The Question

We all have stories.  How we ended up where we are, the chances taken along the way, and perhaps the “what ifs” that dot our lives.  The choices we have made stand tall and clear as we peer upon our histories.  The choices we knew weren’t exactly best but we made them all the same and how our lives moved forward as a result.  Some of us have stories about college and marrying those we met at the ripe old age of 19.  We weren’t exactly compatible, and we knew it, but we made the choice to marry all the same.  Or there are those that went directly to careers either just out of high school or just out of college.  The leap from student to professional in a matter of months. 

And there are those like me that took a different route, moving abroad to do something different.  It wasn’t about doing what everyone else was doing or rebelling against what everyone else was doing – it was about following a path and taking advantage of opportunities. 

My stories never fell into the traditional American story or one that society looks upon with a great amount of approval or joy – which isn’t to say that my story is negative or extraordinary or beyond belief or sad or anything of the sort… it is simply that it is different.  Were I European or Australian, it would be more mainstream.  But in America… well, I might just be that person that lives slightly beyond the curve and is thrilled and happy to do so.

At this point in my life, I am probably more American than I ever have been. 

Like many others, I have a career.  I own a home.  I am involved in my daughter’s life and her school functions.  I am an active part of her activities as well as my own.  We attend theater events as much as time allows and travel to the extent possible. 

And that might be where the similarity ends as we aren’t a soccer family and I am not a soccer mom.  We spend our weekends beyond the neighborhood as much as possible, do not spend much time in a car, and we are a wonderful mother daughter team – the kind of relationship I always dreamed I would have with my kid… and together we have created it. 

Two people that march to their own music; two people that might not even have a drummer in the band. 

Two people who genuinely love the lifestyle and the experience shared – as diverse as it might be.

My relationship with the Diva’s dad was no different.  It was one that was singular in nature and defied labeling.  It just was what it was.

So when, after ten years of not wanting to be a dad to our daughter, and hiding her from everyone significant in his life, circumstances changed and he was allowed to choose to play a role, I found it stunning to find my relationship with him, our individual relationships with our daughter, and her future labeled, scripted, and taken from the singular nature to the common, everyday, this is what every other divorce looks like so this is what it looks like for us too.

Martian wrote about a Japanese saying “The nail that stands up must be hammered down” on the post On Sandwiches.

“The nail that stands up…”  That is me.  I could relate to that idea as well as the visual.  

I am very comfortable being the person who is not like everyone else – who has different ideas, who lives a different life, who doesn’t need external validation… My daughter loves her life that doesn’t really look like anyone else’s in her class or in her family.  She and I are one of a kind – and we love who we are.  

Yet, how comfortable is society with one of a kind?  How happy is society when it finds the singular nature that doesn’t fit with the rest of the community?

How happy is the system with the idea that there are situations that just don’t fit?  It isn’t happy with that at all as things that don’t fit, the nails that stand up, well, they are gray.  The system, and it doesn’t matter if we are talking the law or the courts or the business world, or the schools or the hospitals… the system doesn’t like gray or different.  

Suddenly the Diva’s dad wasn’t about singular nature of relationships.  Suddenly I was the nail standing up- the nail that had to be hammered down while he was looking for bench marks and models and the comfort of the known and established and the arms of a society that was more than willing to help him remove the individuality of the situation eve if maintaining the singular nature would benefit our amazing daughter as well as her relationship with both parents.  

There is safety in numbers.  

There is safety in the masses and in the hammer and in the black and white and the system.  

And yet, this nail still stands!  These nails still stand and will remain standing!    

Validation

Why is it that so many seek validation from the outside?  From some external source?

It isn’t just validation, so many believe that someone else will complete them, will make them happy, can provide the peace or contentment that they seek.  It is all about depending on someone else; depending on the external to give something that can actually only be found internally.  

 

 

I am Rich!

The sidewalk in front of my house is under construction.  I am not sure exactly why, but it is.  A board gives us access to our front steps. 

The man in the unit below me smokes.  We aren’t just talking light, filtered cigarettes.  We are talking the unfiltered, very strong, very pungent, fumes can work through various walls and floors, kind of cigarettes that I am not even sure are cigarettes.  The smell doesn’t only invade my house but it has penetrated the house across the hall from me as well – a unit with which his shares no mutual wall or floor or anything!

My balcony is a mess.  No, mess is too small a word.  It is more like the landing zone for a category 2 hurricane.  Given my love of plants and nature, the state of my balcony is a bit shocking.  However, it is what it is.  I will eventually find the time to fix it. 

There are parts of my refrigerator that resemble a biology lab more than a food storage unit.  I open the door, note what is growing now, and shut the door.  At some point I will pull forth the trash can and just… dump!

There are loose tiles in the master bath, the toilet in the Diva’s bathroom is faulty, and the drains are clogged, part of the fun of having thick and long hair….

And I could go on.  I could sit here and nit pick my house  in so many ways before I moved onto the state of my office and then my discomfort with the way my life is evolving… and yet, I won’t because none of this stuff really  matters.  Okay, the discomfort with my life’s evolution is a bit more significant than the rest, but the others are just the little things.    They are the little things that stand out or cause issues, but I honestly don’t mind them that much.  Were my house was a form of significant stress earlier this year, that stress has dissipated.  Now it is my house; my home.  It is evolving as much as my life it at the moment.

It is a home for which I am grateful. 

It took me quite a while to come up with the list above as I honestly do love my home.  I love the location, the way the wood feels beneath my feet, the ledge that we decorate for holidays, and the closet at the end of the stairs that has no purpose at all.  I love that the design of the kitchen is such that food in cupboards just doesn’t work very well, so we shop in a more European way and things to eat are often visible.  I love the green chair that is all about my daughter and the couch that is just beyond comfy… and the sunlight that streams into the bathroom as I shower more than 6 months of the year. 

I love my home and the laughter and tears that echo through the walls.  I love that it is where my daughter plays and creates and snuggles and feels more safe and comfortable than anywhere else in the world. 

And it isn’t big.  It isn’t in a gated neighborhood.  It doesn’t have a yard or a basement or a mud room.  It isn’t in the best zip code or speak of great monetary wealth or status or prestige. 

From the outside, my home looks nondescript – perfectly camouflaging all the love and riches that lie within. 

For As people around me strive to be or to have what they don’t, I find myself curling up under hand seen quilts, sharing quiet reading time with my daughter and our furry friends, and feeling as if I am beyond wealthy.  I am content.  If anything, I feel like I  have a few too many thing; a bit too much stuff.  It is time to simplify life a little and to share my wealth with others. 

I not only sit at a table where rich people sit – I live a life that a rich person lives… and it has nothing to do with money or status.  It is all about… living life!

 

This post was inspired by The Ground We Kiss

 

Halloween

From ghoulies and ghosties
And long-leggedy beasties
And things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us!
~Scottish Saying

There is something magical about this time of year.  It is the changing of the colors from the greens, and pinks and purples of summer to the reds and golds and oranges and rusts of autumn.  It is the carpet of leaves that muffles the steps down the streets and sidewalks where mere weeks earlier, the walk ways were clear, marching forth under a canopy of green.  It is the breeze that sends leaves twirling and dancing through the neighborhoods and the soft sun that sneaks peaks from behind the clouds.  Where summer is bright and vivid, awash with colors and vitality; fall is brilliant in bejeweled splendor.

One of fall’s highlights in Halloween with its creativity and its mystery and its magic.

Admittedly, I am not, nor have I ever been, a Halloween person.  Granted, it was fun to dress up and trick or treat, but I didn’t miss the practice when it ended after I left 6^th grade.  

I found a love for this bewitch date only after I had my daughter; my Diva who delights in the creativity and the darkness of our neighborhood.  Since her very first Halloween (for which she dressed as a lion and was… so cute!) she has found delight in Halloween.  It isn’t the candy (though she likes her chocolate) as much as it is the work and effort and delight that others take in creating Halloween throughout the neighborhoods.  

Years ago one of the neighborhood houses went all out with fog machines and witches and everything you could imagine.  The Diva loved it.  Every season she remembers it fondly as we walk by.  The creativity and the imagination delight her – and at Halloween, people truly go all out at times.  

For the past few weeks, we have noted the changes in the neighborhood.  She brought home her pumpkins and her haunted house for our decorations, but it is what people do to the outside that amazes her.  Our neighborhood has come to life with some interesting visitors.  

A spider, a very large hairy spider, has built its Webb in a tree that overhangs one of the sidewalks.  Every morning we walk beneath him wishing him well and hoping that he will not suddenly drop electing to have one of us for a snack.  

Skeletons have also taken up residency throughout the area.  Their hands raised in friendly salutation as we wander our way to school.  

And pumpkins… there are loads of pumpkins!

Who knows what will appear on all Hallow’s Eve!

This year we are foregoing trick-or-treating and will actually do a Ghost Walk in one of the country’s most haunted areas – we are forgoing one kind of energy for another… and it promises to be… mysterious in its own way!

 

Happy Halloween!!

   

Who Says You Can't Teach an Old Dog New Tricks??

The Diva is learning to crochet.

I have years, if not decades, of memories involving watching my mom crochet throughout the year.  A new baby meant a new blanket, and as she is a teacher, there were usually new babies quite often in her community.  She would crochet throughout the year – before the fire, while watching TV, or in the car as we traveled.  New patterns, different colors of yarn, and the occasional misplaced hook highlight my memory.  

Yet, I never learned.  For this and that reason, I never learned.  

A few weeks ago my daughter, the queen of tactile learning and hands on crafts, came home desiring a hook and yarn of her own.  

This is a desire that I quickly filled realizing that this might be a wonderful craft for her.  It would keep her hands moving, allow her a means of relaxation, and it might keep her busy at the symphonies we have schedule this season.  I delightfully complied.  

In the intervening weeks, she has learned a few stitches, shared her project with her great grandmother, made few items for this and that real or stuffed animal friend, and has expressed that crocheting allows her to get her feelings out.  (And yes, it did keep her entertained during her first full symphony.)

I have watched her with her hook and yarn.  I have observed the effect in that it truly does have a relaxing way about it – especially for her.  

Thus, the other night, while she lounged in the bath, I found a hook and a ball of yarn… and I tried crocheting myself.  

And it is relaxing.

It is something I think I would like to pursue a bit more, learn a few more stitches, maybe make a blanket…It is something I can do while on the metro or on the plane.  

Mostly, it is something that I can share with my daughter as well as my mom.

I have a long way to go in my crocheting education, but I am in good company with the Diva… and I am beginning to think that when it comes to crocheting, we are both… hooked!

Prove It

If you listen to a group of kids long enough you might hear one of them say “prove it.”  It is the line in the sand.  It is the moment in which one must back his claims with a real deed or evidence supporting his claim. 

“Prove it!”

Sometimes I wonder if much of our lives are spent looking for proof.  We seek evidence indicating that something is real or that it exists.  We ask people to prove themselves via their work or their skills or their studies.  Proof allows us to see something solid and in black and white over taking a risk or a leap of faith. 

We ask people to prove themselves all the time.  They have to prove their love, their trustworthiness, and their integrity.  Yet, how do we prove our love?  How do we prove to someone that we can be trusted?  How do we prove ourselves if we have acted in such a way that leaves one questioning either of these?

If someone betrays trust, can that trust ever be regained through adhering to rules and constraints?  I question whether that is the way to rebuild trust.  Trust is a leap of faith in any situation or circumstance.  We must allow ourselves the opportunity to let go, take our hands off the safety bar, open our hearts, and just trust.  If conditions and rules are in place surrounding that trust, are we taking the leap or are we reinforcing the distrust that exists?

Love is similar to trust.  It is an emotion but it is also a choice.  When we question the love that someone feels for us, or we find that we do not trust that love completely, do we ask for proof?  Does proof of love come through adhering to conditions and that person becoming the man or woman we wish them to be?  Is it something that is proved via the amount of money we are willing to spend or the extent of ourselves we are willing to prostitute for another?

There are many things that we can prove throughout our lives – they are factual; linier; proven via trial and error and experimentation.  But, when it comes to love and trust and honesty and such, is asking for proof – are we indicating that the love or trust don’t exist?

As I age, I find that there are more aspects of life that can not be proven.  They, like the truth, stand on their own.  We either choose to believe or we don’t – and if we don’t want to take the risk and believe… then perhaps we need to move on and find something or someone in which we feel comfortable taking the risk.

Questions

One thing I have learned, in the past 4 decades… the more black and white the system or a person wants to make something, the more gray and full of nuances it probably is.  There are no easy answers.  There is not a right and a wrong.  It is life – it is messy and it doesn’t always conform to the lines that we draw no matter how much we wish it would.    

“You don’t allow your child to go into a house or spend time with people with whom you are uncomfortable?” he asks from his comfortable chair across the room. 

As parents, we don’t do this.  Before our kids attend play dates or visit the homes or families of friends, we often talk with the parents, or when they are younger, we attend the play date too.  If we are not comfortable, we deny the play date.  We don’t allow our kids to be in situations that don’t sit well with our intuitive sides just as we, as adults, avoid situations that tingle our spider senses or “don’t feel right.”

What happens when the house is uncomfortable, the situation doesn’t sit well, and the trust isn’t there… and yet, the child is supposed to visit?  To stay the night?  To spend hours in a situation that  is not comfortable for either the child or the parent?

“Are you concerned about physical abuse?” another asks.

Physical abuse is not the concern.  Emotional abuse, manipulation, mind games… yes, all of these are possible… and does a child know how to deal with such a situation? 

“We can’t protect our kids from everything.”

Part of parenting, a huge part of parenting is letting go and allowing our kids to live their lives and spread their wings.  At what age do we feel comfortable forcing this to happen over allowing its natural progression?  Do we send them into the situation that doesn’t feel right in order for them to do this and trust that they are going to be okay even though the situation  itself is not okay; the situation is one that adults would not choose to enter themselves?