1640 words of “the end,” paralysis of analysis, Prufrock, and a new start (and I’ll keep blogging) March 22, 2011

It’s obviously been more than a day since my last post. Quite awhile. And while I’m usually a quick writer, I began to feel incredibly stuck with writing a significant last post. Usually, my writing process starts in my head. I mull over what I want to say and organize my thoughts all in my head. Then I set out either writing an outline or just going for it. For this blog, I usually just write quickly whatever may come to mind. There have been some posts that have been planned, but I’ve felt no obligation to be deep or even grammatically correct. I knew when I began writing this blog, I wouldn’t have the time nor interest in aiming for perfection or deep insight.

But my last post? The end of my year of thanks? I knew that should be deep and mindful and even inspiring.

So I started thinking and reading some old posts, and then I froze. I just didn’t know what to say. So much happened in the past year and I was overwhelmed. I didn’t even know where to start. Every day I thought of a story to start this important blog post. Perhaps I’d write about the time I started a photography class and then quit. Perhaps I’d start with an early story from my childhood, one that elicited when I broke, when my emotions shattered from disappointment and how I built myself up from that. Maybe I’d start with how hard I worked to put myself through school, all the late nights spent writing long essays about, oh, say, Tennyson and how much I’d grown from those experiences.

But I didn’t write a thing. I developed paralysis by analysis. I couldn’t put into words how I was felling or how much I’d learned. I spent over 2 years reeling in the muck of my life, beating myself up for past failures. Then I spent a year building myself up, working diligently to change my viewpoint by chronically what I was grateful for and delving deep into my insecurities through therapy.

I didn’t know how to record the changes, the deep, deep changes I’d made in myself. Plus, I wondered how much of these deep changes were even tangible. Again, paralysis by analysis.

So I did what I always do when I’m stuck. I went for advice in the best, greatest minds. I perused my bookshelves and reached for the first book that called to me. Surprisingly, it was a book of poems my T.S. Eliot.

I can’t even remember the last time I read T.S. Eliot. Probably in graduate school. And I don’t know what drew me to this particular book, but I grabbed it and sat on the couch. I turned to my favorite Eliot poem. And while I know “The Wasteland” may be his most famous, I can’t help but love “The Love Story of J. Alfred Prufrock.”

I read. And I thought. And I knew that while I had healed myself in a number of ways, I had also turned slightly into Prufrock. My life had become Prufrockian.

Case in point: I read this stanza at least 20 times:

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair–
[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin–
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:–
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

Is it even more prophetic that I was actually reading this as I stirred the sugar into my coffee with a spoon? Oh Prufrock, you may be a man, but you summed up how I was feeling, as a woman.

Had I over-examined my life?

Had I stopped living?

Was I dealing with the same overwhelming life question of Prufrock:  How can I live a meaningful existence within a modern society and within my own mind with walls built so high that I can barely see over them?

Have I been a passive observer of my own life?

Finally, who is the intended audience of my life?

Paralysis of analysis.

I have accomplished so much in the past year, the least of all actually staying committed to writing for an entire year. I have looked backwards and forwards and mostly stayed in the present. I have felt some old wounds heal and watched new ones grow. I have become stronger, more dedicated, and less prone to self-doubt. I have realized the wonderful and devoted friends that surround me in all aspects of my life. I have felt loved and less lonely (when, truth be told, I didn’t even realize how lonely I had been).

But I hadn’t really put all of that analysis in action. And I got stuck with the question of NOW WHAT?

I looked back to the “About” section of my blog in which I hastily wrote on March 4, 2010 as I was just learning how to put together a blog:

After 3 relatively messy, lonely, boring, and thought provoking years, I am attempting to re-center myself. First step? Taking a year to note what I am thankful for. From there? Live and move on.

I believe I made a commitment before I even started writing to finish the blog and then to “live and move on.” Good advice from over a year ago. Wise advice. Live and move on.

Gratitude has been great, overwhelmingly good for me. Living out my life, not passively but actively, will be a bit more difficult. Difficult and unsure, I will live life, full of gratitude and composed of action. Yes, I will observe and record, but I will also write my own story.

So let the adventure begin.

But first, my birthday. It was a grand day.

Starting with hearing my best friend Sofia tip toe into my house at 5:15 a.m., driving from San Diego all night after she got off work. Then at just 7 a.m., coming downstairs, wide-awake and ready to walk downtown to take me to coffee. Sofia, I’ve decided, doesn’t need sleep. She may be a vampire. But she’s my best friend, my love, the woman who constantly inspires me.

(walking downtown with the kids, Sofia, and Sofia’s daughter Isabella)

(Isabella and Maddie: happy best friends as well)

Then we came home and my brother-in-law was cleaning up my yard and my friend Jenn was cooking in the kitchen. We talked, cleaned a bit, and waited for Jill and Ryan to arrive, my best friends coming from Orange County.

They arrived and Sofia, Ryan, Jill, Luke, and I all went on a hike. Taking a hike was the one thing I really wanted to do on my birthday, and I even chose a path I had never been on before. Having my best friends there to accompany me made the hills, the sky, the air even more magical.

 

(Jill, Sofia, and Ryan: they make me so happy)

 

(I glow with happiness to be with such great friends, on top of a mountain, surrounded by my beautiful town)

Once we returned to the house, we were on a quick run of cleaning the house and getting ready. Kids were gone and bottles of wine were opened. I had wanted to take picture of every one of my friends who came, everyone who helped mold and change my life in some way, but I was having too much fun, and the following photos don’t capture all the dear, dear friends who came and helped me celebrate turning 35, but for everyone who was here, and for all the friends who couldn’t make it, I am incredibly grateful to have you in my lives. Truly, this was more of a celebration of them than me.

(My  sister and Jenn. Without them there would not have been a party. They did everything!)

 

(Sofia. She may be a vampire, but if I was a lesbian, she’d be my wife.)

(Colleen, who helped cook and get the party ready. She is an inspiration to all who know her)

 

(Mike: the kindest man I know)

 

(Sofia and Grace. Grace is the epitome of her name. I love her so much.)

 

(Mike and Reese, the best musician I know)

 

(Michelle, Jill, and Grace. I’ve known Michelle since I was 15; Jill since I was 17. I look up to these women and aspire to be like them)

 

(Malik, the best DJ in town and Tim, a wonderful food-savvy friend)

 

(My very, very best friends)

 

(All of us together)

(A party in action)

 

(My beautiful birthday cake, brought by my best friend, my soul-mate, Denise)

(That’s a lot of damn candles)

 

(THANKFUL)

And so it ends, the year of thanks. It’s been a good year, a healing year.

A year that I already miss, but am thankful to for.

And yet, surprisingly, I’m missing writing.

So there will be more.

Thankful Tuesdays will start next week. And while I know Thankful Thursdays sounds better (that great “th” alliteration), Tuesdays I don’t have Luke and so I have more time to write.

I will still be thankful, but I promise I will also be active.

Because as Mary Oliver says, “”Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

Oh, Mary Oliver, I plan to do it all.

 

 

 

 

the facebook revolution February 13, 2011

I often wonder what life was like before facebook. How did I keep in touch with all my friends?

Oh, wait. I didn’t.

What did I do when I had a spare moment of time and didn’t have a facebook account to check?

Probably something really productive. Or intellectually stimulating. Something more noteworthy than commenting on a funny youtube video posted by a friend.

These examples sum up facebook, I think. It’s ridiculously useful when trying to keep in touch with friends and family and it’s stupidly counterproductive to anything else really useful in my life. Yet as much as I want to jump on the bandwagon of hating facebook for a million socio-political-ethno-reasons, I have to admit, even with all the negatives, facebook is still pretty badass.

Case in point: the other day, I was driving down the road and I saw a man cross the street and I thought to myself, “He looks familiar.” A few minutes later, I thought, “I think that was Spooner.”

Spooner. A name I hadn’t thought of in at least a decade. He was a guy I really, really briefly dated over a decade ago. In short, he was  a cool guy and I basically ditched him and was a total bitch in the process.

Come on, I was young. And stupid.  And immature. O.K., I was a raging egotistical mess.

So, after his name popped into my head, I thought, “I should apologize to him.”

But since I couldn’t remember his real name (Spooner, of course, was a nickname), I sent my friend Katy a text, and by the end of the night, she had texted me his name back, and then I did a simple facebook search, found him, and sent him an apology message.

So easy.

And, he responded and accepted my apology.

While my apology was hardly life changing for either of us and probably on many levels not necessary, I still am glad I took the time to apologize. I’m glad facebook made it so easy to find him.

In the end,  guess facebook can be whatever you really want it to be. I check my facebook daily, but not obsessively at all. I use it to communicate with friends and family, but not stalk random strangers (like a lot of my students do. You should hear their stalking stories!). I’m pretty thankful for facebook today and for the chance to send out a small apology from a short period of my life. Small, but significant.

P.S. I’ve been trying for years to find Aaron Farnsworth on facebook with no luck. Aaron was in my 3rd-6th grade class. In 6th grade, he was the oldest of 12 kids (I’m serious). His family was really poor and none of his clothes fit—his pants were always at least 4 inches above his shoes and all the kids made fun of him, including me (though, to be honest, not as much). He was totally bullied by all the bigger boys in the class (and this was before bullying was a school buzz word, and so he really had no protection). I still think about this kid and feel bad all the time. I want to apologize so badly. I guess facebook can’t make everything right, so to make it public:

Aaron, I am so, so, so sorry for the way I behaved when I knew you in 3rd-6th grade.  You deserved better friends and better school protection against the bullying and teasing you endured. I would do anything to go back in time and be your friend.

being unprepared to discuss art and myself as an artist February 11, 2011

About a week ago, a woman I know, Mary Kay, who taught at the university with me and who basically taught me how to teach and who is also in my book club, a friend, and someone I admire so much, sent me an email asking me if I was available today, from 10:30-11:30 to participate in a panel discussion about mentoring in the arts, taking place at the university.

I usually have office hours during those times, but I knew I could cancel, so I responded that I as available.

Mary Kay emailed me the information, but to be honest, it was pretty vague, and all it basically stated was that I would be part of a panel discussion about what Mary Kay said: mentoring in the arts.

So when I got to campus and looked up where I was supposed to meet Mary Kay, I was a little unnerved to discover that it was taking place at the university’s performing art’s center…on the stage.

And when I arrived, I quickly found out that I was part of an 8 person panel discussing, of course, mentoring in the arts, IN FRONT OF AN AUDIENCE. A large audience. An audience of top local big shots and artists.

I am not exaggerating when I say that I have a serious panic attack.

But before I even had a chance to take a deep breath, I was seated IN FRONT OF ALL THESE PEOPLE. While everyone was introduced, I realized that all these women had amazing stories to tell. Some were dancers, some were musicians, some where painters/sculptures. It seemed like everyone had traveled across the world to perform/showcase their art.

I honestly had no idea why I was there (I was representing the art of writing!).

We were asked to answer the question: how old were you when you discovered your passion for this art and how have you cultivated it?

Of course, every woman had some amazing answer about how as a child she started cultivating her art, she devoted herself to it, she traveled the world expressing it or in search of it.

When my turn came I answered honestly: My biological father was an amazing storyteller. My parents divorced. Stories were no longer told. I majored in history because I loved stories. After my BA, I kind of stumbled into writing not necessarily because of a passion, but more because I didn’t know what else to do. And yes, writing is a passion of mine–not fiction, mind you–but it all came rather late in life (compared to the others), and has only been something I cultivate when I have time (which is not a lot). But I do love telling and hearing stories.

That was a condensed version. I’m sure I was more eloquent. I hope I was, at least.

More questions were asked and I did my best to just answer honestly, even if that meant I didn’t actually have a wealth of knowledge on the subject.

I felt like such a loser. I couldn’t compete with these other women at all. I didn’t even know why I was there.

But then as I was leaving, a few people from the audience came up to me and said how much they admired my story, how much they are still searching for their passion, how my honesty was refreshing.

It made me feel better. And it made me realize that maybe I do have a bit of wisdom to share, however small it may be.

Besides the fact that I’m still not sure why I was there, I am thankful I participated (and didn’t run away as soon as I saw the large audience).

I guess sometimes the best lessons in life, even the best artistic lessons, are stumbled upon.

letting go February 9, 2011

I’ve often written about how thankful I’ve been for cleaning my house when it was the last thing I wanted to do. After cleaning, I’ve always felt so much better and have gone to bed with a sense of accomplishment.

Not tonight.

Tonight the house is destroyed.

Luke’s mess:

Maddie’s mess:

My mess:

 

I will not be going to bed with a sense of accomplishment tonight, and after thinking about my schedule tomorrow, probably not tomorrow night either. The mess will grow bigger and bigger. By the time Friday rolls around, I may even find it difficult to walk across the living room.

Oh well. I’m really busy right now, and I’d rather spend my spare time hanging out with my kids and even grading a few essays than scrubbing a toilet, vacuuming, or sequestering Maddie to her room to pick up.

I’m pretty sure Friday’s going to be filled with cleaning, but until then, I’m thankful to be at peace (for now) with letting go of my house duties.

29 gifts February 2, 2011

A little bit before the holidays, I picked up and read the book, 29 Gifts in 29 Days by Cami Walker,

The book is Cami’s memoir of when she found out she had MS in her early 30s and how badly the disease affected her health and life. At one point, she can’t even get out of bed. In the midst of this illness,  a wise friend told her to give 29 gifts in 29 days. She thought the idea was not only mean (after all, she was sick and shouldn’t others be giving her gifts?) but also impossible (after all, she was sick and extremely debilitated). The wise friend explained that she was too wrapped up in her own pain and suffering and giving the gifts would help her heal. She decided to try it, and the book chronicles her gift-giving and the positive effect it had on her health.

I thought about how great of an idea this seemed, and Cami was so successful that she even started a foundation to help others give as well (website here). I loved the tagline of the website so much–”Because to see the world change, you have to DO something to change your world”–that I decided to challenge myself to giving 29 gifts in 29 days.

But then I realized that it was the holidays, so giving gifts just seemed a little redundant and obvious.

Then, after a few more days passed of me thinking about this book, I began to have some questions:

**The whole point of the challenge is to give without expecting something in return, but the entire book chronicles how the gifts changed Cami’s life for the better as well as others. With that foreknowledge, could I really give 29 gifts without expecting good things in return? I guess this is the age-old question: is there really such thing as altruism?

**I had brainstormed a few ideas for gifts, but then I just stopped generating ideas. Perhaps because this was during the holiday season and it seemed everyone already had received what they wanted, but i wondered: would I actually be able to give away 29 gifts in a row (if you miss a day, you have to start over)?

**According to the book (and the website), a gift could be anything you want it to be: money, food, old clothes, your time, smiles…..but really, should a smile count? I don’t really think so. Isn’t that kind of like cheating?

**Money is the easiest thing to give (according to the book), and the real challenge is to give a gift mindfully and with energy. But how could I be creative with a limited amount of free time?

Anyway, by the time I had worked through all these questions and thoughts, Christmas had come and gone and I had completely forgotten about this book and the challenge. Then, on January 3, 2011, a friend of mine texted me that he was ill with the flu, and since I had already started making soup for my kids for dinner, I made a bowl for him and brought it to his house. As I returned, I thought of the book and decided to start my challenge that day.

I completed my challenge yesterday. I also made a list of all my gifts (except for one day–January 12th, which I just skipped over when writing down my gifts, but I know I did something. I’m positive I didn’t miss a day!). I even actually went a day over (so I guess I gave 30 gifts) without even realizing. Here are some highlights:

**At some times, this challenge was so difficult I had to really think about what I could give away for my day. Once, I forgot about it, and realized at 11:45p.m. that I had not given a gift. I was out that night and with friends, and as we entered a bar, I paid one of my friend’s $2 cover charge. At that moment, I don’t know how mindful I was being; rather, I was just kind of trying to get my gift over with for the day (with 15 minutes to spare).

**Other times, this challenge was really easy. I counted watching my friend’s kids as well as making dinner for friends and family as gifts, but really, I would do these things anyway. This stressed me out and I wondered if I should do something beyond what I would usually do so it would seem more like a gift. But then I also thought to take it all as a positive–that I give gifts freely even when I’m not on a challenge. Finally, I decided to go somewhere in between, and only counted a few of those occurences rather than all.

**I gave a lot of money away! I donated to The Make a Wish Foundation and the National Down Syndrome Society. I bought dinner for friends; I bought desserts; I sent flowers; I gave money to the homeless; I bought little gifts for friends. In the end, however, I never really thought of the gift-giving as a means to emptying my bank account, and again, giving those kind of gifts was the easiest.

**The most anxiety-ridden gift was when I decided to pay it forward at a local coffee shop. But the barista didn’t understand what I meant when I handed her an extra $10 for other people’s coffee. I said, “I’m paying it forward.” She was still confused. I had to explain, in more detail, again. The she got it. But by then, people had started forming a line behind me and I didn’t want them to know what I was doing cause that’s embarrassing and my face turned all red and I just wanted to get my stupid coffee and get out of there, but the barista kept saying, “That’s so cool. That’s really awesome. You’re really nice. These people are going to be stoked!” I wanted to die.

**I wrote a lot of cards to friends telling them how much of a gift they were to me (though I was not, I hope, that cheesy in my writing). I burned CDs and mailed them off to friends as well. I stitched a purse for a friend. I made power points and shared them with colleagues. While much less expensive than giving money, these gifts were the most time-consuming, but in all honesty, the most fun and rewarding.

**I did not consider any of my smiles to be gifts.

**I think the best gift was the one I gave the other night when Maddie and I filled 20 paper bags (small ones, the lunch size bags) each with soap, a toothbrush, a bottled water, a granola bar, and a $5 gift certificate for McDonald’s. We figured this would be a nice gift for the homeless. I put 2 bags in my car and gave the rest of the bags away to my book club so they could give gifts as well.

All in all, I’m glad I took on this challenge. I’m not sure if I did it correctly all the time (not always being mindful and the time I half-ass picked the weeds out of my neighbor’s garden), but it was a cool experience. I’m also not sure if my life’s changed in any amazing ways because of this challenge but I have been feeling really positive and the other day I did receive a random (and awesome) act of kindness, so maybe the universe is sending me some karmic love.

But even if it didn’t, I wouldn’t care. I enjoy giving and I enjoyed this challenge. I’m thankful I participated in doing something to make a change in my world, our world.

 

 

even the bad times were good: an inappropriate story, a depressing movie, and ex-boyfriends November 19, 2010

I finally made time this evening to watch a movie an ex-boyfriend emailed me a link to about a week ago. This ex, whom I wrote about here, and I are friends, and sometimes we email each other interesting videos, blogs, and other things of the sort. The movie, called 51 Birch Street, was a heart-wrenching and heart-warming look at the director’s parents’ marriage.

You can watch the entire movie for free here. The film chronicles a 54 year marriage and especially the complexities and disconnect two people can have while married (especially when married!). It was thoughtful, surprising, and yes, depressing. But life, hmmm, well, isn’t life depressing sometimes? So, I guess this movie was REAL, very real.

And my ex wrote this note when he sent me the movie link: “….just probably makes life, love and the whole marriage thing a bit more real. Nothing is perfect on the inside. Nothing is perfect ever really, I guess. And humans aren’t perfect either.”

I was thinking about this quote and what it means and how often I look at other people’s relationships like they are perfect and then feel, inevitably, envious. But then I also thought how much I don’t like perfection, how much I love flaws. As much as I can even beat myself up about my flaws, there still the screwed up parts of me that I like the best. Because I’m working on them, yes, but also because they define me in so many ways: so my boobs are terrible–I gave LIFE; so I have two kids from two different fathers–I chose HAPPINESS; so I failed in some life moment–I LEARNED.

This train of through made me realize the absolute, unfiltered BEAUTY in flaws.

Which made me think of a totally inappropriate story I told one of my classes a few days ago.

This may not make a lot of sense, but then, this is how my mind works sometimes. O.K. I walked into class the other day, and I noticed one of my male students was growing a pretty thick beard, and so I commented, “Growing a beard?”

And he said, “Of course, it’s no shave November.”

So then I mused about the idea of no shave November, and then I said, “I once had a boyfriend who grew a beard, and I loved it. You know, I really love a man with a beard.”

I know, right? Total over sharing. But wait, it gets worse.

Because this ex boyfriend and his beard was on my mind, I started to laugh a little, thinking of a funny story. My class asked what I was laughing about and I just said, “Oh, an old memory.”

“Tell us,” they said.

And of course, wouldn’t you know, I opened my big mouth and told the story.

But it is a RAD story. And it goes a little something like this:

When I was 21 I had been dating this wonderful man for years (and I’ve already written about him here), but all of a sudden I started feeling overwhelmed. I felt out relationship was getting too serious (my mom had recently sent me a clipping of a beautiful wedding dress that she thought would look perfect on me if and when I married this man). So I did what any normal 21 year would do: I slowly, silently started to pull away. I wasn’t honest about my feelings, no. Rather, I made excuses that I was busy with school and other activities and just pulled away.

Yeah, anyone who thinks this is a subtle way of figuring out your feelings before having a serious and healthy conversation is so stupid. And stupid I was. He knew something was going on with me, and all it did was make him crazy that I wouldn’t talk to him.

But one night, a band was playing downtown and instead of going with my boyfriend like I normally would have, I instead told him I’d meet him at the show and went with my best friend Denise instead. We arrived, got a drink, and started dancing. Soon, my boyfriend showed up, and he was drunk, and it was like the entire few problematic months of our relationship came bubbling up. He started yelling at me–in front of everyone–and accused me of cheating on him (I wasn’t) and some other things. Finally, Denise came up and suggested we leave. Call it a night. Go home and cool down. Reconnect in the morning.

We made our way downstairs and across the parking lot to my car. As soon as we got in the car, however, we noticed my boyfriend running toward us, screaming for us not to leave. We decided to leave anyway.

As I pulled out of the parking spot and put the car in drive, my boyfriend took a running leap, projected himself with incredible accuracy, and landed –AND I SWEAR I’M NOT MAKING THIS UP–on my car window, shattering the entire windshield.

Denise was in shock. He was in shock. I was in complete shock. And while it felt like five minutes, it was really only seconds of quiet shock before I pushed the accelerator and drove to a friend’s house.

We broke up.

But lest you think terrible things about this man, well, don’t. He’s not violent. He’s not terrible. He just had a terrible, violent moment. He is, as I’ve written about before, an amazingly wonderful, caring man.

Anyway, I TOLD MY CLASS this entire story. And they listened with rapt attention. They had questions, they laughed, they were shocked. I also told them that he paid for a new windshield and then sent me a letter a day for the entire summer (with dried flowers. Yeah, I still have them) apologizing and trying to convince me to get back together with him. I didn’t. And not because of the car, but because we were not a good match.

After telling this completely inappropriate story to my class, I did actually teach them a lesson. And then as soon as class was over, because this man and I are still friends and correspond, I sent him a text telling him how I just told my entire class this story and about the love letters and about the not being a good match and how I was totally embarrassed now.

And he responded: ‘Even the bad times were good.”

Which made me smile and made me think how lucky I am to still be friends with him. And my other ex. I’ve had two very serious relationships with very wonderful men and we’ve all turned out alright. Good even. Actually, pretty damn awesome.

So as we–all three of us–navigate through the past, think about the future, and wonder about the in between, we have to–like almost everyone around us–figure out who we are and how we fit with other people. It’s a constant  challenge for me, I know.

But I think it’s a good life mantra to think that even the bad times are good. Even the flaws are beautiful. Even broken people and broken relationships are important and spectacular and worthy.

I’m pretty thankful for all my flaws, all my bad times, the few men who have helped me become better, and all the life lesson in between.

confronting liars, and hikes, and gophers…oh my November 7, 2010

Confronting Liars

Last night, as I could not sleep, I turned to my computer and started blog hopping. It’s probably one of my favorite past times when I have difficulty sleeping. Well, I went to a local blog I haven’t been to, one about local fashion and art, and I read that the founding member of the blog was abdicating her position to attend graduate school. There was a link to her blog and so I hopped on over.

Her blog, about life and art and kids and society, is really spectacularly written. She has an elegant prose and a delicate balance for writing both concretely and sublimely. As I enjoyed her blog, I reached a  post about me. No, really, it was actually about me.

It’s really an odd feeling reading a blog post about yourself from a wholly different perspective of who you think you are.

You see, this woman and I have met–twice–before. Both times were with our kids and she recognized Luke because she’s a casual friend of his dad’s. The last time we met, we had a really short, casual conversation. She commented that Luke reminded her of her son, “the strong and silent type.” I commented that Luke was hardly silent and that he talked all day long, and combined with Maddie’s constant chattering, I went to bed exhausted from all the noise.

She reported this in her blog, but then went further to state that she was skeptical my son actually talked. Furthermore, the next day, she ran into Luke and his dad and his dad confirmed her suspicions by claiming that Luke was a late talker and that her barely had any intelligible words. From there, in her blog, she deduced that I was not only a liar, but also a pretty poor parent, as I had lied in front of my daughter as well. She then wondered what terrible thing could have happened to me in my past to make me such a liar and to be so ashamed of my son’s lack of words that I would imagine him something he so clearly–in her opinion–wasn’t.

Again, it’s a very odd feeling to read about yourself from a totally different perspective. And from a woman whom I’ve spent a total of 10 minutes talking to in my life. Though she assumed to know me quite well.

At first, I felt such rage at her indictment of me–and a very public indictment no less (though she didn’t, of course, use my name. And btw, I realize that this post is the same thing and could been seen as very hypocritical of me, but I assure you that I always thought, and still do, that this woman was very kind and cool, even after this incident. And, like I said, I do have a whole hell of a lot of respect for her.)–that I actually felt myself heat up in anger. I wanted to call her right then on the phone and scream, “What the fuck are you talking about??? You are CRAZY!!!!”

After the rage came complete hurt. I felt so betrayed (which is completely odd as I don’t even know her), and shrank in my own bed. “I’m moving to Portland,” I thought, “this town is too fucking small for me.” I felt incredibly defeated.

But then I went over the situation again. I had said Luke talked a lot, but I had not meant talking as in actually making words and sentences. I really meant babbling. Loudly. Annoyingly. But since I hadn’t clarified my statement, I could see how perhaps she interpreted it as boastful. Perhaps. I mean, she didn’t ask me if I meant he was speaking real words, and I just assumed we were on the same page.

Clearly we weren’t. And even if I rationalized it in my head, my possible miscommunication did not justify her taking such an incredible leap in logic to assume me the kind of person she had. So, I thought about what to do.

I considered letting it go, as we do not really move in the same social circles and because really, I should know by now that what other people say about me–whether good or bad–does not make up who I actually am (thank you therapy!).

But I couldn’t let it go. I was angry and hurt. My person–my morals and parenting and ethics–had been attacked.

I seriously thought, “What would Jesus do?”

Well, Jesus wouldn’t be wasting his night way reading blogs, but he always fought injustice (and this is what I was feeling had happened: an injustice to myself) with kindness and honesty.

I did the same.

I emailed the woman and apologized for being unclear. I explained what I had meant when I said “Luke talked.” I complimented her writing. I kindly defended my being. And morals. And parenting.

I hit send. And fell asleep feeling 100% better.

This morning, I opened my email account and she had responded. She apologized profusely, thanked me for being so kind in my email, and  promised to delete the post.

All in all, I’m not the most religious person, but Jesus did me right. I am so thankful for how I handled this situation. And so she judged me unfairly on a short conversation. Have I not done the same in my own life? Have I not made a rude comment about someone I barely knew?

The answer, sadly, is yes. So this was also a good lesson in not judging people hastily. Hell, how about not judging at all? Sounds like a good way to live our lives.

I think Jesus may be smiling right now.

Confronting Hikes

Since it’s Sunday and our usual day of hiking, we were up and ready to go when I suddenly changed my mind. As much as I love our usual hiking spot, I’ve been getting bored with it. And my stylists, when she was doing my hair last week, mentioned a hike she loves along the ridge by the ocean. “Your kids would love it,” she exclaimed.

So I decided we would try this new hike this morning. unfortunately, I only had a vague idea of where to meet the trail head and had practically no idea what this trail was like except for the fact that my stylist had said there were three hills, though not too steep. Fortunately, I parked my car where I thought we should be and noticed a couple begining the hike, so we found the trail head.

Which was good because the path had this as a greeting:

I wasn’t quite sure of we were supposed to go on this closed off road, but Maddie found another trail and this seemed like the place I had seen the couple starting so up we went. Up a crazy steep incline:

And this picture doesn’t even do it justice. The first hill was brutally steep: Like I was actually using my hands to get up. I felt like a billy-goat. Plus there were steep cliffs on either side and Maddie was freaking out.

Me? I was so scared, I was shaking. I thought for sure one of us might slip off and was ultra thankful it had rained the night before because at least the earth was wet and we had a better hold.

Once we made it to the top of the hill, though, we had a beautiful view of the town and ocean:

And a better view of what the rest of the trail looked like:

Which made me nervous, again, because after hiking up the last hill, the many more hills I saw before me frightened me. I’m not afraid of a strenuous hike. No, I’m afraid of being on a cliff with Luke strapped to my back and Maddie navigating the dog. But, we couldn’t go back the way we started so we had to keep going. Plus, it looked like there would be no more steep cliffs, just shrub and some slopes.

And the hike was gorgeous:

But it seemed never ending:

But we meandered on. We couldn’t really turn back anyway, so we just kept walking until we came to this:

In the middle of bounteous nature, what do we come across? What I can only assume are cell phone towers. The signs read ” Caution. Danger. Going beyond this point is dangerous. High frequency radio signals exceed what is deemed healthy by the FCC.” Or something like that.

God, all I wanted was a nice hike, not a little bit of radiation. Cause I’m pretty sure the 4 feet separating me and my kids from the Caution sign was NOT a safe enough distance. According to the the FCC we were safe, but according to all my instincts, we were not. And I mean, seriously, we were on a trail. Must the cell phone towers be on a trail?

Anyway, we kept walking until I realized that the path was going to probably take us all the way to the next beach town which would be fine except we would then be stuck in the next town without a car. So I stopped. I had to make a decision. Turning around seemed like a lost cause because going back down the steep hills seemed seriously impossible with a dog and Luke on my back. Maddie thought she saw a turn-off trail about 100 yards ahead, but I noticed a small trail to my right which looked like it would take us down the bluff. We took it.

Bad decision. WE walked for about 15 minutes in waist-high brush on the side of the mountain before I started to freak out a little. We were honestly on the side of a steep  mountain and not on any sort of trail. Not wanting to climb back up, I found another trail going along north along the mountain and decided, “what the hell. It can’t put us in any worse of a position.” I think we were honestly on a deer trail.

Thankfully, that little deer trail brought us to a real trail leading us off the mountain. Now, if I had only listened to Maddie, who thought she saw a real trail ahead of us earlier, we would have avoided walking in the brush and mud, looking for damn snakes the entire time. Lesson learned: Maddie is smarter than me.

By the time we got down to the road, I was so thankful I wanted to kiss the concrete.

And so we ended our hike walking along the streets, admiring the million dollar mansions. When they built these houses, the city must have made some deal with developers, allowing public access along the ocean bluffs. But as you can tell, the home owners don’t seem to pleased with letting the riff-raff near their private property:

All in all, we had an adventurous morning, but I’m thankful we took on a new hike. Even though we felt lost and confused most of the time, we still had fun. And now that I know exactly what to expect and how to get down the mountain, I think we’ll do it more often. The views really were spectacular.

Confronting Gophers

My sister and her family recently moved into my parents’ house. With some of my parents’ furniture, they also inherited the elusive gophers that tear up the lawn and drove my father for years batshit crazy. Seriously, he started to act just like Bill Murray’s character in Caddyshack.

And now Braden, my nephew, has become quite obsessed with catching the gophers as well. We went to my sister’s house after our hike to join her and some friends for chili and football. But I watched Braden trying to catch the gophers:

And I enjoyed watching the kids watch Braden:

While I’m thankful for my sister’s hospitality and for her amazing chili, I’m more thankful for those damn gophers. They kept the kids occupied for hours. I just sat and watched as they devised plans to “get the gopher.”

Please , dear gopher, stay. I’ve never seen Luke and Cate stay in one place for so long. I’ve never seen them stare so intently at a hole before. I’ve never seen them go so long without even a fight.

Stay gopher and I promise you they’ll throw more and more cheese down your hole.

get your vote on November 2, 2010

I voted.

There used to be a time–and I’m incredibly embarrassed to admit this–when I was one of those people, those people who hate certain things in America and voice their opinion whenever given an apt opportunity, or really just whenever, and then they actually DO NOT vote.

Yeah, that was me. I didn’t vote.

But then about 8 years ago, a boyfriend of mine, when we first started dating, was shocked by my lack of civic duty. He threw in the facts that I was immersed in academia and a total hypocrite and, well, he had a point. So I decided to start voting. And he helped me get voter ready.

I have fond memories of talking about issues, pouring over information about a certain proposition, and even calling his parents for advice. I got educated and got my vote on.

Now I can complain without being a hypocrite. Because I voted.

I now embrace my civic duty and am thankful for the opportunity to bubble in my choices. I find voting days to be the greatest part of being American. I get excited and watch CNN all day to see who’s winning. And with California considering making a wacko E-Bay billionaire governor AND a proposition that would legalize marijuana (just legalize it, dammit), well…this is better than any damn Reality TV show. This is reality.

Can’t wait to see what happens.

oh hello there therapy September 13, 2010

Today I started therapy again. It feels so good. I’m really thankful.

There’s really nothing wrong with me. Well at least I believe there is nothing wrong with me. I’m pretty confident that I’m normal and I’ve haven’t had any breakdowns or terrible times. But I’m trying to be proactive. I’m about to embark on a serious teaching load, and my anxiety level is up. Plus, it’s about time I start to address some more pressing personal issues: my less than stellar connection with my female side; my childhood; my relationship issues. Oh, I guess the list could continue.

So with the recommendation of a friend, I made an appointment and met my new therapist this afternoon.

So far, I like him. I have really only one request for a therapist: he or she must be a straight shooter. I don’t want someone who just listens and repeats back to me my last sentence. I want solutions and ways to get there. I want guidance. I want insight.

I think my new therapist will provide this. And I know he’s a straight shooter because at the end of my session, I said, “Well. I’m normal, right? I mean, don’t you think?”

And he said, “Maybe.”

6 month anniversary. September 12, 2010

I started this blog on my birthday, March 12th. Today it is September 12th, which marks the 6 month anniversary of this blog, or as I like to say, the half-way there mark!

This is my 185 post. I have not missed one day and have only been late once (when in Portland, visiting Liza and Chad and ignoring the time. But I was only 20 minutes late!!!) .Which seems like a lot to me. And yet, again, only half-way there.

I’m thankful for this blog, my decision to start something that, at times, is really time-consuming. I’m thankful for the friends that read.

I’ve learned many lessons, I’m sure, but being the 6 month anniversary, here are the  6 most important things I’ve learned thus far:

1. At first, I dreaded every night because I had to search my brain for something to be thankful for. Now, I have to reduce the number of things each day or else I’d be writing forever. Being more aware of what happens in my day, having to be more aware because I’ll have to write about something, anything at the end of my day, has made me really look closely at little moments and be more appreciative of what goes on in just one day.

2. Sometimes, when I’ve just wanted to park my butt on the couch all day and let the kids watch T.V., I’ve thought, “Well, if I sit and do nothing all day, then what will I be thankful for at the end of the day.” I surely can’t expect something to always just fall in my life, so on those moments when the couch looks so inviting, I get my kids out of the house and do something! This blog has made me more active!

3. I have so many amazing friends, and writing about them has made me appreciate them even more. And feel less lonely. Though I’m still wondering, “Do all my friends have to move away???”

4. Most of my life is pretty monotonous: I work, I hike, I mother, I grade, I read, I have book club, I go out and have a drink every once in a while. Very rarely does something out of the blue happen in my life. But I still love my monotonous, non-exciting life. I know life won’t always be this calm, so maybe I should appreciate my daily rituals.

5. For being an English teacher and a self-proclaimed grammar nerd, I sure do make a lot of spelling and punctuation errors. I also have noticed a pattern in my own writing of habitually having oddly placed modifiers and I seemingly love to split my infinitives. Sometimes I go back and fix my errors. Usually I don’t. I’m OK with my errors. I just don’t have the time to triple check everything.

6. I, more often than not, have a bad attitude about my job. I need to work harder these next 6 months on changing that. I have a job. So many people I know and around the country do not. I have a good job, too. One that, despite all my complaints, I actually like. I will try harder to be more positive!

This blog has not changed my life in any dramatic way, and I’m not sure I thought it would. I’ve watched Oprah enough to see that people who come on her show and claim that they’re forever changed are totally full of shit. In real life, in normal life, in life not on Oprah, most people change a little bit for a little while. And then slip back into old habits. I started this blog because I’d been confined in my own negative thought process, constantly beating myself up for the past. I wanted this year to be about acknowledging my errors, my issues, my insecurities, my personality defects. I wanted to look myself in the mirror, take ownership of everything I am and have done, and then hug myself, love myself, and accept who I am and MOVE FORWARD.

Well, I have good days and bad days. I have days where I feel on top of the world, like I’ve really accomplished something serious and wonderful and difficult all at the same time. Like something has just clicked and made sense. Like I have forgiven myself for something in the past. Like I have faced the anger I hold onto and just let it go, let it flitter up and over a tree onto a new town, and into someone else’s head.

But then that damn anger just comes shooting back like a boomerang. And I feel really low. Like I’m the same person I was 10 years ago. Like I’ve had no growth. Like the entire town is saying terrible things about me. Like I am the worse person who ever walked this part of the earth.

But then I think, “How totally egocentric of me.” I laugh at my dramatics.  And the process starts all over again.

I’m not perfect. Nor do I aspire to be. I just want to be better than I am now and to make conscious decisions that help me accomplish this goal ever day.

Being thankful is a tool. Noticing life moments is a gift. Healing a little is a blessing.

Staring this blog was a good idea.