Sitting within yourself: 2010
Yoga practice is entirely designed to bring you to asana—a Sanskrit word meaning to take a seat, and then to sit comfortably within yourself. As my yoga improves by the week, I have started thinking about what else in my life requires an investment of attention to be able to do the most familiar things really well: to take a seat. To make a meal. To teach a class. To share an idea. To make my husband feel honored. And the flip side: when do I prepare passionately, and then not carry out the reward of my preparation? To do an hour of yoga, sit for one full minute when I finally feel I could meditate for hours, but instead pick myself up and head out into my day?
The theme of 2009 has been the collapse of my discrete lives, the end of fragmentation. You can't be a mom with two jobs and a commitment to her own health and wellbeing and keep everything seperate—you just can't. It requires too much energy. For instance, I used to have a landline, a personal cell phone, and a work phone. Three phones. Then I dropped the home land line, and had a cell phone and a work cell phone, both of which I insisted on carrying because I wanted to be able to leave the work cell behind on weekends, to live apart from work. Two phones. This year I dropped the personal cell phone. Just one phone now. My personal calls, work calls, work emails, personal emails, all come to one place. And I am OK with it. It's simpler. I give up privacy, but I also give up fragmentation.
I used to be secretive about being a fitness instructor, in part because I wanted to have a private life apart from work. But having a child means that home life is a part of work life, and vice versa, or at least it has meant that in order for me to have a schedule that makes me happy. The child is at work with me, the work is with my child and me, and for this trade-off, I get to have my child in the middle of my workday. And because at work I was suddenly open, asking, tired, working, everyone knew I was fitness instructor. Now my personal yoga teacher comes to teach a class at my work; I manage the wellness program there, so I brought her in, and now my friend is sharing her gift with my colleagues. Still, the boundaries of me-work-me-work are always a question. Every week I wonder if going sleeveless is "too much" -- should I wear workout pants that aren't as tight? How much of me is too much to show?
But this morning, having gone for the first time to the gym inside my workplace, I realized I've given up the last frontier of seperation: my gym, where I could escape. I can't escape, really, I can't make escape work anymore. But I can make integration work. And I can make it work for me. Bringing in my yoga teacher, letting my colleagues into my life, is a way of saying, hey, this who I am. Stopping my workday to be with Peony lets me say to myself, hey, this is who I really am. And sometimes, while she's playing, I have to respond to an email on that aforementioned cell phone, or call into a meeting while nursing, it's a way of saying to Peony, this is who your mama is—and it is working. It works as long as I flow with it.
I believe the continuation of this in 2010 is to bring the integration to the next level. Rather than allowing aspects of my life to be seen and to shine light on one another, I need each aspect to actually power the other pieces. The sleeveless shirt at work; I literally embody something for my colleagues, and somehow that's got to be more than OK, it's got to be who I am. The baby on my hip informs and feeds the way I share an idea, because it's who I am. How to make my husband feel honored....that's a little harder. But that's who I am too, and it's important. And the way I teach is definitely lacking some magic. I give it hard work, but it needs magic, too. Somewhere, somewhere in the people I touch and who touch me, in the ideas I have and learn about, in the breath I make and in the seat I take, there is an energy and connection that I simply must learn to allow to feed the fitness classes I teach.
Happy New Year!
1.01.2010
10.31.2009
Boo!
You know what's scary? An entire month without a blog post! Themes this month have been: feeling isolated, wanting to live better, feel better, eat better and be better; have more of an impact. Being sick for the last half of the month has probably inspired some of these feelings. I caught myself hoping I could buy a little inspiration, visiting a power yoga studio nearby for a heated workout and, afterwards, stopping next door for a raw vegan lunch (I got the Prana Burger; pretty tasty). The owner authors http://super-mom.com, which resonated with me a bit, and while I'm not ready to commit to the raw vegan lifestyle, it did get me thinking about how to expand my family's food horizon. Pretty much everything we eat gets processed through the stove, and relies heavily on dairy. I bought coconut and dates this morning to enliven our palates, and made tempeh reuben last night for the first time in a while. It was good. My formerly compartmentalized life is really, finally, wholly integrating: I'm leading my company's wellness program and the act of designing it has made me sit back and wonder what it really means to experience wellbeing.
In my role as leader, it has 1,000 different meanings, since we have 1,000 different employees. How much more personal and individual does it get than the body? But to me, wellness means that my body feels good. And ever since we moved, I've noticed that I'm seeking new ways to make that happen. I think it's simply next on the list; I have a wonderful husband, wonderful child, wonderful house, wonderful job, and have you met my cat? But now it's time to take it to the next level. When I vision myself in a few years, I am more powerful because I cook and eat well, and I am disciplined. I don't know what that means yet, though. I am not very Zen about it, more anxious, like, "do I have to give up red wine?" I'm definitely not giving up chocolate. But I want to get smarter about food so that my child can benefit from the final, ultimate line of my parenting philosophy: Respect her body completely.
You know what's scary? An entire month without a blog post! Themes this month have been: feeling isolated, wanting to live better, feel better, eat better and be better; have more of an impact. Being sick for the last half of the month has probably inspired some of these feelings. I caught myself hoping I could buy a little inspiration, visiting a power yoga studio nearby for a heated workout and, afterwards, stopping next door for a raw vegan lunch (I got the Prana Burger; pretty tasty). The owner authors http://super-mom.com, which resonated with me a bit, and while I'm not ready to commit to the raw vegan lifestyle, it did get me thinking about how to expand my family's food horizon. Pretty much everything we eat gets processed through the stove, and relies heavily on dairy. I bought coconut and dates this morning to enliven our palates, and made tempeh reuben last night for the first time in a while. It was good. My formerly compartmentalized life is really, finally, wholly integrating: I'm leading my company's wellness program and the act of designing it has made me sit back and wonder what it really means to experience wellbeing.
In my role as leader, it has 1,000 different meanings, since we have 1,000 different employees. How much more personal and individual does it get than the body? But to me, wellness means that my body feels good. And ever since we moved, I've noticed that I'm seeking new ways to make that happen. I think it's simply next on the list; I have a wonderful husband, wonderful child, wonderful house, wonderful job, and have you met my cat? But now it's time to take it to the next level. When I vision myself in a few years, I am more powerful because I cook and eat well, and I am disciplined. I don't know what that means yet, though. I am not very Zen about it, more anxious, like, "do I have to give up red wine?" I'm definitely not giving up chocolate. But I want to get smarter about food so that my child can benefit from the final, ultimate line of my parenting philosophy: Respect her body completely.
10.02.2009
Hanging With Baby
I took the day off from work today with that above subject line named as the reason in my email reminder to my boss and my employee. They wished me a happy "Peony day" ...and now that I've had it, I think I should have many of these days. They are slow, sensory, fun, and silly.
We took the commuter rail downtown into Boston, bought pink beribboned boots for her at Puma, ate lunch and watched fountains and birds together, tried on the baby winter coat at Patagonia (so cute, but didn't buy; not quite warm enough), listened to hip hop at Bodega, had Starbucks chats over juice boxes, played and laughed out loud in a children's book store where we bought the book CAT, and this after she spent long time yelling what sounds a lot like "Hi Dog!" at the puppies in the pet store. (The book DOG is now on order for us.) On Newbury St., looking down at her sleeping in the carrier on my chest. Looking at art in a gallery---she gazed upwards at huge paintings of grapes. Later at Starbucks we tried grapes, but she spit them out dramatically. Also a no-go on kiwi, which she tried for the first time. Sometimes we think she just likes spitting things out, though.
The best part is just how easy it is to be sensory again---we stood on a bridge over the highway and cars and trucks zoomed under us and she kicked and yelled and we could have done it for a long time. I spent a good part of my adolescence doing that (minus the kicking and yelling, but with the pleasure and wonder--where are they going? Who are they? Woah, here comes a truck!) but I haven't done it in years. Just being in the moment: she's hitting the window of the train with both hands as highway cars and graffiti tunnels zoom by. She's peering over the top of the seat at the rider behind us and smiling a huge grin until he is simply forced to smile back; her two bottom teeth are an irrestible invitation to smile. We're sitting on some grass in front of Boston Public Library, eating fresh mozzarella and basil while pigeons fly within inches of our faces. We're watching in a pet store as a pug and a dachshund wrestle and bite with joy, and their frenzy captivates her and makes her flinch when their bodies get near. But she kicks kicks kicks when a standard poodle, loose in the store, gets near, and we have to get low enough for gentle petting, which she has mastered.
People always tell me that time flies with a kid, "blink and you'll miss it," "it's over before you know it," "It's just weekends and vacations and then they are eighteen," but people have been telling me this or variants of it my whole life. I remember my grandfather Hilbert musing that life after 25 just flies. I was so curious about it; I wondered about it for about 15 years, until I turned 25, and then I waited with baited breath to feel like life was just about over. I'm now 33 and I don't feel it yet.
As a parent, you become more acutely aware of time passing because your child grows in some new tangible way every moment, it seems, and it's hard to forget that at the same time, you're aging. But on the other hand, time can get as slow as molasses. Today the time between 12 and 3 was so long, I really couldn't believe it. Between 12 and 1, under the sun, eating lunch, laughing with stranger after stranger about my baby and something she did (sneeze, look at sunflowers, smile)--it was slow. And certain sights, smells, temperature, humidity, puts me in Costa Rica, Cobbs Hill, the 490 overpass, the Co-op, the Andes---like it happened yesterday afternoon. Then again, Peony and I passed Sonsie on our walk and I remembered each of the four distinct times I'd gone there, and I was shocked---each time seemed like from a different lifetime.
Time is malleable. Routine speeds up time. Take time to be in time.
I took the day off from work today with that above subject line named as the reason in my email reminder to my boss and my employee. They wished me a happy "Peony day" ...and now that I've had it, I think I should have many of these days. They are slow, sensory, fun, and silly.
We took the commuter rail downtown into Boston, bought pink beribboned boots for her at Puma, ate lunch and watched fountains and birds together, tried on the baby winter coat at Patagonia (so cute, but didn't buy; not quite warm enough), listened to hip hop at Bodega, had Starbucks chats over juice boxes, played and laughed out loud in a children's book store where we bought the book CAT, and this after she spent long time yelling what sounds a lot like "Hi Dog!" at the puppies in the pet store. (The book DOG is now on order for us.) On Newbury St., looking down at her sleeping in the carrier on my chest. Looking at art in a gallery---she gazed upwards at huge paintings of grapes. Later at Starbucks we tried grapes, but she spit them out dramatically. Also a no-go on kiwi, which she tried for the first time. Sometimes we think she just likes spitting things out, though.
The best part is just how easy it is to be sensory again---we stood on a bridge over the highway and cars and trucks zoomed under us and she kicked and yelled and we could have done it for a long time. I spent a good part of my adolescence doing that (minus the kicking and yelling, but with the pleasure and wonder--where are they going? Who are they? Woah, here comes a truck!) but I haven't done it in years. Just being in the moment: she's hitting the window of the train with both hands as highway cars and graffiti tunnels zoom by. She's peering over the top of the seat at the rider behind us and smiling a huge grin until he is simply forced to smile back; her two bottom teeth are an irrestible invitation to smile. We're sitting on some grass in front of Boston Public Library, eating fresh mozzarella and basil while pigeons fly within inches of our faces. We're watching in a pet store as a pug and a dachshund wrestle and bite with joy, and their frenzy captivates her and makes her flinch when their bodies get near. But she kicks kicks kicks when a standard poodle, loose in the store, gets near, and we have to get low enough for gentle petting, which she has mastered.
People always tell me that time flies with a kid, "blink and you'll miss it," "it's over before you know it," "It's just weekends and vacations and then they are eighteen," but people have been telling me this or variants of it my whole life. I remember my grandfather Hilbert musing that life after 25 just flies. I was so curious about it; I wondered about it for about 15 years, until I turned 25, and then I waited with baited breath to feel like life was just about over. I'm now 33 and I don't feel it yet.
As a parent, you become more acutely aware of time passing because your child grows in some new tangible way every moment, it seems, and it's hard to forget that at the same time, you're aging. But on the other hand, time can get as slow as molasses. Today the time between 12 and 3 was so long, I really couldn't believe it. Between 12 and 1, under the sun, eating lunch, laughing with stranger after stranger about my baby and something she did (sneeze, look at sunflowers, smile)--it was slow. And certain sights, smells, temperature, humidity, puts me in Costa Rica, Cobbs Hill, the 490 overpass, the Co-op, the Andes---like it happened yesterday afternoon. Then again, Peony and I passed Sonsie on our walk and I remembered each of the four distinct times I'd gone there, and I was shocked---each time seemed like from a different lifetime.
Time is malleable. Routine speeds up time. Take time to be in time.
8.14.2009
Dawn
It's 4am and my husband just brought her in from her room. I can see her open, dark eyes and feel the wet tears on her face in the hushed pale gray of our bedroom. From the crook of my arm, our baby reaches one hand up to touch my cheek. I touch her cheek back. We look at each other in the soft nighttime morning light for what feels like a long time. I can make out her long eyelashes and serious mouth, a pensive look. When I'd put her to bed the previous evening, she was exhausted but still cried for a few minutes. I hate it when she lies in her bed and cries. The cat and I assumed a position near the baby's door, at a back window, where we watched bats catch mosquitoes in our new backyard. The crying ended after a few minutes. But at 4 it started up again; an insistent yelling call that she needed us. I don't know how to fix her process of learning to sleep, but I never want her to seriously believe that I won't be there for her, at least for a long, long time.
It's 4am and my husband just brought her in from her room. I can see her open, dark eyes and feel the wet tears on her face in the hushed pale gray of our bedroom. From the crook of my arm, our baby reaches one hand up to touch my cheek. I touch her cheek back. We look at each other in the soft nighttime morning light for what feels like a long time. I can make out her long eyelashes and serious mouth, a pensive look. When I'd put her to bed the previous evening, she was exhausted but still cried for a few minutes. I hate it when she lies in her bed and cries. The cat and I assumed a position near the baby's door, at a back window, where we watched bats catch mosquitoes in our new backyard. The crying ended after a few minutes. But at 4 it started up again; an insistent yelling call that she needed us. I don't know how to fix her process of learning to sleep, but I never want her to seriously believe that I won't be there for her, at least for a long, long time.
7.21.2009
Fine Motors
Those little hands, reaching, stretching, fingers always working, exploring, pushing, pinching. My little climber nurses, face buried in the breast, eyes closed tight, but all the while she is reaching out, feeling for the book or newspaper I might be reading, and if her finger or toe touches it, even for a second, it stops there, to investigate, to crinkle it, to push it. She lifts her hand into the air and moves each finger around in space. Sometimes her eyes pop open and she throws gang signs my way. I throw a couple back at her. Arm extended, hand bent at the wrist, index finger, middle finger, and thumb straight, the other fingers folded.
While in the highchair eating, or more often, it seems, refusing to eat what she doesn't find tasty, she will gaze idly at her hand and touch index to thumb, then middle to thumb, then third finger to thumb. Her lips make a little oval as she concentrates. This morning, our treasure trove of finger puppets discovered while packing to move, she laughed and flapped her arms and pulled a duck, a coyote from Peru, and other new friends off of her daddy's hands and held each one, inspecting it very carefully. Our beauty is already cultivating an internal life, one where she mulls things over, watches things move, and often turns away from whatever is going on so that she can create space for herself to consider, focus, and learn.
Those little hands, reaching, stretching, fingers always working, exploring, pushing, pinching. My little climber nurses, face buried in the breast, eyes closed tight, but all the while she is reaching out, feeling for the book or newspaper I might be reading, and if her finger or toe touches it, even for a second, it stops there, to investigate, to crinkle it, to push it. She lifts her hand into the air and moves each finger around in space. Sometimes her eyes pop open and she throws gang signs my way. I throw a couple back at her. Arm extended, hand bent at the wrist, index finger, middle finger, and thumb straight, the other fingers folded.
While in the highchair eating, or more often, it seems, refusing to eat what she doesn't find tasty, she will gaze idly at her hand and touch index to thumb, then middle to thumb, then third finger to thumb. Her lips make a little oval as she concentrates. This morning, our treasure trove of finger puppets discovered while packing to move, she laughed and flapped her arms and pulled a duck, a coyote from Peru, and other new friends off of her daddy's hands and held each one, inspecting it very carefully. Our beauty is already cultivating an internal life, one where she mulls things over, watches things move, and often turns away from whatever is going on so that she can create space for herself to consider, focus, and learn.
7.16.2009
No Mas(h)
Our precocious little eater was downing a couple bowls of mushy cereal a day along with some fruits and vegetables we mashed with a fork. We were always pretty lax, something I realized when my 6-month-old stuffed a huge piece of barbequed red pepper in her mouth at a friend's house and we reacted not at all. Table food is good! But we still worked on getting typical baby food down her gullet twice a day, like good parents.
Then we took her to the pediatrician. "YOU only eat cereal once a day, right?" he asked in his critical way with one raised eyebrow. "Why does she have to eat it twice? And she should be eating lunch." All of a sudden the whole world opened up for Peony. She was eating off our plates, and a beautiful, unpredictable range of likes and dislikes opened up. Spicy spinach with garlic and hot sauce? Loves it. Give her more. Roasted potato? Pass it over here. Veggie sausage? Can you please feed it to her faster? You are taking too long. Favorite food? Oh, delicious mushroom quiche that Mama made....please let's have some more of that. Organic raspberries from the CSA box---who knew they could be this good? Just keep popping them in her mouth whole, please.
On the other hand, cereal mash starts to look worse every minute. The only thing that saves it is delicious banana. Lunch at school is good as long as she gets to have mac and cheese (organic, Annie's, yum). She likes bread, but not quinoa; lentils don't help; please stop trying to give her brussel sprouts; yes she will eat all your sweet potato, thanks! And it goes on. Now I have The Joy of Cooking open on my lap, trying to figure out how many different things I can jam into a quiche (collard greens; tomato; goat cheese) so my baby has something for lunch. Meanwhile, two little white scrapy teeth have surfaced. When she stands between your knees, one hand on each leg like some independent woman, tall and straight, you can see them just a little bit inside that huge, proud smile.
Our precocious little eater was downing a couple bowls of mushy cereal a day along with some fruits and vegetables we mashed with a fork. We were always pretty lax, something I realized when my 6-month-old stuffed a huge piece of barbequed red pepper in her mouth at a friend's house and we reacted not at all. Table food is good! But we still worked on getting typical baby food down her gullet twice a day, like good parents.
Then we took her to the pediatrician. "YOU only eat cereal once a day, right?" he asked in his critical way with one raised eyebrow. "Why does she have to eat it twice? And she should be eating lunch." All of a sudden the whole world opened up for Peony. She was eating off our plates, and a beautiful, unpredictable range of likes and dislikes opened up. Spicy spinach with garlic and hot sauce? Loves it. Give her more. Roasted potato? Pass it over here. Veggie sausage? Can you please feed it to her faster? You are taking too long. Favorite food? Oh, delicious mushroom quiche that Mama made....please let's have some more of that. Organic raspberries from the CSA box---who knew they could be this good? Just keep popping them in her mouth whole, please.
On the other hand, cereal mash starts to look worse every minute. The only thing that saves it is delicious banana. Lunch at school is good as long as she gets to have mac and cheese (organic, Annie's, yum). She likes bread, but not quinoa; lentils don't help; please stop trying to give her brussel sprouts; yes she will eat all your sweet potato, thanks! And it goes on. Now I have The Joy of Cooking open on my lap, trying to figure out how many different things I can jam into a quiche (collard greens; tomato; goat cheese) so my baby has something for lunch. Meanwhile, two little white scrapy teeth have surfaced. When she stands between your knees, one hand on each leg like some independent woman, tall and straight, you can see them just a little bit inside that huge, proud smile.
7.09.2009
The Education of My Daughter
There is something about looking down at that small round face, with its button nose right in the middle, and orange-slice shape of a smile, and glittering bright eager eyes that absorb everything and invite every stranger within a fifty-foot radius to come over and say hi, and big pink cheeks that need a torrent of kisses, that makes me think of the future in a much bigger and broader way than I ever have before. This past week, traipsing over Vermont's rocks and streams and ferns and ponds, sometimes in the rain, my handsome husband carrying the little bean of our lives, I was awash in thoughts of her future, and how I could best contribute. Starting with the button nose and thinking outward from there, I concluded, while feeding her breadcrumbs on a summit of Mt. Mansfield, with its immense eastward vista over the Green Mountains, and later, sitting on horseback and watching a spotted fawn run behind its mama, that there were six basic categories I wanted her to master by age 18 or 19.
1. Literature and Art
2. Mind and Body Are One Focus
3. Languages and Travel
4. Outdoor Adventurer
5. Mathematics
6. Music and Dance
If she could pursue all six of these simultaneously starting at age 5 or 6, I think she'd have a high capacity for self-knowledge, happiness, and the ability to tenaciously pursue her own dreams and ideas while learning from, listening to, teaching and collaborating with others.
Thinking about it more deeply, I realized that I have specific philosophies about how to approach each category, as well.
Literature and Art, for instance, are not things you can really master in breadth without extensive graduate education. But if you take the time to go really deep with a few artists and writers, you can learn to analyze, understand and relate to other people's expression, and make your own art, too. Maybe even teach it. So I thought that one writer or artist could be the focus each year.
From there, I expanded on the approach to my basic six categories, including an advanced flow from the initial idea that would probably not happen until she was in her teens.
1. Literature and Art
GOAL: To be able to analyze and relate to artists, and to create own art. Depth not breadth.
SAMPLE YEAR/LESSONS: Issa > Haiku and Impact > Japanese culture > Illustrate hiaku > Write haiku > Teach haiku
ADVANCED FLOW: Write, produce and star in own play
2. Mind and Body Are One Focus
GOAL: To build skills in the defensive arts, and nurture a discipline of focus
SAMPLE YEAR/LESSONS: Gun range + advanced archery = daily target practice
ADVANCED FLOW: Brazilian jujitsu
3. Languages and Travel
GOAL: Fluency in 2 languages by age 18, travel experience with language connection, deep understanding of what it's like to be somewhere with no language connection
SAMPLE YEAR/LESSONS: Travel to France & Polynesia; meet other Francophiles in Boston; watch French films
ADVANCED FLOW: Learn and teach variants of chosen languages
4. Outdoor Adventurer
GOAL: Building confident independence and applied knowledge of biology and geology
SAMPLE YEAR/LESSONS: Climb a mountain every week for a year; apply one different context to mountain per climb (such as plants, animals, rocks, supplies, trails and off trail, gear, speed, orienteering, etc.)
ADVANCED FLOW: Be able to teach, debate, and motivate for sustainability
5. Mathematics
GOAL: Develop mastery of complex math and how to apply it
SAMPLE YEAR/LESSONS: Model different economic indicators & results--trade stock over multiple years
ADVANCED FLOW: Answer this question: How can you apply math to succeed in business?
6. Music and Dance
GOAL: Know rhythm, know beat, in her bones, and be able to compose
SAMPLE YEAR/LESSONS: Learn keyboard
ADVANCED FLOW: She's #1 in a breakdancing competition
7. All the while: Unstructured Play Time
So, I sound like a public school parent from hell, right? There are a few things missing from this list (like basic history, for instance) that kind of jump out at me, that she will need to learn at school. And she'll live near a good public school, so, that's good. But to be able to apply her knowledge and make it work for her as an adult (and an adult in a time when certain kinds of information, like basic history, are very easy to obtain, and certain skills, like flexibility, analysis and the ability to motivate, are very valuable), I think she needs a complex education. The way that this framework is valuable is that everything else that she does, like say, soccer, is taking away from one of these categories. Maybe that's OK, but it's just something to recognize. I don't know how to make it work yet, but I have a little time. She just started to crawl last night.
There is something about looking down at that small round face, with its button nose right in the middle, and orange-slice shape of a smile, and glittering bright eager eyes that absorb everything and invite every stranger within a fifty-foot radius to come over and say hi, and big pink cheeks that need a torrent of kisses, that makes me think of the future in a much bigger and broader way than I ever have before. This past week, traipsing over Vermont's rocks and streams and ferns and ponds, sometimes in the rain, my handsome husband carrying the little bean of our lives, I was awash in thoughts of her future, and how I could best contribute. Starting with the button nose and thinking outward from there, I concluded, while feeding her breadcrumbs on a summit of Mt. Mansfield, with its immense eastward vista over the Green Mountains, and later, sitting on horseback and watching a spotted fawn run behind its mama, that there were six basic categories I wanted her to master by age 18 or 19.
1. Literature and Art
2. Mind and Body Are One Focus
3. Languages and Travel
4. Outdoor Adventurer
5. Mathematics
6. Music and Dance
If she could pursue all six of these simultaneously starting at age 5 or 6, I think she'd have a high capacity for self-knowledge, happiness, and the ability to tenaciously pursue her own dreams and ideas while learning from, listening to, teaching and collaborating with others.
Thinking about it more deeply, I realized that I have specific philosophies about how to approach each category, as well.
Literature and Art, for instance, are not things you can really master in breadth without extensive graduate education. But if you take the time to go really deep with a few artists and writers, you can learn to analyze, understand and relate to other people's expression, and make your own art, too. Maybe even teach it. So I thought that one writer or artist could be the focus each year.
From there, I expanded on the approach to my basic six categories, including an advanced flow from the initial idea that would probably not happen until she was in her teens.
1. Literature and Art
GOAL: To be able to analyze and relate to artists, and to create own art. Depth not breadth.
SAMPLE YEAR/LESSONS: Issa > Haiku and Impact > Japanese culture > Illustrate hiaku > Write haiku > Teach haiku
ADVANCED FLOW: Write, produce and star in own play
2. Mind and Body Are One Focus
GOAL: To build skills in the defensive arts, and nurture a discipline of focus
SAMPLE YEAR/LESSONS: Gun range + advanced archery = daily target practice
ADVANCED FLOW: Brazilian jujitsu
3. Languages and Travel
GOAL: Fluency in 2 languages by age 18, travel experience with language connection, deep understanding of what it's like to be somewhere with no language connection
SAMPLE YEAR/LESSONS: Travel to France & Polynesia; meet other Francophiles in Boston; watch French films
ADVANCED FLOW: Learn and teach variants of chosen languages
4. Outdoor Adventurer
GOAL: Building confident independence and applied knowledge of biology and geology
SAMPLE YEAR/LESSONS: Climb a mountain every week for a year; apply one different context to mountain per climb (such as plants, animals, rocks, supplies, trails and off trail, gear, speed, orienteering, etc.)
ADVANCED FLOW: Be able to teach, debate, and motivate for sustainability
5. Mathematics
GOAL: Develop mastery of complex math and how to apply it
SAMPLE YEAR/LESSONS: Model different economic indicators & results--trade stock over multiple years
ADVANCED FLOW: Answer this question: How can you apply math to succeed in business?
6. Music and Dance
GOAL: Know rhythm, know beat, in her bones, and be able to compose
SAMPLE YEAR/LESSONS: Learn keyboard
ADVANCED FLOW: She's #1 in a breakdancing competition
7. All the while: Unstructured Play Time
So, I sound like a public school parent from hell, right? There are a few things missing from this list (like basic history, for instance) that kind of jump out at me, that she will need to learn at school. And she'll live near a good public school, so, that's good. But to be able to apply her knowledge and make it work for her as an adult (and an adult in a time when certain kinds of information, like basic history, are very easy to obtain, and certain skills, like flexibility, analysis and the ability to motivate, are very valuable), I think she needs a complex education. The way that this framework is valuable is that everything else that she does, like say, soccer, is taking away from one of these categories. Maybe that's OK, but it's just something to recognize. I don't know how to make it work yet, but I have a little time. She just started to crawl last night.
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