Resolutions and New Calendars: Happy New Year!

What I’d really like to do today is to hole up and work on some projects that I have been putting off by denying I have time for them. I’d like to turn off everything and just do these projects.  Well, maybe a little music playing in the background.

What I will really do today is a combination of a number of things, none of which will probably be done as well as I want them to be done.  Isn’t that the way for many of us on many of our days?  We can get up as early as we can – stay up later than we’d prefer, and still our most mundane (cleaning the bathroom) or most treasured (organizing heirloom family photos) projects or plans don’t exactly get done.  And, then, the next day we must face the ongoingness of tasks and projects.  Sometimes they pile up and sometimes they collect dust and occasionally they get done.

The same is true of New Year’s resolutions.  You know what they say about the road to hell being paved with good intentions.  A number of my Face Book friends have begun their new year’s workouts today.  Some writer friends have begun some kind of writing project goal – 1000 words a day – that sort of thing.  These are all people of integrity, and people who are goal-oriented, and who may very well achieve their goals.  I am not among them today.

I’m sitting at a dining room table that is covered with paints, college application essays, a hope to get some things done today, a Harry Potter book, calendars, a poetry journal and other miscellany, not having gone to the gym; and, my plan for the day is outlined on a reused yellow post-it note with scribbles – the last item on it says “get organized.”

Isn’t that how much of life is? Unorganized but somehow we make it.  Even when we buy new calendars, sort out what we want to happen, make plans, and get it all together, those plans get shot to hell.  Life happens outside the door while we hide and make our plans.  So many moving parts.  So many unpredictabilities.

And, that’s what makes things interesting and either challenges us or defeats us.  I’m pleased for everyone who has gotten a jump on resolutions today; I’m in the same boat with those of you who are saying, “When is New Year’s again?” and debating whether the tree stays up or gets taken out today.

And, for all of us, may I suggest penciling those plans into that new calendar?  You just never know when you might need to sit and hold hands with a friend; when you may have to deal with an ant infestation; when you may opt to talk to your teenager instead of taking Zumba class.  Frightening things may get scrawled across your calendar in black Sharpie.  Colorful doodles may take precedence over the carefully penciled in details.  And, no matter our motivation and energy levels, we will need some days to be totally blank. 

So many moving parts. 

So many unpredictabilities. 

So much joy.

Happy New Year!

Unsolicited Advice to Alexander James on the Occasion of your Twenty-first Birthday from your Loving Mother

I do not know what it is to be a young man in this millennium; I do not know what it is to live your life, work your job, have your friends; I do not have the same worries or concerns or habits or thoughts or feelings that you do. 

I do know how to sew on a button or darn a sock even if I prefer to throw the sock away and buy a new pair while still letting that orphan sock haunt my sock drawer for at least a year before discarding it.

I do not know why some things just disappear: friendships, money, the good pizza cutter, patience, your dinosaur Neol, detailed knowledge of the Battle of Gettysburg or those irritations that you think are going to turn into a blister on your foot after wearing just the wrong shoes. 

I do not understand the need for geometry in everyday life, and I do not understand the reason for anything mathematical beyond fractions and basic functions; however, I accept that there are people who know more than I and they understand these things.

I know that a good glass of wine is nice with dinner; I know that some days require one too many glasses of wine; I know that five too many shots of low-end vodka will not serve anyone well the next morning (or that night, as a matter of fact); I know that when you are twenty-one drunkenness seems fun, and I know that when you are forty-six and you can’t remember certain times of your life that drunken fun seems counterproductive.  Red eyes and pounding heads and aching necks and dry tongues are no substitute for really living.

I don’t understand why hamsters eat their babies, but I have witnessed it happen.  I don’t know why male seahorses fulfill human mother roles, but I am glad I am not a seahorse because I would have missed too many moments with you.

I know that ignorance is not terminal; intelligence is not contained in degrees hung on a wall; thoughtfulness can mean timeliness; it’s no good to pretend you know everything – there is bliss in admitting you need instruction or guidance or advice because in this admission, you are released from a measure of responsibility.

I understand that mean people will always be mean people, but some people are unkind because they are scared or worried or sad.  Unkindness is not meanness.  Meanness is an incurable narrowed soul that refuses attempts at softening.  I know that it is best to assume that people are unkind only – it will be disappointing, but assuming people are mean only hurts your own soul.  Too many tears.

I do know how to make spaghetti sauce from tomatoes and garlic and oil and onions, and I know that this spaghetti sauce is better consumed with friends in candlelight than alone in front of the TV. 

I believe it is better to think quietly and speak quietly despite the fact that I have yelled and thrown a bread loaf across the room.  I know you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, but who wants a room full of flies?  Temperance with words will get you farther than you think.

I know that when done well, sex is fun.  I know that sex is not love and love is not sex.  One may be borne out of the other, but you must be cautious with which way you think that goes.  Pornography is interesting and stimulating, and ultimately deflating.  Better to cultivate an imagination than amass viewing hours. 

I don’t know which days they will be, but I know that there will be days when you will be offered a seven course, five-star meal and all you will really want is the comfort of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or a bowl of macaroni and cheese.

I know – boy, do I know this one – your siblings are your best friends.  Doesn’t matter how many or few friends you have or how connected you are to them or how often or rarely you talk to your brothers.  They knew you when you were unknowable and they love you when you are unloveable and they will tell you when you need to get your shit together and they will tell you when you are being an insufferable fuck.  There is absolutely no replacement in the world for the love of a brother or sister.

I don’t know what you should be when you grow up – I just now learned what I should be when I grow up!  But, I know that if done right, the finding out and pursuing that can be the best journey ever.  Skills acquired and lessons learned along the way will all come together on an on-going basis to create meaning.

I know that jokes at the expense of others are never worth it.  Harm comes to those to tell them and those who hear them.  Humor in life is abundant, so is spirit-crushing: those two should never be mixed.

I believe there is God.  And, I believe I know him.  I know you do not agree.  I do not mind that you don’t agree, but there is value in understanding that you are part of something much larger than yourself:  the family of God; the human race; the elegant universe; the space-time continuum – you are not alone.

I know there is value in setting your mind to do something and doing it.  This is also probably one of the hardest things to do.  Once you set out on a path, don’t get distracted just because some side roads have flowers along the edges while yours seems to have nettles.  Your path will clear and be lined with flowers soon enough. 

I know that it is our parents that we are hardest on when we judge.  It is required to forgive friends; it is easy to forgive lovers; it is imperative to forgive those younger.  But, when reviewing our lives, harsh judgment often falls on parents because who else has known us all our lives?  Indeed, who else has been more pivotal – for better or worse - in our lives?  Color the lines of judgment that you draw with softer hues, and you will be better for it. 

Finally, I know that you shouldn’t drink orange juice after brushing your teeth; don’t mix whiskey and Mt. Dew (it’s really gross); pets are wonderful but expensive and often irritating, same goes for lovers; brunch is always a good idea; exercise in fresh air is better than a treadmill in a gym; buying flowers will always cheer you up; if you are very sad, get in water, it will help; when people die, you will keep corner for them forever; writing a journal is worth the time; and, you know, you just never know.  Heart open. Head up.

And all of these things are worth your consideration because I am more than twice your age; because I have endured some pains you will never know; and, because I have the distinct joy of being your mother.

With love, now and forever and always,

Your Mother

Always Never Enough Time

This month there has been a lot going on.  For everyone.  Students have been taking exams.  Teachers were writing said exams.  Now, teachers are grading or avoiding grading those same exams. Throughout the past twenty-one days there have also been gifts to buy; services to attend; errands to run; meals to plan; family members to greet; cards to send (if you haven’t gotten one from me, it is because I’m doing New Year’s cards this year); parties to enjoy; trees to trim.  If you do not celebrate Christmas, you may be preparing to enjoy New Year’s or other celebrations or attending to other parts of life that are equally busy.  In the midst of all of the yearly Decembraic hustle and bustle, a number of my students got college admissions decisions. 

That’s right – just as they were studying for and taking their first semester finals, students were getting the fat envelope or the skinny envelope.  (Of course, for most colleges, those envelopes are virtual now.)  And, these students had to calm down enough to study or overcome disappointment well enough to study. One of the disappointed students noted: “It seems like colleges could find a better time to do this.  I mean, they know we have finals, right?”

He’s right.  There has to be a better time to do a lot of things.  There’s a reason for the old saying, “It doesn’t rain, it pours.”  

When I was younger I tried to do holidays perfectly and beautifully and traditionally, despite the fact that I have been a teacher who always found herself as stressed as students during exam week.  The holidays were put on the back burner until that was over, and then I really stressed out.   Now, I ask the people with whom I will be celebrating what they want.  Most of the time, they do not ask for perfection or beauty or tradition.  They ask for breakfast muffins, mimosa, a relaxed day, a little food, and music.  They ask not to have to do “screaming fiasco cookies” – that’s what my children came to call sugar cookie decorating.  Yeah, I used to be wound pretty tightly, and the cause was the crammed calendar that I let rule all too often. 

Perhaps over the course of the year, or maybe just for a certain given year, I suspect many of us would rearrange some holidays or birthdays or events to better suit what we have coming up.   If I could, I would space out the birthdays in my family a bit differently.   In my immediate family we have twelve members.  I’d like everyone to have their birthday on, say, the 15^th of the month – one per month.  Nope, our family has clusters in August-October and then January-March.  And, yes, as I have noted before, my mother has always said that they are on the same day every year, and it’s just a matter of planning.  Sure.  But life doesn’t always seem that simple, does it? 

Because among those birthdays and holidays are: the laundry, cleaning out the garage, making lunches, going to the gym, and feeding the pets.  Not to mention getting into college, taking tests, buying houses, getting new jobs – all of that sort of thing. 

Here’s the thing, though: that’s all life.  That’s what life is made of.  So many of us seem to think that life is the presents or what will happen “when I just…”  No, life is what is happening right now.  A friend of mine used to have this near her Face Book profile picture:  “Quit looking at my picture and go live your life.” 

As we buy our new planners and calendars for 2014, and as we celebrate the holiday season, it is my hope that even though life is crowded and birthdays are clustered and colleges send admissions decisions at the worst times, we are all able to enjoy all of the hectic and the relaxed parts of these wonderful journeys around the sun.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Today is the second to last weekend before Christmas. I don’t want to go out.  Stores will be packed; roads will be jammed.  As we all know:  Christmas is a commercial holiday – at least in part.  And, time is at a premium during this season.  We need time to shop, to bake, to decorate, to buy presents, to wrap presents, to plan, to send cards, to cook, to entertain, to be entertained; if you are a student, you also need time to study and take exams.  If you are a teacher, you are writing and grading said exams.  To all of the seasonal madness, you must not forget the laundry, grocery shopping, pet care, bathroom cleaning – whew – what are you supposed to do?  Where is all this time supposed to come from?

Middle son didn’t mean to, but he reminded me in the past few weeks.

Right after Thanksgiving, we went on a college visit from Georgia to Pennsylvania.  A twelve hour trip if you don’t stop for a Coke or the toilet.  Three days: one up, one there, one back.  On the way back, I mentioned that I had some friends in Virginia.  Son looked at me and said, “Well?  Let’s stop and visit them.”  I hemmed and hawed – I didn’t want to intrude on them; it was two hours off our intended path; they might be busy; we needed to get home. The whole thing came to this:

            Son: “When did you last see them?”

            Me: “1990.”

            Son: “Well, it’s time, don’t you think?”

These friends did not only want to see us, but they prepared lunch for us.  We hugged, talked, shared stories, and youngest son even got a piano lesson with a professional musician.  It took a few extra miles and one hour to bridge 23 years. 

It often seems easier to just click “like” on Face Book or post a meme that says something like “Share this if you love your family and friends at Christmas.”  This is especially true if one is introverted and likes home more than out.  (That’s me.)  Son unwittingly reminded me that face-to-face is better than Face Book. 

Like others I know, I often leave things until the last minute. After missing a family birthday some years ago, my mom said to me, “You know, Laura, birthdays and Christmas…they are on the same days every year.  You could plan ahead.”  I try.  But, I leave things until the second to last minute.

When one is rushed, it is easy to go through the holiday parties and gift wrapping robotically.  When that happens, we can end up feeling empty, tired, and frustrated.  When we feel badly, we don’t enjoy the holidays as we would like.  We don’t take the detour to see our friends.  Instead, we find ourselves saying, “Well, let’s go so we can get this over with,” about our holiday gatherings. 

Often admist our holiday rushings we hear and heartily agree with reminders to slow down and enjoy the season.  But we don’t do it.  Too much to do – too little time.  But, what amount of time to bridge a friendship?  To connect with colleagues over Jenga and wine?  To have cookies and watch “Charlie Brown Christmas” with our kids?  To reconnect over sandwiches and music?  The best gifts are those we make ourselves.  Make some time.

‘Tis the season.

ax^2 + bx + c = 0

Everybody has an Achilles heel.  Everybody.  Even the most brilliant people I know – some of whom are former students – have an area where they just are not as confident.  Mine has always been math.

Over the years I have joked with my students about how I always do grades and all math on a calculator or computer.  It’s the truth.  When I have important statistical reports that I need to prepare, I do the math, and then I take it to our school’s calculus teacher, and ask him to check my numbers.  I am humble and he is kind, as well as generous with his time.  I do math when I cook - halving or doubling recipes.  I can balance my checkbook and proofread my paystub.  That’s about it, folks.  And, I have always covered up my math deficiency with jokes and extreme proficiency in other areas.

In considering pursuing a second master’s degree, I was going to apply only to a school that did not require any testing.  Then, as Murphy will tell you always happens, I found one that I really want to apply to that requires the GRE.  I signed up to take it on December 20, being relatively confident because I took this test 24 years ago and did well enough.  Friday afternoon I took a diagnostic test online.  Results:  95% in verbal; 0% in quantitative reasoning. 

I am not joking.

I texted the results to my eldest son.  His response:  “That’s bad.”  Same text to middle son: “No problem.  I’ll teach you.”  Same text to a friend who is in the middle of applying to med school: “Give me a book and two days, and I can teach you everything you need to know.”  Same text to my sister: “Are we even related?” 

Later that night after drinks with friends, I reflected upon this result and I became very sad.  The kind of sad that call forth tears whenever the topic flits across one’s mind.  Middle son asked me what was wrong, and I said (in typical middle school girl fashion):  “I’m stupid and it makes me sad.”  He responded (in typical now-I-will-be-the-parent-for-a-minute fashion): “You’re not stupid; you can relearn this math because you once knew most of it.” 

Rewind to 7^th and 8^th grade.  It always stuns people when I tell them I was in accelerated/honors math in junior high.  In fact, it still surprises me.  I remember the room – up and around the corner from home ec and woodshop.  I fondly remember the teacher:  Mr. Page.  Love that man.  I don’t remember what we learned.  I don’t remember how on earth I was in “smart” math – pretty sure some money changed hands on that one.  At any rate, I trundled along in math – getting As and Bs as best as I can remember.  I preferred humanities, but I could hold my own in math. 

Enter Mr. Anderson – if there is a teacher who should have never been allowed in a classroom, it is this man.  He was a very tall balding blond man who sat next to his overhead projector, drew angles and talked.  Geometry was not my friend.  Still, I went in after school.  I tried to get it.  I attempted the proofs.  Then the day came:  I was in his room, ostensibly getting help, and he became exasperated with me.  I was at the end of my rope trying to get whatever the concept was that was eluding me, and he was at the end of his trying to explain it to me.  As he packed his briefcase, getting ready to go coach basketball, this was the sentence that ended my math career:  “You know, you’ll never really get math because you’re a girl.” 

I should have been taken aback, horrified, enraged.  I should have reported this overt sexism and lack of professionalism to the principal or my parents.  I should have taken this statement as a personal affront-turned-challenge and excelled in every level of math, eventually becoming a world-renown rocket scientist or economist or mathematician.  I don’t know what – if anything – I said to him. What I do know is that from that moment until today, December 8, 2013, I gave up.  I did not report his comments to anyone; I did not take them as a challenge; I was not mad.  I had been given permission to give up, and so I did.  I have bachelor and masters degrees, and the last time I took a math class was my junior year in high school.

I have a student in Russian class this year who frequently says, "I'm not good at languages."  It's not true.  She is doing well, and she has the best of reasons to be in the class:  to one day talk with her birth mother. Motivation. I have a friend who is just out of college who defends her perceived weakness in English with such light-hearted phrases as, “I can’t write; I’m an engineer.”  This isn’t true, and I know because I taught her in Advanced Language and Composition in high school.  In fact she can write – it may not be her favorite thing to do.  She may feel she is stronger in other areas; she probably enjoys sciences and math more, but she can write. She just finished reams of med school essays.

The same is true of me.  I may have forgotten most algebra and never truly learned geometry, but I can learn some now.  I am motivated. I can do math. As we enter the holiday season, I hope you don’t have to take standardized tests, but I do hope that you are thinking about challenging yourself.  Sure, we all have areas that we accept are weaknesses and that’s that.  But, there are other areas where we might sit up and take notice.  We might think about learning or relearning something for our own edification.  In the end, wouldn’t that be a better way to spend time than watching cat videos or reading all of those internet lists? 

So, what are you going to learn?

Rocks and Ladybugs

It’s that most wonderful time of the year.  Give your change into the red kettle outside Kroger.  Donate a toy for a tot at the bank.  Collect shoeboxes for children.  The pleas from charities for support can overwhelm.  Many of us give back this time of year - willingly or begrudgingly - in addition to planning Christmas surprises for our loved ones. Retailers also encourage us to buy a gift for ourselves as we play Santa for others.  I think one of the most important gifts we can give ourselves actually involves getting rid of some things.

Stones.  Rocks.  Virginia Woolf put stones and rocks in the pockets of her coat and drowned herself in the River Ouse.  Virginia had her reasons, not the least of which was depression, for loading up her pockets.  Without committing immediate suicide, many of us do the same thing every day.

Life throws rocks at us.  They are in the form of annoyances:  you have to wait in line to buy milk; there is a school bus in front of you on the way to work.  They can be heavier:  the IRS might be auditing your business; you lose your job; your under-age child comes home drunk.  Or, these stones can be too heavy to lift alone:  death of a parent; cancer; foreclosure.  The question is:  what will we do with these rocks?

Recently, I have met several people who seem committed to hanging onto these rocks.  One woman believes that no one is encountering or had encountered anything worse than what is currently happening in her family. She takes every opportunity to recount her troubles – they never get change, much less get better.  Such a person fills her pockets each day and collects them on her nightstand.  Every morning, rock people pick up these weights, carry them around, and add to them throughout each day.  These people are bruised; they are angry; they are sad; they feel stuck; they complain continually.  When you are around these people, you must fight to keep them upright.  Their rock-weights are throwing them off- balance.  Mind you, these are perfectly lovely people, but they are opting to be weighed down – and this weight transforms how they live and communicate.  Eventually, their rock piles are so large, they can’t carry all of them around.  Still, every day they pick and choose rocks to carry around, and they add more each and every day.

Then, there are the ladybug people.  These people experience the same things that others do – large unfairnesses, little annoyances, life-threatening challenges.  Somehow, these people transform their circumstances and stumbles into ladybugs.  Many, many of these magical ladybugs fly away.  Some of the ladybugs hang around, and must be shooed away – often more than once.  Some ladybugs hang out for a lifetime.  The ladybugs that flit about the house or yard serve as reminders of the troubles, but they are acknowledged and then dismissed.

Let us not forget that ladybugs can a helpful insect in gardening.  In fact, ladybugs eat aphids, also called plant lice that are harmful to most plants.  If you can be a ladybug person, you can try to see the good or usefulness in even the toughest of circumstances.  I had a conversation over Thanksgiving with a former student who was involved in a medical crisis during which her body temperature approached 109 degrees.  In her own words, she nearly died.  We spent some time talking about the lasting effects of such an experience, as well as what can come out of such a situation.  We also talked about how to turn the negative effects of life into something meaningful.  She didn’t take her frightening experience as a stone to put in her pocket; she was turning it into a ladybug that could perhaps even eliminate other negatives from her life. 

This Christmas season, I think many of us might pause in our shopping and donating, and dispose of some rocks.  Donate the big ones to a rock recycling center.  Wave your magic wand and transform some of the smaller ones into ladybugs.  And, don’t collect any more rocks.  Charity begins at home – if we can give ourselves the gift of freedom, we might have a lighter holiday season – along with a few ladybugs decorating the tree.

Black Fridays: black holidays.

I did not go shopping on Black Friday.  I stayed home except for driving to school to retrieve a few things I need for an upcoming trip.  As I drove to school, I noticed a full parking lot at the nearby funeral home.  My heart was saddened for the people inside.  When a loved one dies, it is hard on those of us left behind.  It is even harder around the holiday season.  I know this because nine years ago my sister died.  She had a car wreck right before Thanksgiving, and she never recovered. 

When someone dies during the holidays, your holiday memories forever include that loss. You see, during the holidays, you are supposed to be cheerful, jolly even.  That is hard to do when someone you love has died.  William Carlos Williams has an excellent poem, “Tract,” that prescribes how people should act when they experience loss. 

In the poem, Williams laments the fact that funerals have become a show.  Indeed, some of the ritual of funerals and wakes and memorials and visitations are a show – a show designed to allow the grief-stricken time to gather and comfort each other.  A time to remember.  A time to mourn.  These are important aspects of the grieving process according to psychologists.  Having a funeral and its associated events are especially difficult during the holidays because people want to be merry during this time.  Being surrounded by societal merry-making while dealing with the sadness of loss is one of the worst sorts of conundrums.  You want to celebrate, but you also want and need to mourn.  It is a difficult place to be. Furthermore, the days are shorter and despite the lights twinkling along the roads, your heart does not light up easily. 

It can be hard to support friends who lose family members during the holidays, as well.  A few years ago an acquaintance of mine died.  I remember overhearing a conversation in which one person complained of having to go to the visitation before his office Christmas party.  Huh?  Is this a valid complaint?  His heart might just be a few sizes too small.  Death is never convenient, and sometimes those of us left living must attend to its details while buying Christmas presents or making latkes.  It’s not easy, but it has to be done.  One of the best things any human being can do for another is to sit, hold hands, and fetch tea for the mourning.  As my mom might say, you get extra stars in your crown if you do this when holiday details are tugging at your coat sleeves.

My sincerest wish for all of you reading is that you do not experience the death of a loved one during the holiday season, but some of you will.  Others of you will be called upon to support friends who lose family members during this most wonderful time of the year.  Still others of you will not experience the heartbreak of holiday time death

Williams writes in his second to last stanza:

“Go with some show

of inconvenience; sit openly—

to the weather as to grief.

Or do you think you can shut grief in?

What--from us? We who have perhaps

nothing to lose? Share with us

share with us--it will be money

in your pockets”

If your holiday is halted (heaven forbid) by a death in your family or if your festivities are slowed down so that you can support a friend who has lost a loved one – go and grieve openly with no shame.  Be sad.  Make tea.  Hold your friend’s hand.  Make a casserole.  Grieve.  The holiday will still be there when you are ready to join it – this year or next or the next.  If your car is one of those in the parking lot of a funeral home this season or if you revisit a loss each season, please know that my heart is with you. 

Turkey Talk

The smell of the turkey, the sound of TV football, the torture of small talk amongst family members.  Say what?  Yes, for many of us, as much as we love our family and as much as we want more time to spend with them, the small talk of family events can put us to sleep or get under our skin or grate on our nerves or send us running to the hills proclaiming that we will live alone in a cave forever.  It can be a challenge to connect meaningfully with those you see a couple of times a year, and sometimes even more so with those that you live with, but now are spending a purposeful day or weekend of proclaimed FAMILY TIME. 

Little ones play and share together more easily than we adults do many times.  Teenagers and young adults run the gamut of helpful and cheerful to sulky and texty.   Adults range from pretentious and all-knowing to silent and judgmental.  We seem to be pretty good at talking with those who are at similar stages of life as we are, but shift the ages apart by fifteen or more years, and silence and resentment may take over.  Making intergenerational conversation can be rough.  Let me suggest a few things that might make connecting with each other easier.

Adults, avoid asking your teenage or young adult interlocutor about school, college plans, or majors right off the bat.  That’s all they are ever asked.  Start instead with what they have been reading, watching, or listening to.  Tell them about a cool TED talk you recently watched or a new hobby you are embarking on.  If you must talk school, ask them to tell you the funniest thing that happened in calculus class or about their most recent poetry analysis for world lit.  Start a real conversation. Remember, young people are people too.  They are not just automatons caught in the machine we call education. In creative writing class a few years ago a student wrote a poem about applying to college in which she lamented that the only question she was ever asked was “Where are you going to college?”  The response she wanted to give was, “Fuck you, where are you going to college?”  The repetition of the same themes is dull for everyone, and for the younger person, the answers to such questions can be filled with fear and angst.  Pretend the young people are real, then your time talking with them will be more satisfying for all involved.

Younger people:  engage your adult friends and family in conversation about something more than the weather.  Do not text or check your phone while talking to them.  Look them in the eye.  Smile a little bit.  If they must ask questions about getting into college or majors, answer and redirect to more interesting or comforting topics.  Ask them what they are reading, their latest promotion at work, or the community groups they are involved in.  If you absolutely can’t stand one more “What are you going to major in?”  - make up some unexpected answers ahead of time, give the answer, and walk away.  Use different answers with different people.  Don’t worry, no one will call you out on it, and you’ll give them something to talk about until Christmas. 

To wit:

What are you going to major in?                     Nuclear Biology 

What are you going to major in?                     Literature of Little People
What are you going to major in?                     Sculpture with a Concentration in Nudes

What are you going to major in?                     Genetics of Prehistoric Reptiles

Where do you want to go to college?             Hawaii-Pacific

Where do you want to go to college?             College of Southern Idaho

Where do you want to go to college?             Talmudic College of Florida

Where do you want to go to college?             FU*

What are you doing to do with that major?    Think “Dexter.”

What are you doing to do with that major?    Move to Vladivostok for graduate studies

What are you doing to do with that major?    Laboratory experiments on mole rats

What are you doing to do with that major?    Move back home

Adults, please, please, please do not condescend when a young person tells you what they want to do.  Don’t tell them it is a mistake.  And, whether you think what they are doing is a mistake or not, ask questions.  The more questions you ask about a young person’s goals or plans or ideas, the more you will understand their generation and that precious individual.  Avoid phrases like, “There’s no money in that…” or  “We never really agreed with what your dad did, and well…”  “Are you sure?  You used to be so good at math…”  Listen actively to what those younger have to say.  Make suggestions if you must, but these are young people who need questions asked and a sounding board that doesn’t try to negate away their ideas. 

Why is it so very easy to listen to what eight year-olds want to be when they grow up?  We can listen to their most far-fetched ideas, “I want to be a jewelry maker who is a vet and own a business that gives out milkshakes to children.”  Fantastic!  Even the kids who have no idea, “Well, I want to collect garbage” get a positive response:  “Then, be the best garbage person you can be!”  But, if a twenty year-old has decided a four year degree is not for her and she’s going to do a twelve month program in physical therapy assisting, part-time while bartending, we scorn her for not finishing college.  What is that all about?  Think of the negativity of the nightly news, the economy, the world disasters – these are people who are trying to create and launch a life and a career amidst all of this.  Be positive. 

Younger folks, if you find you are stuck with a negative or frightening family member or someone who is hell bent on telling you horror stories about their neighbor’s uncle’s cousin who went to school to major in that and then was unemployed and had to claw his way out of drug addiction just because of choosing the wrong college – well, stand up, politely offer to get that person another drink and be done.  Yes, many of those who are older than you are wise, have good suggestions, and really do want to support you.  Many of them have few real ideas on how to offer that support in a way that is meaningful and translatable.  Some of them believe they have the monopoly on truth and real life. 

In summary, it may all come down to remembering that we are all human beings with common interests and struggles.  We are all people who are trying to do something with our lives.  The more we are genuinely interested in each other and support each other, the better off we will all be – age be damned and pass the mashed potatoes.

*Note:  FU is the abbreviation for Furman University.  All of these are real colleges and very fine institutions in their own rights. 

Big Box Stores and Gratitude

I remember when I actively realized that not everyone was raised as I was.  It was my freshman year of college. And, to be honest, it came late.  I mean, by the time I was a freshman in college, I had studied three languages and the cultures of those countries and traveled to the Soviet Union. Thanks to my parents, I had traveled extensively around the country on a variety of vacations.  While my high school was not a bastion of diversity, I certainly knew peers from different ethnic and religious backgrounds.  I don’t remember the incident that prompted my delayed epiphany, but I distinctly remember that I was walking down Dubuque Street in Iowa City toward Mayflower within sight of the Iowa River.  Something clicked in my brain and I actively, cognitively thought, “Not everyone grew up with two parents, a dog, siblings, and celebrating holidays.” 

The traditions of Thanksgiving are clear: eat, watch football, eat, be grateful, eat, see a parade, eat, hang out with family, and eat.  Or at least some incarnation of this.  Right?  That is what we all are meant to be doing on Thanksgiving.  The next day, of course, we all go shopping on the frighteningly monikered Black Friday. 

In the past few years, there have been more and more Thanksgiving Day Sales at stores and malls. The idea is to beat the crowds and rush of Black Friday (not to mention fatten the wallets of corporations).  This year, I am seeing a sort of grass roots movement  happening on social media that suggests that shopping on Thanksgiving is heretical. While I am not a big box store fan and I understand there are larger issues with such corporations, I see a problem with this logic. This movement equates shopping the “big box retailers” on Thanksgiving with enslaving the people who work at such stores.  The general thought is that if you shop on Thanksgiving, you are forcing the employees of these stores to work, and you are consequently ruining their holiday.  This line of thought continues: if we all band together and refuse to shop on Thanksgiving Day, then the corporate entities that are open on this holiday will be adversely affected, see the error of their capitalistic ways, and close their doors, allowing their employees the day off to spend with family.  And, that is precisely what all Americans want to do on the fourth Thursday of November, right?

The continuation of this boycott shopping-on-Thanksgiving movement equates shopping on Thanksgiving as being against raising the minimum wage and being against unionization. And, if you do not shop on Thanksgiving, you are somehow supporting those who are working for minimum wage in these retail establishments. I didn’t major in economics, but there’s a flaw in that reasoning somewhere. 

Actually, I see several errors in this whole line of thinking.  The first is that by shopping on Thanksgiving you are ruining an employee’s holiday.  What I know is that the day of the holiday is not nearly as important as how and with whom one celebrates it – if one chooses to celebrate it at all. If a person has to work on a holiday, it is possible to celebrate the holiday one day early or later that evening.  Folks, the holiday doesn’t create the meaningfulness of the day – the people with whom and the way in which you celebrate it is what counts.  We can have Thanksgiving on Wednesday or Saturday – who cares?  A celebration of gratitude and food and football can be on any day.  And, those who work on holidays often do celebrate on another day.  Furthermore, not everyone wants to celebrate Thanksgiving.  Some people are pleased to work on this day for their own reasons.  It might surprise us to realize that there are people in this country who don’t buy into the whole media-driven holiday celebrations.  There are families and individuals who celebrate in their own ways that might be foreign to you, but meaningful for them.  There are also families and individuals who choose not to celebrate for their own reasons, and, brace yourself, they are just as happy and well-adjusted as those who do celebrate.

Second, many establishments are open on the majority of holidays: hospitals, fire departments, the army, convenience stores, and restaurants.  A few years ago, the boys and I had just moved into an apartment from a house on a large tract of land.  I did not want to make a Thanksgiving dinner in a galley kitchen to eat at our tiny round table.  I just wasn’t in the mood.  So, we went to a local hotel that serves a glorious buffet all day long, and we enjoyed a hearty Thanksgiving dinner there.  It was wonderful.  I am grateful to this day for the service that everyone involved with the production of that dinner provided.  Almost 21 years ago, I had a premature baby two days before Christmas under emergency conditions.  I’m sure glad the hospitals were open and the doctors, nurses, orderlies, and food service workers did not express that I was ruining their holiday by being there.

Of the people that are working on Thanksgiving, I’m sure that some of them hate it and want to be home.  I’m equally sure that some of them have rearranged their celebrations to accommodate their work schedules, and that there are those who don’t care to celebrate any way.  If you believe that boycotting such stores will be beneficial to the workers, you are entitled to think this and act on it. If you believe that not shopping on Thanksgiving will make the employees of the stores in question happier and make them feel appreciated, that’s your right as well.

How about, though, the next time you are in one of those huge stores and can’t find what you’re looking for, you talk to an associate politely?  I can think of so many of times I’ve been in such a store, seen shoppers huffing around and looking for assistance, then, when they finally find someone to ask the location of the Q-tips, the shopper treats that worker like a mangy dog in an alley.  Want to let the workers in these big box stores know you appreciate their job?  Be nice. Be patient.  Ask nicely and say thank you after they help you.  Here’s another idea: when you are pushing your cart with one box of microwave popcorn in it and an employee of such a store is pushing a giant dolly weighed down with hundreds of 18-count cartons of eggs that he can’t see over – get out of his way.  Don’t stand there, get offended, and mutter obscenity if you have to go around him to the next aisle. 

Real meaningful ways to show appreciation and gratitude to those who work in large retail establishments exist – and, maybe, just maybe, those ways have nothing to do with how or when they or we celebrate November 28, 2013.  Whether you are going to one of these stores this week to buy a turkey and stuffing; or whether you shop on Thanksgiving Day; or whether you never go the big box retailers, remember: not everyone marks holidays in the same way or at the same time.  If we all can appreciate and understand the lives of others, we all might have a bit more happiness this holiday season.  That’s something we all can be grateful for.

Lists and Herpes

My Face Book feed has herpes.  Someone out there has decided that life and all of its good things are best accessed when they are seen in lists.  These lists circulate on websites, are shared on Face Book, tweeted, and sent in those FWD:FWD:SPAM emails that litter our inboxes.  Lists have become the herpes of the internet lately. They are easily passed around, a little itchy, and hard to get rid of.  To wit:

20 Things You Should Never Do In Your Twenties

15 Things To Think of Before Applying to Med School

50 Places Everyone Should Go Before They Die

62 Ways to Stay Married for 62 Years

10 Things That Drive Men Away

44 Mindsets That Make Your Forties Rock

11 Don’ts To Land Your Dream Job

The list (pardon me) goes on.  Who decided that life or any part of it can be boiled down to an enumerated set of suggestions?  Have you read these lists?  Buzzfeed is the worst perpetrator, but not the only one by far.  These lists masquerade as real wisdom and real communication. Granted, many of them are humorous.  Many of them are accompanied by GIFs or memes – Jennifer Lawrence and Disney princesses feature prominently in all sorts of such illustrated lists. 

Despite the glibness of such cyber profferings, I am worried.  Are there people who are taking notes from such boiled down advice?  I suspect so.  Even more worrisome than actually taking list-based advice seriously is the evidence that this trend is contributing to people’s inability to hold a conversation beyond anything numbered and limited to five sentences.  I base my concern on students’ reactions to conversations that extend beyond five minutes or writing that extends beyond numbered sentences.  Actually, I base my suspicion on many people’s inability to read a whole email or to have a conversation that doesn’t involve listyness.

As a course of my job, I send emails to a wide variety of constituents.  I strive to keep most professional correspondence to a salutation, a one sentence greeting, 2-6 sentences of information or inquiry, a thank you and a sign off at the end.  The number of times that I have a response from a person who asks me a point of information that was included in the original email is astounding.  Unless information is presented in very short forms – think tweets or status updates – many people seem lost.  They get lost in words, verbs, and subordinate clauses. 

I suppose it doesn’t help that I teach writing and read long books as a matter of course.  I also find lists woefully inadequate – I find myself wanting to hear the discussion behind each item on the list.  I want to talk about the “what ifs” and “but alsos” that inevitably belong with each item.  It seems like the listyness of current life is inhibiting conversation.  I have also seen a fear of response and depth among people. 

Let’s look at a couple of examples:  I often have a student come to me with a list of questions.  That’s a good thing.  That means he has thought through some issues that he wants advice on or conversation about.  Now, he will sit in front of me and say, “I have some questions.”  Okay.  Once he has shared his first item, and we have addressed the issue, he moves on to the second item.  Often, the second item is related to the first.  So, I connect the second item to the discussion or resolution of the first item.  We have to come back around to a conversation that happened about 68 seconds prior.  They can’t do it.  The connection is all too often lost.  If we can’t stay on item #1, resolve it, and then move on, we are in trouble.  Many people are having trouble connecting ideas and continuing a conversation.  If things are not an enumerated list, conversation falters. 

Another example:  I was in a meeting recently where a proposal that would have a reaching impact was presented.  It was presented well.  At the end of the proposal, there was an opportunity for questions or discussion.  No one had anything to say.  No questions to ask.  It was a meaty proposal.  No one had anything to ask.  The list had been read.  It was time to close it and move on to the next.  Even though the presentation was well done, there should have been some more discussion.  After talking with a few colleagues at that meeting, it seems like they avoided a conversation that would have been more complex than numbered ideas. Why?  

One more, just to prove the point:  there is a game going around Face Book where you like a status and the "liked person" assigns you a number.  You are then obligated to reveal that number of interesting facts about yourself in your status.  Another list.  About yourself.  Things that you care about or that are part of you - all boiled down to a list. 

Having a conversation of depth can be difficult, taxing, sometimes contentious, but it is worth it.  Reviewing a proposal or relating one idea to the next or examining that which masquerades as life advice are all good things.  This kind of communication takes time.  It’s not just scratching an itch, but it is much more satisfying.  Lists may help organize life, but real life is messy and not easily enumerated.  Go ahead and read as many lists as you want, but when it comes to real conversation this week, don’t number your sentences.  

Wait, What?

Every now and then I come across something, someone, or some comment that totally throws me for a loop.  Not often, mind you.  I am the kind of person who you tell your life story to in the grocery line.  I guess I just look sympathetic; and, I do that mirror listening thing without thinking about what I want to tell you about myself or trying to insert my own stories into yours.  (Yes, being introverted helps here, but I’ve got it down pat.)  Also, I’ve been teaching for twenty years, so to really, truly shock me is a formidable task.  Gay?  Cool.  Don’t know what you want to do when you grow up?  Join the club.  Want to move to Montana and live as a hermit with only books and a case of beer?  Have fun!  Confused?  Me, too.  Lost and just need a hug?  C’mon in.  In love with your cousin’s best friend’s ex-girlfriend’s dog?  Okay.  Dislike your parents and hate your friends?  I’m your sounding board.  Really – you cannot shock me.

But, just when I know I have heard it all and seen most of it, I’m blindsided.  This past week I was talking with a group of women.  To be precise, I was listening to a group of women talk. I did not know all of them; several of us had just met for the first time. The age range was 40-70. Topics ranged from marriage to children to in-laws to pets to jobs and back again.  At one point, one of the older ladies suggested, “I guess it’s about having a dream.  I mean, you have to have something you want to do.  A goal.  A dream. I’m retired and I still don’t have enough time to do everything I want to do.”  In less than half a breath a younger woman piped up, “Maybe that’s my problem.”  We looked at her expectantly.  “I mean,” she continued, “I don’t really have any dreams except to just be with my husband.”  Wait. What?  She went on to iterate a couple of dreams he has, but she concluded that comment with, “All I really want to do is spend time with him.”

Now, you’ll all be glad to know that I beat down the feminist in me that wanted to lecture her on losing her identity in a man.  I also shushed the counselor in me who wanted to tell her that she needed to do some kind of guided imagery in order to visualize who she wants to be.  You’ll also be relieved to know that I did not allow the reader in me to quote all sorts of literary ideas about becoming your own person.  And, yep, she did it.  This forty-something woman shocked me.  It really seems to me that hanging your one dream on another human being is a recipe for tragedy.

I don’t know lots of things “for sure,” as Oprah puts it, but I do know for sure that if you have one dream that you assign your happiness to and it  revolves around another person, you will be disappointed.  That kind of pressure will doom a relationship and poison a friendship.  My dream depends upon you?  No.  Who – male or female – thinks that wrapping up the sum total of all of your dreams into one person is a good idea?  Her dream is just to spend time with her husband.  Ancillary to cultivating herself as a human being and cultivating her own interests and dreams, it’s not a bad thing to want to spend time with one’s husband.  In fact, many would argue it’s quite excellent to want to spend time with loved ones.  Let me reiterate:  that’s her only dream.  Her one dream for the rest of her life hangs upon another person. Her one dream for the remaining 45 years on the planet is to spend time with her husband.  That’s it.  Wait. What? 

So, the husband-time-spending thing aside, this woman has only ONE dream for her remaining time in life.  That’s it.  One.  That One is a progression of a role in a family. Only that.  I know women here in Augusta, and I assume they exist all over this country if not the world, whose mission in life has been and continues to be:  graduate high school, go to college, find a husband, marry, have children, join the country club, take family vacations, help the children graduate high school, help the children go to college, help the children get married, help the children have children, enjoy the grandchildren and eventually die.  And, yes, before you ask, I have taught and counseling high school girls whose life plan is some iteration of the above sequence.  In 2013.  Yes, there are girls and women whose whole existence seems to bizarrely rotate around others.  Where, oh where, is the desire for personal development?  For cultivating your own talents?  Women, if you are reading this, you have hundreds, if not thousands, of opportunities to make a life for yourself.  And, most certainly, you may want it to include marriage or family life and many of your desires and dreams and talents may dovetail into family life, but please, oh please, I beg you not to roll up all of your dreams into what your husband wants to do or into some future children. God forbid he becomes ill or dies or leaves you – please have some thoughts about what it is that YOU want.  You and only you. What are your dreams for yourself? If you were totally on your own, what would you do to develop your interests and achieve your dreams?  Wait, what?

Yes, I know that what I’m suggesting might be a lecture for human beings, but it really seems especially applicable to women who roll up their own identity in a husband and family or who minimize themselves for any other person.  Who knows what will happen?  Please develop yourself – individually.  Surely you have interests and talents and desires for your own development.  Children grow up.  Children move out.  Spouses are not extensions of who you are – they are (hopefully) wonderful  additions to who you are, but you must always be you first and foremost. 

Perhaps this lady was simplifying what Jean Webster suggested, “I'm going to enjoy every second, and I'm going to know I'm enjoying it while I'm enjoying it. Most people don't live; they just race. They are trying to reach some goal far away on the horizon, and in the heat of the going they get so breathless and panting that they lose sight of the beautiful, tranquil country they are passing through; and then the first thing they know, they are old and worn out, and it doesn't make any difference whether they've reached the goal or not.”  Perhaps my new friend wants to just enjoy time with her husband, and I do wish her all the happiness doing so, but I still say she needs a goal.   “It must be borne in mind that the tragedy of life doesn’t lie in not reaching your goal. The tragedy lies in having no goal to reach. It isn’t a calamity to die with dreams unfulfilled, but it is a calamity not to dream. Something for ourselves that we are working towards.” (B.E. Mays) 

And that, my new friend, is a tragedy that can be avoided.

When All Else Fails...Snark

I am a professional writer.  Well, let me amend that.  I write all the time.  In my job. School reports.  Recommendations for students.  School publications.  And for fun. Poetry. (see:www.1daypoems.blogspot.com)  This blog.  Most recently, work on a short story based at a bar called "County Line."  I have also taught English for nearly twenty years - high school and middle school. Over the past few years, I have attended the Iowa Summer Writers' Festival.  I teach creative writing and advanced creative writing.  I briefly joined a short-lived Augusta writers' group. I've read my work publicly in Iowa and Georgia. I've been around the block, using writing for various purposes: on the job, in service of others, for personal enjoyments, as gifts, and for publication.

In all of these settings, I have found those who read or heard my work generous and thoughtful.  My work is certainly not perfect, but I am doing the work.  In talking with others who write professionally and personally, I have found that the vast majority of them are encouraging and interested.  Then, I found the group.  You may recall the old saying: "There's one in every crowd."  Well, this is a crowd of them.

I joined a group on Face Book which purports to support writers in a particular endeavor. Imagine my surprise when I came to realize that the group has deteriorated into a group designed to sap the confidence out of its members. Judging from the posts in this group, the idea is to snark at and belittle the other group members because we all know that if you denigrate others then you automatically become more valuable.  And, you will be more successful if others are less successful, right? Of course not. That’s silly, to say the least. However, that’s how these individuals are conducting themselves. There were several moderators of the group who were conspicuously quiet.

"If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." I don't know that this applies in every circumstance.  Sometimes encouragement can take the form of something being said that isn't very nice.  I used to have a sign that read "Diplomacy is the ability to tell someone to go to hell in such a way that he actually looks forward to the trip." Even in the high school classroom when a student was curiously off-topic or misunderstanding a text, I would say, “Well, that’s one interpretation,” and then ask the student to support or elucidate his idea. Most often, he came to his own conclusions, “What I said earlier was kind of off-base, wasn’t it?” 

I attended a summer writing workshop where the instructor told us that really the only rule in the session was that you cannot be negative about your work, and if you are thusly tempted, you are to say, “This smacks of brilliance.”  Likewise, at the start of my creative writing course every year, I find a time to give a little talk to my writers about the fact that the world is more than willing to judge and berate them, they don’t need to do it to themselves.  High schoolers being high schoolers, are apt to run themselves down as a protective measure.  For example, “if I note that this poem is weird then it will hurt less than if someone else says it’s weird because I know that it’s not really weird and it’s really about my grandma but I can’t let anyone know that.”  But, if I can get them to be kind to themselves about their own work, we are one step closer to being happier and more thoughtful people.  Plus, if you act like you know what you’re doing, you will find that you often do; you were just letting your inner critic run you down.

In addition to those pesky inner critics, we can stumble and fall on those outer critics as well.  We all know them – the ones who stop mid-sentence the minute you walk into a room.  Or, as a friend recounted earlier this week, “I returned to the table, and I overheard [my mother-in-law] say, ‘She just smothers me.’”  Never mind that my friend was there caring for mother-in-law after a surgery.  There’s one in every crowd.  In teaching there’s a joke that we tell each other when nothing seems to go right in the classroom: 

You know what the headline would be if teachers could walk on water? 

No. What?

Teachers refuse to swim.

So, for today, whatever it is that you are doing – writing, swimming, teaching, gardening, cooking, leading a book club, managing a multi-billion dollar deal, organizing a shoe drive for the homeless, do it well and enjoy it. And, don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.  Don’t let the bastards (or your Face Book groups) get you down.

Peanut Butter and Comfort Zones

Comfort.  That’s what this season that we are embarking on is all about.  Religious inclinations aside, we are all seeking comfort in this season that covers the next seven weeks. Nothing wrong with that at all.  Comfort is, well, comforting. 

Comfort food leaps to mind.  For many of us, we associate this season with big warm meals and small warm drinks.  Turkeys, hams, buttery rolls, yams with small marshmallows torched on top, and plates of green beans smothered in something akin to what the cat leaves on the carpet from time to time…well, you get the idea.  We all have the meal that is our ultimate in comfort and very often it shows up this time of year.  My most comforting meal has little to do with the holiday season.  In fact, I have this meal once every six weeks or so, and it must meet certain standards to qualify as my comfort meal.  An open-faced smooth peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich with the jelly spread on the whole wheat bread so that all bites have a bit of jelly and peanut butter; sweet pickles (on the side, not on the sandwich) chilled and in a dish that will prevent the juice from soaking into the sandwich bread; three small pieces of extra sharp cheddar cheese; Lay’s potato chips, preferably from a newly opened bag; and, a large glass of cold skim milk.  That’s it. I’m not too picky, am I? 

It’s not just this season that urges me to look at comfort, but also the concept of what makes life pleasant on an on-going basis.  I read recently that it’s not what we do occasionally that makes a difference; it’s what we do regularly that makes the biggest difference in life.  Many people around me are constantly challenging themselves to do more, to be more, and to get more.  While such challenges can be part of what life is made of, comfort is important, too.

Consider this:  for about the past six months, I have been feeling unwell.  It has been difficult to get up in the morning, all too easy to go to bed unnaturally early, and to neglect that which I would not normally ignore.  In short, I have been horribly uncomfortable.  In examining a variety of causes of this unwellness, I realized that I have been waking in the morning, and the first thing I have been doing is checking work email and Face Book.  Innocuous.  One needs to be informed and know what the day has to bring.  Nevertheless, I have decided that I do not need to know what is going on at work until I get to work.  The world and all 1000+ of my close, personal friends will conduct their lives as they see fit whether or not I read their status or see the latest pictures of their cats.

Another thing I know is that I have been neglecting physical activity.  Part of this neglect is due to organic issues that are now being corrected.  However, I did think about driving from my home to the pool house where we have our homeowners’ meetings.  I don’t know how far this is, but I can tell you that on a bad day, I can walk there in less than five minutes.  Please note:  After 16 minutes of self-debate wherein I could have walked there and back at least twice I did not drive. I walked. On the scope of daily exercise: no gut pounding aerobics classes (I have never enjoyed that).  No boot camps where I am the last one to finish every exercise. (I did like boot camp for a while, though. Shout out to the instructor; you know who you are).  I will ride my bike in the neighborhood with youngest son.  I will walk or elliptical to tunes that make me feel like I’m in a Rocky training montage. And, I have realized that at the times when I felt best physically, I was swimming regularly.  I’m naturally buoyant and I have a strong stroke.  The pool is comfortable, and I am there a couple afternoons a week.

A thing that I don’t do is read the daily newspaper or watch nightly news.  I can’t.  The daily local newspaper is The Augusta Chronicle, and I cannot read this rag without a red pen in hand. When I first moved to Augusta, I applied for a job as a local interest writer with the Chronicle. (My shtick was:  new resident to the area discovers life in Augusta.)  I was told that I was overqualified.  Perhaps so, but if they had employed me, there would be many fewer misspellings and ill-placed commas.  The nightly news brings stories of tragedy from around the world directly into the living room.  I can’t have thousands dying in front of my fireplace every night. I can’t have the politicians screaming across the kitchen at me.  It’s too much.  I read news summaries and often read beyond those, delving into detail.  Still, I can’t experience every bus wreck and house fire on a global scale.  It’s too much.  And, yes, it makes me uncomfortable.   

In a variety of settings I have heard people talk and preach about “getting out of your comfort zone.”  This is code for challenging yourself: challenging yourself to get more involved in world issues or movements that need support or run a 10K.  While routine can be overdone, I say, “get into your comfort zone.”  Find your sweet spot.  Check Face Book less and watch the leaves in the wind more.  Give up the bone jarring run and stretch in the yoga studio.  Or, if you love Face Book, get on there more often and like more cat pictures before your seven mile run.  Watch the nightly news and debate politics.  Make a peanut butter sandwich.    Whatever works.  If you must challenge yourself, I would suggest challenging yourself to enjoy your comfort zone instead of feeling guilty.

N.D. Walsch suggests that “life begins at the end of your comfort zone.”  I disagree.  Life is based well inside your comfort zone.  Having a comfort zone wherein you are confident, feel good, can perform at optimum levels makes it possible to reach outside of your comfort zone.  And, perhaps you will expand your comfort zone.  But, it is precisely that life inside the comfort zone than enables us to do great things.  Without a zone of comfort, we will feel forever unsure, constantly doubtful and be rendered unwell. 

Find the comfort zone, the sweet spot that works for you. Then, keep that comfort zone.  Live in it.  Invite others in.  Visit outside of your comfort zone.  But, keep comfort as a mode of living, not a seasonal pursuit.

The Icing on the Cake

 “Mom, I think you're going to find the love of your life one day.” 

Son #3 and I went for a walk yesterday after school.  The walk is a new addition to our routine, and he has always been known for blurting things out.  These walks are designed to clear the cobwebs before homework time; they must also shake loose ideas he has floating around.  More often than not, his exclamations have granules or even cupfuls of truth.  Yesterday was no exception. 

“Oh, really?” 

“Yes, you’ll definitely find the love of your life…just not here in Georgia.”

Yes, that is precisely what he said.  And, I nearly fell over.  What proceeded from there was a conversation about the time that we have in life and the things we choose to do with it.  “Being in love,” as this twelve year-old understands it is what everyone is looking for.  Of course, there are plenty of 50 year-olds that think this, too.  If you don’t believe me, go have a look at match.com or okcupid.com or some other equally heinous website.  True enough that in middle school there is a lot of effort being put into being liked.  Wearing the right clothes and avoiding saying the wrong things – these are key to success in the middle grades.  Son’s thoughts on this no doubt swirl around his anticipation of his first ever middle school dance. 

We do spend a lot of our time looking for love or wanting to fall in love or wanting to fall back in love or some variant.  But, it’s really so unnecessary.  As I told son #3 yesterday, there are so many, many things to do and thoughts to think and books to read…and…he added: “Doctor Who episodes to watch” that looking for the “love of my life” is pretty low on my list right now.  He looked a little worried.  He assured me I could find someone.  I couldn’t tell him it’s not on my list at all because I think that the cats eating your corpse story if you die coupled with the cat lady jokes that son #2 and I bat around when talking about my future may have gotten to the youngest. 

If I could convince pre-teens, teenagers, and young adults (or all those folks on match.com) of one thing it would be this: searching for love and/or having lots of sex should not be your primary activity in life.  You are worth more.  Do not waste time, money, or tears on these activities.  Go and live your life.  Find things that are interesting to you that have nothing to do with finding a significant other.  Read.  Write. Dance. Sculpt. Compose music.  Eat food.  Have friends.  Have lots of friends.  Quit making Pinterest boards for a distant-future wedding.  Quit hooking up.  Do not spend time pining for the “love of your life” or “the one that got away” or even “the one that sleeps next to me but I don’t trust him or her enough to not go through his or her phone when he or she is asleep.”  Quit.  Go and live.  Find things that fascinate you.  Live life.

This is a hard pill to swallow and there are certainly hundreds of clichés and self-help books that lurk around this pill but here it is anyway:  Fall in love with yourself.  By doing this, you free yourself and your friends to love fully.  So many young people seem to believe that “needing” someone is equivalent to loving someone.  They convince themselves that they need someone to complete them, to insert in their Face Book relationship status bar, or to spend Saturday nights with.  If you fall in love with yourself, you free those around you.  This bit of dialogue from the 1985 movie Out of Africa illustrates:

Karen: But I do need you. You don't need me.

Denys: If I die will you die? You don't need me. You confuse need with want. You always have.

Sure, most people want love.  Someone to come home to.  A partner.  A wife.  A husband.  A “love of their lives,” but it is not a necessity.  You won’t die if you don’t have that someone.  You very likely will wither up and die if you neglect yourself.  It may sound selfish, but in the moment when you fall in love with yourself, you will find that you won’t need anyone else.  If someone else is in your life and you love each other, it’ll be icing, not the cake.

“Well, son, I’m pretty busy right now; I don’t really have time for anyone else.”

“Okay, but, Mom…at least you have me and the brothers.”

And that’s my icing.