Lottery day

I just won the lottery! Unless you're a parent from Boston, it's not what you think. It's the school lottery.

Whenever I explain the Boston Public School lottery system, I introduce it as the hunger games for kindergarten. This is only a slight exaggeration, as it does not involve death. However, it's one of the most stressful processes I've ever been through, including applying for and being accepted into college and grad school. The lottery is based on an MIT-developed algorithm and while parents can select their desired schools, chance decides who gets accepted. Boston offers several kindergarten options: K2 is what other areas would call kindergarten, a class of 5 year olds. Boston also offers K1 for 4 year olds and K0 for 3 year olds, which is also on a lottery basis. Since demand far exceeds supply, many people like us end up with the K0 and K1 equivalent, preschool. This was a blessing for my family, because we got to stay at our favorite preschool Smart Start. 

We had been planning to stage our condo and move out of the city to a suburb with highly ranked schools. But this changes everything. Now we actually can consider staying in our beloved city. I've lived in Jamaica Plain for 10 years, and it's always felt like home to me.

I am really excited about the school Lucinda was placed into, as well as a school that we got sixth on the waitlist for.

However, it's a bittersweet day. This day could have turned out so differently for my family. And while I'm hearing several other happy stories like ours, I'm also hearing from parents who did not get assigned a spot at all, let alone one of their favorites. My heart goes out to the people who did not fare so well today. I can very easily imagine the difficult choices they are about to face. Worse still are the families lacking choice, who may not be able to move easily and who have to send their kids to an underperforming school. I am definitely feeling some survivor's guilt, as another mom aptly put it.

I am breathing a huge sign of relief, and walking around as if on a cloud. I'm finally coming out of the uncertainty that early 2014 brought, and now I have options. I feel empowered.

How to make technology a little less intrusive

In my quest to be more mindful, I try to limit the amount of time I spend on my devices. If you're not quite ready to give up social media for Lent, here is an idea that helps me to minimize my time spent on devices.

I hate all the alerting, dinging, ringing, and beeping of notifications from Gmail, Outlook, Facebook, Twitter, and LinkedIn. It's push marketing, and I'm a much bigger fan of pull marketing. I prefer to check in with my various networks on my own terms, not theirs. On my iPhone, I found the constant noises and numbers so intrusive that, with the help of my brother the Mac expert, I turned off the sounds and the Badge App Icon. That's the little number in the corner of your app, and it ticks upward incessantly, quickly inducing panic (at least to me). I'll provide detailed instructions here in case you want to turn yours off, too. It works similarly on an iPad.

First, go to the Settings app. Click on Notification Center.

Go to mail (or gmail, or whatever app for which you do not want to see the Badge App Icon. Turn off whatever problematic alerts you want to stop seeing, including Badge App Icon, Sounds, and Show in Notifications Center. I've included a screenshot of turning these off of my LinkedIn app.

I hope this tip helps you dictate your usage of social media on your own terms and reduces your in-person interruptions.

Edited to add: here's a great incentive to put down your phone! The UNICEF clean water project will donate clean water to people in need for every 10 minutes you go without touching your phone.

Equal parts work and joy

A friend of mine recently had a baby. Visiting her and her husband, and the new baby, both in the hospital and at home, reminded me of my first days as a mom. I can recall just as if it were yesterday the overwhelming feelings of love, responsibility, and cluelessness.

A friend on my moms' forum shared this awesome blog that captures her view on the true nature of motherhood. Her words about the experience being both more amazing and more horrible at times (thank you sleep deprivation and hormones) than one could ever imagine really resonated with me.

While mothering a preschooler feels easier than the constant demands of an infant, it presents its own set of challenges. Lu is a strong-willed child, and is quick to anger or grow frustrated when things don't go her way. As much as I try to reason with her, this is a difficult concept for a four year old. Some days, I end the day nearly as exhausted as I felt as when I had a new baby. But this is less frequent these days, and I feel that I am able to regain parts of myself that I lost when she was very young, such as spending time to read for fun. Thankfully, Lu gives me something to smile at, laugh at, and be proud of every single day. It is such a joy and privilege to watch the person develop in front of your eyes.

When a door closes, a window opens

I've had, by any standard, a hectic schedule in the past couple of years. I had a busy job at an awesome tech company and a 2 year old in 2011 when I began an 18-month MBA program structured for full-time employees, the Northeastern University high tech MBA. Halfway through the program, I took on an even more demanding job that is a 70-mile round trip from my house. While I successfully got through this period and am forever grateful for these amazing opportunities, my constant need to accomplish it all induced a panic-like sense of always feeling strapped for time. I knew I had to break out of this PTSD-like feeling to reach the next stage of my life. However, I was perplexed about how to initiate this change.

I began my first, tentative steps with mindfulness in December of 2012, when a missed step almost changed my life. I was walking down icy concrete steps at my condo building with my mind fully engaged in my financial documents (a P&L and 5-year projections) due for my strategy paper the next day. I missed a step and somersaulted down half a flight of stairs to the pavement. Thankfully, a kind neighbor rescued me and my nurse friend and neighbor checked me out. No harm was done, other than the awesome shiner I wore to class like a badge of honor the next day. But it opened my eyes to how critical it is for me to live in the moment. If I didn't, there might not be any more moments left!

I love to swim, and my amazing office has an indoor pool where I can do just that. Swimming laps, and practicing yoga, have been the central ways I've cultivated my mindfulness practice in the last year. However, I could not shake that sense of urgency I carried with me into most situations, always racing to the next task, feeling hopped up on caffeine and jittery even with no coffee in sight, even when the situation didn't call for action. I thought I'd had a pretty good handle on how to be mindful. After all, last year I listened to an audiobook about it called Get Some Headspace, so I crossed it off my list and moved on. However, mindfulness is not something you can check off your to-do list. It's come to me slowly, in moments, over several years.

In the last month, given the many transitions in my life right now, I have sought out ways in which I can be more mindful. I've read a few books lately that have been hugely influential. Thich Nhat Hanh has some amazing work: Peace Is Every Step, Anger, and Work. For working moms and motherhood, I recommend Maxed Out, American Moms on the Brink by Katrina Alcorn (and her blog), Hands-Free Mama by Rachel Macy Stafford (and her blog), The Complete Buddhism for Mothers by Sarah Napthali, and Jennifer Senior's book All Joy and No Fun: The Paradox of Modern Parenthood (and related article Why Mom's Time is Different from Dad's Time). I think the shock of how much I related to Alcorn's cautionary tale, combined with the practical advice of Hanh and Stafford, offering easy ways to ignore your distractions and live in the moment, finally resonated with me. Just like with any other change, no one can tell you how to be mindful, you need to come to it on your own. I was not sold on its benefits until I started practicing it more.

Getting a change of scenery over a recent long weekend allowed me to cultivate my newly learned mindfulness. For example, I had the opportunity to drive alone. Normally I'd listen to an audiobook the whole time, eager to multitask and cross a few books off of my ever-growing list. I decided to enjoy the silence, feeling the car accelerate and slow, to examine the road and the new, yet familiar, Maine scenery. I felt calmer, more composed, after exiting the car. Though I imagine this had something to do with the more courteous Maine drivers, I felt invigorated to keep at it. I went to a bookstore and sipped chamomile and lavendar tea while devouring some of the readings I mentioned earlier. I enjoyed a conversation with my family about Maslow's hierarchy of needs.

Given my personality, surrendering control has been the biggest challenge. I like to run the show, no question. Realizing that I can't, and don't, has been a huge comfort to me. Whether or not I fret over every little detail or truly enjoy a laugh with my daughter, the day passes too quickly. It's always a better day if I approach it with gratitude, energy, and a positive spirit. I feel that only when I open myself up to the universe as a vulnerable being, ready to be guided, do truly great things come my way.  Forcing a situation to present itself to me is like trying to fit a round peg into a square hole. Just this week, an amazing opportunity came along that I believe came my way because of my new attitude.

I'm not fully Zen yet. I'm not sure if anyone ever truly is. But I'm enjoying the ride much more fully. I hope you enjoy my new mantra as much as I do:

Compared to what?

Perspective. It's an easy concept to grasp: What looks one way to one person, looks another to someone else, depending on their background and beliefs. The idea of perspective also brings in one's attitude. An optimistic mindset can really be an asset when confronting change. Fortunately, I am an eternal optimist.

I was having an especially difficult day yesterday when I stumbled upon the story of Katherine Stone of Atlanta who had driven 11 hours in the recent snowstorm to get to her kids. She explained how people with no jackets (because it doesn't get cold in Atlanta) had to abandon their cars and walk for hours. I stopped, reset my attitude, and gained some perspective. That's actually a parenting trick I've used in the past on my daughter: "I can see you're having a rough time, so can you please try to change your attitude?" I didn't realize it would work on me.

It's an old saying that bad news comes in threes and sevens. While I'm not superstitious, I have sometimes found this idiom to hold true. I'm dealing with my own sets of threes and sevens this month: my grandmother's death, as well as the personal tragedies of a long lost friend on Facebook, and a dear colleague. Add to this other concerns such as work rumors, repairing my condo, and the uncertainty of school and where to live, and I've got seven. Seven issues to keep my brain occupied, searching them over and over as if I'm panning for gold and if I think if I just think about it the right way, I'll come up with a gold nugget of an answer.

When things I've taken for granted suddenly change, I attempt to look at it as an opportunity. However, I am such a planner that I find it enormously challenging to remain steadfast in the face of change. Taking time off from my normal routine to reflect really helps. So does reading the wise words of Thích Nhất Hạnh. 

But other times, nothing helps. I have to just sit with my unsettled feelings and have faith that the right answer, the right course of action for me and my family, is going to become clear if I just hang in there. I love these words that Robin Roberts spoke at the MA Conference for Women in December 2013: "When fear knocks, let faith answer the door." Well, hello, fear. You don't scare me. I am equipped with the experience, the resilience, and the determination to keep on keepin' on.

The life of the literate

I've been thinking a lot recently about how reading a good book really transforms you, transporting you to another reality where anything is possible. I possess a lifelong love of reading. I estimate I've read between 40,000-50,000 books since I started at 3, and I have no intention of slowing down. People ask me how I read so quickly, and I don't know, other than practice. My childhood friends can attest that my favorite spot was under a tree reading a book, and not much has changed. I read between 60-80 books each year and visit my library weekly, often daily. There's nothing else for me that can reduce the stress of a long day. I love curling up with a good book, and emerging transformed by a totally unique perspective. These pictures from Grammarly strongly resonate with me.

I will read just about anything: board books to my daughter, my online moms'  forums, Facebook, and Twitter. Literature remains my favorite, consumed in many forms: hardcover, softcover, eBook, audiobook on iPhone, audio CDs.

I'm currently listening to The Goldfinch on audio (iPhone), and I'm at part 28 of 32 approximately 1-hour sections. An unanticipated trip came up this weekend, with 5 hours of driving, and I was looking forward to the chance to listen to 5 more hours of the book. I drive best when I'm listening to an awesome book: mind engaged, eyes on the road.

The Goldfinch is a wonder, a masterpiece. Though at times some of the narrative is superfluous, at other, more frequent times, the prose is so eloquent that I feel transplanted into the lives of the characters. Without giving too much away, the main character gets into some trouble. Objectively, if I had just heard about Theo's situation, I would have an immediate distaste for him. But somehow, perhaps through Tartt's use of the first person and introducing the protagonist at such a young age, I feel true concern for Theo and his future, and like him despite his situation. The Goldfinch is the rare book that I will grieve over once I finish it, and wish for the time to reread it immediately. There's only a handful of books I place in this category, many of which I devoured in one sitting: The Handmaid's Tale, The Robber Bride, Freedom, One Day, Where'd You Go, Bernadette, The Marriage Plot, She's Come Undone. I'm sure I'm missing a few.

Literature is my most favorite art form, even more so than music. Captivating lyrics are the common thread in all of the musicians I enjoy, an otherwise seemingly random group including Ben Folds, Amanda Palmer, They Might Be Giants, Guster, and Regina Spektor.

Here's a quote from The Goldfinch I especially enjoyed, about how the way we enjoy art is so personal: “If a painting really works down in your heart and changes the way you see and think and feel, you don't think, 'oh I love this painting because it's universal' 'I love this painting because it speaks to mankind'. That's not the reason anyone loves a piece of art. It's a secret whisper from an alleyway. Psst, you. Hey kid. Yes, you. An individual heart shock. . . .A really great painting is fluid enought to work its way into the mind and heart through all different angles, in ways that are unique and very particular.” 
― Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch

Look for me on Goodreads, where I try to review everything I'm reading. I also finished Maxed Out: American Moms on the Brink this weekend. A very courageous, honest story, and a must read for moms working outside the home.

I'll end tonight's musings with one last image from Grammarly.

The view from the eye of the storm

It was a long night. Lu came down with the stomach bug that's been going around. Thankfully she is resting comfortably now, alongside her dad who stayed up most of the night with her. One of the hardest things I've had to do as a parent is to watch my child struggle with discomfort or pain.

I've felt uncomfortable and unsettled a lot these days. As a Boston resident, we have to enter into a lottery system to determine which school Lu is assigned to for kindergarten. I've watched many friends receive a coveted slot in a good school, or a reputably mediocre placing that ended up happily surprising them. However, I've seen many other families leave the city in droves or go the private school route. After an amazing preschool experience, we will move before accepting a spot we are uncomfortable with. Last year, we opted for another year of paid preschool rather than take a spot that would be a 45 minute bus ride across town at a school rated 3 of 10 on Great Schools where the parents are asked to supply the toilet paper.

Regrettably, this random system also affects where we will live. Boston has become our home over the last 12 years. Most of our good friends live here, and I feel shaken at the thought of selling our condo and moving to a town with better schools. And which one, where to start?! It has been so hard for me not to have a 5 or 10 year plan, let alone a 1 year plan. I'm trying to embrace this unknown future as a new opportunity to create the life my family and I envision.

We mark the passage of time with these arbitrary measurements: seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, and years. Amid the current upheaval of my daily existence, I've tried to focus less on the passage of time and more on the moments. Holding my daughter close while she finally naps after a long night of sleeplessness. Smiling to see that I've received a message from a friend. Creating content to share with my family and friends, finally releasing the torrent of words that I didn't realize I'd been stifling by not writing.

Most importantly, focusing on the moments helps me to be the person I strive to teach my daughter to be. I can have a bit of a temper and impatient personality, probably inherited from my mom and her Irish roots. I know you're readings this, so thanks, mom! Fortunately, this is balanced by my dad's stoic English stock. My dad taught me to be patient and kind. I remember he admonished me as an adult for not stopping to greet some workers outside my building. Never forgo an opportunity to be nice to someone, he said. My dad proudly displays posters around his house with adages like "lost time is never found again" and "do unto others as you would have them do unto you." My advice to myself is displayed on my fridge in magnet form: "Be kind. No exceptions. -Secret Agent L." I may not know where we'll live or where my daughter will go to school next year, and that is a scary thought to me. But if I can enter into this journey showing grace and compassion to everyone I encounter, I will be better off for it.