Cartwheels across the room.

When I was little, I spent my weekday evenings in my parent’s room while my Dad lay on the bed reading. Usually his face was hiding behind a newspaper or magazine held up between his clutching hands. I tumbled around as he read, doing handstands at the foot of the bed and cartwheels across the room. I said silly things and asked questions every now and then to get his attention. This was how I spent most of my childhood with my Dad, desperately trying to get him to notice me and make a connection with him.

This yearning for his attention continued and has haunted me throughout my adulthood. As a child, I was able to playfully insert myself into his space, and I wasn’t developmentally aware enough to think to myself, “Hey, my dad’s not paying attention to me. That sucks. He’s my dad, he should be doing what parents are suppose to do!” As I grew into my teen years, my playfulness turned into an anger and frustration that my dad was neglectful and non-responsive. My mom was too, in a different way. Neither of my parents reflected back my feelings or asked what I thought or felt about something. Anything. It’s no wonder that, as a young adult, it was difficult to identify my emotions, much less describe or communicate them aloud.

Through years of therapy and learning Buddhist teachings, including mindfulness, I have explored my inner landscape. I have learned the language of emotion and learned to connect emotion to physical sensation and thought. I wonder how different my growth would have been if I had received therapy as a child. What if I had Cognitive Behavioral Therapy treatment? I would have started drawing my thoughts/emotions/physical sensations map at a much earlier age. In this way, I have been grieving my childhood. I developed a rage around what my life could have been.

I could have dealt with my depression and anxiety earlier in my life. I could have avoided the starts and stops in my life. It probably wouldn’t have taken me 10 years to earn my Bachelor’s degree. I would have applied to graduate school in my twenties instead of my thirties. I could have avoided all of those messy and painful relationships.

These are some thoughts that circled in my head for years. I held on to them, as I held on to my anger toward my parents for not connecting with me in the human way that every child needs from a parent or caregiver. Allowing these thoughts is fine, it’s good to let them flow, but, as Epstein (1998) wrote, “Isolated in our heads, we yearn for the kind of connection that our own thinking guards against” (p. 59). It’s the clinging to the thoughts and not working through the associated emotional and physical sensations bit that keeps us stuck in the mud. “This is…the heart of the Buddha’s teaching: that it is possible to cultivate a mind that neither clings nor rejects, and that in so doing we can alter the way in which we experience both time and our selves” (p. 62). This is also true of therapeutic work. By assisting clients with exploring, identifying, and describing their emotional experience, we guide them in literally changing their brain chemistry. We hold a space in which they can unfurl into themselves and feel more grounded in who they are.

This has been my experience. Through the combination of therapy and meditation and mindfulness practice, I have observed and felt my perspectives change. I have witnessed the growth I have made from emotional reactivity to an emotional regulation based on awareness. I have experienced the shift in relationships and how I view, understand, and connect with people, especially my parents.

I don’t talk with my parents very often and when I do, there is a specific purpose behind it, a question that needs to be answered. Also, I’m not a fan of talking on the phone but a couple of weeks ago I had the urge to call them just to say, “hi.” It was perhaps one of the best conversations I have had with them. I felt as though I talked to my parents for the first time as an adult and as myself. I didn’t trudge through the conversation distracted by the disappointment that my dad didn’t ask about me. I listened to him talk about his fishing and tennis playing. I really listened and I responded with curiosity and playfulness. And I interjected to tell him about my internship not because I was looking for a particular response from him or as a passive-aggressive way to tell him that he was a shitty dad for not asking about his daughter’s life. I told him because I was proud of myself. I am proud of myself. I know that I would not have gotten to this point if I had not tapped into and worked through the unpleasantness of my childhood. Getting in touch with that pain was difficult, torturous at times, but it also motivated me to work through it so that I could let it go. My pain was “an invitation to change” (C. Matsu-Pissot, personal communication, August 1, 2015). It’s an open invitation that I will continue to accept, as I know that this work is never done.

The love he found.

of my 3 dear brothers, i’ve spent the most time with Anton (Tony). we used to fight as kids. all the time. but, just before he left for college and i was starting high school, he and i formed a bond. seemingly, all of a sudden. we got along. we composed songs. he played guitar, i sang. the lyrics were fraught with teenage angst-y metaphors like being locked in a tower. and someone threw away the key. (deep stuff) he never judged.

over the past 10 years, tony and i have lived together 3 times. we lived together for a few years recently, until he moved out early this year. and moved in with the love of his life: Sarah.

i’ll miss his infectious laughter. his frustrating logic and solution-oriented responses when all i want to do is vent. i’ll miss lobbing back-and-forth the made-up words and strange sounds we’ve acquired over the years.

i’ve been hoping for Tony to find his partner. and i’ve often wondered what she would be like. i wanted her to be fun, kind, intelligent, caring, social, a traveler, and family-oriented. Sarah is all of those things. all of those things and more. she’s a beautiful person. she has become one of my best friends. and now. she’s my sister. she’s the love that Tony found. she’s the love he married on July 13th, 2013.

i have never seen him happier.

tonysarah_kiss

saraho_hug

Photos by Molly Landreth.

Wonderment: where it begins.

My second-oldest brother, Tony, recently asked Sarah to be his bride, and I couldn’t be happier for them both.

Sarah’s parents and our parents met for the first time at our parents’ house in Port Townsend the other weekend and the ‘how we met’ stories were shared (so I hear. I drove over for dinner with everyone the following day – I missed them, the stories!)

Tony and Sarah are planning two weddings: a winter wedding in Sagada, the mountain province in the Philippines where our mom is from, and a summer wedding at Fort Worden in Port Townsend. To better prep Sarah for her Philippino wedding, we whipped out photos from Wylie and Vickie’s Sagada wedding (our oldest brother and sister-in-law), who consequently had a Sagada wedding and on the same day that Tony and Sarah will tie the knot!

Years ago, I remember looking through a photo album of old black-and-white shots of when Mom and Dad first met, so while Tony, Sarah, and Sarah’s parents perused the wedding photos, I moved furniture away from the doors to the enormous ‘photo’ closet in the TV room to hunt down the album. I didn’t find it. I found something better: photos from Mom and Dad’s courtship in Sagada when Dad was in the Peace Corps, photos and a newspaper clipping of their wedding (“US Volunteer Pick Sagada Lass for Bride”), snapshots of the beginning of their lives together when Dad stole Mom away to the US, and photos of Mom’s parents.

It’s difficult to imagine what your parents’ lives looked like before you were born. It’s impossible to know how they interacted as young 20-somethings, or what their day-to-day lives were like. This is one of the reasons I am enamored by photographs. They capture visual snippets of history that can never otherwise be seen or experienced again.

Looking through the photos of Mom and Dad, I feel like I learned more about who they are, or, at least, who they were as young adults, and I realize that we have more in common than I was aware. I mean, look at all the photos of Dad with a camera! And, as I was telling Jake the other day, “my mom looks so much like me!” To which he responded, “Uh, I think it’s actually the other way around.”

As we peered closely through pages of faded photos, I couldn’t help but recognize that Tony and Sarah are at about that time in their lives – they’re at the beginning of their togetherness. They’ll have their own album, too. And it will hold photos for their future kids to some day page through in wonderment.

You can view the photo set here.

The moments.

Her words, un-minced
open curtains, open windows, open boxes, open doors.
Giggles, tickles, cuddles: sweet reminders
of the things our eyes forget to notice.


The moments
Rhiannon snapping shots of the male octopus.
Seattle Aquarium
4.3.10