Stop All the Clocks

Must be Jam 'cuz Jelly Don't Shake Like That... especially in a wind tunnel

Have I mentioned that I am somewhat (seriously) afraid (terrified) of swimming?  It all comes down to the fear of having my mouth, nose and ears fill with water.  I feel suffocated when my face is submerged.  Friday night was David’s birthday.  After stuffing ourselves with sushi we waddled off to the new indoor skydiving dive in Tukwila. 

It turns out that having wind blowing at speeds around 105 mph has the same effect as swimming under water.  Yes, I felt as though I was suffocating in a wind tunnel… and I had a blast.  (get it?  I had a blast!)

Here are some life lessons, reinforced at iFly.

1. Relax and your body will be less buffeted by the wind than if you are stiff and resist.  We can’t always change what comes our way, but we can lean into it and respond with grace.
2. When heading in the general direction of a wall, you need to respond.  Slow movements are superior to quick movements. Small, measured movements allow your body position to adjust to the wind and buy you time for additional small, necessary adjustments.  Hasty, quick movements cause big, quick reactions and it is almost impossible for a novice to respond.  You end up pinging against walls, flailing in an attempt to regain equilibrium. Reactions, in life, have similar outcomes.  Unless the situation is really life and death, it doesn’t hurt to make small, careful moves and wait for a response.
3. Wind moving that fast into your face will clear you sinuses faster than any medication available on the market.  Not much of a life lesson there, I just find it interesting.
4. Your face is going to wiggle, jiggle, flutter and flop. Keeping your chops closed seems to keep the slobber contained. It was impossible for me to stifle a grin… especially when the instructor was laughing and cheering me on.  The instructors seem to embrace this silly aspect.  While they do not let their own spit fly in the wind tunnel, they do open their mouths to fill with air and take on funny shapes.  So, why not just embrace the silly and put on a show?
5. You can’t take the wind personally.  It blows.  That’s what wind does.  The man in the booth, turning the knob that controls wind speed, well that’s just his job too.  Earthquakes happen, people die, it rains out a game, people complain.  These things happen, and sometimes, we experience the brunt of the aftermath.  All we can do is hang loose and ride the wind.  With that, we are back to lesson number 1: relax.

 

The Grand, Cosmic Balance

I saw Orion tonight.  Often, he is lost to me, swallowed by the city lights. I frequently walk at night these days, because I feel safe thanks to the same city light that obfuscates my view of familiar constellations.  So, tonight, while driving to the train station, I had to pull over in the middle Edmonds just to look up through the open roof of my jeep. There he was, splayed across the night sky, connecting me to the place and time in my life where I last felt home in a location.

My former neighborhood, lit only by occasional porch light at the end of long driveways, did not provide a safe opportunity to walk at night. It was dark enough, however, that for ten years while standing in my front yard, I watched the constellations shift position by season.   Over the years, I noticed that constellations moved across the night sky.  I wondered at the density of stars in the band of the Milky Way.  The trees stood guard on the perimeter of our yard, making me feel protected and safe.

The light cast by street lamps and the sight of a full compliment of stars are mutually exclusive.  Here in the city, the cover of light provides a sense of security. At home in the woods, my friends, the constellations, provide a sense of belonging to a place. Here, I work to spot any star to cast a wish and, on the clearest of nights, only the stars of the highest magnitude are visible.  There, I see the stars without effort – even the smallest contribute to the stellar spray and my wishes are cast among the multitude.  The light of the city makes me appreciate the dark and the dark of the woods leads me to appreciate the light of the city.

I have this informal philosophy that I can be happy anywhere, it is just a matter of effort.  Actually, it is one of the central tenets of my practice of finding joy.  When I’m missing the sight of the stars, longing to be back in the front yard of my house, I have to be honest and acknowledge that I am doing so while standing in the center of a city where I can access theaters, concerts, movies and people I love in a matter of minutes.  And, while reveling in the sight of a clear starry night, I am also longing to be closer to the comforts and convenience of urban living.  I cannot help but point out that life and the universe is grand indeed.

 

Alert: Adulthood Has Perks

Sometimes I feel like I am still a kid.  Not a child, but a kid of a certain age who is not in charge of all of the responsibilities that come with adulthood:  off-spring, a mortgage, a bank account, a job, a wicked shopping habit.  

I spent a hot day, drinking, what is best described as child size portions of cider -- if we allowed children to drink.  David and I lolly-gagged around the park, hopping from tent to tent, swapping tickets for big sips or small single gulps of adult apple juice.  We took a bus, walked a bit, dallied on the way there and back.   Half way through our tickets, we rested in the shade and I floated while David read me excerpts form one of the vendor’s blogs.  Yes.  I had a nap and story time.  For hours, I felt freed from all of the responsibility and hassle of adult life.  No car, no kids, no specifiic place to be.  I felt the freedom of being a kid.

Often, I find myself fantasizing about a life free of the junk of adulthood.  My line of thinking almost always leads me back to reality.  Because I am adult, I have choices.  The responsibilities of my adult life provide an income to go places I’ve never been,  work in a place that is all about improving people’s lives, and interact with people as incredible as my kids.

There is another piece to this.  I feel under-qualified to deal with adulthood.  Life comes so quickly.  I make decisions, grasping for the best possible outcome.  I cannot count the number of times that I have thought, “I’m not ready for this,” when I’ve had no choice but to deal with the situation in front of me.  In fact, I said those exact words weeks before Ryan was born.  I said those exact words on my wedding day as my grandfather grabbed my elbow and tugged me down the aisle.  I said those exact words to the nurse who collected me to Leo’s bedside as he was coding.  

I have arrived at the point where I call BS on myself when those words pop into my head or out of my mouth.  There is a difference between being ready and being able to deal.  Life keeps progressing, whether or not we are ready.  Timeouts in life do not exist.  The responsibilities and experiences of adulthood equip us with the knowledge and skills to do what needs to be done whenever. In other words, we are prepared even when we are resistant.

And being an adult, living the experiences, embracing the responsibilities allow us to know exactly how sweet those moments are when we are playing like kids, feeling freed from the ties of adulthood, on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

I Am Fine As I Am

David came up with an idea earlier in August. “Let’s each write a story to read at the end of the month.”  We negotiated the details, defining ‘the end of the month’ and the consequences for failing to meet the deadline.  Then, we each set about writing our stories. 

My story, fiction, actually began years ago, with a line that came to me in a quiet moment.  I wrote it down somewhere and have let it percolate for years.  I finally used it to begin what amounts to chapter one of a book that will probably never be written.

David’s story, titled ‘Adam’s Story,’ is non-fiction.  I wheedled him for weeks, in a half-hearted attempt to get some sort of information out of him.  David gave me devilishly honest clues that kept me thinking without divulging the story.

‘Adam’s story,’ it turns out, is about a man that we have encountered on our walks.  Adam is a solitary man, carries a black bag, and wears tattered clothing.  He is clean and he is dignified.  There is, what I would describe as a ‘grace’ to Adam.  David, for his story, spoke to the man, inquiring into his circumstances.

What stood out in David’s story, and Adam’s Story, is a phrase that David characterizes as a mantra.  To each of David’s offers of assistance, Adam responded, “I’m fine as I am.” 

This phrase, like David’s carefully crafted clues, has been nudging the edges of my thinking.  Whether David intended or not, there is a message for me in those words.  I tend to worry about all sorts of things, some important and some trivial.  I spin about what I need to change or learn or let go of to be better at my job, to be more organized at home, to be a better parent, to use my time better, to be healthier. This is not to say that I am perfect at all that I do.  I’m the first to admit that in all areas of my life I have room to grow – I am a work in progress and I am self-aware.  

Sometimes, I miss the balancing point.  By being so wrapped up in what I am not, what I do not know, and what I still have to learn, I forget to remember and honor what I have accomplished.  By over-focusing on what I am not or where I want to be, I no longer see all that I am.

I am good as I am and that is a joyful thing.

 

Shh. He's sleeping

I have not counted the days since David left.  Once upon a time gone by, when Leo died, I did that.  Thankfully – mercifully -- my brain doesn’t let me keep counting the stuff that drags me down.  Conversely, it doesn’t allow me to count up, toward the stuff that I’m looking forward to.  Like Wednesday.

So here is what I’ve been up to while David sleeps in a different time zone.

Hogged the bed.  I’ve decided that there is merit in switching things up, crossing the width, consuming the length and stretching corner to corner. 

Started five books.  Mostly work related non-fiction.  The ideas stick, more or less.  Maybe I’ll finish reading them this year.

Drank the Kool-aid with colleagues at a conference.  It is nice to be on the same page as the people I spend my days with.  Especially when those ideas are good ones.

Gone back to work – with the focus of a mosquito.  I’ve spent significant amounts of time imagining, considering, contemplating rearranging my office.  That’s what I do when I’m restless.  I rearrange furniture.  The problem is that I haven’t committed to the change because, well, it’s probably a dumb-ass idea anyway.

Considered my closet.  I have way too many clothes.  I’ve begun the editing process.  Something’s got a give – and it is going to be me.  Wanna shop in my closet? 

Remained in constant contact with facebook and email in hopes that something really fabulous would happen to stay the boredom.  Reoccurring revelation?  The good stuff doesn’t happen on facebook or email.  That’s where the good stuff is chronicled!

Caught up with old favorites like Project Runway, True Blood, Hell’s Kitchen, and Food Network Star.  Hid in other parts of the flat while Nick catches up with her favorites.  I suspect that the television might be sucking the soul out of me in 30- minute increments.  I steal my soul back by writing.

Put on my big girl pants and begun the task of sorting though photos from ‘life before Leo died.’  Thankfully, I’ve reached a place where I can do this without tears.  It also reminds me that David might be gone, but he’s the kind of gone that comes back… on Wednesday.

Hey People! You Matter to Me!

I have to resist the urge to capitalize the word life.  Life.  How easy it is for me to forget how significant just being alive is when my days are wrapped in the duty and the routine of living.  Even still, after an expensive lesson, I often forget to meet people first, jumping immediately into a discussion or a request or a report.  I forget to begin with the rituals that remind people how much they mean to me; “Hello.  How are you today?”  or “How’s life?”

Honestly, it is easier to remember to begin with connecting to people outside of work.  “Hi.”  “I love you.”  “How the heck are you?”  “What are you looking forward to this week?”  These entries into conversation feel right when I am among family and friends.  I feel a sense of belonging – that I have the right to inquire and to explicitly tell them that I care.

Connecting at work is one of my growing edges.  I think that I am less bound by the pressures of time and duty in my home life.  I am free from the confines of a job description.  It is not as if I have to force myself to care while I am working.  I care deeply about the men and women that I work with.  Daily, I am blown away by what they bring to students and their capacity to see students as individuals and meet their needs.  It is wondrous. 

Someone that I respect one said, “problems expand to fill the time allotted.”  I think about that a lot.  Honestly, it is a whole lot of work to limit the time for problems to consume.  And, upon deeper thinking, I see that one problem can mushroom into a huge time suck. Or one problem can propagate,  like tribbles, filling every nook and cranny of my work day in the same way that the furry aliens filled the Enterprise.  Whether they balloon or multiply, I know that I need to keep working at limiting the space for problems so that the space that expands can be filled with the people.  They matter most.   Maybe this problem thing is an excuse and in reality, it is as simple as prioritizing, placing problems well below people. 

People come and go throughout our personal and our professional lives.  The strength of the connections that we make do not depend exclusively upon whether we work together, learn together, or live together.  The strength depends upon the effort me make to communicate that they matter to us.

I have a whole lot of practicing to do.  I worry that people don’t know how much I respect, admire and appreciate them as people.  I fear that we may pass each other by with words unsaid.   I am not comfortable with that.   The good news is that everyday, I have multiple opportunities to practice, to apply an leave, knowing that I’ve done my best.

 

"I Want Your Life"

Recently, a friend said to me, “I want your life!”  I paused a moment and replied, “you can have my life.”  I’ve been contemplating that snippet of conversation for days now.  The notion of having everything that you want is so simple, but the path to finding it is circuitous and not very clear. 

In reflection, the shift to a happy, joyful life seems so very simple.  Yet, when I’m being honest, I have to consider where I was a year ago, contemplating my life at that moment and looking forward at an arduous journey out of loneliness and boredom.

Since I am being honest, I have to acknowledge the following.  I am crazy-happy these days.  Getting to this point involved risk, disappointment, experimentation, and, what at times, was nothing other than a daily grind of choosing some small, or large, act of joy.  I made a long list of activities that had previously been outside of my life experience and began to tackle it.  I bought tickets to plays and concerts for two – even thought I rarely had any idea of who might or could go with me.  On occasion, I attended those events alone, out of sheer will to have fun – even when I was alone.  I talked to strangers.  I took a trip.  I took up snowboarding.  I have to admit that many nights found me nestled in bed, tears flowing with frustration that things weren’t getting better.  On the other hand, many a day or an evening was filled with laughter that left me aching the next day and a collection of concert t-shirts that I rarely wear. 

So while reflecting on the conversation, I felt like one of those annoying people who say to a child with a dyslexia or ADD, “just try harder!  You’ll get it!” I bounced my thinking off of my somebody and he pointed out that my situation is really a matter of opportunity meeting readiness.  That fit.  I’ve spent the past year relearning the joy of living, of taking chances, of dealing with disappointment and frustration as well as side splitting laughter so that I was ready to step in to this life that is naughty-happy.

So friends, if you are thinking, “I want your life,” I still say you can have it.  I acknowledge, however, that the path is deeply personal, requires a commitment to intent, and willingness to engage in the accompanying stuff that may, on occasion, suck a bit, but will remind you that you are alive.

 

Welcome to January

Often, as the previous year rolls over into the new year, people take time to look ahead and set resolutions, or goals, for the upcoming year.  Working in the field of education, I often find myself setting goals in late August or early September.  For me, fall feels like ripe time for looking ahead at intellectual growth.  That being said, in these early days of January, I feel the urge to reflect upon inspiration.

While driving to a sing-a-long showing of the Sound of Music, I found myself writing a post-it-note list of sources of my inspiration.  Where do I find the spark to create, to write, to innovate, to connect and to generate?

At various times in my life, I have tapped into my creativity while waddling, or reveling in some instances, in melancholy, humor, hope, despair, and even joy.  Intense emotions tend motivate me to push a pen or tap a keyboard.  Frustration, boredom, puzzlement, competitiveness, or imminent deadlines tend to lead to new thinking at work.  I’ll find a scrap of paper and a number 2 pencil and connect ideas in some visual format. 

Last January, I got creative about living.  By creating a list on a mug and starting a blog, I began to live intentionally and joyfully.  Inspiration led to action, which has, in turn, led me to here – a place where I’ve begun to imagine and to collect stories of living joyfully.

 

 

The Dare Project

I attended the matinee performance of Hair today.  Because I went shopping before the show, I had a shopping bag that became an anchor.  Oh, and I forgot the lesson learned on vacation:  do it or buy it when you have the chance because the opportunity may never come this way again.

The show was great fun and a nice reminder of the tension in life that fosters a balance between who we want to be and the people we actually become.   The actions and the internal conflict that arose at the end of the show highlighted that gap in my own life.

The show ended and the cast invited audience members to the stage to dance. 

I was anchored to my seat by that damn bag or my location in the Loge, or, if truth be told, my own personal resistance to stepping out of my comfort zone for fear of looking dumb, being hurt, or whatever.

I left the theater near tears because I allowed myself to miss out due to my own junk.  As I drove North, I was faced with the facts: I rarely talk to strangers, go new places, or take advantage of opportunities that come my way – such as dancing on the stage with the cast from an award winning musical.  I know that I miss out and that irks the hell out of me.  Today was my own fault and I believe I can be fixed.

So friends, I’m calling upon you to help crack the safety shell that I’ve built up over a lifetime.  I’m asking for you to send me a dare – challenges that will push me into new zones of bravery and excitement.  Push me into the land of the living.  They don’t have to be elaborate and the goal really is fun, not humiliation or jail.

I’ve set up an email account to harvest your suggestions: mydareproject@gmail.com or you can post it in the comment section of my blog.  In return for your suggestions, I’ll keep you up to date by posting pictures and summaries of how things go.

The goal here is for me to take risks that result in a set of new experiences and stories on my continued pursuit of joy.  I have no intention of loosing my livelihood or making orphans -- those simply would not be fun.

 

January 2010
Stop all the clocks

One of my favorite poems has always been W.H. Auden’s poem that begins with the line, ‘Stop all the clocks, shut of the telephone,”

I can imagine the speaker sitting in a window, watching the world move as his world stands still. There is resolution, acceptance of the death that has pierced his life. ‘He is gone.’

The poem is about the speaker, his loss. The poem is a window that allows us to peer in to the implications of his loss. No contact is made with the audience. The person sits isolated from us. Death has taken his center and this time, this moment in the poem is the step, or breath before all of the pomp and ceremony where as a lover, a spouse, a best friend he must put on a public face, get it together and bury a lover.

I’ve been there. I’ve sat in that moment, eyes turned away from the people who are there to support, shoring up my walls to just get through, quietly praying that someone would stop all the clocks.

This blog is intended to be a reflection on my loss as well as the experiment that has become my life.

I’m curious. I have questions. I’m wondering, what do you think about loss and about the choices that we make when dealing those loses?

I’ve noticed a sort of evolution as my identity has shifted from wife/mother/friend to Leo’s widow to what ever I am now. Do others follow a similar path of growth amidst grief? I’ve begun to wonder if people navigating divorce follow a similar path.

My goal here is to create a place of hope because grief and loss shape who we are, but they do not have to define who we are.

Welcome!
Monica

February 2010
Stop all the clocks…
The easiest thing to do is be stuck, to let your mind wind stories of woe and sadness. Sitting on the couch, repeating a sad tale of loss and grief comes like your next breath.

Leo and I had an appointment, set when the Vancouver was announced as the site for the 2010 Winter Olympics. I was home sick when the announcement was made. Leo was driving at the time. He called me from the road and that day, a promise was made: we would be at the Olympics together. Last weekend, I attended the Olympics and closed our final appointment without him.

For me, joy is a choice and so is healing. Auden’s poem captures the tone of loss in the days that follow the death of your center. Numbness and disbelief linger for so long that it becomes easy to set aside the joy of living. Part of moving on involves learning to find joy for yourself and accepting the fact that joy, while best shared with someone, is meaningful even when found alone.

From this point forward, there are no more movies that Leo and I planned to see together, sporting events to attend, vacations to share, or household projects to tackle as a couple. From this point forward, it is up to me to find ways to engage with life that are exciting, fun, and meaningful without the man who instigated so much of the fun in my life.

The task of the living is to muster the energy, create and implement a plan to wind the clocks. The clocks, though we may wish otherwise, cannot stop for us.