Change of Pace

So, one of the things that I like about being a real adult (as opposed to the adult I imagined myself as growing up to be, although I think that adult indulged in complete self-absorbtion totally absent of income, responsibility or consequence) is that on occasion, when required or requested, I can alter the pace of my life just a bit for just a while.

And that's what I did today.

Today, I did almost nothing... short of eating (naturally), making a list of items to pack for my upcoming trip (lots more about that in future correspondence) and enjoying a couple of glasses of wine (oh my... in the middle of the day, no less).

And this I love. Nothing special is sometimes just a special as something special, if that makes sense. Yesterday I spent the day hanging out with my best girlfriends, laughing and talking and reminiscning and enjoying each other and today I am extending that luxury to another day of out-of-the-ordinary behaviour. Tomorrow, I will get back to work and from what I can see coming so far, things will be a little crazy for a little while.

But today, there is none of that. Today, there is just the sound of music in the background, pages of my favourite magazine turning and the unusual sound of what... what could that be???

The sound of squirrels duelling (or chatting or flirting) on my balcony.

I kid you not... How's that for a change of pace?

Hello, again

It feels like it’s been ages… well, it has been ages really.

I haven’t written anything lately for a few reasons and even as I sit here writing now, I’m not sure I can articulate with any real clarity what they are.

First, it’s summer and time seems to travel at a different pace in the summer… more slowly but more quickly at the same time. There’s no explaining it really except to say that I have, on several occasions, found myself being acutely aware of the incredible passing of time while noting a moment seeming to last longer than one could hope or dream. Does that make any sense at all? Probably not.

Second, I have been busy changing. And change takes time, effort and energy. By no means am I done but I certainly feel that I have turned a corner. An important one that without navigating, the hopes and dreams I held for myself would surely never come true.

As one of my true friends recently told me right here on this blog: “Sometimes, it is difficult to hear because of the noise of others. The noise is comprised of opinions, judgments, identifications, and criticisms of you. You must filter the noise to hear the truth.” And that’s what I have been working at doing. The funny thing is, that as I resigned myself to a future that I was welcoming of but thought to be less than what I had once hoped for, I found that everything I was seeking was right there in front of me. Go figure. Once I shut off the voices of doubt, judgment and disappointment, all the messages of hope and love and happiness were loud and clear. I thank you, my friend, for reminding me of that pure and wise message.

And so here I am… watching the few remaining days of summer pass by while I fill them with all things and people I love. I am excited and hope-filled. Who could ask for more?

“Change, when it comes, cracks everything open.”
Dorothy Allison

Buckle Up

A conversation I had with a coworker today got me thinking.

He was talking about his daughter celebrating her birthday today and somehow that led to a comparison of how our children live today in contrast to how we lived growing up. And that got me to thinking...

As far as I can tell, it's a miracle that any of us are still alive. We rode with no bike helmets, in cars with no seat belts, no car seats. For those who had parents with vans, take the seats out and sit on the floor so you can stretch out and play... even better. If they had a pick-up truck, well yee-haw, jump in back and let the wind sing to you for the ride. Our parents let us play in dirt all the live-long day and except for the obligatory before meals wash-up and end-of-day bath, we were never clean. We lived in rooms with lead paint, had mercury in our fillings, and I for one spent countless Christmas holidays driving to and from Florida with my two chain-smoking parents in the car... windows rolled up... without my seatbelt on. Not to mention the other 16 years in the smoke-filled house.

We left to "go outside and play" first thing in the morning, checked in at lunch (sometimes) and came home right after the street lights came on.

We didn't have cell phones, pagers, BlackBerrys or anything of that nature to check in with home or have them check in on us. If we were really lucky we had walkie-talkies that reached around the corner of the house on a good day with fresh batteries.

Look both ways before you cross the street... Don't talk to strangers.... As far as I can recall, those were the nuggets of safety-based wisdom that were drilled into us... Oh ya, and that wacky "don't do drugs" movie in grade seven health class that had those crazy kids thinking the burner on the stove was really a flower. That didn't end well.

And yet here we are... no worse for wear (well, maybe a little bit but really not much).

Knowing all we know now about the dangers that surround us, and what we used to "pull off" when we were younger, no wonder we've become so protective of our children and aware of our surroundings. How could we not be? I can't imagine, as a parent, not worrying constantly about my boys... and I know in their own ways, our parents worried constantly about us (although I'm not sure what about).

But oh how I loved having the whole day to fill with adventures.

The Other Side of Strength

Events in my life, from birth to recent history, have made me strong. They have challenged me to find within myself strength that upon recollection, I marvel that I was able to muster. This strength has natural side-effects; on the positive side, I am self-confident and assured with a clear knowledge of myself (although it has certainly come into question lately) and what I believe to be right and wrong for me. On the other side of that coin called strength are the less positive traits; stoic, aloof with and what I continue to struggle with, a complete inability to ask for help.

I began challenging this in myself after lunch date over a year ago with my eldest son. We meet regularly, me and my sons, in varying combinations. Rarely but exquisitely at times with all three, sometimes with girlfriends, sometimes only two and, like this occasion, sometimes I enjoy the company of one, allowing me precious time to really delve into his life.

On this date, conversation flowed from his current job (temporary but a good step forward for this young man), his love life (or the at-that-time lack there-of) and his brothers. As the separation of their parents became a long-term reality rather than a short-term solution, I wanted to know how he was dealing with this new normal. He, like any good son who loves his mother, told me that he wants his parents to be happy. That, of course, he would prefer us together but if apart made us happy, then he was happy too. I have amazing sons. For all the challenges they have presented over the years, they are blessings to me and I am thankful I am their mother.

I decided I would ask him for his observations of his brothers as they have gone through this transition; maybe, I thought, they had confided their thoughts to him and he could provide me some insight in how to best support them. “How are they doing, do you think?” I asked. His response shook me to the core. “We are all like you, Mom. We keep our feelings pretty close to our chests. They haven’t said anything.”

I was dumbfounded. I struggled to absorb the impact of his words; his analysis not only of his brothers’ management of this difficult time in their lives, but of my entire approach as a mother.

Suddenly being strong felt different. Suddenly it felt bad. I questioned every move I made as a parent. I know that I provided hugs, kisses and expressions of love and affection in abundance, but in my efforts to provide them a strong female role model had I, in fact, shown them how to stifle their own fears, sadness and disappointment? And what was I to do now?

I possess enough self-knowledge to know from where this stunted aspect of my personality comes. I was born to a young woman unsure of her desire to be a mother. She placed me in foster care while she attempted to sort out her life and her choices. In the two years in their care, I lived in four foster homes before my birth mother gave up all rights to me as her daughter. I was then adopted by a family with the picture-perfect mother, father and daughter; add me, one more for a well-rounded foursome. What the perfect picture didn’t show was an over-abundance of dysfunction and actions that left scars upon each one of us. All of this taught me, imprinted upon me, that the only person in this life I can depend on, is me. My lessons in strength started at the ripe old age of two weeks. I am a leopard, unable to change my spots. What I can do, what I must do, is learn, at this age, how to adapt myself in a way that acknowledges my shortcomings and attempts to fill in the gaps. I need to connect the spots.

I no more want to ask for help than I want to go one full season without getting new clothes. It’s just not me. And it’s not for the reasons you are probably thinking. It’s not because I don’t like to be dependent on others (although that is true); and it’s not because I’m worried they will say no (ok, that's also true). It is, quite simply, because if I am not strong, what am I? This is my persona that I have worked on, cultivated, had thrust upon me and finally learned to embrace and rely upon. How am I, the one that all of my friends refer to as the strong one, supposed to let that go and ask for help? If I am the strong one, who is strong enough to help me? And what kind of burden does that put on them?

I need to figure this out. I need to find the answer and get comfortable in that place so that I can show my sons that it is ok to be vulnerable, sad and scared (which I am) and it’s also ok to share that with people you trust (which I am not). I need to live the change. I need to connect the spots.

If not for me, for my boys. And that’s plenty reason enough.