And the Beat goes on…

These past few weeks have been filled with travel, family, holidays, bar mitzvahs, theme parks and more travel.  I confess it’s left me in a bit of a funk.  A friend today called it “jet lag” which is a great umbrella term for how I feel, but I think it goes even deeper.  It’s very rare for me to feel down more than a day or two.  Usually all it takes to lift my mood is some good social interaction with people I enjoy.  This week I’ve done just that and still find myself deflating after I get home. 

I think I know when it started.  A couple of weeks ago, we were in New York City following my nephew’s Bar Mitzvah.  We took my son to the Port Authority Bus Station so he could catch the Greyhound back to DC.  I waited with him in line to get his ticket and we chatted about the weekend’s events.  The terminal was amazing!  Kind of like Penn Station, lots of people, vendors, etc.  It was invigorating!  I’ve always been fascinated with places like train stations and airports. 

After I said goodbye to my son, I met my husband back at the car.  As we began our drive through the streets of New York, I felt a wave of sadness wash over me.  I really miss big city life, even with the noise and traffic.  I feel invigorated by the people, the sights, the feeling that so much is happening at once.  That afternoon, I was overwhelmed with longing for my old life and sadness that my husband doesn’t share my love for the big city.  He’s quite content in our new hometown.  I think I cried all the way to the airport and during the entire plane ride back to Nashville. 

My crying jag opened up a conversation my husband and I have not had in awhile.  It’s the “what are we going to do now that the kids have moved on and are we going to stay here?” talk.  Of course there is no easy answer.  The last 25 years have revolved around one goal: raising the kids.  What we wanted wasn’t the primary focus.  But now it is.  And while there is no need for a quick decision, I can’t help hearing the ticking of the clock.  Don’t want to “waste” any time, don’t want time to slip away, there are dreams still waiting for me. 

So, what’s next?  I have no idea.  The house is quiet, for now.  Soon the boys will be home for winter vacation and the holidays will be upon us.  The weather has turned cold.  And a new year is about to begin.  I’m trying to slow myself down, but the beat of the city echoes in my head, gets my blood pumping.  I’m all dressed up and nowhere to go.

Me and My Bike…Hate it, Love it!

When we first arrived here in Oz, it was right after our anniversary.  My husband had been craving a brand new, fancy bike to ride around the countryside.  So we decided to gift ourselves beautiful, shiny two-wheelers.  These were not just any bikes.  They are “road bikes” made for speed, agility and distance.  Mine is powder blue and white with a white seat and white handlebars.  It had clip in pedals and I got a pair of special shoes, socks, bike shorts, the works!  We loaded them into the car and headed home to take these beauties for a spin.

Once we were at home, we suited up and  climbed on our bikes to try them out in our neighborhood.  I clipped my feet into the pedals and away we went.  Oh, did I mention we live in the hills?  Immediately to the right of our driveway is a pretty steep downhill and to the left is a steep uphill.  Nevertheless, we started off.  

I knew right away this would be trouble.  My bike went flying down the hill while I kept my eye on the street and my hands on the brakes.  At the bottom of the hill I tried to turn but went out of control and skidded.  Over I went, but my clip-in shoes stayed with the bike so I couldn’t save myself.  My husband also went down and ended up with a pretty nasty gash in his lower calf.  We rode a bit more, I fell a lot!  

After that outing, I told my husband I wanted to change the pedals back to regular ones.  He resisted and suggested I practice some more.  So we tried a few more times in a parking lot but my confidence was now pretty shaken.  I was embarrassed, frustrated, angry and so I gave up.  

When I was growing up in the pre-Title IX world, girls were not encouraged to participate in sports.  There were girls who were good at tennis, swimming, track, gymnastics, volleyball, etc. but I was not one of those.  My junior high school years were marked by humiliation as I tried without success to earn the “Presidential Fitness” award and get that stupid patch to sew on my gym shorts.  I was the slowest 50-yard dash runner in my class and was rarely picked for any team sport.  I had no confidence in my athletic ability, strength or coordination and I did not acquire any competitive spirit.  PE was one big trauma for me so I was overjoyed when in high school, PE meant I could take Modern Dance!  Eventually, my doctor put me on a running regimen to try and build my lung capacity as a treatment for my asthma.  I began running and continued until years later when I developed tendonitis shortly before becoming pregnant with my first child.  (More on the running in a later post)

So, our gorgeous bikes sat in the garage collecting dust for a couple of years because I simply refused to ride until I got regular pedals put back on.  Finally I made the change back, and this fall we’ve started riding again.  I have battled to regain my confidence and control over the bike.  We’ve been riding on some flat roads and paths around town.  My husband has realized my need for patience and compassion.  

This past weekend we headed out on a longer, busier road.  The air was warm, the skies were clear, it was a glorious day!  I finally felt in control and unafraid of the bike, finally understood the gears and how they can help me, finally gave my brakes the day off.  We rode several miles and my husband stayed nearby, checking on me from time to time.  He even gave me a thumbs up when we rode over a narrow bridge.  It’s hard for him to understand my fears and insecurities when it comes to sports.  I think he’s finally getting it because I’m finally getting it. This isn’t about strength, ability, or even desire.  This is about ingrained early conditioning and it’s hard to overcome. Even with my beloved Pilates, I often feel weak, clumsy and fearful of trying new things.  Thankfully my instructor believes in me and I trust her to not let me fail.

I think I love my bike now.  It’s helped me learn something about myself and that’s a gift.  It’s also helped me set new goals for the future.  I started running again this summer and coming up next week, I’ll be running in my first 5K.  More to come!

My Bike Minus the White Handlebars

 

There’s No Place Like Home…wherever that is

These last couple of weeks have been a whirlwind.  Quick trip to DC to visit our college kid.  He’s doing great, making friends, getting involved, studying hard.  It seems so natural for him.  I can’t say I’m totally surprised but it’s just worth noting.  I hope his insides match his outsides.

So the seasons are changing again.  Leaves are turning color and starting to fall from the trees.  The air is crisper.  It’s really a beautiful time of year here.  The last several days we’ve been observing (sort of) the holiday of Sukkot.  We entertained two couples for dinner and it was lovely!  No crowded table, no kids, just six adults enjoying good food and good conversation.  It felt so relaxing.  Last night I also entertained, but this time it was about 30 people from our local Hadassah chapter.  I was the dessert course for a progressive dinner that began up the block.  Everyone was in a festive mood, the desserts were well received and I met some more new people.  I really enjoyed myself.

As I was brushing my teeth, I had a realization: I’m kind of glad we came here.  I’m as surprised as anyone to make this discovery.  After all, I’ve been homesick, resentful and generally pissed off most of the last four years.  When I told my husband, I prefaced it by asking him not to “get too excited”.  So, what’s the deal?  

All my life I lived in the same place, had the same friendships with people who see things the same as I do, looked out at the same world everyday.  I confess, it was a wonderful life filled with amazing friends and let’s face it, Southern California is Paradise.  I loved that world and the feeling that everything was possible there.  

Now we all know L.A. has some truly ugly parts to it, but living in L.A. is kind of like living in a snow globe.  When the air clears, you really only see the beauty in the bubble.  So now that I’m out of the bubble, I have a chance to reinvent myself, much like my kids are doing in college and beyond.  People here don’t know me exclusively as someone’s Mom, Wife, Daughter, Sister, etc.  I get to decide who I want to be and it’s liberating.  And, I’m reconnecting with parts of myself I haven’t seen in years.  So as I’m getting to know new people, I’m also getting to know myself again.  

When I moved here, I felt lost, empty and ANGRY.  My life was a blank slate.  Now I’m not so empty.  I have made friends and memories.  I still don’t feel completely at home.  I don’t think I’ll ever identify myself as anything other than a Southern Californian.  And one important thing I’ve learned is that I really do love the big city.  

But, as I look around at the rolling green hills topped with a rainbow of flaming orange, yellow and red leaves, I realize that home is wherever I am.  It’s even possible to have more than one “home”.  And that… is a beautiful thing.  

So unlike Dorothy, who believed she didn’t need to look beyond her own backyard to find home, I now believe I can make a home just about anywhere.  

I still miss you guys, though (you know who you are)! 

New Year, New Beginning

So, it’s official, my nest is empty…for now.  I feel numb, shaky, scared, excited.  It’s a new chapter for us, but it’s also strangely familiar.  A reminder of our early days before kids, but now we’re really not just two.  Our family is now five souls living life on this earth separately but together.  

My youngest son wears a ring engraved with a saying that goes something like “in order to know where you’re going, you have to know where you are from.”  An obvious, if somewhat cliche sentiment.  But these days, the words seem relevant.  The other night we had friends over for Rosh Hashanah dinner.  While we were in the kitchen clearing the dishes, I stole a quick kiss from my husband.  Just then a friend came into the kitchen and said her elderly mother, who was a guest at our table, wondered if we had been high school sweethearts.  My husband and I laughed and asked her why they had that thought.  My friend replied that they could tell by the way we looked at each other and the connection between us, that we must have been together since we were very young. 

These last few days I’ve thought about that sweet comment.  It got me thinking about our beginning so long ago it seems like another life.  A chance meeting in passing, a cute boy in shorts and a tank top, Freshman Orientation, long talks on the couch in the dorm, hiking down to the beach and a kiss along the shore.  Two teenagers away from home for the first time, both feeling kind of lost and uncertain about our futures.  We clung to each other for security and strength, struggled to grow up separately but together.  But always, I felt like at home with him, comfortable, safe and familiar.  People don’t believe me when I say I knew from the first moment that this was “the one”.   How could I have known that?  It’s unexplainable even today.  I’m just grateful I was open and able to see what was right in front of me.  

So, what have I learned from this visit to my past?  Once again, I feel kind of lost and uncertain about the future.  But I still feel comfortable, safe, not alone.  The years we’ve shared together are now our story, but we continue to work on growing separately.  He’s grown up to be the handsomest man in any room, still looks great in shorts, still a fabulous kisser and we still enjoy long talks and walks on the beach.  When I look at him, I still see “the one”, standing right in front of me.

So, it’s another new year, a new beginning for our band of five travelers.  I pray this year brings us all peace, contentment, happiness.  Wherever our lives take us, the five of us are one.

Two Down, One To Go

Well, over the last couple of weeks, we’ve said our goodbyes to the oldest and the youngest.  It’s been eventful, emotional, exciting and confusing.

During the drive to DC to take the youngest to college, we were trying to outrun the hurricane that was on its way.  It was a stressful journey, but we made it in time to run to Bed, Bath & Beyond just before closing.  In the morning, I woke up before my son.  I confess I watched him sleep for awhile, savoring the last moments of his pre-college life.  I think he knew I was watching and I’m glad he let me.  When we arrived at the dorm, it was gloomy, but still dry.  We raced the clock to get him moved in before the rain came.   It was fun watching him and his roommates negotiate, plan and arrange their new digs.  My husband says boys don’t need to “nest” the way girls do.  But they do need to stake out their turf and these kids seemed to have it well in hand.

After the move, we headed out to do some last minute shopping, the rain just beginning to sprinkle and a light breeze hinted at the storm still to come.  By late afternoon the hurricane was nearly upon us, so we left my son at his dorm, stocked up on some groceries and hunkered down in our hotel to wait it out.  Thankfully, it wasn’t as bad as I had feared and by morning, all that was left was some drizzle and wind.  Later in the day, the sun broke out and revealed a dazzling DC.  The next couple of days we alternated between sightseeing and visiting with my son until the last night when he walked us to the subway stop to say our “goodbyes.”  I will always remember that moment, wanting to say something important, but not wanting to over-do.  I cried just a few tears and he let me hug him tight.  I know the next time I see him, we’ll all be changed by the experience of this separation.  

No sooner did we return home, than focus shifted to my daughter and preparations for her five-month trip to Israel.  The morning of her departure came and we headed off to the airport.  I knew she was anxious about the trip, making connections and getting herself to her final destination in Jerusalem.  While she was en-route, I was wracked with panic.  I’m not sure why I felt so scared.  I spent the next day working to manage my fears, my mantra, “feelings are not fact,” repeating in my head until finally I heard from her.  Safely arrived, she was tired and stressed but relieved.  The last couple of weeks have been a new experience for me.  The last time she left home for an extended time in college, things didn’t go very well.  I confess I’m working to put that trauma behind me and focus on the mature, confident young woman she has become.  So far, she’s doing great!  Thank God for Skype, texting, Facebook and a fairly reasonably priced cell phone plan!  The contact is not as frequent as I had feared, but just enough to feel connected.  

So, how am I doing?  It’s a roller coaster.  The nest is nearly empty and it’s already pretty quiet around here.  Even my husband has commented on it, which says a lot!  This is new territory for both of us, not a summer vacation or a weekend without our kids.  This is a new life for us, too.  Sometimes I’m happy to revisit our life pre-kids, but it’s really not the same.  Those little angels have changed us forever.  I’m grateful and proud, but…growing up sucks!

Almost Ready for Launch

I’m taking a break from the chaos going on around me right now.  This week it feels as if my higher power (or whatever) is testing me.  

To begin, my husband started the week off with a kidney stone procedure (all is well) and today learned that his back pain is most likely from a slipped disk.  He’s facing some physical therapy and pain management, nothing too serious, but still he’s feeling vulnerable, old, frustrated, irritable and just plain miserable.  I’m working hard at being patient and supportive.  It’s really tough to see him this way and I love him for trying to be strong.  I thank God these issues are fleeting and not life threatening.

The rest of this week has been devoted to helping my youngest son prepare and pack for college.  Tomorrow we are headed to Washington D.C. where there has just been an earthquake, Hurricane Irene is threatening to land in the area and Sunday is the dedication of the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial.  I’m trying not to obsess over the weather, but I confess I’m nervous.  All of these events only exacerbate my already heightened emotions about this transition.  

Most of my instincts lately have me wanting to spend lots of time with my son, hug him whenever he lets me and “talk about our feelings.”  I have however, been reining myself in…a lot!  It’s not just for him that I’m managing my emotional panic.  I’m taking this opportunity for my own personal growth.  After 18 years of diligent involvement in his life, I truly believe he is ready to face the world, and I am ready for him to go.  His leaving does not wipe away the years we spent together, nor does it wipe away the lessons I’ve taught him, the fun we’ve had and the experiences we’ve shared.  We both carry all of this with us.  

Of course, I’ve shed plenty of tears.  If my car could talk, well, let’s just say it would have a lot to say.  My husband has also been a source of comfort.  For the first time, we’re more in sync about our feelings and we’ve been able to share our feelings of sadness, excitement and anxiety.  I definitely feel heard, understood and less alone.  And, after all, we are on this journey together.  

We are almost ready for launch, the adventure continues… 

 

Another Year Older…

This past weekend I celebrated another birthday.  I confess that I’m sort of a baby about my birthday.  Since it falls in the summer, I never felt like it got the attention it deserved.  When I was in elementary school I sat through countless class parties with homemade cupcakes, birthday crowns and presents, knowing I’d never get my turn.  Many years, I’d wait until September to have a party so that most of my friends could come.  And even though my mom always knocked herself out planning really fun and creative things to do, it always felt fake.  When I got older, my birthday was just a small blip on the family radar and as an adult, well, you know, unless I plan something it never really happens. 

But this year, it was perfect!  I told my husband last Thanksgiving, while we were in New York City with my brother and his family, that for my birthday I wanted to spend the whole weekend there.  And, we planned it together, and it was magical!  We walked, ate great food, saw a Broadway show, visited some new neighborhoods (to us) and of course shopped.  The entire weekend I marveled at how happy I felt and how well everything went.  Even the weather obliged and the threatened rain never really materialized.  We came home exhausted and sore but very satisfied.

So, why was this year different?  I have my theories.  But really I don’t want to over analyze.  Bottom line, I think I’ve learned to enjoy and stay in the moment and to be satisfied with “good enough.”  Ah!  People say perfection doesn’t really exist and that pursuing it will only lead to disappointment.  But I think for me, perfection is accepting what’s true and real and being happy about that.  Less than perfect doesn’t mean “less than”.  Human beings are flawed and broken.  But perfection and beauty lie in finding the love, kindness and decency in the midst of that mess.  

This coming year is yet another transitional one for me.  Children leaving home in varying stages.  In just two week, we’ll be moving my youngest into college and soon after, the others will leave for far flung places.  Today a friend who actually is an expert on families, encouraged me to feel the grief and the feelings and to accept the magnitude of this life change.  I am comforted by this advice because I do feel grief and sadness and those feelings often pop up at unexpected times.  

I don’t know yet what this part of my journey will look like.  It feels like being on a roller coaster.  My prayer for myself for this next year is to ride the ups and downs, stay healthy and rekindle that feeling that anything is possibile.  Just like my kids, the rest of my life is waiting and the world is still mine for the taking.  HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

Guest Blogger: Margit Crane

Happy Monday everyone.  In lieu of an original posting today, I’m sharing a fantastic link to a blog post written by my dear, dear, friend, Margit Crane.  Many of you have heard the amazing story of how we reconnected on Facebook a couple of years ago and yes, it’s true!  Margit is a brilliant and gifted writer and a sensitive and compassionate coach for parents and kids of all ages.  I think everyone will enjoy her posting on the “Chicago Now” blog.  Check it out.  And, if you like what you see there, check out her website at margitcrane.com.  

Happy reading! Parenting 101 by Margit Crane

And, to everyone who is expressing so much love and support to my daughter, THANK YOU!!!!  You can’t imagine how much it means.

Fight The Good Fight

This week has been stressful for me.  My daughter is still waging war on her professor and tomorrow she goes head to head with her.  She is brave, strong, articulate and prepared.  I am in awe of her courage, her determination and her passion for what she believes.  I hope she knows that no matter the outcome, she has fought the good fight.    

This growing up stuff is hard.  It’s also hard to watch.  I remember when my daughter was learning to walk she’d fall down flat, then check to see if anyone was watching.  If she caught us watching, she’d howl.  If she didn’t know we were watching, she’d pick herself up and keep on going.  It’s been pretty much the same as she’s grown up.  Often the less fuss we all make, the easier it is for her to keep on going.  

Over the years, I’ve tried not to panic when she’s in distress.  It’s been really hard for me to keep my perspective when she falls.   And I confess at times I haven’t been very good at talking myself down.  After all, as they grow up, the problems are more difficult and the consequences are greater than a bruised forehead or skinned knee.  These past several years have been a roller coaster for her and for me.  College has been an unexpected E-ticket: thrills, rumbling special effects, scary monsters and the occasional big splash.  

In addition to all the worry, stress and disappointment there is grief.  As the years have passed I’ve had to realize I cannot help her, save her or fix things for her.  When the world is giving her a beating all I can do is watch and hold my breath.  Recently I’ve also learned about the value of a good cry.  But for tomorrow, I pray things go her way.  I pray those deciding her fate will have an open mind and a compassionate heart.  But most of all I pray that if she doesn’t get the outcome she wants she continues to have strength and courage and belief in herself.

“A Long Time Ago In A Galaxy Far, Far Away…”

I remember taking my little brother to see “Star Wars” when it first opened in 1977.  I was home from college and we went to a morning show, followed by a pizza lunch. That film saga, of course, had a long and happy life, culminating just a few years ago with the final installment.  But for my brother and I, it’s the first episode that still holds the magic. We sat in the dark and watched the signature text scroll by “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away….” We munched popcorn, and nearly jumped out of our seats at the rumbling special effects as the Rebel Alliance battled the evil Galactic Empire and the blockbuster film of our generation unfolded in front of us.

For my kids’ generation, the Harry Potter books and films represent their coming of age.  My youngest son, now 18, has been following the stories since he was old enough to devour the tales of Harry, Ron and Hermione as they battle their own force of darkness, the evil Lord Voldemort.  I confess when the first book was published and began getting buzz, I was disturbed by the premise: a young orphaned boy, forced to live under the staircase at the home of his cruel and sadistic aunt and uncle.  I told my children I would read the book first, and then decide if they were ready for it. 

I read, “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” around the time my older son was turning 11, just like Harry.  The imagery and the complex, multi-layered plot captivated me immediately.  This woman could really tell a story!  After awhile, my older boy moved on and my younger son picked up the series.  And now, in the truncated world of “movie time”, he is the same age as the characters.  Over the years there were summer nights standing in line as bookstores released the latest volume, special packages sent to camp.  There was even one “reading party”; I and several of my son’s friends, sat around the pool together reading the last book, each of us trying to keep a poker face as we read the sad final pages. 

When part one of the last story opened in theaters last fall my son and his friends dressed in costume and, on the eve of Model UN competition, went to the first showing at midnight.  The next day, bleary-eyed on the bus, they said it was worth it to experience the blockbuster of their generation. 

When the final installment opened last week my son missed it, he’s away at camp.  His friends reported a wide range of emotions from sadness to jubilation.  But they all said they felt like their childhood had finally come to an end.  Just like my brother and me sitting raptly in wait for “Star Wars”, the kids of the 2000s can say they were there.  So congratulations Class of 2011.  There is no flash-forward to 2030, but your future’s ahead and oh, the places you’ll go.