Sometimes the synchronicities of life are strikingly surprising. I have been thinking a lot about September 11th lately - not only because the anniversary is fast-approaching, but also because there is a project connected to it that has lain dormant for several years, and lately I've been feeling like picking it back up again.
Rachel, Chloë, and I left for the Grand Canyon from Chicago on the morning of September 11, 2001. We were traveling Route 66 and did not find out about the attacks until the afternoon when stopping for gas. We ultimately decided to keep going with our trip - which resulted in some amazing conversations and the opportunity to travel cross-country with our eyes and ears open in an entirely new way.
We created a show, Re:Routed, which we performed in different variations at various points for a little while, and I had always intended to do a book project combining our journal entries, photographs, and later ruminations on the trip. Perhaps it will still happen; I certainly hope so.
This week I heard an interview on StoryCorps of a young boy whose grandfather was killed in the attack on the World Trade Center, and tonight I entered the living room to find my husband watching United 93 on TNT. It's riveting and upsetting and startlingly realistic, which makes it somewhat difficult to watch.
Even now, nearly 7 years later, the disorientation, fear, and disbelief of that day comes flooding back. I think it's important to remember those feelings when we hear of tragedies and losses of life in other countries (be they natural disasters or acts of war), and to continue to honor the memory of all those lost throughout our country's history. May peace be with them.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Ego, Egads! (an embarrassing confession)
I am struggling with envy of late. Envy and ego swirled together like a hard candy found in cupboards of little old ladies who still dress up on Sunday.
I spoke with my brother the other day, and he told me about all the amazing things he's doing, how well the show is going, how much he loves Sydney, etc. And don't get me wrong... I LOOOOVE my brother and I am so, so, so very proud of him for pushing toward his dreams with full strength and actually reaching them. It's amazing.
But there is a part of me, every single time, that starts to jabber away about how I gave up... about how my life is not exciting or filled with trips to other countries or amazing, beautiful dreamlike creativity. About how Andy and I struggle to make ends meet even though we're in our mid-30s and we still express discontentment and extreme confusion as to what we want to be when we grow up.
And we are still not sure if we have grown up, or are grown ups.
(I suppose if you have to ponder and ask, then the answer is no.)
I miss my artistic life, but I also remember how bad the fit was when we finally left and went in search of a new direction in order to fashion a different life. But I often feel my family is more impressed with his successes than mine, and I often wonder what would have happened if I had been more confident and less apologetic in my pursuit of an artistic career.
And so here I am, struggling to live in the now, except that the now contains jealousy and self-upbraiding... and a small little whisper of failure in the back of the throat and the pit of the stomach.
I don't know many people who have achieved their dream. My brother is one, which makes him incredibly special (and it helps that he's generous, funny, easygoing, and insatiably curious to boot). I think much of my dis-ease comes from not entirely knowing what my dream is.
So today I wander, a little lost, and still quite grateful - but doggedly looking for an answer to a question I still don't know how to ask.
I spoke with my brother the other day, and he told me about all the amazing things he's doing, how well the show is going, how much he loves Sydney, etc. And don't get me wrong... I LOOOOVE my brother and I am so, so, so very proud of him for pushing toward his dreams with full strength and actually reaching them. It's amazing.
But there is a part of me, every single time, that starts to jabber away about how I gave up... about how my life is not exciting or filled with trips to other countries or amazing, beautiful dreamlike creativity. About how Andy and I struggle to make ends meet even though we're in our mid-30s and we still express discontentment and extreme confusion as to what we want to be when we grow up.
And we are still not sure if we have grown up, or are grown ups.
(I suppose if you have to ponder and ask, then the answer is no.)
I miss my artistic life, but I also remember how bad the fit was when we finally left and went in search of a new direction in order to fashion a different life. But I often feel my family is more impressed with his successes than mine, and I often wonder what would have happened if I had been more confident and less apologetic in my pursuit of an artistic career.
And so here I am, struggling to live in the now, except that the now contains jealousy and self-upbraiding... and a small little whisper of failure in the back of the throat and the pit of the stomach.
I don't know many people who have achieved their dream. My brother is one, which makes him incredibly special (and it helps that he's generous, funny, easygoing, and insatiably curious to boot). I think much of my dis-ease comes from not entirely knowing what my dream is.
So today I wander, a little lost, and still quite grateful - but doggedly looking for an answer to a question I still don't know how to ask.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Taken for Granted
We got an update today from our friends who have been in the hospital with their little one; they are not out of the woods yet, but steps are being taken and it sounds like all went well for this initial procedure, so we all have high hopes it will continue to be good news and an excellent prognosis for all the steps that will follow.
Their little one is only 10 weeks old. And he is not the first child of a friend who has faced serious complications this early in life. And while it's always inspiring to me how strong the parents - my friends who are often far away and so sorely missed - can be... I also know how everything you know and feel can shift swiftly and sharply in the middle of a crisis. What we previously thought we could never bear, we push through and take one step at at time... because, as someone at school once said, we have to. What else would you do?
I feel great empathy for these parents who face such scary situations with their children. And it makes me realize how much I take Ari's health (and really Andy's and mine as well) for granted. It's an excellent reminder, as are so many of the things those around the world are faced with daily, of what a blessed life I lead. One that I should not take lightly or dismiss easily, because I am very lucky. Even those crises we have faced pale in comparison to the trials of others, and so I hope to always remember to value the good things I have... to cherish the good in my life.
We continue to pray for our friends and their loved ones as they face these challenges; to celebrate the survivals, the successes, the small miracles; and to keep remembering to appreciate each blessing - each joy - because they are wonderful, special, miraculous gifts.
Their little one is only 10 weeks old. And he is not the first child of a friend who has faced serious complications this early in life. And while it's always inspiring to me how strong the parents - my friends who are often far away and so sorely missed - can be... I also know how everything you know and feel can shift swiftly and sharply in the middle of a crisis. What we previously thought we could never bear, we push through and take one step at at time... because, as someone at school once said, we have to. What else would you do?
I feel great empathy for these parents who face such scary situations with their children. And it makes me realize how much I take Ari's health (and really Andy's and mine as well) for granted. It's an excellent reminder, as are so many of the things those around the world are faced with daily, of what a blessed life I lead. One that I should not take lightly or dismiss easily, because I am very lucky. Even those crises we have faced pale in comparison to the trials of others, and so I hope to always remember to value the good things I have... to cherish the good in my life.
We continue to pray for our friends and their loved ones as they face these challenges; to celebrate the survivals, the successes, the small miracles; and to keep remembering to appreciate each blessing - each joy - because they are wonderful, special, miraculous gifts.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Everything Sticks
Ari and I were playing upstairs today with some stuffed animals who had been "resting" in her closet for quite some time which she recently rediscovered and insisted on making a permanent part of the chaos in her room.
She picked up a little pig who makes oinking noises and held him up by his toes. "Dead," she said. And it took me a minute to remember what she might be referring to. But after a few minutes and her insistent repetition of the word with the piggy dangling by his toes, I remembered the reference.
Andy made up a song very early on in her infancy that he would sing to her while dangling the piggy by one foot. At the time, she was much too young to understand it, but I remember questioning him as to whether or not such a song was a good idea.
It's amazing how much little minds retain - even when you think they couldn't possibly understand what you're saying. Luckily, it's now a funny story and is hopefully something that will neither scar her nor get her into trouble should she remember the words well enough to repeat them around others.
Here's the song Andy made up for the pig:
Slaughterhouse pig
hanging by his feet.
Slaughterhouse pig;
he'd like to meet you
but he can't 'cause he's dead.
They hit him on the head
and strung him up.
Then they slit open his stomach,
and they pulled out his guts.
He's the slaughterhouse pig!
She picked up a little pig who makes oinking noises and held him up by his toes. "Dead," she said. And it took me a minute to remember what she might be referring to. But after a few minutes and her insistent repetition of the word with the piggy dangling by his toes, I remembered the reference.
Andy made up a song very early on in her infancy that he would sing to her while dangling the piggy by one foot. At the time, she was much too young to understand it, but I remember questioning him as to whether or not such a song was a good idea.
It's amazing how much little minds retain - even when you think they couldn't possibly understand what you're saying. Luckily, it's now a funny story and is hopefully something that will neither scar her nor get her into trouble should she remember the words well enough to repeat them around others.
Here's the song Andy made up for the pig:
Slaughterhouse pig
hanging by his feet.
Slaughterhouse pig;
he'd like to meet you
but he can't 'cause he's dead.
They hit him on the head
and strung him up.
Then they slit open his stomach,
and they pulled out his guts.
He's the slaughterhouse pig!
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Far Away Prayers
We found out today the infant of two good friends of ours is in the hospital. (Many regular readers will already be familiar with this and will probably have even more info than I do.)
I know that if Ari took ill, my world would stop and everything would feel like it was spinning out of control. I pray everything goes smoothly, that good news is forthcoming, and that the whole family can get some rest and feel some peace despite the inevitable chaos and sense of crisis they must be experiencing in the present time.
I wish we lived closer so I could somehow be of tangible support, but I will ask for your collective thoughts and energy in the hopes our prayers might help.
I know that if Ari took ill, my world would stop and everything would feel like it was spinning out of control. I pray everything goes smoothly, that good news is forthcoming, and that the whole family can get some rest and feel some peace despite the inevitable chaos and sense of crisis they must be experiencing in the present time.
I wish we lived closer so I could somehow be of tangible support, but I will ask for your collective thoughts and energy in the hopes our prayers might help.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
The Inner Tug-of-War, The Outer Perspective
There is a dichotomy between two phrases ringing in my head as of late:
Everything is finite.
(Which is very similar to another favorite of mine: This too shall pass.)
Live in the now.
(Something I keep hoping to make headway on but continue to struggle to achieve.)
One suggests that anything can be endured in the present because life continues to move and change... and nothing lasts forever. Hope lies in the future and the knowledge that time will pass, the river will flow on, and whatever life's present unhappinesses may be... it will all be different at some point down the road.
The other suggests one eschew the future (and the past) in order to fully appreciate, be awake in, and participate in the present moment. Hope lies in being fully awake through each breath in every second of any given point of time because to be wholly alive is surely better than to be sleepwalking, hiding, running away, or dreaming of the future.
For whatever reason, grad school often seems easier to get through by embracing the former sentiment. Anything can be endured because everything has an endpoint. It will change. Just keep going and trust it will all be okay.
But lately I wonder if the latter would be more appropriate and ultimately more fulfilling. Sucking every bit of marrow out of each circumstance and experience - be it revelatory, boring, frustrating, or educational. Perhaps my wanton application of my future-oriented maxim denies me the full experience of being in this time - with its goods and bads, ups and downs, hard days and wonderful days.
Live in the now.
Live in the now.
Live in the now.
Everything is finite.
(Which is very similar to another favorite of mine: This too shall pass.)
Live in the now.
(Something I keep hoping to make headway on but continue to struggle to achieve.)
One suggests that anything can be endured in the present because life continues to move and change... and nothing lasts forever. Hope lies in the future and the knowledge that time will pass, the river will flow on, and whatever life's present unhappinesses may be... it will all be different at some point down the road.
The other suggests one eschew the future (and the past) in order to fully appreciate, be awake in, and participate in the present moment. Hope lies in being fully awake through each breath in every second of any given point of time because to be wholly alive is surely better than to be sleepwalking, hiding, running away, or dreaming of the future.
For whatever reason, grad school often seems easier to get through by embracing the former sentiment. Anything can be endured because everything has an endpoint. It will change. Just keep going and trust it will all be okay.
But lately I wonder if the latter would be more appropriate and ultimately more fulfilling. Sucking every bit of marrow out of each circumstance and experience - be it revelatory, boring, frustrating, or educational. Perhaps my wanton application of my future-oriented maxim denies me the full experience of being in this time - with its goods and bads, ups and downs, hard days and wonderful days.
Live in the now.
Live in the now.
Live in the now.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Here, fishy fishy fishy!
We often spend long hours trying to figure out what to do with our weekends since moving out of the Chicago. Not that we really knew what to do with our weekends then, either... but there was a clearer plethora of offerings, and our inability to select something or motivate ourselves out of the house was more clearly our own failing.
Here, we seem to face a similar struggle. Which makes me think the dilemma stems from our own inability to fully seize upon the present and enjoy (and commit to) our surroundings. Thus, we are now locked in a sort of inner whirlwind as to where to head next, what opportunities to grasp, and what wants and needs to prioritize. BUT... the issue that seems to be emerging with increasing clarity is that much of our present unhappiness stems from an inability or unwillingness to commit to the now and live more fully in the present.
However, today we managed to do pretty well at filling our time and having fun. We went to a local fish hatchery and fed the very last of the catfish being raised this year. Three buckets of food, two tanks with approximately 3,000 fish each, and one very happy little 2 year old who took great delight in throwing fish pellets into the water and watching the frenzy that ensued.
It was great fun, totally free, and we even got to pick out some coloring books with local wildlife and state facts. Truly cool. The woman on staff who helped us recommended returning in June to see the eggs and to have the experience of feeding 30,000 fish, which is what they have on hand in the middle of the summer.
I know we will likely not stay in this area for the long haul, but I hope by the time we leave, we have many wonderful memories and lots of things to miss. There truly is so much to enjoy here; I don't want us to miss it while chasing dreams around the corner.
Here, we seem to face a similar struggle. Which makes me think the dilemma stems from our own inability to fully seize upon the present and enjoy (and commit to) our surroundings. Thus, we are now locked in a sort of inner whirlwind as to where to head next, what opportunities to grasp, and what wants and needs to prioritize. BUT... the issue that seems to be emerging with increasing clarity is that much of our present unhappiness stems from an inability or unwillingness to commit to the now and live more fully in the present.
However, today we managed to do pretty well at filling our time and having fun. We went to a local fish hatchery and fed the very last of the catfish being raised this year. Three buckets of food, two tanks with approximately 3,000 fish each, and one very happy little 2 year old who took great delight in throwing fish pellets into the water and watching the frenzy that ensued.
It was great fun, totally free, and we even got to pick out some coloring books with local wildlife and state facts. Truly cool. The woman on staff who helped us recommended returning in June to see the eggs and to have the experience of feeding 30,000 fish, which is what they have on hand in the middle of the summer.
I know we will likely not stay in this area for the long haul, but I hope by the time we leave, we have many wonderful memories and lots of things to miss. There truly is so much to enjoy here; I don't want us to miss it while chasing dreams around the corner.
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