New Year's Day for me shifts like Thanksgiving or Easter instead of being fixed to a date on the calendar. Here in Texas, lately, it falls on the fourth Monday of August. In my childhoood, it usually fell the Tuesday after Labor Day. For me, the new year starts with the first bell of the school year. For more than half my life, the year has revolved around school. In the interim years between college and having a Kindergartner of my own, I missed the anticipation of the first day of school. The approach of September triggers memories of crayons and new shoes, squeaky clean chalkboards and stacks of brown paper bookcovers waiting to protect their charge for the year. I loved cracking open my textbook and seeing the list of students who flipped through pages in the years before. My kids don't put their names in their textbooks that same way and they miss a piece of history. The chalkboards with their welcoming green glow and choking dust are no more. No more cleaning erasers during recess or annoying a friend with the screech of fingernails. Now we have "smartboards" that automatically save the erasable marker notes to a computer drive. But still, the anticipation of the new school year thrills my girls just as it thrilled me.
This year holds adventure for all of us. New beginnings and bittersweet endings. The year holds lots of changes for us. My oldest is a sixth grader - the top dog in her local elementary school. She starts band. She's in advanced math which sets her course, in sixth grade, for her math curriculum through her senior year. She will have special privileges, new responsibilities, and more opportunity to begin to be independent. My younger enters second grade, ready to set the world on fire. She can hardly sleep with the excitement of being back among her friends.
I look forward to a week with some time to myself. I enjoy summer, but we all do better with a routine and I enjoy having some time to spend alone. But in a week, I will also be embarking on a new adventure, going back to work outside of the home after eleven years. I'm excited to have a life beyond the family. I've worked and studied to do this job well. I'm grateful to be able to use what I've learned both through school and life experience to walk alongside others on their own personal journeys.
I hope we are all ready for what this new year will bring. We will all grow. Some days, we will most likely be stretched so far we do not think we can bear it. And June will approach more rapidly than we can imagine. I look forward to taking stock of the year and look back on how far we have all come. There are some things I want to accomplish this year, some goals and dreams.
I want to grow professionally and begin to pay my own way.
I want to write something for publication.
I want to explore and experience my creativity in new ways.
I want to integrate the physical and the spiritual through some form of body work.
I want to create a group of women who can support each other on our journeys.
I want to help my children stretch and explore and develop their passions.
I want to deepen my connection to my husband.
I want to travel somewhere I have never been.
I want to balance - work and family, marriage and kids, activity and rest, introspection and relationship.
I am looking forward to 2010-2011. Bring on the school year!
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Where I'm From
I am from starched Wranglers with a crease pressed down the center of each leg, from baseball caps with seed company logos and sides chosen between John Deere green and International Harvester red.
I am from the ivy screened porch of a west facing ranch-style on a grid-straight street on the edge of town. From the worn green felt of the recliner and the brown, green and gold flecks of the 70's shag carpet and the flecked yellow kitchen cabinets that matched the sunflower dinner plates.
I am from cotton trailers sitting in gin yards and fields of sunflowers facing the light. From dust-filled winds that scoured and scorched. From long twilights with the sun setting a thousand miles away on the horizon and a sky studded with stars so numerous and brilliant that constellations were hard to find.
I am from Friday night football and resting on Sunday, except when there is a Cowboy game on TV. From family Christmas potlucks and weather-lined faces and farmers tans. From Mom and Dad Porter and Granddad Taylor and Flaudie and Virgie and Hilton and Joyce. From frugal money managers and paying cash not credit and FHA farm loans.
I am from broom swept dirt porches and hard work as a virtue. From tears only at funerals and infrequent laughter. From constant low-grade worry - about weather or crops or time or money - and resting only when the work was done.
I am from plaques on the school walls with honors for sports and grades with names the same as mine. From study hard and go far and why would you ever want to leave? From travel to the neighboring state as a grand adventure and suspicion of world travelers and big-city folk.
I am from once saved always saved, Baptists don't dance or drink, and good girls don't. From grace not works but calls for repentance of secret sins to bring the rain. From tent revivals and alter calls to hymns pounded out on the upright piano. From dividing lines drawn hard in the street between us and them, heaven and hell.
I am from covered wagons from the east and pioneer stock whose origins have vanished in the smoke of the Blue Ridge Mountains. From hard-scrabble share-croppers and gentried land-owners and Indian blood. From the unique pride that is the Independent Republic of Texas.
I am from suppers of fresh tomatoes and squash, black-eyed peas just shelled, and okra with prickles that itched for days after the picking. From summer watermelons on picnic tables cold from the irrigation ditch and homemade blackberry cobbler with ice cream.
I am from a World War II veteran who lied to be old enough to fight and a chemical engineer who couldn't ignore the siren call of the farm. From the first generation of children to all finish college and then go back to do it again.
I am from faded albums of pictures from an old manual camera that documented my childhood and a wedding album full of lies. From stories handed down without documents to verify facts and folks who don't believe much in living in the past. I am from five living generations on both sides of my line, one documented in print, the other only by words. From a family so close in proximity that we didn't need pictures and a generation that has finally left the family farm.
I am from men and women who settled the High Plains of West Texas a century ago, history before long forgotten or erased by the wind and the future no longer contained in 100 square miles of dirt.
Inspired by this writing exercise template that also inspired this beautiful prose.
I am from the ivy screened porch of a west facing ranch-style on a grid-straight street on the edge of town. From the worn green felt of the recliner and the brown, green and gold flecks of the 70's shag carpet and the flecked yellow kitchen cabinets that matched the sunflower dinner plates.
I am from cotton trailers sitting in gin yards and fields of sunflowers facing the light. From dust-filled winds that scoured and scorched. From long twilights with the sun setting a thousand miles away on the horizon and a sky studded with stars so numerous and brilliant that constellations were hard to find.
I am from Friday night football and resting on Sunday, except when there is a Cowboy game on TV. From family Christmas potlucks and weather-lined faces and farmers tans. From Mom and Dad Porter and Granddad Taylor and Flaudie and Virgie and Hilton and Joyce. From frugal money managers and paying cash not credit and FHA farm loans.
I am from broom swept dirt porches and hard work as a virtue. From tears only at funerals and infrequent laughter. From constant low-grade worry - about weather or crops or time or money - and resting only when the work was done.
I am from plaques on the school walls with honors for sports and grades with names the same as mine. From study hard and go far and why would you ever want to leave? From travel to the neighboring state as a grand adventure and suspicion of world travelers and big-city folk.
I am from once saved always saved, Baptists don't dance or drink, and good girls don't. From grace not works but calls for repentance of secret sins to bring the rain. From tent revivals and alter calls to hymns pounded out on the upright piano. From dividing lines drawn hard in the street between us and them, heaven and hell.
I am from covered wagons from the east and pioneer stock whose origins have vanished in the smoke of the Blue Ridge Mountains. From hard-scrabble share-croppers and gentried land-owners and Indian blood. From the unique pride that is the Independent Republic of Texas.
I am from suppers of fresh tomatoes and squash, black-eyed peas just shelled, and okra with prickles that itched for days after the picking. From summer watermelons on picnic tables cold from the irrigation ditch and homemade blackberry cobbler with ice cream.
I am from a World War II veteran who lied to be old enough to fight and a chemical engineer who couldn't ignore the siren call of the farm. From the first generation of children to all finish college and then go back to do it again.
I am from faded albums of pictures from an old manual camera that documented my childhood and a wedding album full of lies. From stories handed down without documents to verify facts and folks who don't believe much in living in the past. I am from five living generations on both sides of my line, one documented in print, the other only by words. From a family so close in proximity that we didn't need pictures and a generation that has finally left the family farm.
I am from men and women who settled the High Plains of West Texas a century ago, history before long forgotten or erased by the wind and the future no longer contained in 100 square miles of dirt.
Inspired by this writing exercise template that also inspired this beautiful prose.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Coming Undone
I am not good at waiting. I like to take breaks from time to time. I relax and unwind at regular intervals when life gets hectic. But long periods of waiting for something that I know lies in my path, somewhere around the corner, just undoes me.
I've been waiting since April. Waiting the requisite time to jump through the required hoops to be able to take the next step I've been working toward for three years. I enjoyed April. I went on field trips with my kids. I enjoyed not having to be up and out the door every morning. I gratefully tucked my girls into bed every night.
In May, I helped the girls navigate the end of school with all the requisite performances and papers. I also anticipated my first real overseas adventure. Even the waiting for that trip stirred some anxiety. Arranging for childcare and petcare and housecare while we were gone, packing the girls for two adventures while packing us for Europe, scheduling and scheming to make sure everything worked just about did me in. But we made it. And I enjoyed the trip immensely.
I spent June waiting for the opportunity to take a test to prove I knew enough to do the job I've set myself to do. A test I knew I would pass but still worried about. A test that I couldn't take until all the hoops had been jumped through.
I spent July waiting for the state to check off a list of all the required paperwork and send me permission to actually do my job. I have the place lined up. I have all my ducks in a row. But until I had that all important piece of paper, I couldn't actually DO anything.
I have spent August waiting for an official start date. Not knowing all the details of a schedule I am not in complete control over. Not able to reconcile how going back to work after 11 years at home will affect my family. Excited to get started. Afraid I'm losing skills while I sit around waiting. Unable to solidify plans until I have more information.
Until about the middle of July, I did okay. I enjoyed my downtime. We've done a lot of fun things as a family. I studied for the exam. I breathed a sigh of relief and enjoyed just doing nothing for a few weeks after I passed. But these last few weeks have been less than okay. I'm anxious. I'm spinning. I'm trying to put details into a landscape that barely has any form yet. I'm putting the cart before the horse. I find myself snapping at my family. I am not able to enjoy my simple downtime. I'm bored. I'm anxious. The voices are getting louder - and they are threatening to undo me.
So - I've done this introspection thing long enough to recognize that those voices have identities - and that if I can identify them and bring their dialogue into awareness, I can give myself what I need to get out of my head, out of the future, and back into myself and into the present moment. Right now - these voices are both mother and father complexes - criticizing me for being lazy and unproductive and dissuading me from spending time inside myself to find out what I really need. And I hear the voice of an insecure little girl inside of me that is afraid of failing. All of these pieces need my recognition. My attention. My empathy. I need to be present in these waiting moments of my life. I need to recognize that even in the midst of a break, I may not be getting the time I need for creativity and soul. I need to write. I need to read. I need to be okay with waiting. I need to trust the path unfolding before me. Maybe I need to let myself be undone so I can be done up again in a new way, renewed and refreshed and ready for the next leg of the journey.
I've been waiting since April. Waiting the requisite time to jump through the required hoops to be able to take the next step I've been working toward for three years. I enjoyed April. I went on field trips with my kids. I enjoyed not having to be up and out the door every morning. I gratefully tucked my girls into bed every night.
In May, I helped the girls navigate the end of school with all the requisite performances and papers. I also anticipated my first real overseas adventure. Even the waiting for that trip stirred some anxiety. Arranging for childcare and petcare and housecare while we were gone, packing the girls for two adventures while packing us for Europe, scheduling and scheming to make sure everything worked just about did me in. But we made it. And I enjoyed the trip immensely.
I spent June waiting for the opportunity to take a test to prove I knew enough to do the job I've set myself to do. A test I knew I would pass but still worried about. A test that I couldn't take until all the hoops had been jumped through.
I spent July waiting for the state to check off a list of all the required paperwork and send me permission to actually do my job. I have the place lined up. I have all my ducks in a row. But until I had that all important piece of paper, I couldn't actually DO anything.
I have spent August waiting for an official start date. Not knowing all the details of a schedule I am not in complete control over. Not able to reconcile how going back to work after 11 years at home will affect my family. Excited to get started. Afraid I'm losing skills while I sit around waiting. Unable to solidify plans until I have more information.
Until about the middle of July, I did okay. I enjoyed my downtime. We've done a lot of fun things as a family. I studied for the exam. I breathed a sigh of relief and enjoyed just doing nothing for a few weeks after I passed. But these last few weeks have been less than okay. I'm anxious. I'm spinning. I'm trying to put details into a landscape that barely has any form yet. I'm putting the cart before the horse. I find myself snapping at my family. I am not able to enjoy my simple downtime. I'm bored. I'm anxious. The voices are getting louder - and they are threatening to undo me.
So - I've done this introspection thing long enough to recognize that those voices have identities - and that if I can identify them and bring their dialogue into awareness, I can give myself what I need to get out of my head, out of the future, and back into myself and into the present moment. Right now - these voices are both mother and father complexes - criticizing me for being lazy and unproductive and dissuading me from spending time inside myself to find out what I really need. And I hear the voice of an insecure little girl inside of me that is afraid of failing. All of these pieces need my recognition. My attention. My empathy. I need to be present in these waiting moments of my life. I need to recognize that even in the midst of a break, I may not be getting the time I need for creativity and soul. I need to write. I need to read. I need to be okay with waiting. I need to trust the path unfolding before me. Maybe I need to let myself be undone so I can be done up again in a new way, renewed and refreshed and ready for the next leg of the journey.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
What I've Learned - July I Believe Challenge
Well, I'm finally back at the keyboard. I needed a brief break after a month of posts almost every day. I took Dani Fake-Webb's July I Believe Challenge because I wanted to see how committing myself to a post every day would affect my blogging and the internal process that accompanies the blog.
I learned a few things - about myself, about writing, about the world of blogging and about what I believe. Most of the time, even on the touchy topics, I didn't have much trouble actually writing down what I believe. Now sometimes what I believe shifts and transitions, or I hold two opposing or paradoxical ideas. But actually stating what I believed came easy. The sixty or so posts I wrote before I started this challenge eased some of the fear of speaking the truth. Sometimes I still falter and hesitate, but I'm less concerned about attracting criticism or dissent - and I've found warm and supportive encouragement for being authentic in this space.
However, I did find the every day format a bit daunting. I felt ideas wanting to percolate, to simmer, to reduce down to their essence but posting daily forced me to serve them up before they reached the proper internal temperature. Sometimes they felt too fast and underdone. I found myself writing from my head instead of my heart. And the process that drove the creation of this blog needs more feeling and less thinking. I've done enough academic writing to know my strengths and weaknesses in that venue. This blog is more about depth and feeling and poetry. While some of the topics definitely stirred feelings in me - the pressure to comment on the topic today limited my creative energy and shifted me back to the comfort zone of writing from my head. I need time to let the ideas bubble to the surface a little more to access the depth and feeling.
But the exercise proved interesting and even fun. I enjoyed making connections with others writing on the exact same topics at the exact same time. I wished for more discussion on some of the topics where others expressed varying viewpoints or nuances of a topic I hadn't considered. And I felt supported and encouraged by the comments and discussion that did occur.
Blogs, and social media in general, are funny little creatures. This blog has allowed me to find my voice, to an extent, and to begin to speak my truth. It supports my process of becoming. And still, even though I have a few welcome readers along, I find it is mostly for me. I write here to work out in words the feelings and ideas working on me. If my words resonate with anyone - that's wonderful - and the connections I've made cannot be measured on any scale of worth. But even if no one ever read, the writing itself carries worth for me. I admire the bloggers who post something beautiful or creative or profound on a daily basis, but I've discovered that my posts need a bit more time between.
Thanks Dani for the challenge. And I'm beyond delighted at the new connections I've made. But for now, I think I'll go back to a pace that seems to suit me a bit better, posting a couple of times a week, when inspiration strikes. That's what I believe works best for me.
I learned a few things - about myself, about writing, about the world of blogging and about what I believe. Most of the time, even on the touchy topics, I didn't have much trouble actually writing down what I believe. Now sometimes what I believe shifts and transitions, or I hold two opposing or paradoxical ideas. But actually stating what I believed came easy. The sixty or so posts I wrote before I started this challenge eased some of the fear of speaking the truth. Sometimes I still falter and hesitate, but I'm less concerned about attracting criticism or dissent - and I've found warm and supportive encouragement for being authentic in this space.
However, I did find the every day format a bit daunting. I felt ideas wanting to percolate, to simmer, to reduce down to their essence but posting daily forced me to serve them up before they reached the proper internal temperature. Sometimes they felt too fast and underdone. I found myself writing from my head instead of my heart. And the process that drove the creation of this blog needs more feeling and less thinking. I've done enough academic writing to know my strengths and weaknesses in that venue. This blog is more about depth and feeling and poetry. While some of the topics definitely stirred feelings in me - the pressure to comment on the topic today limited my creative energy and shifted me back to the comfort zone of writing from my head. I need time to let the ideas bubble to the surface a little more to access the depth and feeling.
But the exercise proved interesting and even fun. I enjoyed making connections with others writing on the exact same topics at the exact same time. I wished for more discussion on some of the topics where others expressed varying viewpoints or nuances of a topic I hadn't considered. And I felt supported and encouraged by the comments and discussion that did occur.
Blogs, and social media in general, are funny little creatures. This blog has allowed me to find my voice, to an extent, and to begin to speak my truth. It supports my process of becoming. And still, even though I have a few welcome readers along, I find it is mostly for me. I write here to work out in words the feelings and ideas working on me. If my words resonate with anyone - that's wonderful - and the connections I've made cannot be measured on any scale of worth. But even if no one ever read, the writing itself carries worth for me. I admire the bloggers who post something beautiful or creative or profound on a daily basis, but I've discovered that my posts need a bit more time between.
Thanks Dani for the challenge. And I'm beyond delighted at the new connections I've made. But for now, I think I'll go back to a pace that seems to suit me a bit better, posting a couple of times a week, when inspiration strikes. That's what I believe works best for me.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 30 & 31: Authentic Self & Big Dreams
This is it - the last two topics of the July "I Believe" Challenge. I've been working on a post in my head summing up my experience with this every day blogging challenge, but first I need to actually finish it.
RC: Why am I bothering with this?
Self: Because writing out what I believe is more important than you know.
RC: Nobody wants to hear this stuff and if I write down what I really believe people might think I'm just a little on the weird and crazy side.
Self: Really? Do you think that when you read what others write, when it resonates deep in your soul?
RC: No, of course not. You know that those words move me to tears, although I often try to mask them or distract myself instead of sinking into them deeply and really feeling them.
Self: I've noticed. I wonder why you do that. Do you not realize that right there, in that depth of feeling, is the place you most need to be - the place where I am?
RC: Yes, I know. But I'm afraid to get too close to you, or to show too much of you to the world.
Self: Why? Why are you afraid of me? I love with the deepest love. I want the best for you. I dream big dreams.
RC: I know that too. The dreams are so big. I want to dream them too, but I am afraid. Because I know I'm the one who will have to do the work of living those dreams. What if the price is too high? What if I'm not capable? What if I try and fail? What if I succeed?
Self: So many "what ifs". Trust me. Let go of the fear. Dream the dreams. Walk the path unfolding before you. Live and love and laugh and change the world - one step at a time. I'm right here with you. You are never ever alone.
RC: Why am I bothering with this?
Self: Because writing out what I believe is more important than you know.
RC: Nobody wants to hear this stuff and if I write down what I really believe people might think I'm just a little on the weird and crazy side.
Self: Really? Do you think that when you read what others write, when it resonates deep in your soul?
RC: No, of course not. You know that those words move me to tears, although I often try to mask them or distract myself instead of sinking into them deeply and really feeling them.
Self: I've noticed. I wonder why you do that. Do you not realize that right there, in that depth of feeling, is the place you most need to be - the place where I am?
RC: Yes, I know. But I'm afraid to get too close to you, or to show too much of you to the world.
Self: Why? Why are you afraid of me? I love with the deepest love. I want the best for you. I dream big dreams.
RC: I know that too. The dreams are so big. I want to dream them too, but I am afraid. Because I know I'm the one who will have to do the work of living those dreams. What if the price is too high? What if I'm not capable? What if I try and fail? What if I succeed?
Self: So many "what ifs". Trust me. Let go of the fear. Dream the dreams. Walk the path unfolding before you. Live and love and laugh and change the world - one step at a time. I'm right here with you. You are never ever alone.
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