Day 120

I think I am finally ready to put the whole issue of my dissertation and my degree to bed (yeah right, who am I kidding). I think that I made some significant progress in processing the whole mess.

It was Louis' words about beauty and how that's what he is sharing with his students. When I started school I was looking for Truth. Over time I came to realize that the big T, Truth does not exist. Truth is always shifting and changing; it is contextual. My inquiry then became a search for beauty.

The title of my dissertation is: Can You See the Beauty? The beauty was in the stories of the men that I interviewed. The theory, the analysis, it all just gets in the way. I wish that I had been able to convey that to my committee. I'm glad I understand it now. I hope that it is something I can use to guide my work in the future.

Keats said:

Beauty is truth, truth beauty, that is all ye need to know on earth and all ye need to know.

Day 119

Sometimes I doubt the intelligence of the universe and suspect that it is mechanized and random, like a pinball machine, our fate a matter of chance. Then, as Richard Back said, the circumstances of my life conspire to teach me what I need to know.

Yesterday I found myself pondering my rejection of academia (or its rejection of me) and asking: "What is a scholar?" Last night I went to see a movie at our local art theatre about Louis Perraud. He answered the question for me.


Louis is a little man with white hair, an impish smile and a shuffling walk. We attend a Zen group together and I often see him around town. A retired professor, he taught classics, Latin, Greek and the like, for 26 years. The movie, made by one of his former students is about Louis' passion for classical education, a dying movement. Louis started studying the classics as a Catholic school boy and his love never waned. He talked about that moment when he knew he had the undivided attention of his students and how it was in then that he would "share something beautiful with them."

Louis left me with a question: How can I share something beautiful with the world?

Day 118

So why did I want to be a "scholar" and have an academic career anyway? I suppose this question has to be answered - a kind of post-mortem for a dream that has died. The simple answer: college professor is a good career with ample pay and excellent benefits.

I have to be honest, although I would enjoy the security, that wasn't the real hook for me. The costs are too high. You pay for these perks, often exchanging your freedoms, your very life in essence, for a paycheck and 401K. Besides, I have become accustomed to poverty. I prefer to think of it as voluntary simplicity and it is a good life.

I suppose the real reason that I wanted to be a college professor stems from my own adoration of my professors. I respected, admired and looked up to them, just like I want to be respected, admired and looked up to. It's that simple; I was looking for approval and I was willing to go to college for 11 years to get it.

One of the things I am learning is that what we seek from other people we have to first find within ourselves. If I want other people to see and hear me, I have to see and hear myself. If I want other people to admire me, I have to admire myself. If I want other people to honor me, I have to honor myself. If I want other people to love me as I am, I have to love myself as I am. This kind of radical self-love is hard work, probably harder than 11 years of college.

Day 117

I got an email last night about a meeting of a group that I am associated with. The group is made up mostly of academic types. I found myself feeling angry and critical of the group and its members. Again, I was feeling alienated and disconnected. It made me realize that I haven't yet fully let go of my dream of an academic life.



I am like a jilted lover, trying to let go of a bad relationship. Occasionally I feel called back, knowing that ultimately I will be rejected and hurt. I first fell in love and started dreaming about the academic life in my first sociology class as a freshman in college. It was the ideas that attracted me: the heady discussion, the clever dialogue. I was hooked. Later I would go to work for the community college where I attended that class, trying to recapture the love I felt years earlier. When I was in graduate school for the first time, I remember sitting in the courtyard, intoxicated by the air of scholarship, crying tears of gratitude for my good fortune in just being there. Going back to school five years ago was yet another attempt to rekindle that passion.



I am not a "scholar." I'm not even sure I know what that word means. I am a teacher and a writer and, at times, a catalyst for change, but I am not a scholar. It is hard to accept that and move on. I recognize that what I am letting go of is not something tangible, concrete or "real." I have found that at the end of any relationship it is the dream that dies most hard.

Day 116

I have a break from teaching which just happened to coincide with the completion of my dissertation. Without my normal routines and habits I feel set adrift.

I have been striving to be more mindful. Now it is easy to see that the habits and routines in which I find comfort also keep me in a state of mindlessness. It is easy to check out and operate on autopilot as long as I am guided by these routines and habits.

Now, I have an opportunity to be more aware. My first reaction is anxiety. I must find some activity to fill the time. Being alone with myself is frightening. Who am I without the constant busyness?

Day 115

I am at a loss for words. To be more accurate, I don't have much to say (or write as the case may be). I can't seem to identify a suitable topic to write about or I pinpoint a topic and begin to write only to find that it leads me to a dead end. I flit from one subject to another, refusing to stay grounded long enough to fully develop my ideas. My thoughts are scattered and disorganized.

I suspect that this affliction is somehow related to the recent completion of my dissertation. I was focused on that project for so long, now that it is complete I am unsure what to do with myself. Frankly, I am unsure who I am without the project to define me.

It may sound strange but I think I need to spend some time cleaning house. I find housework to be therapeutic: cleaning out the clutter, getting rid of the cobwebs and debris, clearing the slate for something new. It's time to break out the carpet cleaner and dust rags. It's impossible to start a new life in a dirty house.

Day 114

Today I went to the grocery store. On my way out I thanked the girl who sacked my groceries - not once but three times. I had to laugh at myself. It seems that gratitude has become a habit for me.

I used to have another habit. I apologized incessantly and profusely. If I accidentally bumped into you it was, "I'm so sorry." If you didn't like the chocolate cake I baked for your birthday I said, "Please forgive me." I was forever guilty and always begging forgiveness.

I sometimes think that apologies perpetuate our guilt and shame. I prefer to cultivate gratitude.

So to my loyal readers, all three of you, thank you for reading this blog.

Day 113

Sometimes I pull an emotional thread and my sense of well being, my sense of self, threatens to come unraveled. It happened to me just a few days ago. It started when I wrote my last post. I was writing about my relationship with my son and typed three simple little words: I have regrets.

I began to recount my many failings as a parent: the ways that I neglected and abandoned him. I was distracted by these thoughts on a trip to visit my mother in law. I found myself sobbing in her guestroom long after the others were asleep. It was there that I discovered the dark place where the shame resides. It must have been 3 in the morning when I began to see how much the relationship between me and my son has been shaped by that shame.

It is the shame that makes me want to protect him, rescue him, make him comfortable and safe even though this is no longer in his best interest. I am trying to make amends in all the wrong ways. It is as if we are locked in this dance of shame and repentance, unsure how to stop or what to do next. I need forgiveness.

I sometimes wish that I subscribed to a religion where absolution is handed out like communion wafers. I don't. Making amends, for me, is much messier. I have to face my son and admit my shortcomings. Will he forgive me? Can I forgive myself?

Day 110

My son has a transition to a new college coming up. I have been anxious for him...for me...for us. This isn't his first foray out into the world but this time feels more like a pivotal shift, the beginning of a new life for him, a life that I may only play a minor role in. I find myself questioning how well I performed in my previous role as his mother. I have regrets.

I was always so busy creating a life for him, trying to shape him into the person I wanted him to be, earning a living. I forgot that he came into this world, in many ways, already fully formed. I am a sociologist at heart so it was hard for me to accept the evidence that every parent is confronted with. Our children are born with unique dispositions and personalities that we play only a small role in shaping. I wish that I had spent more time getting to know him and helping him feel comfortable expressing his unique qualities. I wish I had taken more time helping him cultivate his gifts. I wish that I had been less critical.

Regrets are useful because they point to our needs. I have a need for a more authentic connection with my son, one that extends beyond the limited boundaries of our assigned roles. I want to really know him, as he is, not as I want him to be. What does he value? What does he dream about? What are his fears? What are his triumphs? What are his regrets? I am finally ready to put my ego aside and really listen. I suspect that my son and I are embarking on a new relationship, a relationship of equals. I am excited and just a little scared.

Day 109

I had dinner last night with my son Steven and Bill. Steven talked about his fear of "selling out." I have been thinking about the meaning of that phrase since. Selling out implies that one has a set of values or ethics, a sense of integrity that can be challenged and threatened. At 26 I think my son is still in the process of defining what those are. He is carving out a code, a set of standards, that he holds up against the ideals expressed by other individuals, institutions, organizations and society as a whole.

I went through a similar process in my 20s. I think that we don't so much find ourselves in those years; we define ourselves. If we are not careful our idealism can turn to self-righteousness. I found self-righteousness to be a cold and lonely stand. Today I find that I am less concerned with selling out and more concerned with living an authentic life. I recognize that I always have a choice. When I am awake and aware I can trust my most authentic self to come forward. To act from that sense of self-awareness is more radical than anything I could have imagined at 26.

Day 108

The NVC process developed by Marshall Rosenberg guides us to focus on our needs. Sometimes I identify a need and immediately move into a strategy for meeting that need.

A few years ago I identified my own need to belong and contribute to community. I didn't really know how to meet this need. However, I had attended a church in Spokane a few years earlier when Bill was in the hospital there. I remembered a sense of genuine hospitality that was overwhelming. People there looked me in the eyes and welcomed me with warm smiles and gentle handshakes. I felt embraced and safe. It was a nurturing place. I wanted to be part of that community. I made the decision to move to Spokane as soon as I finished school.

That was a few years ago. My perspective has changed since then. I now see that I can get my needs met right here. Moving to Spokane was just one strategy for meeting my need for community. More and more I see that I need to avoid getting too caught up on any one strategy. I prefer to remain open and aware of my needs, establish clear intentions and see where the stream of life carries me.

Day 107

People used to ask, "Where are you from?" I would hesitate, unsure how to respond. I was a vagabond of sorts, never staying too long in any one place, no place to call home. I tried to put down roots a few times but was never successful. Sooner or later I would be struck by the urge to move on.

Today I find myself firmly planted in Moscow, Idaho. For the first time in my life I truly have a place to call home. There are many things I love about my newly adopted hometown. The life I am building here is more satisfying than any I could have imagined.

As I look back over just the last few days I can see the strata that make up the rich, satisfying life we are creating here. On Thursday, Bill and I went to a Teaparty Rally. We were there as observers, as I suspect were many other more "progressive" members of the community. The group met in Friendship Square where the Farmers' Market is held on Saturday mornings. The number of teapartiers did not compare to the number who attend the market on any given Saturday. I guess I prefer a place where the Farmers' Market is a bigger draw than the Teaparty.

After the rally I drove across the stateline to Pullman and met my son on campus. We went to a performance by Anne Waldman, an accomplished performance poet who worked with Allen Ginsberg at Naropa. At one point in her performance she shouted out, "I want to strangle Sarah Palin." I relished in the irony of having just come from the Teaparty Rally. After her performance she responded to a question about the political nature of her work. She said that she sees her "poetry practice as antithetical" to the political rhetoric. I found myself enjoying the contrast and the intersections.

The next day, I went to a board meeting for a nonprofit I volunteer for. From there I went to a friend's house. We sat on her deck and ate lunch, surrounded by pine trees with the sound of her homemade waterfall in the background. We talked about our respective lives. I got excited when she talked about possibly going back to school to become a play therapist, imagining her living her dream and contributing her talents to the world. On my way home I stopped at the store where I ran into a friend. She had just come back from a vacation and looked glowing and rested. We stood in the frozen foods basking in the warmth of our mutual affection and exchanging the details of our lives.

I got home and was putting my groceries away when the phone rang. It was a friend I have been playing phone tag with for weeks. We talked a little and decided to meet at the Coop on Sunday morning for tea. Tea seems to be a central feature of my life in Moscow. I spend a lot of time sipping tea in coffee houses.

On Saturday mornings I often attend a Buddhist group that meets at Sister's Brew, a coffee house on Main Street. I was there this morning, simply enjoying the presence of these people who commit themselves to Zen practice. I found myself enjoying the view out the window of pedestrians, a ragtag parade of characters. The young man in a rasta hat and dreadlocks, the teenaged harmonic player and dogs of all sizes and breeds. Moscow is a town that loves its dogs.

This afternoon Bill and I have plans to go to the Hemp Fair in Eastside park and then to the Silos, another coffee house. More tea, this time in the garden that surrounds this shop, our favorite. Maybe if we are lucky, the owner will have peach scones that she prepared this morning. She serves them with fresh whipped cream...in the garden...with tea. Life doesn't get much better than that.

Life is good here in Idaho.

Day 106

I am on the board for a local nonprofit community service agency. Our mission is to provide conflict resolution services. In the last year we have received only one referral. I am frustrated because I see our mission as a commitment to the community - a commitment we are not honoring.

I have been thinking a lot about what I want to get out of this organization, how I might further my career through my involvement, at the very least how I might spin my service to enhance my resume. I was frustrated because the other board members seemed to be standing in my way. They were holding the organization back by their plodding focus on administrative tasks, their refusal to ask the hard questions and dream bigger. I wanted to respond to their burn out by taking charge and ordering them to get behind me or get out of my way. In the past I have often been able to bulldoze my way to success but not without paying a price.

We had a board meeting today (Friday). On Wednesday I decided that I needed to forge ahead and attempt to take the reigns of the organization. I began to mentally prepare myself for the fight. I didn't sleep well Wednesday night. On Thursday a new question popped into my head. What do I have to offer this organization? What do I have to give?

I started to think about my newly acquired skills as a researcher and how the organization really needs to collect information about community needs relevant to our mission. I started to envision a community based action research project. For years I've wanted to lead such a project. As these ideas continued to peculate I was amazed at how much more expansive I felt. My anger was replaced by excitement and joyful anticipation.

I went to the meeting and offered my services as a researcher. My offer was gratefully acknowledged and received. I am amazed at the power of such a simple question. What can I give? Only one word and a world away from another question. What can I get?

Day 105

Months ago I read an article by Malcolm Gladwell; He used the term "meaningful work" and talked about how we have a need to do work that offers some degree of autonomy and complexity, work that is rewarding. This phrase keeps ringing in my brain. Marshall Rosenberg says that we all have a need to contribute to the world and to the lives of others in meaningful ways. Isn't that the purpose of meaningful work?

My mom used to work in a factory where they made televisions. She would come home tired, her hands cut and bleeding. As a child I was pretty sure that this was not meaningful work; to me it just seemed mean. My mom was the smartest, most capable person I knew. Why was she forced to do such demeaning work?

My mother's sacrifices had a lot to do with my decision to go to college. Yet I still find myself struggling to find meaningful work, to do work that meets the Buddhist definition of "right livelihood," to not just make a living but also make a life.

Day 104

Sometimes we find wisdom in the most unlikely places. A few years ago I walked into the bathroom at the Green Frog, a coffee shop in Palouse, Washington. There, hanging on the wall beside the toilet, was a small, framed wall hanging, not unlike an old time cross stitch. It said:

They say that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. But I say that what doesn't kill you messes you up for a really long time and you're lucky to get it together ever again.

I laughed until I cried. The sarcastic edge of that little piece of poetry so captured what I was feeling at the time. It was a dark time for me, my "dark night of the soul." I scrambled for a scrape of paper and jotted down the words of wisdom before I left the Green Frog. These words have been taped to my desk since, a reminder of where I've been.

Day 103

I have tried a variety of cures for my anxiety over the years. There were pills and talk therapy; both only marginally effective. I tried prayer, new age affirmations and other spiritual remedies; the nagging obsessions and fears lingered. I have come to see that the anxiety is something I need to learn to live with. It is part of me. The best I can do is to learn to sit with it.

I try to sit in meditation for about 20 minutes a day. I have been doing this for about 2 years now. I still try to wrangle out of it at every opportunity. I argue (to myself) that I am too busy to sit just now, I'll do it later. The resistance is always there. I sometimes go for days without meditating. I can feel the tension start to rise. And yet I continue to resist.

I suppose that resisting and avoiding meditation is my way of preserving my ego. When I sit I am left with my true self; the ego dissolves. I have been working on the construction of that ego most of my life. To let it die for even a minute is frightening. At the same time, I realize that it is the only path to peace.

Day 102

I have a bulletin board in my home office. On it is a bumper sticker that reads: Choose to Feel. I have been working on that for a few years now. It may seem that like feeling is as natural as breathing but for some of us it becomes second nature to avoid our feelings.

For me there was unresolved grief that threatened to overwhelm me if I allowed myself to really feel it. I developed lots of avoidance strategies. I became the girl with the perpetual smile. The problem with this kind of emotional detachment is that it takes us out of the present moment. We become so dissociated that we are denied not just the pain, but also the joy.

Yesterday I was in my kitchen, cooking and listening to the radio. All of my senses were engaged and I felt safe and secure and serene. It was one of those rare moments of bliss when my mind and body were synchronized. Those moments remind me why I choose to feel.

Day 99

A friend called me today. She defended her dissertation on the same day I did. She wanted to share how well it went for her. Her committee offered abundant praise and suggested that they want to nominate her dissertation for a variety of awards. I was happy for her (no, really I was). But I was also a little jealous.

If anyone is going to be receiving any award I think it should be me. I want to go on the record as saying that I think that we should each be honored for the unique contributions we make to the world. However, if trophies are being handed out I want the biggest one. I often find myself competing in races I never even intended to enter.

It takes a conscious effort to stop competing. Sitting with my jealousy allows me to see my own neglected need to have the value of my work recognized by others. Perhaps on a deeper level I need to value my own work. When we have a genuine sense of pride and accomplishment we are more capable of celebrating the accomplishments of others.

Day 98

I'm still processing this whole Ph.D. thing, I hope to move on soon, I'm starting to get bored. I keep thinking about something one of my committee members said after they voted to approve my dissertation. He said that now I have to deal with the "impostor syndrome." This was not the first time I heard the phrase.

Some college professors, particularly those who belong to the first generation in their families to be educated, experience this sense that they don't belong in academia. One of my professors mentioned that she sometimes dreams that "they" come to take her degree away.

Once you get the degree you are expected to play a certain role. If you play it well others may not even know that you are playing a role. The truth may even remain hidden from your conscious mind. But it is always lurking there. The truth. You are an impostor.

I guess I decided somewhere along the way that I wasn't willing (or perhaps able) to play this role. There is a price to pay for this forfeiture. But there are also rewards. I don't have to worry about impostor syndrome.

Day 97

I finished my dissertation yesterday. Now it's just a matter of completing forms and securing signatures. It is the end of a particular era in my life. I find myself assessing; What was it all about?

I started school with certain expectations. Naturally, I was disappointed. I wanted to be recognized as a teacher. I was already a teacher, other people just didn't seem willing to acknowledge my status. I thought that getting the right degrees would remedy this. What I failed to see is that teaching isn't really valued in our institutions; therefore, people like me, natural teachers are not celebrated. I wanted to be celebrated as a teacher. I wasn't.

There were, however, unexpected rewards along the way. For example, I discovered myself as a writer. I learned to revel in the pleasure of coffee house writing. I demonstrated a level of discipline that I didn't know I was capable of. I found a writing group and developed friendships with people who teach me through their own love of words and stories.

Life has a funny way of taking us where we never intended to go. I am trying to approach the next leg of the journey with detached curiosity, openness and acceptance, keenly aware of the dangers of expectation.

Day 96

Today is the day I defend my dissertation. I feel surprisingly calm. Somewhere along the way I started to realize that in the whole scheme of things this day is not very important.

As a student, this day is held up above all the rest. It is the day you work for as if it will define you. There is an expectation that this will be a life changing day. Yesterday I was just plain old Debbie Dougan; Today I become Dr. Dougan. What a bunch a BS.

Colleges are monuments to ego. At the individual level degrees serve the ego well. I, however, am not interested in an egoic existence (something I have to be reminded up constantly because the world tells me otherwise). I am not defined by a degree or a title. The essence of who I am will be the same tomorrow as it was yesterday. Knowing that allows me to detach just enough to really be present. It puts the day in a whole new light.

Day 95

Perhaps I shouldn't publish it for the whole world to see, but my kryptonite is indifference. Ignore me and I am transformed into the Incredible Hulk (wow, two comic book references in as many sentences). I suppose this weakness was inherited from my father. He was an alcoholic and, therefore, unavailable to me in almost every way. His apparent indifference toward me was infuriating. Every so often, that rage is reignited by some new set of circumstances.

I spent much of the last two days camped outside the door of one of my professors after he sent me a critical email. I wanted to discuss his criticism. He seemingly ignored my phone messages and email so I thought that I would ambush him in the hallway. He never arrived. It appears that I will not be granted an audience with him before my "Defense" which is scheduled for tomorrow.

Oh goodie, another opportunity to deal with my unresolved childhood issues, what some people refer to as an AFGO (another fucking growth opportunity). There are several lessons I have learned over the years that I hope to apply here.

1. I must continually remind myself that my professor is not my father. His motives are a mystery to me. It is pointless to assign motives to him and act in accordance with them.

2. More important than being heard and being right is maintaining my peace of mind and my integrity. I need to continually ask myself what I need to do to live consistent with my highest self.

3. It may appear as though this person has power over me. However, his power is limited. He cannot take from me what is most precious to me.

I can choose how to respond to this situation. The role I choose to play is not limited to doormat or raving lunatic (my preferred role in the past). I face my committee in 24 hours. I am going to try to show up as a grown up. If I were a superhero my superpower would be compassion.

Day 94

I was in a group recently when the discussion turned to death (I know - I hang out in weird circles). Someone said they knew a guy who was diagnosed with a terminal illness. His response was, "Hmm, this should be interesting."

I am trying to cultivate the same kind of acceptance for the process that I am engaged in right now with my dissertation. I want to know, really know, that regardless of what happens I can maintain my peace of mind. I was feeling a little crazy yesterday (between crying jags I wanted to scream) and I remember thinking between sobs, "Is this really worth sacrificing my serenity?"

Is anything really worth sacrificing my serenity?

Day 93

Some days really suck!

Three days before my dissertation defense and I received a two and a half page (single spaced) critique from one of my committee members - just a few concerns that need to be addressed (yea right). What I really wanted was a gold star.

When I came back to school 5 years ago what I wanted was support and guidance and encouragement. I soon discovered that graduate school is not the place to get those things. I have worked on letting go of that expectation. But this morning when I opened that email, more than anything, I wanted to hear "good job." I wanted a pat on the back. I wanted resounding applause. Graduate school is firmly grounded in a process of critique - it is meant to shape us into scholars. Right now it just feels mean.

Graduate school does not promote good mental health - just ask Ted Kaczynski.

Day 92

My partner Bill is occasionally a little grumpy. I used to take this personally. If he was in a bad mood I was convinced that it must be my fault (the whole world revolves around me after all). I would sometimes respond by being extra nice, trying to make amends for whatever I had done to bring on his foul mood. Other times I would get defensive. How dare he be so grumpy with a wonderful partner like me? Either way, I was so involved with me that I couldn't be there for him.

Now when I observe signs of grumpiness I stop and remind myself that his mood is not about me. I detach which, ironically, allows me to be more compassionate. I ask how he is doing. I listen. I offer support. If he needs space I give him that.

I may even learn to enjoy his pain (and my own) by recognizing that it is an opportunity for genuine connection. For now, baby steps...

Day 91

Yesterday I was listening to a program on NPR about the Hadron Collider. I don't really know what the Hadron Collider is but I know that it is expected to teach us more about the universe we live in. The physicist being interviewed said that we can currently only identify about 1/6 of all the matter in the universe. What else is out there? He also said the we don't know what holds matter together. The very structure of our being is a mystery.

As I was listening I looked up to see huge snowflakes swirling and dancing outside my window. They fell on crocuses and tulips that bloomed early due to an unseasonably warm start of spring. Why does it snow in springtime? Where do the snowflakes, works of art in their own right, come from? Where do they go? It is all a mystery to me.

Our search for meaning and understanding is limitless. We build 14 billion dollar machines and ponder snowflakes. Why can't we embrace the mystery?

Day 90

I do not like clutter. I have heard it said that we sometimes have to clear out the old to make room for the new. I have no problem giving a sweater I never wear to the Goodwill. Getting rid of things I no longer need makes me feel lighter, less encumbered, more spacious.

People are a different story. I have sometimes found myself in relationships that I have outgrown. They no longer fit. I want to move on but don't know how. Sometimes I meet people and know that we have nothing in common. In my effort to be nice I linger too long. How do we remove ourselves from situations and relationships that have nothing to offer us?

I heard a story today about the Dalai Lama. It seems that when he meets someone he tries to ascertain their intentions. If he believes that they are not sincere in their intentions, he merely turns to them, presses his palms together at his chest, bows, and says, "Thank you very much." Then he leaves.

Day 89

A friend called me a few days ago. Her life is a sea of change. She talked about navigating the narrow canals of transition. I listened, confident that she would stay afloat and find her way. By contrast, yesterday my son shared with me some of his anxieties about his current circumstances. I was filled with fear. I know I reflected that back to him. I so want to give my son the same calm presence that I gave my friend. The problem is that sometimes I have trouble figuring out where he ends and I begin.

When I was in my 20s I read this book by Whitley Strieber about his alleged abduction by aliens. He talked about his fear of death and more specifically of leaving behind his wife and young son. He said that the aliens impregnated him with a radical idea that alleviated his fear. It was as if they planted this message in his brain: You are on a separate path from those you love. Your wife and your son each have their own paths. Your paths intersect, but they are not one and the same. I remember reading this and longing to be abducted.

Around the same time, when my son was about 7, I was consumed by anxiety over his potential death (he was perfectly healthy, I was not). I talked with a minister about my fears. She said: "You receive God's love through your son. Your son is the vessel, not the source. Even if you lost your son, God's love would still be there for you."

I have tried for years to integrate these two messages: one from the aliens, the other from a woman of God. This morning I turned on one of those morning shows. They had a segment on traveling solo. I'm trying to figure out how to do that. Paradoxically it may be the key to our connection.