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Everyone is always talking about balance. How they don't have enough of it in their lives. How they want more of it. They talk about it as if it is something you have or don't have, as if it is difficult to have and easy to lose, as if it is a fixed thing.
Don't get me wrong, I'm seeking more balance in my life too. I just think it's a bit messier than that. I think balance is more dynamic, as opposed to a static thing you have. I think it's more like being on a balance board or practicing tree pose. In fact, I think that's why all those balance poses exist in yoga. They teach you that balance is not rigid. They teach you that sometimes you fall so far out of balance that you topple over. And hopefully you laugh, get up, and try it again. They teach you that your balance point changes day to day, and that your ability to balance changes day to day. It's all good.
It's much easier to balance when you're relaxed and fluid, responding to the shifting within you. Resisting and tightening just results in a struggle, which ultimately leads to an ungraceful plop! onto the floor. So I'm trying to take these ideas into my life. I'm noticing as my balance shifts, responding fluidly (sometimes). I'm noticing when my balance shifts so far that there's nothing to do but fall completely out of it, laugh and start over. I'm learning to appreciate the wobbles and topples as just part of having a truly amazing and vibrant life.
Max spent 10 hours in surgery yesterday. He's an almost 12 year friend with the same rare syndrome Pookie has. His scoliosis progressed to over 90 degrees. One of his lungs was being crushed in the curve. The surgery was to straighten his spine as much as possible, and then attach metal rods to hold it that way. His back will never bend again, but he won't have to wear a brace and he'll be able to breathe more comfortably.
Except the surgery didn't go quite as planned. The doctors had trouble monitoring his brain responses during the surgery. They do that to make sure they aren't causing any damage. But his brain is wired a bit differently so sometimes they got readings and sometimes they didn't. The surgeons were just about done with attaching all the hardware when they lost all readings. The only way to check his spine was with an MRI. And metal messes with those things. They had to undo and remove all the metal pieces.
Max is in the ICU now. They're fairly confident no damage was done to his spinal cord. But he's struggling with airway issues from the anesthesia. If all goes well, he goes back in for surgery on Friday to re-install the rods along his spine. Then he can start the long recovery.
I am struggling to process this news. As a friend, as a parent. Max could not have grasped what was going to happen, or what has happened. It's so easy for me to dive into a sad and tragic story about what his experience must be like. But I don't actually know. If he's anything like Pookie, and I know he is, then he's handling this with far more grace than I could muster. Which isn't to say that he isn't confused and in pain. He's not telling himself miserable stories about "this shouldn't have happened" and "why me?" Far more likely, he just wants the pain to stop and to go home.
As a parent, I start to imagine how I would feel in that situation. Honestly, I don't want to go there right now. I dread the day I'm faced with another surgery for Pookie. She's already freaked out the anesthesiology department at one hospital by having her airway collapse three times after one of her surgeries. At the same time, I know that if I am faced with such an event it will be a good thing for her - she will need the surgery. Still, it's hard not to dive into a different set of miserable and painful stories: "what could I have done differently?" or "was this a good idea?" or "what if..."
I'm grateful that there are surgeons in the world experienced in performing all the sorts of surgery one could ever need. I'm grateful that there are technologies for monitoring the health of patients in surgery. I'm grateful that those specialists involved are willing to make a tough call like undoing their work to insure the health of their patient. I'm grateful that Max's surgery on Friday should be much shorter because all of the hard work has been done. I'm grateful for the technology that allows me to stay connected to my friends, that allows me to send as much love and warmth as could possibly be sent over 3,000 miles of wire.
I'm grateful for having such an incredible example of strength and courage in my friend, Max's mom. I'm grateful for having such a wonderful friend. I'm grateful for having had the opportunity to meet her only because our children share an unusual genetic feature. I'm grateful to have Max and Pookie to show me another view of life, another way to be courageous in a most unassuming and humble way. I'm grateful for these atypical children whom people are usually trying to "fix" in ways that don't need to be fixed, who have opened my heart and mind to a truer understanding of perfection.
I had some really wonderful and amazing teachers growing up. I had some lousy ones too. Or maybe those were just teachers I didn't click with. What I'm pretty sure about is that they all had the best of intentions, and mostly, they put their hearts into their work. I imagine that that isn't so easy when you're teaching adolescents...
While I excelled at math and science, and eventually received two engineering degrees, the teachers that made the biggest impact on me were my English and computer science teachers. OK, there was my eighth grade science teacher, and my high school ones too, and, well, I was fortunate to have a lot of truly inspired and inspiring teachers.
Way back around 1983 my elementary school librarian became the computer science teacher as well. I think she stayed about a week ahead of the class as we learned rudimentary programming. I don't even remember the language we used, but I remember I wrote a little program using some looping structure that displayed a sequence of screens made of asterisks so that it appeared a little like a figure doing jumping jacks.
Perhaps what I liked best about this librarian, and I didn't even realize this for another 20 years, was that she allowed me to take refuge in the library when I routinely skipped French class in eighth grade. I hated French class. And, somehow, despite spending at least one class per week (often more) reading the Encyclopedia of Science in the library, I did OK. I still don't understand what sort of decisions were made on my behalf to allow such flagrant truancy. Everyone knew I was in school on those days, I just skipped class and took shelter in the library. I didn't even try to hide. I am forever grateful for all those involved with looking the other way... including my dreaded French teacher.
It's fortunate that my high school computer science teacher was also a woman. She never did figure out how I managed to skip Intro to Computer Science and jump straight into Pascal. All I know is that my guidance counselor signed the paperwork... It was only an issue on the first test when I didn't know any of the names for the parts inside the computer. I still have only a sketchy understanding.
When I took AP computer science I was the only girl in the class, so it was nice to have some moral support. It hardly mattered by spring. I had proved myself their equal many times over and the small class had bonded so well that the boys in the class had forgotten I was any different. Until I wore a sundress one warm spring day.
But as I sit here now, my thoughts turn to two particular English teachers: Mrs. Metzger and Mrs. Nielsen. Sure I went to a great high school and had the immense pleasure of taking classes like Semiotics, but these two women were the ones who assigned Thought Journals. I think the journals were just to make us practice writing, but I loved filling page after page with my thoughts. The way they treated my often rambling thoughts with curiosity and respect made me feel valuable and heard. They were witnesses to my deepest thoughts, my eccentric ponderings and even my teen angst, all offered and received in the spirit of great and mutual trust.
I suppose this Blog of mine is actually just another Thought Journal, one that I have assigned to myself. Except I share this one, trustingly, with an unknown number of people, whom I may or may not even know. And it feels like in doing this I am valuing my thoughts, and becoming a curious and respectful witness to my own life.
I love books. I used to read everything, all the time. I would wander over to our local library after school and read as much as I could, then take a load of books home with me. At different times I was into biographies, science-fanstasy, science-fiction and historical novels. I even went through a Stephen King phase in adolescence.
But since I grew up, or became a parent, or something, I haven't read nearly so much. I still love hanging out in libraries and bookstores. I still love to read. I just don't do it much anymore. I'm hard-pressed to squeeze in an article from a magazine, never mind a novel. The reading I have done has been much more serious and "useful" - you know, philosophical thought or, more recently, life coaching type material.
I think due to the nature of this thought-provoking material I tend towards now, I have a bookshelf of partially read books, each with a bookmark, waiting to be picked up again. Some days I just look at all the books and let the book choose me. Invariably whatever I pick up, and whichever page I open to, the material is just what I need in that moment. It's kind of cool. Still, I miss reading just to read. For fun.
So today I read. I picked up a book my mom had given Dee Dee: DragonSong by Anne McCaffrey. To be honest, I'm not sure it's a great book for her yet. She certainly has the reading skills and vocabulary to read almost anything, but at 9 1/2 the subject materials that match her skills tend not to match her development. I worry about it because I was the same way. People always commented on my reading skills. And I blazed through books. I did fabulously on reading comprehension tests too (notoriously well in fact - I often argued for the "wrong" answers I had provided and always won). At the same time, I don't think I could actually process the material the way all the adults around me imagined I could. Some stories and concepts just require the maturity that comes with time and experience. So I am wary of what books I guide Dee Dee towards, and this one about a fifteen year old might not resonate yet.
Anyway, I loved Anne McCaffery way back when. In fact I've read this book before. Maybe 25 years ago. I didn't remember much, but I loved it as much now as I did then. Oh to be lost in another world, to escape mine for a few hours. And maybe that's why I don't read so much anymore: I'm scared I won't want to come back from wherever I end up. The fantasy worlds in books lay far fewer demands on me, and the stories often revolve around fascinating, compelling, sympathetic characters. Perhaps I cherish the opportunity to step far enough back from a life to observe it, witness it from a compassionate distance. Perhaps I could try that with my own life and find a fascinating, compelling, sympathetic character at it's core.
I needed Coogabon's help today to fix a technology problem. Well, maybe it was actually to fix a problem in my thinking about my technology problem.
I've never met Coogabon, but I understand he hangs out around here a lot. Sometimes he is very, very small. I think he can be microscopically small when he wants to be. Other times he's as big as Little Dudely. I suspect he can be even bigger if he wants to be. He's a lot like Little Dudely as it turns out.
Today our DVD server wasn't working. It was a very special Christmas gift for Pookie. All of her DVDs (copies of course, and all within copyright laws) which were once scattered or stacked in the vicinity of the TV are now on a hard-drive. Instead of shuffling through them to find what she wants, she uses her special little remote to pick anything, anytime. No scratches or broken disks ever. Very cool.
Anyway, this fabulous solution isn't very robust. There are sometimes glitches that need to be solved over our network with remote screen sharing and so on. While I am generally comfortable with technology, I have very little interest in how this is all wired together. I just want it to work. Fortunately, Little Dudely and Coogabon care.
So when the network connection wasn't working well today and I needed to fix something on the server, wiring was the likely problem and Little Dudely was the prime suspect. And he wasn't talking. After a few deep breaths, and a timely and brilliant suggestion from a friend, I went to enlist Little Dudely's help.
Obviously, Coogabon had been up early and messed around on the computer or with the wires. Perhaps Little Dudely could help me by asking Coogabon what he had done, and then Little Dudely could help me fix it. It took three visits with Coogabon to check all the wires that had been plugged and unplugged, and double check all the other wires in the TV set-up. But my hero, Little Dudely worked it out (with Coogabon's help, of course) and assured me that no settings on the computer had been altered.
In the end, I just needed to restart the server twice, reset the screen settings several times, restart the software a couple of times, and poof! it all agreed to work again. I'm not even sure that the plugging and unplugging had anything to do with it. But I do know that I can count on Little Dudely and Coogabon to help me if I ever have technology troubles again.
Did I mention Little Dudely is 5 1/2?
That's how many meters were rowed by all of the participants in the Concept 2 Holiday Challenge. 2,327 people rowed at least 200,000m (approximately 124 miles) between Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve. Another 2,749 people rowed between 100,000 and 200,000m, and 281 adaptive or under age 16 rowers completed at least 50,000m. That's a lot of crazy people who raised $26,629.72 for three environmental conservation organizations. Concept 2 is donating that money as part of the challenge.
Personally, I rowed 200,804m. That would be 2008-04, as in I just completed my fourth holiday challenge in 2008. C2 is donating $6.03 on my behalf. I will also receive a commemorative pin. And the opportunity to buy a t-shirt and download a certificate... So why exactly did I sit on my erg (and make my butt sore) for all that time?
Actually I've spent a lot of time thinking about that. Sure, I didn't gain any weight over the holidays. But that's just a fortunate side-effect. I'm in better shape than I was when I started. Another fortunate side-effect. I also annoyed my husband by working out so much through the busy pre-celebration weeks. But that's just an unfortunate side-effect. There's no acclaim, in fact, no one really even notices the accomplishment. So why do it?
I like challenges and I had fun (I think). And I made this one more interesting by requiring that I not get compulsive about it (a major failing of every past C2HC). Every time my life started to get out of balance because I had too much going on, I had to stop and reconsider my priorities. Sure, the C2HC stayed a priority, but I made sure that it was a conscious and positive choice... or I tried to. I forced myself to pay attention to my body and take days off when I was tired. I slowed down to conserve my resources for the rest of my activities of the day. I got a lot of good introspection done because of this particular challenge.
Full disclosure here: after rowing 24 of 28 days of the C2HC I have worked out on only 2 of the 9 days since it ended. I have rowed only once. If I wasn't so good at rationalizing I would say that I did burn out over this challenge. But I realized something important yesterday (this would be the rationalizing), I am not recovering, collapsed even, from excessive rowing, but from the excessive demands I placed on myself during the holiday season.
You can argue that the C2HC was one of those excessive demands, and I would counter that it provided balance and perspective. Fundamentally, I took an already busy life and added an awful lot to it. The rowing just made sure that some of that extra was focused on me and what I think of as fun. Sorry, I just haven't gotten to the place where being responsible for planning, choosing, buying, wrapping, distributing, creating, mailing, doing everything for Christmas is fun. Setting limits on the volume of demands, then placing my fun in there first, made sure I put down some of those other responsibilities. And it stopped me from being even more stressed and overwhelmed. Maybe that's just the endorphins talking...
So maybe I didn't put enough down. Maybe it would be better to set the limits even tighter and place my focus on the love and fun of the season. Maybe this year I'll learn how to rest into life and enjoy all that comes my way with graceful perspective. Maybe this year I'll stop demanding anything of myself and simply give what feels good.
It snowed again yesterday. So I went out for a walk to revel in the peace and beauty of it. A quiet hour spent reflecting to close out the year. It was quite cold and windy, so the snow was fluffy but still stung as it hit my face.
As I began my walk I noticed some footprints from someone who had traveled my path sometime earlier. The snow was erasing the evidence of my fellow reveler, but I could still make out their wanderings from side to side across the closed-for-winter road. I wondered what had caught their attention, as mine was caught by the patterns in the ice forming on the wetlands or the texture of the water as it flowed downstream in the river.
The road curves sharply to the left not too far from the parking lot. I discerned something strange about the fading footprints. A large patch of disturbed snow, sort of swooshed around. "What caused that?" I mused as zoop! my foot slid out from under me. I caught myself. Ice. Ah, there's ice under this snow.
Then as I took my next step I remembered the black ice that forms on that corner. Water runs off the hillside and across the road to the river. The hill, covered with trees, is to the south of the road there, and the shadiness protects whatever ice does form. Splot! With my mind elsewhere I never considered that I would still be on that black ice, now covered in an inch of dry snow, making it about as slippery as things get.
I instinctively reached out with my right arm and landed in a sort of side-plank. After righting myself and carefully navigating my way off this hazardous stretch, I appreciated my body. I am grateful for being young, strong and resilient, for having quick reflexes and sturdy bones. It's easy to see how a slip like that could break an arm or hip, or cause a head injury. Phew!
Later I noticed my shoulder was achy from absorbing the impact. Today my left waist has been complaining. Apparently those muscles were involved in my saving as well. And I guess that's how life is sometimes. Events and circumstances surprise us, throw us off balance, even knock us down. What we walk away with depends on our reactions and our resilience. But no mater what we think, we will be far more affected than we first realize.
