Today has been the hardest day so far.
I ate before dawn, but clearly not the right stuff. Shakey, sleepy, very thirsty. But I am getting through. The process is more important than my momentary comfort.
I just had a weird experience. I was updating my Facebook and the new app asked for my religion. I sat there for 10 minutes marking and unmarking two different boxes. I could not commit to where I have been for all these years, nor to where it seems I am going. I finally settled on "Multireligious" (yes that was one of the choices!) for now.
I feel that I am straddling a crevasse, trying to keep one foot on either side. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately?) the gap is widening and it is about time for me to make a choice.
That's what this fast is all about. Choices.
Showing posts with label choices. Show all posts
Showing posts with label choices. Show all posts
Thursday, 20 September 2007
Monday, 6 August 2007
Falling in love with Key West all over again
I've always loved Key West.
From visits as a child growing up here in Florida, to sunrises on the beach after late night drives down during college, it's always been a place apart from the rest of Florida. Margaritaville.
But recently, I had heard from friends that the place was no longer worth a visit. Run down, no fun, not worth the long drive.
I am happy to report they were wrong. I just got back from my first visit to Key West in years. And although the approach to island was far more cluttered with fast food restaurants and seedy looking auto repair shops (are there really THAT many broken cars in the Keys?), once we got to Duval Street and the Old Town, the magic was still alive and well.
We stayed in a beuatiful bed and breakfast right on Duval. For two and half days, we walked everywhere...to shops, to restaurants, to the pier for the nightly sunset celebration, complete with music, performance art and craftspeople of all types. We swam in the pool and waded in the Gulf. And for nearly three days, did not have to drive.
Yes, Key West was more crowded than before. And chain stores like Bath and Body Works had popped up along Duval. But there were still far more wonderful places to explore like a gallery named "A Boy and his Dog", or a restaurant that listed the latitude and longitude and declared it to be the location of Paradise. As I sat there on that warm tropical night, enjoying a great dinner with someone special, I could not disagree.
It truly was paradise.
Next year, my older daughter will graduate from high school and head off to college, leaving my little one and I free to go wherever we wish. I spent an hour of my visit to Key West checking out the local job market (not bad) and the local real estate (very high.) And I contemplated the possibility of completing my return to Florida of a year and half ago by moving as far south as one could go.
I already live in Florida, surrounded by beaches and palm trees and music and art. But there is something about the concentration of all that creativity into such a small space that made all the difference. I imagined life without a daily commute, and the wonder of raising my daughter on a island filled with art and music. And I found that I really liked the idea.
Watch this space as the year goes by...by this time next year, maybe I'll have my own bit of Paradise too.
From visits as a child growing up here in Florida, to sunrises on the beach after late night drives down during college, it's always been a place apart from the rest of Florida. Margaritaville.
But recently, I had heard from friends that the place was no longer worth a visit. Run down, no fun, not worth the long drive.
I am happy to report they were wrong. I just got back from my first visit to Key West in years. And although the approach to island was far more cluttered with fast food restaurants and seedy looking auto repair shops (are there really THAT many broken cars in the Keys?), once we got to Duval Street and the Old Town, the magic was still alive and well.
We stayed in a beuatiful bed and breakfast right on Duval. For two and half days, we walked everywhere...to shops, to restaurants, to the pier for the nightly sunset celebration, complete with music, performance art and craftspeople of all types. We swam in the pool and waded in the Gulf. And for nearly three days, did not have to drive.
Yes, Key West was more crowded than before. And chain stores like Bath and Body Works had popped up along Duval. But there were still far more wonderful places to explore like a gallery named "A Boy and his Dog", or a restaurant that listed the latitude and longitude and declared it to be the location of Paradise. As I sat there on that warm tropical night, enjoying a great dinner with someone special, I could not disagree.
It truly was paradise.
Next year, my older daughter will graduate from high school and head off to college, leaving my little one and I free to go wherever we wish. I spent an hour of my visit to Key West checking out the local job market (not bad) and the local real estate (very high.) And I contemplated the possibility of completing my return to Florida of a year and half ago by moving as far south as one could go.
I already live in Florida, surrounded by beaches and palm trees and music and art. But there is something about the concentration of all that creativity into such a small space that made all the difference. I imagined life without a daily commute, and the wonder of raising my daughter on a island filled with art and music. And I found that I really liked the idea.
Watch this space as the year goes by...by this time next year, maybe I'll have my own bit of Paradise too.
Tuesday, 31 July 2007
The life I never had
I just finished reading a couple of new blogs...one is from a new writer I'm hiring, the other is her sister's blog. And I found the life I never had....
I read about close families and having neighborhood girl friends to share the baby years and toddler years as they raise their families together. About getting together with friends from high school year after year to see familes form and grow. I read about family trips and dads who loved their kids ...
I found the life I always wanted, and never had.
I think one of the reasons I moved to Utah for college was because I knew that I wanted a family and a life like that. I always tell people I moved because as a child of South Florida, I was anxious to experience mountains and snow. And that is partially true. It all looked so dramatic ...towering mountains, fields of pure white snow, spring meadows filled with wildflowers. But what I don't ever tell them is that I moved because I wanted a different kind of family.
Don't get me wrong...I grew up in a very good family. My parents loved us, and we had a good life. Trips, lessons, a nice home, beautiful clothes -- every THING a child could want. But from the beginnning, I was wired differently.
My mom, a brilliant woman who would have made a top notch doctor, became a nurse and then a homemaker, but never really fit into either of theose roles. She did them because when she graduated high school in the late 1950's, she was told that was where a woman belonged. She resented being at home. Hated cooking, would sooner have thrown herself from a tall building than ever sew, scrapbook, knit or do any sort of craft, found women's groups deadly dull, and had no interest in neighborhood get-togethers. We lived in the suburbs -- she was never a suburban wife. She was meant for different stuff -- feretting out tough diagnosis, or performing impossible surgeries. Think of Dr. House from the FOX TV show and you have my mom! I kid you not.
My mom wanted me to be and do all the things she never did. To be successful in a career, to be an achiever at the top of my field, if not in medicine, then in law, engineering or business. A tiger lady. Driven.
Unfortunately, I was not like my mom. I love to cook, to make things. I quilt. I do needlepoint and cross stitch. I scrapbook. And from as early as I could remember, I loved babies. I knew, from an early age, that I wanted a family.
That contrast was never so clear as when my mom "caught" me reading a Bride's Magazine. She snatched it from my hand and threw it into the trash. The next day, there was a copy of Ms. Magazine on my bedside. My mom had spoken.
I moved to Utah because I knew about Mormon families. I had Mormon friends. I loved their families. I saw exactly what I wanted there.
Unfortunately, I never got that dream. I married. I have three amazing children. And I divorced. I never had the suburban house with the friends next door, or the family vacations.
I guess I am mourning that lost dream. I have a career. I do work hard, and I have started to achieve some measure of success. I have, in many ways, all my mom wanted. How ironic. It seems that fate has given us each the lives the other wanted.
My mom now runs charities, sits on the board of directors of a medical facility, is a leader in the community. It took her awhile, but she got to place where she belongs. Finally.
Maybe it's not too late for me...
I read about close families and having neighborhood girl friends to share the baby years and toddler years as they raise their families together. About getting together with friends from high school year after year to see familes form and grow. I read about family trips and dads who loved their kids ...
I found the life I always wanted, and never had.
I think one of the reasons I moved to Utah for college was because I knew that I wanted a family and a life like that. I always tell people I moved because as a child of South Florida, I was anxious to experience mountains and snow. And that is partially true. It all looked so dramatic ...towering mountains, fields of pure white snow, spring meadows filled with wildflowers. But what I don't ever tell them is that I moved because I wanted a different kind of family.
Don't get me wrong...I grew up in a very good family. My parents loved us, and we had a good life. Trips, lessons, a nice home, beautiful clothes -- every THING a child could want. But from the beginnning, I was wired differently.
My mom, a brilliant woman who would have made a top notch doctor, became a nurse and then a homemaker, but never really fit into either of theose roles. She did them because when she graduated high school in the late 1950's, she was told that was where a woman belonged. She resented being at home. Hated cooking, would sooner have thrown herself from a tall building than ever sew, scrapbook, knit or do any sort of craft, found women's groups deadly dull, and had no interest in neighborhood get-togethers. We lived in the suburbs -- she was never a suburban wife. She was meant for different stuff -- feretting out tough diagnosis, or performing impossible surgeries. Think of Dr. House from the FOX TV show and you have my mom! I kid you not.
My mom wanted me to be and do all the things she never did. To be successful in a career, to be an achiever at the top of my field, if not in medicine, then in law, engineering or business. A tiger lady. Driven.
Unfortunately, I was not like my mom. I love to cook, to make things. I quilt. I do needlepoint and cross stitch. I scrapbook. And from as early as I could remember, I loved babies. I knew, from an early age, that I wanted a family.
That contrast was never so clear as when my mom "caught" me reading a Bride's Magazine. She snatched it from my hand and threw it into the trash. The next day, there was a copy of Ms. Magazine on my bedside. My mom had spoken.
I moved to Utah because I knew about Mormon families. I had Mormon friends. I loved their families. I saw exactly what I wanted there.
Unfortunately, I never got that dream. I married. I have three amazing children. And I divorced. I never had the suburban house with the friends next door, or the family vacations.
I guess I am mourning that lost dream. I have a career. I do work hard, and I have started to achieve some measure of success. I have, in many ways, all my mom wanted. How ironic. It seems that fate has given us each the lives the other wanted.
My mom now runs charities, sits on the board of directors of a medical facility, is a leader in the community. It took her awhile, but she got to place where she belongs. Finally.
Maybe it's not too late for me...
Thursday, 10 May 2007
I am such a bad mommy, but the music was so good!
Honestly!
I was going to!!!
But I didn't.
Last night I worked late, raced home, grabbed the girls and went to hear music with T, and her friends from the senior living community and my friend G who has been so busy I haven't seen her in almost two weeks even though we live on the same street!
The band was excellent, the evening weather was even better. We listened and talked and sipped tea(me), soda (my girls) or coffee (everyone else.) We laughed at stories. My little one and I played a game of chess. My older daughter chatted with far away friends on my laptop. We ate Taco Bell for dinner.
I meant to be good. But the music and the evening were too tempting. The time grew late and the music went on, and the stories flowed.
I am such a bad mommy, I thought as I tucked my daughter in at 10:30pm instead of the 9 pm I'd planned. But then I thought of the years ahead when a night spent doing chores will be long forgotten, but a night spent listening to music and talking and dancing around a fountain on a warm Florida evening just might be a treasured memory.
Maybe I'm not such a bad mommy after all...
Wednesday, 21 February 2007
Happiness is a choice
Last night I was on the phone with my good friend, M, who is currently trapped in the cultural wasteland somewhere outside of Jackson, Mississippi. Our conversations cover everything from sports and films to corporate politics and women's equality.
In the course of the conversation, I happened to mention (somewhere in the midst of a discussion about both epistimology and the changeover in his company from mostly male managers to mostly female managers), that I felt that I had been extremely lucky in my life so far. That stopped the conversation we had been having, as he tried to determine how I defined luck, and what I meant by "extremely" lucky.
After some debating we finally came to an agreement that "luckiness", as I defined it meant fortunate events or outcomes that occur regardless of merit. They are events neither earned nor deserved (nor conversely, undeserved.) He proposed a scale from about one to ten to measure my degree of luckiness, with extremely lucky falling somewhere around an eight. Maybe a nine. Hard to pin it down exactly.
Then he pressed me for why I felt extremely lucky. I recounted a privileged childhood, full of riding lessons and tennis lessons and art lessons and travel and elaborate birthday parties. An easy time in school. Three amazing kids. Very good friends. And now, a job I love. To me, that added up to extremely lucky. These were not things I had worked for or earned. They were essentially cosmic gifts. Thus I feel blessed. The more I thought about it, the more I mentally added to my list. Healthy. Strong. Athletic. Able to read well, with access to great books every day. Pretty good in the arts. I was truly blessed and absolutely lucky.
But then I realized that there is another side to my life. A relationship with my mom that was at best rocky, at worst destructive. A very bad marriage. Years without enough money for some necessities, much less luxuries. Lost dreams of travel and a career as a pediatric cardiologist (organic chemistry took that one away!). Miscarriage. Loss of my beloved as he left me to fight his own demons alone. Lonely nights and too many tears to count. But even as I surveyed this tally of loss and disappointment that could easily put me at the 1 or 2 end of the scale, I could not shake my feeling that despite all of the bad, or maybe because of it, I was indeed very lucky. Extremely lucky. Blessed.
Was it the Yin and Yang, the need for balance in all things that let me see myself as blessed even while acknowledging the problems? I am certainly no pollyana. I am well aware of my weaknesses and my trials and there are nights when I ache for someone to hold me while I cry. And yet...and yet...
When I survey this adventure that is my life so far, I see blessings that stand far taller than the sadnesses that litter the ground. Mother Teresa is quoted as saying that happiness is a choice. Once we make that choice, the world looks different to our eyes. Am I more blessed than my friend M-, who for now, is seeing only the losses and disappointments? I don't think so. I'm just wearing different eyes.
In the course of the conversation, I happened to mention (somewhere in the midst of a discussion about both epistimology and the changeover in his company from mostly male managers to mostly female managers), that I felt that I had been extremely lucky in my life so far. That stopped the conversation we had been having, as he tried to determine how I defined luck, and what I meant by "extremely" lucky.
After some debating we finally came to an agreement that "luckiness", as I defined it meant fortunate events or outcomes that occur regardless of merit. They are events neither earned nor deserved (nor conversely, undeserved.) He proposed a scale from about one to ten to measure my degree of luckiness, with extremely lucky falling somewhere around an eight. Maybe a nine. Hard to pin it down exactly.
Then he pressed me for why I felt extremely lucky. I recounted a privileged childhood, full of riding lessons and tennis lessons and art lessons and travel and elaborate birthday parties. An easy time in school. Three amazing kids. Very good friends. And now, a job I love. To me, that added up to extremely lucky. These were not things I had worked for or earned. They were essentially cosmic gifts. Thus I feel blessed. The more I thought about it, the more I mentally added to my list. Healthy. Strong. Athletic. Able to read well, with access to great books every day. Pretty good in the arts. I was truly blessed and absolutely lucky.
But then I realized that there is another side to my life. A relationship with my mom that was at best rocky, at worst destructive. A very bad marriage. Years without enough money for some necessities, much less luxuries. Lost dreams of travel and a career as a pediatric cardiologist (organic chemistry took that one away!). Miscarriage. Loss of my beloved as he left me to fight his own demons alone. Lonely nights and too many tears to count. But even as I surveyed this tally of loss and disappointment that could easily put me at the 1 or 2 end of the scale, I could not shake my feeling that despite all of the bad, or maybe because of it, I was indeed very lucky. Extremely lucky. Blessed.
Was it the Yin and Yang, the need for balance in all things that let me see myself as blessed even while acknowledging the problems? I am certainly no pollyana. I am well aware of my weaknesses and my trials and there are nights when I ache for someone to hold me while I cry. And yet...and yet...
When I survey this adventure that is my life so far, I see blessings that stand far taller than the sadnesses that litter the ground. Mother Teresa is quoted as saying that happiness is a choice. Once we make that choice, the world looks different to our eyes. Am I more blessed than my friend M-, who for now, is seeing only the losses and disappointments? I don't think so. I'm just wearing different eyes.
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