Hey, readers
It makes me smile to see people checking my blog for the next posting--
I haven't forgotten, I promise.
First major deadline in work while being a mom and with Padhraic away in Canada.
I broke the back on one tricky project this weekend, and am hoping to break the back on another today/tonight. Once that is through, I can breath a little and will try and make time for the blog.
I have a good one in edit - just need a couple of hours to give it the time it deserves.
Meggin
Monday, December 13, 2010
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
10 minutes to make this count
Last week was a week of squish followed by Thanksgiving and my brother's wedding. A whirlwind. I thought I might have been able to squeeze in some time for the blog once Amelia went to sleep some evening, but she is still on California time and then some, staying up past midnight every night, so both of us are going to sleep at the same time.
This week is a continued blur. I am working full time plus some with a major release coming up, we are still away from home (so my husband is off watching Amelia), and we are off to a Christmas party weekend in D.C. on Friday, so I will miss some crucial work time. It has been and is going to continue to be a whirlwind of activity from the moment I wake up each morning until the moment I go to sleep.
Tonight I asked Padhraic to give Amelia her bath so I could squeeze in 10 minutes - and I am using those 10 minutes to make this blog count. Only problem is that life is so full, I don't have to time to process it.
That is the theme of this blog - the beauty of life that is in motion so much so that your mind becomes this thing of precision. I might not be able to remember some of the basic stuff right now, like my debit card or phone number, or whether the place where I live is on a street or an avenue, but I am able to focus intently to finish a project much faster than as per normal, reviewing with an intensity, level of detail, that is reserved for these moments.
I wanted to capture one thought in this blog, which I hope to talk about later in more detail. I got into this very cool conversation with my dad and aunt one night over a couple of glasses of wine. I was talking to my aunt about my experiment with running, textpad, and a few good ideas, and my dad mentioned this guy in Harvard who did an entire study on this very thing.
I need to get the name again and develop the blog more, but I have put it here as a placeholder - essentially there is more science to my madness. It has been proven, in theory at least, that the mind has the capacity to be its most creative during physical exercise when the focus is taken off the moment and onto the other-else of the body. I am counting life intensity in that category along with my runs. Dad, seeing that you are one of my followers now, can you please comment and say who the guy's name is, and quote the paper/talk if possible? Thanks.
10 minutes are nearly up and I need at least 2 minutes of editing. I promise, next week, I will be back properly, giving all I got. I didn't want to leave my imaginary audience hanging for too long.
Added in later:
The doctor's name is Herbert Benson. The concept is the 'breakout principle' (http://www.amazon.com/Breakout-Principle-Creativity-Performance-Productivity/dp/0743223977)
Timely enough, the New York Times published a piece covering a similar sentiment:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/07/science/07brain.html?pagewanted=2
This week is a continued blur. I am working full time plus some with a major release coming up, we are still away from home (so my husband is off watching Amelia), and we are off to a Christmas party weekend in D.C. on Friday, so I will miss some crucial work time. It has been and is going to continue to be a whirlwind of activity from the moment I wake up each morning until the moment I go to sleep.
Tonight I asked Padhraic to give Amelia her bath so I could squeeze in 10 minutes - and I am using those 10 minutes to make this blog count. Only problem is that life is so full, I don't have to time to process it.
That is the theme of this blog - the beauty of life that is in motion so much so that your mind becomes this thing of precision. I might not be able to remember some of the basic stuff right now, like my debit card or phone number, or whether the place where I live is on a street or an avenue, but I am able to focus intently to finish a project much faster than as per normal, reviewing with an intensity, level of detail, that is reserved for these moments.
I wanted to capture one thought in this blog, which I hope to talk about later in more detail. I got into this very cool conversation with my dad and aunt one night over a couple of glasses of wine. I was talking to my aunt about my experiment with running, textpad, and a few good ideas, and my dad mentioned this guy in Harvard who did an entire study on this very thing.
I need to get the name again and develop the blog more, but I have put it here as a placeholder - essentially there is more science to my madness. It has been proven, in theory at least, that the mind has the capacity to be its most creative during physical exercise when the focus is taken off the moment and onto the other-else of the body. I am counting life intensity in that category along with my runs. Dad, seeing that you are one of my followers now, can you please comment and say who the guy's name is, and quote the paper/talk if possible? Thanks.
10 minutes are nearly up and I need at least 2 minutes of editing. I promise, next week, I will be back properly, giving all I got. I didn't want to leave my imaginary audience hanging for too long.
Added in later:
The doctor's name is Herbert Benson. The concept is the 'breakout principle' (http://www.amazon.com/Breakout-Principle-Creativity-Performance-Productivity/dp/0743223977)
Timely enough, the New York Times published a piece covering a similar sentiment:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/07/science/07brain.html?pagewanted=2
Saturday, November 20, 2010
An affirmation of self
Earlier tonight I went to bed confident that I would fall fast asleep after three lovely glasses of wine and an exhausting week. But then the topic for this week's blog finally came to me, and I felt compelled to get up and write it. It's been one of those tough weeks, exhausting, and I ended it with a conversation with my mom on the phone and felt better about it all, but for sure I have been shook, surrounded by sickness, sadness, and lack of clarity about the future.
I am not going to tell you about my week, as it would sound a lot better than it actually was, or else I would have to exaggerate, in which case I would feel a victim to my own hubris. Instead, I am going to make this blog an affirmation of self, a confidence booster in the truest essence of self. And I am going to do it through a story that came to me just when I laid my head on the pillow (and made me get out of bed to write this blog).
In the seventh grade, I had the biggest crush on Anthony (can't even remember his last name). Everyone had a crush on Anthony. He hadn't the slightest interest in me whatsoever, and really, we were a total mismatch based on size alone - he was at least a foot shorter and two stone lighter (for Americans, two stone is 28 pounds).
There was another guy, David, whom some girls liked before Anthony came along, and he and Anthony became friends, though I'd guess David was jealous deep down. This may be going off the topic of the story, but not the blog itself (being an affirmation of self). I believe that David was jealous of me too, as it pissed him off that a girl was better than him in maths and in general boy subjects all together. He was smart, but not as smart as me, and it wasn't just that I worked hard, I was genuinely smarter, and it killed him.
One day I got this love note from Anthony saying how much he liked me and how he wanted to meet me in the school yard and talk about going steady. I was so excited, and admittedly confused, but I still sided with my innocence and went along with it - I met him in the school yard at the precise time and place he dictated in the note. When I got there, I knew immediately it was all wrong - most everyone in the class was there, laughing as I approached. It was a joke - David arranged it, Anthony agreed, and all participated at my expense. I was gutted, sad, but I held my head high, walked away, and made no mention until five years later.
A couple of months after this incident, we had Kris Kindle (each person in the class gets a name and brings in a present for that person). At the front of the class on Kris Kindle day, there was this huge box, enormous, the size of a box that contain a double oven. The box was addressed to me. Everyone looked at the box, bewildered, wondering what was in it, and many people, including myself, suspected something like the last practical joke.
I was petrified to open it.
But it was my turn.
I went to Catholic school and you did things in turn whether you wanted to or not.
Inside the box was at least a hundred dollars worth of quality stationary. There was paper, notebooks, pens, glue, staplers, crayons, markers, an entire box full of the best stuff that money could buy, a generosity that cannot be described. And I turned to my Kris Kindle, Paul Becker, whose father owned the main stationary store that supplied our school and he smiled at me this smile that I cannot explain. It was genuine, it was conviction, it was belief in self and the choice that he had made.
Paul was beautiful, so handsome, but I never fancied him beyond friendship. I seemed to prefer the 'grey' even in those days.
The kids in the class were confused, very, as to why Paul, the second cutest boy in the class, would give me such a gift. I believed then that Paul was making a statement, that it was cruel what had happened earlier in the year, and that this was his opportunity to be the good person that he was, to stand up for me.
Fast forward five years, I am nearly 18, a junior in high school, and life is pretty challenging. My sister came home from college after her first semester, pregnant with my nephew, Dillon. We shared a room in our grandparents' house, and it was not easy for the three of us, me, Kristin, and Shim (we called Dillon that until he was born thus revealing his actual gender).
Far enough along in her pregnancy my sister decided it would be good for us to go out one night, to face our small-town world and all its judgment, so we headed off for this party, me, her, and the one friend who stood by her full-heartedly in this tricky time, Kim. I was feeling all her self consciousness and plenty of my own. It wasn't an easy night.
We got to this random party, and there was Paul Becker, still as handsome as ever with his girlfriend (I wish I could remember her name - I am pretty sure they married early on and hope they are still together). I was delighted to see him and meet his girl, and the three of us had a few beers and laughed about our days at St. Augustine's.
The night wore on, and we had developed an audience at the party. So I brought up the story of Anthony and David, the letter, and then the box of stationary, and how Paul was such a good guy. And he turned to his girlfriend and said to her that I would be the one to credit him for the act of kindness. He then proceeded to tell the room full of people a story, one that I did not remember, but has stuck with me ever since and keeps coming back in moments like the week that it has been.
Paul and I were in kindergarten together, and they had these weird development milestones. It seemed that if you missed one, you were flagged as having a problem. I know because I missed on two important milestones - I did not know where I lived or what my phone number was (we moved around a lot).
I don't remember this, but at some point I must have noticed that Paul was struggling to tie his shoes. There was this test one day for each of us to show how we could tie our shoes. The teachers undid all our laces and then we were to tie our shoes and they would come and see how we did. I found some way to sneak over to Paul and tie his shoes with no one noticing (he swore that I pulled it off).
Later in the day, during circle time, I whispered to him that I too had struggled to learn how to tie my shoes the normal way, so I made up my own way and I would show him in secret, so that the next time the teachers came around he could do it himself. And sure enough, my five-year-old way of tie-ing shoes made perfect sense to Paul. (Paul was born into a family of 13 - there wasn't the same kind of serious attention to things like shoe laces, but that did not mean that the family did not love and care for each other in the most important ways - this story being proof of that).
Returning to the now, this night, the writing of this blog from a very cold study on a wet November night in San Francisco, I am taking in a deep breath and feeling the essence of good people like Paul and I am grateful for this small affirmation of self.
I know in my heart that I have helped lots of people over the years 'learn to tie their shoes'.
I am not going to tell you about my week, as it would sound a lot better than it actually was, or else I would have to exaggerate, in which case I would feel a victim to my own hubris. Instead, I am going to make this blog an affirmation of self, a confidence booster in the truest essence of self. And I am going to do it through a story that came to me just when I laid my head on the pillow (and made me get out of bed to write this blog).
In the seventh grade, I had the biggest crush on Anthony (can't even remember his last name). Everyone had a crush on Anthony. He hadn't the slightest interest in me whatsoever, and really, we were a total mismatch based on size alone - he was at least a foot shorter and two stone lighter (for Americans, two stone is 28 pounds).
There was another guy, David, whom some girls liked before Anthony came along, and he and Anthony became friends, though I'd guess David was jealous deep down. This may be going off the topic of the story, but not the blog itself (being an affirmation of self). I believe that David was jealous of me too, as it pissed him off that a girl was better than him in maths and in general boy subjects all together. He was smart, but not as smart as me, and it wasn't just that I worked hard, I was genuinely smarter, and it killed him.
One day I got this love note from Anthony saying how much he liked me and how he wanted to meet me in the school yard and talk about going steady. I was so excited, and admittedly confused, but I still sided with my innocence and went along with it - I met him in the school yard at the precise time and place he dictated in the note. When I got there, I knew immediately it was all wrong - most everyone in the class was there, laughing as I approached. It was a joke - David arranged it, Anthony agreed, and all participated at my expense. I was gutted, sad, but I held my head high, walked away, and made no mention until five years later.
A couple of months after this incident, we had Kris Kindle (each person in the class gets a name and brings in a present for that person). At the front of the class on Kris Kindle day, there was this huge box, enormous, the size of a box that contain a double oven. The box was addressed to me. Everyone looked at the box, bewildered, wondering what was in it, and many people, including myself, suspected something like the last practical joke.
I was petrified to open it.
But it was my turn.
I went to Catholic school and you did things in turn whether you wanted to or not.
Inside the box was at least a hundred dollars worth of quality stationary. There was paper, notebooks, pens, glue, staplers, crayons, markers, an entire box full of the best stuff that money could buy, a generosity that cannot be described. And I turned to my Kris Kindle, Paul Becker, whose father owned the main stationary store that supplied our school and he smiled at me this smile that I cannot explain. It was genuine, it was conviction, it was belief in self and the choice that he had made.
Paul was beautiful, so handsome, but I never fancied him beyond friendship. I seemed to prefer the 'grey' even in those days.
The kids in the class were confused, very, as to why Paul, the second cutest boy in the class, would give me such a gift. I believed then that Paul was making a statement, that it was cruel what had happened earlier in the year, and that this was his opportunity to be the good person that he was, to stand up for me.
Fast forward five years, I am nearly 18, a junior in high school, and life is pretty challenging. My sister came home from college after her first semester, pregnant with my nephew, Dillon. We shared a room in our grandparents' house, and it was not easy for the three of us, me, Kristin, and Shim (we called Dillon that until he was born thus revealing his actual gender).
Far enough along in her pregnancy my sister decided it would be good for us to go out one night, to face our small-town world and all its judgment, so we headed off for this party, me, her, and the one friend who stood by her full-heartedly in this tricky time, Kim. I was feeling all her self consciousness and plenty of my own. It wasn't an easy night.
We got to this random party, and there was Paul Becker, still as handsome as ever with his girlfriend (I wish I could remember her name - I am pretty sure they married early on and hope they are still together). I was delighted to see him and meet his girl, and the three of us had a few beers and laughed about our days at St. Augustine's.
The night wore on, and we had developed an audience at the party. So I brought up the story of Anthony and David, the letter, and then the box of stationary, and how Paul was such a good guy. And he turned to his girlfriend and said to her that I would be the one to credit him for the act of kindness. He then proceeded to tell the room full of people a story, one that I did not remember, but has stuck with me ever since and keeps coming back in moments like the week that it has been.
Paul and I were in kindergarten together, and they had these weird development milestones. It seemed that if you missed one, you were flagged as having a problem. I know because I missed on two important milestones - I did not know where I lived or what my phone number was (we moved around a lot).
I don't remember this, but at some point I must have noticed that Paul was struggling to tie his shoes. There was this test one day for each of us to show how we could tie our shoes. The teachers undid all our laces and then we were to tie our shoes and they would come and see how we did. I found some way to sneak over to Paul and tie his shoes with no one noticing (he swore that I pulled it off).
Later in the day, during circle time, I whispered to him that I too had struggled to learn how to tie my shoes the normal way, so I made up my own way and I would show him in secret, so that the next time the teachers came around he could do it himself. And sure enough, my five-year-old way of tie-ing shoes made perfect sense to Paul. (Paul was born into a family of 13 - there wasn't the same kind of serious attention to things like shoe laces, but that did not mean that the family did not love and care for each other in the most important ways - this story being proof of that).
Returning to the now, this night, the writing of this blog from a very cold study on a wet November night in San Francisco, I am taking in a deep breath and feeling the essence of good people like Paul and I am grateful for this small affirmation of self.
I know in my heart that I have helped lots of people over the years 'learn to tie their shoes'.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Relativity
People who have known me a long time know that I have a tattoo on my left hip of an Einsteinium atom. I got the tattoo at that moment in my life when I decided that it was time to stop thinking about when I was going to become a physicist and recognize that I already was and had been for a long time a writer.
When you are a writer, no matter what you do in your day job, you are always going to be a writer. You cannot escape the stories that form in your head on a regular basis, the mad dreams, the people watching, the self-reflection and the constant recognition of analogy/pattern that comes with the writer's disposition.
I am drifting from the point of this article, not intentionally, but because I promised myself I would submit a blog once a week, and tonight is the night to finish the task. I am so tired from the life that is around me, I decided to allow myself to be less intense in my writing - to let it all flow in the day that it has been.
The title of this week's post comes from watching my daughter today in the Noe Valley Recreational Park. There is a spinner there that is in the shape of a large cone, and she spent the longest of times running in the opposite direction that the spinner was turning, laughing with amazement that she seemed to be in the same spot, right next to mama, even though she was running away-- her first (almost instinctual) recognition of relativity.
This morning Amelia woke up at 5:20 AM. I brought her into bed-- we snuggled, while she chuckled away to herself for a long while about Eoghan the cat whom we met last night in Aardvark's bookstore. She dozed off sometime around 6:30. The alarm went off at 7 - I had an early morning meeting with Dublin. So I got up, got coffee, got through my emails, only to find out that the meeting was canceled. My husband asked if I would quickly swap the morning run with the evening, and there I was with Amelia, watching her eating her oatmeal while practicing 'up' and 'down'.
My mom rang - 8 AM. No one who isn't in Dublin rings me at 8 AM. Last night my very close friend, more of a brother than a friend, was hospitalized, ICU. My mom is a hospice nurse and she was the one to make sure he got there safely. My friend's family are in New Jersey and they flew over this morning - my mom wanted me to talk to me about them coming to stay with us in the city, and not just for a couple of nights. This friend, this brother, cared for me deeply in the tougher times in my life - it isn't a question of helping him - it is the cyclical nature of life. He gave to me in my time of need; I will do the same for him in his.
Just after Amelia finished her breakfast, 8:15 AM (I just checked my email account), I got an email from another friend's husband - her father past away last night. I knew that it be that way because I called her for the first time in a few days and left her a message so she could hear my voice whatever time she got a chance to check her calls.
So I needed to get Amelia dressed, me dressed, and we started brushing our teeth together. It was the first time as a mom that I realized how that existence keeps me the most grounded I have ever been in times of crisis. I got through the day, focused mostly on work and Amelia's routine. It was only after she went to bed and I had a long talk with my mom about what is happening next (friend/brother is in hospital up north, ICU, and they haven't found the right spot for him down here in the city), that I remembered Amelia spinning in the park, and it sunk in, the relativity of life.
And in this moment, writing this blog, I see the 'revolution of grey', from a slightly different perspective. That most of our lives, we aren't consciously having to make difficult decisions. Most of the time we are barely processing the 'big picture'. Somewhere down the line, those ordinary moments that flow in a time-continuum are the ones that will bring us the clarity 'big decisions' often lack. And I am comforted as always by Albert, his crazy hair, and his perfect theory of relativity.
When you are a writer, no matter what you do in your day job, you are always going to be a writer. You cannot escape the stories that form in your head on a regular basis, the mad dreams, the people watching, the self-reflection and the constant recognition of analogy/pattern that comes with the writer's disposition.
I am drifting from the point of this article, not intentionally, but because I promised myself I would submit a blog once a week, and tonight is the night to finish the task. I am so tired from the life that is around me, I decided to allow myself to be less intense in my writing - to let it all flow in the day that it has been.
The title of this week's post comes from watching my daughter today in the Noe Valley Recreational Park. There is a spinner there that is in the shape of a large cone, and she spent the longest of times running in the opposite direction that the spinner was turning, laughing with amazement that she seemed to be in the same spot, right next to mama, even though she was running away-- her first (almost instinctual) recognition of relativity.
This morning Amelia woke up at 5:20 AM. I brought her into bed-- we snuggled, while she chuckled away to herself for a long while about Eoghan the cat whom we met last night in Aardvark's bookstore. She dozed off sometime around 6:30. The alarm went off at 7 - I had an early morning meeting with Dublin. So I got up, got coffee, got through my emails, only to find out that the meeting was canceled. My husband asked if I would quickly swap the morning run with the evening, and there I was with Amelia, watching her eating her oatmeal while practicing 'up' and 'down'.
My mom rang - 8 AM. No one who isn't in Dublin rings me at 8 AM. Last night my very close friend, more of a brother than a friend, was hospitalized, ICU. My mom is a hospice nurse and she was the one to make sure he got there safely. My friend's family are in New Jersey and they flew over this morning - my mom wanted me to talk to me about them coming to stay with us in the city, and not just for a couple of nights. This friend, this brother, cared for me deeply in the tougher times in my life - it isn't a question of helping him - it is the cyclical nature of life. He gave to me in my time of need; I will do the same for him in his.
Just after Amelia finished her breakfast, 8:15 AM (I just checked my email account), I got an email from another friend's husband - her father past away last night. I knew that it be that way because I called her for the first time in a few days and left her a message so she could hear my voice whatever time she got a chance to check her calls.
So I needed to get Amelia dressed, me dressed, and we started brushing our teeth together. It was the first time as a mom that I realized how that existence keeps me the most grounded I have ever been in times of crisis. I got through the day, focused mostly on work and Amelia's routine. It was only after she went to bed and I had a long talk with my mom about what is happening next (friend/brother is in hospital up north, ICU, and they haven't found the right spot for him down here in the city), that I remembered Amelia spinning in the park, and it sunk in, the relativity of life.
And in this moment, writing this blog, I see the 'revolution of grey', from a slightly different perspective. That most of our lives, we aren't consciously having to make difficult decisions. Most of the time we are barely processing the 'big picture'. Somewhere down the line, those ordinary moments that flow in a time-continuum are the ones that will bring us the clarity 'big decisions' often lack. And I am comforted as always by Albert, his crazy hair, and his perfect theory of relativity.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
"i'd like to propose you also explore whatever may not be grey in you"
I have been a running since I was 13 years old. I started off jogging to the end of my block and back, in an attempt to lose baby fat and finally be on the outside what I felt in the inside. What I discovered at a young enough age is that running would always be about the event itself, and not so much the way it changed the shape of my body. The most challenging times of my life have often aligned with this strange inability to run properly, to catch my breath, to feel the power of my body - the mind taking over and rendering me powerless.
I have been running again, committed to at least three runs a week, and each one of them has been slow, tedious, marked by measured progress, but never that natural rhythm that I have felt before and have come to recognize as a barometer of my stress level subsiding, of challenges coming into check and good times potentially on the horizon. To get through my runs, I put on music and I think of a specific topic to focus on, hoping that these provide me with enough distraction to get through the run.
Today's 'running' topic was going to form this week's blog - I was going to explore those aspects of me that are not grey. Ten minutes into the run, Tom Petty's "American Girl" came on . . . the lyrics "And if she had to die tryin' She had one little promise she was gonna keep O yeah, all right Take it easy, baby Make it last all night" and those lyrics which I had heard so many times before took on a whole new meaning.
I have never been, but have always admired (and loved greatly) those people who are able to work very hard to achieve a goal, making mostly good decisions along the way and achieving with grace that which they have set out to do. More often than not, I approach opportunity from completely the wrong direction. And though I am earnest in making promises to be a better self, to do more in this world than is just enough, I often take on more than is humanly possible, thus making it impossible to be at the top of my game, or even worse, getting too invested in something that requires pragmatism, while other commitments fall by the wayside.
But there is this side of me that is unique, that I know isn't in those people who seem to always know the right direction to take and act on it - I am a true scientist in examining where my life experiments have gone wrong, what could have been done differently, and I am able to evaluate my life from an observational standpoint, letting go of any disappointment, guilt, etc., that might hang around a bit longer in the lives of people who tend not to make mistakes.
I am relentless, truly determined to get on the next horse that will take me to the next destination, knowing that it might not fit some imagined ideal, but it is still very important for me to keep going, to keep pushing forward, and exploring those opportunities that might not have been available to me had I not gone in the wrong direction in the first place.
This aspect of myself is what makes me able to keep going when most reasonable people would have stopped and waited it out for better circumstances. It is that essential part of self that has made my life incredibly full, way more than the average person, despite any setbacks along the way.
Over the last 4 years and in chronological order, I got married, sold an apartment, moved in with in-laws, helped husband through a tough time, changed roles in my career twice, started my MA, broke my foot, got pregnant, got sick (hospitalized for nearly four weeks), had my daughter, welcomed 12 Americans into my home over six-week period with newborn, finished my dissertation, traveled from Ireland to Australia for my friend's wedding, traveled to the US for Thanksgiving, went back to work (in Ireland), relocated family to San Francisco while still working as close to full time as possible until my daughter was in daycare, back into full-time work, started volunteer libary project, and experienced another major change in my career.
And even as I continue to head in the wrong direction on a regular basis, I know that I will look back in another 4-years-time feeling a sense of a life well lived.
Today, I felt that rhythm again, not the whole run, only small snippets, but it was natural, the body and the mind finally appreciating what the one brings to the other. These are my moments of clarity, not in the cerebral sense, but in the same way that Tom Petty's song makes me feel. I want to get up and dance, sing, and keep that one promise to myself, to make it last all night.
I have been running again, committed to at least three runs a week, and each one of them has been slow, tedious, marked by measured progress, but never that natural rhythm that I have felt before and have come to recognize as a barometer of my stress level subsiding, of challenges coming into check and good times potentially on the horizon. To get through my runs, I put on music and I think of a specific topic to focus on, hoping that these provide me with enough distraction to get through the run.
Today's 'running' topic was going to form this week's blog - I was going to explore those aspects of me that are not grey. Ten minutes into the run, Tom Petty's "American Girl" came on . . . the lyrics "And if she had to die tryin' She had one little promise she was gonna keep O yeah, all right Take it easy, baby Make it last all night" and those lyrics which I had heard so many times before took on a whole new meaning.
I have never been, but have always admired (and loved greatly) those people who are able to work very hard to achieve a goal, making mostly good decisions along the way and achieving with grace that which they have set out to do. More often than not, I approach opportunity from completely the wrong direction. And though I am earnest in making promises to be a better self, to do more in this world than is just enough, I often take on more than is humanly possible, thus making it impossible to be at the top of my game, or even worse, getting too invested in something that requires pragmatism, while other commitments fall by the wayside.
But there is this side of me that is unique, that I know isn't in those people who seem to always know the right direction to take and act on it - I am a true scientist in examining where my life experiments have gone wrong, what could have been done differently, and I am able to evaluate my life from an observational standpoint, letting go of any disappointment, guilt, etc., that might hang around a bit longer in the lives of people who tend not to make mistakes.
I am relentless, truly determined to get on the next horse that will take me to the next destination, knowing that it might not fit some imagined ideal, but it is still very important for me to keep going, to keep pushing forward, and exploring those opportunities that might not have been available to me had I not gone in the wrong direction in the first place.
This aspect of myself is what makes me able to keep going when most reasonable people would have stopped and waited it out for better circumstances. It is that essential part of self that has made my life incredibly full, way more than the average person, despite any setbacks along the way.
Over the last 4 years and in chronological order, I got married, sold an apartment, moved in with in-laws, helped husband through a tough time, changed roles in my career twice, started my MA, broke my foot, got pregnant, got sick (hospitalized for nearly four weeks), had my daughter, welcomed 12 Americans into my home over six-week period with newborn, finished my dissertation, traveled from Ireland to Australia for my friend's wedding, traveled to the US for Thanksgiving, went back to work (in Ireland), relocated family to San Francisco while still working as close to full time as possible until my daughter was in daycare, back into full-time work, started volunteer libary project, and experienced another major change in my career.
And even as I continue to head in the wrong direction on a regular basis, I know that I will look back in another 4-years-time feeling a sense of a life well lived.
Today, I felt that rhythm again, not the whole run, only small snippets, but it was natural, the body and the mind finally appreciating what the one brings to the other. These are my moments of clarity, not in the cerebral sense, but in the same way that Tom Petty's song makes me feel. I want to get up and dance, sing, and keep that one promise to myself, to make it last all night.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
On certainty
At some point in my pre-teen years, probably after reading Ben Franklin's autobiography, I got this crazy idea to measure how successful I had been that day in improving the three main aspects of self: physical, mental, and spiritual.
In measuring the physical, I would count the calories I had consumed that day and compare any exercise to the previous exercise the day before. In measuring the mental, I would go through each class, any test scores, my homework, and consider future projects that I might want to pay attention to in future measurements. In measuring the spiritual, I would remember all the conversations I had that day and gage whether or not I was a good person. I would rework interactions in my head, figuring out how I might have been better to that person than I had been. I would take pride in myself for reaching out to an underdog, to standing up to someone popular or in power.
At the end of my freshman year of high school, I was first in my class, had scored the highest on national Freshman exams in the state of New Jersey, had been the only person in the state to receive a perfect score on the writing exam, and had raced in scoring position on the state champion cross-country team. I also fell in love for the first time.
At the very end of my freshman year, my first love came to me with a dilemma. He loved me, that was clear to him. He absolutely respected my virtue and did not feel he had any right to ask me to have sex with him, as he did not believe that this was something I wanted or was ready for and he did not want to be the type of guy to put pressure on me. But he wanted to have sex. He was never going to cheat on any woman, so he saw that the only way to get around this was for us to break up so that he could have meaningless sex and I could continue to be virtuous.
That night all the science of certainty seemed to have dissolved before me - I was incapable of measuring self. I was heartbroken, rejected, and yet the reasoning behind it was meant to protect and uphold my virtue. I was like the computer in War Games playing tic tac toe. I could not figure out a scenario in the future that would enable me to be a better person. If I had sex with my first love, he might stay with me and not go sleeping with other women, but then I would lose my virtue, and this might affect me personally, but it also might make him fall out of love with me as I would be so fundamentally different. If I did not sleep with my first love, then I could not help but feel that I must be less than I was when he decided to love me in the first place, as he had decided to leave me. I would need to get prettier and smarter and be an even better person so that he might just love me again - but would he, if ultimately it wasn't about me?
Though I did not know it at the time, I can see in hindsight that this was the first moment in my adult life of realizing life isn't black and white, that the most difficult times in life, the most trying decisions we make, are not a choice between right and wrong, but a choice that has consequences from both sides. If we try to find certainty in amongst the grey, we will wind up making no decisions, or else building up false realities to believe that one decision was correct and the other wrong.
For a long time, I kept trying to measure self, and it kept getting more and more difficult, as life got harder, bad things happened, and I needed to make difficult choices because of circumstances I could not control. There were moments when I made no decision at all, and then obsessed over whether or not inaction was better than action with negative consequences. There were other moments when I made a decision, and asked myself if it might not have been better to make no decision at all. And I reached a point when I had to take a seriously look at whether or not any good was coming from the act of self measurement.
On Saturday night, having a couple of drinks with friends, I brought up the topic of my new blog. One friend brought up the topic of certainty - that there had been times in his life when he wished he wasn't so grey, or at least did not appear to be so grey to the outside world, where he wished he could at least pretend he was certain of something and be believed by the outside world.
This conversation has been on my mind all week, and is what inspired this week's blog. Is there anything in my life that I am truly certain about, or is even the sacred subject to grey? So I went straight to the source, my daughter, and I thought to myself, am I truly certain about my love for her and will I always be truly certain about my love for her? And all of my physical being says yes, that there is no way that I would doubt my love for my daughter. But then I thought about how my relationship with my own parents has played out over the years, and I could see pockets of doubt in their love for me, and moments when I did not approve of the way my parents were treating me, and thus had to make a spiritual break. And I feel I would be unfair to my daughter in her independence if I did not allow for similar periods to happen in our lives, should it take a natural course.
I have grown up a lot over the years, and have come back to the trinity of self: physical, mental, spiritual. But instead of measuring how I compare to days before, looking for quantifiable improvements, I ask myself if I tried as hard as I could given the day that was in it, and I pray to a higher god or goddess to help me try equally as hard the next day (notice that I didn't say 'try harder'). This too has its consequences, as I am ultimately exhausted most nights from the amount of effort it takes to be as much as I can in a given day.
In measuring the physical, I would count the calories I had consumed that day and compare any exercise to the previous exercise the day before. In measuring the mental, I would go through each class, any test scores, my homework, and consider future projects that I might want to pay attention to in future measurements. In measuring the spiritual, I would remember all the conversations I had that day and gage whether or not I was a good person. I would rework interactions in my head, figuring out how I might have been better to that person than I had been. I would take pride in myself for reaching out to an underdog, to standing up to someone popular or in power.
At the end of my freshman year of high school, I was first in my class, had scored the highest on national Freshman exams in the state of New Jersey, had been the only person in the state to receive a perfect score on the writing exam, and had raced in scoring position on the state champion cross-country team. I also fell in love for the first time.
At the very end of my freshman year, my first love came to me with a dilemma. He loved me, that was clear to him. He absolutely respected my virtue and did not feel he had any right to ask me to have sex with him, as he did not believe that this was something I wanted or was ready for and he did not want to be the type of guy to put pressure on me. But he wanted to have sex. He was never going to cheat on any woman, so he saw that the only way to get around this was for us to break up so that he could have meaningless sex and I could continue to be virtuous.
That night all the science of certainty seemed to have dissolved before me - I was incapable of measuring self. I was heartbroken, rejected, and yet the reasoning behind it was meant to protect and uphold my virtue. I was like the computer in War Games playing tic tac toe. I could not figure out a scenario in the future that would enable me to be a better person. If I had sex with my first love, he might stay with me and not go sleeping with other women, but then I would lose my virtue, and this might affect me personally, but it also might make him fall out of love with me as I would be so fundamentally different. If I did not sleep with my first love, then I could not help but feel that I must be less than I was when he decided to love me in the first place, as he had decided to leave me. I would need to get prettier and smarter and be an even better person so that he might just love me again - but would he, if ultimately it wasn't about me?
Though I did not know it at the time, I can see in hindsight that this was the first moment in my adult life of realizing life isn't black and white, that the most difficult times in life, the most trying decisions we make, are not a choice between right and wrong, but a choice that has consequences from both sides. If we try to find certainty in amongst the grey, we will wind up making no decisions, or else building up false realities to believe that one decision was correct and the other wrong.
For a long time, I kept trying to measure self, and it kept getting more and more difficult, as life got harder, bad things happened, and I needed to make difficult choices because of circumstances I could not control. There were moments when I made no decision at all, and then obsessed over whether or not inaction was better than action with negative consequences. There were other moments when I made a decision, and asked myself if it might not have been better to make no decision at all. And I reached a point when I had to take a seriously look at whether or not any good was coming from the act of self measurement.
On Saturday night, having a couple of drinks with friends, I brought up the topic of my new blog. One friend brought up the topic of certainty - that there had been times in his life when he wished he wasn't so grey, or at least did not appear to be so grey to the outside world, where he wished he could at least pretend he was certain of something and be believed by the outside world.
This conversation has been on my mind all week, and is what inspired this week's blog. Is there anything in my life that I am truly certain about, or is even the sacred subject to grey? So I went straight to the source, my daughter, and I thought to myself, am I truly certain about my love for her and will I always be truly certain about my love for her? And all of my physical being says yes, that there is no way that I would doubt my love for my daughter. But then I thought about how my relationship with my own parents has played out over the years, and I could see pockets of doubt in their love for me, and moments when I did not approve of the way my parents were treating me, and thus had to make a spiritual break. And I feel I would be unfair to my daughter in her independence if I did not allow for similar periods to happen in our lives, should it take a natural course.
I have grown up a lot over the years, and have come back to the trinity of self: physical, mental, spiritual. But instead of measuring how I compare to days before, looking for quantifiable improvements, I ask myself if I tried as hard as I could given the day that was in it, and I pray to a higher god or goddess to help me try equally as hard the next day (notice that I didn't say 'try harder'). This too has its consequences, as I am ultimately exhausted most nights from the amount of effort it takes to be as much as I can in a given day.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Can't seem to shake these misplaced feelings of guilt
Note from me:
When I wrote the original version of this blog, I hadn't shared the blog with people I know personally. I also tested that it did not come up in various searches, so I felt somewhat safe, but a little daring in putting myself out there, in being raw, seriously true to what I was feeling and thinking and the circumstances around those feelings and thoughts.
But once the next blog idea came to me, and I realized I would like to share it, I tested the waters a bit, and within a day, a friend emailed me to say that I should change the blog. I have read a little bit about blogging etiquette, and I have seen recommendations on how to talk about sensitive subject matter, and the act of blogging in itself feels grey - truths that aren't as raw as they could be, processed for some audience that you aren't really sure exists or is listening.
And I purposefully acted against the grain in, breaking all sorts of 'blogger rules'. But then in hindsight, I felt guilty about writing in such a way about my 'feelings of guilt' , and here I am, in the act of changing the original version. The friend suggested that I take out all the specifics and leave in the emotion. The result is effectively an introduction and a conclusion, with no explanation.
From a writing perspective, the whole notion of figuring out what is the audience and purpose of a blog is a very interesting topic and one that I will explore in a future blog. But for now, here is the revised blog, with specifics taken out, but feelings and emotions left in.
As soon as I picked my daughter up from daycare yesterday, and as the evening wore on and we talked and played, feelings of guilt went from just a little itch, to a proper sinking feeling that lasted through the night of funny dreams.
My natural persona is to be positive, inspiring, self-deprecating, and empathetic, but I am also relentless when it comes to problem solving. Being an emphathic, relentless person, most of the time, is very rewarding. It means that I work very hard to achieve set objectives, but am understanding of other's needs, differences, etc.
There are times like yesterday when these two traits are unreconciliable, and I am forced to choose one over the other, inevitably resulting in me feeling either guilty, as I chose to be relentless over emphatetic, or else disappointed in myself, as I chose empathy over achieving an objective.
[insert story here to explain feelings and emotions]
But then when I picked my daughter up, that feeling of guilt crept in. I wasn't shiny, inspiring, kind-hearted, and understanding. I was firm and relentless in making an important point.
When I wrote the original version of this blog, I hadn't shared the blog with people I know personally. I also tested that it did not come up in various searches, so I felt somewhat safe, but a little daring in putting myself out there, in being raw, seriously true to what I was feeling and thinking and the circumstances around those feelings and thoughts.
But once the next blog idea came to me, and I realized I would like to share it, I tested the waters a bit, and within a day, a friend emailed me to say that I should change the blog. I have read a little bit about blogging etiquette, and I have seen recommendations on how to talk about sensitive subject matter, and the act of blogging in itself feels grey - truths that aren't as raw as they could be, processed for some audience that you aren't really sure exists or is listening.
And I purposefully acted against the grain in, breaking all sorts of 'blogger rules'. But then in hindsight, I felt guilty about writing in such a way about my 'feelings of guilt' , and here I am, in the act of changing the original version. The friend suggested that I take out all the specifics and leave in the emotion. The result is effectively an introduction and a conclusion, with no explanation.
From a writing perspective, the whole notion of figuring out what is the audience and purpose of a blog is a very interesting topic and one that I will explore in a future blog. But for now, here is the revised blog, with specifics taken out, but feelings and emotions left in.
As soon as I picked my daughter up from daycare yesterday, and as the evening wore on and we talked and played, feelings of guilt went from just a little itch, to a proper sinking feeling that lasted through the night of funny dreams.
My natural persona is to be positive, inspiring, self-deprecating, and empathetic, but I am also relentless when it comes to problem solving. Being an emphathic, relentless person, most of the time, is very rewarding. It means that I work very hard to achieve set objectives, but am understanding of other's needs, differences, etc.
There are times like yesterday when these two traits are unreconciliable, and I am forced to choose one over the other, inevitably resulting in me feeling either guilty, as I chose to be relentless over emphatetic, or else disappointed in myself, as I chose empathy over achieving an objective.
[insert story here to explain feelings and emotions]
But then when I picked my daughter up, that feeling of guilt crept in. I wasn't shiny, inspiring, kind-hearted, and understanding. I was firm and relentless in making an important point.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
The first blog
SAN FRANCISCO, CA
It is a warm night for October, typical for the city, but since it isn’t summer, the sentiment is more of reflection than of rebirth. And I saw this spider crawling up the window, and thought about how I like spiders, never felt any kind of fear. And it dawned on me. Spiders are grey. They aren’t the most appealing creatures on the outset, but they tend not to be dangerous and they feed off pests.
I am reminded of recent conversations with my friend who bought a pack of clove cigareetes for us to share, but she makes me keep them so she doesn’t smoke them all in one go. We are that strange anomaly that can only be described as grey. We do not swing so full heartedly to the left or the right, but we do not see ourselves as somewhere in the middle, as we have strong opinions. 'Sensible' is not something that we strive for.
So what does it mean to be grey? This is what I am hoping to explore, at least for now.
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