“There are two lasting bequests we can give our children: One is roots, the other is wings.”

Hodding Carter

In theory, I covet an existence of order and organization. A world of lists that get done, calendars that get checked, schedules that get stuck to, thank-you notes that get written and sent, meals that get made, emails that get returned, coats that get hung… You get the picture.

In practice though, I continue to create, and celebrate, a domestic and existential circus of clutter and chaos. A lively land with little predictability. A planet where freedom and frolic – and frustration – reign. A space with scant serenity, endless piles, rich life.

There is a tension here. A profound one. One worth exploring.

Here’s the deal. Something I’ve known for a long time, but am just beginning to revere. For me, there is an incomparable treasure in tumult, a true triumph in tangles. For me, material and magic exist in the murk, the mud, the mayhem. Each and every day, I choose (if unconsciously) the patternless (or is it just a less-obviously-but-more-exquisitely patterned) way of being. I choose this because it is important to me. I’m not sure why, but it is.

And yet. Often, I find myself craving a simpler outlook, a life full of clean lines and tidy trimmings. A world of simple sweetness and permanent smiles. But when it really comes down to it, I find solace, nuanced solace, in the complexity, in the contradictions. And when it really comes down to it, I feel a stab of pride and a zing of happiness when I see the contradictions and complexity manifest in my own girls. That they are already such layered little people, full of thinky inky dimension, continues to be one of my greatest joys.

And yet. There are times when my mind feels a bit too stuffed, and the complexity feels crippling. There are times when I seek control and lightness, order and even superficiality. These tend to be the times when I make an appointment for a haircut.

Whoa, detour.

Stick with me though because maybe you can relate. Sometimes, life gets so rich and full and complicated that I just need to do something silly, something decidedly non-intellectual. Sometimes, I just need a little snip, clip, change.

And so. A couple weeks ago, I did just that. I took a taxi from the three-ring-or-should-I-say-girl-circus that is my good life to a pair of salons in midtown. At the first, I got my hair chopped. I said goodbye to the loose ends and hello to my long-lost bangs. And then, at the second, I told the very cool ponytail-ed man to make me blond, and very. It’s summer, I said. Let’s be bold and have some fun.

So now. I have a new ‘do and I love it.

And I have the same contradictions, the same boundless complexity cluttering my head and heart and home. But you know what? I love these things too.

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Do you seek order or celebrate chaos? Do you ever wish you saw things – your self, your life, this world – through a simpler lens? Do you delight in the complexity in your own soul and those of the ones you love? When do you get your hair cut? And most importantly, do you like my new ‘do (and the admittedly bizarre face I’m making in the above photo)?

Big Girl and Middle Girl ask me one question all the time, usually when they are bent over a blank piece of paper, crayons in hand.

Mom! What’s your favorite color?

And every time they ask this, I pause. I pause because I do not have a favorite. Or, maybe more precisely, I do not know what my favorite is. I do not tell them this though. No. Instead, I give them an answer. Green, I sometimes say. I love orange. Red is great. I’ve always been a fan of blue.

They roll with it and make their beautiful masterpieces with my favorite color-du-jour and then present them to me. And I smile and tell them I love their art which I always do.

But today I’m thinking about this. How I am without a favorite. How childhood is the land of color, the planet of preferences, how as we grow older, we might just forget to ask ourselves what it is we love, what we truly love.

Big Girl’s favorite color is purple.

Middle Girl is all about pink.

What about you? Do you have a favorite color or are you uncertain and undecided like yours truly?

“Man is least himself when he talks in his own person.

Give him a mask , and he will tell you the truth.”

Oscar Wilde

I like these words because they make me think, and wonder. Indeed these are the best kind of words, no?

They make me think of the masks we wear everyday. The ones we are aware of and the ones we don without knowing. They make me think of all the ways we hide from each other, and ourselves, and the world. They make me think about the power of language, of how much it matters how we speak, and communicate. They make me think of how we often learn most about other people not by asking them questions but by watching them live.

These words make me wonder about whether this world, this blogging world, is a big masquerade party where we all peer out from behind masks of our own choosing, obscuring artfully and artificially the people we are for fear that others might actually see who we really are. Are these screens just that – screens – or are they means of masking essence, of morphing self?

And what is “the truth” anyway? Isn’t it as fluid as we are, ever-changing? Mask or no mask, could we tell it if we tried?

(Deepish thoughts on a Tuesday morning. Indulge me please.)

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What do you think of Wilde’s words? Do you love words that make you think and wonder? Do you think we all wear masks everyday? Is this avoidable? Is this blogging world a virtual masquerade party of sorts? What does it mean to tell “the truth?” How cool is the mask that Big Girl made at camp?

“Need and struggle are what excite and inspire us.”

William James

I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About so many things. Big things and small things. Questions mostly.

And one question that popped into my head yesterday was this: Is struggle more interesting than success?

And I think the answer is yes. For me, at least. Sometimes, I read books and blogs about perfect people and perfect moments. Look how gorgeous my baby is! I just lost forty pounds! My husband is soooo romantic! And these are good things, of course, happy things, but they also feel, well, a bit fantastical, a bit unreal. And I don’t doubt that these words are true (unless they are embedded in a work of fiction, of course) but I find myself wanting more, craving complexity.

Does that make sense?

Conversely there are times when I happen upon a blog or a book where there is a lively struggle. I am having a hard time with things. I know I should feel happy, but I don’t. I love my children but they make me frustrated. Existence feels stormy right now. And when I read these things, these kind of things, I feel something stir inside. I feel a tug, a connection, dots connecting. I feel as if reality, in all its tangles, is being honored and revered. I feel intrigued.

And so. It occurred to me why I struggle (yes, that word) with how to approach this blog. Now I will be the first to admit that many of my posts are of the former breed, happy odes to my beautiful kids and snapshots of my good life. I love these musings and they are indeed real. But it is my posts about stumbling and struggling and wondering and wandering that grip me most as I write them. It is these posts that I feel most strongly about because I know they will resonate with someone in a quiet corner of this big earth, someone who feels something similar, currents of that universal challenge that is being a human being in this world.

And so. I do my best to balance. To honor the successes along with the struggles because really my life feels like a tapestry with sturdy threads of both. But sometimes I wonder if I should spend more time pondering the struggles stitched through my days – and yours – not because that’s all I face, not at all, but because that’s simply more interesting. More rich. More real.

What do you think? Are you more intrigued by stories of success or stories of struggle? Or do the best stories contain fibers of both – success in the midst of struggle, struggle that comes with success? What do you think?