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.

On Being Normal

Where can you go to see people you normally don’t really want to see at all in various states of undress and dampness and relaxation and sandiness? 

I went to the beach today.  Despite the marketing ploy of the town in which I live – “three hours to the beach and three to the mountains!” -  I probably haven’t been to the beach in about three years. And, yeah, that marketing tool is basically spinning the fact that we are in the middle of nowhere.  But, I needed to see the ocean today.  We happen to be in Florida, and I happened to have a few hours to myself, so I went.

Let me just say that it wasn’t crowded.  It was hot and windy.  After I removed myself from the smallish crowd, I settled on a dune to watch the surf and contemplate.  As with many meditations, my undisciplined mind began to wander.  I took in the seagulls, two ships on the horizon, the white surf, the sway of the water.  And, then it happened.  People were walking by – running by – wading into the surf.  Having worked in high schools for the past twenty years, I am adept at tuning out the noise and movements of those around me.  However, it happened.  It was kind of like when you glance across a nighttime room, and you are really sure you just saw a moving shadow, but you know you’re home alone, so you try to convince yourself that nothing was there.  The beach version of this is when a larger lady is sporting an ill-fitting one piece, and she strolls by as you are staring out at the horizon.  And, just as she steps into your line of view, the edge of her bikini line pops out and greets you.  Not unlike a little ground hog popping its head out of the ground, glancing around, and then burrowing back down.   Larger ladies who may not fit well into conventional swimsuits need to check the body fit of their swim attire on a regular basis.  When we have some extra mass, our clothes can stretch in places we don’t always check.  I don’t care if you have rolls of fat, and I think you should wear whatever swimwear you are happy in, but I want it to cover your labia.  Sitting on the small dune and the sight line I had out to the ocean evidently created such an angle that my view was punctuated not once or twice but four times by four different ladies with this particular wardrobe malfunction.

These instances were not in quick succession, and after each, um, greeting, I had to readjust my sight, search around for a shell or two, breathe in the ocean air, and generally cleanse myself.  I found my thoughts reaching to what was “normal.”  The beach, as well as amusement parks, state fairs, and children’s birthday parties challenge what any of the participants might view as normal.  I did not grow up around beaches, and so I do not have a standard for a “normal” day at the beach.  Perhaps my experience today is just that.  I did not grow up near the mountains, so I have no idea what a “normal” day hiking would entail.  Sure, I did these things, but on vacation.  And, vacation is – most often – not normal.  I know what a “normal” school day is; I can define a “normal” work day for you; I might even endeavor to tell you what a “normal” birthday celebration entails.  But wait.

No, no I can’t.  There is no such thing as normal.  (Normal, Illinois notwithstanding.)  I have my experiences.  That is all.  I know what traditions I grew up with.  I know what traditions I tried to instill in my family life when the boys were young.  I remember the one time I desperately tried to squeeze a husband into my preconceived notions of what a family New Year’s Eve should be.  (That failed, and the following year I bought him a New Year’s hunting trip so I wouldn’t be reminded of my failure.)  I used to have a sign in my classroom that read “Tradition should be a guide not a jailer.”  Indeed.  Over the past four years, I have gradually and intentionally thrown out such traditions and expectations and normals in order to more fully embrace opportunities as they present themselves.  My middle son’s 18^th birthday brought us to Florida this weekend.  Back in June a friend offered to sell me tickets to a two-day multi-band concert; he had bought them, but his plans had since changed.  So, my son and a friend are at an all-day concert, and I have time.  Not a normal celebration, but a wonderful one.  He and his friend are having fun; I’m not at home moping about the crumbling bathroom or broken truck.  Neither am I doing the normal Saturday mowing and cleaning.  I’m in Florida, visiting the beach, having a glass of wine, writing.  Normal might just be over-rated. 

I recently had a conversation with a male friend which eventually turned to dating.  I stated that I do not date any more.  He was aghast.  “That’s not normal.  That’s not healthy,” he asserted.  I assured him that, in fact, it is quite normal and very healthy.  He went on to tell me that I needed to find someone to grow old with otherwise I’d be alone and – you guessed it – “that’s not normal.”  He has a point.  I believe that not wanting to be alone in old age is part of the impetus for marrying; at least it was for me.  But, I embraced that “normal” without actually examining all the parts of it, and the results were less than satisfying.  That “normal” doesn’t fit me any better than the women’s swimsuits fit them today. 

In high school and afterwards, I wanted nothing more than to “fit in” and “be normal” all the while being different.  I created a paradox for myself.  I took Russian to be different.  I wanted to be a spy to be different.  I got married to be normal.  I taught Russian to be different while fitting in.  Such paradoxes we can create for ourselves!  My eldest son wants to have a life not unlike the one his grandfather lives – materially comfortable, respectable, and generous.  At the same time he wants to travel, speak different languages, and date just about anyone who walks through the door. What’s a person to do?  My youngest son craves peer acceptance because, well, what’s middle school for if it’s not for gaining popularity and being regarded as cool?  At the same time, he still sleeps with his teddy bear and watches Dr. Who.  Perhaps we are all some version of this middle school dilemma:  “I want people to like me, but I want to do my own thing.”  It can be a horrific tug-of-war that can last far too long.

Now, I’m contemplating earning another graduate degree, selling my house, cancelling TV service; getting ready to send my middle son to college; watching my eldest son on his last two laps of undergrad before going into the army.  The truth is that I spent time and tears trying to fit into a normal that never fit quite right.  My children are doing this all much better than I ever did.  It is my hope that they already know that life does not have to be a paint-by-numbers kit.  The best lives are freehand, out of whack, and a little messy.  

Anything

"What are you going to do with your one wilde and precious life?" (Mary Oliver)

     It is the season of anticipation in the senior hallways of our nation's schools.  National notification date for letters of invitation or declination is April 1 - and, no, it's not a cruel joke.  A former student called the time period of February 1- April 1 the "cone of silence."  There's nothing an applicant can do to further their cause that now finds itself on the computer screens of admissions officers on campuses everywhere.  No matter what decisions come, I have seen students embrace the power of this moment.  There is inspiration and motivation when you are eighteen and look your future square in the face.  At what other time in your life did you feel more like you could do anything?  Opportunites are endless.  The moment you are accepted to a college seems to open up the future like nothing else can.  Being in academia, I have always had the sense of renewal in the fall, but spring is the traditional time of renewal - nature and a college acceptances bear witness to this. 

     For those of us not expecting the thick envelope from the school of our dreams right now, we might pause and wonder just from where the moments of inspiration, motivation and empowerment come as we load the whites in for a hot cycle, clean the cat vomit from the carpet, check emails, and tell our children to turn off the television.  No, doing anything, having real chances to open up the future is not often on the radar screen for those of us knee-deep in adulthood.  Many of us feel like we can't do anything because we have to do everything.  This could take a middle-aged angstful turn right now, but let us try to avoid that and forge ahead.

    When a well-meaning parent, aunt or college counselor said to you, "You can do anything you want with your life," what did that person really mean?  There seems to an innate falsehood to this statement.  Even in my most athletic phase, I could not have been a professional football player or a starter for the '90-'91 Chicago Bulls.  So, no, I could not have been a Deion Sanders, a Michael Jordan, or even a Jay Cutler.  Naturally, the question arises: did you want to be those things.  Well, no.  Not really.  But, even if I had wanted to, I couldn't have.  So, where does all of this go?  Can a person truly be anything the want to be?

     How about the reverse?  Can you not be anything you don't want to be?  I never wanted to be a meth addict.  I'm not.  So, yes, it seems to work in reverse.  I did not want to be prime minister of Canada nor was I ever interested in being an astronaut.  Those ambitions have never plagued me, so I guess I'm doing pretty well.  But, wait, I never really wanted to be a high school English teacher.  As a person who has spent 22 years in high school as a student, teacher, and counselor, I have the opportunity to converse with young people about their ambitions.  In the course of such discussions, I am inevitably asked, "When did you know you wanted to be a teacher?"  The answer, as unglamorous and uninspiring as it is, is: "Never."  I never wanted to be a teacher.  Nope.  No higher calling to mold the next generation or to be an inspiration the youth of today or to ensure my own immortality through touching lives.  I became a teacher quite by default.

     I am sure that given a few moments of reflection, my sisters and mother might disagree.  I am the eldest of three girls, and I did my fair share of "playing school" with my sisters.  After a day of being told where to sit, how to walk, where to sit, what to think, and when to lay on your nap mat, it is relaxing to come home and boss your little sisters around for an hour and a half.  To be fair, they enjoyed it.  Mostly.  In fact, I even went so far as to organize a sort of pee-wee Brownie troupe for my youngest sister when she was too young to join the real Brownies.  We called it Nannie Troupe.  I think we did a few crafts and maybe even designed a t-shirt with the use of (gasp!) permanent markers.  When I started learning Russian, I foisted my knowledge on my youngest sister, as well.  Even my middle sister - who quickly found her own interests and didn't really "play school" for long - remembered a few phrases in Russian that I engrained despite her study of German and Arabic.  The point here:  I never wanted to become a teacher.  This was all child's play.  My sisters might argue that it was an advanced, slightly polished form of bullying. (Ha!  Perhaps that is all education truly is anyway.)  But, nevertheless, it was play.

     However, I did want to be a diplomat; why else would someone study Russian in 1987?  And, to that end I have two degrees in the fifth most widely spoken language in the world.  Right, it might be fifth, but I can tell you that a Russian degree is slightly more useful than a philosophy degree and slightly less useful than a degree in art history.  A one-eyed monkey can tell you that it would be hard to find a career as far away from a globe-trotting diplomat as teacher & college counselor in private school in Augusta, Georgia. 

     So, could we be wired to want what we can't have?  Probably not.  Think of all of the would-be professional athletes.  Think of all of the blinded-by-hope-for-instant-fame-and-fortune-auditioners for American Idol; a conservative estimate approximates 100,000 individuals auditioned for season eight.  Okay, so you might say that it doesn't matter what age you are - figure out what you want to do and do it.  Find a way to make it happen.  Of course, at my age, I have to take certain things into consideration:  kids, house, job, car, supper, dog, laundry, a washing machine that doesn't stay balanced....right, this list could go on.  The question remains:  Can we do anything we want to do? 

     Yes, we can.  With more patience and wisdom, we all adjust our life dreams.  We can look around today and find a way live and be and pursue our dreams.  Doing anything might not be realistic, but we can quit trying to everything and focus on a something that gives us inspiration and empowerment.  We may not be waiting for the thick envelope at the end of March, but we can be reminded that the warranty on hopes and dreams is a lifetime one.