TGIF :: A Letter to Mom From A Parallel Universe

#70 || Sometimes things write themselves

You are reading ClearLife, an exploration of life without “dimmers” such as escapist drinking, eating, snark, exercise, shopping, sex, work, drugs—even generosity. Prior posts are available here, including a summary of The Eight Awarenesses. Learn more about this and various other offerings via my website.

Some of my newsletters are research-driven, investigative summaries. Others are deeply personal, like this one—which I felt somehow called to write. Context at the end.

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Dear Mom,

As you approach 80 years young, I want to express something to you in writing. I want you to be able to keep this and reread it if you ever want to remind yourself of the significance of the difficult changes you made decades ago. We have the lives we have today, as a family, because you had the courage to consider how your path was unfolding, and make changes while the choices leading to them could still be your own.

I am glad you are here, now. I am so grateful that you take care of yourself with a healthy diet (except for maybe that pre-bedtime chocolate habit!) and regular exercise, even as those routines have evolved as you’ve aged (community pool swimming is fun, right?!). I know these things take effort, but know that your enduring health and wellbeing make it possible for us to share so much in these later years.

The kids are deeply blessed to have you as an active and engaged grandma. Each and every interaction—your cheers at their games, your smiles of pride during Grandparents’ Day at school, the stories you tell about their great-grandparents, lessons on how to cook from an old family recipe, or supporting me when I am in need of a hand—they notice. These gestures touch them, stay with them, will influence them forever—may even impact how they show up for their own grandkids someday. Your presence and love mean so much to them and serve as a model for how they will care for others too, as they evolve into adults and beyond.

I remember a time when you were less like this. I know you had a hard time when we were younger, the grade school years. Life had dealt you some tough blows, and you struggled to stay afloat. I remember an odd combination of your wanting to be very “social” on the weekends, but the otherwise not wanting to “face the world” most days. There was a lot of alcohol around, first wine, then later the hard stuff—often in unexpected places too—your handbag, a bathroom cabinet, in the “emergency bag” in the trunk of your car.

When I was a freshman in high school, if you didn’t have somewhere you had to be, you slept in most days. Hugs, real hugs, were scarce. We would get it all together and go out as a family sometimes, but you modeled distance from others, not connection. You were always beautifully dressed in the perfect chic outfit with impeccable social graces and manners, but you were removed somehow, somewhere else. You rarely (if ever) were open to real eye contact. You treated for the meal at the restaurant but we all left feeling like we missed the nourishment part, the love part, the connection part.

I remember when you told me you had stopped drinking. It was a few months after you had quit, around the time I started driving and was busier with my own friends and activities. I think, at first, you were afraid it might not stick and didn’t want to face the embarrassment of a backtrack.

We were together in the kitchen that morning and I think I said something about you being up earlier than usual. You said something like: “I’m in a bit an an experiment. I’m exploring what life is like without my usuals. It feels pretty good so far.” I’d noticed that something was different, but hadn’t been able to put my finger on it. I gave you a silent hug. I wish I’d said more, some assurances, expressions of unconditional love, something—but that hug was all I had for you (and me) in that moment. It had been a tough few years.

I was a busy teenager, caught up in my own life at the time, but I distinctly recall a few of the shifts that followed. The mail started being opened regularly after years of piles and neglect. You changed the energy in the house a bit—was it new curtains, brighter paint, emptied closets, different lighting? I don’t recall, it just felt less… shadowy. Over time, a stillness, a calm—and eventually a fresh new levity eased into our home and never left.

You sleep schedule changed too. You were going to bed and waking up early, and we appreciated the steady stream of healthy groceries coming into the home (and the consistent removal of old food from the fridge, finally). I think you may have even gotten that crazy juicer around then. I also saw you reading more, lighting more candles in the evening, spending time with a few close friends.

There was also the help you were finally willing to receive. I know your childhood was difficult, and that you carried some scars that seemed to haunt you from deep inside. I don’t know the details of the help you pursued for that—and I don’t need to, I know it was deeply personal. But, you should know that there was another morning that first year, also in the kitchen, when you told me “I finally worked through some of the tough stuff. I’m lighter now.” We held hands for a moment and exhaled together.

I saw you struggle with some of the changes that stemmed from these shifts. I can only imagine what all of that change in the middle of life was like for you. I can guess it was hard. I saw you grow distant from some friends with whom you used to have a lot of fun (a bit sad?), start a new career path (scary?), and embrace new routines to better reflect what looked like new priorities (courageous). But we saw what grew from these efforts. Look at the life you’ve lived these last thirty years!

What I do know is that you were clear headed and beautifully present when I graduated from high school and went to college. You’d connected with some of my friends in my senior year, helping me to feel less distant and alone as I launched from our nest. I remember you helping me furnish my first room/home away from home with thoughtfulness and care, teaching me about how to pick out a good towell, the importance of always having a few good herbal teas on hand, and how to light a room in a soft and inviting way, even if just with a single Ikea lamp! I love my memories of our laughing, trying to build that Ikea bookshelf (how many ways can one screw in shelves before it’s done right?!). I still have it, now in one of the kids’ rooms. I remind them from time to time that their mom and grandma built it, all by themselves :)

Shelf building, room lighting, thank you note writing, and countless other life lessons aside, I am the mom I am today (pretty good most days?!) because of what we learned together. There’s a lot to be said for the willingness to explore a change, the courage to make a first move, and the perseverance to stick with a life shift despite the hurdles and temptations along the way.

Thank you for being the one to break a family chain. Thanks for doing whatever you needed to do to get out of an unhelpful pattern and off a road that would have eventually led you away from us too soon. I just wanted you to know I noticed. I am deeply grateful. I love you—we love you. And we are so glad you are fully here.

Stinson Beach, 1976

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💌 ❤️ 💌

This one came to me this week. It’s fictional, but in truth, a letter I wish I could write to my late mom who died of esophageal cancer in 2011.

My kids and I talk about the kind of grandma I hope to be some day (she drives a Porsche, loves her german shepherd, adventure travels internationally, and still hosts woo-woo womens’ circles and such). Maybe part of me is in that future visioning state too, especially as recent tests and screens continue to affirm I am cancer-free.

And… sometimes things just need to be written and we don’t totally understand why.

💌 ❤️ 💌

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Viewing Substance Abuse with Empathy & Curiosity

Related, I appreciated Rethinking Addiction as a Chronic Brain Disease from The New York Times this week. (Thank you, M., for sharing it with me.):

“…rather than emphasizing the brain’s brokenness in perpetuity, an addiction definition should include the motivation or context in which the person chose to use drugs.

That choice, they said, is often about seeking an escape from intractable conditions such as a fraught home, undiagnosed mental health and learning disorders, bullying or loneliness. Generations of family addiction further tip the scales toward substance use.”

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This speaks to the heart of the ClearLife work. Of course all kinds of factors can contribute to our experiencing habitual escape tendencies—and these can evolve to addiction—but a first stop should be curiosity, empathy, and compassion. Gabor Maté’s work has been essential in this unfolding:

“It is impossible to understand addiction without asking what relief the addict finds, or hopes to find, in the drug or the addictive behaviour.”

― Gabor Maté, In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters with Addiction

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Lots of reflection on these themes as they are all alive and well in the lives we lead, my role as a daughter and a mom, and the intensity of book writing that is happening in the wee earliest hours of the morning. I actually love deadlines, but they’ve got me on my toes :)

Thank you for supporting this work. Thank you for being curious. Thank you for your kindness with yourself and others.

May we all keep learning.

Love. ❤️

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See you in NYC next week! Yuval Harari, Jon Kabat-Zinn, Melissa Carter, Yung Pueblo, Arianna Huffington and more will be exploring Mindfulness, AI, and the Future of Humanity. Soren has been tuning into and preparing for this one for months!

Sangha Saturdays coming up…!
👩🏽‍💻 Via Zoom, Saturday September 14th at 9am Pacific
🤸🏽‍♀️ In Person, in Mill Valley, Date TBD (moved from this holiday weekend), stay tuned
➡ Please indicate your interest via the form link here and you’ll be added to the invitation(s). These gatherings are magical. Thank you for joining us! 🌟

The First Eight Awarenesses Immersive Workshop/Retreat… is happening December 9th-14th at MEA in Baja, Mexico. Information and registration information here. I’ll be leading this with Soren and our dear friend Teddi Dean. Financial support and scholarships are available and encouraged. Hope to see some of you there.