“Why are you calling your website Living Iris? Why don’t you call it Living Gladys? Are you planning on changing your name to Iris?” Matthew, my husband, asked, as he was building my website. No name changes forthcoming. I chose the name Iris because I know what it’s like to fall into the mundane doldrums, feeling uninspired and unconnected – jobs, relationships, mid-winter discontent – feeling as though the only solution is to pack up and move to a warmer climate. I have searched on the outside for the things that I think will satisfy my inner longings.
The iris is not as easily fooled. She knows that inspiration starts from within – an inner spark that can sometimes be dimmed by the trappings of our familiar and safe, albeit mind-numbing, mundane routines. I’ve been there, unplugged and unconnected, cruising the comforts of familiarity, mistaking easy for ease. What’s the difference – easy, ease? It’s a BIG difference, like the weight of the world coming down on you when you have to get up in the morning.
You might have felt it too, at some point in your life, in one of the many relationships you’ve created, or just life in general. Let’s take work as an example. Working for the same company for years is familiar and easy. That doesn’t mean I’m doing it with ease and inspiration. I’ve felt the resistance. When I wake up with the thought, “I don’t want to go to work. I’d rather be doing something else,” I’m starting the day with a lack of joy. Although this routine is easy, in the sense it’s mindless, I’m not springing out of bed with ease. I’m not feeling inspired to be where I need to be. And when I’m uninspired, I sure ain’t gonna be inspiring. The times that I’ve felt this way, it was never about the job, or the work environment, or the other person – it’s about whether I’m aware of and plugged into that deep soulful connection.
My four year old son, Taeus, with his innocent wisdom, tells me, “Mommy, did you know that zombies eat our brains. And their eyes look like this - ” He opens his eyes wide, unblinking, stares off into nothingness, expressionless, and lifeless. Welcome to the zombie-zone. Every day, I see zombies walking down the street. The movie Sixth Sense could have been a metaphor for a world where the qualities of Iris don’t exist. “I see dead people. They’re everywhere.”
The world of zombies is a Saturday morning cartoon world for Taeus, a mere fiction. The world of a four year old is still vital and fresh. They climb, touch, and explore with curiosity and awe...until someone tells them to sit still and behave. That’s how the circuits are dimmed. My wish for Taeus is that he never loses his gleam. But from a young age, we learn to take our cues from the outside, of what will garner approval, applause or a harsh stare from across the room from Aunt Betty.
I took on the biggest responsibility of my life when Taeus was born, and that’s a choice – we always have a choice with what we make out of every event in our lives. I was in my mid-forties when I became a mother for the first time. And I’m not saying early-mid forties. I’m saying mid-mid forties, heels planted solidly in a lifestyle I had become accustomed to. Having a child at my age turned my world upside down. Alan Watts once said, “The menu is not the meal.” The reality of being a mother was not what I expected. Before Taeus, I was comfortably cruising along in my childless, self-centred world, becoming proficiently more in control of my life with each passing decade. Being a mother required me to give up control.
When I was still pregnant, I went down the motherhood-menu. I was feeling confident, even cocky about my ability to organize my life as I desired – “diaper changes”, check; “bi-hourly night feedings”, check; “sleep deprivation” not a problem, after all I was Superwoman; “no time for myself”...wait. I told my friends, “Hey, I’ll be on maternity leave. I’ll put the baby in the pouch, we’ll meet for lunch. I’ll just resume my life, no problem. How much can a seven pound, little being change my life anyway?” My friends humoured me with smiles and nods, yet to this day, they tease me about how naive I was. The menu was not the meal. The sleep deprivation made me batty, literally. I turned into a nocturnal beast envying the horizontal snoozers in the dark hours as I calmed and fed a hungry baby. During the day, I was functioning as though I was hanging upside down on a tree branch, half asleep. And no, I did not have much time to myself, to do basic things I used to take for granted, like brushing my teeth and combing my hair. That wasn’t easy for a social, vain person like me. But those are only memories now, like a reverse-menu-effect, real life becoming nothing but words on a piece of paper, fading.
There is one memory that is vivid and continues to live deep in my bones – the realization that the menu version of a mother’s love, even in its most idealized form, was only a faint pulse of what in reality, was like a thousand drums beating in the jungle, beating in my heart since I first laid eyes on Taeus - LOVE.
That’s how Iris came into the picture. The love pouring out of my pores inspired me to want to give Taeus the best of everything. I just wasn’t sure what everything was. After the school tours that started when he was eight months old, long conversations with new and seasoned parents, books upon books written by experts, it was the touch of a newborn skin during my sleep deprived, quiet moments that made me realize the greatest gift I can give him – me, living the qualities of iris. Those eyes will be watching me for as long as I’m around. He will be taking in everything I say and do. He will be defining the world and its possibilities by how he sees me relating to the world and living my life. I wish for him a world with endless possibilities, meaningful relationships and experiences. I wish for him to experience that deep soulful connection that will spark him to create his art.
Sure, we all have, at times, ended up in the zombie-zone. This is part of being human, like waking up with morning breath, having a bad hair day when school pictures are being taken, or coming down with the mid-winter, existentialist blues in January after slopping the cranberries on yet another turkey sandwich. This is all part of life, and it will no doubt be a part of Taeus’ life as well.
But it’s about the choices we have and the choices we make. I want to bring the menu to life, so that Taeus knows that passion, joy, and deep connection are real, concrete choices that he has. I want him to know that inspiration can be an ongoing ingredient of a succulent, juicy meal that he can sink his teeth into. I wish for Taeus to maintain his shine, his curiosity, awe and sense of adventure. I wish for him to discover and live his truth with zest and passion, without relying on the carrot-dangling-in-your-face to move him forward, to define who and what he should be. Dinner-time menu-sermons will not suffice. The best way for me to get any meaningful message across to him is to be a living example.
That is why, as I write this, I have beside me a bottle of flower essences that includes Iris. That is why I named this blog Living Iris. I have plugged into and connected to that soulful inspiration. And I dedicate these words to that little boy who will be watching my every move.