Rhythm

September 17, 2021

There is a silent rhythm to which my son moves. I see it in the way he flicks his empty bottles of juice, nuts or his portable square JBL speaker. I see it in the way he chooses his clothes from the dresser drawer or the way he returns his plate to the kitchen sink. One might say it takes a long time for him to get his chores done because of this. He moves to a rhythm, in a kind of choreography where he bounces with every step. I would say my son dances to this rhythm, his own beautiful rhythm.

So this Saturday morning, when I ask him to help me clean up the room and he does his usual bit of choreography reveling as always to the beat inside his head, I realized how I as well, fell into a daily rhythm of my own as I deliberately transitioned into another phase in my life. Falling back into motherhood, housekeeping being a huge part of it and teaching Yoga on select days. While the circumstances that led to this were less than ideal, I would like to think that what is more important is what came out of it.

My day begins with small pockets of quiet where I am able to sit in meditation, ground myself in song of the various birds in our Jackfruit, Avocado or Soursop Trees, relish my cup of black and lose myself in Mary Oliver's poem or two and then appreciate the Hibiscus that have decided to bloom. Then my boys wake, one at a time. Usually Morgan first then Garret a few minutes after. I prepare his breakfast, slice sweet potatoes, give him his bundle of papers to tear. When Garret wakes, I prepare his warm water for his bath as he prefers to take his bath right away. The morning continues with our morning walk around the garden, soaking in the sun. On days where I wash clothes, they go on their morning walk as I sit on the "bangketo" immersing clothes into the basin of detergent-filled water, calling out Morgan to keep walking as he likes to rest more than walk to which Garret then goes to prod Morgan to walk. It should be noted that while Garret is the older one, Morgan's size begs to differ. I marvel at Garret's sense of responsibility over his younger brother and Morgan's sense of ,well, being the youngest, and perhaps therefore of being the more rebellious one. There is much to do around the house, one after another. And always in between, the boys express their personalities in ways that always amuses me and allows me to see a side of them I never saw before emerge. When the chores are done, in the afternoons where the boys take a nap, I practice Yoga or continue a self-paced online class. On two or three days a week, I teach Yoga mainly to those who personally request it. The days in between and in between mothering and housekeeping, I prepare for the classes I teach.

I fall into comfortable step with this new rhythm in my life right now where I am now more able to pay attention to each detail of every task there is to do. There is no sense of hurriedness or rush in going about my day. Only things that need to be done because they are simply necessities of daily living. This new routine has brought me to a place where I am able to redefine myself as a mother as I reentered into this chance of getting to know my boys in a whole new, very human way. Every quirk and humor they express in our conversations, which needless to say is unlike any other, I notice. Every nuance of dislike on Garret's part at food or sound or at Morgan doing something he disapproves of, I am more alert to. One would say, we have fallen into step with each other, the boys and me. And I am loving this newfound synchronicity.

In the spaces where I am able to be neither mother, housekeeper, wife or teacher, I find myself in precious self-rediscovery. A plethora of insights arise in various times during the day such as this where I am able to glance back at what my life has come to, how I got here, what decisions I have made and for what reasons. I would like to think my life already had its own rhythm, but I failed to hear it and heed it as I was too busy listening to my own hubris, wanting to do things my way at my own time which was always right away. We all know what happens when we charge ahead of the music. So as I look at my son, Garret, falling into his own rhythm, dancing to his own sweet timing, I know he certainly knows more about life than I do. And as I attune to my own newly found rhythm as well paying mindful attention to what is present moment by moment, I understand now that there was never any need to hurry. Everything happens in its own time. One might say, I might be out of the rhythm of what real life is, away from the hustle and grind of the everyday 9-5. I would say, that might be true and I fully am grateful and acknowledge such privilege. But now, I am finally keeping up with the beat, my own beat, dancing to the rhythm of my own sweet life, in my own sweet and rightful time.