Thursday last week, I weighed in at 227, and was hopeful to have left the 230s behind. On Sunday morning I stepped on the scale and nearly had a heart attack upon seeing 237 on the display – 3 days, 10 pounds?! How was that even possible? This week has been one of rededication to healthy practices. I thought about not posting this weight, or putting up an old photo of a “better” weight to avoid feeling humiliated. However, what is the point of this process if not to share, truthfully, the trials and tribulations as well as the happinesses and successes? So, there it is.
Author: jenion
The Question
Have you ever had one of those minor interactions with someone that was truly not intended to be more than a brief conversation or comment but which, unbeknownst to that individual, sent shock waves through you or made you reevaluate yourself? I had one such moment a few days ago. I was one of the committee members hosting a reception at work. Many of those present had noted, and commented on, the fact that our male colleagues had congregated at one table while our female colleagues gathered at another. As the event was winding down, I happened to be seated at the table with women, and a faculty friend said, “I suppose I should wander over to the other side.” I responded that, as usual, I began the event at the table with the men. My friend asked me what I meant, so I said that, in social situations, I typically begin by joining the predominantly male group. And then she asked me the question which has been tickling the back of my mind ever since, “Why? Don’t you like women?”
I was nonplussed by the question, but I took it as I believe it was intended: a quick, curiosity-provoked question from one friend (who happens to have a research interest in female friendships) to another (who happens to occasionally make sweeping and broad generalizations). And my quick answer was, “Of course! I love women!”
In the intervening days, I have caught my mind wandering back to the question, as well as to my initial comment that I find it easier to join groups of men in social settings. Why is that? And what does it say about me? Do I have an underlying issue with women? Have I bought into the cultural bias that women are just grown up mean girls? When did I start talking about “mean girls” as if I actually accept this concept?
Here’s what I’ve decided about those questions. First, I gravitate toward groups of men because their conversations are generally easy to enter into, especially if I don’t know the individuals in the group. They are talking about things, about stuff they do, about events that have recently taken place. They are not talking about their feelings, or wondering what someone meant when they said, “Don’t you like women?” I am not saying that men don’t do these things. They just don’t usually do them aloud at work receptions. It is easy to sit on the outskirts of these discussions, occasionally ask a question, or find a moment to tell about the time you tried whatever activity is the subject.
In similar situations, groups of women speak differently — especially in groups where the women are already acquainted with one another. At this particular event, both groups were speaking about their research interests. The men discussed topics, instruments, research methods. The women did, as well, but their conversation was also shot through with comments about how and why this particular research was meaningful to them. They discussed the circumstances which made finding time for research difficult, or what resonated with them about someone else’s topic. Very different conversations — each interesting, each meaningful, equally valid. I just need a little time to warm up to the more self-revelatory discussions.
As you know if you are a reader of this blog, I have written about the wonderful gifts that my male friends and family members bring to my life, the incredible lessons I have learned by observing and interacting with them. However, today, I am thinking about the amazing women in my life who perform death-defying or life-affirming acts with incredible grace:
- My mother, who gave birth to 6 kids in 9 years and gave us her undivided attention for two decades.
- My sister Chris, who nursed her husband, Dave, through stage IV cancer in the 90s, and has fought her own breast cancer in the 2000s.
- My friend Wendy, emergency room nurse extraordinaire, whose husband says he loves that she sees things she wants to change in herself – and then she changes them (unlike most of us who just talk about changing).
- My friend Sue who calls her knee replacement surgery and the enforced time off work this summer the “best vacation of her life”.
- Tricia, who channels her grief from the loss of her son, Nate, into loving work with the SIDS Foundation and as a peer partner for families experiencing the sudden death of a child.
- Carol, who met and fell in love with Zul, a Malaysian man, in Dubuque, Iowa in the 80s. Dubuque didn’t get it, but Carol married him anyway. And a couple of years ago, they adopted the lovely and vivacious Rumela, whom Carol met in an orphanage in India.
These are just a few of the women who inspire me — I could write whole articles about each. Others, too, or about my sisters Anne and Gwen who make me want to choose courageous paths in my own life. As I reflect on the question that sparked this reverie, I believe it is good for me to be shocked out of my comfortable perceptions sometimes, and I thank my friend and colleague for giving me reason to pause and reflect. Perhaps what I’ve written reveals a sexist bias on my part, perhaps it shows that I believe there are culturally ingrained and/or deeply embedded gender differences. I feel fairly certain, though, that it also reveals that I do, in fact, like women. More than that, I celebrate their presence in my life.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
2010-09-16_07-59-49_198.jpg, originally uploaded by jhnsn728.
Colette and Jen’s Excellent Adventure
(Note: This entry was written last week, but I posted the resilience piece instead. To clarify, the adventure took place Labor Day Weekend)
Throughout the summer, my friend Sarah Botkin and I have been riding our bikes together, with the goal of riding from Dubuque to Dyersville on the Heritage Trail sometime this fall. Since that trip will be approximately 52 miles, we have gradually added mileage as the summer has progressed. Unfortunately, August and the start of the academic year derailed us a bit, and we missed three key weeks of riding. Back on the trail, as I wrote in last week’s entry, we recommitted ourselves to getting ready for the longer day trip. As part of that plan, we decided to use the Sunday of Labor Day weekend to ride to Center Point and back. We invited our intrepid friend (and new bike owner) Colette to join us.
And then the mishaps began. The biggest and most serious was that a member of Sarah’s family experienced a medical emergency that took her out-of-state for the long weekend. At first, I didn’t feel right about taking the ride without Sarah, though in the email she sent notifying us of her changed plans, Sarah strongly encouraged us to go anyway. After much thought and discussion, Colette and I decided to continue with the plan.
Sunday morning dawned a little cloudy, which I know because I went to bed so early Saturday night, I couldn’t sleep past 5:30 a.m. Eventually, I rolled out of bed (around 7:30 — amazing how long I could lay there anticipating the day while not sleeping!) and dressed. I hopped in my car and, after a pit stop at the Boyson Road Starbuck’s, headed north on I-380 toward the sleeping town of Center Point. I was on a reconnaissance mission, since we planned to eat lunch in Center Point before heading back to Cedar Rapids. I wanted to see where the trail access was in relation to the eateries in town. While driving, the clouds disappeared, and a truly beautiful day commenced. I was excited to begin!
Once home, I gathered the items I would need: in my sport bag I placed cash, an ID, my sunscreen lip-balm, and a short-sleeved shirt (the morning was cool enough for long sleeves, but with the sun shining I expected it to warm up); a bottle of water; my tennis shoes with the bright orange accents were lined up on the kitchen floor next to my bike helmet.
I have a bike rack that hooks onto the trunk of my car and which makes me incredibly nervous…perhaps as a result of the accident I had last summer when my bike fell off the rack as I exited the interstate. But that’s another story! Colette and I were scheduled to meet at 10:00 at the Hiawatha trail access parking lot. At 8:50, I took the bike rack from the trunk of my car and began hooking it up. My bike was in place, rack and cycle as secure as possible with three additional bungee cords preventing slippage, at 9:58. Suddenly, my leisurely morning had turned frantic. As I backed slowly out of my driveway, I called Colette to warn her I would be late. I drove a full five miles under the speed limit, constantly checking my rearview to ascertain that the contraption and cargo remained secure.
Colette was running behind as well, due to a dead battery on her van. We met up, only 15 minutes behind schedule. And that is when I realized that I had brought my bag, but not my helmet. Colette, veteran of a nasty spill last year (on bicycle safety day at her kids’ school, no less!) insisted on a return to my house for the helmet — and truth be told, I wouldn’t ride without one. It was a much faster trip back home to retrieve my helmet because I left the bicycle with Colette. When I returned to Hiawatha, put on my helmet and prepared to mount my bike, I realized that my tennis shoes were at home, and on my feet were a pair of Adidas slides. Good friend that she is, Colette offered to wait while I made yet another trip back to the house. However, after a quick ride around the parking lot, I was convinced that I would be fine nearly barefoot.
That feeling lasted until I saw the snake, at approximately mile 9 on the trail. I caught sight of it on the path with barely enough time to miss its tail by a quarter-inch. The snake saw me coming, though, and had reared back and struck just as I swerved to avoid it. Luckily, it missed — and I don’t believe it was a poisonous variety, though I truthfully didn’t stop to take a closer look. (Colette did, and claims it was a corn snake. It was certainly colorful enough to be one). Note to self: never be on the trail without appropriate footwear!
The ride was easily the most beautiful of the summer. The weather was perfect, the trail sun-dappled but cool. Colette and I rode apace of each other and talked most of the thirteen miles out to Center Point. When we arrived in town, we discovered that small towns in Iowa maintain an old tradition: restaurants are closed on Sundays. This was particularly problematic for me, as it turned out that in addition to forgetting to bring important items, in my obsession over the bike rack, I had also forgotten to eat breakfast. At 11:58 a.m. Colette and I walked into the only place we found open — the “One of a Grind” coffee shop, which closes at noon on Sundays.
Fortunately, the folks at “One of a Grind” are a really great, friendly family who agreed to let us eat and chatted with us on our break. If you are ever in Center Point, please give this place a try — the food is delicious (I didn’t actually try the coffee, but the iced tea was perfect).
Back on our bikes, both now sporting short sleeves, Colette and I made good time with less chatter. That is, until we really started getting slugged by the wind. The final 3 or 4 miles were difficult — I felt like a salmon swimming upstream, though nothing as grand as spawning was at the end of the road for us. Mostly sore butts and windburn. And a sense of accomplishment. We labored, and it was good.
Resilience
I had planned to write a humorous post this week, but that will have to wait. What I find myself thinking obsessively about today is resilience. “An ability to recover from or adjust easily to misfortune or change” (thank you Webster’s) is quite a profound grace.
When adversity strikes, it is tempting to wallow. I mean, who hasn’t wanted to spend days – if not weeks – in the slough of despond crying “Woe is me”? I know it doesn’t sound like something you would do voluntarily, except that when life falls apart around you it is suddenly a pretty appealing option. Compared with the alternatives, like bearing it with good will and a sense of humor, self-pity seems incredibly seductive.
But as Samuel Johnson said, “Adversity is the state in which man mostly easily becomes acquainted with himself, being especially free of admirers then.” If this is true, then using the moments of our biggest hurdles to learn our own capacities can be an opportunity for deep growth. But how do we develop this kind of resilience? Are we born with it, or do we discover it within ourselves when we exercise the only real power we have in these moments — the power to choose our own reaction?
In “Man’s Search for Meaning”, Viktor Frankl wrote powerfully about this power of choice. In his case, the crucible for discovering his own capabilities was life in Nazi prison camps. For most of us, the adverse conditions in which we find ourselves do not compare with Auschwitz. They are more likely illness or injury, burnout, stress, chronic financial strain, cars breaking down when we can least afford them to. I don’t mean to minimize the pain of these experiences, only to point out their less than epic nature. We think we might rise to the occasion in an epic struggle. But what about simple, daily, hurdles which drain our pocketbooks and/or leach our positive energy?
I’ve come to believe that resilience can be cultivated. I’ve watched my friend Dave build it in his daughters by telling them daily, “Is this how you want to feel? If not, then choose something else.” And those girls are able to redirect their emotional energy – the first step is learning that it is possible to do so. (In fact, Dave has given me the same lecture time and again, with good, if mixed, results. Like a second language, children learn this more quickly than adults.) Sometimes, you cultivate your capacity to bounce back by pretending. During resident assistant training every year, I tell my student staff that they need to project calm in emergency situations — they don’t have to actually feel calm, just act that way. The secret hidden in this advice is that projecting calm often leads to mastering your feelings of panic. Projection won’t take you all the way, but it can help to jump-start movement in a positive direction.
The other day my friend Melissa was feeling burned out. She found that focusing on something she could control, rather than focusing on her burnout, made the difference. She told me, “I’m glad to see I’m pretty resilient these days… a 4.5 mile jog and a swim at the beach helped me bounce back.” Another friend, facing yet another financial setback, worked to get his thinking aligned in order to flow with the current rather than get caught in the riptide of self-pity. His mantra was, “I’m fluid, I’m fluid, I’m fluid”.
Important in both of my friends’ abilities to face these difficult moments was choosing to bounce with resilience rather than splat with despair. This kind of choosing may look relatively simple from the outside, but superficial or platitudinous thinking won’t actually cut it. We have to want it, more than we want to win the “I have the worst life” story contest we carry on inside our heads (come on, that’s not just me, is it?!). And wanting it, we have to also choose it, consciously, in each moment. So, today, I pledge to cultivate resilience in myself — and to support those I love in finding the inner resources to choose it themselves. Let’s go for the bounce, people!
Thursday, September 9, 2010
2010-09-09_06-20-04_767.jpg, originally uploaded by jhnsn728.
My wise friend Sara says I need to tell everyone my current weight goal, since publicly sharing goals makes us more accountable for achieving them. As you can see, I am *hopefully* finally getting past the 230 pound plateau. My current goal is to be below 200 by the new year. That is 16 weeks away, and considering how difficult actually losing pounds has been the past couple of months it will be a challenge. However, my ultimate goal will never be reached if I don’t push a bit harder! So, 200 by 1/1/11, here I come!
Falling
On Friday, I was finally able to get back on my bike, after the hectic opening of the school year. In the three weeks (to the day) since I had been on the trail, the first intimations of autumn had appeared. Fall has always been my favorite season, by a long shot. This is due, in part, to the cool, crisp air. The true-blue skies and bright colors of the leaves on trees covering the rolling hills of northeastern Iowa. But it is also partly a result of, since kindergarten, living within the cycle of the academic year. Autumn, in education, equals a fresh start. A new year in which to learn and accomplish new and exciting things.
There has been what feels like a paradigm shift in my life this year. I find that, while I am ready to welcome fall, I am also mourning the passing of summer — which has for a number of years been my least favorite season. What is going on here? I think I’m falling in love with all four seasons.
The only part of winter I used to like was the part leading up to and encompassing Christmas. January 2 through the end of the season (March or May, depending on the year), I would have gladly lived without. Like generations of children, I too, was horrified by C.S. Lewis’ description of Narnia as a country in which it was always winter, but never Christmas. As I thought about my newly mixed feelings about fall, I realized that this internal shift began as far back as last winter, when I discovered that I enjoyed shoveling snow, being outdoors in cold weather and exerting myself. I remember appreciating the clarity of thought I could achieve on a clear and icy night under the velvet sky and shimmering stars.
The first warm days of spring found me basking in the sunshine. Finding excuses to take my work outside, to linger at the outdoor tables at the coffee shop. I remember trekking through mud at Squaw Creek park, uncaring about the mess as long as I could breathe deeply and smell the earth.
Then summer 2010. “The best summer of my adult life”, I surprised myself by saying when faculty and students returned to campus in August. Everyone asked why. The reasons were numerous, when I stopped to think it through. First, after losing weight and exercising regularly, my body is able to handle variations in temperature. I sweat now, which is a surprisingly positive change. Riding my bike with friends, working in my yard, laying in the sun in a bathing suit…lovely activities I rediscovered this year. Produce fresh from the farm every Thursday. Family and friends to share the long days and short nights.
Back to last Friday’s bike ride, and incipient autumn. As I rode, the sun warm on my back and arms, leaves crackling under the tires, I had occasional glimpses of ripening cornfields rolling off to the horizon. And that’s when I made a vow to end my mourning for summer — even for the best summer ever. I will celebrate the season that I am part of right now and live as fully in it as possible. And, as it draws to a close, instead of sadness at what is passing, I will anticipate what is to come…anyone up for snow shoeing this year?!
Parenting
Yesterday was the first day of school for many children in our community. I received an email with the annual photo of the Dennis girls (Abby, Katie, and Dani), seated on the front step, backpacks on, ready for the big day. It was a bittersweet day this year, because their mom, Wendy, was missing her mother (Jan) who passed away in the spring. As I thought about Wendy and Jan, and the three girls sitting expectantly on the step, I found myself ruminating on parenting — and what a difficult undertaking it is.
It may seem strange for a woman without kids of her own to write about parenting. However, there are many children in my life: nieces, nephews, children who think they’re my nieces and nephews, children who know better but call me Aunt Jen anyway. I love these kids without reservation, and I love that their parents let me be part of their families. In the course of these relationships, over years of observation, I think I’ve learned a lot about what it means to be a “good parent”. And while I have observed parents making some classic blunders, I stand in awe of what I have seen them do out of love for their offspring.
One of the things I’ve learned, that I didn’t realize until I started hanging out with these little people literally from the day they were born, is that they are born that way. I mean, their personalities may still be forming, but some essential part of who a child is arrives with them, day one. The happy ones, the morose ones, the serious ones who seem older than their years — good parents accept and nurture them for the unique humans they are. My friends Ryan and Jill have two sons, whose personalities couldn’t be more different. Watching them parent Myles and Ryker is like watching a golfer select the right club: the tools are different, but the same love and skill guide their use.
A few years ago, I received a call at 11:30 on a weeknight in August. On the other end of the line was Ben, approximately 12 years old, nephew of friends. He said, “Jen, can you come over and play truth or dare with us?” The “us” he was referring to was a group of 10 cousins having a slumber party. It was a work night in the busiest month of the year for my job, but there was no way I would have said no. And it turned out to be a truly memorable night! I can never thank Wendy enough for being the kind of parent who said yes to calling an unrelated adult that late at night. (She also trusted me with a bowl full of flour for the most awesome “dare” ever). In parenting, the small choices are often the telling ones. We worry over what to tell our children about war or God, or when it is ok to leave them alone without a babysitter. But the accumulated minor decisions may carry more weight in determining who children become as adults.
Good parenting means putting your children first. This is extremely difficult in a world that says we deserve to put ourselves first. Giving them everything they want is not what I mean by putting your child first. I mean they are first in your heart. When I asked my brother, Jeff, what his favorite thing about his family’s trip to France and Italy this spring was, his answer was perfect: it was listening to his daughters giggling together in the next room. Not the Louvre or the Amalfi coast, but hearing his nearly grown girls enjoying their time together as a family.
Something else I’ve learned from watching my friends and siblings parent is that a child may have every advantage and excellent guidance, and still screw things up. They behave badly, they have temper tantrums, they poke a pen through the new baby’s soft spot (wait, that was me…sorry, Gwen!). They don’t appreciate what they have or the parents who have sacrificed for them. They sometimes do bad things or terrify their parents by threatening the unthinkable. When this happens, it is easy to blame the parents, and in our culture, we are very judgmental toward parents whose children behave in these ways. I believe this is a defense mechanism which allows the rest of us to feel safe from having these terrible things happen in our lives — they must be bad parents, not like me. But the real truth is, bad things can happen to good parents, too.
Last week, I became a great-aunt for the first time when my nephew Tim and his wife Nikki became the loving parents of little Emma Joy. And in November, I will become an honorary aunt to Molly and Derrick’s daughter. I will adore both of these little ones. I already know these children have awesome parents. To these new parents, as to the other parents in my life, I promise to help when I can, to forego judgment, and to offer you my love and support in this most difficult of life’s roles.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
2010-08-26_06-47-03_280.jpg, originally uploaded by jhnsn728.
The Story
The following is a true story.
“The girl in the teal shirt, with the long blonde hair, is studying hard. And when she takes a break to gaze out the window she is working hard, even then, to not meet anyone’s eyes or connect in any way. The only other customer is a dark, small man whose attention is completely on his computer screen, though there are books and notepaper piled on the table all around him.
The woman in the corner puts down her book and stares at nothing for a minute before picking up her coffee cup and, pausing with it halfway to her lips, peering at its contents as if reading her future inside. She takes a small sip and returns the cup to its saucer. There are tears floating in her eyes. They do not overflow.
She takes a deep breath and refocuses her attention, turning her head so one ear is cocked toward the staff behind the counter, who are alternately joking and bickering. Outside the window, her eyes follow two women and a child in identical orange shirts, then shift to a thirty-something couple attempting to settle a large German shepherd into the back of their car.
This is what the woman in the corner is thinking: She is thinking about one summer back when she was in college, and they had a small apartment downtown. There was amazing art on the walls, which belonged to the professor who owned the place. She remembers the white walls, wood floors and the paintings. She remembers the long summer of wasting time, of endless talking and smoking, of quick walks down the block to the bar or the Maid-Rite. She remembers feeling the life ahead of her will be anything but ordinary.
She knows it is useless to wish for the past to come back, to wish for a different chance, to have been a different person. That doesn’t stop her from wishing it. Doesn’t stop her from wishing she had chosen differently. It occurs to her that she can choose differently for herself now, that beginning with this moment she can try for something other. But then she thinks of the work piled on her desk. She thinks of the bills that must be paid. She thinks of her timid nature, her indecisiveness, and she can’t believe in her own ability to change. She thinks, “I am like that German shepherd, acting like I have a choice when, in actuality, I am always going to sit in the back seat.”
And she knows she can never say these things. She knows that anyone hearing these thoughts would argue or, worse, console her. Instead, she picks up the pen and opens the notebook in front of her.”
April 22, 2007. I wrote this story in my journal as I sat in Starbucks on a Saturday or Sunday morning telling it to myself. I thought of it yesterday, when I happened to stumble onto a Tony Robbins video clip. Now, I’ve never really paid attention to Tony Robbins, motivational speaker extraordinaire, so I was surprised to find myself listening carefully. Paraphrasing what he said, “Suffering doesn’t come from life events. Events happen. Suffering comes from the meaning we attach to them. The story we attach to the event is the secret.”
In the story I used to tell about myself, I was a sad observer of life. I’d never merit the front seat. My “glory days” were behind me in an apartment in downtown Dubuque, Iowa circa 1983. I never really liked that story, but I thought it was the only one I had. After all, you cannot go back and change the past.
But I can change the story. The woman, sitting in the corner of the coffeeshop can, after picking up her pen, can write:
Snap out of it! Its a beautiful day. No need to brood over gloomy thoughts of the past when you have today. Today, anything is possible. The more you believe that, the more you know in your heart it is true, the more the impossible will take shape in your life. Who you have been has led to who you are. And who you are is someone who will put down this pen and walk out into the sunshine.”
We can always change the story. I know, because my story has changed substantially. You should try it. I can promise you this — it is way more fun to be the author of your story than just another character in it! To quote another great motivational performance (the band Sugarland): “…find out what it means to be the girl who changed her mind and changed the world…”
Jenion 