The Gift of a New Year

It has been an interesting day - not what I had expected.  Not a typical New Year's Day.  In fact, I thought we'd be celebrating somewhere else, even had made the plans to do so.  But John has picked up a virus and I'm still hobbling a bit from the fall I took just before Thanksgiving.  We did manage to watch the Rose Bowl Parade together and were, as usual, awed by the color and the creativity, moved by a touching reunion of a young military family, impressed  by the precision of the marching bands. Then he disappeared into football games and I retreated to catch an old favorite, "Sleepless in Seattle."  A quiet day.  A tranquil day, virus included, hobbling included.

After this past year, a trying year of endless campaigning, dysfunctional bipartisanship, natural  disaster upon natural disaster, murder and mayhem, the loss of a family member - a quiet day, a day to just relax, to smile, and be reminded that people can come together safely and joyfully is a good day.  

Our holidays have, in fact, been a series of quiet days.  Reflective days.  Still affected by the tragedy in Newtown and our personal loss, and frustrated by the fiasco in Washington, our relationship, our home, and our community have become increasingly the focus of our attention.  Are we unusual,  I wonder.  Is this the silver lining in the pervasive thunder clouds of 2012?  That we can become more conscious of what's important to us.  That we can focus on nurturing and enjoying it.  That we can choose to focus our efforts on what we can impact.  That we can reject the fear and anger, the blame and insanity.  That we can hold the possibility that 2013 will be a better year, a healthier and happier year.

 

When Do We Take a Stand...and Mean It?!!

Maybe it's because I know Newtown, having spent several lovely days among this lovely community.  Maybe it's because the first school I administered was a primary school, K - 3.  Maybe it's because I am already grieving a personal loss, but I have been glued to CNN to watch the coverage of this latest tragedy.  Feeling oddly reminiscent, too reminiscent, of the assassinations of the 60's, 9-ll,  Oklahoma City, Columbine.  Tragedies heaped upon the innocent.  Alternately raging, sobbing, applauding the courage of reporters who have challenged some of the inanity they were hearing, grateful for the respect they are showing the community, in awe of the dignity and compassion expressed by family members of victims, and despairing that this has happened yet again.

Above all, wondering whether this time we will have the courage and the resolve to address the underlying, systemic problems that contribute to this madness.  Granted, no one is asking me for my ideas.  Granted, I have my own biases.  But I have some questions I wish would be raised by someone of influence and authority.  I have some questions that could lead to different kinds of discussion than whether or not we should be arming our teachers!

• What kind of society do we want to live in?  A violent, armed, fearful society?
• What can we learn from other countries who are not as violent as we are?  Like Japan.
• What have we already learned from previous tragedies that could help us identify potential dangers?
• How much more information do we need anyway?
• How do we support our "leaders" (perhaps demand?!) to get beyond their own interests to work together, to get beyond their bi-partisanship?  How do we become more responsible followers who are willing to sacrifice some of our own interests?
• What can Newtown teach us all about becoming caring, supportive, responsible communities?  
• When do the needs of the whole trump the needs of the individual?
• What can we do as individuals to impact the quality of our society as a whole?  Simply labeling us as a violent society or describing what we are seeing as "reality" that must be accepted serves only to make us more fearful, more frustrated, more isolated.
• How can we encourage, develop the critical thinking skills and the communications skills we so desperately need in order to address these larger issues together rather than against one another? 
• How can we use social networking venues to promote responsible, thoughtful action...not knee-jerk, reactionary, simplistic actions that produce more (sometimes greater) problems!?!?
• How can we defend controlling cars more than we do guns?!
• Where are the systems thinkers that could help move a national discourse to consider the scope of the disease - right now it seems that we are arguing over the size of the bandage to put over the tumor!
• When do we take a stand...and mean it?  

In Praise of Good Guys

My brother-in-law died yesterday.  Because we have lived a continent apart, we were in each other's company for perhaps only 3 weeks out of the 30 years I have known him.  But my sense of loss this morning is great.

You see, Gary was one of the good guys, a genuine nice guy. He had a gentle Jimmy Stewart disposition. Worked hard all his life.  Took pleasure in simple things.  Always played the hand he was dealt with grace and equanimity.

He adored his wife of 43 years, his children and grandchildren. It was this love that fueled his arduous fight with lung cancer this past year, enduring months of treatment with his usual upbeat, glass half-full optimism.  Never complained.  

He was loyal and honest, a steadfast man, accepting of everybody, tolerant of foibles that would have irritated a saint.  Even when he didn't like someone, he expressed his opinions without rancor or disdain, simply as his opinion. Never nasty, never demeaning.

This world could use more good guys.  I will miss this very decent man.

The Best Laid Plans...etc., etc.

I had it all planned - a special holiday season.  I made lists of possible day trips, restaurants to try, movie matinees, stocking stuffers.  I delighted over invitations to celebrate, each an acknowledgment that this has truly become our home, smiling each time I added another date to our calendar. Even included baking cookies, something I haven't done for years. Mom's chocolate chips and snowballs for sure. My intention - to do something everyday that would make Christmas 2012 the most memorable yet.

It was to be launched with brunch on Thanksgiving Day with old friends, followed by an afternoon spent decorating our 6+ft. Christmas tree. Now, that tree is a thing of beauty, a testimony to whatever creative talents I have.  Gold and copper ornaments amassed over the years (even a couple from my childhood ), plumes of gold tinsel, tiny birds with feather tails peeking out from unexpected niches, glass icicles that shimmer when the lights are lit, and as a topper, an angel that has graced every tree of our marriage.

My planning, my lists, my anticipation grew all month. Like a kid with an Advent Calendar.  With each new Hallmark holiday movie I became more eager to begin, even considered putting up the tree before Thanksgiving, but couldn't convince John, who does well to tolerate my exuberance, to lug it out from the garage and struggle with the lights any sooner than he had to.

Then, on the Monday before Thanksgiving, I fell.  Wrestled with the vacuum hose and lost. Landed on my right knee -  on the unforgiving tile floor - barely missing the coffee table or the metal corner of a side table.  After my initial shock and embarrassment - how could I be such a klutz - and reassuring my terrified husband that I hadn't heard a pop, no bones seemed to be broken, I mentally went through my lists, crossing off the tree, eliminating the parties and the day trips, indulging in one inglorious, adolescent, self-pity party.

In the long days that followed, it became evident that I had injured my knee. To what extent we weren't sure, but I knew that the shooting pains meant something was wrong.  Being a holiday week, typical health care was difficult to come by.  I was able to get advice as to avoiding any further damage, but couldn't see an orthopedist until this week.  So I concentrated on staying off my feet and managing my morale so I wouldn't go down the rabbit hole of dark imaginings and rampant anxiety.  Hobbled around on a cane, and popped Alleves. Kept apologizing to John for being a burden - my declaration, not his.  Kept reminding myself that we have managed much bigger  challenges than this.  That it could have been so much worse.  That other people do, in fact, have it much worse.
And wondered why I had to work so hard to manage my thinking. 

Yesterday, I saw the orthopedist.  The good news - no break, no tear.  Only significant stress and inflammation.  No need for crutches or the wheel chair I had conjured up.  Just a few more weeks of taking it easy, more Alleve and hobbling a bit.  And rethinking my lists.  Maybe not all the events, but some - which ones?  Maybe not the tree, but surely wreathes, and reindeer and candles.  Maybe not the day trips, but restaurants and movies.  This may not be the special holiday I had envisioned, but it will be memorable.  And there will be chocolate chip cookies.

Heeding My Own Advice

My mother called it "contemplating one's navel" - and she had little patience for it - thinking too much, especially about things that can't be controlled or changed.  Needless to say, she didn't keep a journal, couldn't understand why anyone would go to a therapist.

She would use that phrase whenever she thought I was worrying about something or spending an inordinate amount of time and effort to dissect a situation or struggling to make sense out of nonsense.  I would bristle and defend myself.  I used to wonder how she knew that I was, in fact, overthinking, musing, worrying, deep within a maze of my own construction, bumping up against imaginary walls.

I've come to realize that it must be pretty obvious to anyone who is around me for any length of time.  I withdraw, disengage - journal much more than usual, make and remake list upon list, draw mindmaps - and double back again.  Get caught up in circular conversations in my head.  Just like a lab rat in a maze.  Not something I'm particularly proud of.

The good news, I manage to get through a maze much faster these days.  Only a month this go round.

The bad news, the sad news, it took Hurricane Sandy to snap me out of it.  Seeing the devastation, entire neighborhoods destroyed, children lost, lives disrupted perhaps forever. The water, the mud, the fires. Anguish, grief, unbelievable loss.  Every day another wrenching story. A sobering reminder to get a grip! Quick! "There but for the grace....."

Outwardly, nothing much has changed here in St. George.  Yes, it's cooler.  But my vote still won't count.  I know I will worry whenever John so much as coughs.  I can't seem to lose these ten pounds.  TV continues to annoy me.  Strangers will persist in calling me dear and honey. And whenever I enter a room and can't remember why, I still won't like it.

But internally, the walls of this maze have collapsed. The moment even a brick appears, I remind myself of the advice I so easily give someone else - to consider the alternative.  Now, I'm not so naive as to expect I'll never construct another maze and wander around a bit, but  I may just have a couple posters made - CONSIDER THE ALTERNATIVE - so that it doesn't take another disaster to snap me out of it!

A Great Question

I've been journaling a lot lately, more than usual actually, not that you'd know it by my blogging; but those pages, in my virtual journal, are not intended for public purview.  (In fact, I need to put it in my will that they're to be burned!)

I've had the long hot, unstructured days of the Utah summer and the impetus of some introspective reading to ponder a few provocative questions - questions that require significant reflection and potentially painful honesty.  Questions whose answers can be contradictory on any given day, and freqently muddled.  Occasionally, however, if I persist, press through the muck and the mire, I am rewarded with an "AHA!"  So, I keep journaling.

A particularly provocative question, by the author, Patti Digh, has been at the center of my ruminations. "What is the magic yardstick against which you measure your life?"  I've devoted more than a few pages to this question, partly because the standard of measurement, now that I've retired, is still morphing. And perhaps, because I really never took time to consider as broad a question until these past few months.  Too busy, too caught up in daily demands to think this philosophically?!?

I've dissected the success (or failure) of an event or a project; lost sleep considering the quality of a relationship; analyzed ad nauseum why I may feel the way I do at any given moment or think the way I do about a given issue, or person, or myself, but never this particular question.

It's a question I wish someone had asked me at other crossroads in my life.  I might have gotten over my divorce sooner.  Not been so hurt or angry when I didn't measure up to someone else's yardstick.  Not tried so hard to measure up.  I would have questioned not only whose yardstick, but why it sometimes felt as though the yardstick was longer for me than others around me.  I might have taken more satisfaction in my accomplishments.

As the saying goes, however, that's water over the dam.  One of the greatest opportunities of any transition is the chance to take the time to recalibrate the yardstick.  Perhaps to redefine the standard of measurement!  To answer this question, and others of a similar depth, consciously, clearly and confidently.  I'm taking the time and making progress.



Oh, I Get It!

 

"Your library is your portrait"     ~ Holbrook Jackson

 

 

I came across this quote while searching for a quote to stimulate a journal entry and, intrigued by the idea, decided to examine my library for what it might say about me.  Like a portrait or photograph.  What would it convey to a stranger looking at it for the first time?  Who would he/she think I am simply by checking out my books? (Is this why I check out other people's libraries - to get a better sense of who they are?)

 

Interesting exercise!  Obvious, I think, that I learn by reading.  Not everyone learns this way, I understand.  But I have books everywhere.  On shelves, in baskets, on table tops and piles on the floor.  And at least half are non-fiction, even on my Kindle.

 

I love to have choice, options, plenty of resources, multiple resources. No wonder it's been so challenging to cull my library, why I'm still at it after a couple years of schlepping shopping bags full of books to the local library.

 

My history is as evident in my books as in the wrinkles on my face.  Books from my teaching, training and coaching days; one shelf devoted to the non-fiction that has made the biggest impact on my thinking.  Topics I've studied vigorously.  Others long abandoned.  Some I think I should be interested in, but finally admit I'm not.  A record of interests past and present, some attempted, some not. (Why do I hang onto those cookbooks?!)

 

My abiding curiosity about the human condition is apparent in the bevy of self-help and psychology books that date back to the 60's and 70's, as well as in a preponderance of novels marked by strong and interesting character development.  No science fiction.  No romance novels.

 

But most of all, I finally get it - get why this culling process has been such a long drawn out affair.  Why some people can't even consider it.  Books have kept me company during the loneliest periods of my life.  Still comfort me on those nights I can't get back to sleep.  They've provided validation for unpopular opinions, challenged my biases, offered distinctions that cleared the cobwebs of anxiety and confusion, and  raised questions and insights that have led me down paths I might never have traveled.  Their authors have been friend and mentor, critic and coach. They've brought me to tears and called forth waves of laughter.

 

What would it say about me if I could give them up easily?

 

Yup, interesting exercise.