CLIMB ON

As conditioned as military families are to look steadfastly forward, it is at times when change is imminent when this military spouse tends to dig my emotional heels in and duck; in a metaphorical refusal to take the next step — a climber who can't stop looking at the ground, which impedes the purpose.

Sort of like when young children don’t want to go somewhere (no matter where that where might be) — they tend to hold on to their parent with dear life. Extracting them takes gentle and sometimes extreme measures of force.

That’s how I feel.

For surely, come the new year, the Greszlers will find out what the near future holds, and it involves a move — somewhere. Whenever that happens, no matter how frustrated I am with the oven that never quite works, or the windows, which seep all weather through the year, everything takes on new significance.

Change is hard, no matter how schooled we are in executing it.

It’s cyclical. It takes a year to gain one’s bearings, find doctors, make the latest location into one’s own; another year to get involved; and maybe one more to really feel part of the community. Three years is just long enough to grow roots. Not the shallow ones, which are easily removed with one tug, but the ones with supporting anchors, which take a bit more force to uproot.

I’m on that cusp between holding on and letting go.

Friends and community are so important. And while we maintain connections with friends the world over, it is those people who play roles in our daily lives, who hold immediate significance. It’s hard to look past that — over the cliff of change.

Once you let go and begin the slide down, everything sort of slips into this single lense, long-range focus. Forward looking sometimes gives me tunnel vision. It becomes more difficult for me to see what’s going on in the periphery of life.

I hope recognizing this somehow helps me balance on the precipice between now and then.

Wayward Weather

It’s raining today. Whenever I wake up and hear the tell-tale sounds, I wonder about my day. Somehow — for me anyway, the rain changes the dynamic.

Maybe the agenda of the day doesn’t need to take the pre-plotted route my ICal has mapped out for me.

Maybe I should cancel any unnecessary commitments and re-read the last Harry Potter before the movie comes out in a few weeks; or paint a chair; or try and nail that guitar riff I’ve been working on forever.

Somehow the rain gives me license to map out a different day. I don’t know why. But I like it.

VIP

Very important — use your favorite “p” word to fill in the blank. Get creative. Don’t stop at the obvious. See what you come up with...

...but while you're answering the question, "Who/what is a VIP — a very important person; able to take the exclusive top spot," do you ever answer it with, "Me."?

I was watching a documentary on yoga the other night called “Enlighten Up.” The documentarian, Kate Churchill, poked around at the myriad of yoga practices both in the United States and at the worldwide root, asking many of the questions that’ve been rattling around in my head.

Such as, “when did the practice of yoga begin?”

It was amusing the random answers given by different yoga instructors. I’m still not sure there’s a definite or at least widely-accepted one.

But I got a few things out of my time spent viewing.

One of them was this: I’m a very important person, not that's easy for me to say — or write. Whether I’m liked or not liked, I’m still the same very important person.

I like that thought, and want to pass it on.

It came in handy this week as I was coaching my 10 & under swimmers. One of them is having a particularly difficult time transitioning from being “one in the crowd” of summer swim, able to goof off at will, and suddenly being on the opposite end of my focus for an hour, twice a week, swimming for one of the top clubs in the country. It's "GO" time. He doesn’t like it.

I’ve been thinking a lot about him. I hope I have the opportunity to convey to him how important he is to me. So important, in fact, that for that one hour twice a week, he and his lane co-horts have my undivided attentions and total focus. They are my VIPs.

So all this led me to my children's book shelf, where there’s a work written and illustrated by Jon Muth called The Three Questions. It’s based on the teachings of Tolstoy and focuses on a little boy who wants to know:

“When is the best time to do things?”

“Who is the most important one?” and,

“What is the right thing to do?”

I thought of both the yoga movie and this book when I was coaching last night, and this boy completely broke down in anger and frustration when I made him come back to the wall to correct a stroke drill and to start over. He refused to finish practice. I'm trying to work through the feelings that I failed him.

I don’t know if there’s any best way to convey how important he is to me during the hour we have together; so much so that I expect the best out of him, and me.

I also don’t know if we ever really get good at answering those three questions and living compassionately in the moment; understanding how important we our to ourselves.We deserve nothing less than the best we have to give. Every hour.

SELF CONTAINED

LITTLE BOXES

"little boxes on the hillside
little boxes made of ticky tacky
little boxes on the hillside

little boxes all the same" 

...“Are you happy with the box you’ve placed YOURSELF in?” my friend asked me today over coffee.

I was rambling on about boxes and how I didn’t like the pre-folded ones that come with most stereotypes. So she challenged me with this question. I love that.

I get all twisted up over classification boxes often used to describe a larger group of individuals, because it’s difficult to fit anyone REAL in those pre-fabs. They’re usually too narrow — or just the opposite: overly roomy; made for way too many over-generalizations.

No one person would fit comfortably in any of those without banging around; knocking into all the pre (ill?)-conceived notions, let alone entire nations. We see this played out today with devastating clarity, as we watch current events unfold. 

It is difficult to process, when you find yourself/your country placed into a crate of misunderstanding and hatred so big, the issue becomes about the box itself — you, lost somewhere inside trying to get out.

Yet I find all day long we either are steered or walk on our own volition into these wide-sweeping categorizations. It makes me uncomfortable when I find myself being encapsulated or me being the "encapsulater." Don’t do that — in either case.

As the election looms, I'll jet out and declare my position — I don’t like the wide sweeping inclusions with the words “Republican,” or “Democrat.” I find values in either to which I relate, and many things in both to which I don’t. (Yet the term “Independent” seems too vague.). I believe in the structure our founding fathers created, and in the notion of balance. I try to navigate through all the noise to find that for myself. 

When I watch two major parties  desecrate each other in an attempt to place their weighty box on top in a power struggle, I wonder which one will get there, and think one or both is bound to topple, and take my individuality with it. I do believe strongly the answer rests in the great variety of we, the people. Not in any one person, or leader.

With all my misgivings about boxes,  I didn't respond directly to the question my friend posed — at first. I drifted off into an entire MAZE  of box-related analogies. Eventually (after changing the subject as a tactic to allow myself time to think) I rejoined her with something like this:

“I guess I like the box I made for myself right now, but ask me again in a few years. My box just may look different then.”

(P.S. My husband’s response to this post was typically rational; providing a perspective balancer to my often tippy canoe. He pointed out that stereotypes, while often broad-reaching and damaging, aren't ALL necessarily bad, or dangerous. They are a way to process and filter; while still being able to function and move forward. Food for thought.)

DAY DREAMS

If we don’t actively pursue our dreams, where do they go?

Do they dissipate, or do they simply morph. Or are they shelved somewhere in our psyche, so that if we were to really go looking, we would find them again. Dust them off. Put them back onto the shelf to once again consider.

Is the answer, “ALL OF THE ABOVE?”

Dreams, like clouds, float along across our life’s sky. At times we can see the shape of them. Other times, they turn against us, and we get wet or knocked in between the eyes with big, hard, “Snap out of it, you idiot” ball of hail.

Perhaps we wake up one day and feel the heavy fog of them lingering from visiting us in our sleep. They still feel real, if only for a moment.

Or maybe they’re shadows. Depending on the time of our lives, they are either ahead of us leading the way or trailing behind, as we struggle to pull them along, long or short in stature.

I challenge you to visit one dream, wherever it is. You kept it close for a while, but put away for safe keeping. Is it still there? Can you see it? Does it need to come out and play?

Maybe today’s the day.

THANKS, ARTIE

Signals. Sometimes I miss them, or it takes two our three iterations before I take notice. It happens. We’re all busy; distracted by our daily dozen lists — a dozen loads of laundry; bills to pay; places to be at once.

So when someone pops into my thoughts with whom I haven’t communicated in a while, it takes me a minute, or even a second (third?) prompt to act on my impulse — to pick up the phone and say, “Hi;” or to write a quick e-mail.

In fact, I’m really good at thinking of the top ten reasons to NOT pick up the phone or send the e-mail. I can be really awkward, or again, distracted. And then I feel badly because the conversation might not go the way I imagined.

I guess the same goes for interfacing in person.

Not all conversations end well. That was a particularly poignant statement a former employer of mine

made to me. Not all conversations end well. That’s tough for me to swallow, but I think I’ve finally come to terms with it.

Which makes it easier, I guess, to reach out and begin a conversation, even if I’m uncertain of the outcome.

I’ve had a lot of discussions this week. I guess more than usual, otherwise maybe I wouldn’t have noticed or thought so much about them. It’s been one of those weeks.

Every conversation is an opportunity to make connections — new ones, old ones, broken ones. Whatever the case, conversations are a worthwhile pastime, though not always easy. And not always fun.

So don’t shy away. Go ahead. Make eye contact. Connect. Be heard. Ask the question. What you have to say may just make a difference in someone’s life, their day, or maybe even your own.

I hope you're well. Write back. I'd love to hear from you.

FALLING WITH GRACE

Fall’s here, and I LIKE it. I wake up with new purpose and more viv. Somehow marking the end of summer doesn’t make me sad. It makes me feel more ENERGIZED.

I know I’m not alone here. There was a poll on CBS SUNDAY last week, and many, especially parents, celebrate this season. It centers around a return to school for the kids, cooler weather and all things colorful and good tasting; not necessarily in that order. This year I’ve added the new TV season into my cause for anticipation. I actually look forward to a couple of shows (which is not the usually the case), and they’re all racked and stacked in my DVR list.

WEEDS returned. So I finally sucked it up and subscribed to Showtime to see the series first run, instead of waiting for the freebies on Netflix. I burned through all six seasons that way late last winter. The show’s writers seem particularly skilled at taking stereotypes on a rollercoaster ride through twists and turns. And the actors take it all the way to a ridiculously funny, black tunnel kind of a full tilt boogie.

I wonder, though, if this is the season it “jumps the shark.” My husband uses this phrase to describe a program one season past its prime. It’s a reference to an episode of HAPPY DAYS when you just knew it was over. Fonzie literally jumped a shark. It’s a perfect way to swiftly sum that affliction up.

For me the surprise hit of the season is THE BIG C with Laura Linney. I guess I worked in theater just long enough to feel compelled to search out the good roles and appreciate them when they come around. She’s amazing in this one. I imagine if acting was my craft, I’d die for this role. But that’s just it.

It’s about dying — and knowing it. So this perplexes me.

I watched it last night and found myself completely supporting and celebrating Kathy’s (Linney’s character) erratic behavior; sort of yearning myself to act it out, figuratively or maybe literally. She does and says all the things you think about doing and saying but decide otherwise for a variety of reasons. And I keep wondering, why do we wait until our life is fading fast to let it all out?

I’m not sure. And I’m not sure how my friends who have been through “The big C” or something similar feel about this show. Some of them aren’t here to respond. So I’m left wondering if any of this is valid to their experience. I lost a dear friend a while ago to a very quick and ultimately lethal bout of cancer. I’m not sure she had any time to revel.

We lived overseas at the time. I learned and experienced her illness through e-mail. My husband was deployed, and I’d just had my third child. My baby didn’t yet have a passport. I didn’t make it back, and I really didn’t get to say goodbye. It happened so quickly. I visited her husband and family later that year.

I wonder if my friend Jen had any time to reflect and work it all out, like this character does; ordering just dessert and drinks for dinner. I know she worked on sort of a reference book for her children to remember her by. She also had a hat party when she lost her hair. Jen left life with the same grace by which she lived it. And she planned everything.

My dad’s passing wasn’t so swift, and I’ve come to believe he got lost in this illness. Or we stopped seeing him through it. This I will regret forever. And there are others. Some had no time to reflect, let alone acknowledge the end of their life.

Maybe that’s way I’m so intrigued by the show. It’s a way to remember loved ones lost. I’d like to think they had moments of total, uninhibited release. It also makes me wonder how I might behave, given the same fate.

Of course, if we all tossed our inhibitions to the wind, we’d lose our sense of order. Or would we? And maybe if we just explored this a little now while we're here indefinitely, we’d all feel just a little bit more alive this season, as well as the next...