Non-Resolution

source

I don't make New Year's Resolutions - why, you know? Why make something that I know I will break? I do, though, think of things that I want to focus on and make a few changes - things that will be ok to do just in the short term if necessary. But they don't necessarily happen at the start of a new year. Exercise, for example - started in February. February 21, 2008 to be exact. And that has been and will always be a daily decision.

One of the things I decided I want to do more recently of is read. I love books. I surround myself in books. I remember being in upper elementary school and junior high and going to the bookstore in the mall while my mom shopped [Mom shopping is another blog post in and of itself, but I digress]. I would spend hours looking through the books, often reading a good bit of them prior to my mom finding me. Allowance money went to books and I devoured books in a sitting, and would go back and read them over and over.

As I've gotten older, I don't read as much, even though I still love books. The reasons are many - my preference is to read a book in one sitting, and who has time for that? Or I stay so busy with my job and the kids that reading becomes a luxury. Or I re-read books, preferring old friends rather than risking wasting time on a book that turns out to be a dud. There's almost a fear to starting a book (which is an intriguing fear to me) - what if it isn't good, or if it is too intense? I do know that part of why I don't read as much as I could is that when I get engrossed in a book, I don't put it down, and reading at bedtime means that there are some nights that lights don't get turned off until 3 or later. That really does a number on my system.

I often wonder why I quit reading voraciously - it may have had something to do with my marriage. My ex is a TV watcher, and there was a TV in every room. Whatever room he was in the TV was often on, and he really never was a reader. I don't know that he ever finished more than 3 books the whole time we were married. So, did I quit reading because of him? It's possible - so much of my identity seems to have been swept away in that relationship. When I went back to school for my doctorate, I suddenly had an excuse to read. It wasn't fiction, but I loved it - each word seemed to help bring me back to life. I remember several weekends during the doctoral program I read up to five books - oh, glorious times!

My kids and I go to bookstores frequently, and I find that it brings out the same response in me that it did as a child - I could stay there for hours on end. I buy books for them and for me, and have included it as a line item in my budget. I have a huge stack of books to read that I've bought over the past few years. Have I read them? No, not really.

Why not? Probably because I am online A LOT. How many books could I be reading rather than what's online? And is it really going to change all that much? My OCD kicks in when I'm online and check the same things over and over - email, email, email, email [yes, that's 4 different email accounts], facebook, twitter, the blogs I subscribe to, etc... Click, click, click, click... how many books could I have read instead?

So - my non-resolution is to read more that's not online. Today I read a book cover to cover and it felt divine! Decadent, even. Why don't I do this more often? Thus far this year, I've read two complete books from my pile of books, and I have a book that I read at night that won't suck me in, as it is non-fiction.

Glorious day. A very satisfying day.

January at the Gym

I know that I haven't been able to exercise as much as I would like lately, thanks to the holidays, a sore knee, schedule, etc... but I HAVE been going to the gym, at least 3 times a week. My preference is to exercise 4-5 days a week. I feel better when I can make that happen.

So, this week I have managed somehow to make it to the gym 3 days - two of those days I took two classes each day. Yesterday I took Body Pump, a weight lifting to music class, and Body Combat - a kickboxing type class. Both classes yesterday were "full" - I've never seen so many people in the classes in the morning. This morning I was sore, as I anticipated, but it was a good sore. All the places that I wanted to be hurting were.

The first class today was Zumba, a cardio class that utilizes a lot of latin dance moves. Not my favorite, but it matched my mood today. I'd get a decent workout that was "easy" yet "hard enough" to handle and would help to mix up the cardio routine/rut that I've been in the past few months. It was also a very full class - where have all these people come from?

When it started, I could feel the soreness, but as we warmed up it got better. After that I stayed to do Body Flow, which is a class that combines tai chi, yoga, and pilates. Flow is my favorite class, mainly because it both stretches and strengthens, and the meditation at the end is simply a beautiful gift to self. Normally when I take Flow, I'm one of about 4 people, and I'm near the front of the room. But today... because I went to the bathroom between classes, I got to be at the back of the room.

Ah yes - it's January at the gym... people have joined because of those New Year's Resolutions. And I'm happy to see them and thrilled that there is a desire from so many to improve their fitness level. But a small part of me will be glad when their enthusiasm wanes and crowds get back to normal. Horrible of me, I know.

Meanwhile - thanks to 4 classes in two days, I'm amazingly sore. Wow. This feeling is why I need to be more conscientious about cross-training.

Childlike Joy

I spent the last week being "dance mom extraordinaire" as my daughter's dance studio had their annual Christmas program.

I have complained about all the stress and work that goes into it from the Mom perspective in the past, and while I've made a conscious effort not to do so over the past year, I'm sure I will do it again. Yet even with the hassles of dealing with extended family coming and being present, I am finding that that matters less and less and the complaints are less frequent.

Why? Because for my child dance is just pure joy. She loves it. She always has. I remember taking her to her first dance class... she literally pushed me away, said, "Bye, Mom!" and ran in ready to go, just full of excitement and hardly able to contain herself.

Prior to that class, as well as since, her way of being in the world is to watch and take things in - to really get a feel for what is happening before joining in. Even as young as fifteen months this tendency was evident. The first time I took her to the beach she wouldn't put her feet on the sand. I tried setting her down and her feet raised up like a marionette. We did this a few times and it was amusing - lower her down and her feet came up. With a little bit of difficulty not to mention frustration, since I really wanted to enjoy the beach myself, I somehow managed to spread a beach towel on the white sand and she and I sat down together. How long we sat there, I do not know. I reached out and started playing with the sand while she looked around at her sister and her dad heading to the water. I'm sure I talked about what was around her, but knew not to push her. If we sat there for awhile that was ok.

After awhile, she stood up on the beach towel, then sat back down in my lap. She stood up again, took a tentative step on the sand, then sat back down next to me, placing her hand on my leg. A few minutes later, she did it again.

Finally, she stood up, took a step out on the sand and then took off towards the water. I remember her loving it, but she had to have time to process all that was around her before she could be comfortable participating.

Dance is truly the only thing in her life that I can say she has approached without hesitation.

Yes, watching her dance is something that brings out in me not just a sense of pride, but a sense of joy. Joy just emanates from her little body and one just can't help but watch her. I don't think I say that as her mom, although that role may color my view of her. All the hassle around the week is irrelevant, because her joy just fills the room. Nothing else matters.

Indeed, nothing else matters.

How I Love His Voice...

But really? Rob Thomas? What is up with these songs you are singing these days?

One of my problems with music is that I get caught up in the details. It's not just a beat - it's the words, the arrangement, the tempo, etc. If a song has sad lyrics, then the song should feel sad. Happy - it should be upbeat. Ironic has a place, I do realize, but I don't think the issue here is irony.

The two most recent songs I've heard of his on the radio - Her Diamonds and Someday - while I enjoy listening to his voice, both irritate me when I really stop to analyze them.

Her Diamonds was written about his wife and an autoimmune disease she has. Love the lyrics. Love the tune. Just don't love them together. It's just too happy. "Oh what the hell she says I just can't win for losing" - that is not an upbeat thought.

And Someday - love the way this sounds, but really listening to the lyrics. "Maybe someday we'll live our life out loud." Why wait for someday? Why not do it now?

And while I've been there - the lyrics sound like someone depressed - what's up with the catchy tune?

Clearly, these thoughts are not that of the mainstream. The songs are popular - I hear them all the time. Yet these are thoughts I had during lunch today and Someday was playing in the background.

Thoughts I had when I should have been grading. Like now. Grades are due in 39 hours.

The Most Wonderful Time

One of the girls and my favorite things to do is listen to "Wait, Wait... Don't Tell Me!" on NPR, usually by listening to the podcast, because the 11-12 hour on Saturday morning is usually filled with something else. DD1 literally cheers every morning that Carl Kasell, the scorekeeper for "Wait Wait," comes on to do the news - she is a HUGE fan of his. Earlier this year I found out that they would be recording one of the broadcasts in Atlanta, and I managed to get tickets for the three of us to go as our family Christmas present.

So Thursday, I got the girls out of school early, and we headed to Atlanta - first to meet my brother and his new girlfriend [we approve!] for dinner, and then to the show. And the show did not disappoint.

Towards the end of the show, the host, Peter Sagal, made a comment that they were staying at the hotel across the street. The girls and I looked at each other. WE were staying at the hotel across the street, too!

The excitement just bubbled from there. We checked in, scoped out the place - the girls were excited, because I spent a little more than I normally would since it's Christmas (my goal was to find a place with an indoor pool) - they thought the room and the hotel was just incredible (side note - it wasn't THAT incredible, but in their eyes, it was). After about an hour, though, I managed to convince them to go to bed.

This morning the girls didn't want to get up, but I figured... free hot breakfast.. if the "Wait, Wait" crew is really staying here, we might see some of them at breakfast.... "come on girls, let's get going!"

So we did.

DD2 had to go back to the room for her coat. DD1 and I were in line for omelettes, and a bearded gentleman comes to the line as well. He looked familiar, and then he spoke - yep, it was Charlie Pierce from "Wait, Wait." I said something to DD2 about it when she got back, and she said, "I talked to him by the elevator!"

That confirmed it. They were at.. our... hotel!

We ate breakfast, and I recognized the show's producers sitting near us, too. DD2 decided to go up to the room - she was bored, but DD1 and I stuck it out, scoping out the place for other "Wait Wait" celebrities.

A little later I see an older gentleman coming down the elevator. It looked like Carl Kasell. Wait.. Wait.... It IS Carl Kasell!!

Oh, this is too good! He gets his breakfast, and DD1 and I decide - do we say something?

Finally - we just did. We went up to him, and told him we were big fans, and would be missing him when he retires later this month. I shook his hand. DD1 stood there smiling and just shell shocked! But oh, soooo excited!

We went to the room, told DD2, and then we looked out our door so she could see him. She wanted to go meet him, too, but I said, "No, that's rude - we've already been rude enough," but we did decide we would complete our celebrity stalking by taking a picture of him from our hotel room door:


The girls then went swimming, and by the time we came out, there were no signs of any NPR celebrities.

We spent the rest of the afternoon doing a little shopping, having lunch at my parents' house, and then venturing back home so DD1 could go caroling this evening.

On the way home, DD1 and I started talking - somehow we got on the subject of the divorce, and she made the comment that I'm happier now, and that we do more fun things than we we used to do. Probably true.

But what I got out of that conversation is that - for right now, at least - we are on the same wavelength. She likes to go shopping with me, she likes spending time with me, and more than that - she wants me to "get" her. And while I really did enjoy going to see "Wait, Wait" - watching her face, and seeing her genuine excitement to see Carl Kasell both last night and this morning - wow. It was just awesome.

That was the best part of this Christmas present for me.

I'd Like One Demigod, Please

source

Since I have so much to grade, the logical thing to do this week is to read some books I've been wanting to read, right?

So it would seem. Since Sunday, I've read books 3, 4, and 5 in the Percy Jackson & The Olympians series by Rick Riordan. These books are phenomenal, and per my usual, when a book [or in this case, books] is really good, I get sucked in and cannot stop reading it.

I started reading the series at DD1's request at dinner a few months ago. We finished book 2 at dinner on Sunday night. DD2's face during the last 2 pages of the book was one that I shall not forget for a long time. She had that look of, "I KNOW WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN!!" and she was sooooo excited. I think that is a true testament to the power of these books.

I now know more about Greek mythology than I ever did before, and mainly because the stories were present day and just so well written. Throw in a handful of modern day demigods, and they start on quests just like the heroes of old where they deal with many of the same problems [monsters, labyrinth, going to the underworld...] but in a setting that is familiar to us - the United States.

I could not put the books down. Every "spare" moment I've had since Sunday night I've been reading. Such satisfaction when the series ended, too.

Grading... tomorrow... gotta happen, though.

Giving Thanks

A painting by Jane Evershed - I have this hanging in my kitchen
"The Founder's Footsteps"

source

When I started this blog this summer, it truly was because I was grading and needed a diversion for a little bit. I also knew that I wanted to blog with my students this semester, so I told myself that my taking the time to create a blog was actually "research" into how blogs worked... yeah, right. That thought was just some excuse not to be grading, and I know it.

At the time, I did not imagine how I would come to use the blog. Yes, I frequently post when I should be grading [like now], but more often than not, I use the blog as a way for me to process how I'm viewing the world these days.

I say, "these days" because there genuinely is a difference in how I view the world now versus just a few years ago. There really is an "old Lee" and a "new Lee."

I had a chat with a sorority sister this evening, and she made this comment to me:

You've gone from being a victim to a survivor, even in your own head.

Wow. That really sums it up.

I've alluded to this idea in some other blog posts, but this conversation really caused me to do even further analysis. You see, the "old Lee" really was a victim. As a teenager, I experienced an incident of sexual abuse. In college, I was date raped. I do believe that the first event is a contributing factor to the second, as my self-esteem tanked and I lost my ability to discern how I should be treated by others. My response to both was to hide - to change my major and consequently my career to one with very few men and to marry the first man who made me feel safe - a relationship that stemmed from a clear power differential between the two of us. In the process of hiding, I went numb. I went through the motions of what I was "supposed" to do, and somewhere along the way I lost my identity. I allowed my husband to call most of the shots, and I developed a learned helplessness that wasn't pretty.

Sixteen years after I was raped, I was in the middle of my doctoral program (which brought me back to life in so many ways) when the realization that the rape had impacted my life in ways I had not paid attention to hit me. This realization led to therapy, as well as the dissolution of my marriage. I wrote here about it, and it's worth a read, although when I wrote this piece I still had not done some major healing work, because I had allowed the rape to be my focus in the healing, when truthfully I needed to go back even further than that.

My marriage fell apart when I started the healing process, and I eventually moved into another relationship that helped me heal on some levels but still had a power differential. That relationship ended because I fell for a man who came back into my life about whom I always wondered, "what if?" Unfortunately, timing stunk, and neither of us were really ready for each other; he literally left me with this nugget: "Lee, you have to be happy with yourself. You can't depend on anyone else for that happiness."

That one comment rang truer than it ever had for me, and I began a period of soul-searching as well as recognizing that I still had a lot of healing to do. I started the process of healing from the abuse, and the depression that ensued was the perfect storm of love lost (x2) as well as the self-induced pain of healing. I also could not eat, which was very frustrating. As my therapist told me, women who are going through such levels of healing are doing so much mental, spiritual, and emotional work that mastication is more than they can do. Sleep was very fleeting, and I spent many a night crying out to God and sobbing hysterically. I truly believe I literally experienced hell on earth.

It was during this time that I started exercising as a way to deal with stress. The first time I went to the gym to exercise was pitiful. It was all I could do to get on the elliptical and have it work at its very lowest setting for 15 minutes without turning off. My heart rate was through the roof, but I persisted and gradually worked up to longer, more intense cardio. A few months into exercising, the good folks at the gym recommended that I try the BodyFlow class - a combination of yoga, tai chi, and pilates - as it would help me relax. I remember laying on the floor during the meditation portion of one of the classes and the instructor saying, "Go to your happy place." I lay there stumped. Happy? Where was I happy?

This question plagued me for weeks. I finally found the answer, though. At sorority convention that summer, a speaker had the following up on one of her slides:

Be open to the unexpected.
Be present.
Be generous.
Be your word.
Be who you are
and accept others for who they are.
Be where you are
and accept what you have.
Be the change you want to see in the world.

As I sat there listening to her, I thought to myself, "That's happiness. That's what I want."

My happy place is when I feel like I'm making a difference. It's why I enjoy my children, students, and sorority work. It's not a physical location but a result that comes from BEING. It's the recognition that each moment is an opportunity and a gift.

And so, the "new Lee" was born. I started savoring the little things, accepting people for who they are and where they are. The exercise produced another change in that I started feeling healthy and good about myself. My wardrobe began to change, too, and the clothes that I started wearing looked younger and more vibrant than before. In a nutshell, I quit hiding and I started living.

On this day of Thanksgiving, I recognize that in many ways this blog not only provides me a diversion from grading, it also allows me to give thanks and celebrate the beauty that is inherent in the process of living. I often feel like I'm writing with a perspective that is somewhat naive or narcissistic, but I think that feeling only comes from the fact that this feeling of living is still so new to me. There are some days I literally can't believe how blessed I am to be living the life I have and experiencing the things I do, and all I want to do is share that feeling of incredulity. And there are days where I am feeling anger and frustration, and I just need to get it out. The key word in many of these sentences is feeling. I FEEL!

And that is the difference between being a victim and a survivor. Today, I give thanks that I am a survivor, and that with each passing day I grow more into the woman I always should have been.

The poem that goes with the painting:

The Founder's Footsteps...

No one was watching
When you first tied fast
The tight rope of your own making,
Then summoned the strength to walk it.

Now the Universe smiles upon you
With all the women you have transitioned with,
Away from pain and bondage
Toward the seductive drumbeats
Of conscious evolution
And self empowerment.