storied

sometimes the story i want to tell here fails to come together:  ideas swirling in my head, nagging at me persistently, and multiplying in defiance.  this is one of those times.  ironically i've been thinking a lot about stories lately, the ones i tell and the ones i hear.  i've come to realize and appreciate two things.  one:  truly gifted storytelling is rare and two:  my life is rich with these rarities.  (just ask todd to tell you about the kangaroos, if you don't believe me.) 

luke wrote to me every day of his cadet basic training (aka beast).  he relayed his daily experiences, his ups, his downs, his fears, his frustrations, and his celebrations.  he carried me with him on those six weeks, telling me his story as a means to process it within himself. 

CBT 2018: Luke Slays the Beast, a first-hand account

i'm writing a new story for myself these days, though i use the word 'story' with reluctance.  the cliche, 'a new chapter,' sells it short; but 'story' suggests a false closure on what came before and a false discreteness in its beginning.  but those reservations aside, i embrace this as my story for another reason.  it is a story because i am its author.

when i sent luke the bound copy of his letters from beast, he reread his words with curiosity and the benefit of hindsight, and filled in the context of each letter for me, with what didn't make it onto the pages.  though the book tells a complete story of his summer experience, complete with plot, character development, catharsis, and resolution, he wisely sees it as the introduction to a longer story and cherishes it as such.  but for me, as his mother, his beast story serves as a metaphorical and metaphysical reminder of the power of the pen. 

ever since luke was able to speak, he was in character.  the characters changed over time and included his cartoon heroes (like bob the builder), his animal obsessions (like the tiger shark, whose costume he created with a sharpie and a cardboard fin taped to a shirt), and people he looked up to in his world (such as "the landscaping man" he embodied for hours and hours, meticulously grooming hedges and edges as a three year-old toddler.)  i wish i knew how many hours and dollars we spent on costumes over the first ten years of his life.

by middle school he'd outgrown the costumes and shifted his attention to high dollar fashion, buying and selling for a profit.  (costuming turned commerce!)  and by high school, he'd announced his intention to join our armed forces and could describe with enormous detail the vision he had for himself in that role.  he lived in that vision with a certainty and wholeheartedness that i've rarely seen in my life - never doubting that he would embody it in time.  and he was right.  a week into beast, in a letter dated july 6th, he wrote:  "I have officially received my first piece of military fatigues and it feels amazing!...I'm not just playing dress up anymore, Momma."

his words reminded me that we are method actors of the highest caliber in the stories we write for ourselves, typecasting ourselves from the mirror of our self-image.   it's easy to get that twisted... to believe our self-image is the internal reflection of how we show up in the world, but in fact, it's precisely the opposite.  we show up and star in our stories exactly as we cast ourselves, an oscar-worthy performance in a role we believe is ours with our entire heart and soul.

as the sole author of my story, i'm renewed with the fullness of my creative power.  the creative autonomy and inspiration to author a story much bigger than what my present reality may be.  and the certainty that as i embody the role i pen for myself, don the costume, and take the stage, the universe will provide the supporting cast, production, and soundtrack. 

d:  a story of abundance
b:  gifted storytelling is a family trait 
g:  beautiful stories that i'm honored to play a role in

downhill

i took a backpacking course in college, my very first semester.  i was one of two women in the class, with ten guys.  it was serendipity that my female classmate and i were also connected through mutual friends/family and were assigned rooms across the hall; and, unsurprisingly, marla became one of my very closest friends and a constant companion.  this was years before we all had pedometers and microcomputers on our person at all times, but had we, i'm certain it would document hundreds of miles together on foot, backpacking and hiking through the blue ridge mountains of western north carolina.  

Discovery 1994, Day One

after our sophomore year, marla and i both registered for a three-week wilderness course offered by the outdoor education department.  it was a rite of passage at our college, marketed as a 'transformative experience,' provoked by the emotional, physical, mental, and spiritual challenges faced in the process.  (for what it's worth, it delivered on that promise for me in 1994 and continues to run annually each and every summer.  2018 will be the 42nd class of discovery.)  i couldn't have imagined doing it without her. 

when backpacking on mountain trails, you pay close attention to the squiggly lines on your topographic map that indicate elevation, fingers crossed that your route crosses widely spaced lines, suggesting gradual ascents and descents.  but when the lines narrow, your scrutiny intensifies, for these represent the steepest terrain.  and when the mountain is tall, the path you take matters a lot.  

Discovery terrain

we learned to read the topographic clues well.  we looked at the position of the peak relative to the sun to determine the shade.  we looked at the length and frequency of switchbacks to gauge intensity and boredom.  we assessed total distance and factored in elevation change.  but most of all, the question we cared the absolute most about was 'up or down?' 

in that very first backpacking course, i recall my skepticism when our instructor told us that downhills are harder than uphills.  he explained it with a thorough discussion of proper rest-step technique for ascents and the benefit of switchback design contrasted with the continuous muscle contraction necessary for descending an incline with a load on your back and the compounded stress on joints.  not to mention, unless a body of water awaits, a valley is never as appealing as a summit.  but still i didn't believe it until i experienced it. 

discovery has been on my mind a lot lately.  though i'm not fool enough to compare it to cadet basic training, i do recall the isolation and emotional and mental struggle of the group dynamic paired with the physical challenge of three weeks of wilderness expedition (despite having my best friend suffering alongside).  i've tried to share with luke the tidbits of wisdom that have stuck with me and i hope he's taken heed.  but most of all, i keep coming back to the lesson of the downhill.

Discovery 1994, considerably later

sunday marked the midway point of luke's beast training.  it was punctuated with a lengthy phone call home, most of which was via facetime, allowing us to see each other.  this may be the most highly anticipated milestone of the six week training and it delivered fully.  leisurely, unsupervised, and candid.  for the first time, i felt as if all my questions were answered and we had caught up.  i knew where luke was mentally, physically, and emotionally at this very moment in time. 

what i hadn't anticipated was the heaviness i would feel on the other side.  despite this being the downhill, despite the confidence in his success, despite the increased familiarity with the rhythm, monday was hard.  the ache was more pronounced, the weight of what luke unloaded heavy upon me, and the absolute clarity about how long is left and how long it will feel is anything but easier.  

four days later i have my head down, one foot in front of the other, leaning on those around me and those who have gone before me.  and remembering the lesson of the downhill.  it's supposed to be harder.  it calls for careful steps, strong core, a sense of humor, and good conversation.  

d:  strength and steadiness
b:  discovery lessons passed down
g:  friendships forged in footsteps

corner

anyone who really knows me knows i'm not a worrier.  i'm not a hypochondriac.  i don't keep close tabs on my boys' whereabouts.  and i generally assume everything is going to be ok and everybody is going to be fine.  in fact, if i err to either extreme, it's laissez-faire.  

so if you'd asked me three weeks ago how luke's beast experience was going to be for me, and many did, i'm sure i said something to the effect of, "i'm looking forward to the quiet.  i'm sure he'll be fine."  the weeks leading up to his departure were stressful.  the magnitude of the commitment he was making at 18 years old weighed on him and, in turn, me.  far beyond the four years of college, luke's full-time obligation to the military is another five years and then three more after that, as in-active reserves, at a minimum.  (if he pursues aviation or any number of other advanced degrees, it will be longer.)

so, those weeks were heavy with the weight of his imminent oath, but light with any awareness of what the first couple weeks might look like for me.  i imagined that first week home, with todd visiting his girlfriend in philly and luke safely tucked into the army's bosom, as a much-needed reprieve and rest.  lots of time to read, relax by the pool, catch up with friends, and enormous productivity at work.

ah, the lovely haze of delusion... 

instead, it was more akin to the acute pain of losing a limb and what i imagine the phantom sensations must be like.  i know in my last blog i wrote about all the little ways my routine was thrown off and how overshadowing all the absence was a fierce pride.  and i don't mean to take away from that now.  i do feel enormous pride for luke and his decision and his unstoppable determination that propelled us to this place.  but the protective umbrella of pride and optimism collapsed under the weight of heartbreak by the weekend.

now i admit, i've had some codependent relationships in my lifetime.  i have.  (who hasn't?)  but the connection i have with my children and the constant thread of communication i've shared with luke especially, is something altogether different.  though todd and i are more similar in many, many ways and shared more common interests and activities throughout their childhood and adolescence, luke has always been the protector and connector.  from the time he could speak, the sun never set on a day that he hadn't checked on me.  (aside from a few days in middle school, when he was in europe.  though he did sneak one illegal call from a hotel phone, mid-week.  but i digress...) 

i spent hours over the weekend combing through thousands (no exaggeration) of photos posted from a parade that was open to the public... hoping for a glimpse of my "waldo."  (proud to report i found him - several times!)  and though the photos gave me a moment of comfort, the avalanche of questions in my mind only grew.  somehow holding him in my mind and heart, conveying telepathically, prayerfully, my love and support felt like a must-do.  as if, were i to let him slip from my forethought for even a moment, he would feel it.  irrational, i know.  there was no room for rational there.

the second week of this separation began last monday and it's around that point that i started to look for mail from him.  though i'd mailed at least a letter a day, i knew it would take a while for him to have access to mail, time to write, and then, of course, the pinnacle of reliability, our beloved usps.  but with each report of parents, some as far away as the west coast, receiving cadet mail on monday and tuesday, the lump in my throat grew.

though some helpful friends suggested that "maybe he's having too much fun to write," or "maybe he's tougher than you think," i knew with certainty that both possibilities were irrelevant.  no amount of fun or toughness would keep luke from writing to me.  but only i could know that, the way i did, and i saw both skepticism and sympathy in the consolations offered by those around me.

it was his 11th day at west point when i first received mail from him.  thursday of the second week.  they say god won't give us more than we can bear, but i do believe my breaking point was near.  i received three envelopes from him that day, with multiple days of letters enclosed in each.  he wrote to me every day, at least once, often more. and in these letters that spanned his first five days as a member of our united states army, he reported that the single hardest thing was being out of communication with me.  considering the other hard things he detailed, that told me a lot.  

and you might think that this was a huge relief, hearing from him, finally.  it was however, only a small relief.  hearing his voice in his words was wonderful, but hearing his struggle and loneliness was heart wrenching.  the peppering of references to the hard parts gave me topics to worry about, but mostly it was his heart and mental state that concerned me and underscored my own heartache.

(and i thought this would be a reprieve...)

as if the mail and waldo-hunting of photos wasn't enough to occupy my mind, parents were instructed to be on stand-by last week for that first phone call.  some cadets began calls as early as sunday of their first week.. and the window stretched all the way to saturday night, of the second week.  we were advised to keep our phones charged and ringers on and nearby from 8a to 10p, as the cadre leadership "would allow calls when training schedules permitted."

now, i know we're all addicted to our phones. it's the most ubiquitous punchline and judgement and complaint from parents, employers, teachers, partners, police, and everyone else in our modern american society.  but i offer this challenge to you:  keep your phone in your hand or pocket and be ready to answer it at any time for 7 days.  that means the bathroom, the copier, your colleague's office next door, a client meeting, hell - even the deck where you might momentarily step to water the plants.  this is absolutely a crazy-making dictate.  oh and by the way, "the call could come from any number and if you miss it, don't call back or text." 

so i'd like to report that this was no big deal.  that i carried on about my life normally and just slightly elevated my phone-attentiveness.  but that would be a lie of epic proportions.  i can't recall a time in my life where resentment and attachment were so intertwined, particularly toward an inanimate object.  it was 9:19pm on saturday night, 41 minutes before the calling window officially ended, when my phone rang with luke on the other side.  i already had tears in my eyes, imagining it wasn't happening; a pit in my stomach, frustrated with my helplessness; and a pounding headache from the stress and general lack of self-care that had consumed the week.

but then he was there.  his voice on the other end of the phone, right now, in the present tense telling me how he was doing and probing, insistently, on hearing how i was doing.  and for the first time in 13 days, since he'd kissed me goodbye on july 2nd at 7:47am, i was ok.  i was actually better than ok.  i was great.

that was two days ago.  two amazing nights of sleep ago.  a full day of my phone volume turned off.  and a work day that has shaped up to be fairly productive and focused.  i miss him like crazy still.  i mailed him a letter this morning on my way into work.  i've even checked the facebook page once today (as opposed to dozens) and flipped through a few new photos, wondering if i'd see him.

but, i'm tentatively reporting that i've turned a corner. 
my mind has allowed itself to set him slightly off center, stage-right.
still visible, still in my peripheral even, but ever so slightly moving closer to the wings.
one-third of the way through, i'm starting to create a little space for myself.

d:  strength and peace
b:  i know my sons
g:  they know me  [sweet evidence:  luke closed one letter from last week with the charge, "be at peace, momma," and todd and i cried together when we read it.] 

independence-s

here i am three days after leaving luke at west point, two days after delivering todd to his girlfriend for a week in philadelphia, and a day after the 4th of july.  independence day seems to be a theme.  i dressed for the occasion:  may as well own this shit, i thought.  

back at work today my head was in the clouds.  working through several days of email backlog and trying to set up priorities, tasks i can usually do in a flash, felt like trudging through waist high mud.  one. laborious. step. at. a. time.  thankful for that small voice in my head reassuring me that tomorrow is friday and then a weekend to reset awaits. 

i find myself checking my phone regularly and habitually, expecting to see a message from luke, but then remembering.  

i find myself a bit tentative with decisions that i'd usually consult him on, like what meals to select for next week's dinners.  

and i have a running monologue of funny and/or useful things that i'd typically say to him at the end of the day or in one of the many conversations we had throughout the day.  it's these little ways that i miss him most.  

but, juxtaposed beside those tiny moments, or perhaps overshadowing those tiny moments like an umbrella, is a fierce pride and optimism about our individual independences.  

d:  celebration of independence

b:  i am ready 

g:  a timely holiday cutting the week short 

choreography

west point has been training our army’s junior officers for over 200 years now, providing both a superb college education and shaping these headstrong, driven young men and women into military leaders, able to both function as a unit, part of a large and often maddening machine, as well as inspire those under their command to do the hardest and most frightening things, when everything in them screams, ‘no!’  

so, it probably shouldn’t have come as such a surprise to witness the efficiency and effectiveness of the in-processing of 1200+ incoming new cadets on R-Day.  but, what can i say, my experience with government processes has never been so smooth - and i admit, i was impressed. 

good-bye

the day started with a long line to check in; a long line that moved so quickly, i was wishing we hadn’t been so prompt.  ushered into an auditorium with 50 cadets and their families, we settled in for the briefing; a briefing so brief it was over before i even looked around.  within three minutes of taking my seat, a cadre member announced that we had 60 seconds to say goodbye, and we leapt to our feet to embrace.  a minute later, families were being steered out a back door while the new cadets exited stage left...and as we departed the auditorium in a blur of tears and haste, another group of 50 cadets was already assembling behind us. a second podium awaiting their too-brief briefing, as soon as the door closed on my heels.  

choreography, i thought. 

the day concluded with a parade across the Plain, all 1230 new cadets assembled by company and flanked by their cadre leadership.  the morning’s disheveled teens were already transformed into a (fairly) cohesive unit.  heads shaved, uniforms fitted, and marching in unison and formation.  

as a mom, all i really wanted was to spot my luke. to lay eyes on his face and discern if he was ‘ok.’  whatever that might mean.  a parent seated behind me found her son first and started sobbing.  my heart was in my throat as i scanned and searched.  tears welled in my eyes, at the magnitude of the assembly.  i mean, i struggle to get the boys and myself organized against a dinner plan, and they had over a thousand strangers (mostly teens!) organized in columns and rows and synchronized movement. 

choreography. 

i finally spotted him on the exit march (thanks to great binoculars) and then identified him in a few photos from the same angle (thanks to todd snapping all the companies, just in case.)  i noted his serious, but stoic face.  his posture looked weary, but his movements were deliberate; and i exhaled for the first time in 12 hours.  

parade on The Plain, Foxtrot company

but today, as i watched my 5th or 6th video of the same event i had a front row seat at, i had an aha moment. somehow in the heightened emotion of the moment, i had overlooked an important detail.  a small, sharp, right turn.  it doesn’t seem like that could possibly be important, but it was. in that instant, rows became columns and columns became rows.  and that simple recognition on my part brought clarity.  where i’d searched and scanned photos in frustration all day, suddenly i could spot him in a blurry mass.  

choreography. 

in so many ways lately i’ve been awed by choreography. both literally and figuratively the universe has masterfully steered my steps and the steps of those around me to the highest good - sometimes despite my own clumsiness or lack of rhythm.  the day after my hardest goodbye, i find myself in an unexpected place of peace and joy; for as i look around i see divine choreography has surrounded me with love and support. 

d: a similar peace and joy, felt through love and support, for luke

b: two letters in the mail to him already 

g: clear recognition of beautiful choreography

tribute

it's amazing how many things i've learned from my boys, despite the prevailing notion that parents are the teachers.  maybe it's our family trait of obsession around the things we pursue, maybe it's my personal addiction to information...but whatever the cause, i am grateful for the unexpected ways they have expanded my world. 

one of my pet peeves in contemporary vernacular is the expression "humble brag."  aside from the obvious oxymoronic quality, it implies that expressing pride in oneself or another is something that needs a disclaimer.  and it probably goes without saying, but i'll say it anyway, i strongly disagree with that attitude.  

here's where i could let myself go down a tangential path about how the word "brag" is defined with the word "boastful" and how the word "boastful" is defined with the descriptor "excessive" - as in "talk with excessive pride," effectively leaving no word in the english language for speaking with pride about oneself that isn't tinged with negativity.  but i won't. 

so, without further ado, i make no disclaimers for the prideful tribute, a wholehearted brag, that is about to unfold.  

despite having several veterans in my family and social circle, i knew little more about our military's service academies beyond their existence and where they're located.  when luke announced to me, as a rising high school freshman, that he was planning to attend one, i gave them a cursory glance; noticed that the acceptance rate was in the single digits; and bit my tongue.  

well, that's probably not true.  i don't remember exactly what i said, but i'm sure it was something helpful along the lines of, "then you'd better keep that goal in mind from day one and study hard..."  i do know that i was hoping he would expand his goals to include some more reasonable options and walking the fine line between supportive and realistic.  (it's uncanny how sensitive teenagers are to that balance - a hairpin trigger that i inadvertently pulled more than once over the past four years.)  

two years later, after tucking todd into his freshman year at college, i rolled up my sleeves and started my personal service academy 101 education.  while i had some fuzzy idea that the process was complex and lengthy, the magnitude of both were eye-opening.  i liken it to The Amazing Race meets the DMV.  

luke opened his candidate files in his junior year with his application to the academies' summer leadership programs.  he applied to both USMA and USNA's summer programs and was accepted to both.  those applications were the academies' first look at luke's academic, athletic, and extracurricular qualifications and though SLE (the summer program) is more recruiting than culling - the selection is still competitive.     

luke spent the first full week of his 2017 summer break at West Point and his second week at the USNA, flying directly from new york to baltimore.  he then came home for a day before spending another week at Georgia Boys' State, an invitation-only, mock-government program that is looked favorably upon by service academy admissions.  (luke reported that the air conditioned dorms and casual, camp-like atmosphere was a welcome recovery after spending two weeks getting a taste of military life.)  

though the college application process for any high school senior is crammed with essays and deadlines, the service academies take this to a new level.  the application opens in stages to candidates, evaluating at each stage, and passing through only the candidates that meet minimum qualifications.  

there's an extensive questionnaire on activities, course work, accomplishments - similar to what you'd expect for any highly selective school.  these documents all have to be digitally verified by school administrators before they are accepted, preventing candidates from exaggerating accomplishments or activities.  teacher, faculty, and athletic evaluations are required and, unsurprisingly, consist of very specific leadership focused questions.  standardized test scores and preliminary transcripts are required at this stage, as well.  

the next stage of the application includes the essays and a physical fitness test.   the fitness assessment is a hurdle of its own and though the final application deadline runs well into the winter of senior year, the scores must be submitted with congressional nomination applications in early fall. 

oh, i didn't mention that, did i?  in addition to meeting the academy standards, all appointees of our United States military academies must have either a congressional, presidential, or vice presidential nomination. (there are a few other nominating sources, but they are hard to obtain and even harder to use, so i'll spare you...) and, of course, those are competitive too. 

so, at the same time the candidates are completing their multi-staged applications for each academy (no, they don't share applications between the branches...), they are also completing applications for both senators, their district representative, and the vice president - at a minimum.  luke also applied for, and received, nominations from the department of the army/navy for his JROTC participation in an honor unit.  these applications are each individual to the nominating source (yes, each senator and each representative has their own application) and each requires essays, transcripts, evaluations, test scores, and a handful of other unique, random pieces and parts (such as attendance records or fitness test scores.)  each nominating source also has their own timeline for applications, but candidates are all competing for 1 of 10 nominations allowed by each member of congress.  (the VP nominations are allocated differently, but i will spare you those details.)  applicants are invited for committee interviews in the late fall and, at least in georgia, learn of their nomination status in december.  

that's not the whole story about nominations though.. it's really the tip of the iceberg.  every appointee must have a nomination - it's a law or something.  and though the congress-folks can each give ten nominations, they only have one actual appointee slot per year.  (with the exception of the 4th year - because they can technically have 5 appointees at each academy at a time. so, every four years, they get 2 slots.)  so, they nominate 10 candidates to fill 1 slot and the best candidate on that "slate" is offered an appointment, provided they clear all the other qualification hurdles established by the academies. 

but even that doesn't quite cover the nomination process, because some nominating sources designate a "principal nominee"  which means that person gets the appointment over the other nine, as long as they meet the minimums.  so, a slate could have a principal nominee that's technically less qualified, but if they are designated as principal, the academies are legally bound to accept them.  but, let's just set that aside.  most congress-folks submit a "competitive slate" and allow the academy admissions process to identify the most qualified.  

okay, so i've covered the application, essays, evals, CFA (fitness assessment), nomination applications (and associated requirements), standardized tests, and transcripts.  after all of those are processed and the candidate is deemed to be qualified, the academy orders an extensive medical and vision exam, including a careful scrutiny of applicants' medical history.  tragically this is where many candidates are disqualified, as the medical standard for academy admission is much higher than that for the service branches overall.  luckily, luke was not.  

and after all of the boxes have green check marks and the application is complete, the hardest part of the process begins.  the interminable wait.  unlike most colleges and universities, there's no "decision date" to look forward to.  appointments are offered on a rolling basis, with some as early as the fall of senior year for highly qualified and proactive candidates (those are usually offered on the condition of receiving a nomination, as nomination slates aren't due until the January or February of senior year) and some offers of appointment as late as early May.  between November and May, each academy will send out offers of appointment to fill a class of roughly 1200.  

waiting is pretty terrible, no matter what.  but waiting for something that can happen in five minutes, tomorrow, or months down the road is a very particular type of agony.  i think i had a lump in my throat for months.  literally months.

to break down the numbers a bit more... about 15,000 applicants start admission files.  about 5,000 of those receive nominations.  about 2200-3200 are considered fully qualified by the academies.  and about 1200 join the corps with appointments. (obviously more offers are extended..but i don't have that number handy.) 

and just one more point i want to make, as an underscore to the enormous amount of effort it takes to simply apply to an academy: most, if not all, applicants are also completing college applications to a number of back-up schools and competing for national ROTC scholarships (with extensive application processes of their own, including another fitness test and more interviews.)  

it probably goes without saying, but if you think the application process is intense, you wouldn't believe the work that came before it. 

so, if you made it to the bottom of this epic exposition, you likely already know what i'm about to say.  the waiting-lump in my throat disappeared in a blink and has been replaced by a very different throat lump as my luke, my very own, sweet, baby son, is a mere 30 days from joining his fellow class of 2022 cadet candidates at the United States Military Academy at West Point.  and i couldn't be more proud.  

 

d:  unwavering belief in self, as demonstrated by my baby

b:  he gets his obsessive nature from me

g:  the opportunity to proud-brag in a well-deserved tribute

precipice

it's an interesting time in my life.  luke, my baby, leaves home in a mere 52 days.  though todd will be home for the summer, easing the transition, a precipice awaits.  my handy pocket webster's defines precipice concisely as a steep cliff.  perhaps that sounds dramatic to those of you with already empty nests, but i chose the metaphor carefully. 

for the first time in my adult life, i will live alone.  save mega and mouse, i'll be responsible for only my meals, my mess, my whereabouts.  my time will be entirely my own.  what that will feel like or look like, i can only imagine. (and believe me, i do.) 

when i do imagine it, when i allow my mind to place me in this uncharted territory, the emotion that overwhelms me is impossible to capture in a word.  but it is remarkably similar to what i've experienced at the edge of a precipice.  

adrenaline, tinged with fear.  accomplishment, flush with pride.  awe, welling with gratitude.  

and, pause.  a precipice is nothing else if not a pregnant moment of pause.  

as i peer out across the landscape yet to explore, and look back at what i've traversed, my knees are shaky and my heart rises in my chest.  for fear of the edge's danger, i sit down... and in the simple, protective pause, a new emotion surfaces: peace.  

though the uncertainty and mystery remain, though i have only my imagined view of what lies ahead, one clear truth persists.  one of the many truisms my mom conveyed in my young adulthood comes to mind: wherever you go, there you are.  and though at the time, she meant it as a reminder that i couldn't run away from myself, twenty years later it connotes a different meaning.  

no matter who else is there, or isn't, i will be.  iyanla vanzant described it as being with yourself, rather than by yourself in her 1998 bestseller "In the Meantime."  when i read that then, in my mid-twenties, it seemed forced and eye-roll-worthy, but now the concept resonates with me. 

and i find the promise of that to be reassuring and the pregnant pause of the next few months to be a time of deliberate creation.  a portal to my passions, those yet undiscovered and those merely under-pursued.  

d:  crystallized memories of these precious last days with luke

b:  passionate is one of my best qualities

g:  self-entertaining is a close second

greying

after watching a preview for an upcoming woody allen film, i overheard my mom say to a friend, '...well, i know this:  people are more than one thing.'  i hadn't heard the whispered comment she was replying to, but i inferred it was a question of her support for the filmmaker, after her expression of interest in the film. 

must be where i learned it, i thought. 

the continuous public exposure of sexual assaults and perpetrators makes it impossible to escape questions such as this.  where do you place these men in your mental sorting exercise?  are they defined by their public contributions to society or their private?  are they only as "good" as their worst deed?  love the sinner, hate the sin?  present tense over past? 

i've been rewatching the whole of game of thrones with luke.  we've nearly completed the episodes aired to date and just last week watched the battle of the bastards (S6,E9).  arguably the best episode of the series, it was awarded the emmy for both writing and directing and has maintained a fan rating of 9.9 on imdb, the top score of any episode, shared with only three others across all seven seasons. 

in a show that's rich with complex plot and multidimensional characters, this episode stands apart in its simplicity.  it pits good versus evil on a literal and figurative battlefield.  the characters each embody polar opposites of the morality spectrum and viewers need assign no asterisk or caveat to their wholehearted support of the hero. 

but that's a television show.  fiction.  brilliantly and beautifully written fiction.  rarely, if ever, is it so simple in reality.

i recently found myself labeled and judged and discretely filed on the basis of a single value i hold.  a single value.  i can hardly even fathom such a decision myself because i so rarely see anyone in black and white.  (and when i do, i tend to embrace both ends of the spectrum passionately and paradoxically.)  by and large, my world is a million shades of grey. 

i am more than one thing. 

and in my experience, like my mother's, i find that all people are.  we are complicated and multidimensional and imperfect.  we are defined by the unique nuance of our shadows, seen and unseen.  black and white doesn't do justice to anyone. 

but does this greying equate to relative morality?  (i can hear that argument already. see? i can argue both sides of most issues, even with myself.)  no, i contend that it does not.  i suggest instead that we consider greying as a deliberate mindset of acceptance, empathy, and forgiveness.

hold strongly to our personal values and, if we must judge, judge each action of ourselves or another as an individual thread of white or black.  then, most importantly, embrace the fabric of one another, each uniquely textured with individual threads of individual values born of our individual life experiences. 

for i am certain, there is not one among us whose fabric isn't grey. 

d:  a soft greying blanket laid across the country
b:  i embrace the thick, grey fabric of you
g:  greying runs in the family 

why

the hardest question ever asked.  why?

when a child asks, we accept it as curiosity.  but it's the rare adult that can pose a why without evoking at least a suspicion of judgment.  at least that's how it seems to me and, unsurprisingly, i've been wondering why.

when i started writing this blog, i had a different direction in mind for answering the question.  i'd been studying the way people around me posed their why-queries and trying to discern what magic phrasing or intonation or accompanying facial expression was required in order to sidestep suspicion and subsequent defensiveness.  but when i tried my hand at the techniques i observed, my results were mixed.  and so, this blog has had a title and opening line for a week, but that's about it. 

and then, just like when you carefully give a wide berth to the coffee table in the dark living room but bang your knee on the chair instead, i realized i had it all wrong.  looking to the questioner for the answer to the question, both figuratively and literally, made no sense at all.  especially considering the past couple weeks in my life, where i've found myself quite unexpectedly on the receiving end of why questions over and over again about my boudoir photo shoot. 

 a why question with a complex, multi-layered, and nuanced (yes, that's three words for the same thing, i know...#westwing) answer was the perfect medium to examine my internal response.  and rather than evaluating literally how i was asked why, i looked instead at how i heard and felt the question.  and imagine my surprise to learn my ears were affected by a shadow, the shadow cast by insecurity.  a shadow occasionally dark enough to obscure a healthy, natural, inquisitive why.

this likely sounds absolutely insane considering my last blog was about the enormous confidence boost i received from the very same photo shoot.  let me clarify.  the insecurity that crept in at times when confronted with the why wasn't about the actual portraits or my appearance in them.

but rather about what it means about me as a mother (priorities!) and as a professional woman (respectable!).
what it means that i was willing to spend the money on something purely selfish.  (wasteful!)
what it means that i wanted to see myself beautiful.  (vain!)
what it means that i wanted to see myself sexy.  (inappropriate!) 
what it means that i do.

so, while i answered every why question posed with a similar answer, 'to see if i could do it.. to feel beautiful.. to reconnect with myself and my body,' i felt varying levels of insecurity about how the questioner judged my answers. 

and when i came to terms with this as the why under the why, i thought, that's a damn shame.  literally.  it's like the second verse of the same song.  the same song that made me cry when i admitted how many of the pictures i wanted, ashamed of my pride.  this second verse gave air to some societal "mom-shaming" standards i didn't even know i'd bought into, they were so deeply buried.

but no more.  the answer to the question is multi-faceted and layered, as are most people and decisions.  and perhaps that description of the answer is the best answer itself.

why? 
because i am multi-faceted and layered and wish to celebrate them all.

d:  bring on the why's
b:  reframing my self-image
g:  the judgment came only from within

selfie

i think i was around 13 when i first had a desire to know what i looked like.  i remember buying a handheld mirror and studying my face in it.  i looked unfamiliar to myself and i wondered if somehow i had missed an important milestone in my childhood.  i committed my features to memory and promptly lost interest. 

i count myself very fortunate to have been generally absent any unhealthy body image issues as a teen and young woman.  to my mom's credit, i wholeheartedly embraced her wise mantra, 'beauty is on the inside' and was spared the agony so many young women inflict upon themselves, striving for a beauty ideal only obtainable through photoshop and eating disorders. 

perhaps this is the reason that my minds' selfies are all time-stamped.  i have a handful of discrete images in my memory of my appearance.
the first, mentioned above, at 13, handheld mirror, indian style on my bed.
another at 16, likely an attempt to understand what my newfound first love saw in me.
then my next mental selfie isn't until 23, a new mother with baby todd in my arms.  i know exactly what i looked like then.
another time stamp in the year 2000, when i came out at age 26.  i immediately cut my hair short in celebration of my new identity and wanting to look the part.
34 years old: a brush with my mortality had clarified much in my life..suddenly, looking the part wasn't as important as looking like myself.  i let my hair grow out, embraced its newfound curl and my femininity.

and then, at 35, there's a shift in my mental selfie album, from snapshots to a flickering film strip. paradoxically during some of the happiest years of my life, i was my most body self-conscious... perhaps it was the hyper focus on my fitness or perhaps the constant desire to document the joy in my life, or more likely - the combination of the two.  regardless, both came to an abrupt halt when my marriage ended and with that loss, the film strip snapped. 

in the years since, while i've healed in many ways, i've also resigned myself to the loss of my 'glory days.'  and accordingly my mind's selfie camera hadn't bothered to document my appearance, instead creating a self-image from behind my eyes that was essentially adequate and unremarkable.

and all of that is the prologue to what has spurred me to write today.   

amid an internet search for a lifestyle photographer to document myself and the boys, before the imminent empty nest, i stumbled upon a photographer of an entirely different nature and fell in love with her work.  her eye for composition and lighting and the mood her work captured - i felt an immediate connection to her art.  (because there was really no other word for it.)  

i read every word of her website, (including three and a half years of blogs), embracing her bubbly enthusiastic personality juxtaposed with the creative intensity evident in her photography.

but --- meagan was a boudoir photographer.  gulp.  what did it mean that i felt this strong pull to book a session of nearly naked, sexy photos of myself??  i didn't think for a second that i would walk away from the endeavor with photos that looked like the women on her website.  i've already established that i believed my glory days behind me, right? but i emailed anyway, tentatively, asking for a price list and hoping both that i could and couldn't afford the investment.  the latter would make the decision a lot easier, after all. 

her nearly immediate reply began with: "Thanks so much for reaching out!!! I would love love LOVE to get you in the studio for a boudoir session!"  and went on to explain the ins and outs of the process in similar exclamation-point-laden excitement.  i could hardly believe this giddy woman was the same one with what must be serious, technical skills and a mad eye for finding beauty in women.  (spoiler alert: she's one and the same.  imagine tigger, from winnie the pooh, with a creative streak that rivals the greats.)  

i scheduled her first available date - which was six extremely long weeks away - and descended into an obsessive internet vortex of lingerie shopping and boudoir photography study. being the information junkie that i am, i quieted my nerves with an overload of learning.  my research bore out two things in very short order: 
1.  there's a science to this art.  the extreme technicality of the posing, lighting, and shooting gave me some reassurance that little relied on me.
2.  very few photographers in this space have mastered both aspects: science and art.  meagan's portfolio left no doubt i had chosen one of the best. 

as the day approached, my emotions were a curious mix of optimism and skepticism. 

the day of the shoot... well, it rolled out just like i expected.  hair, makeup, posing instructions, lingerie that did nothing to conceal my insecurities... but, as promised, meagan left no oxygen in the room to feed my fear.  her supreme command of every finger, angle, and shadow required my full attention and it was only once i got home, afterwards, that my nerves found their voice in my psyche. 

i'd read blogs from dozens of women touting the confidence boost and empowerment they felt when walking out of their boudoir shoots.  i, on the other hand, feared that i hadn't been able to relax enough or that i wasn't connecting enough in the ways i was supposed to.  i feared that i wouldn't recognize myself in the finished images.  and to make matters worse, my anxiety post-shoot served to amplify my anxiety.  maybe i don't feel the way most women do because i didn't do it right! 

thankfully it was only a week between my shoot and my reveal appointment.  i don't think i could have held my breath much longer than that.  i spent most of the week reviewing all the technical details i'd found in my initial research, reassuring myself that meagan did it right, even if i didn't. 

at the reveal appointment, meagan greeted me with a big hug, gushing about how much she loved my images.  she says that to all the girls, my inner voice chided. 

and then she started the slide show.  'seven minutes, two songs, five seconds on each picture' - she prepped me. 

i didn't hear the first song at all.  i think my brain was receiving maximum input from my eyes instead and struggling to make sense of it all.  that can't be me.  but wait, it is!  

as my shock took a step back, relief sidled up next to it and tried to make space at the table for pride, who had the assignment of rating images with 'one for no', 'three for maybe' or 'five for must have.'  going through the images one by one, i heard myself saying 'five' over and over, and then my voice cracked.  tears filled my eyes.  as it turns out, pride wasn't used to having much of a voice about my appearance... not in a long time.  the realization was startling and cathartic and overwhelming. 

i left my appointment with all the images.  all 57 images, to be exact.  after fearing there wouldn't be enough to make a small album, i floated out on a cloud of disbelief.  it's been three days and i think i've probably looked through them 57 times.  i've shown only very few, to very few.. and yet, the simple knowledge that they exist has fired up that selfie camera in my mind. 

i've come to realize - through this experience - that my selfie snapshots have been triggered by love, most often for or from someone else.  but, for the first time in 30 years perhaps, i am both the giver and receiver of that love.  i am beautiful in my own eyes and that's enough. 

d:  this experience for every woman
b:  57 freaking gorgeous images (57!!!) 
g:  an unexpected awakening

source

-photo by Tommy Vohs

consider the source.  

i've heard that and said it my whole life...the context evolving over time.  but it has come to reside in my consciousness now in a way it never has before.  

consider the source. 

my earliest associations with the phrase were moments of disdain...eventually an endpoint from a statement of exasperation morphed into resignation.   

consider the source. 

when todd brought forensic debate into my life, this became a strategic tenet and opportunity for advantage.  a charge and a tactic.  both a caution and a buttress.  

consider the source.

as i've aged, the mantra has served as a reminder of compassion...empathy.  my mom has long offered the wisdom, 'do the best you can, until you can do better.'  and i extend that sentiment outwards. 

consider the source. 

but now, i turn the scrutiny on myself.  my first-person perspective juxtaposes omniscience with blinders and only one truth is certain.  it's dark in here. 

consider the source.

just as i wouldn't ask a blind man for directions, i wonder if i'm to be trusted with the decisions of my own life.   my disdain looms in the shadows, casting another layer of darkness into the dark.  

consider the source.

last night i was met in this place and a hand extended.  an ear offered.  and the words i heard in reply to my blind stumblings were familiar and gentle.  wisdom passed down and back up again. 

d:  a nightlight

b:  a consideration granted

g:  a listener in the dark

extinction

ivan pavlov is probably rolling over in his grave as he observes the conditioned responses of our modern culture from the afterlife.  (assuming there is such a thing.)  i remember the fun in cleverly assigning custom ring tones to my first iphone.  The Sopranos theme song for all work related contacts.  Batman for luke, because at the time that was his everyday uniform.  gnarls barkley's crazy for that certain friend who fit the bill.  and so on.

i didn't realize the conditioned responses i was ingraining until that gnarls barkley song came on the radio years later and i felt my chest seize with anxiety.  it's been over ten years now and i still feel that twinge when i hear it.  

my phone rings a lot less these days and now i find a chirp or a beep or a bell can change my entire disposition in a split second, as the sounds of communication signal connection and connection evokes emotion and emotion...well, emotion is where it starts and ends for me.  so, hindsight being 20/20 and all, i question the wisdom of linking common sounds with emotion laden relationships because there's no 'silent' setting for the world around me.  

it's funny how a topic will often cross my path many times before it engages me enough to chase, but when someone mentioned neuroplasticity casually in conversation over the weekend and i laid awake trapped in a pavlovian loop to the sounds outside my window, i woke up on a hunt for a related article i skimmed last week.  determined to figure out how to break the link between bell and drool, whistle and wince.  

it was medical student jerzy konorski, a student of pavlov, who first coined the term neural plasticity in 1966 as an early theory about the underlying neural mechanisms driving classical conditioning. the concept that our brains are physically changed by the way in which we use them was a breakthrough theory at the time, but today it's an essential tenet of modern neurobiology.  

we've all heard it.  "what fires together, wires together"   whether behavioral, environmental, or mental, we have the power to change our brains.  norman vincent peale was ahead of his time and his Power of Positive Thinking was largely ridiculed by the medical community; but "brain training" is everywhere you look now.  a quick search on amazon for books with that keyword phrase produced 2,319 titles.  most of them published in the past decade.  

(point of proof:  the google ngram for the phrase as it's appeared in books over the past 50 years.)

note:  this wasn't news to me.  i've been a student of this brain changing, world changing, manifesting reality school of thought for ages...i first learned of it in '05-'06, by a film that came out in 2004, what the bleep do we know, probably right before that graph turns steeply north.  i suspect the uptick was around the time of The Secret, film debut in '06 and book first published in '07.  

but i digress.  what i didn't know.. and what i learned in my reading, is that the rewiring that occurs in our brains, enabled by neuroplasticity, happens primarily while in deep, dreamful, REM sleep.  

dun dun dunnnn.

well, no wonder.  sleep has been elusive over the past several weeks.  the nights are haunted by the periodic call of the tracks nearby and the very sound i strain to hear is the sound i most need to silence...the rumble from within evoked by the rumble from without...and the two holding me just above the escape i need.

d:  restorative rest

b:  visible and vulnerable

g:  extinction via escape

gravity

Honey, it's been a long time coming

And I can't stop now

Such a long time running

And I can't stop now

Do you hear my heart beating? 

Can you hear that sound?

Cause I can't help thinking

And I don't look down

three and a half years is a long time.  that's how long it's been since my marriage ended and, by far, some of the lowest years of my life.  i went through all the stages of grief, backwards, forwards and over again before i reached a point of acceptance.  

and then, once there, it took me a bit (ok, a lot) longer to realize that i had been grieving more than the divorce, i was also grieving my dream of 'happily ever after' and 'the one,' for it became more and more clear that i didn't believe it could happen again.  'what if we only get one shot at it?' i bemoaned.  and did i deserve another great love anyway? 

a long time coming, indeed.  

And then I looked up at the sun

And I could see

Oh the way that gravity turns for you and me

And then I looked up at the sky and saw the sun

And the way that gravity pulls on everyone, on everyone

a little over a month ago, on the verge of throwing in the proverbial towel for the umpteenth time, i had a moment of neptunian romanticism and decided to update my somewhat apathetic online dating profile with a clear, albeit wordy, description of what i want.  who i am.  who i'm drawn to.  and though it was raw and honest, and left me exposed (perhaps as a woman who had set the bar too high), i felt as if i had no choice but to publish it.  even though i'd already literally deleted every local woman - save two - from the search results, i couldn't not say it.

the way that gravity pulls, indeed. 

Baby, it's been a long time waiting

Such a long, long time

And I can't stop smiling

No, I can't stop now

And do you hear my heart beating? 

Ah, can you hear that sound? 

Cause I can't help crying

And I won't look down

what do you know, forty-eight hours later, my package arrived.  (sort of like amazon prime.  guaranteed two-day delivery for free, which i absolutely expect from every online retailer now and am constantly disappointed and boggled by their inability to deliver on.)  it does beg the question, how many times do i have to see the power of manifestation in my life before it stops surprising me.  it took me a minute to realize i wasn't imagining her.. that she wasn't purely a creation of fantasy assigned to a person on the other side of a cyber chasm of space and time.  (and by 'minute' i mean a couple of weeks and looking into her smiling eyes, face-to-face.) 

can't stop smiling, indeed. 

And then I looked up at the sun and I could see

Oh the way that gravity turns on you and me

And then I looked up at the sun and saw the sky

And the way that gravity pulls on you and I, on you and I

it's been five weeks and though that's but a speck in time, it has changed me forever, already.  opening up my world with hope and love and overflowing gratitude. 

gravity turns, indeed.  

Can you hear my heart beating? 

Can you hear that sound? 

Cause I can't help crying

And I won't look down

(lyrics to 'Gravity' by Embrace) 

the tears are of joy and my eyes are held high.  and if you could hear that sound, it might resemble a train whistle.  

d:  hear the sound

b:  i set the bar high

g:  she blew it away

kite

a few years ago i became utterly obsessed with astrology.  for a couple years i studied it intensely, working with a mentor and poring over the natal charts of everyone i knew.  (and some i didn't.)  i had always known that i typified my piscean sun sign; ever awash in emotion and its continual motion.  but one of the things i learned about my chart, and immediately recognized in my life, is the dominant configuration of nearly all the celestial bodies in my chart (8 of 11) in what's called a grand trine.  well, several grand trines overlapping in fact.  

what does that mean?  literally it means that there are at least 3 planets in a equilateral, triangular configuration, 120 degrees between each.  but more importantly, it's an insulating configuration.  allows for easy energy flow between the planets involved and among the houses of the chart involved.  which, admittedly, probably still doesn't mean much to most people.  but when i say insulating  i do mean exactly what i say.  grand trines tend to protect people from the struggle that their psychological urges, in their respective signs and houses, would otherwise present.  grand trine people tend to coast a little bit.  some are described as lucky or seen as inexplicably oblivious or resilient to the hardships they encounter.

when this dynamic was explained to me for the first time, i didn't make much of it.  set it aside and let it marinate.  and then, as astrology is wont to do, it started to make sense.  i began to see the cushioning effect in my life.  the absence of concern or worry, even when perhaps i should; my inability to hold on to details, particularly of painful experiences; and a pervasive sense that everything will work out, even when it's clearly falling apart.  

the grand trine often suggests a lackadaisical or laissez-faire approach; and despite all of my intensity, i admit, i paradoxically have the market cornered on laissez-faire.  lackadaisical, not so much.  lackadaisical is defined as 'lacking enthusiasm or determination' and 'carelessly lazy.'  when i relayed my disagreement to my astrology mentor, it presented him with a teachable moment.  one of my grand trines, it turns out, is actually a 'kite.' meaning there's an extra planet involved, creating a kite-like shape (go figure).. and he told me the significance is that it 'provides a way out of the trine.'  

if you're as lost as i was, perhaps this will help.  imagine, if you will, a napkin blowing off a picnic table...caught in the breeze and wafting easily and aimlessly (read: lackadaisical) wherever the wind may blow.  now, imagine on the same windy day, at the same picnic, that you brought along a kite.  and as you lift it aloft to the breeze it takes flight, dipping and soaring at your command.  why?  

sure, you may find the immediate flaw in my illustration as a napkin isn't designed to fly and a kite is; or a napkin is untethered for control and a kite is attached to a string.  but a simple lesson in aerodynamics will direct you to the importance of resistance.  the tail provides drag and the wind  provides lift and together they create flight.  

over the past couple years, my heart has been broken repeatedly and regularly by the news of systemic racism taking another life in our country, too often at the hands of those we employ and entrust with our safety.  but over and over, i expect the headline to be the last of its kind.  over and over, i expect our predominantly white government to step up and recognize the injustice, with remorse, restitution, and remedy.  i cannot relate in any way to the victims or the perpetrators and it's unimaginable to me how such prejudice and hate exist at all.  

for all the benefit of my protective grand trines, i hold them equally at fault for my naivete and hopeful optimism on this matter.  

but not any more.  last friday todd and i joined nearly ten thousand protesters in the streets of downtown atlanta to march for racial justice.  headstrong into the winds of ignorance, denial, and fear, together we attempted to create some drag.

interviewed on the news, yep.  probably because i was white.  

on a personal level, it was moving: sobering and empowering all at once.  i felt immensely powerful and, simultaneously, a very small part in what necessarily must be an enormous movement.  it was both heartbreaking and heart-lifting. i felt such a bond and commonality with those around me and yet more disconnected and dismayed at those who stood idly by.  

the paradox of these emotions, swirling and clashing all at once, left me drained.  i retreated over the weekend into my grand trines, insulated and protected.  and then it hit me.  like a kite to the forehead.  

wind resistance..perpendicular force..lift 

the resistance of a tail in tow..drag

together: flight.  

d: i never lose my tail

b: flight via fight

g: kite to the forehead

framed

elasticity of time. 

say that aloud.  it feels good. just the right balance of s and t.  

it's been stuck in my head for a few days now, like the refrain of a song lacking in melody.  so after muttering it under my breath for 72 hours, i googled it.  i had a feeling it didn't mean what i had assigned it... (but i only half cared, hence the 72 hour delay.)

i was right.  it's frequently associated with einstein's theory of relativity and the principle of time dilation.  i had it pegged more for the strange phenomenon of time in which it can feel like both a moment and an epic all in one breath; or as if it happened yesterday, yet has existed forever. 

i was wrong too though.  upon dipping my toe into einstein's work in quantum physics, i immediately cared.  

it all came rushing back, a familiarity born of a past obsession with the film What the Bleep.  a film that came into my life at just the right time and resonated.  it's sort of a quantum-physics-lite course that i'm sure made physicists all the world round cringe.  (but this, i really don't care about.)  it remains one of my favorite films and one of the few i watch over and over. 

but obviously it's been a while.  because i read journal article after article as if it were brand new. 

to put it simply, the theory of relativity states that as an item's speed increases, time slows down.  (i know, i know, i'm oversimplifying.)  this has formed the basis of many a time travel film and sounds ludicrous at face value.  that's what they all said when he proposed it too, in 1905, with no empirical evidence.  but fast forward 35 years and what do you know, he was right. loads of studies have proven it.  

einstein's theory was based on a notion of time as something measured in a frame of reference.  i envision that i'm watching time pass outside a window, literally, and if the window is then accelerated in motion, time slows down.  and while i'm certainly not in motion, particularly not anywhere near the speed of light (which is when it starts to actually matter), i am employing the theory of relativity to explain my own paradoxical time phenomenon. 

though my body isn't moving, my mind has been on overdrive...racing at an immeasurable speed (literally) powered by life, love, and a cocktail of serotonin, endorphins, and oxytocin.  and yet, time has slowed down, expanded, and wrapped itself around a few short weeks, morphing them into something much, much richer.  

frame of reference. 

in motion. 

d:  acceleration

b:  expansion

g:  power conversion

squint

it was probably a dozen years ago when i first watched Bowling for Columbine.  i didn't see it immediately, but rather on dvd a couple years after release.  i recall being dumbfounded.  my world was smaller then and my abundant idealism obscured reality.  it was a period in my life though when the blinds were opened, one twist at a time.

with each turn of the rod, i not only saw more, but i squinted more.  in many ways, i have always believed myself insulated from the dangers and dangerous.  it infuriates those in my life who are self-described worriers, but i figure i balance out their fear with unabated optimism.  so as my heart has broken more with each passing headline, my eyes have narrowed in response.

and before you comment that this is the problem with people: willful ignorance let me clarify.  i am not turning from facts. i am not turning my head and pretending the evil and pain are merely there if i look.  on the contrary, as the blinds have opened, i find myself pressed against the glass, aching to see more.

my eye doctor once explained to me that there are two general patterns of vision impairment.  those who have terrible vision at a very young age and whose vision must be corrected with strong lenses forever.  and then those whose vision starts to degrade in puberty, levels out in the early twenties, and then improves slightly in your thirties.

and then there are those who have perfect vision their entire adult lives.  until middle age.  

regardless of your vision prior, it's an accepted fact that most people will suffer some age-related degeneration in middle age.  and it's then that we begin to squint.  i say 'we', but mind you, i'm not in this category yet.  let the record reflect that.  if you are of this certain age you can confirm, the squint does not impair the vision; but rather enables the eye to focus more clearly.  

it is this effect that my squinting strives to achieve. i squint to block the rhetoric. i squint to block the noise: the blame and fear.  i squint to block the clouding circumstance. and i focus my vision where my heart is focused, on loving compassion and hope for imminent change.

d: middle age squint for all
b: hope springs eternal
g: not quite middle age yet, per my eye doctor

newton

i started this blog as an observation on down and out.  i considered breaking (one word title) form and entitling it as such; but then i was struck by the visual marriage of the two words. down..out: doubt... and perhaps it's more than an optical illusion.

spiralling down and out, my thoughts and feelings feeding off each other.. and multiplying the doubts.  doubt in my direction, my purpose, my place.  doubt in my perceptions, my impressions, my understanding. and ultimately in myself.  

but like a spring, i'm resilient.  i've been in difficult low spots before, wondering and dismayed.  disappointed and disillusioned.  and doubting my judgment and decisions.  

and like a spring, with every contraction and expansion, it gets a little easier.  

a loose interpretation of newton's third law and an overarching belief in karma assures me that for as low as i've dropped.. as far as i've spiraled down into doubt, there is an upswing coming.  an expansion.  a spiral outward and upward that i am certain of.  

today marks a week of momentum.  forward momentum.  upward momentum.  positive momentum.  my friends reached in and lifted me up unexpectedly, three days in a row.  jobs with exceptional potential, three at a time.  and both boys celebrated small personal victories.

so now i'm invoking newton's first law of motion as i ride this spiral the other direction and preparing to harness this energy for what's to come.  

d:  powerful manifestation

b:  powerful resilience

g:  powerful inertia