Vivid Living

In my previous entry, I humbly acknowledged two left feet when it comes to technology.  Case in point: last night while trying to ramp up my Linked In connections I thought I was being quite clever by uploading and then drawing from my 285 gmail contacts.  Naturally, I hadn’t intended to invite my 97-year-old aunt Helen, but I did, along with all the other 284 people, too, some of whom have already sent obvious replies like “I steer clear of social media.”  But for the most part, the mistake proved to be a good one as I’ve made some surprising connections this morning, and who knows what’s yet to come.

In an effort to be kinder towards myself, I laughed off the incident.  After all, diving into social media was a goal I set in 2009 that I’m largely meeting.   No, I’m not yet on Twitter or Digg or Delicious or Buzz Up! (whatever the heck that is), but, aside from this blog and Linked In, you can now catch me on Facebook, where I’ve joined some 43 million other Americans . 

My adventures with technology have me thinking more broadly about goals, and how the process of moving towards our goals is just as important, I now see, as reaching them.   Some time ago in New York City I studied black and white photography.  Though I was only an advanced beginner in my prime, somehow I got it in my head that I should master the Zone System, yeah the same one that the great Ansel Adams perfected.  I wonder if I might have stuck with the craft longer had I worried less about perfection and more about simply enjoying the process of shooting images pleasing to my eye.

It’s with this new, gentler mindset that I approach another goal – improving my cardiovascular endurance.  Yes, I’m the woman sipping coffee and reading my book while pedaling oh so slowly on the stationery lifecycle.  I’m blessed with a good metabolism and I don’t diet, but even so, I’m a bit “woo woo” over all the research indicating that aerobic activity is important for your brain function.   As I venture forward, I’m going to think of Maddie, my surrogate daughter, who just landed a spot on the Varsity Cross County team at East High School.   Something I did for a whopping two weeks when I was in high school until a friend and I got busted while ditching the team and camping out at McDonalds.

Because I want to stay sharp and fit for years to come, I’m setting a goal of pushing myself.  I’m trading in the lifecycle for the stairmaster and yes, I’m going to run once in awhile, maybe even with Maddie.  Even if it means breaking a sweat.

 A few days ago while at work, a friendly young man came to set up a printer.  This was James’ second visit.  The previous afternoon he analyzed the problem: “the thing’s busted,” he tells me, his arms crossing his chest in apology.  Eager to please, James actually installed the new printer without my knowing it.  He strode into the conference room where I sat helping a colleague fold campaign pamphlets for a large mailing. “You’re good to go Nancy,” he announces with puckish pride.

Because the simplest technology intimidates me, I decided to head back to my office with James to test the printer myself.  Sure enough, it stalled.  As he began to tinker with the settings, I felt I should make polite conversation. “Where are you from?” I asked, curious about his accent. 

“Scotland,” he answers. I tried to picture him in a plaid kilt but couldn’t.

A relative newcomer to Denver, I wanted to know what brought him here.  “A woman,” he says heavily, his eyes darting down at the floor.  Obviously, James had “a story” and he told it to me quickly.  “My family disowned me because I left our small village of Ardrossan.  It’s a cardinal sin to leave a place like that but I wanted more. I met a woman here in the U.S. and we were married for eight years before she dumped me on my 40^th birthday.”

Gulp!

 “Are you sure your parents have disowned you?” I asked in a soft voice. It seemed incredulous to me.

“I called my mum to tell her we separated and she said, I told you so.”

Hmmm.  Not your everyday corporate chatter.

I looked at James and felt a rush of sorrow for this young man who left his family and homeland to make a new life here in Colorado.  Things didn’t work according to his plan (it happens, we all know), so he now stands alone. I cannot begin to understand parents turning their backs on children who want to claim a different life.  What if my parents shunned me after I left the East Coast for Denver three years ago? The answer would unleash a whole lot of “I wouldn’t have’s”…starting with I wouldn’t have met my husband and found a life partner whom I love and adore and who loves and adores me and my young children. I can’t imagine not living near these gorgeous mountains any easier than I can visualize staying stuck in New York, which is the way it felt.

Here’s what I really think: with all the random, awful things that can and will crop up in life, why allow space for misunderstandings to divide those that we love?  Every family has its darkness and no doubt, some situations shouldn’t be trespassed upon. But for the most part, I think choosing differently frees us.

“James, you be the big one here,” I encouraged him in motherly fashion.  “Life is too short to waste living regretfully.”

He’s thinking about making a surprise visit to see his family over Christmas. He hasn’t seen them in 10 years.   “If my mum sees me in person, she’ll have a harder time turning me away,” says James.

I hope he makes the trip.

Regardless, I’m glad he gave me his direct line for technical support. I’ll need it.

I’m writing a memoir, a very humbling experience. Actually, my hubby and I are co-writing the book in alternating voices.  Stay tuned. 

As I plunge into this project, I’m struck by just how intricate and layered the craft of writing is, particularly in memoir, which is all about revelation.  I’m reading Sue William Silverman’s Fearless Confessions: A Writer’s Guide to Memoir.  Sue is a gifted author and teacher who prods writers to “keep peeling away those layers, like an onion, until you do discover the deeper layers of self and experience.” 

For me, roses offer the same analogy. Complex and layered, they reveal themselves more with each petal shed.

All of this has me thinking about the many layers in my life. In no particular order, I’m a woman, wife, mother, daughter, friend, writer, professional and student.  Each of these prescribed roles spawns new petals – the flowers of family, friends, community, and the commitments that bind us.  This blog is yet another layer.  

I’m all of these rich petals.

And yet, onions and roses…they make me think about what’s beneath the layers.

My new job is shaking things up a bit in our household. Working from home has been a godsend to me these past several years for the obvious reason:  flexibility and control over my schedule.   As a single mom until recently, it meant the world to my children (and me) that I was there to pick them up from school and volunteer in their classrooms mid-day.  My twins have wanted to sit alongside me while doing homework and to be able to hear and watch and help me cook dinner.  And I’ve loved these rituals, too.  The safety of their world fell apart after their dad died in 2004 but my steady presence bolstered their security, confidence and sense of belonging.

I still want to do all that I used to, but I can’t since now I have to be elsewhere.  Because I remarried a year ago  and have a willing partner, Steve picks the kids up from school on my work days.  Last week my son, Casey, accidentally tripped over the garbage can and dropped part of his lunch inside (don’t ask) and the teacher called Steve not me.  This is a first.  It’s also a first to have a partner stock up on groceries and make dinner twice weekly. I should clarify that Steve’s current job is getting a job, so that’s why he’s around to make dinner and for school emergencies like spilt lunches.

All this, of course, is good news, particularly the part about my having a steady, long-term assignment.  And yet, it’s been surprisingly hard for me to give up the old ways.  When I see Steve in the kitchen, there’s a part of me that feels he’s “invading my turf.”  No, he’s not pining to replace the marvelous Ina Garten and her Barefoot Contessa empire, and no, I don’t feel displaced. It’s just that letting go of these roles that framed my identity for eight years is taking some getting used to. 

But I’m learning.  I’m learning that I can still be a steady presence for my twins without needing to be physically present all the time.  I’m learning that I really like working offsite even if my daughter, Rebecca, self-combusts because I can’t attend her school picnic.  She’s a survivor and it’s actually essential for her to see her mother meeting other responsibilities. I’m learning to trust that my twins are in a fantastic place: they’re happy and well-adjusted and for the first time in their young lives they actually have a dad to “show off” at school.  Speaking of my new hubby, I’m learning that it’s really okay if he buys tomatoes that aren’t quite ripe.  I’m learning that marriage is a partnership in every way. 

What new waters are you dipping your toes into?

My sister-in-law, Marcy, celebrated her fourth wedding anniversary two days ago. Congratulations Marcy and Jaime!   The event, like any milestone, got me thinking about the passage of  time.

Four years ago: September 3, 2005.  Chief justice of the United States, William Rehnquist, died after a long battle with thyroid cancer and the nation was still reeling from the catastrophic destruction and loss of lives wrought by Hurricane Katrina http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hurricane_Katrina.  More personally, I was living in New York City with my four-year-old twins and had been widowed 19 months.  Yep,  I was still in my 30’s (okay, late 30’s).   I remember the day well.  Marcy picked out a long, black “va-va-voom” dress for me to wear.  She wanted me to look and feel good, and I have to admit, I got a lot of  continued mileage out of that babe-alicious dress in the years to come.   The wedding was held at Whitby Castle, a gorgeous outdoor mansion in Westchester County, New York.   Those of us in the bridal party decorated Jaime’s hunter green triumph – a car he built himself as a teenager – with bagels and empty cans of tomato sauce.  

Just Married!

The wedding for me was bittersweet.  Joyous, yes, because finally Marcy and Jaime walked down the aisle. And how wonderful it felt to celebrate a happy occasion after the anguish of the past six years.  Which leads me to the sad part: Brett, Marcy’s only sibling, died before seeing she and Jaime tie the knot.  No doubt, he was right there in spirit, smiling. 

I remember being pretty off-kilter that day.  My identity as a WIDOW felt branded like a black mark across my forehead and I wasn’t yet able to give myself permission to remove it.   No one else could read my insides, but to me, the mask was as visible as my stunning dress.  The loss still felt raw. And yet, enough time had passed for me to have the urge to feel alive again, to feel young and vital and attractive and hopeful.  I wanted to want a future.   Yes, I wanted to dance and flirt with the cute firefighters who were inappropriately young.   Thank goodness for The Black Eyed Peas – My Humps and its funky beat got my juices flowing again. 

Much has changed over these last four years.   Marcy and Jaime have a beautiful son, Brayden, who turns three this month. My twins and I are now living in Denver.  My children are eight years old and real people, no longer babies! I remarried.  I have two teenage stepsons. And far too many family members and family friends have died.  We can never replace lost loved ones; their absence looms large, always.  

I’m reminded of a favorite quote in my office from the Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood:  ”I will always love you, Vivi,” he said.  ”There is nothing you could ever do that would make me stop loving you.”  The words shot through Vivi’s bones and blood and muscle, and her body relaxed, so that when her feet touched the ground they met the earth differently, as though they had found roots that reached deep down and anchored to something tender and undamaged.

We’ve got to honor the passage of time and all that it holds. Whether that means being truthful, stoic, heroic, flippin’ mad, sad, ecstatic or tentative, embracing the markers in our lives allow us to live more completely.  Cheers!