What a difference a day makes...

Last night, Amelia finally started to hold down food and we all got some much needed sleep. This morning, up bright and early, I finished a small project in work, looked outside the window, the warm sun shining on the lemon tree, and realized just how lucky I am.

While it is good to contemplate those moments of grey (like in my last blog on 'fairness'), I felt compelled this morning to embrace this moment of abundance, this feeling of good for goodness sake. 

I love the way we can feel so tired, so worn out in one moment, and then something as simple as sleep and sunshine can completely change our point-of-view, helping us to see the beauty all around us, pushing those 'grey' thoughts aside as if they never existed.

There is a balance here, one that is based on time, patience, and a bit of luck.

On fairness

Sitting across from a dear friend in the late afternoon drinking a pint in the Valley Tavern, we found ourselves in one of our many existentialist conversations about life. A little background - we don't normally go for afternoon pints, but it seemed fitting after finding out that there would be another surgery.

She said so many things that afternoon that stuck with me, but the one that I feel compelled to write about today in this blog is on the topic of fairness. In her mind, 'fair' is a word like 'guilt' - it is one of those feelings that no matter which angle you look at it, there isn't hope for a positive result.

And as the week continued, and moments of 'fair' crept into my head, I thought about ways in which I could embrace 'fair'. I tried thinking about fairness from the perspective of the classic Native American saying, "Don't judge a man until you have walked two moons in his moccasins"-- that maybe there is a way to see things as truly fair, so long as you are thoughtful about the other person whose 'fairness' you are evaluating.

But as I tried to do this, I realized there are so many variables to consider in interpreting fairness from the multi-faceted perspective. If we were writing an algorithm, it would look a lot like the Big O notation - too many options to possible reach any sort of rational measurement for fairness.

And so I thought about relativity - that perhaps fairness can be measured from one perspective in isolation of another. In any given context, a 'fairness' value can be derived.

But what does it actually mean to feel that something isn't fair? How does one justify this feeling when there are so many other people in circumstances far worse than our own? At what point is life truly unfair for one person over another? And what the heck does this mean? What good is it to come to that conclusion?

So I think she is right, my friend - fairness is like guilt - there is nothing productive in holding on to it.

But then I remember back to those days as a child, when my father worked very hard to teach me the value of 'being fair'. It still holds very true in my heart that I need to treat people with a sense of 'fairness'. That I need to have balance in the way I approach others. 

Can I let go of the expectation that others need to be fair to me, and even more importantly, the disappointment that I feel when they are not? Is it possible to be fair outward while denying oneself the same measurement on the receiving line?

The very meaning of 'fairness' depends on equilibrium, or does it?

The 3 faces of me

Gina Trapani, a fellow tech writer/blogger (and so much more), created a venn diagram much like the one below and suggested others try and do the same. With my annual review coming up soon, this seemed like a perfect way to capture what it is that I do, what excites me, and what shapes the visions I have for the future.

On a side note, I started following Gina back in August last year - was completely hooked after listening to her interview on The Great Work Blog.

(Image a little fuzzy below, so here's a link to image in Google docs.)

I need another spray-painting-a-tarp-moment

Many years ago I had an opportunity to be a summer camp counselor at the best camp in the Bay Area (I am biased) - Camp Kee Tov in Berkeley. In my second year, I convinced the director, Steve Chabon (a legend), to let me bring back the science and nature specialty in Mapilim.

Mapilim is for fifth and sixth graders, and the program highlights are to teach kids a specialty. Most kids coming into Mapilim already know the specialty they want - dance, drama, sports, or arts and crafts. There was an attempt in the past to include a science and nature specialty, but it didn't seem to have enough umph to get kids excited.

I made my case with Steve - science and nature wasn't going to be about taking walks in the woods, building baking soda volcanoes, and hugging trees - it was going to be science versus nature. I had devised an entire role-fantasy game with a science fiction story that starts many years after a nuclear meltdown. Scientists who had gone into hiding resurface generations later once the air quality is safe to find that the planet has changed quite a bit - a lot more water and a lot scarcer land and resources.

The scientists also resurface to discovery that civilization didn't completely die out. There are small colonies of people who live off the land, relying on nature (rather than demolished technology) to survive.The basic premise of the game is that the scientists need resources, the nature people are under the thumb of the scientists who have way more advanced weapons, technology, etc. Each child had to pick which side they would be on, and define their character over a course of four weeks.

Steve, a sucker for story-telling, let me go for it. And realizing that it wasn't going to be easy to convince kids to think about something different, I spent a great deal of time preparing for the 'sell'. The sell is a day on which all the kids have to try all the specialties and pick the one they want. I spent at least a good week preparing my notes for the story, and coming up with illustrated, detailed examples of characters, including my own - the wizard, on the side of nature.

The last item to prepare for the 'sell' was the game board - a large piece of plastic tarp that could fit at least six kids on either side, on which I drew the planet earth and spray painted the land according to the story - lots more water than green. Because of my mad work schedule (I had three jobs), I couldn't start the spray painting until 9 at night.

I had the idea well thought out, the earth stencil prepared ahead of time, so I figured it would take me two hours at the most to spray paint the tarp. Two hours later, a perfect representation of earth before me, I was ready for a cold beer. Just as I was securing the sides so that the tarp could dry, a gust of Berkeley wind blew the tarp across the ground, the earth destroyed, and paint everywhere.

Though I felt the weight of tired on my shoulders, tears welling up in my eyes, something so strong inside myself believed in what I was trying to do and was excited about the possibility of seeing this vision come to life.

I washed over the tarp with a strong hose, cleaned up the paint from all around, and hand-dried the tarp. I started over, redrawing the earth, re-spraying paint, and being a lot more clever about weighting the tarp. 3 AM, I finished the project, exhausted, but feeling good about myself for not giving up.

On the day of the sell, almost every single kid put down nature and science as their first-choice specialty. I had a wait-list. For the entire summer, I put everything I had into making this story come to life, into keeping the children's imaginations alive. It was amazing, exhausting, but amazing.

The following year, I returned as the wizard, and the game, now a legend, continued, wait-listed a second year in a row, but in a much more sensible way. And though I still had to put a lot of time and effort into keeping the game going, I had experience, I knew what I was doing - I could have even more fun with it, having worked out the kinks with some of the more tedious aspects of the specialty.

This week I have been thinking about that game in a metaphoric sense and how much I need another spray-painting-a-tarp moment. I need to feel excited about something that challenges me, something that I know if I put the work in, and persevere through the gusty-wind surprises, willing to start over if needs be, and getting smarter the second time around, I will feel this sense of satisfaction that comes with seeing a vision through to reality.

On becoming a mom (and for Fiona)

Last night Amelia settled herself to sleep in her big girl bed for the first time. It took a couple of 'super-nanny' carries back to the bed, but her brave self cuddled up with her blankets and dog while I sat very quietly in the corner to help her feel safe.

Until four in the morning, our new neighbors were moving in, walking up and down the side of our house moving all sorts of crazy stuff-- neither Padhraic nor myself slept very much. Amelia was woken up a couple of times and in true big-girl fashion, she snuggled herself back to sleep until 6 AM, when she walked out of the door herself into our room for a snuggle.

We all fell back to sleep for an hour and woke up to a ringing phone - Somhairle in Brisbane. The baby was born - Elise. It was a tough labor, 17 hours, with 7 hours of full-on pitosine (any mom who has had it for any period of time knows how much this hurts). And for the record, 7 hours is a lot longer than I could stand the pain.

Fiona pushed her heart out, refusing to give in to the pain, but the docs finally told her it was a no-go and Miss Elise entered the world via a section. I know Fiona and she is processing this one - wanting so much to be up, to be going, to be participating in the space of motherhood, thinking that her immobility is slowing her down.

And this is very much what motherhood is about - we are constantly working so hard to be the best that we can for our children, and even as we push ourselves more than we ever have, trying to find that perfect balance, we feel tired, down on ourselves most often for things that we cannot control, like what happens in childbirth, like what happens when we try and breastfeed, like what happens when we try and get our body shape back, like what happens when we try and enforce boundaries, but we don't want to be too harsh, because we want to build confidence, and be a loving, kind mom. This is a never-ending list.

Fiona, you may never get a chance to read this one because of the craziness to come over the next month, so I will be sure to tell you in person in a couple of months time. It gets easier. We get more confident. Sometimes we shine and can feel how we have done something right, how are children are growing, and moving, and smiling, and laughing, and talking, and starting to take the world in for themselves, that bit stronger because we are there, always trying our best, and questioning if we could do it better, even in those moments of subtle perfection.

Love you, mama.

Just keep swimming... just keep swimming... just keep swimming

Having watched Finding Nemo with Amelia the weekend before last, I am grateful to Dory, the fish, for helping me push past one of the strangest feelings I have had in a long time.

I can only describe this feeling as projected post-traumatic stress syndrome. On Saturday, I watched Amelia fall from the top of the stairs to our garage backwards head first and for a very short period of time, I felt that I had lost the entire universe, replaced by this split-second void that felt as if it would never ever go away not ever, until I saw her body move, heard her cry, watched tears stream down her face, and felt her warm body moving freely, safely in my arms.

I don't remember how I got to the bottom of the steps - my first memory is that I wasn't getting oxygen to my brain and I had to sit down. As the day progressed, I felt myself unable to stop holding my daughter, of wanting to hear her breathe, feel her little hands and feet, touch her soft curls. Physically my own body felt as if it had been in an accident. My whole body ached in a strange way.

Yesterday, the day after, was a celebration of life, sunshine, Amelia. And then today, it is as if I cannot concentrate. Padhraic has left for Canada and Amelia is in daycare. My brain has been fuzzy the entire day, and all the things that motivate me in life, my work, my writing, my running, even food which never ceases to be a passion, seem to feel far away, fuzzy.

I know when I pick up Amelia in less than an hour, my world will return to normal, but I want to recognize this moment, somehow capture the essence of what it is and feel it in all that it represents. I went out for a run, forced myself to do something, and I passed this nice couple walking down the street. The woman was wearing a baseball cap with a shamrock on it and she said - just keep going. And I remembered Dory, and her words, just keep swimming.

My heart goes out truly to people in this world who have experienced real and tangible loss, of which I only experienced a split second of and it has turned my body, brain, and essence of self into mush in the first opportunity I have had alone to process it.

Hugs to you all and sharing the only wisdom that seems to make sense of what I am feeling, and that coming from a blue fish who has the privilege of short-term memory loss.

Learning to be emotionally strong when pushing oneself

Today marks the end of a major deadline in work (a two-year release cycle). This deadline is quite different to others I have experienced in the past. It is the first time I have pushed towards a major release while being a mom. With my husband travelling three out of the last four weeks, I had to juggle being a single-parent while working long, intense hours.

Something happened on the way towards the deadline, something that I have often hoped for, but never quite was able to achieve. I stayed calm, I stayed focus, and I stayed positive, even with lots of variables pushing me in lots of directions.

Other times in my life, I would have experienced a sense of frustration towards the end, participating in the politics that other tired people are engaging in, or else arguing with my husband over trivial things that just don't matter in the bigger scheme of life. This time I felt it very important to stay positive, to be emotionally strong for my daughter. I did not want my work to negatively affect her life.

I felt this tremendous desire to prove to myself that I could be good at my job, successfully participate in an intense delivery period, and still sit down and play house, serving many, many stuffed animals cups of tea. What I discovered during this release is that it takes a lot less energy to stay positive and you get this tremendous boost of mental and physical strength, making it possible to do so much more than you would normally be capable of, simply because you are emotionally stable to the core.

I have pushed myself so many times before, physically, mentally, but I can honestly say this is the first time that I asked myself to stay emotionally sound, to be spiritually present while I was asking my mind and body to do way more than is natural in a 24-hour time period.

It is by far the biggest achievement for me in this release. I don't feel as if I need to rebuild my life - I never stopped living.

Thanks, Suzana, for helping me to realize the value of being present, here and now.