"The bonfire ignites in an eruption of yellow flame.
Then the second chime follows, and they become a clear sky-blue.
A third chime with a third arrow, and the flames are a warm bright pink.
Flames the color of a ripe pumpkin follow the fourth arrow.
A fifth, and the flames are scarlet-red.
A sixth brings a deeper, sparkling crimson.
Seven, and the fire is soaked in a color like an incandescent wine.
Eight, and the flames are shimmering violet.
Nine, and violet shifts to indigo.
A tenth chime, a tenth arrow, and the bonfire turns deepest midnight blue.
On the penultimate chime, the dancing flames change from blue to black, and for the moment, it is difficult to discern the fire from its cauldron.
And on the final strike, the dark flames are replaced with a blinding white, a shower of sparks falling like snowflakes around it. Huge curls of dense white smoke swirl up into the night sky." pg. 120
"'Secrets have power,' Widget begins. 'And the power diminishes when they are shared, so they are best kept and kept well. Sharing secrets, real secrets, important ones, with even one other person, will change them. Writing them down is worse, because who can tell how many eyes might see them inscribed on paper, no matter how careful you might be with it. So it's really best to keep your secrets when you have them, for their own good, as well as yours.'" pg. 226
"'So by losing his secrets, the wizard gained immortality. His tree stood long after the clever young girl was old and no longer beautiful, and in a way, he became greater and stronger than he had ever been before. Though if he were given the chance to do it all over again, he likely would have been more careful with his secrets.'" pg. 228
"'Call me by my name,' he says. He has never heard her speak his name and holding her in his arms he suddenly craves the sound. 'Please,' he adds when she hesitates.
"'Marco,' she says, her voice low and soft. The sound of his name on her tongue is even more intoxicating than he had imagined, and he leans in to taste it." pg. 349
"'I've tried,' Marco says, cupping her face in his hands. 'I have tried to let you go and I cannot. I cannot stop thinking of you. I cannot stop dreaming about you. Do you not feel the same for me?'
"'I do,' Celia says. 'I have you here, all around me. I sit in the ice Garden to get a hint of this, this way that you make me feel. I felt it even before I knew who you were, and every time I think it could not possibly get any stronger, it does.'" pg. 352
"Inside, the train is opulent, gilded, and warm. Most of the passenger cars are lined with thick patterned carpets, upholstered in velvets in burgundies and violets and creams, as though they have been dipped in a sunset, hovering at twilight and holding on to the colors before they fade to midnight and stars." pg. 402
"It would be like pulling the Murray twins apart and expecting them to be the same. They would be whole but not complete." pg. 459
"'There are no more battles between good and evil, no monsters to slay, no maidens in need of rescue. Most maidens are perfectly capable of rescuing themselves in my experience, at least the ones worth something, in any case.'" pg. 497
"'They are the circus. You can hear his footsteps in the Labyrinth. You can smell her perfume in the Cloud Maze. It's marvelous.'
'You think being imprisoned marvelous?'
'It's a matter of perspective,' Widget says. 'They have each other. They are confined within a space that is remarkable, one that can, and will, grow and change around them. In a way, they have the world, bound only by his imagination.'" pg. 502
"'He was seeking immortality, which is a terrible thing to seek. It is not seeking anything, but rather avoiding the unavoidable. He will grow to despise that state if he does not already. I hope my student and your teacher are more fortunate.'
'You mean. . . you hope they can die?' Widget asks.
'I mean only that I hope they find darkness or paradise without fear of it, if they can.'" pg. 503
"'Someone needs to tell those tales. When the battles are fought and won and lost, when the pirates find their treasures and the dragons eat their foes for breakfast with a nice cup of Lapsang souchong, someone needs to tell their bits of overlapping narrative. There's magic in that. It's in the listener, and for each and every ear it will be different, and it will affect them in ways they can never predict. From the mundane to the profound. You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone's soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose. That tale will move them and drive them and who knows what they might do because of it, because of your words. That is your role, your gift. Your sister may be able to see the future, but you yourself can shape it, boy. Do not forget that.' He takes another sip of his wine. 'There are many kinds of magic, after all.'" pg. 505
Monday, November 19, 2012
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Happy 11th Birthday, Sage
She was born with it. It's a gift. A talent. Sage was born loving children. She is not only willing to help babysit little ones, she truly loves it, and them. She has always been drawn to those younger than she. She is chomping at the bit to be old enough to have babysitting jobs. I love how I can always volunteer to help a neighbor with emergency babysitting needs. I know that Sage will not only be willing, but eager to step right in and take over, which she consistently does. I get to just love the kids and Sage gets to be surrogate mom. When she was about 8 years old, as we talked about what to do for her birthday party, she said she wanted a separate party that she would plan and carry out all by herself for all of her much younger friends, which she did.
In addition to loving children, Sage also loves to organize. When she is in the right mood, she will organize anything: a closet, a drawer, her room. Not to say that her room is never a mess - it is - but everything is relative. A mess for her is not really very messy for a stereotypical tween from what I hear.
She also loves to create interesting hair styles for herself complete with intricate braids, twists and buns. She has done her own hair since the time she could hold a brush. Her school picture from pre-school at age 4, is of Sage sporting her own style created and realized on her own. Only on occasion, when she finds a style she wants to try that is just a little too intricate, will she ask me for help. It really is quite impressive.
She has her own sense of fashion as well. She is quite particular about what she thinks matches and complements. Dave has a pair of green sweats that he almost never wears, except to races so that if he doesn't end up getting them back in his drop bag, he is not bothered. One night several years ago, he happened to be wearing them when he went in to say good-night. He asked if he could give her a good-night kiss. She responded immediately and emphatically with, "Not if you're wearing those pants!"
Sage is very responsible, and teachable at school. It just about kills her to not turn in a homework assignment. When she has the right motivation from a caring teacher, she would move mountains to finish every task asked of her.
Sage is my buddy, my partner, my always willing companion when I visit a friend, go run an errand, or anything I need to do. She is very very social and loves to be with people, and most of the time, I will do. But, she sure loves time with her friends. They are more willing to play virtual school, or city, or even virtual church. Everything she creates, she creates big. She and her friend made up a dance, set up our backyard for the premier, created invitations and tickets, and provided refreshments for all who attended - it was a pretty exclusive list of attendees. That's just one example.
She has her own set of challenges and difficulties which includes the much practiced talent of annoying her sister, but Sage is a gift and a blessing to me, and most people who know her.
In addition to loving children, Sage also loves to organize. When she is in the right mood, she will organize anything: a closet, a drawer, her room. Not to say that her room is never a mess - it is - but everything is relative. A mess for her is not really very messy for a stereotypical tween from what I hear.
She also loves to create interesting hair styles for herself complete with intricate braids, twists and buns. She has done her own hair since the time she could hold a brush. Her school picture from pre-school at age 4, is of Sage sporting her own style created and realized on her own. Only on occasion, when she finds a style she wants to try that is just a little too intricate, will she ask me for help. It really is quite impressive.
She has her own sense of fashion as well. She is quite particular about what she thinks matches and complements. Dave has a pair of green sweats that he almost never wears, except to races so that if he doesn't end up getting them back in his drop bag, he is not bothered. One night several years ago, he happened to be wearing them when he went in to say good-night. He asked if he could give her a good-night kiss. She responded immediately and emphatically with, "Not if you're wearing those pants!"
Sage is very responsible, and teachable at school. It just about kills her to not turn in a homework assignment. When she has the right motivation from a caring teacher, she would move mountains to finish every task asked of her.
Sage is my buddy, my partner, my always willing companion when I visit a friend, go run an errand, or anything I need to do. She is very very social and loves to be with people, and most of the time, I will do. But, she sure loves time with her friends. They are more willing to play virtual school, or city, or even virtual church. Everything she creates, she creates big. She and her friend made up a dance, set up our backyard for the premier, created invitations and tickets, and provided refreshments for all who attended - it was a pretty exclusive list of attendees. That's just one example.
How to Lose 5 Pounds in One Day With No Drugs and No Exercise
Impossible, you say? No,
really. I tried this method myself last
Friday and found the claims to be completely accurate. You just need to follow these five easy (ok,
not quite easy) steps.
Step #1: Be so weak and sick that
you can barely move a muscle all day.
The one time you try to venure downstairs, you have to take a break on
the top of the stairs to sit down and moan, then you whimper down each step,
continuing until you finally reach your bed again and gratefully fall back into
bed.
Step #2: Throw up so many times
during the 24 (ok, 32) hours that the thought of food or liquid causes your
stomach to convulse and threaten to dry heave.
Step #3: Finally, successfully make
it downstairs when the kids come home from school where they gather around you
and watch hours and hours of "Bones" and "Say Yes to the
Dress", while you fade in and out of coherence. Luckily, um, or unluckily, the girls seemed
to like this step.
Step #4: Turn down a getaway with
your spouse the one, and only, time they plan one from beginning to end right
down to choosing and booking the hotel.
In Dave's defense, he claims to be the "Idea Man", and I'm in
charge of Operations.
Step #5: After a whole day of lying
immobile, you collapse into bed at 8:30 and sleep the sleep of the dead until
morning.
After the successful completion of all five steps, you wake up feeling 95%
better, and voila, 5 pound weight loss!
What's the first thing I did to celebrate my accomplishment of the
weight loss (and being able to stand up)?
I ate a handful of peanut M&M's.
I'm going to enjoy gaining back every ounce I lost. Speaking of which. . . I'm hungry.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Tiger Moon by Antonia Michaelis
I loved this book! LOVED LOVED LOVED it. The writing was immensely
beautiful. I won't use this space to describe the plot, I will just use
it to list the quotes that melted my heart. If you could see my book, I
have little napkin pieces marking my favorite pages throughout the
book. It looks like my book had a cold with as many tissues and napkins
sticking out of its openings.
"She was different from all the women Lalit knew. She cast her eyes down like a timid girl, but when he met her gaze for the first time, those same eyes gave him a shock. There was a glow in them, and a hissing, like drops of water falling into fire." pg. 14
"She cast her eyes down so as not to scorch her patient listener with the fire in them, and began her story." pg. 20
"He slept a refreshing, light, and dreamless sleep -- a sleep as blue as air."
"'He doesn't look at all like a hero,' said the young women, pulling their scarves over their faces when the stranger rode by. Not to protect themselves from the dust, and not to hide their beauty. Farhad knew they were hiding behind veils to preserve the illusion of beauty. The newcomer, who hadn't seen all those hooked noses and crooked teeth, could imagine them as perfect. He knew all about the tricks women played." pg. 94
"The day was blue. As blue as melancholy. A vague sadness weighed down on it, and fell on Raka's slender shoulders." pg. 156
"The first drops were joined by countless others, and, seconds later, water was cascading from the clouds as if someone had turned the ocean upside down and emptied it over the earth." pg. 171
"Farhad made himself go slowly through the water. If he tried to run, he'd scare the water, as Nitish would put it, and the talkative water would tell everyone he was running away." pg. 207
"The cows of India are sacred, but that doesn't mean that anyone feeds them. They wander city streets, live on garbage, and after a while they starve to death in a very sacred way." pg. 212
"The fire was spreading and, to the tiger's horror, it was growing. It was here, there, and everywhere. He tried to tread on it, but it bit his paw. He withdrew the paw and licked it in confusion." pg. 289-290
"Her lips were not like rose petals, not like silk and velvet, not like the tender colors of dawn over the desert, or like the breath of the evening wind.
"Her lips were as rough as her hands, rough from the desert sand.
"Lips like the storm that blinds you among the dunes, like the desert's unbearable heat, like the trunks of palm trees in the oases, like the blazing sun at noon, like the sky just before it darkens with the rain that so seldom comes.
"Raka did not withdraw.
"Lalit tasted all the colors of India in her mouth." pg. 302
"He put out the fire on his head, but the next moment he saw the fire climb down the shed. Now it began eating its way forward across the field like a greedy caterpillar." pg. 318
"'I'm not just any old tiger,' he replied. 'I'm a sacred tiger. The gods made me to run races with the wind. And you found me because it was my fate to carry you. Are you trying to tell me there's such a thing as coincidence in the world?'" pg. 357
"He took Farhad's shirt in his teeth, hauled him to his feet, and the storm attacked them again with all its might. But now they had a purpose. And even in a sandstorm, it's difficult to stop someone with a purpose." pg. 382
"Lalit and Lagan
Indian love is always taboo,
and smells of cardamom.
It tastes of chili, of spices, too.
Come, it says softly, come.
Indian love is red as rage
and deep, deep blue as sorrow.
It is not easy, it is not kind,
it may not see tomorrow.
In Indian gardens, Indian love
rustles like leaves in the wind.
And should two lovers in that grove
be both of the same mind,
the wind will have this tale to tell
of longing, grief, and death;
They loved not wisely but too well
they loved to their last breath." pg. 412
"She slipped out of Lalit's embrace like a fish." pg. 415
"As usual, everyone else was stronger than him. He had learned to serve, to obey, to avoid trouble, and no one had ever taught him to rebel. because there was no point in it, he told himself. Because rebels always lost out in the end." pg. 416
"'She is beautiful,' he whispered. 'Much more beautiful than in the picture in your amulet. But there's nothing soft and yielding about her beauty. She is wild as the desert, brave as a tiger, lonely as the sun, and timorous as the rain.'" pg. 423
"Lagan opened the door to the garden, and Raka went out into it one last time. the fragrance of the nocturnal flowers mingled with the moonlight, weaving invisible fabric to clothe her naked body." pg. 440
There are still so many more beautiful passages to quote. It is really a very well-written lovely book. It is perfect in its imperfection. This isn't a book that follows a formula to be sure.
"And so this story ends as it began.
"In chaos.
"In India." pg. 438
"She was different from all the women Lalit knew. She cast her eyes down like a timid girl, but when he met her gaze for the first time, those same eyes gave him a shock. There was a glow in them, and a hissing, like drops of water falling into fire." pg. 14
"She cast her eyes down so as not to scorch her patient listener with the fire in them, and began her story." pg. 20
"He slept a refreshing, light, and dreamless sleep -- a sleep as blue as air."
"'He doesn't look at all like a hero,' said the young women, pulling their scarves over their faces when the stranger rode by. Not to protect themselves from the dust, and not to hide their beauty. Farhad knew they were hiding behind veils to preserve the illusion of beauty. The newcomer, who hadn't seen all those hooked noses and crooked teeth, could imagine them as perfect. He knew all about the tricks women played." pg. 94
"The day was blue. As blue as melancholy. A vague sadness weighed down on it, and fell on Raka's slender shoulders." pg. 156
"The first drops were joined by countless others, and, seconds later, water was cascading from the clouds as if someone had turned the ocean upside down and emptied it over the earth." pg. 171
"Farhad made himself go slowly through the water. If he tried to run, he'd scare the water, as Nitish would put it, and the talkative water would tell everyone he was running away." pg. 207
"The cows of India are sacred, but that doesn't mean that anyone feeds them. They wander city streets, live on garbage, and after a while they starve to death in a very sacred way." pg. 212
"The fire was spreading and, to the tiger's horror, it was growing. It was here, there, and everywhere. He tried to tread on it, but it bit his paw. He withdrew the paw and licked it in confusion." pg. 289-290
"Her lips were not like rose petals, not like silk and velvet, not like the tender colors of dawn over the desert, or like the breath of the evening wind.
"Her lips were as rough as her hands, rough from the desert sand.
"Lips like the storm that blinds you among the dunes, like the desert's unbearable heat, like the trunks of palm trees in the oases, like the blazing sun at noon, like the sky just before it darkens with the rain that so seldom comes.
"Raka did not withdraw.
"Lalit tasted all the colors of India in her mouth." pg. 302
"He put out the fire on his head, but the next moment he saw the fire climb down the shed. Now it began eating its way forward across the field like a greedy caterpillar." pg. 318
"'I'm not just any old tiger,' he replied. 'I'm a sacred tiger. The gods made me to run races with the wind. And you found me because it was my fate to carry you. Are you trying to tell me there's such a thing as coincidence in the world?'" pg. 357
"He took Farhad's shirt in his teeth, hauled him to his feet, and the storm attacked them again with all its might. But now they had a purpose. And even in a sandstorm, it's difficult to stop someone with a purpose." pg. 382
"Lalit and Lagan
Indian love is always taboo,
and smells of cardamom.
It tastes of chili, of spices, too.
Come, it says softly, come.
Indian love is red as rage
and deep, deep blue as sorrow.
It is not easy, it is not kind,
it may not see tomorrow.
In Indian gardens, Indian love
rustles like leaves in the wind.
And should two lovers in that grove
be both of the same mind,
the wind will have this tale to tell
of longing, grief, and death;
They loved not wisely but too well
they loved to their last breath." pg. 412
"She slipped out of Lalit's embrace like a fish." pg. 415
"As usual, everyone else was stronger than him. He had learned to serve, to obey, to avoid trouble, and no one had ever taught him to rebel. because there was no point in it, he told himself. Because rebels always lost out in the end." pg. 416
"'She is beautiful,' he whispered. 'Much more beautiful than in the picture in your amulet. But there's nothing soft and yielding about her beauty. She is wild as the desert, brave as a tiger, lonely as the sun, and timorous as the rain.'" pg. 423
"Lagan opened the door to the garden, and Raka went out into it one last time. the fragrance of the nocturnal flowers mingled with the moonlight, weaving invisible fabric to clothe her naked body." pg. 440
There are still so many more beautiful passages to quote. It is really a very well-written lovely book. It is perfect in its imperfection. This isn't a book that follows a formula to be sure.
"And so this story ends as it began.
"In chaos.
"In India." pg. 438
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
I'm Sick
I'm sick. It's not the constantly throwing-up, "I think I'm gonna die" sick, it's just the "I don't have energy to do anything" sick. I am sitting here on my living room couch in one of the places in my house that has been unofficially dubbed "MINE" (at least by me), with Sage's blanket on my legs because of the slight chill I feel (on an 80 degree day mind you) and thinking. I have been reading the next book in the installment of books Casey has recently recommended to me, before and after a 10:30 am nap. Now one side of my hair is flat and lifeless, which is perfectly apropos for how I'm feeling. It's not a bad feeling at all, it is just devoid of any emotion or feeling. While I was reading, I was multi-tasking apparently, since I found myself simultaneously analyzing this physical sickness with the emotional sickness I felt several months ago.
With this particular illness, there is a long list of things of things that I want and need to do -- practice the piano and my voice since I have an upcoming recital, look up hotels in three different cities in Costa Rica since that's the one assignment I have been given for our upcoming trip, iron Dave's shirts and pants that are still hanging in the queue (have HIM do it you say, I actually don't mind ironing and I really like the way he looks in crisp shirts :) ), order a photo book from our last trip, organize and purge some files on my computers, and I ALWAYS need to work on our finances updating everything -- but I just don't have any energy. My mind is very willing, but my body says "NO". Well, it doesn't really say it like that, it mostly says, "no". With my emotional illness (YUK, I hate saying it like that), several months ago, there was still a long list of things I could do, but neither my mind nor my body had any desire whatsoever to do any item on any list.
So, I will sit here and write for a moment, but then I will read again and lose myself in the world of Kristin Cashore and wait patiently for strength to return, AND be extremely grateful that this time I have great confidence it will return very quickly. I have discovered that it is possible to enjoy the peace of waiting. It's easier to enjoy it when you don't have the strength or energy to do anything else. ;) Back to "Bitterblue" . . .
With this particular illness, there is a long list of things of things that I want and need to do -- practice the piano and my voice since I have an upcoming recital, look up hotels in three different cities in Costa Rica since that's the one assignment I have been given for our upcoming trip, iron Dave's shirts and pants that are still hanging in the queue (have HIM do it you say, I actually don't mind ironing and I really like the way he looks in crisp shirts :) ), order a photo book from our last trip, organize and purge some files on my computers, and I ALWAYS need to work on our finances updating everything -- but I just don't have any energy. My mind is very willing, but my body says "NO". Well, it doesn't really say it like that, it mostly says, "no". With my emotional illness (YUK, I hate saying it like that), several months ago, there was still a long list of things I could do, but neither my mind nor my body had any desire whatsoever to do any item on any list.
So, I will sit here and write for a moment, but then I will read again and lose myself in the world of Kristin Cashore and wait patiently for strength to return, AND be extremely grateful that this time I have great confidence it will return very quickly. I have discovered that it is possible to enjoy the peace of waiting. It's easier to enjoy it when you don't have the strength or energy to do anything else. ;) Back to "Bitterblue" . . .
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
No News is Good News
Enough kind people have asked about how I am doing lately to warrant an update. No news is good news on this one. I have written half a dozen posts in my head, but just haven't felt compelled to put pen to paper, so to speak. My other posts I felt very driven to write, even though I have had A LOT of second thoughts on posting the last one. If I hadn't felt so compelled to write it, I most certainly wouldn't have written it, much less posted it for others to read. I so hope it was the right thing to do. I still worry that some people might have seen it as me just exposing my weaknesses to the world in a fit of emotional throw-up.
I am doing really well. All of the garbage (insert swear word if you'd rather - it applies) I have gone through is mostly gone. I haven't had a panic attack for months, I'm eating just fine, actually a little better than fine -- oops, I'm sleeping about 97% of the time (when I haven't had too much evening caffeine - oops again), and I look forward to time alone again. I have so many things I want to do, that I can't keep up. A lot of really good things have happened as well in the last several months. I have made new friendships, renewed, and cemented, old ones, joined a book club, added yoga to my routine, competed in three triathlons, a half marathon, started attending a Book of Mormon class (it's too basic and therefore a little frustrating, however), and I have read several books, some better than others. I'm also singing again, and my sabbatical from my calling as ward choir director is over.
My relationship with Casey has also grown leaps and bounds. As she gets older and matures, much faster than maybe she should, I find that we connect more and more. She is a surprisingly deep thinker for a sixteen-year-old young woman. It is such a pleasure having deeper and deeper discussions with her.
The best part of the last several months is that my relationship with Dave has been refined and solidified even more than it had already in our 19 1/2 years of marriage before this crash. I feel like we have always been close, to differing degrees over the years, but since my crash, we have been able to use it as an amazing opportunity for us to turn to each other even more intensely. Dave is an immensely caring person who spends every day helping people. I have admired that in him ever since I met him. For the first time, he has needed to be my personal, on-call 24/7, therapist. Since I HATE feeling weak and vulnerable, when I have had those, very new, feelings, often I will stuff them deep down and try to go on with my daily stuff that just needs to get done. I try, desperately, to hide those feelings, but I am woefully unsuccessful. Dave is very attuned to me, and can tell when I am holding something back. Thankfully for me, he asks the right questions and genuinely wants me to tell him everything I am thinking. He has been amazingly non-judgmental and open. And, he is willing and eager to listen again and again as I process thoughts and emotions. He constantly surprises me with his loving, and supportive responses. Every woman should be so lucky.
I have experienced several spiritual tender mercies as well. Again and again, I keep finding the phrase "Be still" and "Just wait" directed at me. When I don't listen and try to pursue my own avenues, doors close - over and over and over again. I think, with Dave's help (and yoga), I'm finally learning how to deep breathe, let everything go and just let happen what needs to happen. I feel peace. Sometimes, I can't get my head and my heart on the same page, but at least, they are reading the same book now. I don't know how the book ends, or even what the next page holds, but I will try to just be ready and accept whatever is written there.
I am doing really well. All of the garbage (insert swear word if you'd rather - it applies) I have gone through is mostly gone. I haven't had a panic attack for months, I'm eating just fine, actually a little better than fine -- oops, I'm sleeping about 97% of the time (when I haven't had too much evening caffeine - oops again), and I look forward to time alone again. I have so many things I want to do, that I can't keep up. A lot of really good things have happened as well in the last several months. I have made new friendships, renewed, and cemented, old ones, joined a book club, added yoga to my routine, competed in three triathlons, a half marathon, started attending a Book of Mormon class (it's too basic and therefore a little frustrating, however), and I have read several books, some better than others. I'm also singing again, and my sabbatical from my calling as ward choir director is over.
My relationship with Casey has also grown leaps and bounds. As she gets older and matures, much faster than maybe she should, I find that we connect more and more. She is a surprisingly deep thinker for a sixteen-year-old young woman. It is such a pleasure having deeper and deeper discussions with her.
The best part of the last several months is that my relationship with Dave has been refined and solidified even more than it had already in our 19 1/2 years of marriage before this crash. I feel like we have always been close, to differing degrees over the years, but since my crash, we have been able to use it as an amazing opportunity for us to turn to each other even more intensely. Dave is an immensely caring person who spends every day helping people. I have admired that in him ever since I met him. For the first time, he has needed to be my personal, on-call 24/7, therapist. Since I HATE feeling weak and vulnerable, when I have had those, very new, feelings, often I will stuff them deep down and try to go on with my daily stuff that just needs to get done. I try, desperately, to hide those feelings, but I am woefully unsuccessful. Dave is very attuned to me, and can tell when I am holding something back. Thankfully for me, he asks the right questions and genuinely wants me to tell him everything I am thinking. He has been amazingly non-judgmental and open. And, he is willing and eager to listen again and again as I process thoughts and emotions. He constantly surprises me with his loving, and supportive responses. Every woman should be so lucky.
I have experienced several spiritual tender mercies as well. Again and again, I keep finding the phrase "Be still" and "Just wait" directed at me. When I don't listen and try to pursue my own avenues, doors close - over and over and over again. I think, with Dave's help (and yoga), I'm finally learning how to deep breathe, let everything go and just let happen what needs to happen. I feel peace. Sometimes, I can't get my head and my heart on the same page, but at least, they are reading the same book now. I don't know how the book ends, or even what the next page holds, but I will try to just be ready and accept whatever is written there.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Into the Darkness
About a year and a half ago, things were
really good in my life. I was training for the Boston Marathon – a
life-long, amazing dream that I never thought would come true – and feeling
strong. Training was going well, I liked my job working with children, my
family was doing great, and I had good friends. As I was training for the
marathon, I noticed a pain in my hip that had been building for many, many
months, mostly unnoticed. It had never really bothered me before, and I
just thought of it as more of an irritation. I had run marathons before without
any hip problems. But now this hip problem was bothering me on a regular
basis. It began to affect my running and the marathon was rapidly
approaching. I lowered my expectations for my performance in the
marathon, and continued training, hoping my hip wouldn’t hamper my performance
too much.
Then, two days before I was to leave for
Boston, I got a call from my sister in tears saying that her husband had just
taken his life. A huge, shocking, and unexpected loss. Even though
I would miss the funeral, my sister encouraged me to go to Boston. I
planned to go up and see her as soon as I got back. I arrived in Boston
on Friday, and on Saturday night, I got a call from Dave saying that my mom was
in the hospital for some random stomach pain, which we quickly dismissed. Mom
was healthy as a horse. It would take more than a stomach ache to slow
her down, we insisted. Monday morning, I ran the marathon in intense hip
pain which still hasn’t gone completely away. The plane ride home was
excruciatingly painful. I hid my tears as I poured my pain into my
journal. Perhaps my marathon days were over, maybe forever. Another
loss.
When I got home from Boston, I repacked my
bags and we all drove up to see my sister. While we were there, I
discovered that the sister with whom I had always been so, so close not only
didn’t need me there, she didn’t want me there. Our friendship had
deteriorated almost completely. Heartbreaking loss. While I was there, we
heard together that my mom's stomach pain was really pancreatic cancer.
She was dying, and would possibly not last two weeks. I raced home, and
mom died a week later. Huge, huge loss. Mom and I had become very
close in my adult life. We had become especially close in the last six
years since my dad died, also of pancreatic cancer. She was a consistent,
almost daily presence in my life and now she was gone. Over the course of
the summer as we set about dealing with my parents’ estate, I discovered that I
had no real close relationships with any of my siblings. I realized that
I had no real relationship with my family. Another loss. When
school started, I went back to work as a reading interventionist. I loved
my job working with students who struggle to read. This year we were
involved in a study through the University of Utah where we taught four
struggling first graders at a time in an intensive, structured, reading
program. I arrogantly dove in head first. However, the learning
curve was extremely sharp, and I was not gaining ground. Dave pushed me
to quit the study, and quit my job if necessary, since I was struggling so
mightily with this new assignment. Another possible loss.
During the next several months, I felt myself
surrounded by thick mists of darkness, an intense fog. Sometimes, it
seemed so thick I could cut it with the proverbial knife. Everything I
loved to do, I couldn’t get myself to do. Slowly, either I pushed friends
away, or they left because of life circumstance. I used to joke to Dave
that I was losing thing after thing, person after person. Finally, this
last spring, I sent out the last checks to my siblings for my mother’s
estate. It was closed. Everything about Mom’s death was now
finished. Crash! Loss. Concurrently, Dave and I were both
very sick, causing me to lose chunks of sleep almost nightly, for several
weeks. At the same time, it felt very much like I was losing my last,
closest, friend. Unbeknownst to me, our friendship had been changing for
months. I sensed it, yet could never put my finger on what was
happening. Suddenly, it became clear that the friendship as I understood
it was forever changed. Crash! Another loss.
I felt completely alone outside of
Dave and my kids. And, I became terrified I was going to lose one
of them next. So much of what had happened in the last year was sudden,
shocking, and beyond my control. I felt so completely powerless. I began
to have panic attacks. I had NEVER experienced a panic attack, and
certainly never expected to in this life. I am not a worrier by nature,
nor am I a fearful person AT ALL. I run and bike by myself in the very
early hours with no concern. I travel by myself to meet friends or
family, and I have no second thoughts. But here I was having panic
attacks. It was this indescribable, helpless feeling where my heart felt
like it was in a vise. Also, irrationally, I felt like if I could just
throw up the horrible pit in my stomach I would feel better. I hadn't
been sleeping because of my illness, and that continued along with difficulty
eating. The crashes meant waking up from my fog, which meant that I had
to feel the intense grief of all of the losses of the last year. It was
like waking up from a numb nightmare into a waking one. I wasn’t in only
darkness this time, but a crushing blackness. When Dave would come home
from work, I would, at times, collapse in his willing arms and sob. In a way
that I could never have predicted, I felt weak, vulnerable, betrayed by my
body, and left alone to process this grief. Anyone who knows me will know
how much I HATED feeling this way.
I had never felt anything like this before
and I was clueless as to how to proceed. I was already doing what I
thought I should be doing, all of the "church" answers: read
& study the scriptures – check, go to the temple regularly – check, pray
mightily – double and triple check. It’s a different prayer when you
start “Father in Heaven” or “Heavenly Father”, and instead begin with “My God,
My God, why hast though forsaken me” or, as my good friend told me, “Dad!
Help me!” So, what now?
First of all, in desperation, I realized I
couldn’t be an independent hermit anymore. I found I had to reach out to
someone, anyone. In tears, I reached out to some of my friends that I had
pushed away, and one that had pushed me away. By reaching out, I realized
two things: 1) that one good friend that felt pushed away, and was just waiting
for me to reach out to her again; she has become one of the main sources of my
strength and support. And 2) that another one of my good friends was in the
same pit of despair as I was; I just couldn’t see or feel her because of the
darkness. We have been traveling through this journey together ever
since, drawing strength from one another, “bearing each other’s burden”
sometimes on a daily basis. I also found a great new friend that said she
had been wanting to reach out to me for the last few years, but wasn't sure how
to go about it. By sharing my pain, I also have been able to start
reconnecting with my sister. She and I were both very surprised to find
that even though circumstances are very different for each of us, the similarities
we have found have been striking. I'm not sure we could have
started the process of finding each other again if we didn't share such a
painful bond. Also, one day at work, my lack of food and sleep had caught
up to me at last. I realized if I didn't get home very soon, I was going
to pass out. One look at my supervisor told her all she needed to know,
and I raced home as quickly as I could. Luckily, I work right by my home,
so I made it home just in time. Thank goodness I didn't pass out on the
sidewalk. ;) Once I returned to work the next day, my supervisor, and
friend, and another friend asked what was going on. I finally broke down
and told them what I was experiencing. My friend told me that she
experienced the same thing after her father died: numb for a year, a
crash, then overwhelming grief. It was such a relief to hear that others
had gone through a similar pattern of grief.
As I have shared my experience with these few
close friends, and on a limited basis, in a Relief Society lesson, what I have
discovered is that we all struggle. We all suffer, in our own way.
Many people have come to me to tell me that they too have experienced, not my
same story, but the same feelings that I have. I have been able to
relate, in a way I would never have been able to before, to feelings of
intense, shocking loneliness (even in a crowd of people, or with my beautiful
family), grief and loss, jealousy, to having an acute hit on my faith that I
thought was rock solid. It seems that each of us have had our faith attacked at
our very core, in a place none of us knew existed. I got to experience a
tiny, tiny taste of the unifying phrase, “I know what you are feeling” and
“I’ve felt that exact same way myself.”
I found myself trying to figure out what to
"DO" to make these feelings go away. I felt like I was in the
middle of a "PBS Sherlock" episode. All I needed to do was
figure out what I needed to learn, or do, or understand, and the pain would go
away. End of episode, return to strength. Hooray! Test
completed. Much to my great dismay, other than making some changes, time
seems to be the only answer to the frightening, frustrating, puzzle.
So, what has helped? A consistent
emotional connection to and from my friends, exercise - biking seems to be
especially helpful, Dave's ever-willing supportive and understanding ear, and
his uncanny ability to put into words what I am feeling, a slew of Ensign
articles - past conference edition and monthly editions, and constant prayer.
I can say that I know I couldn’t have gotten through the most difficult times
without the help of the Lord. There were days when I would pray fervently
that I could not get through THIS day without His help. Each time, there
would be just enough of the feeling of the spirit to help remind me that He was
there. He wasn’t going to take it away from me, because even though I
have begged and begged, I’m guessing He knows that it is important for me to
figure this out, mostly on my own.
How am I doing? Thank you for asking.
;) I still mourn the loss of the relationships that have been damaged. I
still miss my mother (even though sometimes she drove me crazy and I probably did the same to her,
let's be honest). However, I think I'm finally improving. I haven't
had a soul-wrenching cry for almost a whole week. Success. Although
I have had times where I have been good for days and days before regressing and
have a really, really bad day. Two steps forward, one, two, or three
steps back. A week is good, and I feel optimistic about the near
future. That doesn't mean I'm out of the woods. That means the
low-level gut ache is bearable. I'm learning how to push through the
pain. I can even forget about it at times. I have faith that when
(and I do believe it is "when") I climb fully out of this pit and
back up on solid ground, I will be stronger, wiser, more compassionate, kinder,
more understanding, and ultimately more Christlike than I was before I fell off
the cliff. The hard part is, when I'm running a marathon, I always know
when it will end: 26.2. I know if I can just get there, 26.2 means
release -- emotionally, physically, mentally, spiritually. This particular
marathon has an end, I believe it does, but I don't know where it is, and
I don't know which mile I'm currently running. Here's hoping I just passed
the 24th mile marker, and it's all downhill from here. I just keep
envisioning the finish line and hoping it will end like all of my marathons
end, with me in the arms of a good, loving friend, weeping in relief.
I do have faith, I do believe.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Six and Sixteen
The reasons why I love the fact that Casey just turned 16 instead of 6, even though I LOVED Casey at 6:
1) When she was six and we went swimming, I held her hand in the kiddie area as she tentatively splashed, while I was seriously freezing unless the sun was strong enough to warm my back. Secretly, I was wishing I could go lie in the sun and read my book, 'cause I'm just that kind of great mom. ;)
Now that she is sixteen, either she and I swim laps together (well, next to each other, since she easily smokes me at every stroke), or she drives herself to the rec center and swims laps while I am busy elsewhere.
2) When she was six, we took her to lunch at McDonald's and ate Happy Meals while she played in the balls, and went down the slides being careful to avoid the throw-up on the big one.
Now that she is sixteen, we went to lunch at India House, ate some wicked Indian food, and talked philosophy: do things happen for a reason, or do we find reason in things that happen?
3) When she was six, we had a "freaking fun party ", according to one party attendee. It was a wonderful, but exhausting party with neighborhood friends, as we spent the entire time desperately trying to keep the kids interested and active until we could load them up with sugar in the form of a Barbie cake.
Now that she is sixteen, she chose to go to Lagoon with her friends, and as for any family party, she just asked Dave and I to take her to see The Dark Knight Rises, complete with popcorn and soda for dinner.
4) When she was six, we got to watch the amazing process of a child learning to read, of putting sounds together and watching them magically turn into words. She hated homework and needed lots of creative incentives to get it done. She also loved math the most!
Now that she is sixteen, we have a rule (well, we used to, we haven't enforced it for years) that she can't read until her homework is done, because she inhales three or four novels a week. She even read "Deerslayer" by James Fenimore Cooper for FUN. She still doesn't like homework, but is extremely dedicated to getting it done. . . ahead of the due date. And, even though she is taking Calculus this year, it is NOT her favorite subject.
5) When she was six, she loved to write, and she was very descriptive in her writing. We even used to play "the simile game". I would start a simile, i.e. "The snow is shining on the sidewalk like. . ." and she would finish it with, ". . . a thousand stars." It was one of her favorite games - and mine.
Now that she is sixteen, Casey still loves to write, and hopes to be a writer and/or an editor when she grows up. She has written dozens of poems, and many stories. On Goodreads, a few authors have even requested for her to be their "friend" because she is so well-read in their genre.
This poem is one of the dozens Casey has written. It was published in her school's writing magazine last year.
Frozen
Talk,
Wrenching out.
Words unwanted
Hidden,
Brought to light.
Tears,
Falling, shattering
Ice Drops.
Twice the sound,
Enhanced
The effect.
Warm;
One step,
Cold,
To the bone.
Ice through throat,
Snow over eyes.
Freezing slowly
Hope's warmth;
Iced
Deep within.
Casey is a deep thinker who asks deep, intelligent questions for which I only sometimes have the answers. She often reads the scriptures in a new and different way that challenges me to look again. It has been so fun having our relationship morph from mother/young daughter, to more of an adult relationship.
I loved my little Casey when she was six, but it is truly a joy to be her mother at sixteen.
1) When she was six and we went swimming, I held her hand in the kiddie area as she tentatively splashed, while I was seriously freezing unless the sun was strong enough to warm my back. Secretly, I was wishing I could go lie in the sun and read my book, 'cause I'm just that kind of great mom. ;)
Now that she is sixteen, either she and I swim laps together (well, next to each other, since she easily smokes me at every stroke), or she drives herself to the rec center and swims laps while I am busy elsewhere.
2) When she was six, we took her to lunch at McDonald's and ate Happy Meals while she played in the balls, and went down the slides being careful to avoid the throw-up on the big one.
Now that she is sixteen, we went to lunch at India House, ate some wicked Indian food, and talked philosophy: do things happen for a reason, or do we find reason in things that happen?
3) When she was six, we had a "freaking fun party ", according to one party attendee. It was a wonderful, but exhausting party with neighborhood friends, as we spent the entire time desperately trying to keep the kids interested and active until we could load them up with sugar in the form of a Barbie cake.
Now that she is sixteen, she chose to go to Lagoon with her friends, and as for any family party, she just asked Dave and I to take her to see The Dark Knight Rises, complete with popcorn and soda for dinner.
4) When she was six, we got to watch the amazing process of a child learning to read, of putting sounds together and watching them magically turn into words. She hated homework and needed lots of creative incentives to get it done. She also loved math the most!
Now that she is sixteen, we have a rule (well, we used to, we haven't enforced it for years) that she can't read until her homework is done, because she inhales three or four novels a week. She even read "Deerslayer" by James Fenimore Cooper for FUN. She still doesn't like homework, but is extremely dedicated to getting it done. . . ahead of the due date. And, even though she is taking Calculus this year, it is NOT her favorite subject.
5) When she was six, she loved to write, and she was very descriptive in her writing. We even used to play "the simile game". I would start a simile, i.e. "The snow is shining on the sidewalk like. . ." and she would finish it with, ". . . a thousand stars." It was one of her favorite games - and mine.
Now that she is sixteen, Casey still loves to write, and hopes to be a writer and/or an editor when she grows up. She has written dozens of poems, and many stories. On Goodreads, a few authors have even requested for her to be their "friend" because she is so well-read in their genre.
This poem is one of the dozens Casey has written. It was published in her school's writing magazine last year.
Frozen
Talk,
Wrenching out.
Words unwanted
Hidden,
Brought to light.
Tears,
Falling, shattering
Ice Drops.
Twice the sound,
Enhanced
The effect.
Warm;
One step,
Cold,
To the bone.
Ice through throat,
Snow over eyes.
Freezing slowly
Hope's warmth;
Iced
Deep within.
Casey is a deep thinker who asks deep, intelligent questions for which I only sometimes have the answers. She often reads the scriptures in a new and different way that challenges me to look again. It has been so fun having our relationship morph from mother/young daughter, to more of an adult relationship.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Original Dreams
After my last post, Dave and I were having a delicious discussion about dreams (over delicious Indian food - I so like Indian food). We talked about how dreams change, are sometimes set aside for a time or for good, or are realized. We discussed how some dreams are so long in being realized that we lose focus of our original dream. I thought I would talk about some of my original dreams, whether or not they have been realized as of yet, whether or not they have changed.
Original Dream #1: Be a professional singer: Unrealized. Ever since I was a little girl, I have sung, and sung, and sung, and sung. My brothers used to beg me - no seriously, beg me - to stop singing. I might have mentioned before that we had a rule that there was no singing at the dinner table. That rule never made sense to me until I had my middle daughter. Now we have the same rule. I kept singing, got a scholarship in vocal music and headed off to college. It had been my thing since I was a toddler, so I just followed the path of least resistance. I started off as a vocal performance major. I was going to perform for a living! Then, three things happened. 1) In order to be a performance major in the music department at my university, I would have to focus on classical singing, opera. Hmmm. I realized I didn't have the passion for that at all. 2) I started thinking about the life I would have to live as a performer. I would be working when everyone else was off. I would have to work late into the night. I would probably have to travel a lot to find the gigs, and that's IF I had gigs. It didn't seem like a good life for a mom, see Original Dream #3. 3) After hearing us sing, my choir professor placed us in his choir where he wanted us to stand. Later, when I was taking a methods class from him and he was explaining how to situate a choir, I found out that he had placed me in the second worst place in the soprano section. He didn't like my voice at all. I found I couldn't get any solos. I was soundly rejected from his advanced choir. O-U-C-H. Even though I had other professors later who were much more complimentary, that first professor certainly had an affect on how I felt about my voice. My dream was reevaluated, and changed. I changed my major to music education, and discovered a love of teaching instead. I learned that teaching is in my bones. Now I still sing, twenty years post college, but never professionally - yet.
Original Dream #2: Get married and stay married. Realized (so far). I met Dave in college when we were both in the same choir, me for my major, him, for fun. After knowing each other for about a year and a half, we decided to take the plunge. Making such a big decision so young, with so little information about each other, and so little life experience still makes me shake my head in wonder. I really lucked out. Dave is most certainly not perfect, but then neither am I. However, he seems to be the perfect match for me in almost every category. Happily every after, right? Nope, not even close. Although we are both (I guess you will just have to ask him) very happy with our choices, there have been periods of time when we took each other for granted, were very distant from each other, didn't understand each other, or didn't even like each other. There was even a stretch when we went through some major marriage turmoil. We had to reevaluate Original Dream #2. We had to ask some serious questions, some of which were, "Do we still agree with our original dream? Do we need some renegotiation on our contract or do we need to break it altogether?" We were and we weren't the same people we married. We had grown, changed, evolved. We had to decide if we wanted to do some work to find each other again. Luckily for me, Dave has always been a hard worker. In the process, we learned so much about each other, the bad and the good, the frustrating and the amazing, the ugly and the beautiful. We continue to learn, and we continue to work. But, so far, we both love Original Dream #2.
Original Dream #3: Be a mom, and a stay-home-mom at that. Realized. I was a horrible babysitter growing up. I was actually a little nervous to become a mom because I worried I wouldn't really like my kids. But I knew that if I became a mom, I wanted to be a stay-home-mom. It didn't matter to me what other moms chose, but for me it was very important. Dave and I discussed it before we even talked about finalizing our engagement. For both of us it was a potential deal breaker. Luckily, it was just as important to Dave as it was to me. It took us four years to have our first child. Some of that time was intentional, and some was not. Maybe that time was good for me to truly be very excited to welcome a baby into our family. I was teaching choir in a junior high school at the time, so I quit when my first daughter arrived. I was so relieved to discover that I LOVE children. If I am in a crowded room, I find I'm drawn to the children first. Phew! I found I loved being a stay-home-mom -- mostly. I found that I was bored and overwhelmed at the same time. While I was pregnant with our second daughter, a neighbor begged me to start teaching piano lessons. I was extremely reluctant to say the least, but with enough prodding, I started to teach. I found it was a wonderful thing for me. I was still home with my kids so if they needed me I could be there in a flash, and I limited it to no more than three students a day. But, for that 60 - 90 minutes a day, I could focus on something that filled me; music. And the kids found they had to learn to entertain themselves without relying on me!! Sigh. Also, I was earning a little extra money that we used to save for things for the house, for vacations, or just for fun. In addition, the kids were surrounded by music almost every day. I taught for 13 years, and just recently stopped teaching so I could carpool to various activities in the afternoons.
When my youngest daughter (my third) entered school, I very much wanted to work, just a little. I needed meaningful work, and I found I didn't have the interest in doing projects at home. So, I bugged our principal enough that he gave me a job: math rotation teacher. Awesome! Three part days a week one year turned into three full days the next year, which turned into every day, part time, teaching reading intervention, which I am still doing three years later. My schedule is ideal! I walk to school/work with my youngest daughter, work for half a day, then come home so I can still fulfill my responsibilities at home, meet friends for lunch, or have some time to myself for me. However, since I am rather driven, insert eye roll here, I find myself anxious to pursue the next step for me. What that is, I'm not sure. Pursue a teaching position in music again? Continue down the path of reading intervention which will require another degree? Either choice, right now, threatens Original Dream #3. My oldest two had a very focused stay-at-home mom. My youngest still has two more years in elementary school, and my schedule right now is perfect! Dave and I had to reevaluate OD #3. Is that still my dream? Is it time to change it? Is Sage old enough to not need me as much? For me (and every woman has the right to make their own choice here, right?) I still want OD#3. I want Sage to have a mom that is not stressed out by the responsibilities of my own choir classroom, or pursuing an additional degree right now. So that means I wait. To quote Inigo Montoya from The Princess Bride, "I hate waiting!" It is one of my huge faults. And yet, OD#3 is just as important to me for my third daughter as it was for my first. Resolute sigh. In the meantime, I will continue to work on my talents on my own to prepare for "NEXT!"
Original Dream #4: Travel. Realized, but I'm not done yet. I have been to 20 different countries, and hope to add to that list. I have always dreamed of traveling, and that has never gone away. I hate airports, but I look longingly at planes as they take off close to my home and can't help but wish I was on them, going who knows where, visiting who knows what. I inherited it from my grandmother who loved to visit new places. Always somewhere new to visit, new things to experience, new foods to try, new people to meet.
Original Dream #5: I don't know yet. I'm still dreaming. . . I'll let you know.
Original Dream #1: Be a professional singer: Unrealized. Ever since I was a little girl, I have sung, and sung, and sung, and sung. My brothers used to beg me - no seriously, beg me - to stop singing. I might have mentioned before that we had a rule that there was no singing at the dinner table. That rule never made sense to me until I had my middle daughter. Now we have the same rule. I kept singing, got a scholarship in vocal music and headed off to college. It had been my thing since I was a toddler, so I just followed the path of least resistance. I started off as a vocal performance major. I was going to perform for a living! Then, three things happened. 1) In order to be a performance major in the music department at my university, I would have to focus on classical singing, opera. Hmmm. I realized I didn't have the passion for that at all. 2) I started thinking about the life I would have to live as a performer. I would be working when everyone else was off. I would have to work late into the night. I would probably have to travel a lot to find the gigs, and that's IF I had gigs. It didn't seem like a good life for a mom, see Original Dream #3. 3) After hearing us sing, my choir professor placed us in his choir where he wanted us to stand. Later, when I was taking a methods class from him and he was explaining how to situate a choir, I found out that he had placed me in the second worst place in the soprano section. He didn't like my voice at all. I found I couldn't get any solos. I was soundly rejected from his advanced choir. O-U-C-H. Even though I had other professors later who were much more complimentary, that first professor certainly had an affect on how I felt about my voice. My dream was reevaluated, and changed. I changed my major to music education, and discovered a love of teaching instead. I learned that teaching is in my bones. Now I still sing, twenty years post college, but never professionally - yet.
Original Dream #2: Get married and stay married. Realized (so far). I met Dave in college when we were both in the same choir, me for my major, him, for fun. After knowing each other for about a year and a half, we decided to take the plunge. Making such a big decision so young, with so little information about each other, and so little life experience still makes me shake my head in wonder. I really lucked out. Dave is most certainly not perfect, but then neither am I. However, he seems to be the perfect match for me in almost every category. Happily every after, right? Nope, not even close. Although we are both (I guess you will just have to ask him) very happy with our choices, there have been periods of time when we took each other for granted, were very distant from each other, didn't understand each other, or didn't even like each other. There was even a stretch when we went through some major marriage turmoil. We had to reevaluate Original Dream #2. We had to ask some serious questions, some of which were, "Do we still agree with our original dream? Do we need some renegotiation on our contract or do we need to break it altogether?" We were and we weren't the same people we married. We had grown, changed, evolved. We had to decide if we wanted to do some work to find each other again. Luckily for me, Dave has always been a hard worker. In the process, we learned so much about each other, the bad and the good, the frustrating and the amazing, the ugly and the beautiful. We continue to learn, and we continue to work. But, so far, we both love Original Dream #2.
Original Dream #3: Be a mom, and a stay-home-mom at that. Realized. I was a horrible babysitter growing up. I was actually a little nervous to become a mom because I worried I wouldn't really like my kids. But I knew that if I became a mom, I wanted to be a stay-home-mom. It didn't matter to me what other moms chose, but for me it was very important. Dave and I discussed it before we even talked about finalizing our engagement. For both of us it was a potential deal breaker. Luckily, it was just as important to Dave as it was to me. It took us four years to have our first child. Some of that time was intentional, and some was not. Maybe that time was good for me to truly be very excited to welcome a baby into our family. I was teaching choir in a junior high school at the time, so I quit when my first daughter arrived. I was so relieved to discover that I LOVE children. If I am in a crowded room, I find I'm drawn to the children first. Phew! I found I loved being a stay-home-mom -- mostly. I found that I was bored and overwhelmed at the same time. While I was pregnant with our second daughter, a neighbor begged me to start teaching piano lessons. I was extremely reluctant to say the least, but with enough prodding, I started to teach. I found it was a wonderful thing for me. I was still home with my kids so if they needed me I could be there in a flash, and I limited it to no more than three students a day. But, for that 60 - 90 minutes a day, I could focus on something that filled me; music. And the kids found they had to learn to entertain themselves without relying on me!! Sigh. Also, I was earning a little extra money that we used to save for things for the house, for vacations, or just for fun. In addition, the kids were surrounded by music almost every day. I taught for 13 years, and just recently stopped teaching so I could carpool to various activities in the afternoons.
When my youngest daughter (my third) entered school, I very much wanted to work, just a little. I needed meaningful work, and I found I didn't have the interest in doing projects at home. So, I bugged our principal enough that he gave me a job: math rotation teacher. Awesome! Three part days a week one year turned into three full days the next year, which turned into every day, part time, teaching reading intervention, which I am still doing three years later. My schedule is ideal! I walk to school/work with my youngest daughter, work for half a day, then come home so I can still fulfill my responsibilities at home, meet friends for lunch, or have some time to myself for me. However, since I am rather driven, insert eye roll here, I find myself anxious to pursue the next step for me. What that is, I'm not sure. Pursue a teaching position in music again? Continue down the path of reading intervention which will require another degree? Either choice, right now, threatens Original Dream #3. My oldest two had a very focused stay-at-home mom. My youngest still has two more years in elementary school, and my schedule right now is perfect! Dave and I had to reevaluate OD #3. Is that still my dream? Is it time to change it? Is Sage old enough to not need me as much? For me (and every woman has the right to make their own choice here, right?) I still want OD#3. I want Sage to have a mom that is not stressed out by the responsibilities of my own choir classroom, or pursuing an additional degree right now. So that means I wait. To quote Inigo Montoya from The Princess Bride, "I hate waiting!" It is one of my huge faults. And yet, OD#3 is just as important to me for my third daughter as it was for my first. Resolute sigh. In the meantime, I will continue to work on my talents on my own to prepare for "NEXT!"
Original Dream #4: Travel. Realized, but I'm not done yet. I have been to 20 different countries, and hope to add to that list. I have always dreamed of traveling, and that has never gone away. I hate airports, but I look longingly at planes as they take off close to my home and can't help but wish I was on them, going who knows where, visiting who knows what. I inherited it from my grandmother who loved to visit new places. Always somewhere new to visit, new things to experience, new foods to try, new people to meet.
Original Dream #5: I don't know yet. I'm still dreaming. . . I'll let you know.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Book Review: Dare Dream Do part 2
In my other post, I talked about my first impressions on the first half of the book. Here are my second (?) impressions on the final half ;) . Since I started with what I liked, and finished with what I didn't like, I will reverse my order this time so I can finish with what I like. There is a lot that I like in the last half, and in the book as a whole.
I still have one observation that is the same. At first I thought I was unfairly noticing the number of times the author introduces someone with their titles and degrees that don't seem to go with the stories they are about to share. Then, from pages 148-172, I noticed four examples, one after the other, of someone being introduced to the reader with their titles and degrees that had nothing at all to do with their stories. For example, Emily Nielson tells us about the difficulties she experienced with her miscarriage, but not before we are told about her degree in music and from which university she earned said degree. I find that strange. What does her music degree have to do with struggling with a miscarriage? This is just one example, but it happens repeatedly throughout the book. When I introduce my friend Jodi, I don't introduce her as, "This is Jodi Nichols, who earned a master's degree in accounting from Brigham Young University, is a CPA, worked for Arthur Andersen for many years, was Miss Junior Miss 1988, and is now the amazing mother of three living in Bountiful, Utah. Oh, and she speaks Russian. Now she will tell us her story about how to be 100% service-oriented." Who does that? It makes sense to introduce her credentials if what she is about to say has to do with her expertise, but if she is talking about something that is completely off subject, I shouldn't need to be apprised as to her level of educational achievement to give credence to what she has to say. Perhaps it is important to the author that we know that the women's stories she has included are from educated women.
Secondly, I still argue that the author slightly looks down upon women who are happy being stay-at-home moms. She does say on pg. 227, "The tone of this book notwithstanding, one of the biggest dares a women can take is to become a stay-at-home mom." So, she agrees that it is a big dare (for the author, that is a good thing) to be a stay-at-home mom, but she even prefaces it by acknowledging that the tone of the book is that we need to want something more. The author does introduce a handful of women whose dream was being a stay-at-home mom, but the vast majority of the stories are about women who wanted, and achieved "so much more". I do agree, very strongly, however, that as mothers and wives, often we are so wrapped up in the obligations and responsibilities of taking care of everyone else, that we lose the part of us that makes us women in addition to being wives and/or mothers. It is important not only to us, but to our spouses and children, to see us as women who have interests and talents, to see us as strong, capable, competent women.
I also very much like the idea of always pushing ourselves to learn and to grow, to try new things, and be willing to fail. I like the idea of "dating a dream" and not feeling pressured to marry said dream. It has been good for me to think about things that I enjoy and wondering if I have ignored things I like to do. I will repeat what I said in my earlier post, it's important to not ride the coattails of our spouses, or our children for that matter, to live through their achievements. I would hope that we would work toward being strong, independent women who have our own goals that we are working toward. I remembered that I like to cook. I tell everyone that I hate cooking, and I only like baking (cookies, cakes, anything with enough sugar to make me happy). However, I really DO like cooking. I especially like making new things for dinner. I love watching cooking shows! I love America's Test Kitchen, or Rachael Ray (at least when she is cooking!). I am a sucker for cookbooks, especially ones with beautiful pictures of what I am trying to make. My biggest obstacle is appeasing my picky children. It is frustrating to put so much time and energy into dinner only to be told "This is gross, Mom." It had killed the love of cooking, but because of this book, I am going to try again, and again, and again, because I do love the process of taking a recipe and realizing it as a finished product. I like deciding how much more hot sauce I would add to make it taste better.
I thought about other things I love: music, teaching, traveling, photography, art, dance, eating good food, movies, . . .the list goes on. Some of the things on my list I have been doing all my life: singing, playing the piano. Some are things I have done quite a bit of, and hope to do much much more of in the future: traveling, and teaching. Some are things I am interested in learning how to do myself: dance, photography, cooking good food. And some are talents I love to appreciate in others: art, dance, photography, music. The author suggests "ink[ing]" our dreams so we know what our focus is. Here is my list:
1) travel more with Dave - Costa Rica, Chicago, or New York (I prefer all three! Hoping for at least 2 of the three next year)
2) record my second cd
3) remembering that my children are my focus when I feel so impatient to move on with my next teaching position. Sage only has two years left in elementary school where I currently teach. I can never reclaim these two years if I am too busy to be there for her. Not to mention my older two girls who are still in high school.
Dreaming is a beautiful luxury. Just like I posted in my earlier post, not everyone has the luxury of pursuing dreams. If we can afford to dream, we should. Every dream has a cost in money, time, effort. As long you (or you and your spouse, or you, your spouse, and your children) fully recognize the costs you will be paying, and risks you will be taking together, it can be a beautiful ride realizing our dreams. We should think about what we love and how to express those interests in the most amazing way possible. Not pursuing dreams also has a cost, in resentment. If we can't afford to dream, however, day-dreaming is free, as long as we don't get lost in our day-dreams. Living your dream can also be finding joy and happiness in our real lives now!
I still have one observation that is the same. At first I thought I was unfairly noticing the number of times the author introduces someone with their titles and degrees that don't seem to go with the stories they are about to share. Then, from pages 148-172, I noticed four examples, one after the other, of someone being introduced to the reader with their titles and degrees that had nothing at all to do with their stories. For example, Emily Nielson tells us about the difficulties she experienced with her miscarriage, but not before we are told about her degree in music and from which university she earned said degree. I find that strange. What does her music degree have to do with struggling with a miscarriage? This is just one example, but it happens repeatedly throughout the book. When I introduce my friend Jodi, I don't introduce her as, "This is Jodi Nichols, who earned a master's degree in accounting from Brigham Young University, is a CPA, worked for Arthur Andersen for many years, was Miss Junior Miss 1988, and is now the amazing mother of three living in Bountiful, Utah. Oh, and she speaks Russian. Now she will tell us her story about how to be 100% service-oriented." Who does that? It makes sense to introduce her credentials if what she is about to say has to do with her expertise, but if she is talking about something that is completely off subject, I shouldn't need to be apprised as to her level of educational achievement to give credence to what she has to say. Perhaps it is important to the author that we know that the women's stories she has included are from educated women.
Secondly, I still argue that the author slightly looks down upon women who are happy being stay-at-home moms. She does say on pg. 227, "The tone of this book notwithstanding, one of the biggest dares a women can take is to become a stay-at-home mom." So, she agrees that it is a big dare (for the author, that is a good thing) to be a stay-at-home mom, but she even prefaces it by acknowledging that the tone of the book is that we need to want something more. The author does introduce a handful of women whose dream was being a stay-at-home mom, but the vast majority of the stories are about women who wanted, and achieved "so much more". I do agree, very strongly, however, that as mothers and wives, often we are so wrapped up in the obligations and responsibilities of taking care of everyone else, that we lose the part of us that makes us women in addition to being wives and/or mothers. It is important not only to us, but to our spouses and children, to see us as women who have interests and talents, to see us as strong, capable, competent women.
I also very much like the idea of always pushing ourselves to learn and to grow, to try new things, and be willing to fail. I like the idea of "dating a dream" and not feeling pressured to marry said dream. It has been good for me to think about things that I enjoy and wondering if I have ignored things I like to do. I will repeat what I said in my earlier post, it's important to not ride the coattails of our spouses, or our children for that matter, to live through their achievements. I would hope that we would work toward being strong, independent women who have our own goals that we are working toward. I remembered that I like to cook. I tell everyone that I hate cooking, and I only like baking (cookies, cakes, anything with enough sugar to make me happy). However, I really DO like cooking. I especially like making new things for dinner. I love watching cooking shows! I love America's Test Kitchen, or Rachael Ray (at least when she is cooking!). I am a sucker for cookbooks, especially ones with beautiful pictures of what I am trying to make. My biggest obstacle is appeasing my picky children. It is frustrating to put so much time and energy into dinner only to be told "This is gross, Mom." It had killed the love of cooking, but because of this book, I am going to try again, and again, and again, because I do love the process of taking a recipe and realizing it as a finished product. I like deciding how much more hot sauce I would add to make it taste better.
I thought about other things I love: music, teaching, traveling, photography, art, dance, eating good food, movies, . . .the list goes on. Some of the things on my list I have been doing all my life: singing, playing the piano. Some are things I have done quite a bit of, and hope to do much much more of in the future: traveling, and teaching. Some are things I am interested in learning how to do myself: dance, photography, cooking good food. And some are talents I love to appreciate in others: art, dance, photography, music. The author suggests "ink[ing]" our dreams so we know what our focus is. Here is my list:
1) travel more with Dave - Costa Rica, Chicago, or New York (I prefer all three! Hoping for at least 2 of the three next year)
2) record my second cd
3) remembering that my children are my focus when I feel so impatient to move on with my next teaching position. Sage only has two years left in elementary school where I currently teach. I can never reclaim these two years if I am too busy to be there for her. Not to mention my older two girls who are still in high school.
Dreaming is a beautiful luxury. Just like I posted in my earlier post, not everyone has the luxury of pursuing dreams. If we can afford to dream, we should. Every dream has a cost in money, time, effort. As long you (or you and your spouse, or you, your spouse, and your children) fully recognize the costs you will be paying, and risks you will be taking together, it can be a beautiful ride realizing our dreams. We should think about what we love and how to express those interests in the most amazing way possible. Not pursuing dreams also has a cost, in resentment. If we can't afford to dream, however, day-dreaming is free, as long as we don't get lost in our day-dreams. Living your dream can also be finding joy and happiness in our real lives now!
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Massage: Pleasure and Pain
I realize people go to get a massage for different
reasons. I think my brain pulls a bait
and switch on me every time. Here’s the bait: last week, I went to get a massage because I
wanted to “pamper” myself. I called Stephan
to see if he could fit me in at the last minute. He had a cancellation, and I was elated. Stephan is a German hulk. He is probably 6’4”, easily weighs twice
(plus) what I weigh, and one of his thighs is the size of two of my own. There is not much small talk – perfect. I practically jump on the massage table
because I’m just giddy. “What pressure
do you like?” Here’s the switch part, “Firm!”
is my response. Oh no! When he starts working on my neck and back,
it’s divine. His hands are actually
really soft and the kneading of my muscles makes me roll my eyes in pleasure (good
thing I’m face down at this point). It
doesn’t take him long, however, to brush over a tender spot. I don’t even flinch wondering if he’ll find
it. I want him to find it and I don’t at
the same time. Without batting an eye (well,
to be fair, I don’t know if he bat his eye or not – face down remember?), he
zeroes in on the tender spot, pushes on it, and asks, “Tender?” “Yup” I reply. I’m impressed, he nailed it. After working on the spot and getting the
muscle to release, he moves on. He finds
several more knots, on my back, “Tender?”
“Yes it is,” I’m impressed (and punished) every time. But it is still a glorious experience. My back feels amazing.
On to my glutes. I
warned Stephan that I have a chronic hip injury from running (and not
stretching, and not doing squats – because who does squats on purpose, yuk). “Don’t be shy, though, it needs to be worked,”
I said. What? You are so stupid. It took him about two seconds to find
it. “There?” “Yup” I grimaced. No mercy.
Breathe into it, I’m thinking, BREATHE!
“Are you breathing?”, “Yes” I groaned, but barely. More knots, more breathing. Then, my hamstrings. No problem, I think, my legs are probably the
strongest parts of my body! They can totally
take it. Ow! He starts on my hamstrings: knot, knot, knot, knot! Ooooowwww!
I guess the stronger the muscle, the more stubborn the knot. More breathing, I try to focus on the muscle,
to will it to loosen. “Do you ever
stretch your quads?” What? “Yeah, but
not enough,” I stammer. “I’m guessing
you have a quad problem?” “Really?”, “I
guess we’ll find out when you flip over, right?” He says. “Ha ha, yeah,” Oh, please help me. But, as he releases the knots in my hams, I
feel this delicious, tingly sensation down my legs as he finishes up. Ok, I can handle this.
Flip! I have so many
knots in my right quads, that my face is uncontrollably contorted in pain as I
try to breathe. “Yup, I thought so,” Yes
you are very smart!!! Ow! My breathing sounds like Lamaze
breathing. To look at my face, it is
probably the look I had on my face during contractions of labor. Even Stephan is amazed at how many knots I
have in my quads. Yeah me! Luckily for me, my left leg was bad, but not
as bad as my right leg. He finishes my
massage with more delicious kneading of my shoulders and the back of my
neck. AAAAAhhhhhhhhh. He is a smart man to start and end with
delectable. I have to admit that I feel
really good. Rolling off the table to
get dressed, I’m already wondering how long I’ll have to wait to come back to
be punished by Stephan again.
My body feels so good I think as I drive my daughter to her
orthodontist appointment later . . . with two huge ice packs on both sets of
quads. I think there’s something wrong
with me. Seriously.
Book Report: Dare Dream Do
First impressions on the first half of the book:
Things I like: I like
how it encourages women to dream about what they want in life and what they
would like to accomplish and achieve in this life, who they would like to
become. I like how the author encourages
women to do some deep self-analysis to discover more about themselves, about
who they are. I like the focus on the “To-Be
list before the To-Do list”. That by
really knowing who we have been, who we are, and who we are becoming will help
us keep focus in our lives as women, especially since, as women, we tend to
ignore our needs because the needs of our spouses and children scream so much
louder. I like that the author
encourages women to not live through their husband’s or their children’s
dreams. I really like that after reading
half of the book, I am already rethinking a knee-jerk answer my husband and I
gave to our 13-year-old daughter about whether or not she can change ballet
studios from her really great ballet studio with which we have been very happy,
to dance in the youth classes of a professional ballet studio that will take
much more time and money. Our initial response was a resounding NO. But, after reading the book, I am more
willing to look into scholarships or other options since my daughter is finally
finding a focus for all of her passion.
I’m very grateful for the book for that.
Concerns: It seems to
me that the first section, “Dare” is full of educational degree dropping, as
well as professional achievement dropping.
This seems strange to me. For
example, on page 65, we are introduced to Kristine Haglund whose story is about
her “process of acceptance with her first son”.
Her introduction says, “Kristine Haglund, who holds a bachelor’s and
master’s degree in German literature. . .”
Why does it matter what degrees Kristine holds (especially in German
literature) when she is talking about her struggle to relate to her son who is
on the autism spectrum, and who has very different interests than hers? It seems to me that there is a lot of
emphasis on what educational degrees the women have earned and what
professional accomplishments they have attained. For me personally, I don’t care if someone
has earned 4 college degrees or none. I
am interested in what they have to say.
Every story is successful so far save one, the story about
the young woman long jumper who was trying to break the school record of 39’1. She is the only one so far who has not
achieved the dream she set out for herself.
Each example of successful dreaming is also written in hindsight. Each story is written from the standpoint of
already having happened. There are no
stories of those who have followed their dreams and failed miserably. What about a hypothetical mom from Indiana
who dreams to be a famous actor. She
knows that the step she needs to take is to move to L.A. So, she convinces her husband, who just wants
to be supportive of her dreams, to move the family to L.A. However, once they get to their new location,
she can’t find any work at all as a working actor. The husband is trying to work, but can’t find
work in L.A. that will pay for their hole-in-the-wall apartment which is all
they can afford. So, broke and broken,
they return to Indiana with unfulfilled dreams.
This is hypothetical you say. Is
it? Ok, fair enough. However, how about my friend Neil with whom I
went to college in the music department.
He was in his 30’s and really wanted to be a recording artist. He had spent many thousands of dollars on a
cd his family had produced and was still spending thousands of dollars on his
music education. To what end? The cd was awful, and was even the source of
ridicule by some. His professors
repeatedly told him to find a different focus because he was wasting his
money. He had no inherent skills at
being a musician. However, he continued
on, buoyed up by his “dream”. Or, I have
another example of a true story where the dream was realized. However, you will have to decide if the price
that he and his family paid was an acceptable price to pay. Because, “there’s a kind of a sort of cost”
to everything!
My neighbor was a 30-year-old nurse. He dreamed of being a doctor, a
neurosurgeon. He was married with four
children. To realize his dream, he
applied for and was accepted to medical school. After four difficult years of school, came
three years of internship and residency, followed by a few more years of
specialty fellowships around the country.
When he started school, his oldest son was 9, when he was done with his
training, his son was 19. Anyone who
knows the grueling schedule of a student, intern, resident, and fellow knows
that he was not home very much during this time. An entire decade of his children’s lives has
been lost to him. But, he followed his
dream – successfully!
I am not arguing AT ALL that we should not dream, quite the
contrary. However, I believe it is vital
to find balance between dreams, commitments, and family. We have two feet. One foot needs to be firmly rooted in reality
– most especially if there are commitments of family involved. The other foot needs to be allowed to dream –
IF that is something that is desirable to the person.
The author keeps talking about an “unlived life”. What does
that mean? It seems that the author is
discounting the lives of women who are happy with living a quieter life without
the drive to start a new school, become an editor for a magazine, or to do
something else “spectacular”. My
mother-in-law is a good example to me of this kind of a life. She got a degree (not two or three degrees)
in history with the intent to teach.
When she had children, she changed her dream to be a mother. She stayed home to raise her four
children. When they were older, she
found a job as a kindergarten aide in an elementary school in a very
impoverished area. There she worked,
yup, still as an aide, for many many years.
She recently retired. Now, like
always, she keeps her house meticulously clean, takes care of her yard with my
father-in-law, goes on bike rides, travels when she wants to, reads, volunteers
at the local elementary school, and helps babysit grandchildren on
occasion. She doesn’t seem to have
unfulfilled dreams for which she pines.
I don’t believe she has lived an “unlived life”. I’m quite proud of her and the decisions she
has made in her lifetime.
I have dreams. I like
having dreams. I have been working on
the things I love all my life, even making room for surprise discoveries of new
things I love. But, I pursue those
dreams never losing sight of my primary, divine, roles of wife and mother. My dreams should never sacrifice my family to
be realized.
It also seems to be a middle-class way of thinking that everyone has the time and opportunity to dream big. Many of the families in my neighborhood are working one, two, three jobs to earn enough money to make a living for their families to live. I don't think they have the luxury of quitting their jobs to focus on their "dreams".
I realize I’m making judgments without finishing the book
first, but I’m trying to record my first impressions.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Blatantly Honest
When I was a kid, I was quite a liar. No one ever called me on it, so either I was a really good liar, or they were just willing to overlook it. I was good at exaggerating the truth too, so that my stories sounded way more interesting than they were. It took until I was in my late teens to decide I hated lying. I made a conscious decision to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. But, even here, I hated confrontation, so I would choose to hide rather than have to admit to the truth that I felt. Then, I read a book called Fierce Confrontations. It talks about being honest and having direct, honest discussions with people even if (especially if) it is going to be a difficult conversation. I loved that idea and so I proceeded to espouse the principles it taught. So I began to believe in being very honest in all things, especially emotion.
I love raw emotion. I love hearing music that feels honest and slightly painful. I love contemporary dance that hides nothing, where I can feel the love, pain, happiness, aching. I love art that connects to my soul, that almost demands the attention of my senses. I love reading soul-revealing literature. I began to believe in being BLATANTLY honest. I hated wondering if I was hearing the whole story. I really wanted to hear everything. If I'm bothering you, tell me. If you are happy, tell me all about it. If you are in pain, tell me.
What I realized - really only recently - is that blatant honesty can hurt. Why is this new information for me? I thought, if it is honest and real, then anyone should be able to say it, then talk about it. Right? I read a book by my friend's daughter. It was an autobiography, and my friend's daughter was very open, VERY open, about how she felt about growing up and her relationship with her mother, my friend. It wasn't always pretty. In fact, sometimes, my friend didn't look so good. I LOVED the book. I loved the honesty, the openness. For me, it said more about the daughter than it said about the mother. I found myself wishing I could read memoirs about all of the people in my world so I could get to know them better. What I was overlooking, was how hurt my friend was by the blatant honesty that was now published and public. And, not only was it blatantly honest, but it was blatant honesty as seen through her DAUGHTER'S eyes. All of us have slightly unflattering things to say about our childhoods and our mothers. But, our moms don't have to read all about it in the neighborhood book store.
About a year ago, a close friend let me read a very personal journal entry. I had a reaction to it, and told him all about it. I was being honest. However, my response to his very personal, sacred, experience was hurtful to him. I definitely felt bad about hurting him, but I still felt justified in not only feeling what I felt, but in telling him, in detail, my reaction to his experience. I'm so saddened by my insensitivity. I was thinking this morning on my long bike ride, that I think I like blatant honesty when it deals with someone else, or, if it has to do with me, I love honesty that makes me look or feel good. Let me explain. "Can I be honest and tell you just how much I love you?" My response? "Why yes, of course, I love honesty." "I have to tell you that I just don't like you today." My response? Ouch. It's not that I don't want to hear it, but I do have to acknowledge the hurt that goes with it.
Luckily, I have good friends and a great husband that let me be as much myself as is socially acceptable. ;) These amazing people know the good parts of me, as well as the bad, and love me just the same. They also are willing to keep the bad parts of me a little quieter in their hearts and minds than the good. I am learning how to be honest, but in the process, never stomping all over someone's feelings that I care so deeply about. It's always the ones that are the closest to me that I hurt the most. I honestly hate that.
I love raw emotion. I love hearing music that feels honest and slightly painful. I love contemporary dance that hides nothing, where I can feel the love, pain, happiness, aching. I love art that connects to my soul, that almost demands the attention of my senses. I love reading soul-revealing literature. I began to believe in being BLATANTLY honest. I hated wondering if I was hearing the whole story. I really wanted to hear everything. If I'm bothering you, tell me. If you are happy, tell me all about it. If you are in pain, tell me.
What I realized - really only recently - is that blatant honesty can hurt. Why is this new information for me? I thought, if it is honest and real, then anyone should be able to say it, then talk about it. Right? I read a book by my friend's daughter. It was an autobiography, and my friend's daughter was very open, VERY open, about how she felt about growing up and her relationship with her mother, my friend. It wasn't always pretty. In fact, sometimes, my friend didn't look so good. I LOVED the book. I loved the honesty, the openness. For me, it said more about the daughter than it said about the mother. I found myself wishing I could read memoirs about all of the people in my world so I could get to know them better. What I was overlooking, was how hurt my friend was by the blatant honesty that was now published and public. And, not only was it blatantly honest, but it was blatant honesty as seen through her DAUGHTER'S eyes. All of us have slightly unflattering things to say about our childhoods and our mothers. But, our moms don't have to read all about it in the neighborhood book store.
About a year ago, a close friend let me read a very personal journal entry. I had a reaction to it, and told him all about it. I was being honest. However, my response to his very personal, sacred, experience was hurtful to him. I definitely felt bad about hurting him, but I still felt justified in not only feeling what I felt, but in telling him, in detail, my reaction to his experience. I'm so saddened by my insensitivity. I was thinking this morning on my long bike ride, that I think I like blatant honesty when it deals with someone else, or, if it has to do with me, I love honesty that makes me look or feel good. Let me explain. "Can I be honest and tell you just how much I love you?" My response? "Why yes, of course, I love honesty." "I have to tell you that I just don't like you today." My response? Ouch. It's not that I don't want to hear it, but I do have to acknowledge the hurt that goes with it.
Luckily, I have good friends and a great husband that let me be as much myself as is socially acceptable. ;) These amazing people know the good parts of me, as well as the bad, and love me just the same. They also are willing to keep the bad parts of me a little quieter in their hearts and minds than the good. I am learning how to be honest, but in the process, never stomping all over someone's feelings that I care so deeply about. It's always the ones that are the closest to me that I hurt the most. I honestly hate that.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Sad Songs
Dave always asks me why I always choose sad songs to sing. That's a good question. As I think about it, I have always chosen to sing the sad ones. I guess it's not just sad songs, it's songs that express raw, usually painful, emotions. That's not entirely true. When I was in third grade, one of the first solos I sang was from Mary Poppins. There's not very many sad songs in that show if I remember correctly. ;) However, one of the first soundtracks with which I fell in love (after Zanadu - whose songs I can still sing upon request) was Yentl. Why would a nine or ten year old girl fall in love with the emotionally painful music of Yentl. I used to crank up the sound on that turntable in my living room and sing with Barbra Streisand like my heart felt what she felt. "Where is it written what it is I'm meant to be. . ." Yentl feels different. She doesn't fit in with the culture around her. She feels it in her bones that she doesn't relate to them. She wants different things for herself. But, and this is key, who is she then? Where does she fit in? What does she believe? Can she live with the people around her and feel like such a stranger? I felt those words and they meant something to me. I felt different. I felt like I didn't fit it somehow with everyone and everything around me. It seemed like everyone accepted the cultural status quo without question. I questioned EVERYTHING! Why are the boys expected to do all of the outside jobs, while the girls are expected to clean up the table, especially when guests were present? Why does my dad get to come home from work, sit at the table reading the paper, while my mom busies herself getting dinner on the table even though she went to work herself that day? Why do the young boys in our ward get to go boating, while the girls just go to wilderness camp? Why are men treated differently than women? Why does everyone believe everything about the gospel of our religion without question, when I have so many? Those were distinct questions I had as a small girl. Even now, with my youngest daughter comparable in age to me when I had those feelings and questions, I find it odd that I would have such questions at such a young age. I have a friend with the gift to believe. I guess I have the curse of questions.
Then, as I grew up, I continued to be different. All teenagers are DIFFERENT. They all feel like huge pimples on the nose of life. So obviously different and awkward, they assume, everyone must be staring at me and everyone sees how odd I am. But, I really was different. Because of a series of events in my life, I felt like I was on another planet. I remember looking at other kids my age and just knowing that we were existing in parallel universes, attending the same school, seeing the same people in the hallway, eating the same cafeteria food (those haystacks were delicious!), but I KNEW they had no idea who I was, and I KNEW we were so different. Not just the everybody is different, but I was different. I think those feelings are just feelings that became a part of who I was.
Singing was the one thing I felt like I could do fairly well for my age. I received attention and compliments when I would sing, so I went where the accolades were. It's also something that is so ingrained in my bones that I don't think I could help but sing. My brothers would beg me to stop singing! Yeah, BEG!! "Hey Kerstin, do you know why they sing on the radio? So YOU don't have to!" It didn't work. I don't think I could have stopped if I tried. My middle daughter is much the same way. We had to resurrect the rule of my childhood of no singing at the dinner table. Now, I understand why we had that ridiculous rule!
So, for the first almost 21 years of my life, I felt different, misunderstood, alone, odd, yet strangely somewhat confident in a very shallow, don't look too deep, way. I met Dave and miracle of miracles he fell in love with me with all of my baggage and all. He even said he loved me all the more. Now it has been almost 20 more years since then, and I am happy, and empowered, and confident (ok, most of the time). Yet, there are still parts of me that will always feel the pain and discomfort that I felt so acutely as I grew up. And, there are still parts of me that feel odd, different, questioning, at odds with my culture.
I have so many happy parts of me to share, but I feel like people get to share that part of me all the time. I feel like that's where I live on a daily basis. When I sing, I dig deep because that's where my music lives, in the very recesses of my soul. When I get lost in my music, it's because I have dug as deep as I can. I guess deep down in those recesses, my soul longs to express those feelings that are still there even though I processed all of the hurt (I think anyway) years and years ago. But, I am still finding ways in which those feelings still live.
So, through this music, I can share someone else's story and still express the feelings that I have, but I get to keep my story in my head, but still express those same feelings in my heart. That's a long, kind of answer to Dave's question - I guess. :)
Then, as I grew up, I continued to be different. All teenagers are DIFFERENT. They all feel like huge pimples on the nose of life. So obviously different and awkward, they assume, everyone must be staring at me and everyone sees how odd I am. But, I really was different. Because of a series of events in my life, I felt like I was on another planet. I remember looking at other kids my age and just knowing that we were existing in parallel universes, attending the same school, seeing the same people in the hallway, eating the same cafeteria food (those haystacks were delicious!), but I KNEW they had no idea who I was, and I KNEW we were so different. Not just the everybody is different, but I was different. I think those feelings are just feelings that became a part of who I was.
Singing was the one thing I felt like I could do fairly well for my age. I received attention and compliments when I would sing, so I went where the accolades were. It's also something that is so ingrained in my bones that I don't think I could help but sing. My brothers would beg me to stop singing! Yeah, BEG!! "Hey Kerstin, do you know why they sing on the radio? So YOU don't have to!" It didn't work. I don't think I could have stopped if I tried. My middle daughter is much the same way. We had to resurrect the rule of my childhood of no singing at the dinner table. Now, I understand why we had that ridiculous rule!
So, for the first almost 21 years of my life, I felt different, misunderstood, alone, odd, yet strangely somewhat confident in a very shallow, don't look too deep, way. I met Dave and miracle of miracles he fell in love with me with all of my baggage and all. He even said he loved me all the more. Now it has been almost 20 more years since then, and I am happy, and empowered, and confident (ok, most of the time). Yet, there are still parts of me that will always feel the pain and discomfort that I felt so acutely as I grew up. And, there are still parts of me that feel odd, different, questioning, at odds with my culture.
I have so many happy parts of me to share, but I feel like people get to share that part of me all the time. I feel like that's where I live on a daily basis. When I sing, I dig deep because that's where my music lives, in the very recesses of my soul. When I get lost in my music, it's because I have dug as deep as I can. I guess deep down in those recesses, my soul longs to express those feelings that are still there even though I processed all of the hurt (I think anyway) years and years ago. But, I am still finding ways in which those feelings still live.
So, through this music, I can share someone else's story and still express the feelings that I have, but I get to keep my story in my head, but still express those same feelings in my heart. That's a long, kind of answer to Dave's question - I guess. :)
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