a while back we needed a second car for my youngest son to get to and from school and his dad’s house some 20+ miles away. so I gave him my hand me down highlander and then went searching for something for me. as it turns out my friend was selling his tesla, so we made that happen. it’s definitely a fun car and I love not having to go to the gas station ever (except to pick up a pack of sweetart ropes/licorice – my latest irrational addiction). but lord almighty, I don’t feel great about being associated with the man, you know?
especially after this week. (naive gesture, my butt.)
but it’s paid in full. and I’m not in a position to take on more unnecessary debt, so… even though i spent about an hour looking for other options, i finally ruled that out. and for now, I’ve settled on this:
i don’t have it in me to even throw together a few paragraphs of interesting original thought. (I’ve tried. twice.) so instead I’m just cutting and pasting a quick thing I threw together in response to a writing prompt from a class I took a while ago. i think the original prompt was to start a piece with the words “it began with…” and then we were to follow back up and try to add more “show, don’t tell.” I’m not sure I nailed it. but, whatever… here it is.
It began with a simple question: “What do you want?”
And almost before I was aware of it, I had begun to cry. This, I thought, isn’t how this is done. One doesn’t simply burst out in tears in front of someone one barely knows. This is only maybe appropriate once one has established some kind of connection, an understanding with another person. This is not second date, sipping on a cup of strong black coffee on a wobbly wrought iron chair on a south broadway sidewalk kind of behavior.
And yet here we were. And once the tears started, there was no stopping it. I quickly calculated that I might never see this man again, said to hell with it and made no attempt to stop.
K, the slightly older gentleman who had asked me out for a first date for the weekend before with the coy request that i promise that we wouldn’t have sex that first time we met, was now looking at me intently, seriously. I found his reaction interesting – he didn’t flinch or look away, but leaned in, touched my arm, a mildly concerned look in his eyes.
This type of kindness was one of the things that surprised me the most about my relatively late in life adventures in singledom. Dating in my late 40’s and now 50’s was something that I didn’t feel particularly ready for when I fell into it. I was enjoying myself, for the most part, feeling my way along, figuring things out as i went. Which is why I was slightly surprised to find myself in this tearful exchange with K.
But he was still there, waiting for me to respond. “I don’t know.” I said. “I think I haven’t yet given myself permission to dare to want a particular thing.”
***
I blame Al-Anon.
I’m willing to take part of the blame for my lack of a specific desire or relationship goals, but at least a part of why i wasn’t able to answer K’s simple question was tied to all those many hours i had spent over the last ten years or so in the basement of Trininty Church, huddled around in a circle of folding chairs with others whose lives had become unmanageable. There, hanging on the wall by one tiny nail, slightly askew, was the tapestry of the serenity prayer. God, grant me the serenity to accept the things i cannot change, the courage to change the things i can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
I had embraced the fuck out of the serenity prayer. As if my life depended on it. (And really, for a moment there, it felt like it had…) J, the man who i was surprised to find out wasn’t gay despite that distinctive lilt in his voice, the ponytail, and the frequent references to work in the dramatic arts, had once stopped me outside the building as we were leaving a lunchtime meeting. “You,” he had said, “have nailed the serenity prayer.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But, as with many things in my life, I may have overcorrected.”
I had told myself, taking control means having to want for a thing, and i don’t have it in me quite yet, to dare to want, or desire. I’m a take it as it comes person. This, i had told myself, means that I have oxymoronically embraced the idea of letting go. Aren’t i so evolved, i tell myself.
And yet… this may all be a bit of a cop out. Not wanting any particular thing means never being disappointed, but it also means giving up a sense of agency, of being able to steer this bag of flesh and bones in any kind of intentional way towards living a life of meaning, of risk taking, of both amazing accomplishments and failures.
good people can do bad things unknowingly, right? but, in the wise words of Maya Angelou, when you know better, you do better, right?
… unless you don’t.
that’s the theme for today. yes, there’s all the stuff happening on the national stage but I’m also thinking more locally. at some point we’re all playing a part in whatever story we’re in and “because they told me to” doesn’t work anymore.
That true north book I mentioned the other day? One of the things they talk about is the idea of being able to be your true self at work. How many of us show up as who we really are during the work day?
That got me thinking about being my true self at home. I have made choices about the type of person I am that might not align with the (in my mind) outdated values of my mother, who is navigating from a different world view both generationally and culturally. This was fine while we lived apart. I could reign in my me-ness for those brief visits with her. But now that we live together, I wonder if part of why I’m feeling so particularly burned out is that fact that I can’t really ever let my hair down and just be me. (I’m making it sound like the real me is way more wild and crazy than I really am – I’m pretty low key, as far as these things go, but still.)
When I bought my own home after I got divorced, my ex moved into an apartment just a few blocks away. We had a set parenting schedule for the kids (who were 8 and 10 years old at the time) that had them bouncing back and forth pretty regularly. This predictable schedule allowed me to have blocks of 100% me time, where I could come and go as I pleased, and do what I felt like doing in my home at any time. The boys eventually started preferring my house and would regularly just pop in, even on those days when they were scheduled to be at their dad’s. I genuinely didn’t mind this because, well, they’re awesome, and I really enjoy having them around. But on the other hand, it would occasionally catch me off guard. I had an app on their phone that would alert me when they were approaching the house, so that was helpful, but I quickly realized it was just better that they ping me and let me know when they were headed my way on those days I wasn’t expecting them.
To drive home the importance of this advance notice, I told them to assume that anytime they’re not scheduled to be at my house, I’m usually running around the house naked, waving my hands in the air, and whooping it up. To be clear, I’m not (not that there would be anything wrong with it if I was) but this image was enough to scare them into texting me every single time they were on their way over.
Now that I’m sharing a home with my elderly mother, I realize I need some me-time of my own in the home. I can retreat up to my room on the 2nd floor – which is really quite comfortable – but when I do disappear, I’ll usually eventually get a text message from her downstairs asking where I am. Or she’ll occasionally come up and actually open my closed (but unlocked) bedroom door to peak in to make sure I’m not dead. (Seriously.) So I don’t really have time to just completely let down my guard an allow my psyche to metaphorically run around the house naked, waving my hands in the air, whooping it up.
Occasionally I’ll be able to find someone to stay with my mom so I can go on weekend trips here and there. But this isn’t quite the same thing. Since she moved back into the house full time in July of 2023, I’ve had, at most, four hours of time by myself in the house.
And since I quit social media at the start of this scary new administration — didn’t think my soul could handle the curated chaos on those platforms — I’ve returned to this space as a place where I can redirect all that energy. I’ve never pro-actively shared this with others in my life – friends, partners, family, etc. (Until now. I just started letting people I know know about this — hi if you’re here because I invited you!) But this has gotten me to thinking about why I would keep this space here locked down.
What would it feel like to just let it all out there, and to absolve myself of being responsible for how people interpret this? That’s a lot to manage – and frankly, managing just myself is plenty. Why have I assumed I have to take on other people’s responses as well?
I’m a parent. For me, that means that I love my children above (almost) all else. It means that I will support and love them 100% always … and that I will call them out when I see them making questionable choices. I do this because I love them, and care about their development into well balanced, kind adults. Can you imagine if the only moms and dads who felt entitled to call themselves parents were those who never called their kids out or corrected them when they were doing something wrong?
The word “patriot” is a little like that. Like, for me, it’s a bit of a trigger word, to be honest. And it doesn’t feel like it should be. If, for example, I read a dating profile where the person identifies as a “patriot” I immediately think“MAGA” and shudder a little…
This isn’t an original thought. There are tons of people who have pushed back against the unquestioning “my country, right or wrong” mantra. My concern, my unease at what is unfolding now, doesn’t come from a place of not caring. (The opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference, right?) It’s because I care, that I’m critical.
I want us to redefine, reclaim what the word “patriot” stands for. Love this country like you’d love your kid – wholeheartedly but with accountability.
And while I’m at it — while I couldn’t get through the audiobook version of How to Be An Antiracist (I can be pretty picky when it comes to audiobook narraration), the idea that we cannot stand silently by and claim not to be racist stuck with me. Being the opposite of a racist is not simply not actively putting racist shit out there in the universe; if you’re silent, you’re complicit. Being the opposite of racist means that you need to be active in countering those forces and that historic momentum that favors one group of people over another based solely on skin color.
I think the same thing when I hear people identify as “apolitical.” Honey, if you’re silent, you’re taking a side. I may not agree with your particular viewpoints on how we ought to go about solving our collective problems, but I’ll respect you a hell of a lot more if you own your viewpoints. You don’t get to duck out politely by saying simply that you choose not to engage. (And there’s a layer of privilege underneath that attempt to wave off that responsibility too, isn’t there? You can choose to ignore it — whatever “it” is — because it doesn’t immediately, directly effect you… yet. But there are others who will feel it…)
from the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC
This post sounds preachy and a little holier than thou. That’s not my intent. I’m guilty too of not doing more. I need to do better.
i mean. we all have thoughts. but lately I’ve been itching to get back to getting those thoughts out of my head … if, for nothing else, to clear up some real estate so i can tackle some of the other big things that i feel like i’m going to need to sort out sooner rather than later. (things like, you know, what i want to do with the next chapter of my professional life, how i can balance my need to create time for myself while still meeting the obligations of caring for an aging parent, how to fit in finding a partner to share whatever adventures await me in my remaining years of this existence, what/where I want to be now that the kids are mostly out of the nest… you know, the usual stuff.)
i have been listening to True North — a book about authentic leadership. [actually, I’ve been listening to a lot of audio books lately. bringing a new puppy into the mix has resulted in a lot daily long walks, which result in a lot of time for plugging into new audiobooks. meet teddy. he’s adorbs. a total handful but also totally adorable.]
anyway. there are tons of great summaries of the idea behind True North (like this one, for example), but the gist of it is pretty simple, and really these ideas apply pretty broadly to the goal of living a good life: know and be true to thyself. act with integrity and kindness when possible (and it’s always possible – h/t to the Dali Lama). know the value of building solid relationships.
at this stage in my career I count myself lucky to have had the chance to work with more than a handful of pretty inspirational leaders. I’ve experienced some successes as a leader myself, but have mostly just felt my way along, depending a lot on my intuition. but paying attention to the mechanics, the recipe for good leadership is pretty interesting. especially when you have the opportunity to compare and contrast. to see the impact that the lack of integrity, or transparency can have an organization.
I’m exploring new options now, but I don’t see that as a bad thing. I’ve been in this current role for more than 10 years now. TEN! that’s so many. I’ve learned so much, and have grown a lot. i can point to a number of accomplishments that I can be proud of (and just as many “learning opportunities”…) it’s been a fun exercise gearing up for this next chapter. i have a good story in my head about what my true north is – what my values and motivations are – and am more clear now about the things that I can bring to the table. tomorrow I’ll tackle workshopping a concise summary of my values, but for now I’ll jot down these notes:
when I was in college, I had the opportunity to read through the applications that were submitted by each new student admitted into the environmental studies program at UC Santa Cruz. Of the 100 or so applications I reviewed, most of them responded to the “why are you interested in environmental studies” question with some variation of “I just want to learn enough to live lightly on 2 acres somewhere in the forest with my organic garden and a happy hippy baby.” (i’m paraphrasing, but this was in the early 1990s in Santa Cruz so i’m not exaggerating too much…) it didn’t take me too long to do the math – with 200 students each claiming 2 acres each year… we’d be out of untouched forest land in no time.
this got me thinking about why the drive to retreat to the forest was so strong. what was it about our built communities that people felt compelled to run away from? this is where my interest in city planning began — finding a way to build cities to be places where people could feel real connection — to a place, to a history, to the natural environment, to themselves, and to others.
and while I still have passion around this core question, over the last 10 years or so, as my role has evolved, I’ve turned this same drive to create a place where meaningful connections are possible inward a little. i may not be able to change big chunks of the world, but what about starting with creating authentic community in the workplace. that sounds cheesy — I’ll fix it up later — but it’s coming from an honest place. i have observed how easily people talk about “relationship goals”. i have tweaked this just a smidge to think about what a workplace goal would look like. imagine going into place to work where you felt valued, supported, part of a community united around a shared goal. where you knew you could trust every single person around you to bring their best, and to act with integrity, good humor, kindness. and if you’re able to create that environment where you could tackle meaningful work that matters… well shoot. that’d really be something, wouldn’t it?
it seems like maybe it’d be a little thing, setting a goal of writing for just a few minutes every day. but adding to that other little and not so little things that i attempt to program into my daily schedule and, well… eventually i slip up.
so maybe there’s something to this idea of allowing for a day of rest.
this past week it was a lot of traveling packed into a quick 3 day trip to california, and then the effort/energy that goes along with the whole reentry process, getting back into the swing of things. so it’s more like 5 days of discipline and 2 days of scrambling/recovering. that’s probably okay too.
yesterday was a little bit of a reminder of what it felt like all those many years ago when i was regularly dealing with the unpredictable behavior of someone i cared about. it wasn’t nearly as dramatic as it has been in the past, nor nearly as devastating but it was a reminder for sure. and i recognized that feeling so immediately. it was so familiar.
it made both sad to see that those demons are still there circling around someone i care for, and also somewhat relieved to see how removed i had managed to become over the years.
today it all kind of worked its way out. but, without going into the details, i’m a little concerned that the person who i still very much regard as family (and always will) may have some shitty days ahead of them, dealing with consequence of having taken care of things that just needed to get taken care of.
is there a term for vaguebooking in a blog post? vagueblogging? that’s what i’m doing tonight. and i apologize. but there it is.
i told a friend today that i wish we all came with instruction manuals. i know how i like to be treated in a relationship, what i appreciate receiving from others, but maybe it’s not such a safe bet after all to assume that others would want to be treated the same way. when i need something from someone, i try to ask for it. others need those around them to intuit that need.
i can totally work on that if i know that that’s something that’s expected of me. but my manual would include a section about known deficiencies which would absolutely include a warning about my limited abilities to be successful at guessing.
it was a good day today. started out in santa cruz in the morning – woke up in the weirdly proportioned hotel room with way too much empty space – and colin went for a quick 5 mile run before we packed up and headed out for what was, upon reflection a way too big breakfast a zach’s. but i couldn’t resist a walk down tofu scramble memory lane.
we walked around uc santa cruz for a while, and as beautiful as it was, colin observed that he felt a little trapped by the enormous forest around him.
then we jumped in the car and drove down to cal poly. i don’t remember the drive down 101 being so scenic. it really was quite beautiful. we went straight to the campus and initially were struck by how small it seemed. almost like a high school campus. but then we parked, and spent about an hour wandering around on foot, stumbled across a little bit of activity on campus (a beach volleyball tournament, naturally) and saw some beautiful parts of the university, and well… by the time we were done, C was really quite smitten.
the tricky thing of course is that two of the university we have come to visit this weekend have issued him acceptance letters, the other two have put him on the wait list. cal poly is one of the wait list schools.
after checking in briefly at the hotel, we zipped over to avila beach to touch the ocean and lie in the sun for a bit, then had a substandard beach side restaurant lunch. (it’s odd how little appetite we’ve had on this trip. but not really any hunger related grumpiness either.) then one last stop in downtown SLO to check it out before heading back to crash at the hotel.
downtown was beautiful. and to top it all off, c stumbled across a hipster barber shop and got himself a new cut. “i’ve been blessed,” he keeps saying. that means he likes this cut a lot. 🙂
we keep being reminded of citrus on this trip. tangerine juice this a.m., a citrus marinated chicken breast sandwich yesterday, beautiful orange trees. the barber shop applied some kind of lemon/rosemary scented product to finish him off, and just now as we were getting ready for bed, the sop here in the hotel is some kind of citrus thing too.
it’s a sign, he claims. it feels like he’s enjoying the trip as much as i am.
i am generally a calm person… except maybe when heading out on a trip. once i’m on the trip, i’m good again, able to roll with the punches, but leading up to a trip, i get a little antsy, a little irritable. this trip out to to california this weekend is no exception. so i was up early (like 3 a.m. early) this morning, but luckily able to catch a few more hours before zipping out of the house to catch a plane.
made it in time, no problem. C was as good a traveler as he always is. glass perpetually half full, no complaints. we landed in sacramento early but then got caught in an epically long line a the car rental counter. so we were verging dangerously close to hangry when we rolled in to…
… for lunch. it was delicious. (have you guessed? i mean, obviously it’s UC Davis, right?)
the campus was deserted. spring break + covid? perfect. i have to say, each of these visits we’ve squeezed in over the last year or so have involved a lot of imagination… but still. it was pretty.
then 2 hour drive down to south bay for quick dinner with the grandma, and zip over the mountains to bed down in santa cruz. day two starts in just a few hours.
eleven bee 