I want to be the kind of mama who moves slowly and graciously, who doesn’t rush all over the place, who drifts from one place to the next, sweeping along as though there were nowhere else to be but here.

But I’ve never been good at that. I’ve never been good at lolling or loitering or sauntering or pottering. In some ways, it was easier to do when my kids were small. I look at my writing from that time of my life and I notice how I not only noticed the fine points of my day, but I took the time to write them down: The way my toddler puckered as she smeared on her Hello Kitty lip balm; the way my oldest laughed in great rollicking leaps, like a waterfall; the way my young son’s scalp smelled like the earth itself.

Author and father Piero Ferrucci, on the subject, says, “There is a sense of healthy laziness that I have learned in being with children: Slow down, take it easy, be here, enjoy yourself,” he writes. “You are allowed to have no purpose.”

I spent a decade or so – when my kids were tiny – in as close to a healthy laziness as I’m ever going to see. But now that my kids are growing up and spending more and more time away from me, I find myself grasping for purpose, just as I did before I had kids at all. I remember how I’m happier when I do have a purpose and happier still when I know what that purpose is.

When I don’t have one, I feel unconstructive, floppy and sad. I’m a little bit type A and can quote Abraham Maslow at will: “If you deliberately plan on being less than you are capable of being, then I warn you that you’ll be unhappy for the rest of your life,” and: “Musicians must make music, artists must paint, poets must write if they are to be ultimately at peace with themselves. What human beings can be, they must be.”

I think that’s why things were so liberating back when my kids were home all day and relying on me for everything. I really did feel that I was allowed to have no purpose aside from them. I had a different relationship with time because I had a built-in, overriding sense of purpose by simple default.

There was a deep sense of purpose in just waking up and smiling at them and pouring their milk. There was a deep sense of purpose in sitting at the breakfast table and competitively guessing how many little fruits were in the box of Raisin Bran.

There was a deep sense of purpose in just talking with them and looking at them and worshipping them the way a mom worships her little, little kids. With that sense of purpose comes a deep sense of fulfillment. I could finally take a deep breath and feel like it satisfied something in that way down deep place.

This is one thing I noticed when my youngest child started kindergarten this past year. Suddenly someone else was responsible for each of my kids for a good chunk of the day. Someone else was feeling that sense of purpose and fulfillment and everything else I did paled in comparison to what I used to do all day.

I remember the first few months of school last year, I vacillated between a panicky sense of not getting enough work done before they stepped off the schoolbus and an empty feeling of wastefulness that made my throat cling and grab.

So I’m reflecting on all of this while I’m trying to work from home over summer vacation and my 6-year-old son comes in and he wants to play a game of cards. My first instinct is to say, “I don’t have time,” which is sort of ironic and which gets me to start thinking, “what exactly is time for, then?”

Is it for enjoying, for filling, for deciding what to do with, consciously and deliberately, with reverence and devotion? If it is, then it’s probably for playing Uno with this tan little kid who now sits across from me, holding an Uno deck in his grubby, stubby fingers, which will someday soon be man hands that will be texting his girlfriend or closing his bedroom door in my face.

And then I try to do everything I do in as slow a manner as I can. To tell the truth, it generally drives me crazy to do that for too long, but even for just a minute it helps me to have reverence for the puzzling way time passes and the way our children grow, both gradually and all at once.

It reminds me of a time when I was eating at my favorite fast food joint, which is actually this bright little cafe where they ladle steaming bowls of freshly made soup into paper to-go bowls. It’s like fast food for slow, old souls. As my kids and I were hunched over our bowls, shoveling in spoonfuls of Potato Gouda because we were late for soccer practice, a minister whom I admire very much came in and stood in line.

He did not see us there in the corner and so I know I was observing him in his natural state. I was immediately taken by the slowness that enveloped everything he did, from the way he shuffled forward in the line to the way he put his hand in his pocket to fish out his wallet. It was the way he creased the tall brown bag that held his soup and his bread and his cookie. His pace alone made him appear reverent and devout. He was paying attention. He was letting even the tedious errand of getting take-out become an experience that would surround him like a cloak.

Reflecting on this, I have to ask myself, what am I in such a hurry for? Why are we all rushing so much? Are we rushing because we like it – because we feed on the false drama? Are we rushing so that we can fit in more things or so that we can make more money? Are we rushing to make some form of mark on the world and in the meantime risk missing our own lives?

There are those friends in life (if we make time for them) whose very presence slows us down. Just being with them says, “You can’t get it all done. You are already enough just the way you are, so let us set a pace in this life that we can enjoy.”

In truth, I think that’s what a family is for. At least that’s what I hope my kids will say that their family was for, when they have grown into busy parents and are striving to slow down for themselves.

Written by Momscape founder Susie Michelle Cortright. Follow her on Twitter.

I heard someone say that the other day, and I laughe. Everything stresses people out these days, I thought. But then I gave it a little consideration, and I agreed that few things are as stressful as doing nothing.

Here’s an example: Think about the familiar inner debate about whether you can fit in a workout. You know how good you’ll feel afterwards. You know how much your body wants it. Needs it.

I know I need a good run when my head starts feeling fuzzy. Thoughts come and go, but there’s nothing important going on up there. I know what I could do to make the blurriness go away, but I just don’t want to.

It’s like trying to find something without my glasses on. I know what I could do to make it better-I know the solution is really simple-but it’s somehow too much. I don’t want to go get my glasses. I’d rather bump around the world for awhile.

And when I finally break free of that and go do something, there comes the clarity. The drama of it always strikes me. It rushes in like I’ve opened the drapes.

Once I’m running or biking or doing whatever it is I decide to do, really hard, the sheer joy of movement breaks me out of that fuzzy, stagnant state of mind. I feel the hair flopping on my head. My heartbeat in my face. Something comes in and sweeps out my head, and I look back to the blurry world of 30 minutes before, and I thank God I found the motivation.

When you get your body moving, you suddenly become clear on what needs to be done. All at once, fresh ideas and a renewed energy and creativity tumble in.
The same thing happens when you get your mind and soul moving.

The antidote to anxiety
When we feel scared or worried, we’ve got to get up and regain control, even if it feels like too much at first. We have to disarm the paralyzing nature of fear by doing something. Anything.

If we can just get moving, we’ll find the energy to help those in need. We’ll connect to something larger than ourselves, and then we’ll tap its energy.

It doesn’t have to be a big world-sweeping movement. In Seat of the Soul, Gary Zukav says it well: “If you wish the world to become loving and compassionate, become loving and compassionate yourself. If you wish to diminish fear in the world, diminish your own. These are the gifts you can give.”
“Don’t just sit there like you’re getting a perm.”
We talk a lot about “baby steps.” Each time I hear that phrase I think of my oldest daughter learning to walk. She was so bowlegged that, standing, she looked like she was attempting the splits. Every few steps, she’d topple over and, seconds later, up would come her little bottom and she’d push up with her hands, lean forward and try to keep her feet moving as fast as her head. Her determination was inspiring.

To me, baby steps are about breaking something big into manageable chunks, but it’s also about the will to just keep moving, no matter what.
And that brings to mind my high school English teacher, Mrs. Wasserstein. There are two things I remember about her: lots of clumpy black mascara and a writing tip on which I have based a career.

She offered the revolutionary idea that you can erase what you start with. The key is to just get started, and, once you get in the groove, the product is usually pretty good.

She must have gotten along well with my Algebra teacher, who once scrawled on his classroom wall with a red Marks-a-Lot, “Don’t just sit there like you’re getting a perm. Do something. Even it’s wrong.”

Granted, he was no Gary Zukav, but there’s some wisdom there.

It’s the same wisdom Dr. Seuss employs in his description of The Waiting Place:
“for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go,
or the mail to come, or the rain to go…
Everyone is just waiting…
NO!
That’s not for you!
Somehow you’ll escape
All that waiting and staying.
You’ll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing.”

How? Lean your head forward and try to keep up with your feet.

Now that I know we’re having a second daughter, I’m even more grateful for the time I spend with our first daughter, who is currently obsessed with pennies and Chapstick or anything else she can put in her toddler-size purse. The night after the ultrasound, I dreamed of leading a line of little girls, all with their pennies and Chapstick and toddler-size purses, through a park, down a ski slope, through a mall and beyond, on into their own lives. And I am grateful.

As I lie in bed staring at the ceiling and feeling sorry for my insomniac self, the new baby will give me a swift kick and I am all-at-once grateful for this teaspoon-sized child with the strength and vigor to kick me in such a way. I get weepy watching commercials for Toll House Cookies, and I am grateful for all the memories that haven’t been created and all the cookies my girls and I haven’t yet baked.

Pregnancy hormones are no doubt at work here (my “normal” self can endure a commercial break without shedding tears), but, for all of us, actively cultivating a sense of gratitude can help us heal and grow, and this sense of gratitude will thrive and strengthen when we begin to pay attention to it in even the smallest ways.

The Importance of Gratitude
Gratitude wards off jealousy. When we’re busy aaah-ing over what we have, we’re not looking at the person across the street and wanting what she has. Jealousy has an enormous power to change us, but only if we let it. By focusing on gratitude, we shift the focus away from the things we may feel are missing in our lives.

Gratitude keeps us centered. We’re not panicking over what we can accomplish but simply basking in the day-to-day glory of what is. And yet gratitude combines nicely with ambition, helping us to be gracious to the people who help us in our achievements.

Gratitude helps us to not complain. Too many of our conversations, it seems, reduce to a competition of who has it the worst.
“Oh, I’m so tired. Bethany is teething.”
“I know. I was up all night finishing a business proposal.”
“I don’t feel good either.”
We feed off one another until, in our heads, we really are unhappy.

We often mistake the tremendous power of our words. A simple negative comment or complaint can damage another person’s day because it can damage the way they see their life, either as they compare their life to yours or as they start focusing on their own negativity.

Don Miguel Ruiz, in The Four Agreements: A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom, calls such negativity “emotional poison.” But we can instill more positive emotions – in ourselves and in others.

Cultivating Gratitude
Help yourself cultivate gratitude. Here are a few little things we can all do every day.

Choose your friends wisely.
If you want to be more grateful, spend time with grateful women. Spend time with positive women to be more positive, joyful women to be more joyful, critical women to be more critical, irritated women to be more irritated.

If you strive to be spiritually strong, supportive, empowering, intelligent, energetic, and positive, seek those characteristics in others. Help your friends develop more positive traits by living those positive traits yourself. Know what kind of friends will help you nurture your soul, and set out to find some.

Help your friends cultivate gratitude.
Before you say anything about a friend’s situation, remember that everyone’s situation is unique. I’ve seen it happen to myself and to my friends. They’ll be perfectly happy until someone tells them they’re being mistreated. Suddenly, they’re upset. Don’t let your friends wield such power, and work to not wield such power yourself.

Day by day, hour by hour, make a goal to stop complaining about your own lot. Make a pact with your friends to cut the complaints from your conversations.

Give the gift of gratitude to your children.
One of the most lasting contributions we can make to our children is to help them understand that we don’t deserve anything and everything just because we live and breathe. Help them to be satisfied with the simple things while giving them the innate power and ability to achieve whatever they want in life by living in such a way yourself.

Say Thank You.
Whom in your life do you appreciate? Let them know, whether it’s your mom, your kids, your friends, your husband, your child’s daycare provider or the helpful woman behind the cosmetics counter.

You don’t have to spout some corny line. A heartfelt “thank you,” often does the trick. Make it a habit and your attention will suddenly turn to all the things people do for you. Write thank you notes regularly – not just after a gift exchange – and be mindful of all the ways you show your appreciation by the things you do in return.

Spend 15 minutes writing a letter to your children. In this note, tell them how much you love them, why you’re thankful for them, and all the ways they have enriched your life. This can be something you give them now or after they have grown.

Be mindful of the little things.
Today, strive to be aware of all the aspects of your personal, professional, and family life for which you are thankful. Take a few minutes today to appreciate nature. Go for a walk and notice only those things that are beautiful. Whether you focus on the stars above, a distant mountain range, or the cottonwood tree in your backyard, try to notice the details. Give thanks for the beauty that surrounds us.

Oprah Winfrey and Sarah Ban Breathnach, author of Simple Abundance, speak often of the importance of a Gratitude Journal, in which, at the end of each day, they record five things that they’re grateful for. Regardless of whether you record these items, spend some time each day to focus on the little things in your life that make each day special. Perhaps it’s your child’s toothless grin. A warm home. Delicious food enjoyed with family.

Together, let’s work on focusing on what we have – not on what we don’t have – and all the ways we can help one another have more gratitude for their own lives.