I've read about women who said that their mothers were their best friends. That started me thinking about my relationship with my mother, who died in November 2006, and with my daughter. My mother and I were never close, both geographically and emotionally. For whatever reason, I never felt the closeness that many women have with their moms. I have a friend who has a very close relationship with her mother, and they are more like friends than mother and daughter. When my friend and her husband moved out of state, her mother moved, too, to a city nearby.
I never gave the mother/daughter relationship a great deal of thought until my mother died rather suddenly. Then I realized that there were some things I wish I had told her. Now that I am the mother of a 16-year-old daughter, I have found myself hoping to have a much closer relationship with her than I had with my mother. I am trying to do things that might help us develop a close relationship. She has told me that I am not just her mother, but also her best friend. That's a pretty special statement from a 16-year-old these days.
Hearing her say these things is rather amazing. I adopted my daughter from Russia when she was 11 years old. She never had much of a relationship with her birth mother, and what she had was not a positive experience for her. She has said that she didn't deserve a loving mother. It took a lot of time and hard work for her to be able to accept that I love her and will always be there for her, and it took a similar amount of work for her to be able to admit that she loves me, too. Opening herself up to love also meant exposing herself to potential hurt. Despite the fact that coming from a traumatic background has made attaching to and trusting me very difficult, we do have a good relationship, one that is improving and growing stronger all the time. I know how important our relationship is to her.
I want my daughter to be able to tell me or ask me anything. Learning to trust when all the adults in your life have betrayed your trust and abandoned you takes a huge amount of effort and a big leap of faith. She also is very worried that she will hurt my feelings if she tells me something I may not want to hear. I have told her that I would rather deal with what she needs to tell me than to know that she is being less than truthful with me.
My daughter is her own person; she is creative and artistic and outgoing, all things I am not. She learns best through hands-on experience, I through listening and note-taking. We share a love of animals, photography and reading. And we enjoy spending time together, even when it involves hard work such as cleaning the garage.
My dream for her is simple: that she become the best person she can become, whether she is a teacher, an artist, fashion designer or mechanic. I want her to find a career that she enjoys and that will provide her a comfortable life style. I have a master's degree in education, but she may well not go to college. If not, she understands that she will need to attend art school or a vocational program of some kind. My dreams are not her dreams.
I just want her to be happy. And being happy, for someone with her background, cannot be taken for granted. It isn't a natural feeling. But she no longer feels doomed to a short, unhappy life. She knows she deserves a good life and happiness. She knows that she deserves love, and a mother who will always be there for her. I hope she understands that as humans, we all make mistakes, and we all hurt others at some point in our lives. But that doesn't mean the relationship is doomed.
As I have told her repeatedly, and I believe she now accepts this, she and I are a team. We will face life's challenges together, as mother and daughter, and as friends.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Russia: Do the Right Thing for the Children
As the mother of a child from Russia, I, like so many others, was appalled to hear of the Tennessee woman who put her adopted 7-year-old son on a plane by himself and returned him to Russia. She and her mother claim that the boy had a 'hit list' of people he wanted to kill, was violent and was caught trying to set the house on fire. The boy, Artem, was adopted last September, a mere 7 months ago.
Now the Russian government, understandably outraged by this betrayal of a child, is threatening to suspend all adoptions by Americans. While I understand the government's anger, I cannot understand how government officials can believe that denying hundreds or thousands of children in Russian orphanages a chance at a better life in America is going to help anything or anyone.
The outrageous actions of one woman do NOT represent me or the thousands of Americans who have adopted from Russia and who are providing loving homes to their children. I know from personal experience and from talking with other adoptive parents how much they sacrifice to care for their sons and daughters, and how hard they work to address their problems in a loving, supportive way.
Adopted children, whether from Russia, the U.S. or any other country, often suffer from emotional problems. Children who have been institutionalized are prone to attachment problems, which affect their ability to bond with their parents, give and accept love, and trust others. Many of these children also suffer from trauma and abuse (physical, emotional or sexual), resulting in post-traumatic stress disorder. They may have been malnourished while in the orphanage or received inadequate medical care. And significantly, many languish in orphanages without the all-important sense of love, without a caring touch, without the nurturing that children need in order to thrive.
I believe that most adoption agencies do not adequately forewarn or prepare adoptive families to recognize and deal with the most common emotional problems they are likely to face. But families do NOT just give up on their children and 'return to sender' those kids who have difficulties. Treatment may not be easy to find, and it is definitely expensive, but there is help for the children and for the families struggling with difficult children. When my daughter had behavioral problems, I got help for her. I am fortunate to live in a part of the country where therapists knowledgeable about attachment disorders and PTSD in children are available. Most therapists do not know how to treat children with these issues, as I learned from personal experience. But help is out there. Support also is available for parents struggling to raise difficult children. It is not clear whether the woman in Tennessee sought professional help for Artem. It also remains unknown whether she reached out for support to other adoptive parents, or to any of the family support organizations in the U.S.
Regardless of this woman’s actions -- and I agree that she did not handle the situation properly -- the fundamental question is, How does suspending adoptions protect children in orphanages? Suspending adoptions because of the thoughtlessness of one person is counterintuitive; prolonging a child's stay in an orphanage is not going to 'make things better.' On the contrary, the longer a child is institutionalized, the greater the risk of emotional problems. This is not to say that the orphanage staff don't care about these children. I believe they do. But they are poorly paid, and funds for caring for the children are limited. There also is a different cultural view of orphans in Russia and Ukraine (and probably in other countries as well) than in the U.S. Because caregivers often are not aware of the thinking in developmental psychology and how to help minimize the impacts of institutionalization, the children often languish, lacking sufficient human interaction, mental stimulation and a sense of being loved.
Although the number of Russian children adopted by Americans has dropped off in recent years, nearly 1,600 Russian children were adopted and brought to the U.S. last year. Adopting from Russia is a lengthy, expensive, paperwork-filled and laborious endeavor. Those who make their way through the maze of American and Russian legal requirements do so because they sincerely want to bring a needy child into their families. The National Council for Adoption, a U.S. adoption advocacy group, estimates that more than 60,000 Russian orphans have been successfully adopted by American families.
Sadly, a handful of Russian kids has died or been abused at the hands of their adoptive American parents. But never have I seen how this number compares with the number of Russian kids who die at the hands of their Russian parents, or on the streets, each year. It seems the Russian government doesn’t talk about that.
I join with other adoptive families and call on the Russian government to set aside its anger and national pride and allow adoptions to Americans to continue. Review the process and requirements if need be. But think about the more than half a million Russian children still living in orphanages. Who is really going to be hurt by the proposed suspension of American adoptions? Certainly the prospective families will be hurt, but once again, the real victims will be the children.
Now the Russian government, understandably outraged by this betrayal of a child, is threatening to suspend all adoptions by Americans. While I understand the government's anger, I cannot understand how government officials can believe that denying hundreds or thousands of children in Russian orphanages a chance at a better life in America is going to help anything or anyone.
The outrageous actions of one woman do NOT represent me or the thousands of Americans who have adopted from Russia and who are providing loving homes to their children. I know from personal experience and from talking with other adoptive parents how much they sacrifice to care for their sons and daughters, and how hard they work to address their problems in a loving, supportive way.
Adopted children, whether from Russia, the U.S. or any other country, often suffer from emotional problems. Children who have been institutionalized are prone to attachment problems, which affect their ability to bond with their parents, give and accept love, and trust others. Many of these children also suffer from trauma and abuse (physical, emotional or sexual), resulting in post-traumatic stress disorder. They may have been malnourished while in the orphanage or received inadequate medical care. And significantly, many languish in orphanages without the all-important sense of love, without a caring touch, without the nurturing that children need in order to thrive.
I believe that most adoption agencies do not adequately forewarn or prepare adoptive families to recognize and deal with the most common emotional problems they are likely to face. But families do NOT just give up on their children and 'return to sender' those kids who have difficulties. Treatment may not be easy to find, and it is definitely expensive, but there is help for the children and for the families struggling with difficult children. When my daughter had behavioral problems, I got help for her. I am fortunate to live in a part of the country where therapists knowledgeable about attachment disorders and PTSD in children are available. Most therapists do not know how to treat children with these issues, as I learned from personal experience. But help is out there. Support also is available for parents struggling to raise difficult children. It is not clear whether the woman in Tennessee sought professional help for Artem. It also remains unknown whether she reached out for support to other adoptive parents, or to any of the family support organizations in the U.S.
Regardless of this woman’s actions -- and I agree that she did not handle the situation properly -- the fundamental question is, How does suspending adoptions protect children in orphanages? Suspending adoptions because of the thoughtlessness of one person is counterintuitive; prolonging a child's stay in an orphanage is not going to 'make things better.' On the contrary, the longer a child is institutionalized, the greater the risk of emotional problems. This is not to say that the orphanage staff don't care about these children. I believe they do. But they are poorly paid, and funds for caring for the children are limited. There also is a different cultural view of orphans in Russia and Ukraine (and probably in other countries as well) than in the U.S. Because caregivers often are not aware of the thinking in developmental psychology and how to help minimize the impacts of institutionalization, the children often languish, lacking sufficient human interaction, mental stimulation and a sense of being loved.
Although the number of Russian children adopted by Americans has dropped off in recent years, nearly 1,600 Russian children were adopted and brought to the U.S. last year. Adopting from Russia is a lengthy, expensive, paperwork-filled and laborious endeavor. Those who make their way through the maze of American and Russian legal requirements do so because they sincerely want to bring a needy child into their families. The National Council for Adoption, a U.S. adoption advocacy group, estimates that more than 60,000 Russian orphans have been successfully adopted by American families.
Sadly, a handful of Russian kids has died or been abused at the hands of their adoptive American parents. But never have I seen how this number compares with the number of Russian kids who die at the hands of their Russian parents, or on the streets, each year. It seems the Russian government doesn’t talk about that.
I join with other adoptive families and call on the Russian government to set aside its anger and national pride and allow adoptions to Americans to continue. Review the process and requirements if need be. But think about the more than half a million Russian children still living in orphanages. Who is really going to be hurt by the proposed suspension of American adoptions? Certainly the prospective families will be hurt, but once again, the real victims will be the children.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Time for Spring-Cleaning My Life
It's spring (or so the calendar says), a time of renewal, new life ... and spring cleaning. But new life doesn't mean just the outward manifestation of renewal seen in the blooming flowers and budding trees. Spring can be a time of new life inside, too. This year, I am spring cleaning my life as well as my home.
I usually don't do anything special for spring cleaning, and for the past few months, I've been involved in an on-going effort to declutter both my house and my life. It isn't spring cleaning in the traditional sense, but an upcoming move provides the perfect opportunity to get rid of things. A move is also a great time to get rid of people and situations that hold us back or bring us down. In better economic times, I would include jobs that don't work for us in that category, too, but most people these days feel fortunate just to have a job, whether they enjoy it or not.
In addition to bags of clothes, CDs, books and household items, this move will allow me to 'get rid of' a life that doesn't suit who I am. I appreciate quiet and the sounds of nature. All I hear in my current life is sirens, airplanes, traffic and neighborhood noise. I also want to be able to spend more time with my teenage daughter and be more involved in her life, something I can't do while working 40 hours a week, so my full-time job has to go.
My 'spring cleaning' includes retirement and a move to New Mexico, efforts to get rid of a lifestyle that doesn't suit me. I love, in fact, I need, lots of natural light in order to feel my best. My house in Rio Rancho is full of windows that let in the beautiful New Mexico light. The windows in the great room, master bedroom, dining room and office look out on the Sandia Mountains. In California, my living room window looks across the street at my cranky neighbors' house. My house is dark even on sunny days. In New Mexico, I can enjoy my 1/2-acre lot, which at the moment backs against another, as-yet-undeveloped, 1/2-acre lot. There are no neighbors on either side. In California, my city lot is filled with fruit trees, which are wonderful, but on every side of the yard are neighbors, barking dogs and screeching parrots. On one side, my neighbor's driveway sits just feet from my bedroom window.
A few years ago, I also 'got rid of' a friendship that had endured since high school. My friend was always so negative, so convinced that the world and everybody she dealt with were out to 'get' her. I used to dread getting e-mails from her, because I knew that they would be long rants about some perceived 'plot' by someone to 'get' her, or about how her boyfriend emotionally abused or betrayed her, or how her house was full of mold caused by a neighbor's leaking pipes and no one would do anything about it. She did seem to have more than her share of misfortune, and I did my best to be supportive. I was saddened when our friendship ended, but I was relieved at the same time.
We all need to rant at times, but too much negativity, whether generated by us or by others, brings us down. Who wants to live like that? 'Getting rid of' a relationship may sound harsh and uncaring, but sometimes doing just that is the best thing. Although I haven't had to do any 'spring cleaning' with other relationships, I do try to limit my exposure to people who are chronically negative. I was behind a man at the hardware store recently, who complained to the cashier about everything: why weren't there 'pull tags' for some large items he wanted, why didn't the store have enough of the plants he wanted to buy, why wasn't he charged the advertised sale price? Everything that came out of that man's mouth was negative. I was so relieved when another cashier opened a new line; I couldn't wait to get away from that man! If anyone needed a spring cleaning, he did.
I get a certain pleasure from decluttering my house. Seeing once-crowded cabinets, sheds or closets become organized is a great feeling. Removing excess furniture opens up not only the room, but my spirit as well. My unwanted items go to charity or to others who can use them, which also makes me feel good. In the same way, a freshly painted wall or a sparkling clean kitchen give rise to a feeling of not just accomplishment when the job is done, but of freshness and newness.
Spring cleaning, whether of a residence or a life, can renew us and help us set off on a new path. Look around. Do you need to do spring cleaning of your place of residence? More importantly, do you need to 'spring clean' your mind? Spring is the perfect time to open the windows of our minds, let the light and fresh air in, and discard whatever things, commitments, relationships or habits are holding us back.
I usually don't do anything special for spring cleaning, and for the past few months, I've been involved in an on-going effort to declutter both my house and my life. It isn't spring cleaning in the traditional sense, but an upcoming move provides the perfect opportunity to get rid of things. A move is also a great time to get rid of people and situations that hold us back or bring us down. In better economic times, I would include jobs that don't work for us in that category, too, but most people these days feel fortunate just to have a job, whether they enjoy it or not.
In addition to bags of clothes, CDs, books and household items, this move will allow me to 'get rid of' a life that doesn't suit who I am. I appreciate quiet and the sounds of nature. All I hear in my current life is sirens, airplanes, traffic and neighborhood noise. I also want to be able to spend more time with my teenage daughter and be more involved in her life, something I can't do while working 40 hours a week, so my full-time job has to go.
My 'spring cleaning' includes retirement and a move to New Mexico, efforts to get rid of a lifestyle that doesn't suit me. I love, in fact, I need, lots of natural light in order to feel my best. My house in Rio Rancho is full of windows that let in the beautiful New Mexico light. The windows in the great room, master bedroom, dining room and office look out on the Sandia Mountains. In California, my living room window looks across the street at my cranky neighbors' house. My house is dark even on sunny days. In New Mexico, I can enjoy my 1/2-acre lot, which at the moment backs against another, as-yet-undeveloped, 1/2-acre lot. There are no neighbors on either side. In California, my city lot is filled with fruit trees, which are wonderful, but on every side of the yard are neighbors, barking dogs and screeching parrots. On one side, my neighbor's driveway sits just feet from my bedroom window.
A few years ago, I also 'got rid of' a friendship that had endured since high school. My friend was always so negative, so convinced that the world and everybody she dealt with were out to 'get' her. I used to dread getting e-mails from her, because I knew that they would be long rants about some perceived 'plot' by someone to 'get' her, or about how her boyfriend emotionally abused or betrayed her, or how her house was full of mold caused by a neighbor's leaking pipes and no one would do anything about it. She did seem to have more than her share of misfortune, and I did my best to be supportive. I was saddened when our friendship ended, but I was relieved at the same time.
We all need to rant at times, but too much negativity, whether generated by us or by others, brings us down. Who wants to live like that? 'Getting rid of' a relationship may sound harsh and uncaring, but sometimes doing just that is the best thing. Although I haven't had to do any 'spring cleaning' with other relationships, I do try to limit my exposure to people who are chronically negative. I was behind a man at the hardware store recently, who complained to the cashier about everything: why weren't there 'pull tags' for some large items he wanted, why didn't the store have enough of the plants he wanted to buy, why wasn't he charged the advertised sale price? Everything that came out of that man's mouth was negative. I was so relieved when another cashier opened a new line; I couldn't wait to get away from that man! If anyone needed a spring cleaning, he did.
I get a certain pleasure from decluttering my house. Seeing once-crowded cabinets, sheds or closets become organized is a great feeling. Removing excess furniture opens up not only the room, but my spirit as well. My unwanted items go to charity or to others who can use them, which also makes me feel good. In the same way, a freshly painted wall or a sparkling clean kitchen give rise to a feeling of not just accomplishment when the job is done, but of freshness and newness.
Spring cleaning, whether of a residence or a life, can renew us and help us set off on a new path. Look around. Do you need to do spring cleaning of your place of residence? More importantly, do you need to 'spring clean' your mind? Spring is the perfect time to open the windows of our minds, let the light and fresh air in, and discard whatever things, commitments, relationships or habits are holding us back.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Looking Retirement in the Eye
I have been thinking about, and looking forward to, retirement for a long time. Not having a rigid schedule to keep, not having to get up at 5 a.m. to exercise and walk the dogs, not having to cram my grocery shopping and other household chores into the all-too-short weekend, and having time to write, take pictures and explore all make the thought of retirement very appealing.
But now that retiring may be a reality in just a couple of months, it suddenly appears a bit less desirable. The significant cut in pay, moving to a new city in a new state, setting up house, learning my way around the city, finding a new doctor, dentist and veterinarian, making new friends -- these realities now seem more than a bit challenging. I've moved before, of course: from Illinois to Maryland and back; from Illinois to California to Texas to California. I even lived in Moscow (yes, the one in Russia) for several months. But things were different then. In some cases, I was married. In others, I was familiar with the area to which I was moving. In all cases, I was considerably younger than I am now. Sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor of my house the day before heading off to my new residence was OK then; not fun, but OK. That isn't even a consideration now, with the bursitis pain in my hips. I'll have to rent a hotel room for my daughter, dogs and me.
Now I am the single mother of a 16-year-old daughter. The responsibility of arranging the move and all its accompanying requirements (setting up utility services, Internet and cable television, registering my car and getting a new driver's license, and deciding on a new medical insurance plan, among other things) is squarely on my shoulders. Of course, I have done all these things before, and I can do them all again. One critical thing still needing to be done is to find the right high school for my daughter.
My daughter will help, and I plan to have professionals pack and move our household items. But we will have to clean our current house to get it ready to go on the market. There is yard work to be done, and the dogs still will require care and attention. Then we have to cram everything we want to carry with us (things the movers won't take such as household cleaners, indoor plants, clothing for the 2-day drive to New Mexico, dog food and bowls, etc.) into my not-so-big car, while leaving at least a little bit of room for two 45-pound dogs.
I have already spoken to my daughter about all the stress we will both be under. I hope that by making both of us mindful of the stress, we will be less likely to lash out at each other. Retiring is in itself stressful; work has been a major part of my life for more than 40 years. My income will drop dramatically. Moving to a new home, even a desirable one, is incredibly stressful. All the work involved in unpacking and setting up a new home is always daunting. But I am lucky, in that my daughter loves to clean and organize, and once she gets started, I just stay out of her way!
There also is a positive side to all of this, of course. I love New Mexico, and I have bought a house that has (as far as I know so far) everything I want in a house: 1 story, nearly twice as much room as my current house, a view of the mountains from the master bedroom and great room, a large kitchen, lots of light, southwestern design touches throughout the house, a large garage, a covered rear patio with fire pit, an enclosed courtyard at the front of the house, and a 1/2-acre lot. And I can't forget the beautiful blue skies of New Mexico. We will be an hour away by car from Santa Fe, even less by train. Old Town Albuquerque isn't far away, as well as the lovely village of Corrales. The Rio Grande is nearby, and we will be about 90 miles from the beautiful Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Preserve. Our new city has all the shops we enjoy, including Trader Joe's. And there are so many historical sites and wilderness areas I want to explore.
I am a list-maker, so I've started making lists of things to be done and people to notify of our new address. I've also started counting down the days until my projected last day of work. As the days click down oh so slowly, it becomes harder and harder to go to work.
Time is moving slowly, but the finish line should be well worth the long time it has taken to reach it.
But now that retiring may be a reality in just a couple of months, it suddenly appears a bit less desirable. The significant cut in pay, moving to a new city in a new state, setting up house, learning my way around the city, finding a new doctor, dentist and veterinarian, making new friends -- these realities now seem more than a bit challenging. I've moved before, of course: from Illinois to Maryland and back; from Illinois to California to Texas to California. I even lived in Moscow (yes, the one in Russia) for several months. But things were different then. In some cases, I was married. In others, I was familiar with the area to which I was moving. In all cases, I was considerably younger than I am now. Sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor of my house the day before heading off to my new residence was OK then; not fun, but OK. That isn't even a consideration now, with the bursitis pain in my hips. I'll have to rent a hotel room for my daughter, dogs and me.
Now I am the single mother of a 16-year-old daughter. The responsibility of arranging the move and all its accompanying requirements (setting up utility services, Internet and cable television, registering my car and getting a new driver's license, and deciding on a new medical insurance plan, among other things) is squarely on my shoulders. Of course, I have done all these things before, and I can do them all again. One critical thing still needing to be done is to find the right high school for my daughter.
My daughter will help, and I plan to have professionals pack and move our household items. But we will have to clean our current house to get it ready to go on the market. There is yard work to be done, and the dogs still will require care and attention. Then we have to cram everything we want to carry with us (things the movers won't take such as household cleaners, indoor plants, clothing for the 2-day drive to New Mexico, dog food and bowls, etc.) into my not-so-big car, while leaving at least a little bit of room for two 45-pound dogs.
I have already spoken to my daughter about all the stress we will both be under. I hope that by making both of us mindful of the stress, we will be less likely to lash out at each other. Retiring is in itself stressful; work has been a major part of my life for more than 40 years. My income will drop dramatically. Moving to a new home, even a desirable one, is incredibly stressful. All the work involved in unpacking and setting up a new home is always daunting. But I am lucky, in that my daughter loves to clean and organize, and once she gets started, I just stay out of her way!
There also is a positive side to all of this, of course. I love New Mexico, and I have bought a house that has (as far as I know so far) everything I want in a house: 1 story, nearly twice as much room as my current house, a view of the mountains from the master bedroom and great room, a large kitchen, lots of light, southwestern design touches throughout the house, a large garage, a covered rear patio with fire pit, an enclosed courtyard at the front of the house, and a 1/2-acre lot. And I can't forget the beautiful blue skies of New Mexico. We will be an hour away by car from Santa Fe, even less by train. Old Town Albuquerque isn't far away, as well as the lovely village of Corrales. The Rio Grande is nearby, and we will be about 90 miles from the beautiful Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Preserve. Our new city has all the shops we enjoy, including Trader Joe's. And there are so many historical sites and wilderness areas I want to explore.
I am a list-maker, so I've started making lists of things to be done and people to notify of our new address. I've also started counting down the days until my projected last day of work. As the days click down oh so slowly, it becomes harder and harder to go to work.
Time is moving slowly, but the finish line should be well worth the long time it has taken to reach it.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Learning to Let Go
I have been feeling 'discombobulated' lately, somewhat adrift, and thinking that my life is out of control. I am waiting to retire until my daughter graduates from a school in Utah and returns home. Then we will move to New Mexico and start a new life together, with me being a full-time mom. It's something to which we are both looking forward.
I am a planner and an organizer. I like to, as they say, have all my ducks in a row. I don't do well with a lot of uncertainty. But uncertain is the status of my life at the moment. I can't put my house on the market yet, because I don't know when we will be ready to move. I can't give my New Mexico house sitter 30 days notice for the same reason. I can't arrange for the packers and movers without a firm move date. I can't submit my retirement paperwork yet because I can't yet set a firm retirement date.
So finally, the light bulb came on, dim as it may be. My frustration about the uncertainty in my life boils down to control. I am trying to control things that cannot be controlled, and to change things that cannot be changed. I cannot control when my daughter will graduate from her school and move back home. It isn't up to me. There is nothing I can do to hasten her graduation. Until she has a graduation date set, I can't set the wheels in motion to hire a mover, notify my house sitter, submit my retirement paperwork, or anything else. This is all out of my control. This process cannot be changed. Try as I might, there is nothing I can do to hasten the start of this chain of events.
I should know this by now. I read a book several years ago at the suggestion of a friend. It's called Gifts from Eykis, and the underlying message is that I am in charge of how I feel, how I react, which emotions I express and how I express them, but nothing else in life. I cannot control others, or my job or the stock market or anything else. I have a sign on my monitor at work and on the refrigerator at home: "Who's in Charge?" I put those little signs there as a reminder that I am in charge only of myself. Nothing or nobody else is under my control. People who see the little sign on my computer monitor often think it refers to being the boss or in charge of the office. No, it refers simply to 'who is in charge' of my emotions. I am.
So I need to stop fretting and feeling out of control, focus on doing what I can to prepare for our move, and let things unfold as they will. My daughter will progress at her own rate; she will graduate when it is time. All I can do is continue to prepare my house for sale, use as many of my canned goods as possible so I don't have to move them (or they will go to the food bank), continue to get rid of unwanted items, and try to prepare myself as much as possible for my daughter's homecoming, transition and life at home again, and let it go.
I also believe that I need to have trust, or faith. I need to trust that my life will unfold as it is meant to unfold. There will be delays and detours in my plans, difficult lessons to be learned, mistakes to be made and the inevitable setbacks. But there will be helpful lessons to be learned from each delay, detour and setback if I will but be open to receiving those lessons. There will be a benefit, often something I never had imagined.
I need to relax, let my life unfold at its own pace, be prepared for whatever lies ahead, and be open to embrace the future and all its possibilities.
A simple lesson, but one that is hard to remember and even harder to implement.
I am a planner and an organizer. I like to, as they say, have all my ducks in a row. I don't do well with a lot of uncertainty. But uncertain is the status of my life at the moment. I can't put my house on the market yet, because I don't know when we will be ready to move. I can't give my New Mexico house sitter 30 days notice for the same reason. I can't arrange for the packers and movers without a firm move date. I can't submit my retirement paperwork yet because I can't yet set a firm retirement date.
So finally, the light bulb came on, dim as it may be. My frustration about the uncertainty in my life boils down to control. I am trying to control things that cannot be controlled, and to change things that cannot be changed. I cannot control when my daughter will graduate from her school and move back home. It isn't up to me. There is nothing I can do to hasten her graduation. Until she has a graduation date set, I can't set the wheels in motion to hire a mover, notify my house sitter, submit my retirement paperwork, or anything else. This is all out of my control. This process cannot be changed. Try as I might, there is nothing I can do to hasten the start of this chain of events.
I should know this by now. I read a book several years ago at the suggestion of a friend. It's called Gifts from Eykis, and the underlying message is that I am in charge of how I feel, how I react, which emotions I express and how I express them, but nothing else in life. I cannot control others, or my job or the stock market or anything else. I have a sign on my monitor at work and on the refrigerator at home: "Who's in Charge?" I put those little signs there as a reminder that I am in charge only of myself. Nothing or nobody else is under my control. People who see the little sign on my computer monitor often think it refers to being the boss or in charge of the office. No, it refers simply to 'who is in charge' of my emotions. I am.
So I need to stop fretting and feeling out of control, focus on doing what I can to prepare for our move, and let things unfold as they will. My daughter will progress at her own rate; she will graduate when it is time. All I can do is continue to prepare my house for sale, use as many of my canned goods as possible so I don't have to move them (or they will go to the food bank), continue to get rid of unwanted items, and try to prepare myself as much as possible for my daughter's homecoming, transition and life at home again, and let it go.
I also believe that I need to have trust, or faith. I need to trust that my life will unfold as it is meant to unfold. There will be delays and detours in my plans, difficult lessons to be learned, mistakes to be made and the inevitable setbacks. But there will be helpful lessons to be learned from each delay, detour and setback if I will but be open to receiving those lessons. There will be a benefit, often something I never had imagined.
I need to relax, let my life unfold at its own pace, be prepared for whatever lies ahead, and be open to embrace the future and all its possibilities.
A simple lesson, but one that is hard to remember and even harder to implement.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
The Sounds of Silence
Walking the dogs at 5:15 one recent morning, and feeling rather cranky due to a poor night's sleep, I again became aware of how much sound impacts me. The only good thing about being up and out so early is the quiet typically prevalent at that time of day. But on that day, I was denied my longed-for silence. For some reason, the streets seemed especially busy. I hate the sound of traffic at any time of day, but especially early in the morning. The passing diesel pick-up truck was especially obnoxious that morning as it grumbled down the deserted street.
I live in a very noisy neighborhood, with houses close together and several busy streets nearby. I constantly feel bombarded by noise, particularly during warm weather when the windows are open. A major expressway is just a few blocks away; there are sirens (fire, police and ambulance) blaring several times a day. The airport is less than 10 miles away. My house is very close to a Little League baseball field, and soon every evening and all day Saturday and Sunday I will be subjected to the droning public address system and the incessant honking of horns as people remotely lock their vehicles along my street. Even at work, there often is a helicopter hovering not far outside my office window, as the pilot tests software designed to control the swinging of a heavy payload being lifted and moved. How I long for the quiet of my New Mexico neighborhood!
But some loud sounds are truly enjoyable. Strangely enough, I enjoy the deafening roar of a U-2 high-altitude plane taking off, afterburners aglow as it shoots into the heavens. Same with the noise of the Harrier, a vertical take-off and landing jet.
Aside from music (classical, acoustic guitar, smooth jazz in general and saxophone music in particular), one of my favorite sounds is of a whale exhaling as it breaks the ocean's surface after a long dive. And although I no longer play tennis, I still enjoy the sound of a well-hit tennis ball flying off the racket's sweet spot. Of course, the best sounds of all are totally natural: the breeze blowing through pine trees; birds chirping and insects buzzing; water rushing over rocks in a stream; the sound of waves crashing on the shoreline; a thunderstorm rumbling overhead.
Sometimes it isn't the sound, but the absence of sound, that is so pleasant. Although I have a major loss of hearing in one ear, the acuity of my 'good' ear is better than average. And I suffer from tinnitus, a constant ringing in my ears, so my world is never truly silent. Still, the absence of external sound can be wonderful. I love hiking in places where I hear only the sounds of nature, where there is no traffic, no people chattering, no lawn mowers or leaf blowers to disturb the sounds of silence.
Silence seems such a rare commodity in today's world. From cell phones to 24-hour news channels and endless choices of television and radio stations, our world is filled with cacophony. Many people feel uncomfortable sitting in silence with another person. They seem to feel compelled to fill the void with talking, whether they have anything to say or not. Some people cannot stand to be at home without the television running 'for background noise.'
I enjoy a quiet house. I do not need, nor do I want, some electronic noise polluting my space all the time. I will put on a CD or turn the television on, but only if there is something I want to listen to or watch. I enjoy the quiet of reading, listening to the pounding rain, hearing the gentle breathing of my dogs as they sleep.
Are people today afraid to be alone with their thoughts? Is it so difficult to be surrounded by quiet, to appreciate the sounds of nature, of our own breathing? We need to slow down and listen to the world around us.
I live in a very noisy neighborhood, with houses close together and several busy streets nearby. I constantly feel bombarded by noise, particularly during warm weather when the windows are open. A major expressway is just a few blocks away; there are sirens (fire, police and ambulance) blaring several times a day. The airport is less than 10 miles away. My house is very close to a Little League baseball field, and soon every evening and all day Saturday and Sunday I will be subjected to the droning public address system and the incessant honking of horns as people remotely lock their vehicles along my street. Even at work, there often is a helicopter hovering not far outside my office window, as the pilot tests software designed to control the swinging of a heavy payload being lifted and moved. How I long for the quiet of my New Mexico neighborhood!
But some loud sounds are truly enjoyable. Strangely enough, I enjoy the deafening roar of a U-2 high-altitude plane taking off, afterburners aglow as it shoots into the heavens. Same with the noise of the Harrier, a vertical take-off and landing jet.
Aside from music (classical, acoustic guitar, smooth jazz in general and saxophone music in particular), one of my favorite sounds is of a whale exhaling as it breaks the ocean's surface after a long dive. And although I no longer play tennis, I still enjoy the sound of a well-hit tennis ball flying off the racket's sweet spot. Of course, the best sounds of all are totally natural: the breeze blowing through pine trees; birds chirping and insects buzzing; water rushing over rocks in a stream; the sound of waves crashing on the shoreline; a thunderstorm rumbling overhead.
Sometimes it isn't the sound, but the absence of sound, that is so pleasant. Although I have a major loss of hearing in one ear, the acuity of my 'good' ear is better than average. And I suffer from tinnitus, a constant ringing in my ears, so my world is never truly silent. Still, the absence of external sound can be wonderful. I love hiking in places where I hear only the sounds of nature, where there is no traffic, no people chattering, no lawn mowers or leaf blowers to disturb the sounds of silence.
Silence seems such a rare commodity in today's world. From cell phones to 24-hour news channels and endless choices of television and radio stations, our world is filled with cacophony. Many people feel uncomfortable sitting in silence with another person. They seem to feel compelled to fill the void with talking, whether they have anything to say or not. Some people cannot stand to be at home without the television running 'for background noise.'
I enjoy a quiet house. I do not need, nor do I want, some electronic noise polluting my space all the time. I will put on a CD or turn the television on, but only if there is something I want to listen to or watch. I enjoy the quiet of reading, listening to the pounding rain, hearing the gentle breathing of my dogs as they sleep.
Are people today afraid to be alone with their thoughts? Is it so difficult to be surrounded by quiet, to appreciate the sounds of nature, of our own breathing? We need to slow down and listen to the world around us.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
The Authentic Life
For the past several months, I have been trying to figure out how to live my 'authentic' life. But first, I need to figure out what that 'authentic life' will look like. What is an authentic life? And how will I know when I find it?
This quote from psychiatrist Carl Jung says a lot about reaching for an authentic life: "Your vision will become clear only when you look into your heart." So I have been looking into my heart.
I believe that living authentically means following the wisdom of your heart, and not necessarily following only the wisdom of your mind. When I first saw on the Internet the New Mexico pueblo-style home that I eventually bought, I knew in my heart that it was meant to be mine. Everything about it screamed, "I'm here, I'm for sale, I'm affordable, I have everything you want in a house, so come and get me." And I did. After some initial hesitation, I flew to Albuquerque, and visited that house and a few others in a whirlwind tour put together by a local real estate agent. A few days later, after questioning my sanity in buying a house with so little forethought, I made an offer on the house. Had I thought about this decision rationally and logically, as I usually do when facing a major decision, I never would have taken the plunge and bought the house. But I decided to listen to my heart and take a gigantic leap of faith.
Discerning and living an authentic life isn't easy, especially for those of us who are typically ruled by our brains rather than our hearts. It requires hard work to look inside oneself, to, as Jung wrote, "look into your heart," to ask the difficult questions and to honestly evaluate what truly is important in life. Another challenge of embracing an authentic life is facing the disapproval or lack of understanding of family or friends. You yourself may question the wisdom of your choices. Still, the authentic life can be discerned only by listening to the heart, by stilling the voices in our heads telling us why we shouldn't follow the path of authenticity, and by following what we know in our hearts is right for us.
For me, the elements of an authentic life will include the following:
sunshine
mountains
moderate temperatures
interesting places to explore
not a lot of people
lots of outdoor exercise opportunities (for running, hiking, bicycling, walking)
interesting subjects to photograph
open space
quiet
a feeling that I belong where I am
time to do meaningful volunteer work
the opportunity to do more writing
Moving to New Mexico will provide many of the things on this list. There are mountains, lots of sunshine, interesting places to explore, not a lot of people (Albuquerque, the state's largest city, has just 600,000 people), great photographic opportunities, open space and outdoor exercise potential. My new house is on a 1/2-acre lot, unlike my current house that is surrounded on 3 sides by neighbors so close that I can hear their phones ring.
Living an authentic life means taking the first steps to follow a path that is true to who I am, as well as to who I am becoming. An authentic life will mean that I feel comfortable in my environment, something I most definitely do not feel here in overcrowded, overpriced California. Although I will miss my orange and peach trees, and the opportunity to buy wonderful sweet, fresh, juicy strawberries at the local farmers market, there are few other things about this bankrupt, out-of-control state that I will miss.
I won't really know whether I will feel like I belong in New Mexico until I move there and get settled later this year. But after numerous visits to the state, I'm pretty certain that I will feel at home. Although Rio Rancho does get snow, it usually melts quickly. And it provides opportunities for some interesting photography. I love the feel of the high desert air, the wide open spaces, the unbelievably blue sky, the awe-inspiring sunsets, the pueblo-style architecture, the lack of traffic in most of the state. I am looking forward to being able to gaze out my living room window at the Sandia Mountains, to see some of the 16 species of birds my housesitter tells me frequent the back yard, and to bask in the light streaming in the windows on all but the cloudiest days.
I am already looking at volunteer opportunities for my daughter and me, and I have discovered a no-kill animal shelter (Watermelon Mountain Ranch) that welcomes volunteers. I also am starting to get involved with OrphanBaby, a non-profit group dedicated to improving the lives of kids in orphanages in Ukraine. I am continuing to clear my house and my life of unnecessary clutter and things I no longer want or need.
And I continue to look into my heart to glean more information, no matter how obscure or insignificant it may seem, as I slowly build my authentic life.
This quote from psychiatrist Carl Jung says a lot about reaching for an authentic life: "Your vision will become clear only when you look into your heart." So I have been looking into my heart.
I believe that living authentically means following the wisdom of your heart, and not necessarily following only the wisdom of your mind. When I first saw on the Internet the New Mexico pueblo-style home that I eventually bought, I knew in my heart that it was meant to be mine. Everything about it screamed, "I'm here, I'm for sale, I'm affordable, I have everything you want in a house, so come and get me." And I did. After some initial hesitation, I flew to Albuquerque, and visited that house and a few others in a whirlwind tour put together by a local real estate agent. A few days later, after questioning my sanity in buying a house with so little forethought, I made an offer on the house. Had I thought about this decision rationally and logically, as I usually do when facing a major decision, I never would have taken the plunge and bought the house. But I decided to listen to my heart and take a gigantic leap of faith.
Discerning and living an authentic life isn't easy, especially for those of us who are typically ruled by our brains rather than our hearts. It requires hard work to look inside oneself, to, as Jung wrote, "look into your heart," to ask the difficult questions and to honestly evaluate what truly is important in life. Another challenge of embracing an authentic life is facing the disapproval or lack of understanding of family or friends. You yourself may question the wisdom of your choices. Still, the authentic life can be discerned only by listening to the heart, by stilling the voices in our heads telling us why we shouldn't follow the path of authenticity, and by following what we know in our hearts is right for us.
For me, the elements of an authentic life will include the following:
sunshine
mountains
moderate temperatures
interesting places to explore
not a lot of people
lots of outdoor exercise opportunities (for running, hiking, bicycling, walking)
interesting subjects to photograph
open space
quiet
a feeling that I belong where I am
time to do meaningful volunteer work
the opportunity to do more writing
Moving to New Mexico will provide many of the things on this list. There are mountains, lots of sunshine, interesting places to explore, not a lot of people (Albuquerque, the state's largest city, has just 600,000 people), great photographic opportunities, open space and outdoor exercise potential. My new house is on a 1/2-acre lot, unlike my current house that is surrounded on 3 sides by neighbors so close that I can hear their phones ring.
Living an authentic life means taking the first steps to follow a path that is true to who I am, as well as to who I am becoming. An authentic life will mean that I feel comfortable in my environment, something I most definitely do not feel here in overcrowded, overpriced California. Although I will miss my orange and peach trees, and the opportunity to buy wonderful sweet, fresh, juicy strawberries at the local farmers market, there are few other things about this bankrupt, out-of-control state that I will miss.
I won't really know whether I will feel like I belong in New Mexico until I move there and get settled later this year. But after numerous visits to the state, I'm pretty certain that I will feel at home. Although Rio Rancho does get snow, it usually melts quickly. And it provides opportunities for some interesting photography. I love the feel of the high desert air, the wide open spaces, the unbelievably blue sky, the awe-inspiring sunsets, the pueblo-style architecture, the lack of traffic in most of the state. I am looking forward to being able to gaze out my living room window at the Sandia Mountains, to see some of the 16 species of birds my housesitter tells me frequent the back yard, and to bask in the light streaming in the windows on all but the cloudiest days.
I am already looking at volunteer opportunities for my daughter and me, and I have discovered a no-kill animal shelter (Watermelon Mountain Ranch) that welcomes volunteers. I also am starting to get involved with OrphanBaby, a non-profit group dedicated to improving the lives of kids in orphanages in Ukraine. I am continuing to clear my house and my life of unnecessary clutter and things I no longer want or need.
And I continue to look into my heart to glean more information, no matter how obscure or insignificant it may seem, as I slowly build my authentic life.
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