Day 88

I am convinced that sometimes, certain people really are out to get me. OK, maybe it's not so much about me. Maybe they just want to elevate their own status. Maybe they only know one way to do that. In order to feel superior, they have to create a dynamic within which I am perceived as inferior. They get to be one up by knocking me down a few pegs. I am trying to learn to deal with these people without engaging in pissing matches.



I currently have a student in an online class who likes to send me little email reminders of my shortcomings as a teacher. I would like to respond with, "You arrogant little prick..." But somehow I do not think that this would be an effective way to teach him that in fact he is acting like an arrogant little prick.

Instead, I try to reflect back to him what I hear him saying, "It sounds like you think you know more about how to teach this class than I do...It sounds like you are frustrated with my teaching methods...It sounds like you have a lot of ideas about changes you would like to see in this class..." My hope is that I can serve as a mirror. Perhaps he will see that he is trying to one up me and that this is not an effective strategy for empowering himself. Or maybe he will continue to be an arrogant little prick.

Actually I know that he is not (an arrogant little prick). Name calling is my way of attacking back. When I really try to empathize, I see that he is probably someone who has been hurt by people in authority. He attacks because he is scared. How can I help him feel safe? I can try to be more transparent. I put all my cards on the table and communicate my intentions. Who knows, maybe we'll both learn a thing or two.

Day 87

The women's retreat I went to over the weekend is hosted by a group of women who have been meeting for 18 years. They always provide a safe place for any woman who wants to join them. I first started going to their retreats about 7 years ago when I was in a very difficult place in my life.

I was newly married and my partner was very sick. I was overwhelmed and filled with righteous self-pity; My first husband developed a chronic illness the first year we were married. There was a lot of "Why me?" I was flooded with grief over my lost dreams. It seemed to me that the joy just seeped from my life.

Lucinda Williams sings a song about joy with this refrain: "You took my joy and I want it back." For years I felt that way; I wanted my joy back. This weekend, at the retreat, I realized that I got my joy back. I'm not sure exactly when or why it happened. It took 7 long years of grieving but my joy returned.

At this point, I'm trying not to hold onto my joy too tightly.

Day 86

I just returned from a 2 day women's retreat on Lake Coeur d'Alene. It was wonderful but I am glad to be home. Homesickness sets in when I am away from home for even a few days. I am a nester. I enjoy the company of my close friends and family. I am comforted by familiar surroundings. When I am away I miss the everyday routines that are a foundation in my life.

This morning, after only two days away, I experienced a renewed appreciation for my routine. I got out of bed, checked my email, had a simple breakfast and my favorite tea, and read. I took my allergy medications and used my neti pot and my steam inhaler. I spoke to my mom on the phone and graded a few papers. It was all very ritualistic and calming.

Some might think my life boring; I prefer to think of it as monastic.

Day 83

I am getting ready to leave for a short trip - a weekend women's retreat. I have been with this group before and I know that it will be fun and nurturing. And yet there is a little bit of apprehension. I am always a little nervous about traveling, even short distances.

I was in a serious car accident when I was 17. I learned that life can change in an instant. That message is still with me anytime I head out in a car. It is a curse and a blessing. It is hard for me to fully enjoy getting away because I am so aware of what I am leaving behind.

My "bucket list" doesn't include sky diving or traveling to India. I am certain that if I had only a short time to live I would want to spend it with those I love: my mom, my son and my husband. The moments with them are like pieces of elaborate blown glass. I am trying to learn to hold them loosely in the palm of my hand.

Day 82

I had to change the location for my dissertation defense today because of some obscure rule that I (and the members of my committee) were unaware of. It was a representative from the graduate school who informed me. I could feel the tension rising. Why are there so many rules? How can I be expected to know and follow them all? What other rules lay in wait for me, ready to snap like steal traps?

As someone who has struggled my whole life with anxiety, I have become a careful observer of how others cope with tension. I have noticed that many people retreat. They steal moments away and commune with themselves. Not me. My instinct is to kick and scream. I want to spin like a whirling dervish. I am the proverbial chicken with no head. I experience anxiety as something akin to a revving engine. I am filled with energy that needs to be expended.

I have learned that this energy can be dangerous. It often causes me to act without thinking. Breathing is the answer. I sometimes say these words from Thich Nhat Hanh to myself:

Breathing in I go back to the island of myself.
Breathing out I feel safe.

Day 81

It doesn't happen often and I know that my friends and family would be shocked to hear it but at times I am at a loss for words. Simply put, I have nothing to say. Today I am celebrating those (rare) moments.

Day 80

I had lunch with my son yesterday. He shared with me some of his fears about going to Evergreen in a few months. I immediately took on his fear and spent the night tossing and turning. Letting go has never been my strong suit.

I met a girl recently. She was about the same age as my son. She shared a story of driving for the first time on the busy highways near Seattle. She pulled over and called her mother in tears. She said that her mother was exceedingly calm and assured her that she would be fine. She said, "She was so matter-of-fact about it." She went on, "If I had sensed any fear in her, I'm not sure that I could have gotten myself back out on the highway." She knew that her mother believed in her and it made it possible for her to believe in herself.

I imagine that her mother was probably on the other end of the line racked with fear for her daughter. She put on a facade because that's what her daughter needed. Is this dishonest? Perhaps. Or perhaps she just recognized, in that moment, that the fear was an illusion and refused to allow it to grip her or her child.

She is my heroine today.

Day 79

Do you feel safe in the world?

I was still thinking about this question when I went to a memorial service for a friend on Saturday. It is hard to feel safe in a world where a 54 year old woman can give thanks for her good health in November, begin to experience mysterious pains in December, go to the emergency room in January, be diagnosed with cancer in February and die before the first blooms of spring. It is hard to feel safe in a world where two young women have to announce their engagements, plan their weddings, birth their children and finish growing into adulthood without their mother. It is hard to feel safe in a world where a man who finally found the love of his life has to say goodbye after only a few brief years together. It is hard to feel safe in a world where a woman with so much left to give is forced to let go.

The world is not a safe place. It is full of landmines. Our love of life and each other imposes tremendous liability. Someday we will lose it all. There is safety only in the here and the now. The present moment is a sanctuary, a retreat from our grief and fear.

Day 78

Yesterday I was obsessed with breasts, thinking about how much shame I associated with my own breasts, how I don't even like to say words like breasts, let alone boobs, or worth yet, tits. I was driving home from a lunch with friends. I told them about how I was beginning to get in touch with this shame. In one of those funny ironies that suggests that the universe to mocking me, I pulled up behind a car with personalized plates that said: "I GO TPLESS." As if the redundancy would further emphasize the point, the license plate frame said: "Sometimes I Go Topless."

Could it be a sign?

Day 77

I'm laying on the massage table, naked and vulnerable under a thin cotton sheet, talking with the massage therapist about my chronic sinus problems, when she asks: "Do you feel safe in the world?" My mind conjures an image of myself at 9. It was a difficult time for me. I was already going through puberty and they hadn't even gotten around to showing us "the film." That would come next year - in fourth grade.

I was mortified by the way my body was changing. My newly formed breasts were particularly troubling, they seemed to drawn unwanted attention. Older boys and men would look and leer. Their whistles and cat calls terrified and excited me. I soon learned that my indecently large breasts broadcasted a message to the world. At times I tried to harness their power but mostly they made me feel vulnerable and ashamed.

Shame is a funny thing. It hides in our bodies, laying dormant, sometimes for years, like a festering boil, undetected, until one day it is pricked. Suddenly it oozes putrid, black bile. That's what happened to me yesterday. As the massage therapist caressed and rubbed the tired, achy muscles on my back, I remembered being 9 and feeling ashamed of my body. Now the genies out of the bottle. I can no longer hide from the shame. I have to face it, accept it, love it and try to make something beautiful from it.

Day 76

Yesterday I had an argument with my partner. We were standing in the kitchen on the verge of yelling, each of us trying to get our point across. We were trying to convey our needs (loudly). I was thinking: He doesn't hear what I am saying. I really needed to be heard. Then it occurred to me - Bill probably needed the same thing. I went over to the drawer pulled out a piece of paper and started writing down his requests one by one. Once his need to be heard was met, the whole mood in the room changed. Later he was able to hear my needs.

I have a strong need to be heard. Sometimes in my zealousness to be heard I forget to listen. I have learned that in a conflict it just takes one person to change the dynamic by really listening. It creates a space for every voice.

Last night I went to my writing group, thinking about this need to be heard. It occurred to me that some people write to be heard, other people write to create a facade that they can retreat behind, a barrier to their true selves. I'll admit, the later motivation is not one that I understand completely.

I am more interested in writing that reveals something of the author. I guess I have always been a bit of a voyeur, longing to peer into the souls of strangers and loved ones. I want to see others as they really are. Is this just a reflection of my own desire to be seen and heard and appreciated?

Day 75

Thirty years ago I visited Evergreen State College in Olympia, Washington as a member of the debate team at my high school. It was a magical place. For the first time, I dreamed of going to college, a dream that seemed out of reach at the time. A seed was planted that day in part because Evergreen seemed like the kind of place where I might become the person I always wanted to be.

Yesterday my son got an acceptance letter from Evergreen. He will be going there in the fall. He carries with him a newly ignited passion for social justice and feels certain that Evergreen is the place to nurture and grow that passion. I am excited for him and yet there is something else...

I am still connected to that old dreams. There is a tug of regret. Why didn't I go to Evergreen? Who might I have become? What would my life look like today and how might my world be different?

Once again it is time to let go and embrace what is, including the excitement in seeing my son move out into the world in new ways. But first I need just a moment to think about what might have been...sometimes sadness can be so sweet.

Day 74

I used to think that there was just one way to live my life; Set goals and then doggedly pursue them. I would ask myself: What do I want? What kind of house do I want to live in? What kind of job do I want to have? What kind of relationships do I want for myself? Concealed within this lifestyle is an illusion (delusion?) that I am in control. If I do all the right things, life will present me with all that I wish for. When I didn't get all that I wanted, I assumed that I was "doing it wrong." I tried harder. It was an endless treadmill. Exhausting.

Lately, I have been toying with the idea of living without goals. What if I were to accept that I have no way of knowing what life will send my way. I am not in control. Instead of rigidly trying to control my circumstances, what if I maintained a stance of open acceptance? What if I got off the treadmill and graciously responded to life instead? Being with what is.

I am at one of those natural transitions in life: graduation is upon me. People sometimes ask me what I plan to do next. If I am honest I say that I am just waiting to see what opportunities the universe sends my way. I know it sounds a little wu wu. What is the alternative? I am reminded of the line from The Graduate. As the main character contemplates his future, a friend of his parents tells him, "I hear there is a great future in plastics."

Day 73

Vegetable soup is nourishing on so many levels. This morning I went to the store and bought all of the ingredients: cabbage and tomatoes and carrots, and zucchini and summer squash and onion and broccoli and cauliflower. The colors were vibrant and alive. I brought them all home and took out the chopping board. The chopping is my favorite part - so elemental. I seldom feel as engaged and useful as when I am chopping vegetables. I put it all in a big pot and turned up the heat. I removed the lid about a dozen times in spite of warnings about watched pots. The sprinkled in a generous supply of salt and oregano and basil and pepper, especially pepper. I was thinking of a great little restaurant in Walla Walla where they used to serve this really wonderful peppery vegetable soup. Finally, I ladled myself up a big bowl. It was a feast for my eyes and nose, as well as my taste buds. I put the rest in quart jars to share with a few friends. I always make too much and that is the best part.

Day 72

I am not sick often. However, I am a big believer in sick days. I routinely schedule sick days to rest and recharge. Today, I lay on the couch and sipped tea while I watched television. Then I found just the right medicine in the form of a phone conversation with a friend. I searched the Internet for nothing in particular and found several sites that were like balm for my soul. I watched a TED video. I spent a couple of hours just sitting with my beloved. I scheduled a massage. I even took a bath and shaved my legs (the most pointless activity of all).

My house is still dirty and there are papers to be graded - those things can wait until I am fully recuperated.

Day 71

I routinely eat "too much." I'm not even sure what the right amount of food might be. Then there's the question: What food should I eat? The amount of information that I am bombarded with in regard to food is overwhelming. Feeding myself has become so complicated.

Lately I have had the desire, every so often, to just stop eating. A couple of months ago I fasted for a couple of days. It was illuminating. First, my hunger was much less frequent and intense than I expected. Second, my cravings diminished. Third, my mind felt clearer.

However, over time my cravings and attachments to certain foods returned. I find myself once again overwhelmed with how to feed myself . Perhaps it's time to take another break from eating. In my ongoing battled with food, retreat seems to be an effective strategy.

Day 70

Once in a while I read something that just sticks in my head. Here's the latest:

What strikes me is the fact that in our society, art has become something which is related only to objects and not to individuals, or to life. That art is something which is specialized or which is done by experts who are artists. But couldn't everyone's life become a work of art? Why should the lamp or the house be a work of art, but not our life?...For the idea that the self is not given us, I think that there is only one practical consequence: we have to create ourselves as a work of art. (Foucault, 1984)

WOW.

This makes me think of my friend Leeanne. She calls and leaves voicemail messages for me that are uncontrived and real and wise and funny. They are always unmistakably Leeanne. Sometimes they make me laugh out loud. Voicemail as performance art.

Day 69

Today I was putting the finishing touches on my dissertation (draft #2). The candidate (that' s me) is required to have a cover page, an abstract, a table of contents, and a signature page all placed before the first numbered page of text. I needed to know how to suppress the page numbers on pages 1 - 4 and number the pages beginning with page 5.

I tried Microsoft Word Help, I tried Google, I called my son, I called the computer lab at the college, I called every computer wiz I know. Finally I gave up. It was all over. I would not get my degree, all because I failed to master the nuances of Microsoft Word. I started to cry.

Then I started to laugh. This was truly ridiculous. I am a woman who survived heartbreak and illness and horrible bosses and tornadoes and cross-country moves and childbirth, for God's sake and I was being brought to my knees by meaningless little rules.

Time for a little perspective - and maybe a nice massage or a stiff drink, or both.

Day 68

I am in the revision stages of my dissertation writing. It occurs to me that writing is a lot like cooking. Take biscuits, for example. You need to work the dough just enough to make sure that all of the ingredients are integrated. If you do it just right, your biscuits will be flaky and tender. Overwork the dough and you get biscuits that are more like hockey pucks.

No wonder so many dissertations turn out flat, hard and lifeless...You can learn a lot about life by baking biscuits...I'll try to remember that as I rework my dissertation.

Day 67

They used to sell these prints, framed for hanging, that looked like a bunch of multicolored pixels. If you looked at one of the prints just right an image would emerge. Someone told me once that you had to relax your gaze in order to see the hidden images. I was never very good at it.

Yesterday I was tallying up all that I had spent on my education. I was focused on the loss column and had a hard time seeing what I had gained. When I relaxed my gaze just a little I started to see that going back to school offered me many intangible gifts.

When I decided to go back to school I was at the lowest point in my life. I had just lost a job running a program that was close to me heart. My son had recently left home and my partner was struggling with serious illness. I was lost and full of grief. School was always a safe place for me. As a little girl, it was a place where I felt seen and heard and appreciated. Naturally, I retreated to this place when I was in pain as an adult. It was a safe place for me to heal and I did. I made wonderful friends along the way and found a home, something I never had before.

Are these things worth $250,000? It seems like such a silly question. I guess I need to stop focusing on the bottom line. Every moment comes bearing gifts if I am willing to shift my focus.

Day 66

I am nearing the end of a very long race. I will finish the degree that I have been working toward for almost 5 years. I should be thrilled, right? Instead, every time I think about it I get a knot in my stomach.

I have been trying to sit with this knot and figure out what it is trying to tell me. I find myself doing a little cost / benefit analysis. I have invested 5 years of my life and, factoring in lost wages, tuition, etc., approximately $250,000. At this point, I am still unsure what I bought or if it has any value. Will there be a return on this investment? I'm not sure.

I am reminded of the people who invested money with Bernie Madoff. Like them, I believed a lie: that education is always a good investment, that it would make me "rich" in ways I could only imagine, that it would give me the comfort and security I longed for. I got scammed.

I feel a little foolish and a little angry. Why didn't anyone tell me the truth? I probably wouldn't have listened. I wanted to believe; I was an easy mark. Before I can move on I have to forgive myself and accept that I did the best I could with what I knew. It might be easier to forgive the Bernie Madoffs.

Day 65

I used to have a friend who would say a little prayer of gratitude every time we passed a dead animal on the roadside. She would close her eyes for a moment and repeat these words: "Thank you spirit for the presence of this animal on earth."

I thought of her and this little ritual yesterday when I got a call informing me that a friend had died after a brief illness. My friend who passed was not someone I saw often or knew well. She did contribute to my life in meaningful ways and I am grateful for that. She was a teacher. Yesterday she reminded me that life is precious and we are guaranteed nothing beyond this moment.

Day 64

One of the students in one of my online Ethnic Diversity classes posted a cryptic message. The message read: "There is no such thing as Black and White culture." She went on to criticize the course content for being too focused on "Black and White culture."

Frankly, I wasn't sure what she was talking about. I wasn't even sure how to probe for more information. I was concerned that I might sound confrontational. Instead, I ignored her. Other students in the class also ignored her.

By week 4 of class she had posted over 100 messages - most centered on this message: "There is no such thing as Black and White culture." I began to get frustrated. Why was she repeating herself? Then it occurred to me, she's repeating herself because she needs to be heard. She has received absolutely no confirmation from me or from her classmates that she is being heard.

I tried my best to reflect back to her what I was hearing. It was difficult but as I reread her posts I could see that underneath all the hyperbole she was expressing a desire for people to come together and be united. She was frustrated by the artificial barriers that race and ethnicity create. This class for her was bringing up painful realities. More than anything she needed empathy (just like me).

Day 63

I sometimes think that I am blessed and cursed with a special sight, the ability to see injustice, like threads woven into the cloth of daily life. Sometimes I see it when it isn't even there. Sometimes I mistake ignorance and fear as injustice. My visions of injustice have so often been called into question, I have learned to be wary of what I think I see.

I have a male colleague who has on several occasions characterized my behavior in a way that suggested that he knows me better than I know myself. I asked him once for an opinion on my writing. Did he think it was publishable? He said, "I think that you shouldn't worry about publishing. Just focus on your writing." It felt patronizing, like a pat on the head without the benefit of physical contact. I immediately started to weave a story about him, the Reader's Digest version goes like this: He's a sexist pig. I was ready to do battle.

Then, this morning I was grading papers for an online class I teach. The student wrote about the role of nonviolent civil disobedience in the civil rights movement. She said, "It was a way for the protesters to fight the injustices without attacking individuals." I love that moment when the student becomes the teacher.

I realize that I need to separate this man from his behavior. I need to communicate how his behavior makes me feel. I need to ask for what I need. If he is not willing to give me what I need, perhaps I need to distance myself from him. I don't need to create a new social order. I just need to take care of myself.

Day 62

I have a love / hate relationship with meetings. I love the opportunity to connect with people and talk about ideas that are alive. These kinds of meetings are rare, but they keep me coming back. More common are meetings where I am forced to endure the discussion of topics that are for me dull and inane. Slow and tedious procedures threaten my sanity. Boredom is my great enemy.

My boredom grows out of the need for stimulation, engagement, excitement, LIFE. The strategies I use to alleviate the boredom and meet my needs are pretty dysfunctional. I usually get critical and pick fights. It is not a good way to win friends and influence people. I am looking for new strategies:

I could leave.

I could avoid meetings where I am likely to be bored.

I could focus on what I am getting out of the meeting instead of focusing on the boredom.

I could go to the happy place in my mind.

I could breath.

I could doddle or write or read a book.

I could ask if anyone else is bored.

I could change the topic.

Today I practiced a strategy that I really liked. I sat in a meeting and made peace cranes. Granted it is a little odd. But it helped me slow down and stay grounded. I didn't pick any fights. I better stock up on paper.

Day 61

Yesterday, my partner and I sat down for a "money talk." That's always a little scary. We grew up with very different ideas about money and have sometimes resided in opposing camps when it comes to spending and saving. Bill was a tightwad. I was a spendthrift. However, we found a way to come together around the idea of simplicity.

As I see it, simple living is about making careful choices about what I buy and consume. We love books and coffee shops so a significant portion of our discretionary income is spent in those places and on those things. I enjoy treasure hunting in thrift stores and almost never buy "new" clothes. It's fun to make use of things that other people discard. We still go out to eat but almost never travel. We live in a "mobile home" that is outdated but comfortable. We have far more room than two people really need but appreciate our private spaces and the fact that we are a mile from downtown. Most importantly, the lifestyle we have chosen means that we don't have to earn much money. Our time is our own, for the most part. Is there any greater luxury than this? The choices we have made reflect our values. This kind of alignment brings me a lot of joy.

Our money talk ended in celebration. We came to the conclusion that, in terms of spending, we live just above the poverty line. Poverty is so often associated with misery. However, when it is voluntary it can be cause for celebration.

Day 60

There is actually a psychiatric disorder that is associated with the struggles that some people experience in adjusting to stressors and life circumstances. It is called adjustment disorder. Doesn't everyone experience anxiety in response to change? I know I do. Of course, I may very well be mentally ill. Normal is overrated anyway.

Yesterday the symptoms of my newly self-diagnosed adjustment disorder were particularly acute. In other words, I was stressed out. I decided to go to the gym to get a hit of endorphins. Instead, I got a dose of Oprah while I was pedaling the stationary bike. Her guest was Roger Ebert who survived cancer but lost his ability to eat or speak. He was so grateful to be alive and so full of joy.

When I turned on the TV and started pedaling I was worried - thinking about what I should do with my life after I finish my degree. He reminded me to live. Perspective is everything.

Day 59

I was at an event last week where I met this woman who teaches conflict management at a major university. I was immediately drawn to her. However, when she told me that she really wasn't all that interested in mediation, I found myself fantasizing about how I might swoop in and steal her job away. Then she told me that the field of mediation is filled with middle class white women. With a sneer she said, "They're all just so nice." What a bitchy thing to say. I just hate judgy people. Out of my need to be liked and defend my newly chosen vocation, I immediately tried to convince her that I wasn't as nice as I looked. I only wish I had colored my hair and nails black and worn my dog collar that day. In the end, it was obvious that she lumped me together with all the other "nice" mediators.



I have often been labeled as "nice" and it really pisses me off. In fact, a few hours later someone else at the event came up to me and I swear to God, she said, "You look just like a doll I have at home." I laughed so hard I nearly peed my pants (think Betsy Wetsy). But seriously, a doll. No wonder people think I'm nice. No wonder people sometimes refuse to take me seriously.



In our culture nice people seldom get taken seriously. We watch Judge Judy and listen to Rush Limbaugh because their nasty. When the chips are down nobody wants to be on the side of nice. Nice gets you nowhere. For a long time I tried to cultivate my inner bitch. Occasionally when I got really pissed off I let her out to play. It wasn't nearly as satisfying as I imagined. The truth is: I have way more practice being nice. Women in our culture are reward for being nice. The problem, as I see it, is that sometimes I have sacrificed honesty in order to be nice.



Today I am trying to live more honestly, more authentically. Screw nice.

Day 58

A bad mood can definitely be contagious. This morning I was excited about some ideas that I wanted to share with my partner. He was feeling a little grouchy and didn't respond in the way I might have liked. I needed to be heard and understood. I was hoping to connect and experience a sense of mutuality. Instead he grumbled. Later I found myself grumbling. I must have caught it from him.

I am trying to build my immunities so that I don't have to pick up and become infected by every little germ of a mood I am exposed to. I have to remind myself that other people have feelings that are completely divorced from me. My partner's bad mood usually has almost nothing to do with my actions. I have, in the past, had a habit of assuming responsibility for the feelings of everyone around me. If Bill was pissed off I was convinced that I had done something wrong. It was all part of this crazy idea that the whole world revolves around me. I still have to remind myself that it doesn't. I also have to remind myself that even my partner isn't available every moment of every day to meet my needs. Sometimes I need to look elsewhere for an open ear and empathic response.

I feeling much better now. Who know, maybe that will be contagious too.