The town I live in does not have a heart. There are many beautiful spots--sandy beaches with great waves, salt marshes teeming with life, suburban neighborhoods with kids playing outside. The people are pretty friendly; no complaints there. But there isn't a heart. With no central place to gather and no distinct personality there isn't a soul. Without a beating heart there is nowhere for the soul to reside. So we are moving. Not yet a universally popular decision in my household, but I'm confident that they'll eventually be happy in their new home.
I've never grown roots here--neither physically nor metaphorically. Despite their reluctance to leave, I've never gotten the impression that the boys did either. Feeling at home in a place is a personal thing, impossible to say what draws us in more than another location. We are moving to a place where I run into friends walking down the street, where people make and sell art, and where there are many good restaurants. The food alone would be good enough reason for me. And I've already grown roots there. Spent many hours digging in the dirt. Became blood sisters with the wood sprites, my limbs getting scratched on pine tree branches and blackberry prickers.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Individually
A 13-year-old that I know aptly summed up the middle school years with the following statement: "I'm embarrassed by everything." Then with a sheepish look before a quick exit added, "I'm even embarrassed about being embarrassed." Perpetual embarrassment is an adolescent fact of life. And the best strategy that the youth have come up with to minimize their exposure to embarrassment is to try to be exactly like everyone else. Same hair, same clothes, same video games, even the same items for lunch.
The unfortunate outcome of trying to be just like everyone else, is that they become just like everyone else. Camouflaging flaws but also hiding the interesting bits as well. Our individuality is a gift. We were created in all shapes and colors, with different talents and passions. It is painful to witness the intentional homogenization. Particularly when these kids give up the activities that they truly enjoy in order to fit in. But kids aren't the only ones to change because of others. It is a familiar story, when you get into a relationship you want to spend as much time as possible with that person. Friends and even hobbies are competition for time, and in order to deepen the relationship the friends and hobbies get cut out. Ironically, the couple looses some of the qualities that drew them together to begin with.
I did this as well. Before meeting Scott I was dancing a few times a week, latin, ballroom, freestyle...dancing of almost every kind is my favorite thing to do. But my boyfriend did not dance, so neither did I. There were times that every cell in my body wanted to be out moving to music. Without this outlet I was less "me" less of what defined me as a person. I have other interests so it was not like I was reduced to nothing but it still nagged at me. And then I started taking a Zumba class at work. It was like getting a big part of myself back, and I think that is what a relationship really needs. Not someone who can spend every minute with you, but someone who nurtures their own interests whether or not you are both engaged in them.
The unfortunate outcome of trying to be just like everyone else, is that they become just like everyone else. Camouflaging flaws but also hiding the interesting bits as well. Our individuality is a gift. We were created in all shapes and colors, with different talents and passions. It is painful to witness the intentional homogenization. Particularly when these kids give up the activities that they truly enjoy in order to fit in. But kids aren't the only ones to change because of others. It is a familiar story, when you get into a relationship you want to spend as much time as possible with that person. Friends and even hobbies are competition for time, and in order to deepen the relationship the friends and hobbies get cut out. Ironically, the couple looses some of the qualities that drew them together to begin with.
I did this as well. Before meeting Scott I was dancing a few times a week, latin, ballroom, freestyle...dancing of almost every kind is my favorite thing to do. But my boyfriend did not dance, so neither did I. There were times that every cell in my body wanted to be out moving to music. Without this outlet I was less "me" less of what defined me as a person. I have other interests so it was not like I was reduced to nothing but it still nagged at me. And then I started taking a Zumba class at work. It was like getting a big part of myself back, and I think that is what a relationship really needs. Not someone who can spend every minute with you, but someone who nurtures their own interests whether or not you are both engaged in them.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Mermaid Tales
Interesting things can be heard from the front seat of a car, especially if the occupants in the back don't know you are eavesdropping. Like this weekend's debate over what would be better...a mermaid tail or wings. This particular conversation was between a seven-year-old girl and her nine-year-old sister, and for the record the youngest would want to be a mermaid. Personally, I'd pick wings although I didn't hear if there were restrictions on what type of wing. I don't think my choice would change anyway since I'm terrified of deep water and what would the point of a mermaid tail be if you didn't dive deep and explore the mysteries of the sea. Mermaids do tend to have a gorgeous head of hair though, and I can't remember it ever looking wet. Without legs, I would miss dancing.
Winged creatures can still dance. We watched a couple of crazy crows bust a move out on a tree limb just the other day. I have a fear of heights that even surpasses my fear of deep water, but the thought of having wings feels like it would eradicate that phobia. I would love to have graceful hawk wings with a long wingspan, climbing up and soaring down, making large circles in the air. Gliding with the air currents. Having a bird's eye view makes the big picture is obvious, and I like to know the big picture. With hawk wings nothing is hidden. Perhaps it would be best to have butterfly wings, lithe and bouncy. It would be like wearing moving works of art. But I don't think they would suit me; I think I might prefer dragonfly wings. Those can go in any direction and up close they look like stained glass windows, reflecting light.
Clearly this question captured my imagination. As children's conversations often do, even though to them it is as normal as reflecting on what they want to eat for dinner. It has occurred to me that the reverse it true as well. What interesting, horrifying or amusing stories are the people in the back seat gleaning from our conversations up front? With earbuds firmly inserted in teen ears it is possible that their music isn't as loud as we may assume, or even turned off altogether. Are they picking up facts and opinions that normally would be reserved for older conversations? And if it inspires them to think in new ways, is there anything wrong with that?
Winged creatures can still dance. We watched a couple of crazy crows bust a move out on a tree limb just the other day. I have a fear of heights that even surpasses my fear of deep water, but the thought of having wings feels like it would eradicate that phobia. I would love to have graceful hawk wings with a long wingspan, climbing up and soaring down, making large circles in the air. Gliding with the air currents. Having a bird's eye view makes the big picture is obvious, and I like to know the big picture. With hawk wings nothing is hidden. Perhaps it would be best to have butterfly wings, lithe and bouncy. It would be like wearing moving works of art. But I don't think they would suit me; I think I might prefer dragonfly wings. Those can go in any direction and up close they look like stained glass windows, reflecting light.
Clearly this question captured my imagination. As children's conversations often do, even though to them it is as normal as reflecting on what they want to eat for dinner. It has occurred to me that the reverse it true as well. What interesting, horrifying or amusing stories are the people in the back seat gleaning from our conversations up front? With earbuds firmly inserted in teen ears it is possible that their music isn't as loud as we may assume, or even turned off altogether. Are they picking up facts and opinions that normally would be reserved for older conversations? And if it inspires them to think in new ways, is there anything wrong with that?
Monday, May 7, 2012
On the Rocks
There's a place on the ocean that we go to that is stunning, even by coast-of-Maine standards. I actually already wrote a blog post about it called "Building Cairns" which somehow was erased and I was unable to retrieve it or recreate it. A shame because I was happy with it, but I suppose it was not meant to be. I've tried to rewrite it several times over the past month. Like a love letter that never gets sent because the wording isn't adequate for the emotions, line by line these attempts have been deleted.
Although it is only a short car drive from our house, it is like stepping into another world--the real world. The world where our mundane issues don't matter at all. The world as it was created, with nothing man made to interfere in the experience. I almost wrote "with nothing man made to spoil it" but that didn't feel right. There are many man made things that are beautiful and improve our quality of life but sometimes we need to strip it all away so that we can connect directly with nature and the energy that runs through it. It is a place that at once makes you feel vulnerable and empowered.
It is necessary to walk with care. The rocky terrain varies. Some of the rocks with their variegated layers look more like petrified wood than stone, with grain-like patterns. The jagged surfaces of these rocks are difficult to walk on and they can crumble beneath your weight. Other rocks look like giant dragon eggs, smooth and glimmering silver, the flecks mirroring the shimmering ocean just beyond. Through all of these are columns and slices of quartz pushing its way up. In the midst of these heavy rocks and boulders are smaller stones and pebbles. It is with these that people come and build cairns.
Cairns are towers made by stacking stones and are historically used to mark trails; help people stay on their path. They can also be made purely for artistic expression. Or just because. Sometimes I use it as a meditation. As I chose the stones for the base I think of ways that I'm building a foundation in my own life. I prefer to build mine up high and out of the way. From a vantage point of seeing the cairns in the chasm below. My youngest son, who is often jockeying for attention, situates himself in the middle, and tries to build the largest structure he can. An older one created a row of houses along the wall. A sort of horizontal cairn, and made me wonder if our impending move was coming out in his creation. One of the girls searched for signs of life in the little pools of water, while another did what I'm inclined to do--spread out and absorb the heat from the rocks. No matter what mood any one arrived in it is drastically improved before it is time to leave.
The purpose of cairns is to be relatively permanent so that adventures can make their way without getting lost. But in this spot the waves can knock down some of these markers. My path is not yet clear in my mind. I need to come across the right cairn to lead the way.
Although it is only a short car drive from our house, it is like stepping into another world--the real world. The world where our mundane issues don't matter at all. The world as it was created, with nothing man made to interfere in the experience. I almost wrote "with nothing man made to spoil it" but that didn't feel right. There are many man made things that are beautiful and improve our quality of life but sometimes we need to strip it all away so that we can connect directly with nature and the energy that runs through it. It is a place that at once makes you feel vulnerable and empowered.
It is necessary to walk with care. The rocky terrain varies. Some of the rocks with their variegated layers look more like petrified wood than stone, with grain-like patterns. The jagged surfaces of these rocks are difficult to walk on and they can crumble beneath your weight. Other rocks look like giant dragon eggs, smooth and glimmering silver, the flecks mirroring the shimmering ocean just beyond. Through all of these are columns and slices of quartz pushing its way up. In the midst of these heavy rocks and boulders are smaller stones and pebbles. It is with these that people come and build cairns.
Cairns are towers made by stacking stones and are historically used to mark trails; help people stay on their path. They can also be made purely for artistic expression. Or just because. Sometimes I use it as a meditation. As I chose the stones for the base I think of ways that I'm building a foundation in my own life. I prefer to build mine up high and out of the way. From a vantage point of seeing the cairns in the chasm below. My youngest son, who is often jockeying for attention, situates himself in the middle, and tries to build the largest structure he can. An older one created a row of houses along the wall. A sort of horizontal cairn, and made me wonder if our impending move was coming out in his creation. One of the girls searched for signs of life in the little pools of water, while another did what I'm inclined to do--spread out and absorb the heat from the rocks. No matter what mood any one arrived in it is drastically improved before it is time to leave.
The purpose of cairns is to be relatively permanent so that adventures can make their way without getting lost. But in this spot the waves can knock down some of these markers. My path is not yet clear in my mind. I need to come across the right cairn to lead the way.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
May Day
Today is May 1st. May Day. It is also the date that I was engaged, married and served with divorce papers. This used to be a date that I celebrated, and then a date that I avoided thinking about. Now it is pretty much just another number in the calendar. Back when things were still pretty good I thought it was ironic to get married on May Day, which in addition to being an ancient pagan holiday of fertility often manifesting in promiscuity, it is also a distress call for vessels in peril at sea.
When I was newly divorced it felt a bit like being stranded at sea on a raft with my sons, not sure what direction to paddle in, all the while yachts filled with "complete" families sailed by with a sense of purpose and belonging. The worst was a day at Hershey Park, where it seemed like we were the only people there without both parents. The only ones not experiencing the park the way that it was intended, as a family adventure. I still felt like their mother but I didn't feel that we were "a family." As we've all grown in the past few years my sons and I have seemed to have filled that hole with new experiences, inside jokes and trust. I think I could confidently take them to a theme park at this time and not feel like they've been cheated of a family experience. However I won't get on the Tower of Terror with them.
I've been thinking about relationships a lot lately; particularly what constitutes a family. I think in reality the boundaries are a lot looser than the definition of family used to determine insurance benefits. I've been in a relationship for 3 years and while I usually refer to Scott as "my boyfriend" it does not seem to fit. Neither does "partner" or the "person I'm dating" because we are more than that. We don't live together but it still feels like we are sharing our lives together. So what is that called, and why do I care?
My grandfather died a few years ago within the same week of another woman that I had known only for a weekend. I took the news of Granddad's death matter-a-factly, whereas I weeped for Lois. Not that I didn't care about my grandfather, he was a smily, gregarious man who loved to dance and drink Manhattans. He dated a handful of women all with the same name, Gertrude I think, and repeated everything. He'd say the same sentence over and over, only changing a word or two and switching which syllable he stressed. He wore novelty ties and sock suspenders. Quite a character that man was. But he didn't touch my heart, and Lois in a few short days at a women's retreat did. And many other people have touched it as well, making it feel like I have a very large family indeed. There is no need to call mayday.
When I was newly divorced it felt a bit like being stranded at sea on a raft with my sons, not sure what direction to paddle in, all the while yachts filled with "complete" families sailed by with a sense of purpose and belonging. The worst was a day at Hershey Park, where it seemed like we were the only people there without both parents. The only ones not experiencing the park the way that it was intended, as a family adventure. I still felt like their mother but I didn't feel that we were "a family." As we've all grown in the past few years my sons and I have seemed to have filled that hole with new experiences, inside jokes and trust. I think I could confidently take them to a theme park at this time and not feel like they've been cheated of a family experience. However I won't get on the Tower of Terror with them.
I've been thinking about relationships a lot lately; particularly what constitutes a family. I think in reality the boundaries are a lot looser than the definition of family used to determine insurance benefits. I've been in a relationship for 3 years and while I usually refer to Scott as "my boyfriend" it does not seem to fit. Neither does "partner" or the "person I'm dating" because we are more than that. We don't live together but it still feels like we are sharing our lives together. So what is that called, and why do I care?
My grandfather died a few years ago within the same week of another woman that I had known only for a weekend. I took the news of Granddad's death matter-a-factly, whereas I weeped for Lois. Not that I didn't care about my grandfather, he was a smily, gregarious man who loved to dance and drink Manhattans. He dated a handful of women all with the same name, Gertrude I think, and repeated everything. He'd say the same sentence over and over, only changing a word or two and switching which syllable he stressed. He wore novelty ties and sock suspenders. Quite a character that man was. But he didn't touch my heart, and Lois in a few short days at a women's retreat did. And many other people have touched it as well, making it feel like I have a very large family indeed. There is no need to call mayday.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Play Acting
"We are not our stories" one of my teachers reminded me recently. It is a lesson that I can't seem to commit to memory, much like the 9 times tables or how to conjugate irregular French verbs. Troubles and triumphs play out during life on Earth in these sometimes awkward, limited bodies. They are our stories, but they aren't who we are, no matter how far the drama sucks us in. The stories that we choose to engage in are theatrical plays and we are the actors. We choose the roles because they speak to us, entertain and inform us, or they just happen to be the only paying gig in town at the moment. But behind the curtain we are mentally taking notes. What works in this scene and what doesn't? How should I do it differently the next time?
When I'm into a book or television series I get so absorbed in that world that when I emerge from my room and speak to someone it comes out in the cadence of the characters. Garbled Gaelic when reading the Outlander books, medieval rhyming with the Mists of Avalon, using the annoying fake curse "frak" from Battlestar Galactica. Unintentionally, thankfully temporarily, putting on a new persona. These moments of slipping into someone else are no more who I am than the person I am when I rant about a work annoyance, or worry about every little hurt my kids while encounter. We may feel like the sum of our stories, what we do, say and think is who we are. Sometimes these stories feel so important to us that we feel compelled to share them, spend hours word-smithing the text to make the story seem as interesting and relevant as possible.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Up a Tree
With long thin but deceptively strong limbs my youngest son is a natural climber. A monkey even. The rest of us aren't as comfortable up in the trees. My three sons and I had the opportunity to piggyback onto a high ropes course challenge that a bunch of girl scouts were doing. I was pretty impressed that these girls aged 10 to 16 would face this climbing challenge and zip line ride--I certainly wouldn't have as a young girl. I didn't even really want to do it as a grown woman, but sometimes you should do things just because you don't want to do it. I'm not sure why my two eldest agreed to do it, I'm making a mental note to ask them tomorrow. I do know at least one of them does not feel the need to do that ever again. Fair enough.
I wouldn't say that this was about "conquering" a fear of heights for me because I did a high ropes course a few years ago, and I faced that fear then. I wouldn't say it was conquered though. Approached, perhaps. I wanted to do it again to be able to acknowledge and actively neutralize the fear. Feel the fear and be able to act anyway. Climbing the first tree by grasping U-shaped spikes I was temporarily paralysed by doubt that I could continue. The pegs seemed so far apart, I couldn't imagine how my children had managed. This was not as easy as I thought it would be so with a burst of will, I resigned myself to pushing through. This required many deep breaths. After making my way across a tightrope which seemed to last an eternity but the video proved it was only about 2 minutes, I was at the perch ready to take off through the sunlight dappled Sycamore trees on the zip line. In the past letting go was the terrifying part. Trusting. But not this time. I felt like an owl soaring through her territory, at home and free.
I wouldn't say that this was about "conquering" a fear of heights for me because I did a high ropes course a few years ago, and I faced that fear then. I wouldn't say it was conquered though. Approached, perhaps. I wanted to do it again to be able to acknowledge and actively neutralize the fear. Feel the fear and be able to act anyway. Climbing the first tree by grasping U-shaped spikes I was temporarily paralysed by doubt that I could continue. The pegs seemed so far apart, I couldn't imagine how my children had managed. This was not as easy as I thought it would be so with a burst of will, I resigned myself to pushing through. This required many deep breaths. After making my way across a tightrope which seemed to last an eternity but the video proved it was only about 2 minutes, I was at the perch ready to take off through the sunlight dappled Sycamore trees on the zip line. In the past letting go was the terrifying part. Trusting. But not this time. I felt like an owl soaring through her territory, at home and free.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)