Category: Intentionality

Christmas, Family, Intentionality

Listen to Your (Inner) Three Year Old

Carrie Sue Barnes

My three year old gets it. All that is necessary to fill him with excited anticipation is to tell him we are going to do something together. The activity matters little. Togetherness is the key.

During the brief forty-five minutes we had this morning between him waking up and me departing for work, he must have asked ten times for me to spend time with him. The asking comes in a variety of forms – will you sit with me; can we watch a movie together; are you going to eat with me – but the heart of the question is constant: Can we be together?

Connection; companionship; unity; family. It is my belief that we do not lose our early years’ desire for togetherness. We grow adept at minimizing its significance, quieting its voice. We learn to ignore it. We all have our own reasons for doing so.

With each instance in which I must reject my son’s request for time with me because I am required to be elsewhere, my heart hurts. Yet there are plenty of times where I also turn him down carelessly, preferring that he leave me alone to do the things I’m more interested in that day or the things I think have to get done. I am imperfect in it, without a doubt, but having children has reawakened my own desire for and value of togetherness.

This isn’t written with undue guilt. We cannot be there with them non-stop. Jobs, obligations, responsibilities, and even solitary endeavors are both necessary and valuable. Yes, my children have to learn the hard lesson that they are not at the center of the world they occupy nor can they count on always receiving what they want from others. My thoughts run less along the line of eliminating those lessons and more along the line of wondering what society, and specifically my own family, could look like if alongside those harder lessons everyone also learned that we do not need to guard our hearts against the natural desire for togetherness.

Final request of the day: “Will you rest with me?”

What if I said yes more often, both to my son and to my own timid longing for greater togetherness? What if I factored it more strongly into our Christmas season plans and my New Year’s resolutions? What if I replaced “not right now” with “yes, we can be together” as much as possible? It would be a difference maker for the good, I am sure of it.

Because the Saints Said So, Gratitude, Intentionality, Saints, Writing

Because the Saints Said So: These Days (St. Gianna)

Carrie Sue Barnes
This is me pretending to be ok with the fact that I need a winter coat and hat again. And I need to leave the house even earlier to defrost my car. And my hands and feet will essentially be cold for the next four months (just ask my husband).
These days are hard for me in the motivation department. The uncomfortable temperatures, icy winds, and especially the sparse daylight hours take their toll and I tend toward hibernation instead of productivity. I’d wager I’m not the only one dealing with this seasonal slump. So what to do, what to do?

I used to think the trick was to focus on the future. Wishing my way through winter, counting on spring to come with all its fresh renewal of spirits and inner drive. What did that leave me with, really? A few months of dissatisfaction. There has to be a better way.

St. Gianna Molla said:

“The secret of happiness is to live moment by moment and to thank God for all that He, in His goodness, sends to us day after day.”

Moment by moment with thanksgiving. If I aspire to happiness in every season (winter, yes, but also any difficult or trying “season” you may experience), I must give thanks not merely for what is promised to come but what is here now. Am I thankful for the whipping cold wind? No. But I’m thankful for the sunshine on my skin. Am I thankful for having to wear layers and layers to be tolerably warm? No. But I’m thankful I have those layers to do so. Am I thankful for the darkness descending by the time I leave my office each day to drive home? No. But I am thankful for the brightness of the hugs I receive from my little ones when I walk in the door. Plus I guarantee those evenings make me more thankful for the light of dawn each morning.

What about this moment right now? Right now. Stop and be thankful. Pause to choose something worthy of your gratitude in this exact moment and consciously offer thanks to God. I’ll do it with you.

…

And now I’m a little bit happier with my day than before.

The side effect of all this gratitude isn’t only happiness. It’s that internal motivation to persevere in whatever tasks, projects, or endeavors you are tempted to neglect in this season. For me it is writing projects and being diligent about cooking worthwhile meals for the family. When we see the good in each day, in each moment even, how much greater the impetus to treat the day as deserving of your best.

The lovely hope of spring is still a fine reality to contemplate, but if I count on it to make me my best self in this season of my life I am likely to be disappointed. The gifts of today are reason enough to invest myself in living.

Intentionality, Writing

Chasing It Down

Carrie Sue Barnes

This is the first bit of writing I’ve done in three days. By last night I began to feel the desperate, urgent need in my gut. I cannot go without it. It took 25 years to fully realize my passion. That’s when I began the first draft of my first novel. When other (beautiful) things interrupted the pursuit, it took a handful of years before I rediscovered that same passion and dove back in. Now here I am, 35 years old, a few steps away from publishing that debut novel, and craving a taste of my passion whenever I set it aside for more than a day.

If you understand what I mean, you know there are two choices available: label the required effort a burden and gradually let it slip from your grasp, or chase it down with the fervor of a lover desperate not to lose his beloved.

I came across this image from success.com. Oh, how I laughed at the memory into which it plunged my mind. How applicable that memory happened to be for this train of thought. (Train! You’ll see why that’s funny in a moment.)

Maybe ten years ago, I traveled to Philadelphia with my sister and a good friend. We took the train to New York City for a day of living it up, tourist style. Sights were seen, miles were walked, photos were taken. It was grand fun apart from mildly injuring my foot in the early afternoon and continuing to walk on it for hours afterward. At the end of the day, really it was well into the evening, we tried to squeeze in one more must-see spot before navigating our way back to the train. To summarize, we at some point realized we had misread the train schedule and needed to haul our tired asses dozens of blocks across the dark, noisy, unfamiliar city to catch our connecting train or we would miss the last possible train into Philadelphia. So, haul ass we did. None of us were in great shape. None of us were runners. All three of us were already exhausted, all of us were doubtful we knew the way to the correct train station, and one of us had a terribly sore foot. Still, we ran. We ran through busy intersections and crowded sidewalks. We ran around street corners, glancing backward and forward to see if we were still a trio. We ran through the train station, our unrelenting pace echoing off the walls. We chased down that train like our lives depended on it.

There was no question of giving up. No contemplation of whether or not we should bother. We knew what we had to do and we did it. When we reached the summit of the steps exiting the station in Philadelphia and pointed ourselves toward our hotel, we laughed again and again over the adventure of it all.

I hope I can legitimately compare my pursuit of my passion (writing) with our pursuit of that train. I hope I pursue it like a cash poor, Midwestern girl who really, really wants to sleep in her hotel bed rather than wandering the dark and scary streets of NYC until dawn. I hope I never let up, never decide it is too much. I hope I come out the other side and laugh over the incomparable adventure of it all.

Lastly, I hope you find your passion worth chasing down. If you already found it, run hard, my friend. Run hard.

Intentionality

Say It

Carrie Sue Barnes

I love when my pair of crazies sleep at the same time. Today I used the first half hour of the nap productively: clearing things from lunch, folding laundry, and putting clean dishes away. Then it was time for Mamma to sit down. I flipped on Gilmore Girls and opened up Pinterest. My feet up and a pillow under my head, I was ready to relax for however long my children would allow.

A few thumb scrolls down the screen, I pinned a writing tip that looked useful: “100 Ways to Say ‘Great.'” One of many similar resources I’ve found to help a writer avoid using an overused, mediocre word. I scrolled on, perusing recipes and fashion ideas, but the title of that pin kept returning to my mind.

100 ways to say “great.” Admirable. Impressive. Spectacular. Lovely. Engaging. Miraculous. With this many superb (another on the list) words available to us, why is it so difficult to tell someone they are great?

We need to say it more. We need to hear it more. We need to stop keeping it to ourselves. When someone makes you laugh or smile extra wide, or someone offers a hug when you need that human touch. The favor-doer, the kind word speaker, the generous server. They all deserve to hear it.

It takes courage to do it. There is a vulnerability in saying kind things but I can’t really explain why. This makes me think it is mainly rooted in our fragile pride, which in turn makes me think it is all the more worthwhile to overcome.

So pick your word. Look up the list on Pinterest or dig out that old Thesaurus and find your word. Then, say it. Say it often and say it genuinely to anyone who is great in your life.

Intentionality

I Am Not A Tree

Carrie Sue Barnes

I have officially found my personal mantra. A couple months ago, in one of my too-many-per-day perusals of Facebook, I saw this motivational image:

While I am fairly certain I have seen them before, those two sentences stuck with me this time. I remember scrolling back up to it after moving on with my news feed. I stared at the words and whispered, “I am not a tree.”
The next day, I added it to my cubicle, right beside my monitor so I would see it often. In all caps on a Post-It: I am not a tree. There have been countless moments in which I have repeated it to myself. 
Here’s what I have learned since adopting this mantra:
1. Change is possible. Without a doubt. 
2. I am responsible for where I am. No one has planted me in this spot. No one has buried my feet in the soil and said, “here you shall stay.” I have chosen the route to where/who I am now and I shall choose the route going forward. 
3. I am capable of more. Self-doubt is a personal plague. Oh, how I have wrestled with that demon. The wrestling matches are becoming more rare and I come out of the rounds less bruised.
4. I will never regret trying harder. On the other side of the same coin, I will regret trying less. Knowing #3, I am finding the inner resources needed to challenge and push myself to a new degree.
5. Choosing my movements should be done wisely but without fear. Life is brief. Life is full of potential. I would hate for my choices to squander that potential. Thus, I must choose wisely. I must act intentionally, not indifferently. At the same time, the fear of mistakes should not stop me from choosing at all or from taking risks. Mistakes will happen. So will starting over.
Sometimes I tell myself “I am not a tree” as a gentle reminder in a moment of decision. Sometimes I claim it, declaring it loudly in my mind to give myself permission to be bold. Living under this mantra has affected more aspects of my life than I could have predicted: attitude, time management, fitness, nutrition, writing, appearance, goals. 
For whatever it is worth to you, I hope you know you are not a tree either.
Intentionality

What Will It Be Today?

Carrie Sue Barnes

Lately, I am working on mindfulness. Mental awareness of what is present to me in the current moment; less multitasking; more taking note of the small pleasures and experiences that are overlooked when my mind is elsewhere. When I make the effort to practice mindfulness, I reach the end of the day with a clearer head and a more grateful spirit.

One of the easiest times to practice these mental adjustments is when I am running. Only several weeks ago I decided to take up running (read: jogging). I am gradually building my endurance. My muscles are growing stronger and my energy levels are increasing. It’s been wonderful, even when I limp through a day or two on sore legs and feet as I lengthen my runs. I run early, dragging myself out of bed at 5 a.m. and starting my route as soon as I’m able to get out the door. The town is quiet, the roads mostly empty, and the sunrise still finishing.

On Tuesday, I couldn’t take my eyes off the sky. The clouds were dark, keeping the sunrise at bay for longer than usual. They were heavy and wide. Everything below them seemed dwarfed under that canopy. Yesterday, it was the crickets. Each time I passed a cornfield, I found myself running through a symphony of crickets. The sound was tremendous!

I am trying to pay attention to those things. Not only on my runs, but everywhere else, too. This morning it was the imaginary scenes playing out between my almost three year old’s toys in his first minutes out of bed. I stood out of view for a bit to listen before going to say good morning.

What will I notice in the course of tonight or tomorrow that I am apt to overlook? I am happily waiting to find out.

Intentionality, Photography, Pictures & Words Challenge, Writing Prompt

Pictures & Words Day 25: Today I Am Noticing

Carrie Sue Barnes

Photo/Writing Prompt: Pretty

Today I am noticing what is right in front of me. Every single weekday, I drive past this boat landing and the adjacent patch of park land. Rushing to the office, rushing home, I pass by this flash of prettiness. Sometimes I make sure to turn my head and glimpse the view as I drive on down the road. Other days I am distracted, focused elsewhere on this or that.

When I left home this morning, I noticed I was ahead of schedule by a few minutes. I could drive a little slower, not watching the clock with each mile to calculate whether I’d make it to work on time. The slightly slower drive, the brilliancy of the sun, and the longing to draw out the time before I stepped into my cubicle for the day all combined to heighten my awareness of the scenery along the 25 miles of countryside road. I noticed graceful cranes in the fields and a stately hawk perched atop a fence post. I noticed the horse and its foal grazing in the early sunlight. I noticed the water each time it came into view.

For once, I pulled over when I came to this spot. I didn’t fly by. I didn’t simply smile over the beauty then forget it. I parked the car, stepped out with my camera, and savored what was in front of me.

Beauty works a strange magic. It inspires an array of reactions: gratitude, joy, wonder, sadness, peace. It is always worth noticing.