Sunday, October 31, 2010

Consolation - a poem

My definition of hell is a loved one suffering & nothing I can do.
So much of me is in being helpful. I want to heal, at least, to soothe.

My Hebrew name, Nechama, defined my challenge, sealed my fate.
I learned it meant consolation. A booby prize, I thought. Just great.

Many other girls were given names meaning "pretty" and "dear"
Surely there is more value in offering a sympathetic ear.

What do you want most when it sucks to be you? a lovely new sweater?
No. You want a friend's words to reassure you: it will get better!

Remembering this, I listen, murmuring words of support and love.
Her pain will be endured, I tell myself, and will subside.
Someday, I must believe, we will celebrate, with pride,
all that we've learned, how much we've grown, how far we've come.

Friday, October 29, 2010

in which I attempt a greater degree of honesty

I do try to be positive here, on my blog.

In fact, I use this blog as a tool to help me see the world in a positive light.
The truth is that I have sometimes put an hour or more into typing a negative post and realize along the way that it doesn't fit with my purpose here. This is neither a memoir nor a place for my public whining. It's called Unburied Treasure, after all, not Flaunted Self-Pity. So, I try to access and share good thoughts.

I have learned, through my many adventures in therapy and self-help, that gratitude is a powerful tool for finding our happiness (for which we are solely responsible) and one of the ways I try to harness that power is by writing it.

I didn't realize until today that by editing out my negative thoughts and feelings from this, my only active blog, I have been painting a very distorted self portrait.

This morning, just after I'd criticized my teenage son too harshly for singing while I was trying to speak and be heard, so that he left the house actively not speaking to me, I received an email that included the following confession:

I sorta envy how happy and grounded you always appear to be. How committed to whatever you're in...I see myself as doing hysterical somersaults through life and I see you as sitting on a beach in groovy sunglasses soaking in the rays with a martini.

Well, she could not have gotten that more wrong. Where is this beach and how do I get there?

This email was a wake up call to me to be aware of how I present myself to my friends, especially those whom I have not see in years, with whom I mainly keep in touch through facebook. I care a lot about this; I am so not about the facade.

When I was in the process of gathering courage for my divorce, my therapist said to me "Well, at least your being divorced will make you more likeable."

I flipped out on him. What the hell was he talking about? He explained that from the outside, my life appeared to be perfect. The divorce would be reassuring evidence for other people to see that it's not. Nobody likes a perfect person. It would now be much easier for me, he predicted, to make friends in Cincinnati.

This was shattering. All I really wanted was to be loved, and I had just spent 29 years trying to be as perfect as possible in order to get love. And now, I was being told that I had gotten it all wrong.

I had thought I was open before, but since that day, I have tried to be much more consciously open with people - both in person and in correspondence - about what is going on with me, about how I really feel. I have learned that it is a great gift to share your struggles with others. We all have our struggles, and when you are deeply in one, it is incredibkly comforting and reassuring to know that someone else has stood in your shoes and climbed out of the hole. I think the greatest horror of adolescence is that we tend not to believe that our problems are not hideously unique. The antidote to this misperception - sharing stories of overcoming difficulties - has got to be the single greatest benefit of the recent wave of published memoirs.

Today, I arrived at yoga, telling myself I was really ready to dig deep and discover a new truth. I have been especially preoccupied lately by the pattern I find myself in with my teenage son, where I miss him terribly when we are apart and drive him further away almost as soon as we are together. When other people complain about their teenagers, I have found myself thinking. "No, my teenager is terrific. It's not him; it's me." It's been very troubling, and I haven't heard anyone speaking my struggle, at least not precisely.

Our lovely yoga teacher, Karen, announces that in honor of Hallowe'en we are going to make the class about facing our fears. She instructs us to stand in tadasana and silently identify a fear that is plaguing us and in that moment I instantly have clarity. I realize that I am afraid of losing my son, of losing the first true love I have really ever known. Karen proceeds to explain that the Universe is not such a good listener when we are negative. If we think about what we don't want, it only hears the thing we fear and thinks we want more of that. So, if we want the effective support of the Universe, we must reframe our fear into the affirmation with which we will overcome it.

Tears were streaming down my face and neck as I framed the affirmation that I will be kind, fair and loving with my son. I saw very clearly in the brightness of the moment that by focusing on what I feared happening, I was using the energy of the Universe to support a negative, self-fulfilling prophecy.

It's funny. I had just posted on facebook before walking into yoga that "I cannot wait to find what insights come up on the mat this morning." And the Universe didn't keep me waiting even a moment longer than it took me to find a pose in which to be still.

As I continued to wipe at the small river of tears and snot that were now emanating, I felt so grateful, once again, for the yoga community I have found at Shine. I can't help it. I really do feel deep gratitude for this safe supportive environment in which I can receive deep, powerful insights. The love and safety of the Shine community gives me the freedom to take them in fully, and respond fully, in the present moment.

At temple, by contrast, when, during silent prayer, or while singing a song of healing, I may suddenly get in touch with things that are laden with strong emotion, I immediately try to quell my emotional response. I'll take note of what comes up and try to save the power of it for later. Sometimes I cry in spite of this resolve, because I have a tendencey to be very liquid, but at Shine I don't even feel I need to make an effort to hold back.

My yoga mat at Shine is a miraculous place where I can deeply experience and express joy, power, strength, love, surrender, acceptance and serenity, both through the physical expression of the asanas and internally, while sitting still. Having been there for 90 minutes, I feel strengthened in my affirmation to turn over a new leaf with my son and to stop pushing him away in reaction to my fears. It may take a few tries, but I believe I will wrestle that leaf into submission. The pain and hopelessness I felt when he walked out the door this morning is gone. It feels great, and it's a whole lot less expensive than therapy. Not to be overly positive, or anything, but I do feel so much better now, full of gratitude and love.

But ask me again tomorrow. I'll try to be completely honest.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Following your heart

I met with a local newspaper lady this morning about marketing this blog. Personally, the only "papers" I read are the Saturday and Sunday New York Times, with which she is not affiliated. Anyway, this lovely woman, who holds the very modern title of Lifestyles Digital Content Manager, explained that her paper can only market my blog if I want to change it to fit neatly into a distinct category. She observed that currently, the only one it fits is "intellectual/artsy memoir", which her paper doesn't know from. Performer/storyteller/personality Slashtipher Coleman recently described my blog as being about gratitude, which I loved reading and fully embrace. Today's description from the lifestyles digital content manager was not a big surprise, though, and it reminded me of why I have never had any interest in reading her paper. I had actually lowered my expectations of being a perfect blog match for her newspaper about twenty minutes after we were scheduled to meet, when I needed to telephone the lady at her home and remind her of our appointment.

She did compliment my writing style and ask to me to be a guest blogger when I want to share my experiences as a parent, and I may do that, if the current post doesn't completely alienate her. But as far as my morphing this blog into a service-oriented, easily marketable, single category blog, I may sooner be spotted shopping in the petites department of Macy*s. My spirit guides recently assured me that I have always marched to my own constantly changing drum beat in this lifetime, and that I always will. This knowledge is invaluable in that it helps me refrain from trying to fit into anyone else's categories, no matter how tempting it may seem at the moment. The same goes for this blog, because it is purely an extension of me. So, while of course I'd love to get paid to blog, I am not going to try to change how I blog, or who I am.

A friend of a new friend of mine recently posted a blog tribute to his late wife, Sarah Jean Linquist, who was also a muralist. Her legacy, as conveyed in his blog, was that if we are true to ourselves, if we follow our heart, and do what we REALLY want to do, then we will be doing what we are supposed to, and that will be enough. It was a great reminder for me, as I chronically struggle with perfectionism and tend, like many artists, toward harsh self-criticism. But I truly do believe that if we can listen to our innermost promptings, we will do what we are meant to. And what can be better than that? Nobody is put here on this earth to be the best at anything, except at being himself or herself.

So, that is what I will continue to strive to do, and what I urge each one of you to do as well. I've already spent plenty of time and energy attempting the alternative. I won't say I have wasted time, for so long as I can find and hold onto the lesson from each experience and use it to become more fully myself, no experience is a waste of time. Getting a law degree, training to be a retail executive, travelling alone to the USSR, working among a group of Chasidic men while inventorying an entire Brooklyn warehouse, interning at a Boston advertising agency, helping out at Legal Aid and at the ACLU, running my own mural business, teaching art to kids, getting kicked out of college and earning my way back in, writing a feminist thesis on fairy tales, struggling with an eating disorder and modeling as an adolescent, my first marriage - each adventure, each chapter of my life story helps me to move forward more deeply and consciously into the future only when I figure out what it lesson it contained, what it taught me about the world, about life, about myself.

So, darling readers, before I go to the living room to practice my violin, I will close today by sharing and endorsing some wonderful words from the aforementioned recently bereaved man, whom I have yet to meet, a blogger and creative entrepreneur named Robert Fishbone.

He writes:

The challenge is finding our own true voice and being courageous enough to embrace it. This will involve fearless exploration, where you cast aside self-doubt and self-criticism, where you love yourself unequivocally, where you realize each breath opens limitless possibilities. Then you act, not because others are watching, but because you know you are being true to yourself, you are following your heart.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

support the arts, save money, & give awesome gifts

It is my husband's birthday today. He tells me that he is feeling especially happy, celebrated and special. We didn't buy him anything this year, and we didn't spend nearly what we would have at the mall, Costco, or T.J. Maxx, but we DID shower him with useful gifts that will remind him every day of how very much he is loved.

Confused?

We made Dad his gifts this year, and I want to recommend this route to all of you with loved ones who may be expecting gifts anytime in the near or distant future.

Now, I know that when people find out that I have done a craft or art projects with my kids, many of you say something like "well, sure, but YOU'RE an artist!" as if this gives my kids an unfair advantage. If you know me well, you know that if neither of us is in a rush, I will respond to your protest by arguing that you are an artist, too, and trying to persuade you to read Julia Cameron's "The Artist's Way" and/or to come to my studio to unlock some of your dormant creativity. But the most practical and expedient advice I can give to those of you who stubbornly resist these suggestions is this: hire an artist to coach your kids to arts and craft success!

Most artists are underemployed and underpaid, especially in this economy. 99% of the artists and/or art teachers you know would jump at the chance to earn some money by spending time being creative with a few children. This is because children have not forgotten that they are artists, and are consequently really fun people with whom to be creative. As Pablo Picasso famously said, "Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist when we grow up."

So, for those of you who may have forgotten you are an artist, but love the idea of your kids making gifts to give to loved ones for birthdays, Christmas or Hannukah, take a moment and think of an artist you know at your children's school, church, or elsewhere in your community. You can engage an artist or art teacher to (1) come up with the gift idea, (2)procure the materials and (3) guide your kids through the project. You might arrange for your kids to visit the artist in his or her studio or invite them to a designated table (preferably with a nearby sink) in your home.

First of all, kids can make some truly amazing things. Whatever it looks like, every thing they make is uniquely an extension of their spirit, and a kind of time capsule of their development at that moment. Also, it's economical. The fees charged by artists for time and materials are generally less than what you would spend on an electronic gadget, which you know Dad prefers to pick out himself anyway.

My kids also have scores of teachers to whom we like to show our appreciation at the holidays. For teacher gifts, consider that everyday items can make a strong statement of appreciation when they are repackaged in a special, creative way. Again, a visit with an art teacher can help your kids express loads of affection and respect towards a great many teachers for very little dough. If you can't think up how yourself, or you don't want to bother buying a glue gun and other supplies you may never use again, an artist can come up with beautiful ways to make a special present out of an otherwise ordinary gift, such as cocoa, spiced coffee beans, candy, lotion, soap, bubble bath, lip balm, or even a gift card to the local mall.

Friday, October 22, 2010

toasty burrito boys

In an attempt to be kind to the planet and also reduce our fuel consumption, we are trying to postpone turning on our furnace for as long as possible this fall. The kids are enthusiastically invested in this plan, but we are also concerned for their comfort. Knowing that many of you are engaged in the same postponement, I want to share a couple of things that we do in our house to keep the boys cozy during the change of season.

The first is the blanket burrito. My boys tend to kick their covers off in the night, which of course is inconsequential when the indoor climate is temperate. But as the room temperature begins to plummet at night, this tendency could lead to a lot of lost sleep and discomfort. So, inspired by the bundling techniques demonstrated to me by nurses in a variety of maternity wards, each chilly mid-autumn evening at bedtime, I wrap my boys in what we like to call blanket burritos. The first layer is a down comforter inside a soft cover, and around that, thinner cotton blankets that are easier to wrap and tuck. It's fun and silly and feels great, like a warm hug that lasts all night.

The other fall treat happens right after coax them out of bed in the morning, which can be difficult in the dark frigid mornings that greet us this time of year, right before we change our clocks back. On the way to their bedrooms I turn on all the lights in the house, to make it seem more like daytime. Then, I gather up the outfits they have set out on their chairs the night before and toss them into the dryer for 3 minutes. By the time their bowls of instant oatmeal are on the table, their clothes are toasty warm. Trust me on this, if you haven't tried it: reliquishing warm pajamas is so much less difficult knowing that you can slip into very warm underwear, pants and shirts.

I don't know if this use of the clothes dryer is common practice because I personally thought of it on my own, but I realize many of you may have, too. Once we moved to this house, which has its own miniature sledding hill in the backyard, I first thought to use the dryer to warm up cold, wet mittens, hats and scarves during hot cocoa breaks mid-sledding, then extended the practice to make every cold morning a bit cozier for my not-so-little ones. Imagining that I may have just helped some of you to do the same gives me joy.

Warmly yours,
Nancy

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Am I being a diva?

My orchestra conductor, Michael Bohnert-Wheatley (aka The Conductor), also writes a blog, mostly about music. It just so happens that we read each other's blogs before we ever met in person. (I'll add a link to his blog on my home page, so you can check it out) Anyway, not too long ago, he posted an unabashedly unapologetic piece about his being picky, or demanding, in rehearsals with his orchestra. I took this post into account tonight when I decided to call him up and match him, picky for picky.

I am loathe to sound like a diva, I explained, but I have some ideas about how to make one very small part of our next performance better. I debated with my carpool on the way home from rehearsal whether or not I had legitimate criticism to share, and whether it would be well received. So there I am, soon after arriving home, on the phone, late at night, being all high maintenance with The Conductor, right after he's just spent two hours sweating it out on the podium, trying to help us play this piece better. But I am pretty sure (from reading his blog) that he won't mind my kvetching too terribly much because he is the same way. And as much as I find I care about this particular musical passage in our upcoming concert, I know he probably cares every bit as much as I do.

But you see, here's the thing. The reason that I care so very much, enough to call him up, is that I've got this violin solo, right at the spot in question. Yeah. So, right there, it's all about me. So, placing a call to The Conductor about this passage feels akin to demanding enough Evian from room service to fill my bathtub. But what can I do? It's bordering on obsession at this point, me and this solo.

It's a pretty well known violin solo in orchestral repetoire. In the 2nd movement of Dvorak's 8th Symphony. My professional violinist friends all have opinions about it. Some hate it; most seem to love it. I've been very busy these past few weeks investigating why this is. I started out thinking that I might hate the solo, too, because of the awful way it sounds just like a car crash, complete with horns blaring, when played poorly. But I have this teeny streak of perfectionism, so I have been working pretty hard on mastering it. So much so that, since I got the solo, I really have had no time to blog. Have you missed me? I've missed you, too.

But tonight, I feel I have earned a break, and I'm taking a moment to unwind after tonight's rehearsal by kicking back and just typing for a while...about my solo.

The good news is manifold: my solo keeps on getting better, and the performance is still not for another three weeks. The Conductor said that tonight was the best I have ever played it. But what he doesn't know (what I just told him) is that I can play it SO MUCH BETTER THAN THAT. The thing is, I have fallen in love with what this solo can be. It can be so very beautiful. And I have worked long enough and hard enough to have cracked the code, to feel like I have gotten inside the solo, so that I really understand it, and can actually play it beautifully, and I REALLY, REALLY want to play it that way in the concert.

Plus, earlier today I found out that my in-laws are coming in from Philadelphia for the weekend of the concert. It's what we call a Trifecta Weekend: Max is in a show and Sam is turning ten. I love my in-laws, and they have never seen or heard me perform before. Which is weird, and not at all their fault, but there it is. So, that's yet another reason I want to do my very best.

CAUTION: EXTENDED METAPHOR BELOW Please fasten your seatbelts EXTENDED METAPHOR BELOW

I have come up with a metaphor that helps me play the solo realy well, when I can keep it in mind as I am playing. I think about shoveling clouds. A heavenly job, if ever there was one, don't you agree?

As anyone who has tried to lift even the smallest cloud knows, they are extremely heavy. At the same time, they are also really soft and fluffy. So, there is only one way to shovel them well: very gently, but with strength, balance, and control.

You can't shovel clouds quickly. No matter how much you practice cloud shoveling, some bits of cloud are going to fall off the shovel, every time, if you rush it. We just can't have that.

The other thing is that you need to shovel clouds softly. If someone nearby is making too much noise, such as the WIND(s) BLOWING TOO HARD, then parts of the cloud are going to get away from you. Those bits of cloud will be lost forever.

So, I told the Conductor about the cloud shoveling, and now, he knows more of what I know, and I feel a bit better. I think that next time we all get together, when we get to rehearsal D, (yes, as in Diva) we are going to turn down the wind a notch and take it more slowly. And hopefully, I'll be able to shovel the clouds during our concert with all the strength and grace I have when I shovel clouds here at home, in my living room.