Archaeological Inventory

I must report that a pair of ones have taken up permanent residence between my eyebrows. My Elevens*, I call them, although to be technical there are actually three lines so I really should call them my One Hundred and Elevens. Soon it will be 1111.  It's okay, I've earned them: deep listening, hikes under the sun, worried concern, utter confusion, tunneled concentration, baffled irritation, baby birthing, and animated storytelling have slowly, gradually carved out these hieroglyphics on my forehead. 

I like them, kind of. I have compassion for them.  If nature's going to do a number on my face, I'll take elevens. And the parentheses around my mouth are fine, too, hinting at my lifelong affinity for good company and lots of unabashed laughter.

It's the surprising, singular hairs setting up overnight pop-up shops in odd locations that puzzle and annoy me. 

And if the corners continue their gravity-droop on my naturally frowny mouth, I will scare small children and certainly be labeled the neighborhood witch in future decades. But at least Halloween will be great fun!

Getting older is weird. But I'll take it. 

. . . 

*Not to be confused with elevenses, of which I am also a big fan. 

Taking care

Discovery Green, Houston

Last week Annie posted about going to the movies (ALONE, during the DAY ) as a means of recharging -- a time of "assigned play." Even though this isn't my particular habit, I so identify with the reset feeling that a good movie experience can produce. In the midst of a good movie, or play, or concert I feel like I have a broader perspective. I feel more creative. I feel more ME.

And then a day later, I read A Blog About Love's practices for taking care of herself. Guys, she cleans and meditates and listens to music! And she eats healthy. (Just kill me now.) All of this to take care of herself -- her health, her mental and emotional state, her spiritual well-building. 

Both of those posts got me thinking about how I care for myself, a practice that often begins and ends with a pint of Blue Bell, a book, and my comfy bed. No doubt, the reading is balm to my soul. The ice cream and bed? While they are pleasurable and relaxing, I can hardly chalk them up to self-care.

One of the great advantages of my kids getting older is that I do feel I have more time to take care of myself. I'm always working on eating better. The less sugar I eat, the better I feel. That's a lesson I teach myself approximately every other month.  

When Parker was in about third grade our district discontinued buses in our neighborhood. Sterling would bike with Parker to school in the morning, and I would bike up in the afternoon to pick him up. This meant that right in the middle of a busy afternoon I had to put everything down, climb on my bike, and ride a mile to the school and a mile back. Surprisingly, I found that being outside and moving my body a bit totally perked up my day -- a shocker for this self-proclaimed indoor girl! Since then I try to get outside everyday -- a morning run, an evening walk, half an hour outside reading my e-mail. It really makes a difference.

What do you do to take care of yourself? Any ideas? 

Solo cinema paradiso

I love movies, love watching them and also love the big screen cinema experience. A collection of friends and strangers in a room going through the same story (set to a soundtrack, no less) at the same time? Sign me up!  Add the blissful alchemy of popcorn and junior mints and a diet Coke? Even better. What I do sometimes keep a bit more under wraps is my penchant to sneak off every once in a while and indulge in a little mid-day solo cinema therapy. Yes, that's right. I sometimes go to movies by myself.

At first it felt kind of strange to park in the lot and walk up to the box office alone: "One ticket for...." (And, years ago, the first time I went it actually required a pep talk phone call from my cinephile brother.) But after the first solo movie, I was hooked. I loved that I could take a short vacation from my life of multi-tasking; in fact, it's two hours of glorious single-tasking. 

Sometimes when I confess this as one of my favorite indulgences, someone will say "Oh, I could never do that. I'd feel too guilty!" For me it's just the opposite; whether I find time on a day off during the week or on a Saturday, I always come home feeling recharged, marveling at the creativity, mulling over the story, and ready to jump back into my own life with a little more verve. Julia Cameron, in her book The Artist's Way, calls this "the artist date." She says that setting aside time for a solo expedition of "assigned play" enhances your creativity and work.  I don't go every week or even every month but I'm completely on board with having a little away time now and then.

Years ago on a snowy afternoon in Harvard Square, I sat in the semi-darkened theater with six strangers--all of us solo. Something happened to the projector so we sat there for about 15 minutes, chatting and (since most of them were retirees) reminiscing about those classic grand cinema theaters and memories of bygone movie prices. One guy remembered that his mom would get a plate or a dish each time she came to the movies as some kind of promotion. Sometimes if she didn't like the movie, she would send him to pay the 5 cent admission and buy the dish since it was such a good deal.

It's still a good deal for me...much cheaper than therapy, better than other potentially expensive habits. I mean, I don't do drugs or drink or play the lottery. I don't have a thing for collecting fine jewelry or figurines or spending the day at the golf course. Just a little movie outing now and then, that's my luxury. 

Here's what I want to know: is it just me? And what small indulgences are therapeutic for you?  

Launching friendship

Series by Yumi Sakugawa, via Maria Popova's Explore. 

When we made our other-side-of-the-world move almost a year ago, I knew I'd need to find a new doctor, dentist, hair stylist, and mechanic but what really put a pit in my stomach was the notion of starting all over again building close friendships at this stage. It's daunting! While of course I'm planning on maintaining (albeit from a distance) the terrific friendships I've made over the years, there's something to be said for an in-person friend who can meet you for lunch or a movie, advise you on which dress to buy for that wedding, or be the person you'd call to help you move a body*.

Sociologist Rebecca Adams says there are three conditions crucial to making close friendships: proximity, repeated & unplanned interactions, and a setting that encourages trust and confiding. It makes sense, then, that most close friendships are forged in the earlier decades when there's simply more time to put into it. The years of early parenthood are notoriously fertile ground for forming lasting friendships. The neighborhood play groups. The park meet-ups. The preschool co-ops. The mutual, shared bewilderment as you navigate the new world of sleep schedules, tantrums, and preschool enrollment. You find your people, settle in, and watch the kids grow. 

But these mid-stage years when the kids are in elementary school and up? It's a tougher time to start new friendships, with all three elements of friendshipping on the decline and, on top of that, a scarcity of time. Plus most people have already found their people (see above). What's a gal to do?

My friends Christie and Ellen are both impressive friend-makers so I've tried to channel them in my new setting (ladies, feel free to chime in with your sage advice):  Saying hi and introducing myself at church and school gatherings. Inviting people to meet for lunch or to come over for dinner. Hosting parties. Volunteering to help with projects that come up.  I've been lucky to get to know lots of wonderful people so far and--who knows?--maybe some of them will turn out to be move-a-body friends*.

What about you? Have you moved and started from scratch at this stage? When was the last time you made a new, close friend? Do you tend to socialize with longstanding friends or do you mix it up with new people?   

. . . 

Speaking of friends... 

• Brene Brown's description of a move-a-body friend has always stuck with me. It's spot on. You can also watch her describe it on the video here.
• Yumi Sakugawa's endearing series of cartoons (like the one featured above) on friendshipping made me smile.
  
• Over the weekend I finished the novel Attachments pretty much in one sitting--I couldn't stop myself. It's a fun rom-com-style read (like a literary version of You've Got Mail) that features a workplace friendship told, in part, through the witty banter of their emails. Perfect for a long plane ride or a day at the beach. 
• When the kids and I had to go to Sydney to renew their passports last week, we listened to the YA novel Code Name Verity. It's so good--I especially recommend listening to it--and it had each one of us enthralled for all six hours of the roundtrip. It portrays the close friendship between two brave young women in WW2 Britain, with a great deal of intrigue and humor and suspense in the mix. (A few instances of rough language and war violence throughout.)

Let freedom ring

Sometimes it takes me a while, but eventually I get down to the business of making lemonade out of my pile of lemons. And by lemons, I mean my kids growing up and leaving home. (I could also mention here that our AC went out over the weekend, but that would be WAY off topic.) So, my kids are living their lives far away from the family home, and while I intend to mentally sustain them by worrying incessantly and continually directing good will to their part of the universe (and sending copious care packages), I figure I best get on with the process of living. 

The other day, when I was supposed to be working, I started thinking about how I need a really good farmer's market. Fresh produce. YES! Fresh, home-grown produce is just the ticket. (And no, I don't get a whole lot accomplished.) I did what any other procrastinating, bereaved woman would do -- I started googling 'farmer's market' + Houston. A pretty decent list popped up. None of the recommendations were too close to me, but, "Hey!" I thought to myself, "I have a car and no one needing a nap time." And then, THEN, this tiny sliver of light entered my consciousness. I stayed really still because mostly my consciousness has been filled with a) I'm eating too many carbs. b) How long can I put off the camp laundry? or c) I feel anxious about everything, and I can calm myself by eating carbs. Do you know what that tiny sliver of light was? The dawning realization that I can do things I want to do. Weird, huh?

This may be too much personal information for you, but let me just lay it out there for you. I went away to college when I was 18. I married (an awesome dude) at 19. I graduated from college at 21. I had my first child at 22. I had my second child at 23 (call me focused). I had my third child at 26, and my fourth at 29. Needless to say, there are no crazy, youthful days of yore. There are so many other really cool things in my past, but the time and freedom and resources to look around at the world at be amazed? Not so much.

So, maybe somewhere in all of this ending there will be some beginnings. Like me and the farmer's market. I'm making a list.  

• Exercise more. I'm considering being one of those really ripped Grandma's. [Note to self: stop with the carbs already.]
• Work. Aside from teaching as part of my graduate school responsibilities, I've never really worked outside of the home. But I still want my summers off -- just sayin'. 
• Read more. The other day I came home from the store to an empty house. The girls were at work, and Parker was at his cousin's. I looked to the right -- a pile of unfolded laundry. I looked to the left -- 27 glasses on the kitchen counter. But right in front? A good book I wanted to finish. And NO ONE WAS AROUND! So I plopped myself down on the couch and read. It was pretty heavenly. 
• Car. I've always bought the traditional family car -- to haul my kids around. But with only two kids at home next year? I'm thinking this! Booyah!
• Kayaking. Sterling recently added two kayaks to our hoarder-garage. Early morning kayaking? Bring it on.
• Travel. Now that our kids are older (and there are less of them), it is pretty easy to just drop and go. Sterling and I have committed to no more gift giving for birthdays and anniversaries. We want experiences instead. Look for the two shaky old people on the slopes. That's us! 

And really, I'm just getting started. I've always joked about moving East, wearing Birkenstocks, and throwing pottery. But now? Not so much with the joking. 

Also? Raising goats. It's just a thought. 

The scales of our belonging

Last week after I wrote about my Erikson epiphany, Kristine left a fantastic quote in the comments that has been on my mind ever since. It addresses that same idea that Erikson captured: that parenting is a transformative experience and, as our kids start growing up and we have time and space to look around a bit more, we're increasingly primed for generativity, creativity, and giving back to the world more widely.

Since you might have missed the quote, imbedded as it is in the comments, I wanted to pass it along (edited a bit for brevity; see the whole quote here in the comments):​

​A Mother and Child with its Head in her Lap, Pieter de Hooch

"As mothers, as fathers, we have at our disposal a wonderful time of rehearsal. We may set aside our interests time and again; we may practice watching the interests of others. But if that sacrificial love starts with our children, and stops there, we will have lost our opportunity to fulfill Christ's commandment, and so have everything that He has promised. Christ's commandment is that we love, not just our children, but one another!

​"...This is the best news of all, because, mothers and fathers, when our time has come, when, having fulfilled the duties of our state of life we are free to address ourselves to the needs of the world, when it comes time to love one another as Jesus loved us, we already know how! We have already learned! How to teach, how to feed, how to tend, how to heal, how to care, how to love. But it is different with us this time, because we act not out of duty. This time, in addition to knowing how to love, we also know why.​

"...Having practiced our scales, played the daily exercises of love for our children, the scales of our belonging, now we come to the concerto. Now the music begins. Having loved our own, we now can love the world. Now we rise to the task for which parenting prepared us...because although we lost ourselves in our mothering, God remembered us, and brought us forward, and made us new."​

- Reverend Canon Susan Harriss, Mother's Day sermon

It's a reminder I needed--that, in all the mundane and profound daily sacrifices that parenthood requires, we also launch ourselves.​

Erikson, epiphanies, and me

​Taking It All In by Karen Offutt

I was making the bed today when I started thinking about Erik Erikson. I'm not sure what it was about the mundane act of fluffing wrinkled pillows and tucking sheets that made my thoughts alight on him in particular but there he was, in my mind on a Monday morning. 

Maybe it was because it is Memorial Day back in the US. I thought of the many family members making their pilgrimages, with flowers in their arms and memories in their hearts, to stone tablets marking the lives and legacies of loved ones.​  

Erikson, bless his theory-making heart, is one of my top-three developmental psychology gurus. He thought about development as a lifelong proposition, with stages progressing fully into old age. Each stage has a conflict that influences biological, social, and individual psychological development. The successful resolution of each conflict--which must be done before moving on to the next stage--leads to a resulting virtue. Each builds on the one before it. Just as a quick runthrough (that will thoroughly cheat his theory of its deserved explanation), the stages look like this:​

• Birth-1 year: Trust vs. mistrust. Leads to hope.​
• 2-3 years: Autonomy vs. shame & doubt. Leads to will.
• 3-5 years: Intiative vs. guilt. Leads to purpose.
• ​6-12 years: Industry vs. inferiority. Leads to competence.
• ​13-18 years: Identity vs. role confusion. Leads to fidelity.
• 18-40 years: Intimacy vs. isolation. Leads to love (and partner/family formation).
• 40-65 years: Generativity vs. stagnation. Leads to care (giving back)
• ​65 years and older: Ego integrity vs. despair. Leads to wisdom.

I think I might be the poster child for that seventh stage right now! (Never mind how gut-dropping is it that I am now in the seventh of eight life stages! Zoinks. Oh, and we will tackle his teen identity stage another day, I promise.)  I think "generativity" could also be replaced with "creativity." If you are anywhere near that age range, maybe you can relate, too? 

This stage, says Erikson, is all about a new, dawning awareness and need to make an impact in the world, to understand the bigger picture, and use our own voices.  It's all about creating a community, a legacy beyond stone memorials, and giving back. It's the pull to keep learning and not stagnate.  It's why I returned to grad school, I think, and why I leapt into this blog project. It's why, in the middle of a rather scary series of mammograms a couple of years ago (it turned out fine, whew) I thought "but I haven't written my book yet." Oh, Erik. Spot on, sir.

This clip of an interview with the always inspiring Maira Kalman goes along with this sentiment/stage perfectly (found via Brain Pickings):

"It's love and it's work. What else could there possibly be?...What is the most wonderful thing I could be doing and who are the most wonderful people I could be with?"

---

How does your life compare with Erikson's stages? Are you aware of the drive for generativity/creativity? What kinds of things are you planning for the life-after-children years? Are they the same or different from what you're doing now?​