amelia carolyn

This is my third essay in my defining moments series. My defining moments are those moments in our lives that have caused us to think in a new way. A moment when our perspective changed in how we see the world and/or others. I’ve had many of these such moments throughout my years, and will, in no particular order, share them here at amelia carolyn, in hopes of inspiring others to think about their own defining moments and how they effect our lives. (You can read the first essays here and here.)

no regrets
The particular moment I want to share today happened when I was about 8 years old. Earlier that year, I met my mom’s best friends father, Mr. Patten. He was a kind, elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife. He was particularly kind to me, especially when he learned how much I liked clowns.

We chatted for awhile, and then he went upstairs brought down something his wife had made years ago. It was love at first sight.

It was a handmade clown. The body, arms and legs were small, hand-sewn circles of fabric from scraps of old quilts strung together (think candy necklaces), with small jingle bells at the ends of each arm and leg.  The face, white, had the classic red markings of a pierrot clown, and a smile on his face that invited secrets to be shared.

Mr. Patten told me that his wife had made it with love, and he wanted me to have it. I instantly named him Clown Jingles. Mr. Patten and I became fast friends.

Back home, I wanted to find a way to let him know how Clown Jingles was doing. I wrote him a letter. He wrote back. His letters were written in print with big letters and on subjects that were interesting to my 8-year-old self. We exchanged letters over the next few months. And then, as happens when you’re eight, I got distracted by other things. School, friends, Strawberry Shortcake… I stopped writing to Mr. Patten.

But I didn’t stop thinking about him. I missed our correspondence and friendship. I hugged Clown Jingles close every night. Time just slipped away. I’d write to him soon.

And then one day at school I decided that “today was the day.” I resolved to go home and write Mr. Patten a letter. Lots had been happening and I had things to tell him. I skipped into the house and announced to my mom that I was going to go in my room and do that very thing. Her entire body language shifted and in that instant, I knew something was wrong. I knew I’d missed him.

Mr. Patten had passed away that morning.

I realized in that moment that time doesn’t stop for us. Things happen that we don’t always expect or want.

I resolved that day to not let time get away from me again; to do the things I’d planned on doing without procrastinating or missing them. I didn’t ever want to experience that feeling of regret again.

As with most resolutions, this one isn’t easy. I haven’t nailed down the secret to taking advantage of each and every moment. And I still procrastinate and let time slip by every now and again. But the message is constantly in my mind and in my heart. My intention toward the resolution stays strong, and I’d like to think that I’m more successful than not, in letting my loved ones know how much I love them and how much they mean to me.

It was a tough lesson for an 8-year-old, but one I cherish and appreciate.

being.

Sometimes I find it hard to simply (and consciously and deliberately) “be” without thinking about where I just was, or where I’d like my life to be tomorrow, or in a week or maybe in five years from now. It’s hard not to think about what might make it (whatever my present reality is) better—even if I’m currently really happy with it.

Over coffee in the back garden of Espressoria the other morning, my good friend and I were talking about my upcoming plans to move to Hawaii for six months this winter. It’ll be the first time in my life I’ve moved somewhere without a set plan on where I’m staying or exactly how long I’ll be there. I think about the adjustment. I think about the challenges and the newness of it all. I think about the adventure and about experiencing this together with my (new, yay!) husband.

Our conversation began to center around a conundrum we all seem to face (similar to “the grass is always greener” and “you always want what you can’t have”) of wanting what we used to have or what we see as “better” or “easier.” There’s the flexibility vs. structure continuum. Those with 8-5 jobs yearn for the freedom to set their own schedules and go play when they want to; those with flexible jobs yearn for more structure so they know when to stop working and can go play without a sense of guilt for not working.

Sick vs. healthy (or more often in my world, the injured vs. healthy) is another one I’m often faced with. Healthy but unmotivated or tired, I think about the rest one gets from being sick or injured (the kind that forces your body to slow down). And when I’m sick or hurt, all I want to do is get out of the house and go running, or clean or do something.

It’s hard to find a balance, and sometimes I wonder if it’s really balance I’m after. Maybe it’s simply the ability to accept what is. I appreciate the ups and downs of my life. I love the feeling when things are going well; when the energy is flowing and things feel good. And when they’re not, I find a renewed appreciation and gratitude for those good times and try to take advantage of the extra down time to rest the body and the mind.

So here’s my Thursday morning musing and thought … I am happy to be. Right now. Today. At 9:17am. And in each moment, I will remember that whereever I am, I am good. Life is good. And by wishing and dreaming too much about what isn’t, I’m missing what is.

I have a feeling that I will need to remember this over and over again… but over time, I know it’ll get easier. With more experience and with more wisdom, I can be a little more often each day.

sunset on the beach

Three years ago today, members of my extended family, from all corners of the world, gathered in the sunroom for cocktail hour. For years this had been an evening ritual for my grandmother. Manhattans at 5:00 with cheese and crackers. It didn’t matter if there was company, but it sure made her energy shine when there was a roomful of family and friends around her.

She was 95, with an alertness and level of engagement that I aspire to match in myself. She and my grandfather were fortunate enough to have found a wonderful house on the beach in the 50s—with the foresight to retire there in the 60s. Myself, my cousins and extended family spent many summers at the beach house coming of age, becoming friends with our families and growing up (into adolescence; into adulthood; into middle age).

It was fitting that Grandma was surrounded by so much of her family that evening. None of us lived close… some had come for the week or weekend from as far away as the Czech Republic. We were there, as we always were: to relax and hang out at the beach with family and drink a few manhattans along the way.

So it came as a complete surprise and shock that the next morning would be my Grandmother’s last. She woke with some pain, went into the hospital and left this world, with her family surrounding her, that night.

Tonight, as I’ve done for the past two years, I gather those close to me, mix a round of manhattans, and raise a glass in honor of a woman full of elegance, spirit and grace; a woman who stayed young and active throughout her 95 years; and for whom the door to her home was always open and an ear was always available for debate, conversation and advice. Grandma, you continue to inspire me, support me and encourage me to expand and live my life to my fullest potential. I love you and I miss you.

Cheers.