I make and keep with friends and family that life far away.

Two years ago I gave up Facebook for Lent. And I was fine. Totally fine. I honestly don't know if I could do that again. I rely on it too much for technology-facilitated human interaction. (If that becomes a catchphrase I hereby trademark it!)

But I need to insert a little balance into my daily life. I've written about this before: Hans and I put the girls to bed and immediately get on our individual computers and start "looking things up." That inclination has lessened since the weather has gotten nicer. We've been sitting on the back deck more, talking about our upcoming trip south or weightier issues like urban poverty and economic mobility.

I need to be a little more mindful about my free time and how my time usage makes me feel immediately after the fact and several hours later. Was I productive? Did I relax? Am I reenergized to give more of myself to the girls?

Mindful Monday

I feel my stress in my shoulders and in my jaw. I don't notice that it's happening, but gradually, so gradually, my jaw clenches and my shoulders start defying gravity and hunch up toward my ears. I stop, take a breath, and relax my jaw and let my shoulders drop.

The first few weeks of March were busy and stressful. In addition to the winter that just wouldn't quit, we celebrated two birthdays, buzzed around with the anticipation of match day, and then there was the opening of the envelope itself; I had a lot on my plate.* But I didn't realize it. I was snappy with the girls, I spent way too much time on the internet, I bemoaned anything and everything. When I yelled at Freja or groaned when Matilda wouldn't let me put her down - and then instantly felt guilty for not trying a little harder - I reassured myself that my job is hard and not always fun. I can't keep smiling all the time. All this is true. Yet....man I was grumpy.

Last Monday was such a relief. I laughed out loud when Matilda knocked over Freja's snack, spilling Kix (sans milk) all over the carpet and causing both girls to start screaming as if the end of the world was nigh. I put the music on and danced with Matilda when she was fussy and needed holding. Hey, this feels more normal. Our loose ends are tied up. We have a plan for the future (at least the next three years). I can relax again.

I wish, however, that I had been able to stop for a minute and give myself a break. I wish I had spent a few minutes to reflect on what was causing my angst. Sure, the stress would have still been there, but at least I would have acknowledged it and, perhaps, been a bit better equipped to deal with the fallout.

I've made a commitment to be more mindful. I'm starting with checking in with myself throughout the day. Literally. I check my shoulders. I check my jaw. I breathe. I relax. I continue. Back to regularly scheduled programming, but hopefully with a little more ease.

Where do you store your stress? Do you have a physical trigger point(s)? Is your sleep affected? Your dreams?


*I really, really, really hope I'm not jinxing us by putting winter in the past tense.

Get a life

2006 - eight years ago. This is what a pre-kid evening looked like.

When you are the parents of two small children, is it even possible to have a life outside of the kids? Everything we do is centered around our two little ones--centered around their naps, around their activity level, around their moods. A typical Thursday night involves a quick glance at the calendar and then the weather; what should we do this weekend? We make plans with friends that have kids. Events happen pre-nap or post-nap and they often include a stop at the playground, a kids' museum, or the zoo. We're back home promptly at six, in time for dinner and bed.

Yawn.

If we want to do something non-kid related, Hans or I go out after the girls have gone to sleep, separately, while one of us stays at home. On a rare occasion we'll get a babysitter and go out together. We look with envy at blogs of people cruising with kids; always remarking that "those kids have the best life."Actually, I think we're really thinking: "those parents have the best life." The parents are doing adult things and the kids are doing kid things. Side-by-side without organizing a playdate or going to a kid friendly event. Parallel play.*

It would be nice to weave in some more organic activities on the weekend. We do, of course, have to worry about naps and bedtime. Otherwise the kids are grumpy and grumpy kids make for grumpy parents. But there's got to be some middle ground. Our lives are so segregated right now and not only is that unhealthy for us, the adults, but it isn't natural for the kids to think that daily life revolves around them. We've fallen into a rut, one that I'm afraid will persist in the future: soccer Saturdays, weekly birthday parties, pizza dinners at 5pm. You get the picture.

There has been some buzz in one of my online communities around this article in The Atlantic, The Overprotected Kid. Parenting v.2014: planned playgroups, supervised activities, classes, sports teams, "safe" playgrounds. Parenting v.1988: My mom did her thing (which, in reality, was likely cleaning, laundry, and cooking) while I played outdoors, by myself or with my siblings or neighbors. I'm aiming to give Freja and Matilda a more 1988 version of childhood (with bike helmets, please) - imagination, free play, autonomous thinking.

One of the girls' favorite winter games: "cushion mountain."
My attempt to integrate a little free, imaginative play into their daily lives.

But we live in the city and the girls are very young. That time will come. In the meantime, we'll do what we can. Go for a hike on the weekend instead of the playground. Pack a picnic for the park. Be a little more flexible on the weekends with nap and bedtime.

Last night, as Hans and I plugged into our respective computers promptly at 8PM, he looked at me and said, "we've gotta get a life." Indeed.

*Written 100% tongue-in-cheek.

Remembering

The serenity of northern Sweden

In July, 2011 I was in northern Sweden at Hans's family's summer cottage on the Baltic Sea. Freja was a new baby, we were new parents. We were happy and tired. Perhaps that explains the numb feeling I had when I heard about the horrendous mass shooting on Utoya island in Norway where 69 people were killed, mostly teenagers, and 8 more at a separate, but related, incident in Oslo. It was a shocking, appalling tragedy. Since we were in Sweden, the news coverage was intense. But I remember thinking "I should be feeling more. Why is this not upsetting me?" I don't know why. I'll blame it on lack of sleep, and maybe feeling a little removed from it since all the news coverage was in Swedish. Or maybe it was just so horrific that I couldn't grasp the depth of the tragedy.

This morning, however, I was moved when I heard a report on the radio about a proposed memorial. The artist, Jonas Dahlberg, calls his vision a "memory wound." He wants visitors to feel the loss; to have a physical feeling of loss. He said: 

"It's still almost impossible to understand [the shooting]. It's also one of the reasons why it's so important with memorials for these kinds of things. It's to maybe help a little bit to understand what was happening. So it's not just about remembering, it's also about trying to just understand — or helping to understand."

This seems so important to me. We hear of new tragedies almost every day--mass shootings and natural disasters and war--but it's really hard to understand the loss, to feel the loss. I worry that mass shootings have become so common in the U.S. that people just add each new one to a running tally. I was in college when the shooting occurred at Columbine High School. It really disturbed me and the headlines went on for days and weeks. Is that the case now? It seems like mass shootings are becoming commonplace and Americans are just resigned to that new part of our culture. Otherwise, surely we would be doing something to prevent this happening in the future. As far as I can tell, nothing has been done in terms of gun control reform or funding for mental health programs.

Jonas Dahlberg's vision for a "memory wound," what I'd also call a living memorial, is spot on.

Mindfulness

Mindfulness, being mindful, living a mindful life. It seems like a buzzword, but it's been buzzing around my head for the past few days as I'm trying to pull myself back to center.

What does it mean? For me it means paying attention to my daily life. It means not being pulled from one task to the next without stopping. It means pausing, reflecting, and thinking about what I am doing. It means completing daily tasks with meaning, instead of just going through the motions. This can also be called living intentionally.

I've been feeling stressed out recently. Not in the classic sense that I have so much to do and just no time. No. I accept that dishes will be dirty. Laundry will always be piled up. My inbox will be full, emails will remain unwrittten, and phone calls will not be returned. As a mom to two small children, I take that kind of stress for granted (which is good since it's always there). This kind of stress is something deeper. I can't put my finger on it, but I know it's there as evidenced by my lack of patience, that antsy feeling, and the state of my fingernails (I'm a nail biter). We have some stuff going on. Hans finds out his residency placement (aka our future home) on Friday and the girls both have birthdays this week, but I feel like there is something else under my skin.

I blame the weather. I blame our cramped living quarters. I blame the new nap schedules which keeps us home for a large part of the day. I blame the fact that we're moving to a new city in two months. (Big. Yes, that's big.) And then I make some resolutions.

I can try to chill out. I take a deep breath. (I say I should meditate but I don't.) I make a goal to take each day one at a time. To focus on the small moments and enjoy the giggles and laughs in between trying to get something done even if those laughs make us another five minutes late. I narrow my focus: I center my focus on my daily life and on the individual tasks and I stop trying to look at the bigger picture. I enjoy my girls and remember to cherish each moment--even if we are stuck at home a lot. I pay attention to what I am doing and appreciate my rich, happy life. I try to live intentionally.

Back in January, when I knew we had no travel plans (nothing happens in the winter anyway), I made a commitment to attend church every week. I'm not a big church-y person in the traditional sense--I don't really pray, I get a little uncomfortable talking outwardly about Jesus and God, and I'm a big believer in evolution--but I value the quiet, reflective time every Sunday morning offers me. I've missed the past four Sundays, so I returned to church this past Sunday thinking maybe my absence, or, rather, church's absence in my life, was the reason I've been feeling a little out of sorts. The sermon? All about those times that you feel scattered and lost. Come back to church, connect with a community, and get centered. Church isn't the only answer for me. It's part of it. But I know that I need to get recentered. I need to live each day a little more mindfully and enjoy the motions, instead of just go through the motions.