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.

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.

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.

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!

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.