In the last year, I've had to accept many things I didn't want to accept. The dissolve of my marriage, the end of old friendships, the inevitable march of age across my face and body, the sad fact that I cannot help students who will not help themselves. So many things.
I fought accepting some of these things for a very long time. For years, in one case, because I didn't want to be someone who had given up, given in, failed. But now, at the end of another year, I am coming to realize that accepting the things that we cannot change--cliche as it may be--might be the only thing that separates us from the wild kingdom that, on instinct, fights change to the death.
Gretel Ehrlich wrote, "to be tough is to be fragile; to be tender is to be truly fierce." This concept has been foreign to me until this year. I used to think showing any vulnerability or fragility was akin to weakness and, in order to be taken seriously, I needed the world to see me as confident, capable, and without need of help. My mom once said that I try so hard to make the world see me as strong when in reality I'm a pretty fragile girl. She's right.
I've been thinking a lot about what others think of me. I try not to let the rest of the population define or influence who I am or how I feel about myself, but the end of the year is a time for reflection and, well, I guess that's where I am. It occurred to me the other day that a large number of the people I've known throughout my life know two versions of me: snarky, loud, and opinionated or dramatically loud and opinionated. It's an easy role to play when you don't want anyone to know how hurt or scared you really are. But, I don't want to live in that costume anymore. And this year, I've made a real concentrated effort to be my most authentic self as much as I can.
I'm telling the truth more, mostly to myself, and I'm admitting when I need help. I'm accepting that the most honest fact of my life is that I am scared--often--of not having control, of things slipping out of my grasp, of being less than perfect, of not living up to my own expectations, of disappointing myself. I'm scared all the time, but the one emotion that always trumps that fear--these days--is joy. I am happy in my career (about which I am passionate to a fault), I am blessed with a loving family and the most supportive and brilliant friends, my students inspire me everyday, and I believe love will find me again someday. I am happy to be this self, this woman, this ongoing process and project. I accept that I'm not complete, that I may never know what that means, and after years of fighting that, I'm at peace in a way I haven't been before.
If this blog post had a soundtrack, it'd probably be this song:
30 December 2010
28 December 2010
Sing...Sing a Song...
In another life, I was a singer. A number of people from my childhood know this about me, but most people I meet now have no idea. I haven't been that girl in a very long time. But, Sunday night, I channeled Henry Miller, and I sang in front of an audience by myself for the first time in over ten years for the 5th annual Love, Chloe Foundation Benefit at the Paramount Bar in Salina, KS.
It was scary, it was nerve wracking, and it was immeasurably good for me. In 2011, I'm going to keep scaring myself...it seems to be working for me.
It was scary, it was nerve wracking, and it was immeasurably good for me. In 2011, I'm going to keep scaring myself...it seems to be working for me.
25 December 2010
Merry & Bright
There is no more perfect reminder of what Christmas is all about than a child. This is my reminder.
20 December 2010
Welcome to the Jungle
The title of this post comes from my favorite song to skate to at the skating rink--yes, you heard right. A few months back, I got to skate to it for the first time since I was fourteen--that's 20 years, y'all--and it was a party.
Here's Jason and I before the wheels hit the floor (thanks to Jamie for the picture :)
15 December 2010
Simpler Days
I have always loved the holidays. People seem to be nicer, somehow, this time of year. I like the magic of soft lighting brought on by small white bulbs on the Christmas tree. I like hot tea on cold days. I like curling up with a blanket in the corner of the couch or in an oversized chair with a bad holiday movie or a really good book. I like the crackle of my fireplace--even if it is a fake one on the wall. And I like holding hands in the car while driving around to look at Christmas lights.
I can manage most of those things on my own, but that last one, well...I don't know exactly how hard this Christmas will be for me. I can tell you that the good man I married is now my friend, something we really weren't before we were a couple, but, even the right decisions have painful ripples, and this time of year I am feeling those waves pretty intently.
So, in an effort to combat those rolling tides, I'm trying to remind myself of simpler days, happier moments, the pure joy of Christmas I knew as a little girl.
My grandmother made my dress and my brother's shirt, pants, and vest. How cute are we? I think this is 1980, and the one below is, I think, 1982. Note my mom's amazing feathered bangs.
I can manage most of those things on my own, but that last one, well...I don't know exactly how hard this Christmas will be for me. I can tell you that the good man I married is now my friend, something we really weren't before we were a couple, but, even the right decisions have painful ripples, and this time of year I am feeling those waves pretty intently.
So, in an effort to combat those rolling tides, I'm trying to remind myself of simpler days, happier moments, the pure joy of Christmas I knew as a little girl.
13 December 2010
For Emily
Today, without warning, I was taught a lesson. In a crowded art room, surrounded by supportive parents, friends, and faculty members, a student I have never actually had in a class presented her end of the semester review and, in that room, I was moved to tears by the things she had written, the art she had made, borne from a need, she said, to immerse herself in the process, to see the thing created.
Part of her work was tribute to a recently lost relative, part was catharsis over a recently ended relationship, and part--the most moving part--was a bare and honest capturing of the moments that she sees as defining for who she is, has been, and is on her way to becoming.
All of this at 18.
Emily is not the kind of girl you imagine cheering in the stands at a sporting event. She wears black glasses, fabulous old jackets, a great collection of boots, and she has a soul wise not only beyond her chronological years but possibly wise beyond mine. In her work and explanations, I heard the bravery of a self I have tried so hard to cultivate, I saw the same questions being asked and tentatively answered--who am I?--what does this all mean?--how do I matter?--where do I go from here?
These are not question relegated to adolescence, but it occurs to me that, as adults, we often hide behind this mask of total capability, complete control, the illusion that we have all the answers, and that once you reach some arbitrary age, you can have them all, too. It is so very sad, this lie that we perform under the guise of being a grown up, that somehow we are less afraid, less questioning than the people born after us.
I recently answered the Pivot questionnaire that James Lipton uses as the end of Inside the Actor's Studio. One question asks, "What is your least favorite word?" I knew my answer immediately. Wait. I hate all that that word implies. I hate waiting on people from my years of food service, I hate the notion that women must to wait on men, but most of all I cannot stand the way adults tell children to "wait until you're older." What a crock. We often say "wait" because the question asked or situation presented is simply too difficult for us to navigate at the time, so we build an illusory world in which the answer or outcome will be more desirable if we simply...wait. But believing things will change simply by waiting, or that answers will come or that understanding and acceptance or action will suddenly spring up from a void is silly and irresponsible. [I'm not selling patience short, mind you. There's something to be said for it, but not when patience is meant to yield an answer that action or conversation could achieve far more readily]
So, today, with a great deal of gratitude to Emily for her artwork and her fearlessness, I'd like to be brave enough to say that we, adults, have been lying to you, younger generation. We know no more than you do, we've just had more experiences, and in a lot of ways, that greater depth of knowledge has scared us more and caused us to ask more questions. But, and this is important so pay attention, not having all the answers is not only okay--for the really intelligent among us--it's a more exciting and invigorating way to live.
What could I learn if I knew everything? What would I ever find inspiring or beautiful or new? What amazing thing ever happened because someone was feeling particularly contented?
The biggest lie is that being afraid is a bad thing, that fear should be repressed or hidden. It's not only okay to be scared, it's necessary if you have any hope of living an examined life.
So, I'm going to try to be more like Emily, to be brave enough to tell the truth, to show the world that while I may not yet know who I am, I'm okay with the process of finding out.
Part of her work was tribute to a recently lost relative, part was catharsis over a recently ended relationship, and part--the most moving part--was a bare and honest capturing of the moments that she sees as defining for who she is, has been, and is on her way to becoming.
All of this at 18.
Emily is not the kind of girl you imagine cheering in the stands at a sporting event. She wears black glasses, fabulous old jackets, a great collection of boots, and she has a soul wise not only beyond her chronological years but possibly wise beyond mine. In her work and explanations, I heard the bravery of a self I have tried so hard to cultivate, I saw the same questions being asked and tentatively answered--who am I?--what does this all mean?--how do I matter?--where do I go from here?
These are not question relegated to adolescence, but it occurs to me that, as adults, we often hide behind this mask of total capability, complete control, the illusion that we have all the answers, and that once you reach some arbitrary age, you can have them all, too. It is so very sad, this lie that we perform under the guise of being a grown up, that somehow we are less afraid, less questioning than the people born after us.
I recently answered the Pivot questionnaire that James Lipton uses as the end of Inside the Actor's Studio. One question asks, "What is your least favorite word?" I knew my answer immediately. Wait. I hate all that that word implies. I hate waiting on people from my years of food service, I hate the notion that women must to wait on men, but most of all I cannot stand the way adults tell children to "wait until you're older." What a crock. We often say "wait" because the question asked or situation presented is simply too difficult for us to navigate at the time, so we build an illusory world in which the answer or outcome will be more desirable if we simply...wait. But believing things will change simply by waiting, or that answers will come or that understanding and acceptance or action will suddenly spring up from a void is silly and irresponsible. [I'm not selling patience short, mind you. There's something to be said for it, but not when patience is meant to yield an answer that action or conversation could achieve far more readily]
So, today, with a great deal of gratitude to Emily for her artwork and her fearlessness, I'd like to be brave enough to say that we, adults, have been lying to you, younger generation. We know no more than you do, we've just had more experiences, and in a lot of ways, that greater depth of knowledge has scared us more and caused us to ask more questions. But, and this is important so pay attention, not having all the answers is not only okay--for the really intelligent among us--it's a more exciting and invigorating way to live.
What could I learn if I knew everything? What would I ever find inspiring or beautiful or new? What amazing thing ever happened because someone was feeling particularly contented?
The biggest lie is that being afraid is a bad thing, that fear should be repressed or hidden. It's not only okay to be scared, it's necessary if you have any hope of living an examined life.
So, I'm going to try to be more like Emily, to be brave enough to tell the truth, to show the world that while I may not yet know who I am, I'm okay with the process of finding out.
12 December 2010
Home is Wherever I'm Alone With You
His tank top makes me cold, but everything else about this makes me warms and fuzzy.
04 December 2010
Just Another Day in Dublin...
Outside some stores last Christmas Eve in Dublin, Glen Hansard, Bono, and Damie Rice decided to do a little busking--brilliant:
From Now On...
From now on, I should only be photographed beneath a drum light on a brick wall in old buildings. The photographer must be my good friend and must have a knowledge of iphone camera filters. Here's the proof:
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