Born to Be Wild

Today was a cry in the shower kind of day.   A day that takes you by surprise, overwhelming you with mourning and confusion, grief, guilt, loss, uselessness.

That kind of day.

It was an IMAX movie with my nephews that set me off:  a simple nature story of orphaned animals being cared for, loved and then released into the wild.  I know I don't have to explain the connections.  You get it.

There are pieces of my life that are a horror story.  I have lived through a nightmare come to life.  I know I am not unique in that, and usually I am resilient enough to really celebrate  being alive while attempting to seek out and live some sacred purpose.

Today I don't feel worthy enough to have been given a purpose, let alone strong enough to live one out.  It's a temporary feeling; I know I will emerge from this.  But it is my reality today.  My entire reality.

Life in the 1800s

I wish I could have stopped my daughter’s suicide.  If I could have stopped her from hanging herself, even if I didn’t succeed, it would mean that parents have the power to keep their children who are struggling with mental illness alive.

Parents don’t have that kind of power.

Before antibiotics and immunizations and public health awareness, the death of a child was a tragic, but commonplace event.  It was so commonplace as to border on the expected, and families had many, many children with the hope that at least some would survive.

A family living in the United States in the 1800s would not have understood that their dying child had a condition curable with a round of penicillin; indeed, penicillin was yet to be invented.  Whatever else that family felt upon the death of their child, it is easy to imagine that guilt was not part of the equation. 

A brief 200 years later and we are less humble in the face of illness.  We expect to be able to predict illness, recognize it, categorize it, study it on the internet and subject ourselves to a treatment to fix it.  We are exceedingly fortunate that this modern expectation is realistic for a broad range of ailments that used to kill people by the thousands.

But we, whose lives are touched by suicide, are still that family living in the 1800s.  We don’t know what to hope for, we are humbled by the power of disease, and we grieve deeply.  We also know – even as we struggle to believe – that we are not at fault.

The doctors and scientists working on mental illness today are pioneers that deserve our support.  They are making progress every day.  But mental illness is still - too often - a fatal disease that whispers through a brain, takes root, and destroys all in its path.

And parents are essentially powerless, but to love,  in the face of the fury.

   

Visiting The Beach

Frances and I had some gas in the car and a place to stay, so we drove to the beach for the weekend. 

The beach holds fond memories for us.  We would spend weeks there with friends when Molly was in preschool.   We know where the grocery store is, have a favorite place to buy caramel corn, and prefer a particular beach-front shop for coffee in the morning.  It is familiar.

Returning to familiar places is tricky.  There – right there – is the playground Molly used to play on.  Remember how she dominated on the monkey bars?  And gee, those steps?  Didn’t we take a picture of all the kids wearing their tye dyed t-shirts sitting on those steps?  I sure hope the owners got the dye off the driveway;  I don’t think we managed to clean all of it up.

But that nostalgia for time gone by was part of the deal from the beginning.  Our remembrances are tinged with a particular loss, but all of the parents from those trips taken 15 years ago are experiencing waves of nostalgia.   That period of our lives is over; none of our children are still playing on the monkey bars. 

Frances and I had a good time.  We toasted each other and time gone by.  There was comfort in the familiar and while I won’t say that we necessarily felt Molly’s presence, we knew she had been there and been happy.  And that was enough.

Tools for Survival...

After Molly's death by suicide, some of our practical tools for survival were.....

• Travel.   We left our home town for a brief trip with a couple of friends a few days after the memorial service.  We were able to laugh (yes, laugh) and sleep  and reconnect and cry.  The unfamiliar surroundings were good therapy for our shockingly unfamiliar lives.
• Going back to work. Frances went back to work pretty quickly; I took a month off.  It was important for both of us to reconnect as much as possible with our typical routines.
• Saying Yes.  We welcomed any and all support, invitations and offerings even if we didn't think they were necessary.  And we still do.

Have you lost a loved one?  What have your tools for survival been? 

Musings on Prince Chalres

I am part of the Prince Charles Generation.  Do you know what I mean? 

The Queen has been reigning FOREVER, and shows no sign of giving up her job.  And at the same time, there is worldwide excitement about William and Catherine; if their recent North American trip is any indicator – and I think it is – the young couple have become hugely popular on the international stage. 

And then there is Charles.  With his son well positioned to become King and his mother doing just fine as Queen, thank you very much,  Charles has, in the hearts of many, been passed over.

Many of us have been passed over.  Our bosses won’t quit and the youngsters coming on board with their high-tech skills and their multi-cultural comfort are becoming the go-to people. 

As a card-holding member of Generation Charles I am perfectly happy to let the young folks do their thing (as if anyone could stop them anyway).   Let the under 40s  black-tie dinner attend, red carpet romp and fund raiser support. 

Looking at my own life, I know I need to step into a new type of leadership: a leadership defined by influence rather than position.  Influence, which is ours for the taking,  flows from relationships, character and attitude.  This summer I have been thinking about cultivating a leadership of influence this way:

• Appearance still matters.  Beauty queen looks are not required, but a healthy, groomed appearance and stylish, well fitting clothes go a long way toward enhancing influence.  (Hence, I am overdoing the exercise and can hardly move.)
• Zest plus wisdom is the winning combination:  Maybe its karaoke, perhaps skydiving, or even trying a new recipe based on a vegetable we’ve never heard of.  Influence is sustained by daring to be adventurous and young at heart,  while at the same time trusting the lessons inherent in our own life experience.   (I can report that I tried league Badminton for the first time this week!).
• Young people are cool.  From travelling with undergraduates in Paris to keeping up with my daughter’s friends, I can attest to the fact that the current generation of young people is fun to be around and doesn’t really see age.  They have been raised with so much diversity that age alone does not really phase them.   Stoginess phases them; age, not so much.   (To stay current with my nephew I wrote him a note today.  With a stamp and everything.  The young matter.)

Looking ahead, the face of leadership is going to be younger than we are, but the power behind the leader is likely to be from the Charles Generation.  We won’t be mentoring the younger folks as much as we’ll be working with them and offering guidance and support when it is requested.   We’ll have huge influence and we will know it.    (See Charles, Prince of Wales)

Paris Revisited

Ah, Paris.

How amazing to spend 10 days studying there.  There was enough of a “school” experience to keep loneliness at bay and enough of an “individual” experience to test my ability to stand on my own two feet.   Perfect.  Here are some of my take-aways: probably not what the professors had in mind, but true none the less.

1) Iceland is a fascinating place, but Iceland Air is tricky.  Iceland seems like a great country, and if Al Gore is right and global warming is upon us, Iceland may be one of the first casualties.  I’d visit soon if it is on your list. 

I guess I don’t blame Iceland for second guessing  TSA screening and requiring us all to be rescreened before we changed planes in Reykjavik (though I noted that Iceland does accept French screening; we were not rescreened on the return).  And I was okay – sort of – with being taken in to a private room for “random security screening”   in Iceland despite the fact that my plane was delayed and waiting for me.  It was not okay when there were no Iceland Air ground personnel in Paris and 250 people had to be rebooked due to a broken aircraft.   I would think twice before flying them again.

2)  The headsets in art museums are worth it.   They seem like just one more way to get tourist money, but the commentaries really make paintings come alive.  The Louvre and the Orsay are overwhelming enough – cough up the extra euros for some professional assistance.

3)  The current college aged students are really good people.  Most of the students on my trip were undergraduates.  Yes, there were some episodes with drinking too much (them, not me).  And yes, they tired quickly of museums.  But, they welcomed me and they embraced me and they invited me to lunch. 

 

4)  Americans are big and loud.   It was embarrassing but true.  We got “shushed” a lot and probably deserved it.  And on balance, we were much bigger than the Europeans.  All of the food and drink portions were smaller than I am used to, and no one was coming around in an apron with free refills of anything. There is a lesson there, no doubt. 

Overall, I loved having a room of my own, navigating the subways by myself and having the time to really sink in to such a vibrant city. 

The trip was exhausting in that everything everyday was new: the people, the experiences, the places, the expectations.   I was happy to come home.  I would happily go again.  And I am so glad that I stepped out of my comfort zone – just the smallest bit – and went.

Summer Vacation

I am really and truly unemployed for the summer.  No substitute teaching calls, no consulting gig and no school either. 

No excuses.

This week, I have felt unduly compelled to clean out kitchen cabinets, run a 5K, lift weights, shop at a farmers market (eat local!), hang out at the pool (vitamin D!) and read the Oprah Magazine (twice!).

This time off is hard-won and much appreciated.  I don’t want to squander it.

And more importantly,  I want to prove to myself that I can do this.  I have always used the excuse of my work/parenting schedule to explain why I haven’t eaten thoughtfully, exercised regularly, or made the most of myself. 

Excuses gone. 

It’s either live this summer to the max, or come to terms with the fact that I am a lazy slob!