The dog at my blog post…

I know that more than one or two English teachers read this blog from time to time, and so today’s blog is basically my excuse for not having much of a post… but still in the service of all our collective children.

Sometimes friends express that they are amazed at my consistent posting, and while I’m so glad that all of you read, sometimes I fear that I’m setting the wrong example.  I want to encourage us all to do less, to calm down, to be present, to trust that we are enough.  So maybe my bloggoreah is some sort of symptom—probably of both my wish to be loved (how human is that?) and my continuing attempt to reconcile the spirit of my depths with the spirit of the time.  I must admit that I’m good down in my depths, rambling around with all my angels and demons, wandering through a world that feels to me alive with mystery and always has—it’s just that I’ve had so few people to talk with who see it like me and Alice in her wonderland.  So maybe I also blog in the search for my tribe of not-quite-rational beings, of forgiving English teachers and indulgent coaches who don’t really mind if you drop the ball… a lot.

When I decided to commit to a year of blogging mindfully, I really didn’t give all that much thought to what that might mean.  I guess in my mind I thought it would be more like Twitter:  “Ordered the salmon.  Yum!”  “I love those kids, aren’t they great?”  “It’s hard, but don’t give up…”  And how long would that take, really?

But because I’m a little bit obsessive, despite my conscious intention to make posts shorter (which I do recognize would be easier to read and probably, ultimately, more useful to more people), I have thus far failed to consistently keep it brief.  Still, in my heart and soul I am writing toward the end of words, and I am fully aware that death will eventually stop me if I cannot stop myself.  And so, I strive to dedicate my own meandering way to both the soul and the collective.  Yet as Jung makes clear about not following his way, I echo in saying not to follow my way either—I’m here to encourage you to follow your way (and still coax forward a heightened consciousness that we all struggle, strive and love side-by-side).

And so it was that, due to a full client schedule, school advisory conferences for both boys, picking up dinner for the boys, going to a talk at the Hammer Museum about Jung’s Red Book (more than a little more on that to follow) and then opting to watch a Lakers’ game with my son rather than blog (a healthy choice, right? And it was a playoff game, and we did win {we, being the Lakers of course—I realize that some readers might have been for Oklahoma City})… and so I’ve come up on empty as the clock ran down, the internet is out at my office, clients are waiting and I have a dinner with my fellow LA Parenting Specialists (more on them also to follow, particularly on breaking news about feeding babies and the relationship to allergies) tonight.  Alas, this explanation is my dispatch from the middle of life.

I intuit and suspect that my failure to come up with something pithy or profound today will warm your heart more than yet another think-piece on the cosmos (which I cannot promise will not still be forthcoming), and that my human limitation probably links us more solidly than our mutual attempts to be in any way sparkly and fabulous.

And there we have it.

Namaste, Bruce