I had a phone call this afternoon that suddenly modified my aforementioned idea of opening a school or becoming a foster parent, etc. Here it is:
A student of mine lost her mother this semester, and she's just now back on campus. Much like me, she has spent the vast majority of her life caring for her parents and siblings. Also like me, her mother has been sick since her infancy. Losing her mother was a blow, but also a giant release when it comes to the stress she has been under her entire life.
According to the dean (who I just spoke to at length) the class that she is taking with me is her favorite class. She wants to eventually declare a Women's Studies major, and so she obviously needs my class to do this. In doing this thing it is that I do...I have decided to commit a serious amount of energy to this student in order to assure that she will not only do very well in my class, but that she will be able to look back at this transitional moment in her life and be very proud of what she learned and accomplished. Obviously, it is going to take some doing on her part, but she's a good kid, a solid writer, and I am confident that she has the chutzpah to make lemonade out of her semester with me...
Anyway...this is one of those moments that I am writing down and taking note of...so that I don't get so caught up in my self-important rat race in a few years and forget my original intentions. In asking myself what more I can do than just being a college professor, I am starting to think that I should like to settle somewhere and purchase a very large home--not for just for little me, but for the community I wish to build around me. In this home, I will offer residence to a handful of students and scholars each year. Obviously, the selection process will be rigorous, but what I will look for are students who would benefit the most from actually living in a cozy home environment. Some students need this. Others don't. For the ones who do, why is nothing like this offered or available? I am envisioning homemade dinners and a feeling of community and "family" that goes beyond the dorm or Greek experience. I'm sure that there would necessarily be an intellectual and community service based component to this experience. As altruistic as I would like to be, obviously, the rent won't be free, and the bar will be very high for the students who are given the opportunity to lodge in the house. Still, it will be good. The lawn will always be mowed, my furry and floppy-eared pets will always be showered with love, and, if I bring children into this world, then they will have more than their fair share of hands to chase and swing them around.
Part of this comes from recognition of the fact that I really love this age group of college kids. I see myself in their struggles and relate very well to what they are going through. I also just like being around them and their energy, and I don't see this going away as I get older. If anything, maintaining close relationships with young people is what also keeps us young, right?
As the dean pointed out on the phone to me just now, my student has been rendered "without a home to go home to". Imagine...if only...I could bring her home with me...
Namaste
Showing posts with label Optimism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Optimism. Show all posts
Monday, February 25, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Pragmatism
The first official week of teaching my own courses for the first time ever has come to an official end. I am no longer gracefully carrying someone else's teaching load for them to the tune of less than $2.00/hr, while haphazardly attempting to dodge through the pitfalls of being a rockstar graduate student at the same time. I have an office, a nice one, with my name on the door. It's a nice office, with nice green plant, a great desk chair, and carpet. Just today, I happened to notice that my name has been added on the office locater sign thingy for my department. (And, yes, I even thought about taking a picture for my mother.) And, much to my amazement, the students awkwardly continue to call me "Professor", even when I awkwardly insist that they please call me by my first name.
For what it is worth...(and believe me, it is not worth a whole lot in the bank) I can say that for the first time in my life I am in a state of eternal bliss in my professional life. Beyond teaching, I am researching. This weekend, I will get down to the business of putting all of my research in order for a paper I am scheduled to give at a conference in March. This is good.
I admit that I spend more time in my office than I do at home. This is partially due to the fact that my "home" at the moment is a rented room in a very large and somewhat banal living environment. Case in point: my house mates happen to be a married pair of psychologists, whom I have not seen for days. We have a tendency to more or less creep around each other in a very awkward, yet-always-polite fashion. Tomorrow, for example, will be the fourth day in a row that I have not laid eyes on either one of them. Because they own the house, they routinely bring in my mail and make it a point to speak to me only when necessary. For example, I have been told to only use the "cold only" function on the washing machine until further notice, due to a rotted hose issue. Because I am barely living here and non-clairvoyant to boot, I like that they are good at communicating things to me like this. This is good. On the other hand, there are nights when I long to throw a good dinner party, or simply cook dinner for myself, but I am fundamentally thwarted from doing so by the continuous build-up of dirty dishes and filth that resides in their otherwise beautiful kitchen. In many ways, my life is as pedestrian as it was when I was living in the refugee camp just a few months ago. The only difference worth noting is that I have a small space in the refrigerator. Again, this is good.
So, I am working. I am spinning. If I am not sleeping or working, I am planning cheap meals and hitting the gym because it is free. Unlike the rest of my faculty member friends, I don't mind working out when the students are there. Really, I could care less. Last night, a student beside me turned on the TV, and I happened to catch American Idol while I was on the elliptical machine. For someone who hasn't owned a furniture, much less a television set in years, this was a highlight to my week. It seemed like a nice way to pass the time. As one can imagine, I have a lot of time here. A lot of time, indeed...
Of course, where the glass is half full, it is still half empty. Also for the first time in a long time, I am having trouble sleeping. Real trouble. It is starting to worry me. Part of me wonders if it is the living situation I am in. Part of me attributes it to the generalized stress I have been under for several months of turbulence and so many changes. Of course, none of this is helped by the fact that I am currently experiencing the coldest freaking winter of my life. And finally, none of it is helped by the glaring fact that I manage all of this quite well until the moment when the beautiful man I am "seeing" from so far away, says, "Come to the movies with me this weekend, what do you say?" It is in these moments that I suddenly look around and find myself in a dire state of limbo between time and space, in that interstitial vortex between staying balanced in the moment while longing to know how this moment will materialize into the frost-covered glass of my future.
I keep pressing my nose up against the snowball, and all I see is fuzz. And insomnia. I have this temptation to let limbo I am lumbering through to transform itself into a cold sweat of fear for having made the right decision and possibly the wrong decision all at the same time...
"I know that we're going to work out," he assures me on the phone every day these days. Knowing that things always work out as they do, I inwardly smile and applaud his optimism. I look around at the tiny room I have rented for the meantime, and note the hollowness that I feel at the end of the day when the students have left my office, when my eyes can't hold another ounce of reading, when going to the gym for the third time just to stay busy seems overly sadistic. I remind myself that my reality at the moment is the reality of optimism, of shouting my intentions to the Universe and focusing on my goals with all of my might. And so, in response, I shrug my shoulders and say a little prayer for some kind of salvation from the struggle. I put pragmatism back on the table and gently place optimism back where it belongs--in dreams...in sleep...in mid-air...
This is hard, I quietly admit from my haze of insomnia. All of it is hard. I must...be more gentle.
For what it is worth...(and believe me, it is not worth a whole lot in the bank) I can say that for the first time in my life I am in a state of eternal bliss in my professional life. Beyond teaching, I am researching. This weekend, I will get down to the business of putting all of my research in order for a paper I am scheduled to give at a conference in March. This is good.
I admit that I spend more time in my office than I do at home. This is partially due to the fact that my "home" at the moment is a rented room in a very large and somewhat banal living environment. Case in point: my house mates happen to be a married pair of psychologists, whom I have not seen for days. We have a tendency to more or less creep around each other in a very awkward, yet-always-polite fashion. Tomorrow, for example, will be the fourth day in a row that I have not laid eyes on either one of them. Because they own the house, they routinely bring in my mail and make it a point to speak to me only when necessary. For example, I have been told to only use the "cold only" function on the washing machine until further notice, due to a rotted hose issue. Because I am barely living here and non-clairvoyant to boot, I like that they are good at communicating things to me like this. This is good. On the other hand, there are nights when I long to throw a good dinner party, or simply cook dinner for myself, but I am fundamentally thwarted from doing so by the continuous build-up of dirty dishes and filth that resides in their otherwise beautiful kitchen. In many ways, my life is as pedestrian as it was when I was living in the refugee camp just a few months ago. The only difference worth noting is that I have a small space in the refrigerator. Again, this is good.
So, I am working. I am spinning. If I am not sleeping or working, I am planning cheap meals and hitting the gym because it is free. Unlike the rest of my faculty member friends, I don't mind working out when the students are there. Really, I could care less. Last night, a student beside me turned on the TV, and I happened to catch American Idol while I was on the elliptical machine. For someone who hasn't owned a furniture, much less a television set in years, this was a highlight to my week. It seemed like a nice way to pass the time. As one can imagine, I have a lot of time here. A lot of time, indeed...
Of course, where the glass is half full, it is still half empty. Also for the first time in a long time, I am having trouble sleeping. Real trouble. It is starting to worry me. Part of me wonders if it is the living situation I am in. Part of me attributes it to the generalized stress I have been under for several months of turbulence and so many changes. Of course, none of this is helped by the fact that I am currently experiencing the coldest freaking winter of my life. And finally, none of it is helped by the glaring fact that I manage all of this quite well until the moment when the beautiful man I am "seeing" from so far away, says, "Come to the movies with me this weekend, what do you say?" It is in these moments that I suddenly look around and find myself in a dire state of limbo between time and space, in that interstitial vortex between staying balanced in the moment while longing to know how this moment will materialize into the frost-covered glass of my future.
I keep pressing my nose up against the snowball, and all I see is fuzz. And insomnia. I have this temptation to let limbo I am lumbering through to transform itself into a cold sweat of fear for having made the right decision and possibly the wrong decision all at the same time...
"I know that we're going to work out," he assures me on the phone every day these days. Knowing that things always work out as they do, I inwardly smile and applaud his optimism. I look around at the tiny room I have rented for the meantime, and note the hollowness that I feel at the end of the day when the students have left my office, when my eyes can't hold another ounce of reading, when going to the gym for the third time just to stay busy seems overly sadistic. I remind myself that my reality at the moment is the reality of optimism, of shouting my intentions to the Universe and focusing on my goals with all of my might. And so, in response, I shrug my shoulders and say a little prayer for some kind of salvation from the struggle. I put pragmatism back on the table and gently place optimism back where it belongs--in dreams...in sleep...in mid-air...
This is hard, I quietly admit from my haze of insomnia. All of it is hard. I must...be more gentle.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Bridezilla and The Change
For the record, I am not engaged, although I should concede that the topic of marriage has entered the peripheral edge of my reality from a number of very interesting and unassuming angles. Oddly enough, there have been no alarm bells ringing on my part. For that matter, no church bells have been gonging, either. Still, I have casually observed the way in which these conversations are taking part in the unlit wings of the latest scene that is playing in this thing otherwise known as my life. In this case, I suppose it is safe to say that it is only a matter of time until these conversations search a bit more seriously for their light. Until then, I'm just sitting back, enjoying my popcorn, and thoroughly enjoying the entertainment.
Also for the record, I have long afforded myself the privilege of existing in what I considered a very "safe place". It was a place where I could sit back, cross my arms over myself and smirk at convention, make snarky comments about patriarchy and sexual slavery in the institution of marriage, and state the claim that I will never be caught dead being walked down "any man's aisle" in a veil and white dress, much less ever take "some man's" name...
It's ironic, really. No, really, it is. I, for one, have always known that my evolving position on the matter of marriage never had anything to do with men whatsoever. I love men. I am the 100% heterosexual, man-loving, feminist who has often found herself very comfortable with male companionship. Admittedly, the idea of "life partnership" has always appealed to me, too, but I always found it necessarily to add that "nothing is ever so certain, and, really, you do the best you can bearing on the certain fact that nothing lasts forever." So, no, this was never about men...
So, it was only recently that it occurred to me that my aversion to the idea of marriage had nothing to do with my stubborn sense of individuality or smug feminist intentions. The argument bears nothing on the fact that I am a free-spirit, or that my life to date is far from the beaten path, if not entirely bohemian by design. Yes, I have recoiled from so-called conventionality because I saw it as something that would stifle my growth at such a tender and (necessarily solitary) time in my life when I have been on such a vibrant and fulfilling path that has always felt right and good for me. I have never worried about my biological clock or about my ability to attract good men in my life. I've looked at relationships as opportunities for growth and learning, and never ends in themselves.
But all of this aside, what my aversion to marriage was about was really about the fact that I was both scared of the idea of permanent promises and secretly accepting of the idea that I simply don't deserve a lace and rose-filled version of happily-ever-after. Without intending to do so, I fell into the cliche of all children of turbulent divorces. I shuddered at the idea of having both of my parents in the same room, let alone in the same place...on all auspicious occassions...on my wedding day. The brutal truth is that I'd rather slit my own wrists than have to endure the feeling that occurs in the pit of my stomach when the two people who taught me how to love in this world spend any time inhabiting the same airspace. (The one and only time that this happened since their divorce was on the day of my college graduation, which was already traumatic in itself. ) Funny how my parent's failures made me buy into the idea that I am somehow congenitally ill-equipped to seek what they sought in the first place.
Of course, all of this brings me to the present moment, and to the full-frontal admission that, for the first time in my life, I actually looked at wedding dresses on-line the other day. That said, I was instantly overwhelmed at the prospect of even planning a wedding, much less a traditional Jewish wedding...but still, I contemplated it. This...is...huge.
At the moment, it feels as though I am finally turning the lights off on the first decent portion of my life that has brought me to the present moment. I've done a lot of hard swimming and heavy navigating to get to a higher, drier place that affords me the luxury of anticipating the foreseeable choices that I have front of me, and how these choices will ultimately shape the next portion of my life. At the moment, I'm finding that I am being given the opportunity to actually do the things that I've long dreamed of doing. I'm an activist, a thinker, a leader, and a member of a community that is enacting change. Every day is an opportunity for me to be this change, but still, it's not as easy as it may seem. Bad habits are comfortable and difficult to depart from, and so the habit of thinking that I'm not "good enough" for happiness is a chronic lurker in my network.
Being the change is perhaps not the easiest road, but I already know it to be far more interesting, if not somewhat more rewarding. I have finally gotten myself equipped to be in the habit of breaking bad habits and replacing them with good ones. Now, it is matter of creating new traditions in place of what has (and hasn't) come before. There's always good work to do. At least now I am confident in saying that I won't be doing it all alone.
Also for the record, I have long afforded myself the privilege of existing in what I considered a very "safe place". It was a place where I could sit back, cross my arms over myself and smirk at convention, make snarky comments about patriarchy and sexual slavery in the institution of marriage, and state the claim that I will never be caught dead being walked down "any man's aisle" in a veil and white dress, much less ever take "some man's" name...
It's ironic, really. No, really, it is. I, for one, have always known that my evolving position on the matter of marriage never had anything to do with men whatsoever. I love men. I am the 100% heterosexual, man-loving, feminist who has often found herself very comfortable with male companionship. Admittedly, the idea of "life partnership" has always appealed to me, too, but I always found it necessarily to add that "nothing is ever so certain, and, really, you do the best you can bearing on the certain fact that nothing lasts forever." So, no, this was never about men...
So, it was only recently that it occurred to me that my aversion to the idea of marriage had nothing to do with my stubborn sense of individuality or smug feminist intentions. The argument bears nothing on the fact that I am a free-spirit, or that my life to date is far from the beaten path, if not entirely bohemian by design. Yes, I have recoiled from so-called conventionality because I saw it as something that would stifle my growth at such a tender and (necessarily solitary) time in my life when I have been on such a vibrant and fulfilling path that has always felt right and good for me. I have never worried about my biological clock or about my ability to attract good men in my life. I've looked at relationships as opportunities for growth and learning, and never ends in themselves.
But all of this aside, what my aversion to marriage was about was really about the fact that I was both scared of the idea of permanent promises and secretly accepting of the idea that I simply don't deserve a lace and rose-filled version of happily-ever-after. Without intending to do so, I fell into the cliche of all children of turbulent divorces. I shuddered at the idea of having both of my parents in the same room, let alone in the same place...on all auspicious occassions...on my wedding day. The brutal truth is that I'd rather slit my own wrists than have to endure the feeling that occurs in the pit of my stomach when the two people who taught me how to love in this world spend any time inhabiting the same airspace. (The one and only time that this happened since their divorce was on the day of my college graduation, which was already traumatic in itself. ) Funny how my parent's failures made me buy into the idea that I am somehow congenitally ill-equipped to seek what they sought in the first place.
Of course, all of this brings me to the present moment, and to the full-frontal admission that, for the first time in my life, I actually looked at wedding dresses on-line the other day. That said, I was instantly overwhelmed at the prospect of even planning a wedding, much less a traditional Jewish wedding...but still, I contemplated it. This...is...huge.
At the moment, it feels as though I am finally turning the lights off on the first decent portion of my life that has brought me to the present moment. I've done a lot of hard swimming and heavy navigating to get to a higher, drier place that affords me the luxury of anticipating the foreseeable choices that I have front of me, and how these choices will ultimately shape the next portion of my life. At the moment, I'm finding that I am being given the opportunity to actually do the things that I've long dreamed of doing. I'm an activist, a thinker, a leader, and a member of a community that is enacting change. Every day is an opportunity for me to be this change, but still, it's not as easy as it may seem. Bad habits are comfortable and difficult to depart from, and so the habit of thinking that I'm not "good enough" for happiness is a chronic lurker in my network.
Being the change is perhaps not the easiest road, but I already know it to be far more interesting, if not somewhat more rewarding. I have finally gotten myself equipped to be in the habit of breaking bad habits and replacing them with good ones. Now, it is matter of creating new traditions in place of what has (and hasn't) come before. There's always good work to do. At least now I am confident in saying that I won't be doing it all alone.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Weddings, Blue Sky and Gentle Friends
Yesterday was one of those magical life days. It was the kind of day that a girl will do just about anything for to jump on a plane and trot across the globe just to be present for the day that her best friend's wedding. By all accounts, it was a magical day. It wasn't just the beautiful, Southern California weather, or the fact that so many wonderful people were able to converge in one place at one time as witnesses in the spiritual union of two, such obvious soul mates. It was one of those days when you look across the table at your beautiful best friend and realize that in her graciousness and poise as a bride, you aren't simply just walking through life with her (as her booty-shaking side-kick and partner in inevitably certain crime), but forever in the process of getting to know her as someone in possession of so many levels joy and gratitude. I must dearly confess that I completely fell in love Cookie all over again yesterday. As I stood as a witness in her wedding, I watched her listen and absorb every word of her childhood minister. She soaked in everything, taking snapshots with her heart and truly enjoying the magic and journey of the day. She was fully attentive in soaking in the sentiments of every dinner speech and well-wisher.
For me, just being there was a reminder that these are the sorts of moments that human beings live for. Magical life days are the days that give us hope and remind us of our optimism. They are the days that bring us together and give us reason to launch our good energy into the unforeseeable future for the sake of two individuals who deserve nothing less than the very best. They are the reasons why babies are born, or as the groom's grandmother and bride's grandfather respectively admitted during the course of the festivities, these are the days that grandparents look forward to seeing in the course of their own lifetimes, from the very first day that they hold their beloved progeny in their hands. If this is not reason enough to get out of bed every day with a gracious smile, I'm not sure what is.
Rather selfishly, I feel the need to admit that this particular day couldn't have come at a better time for me. Somehow, my usual reserve of optimism sprung a leak during the past couple of months of living in the Middle East. I felt it happening and did my very best to keep running on empty, simply because I didn't have the time or the ability to stop, slow down and repair the issue. Oddly enough, I thought I was doing a fantastic job of keeping the matter under wraps, but these are the types of things that we may be able to tuck away from ourselves, but we certainly cannot hide from the people who love us the most. In my time abroad, I have been scrapping away at the the underbelly of the human condition, and I have inadvertently allowed much of the negativity and darkness I dance with down there to invade and eat away at my blue sky. Fortunately for all of us, blue sky is a free and renewable resource. On that note, so are the unfailing strength and gentleness of amazing friends...
So, I'm officially home for a few weeks now. At the moment, I feel like somewhat of a tourist in my own life, which, for the record, is a rather delightful destination on wheels. Despite my current state of horrendous jet lag and rather gnarly wedding hangover, I couldn't be more grateful for this moment.
Namaste
For me, just being there was a reminder that these are the sorts of moments that human beings live for. Magical life days are the days that give us hope and remind us of our optimism. They are the days that bring us together and give us reason to launch our good energy into the unforeseeable future for the sake of two individuals who deserve nothing less than the very best. They are the reasons why babies are born, or as the groom's grandmother and bride's grandfather respectively admitted during the course of the festivities, these are the days that grandparents look forward to seeing in the course of their own lifetimes, from the very first day that they hold their beloved progeny in their hands. If this is not reason enough to get out of bed every day with a gracious smile, I'm not sure what is.
Rather selfishly, I feel the need to admit that this particular day couldn't have come at a better time for me. Somehow, my usual reserve of optimism sprung a leak during the past couple of months of living in the Middle East. I felt it happening and did my very best to keep running on empty, simply because I didn't have the time or the ability to stop, slow down and repair the issue. Oddly enough, I thought I was doing a fantastic job of keeping the matter under wraps, but these are the types of things that we may be able to tuck away from ourselves, but we certainly cannot hide from the people who love us the most. In my time abroad, I have been scrapping away at the the underbelly of the human condition, and I have inadvertently allowed much of the negativity and darkness I dance with down there to invade and eat away at my blue sky. Fortunately for all of us, blue sky is a free and renewable resource. On that note, so are the unfailing strength and gentleness of amazing friends...
So, I'm officially home for a few weeks now. At the moment, I feel like somewhat of a tourist in my own life, which, for the record, is a rather delightful destination on wheels. Despite my current state of horrendous jet lag and rather gnarly wedding hangover, I couldn't be more grateful for this moment.
Namaste
Sunday, January 21, 2007
People Like Us
"Tell your heart that fear of suffering is worse than suffering itself. And that
no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every
second of the search is a second's encounter with God and with eternity."
--Paulo Coelho
The other night, I was delighted by a visit from one of my oldest and dearest friends, Boo. Boo is a working actor, and it just so happens that his latest Broadway show breezed through town. I had the honor of receiving an orchestra seat ticket to the show, to witness, yet again, Boo's amazing talent on stage. Even when we were little kids, Boo's stage presence alone was something that gave me chills. In fact, it still does. Every time.
As I was sitting in the audience before the curtain went up, it struck me that this is what it's like to walk through life with people who are living their dream. Even when we were children, Boo and I knew that our only real choice in life was to do what we love and love what we do. We have nothing to prove at all, we just do what we do, and try, at a minimum, to give it our best. We're both so far from where we came from now, and yet we are in a state of constantly arriving where we belong. In Boo's world of stage talk, I mused that this would be known as "finding one's light".
The same feeling came over me a year ago, when I ate in my little brother's restaurant for the very first time. As the youngest executive chef in a very successful establishment, my extremely creative, and passionate Baby Bro is living his dream. Knowing first hand how much work, dedication, evolution, discipline and sacrifice it took for Bro to get where he is, I almost started crying like a proud mother during the second course. The worries over the many thousands of dollars he and I borrowed to get him through culinary school were rendered completely inconseqential.
My dear friend, Slinky, and I practice yoga together every Saturday morning. Slinky is a professional artist. As an artist, she doesn't create anything because she "should"; she creates because she MUST. During the course of our asana practice yesterday, I couldn't get over the feeling of greater connectedness I felt by having her next to me in the room. Yoga practice typically takes place in a roomful of strangers, without people beside you who intimitely know and understand the colors of your soul. Between Slinky and I, our parallel mats yesterday served as a metaphor of our parallel lives. She's such a positive force of energy that I couldn't help but feel stronger in her presence. At brunch afterwards, she said that she felt the same thing.
After the show the other night, Boo explained to me his theory about "People Like Us" or "P.L.U.", as he calls it.
"Think about it," he said. "We're the people in our generation who are doing the things that other people say they want to do, but don't have the guts to do it."
"But, really, what is it that makes us so different than anyone else?," I replied.
"I think it's because we have no fear," he said. "When we are scared, we let it fuel us to do something with it rather than keep us locked up. We're more willing to put ourselves out there and take risks, and we don't take it personally if we do get slapped down for it. If we get slapped, we get slapped. No bigs. We learn from it and move on."
Hmm....
I actually thought about this in yoga class yesterday. I remembered a time when Slide, one of the other crazy characters in my life said, "See, Namaste, you see it...I see it...but a lot of people? Well, they just don't see it like we see it like we see it." I considered this blog thing that I write, and how it seems that I am managing to get a readership of absolutely incredible people who more or less like to read about how I see it. Of course, my good days sometimes come with less-than-good ones. I don't profess to be a source of perfection or expert in anything, but I believe that everyone has inside of them to figure out who they are and live their dream accordingly. We just have to do it...and not be consumed by fear or apathy.
Whether or not you see it like I see it, I think it's fair to say that we all struggle at times with the seeming disconnect between our lives and our dreams. I've learned that they two don't have to be mutually exclusive. We all have something precious and extraordinary to give to this intangible world. And with this, we have absolutely nothing to lose. My only real fear in this life is to live with regret for having not followed my sense of curiosity, and closing myself off from my childlike wonder. We're here for such a short time, why not take those risks, live within the bounds of our authenticity...and make the most of the journey?
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Last First Times
A dear friend of mine recently told me that he has "one last fight" in him. I am 100% sure that this is a guy thing. In a very tongue-in-cheek way, he explained to me that the physical act of fighting is something reserved for young men during their formative years. As a grown-up, he realizes that solving problems with fists isn't necessarily the way to go, so he avoids instigating situations that could lead to violence. Even though he is perfectly domesticated (and more or less civilized?), he claims to be saving himself for what he knows will be his last demonstration of physical masculinity. While I disagree with violence in principle, I jokingly encouraged him to choose wisely. I'm sure he'll be discerning, but I can perfectly envision him rising to the occasion in defense of a woman's honor as reason enough for his one last fight. He's that kind of guy...
I woke up this morning thinking about this...thinking: what do I have in me that is waiting for "one last time"? I mused that if I had the magical ability to make wishes come true, I would love to have one last big hug from my grandfather. Or one last successfully happy holiday gathering of my immediate family. For one last time, I would be able to spend a day at the beach with my mother, as we did when I was a child. These things would be very nice.
But, since I am not a magician of circumstance, I began thinking beyond this. Rather than coining the idea with a superficial my list of unattainable or unfulfilled life longings, I began to think of all of the "last times" I have ahead of me in this life. In contrast, what came to mind is this:
At this point in my life, I'm reaching the end of what we all experience as "first times"--first sights, first phone conversations, first kisses, first dates, the very first "I love you", etc., etc., etc. Having experienced these things a few times, I realized that I've been pretty fortunate. Each "first time" may have been an experiment in it's own right, but I wouldn't have traded any of them. If it wasn't for these amazing opportunities for personal growth, and what came of them, I wouldn't be me.
Now that I'm dating again, it hit me the other day that sooner or later, I'm going to find myself on my very last first date. How crazy is this? I would like to think that my stockpile of first date experiences will somehow enable me to intuit whether or not this last first date is truly my last, but I realize, too, that the exciting thing about it is that there really is no way of knowing. The human condition, while wonderful, is full of so many options and choices, and, alas, no crystal ball. However, whether I immediately recognize it or not, sooner or later, that last "first date" is going to become my very last "first kiss". I guess it's inevitable. Unless I restrict myself from all human contact for the next 50 years, I am inevitably going to experience that last, first, completely crazy, body-bursting moment of totally falling in love.
Like my friend, I started to wonder if I'm managing to save myself for all of my last first times. Am I even open to such a thing? Am I capable of flying without fear of consequence or emotional let-down? In this vein, should it even matter? So many people lament their lack of interest in dating and intimacy, because they feel like they can't control their idealism. My hope is that I still have this to give, and that, in my last first time, I will know how to make the most of it by not making the childish mistakes I've made in my past. My feeling is that the past should move us forward, not make us prisoners of long-dead ghosts. In fact, it is through the pleasure and the pain of these experiences that I hope that I've saved enough room in my spirit to love even deeper than I've loved before...to have every date with the person who is "my last" always manage to feel like our first...and procede accordingly.
I woke up this morning thinking about this...thinking: what do I have in me that is waiting for "one last time"? I mused that if I had the magical ability to make wishes come true, I would love to have one last big hug from my grandfather. Or one last successfully happy holiday gathering of my immediate family. For one last time, I would be able to spend a day at the beach with my mother, as we did when I was a child. These things would be very nice.
But, since I am not a magician of circumstance, I began thinking beyond this. Rather than coining the idea with a superficial my list of unattainable or unfulfilled life longings, I began to think of all of the "last times" I have ahead of me in this life. In contrast, what came to mind is this:
At this point in my life, I'm reaching the end of what we all experience as "first times"--first sights, first phone conversations, first kisses, first dates, the very first "I love you", etc., etc., etc. Having experienced these things a few times, I realized that I've been pretty fortunate. Each "first time" may have been an experiment in it's own right, but I wouldn't have traded any of them. If it wasn't for these amazing opportunities for personal growth, and what came of them, I wouldn't be me.
Now that I'm dating again, it hit me the other day that sooner or later, I'm going to find myself on my very last first date. How crazy is this? I would like to think that my stockpile of first date experiences will somehow enable me to intuit whether or not this last first date is truly my last, but I realize, too, that the exciting thing about it is that there really is no way of knowing. The human condition, while wonderful, is full of so many options and choices, and, alas, no crystal ball. However, whether I immediately recognize it or not, sooner or later, that last "first date" is going to become my very last "first kiss". I guess it's inevitable. Unless I restrict myself from all human contact for the next 50 years, I am inevitably going to experience that last, first, completely crazy, body-bursting moment of totally falling in love.
Like my friend, I started to wonder if I'm managing to save myself for all of my last first times. Am I even open to such a thing? Am I capable of flying without fear of consequence or emotional let-down? In this vein, should it even matter? So many people lament their lack of interest in dating and intimacy, because they feel like they can't control their idealism. My hope is that I still have this to give, and that, in my last first time, I will know how to make the most of it by not making the childish mistakes I've made in my past. My feeling is that the past should move us forward, not make us prisoners of long-dead ghosts. In fact, it is through the pleasure and the pain of these experiences that I hope that I've saved enough room in my spirit to love even deeper than I've loved before...to have every date with the person who is "my last" always manage to feel like our first...and procede accordingly.
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