Rx: If in Doubt, Call the Doctor

This morning it is the quiet sound of the water lapping against the hull and the gentle swell of the tide turning that has me up watching the dawn come up over the hills of Galliano Island.  I am out on a boat for the next week and the timing of this trip couldn’t have been more perfect.

The last few months have taken a toll that only recently I realized had a physical component that needed tending. I knew that I was tired, not tracking people and information, putting stuff in places that I could never find again – but I put that off to stress or menopause. I figured I felt weaker because I wasn’t working out as much. I switched up my diet in another attempt to kick-start my body (Mark Bittman’s Vegan Before 6 ). I gained weight. Really? I give up dairy and meat for most of the day, eat more vegies and grains than ever before – and I gain weight? Drained, feeling crazy – I finally called my doctor. 

I had put off calling her for weeks. Everything seemed so nebulous. I was sure that she was going to simply smile at me, tell me to read up on menopause and get my butt down to the gym. I basically expected her to tell me that I’m lazy and if you don’t work on staying in shape – you won’t be in shape. That’s the talk I expected. And while all of that might be true – it was a huge relief to actually find out that my thyroid is acting up and I have a B12 deficiency. That might sound silly but the tests confirmed for me that I had made the right call. Literally. I didn’t feel right and now I had some confirmation.

A dear friend of mine wasn’t “feeling right” for months. Her appetite was off, she was feeling tired, having odd pains. Finally, she went to the doctor and they discovered that she had ovarian cancer. It looks like they caught it in time. Thank god she listened. Her story of feeling off had resonated with me -how do we know what to listen for in our own bodies?

For me, neither diagnosis is life threatening and I’m feeling extremely lucky that my schedule allows me to balance out the time needed for moving a bit slower than most of the people around me. I’m realizing now how exhausted I have been and I’m looking forward to getting back some energy as I – with my doctor’s help – re-balance some essential body functions.

I share this story with you because I think it is rather common NOT to pay attention when we feel out of sync in our bodies. I’ve talked to so many men and women who try to push through discomfort or ignore something that doesn’t feel right. Our bodies give us a lot of clues that optimal functioning is not happening but we often have to be hit over the head with empirical data (like a heart attack) or test results before we make a phone call.

This has been a reminder for me to not lose touch with what good and healthy feel like. I can only imagine as I get older that these small system changes are going to continue to happen.

How I respond – and sometimes how quickly I can course correct – may make a huge difference in how I feel.

Stepping Towards Change

I haven’t written for a couple of months and it took me awhile to figure out why.

Sometimes the events and situations in any life take on a gravity – or depth – of emotion that doesn’t belong in a public forum. That’s my first thought. And then I think of how many of my friends are already in similar situations and it crosses my mind that we all have something to offer each other – our honest truths about some of life’s hardest struggles.

So here goes…

Many of the significant events that have happened this autumn involve my relationship with my mother. And most of those significant events have to do with her health. In respect to her privacy, let me simply say that right now she is fine and getting back to her usual level of activity (which would put most of us to shame).

Like many people my age, I have parents who were born over seventy years ago and it is a fact of life  - the worst fact of life – that none of us live forever and often our bodies begin to fail us long before our minds or spirit. My mother has no fondness for the whole aging process and is fiercely independent. In many ways she is irascible and feisty about the label of ‘old’ – fighting the notion of dependence or senior living in any shape or size. If someone says to a group of people - ‘let the older folks go first’ – she’ll sit down until the young kids are in line. This makes me smile. She is a compilation of the characters from the movie The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel and if she could figure out a way to find a place like that hotel – she would be there in a heartbeat.

This is great. Part of me cheers her on. And yet, this determined independence is only so grand while she doesn’t need medical care. Now that she is single and lives alone, my sisters and I have the distinction of being her primary care providers when she can’t manage by herself.

There’s nothing new about this – we all see it coming as our parent’s hair starts turning silver and health becomes much more precarious. I think my younger sister and I are lucky that we all live in the same town – this has been a saving grace when prepping meals every day. This phase of life - when the questions concerning an aging parent begin to require answers that include tangible support and care - is now my experience. I’m trying to figure out how to respect my mother’s independent nature while also being acutely aware of how fast, in this very recent incident, she needed daily care, advocacy and logistical help – and what to do when that happens again.

When my children were toddlers, I remember how important it was to let them venture outside of the safe little world that had held them as babies. Fingers needed to get dirty, knees scraped, odd things tasted – and all the while, as a parent, I hovered in the background, ready to step in, slap a Band-Aid on or pull someone back from the street. It was a kind of ‘parent radar’ that had to be kept on at all times as the little ones trundled into one adventure after another. In some ways, it feels like that radar has been switched back on in a much more nuanced way with my mother.  I’m so damn grateful that she’s felt good, been active and been involved in all sorts of things. I haven’t worried about her health in years. Now, today, I know that while all of that activity and living is going on, she can also stumble pretty hard and it takes more than a Band-Aid to fix what ails her.

I am aware that I have a new, developing role in my mother’s life that I can’t figure out ahead of time. There is no way to calculate or factor in any variables that might come up as she continues to pursue her own version of quality living. The bottom line is that I’ve had to finally accept that my mother is not immortal – without letting her know that I know that.

My mother, on the other hand, is the only one who knows what thriving means to her and I want to support her desire to be happy. I just have to acknowledge to myself that her choices will always have an impact on me because I am going to be tuned in to her slowly declining ability to be independent. This means that I need to be mindful of not simply reacting to given situations. Instead, I need to know for myself what I can and can’t do. It’s time to let go of the baggage, the stories, the expectations and look at what really exists in this complicated and very special relationship. It isn’t perfect, we aren’t best friends but I love her and know she loves me.

Maybe love is really the crux of this whole topic. How I love her now is very different then when I was a child.  It isn’t an idealized love of mother and child – this is a humanized, layered depth of feeling. It is built upon almost fifty years of interaction.  Bruised, battered, nourished, joyful – this love for her is simply in my bones. I reached up and took her hand as a child; she held my hand as I gave birth to my children and I will hold her hand when she is scared and ill and weak.

And what about today?

Today she is happy, a little tired from the holidays, complaining about her football picks and planning on enjoying wine and dinner with friends.

Life goes on.

I think the best advice I can give myself is to simply take it one day at a time and have some faith in my ability to walk an unknown path into my own future shared with others that I love.

That sounds so deceptively simple.

Bucket Lists

Each week Google Alerts drops anything published or blogged via the Internet about midlife into my inbox.  There are some weeks that I just roll my eyes – like this one – where almost everything has to do with the  fifty shades of gray author E.L. James sharing that her books were the outpouring of her own midlife crisis.  The news media just loves that. All I have to say is – good for her and now the world can share in her personal sexual fantasies.  I love that she claims this, by the way.

Buried within all the titillation regarding what critics are calling ‘mommy porn’ was an article about taking the midlife crisis on the road by making sure you have a bucket list of things that you want to accomplish before you, well, kick the bucket.  That’s what a bucket list is, right? A list of activities that you want to check off to feel that you’ve lived the fullest life possible. 

When we are young, we say – "someday, I am going to learn to play guitar," or "someday I am going to live in Europe."  Those dreams feel more like goals at that point in our lives and less like pure daydreams. There is a sense that time is infinite and all of those “somedays” will happen in about five years. Somehow.

Midlife rolls around and I suspect more than one midlife crisis has been the product of realizing that those ‘somedays’ never materialized as we thought they would.  Jobs and careers happened. Electric bills and weddings.  Car insurance payments and a second child. There’s a lot of joy in finding the love of your life and having children – heck, having your own car might have been a one of the things that you once dreamed about.  And yet, for good or ill, the bucket list sits patiently waiting for you to fill it up with more wishes and dream opportunities.

I’m curious if this is an American phenomenon: once again wanting to make sure we get the full value out of what we signed up for.  Status quo, sometimes regardless of how good it is, is never quite good enough so we must constantly strive to up the ante and cram in “better” experiences.  This drives the consumer market and it isn’t much of a leap to see how it translates to our way of dealing with life transitions.

Building a bucket list is one way to future-trip about what you will feel like once you have checked all those items off the list.  If you tend to beat yourself up over things that you don’t accomplish – a bucket list may not be a great idea for you because, let’s face it, that list most likely has some highly improbable daydreams on it.  Let the bucket list hold the inconsequential, relatively unimportant items like ‘I want to spend a year in Italy.’  If you don’t go to Italy before you die, chances are it won’t be the most important thing you are lamenting while on your death bed.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – Regrets are emotions that shrivel us up inside.  I think I would regret not telling my children that I love them on a regular basis whereas I won’t regret it if I never see the pyramids in Egypt. I’d like to see them – but it won’t make or break my life experience. Hitting midlife and realizing that we’ve lost track of our dreams doesn’t have to be terrifying – it can be a wake-up call. There is time to repair broken relationships and re-engage with lost dreams. We can do this in order to keep living a full and vibrant life instead of trying to cram more stuff into the memory file – stuff that you may not be taking with you there at the end.  I don’t know, that’s just a hunch.

I have dreams and goals that inform my life. Some stay with me, others fade. I like planning new adventures and love being in the moment of those plots I put into motion. What I am trying to do is detach from the outcomes - what sense I will make of the moment once it is past.

I asked my husband if he had a bucket list and he said no. He has friends who keep those lists in wallets and pockets, but he doesn’t.  We talked about all the things we thought we would be doing at this age when we were younger and he looked at me and said “I couldn’t have imagined how amazing my life is now when I was twenty. Could not have imagined it at all.”

So there you go.

Bucket lists, I’ve decided, can be fun but I wouldn't count on my older, wiser self actually putting that much stock in whether or not I checked off a list of things as a measure of a life well lived.  

In the end what matters,  I suspect, is the life I am living now. In this amazing moment.

Giving Teenage Girls Advice

Adults love to give teenagers advice. Because we know everything and have an omniscient understanding of the world that teenage girls are growing up in. Right?

Sure we do.

I read another blog - http://kateelizabethconner.com/ten-things-i-want-to-tell-teenage-girls/ - and couldn't resist coming up with my own version of her list:

1. If you wear clothes that show your cleavage, legs, arms and – god forbid – your midriff – stop. Boys will look at you.  Worse yet, forty year old women will mimic your style choices because they want men to look at them too and think dressing like a teenager is the way to do it.  

2. Don’t use tanning booths – how passé is that?  Spray tans are the way to go.  Just watch out for the dreaded ‘orange’ look. That is the kiss of social death. Start slowly and work your way up to Newport Beach chic.

3. Be careful of what you post on Facebook.  I know that honesty is the name of the game - no one cares about anonymity - but try to remember what kindness is. Think about what a future employer or college admissions officer might think about YOUR character for posting mean, cruel, stupid or slanderous material in a public arena.  These are usually adults who don’t give a f*** about you personally and will simply think you are an idiot.

4. Learn to make good friends – this is tricky because there are no secrets at your age.  Don’t go to summer camp and think that no one will find out about what you did behind the counselor’s office. Don’t tell your best friend something that you don’t want her telling the best friend she has next week. Social media will haunt you until the day you graduate…from grad school. Adults have a word for this – we call it ‘drama.’  You call it business as usual.

5. If you haven’t stopped browsing your Facebook page and answering text messages long enough to really think about what you would like to do beyond high school – what subjects, hobbies, books, and/or jobs get you excited – sit back for a moment and give it some thought.  High School is the last free ride you have in this life and if you can’t use it to figure out what is going to make the rest of your life rock – then you’ll waste either your money or your parent’s money on a college degree that will mean nothing to you in ten years. When I say ‘follow your heart’ I mean it – use what you love to do – the class you stay awake in, as an example – to start building a path to a future that is just around the corner. You have a choice: You can sleep through life and wake up disgruntled and empty at 40 something or you can start acting like the adult you are becoming and think about what it might actually look like to live into your dreams.

6. Never let anyone make you feel bad about how you feel.  You don't have to defend a feeling. You don't need facts to back up a feeling.  Keep it clean – it is your feeling, after all – no one else has to feel the same way you do.  If you want people to respect what you feel – you have to give that back to them.  It’s a two way street.

7. Smoking is an addiction.  You already know it is a health hazard.  There are worse health hazards – cocaine, heroin, meth, driving drunk, unprotected sex. Smoking may seem cool but it is a bitch to quit and no one likes kissing a smoker.

8. My generation’s and your generation’s ideas around “reputation” are different. It’s great to think that you don’t care about what people may think of your behavior but remember that it isn’t just your fellow teenagers that are worth considering when it comes to how you present yourself to the world. Think about employers, teachers, even your grandparents. These adults may have odd (to your way of thinking) notions of what is proper behavior for young ladies. It makes sense for you to understand what those notions are – not as guidelines for how you should behave but to simply understand what might make the difference in a job or scholarship interview.  You are very quickly going to be launched out into a world that will have all sorts of ideas of what being ‘good’ or ‘trustworthy’ means. Religions, ethnicity, families, economic standing all play into this. Be smart, accept that reality, and start figuring out what integrity means to you. It’s one of the few qualities that will matter over the course of your life.

9. Smart women intimidate dumb men (and women too). Don’t play down your strengths because if you do, you will end up surrounded by people too small for you. It’s not an easy world to be a sexually confident, smart, capable young woman. Our society (or Rush Limbuagh) often likes to label these women as bitches and sluts. So what? Be who you are meant to be and don’t let labels paint you into a corner.

10. I’d like to try to give you some advice on how to deal with the tidal wave of information that permeates our culture about what the ideal woman should be like. You already know about how the media air brushes models and the drug addictions of those beautiful starlets; you read about how women are still paid less than men in similar jobs; you see the results of acid being poured on women’s faces and what happens to the victims of the sex trafficking trade – and on top of that your generation is being left with a huge environmental disaster to clean up. The world we live in is fucked up. Still. Women pay the price in ways a man never will. If you can get a decent education, have access to health care, eat two or three meals a day, take a shower with actual hot water and shop at a mall for new clothes – you are one of the few lucky girls on this planet. 

So, taking all of that into account, here’s my advice: Short, fat, tall, skinny, black, white, brown, bronze, gay, straight, bi, queer – I don’t care -just use the brain that is in your head to be the best person you can be. “Ideals” are marketing techniques to create consumers of goods. Let that go.  Be kind, give back to your community, learn everything you can, work hard and don’t put up with anyone who makes you feel less than awesome. Learn to be vulnerable, open your heart and throw away all the “shoulds” you’ve been handed by anyone who does not reside in your own body.

One last thing – because I am the overzealous adult giving advice right now - use birth control and make the guy use a condom.  It’s your body and you have the right to choose when or if you get pregnant.

Lessons from the Dance Floor

I confess - I was really surprised when my husband gave me a package of dance lessons for Christmas. For both of us. Ten years ago I dragged him into an introductory series of classes and we stumbled our way through the learning of a few steps but nothing stuck and life went on. Three years ago, he signed us up for a community center class designed for couples who wanted to dance together without using any formal style. We both loved it but the instructors decided to only offer more classes in Seattle which was pretty inconvenient for a mid-week date.

This gift puts us in private dance lessons for months. I felt somewhat bemused.

When we sat down with our instructor that first night she asked us what had brought us there and what we wanted to get out of the classes. “I need to learn to follow,” I said and my husband smiled wryly, “and I need to learn to lead.”  Oh, and if we could learn some west coast swing, that would be great too.

As the instructor worked with us, she said things like this:
To me:  If you don’t have and hold a strong frame, he won’t know where you are for him to lead you… You need to lean in towards each other, establish a connection through that engagement and hold it through the steps…you need to put the weight of your hands and arms into his hold and at the same time maintain the frame with your shoulders and body so that you move together…

To my husband – You don’t have to take huge steps, the object is to have her move with you. Hold her hand but stand far enough away so that when you move, she will be drawn with you… don’t collapse your shoulders, keep a masculine stance – watch, see? She pushes inward and won’t stop until you give her something to push against…

And we smile at each other, holding hands and begin to step through basic moves that seem to exist on multiple levels. Our instructor last night didn’t come right out and say it but I’m a bad follower.  I have a very difficult time truly giving over to someone else’s lead.  It shows up in the tension of my hands – such a small, unconscious thing – but there it is for the world to see.  Relationship building 101.

After that first class, my husband and I dropped into the Indian restaurant next door and I asked him why he had given us this gift. It’s sweet, yes, romantic – but I just had a feeling that there was some other reason.  He looked at me and told me how he had been looking around for something that we could do together during the week.  We both have hobbies and communities that sometimes overlap but mostly don’t  and he wanted us to have something to do together where we could play, touch and laugh. He knows I don’t want to play indoor soccer at 10pm on a Saturday night or join the band he’s been playing with on and off for the last couple of years. He doesn’t want to take cooking lessons or be part of a book club. Dance lessons is what he came up with. Why not?

We’ve been married awhile – it’s going on twenty six years. It’s been healthy and imperative that we both develop interests that are our own but it has been equally important that we find activities that we love and where we learn together.  As the kids head into their own lives, this feels even more important. When we learn something new together, it resets all of our experience and expertise. We go back to the beginning, rediscovering the two human beings that really like spending time together.   One of my favorite things in life is to look up into his laughing blue eyes.  Dance lessons are pretty much perfect, from where I stand.

And if we get a little Swing or Salsa out of it – that’s just icing on the cake.

Midlife Rollercoaster

If you don’t want to read about menopause than stop right now and go back to the Cold Frames post from a week ago or check out the professional category.

I am a woman and I can’t talk about midlife without addressing the wonderful world of hormones.

Still a great resource

I think it was Christiane Northrup who made me realize just how many body processes hormones are involved in.  Impressive. Great. Happy to hear it. My body is a delicate machine balanced on now fluctuating chemical interactions. Isn’t that marvelous?

Every few weeks these amazing chemicals mix in a fascinating way that keeps me up all night worrying about any and all potentially anxiety-ridden situations. Forgot to take the library book back – wham – going to chew on that for a good half hour at 1 am.  Remember how you forgot that woman’s name in the grocery store and it was obvious – think about THAT for another forty five minutes as your brain rehashes, replays and agonizes over the nuances of the conversation.

Those aren’t the big hitters, however, not by a long shot. The guaranteed subject to keep me up the greatest length of time in a hormonally induced anxiety fest is: The Teenager. The runner-up was Work – I’m kind of thankful not to have that on my plate at the moment (although that can create its own thought process in the wee small hours of the morning).  I may as well just be a bystander in my own brain – it’s like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

I know the moment that the little hormonal gremlin has pulled out its winning card from the deck –

Do you really know where she was on Saturday night?

That is a sure fire way to get my eyes to pop open.

I’ve been dealing with perimenopause for many a year along with the cyclical insomnia that has come with it.  I know all the tricks to deal with insomnia now but the best answer is to simply sigh, get up and go make a cup of herbal tea. I grab my journal – vent in writing, make lists, harangue the teenager – and jot down whatever seems to need being said. In a way, I guess I honor the anxiety. I give it a place to be scared or angry or embarrassed.

There have been some really long days where I only got by thanks to the 12 cup pot of coffee. It was a blessing this morning not having to drag myself into work. The truth is that I’m getting used to a life that includes a few sleepless nights every month. That’s a huge improvement from those early days of whacked out sleep patterns when I despaired of ever sleeping a solid eight hours again. Now I’m happy with six. I’m also a big believer in siestas – another huge bonus of not working every day until 5pm.

And no, I never did go ask my daughter about Saturday night. She’s upstairs doing homework, texting and on Facebook while also probably painting her nails and rearranging her shoes. She ate dinner with us. Laughed, chatted.

Let’s be grateful for the moment.

Living Meaningfully Well?

"The Big Question: what does it mean to live meaningfully well? If you accept the less-than-heretical proposition that our way of life, work, and play, while materially rich, might be leaving us emotionally, relationally, socially, physically, and spiritually if not empty, than perhaps just a little bit unhealthy; that it might be optimized for more, bigger, faster, cheaper, nastier over wiser, fitter, smarter, closer, tougher — how would we redesign economies, markets, and organizations to help us live better?" – Haque 2011/12 hbr.org

(Quotation credits at end of post)

At this point of my life, that Big Question feels pretty familiar. I would hazard a guess that many folks who have hit the big “four oh” have asked - what am I doing? Is this how I want to live my life and/or is there more to life than my current career path?  Actually, now that I think about it, I hear quite a number of the under forty set asking those questions. Perhaps I’ve simply been in a unique position these last few years to listen to people of different ages seeking change in their professional lives. Not everyone has wanted to reinvent their careers but many have wanted to change how they relate to their profession of choice.

Personally, I’m working through that process now for myself. What has become clear to me is that “meaningful” is a word that we each define in our own way. Living meaningfully well asks for a certain measurement – practically a litmus test on what is valued as meaningful. Point of view, social position, values, community, and beliefs are all going to color those varying definitions. Sometimes we know all this and struggle against it. Well, I do, anyway. Societal values are a pretty strong current to swim against.

"Being human is never easy. But that's the point. Perhaps as an unintended consequence of our relentless quest for more, bigger, faster, cheaper, now, we've comfortably acceded to something akin to a minor-league contempt for the richness and grandeur of life unquenchably meaningfully well lived.” (Haque 2012/01 hbr.org)

Pulling back from that relentless quest hasn’t always been easy.  And yet – read this again – “the richness and grandeur of life unquenchably meaningfully well lived” – doesn’t that sound like a goal worth the best hours of our days? Haque is writing for an audience of business professionals and goes on to write that a meaningful life is found in meaningful work.  Prodding business leaders to think beyond mediocrity is important but life goes beyond the office, right?

Maybe I’m crazy but living meaningfully is also about exploring what creates joy and wonder in my life. What lifts me up instead of what drags me down. Family, friendships, love, connection. Somewhere in that mix is a rich, well-lived life. I want the work I do "out there in the world" to be woven into a balanced life within.

My personal answer to Mr. Haque's question which started this whole musing - how do we basically escape a society driven by more, bigger, faster, cheaper, nastier over wiser, fitter, smarter, closer, tougher  - is to slow down, look around and remember how to love my self, my family, friends, and the earth that spins under my feet. I need to remember what I love to do each day - what will I happily set the alarm for. Ultimately, rediscovering wonder and opening my heart to joy cracks that relentless, furious and 'mediocre' world wide open - one choice at a time.

And when you believe as I do that change can ripple out from one single person - that makes all the difference necessary.

Quotes are taken from two Harvard Business Review blog posts by Umair Haque, Director of Havas Media Labs and author of Betterness: Economics for Humans.

Birthdays

It isn't my birthday - that passed about a week ago.  Today, however, was the birth date of a dear friend and I realized that we've known each other now through a good chunk of our forties.  We met in grad school - both of us returning to academia for a new career after years of doing other things.  He worked in the high tech world - I had been a stay at home mom.  We became friends - bonding over intense group dynamics that had been best discussed after class with margaritas. We became colleagues working as intern counselors at the same agency.  Silly skits, brilliant insights, vulnerable egos - all part of our grad school experience. 
I sat with my friend over a cup of coffee this morning.  We haven't seen each other for awhile and didn't spend too much time wondering why.  There was an acceptance of life circumstances, almost a shrug of the shoulder from both of us that didn't diminish the deep care and enjoyment of each other's company.  It seemed like the empty chairs around us filled with others equally loved and enjoyed - friends whom we share; whose voices could still be heard within our own catching up. He talked about one of our fellow grad friends, motioning with his hands and I could see her in my mind's eye.  I smiled, yes - that's exactly what she would do.
What I especially loved about sharing time with my friend was recognizing the differences in who we are now from who we were six years ago.  Both of us are now closer to fifty - it's just around the corner - and yet I don't think what I was feeling was particularly related to how old we are. It could be - but I'm not quite willing to take a stand on that.
The best way I can put it is to say that I experienced an acceptance of self in his stories as well as my own.  It was no longer - who am I going to try to be in the world; it is now: How is this person that I am going to explore and be myself in this world around me?
We sipped coffee, smiling softly as if sharing a grand secret: Life is good.

Happy Birthday, my friend.

Introduction to Backpacking

Looking east down the valley

How often do you dream about doing something – and then actually attempt to do it?

For reasons that are meaningless to my feet right now, I got it into my head last winter that I wanted to go backpacking.  Strap 30 t0 40 pounds on my pack and take off into the back country.  I even talked my husband into joining me in this adventure and I planned and plotted for about four months before we could actually go. 

And so we went. 

Good news: I had a lot of fun and actually managed to not only carry that pack up and over a mountain but walk around afterwards. 

Bad news:  Coming down is actually harder than going up.  I would actually feel pretty good right now ( a day later) if I hadn’t  stubbed my little toe on the bathtub last night.  It might be broken. 

Anyway, Ingalls Lake in the Alpine Wilderness is some of the most beautiful backcountry I’ve seen.  The campsite was beautiful and came with its own wildlife.  The goats were cute.  The mosquitos were not.

There are just some creatures in this world that don’t even look at me if my husband is nearby.  Mosquitos are such beings and while I stayed fairly unaffected by the swarms, he couldn’t move without his own personal cloud of followers.

We came home a day early.

There was an undeniable beauty and sense of peace camping far from any road.  Sitting on a wide table of glacier smooth rock overlooking a valley of lush green meadows of wildflowers is really the perfect place to eat a bowl of oatmeal.  The Stuart Mountain range rivals any saw-tooth, chiseled rock mountains that reach up to the sky.  Nature’s cathedrals.  And what better place to have a sip of wine (yes, I brought up a small flask!) then near a small campfire, listening to the breeze whisper through the pines above.

I’m already plotting and planning for next time.  It makes those 6am workouts really worth it.

Getting Reaquainted with my Body

I was up at the crack of dawn this morning and off to the gym for my first appointment with MC, my very own personal trainer.  Well, at least for the next couple of months.

We weighed and measured my body a couple days ago.  Remember how I said that the image in my head isn’t what I see in the mirror?  The numbers verified that little feeling.  I’m telling myself those are the baseline numbers.  Everyone has to start somewhere.  How else will you know you’re improving?  Those are the things I’m telling myself … with limited success.

Yes, I’m mulling over the whole body image thing and I teeter daily into mild self-loathing and pride that I’m doing something about getting stronger.  When MC asked me what my goals were I told him the truth – I want to hike that damn 110 mile trail.  This isn’t just about weight loss, dude – this is about circumventing a mountain.  I think I surprised him. 

MC took me straight down to the weight room and gave me a fine list of core building exercises to do. He can’t be much older than my son but so far he seems to know what he’s talking about and he only looked slightly gleeful when he brought out the medicine ball to throw around.

Tonight, however, my body is telling me a slightly different story.  It is like going into an unused space and dusting off all the furniture, rediscovering forgotten items. I’m dusting off muscles that I guess I’m going to be getting reacquainted with. I’m a little ambivalent but I’m not really going to give myself a choice.

It’s time.  Hello, body, meet the mind that is going to get you into the best shape of your life.

Plan B

I joined a gym.  Walked in, signed up, handed them my credit card and said, ‘how much for ten sessions with a personal trainer?’  I’ve set the alarm clock for 5:30 a.m. – yes – a.m. – and plan to be at this gym by 6:00 a.m. to sweat and strain my body.

Why?

·        Because I am 46 years old and I’ve noticed a subtle expansion around my waist.

·        Because I tried on my “comfortable” pants and they weren’t so comfortable.

·        Because my oldest child is getting married next spring.

·        Because when I look at pictures of myself – I don’t see the Me that I am seeing in my head. 

·        Because I want to go backpacking and hiking and kayaking and bicycling and scuba diving – and feel good afterwards.

I’m tired of feeling tired.  Drained. Fuzzy brained.  I understand that hormones are shifting and that stress is wreaking havoc with my body.  And I think I finally have had enough of trying to passively manage my health.  It doesn’t matter that I try to eat right most of the time – I’m eating badly part of the time.  Being practically comatose at 6 p.m. is not feeling quite right either.

I’m the only one who can choose to make this state of affairs different.  It's time for plan B.

My goal is to take back the image of my Self – and have it stare back at me in the mirror.  My goal is to build my strength to carry a forty pound backpack around the Rainier Wonderland Trail.  And finally, when my son gets married next year, I’m going to feel great about those wedding photos.

A visit with my doctor

I started this week feeling glum after seeing my doctor. Okay, so I weigh a couple more pounds and my blood pressure was higher than usual and I am pretty positive that my blood work will come back with elevated cholesterol levels. There were some other issues - some to worry over, others that are remedied with a few more minerals and vitamins added to my morning routine.
My mother then called to let me know that her cousin is very ill. He went into the doctor for one problem and found out that his body was full of cancer.
I got a call from another friend today about a mutual friend – who went in to have surgery on one thing and found out her body was full of cancer.
These two lovely people are facing the end of the journey. They are surrounded by loved ones, still fighting to have even one more quality moment with those that they love. One last instance immersed in this thing called living.
I'll take my vitamins; I'll exercise and watch what I eat. But there is also the way that the world turns and sometimes we can't foresee the particular twists that appear so suddenly on our path. I doubt I am any more prepared than my friend and cousin were in that moment when a suspicious symptom unfolded into a nightmare. I can cry for them, pray for them and wish that life could have spared them such pain.
Bless you both and may the grace of Spirit bring you peace.

Hello, how strange to find you here

Almost out of desperation, I started doing my morning pages again. You know those Julia Cameron-inspired-3-stream-of-consciousness pages of writing that cramps your hand first thing every morning? That's what I'm talking about. Maybe you were caught by the word 'desperation' – and I wouldn't blame you. The truth: I was depressed. Whether it was hormonally induced, stressed induced or just that perfect storm that had me falling apart, it wasn't pretty and I also had to figure out how to pull myself back together.
The art of pulling oneself back together does not mean climbing back into the same saddle and forging onward. Not for me, anyway. I have to do it the hard way – the only way that really works. I have to be honest with myself and remember who I am. I've got to look in the mirror and say, 'well, hello there, stranger – where have you been?'
I am an expert at getting out of touch with myself. No one can submerge with such competence as I. Hardly a ripple crosses the surface of my articulate and well put together veneer. I just can't hold my breath as long as I used to. I'm very thankful for that.
I don't like depression – it terrifies me. And yet, that's what will happen if I keep forgetting about my connection to soul. When I start to live in the buzz of the hive and forget that I have wings that can carry me outside. On the other hand, depression is a message – so says James Hollis – and it speaks to me of stagnation. Depression tells me that I am mired in particular patterns that no longer nurture me.
The bubble popped. I started writing. I took time off and I ordered seeds for my garden. I wrote about what I want – where I want to go – how I find inspiration. I wrote about stepping back into the questions that help me grow without caring where that road is going to lead. I stopped thinking about goals and end results and wrote about what was in my heart and on my mind.
Journaling is a mirror – reflective and clear when I make sure to be as honest as I can. And I found the beginnings of myself again.
I think I'd better keep writing and make that stranger feel at home.

This Being Human – part two

I'm thinking about the past weekend and it was a particularly hard one. There was a convergence of factors that all came together Saturday night that left me reeling. Stress at work coupled with a sense of not having enough time to be and do all that I feel I need to be and do at home and in relationships – add in a huge dollop of hormonal shifts and what I ended up with was an anxiety attack layered with some depression.
Do not let these hormones fool you. They are not so benign once you begin to experience their changing influences on your body and mind. PMS is much more difficult now with perimenopause and as my hormones continue to shift as I get older, I keep finding myself hitting a wall that is within my own body. I know the wall is made more painful by the burdens I keep thinking I can handle. I feel trapped and, more often than not, unwilling to surrender my sense of what I should be able to manage to the reality of what I honestly can manage.
Today, it bothers me that I have to continually come to terms with myself. Tomorrow, I'll remember what grace and compassion are.

This being human…

    It is certainly turning out to be one of those weeks. "Those weeks" as in 'I better just stay away from human beings and keep my mouth shut at all times' weeks. No one should really speak to me either because they inadvertently will say things they wish they never had said. Is it Mercury in retrograde or just a little black rain cloud spreading joy over my world at the moment? Or maybe - just maybe – am I feeling a wee bit human with all of the vulnerabilities that are part of that package?
I'm not all that grounded at the moment. Yes, it is that time of year when my job gets particularly busy and stressful. We are now mere weeks away from having our spring students start their programs and if things can go wrong they will go wrong and it's my job to keep everything somehow running as smooth as possible. It is times like this that I wonder what I am doing and why. Typical question that everyone asks at one point of the other, right?
I revisit that question quite often. I keep checking in – is this where I want to be right now?
Most of the time, the answer is yes. This week, the answer is no – not a strong negative but a simple desire to curl up with a good book, work in my garden, go for long walks, write in my journal, make some jam, work on my quilt, watch some TV, visit with friends and not drive my car. I'd like to abdicate responsibility and turn off my thinking self – the intellectual exercises that seem to govern my life right now – and just be.
Mind, Body and Spirit. My mind is feeling a bit worn out and good ol' Body and Spirit are wondering when I'm going to let them back in.
It is the struggle that I want to resolve. How to balance out spirit, body with mind. What kernel of truth am I forgetting every day that I get up to an alarm clock? What rules am I allowing to control my life that are not the habits that I want to live by and support?
Kernel of truth: living is joy. Find my joy in each day.
Let's see if I can hold on to that and change how my week will unfold.

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing,

and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

-Rumi

Swap meets

I'm not sure why the title of this post is what it is. I flew into Oakland, CA, rented a car and headed west towards San Rafael. It was Sunday and as I drove the freeway I came across a memory that I have not thought about in a very, very long time. Swap Meets. I passed about three of them at sixty miles an hour and all I wanted to do was pull over and take it all in. Old drive- in theaters bursting with stalls selling everything you can imagine; it was an instant time warp.
Where I live now, we have farmers markets during the growing season. We sip our Starbucks with canvas shopping bags in hand as we buy organic produce and maybe a handmade soy candle. I love it. Swap meets – I did not love but they were a cornucopia of items sold by questionable con artists. I could take ten dollars and get the best knock off gabardine bell bottom pants that looked just like the ones that cost three times as much in the department store.
Flea markets or bazaars have certainly been around since people started selling goods. Catching a glimpse of the swap meets along the freeway also made me realize that they aren't part of my community culture any longer. Somehow the concept has not spread to the suburban eastside of Seattle. Drive-in theaters don't dot the landscape with their wide and expansive lots just waiting for someone to come along and fill them up with every bootlegged, knock off, bargain priced item known to man. Why do I actually think that that is a shame?
I smiled as I drove by and enjoyed the moment of nostalgia.

Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…

I have quite a few things on my mind.
Between the nagging suspicion that I have forgotten something important for the upcoming holiday festivities and the bubbling stress at work, I am having a hard time settling down into a ten day vacation.
I keep ticking off in my mind – gifts sent…check; gift allocation for children taken care of… god, I hope so; outgoing mail to prospective students…check. And so on. Christmas is the day after tomorrow and I don't care. How sad is that? I just don't care. I can't even pull together ideas for that special Christmas dinner.
Let me temper some of that whining with what I also know: I'm a little tired – maybe even a tad bored – with Christmas as I know it. At this particular moment in time I can't quite get too excited about all the fuss that surrounds this massively consumer oriented holiday. What I am looking forward to is my sister coming over for a glass of wine and quiet conversation. I'm looking forward to breakfast with Andy and the kids, and having coffee with my dad on Christmas morning. A little snow would be nice along with a fire in the heath – but beyond that – I'm good for the holiday.
I am not a Christian although I have a healthy respect for the teachings of the man known as Jesus. I know his birth day is not really December 25^th but I love celebrating the coming of the light that marks the winter solstice and appreciate how perfect the metaphor is for many religious traditions that happen during this time of year. Christmas has never been a day of faith for me which is why, I'm sure, I have struggled with its trappings for so many years. The day is about family and yes, gift giving. The month of December is about baking and nestling in for the winter ahead. It doesn't surprise me that the holidays are all about pulling together and celebrating new life and hope – here in the Northwest when it gets dark at 4:30pm, the long winter nights make me want to embrace what is truly important - love, togetherness and sustenance.
The years of watching children's eyes widen with delight as they gaze longingly at all those colorfully wrapped presents are in the past for me. Crafting holiday traditions and fun filled memories are no longer things I want on my task list. I simply want to have fun-filled memories with people that I love. I want that sustenance I mentioned. I don't mind going through some of the traditional motions because I still have one child living at home and I don't care how much she rolls her eyes – I know that Christmas tree still matters to her.
I am quite sure that my lack of enthusiasm is directly related to working full time, having kids home and feeling pulled in many different directions as I try to be mom, wife, daughter, employee, director and domestic slave. The ebb and flow of my energy is directly proportional to how I feel about the upcoming holiday weekend. I doubt this will be the case in all the future years to come.
And so here is what I am telling myself: be present with where I am today and watch for those moments of joy.
Blessings and light to all.

Extrovert, I am not

I like people. Really.
I just don't get a kick out of large gatherings. I'm not energized by constant and multiple connections happening simultaneously. Give me an evening with one or two close friends where actually listening can happen – now, that appeals to me…most of the time.
This is the hard part of working in a socially engaging environment. It is doubly hard when I have to host open houses every month. Not only am I playing host, I'm also selling a product. I have to be 'on my game' and dance with whatever partners show up. These events happen in the evening – the time of day that I am usually happily home and getting ready for bed. These events are rather repetitive, held in the same location with the same format. To change them up would require more work on my part. I don't want more work. What I want is someone else to handle these events. I want to get the simple luxury of just showing up.
I have a story in my head that someone who is more extroverted might actually enjoy these events. That energy and love of impromptu social gatherings with strangers would brighten the room up with an appreciation for what might be co-created. There are folks who have that natural ability to bring a group together and get them excited to share the same space for a short while. I'm not one of them.
In the end, I have to pretend to be much more engaged than I want to be. I have to smile and actively listen when I really want to be home sharing quiet space with the man that I love. Pretending doesn't sit all that well with me anymore – not at this point in my life. I no longer assume that I have to be anything other than myself in any circumstances. These events, therefore, drain me.
It's good to know – I've been giving myself time to really get clear about this part of my job for a year now. I wanted to know if my reluctance was simply that of someone who had never had to host these kinds of events before – or if it was an intrinsic reaction that wasn't going to go away. I may have to keep doing exactly what I am doing – but perhaps in the future I can make sure to take the time and space to manage my own needs.

Another year older…

This picture is from one of my favorite places – the Gulf Islands in British Columbia. Princess Cove, to be exact. I love to sit out on the front of the boat and watch the sun set in the western sky. Often I've snuck away from dinner dishes or games being played below for a moment of silence on the water.

Nothing is really silent except for me - which is truly what I seek. I relish those long moments where I can just be with the beauty of the world around me...and keep my mouth shut.

I turn 46 tomorrow and I would relish the day much more if I could time warp back to Princess Cove on a warm summer evening and just sit with the silence. 
Hey, don't think I'm sad - the beauty of this is that I'm finally making peace with the needs this introvert has for solitude.  It's taken - well - 46 years to get here.

Rugged Individualism? I think not

This is the kind of post that comes out of an open house I hosted last night at my job. My thought process starts to dig down into what is taught or said and I decide to use this venue as a place to host my thinking. Lucky for you – you don't have to keep reading.
The faculty were talking about behavior being a function of a person's belief in their own control over their life and how the environment controls their choices. I am in complete control of my destiny – or – I have no control over my fate. I am the wind – or - I am a leaf in the wind. That environment also holds the attributes of our culture, family of origin and any of the other messages that we have received growing up as to what will influence you or not.
Six months ago I would have said that I live at the far end of that individual control spectrum. I would have said that my default behavior is much more informed by individual choice and power to be my own person in the universe. In some ways that is true; however, after spending the last six months building a scholarship for multicultural leadership, a diversity workshop and talking with a myriad of folks with provocative viewpoints – I am very aware of how my understanding of individual choice remains complicated by all that has influenced where I am in the world.
The conversation last night turned to the notion of rugged individualism – a concept that is bandied about by politicians and patriotic verbiage when describing American values. However, I am beginning to believe that it is actually a myth. Rugged Individualism, being completely in charge of one's own destiny is something we aspire towards because we've been led to believe that that stance will empower us. And yet, up until the last century, Americans survived because of their community and familial connections. This country wasn't founded on the principle of Independence and Individualism – it was founded by communities of like minded thinkers that never would have survived the first winter without working together. The west wasn't settled by individuals – family groups and whole communities moved together into the wilderness to form new homesteads.
And yet, we Americans – now – really like this notion of being our own persons and controlling our own destinies without being that leaf blown about by forces beyond our control. Something happened over the last hundred years, a new message has enculturated our society – but only for those who have a certain level of privilege and opportunity. We don't like thinking that forces – whatever those might be – can have so much influence. That emasculates, takes away our personal power. Let's face it, Americans, especially those born to a higher notion of privilege, don't like thinking anyone or thing is going to take away their power.
Those of us who have received a certain level of education, been blessed with good jobs and health - so many of us no longer need our tribes to survive the proverbial winter of scarcity. And yet, as relational beings, how many of us are still drawn to building connection with community and family?
Personally, I have yearned for that sense of individual power like it is some sort of Buddha state of being that will relieve me of pain and suffering. And yet, as I continually acknowledge all the parts of my world that have influence on my perspective, I can't help wondering about what has evoked that yearning in me in the first place.