Also, I never dreamed that when I held him in my arms for the first time a decade ago, that exactly ten years from then we'd be fist pumping in my parent's kitchen together.
 |
| 2001 |
 |
| 2011 |
Monday, October 24, 2011
A Delightful Decade
Happy 10th birthday to my most favorite person in the entire universe - my nephew, Ethan! During the past ten years I have experienced more unconditional love than I ever thought my heart had the capacity to handle. Even though we live several states apart, we share a remarkable bond that keeps us quite close. Being an aunt is the single most important and wonderful privilege I've ever known. Thank you, Ethan, for coming into this world and making me smile more, laugh more, love more, and live more over the last decade!
Also, I never dreamed that when I held him in my arms for the first time a decade ago, that exactly ten years from then we'd be fist pumping in my parent's kitchen together.
Also, I never dreamed that when I held him in my arms for the first time a decade ago, that exactly ten years from then we'd be fist pumping in my parent's kitchen together.
Friday, October 7, 2011
A Missed Connection, A Shared Connection
I had an odd experience on the train this morning during my commute to work. While I was waiting on the platform for the train, I observed a mother and her child sitting on a bench also waiting for the train. Her little guy was probably about seven or eight years old, and he was quietly working on some schoolwork. His young mother sat staring off into the distance, seemingly not present in the moment. Her expression was blank, but in my heart I felt as though she may be hurting in some way. As the train approached, I felt compelled to get on the same car as they did, even though it wasn't the closest car from where I was standing. The train was pretty full, so I ended up standing next to the boy with his mother on the other side. As the train took off, the boy wasn't holding on because he was busy fumbling with his notebook and back pack. The train took a predictable sharp turn, and when I saw that the boy was going to lose his balance, I instinctively held my arm out to keep him from toppling over until he could get a grip. His mother seemed oblivious to anything that was going on, but this made me more sad for her than angry.
As people were getting on and off the train, a double seat opened up within a few stops, enabling the boy and his mom to sit in front of where I was standing. The boy wasted no time whipping out his school work again, and it looked like he was working on spelling words, as I observed a list he was making down the page. And seconds later, my instincts about his mother proved to be spot on, as I noticed tears in her eyes. She was quick to wipe them away and was doing her best to conceal her feelings, but it was too late. Seeing her so upset instantly broke my own heart, and tears welled up in my eyes simply from speculating about what could be making her so sad.
I can't explain why I had such an emotional reaction to this perfect stranger. I obviously had no idea why she was upset, but I am human, so I know what suffering looks and feels like, and it always breaks my heart. I think it bothers me so much because I don't know if certain gentle souls are strong enough to handle the crap that life has a tendency to throw at them. And in this case, she has a helpless child who depends on her to be strong.
I was so affected by the woman and her son that I inadvertently stayed on that train, as opposed to connecting to a different train line that takes me closer to my office. I wanted to ask this woman if she was going to be OK; I wanted to give her a hug and tell her that everything was going to be OK, even though I can't possibly know if that's true. I really hope that woman is much stronger than I perceived her to be - for the sake of herself and her child. I hope that she has people in her life who love and care about her and can comfort her with whatever she may be going through.
In addition to mentoring, I've also been volunteering with kids at a shelter for battered women, so I'm wondering if being exposed to so many kids from broken homes contributed to my reaction on the train this morning? It absolutely kills me to know that so many women and children are in pain. And the fact that I'm only seeing a tiny fraction of people in this world that are struggling breaks my heart even more. My parents aren't perfect, but I had a near-perfect childhood, and to think that there are children out there witnessing and also shouldering the burden of their parents' pain makes me wish I had the means to somehow save them all from heartache. Why does life have to be so effing hard for good people?
OK, I know this hasn't been a very uplifting post thus far, so what you may find humorous is that the mother on the train instantly seemed to set aside her problems when she saw my crazy ass wiping away tears. She must have been so confused, but she just stared at me with the same concerned and compassionate look that I had probably been giving her just moments earlier. I wasn't about to make her uncomfortable and tell her that it was her tears that were breaking my heart and causing my eyes to spring a leak, so I desperately worked to pull myself together.
I just can't get over how the heartache of a stranger affected me in such a way that my instincts were fully in tune to her emotions, and I wonder if she sensed it too. As wrapped up and involved as we are with our own highs and lows in life, today's morning commute served as a true testament and reminder of the powerful connection humans share.
My subway stop was before theirs, so I offered the mother a smile as I was exiting the train, even though I felt compelled to offer so much more. I at least hope that I see that mother and her son in my neighborhood again, on what seems to be a better day for her.
As people were getting on and off the train, a double seat opened up within a few stops, enabling the boy and his mom to sit in front of where I was standing. The boy wasted no time whipping out his school work again, and it looked like he was working on spelling words, as I observed a list he was making down the page. And seconds later, my instincts about his mother proved to be spot on, as I noticed tears in her eyes. She was quick to wipe them away and was doing her best to conceal her feelings, but it was too late. Seeing her so upset instantly broke my own heart, and tears welled up in my eyes simply from speculating about what could be making her so sad.
I can't explain why I had such an emotional reaction to this perfect stranger. I obviously had no idea why she was upset, but I am human, so I know what suffering looks and feels like, and it always breaks my heart. I think it bothers me so much because I don't know if certain gentle souls are strong enough to handle the crap that life has a tendency to throw at them. And in this case, she has a helpless child who depends on her to be strong.
I was so affected by the woman and her son that I inadvertently stayed on that train, as opposed to connecting to a different train line that takes me closer to my office. I wanted to ask this woman if she was going to be OK; I wanted to give her a hug and tell her that everything was going to be OK, even though I can't possibly know if that's true. I really hope that woman is much stronger than I perceived her to be - for the sake of herself and her child. I hope that she has people in her life who love and care about her and can comfort her with whatever she may be going through.
In addition to mentoring, I've also been volunteering with kids at a shelter for battered women, so I'm wondering if being exposed to so many kids from broken homes contributed to my reaction on the train this morning? It absolutely kills me to know that so many women and children are in pain. And the fact that I'm only seeing a tiny fraction of people in this world that are struggling breaks my heart even more. My parents aren't perfect, but I had a near-perfect childhood, and to think that there are children out there witnessing and also shouldering the burden of their parents' pain makes me wish I had the means to somehow save them all from heartache. Why does life have to be so effing hard for good people?
OK, I know this hasn't been a very uplifting post thus far, so what you may find humorous is that the mother on the train instantly seemed to set aside her problems when she saw my crazy ass wiping away tears. She must have been so confused, but she just stared at me with the same concerned and compassionate look that I had probably been giving her just moments earlier. I wasn't about to make her uncomfortable and tell her that it was her tears that were breaking my heart and causing my eyes to spring a leak, so I desperately worked to pull myself together.
I just can't get over how the heartache of a stranger affected me in such a way that my instincts were fully in tune to her emotions, and I wonder if she sensed it too. As wrapped up and involved as we are with our own highs and lows in life, today's morning commute served as a true testament and reminder of the powerful connection humans share.
My subway stop was before theirs, so I offered the mother a smile as I was exiting the train, even though I felt compelled to offer so much more. I at least hope that I see that mother and her son in my neighborhood again, on what seems to be a better day for her.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Stream of Consciousness...
Warning: Post about random thoughts ahead! I normally don't write posts lacking a distinctive theme, but since four year's worth of my journal entries were destroyed when my computer crashed last June, this seems like a safer way to store my thoughts for now.
Italy
I've been thinking of Italy a lot lately, probably because if original plans would've worked out, I would be heading there in just about a month from now. I found myself (perhaps subconsciously) at Cafe Rome, an Italian cafe located in my office building, twice this week. Once for a latte, and once for gelato. An incomparable substitute, but a substitute nonetheless.
Actually, maybe I'm just thinking about Italy because it's the location of this season's Jersey Shore. Yikes. I expected that the JS kids - while highly entertaining - would fail to blaze a respectable trail for future American tourists, and so far they've exceeded my expectations. In fact, now that I think about it, the image of Team Meatball flashing their "kookas" all over town is probably pretty fresh in the minds of innocent Italian civilians. So, it's probably best to postpone my trip until the disaster that is the cast of Jersey Shore is no longer associated with American tourists. Can I get an amen?! How 'bout a fist pump?!
Tooth Stuff
As I've mentioned in a previous post, the direct result of postponing my aforementioned trip to Italy is due to the $5k worth of oral surgery my dentist discovered I needed last June. Well, I'm happy to report that I'm now post-op, and everything went well. I had to have a front tooth removed and had to get an implant with bone grafting. It's a procedure that not a single dental insurance carrier covers, but I found it quite necessary even though insurance bureaucrats do not. Anyway, my dentist told me this would be the best solution after she discovered that the bone near one of my front teeth was basically dissolving. This was occurring due to an injury I suffered when I was only nine years old, and the tooth has been a problem ever since. I wish I could tell people that I was a "rough and tumble" sort of child, and that the trauma resulted from an awesome monkey bar mishap, or a soccer injury where I sacrificed my body to block a goal. But sadly, I only have the fact that I'm a life-long klutz to blame. (I tripped. In my parent's living room.)
After the procedure of having a screw drilled into my face, the implant site then requires three months to heal and allow for the synthetic bone material to adhere to the real bone before getting a permanent crown. So, during the three month interim, I'm wearing a temporary denture while in public. During the first two weeks post op, I'd feel like such a hillbilly every time I'd walk out the door, despite donning my acrylic substitute. I'm pretty much used to it now, but I'm still hyper aware of it when I talk to people. And before having the surgery, I really thought it would be traumatizing each time I'd look into a mirror at home for the several months that there wasn't a tooth in place. Quite the opposite has occurred, however. It makes me giggle SO much! Mostly, I feel like a 32 year old 1st grader, which in itself is funny, but I find myself doing hillbilly impressions in the mirror to no one's amusement but my own.
But I don't just contain laughing at myself like an idiot to the privacy of my own home! Noooooo! I was at Target a week or so ago shopping for soft foods (of course). When I plucked a packet of rice off the shelf, a fellow shopper, who incidentally had no teeth, asked me, "Eesh that shtuff any good?" Ummm, it's rice, I thought. But not wanting to insult my fellow toothless comrade, I refrained from a smart ass reply and simply said, "Yeah, I like it." He then proceeded to tell me how he likes to cook rice with "tuna feesh." The first thought that ran through my mind was to ask him to go Hillbilly Handfishin' with me. I immediately rounded the corner to the next aisle, desperately trying to stifle my giggles. I didn't want him to think I was making fun of him! Quite the opposite, in fact, as I could relate to his struggle with whistling 's' words.
Dating
I met a guy in late July who seemed quite promising, and we even made it to four dates, despite the overwhelming results from a poll taken amongst my family members when we were all together for my cousin's wedding last month. They made it very clear that, because of his lack of chivalry on our second date, that he should not be granted a third date.
I met John for our first date at a beer garden situated in a neighborhood between our own neighborhoods. We each had a couple drinks and lots of great conversation. Score! For our second date, he suggested a very fancy sushi restaurant downtown. The fact that he took the reigns regarding the planning of this date thoroughly impressed me, so I was excited. And the level of excitement remained high... until the bill came. Even though I was 99.9% certain he'd be a gentleman and pick up the tab, I did the obligatory reach-for-purse-and-offer-to-help-pay move anyway. He then caught me off guard by saying, "So right down the middle works?" I was certainly taken aback, because he planned this whole thing, and when I plan a date, I also plan to pay. If I had known that I was going to have to fork over dough on that particular Sunday evening, I would have suggested the cheapo taco stand under the El tracks in my up-and-coming neighborhood, as opposed to fancy schmancy downtown fare. Instead, I reluctantly paid my half. But his lack of chivalry certainly rubbed me the wrong way, and my Aunt Diana told me I should have said, in response to him assuming we'd be splitting the bill, "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't bring my wallet. I thought this was a date!"
So what on earth possessed me to agree to a third date, you ask? I guess I really liked our conversations? I thought he was cute? I liked that I didn't have him all figured out by the first two dates? Oh wait - he offered to cook me dinner. And anyone who knows me knows that the way to my heart is through my stomach. I thought this could be a redeeming date, especially because the dinner did live up to his incessant bragging about his cooking skills. But, I was deathly allergic to his cat! In fact, I was such an allergic mess that I had to leave immediately following dinner so as not to die of asphyxiation. Also, and possibly the more important reason for making an abrupt exit, the central piece of decor in the living room of his fancy loft was one of those hideous carpeted cat tower thingies. Barfity barf barf.
So what on earth possessed me to agree to a fourth date, you ask? I have no idea, except for maybe I'm insane? Anyway, I agreed and he told me I should plan the date. So, Irandomly intentionally chose to get dinner at the cheapo taco stand under the El tracks in my up-and-coming neighborhood (I'm no dummy!). He pulled out his wallet at the register once we finished ordering. I reflexively executed the reach-for-purse-and-offer-to-help-pay move. (I assume this move is a subconscious reflex developed in women only after years of fruitless dating.) Without a word from me, John spotted the wallet in my hand and said, "Oh you got it? OK." and put his wallet back in his pocket. And at that moment I realized that he would never get it, but I was really hungry so I decided not to angrily bolt out of the place like I had momentarily envisioned in my head.
He was then rude to the super friendly owner by giving him a "note" that the ginger in the fish tacos (which were complimentary with our order) was "too strong." What a d!ck. As we were leaving, he told me that my restaurant selection was great - and SO cheap! Yeah, especially cheap for you, buddy.
Instantly cured of my insanity, I did not agree to any more dates with him.
Italy
I've been thinking of Italy a lot lately, probably because if original plans would've worked out, I would be heading there in just about a month from now. I found myself (perhaps subconsciously) at Cafe Rome, an Italian cafe located in my office building, twice this week. Once for a latte, and once for gelato. An incomparable substitute, but a substitute nonetheless.
Actually, maybe I'm just thinking about Italy because it's the location of this season's Jersey Shore. Yikes. I expected that the JS kids - while highly entertaining - would fail to blaze a respectable trail for future American tourists, and so far they've exceeded my expectations. In fact, now that I think about it, the image of Team Meatball flashing their "kookas" all over town is probably pretty fresh in the minds of innocent Italian civilians. So, it's probably best to postpone my trip until the disaster that is the cast of Jersey Shore is no longer associated with American tourists. Can I get an amen?! How 'bout a fist pump?!
Tooth Stuff
As I've mentioned in a previous post, the direct result of postponing my aforementioned trip to Italy is due to the $5k worth of oral surgery my dentist discovered I needed last June. Well, I'm happy to report that I'm now post-op, and everything went well. I had to have a front tooth removed and had to get an implant with bone grafting. It's a procedure that not a single dental insurance carrier covers, but I found it quite necessary even though insurance bureaucrats do not. Anyway, my dentist told me this would be the best solution after she discovered that the bone near one of my front teeth was basically dissolving. This was occurring due to an injury I suffered when I was only nine years old, and the tooth has been a problem ever since. I wish I could tell people that I was a "rough and tumble" sort of child, and that the trauma resulted from an awesome monkey bar mishap, or a soccer injury where I sacrificed my body to block a goal. But sadly, I only have the fact that I'm a life-long klutz to blame. (I tripped. In my parent's living room.)
After the procedure of having a screw drilled into my face, the implant site then requires three months to heal and allow for the synthetic bone material to adhere to the real bone before getting a permanent crown. So, during the three month interim, I'm wearing a temporary denture while in public. During the first two weeks post op, I'd feel like such a hillbilly every time I'd walk out the door, despite donning my acrylic substitute. I'm pretty much used to it now, but I'm still hyper aware of it when I talk to people. And before having the surgery, I really thought it would be traumatizing each time I'd look into a mirror at home for the several months that there wasn't a tooth in place. Quite the opposite has occurred, however. It makes me giggle SO much! Mostly, I feel like a 32 year old 1st grader, which in itself is funny, but I find myself doing hillbilly impressions in the mirror to no one's amusement but my own.
But I don't just contain laughing at myself like an idiot to the privacy of my own home! Noooooo! I was at Target a week or so ago shopping for soft foods (of course). When I plucked a packet of rice off the shelf, a fellow shopper, who incidentally had no teeth, asked me, "Eesh that shtuff any good?" Ummm, it's rice, I thought. But not wanting to insult my fellow toothless comrade, I refrained from a smart ass reply and simply said, "Yeah, I like it." He then proceeded to tell me how he likes to cook rice with "tuna feesh." The first thought that ran through my mind was to ask him to go Hillbilly Handfishin' with me. I immediately rounded the corner to the next aisle, desperately trying to stifle my giggles. I didn't want him to think I was making fun of him! Quite the opposite, in fact, as I could relate to his struggle with whistling 's' words.
Dating
I met a guy in late July who seemed quite promising, and we even made it to four dates, despite the overwhelming results from a poll taken amongst my family members when we were all together for my cousin's wedding last month. They made it very clear that, because of his lack of chivalry on our second date, that he should not be granted a third date.
I met John for our first date at a beer garden situated in a neighborhood between our own neighborhoods. We each had a couple drinks and lots of great conversation. Score! For our second date, he suggested a very fancy sushi restaurant downtown. The fact that he took the reigns regarding the planning of this date thoroughly impressed me, so I was excited. And the level of excitement remained high... until the bill came. Even though I was 99.9% certain he'd be a gentleman and pick up the tab, I did the obligatory reach-for-purse-and-offer-to-help-pay move anyway. He then caught me off guard by saying, "So right down the middle works?" I was certainly taken aback, because he planned this whole thing, and when I plan a date, I also plan to pay. If I had known that I was going to have to fork over dough on that particular Sunday evening, I would have suggested the cheapo taco stand under the El tracks in my up-and-coming neighborhood, as opposed to fancy schmancy downtown fare. Instead, I reluctantly paid my half. But his lack of chivalry certainly rubbed me the wrong way, and my Aunt Diana told me I should have said, in response to him assuming we'd be splitting the bill, "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't bring my wallet. I thought this was a date!"
So what on earth possessed me to agree to a third date, you ask? I guess I really liked our conversations? I thought he was cute? I liked that I didn't have him all figured out by the first two dates? Oh wait - he offered to cook me dinner. And anyone who knows me knows that the way to my heart is through my stomach. I thought this could be a redeeming date, especially because the dinner did live up to his incessant bragging about his cooking skills. But, I was deathly allergic to his cat! In fact, I was such an allergic mess that I had to leave immediately following dinner so as not to die of asphyxiation. Also, and possibly the more important reason for making an abrupt exit, the central piece of decor in the living room of his fancy loft was one of those hideous carpeted cat tower thingies. Barfity barf barf.
So what on earth possessed me to agree to a fourth date, you ask? I have no idea, except for maybe I'm insane? Anyway, I agreed and he told me I should plan the date. So, I
He was then rude to the super friendly owner by giving him a "note" that the ginger in the fish tacos (which were complimentary with our order) was "too strong." What a d!ck. As we were leaving, he told me that my restaurant selection was great - and SO cheap! Yeah, especially cheap for you, buddy.
Instantly cured of my insanity, I did not agree to any more dates with him.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Great Unexpectations
Over the past few years, I have developed the belief that the universe has its way of shuffling us in the right direction in life. While it's easy to understand how good experiences move us forward, I also firmly believe that every problem and failure is a blessing in disguise (most often revealing itself in hindsight).
If it hadn't been for my motivation to get into the AUSL teaching program last year, I can't guarantee that I would have become a mentor with Mercy Home's Friends First program. Becoming a mentor had been in the back of my mind for years, but had I not been convinced that I needed experience working with children to gain acceptance into the teaching program, I may have been discouraged by all of the hoop jumping required to become a mentor. But because my eyes were focused on the "prize," I dutifully filled out enough paperwork to make trees cringe, took the El out to a part of the city that's more suburb than urb for fingerprinting, and used a half personal day to get a physical and TB test, in addition to attending all of the interviews and training sessions.
What I didn't realize then, and am so eternally grateful for now, was that the actual "prize" wasn't becoming a teacher at all - it was becoming a mentor. Even before I found out that I had not been accepted into the teaching program, I knew that mentoring was going to make a special impact on my life.
Today is my one year anniversary as a mentor with Friends First. I can hardly believe it has been 365 days since I met my marvelous mentee. Although I'm the mentor, we've both grown leaps and bounds just from spending time together. I credit mentoring for helping me become a better communicator, leader and friend. Being a mentor also serves as a reminder of the value I place on commitment and dedication in my life.
Mentoring has taught me a lot, but I'm not sure I would have learned as much as I have if my mentee wasn't such an outstanding individual. Her positive attitude, resiliency and eagerness to take in all the good the world has to offer is inspiring to me. She is sweet, smart, funny, outgoing, respectful, appreciative, helpful, determined and responsible. Although we've been together for a year, it took much less than a year for us to grow quite close. We've developed inside jokes (mostly about my horrible singing), learned each other's quirks, and are even able to read how each other feels just by a facial expression, which includes a "dance face."
Even when we aren't together, I'll think of something that happened during one of our outings and giggle. We're both clumsy, so that fact itself resulted in plenty of comic relief throughout our year. For instance, during our first outing after ringing in 2011, she was reenacting counting down to the new year (5! 4!...etc.) while we were crossing the street, until she tripped over the curb and completely wiped out on "1!" We consequently burst into giggles, and I'd catch myself giggling about it for weeks following. And another time, as she told me about a good grade she received in math, I gasped in excitement and then wiped out on some ice. "I guess I'm REALLY excited about your grades," I'd said. We didn't stop laughing until we got to the bus stop.
In addition to humor, we are both proud to be nerds. We love vocabulary words, and she'll never hesitate to stop me when I use a word she doesn't know to ask for its meaning. She then repeats the word a few times and makes it a goal to use it at school the next week. We also love to visit museums and learn about other cultures. We frequently discuss strong female characters in history, including Jane Addams, whose own museum we subsequently visited after seeing a display about her at the Chicago History Museum. Our love of learning, in fact, is going to be the theme for the Friends First newsletter that she and I will be on the cover of next quarter!
And speaking of learning, she has brought home all A's and B's since I became her mentor. She confessed that she hadn't had such good grades since 3rd grade. I intentionally put an emphasis on the importance of school and getting involved, and so we take time to celebrate her accomplishments in school and sports. In fact, during a meeting with my Match Support Rep, he relayed to me that she said I'm the first person she thinks of when she does something well in school, because she knows I'll be so proud of her. And being genuinely proud of her is what I most certainly am.
Additionally, to acknowledge that our year together has exceeded my expectations would be an understatement. Actually, it would be a lie. As I reflect on our year, I'm realizing that during the course of our time together, my expectations were virtually flipped into unexpected results. Here are some of my expectations going into the program compared with what actually happened:
Becoming a mentor with Friends First has been one of the best experiences of my life. While few and far between, there have been challenges (heading out in bad weather and feeling under the weather, for example) but there has not been one single outing when I wasn't happy to have spent time with her, regardless of the activity. The completion of 365 days just doesn't seem like the natural ending point for us, and so I can't wait to see what adventures lie before us in our 2nd year!
If it hadn't been for my motivation to get into the AUSL teaching program last year, I can't guarantee that I would have become a mentor with Mercy Home's Friends First program. Becoming a mentor had been in the back of my mind for years, but had I not been convinced that I needed experience working with children to gain acceptance into the teaching program, I may have been discouraged by all of the hoop jumping required to become a mentor. But because my eyes were focused on the "prize," I dutifully filled out enough paperwork to make trees cringe, took the El out to a part of the city that's more suburb than urb for fingerprinting, and used a half personal day to get a physical and TB test, in addition to attending all of the interviews and training sessions.
What I didn't realize then, and am so eternally grateful for now, was that the actual "prize" wasn't becoming a teacher at all - it was becoming a mentor. Even before I found out that I had not been accepted into the teaching program, I knew that mentoring was going to make a special impact on my life.
Today is my one year anniversary as a mentor with Friends First. I can hardly believe it has been 365 days since I met my marvelous mentee. Although I'm the mentor, we've both grown leaps and bounds just from spending time together. I credit mentoring for helping me become a better communicator, leader and friend. Being a mentor also serves as a reminder of the value I place on commitment and dedication in my life.
Mentoring has taught me a lot, but I'm not sure I would have learned as much as I have if my mentee wasn't such an outstanding individual. Her positive attitude, resiliency and eagerness to take in all the good the world has to offer is inspiring to me. She is sweet, smart, funny, outgoing, respectful, appreciative, helpful, determined and responsible. Although we've been together for a year, it took much less than a year for us to grow quite close. We've developed inside jokes (mostly about my horrible singing), learned each other's quirks, and are even able to read how each other feels just by a facial expression, which includes a "dance face."
Even when we aren't together, I'll think of something that happened during one of our outings and giggle. We're both clumsy, so that fact itself resulted in plenty of comic relief throughout our year. For instance, during our first outing after ringing in 2011, she was reenacting counting down to the new year (5! 4!...etc.) while we were crossing the street, until she tripped over the curb and completely wiped out on "1!" We consequently burst into giggles, and I'd catch myself giggling about it for weeks following. And another time, as she told me about a good grade she received in math, I gasped in excitement and then wiped out on some ice. "I guess I'm REALLY excited about your grades," I'd said. We didn't stop laughing until we got to the bus stop.
In addition to humor, we are both proud to be nerds. We love vocabulary words, and she'll never hesitate to stop me when I use a word she doesn't know to ask for its meaning. She then repeats the word a few times and makes it a goal to use it at school the next week. We also love to visit museums and learn about other cultures. We frequently discuss strong female characters in history, including Jane Addams, whose own museum we subsequently visited after seeing a display about her at the Chicago History Museum. Our love of learning, in fact, is going to be the theme for the Friends First newsletter that she and I will be on the cover of next quarter!
And speaking of learning, she has brought home all A's and B's since I became her mentor. She confessed that she hadn't had such good grades since 3rd grade. I intentionally put an emphasis on the importance of school and getting involved, and so we take time to celebrate her accomplishments in school and sports. In fact, during a meeting with my Match Support Rep, he relayed to me that she said I'm the first person she thinks of when she does something well in school, because she knows I'll be so proud of her. And being genuinely proud of her is what I most certainly am.
Additionally, to acknowledge that our year together has exceeded my expectations would be an understatement. Actually, it would be a lie. As I reflect on our year, I'm realizing that during the course of our time together, my expectations were virtually flipped into unexpected results. Here are some of my expectations going into the program compared with what actually happened:
- I expected to be matched with a pre-teen who was more "pre" than "teen."
- I didn't expect that she would morph from "pre" to "teen" right before my eyes.
- I expected that our activities would always be creative, imaginative and entertaining.
- I didn't expect that our trips on the El or random strolls through various neighborhoods would spur conversations that contributed to the most significant moments in our friendship.
- I expected to be her biggest cheerleader.
- I didn't expect that she would become mine. When we were rock climbing, for example, I cheered her on as she barely struggled to scale to the top. I had a more difficult time scaling up that wall, but hearing her cheer me on made me realize that there was no way I could quit, ultimately letting her see me fail, so I fought to conquer the wall as well. It was exhilarating for us to be proud of each other.
- I expected to take her out of her comfort zone and expose her to new things as often as possible.
- I didn't expect her to get (okay, drag) me out of mine. Hello!? Ice skating!
- I expected to develop a strong bond with her and be her biggest confidant.
- I never expected to sometimes feel as though I need her more than she needs me.
- Finally, I expected to commit myself to the mentoring program for one year.
- I didn't expect to be so eager to commit myself to a second year.
Becoming a mentor with Friends First has been one of the best experiences of my life. While few and far between, there have been challenges (heading out in bad weather and feeling under the weather, for example) but there has not been one single outing when I wasn't happy to have spent time with her, regardless of the activity. The completion of 365 days just doesn't seem like the natural ending point for us, and so I can't wait to see what adventures lie before us in our 2nd year!
 |
| Mentor & mentee mural painting for Artists of the Wall project on the lakefront in the Rogers Park neighborhood. We painted the yellow section, and ours are the red & green hand prints near the bottom left. |
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Date'n Dash
I typically give guys 1 to 3 dates for me to decide whether or not I'm genuinely interested in them. Some guys make it very easy for me to decide I don't like them and some take a little more time to hand over their crazy on a plate. In any case, I have this terrible habit of pretending I don't exist once I decide I want nothing to do with someone. I'm well aware that the mature thing would be to utilize some form of modern communication explaining how I think they are a nice person, blah, blah, blah, but I just don't think we're a good fit, blah, blah, blah. Instead, when it's clear that romantic feelings are present for the guy while non-existent for me, I am filled with dread and anxiety over each subsequent attempt at communication from him. I adamantly ignore messages and avoid my phone, not unlike a scared child hiding under the covers to be safe from the monster in the closet. I then dramatically complain to my friends that "Mr. Wrong/Mr. Blah/Mr. Bad Kisser will not relent! He just keeps calling/texting/emailing/carrier pigeon-ing me messages!"
Despite my nonsensical behavior, I actually do realize that I can easily make those messages go buh-bye by simply being up front and honest. So why do I instead treat my message-infested phone like a hideous insect, yet refuse to blast it with a good dose of Raid?
Well, historically, the "up front and honest" method has backfired on me. No matter how honest I am, some guys just don't get the hint. I'll admit that I have a tendency to be slightly passive, but after some awkward bone throwing, I eventually make myself clear. The sad lads finally catch my long-winded drift, but as a consequence, I've been yelled at, I've been told (far too prematurely), "But, I love you!," and I've been accused of being too harsh. So either I'm instantly hated, or the desperate attempts ensue, only making the situation more uncomfortable than it has to be. No wonder I despise letting guys down.
Some dates, though, have been so mind-blowing bad that I'm simply left at a loss for words or am too traumatized to respond to any contact ever again - even when I could easily reply with a message of dump-age. For example, the intense German who put me in a headlock several times during our date in a "come here ol' buddy ol' pal" sort of way, then later picking me up and dropping me to the floor after misjudging the placement of the bar stool, did NOT deserve any communication post-date, in my opinion.
And the sportscaster who kissed me so hard that my lips were bruised the next day? He didn't deserve a polite "You are soooooo great but..." message either, but that's mostly because I was rendered speechless as well as fat-lipped. He was nice and all, but I just didn't have the motivation to teach a 30 year old a skill he should have mastered in high school.
Just a few months ago, on the third date with a pilot who invited me to a birthday party for a girl he met on Match.com (unknown to me beforehand, of course), Mr. Pilot tried to pick a fight with a dude who was hitting on one of his "girl" friends, and then he proceeded to get so insanely drunk that he couldn't sign his tab. This disappointing third date that followed two previous great dates left me so shocked that I couldn't even dream of what to say to him, so I chose to dive into a virtual bunker for protection from potential post-date communication attempts.
And most recently, after a date at a Cubs game, I couldn't bear to return the messages of a burly yet baby-faced dude with a thick Boston accent and a voice of a giant, mostly because every time his messages popped up on my phone, I instantly recalled him bragging about his "sex friendly" apartment, and this made me want to barf.
But then there were other guys who have committed no such offenses that I've still chosen to ignore rather than confront. For instance, no fault can be placed on the sweet guy with the exceptionally small frame that made me feel like I was more woman than he could handle, and whose tiny hand I nearly crushed during an awkward high five moment on our date. And the boring date with whom I had one drink in 1 hour and 38 minutes cannot be blamed for his bad personality, which I likened to that of a phone book.
Ignoring bad dates makes me feel bad. But confronting them also sucks the soul out of me. Dating is rough - I've always thought so! Are there rules set somewhere in stone saying that we have to consistently suffer until we meet the One and Only who will save us from the dating war zone? Perhaps it's evolutionary that bad dates are supposed to shuffle us along into monogamy, making us want to stay there. I can deal with the bad dates, as virtually every date be considered bad until you find the right mate. But couldn't we at least agree to lighten up on the rejection process a little? For the love of all that is holy, can't we soften the blow a bit?!?
By the time we hit our 30's, I feel there should be a dating code for rejection. The universal sign for "I'm just not that into you" should simply be ceased communication. I would actually prefer if a guy dumped me via ignoring me. The last thing I want to hear is an excuse, because whatever the excuse, women are smart enough by age 30 to know it's crap. (If you haven't learned this by your 30th birthday, then you should have been held back in grade twenty something until you did learn this!) If you really like someone, you're never "too busy" or things don't "just suddenly come up." Likewise, I don't need to hear the perfunctorily delivered speech that virtually always begins with, "I like you, BUT..." No, you don't like me. Otherwise you wouldn't be including a condition in your sentence. I don't like to hear excuses, and I equally despise giving them.
Although, while I totally "get it" and can very quickly move on when it's obvious a new guy isn't interested in me, I think some peopleprefer require harsher dumping methods. Perhaps some people are just hardwired to need clear, concise, blunt messages in their 20's, 30's and beyond. Maybe a line graph chart deliberately outlining exactly at which point things went wrong could be a useful method. I imagine myself setting up an easel and using one of those long pointing sticks to enhance my visual dumping aid. "Well, Mr. I'm-Just-Not-That-Into-You, our first date was marked at 85%, which is great for a first date! Good job! The line stays fairly steady for the second date, which is why the next point is hovering at about 87%. Congrats! But I'm sure you're questioning why your stock plummeted dramatically from the 2nd to the 3rd date? Well, remember when you got so drunk that you couldn't find your house? Yeah, that's why at 0.0002% I have decided not to move forward with our courtship. I'm sure you understand."
Of course, I don't think it would ever be socially acceptable to be this blunt, nor would I have the guts to pull it off considering my tendency to play hide-and-don't-seek, but if Ms. Patty Millionaire Matchmaker features my aforementioned graph idea on one of her TV episodes, I swear I'm suing the Louboutins off of her.
Despite my nonsensical behavior, I actually do realize that I can easily make those messages go buh-bye by simply being up front and honest. So why do I instead treat my message-infested phone like a hideous insect, yet refuse to blast it with a good dose of Raid?
Well, historically, the "up front and honest" method has backfired on me. No matter how honest I am, some guys just don't get the hint. I'll admit that I have a tendency to be slightly passive, but after some awkward bone throwing, I eventually make myself clear. The sad lads finally catch my long-winded drift, but as a consequence, I've been yelled at, I've been told (far too prematurely), "But, I love you!," and I've been accused of being too harsh. So either I'm instantly hated, or the desperate attempts ensue, only making the situation more uncomfortable than it has to be. No wonder I despise letting guys down.
Some dates, though, have been so mind-blowing bad that I'm simply left at a loss for words or am too traumatized to respond to any contact ever again - even when I could easily reply with a message of dump-age. For example, the intense German who put me in a headlock several times during our date in a "come here ol' buddy ol' pal" sort of way, then later picking me up and dropping me to the floor after misjudging the placement of the bar stool, did NOT deserve any communication post-date, in my opinion.
And the sportscaster who kissed me so hard that my lips were bruised the next day? He didn't deserve a polite "You are soooooo great but..." message either, but that's mostly because I was rendered speechless as well as fat-lipped. He was nice and all, but I just didn't have the motivation to teach a 30 year old a skill he should have mastered in high school.
Just a few months ago, on the third date with a pilot who invited me to a birthday party for a girl he met on Match.com (unknown to me beforehand, of course), Mr. Pilot tried to pick a fight with a dude who was hitting on one of his "girl" friends, and then he proceeded to get so insanely drunk that he couldn't sign his tab. This disappointing third date that followed two previous great dates left me so shocked that I couldn't even dream of what to say to him, so I chose to dive into a virtual bunker for protection from potential post-date communication attempts.
And most recently, after a date at a Cubs game, I couldn't bear to return the messages of a burly yet baby-faced dude with a thick Boston accent and a voice of a giant, mostly because every time his messages popped up on my phone, I instantly recalled him bragging about his "sex friendly" apartment, and this made me want to barf.
But then there were other guys who have committed no such offenses that I've still chosen to ignore rather than confront. For instance, no fault can be placed on the sweet guy with the exceptionally small frame that made me feel like I was more woman than he could handle, and whose tiny hand I nearly crushed during an awkward high five moment on our date. And the boring date with whom I had one drink in 1 hour and 38 minutes cannot be blamed for his bad personality, which I likened to that of a phone book.
Ignoring bad dates makes me feel bad. But confronting them also sucks the soul out of me. Dating is rough - I've always thought so! Are there rules set somewhere in stone saying that we have to consistently suffer until we meet the One and Only who will save us from the dating war zone? Perhaps it's evolutionary that bad dates are supposed to shuffle us along into monogamy, making us want to stay there. I can deal with the bad dates, as virtually every date be considered bad until you find the right mate. But couldn't we at least agree to lighten up on the rejection process a little? For the love of all that is holy, can't we soften the blow a bit?!?
By the time we hit our 30's, I feel there should be a dating code for rejection. The universal sign for "I'm just not that into you" should simply be ceased communication. I would actually prefer if a guy dumped me via ignoring me. The last thing I want to hear is an excuse, because whatever the excuse, women are smart enough by age 30 to know it's crap. (If you haven't learned this by your 30th birthday, then you should have been held back in grade twenty something until you did learn this!) If you really like someone, you're never "too busy" or things don't "just suddenly come up." Likewise, I don't need to hear the perfunctorily delivered speech that virtually always begins with, "I like you, BUT..." No, you don't like me. Otherwise you wouldn't be including a condition in your sentence. I don't like to hear excuses, and I equally despise giving them.
Although, while I totally "get it" and can very quickly move on when it's obvious a new guy isn't interested in me, I think some people
Of course, I don't think it would ever be socially acceptable to be this blunt, nor would I have the guts to pull it off considering my tendency to play hide-and-don't-seek, but if Ms. Patty Millionaire Matchmaker features my aforementioned graph idea on one of her TV episodes, I swear I'm suing the Louboutins off of her.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Sweat the Sweet Stuff
So we're already a little more than halfway into 2011 and my three goals for this year have taken a turn for the non-existent. I'm struggling to maintain peace with my job, but I haven't been looking for another one. Italy has been postponed indefinitely because I recently found out that I need to have oral surgery that will set me back $5k. And while my dating life seemed to be holding promise for a short while, it very shortly thereafter circled the drain into oblivion (more on that disaster in a later post).
But instead of labeling this summer the "Summer of Suck," I'm choosing to respond to these problems with the best possible attitude and focus on the positive aspects of my summer thus far. After all, the "problems" I'm dealing with are (using a term my friend Jennie referenced), "champagne problems." I'm definitely not lost to the fact that things could be so much worse. Self-pity has never gotten anyone anywhere, so what's the point? I allowed myself to be upset for a hot minute (mostly about having to drop $5k on ONE TOOTH), and then I chose to move on.
Anyhoo, one such positive aspect of my summer thus far was my annual July trip to Ohio. Last year's visit was so much fun that I worried this vacation might not live up to all the fun I managed to find myself in last year. Thankfully, I realized on my very first night in town that I had nothing to worry about. In addition to taking in a minor league baseball game, an Italian fest, fireworks, hiking, dining out, lots of therapeutic working out and lots of therapeutic eating and drinking, I was able to spend LOTS of time with my favorite person in the world - my nephew, Ethan.
Ethan is 9.5 years old, yet he's incredibly mature for his age. He can hold his own in any conversation with an adult, and may even come off as intimidating. He has no trouble telling it like it is and then informing you of his opinion on the matter. The kid is an expert at negotiation, and if you announce a plan, say the order in which you wish to run your various errands, for example, Ethan will be quick to challenge your logic and introduce a more efficient order to run such errands. And the thing is, he's usually right.
His looks, however, are in sharp contrast to his mature, 9-going-on-39 personality. You see, at nearly 10 years old, Ethan is still such an adorable little guy! His Mom, who can't even claim to be 5 feet tall, confessed to me through a whisper behind her hand that "Ethan is the smallest person in his class." Whether or not this bothers Ethan is unknown, but I can tell you that it makes his Aunt Steph very happy to be able to carry him around piggy back style with zero strain. Additionally, his baby face remains stubbornly intact, which makes it hard to refrain from squeezing his cheeks and smothering him with kisses, not unlike the cliched image seen on TV of an old auntie aggressively squeezing and kissing the cheeks of non-enthusiastic nephews. He also has a scratchy voice and a lisp that only compliments his irresistible cuteness. When I used the phrase "sense of humor" during a conversation with my brother, for example, Ethan butted in, mockingly, with, "Who theth thenth of humor?!" Giggles.
We shared many quality moments and highlights during the week, including creating secret handshakes, making up a dance routine that my parents and brother were enlisted to judge, Ethan taking responsibility for charging my phone each night (I have no idea what possessed him to adopt responsibility for my phone's battery life, but I appreciated the gesture, nonetheless), Ethan providing a tutorial about how to utilize the various features of said phone, and playing Words with Friends while sitting right next to each other.
Here are some other amusing highlights:
The Bachelor's Bachelorette
I discovered only hours into my vacation that Ethan and I share an affinity for watching The Bachelorette. We engaged in such an intense conversation about Ms. Ashley Bachelorette's suitors at dinner that the rest of the family seemed to disappear from the table. Ethan casually threw around words like "feelings" and "communication," which simultaneously humored me and terrified me. He is only 9, right? When I suggested we watch The Bachelorette together that following Monday, he replied with, "Yes! We can flip back and forth between The Bachelorette and WWE Smackdown!" Ah. And there it was. Confirmation that he is still very much a boy's boy.
Lazy River Revelations - The Sequel
If you remember this post from last year http://bigcitysmallpotatoes.blogspot.com/2010_07_01_archive.html, then you know that Ethan and I had some pretty remarkable adventures at the water park. Like last year's trip to Ohio, I was able to spend the day at the local water park with Ethan during my visit this year. Except unlike last year, we were lucky enough to go twice in one week! And also unlike last year, I didn't have to beg Ethan to share a double-person tube with me in the lazy river! Since floating semi-aimlessly seems to inspire deep conversation between us, I curiously asked Ethan if he's already thought about which college he'd like to go one day. He replied without hesitation, "Duke. Or Yale." Impressed, I then asked him what career he'd like to have as an adult. While I personally would pin him to become a litigation attorney, his reply wasn't unusual for a 4th grader, as he informed me he'd be happy with either being a professional baseball, basketball or soccer player. I then challenged him to come up with a career he'd like to have if he couldn't play sports professionally. This "hypothetical situation" question seemed to surprise him and he sternly informed me that he didn't want to do anything else besides play sports professionally. I pleaded with him to come up with something, to which he finally replied (in a very sarcastic and slightly irritated tone), "I don't know, work at Walmart?!"
Run Like the Wind... at a Moderate Pace and with Breaks
One morning I announced that I was going running in the neighborhood. Ethan offered to run with me, which made me excited beyond belief. My Mom, Dad and brother share little to zero of my interests (often making me feel like the black sheep of the family), so when Ethan made his offering, I was quick to encourage him to lace up his sneaks. For a short while, Ethan kept up with his Aunt Steph! I modified my pace, but not too much. He was chatting the whole time, which made me worry he'd soon run out of gas. And run out of gas, he did. We paused for breaks, he with his hands on his knees huffing and puffing, me annoyingly running in place. I told him we only had to run for just ten more minutes before he could say that he accomplished running three miles, and the determination in his eyes told me he was hell bent on hitting that three mile mark. During our final break, while I was running in place, he calmly but sternly told me to "Stop. Just stop. Will you please just stop running for a second?" I complied, assuming he was totally annoyed by my perky, perpetual energy, but it turned out he just needed me to be still so he could wipe his sweat-soaked face all over my shirt. Lovely. After we finished those three miles, Ethan sent a text message to everyone he knew notifying them of his accomplishment. He was so proud! And now I finally had a running buddy for my visits to Ohio! I fantasized about how we'd soon engage in casual conversations that included terms like pace, 5k, miles, race, shin splints, etc. Alas, my hopefulness was short lived, as Ethan woke up incredibly sore the next day. After slowly making his way down the stairs, Ethan found me in the kitchen and greeted me with the words, "Never. Again."
Not so Smoothie
I needed to run some errands one morning, and Ethan came along for the ride, er, walk. I wanted to go to McDonald's to get a coffee, but I had to promise Ethan a smoothie to avoid catching hell for putting a glitch in our firmly established schedule. On the way there, he mentioned that his stomach was cramping because he was hungry. Well, lunch time was approaching, after all, so I said he could also get a "snack" with his smoothie. When we got up to the counter, I ordered my $0.99 coffee and his smoothie. When I asked Ethan to tell the cashier what snack he wanted to order, he said, "I'll take the number 4 meal." And at that, my $0.99 trip to McDonald's skyrocketed to $8.00. Lesson learned? Having kids, even if they are not your own, is expensive!
Sweat the Sweet Stuff
One morning while Ethan was still sleeping, I was rooting around a drawer in the bedroom. Ethan slowly began to stir, to which I offered a soft, "Good morning, pumpkin." He rubbed his eyes and groggily returned my greeting. He then stretched his arms out and requested me to "come here." I obliged, and that is when he gave me one of his trademark I'm-never-ever-going-to-let-you-go hugs. During this sweet gesture he softly said, "I'm glad you're here." My heart subsequently melted into a pool of unconditional love.
And so there it was - a quintessential, perspective-altering, ah-ha moment in life reminding me that money, possessions, bum teeth, etc. hold absolutely no merit in the grand scheme of life experiences. It's the sweet and special moments with my nephew (as well as the meaningful moments and gestures from additional family and friends) that I'll remember twenty years from now - not how much money I have in the bank today, or whatever needless items or entertainment I choose to spend my dollars on this week.
2011 may not be going the way that I had hoped or planned, but I take comfort in knowing that I can always count on time with the people that matter most to me to reflect upon what is positively perfect about life.
But instead of labeling this summer the "Summer of Suck," I'm choosing to respond to these problems with the best possible attitude and focus on the positive aspects of my summer thus far. After all, the "problems" I'm dealing with are (using a term my friend Jennie referenced), "champagne problems." I'm definitely not lost to the fact that things could be so much worse. Self-pity has never gotten anyone anywhere, so what's the point? I allowed myself to be upset for a hot minute (mostly about having to drop $5k on ONE TOOTH), and then I chose to move on.
Anyhoo, one such positive aspect of my summer thus far was my annual July trip to Ohio. Last year's visit was so much fun that I worried this vacation might not live up to all the fun I managed to find myself in last year. Thankfully, I realized on my very first night in town that I had nothing to worry about. In addition to taking in a minor league baseball game, an Italian fest, fireworks, hiking, dining out, lots of therapeutic working out and lots of therapeutic eating and drinking, I was able to spend LOTS of time with my favorite person in the world - my nephew, Ethan.
Ethan is 9.5 years old, yet he's incredibly mature for his age. He can hold his own in any conversation with an adult, and may even come off as intimidating. He has no trouble telling it like it is and then informing you of his opinion on the matter. The kid is an expert at negotiation, and if you announce a plan, say the order in which you wish to run your various errands, for example, Ethan will be quick to challenge your logic and introduce a more efficient order to run such errands. And the thing is, he's usually right.
His looks, however, are in sharp contrast to his mature, 9-going-on-39 personality. You see, at nearly 10 years old, Ethan is still such an adorable little guy! His Mom, who can't even claim to be 5 feet tall, confessed to me through a whisper behind her hand that "Ethan is the smallest person in his class." Whether or not this bothers Ethan is unknown, but I can tell you that it makes his Aunt Steph very happy to be able to carry him around piggy back style with zero strain. Additionally, his baby face remains stubbornly intact, which makes it hard to refrain from squeezing his cheeks and smothering him with kisses, not unlike the cliched image seen on TV of an old auntie aggressively squeezing and kissing the cheeks of non-enthusiastic nephews. He also has a scratchy voice and a lisp that only compliments his irresistible cuteness. When I used the phrase "sense of humor" during a conversation with my brother, for example, Ethan butted in, mockingly, with, "Who theth thenth of humor?!" Giggles.
We shared many quality moments and highlights during the week, including creating secret handshakes, making up a dance routine that my parents and brother were enlisted to judge, Ethan taking responsibility for charging my phone each night (I have no idea what possessed him to adopt responsibility for my phone's battery life, but I appreciated the gesture, nonetheless), Ethan providing a tutorial about how to utilize the various features of said phone, and playing Words with Friends while sitting right next to each other.
Here are some other amusing highlights:
The Bachelor's Bachelorette
I discovered only hours into my vacation that Ethan and I share an affinity for watching The Bachelorette. We engaged in such an intense conversation about Ms. Ashley Bachelorette's suitors at dinner that the rest of the family seemed to disappear from the table. Ethan casually threw around words like "feelings" and "communication," which simultaneously humored me and terrified me. He is only 9, right? When I suggested we watch The Bachelorette together that following Monday, he replied with, "Yes! We can flip back and forth between The Bachelorette and WWE Smackdown!" Ah. And there it was. Confirmation that he is still very much a boy's boy.
Lazy River Revelations - The Sequel
If you remember this post from last year http://bigcitysmallpotatoes.blogspot.com/2010_07_01_archive.html, then you know that Ethan and I had some pretty remarkable adventures at the water park. Like last year's trip to Ohio, I was able to spend the day at the local water park with Ethan during my visit this year. Except unlike last year, we were lucky enough to go twice in one week! And also unlike last year, I didn't have to beg Ethan to share a double-person tube with me in the lazy river! Since floating semi-aimlessly seems to inspire deep conversation between us, I curiously asked Ethan if he's already thought about which college he'd like to go one day. He replied without hesitation, "Duke. Or Yale." Impressed, I then asked him what career he'd like to have as an adult. While I personally would pin him to become a litigation attorney, his reply wasn't unusual for a 4th grader, as he informed me he'd be happy with either being a professional baseball, basketball or soccer player. I then challenged him to come up with a career he'd like to have if he couldn't play sports professionally. This "hypothetical situation" question seemed to surprise him and he sternly informed me that he didn't want to do anything else besides play sports professionally. I pleaded with him to come up with something, to which he finally replied (in a very sarcastic and slightly irritated tone), "I don't know, work at Walmart?!"
Run Like the Wind... at a Moderate Pace and with Breaks
One morning I announced that I was going running in the neighborhood. Ethan offered to run with me, which made me excited beyond belief. My Mom, Dad and brother share little to zero of my interests (often making me feel like the black sheep of the family), so when Ethan made his offering, I was quick to encourage him to lace up his sneaks. For a short while, Ethan kept up with his Aunt Steph! I modified my pace, but not too much. He was chatting the whole time, which made me worry he'd soon run out of gas. And run out of gas, he did. We paused for breaks, he with his hands on his knees huffing and puffing, me annoyingly running in place. I told him we only had to run for just ten more minutes before he could say that he accomplished running three miles, and the determination in his eyes told me he was hell bent on hitting that three mile mark. During our final break, while I was running in place, he calmly but sternly told me to "Stop. Just stop. Will you please just stop running for a second?" I complied, assuming he was totally annoyed by my perky, perpetual energy, but it turned out he just needed me to be still so he could wipe his sweat-soaked face all over my shirt. Lovely. After we finished those three miles, Ethan sent a text message to everyone he knew notifying them of his accomplishment. He was so proud! And now I finally had a running buddy for my visits to Ohio! I fantasized about how we'd soon engage in casual conversations that included terms like pace, 5k, miles, race, shin splints, etc. Alas, my hopefulness was short lived, as Ethan woke up incredibly sore the next day. After slowly making his way down the stairs, Ethan found me in the kitchen and greeted me with the words, "Never. Again."
Not so Smoothie
I needed to run some errands one morning, and Ethan came along for the ride, er, walk. I wanted to go to McDonald's to get a coffee, but I had to promise Ethan a smoothie to avoid catching hell for putting a glitch in our firmly established schedule. On the way there, he mentioned that his stomach was cramping because he was hungry. Well, lunch time was approaching, after all, so I said he could also get a "snack" with his smoothie. When we got up to the counter, I ordered my $0.99 coffee and his smoothie. When I asked Ethan to tell the cashier what snack he wanted to order, he said, "I'll take the number 4 meal." And at that, my $0.99 trip to McDonald's skyrocketed to $8.00. Lesson learned? Having kids, even if they are not your own, is expensive!
Sweat the Sweet Stuff
One morning while Ethan was still sleeping, I was rooting around a drawer in the bedroom. Ethan slowly began to stir, to which I offered a soft, "Good morning, pumpkin." He rubbed his eyes and groggily returned my greeting. He then stretched his arms out and requested me to "come here." I obliged, and that is when he gave me one of his trademark I'm-never-ever-going-to-let-you-go hugs. During this sweet gesture he softly said, "I'm glad you're here." My heart subsequently melted into a pool of unconditional love.
And so there it was - a quintessential, perspective-altering, ah-ha moment in life reminding me that money, possessions, bum teeth, etc. hold absolutely no merit in the grand scheme of life experiences. It's the sweet and special moments with my nephew (as well as the meaningful moments and gestures from additional family and friends) that I'll remember twenty years from now - not how much money I have in the bank today, or whatever needless items or entertainment I choose to spend my dollars on this week.
2011 may not be going the way that I had hoped or planned, but I take comfort in knowing that I can always count on time with the people that matter most to me to reflect upon what is positively perfect about life.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Ghosts of Boyfriends Past
Although I've been on approximately 9,552,000 dates and have had approximately 3,723,000 flings in my lifetime, I’ve only been in two relationships that have lasted longer than four months. The problem (besides the severely skewed ratio of dates to actual boyfriends) is that the ex-boyfriends from the aforementioned two relationships continue to haunt me to this day. My mind regularly scrutinizes what went wrong and what went right in those long deceased unions. Not just that, but I’m also guilty of staying in touch with these guys far too long after the last tear has been shed. While I’m thankful for the lessons I learned from each relationship, why do I have so much trouble ultimately letting go?
I’m currently reading Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert. There is a section in her book about being haunted by exes. I found myself relating to this subject even though I've never been married (obvi). Her words reassure me that I’m not the only one who has dealt with this issue. Turns out, a gazillion divorcees deal with this same dilemma. For example, in one passage she writes:
“Part of what makes divorce so dreadful is the emotional ambivalence. It can be difficult, if not impossible, for many divorced people to ever rest in a state of pure grief, pure anger, or pure relief when it comes to feelings of one’s ex-spouse. Instead, the emotions often remain mixed up together in an uncomfortably raw stew of contradictions for many years. This is how we end up missing our ex-husband at the same time of resenting him. This is how we end up worrying about our ex-wife even as we feel absolute murderous rage toward her. It’s confusing beyond measure."
Additionally, I realize that part of the reason I have trouble letting go is my empathetic nature. I'll argue to the death that I'm a strong-willed person, but sometimes my compassion for people -deserving and undeserving- can really get the best of my emotions. In the case of boyfriends past, it's like I just want to be reassured that the person I once loved and still care about is going to be "OK," and the only way I can make sure this happens is to stay in touch. Gilbert's book, along with countless articles I've been reading, have been helping me through this though, and I'm slowly learning to accept that I'm not responsible for an ex-boyfriend's emotional well being. In fact, staying in touch does more harm than good to each individual because it severely stalls the "moving on" process.
As I write this I 'm reminded of the movie Wendy and Lucy. Michelle Williams plays a poor girl, Wendy, perpetually struggling to feed herself and her dog, Lucy. Lucy eventually gets lost during a cross country move, and when Wendy finally finds her, she discovers that Lucy has been taken in by a caring owner with a house and a big back yard. Lucy gets excited when she notices Wendy, but Wendy ultimately decides that the dog is in better hands and decides to leave her beloved companion in the big back yard, despite the dog's heart-wrenching whines. My point here is that Wendy chose the most difficult option because she loved the dog, and she knew that neither one of them benefited from being together.
As difficult as it may be, it's time that I, too, leave the dog in the big back yard.
Additionally, I realize that part of the reason I have trouble letting go is my empathetic nature. I'll argue to the death that I'm a strong-willed person, but sometimes my compassion for people -deserving and undeserving- can really get the best of my emotions. In the case of boyfriends past, it's like I just want to be reassured that the person I once loved and still care about is going to be "OK," and the only way I can make sure this happens is to stay in touch. Gilbert's book, along with countless articles I've been reading, have been helping me through this though, and I'm slowly learning to accept that I'm not responsible for an ex-boyfriend's emotional well being. In fact, staying in touch does more harm than good to each individual because it severely stalls the "moving on" process.
As I write this I 'm reminded of the movie Wendy and Lucy. Michelle Williams plays a poor girl, Wendy, perpetually struggling to feed herself and her dog, Lucy. Lucy eventually gets lost during a cross country move, and when Wendy finally finds her, she discovers that Lucy has been taken in by a caring owner with a house and a big back yard. Lucy gets excited when she notices Wendy, but Wendy ultimately decides that the dog is in better hands and decides to leave her beloved companion in the big back yard, despite the dog's heart-wrenching whines. My point here is that Wendy chose the most difficult option because she loved the dog, and she knew that neither one of them benefited from being together.
As difficult as it may be, it's time that I, too, leave the dog in the big back yard.
Finally, everyone always says that the scariest thing about falling in love is letting yourself become vulnerable enough to experience true intimacy. But to me, the scariest thing about love is having to let go of someone and bury that once treasured intimacy, ultimately letting it rest in peace.
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