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Monthly Archives: September 2012

A Kind Of September

07 Sep

Even if it’s 85 and humid as the rainforest where you live, those small people carrying enormous backpacks and wearing brand-new clothes are proof that autumn is coming. And even if your (9:00 – 3:00) days aren’t filled with new faces, expectations and even new buildings, it can still be a season of newness. With the lazy hazy days formally over, we can’t help but feel a little more purposeful, a little more focused. Soon we’ll stash our shorts and flip-flops and put back on our grown-up clothes. Before we know it the holidays will be upon us (for some they start in September) and the accompanying preparations will go beyond firing up a grill. But before we get all ‘chain drugstore Christmas display in August’ let’s focus on September.

Try to remember that feeling of hopefulness that comes with a clean, blank notebook and the spelling out of an instructor’s expectations. In chalk, on a syllabus or on-line; we were told what was expected of us and in those first few days we had done nothing to diminish those expectations. We believed we could achieve; long division, macroeconomics, modern European history or organic chemistry. Before we forget to write down an exam date, or procrastinated or let anxiety rule our studying, we felt we can do this thing. Feeling something is possible is invigorating. Is it the clean notebook, not yet a jumbled mess of missing notes? Is it the confidence and authority of a teacher assuming we can do what is asked of us? Is it the fact that everyone else (unless they’ve been left back) is in the same boat? Is it the fact that the very nature of education is that the content is always new? The majority of adult life is not filled with newness. Yes, there are at times new; partners, homes, jobs, or family members. But there is nothing cyclically new about adulthood. But there could be.

What if we all went “back to school” every September? Not literally of course (whoa! take a deep breath; you might want to put your head between your knees for a few minutes.) What if we pledged (to ourselves) to do something new every September? Something we need to “learn?” It needn’t be academic, but it shouldn’t be easy either. What about…

  • Learning to see things from someone else’s perspective?
  • Learning why we do something that troubles us (i.e., shop, drink, or eat excessively)?
  • Learning the difference between our needs and a loved one’s needs?
  • Learning to look at ourselves in the mirror and love what we see?

No doubt there are dozens more examples that are relevant and achievable. Let’s find one that feels slightly daunting yet not wildly out of our reach (we don’t teach calculus to second-graders now, do we?) Let’s give ourselves the whole academic year to finish the assignment. Trying something new, regardless of the outcome, is hopeful. It is in essence a declaration: “I’m here and I’m engaged with the world!” But first things first, let’s go out and get ourselves a brand-new notebook.

 
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Posted by on September 7, 2012 in Education, Well-Being

 

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Coloring Your World

06 Sep

Those of us in possession of (most of) our faculties are faced with hundreds of choices large and small. Before even heading out the door we’ve chosen to bathe (or not) what to wear, whether and/or what to eat, to have coffee at home or stand on line for the privilege, to pack a lunch or stand on line for the privilege, and simply to leave home at all. Most choices are so minute and routine as to barely register as the product of free will. Our will (and what we do with it) often becomes more noticeable in the great big world.

The guy who cuts you off or the woman tugging a bit too forcefully on her child? Our wheels turn. What (if anything) do we do or say? If we vow to make our own little world the world in which we want to live we probably smile at the driver and interact with the woman (“How’s it going?”  delivered with a huge and inviting smile, might break the tugging spell.) Our day is filled with choices and options regarding behavior and response.

But what of the larger choices? What of the choices so large they may appear invisible to the naked eye? The; ‘perhaps I should sell everything and move to a yurt’, or, ‘something is not right here perhaps I need to pay attention’ types of choices lurk below the surface. If we are lucky and are lives consist of more than survival we are confronted with enormous choices throughout our (healthy) adult life. It is daunting and a gift. Often the very thought of making a choice is paralyzing and we choose to stay still. It wasn’t always like that. As a 4-year old we had no problem choosing chunky over smooth, or the red crayon over the blue. But the stakes seem higher as we grow and we often (mistakenly) think we have an audience. (We don’t: ‘They’ are far too busy watching the “Them Show’ to be paying attention to our lives.)

We have this sense that each move we make need be towards a great big goal/accomplishment. Onward and upward! When faced with a career decision we can agonize over an increase in status to the detriment of creative growth. We tend to stay in relationships (romantic and otherwise) that make us less happy than happy because of having put in so much time and not wanting to fail. In other words, we often make (or don’t make) choices based on the past not the present. If we believe that our job, as humans, is to continuously grow and learn, the past is only useful for data collection. The data must then be processed and analyzed anew while examining where we are right now. (Think of it as the flight attendant announcement that; “The closest exit may be behind you”)

It is a daunting gift this free will of ours. There are no choices that will ever resonate with us unless we have a sense of who we are. There are no shortcuts, remedies, mantras or gurus that will get us to a point of self-knowledge. There is only honesty and thoughtfulness. It might not feel entirely comfortable, but it is this strong base that’s needed for freedom of movement. If the very notion of looking for one’s heart’s desire seems ridiculously daunting, remember we are born with this skill. From birth we are a squirming bundle of preferences. Before our head loses that wonderful smell we know we prefer our fist in our mouth rather than our blankie, we know which breast we prefer and what our favorite sounds are. We have no distractions, no sense of what we ‘should’ be doing; we’ve yet to develop an inner critic. If we can combine that sense of freedom with the vast data we’ve collected we can make choices that work for us at any given time.

 
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Posted by on September 6, 2012 in Well-Being

 

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The Fun Of Getting There

05 Sep

Millions of dollars are spent on selling travel as glamorous and/or restorative. There are entire magazines dedicated to this pursuit and big chunks of space reserved for it in newspapers & travel blogs aplenty. Television shows and networks are dedicated to the cause. There are clothing and accessory manufacturers specializing in travel accouterment. The fashion industry still adheres to a season-ette known as Holiday/Cruise in mid-winter. Everyone’s in on the action (except for travel agents, g-d rest their souls.) Let the good times roll.

Yet have you ever heard (or experienced) anyone traveling commercially, return and declare; “Well bust my buttons that certainly was glamorous and/or restorative?” Probably not. Getting there (and sometimes even being there) can often be one big pain in the bum.

It used to be you would pack your bags, grab your ticket and head to the airport. Today, after packing your bag with teeny tiny sample sizes of health and beauty aids (in ziplocs or out, depending on the airport) planning an outfit without metal embellishment or laced shoes, packing enough food to make it through the flight and the predictable delay; you are, woohoo, on your way. But to where exactly? You booked your flight on one airline (or so you thought) but these days they are cross-listed. You trek to the USAir terminal only to discover that USAir flight 6403 is in actuality a United flight 760 (and listed as Lufthansa 23, but that’s too odd to even address.) If you’re lucky those two terminals have a shuttle system. So maybe, just maybe, if the g-ds are smiling upon you, you make it to your gate. You must go buy a bottle of water however since bringing one with you would jeopardize national security (as would a nail clipper which is amusing when you think that a punch to the jugular is far more impactful than threatening to manicure someone.) Your $7 bottle of water secured, you bypass the food-like options that fill you with a school (or prison) cafeteria wistfulness. (Airports might be the only place where a chef known for inventing gourmet duck topped pizzas is now serving orange slop in containers emblazoned with his name.) You sit and watch the parade of (pajama-clad) humanity elbow their way to special treatment; “We’re a family, we’d like to sit together.” “My husband needs a seat without an armrest” What century are you people in? You will be lucky to get on this overbooked flight even with a seat assignment, checked luggage and wearing an airline uniform.

Getting onto the plane takes all the chutzpah and sharp elbows usually reserved for a Macy’s white sale. Overhead space is the holy grail. As the plane fills the desperation is palpable. Your goal is to avoid the attendant being “pleased to check your bag for you.” You’ve made it this far; you will not give up without a fight. Finally as the passengers settle down and it looks as if every bag is secured, the stand-bys appear. These people have made it onto the plane. They have a killer instinct and a rugged determination that is certain to squash your hat or break your duty-free liquor bottles. The more extreme sport of these stand-bys will make it work. The guy sauntering on with both his case of wine and of entitlement? His attempts might not end as well.

But everyone’s seated and here we go! Here we go. We’re not going. Why are those reflective vested people walking on and off the plane? Why is it 20 minutes past our departure time and we’re still sitting still? Ah, an announcement. It seems a light bulb is out. Well better safe than sorry (whatever the hell that means on a plane with over a hundred bulbs.) So we wait. And wait some more. An hour after departure time the mystery unfolds and a lesson is learned. Don’t ever have your light bulb go out during a maintenance worker shift change. The (it’s almost the end of my shift) worker refused to get the bulb and would not tell the (it’s the start of my shift) worker about the need for a bulb. One hour and fifteen minutes later, the bulb was replaced (at a cost we won’t even begin to imagine) and we’re on our way. So glamorous, so restorative.

 
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Posted by on September 5, 2012 in Travel

 

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