New Ideas

 I love the rituals of the seasons. I throw myself into pumpkins and cinnamon and knee high brown boots and orange scarves in the fall; the day after Thanksgiving I wrap my rooms in garlands and lights and ornaments and nutcrackers. In the summer I love to wear big floppy hats and gauzy swim cover ups and flip flops while I picnic on a beach.

And in the week after Christmas, I dream, I vision, I plot, I ponder.

This year, the heavy emphasis is on plot. I'm writing 1000 words a day. I've already started, because the stories that were inside me when I was born have been developing my whole life, and at long last, I'm not afraid to tell them. I'm not afraid of the critics, I'm not afraid that I'm stupid, I'm not afraid that what I say won't be read by anyone.

I'm not afraid.

This year, I'm writing my book. I'm on my way, sure of it, grateful. The words are spilling out of me. I love my characters, even my antagonist, who I once thought only filled with hate.

I am becoming (thanks, Michelle Obama) the person I was always supposed to be. At 51, it's better late than never, but I feel a young woman's excitement. I'm standing up a little taller, telling my friends, giggling and giddy. I'm a writer. Now I'm a writer for real, because I'm writing. I cannot control the future and I cannot force a publisher to like what I say, but I know this: I'm writing it anyway. I am convinced that I have something to say that the world needs to hear, and that the world will want to share. That is enough.

***

One thing that I am not doing this year is plotting my weight, my wardrobe, my clothing size. I have no plans to tone my arms, to reduce my belly fat, or to eat ten fruits and vegetables daily. I am not re-joining Weight Watchers (though I'd be lying if I said I hadn't considered it). I am not stepping on the scale and measuring my worth by what that number tells me.

Is this because I've achieved perfection? Is this because my waist is trim, my buttocks and thighs smooth, my arms strong?

No.

This is because I have spent too much time in my life worrying about how I looked, and feeling like I wasn't good enough. I've hidden behind drab clothing when I was bigger, and I've strutted like a peacock (but not a peahen) when I was smaller, but I have felt judged, for better or for worse, by my weight, and I'm done with that.

I like who I am becoming, and my body has carried me this far. It has carried me over mountains, and into lakes and oceans; it has birthed a child, it has held lovers. It has stood up to a grizzly, and to an abuser who was threatening his wife and children with a gun and his rage. It has fought cancer, and cancer treatment, and anaphylaxis, and surgeries gone wrong. It is covered with scars that are ugly yet beautiful. Ugly because they replaced something smooth and clean with ragged and jagged; insanely beautiful because they are marks of my survival.

So this year, for new year's, I vow to love my body. I will continue trying to take care of it - I just got back from a wonderful four mile walk with Chance - because I really do feel better when I eat fruits and veggies, and because when I get outside my soul breathes easier, and because I want to live a long life. But I am not convinced that trying to twist my body into a shape that doesn't quite work, and requires constant vigilance, is right for me.

My energy is going to be spent on loving myself, not chastising myself. This is new.

I am not conventionally beautiful. I was not granted supermodel looks through the genetic lottery; I suppose in that way I am quite ordinary.

But I know how to be beautiful.

I am beautiful when I shriek as I jump into an alpine lake, eyes lit up with excitement and the thrill. I'm beautiful when I help a student to work through a problem, to see themself as whole and good. I'm beautiful when I tell the truth. And sometimes, I'm beautiful when I'm paddle boarding, or when I wear a particular dress and heels.

When I'm living my best life, my eyes light up and shine, and some see me as beautiful because they long for the light.

When I'm tugging at my sweater, holding my belly in, and marking down every bite, I'm not beautiful, and I'm not whole, and it takes so much damn energy that I forget how to focus on the things that matter.

***

This year, I am writing a book, and I am focusing all my energy on the ideas I'm trying to express, and on being the writer that I have always been. I accept my body, and I will treat it well, but this is not a year to focus on a marathon or a goal weight. I will walk, or run. I will do yoga, or paddle board, or hike, or snowshoe. I will eat salads, but also pasta.

This is my way of saying that I'm worth it.

This is my declaration to myself that I do not have to change in order to be worthy. I do not have to become something new, or turn everything upside down or inside out in order to be good.

I'm good.

My sheets are in the wash, the fridge is full of good vegetarian food (because we've been playing at vegetarian for a few months, having meat only rarely, and it actually feels great). I have a stack of books to read. I canceled the Hallmark Movies Now subscription, because it was a good way to rest at the beginning of break, but I'm done with it now.

2020 was hard, but it wasn't all bad for me. I slowed down enough to remember some things I really care about. I fell in love with my home all over again. I got unexpected time with Tessa. I missed my friends, but I also connected with them. I wrote.

I have been hoping to fall in love for years now, and it hasn't happened at all the way I'd hoped it would: I am quite, quite single. But now it seems right that it should be so. There is a thing I haven't done, because I told myself I wasn't good enough, and "not good enough" is not good partner material (how I would loathe a relationship with a man who walked through the world believing that about himself).

This year, I'm falling back in love with myself. Not with caveats, but with tenderness.

I'm a writer. I have something to say. I'm not afraid of putting my stories out there, because I know they have worth. I know I have worth. I'm not afraid to pursue my dreams, and when success comes, I won't be afraid of it. When someone says that I am a late bloomer, I will smile at them and shake my head "no" because I've blossomed many times before; this is just a new kind of bloom. Some will think that this is sudden, but not those who have really known me. I've been working on this my whole life, in one way or another, turning the words over in my head, on scraps of paper, on pixels. The only difference now is that I'm ready.

Welcome, 2021. I've been waiting for you, and I'm ready. Happy new year!

A season for reinvention

It is Christmas Eve morning, and I'm writing from my cozy bed on a frosty morning. I've already had my two cups of coffee - in a Christmas mug, of course! - and I've been thinking about my personal universe in the quiet of the house. The gifts are wrapped, the tree is decorated, the lights are on, the groceries tucked away and awaiting transformation. Today I'll spend a big portion of the day baking, and then tonight we'll indulge in our Christmas Eve tradition of cheese fondue followed by a movie (this year, Tessa picked "Love Actually" which, though problematic, still has its charms).

Not much about this year feels traditional, and so many traditions have been lost: no Greenlake Luminaria Walk (the Pathway of Lights), no Christmas Ships at Lowman Beach or Alki, no holiday carousel or downtown gingerbread houses, no holiday parties. But other traditions endure: friends have dropped off festive cookies, we've watched holiday movies, we sent and received cards. We've driven around looking at lights. We wrapped gifts, and placed them under our tree (and setting that up is a tradition I love). I found a copy of Bing Crosby's Christmas album in a thrift store bin, and we've been listening to the wonderful crackle of a vinyl White Christmas.

I know how lucky I am. Others have it much worse.

This year of online school - as a student for Tessa, and as a teacher for me - has been challenging, painful, difficult, frustrating, limiting. But at the same time, it's been wonderful. We've had a chance to slow down, to hit the reset button.

I love the reset button.

I try to reset twice a year: once at New Year's, when everyone is doing it, and once in late August, as I prepare for the school year (the "real" new year in a teacher's life). I love vision boards (note: my vision board last year said "More Snow Days" and I am quite amused that the entire year turned into a snow day...!), journal writing, and putting the house in order (out with the old!) in preparation for new visions. (I'm not sure what it is about cleaning a closet and taking a trip to Goodwill that is so satisfying, but it is, and the empty spaces make me feel refreshed and focused.)

I've hit reset a few times in life, too. When I went to college despite my parents' ambivalence, when I left Microsoft to get my masters and become a teacher, when I became a stay at home mom, when I got divorced and re-entered the workforce, and when I became a teacher again... all of these were resets. And I'm due for another reset, I think, and I'm relishing it, planning it, savoring the prospect.

So here we are, on the cusp of a new year, and on the cusp of getting vaccinated against covid, and on the cusp of re-entry to the world of work, school, and more. The whole world will reset - in a few months, or in a year, the reset is inevitable. But what will it look like? Will it be an attempted return to normal, or will it look utterly different? Can we even plan for it, or will life surprise us (again)?

I can't predict the world, and my ability to predict my own life is limited (so much happens that is outside of the plan!), but I am so grateful for the times I hit reset in the past, and I'm excited that I get another opportunity to do so. Each time I've hit reset I've moved closer to my truth, and this will be no exception. I can't control it all, but I can control some things, and create the life that I crave.

I only have two ideas this year. Oh, I have lots of ideas really - travel, love, museums and plays, concerts, camping, hiking, snow shoeing, cabins - but I've boiled it down to two things I really care about:

1) Buy nothing new.

2) Write the book.

The details:

I have been self-medicating through online shopping. (There, I said it.) I'm not proud of this - I feel sheepish and wasteful. I haven't bought anything too expensive, but I've bought unnecessary things. I've purchased too many sundresses, too many sweaters, too many shoes. While making jewelry is a wonderful new hobby, we have so many charms that we'll never use them all - it's a bit over the top. There have been kitchen gadgets (did I really need butter warmers and a six pack of crab crackers AND seafood scissors? - don't answer, I already know!), books I still haven't read. I have enough throw blankets to cover the neighborhood. I have so many picnic things that I could host the neighborhood at the park. It's too much.

I don't need anything. My home is filled with all of the comforts: there are comfortable chairs, soft sheets, cupboards full of dishes. When I cook, I use wooden cutting boards in a variety of sizes, with just the right knife: I place things in just the right size bowls for mis en place, and enough dishes to entertain a crowd. I have the right coat for the right event. I have camping equipment, ski gear, paddle boards, and (new!) snowshoes. I work at a stand-sit desk, in an office with a good little printer, cups full of pens. The refrigerator is always stuffed. Their is a bin filled with manicure supplies - polish and emery boards, cotton pads and remover. There is a games cupboard filled with board games. There are so many books, everywhere. My closet is so stuffed that it overflows into the guest room closet.

We lack for nothing important. We are so, so lucky to have these comforts, but it strikes me that I have too many comforts, and that managing them is a slight burden, and that my guilt that I am not living my values (I really do believe in simplicity, ethically sourced items, and avoiding excess) is greater than my joy in the items themselves.

So the new idea for 2021 is to buy nothing new. The only things we will buy will be consumables (food, of course, but also batteries, light bulbs, cleaning supplies, etc.) and thrifted items. If something wears out, we'll try to replace it with something used. (I did inventory of socks and underwear, and we're all set. Not all things are better used!) Tessa and I love thrifting, so we can find fun novelty items there: I love finding some cool old vinyl, a great serving platter, a wonderful basket, or some other small treasure. My favorite bookstore (Pegasus) has used books. I get a thrill finding the perfect cashmere sweater for $10 - there is no way I'm going to spend $200 on a sweater! - and I love the idea that I'm not contributing to workers in terrible conditions making clothes for pittance wages. 

I get no such thrills from Amazon, and the items are never quite right. (Realizing that the red dress was a hideous shade of semi-neon red, not a warm rich red, I was suitably punished by standing in line for a very long time at the UPS store so that I could return it. Had I been in the store, I never would have bought it - the fabric was cheap, the color was wrong. I had plenty of time to reflect upon my foolishness while in that line.)

Some of this is a wise financial decision - I've been wasteful, and my bank balance hurts when I do that. Some of this is a wise environmental decision - over consumption hurts our planet. Some of this is a wise soul decision - I am not my purchases, and when I focus my attention on Amazon.com then I'm not paying attention to what matters in my life. I can do better. I must do better!

Mostly, it's a soul decision. If I'm going to sit in front of my computer, it should be to compose a warm email to a friend. or to write my stories.

So: in 2021, I buy nothing new. Fun money can be spent on travel, or concerts, or entertaining, or plays and movies. It is a reminder to myself: I have enough. I am enough. I am focused elsewhere.

And speaking of focused elsewhere: I am focused on writing.

2) I am writing my book.

I am so sure of this. I know what I want to say, and I know why. This is the story that has been bubbling in me my whole life. This is a thing I must say. I know who the characters are, I know what they must endure, and I know the subtleties of their mistakes and their joys. It is time to bring them to life. I hope - dare I say, I believe! - that the world will want to read my story, that there is something beautiful and pure in it that will resonate with others. I hope that this will launch my writing career. (Fantasy: I work part time as a teacher. I still love teaching, but wouldn't it be extraordinary if I could do a 0.6 and get benefits and have connection, but still have time to write?!)

But it's okay if that's not what happens. I'm not writing this so I will get fame or fortune. I'm writing this because it is my soul's work to write this, so I have to do it. It is my truth, told in fiction, and I'm excited by it more than I'm nervous.

2021 is sure to be filled with surprises, some of them wonderful, some of them tragic. My beloved daughter is so unsure of her next steps, I worry for her. I don't know what the future holds for my own health, or if I will ever find the kind of love that I know exists for some people but not yet for me. I do not know if the world will reopen so that I can see Shakespeare in the Park or get on a plane or see Alicia Keys live in concert. There is a lot that I do not know.

But I know that I can write, so I'm going to write. And I know that I can focus on things bigger and better than trying to buy my happiness. I know that I'm filled with adventure, and hope, and possibility.

This year when the ball drops, I won't be there to see it, and I'm pretty sure that the fireworks will be from some other year gone by, and that my evening will be solo or with one slightly cranky teenage girl. That's okay. Next year is filled with promise, and I'm ready to keep my promises to myself and see how it changes everything.

I've hit reset before and reaped the rewards, so I know that it is within me to do it again. I can't wait for 2021!

Quarantine: The New Normal

 It's 2:31pm on a Friday. After showering this morning, I dressed in sweatpants, a t-shirt, a hoodie, and slippers. I put on earrings - one of the many pairs that I have made since quarantine started - and padded downstairs, coffee in hand.

Another day, similar to so many that came before it over the last seven months.

I try not to dress in sweats that often - something about "dress for success!" lessons of the 1980s apparently stuck with me. When I wear sweats, I know I've given up, and that all hope is lost of any sense of normalcy: I wouldn't teach in sweats on a regular school day - the idea wouldn't occur to me. (Not that I dress up a lot, but cotton dresses, jeans and sweaters, the occasional blouse and skirt with boots, are all regular items in my teaching wardrobe.

But I digress, as I do.

Every day bleeds into the next, a mad blur of staring at the computer and sleeping and cooking and dimly watching the news scroll past my phone, terrible idea after horrible happening after tragedy after hideous unkindnesses. The details of racial injustice, disease, missing children and/or parents at the border,death, lies fly by, one outrageous idea after the next, each one in turn both shocking and, in this strange version of reality, expected.

I watch television, look at books, my mind unfocused. I make soup, or bread, or bake. I move the broom or the lawn mower. I walk the dog (not nearly as frequently as I should). I promise myself to do yoga.

I teach pixels, not people. Most of my students appear only as dots, much less often as voices, and far less often as images.

The picnics of summer have slipped away. Paddle boarding is in the past.

Time feels flexible, dragging on endlessly, then speeding up until suddenly a month has whipped past.

***

The hardest part is not knowing when things will change. The hardest part is realizing that it's out of my control. The hardest part is feeling lonely. The hardest part is helping Tessa to manage her feelings, just about being a teenager, but also her own uncertainty in quarantine.

There are a lot of hard parts.

*** 

The good parts exist. I love my home, and I am comfortable and safe here. I have a real office, and so does Tessa, so we're not too underfoot for each other. Our pets make us laugh. There is unlimited food, books, music, movies. There are cozy clothes, warm blankets, enough tea for an army. Tessa and I sometimes laugh. Making jewelry is fun, and I'm writing again. I have many who love me, even if I can't see them face to face.

***

It is a small life, right now. 

It will be small for a while longer.

It's time to learn how to make the best of it.

Women's Suffrage, Women's Rights, and Election 2020

 We are just days away from election day in the US, and our national anxiety is spiraling out of control. I am trying to remember, to remind myself, that in Dr. Martin Luther King's words, "the moral arc of the universe is long, but it bends toward justice" and that we are in the long part right now. That doesn't mean we won't get there, but right now, we're in the struggle part, not the justice part. It would be easy to lose sight of hope because when in the midst of the struggle, justice seems so far removed... but now is not the time to give up.

Ever since I've been old enough to form opinions, I have a political perspective. I started off by just parroting my parents' views, by asking questions about what "we" thought, and accepting what I was told at face value. This is a somewhat peaceful way to exist: there was no angst, no worry, no doubt. I had faith that my parents knew what was best, and so I would agree with them always.

It will come as no shock to anyone who has ever been a teenager that this fell apart.

One time (for it was a process), it fell apart in English class in high school. My teacher assigned Judy Brady's "I want a wife" essay, and I thought, "MY MOTHER NEEDS A WIFE!" I grew up in a household where my father spent his mornings moaning "How can I get dressed if I don't have socks? (MOM'S NAME) WHERE ARE MY SOCKS?" because she laid out his clothes every day for him to get dressed; never mind that his drawer was full of socks only two feet away from the bed, and he was a grown man perfectly capable of opening that drawer. I grew up in a household where, to the best of my recollection, my father only cooked one meal in my entire childhood (it was horrible: the recipe called for a tablespoon of capers, but he used the whole bottle of them plus their juice; my mother told us that we were grounded if we said one negative thing about it).

When I read Brady's essay and we explored the ideas in class, my world burst open. My peers found it funny and silly, because their families weren't so backwards thinking. It dawned on me that not every marriage was like my parents' marriage, and that there were other ways for me, a woman, to live. 

I ran home, excitedly pulled the essay out of my backpack, and said, "MOM! Look! You need a wife!" I was one hundred percent convinced that when she read it, she would have an epiphany about her sexist marriage (I was pretty sure she didn't like the "WHERE ARE MY SOCKS?!" conversation every day either, and convinced as well that she didn't put out the socks as she was supposed to because it was her small rebellion). I thought about my mother rising up to face my father, saying "You're a grown man. Open the drawer yourself!" and I thought "My mother is free to become a writer, as she dreamed!" and that, her mind blown by Brady, everything would be different.

Ahhh, youth. I was a fool.

My mother was offended, not amused or inspired. She defended her marriage; she defended her life. She told me how lucky she was to have my father, how they took care of each other. (She sometimes cried at his treatment of her, and she often complained about him to me, but at the sight of the Brady essay she forgot those things.)

***

Being raised by people who think that "feminist" is a dirty word has certainly informed me that not everyone will agree with my politics, and it has also informed me about how much work we have to do to get to womens equality. (Where, oh where, is the E.R.A.?!) I can hardly believe that I'm 51 years old in modern America, and women are still grasping at "firsts" and at full admission to society. When Brock Turner is let off with a scolding, when Brett Kavanagh is believed over Christine Blasey Ford, when women represent so few at the highest levels of government and business, when "the canon" is filled with white men, and when the gender pay gap prevails... I know why I must be feminist. And when my parents scoff at such "stupid" and "illogical" viewpoints, I know that we've got a long way to go.

It's wearying.

I'm weary.

How can it be that I'm 51 years old, that I read Brady's essay in when I was still sweet 16, and that so much of it is still true? In the COVID pandemic, women have started falling apart as they work their full time jobs from home, yet somehow are expected to continue with childcare, cooking, and cleaning so their husbands can work?

When presidential nominee Trump was recorded with the infamous "grab 'em by the pussy" talk, I thought, "Okay, that's it - he's done. Every woman in America will be as disgusted as I am."

Wrong again, but this time I can't blame youth. And it's women just like me who have supported him: white, middle aged women are one of his strongest demographics. Don't they realize that what he said wasn't funny, it was dangerous? Don't they realize that rape culture isn't just a phrase, it is the reality for 1 in 4 women? Aren't they...disgusted?

But they forgave. They have been so soaked in the world of misogyny that they don't even realize their own pain, they accept it as just the way things are.

And so here we are.

Some days, it seems unmanageable, unbearable, untenable, and un****ingbelievable.

But then I remember.

I remember that when my grandmother was born, she couldn't vote because of her gender...and now she can vote.

I remember that when I was born, I couldn't get my own mortgage because of my gender.

I remember that when I was born, there were different job listings for men and women in the classifieds.

I remember that we've had progress with the gender pay gap, though it's nowhere near where I want it to be (equal - the goal is to be equal).

And then I remember Abigail Adams.

***

As her husband helped to form The Declaration of Indpendence, declaring that "all men are created equal," she wrote to him to "remember the ladies" - and we know, of course, that he did not.

That letter was written in 1776, and it is a reasonable and cogent argument as to why women's rights mattered, too, but despite their loving relationship, and despite the anger at tyrants who stole natural rights from people, Abigail Adams died without seeing progress.

Women's suffrage is said to have begun in earnest in 1840, with Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Lucretia Mott. Stanton died in 1902, 18 years before women received the right to vote; Mott died in 1880, a full 40 years before women received the right to vote. The women who laid the foundation for women's rights in America were dead and gone before they ever saw the benefit of those rights.

I know that I'm just a baby in the women's rights journey. I know that the women before me fought harder, against worse odds. Shirley Chisholm argued for the Equal Rights Amendment in 1970, when I was still a baby; she died without seeing it ratified, and still we wait.

***

I'm frustrated, and weary, and disappointed. At about 51% of the population, women are considered a minority interest, and in the workplace and in our own homes, we have to fight to be heard, to not have to work twice as hard. For women of color, it's significantly worse: the gender pay gap is worse, employment statistics are worse; discrimination is worse. Much worse.

It is cause for anger, fear, and frustration.

But it's not cause to give up.

***

My grandma had no control over her own life, because she had no access to education as a girl, and because society told her that she had to do what her husband told her to do. She gained the right to vote, but she never saw people who looked like her hold public office.

It's different for me. I had to fight hard (against my parents' wishes for me) to get an education, but I did get that education, and as a result I have a rewarding career. Both of my congressmen are women; my representative is a woman. I have voted for a female U.S. President, and I've voted for a female U.S. Vice President. My name is the only name on the deed to my car, and on my mortgage, and on my credit card. When I went to college, my granny was proud of me. She saw how different my life was from hers, and she cheered for me. I missed her funeral because I had to take a final exam (I was able to show up for the gathering afterwards), and I know she understood, even though it broke my heart. I had to fight to get the life never offered to her.

***

As election 2020 nears, and we find out who holds the fate of not just our nation but of our day to day lives, it's hard for me not to spin out of control with fear and nausea. Will my daughter be granted autonomy over her own body? Will my rights ever be declared? Will men feel authorized to grab 'em by the pussy, or will they know that they will be held accountable?

Women's rights are far from the only thing on the ballot, and far from the only thing I care about, but they're what I'm thinking of today.

I'm thinking of Abigail Adams, and how she knew that she deserved more, but she never lived to see her rights come to fruition. I'm thinking about Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Lucretia Mott, and how they never got to cast a vote. I'm thinking how hopeless they must have felt on their deathbeds, wondering why all of their hard work had not paid off, why their dreams did not come true.

And yet, their work was not fruitless.

Here I am, centuries later, and I have the right to demand more than the rights that I am given, even when I have so many more rights than they did. I have the right to be angry that I am not declared and equal, and I have the right to vote for a woman as Vice President.

Progress is so slow that it hurts, but it is progress.

Today, as I wonder if America will vote to encourage racial, gender, and sexual equality, or to deny rights to others, I take comfort in knowing that even when we can't see progress happening, even when it seems like progress is impossibly slow, it is inevitable that progress WILL happen.

We will make it. I hope it's soon - on Tuesday - that the next steps of progress are made, but today I comfort myself with the knowledge that progress WILL happen, sooner or later.

I voted for "sooner."

A hard week

 I'm having a hard week.

I hate to admit that, because I like to think that I am the very model of a role model for optimism, a badass with a smile.

Not today.

Quarantine is getting really, really old - but more than that, it's getting lonely.

I'm behind at work.

I'm sick, and so is Tessa. We got COVID testing today. I expect it to be negative, but negative or positive, we don't feel well, and it sucks.

Last week I had identity theft (and the accompanying police reports, bank account changes, and more - who knew how time consuming identity theft was!).

And my fear over the election feels overwhelming in a way that I've never experienced before.

There is too much in the world right now that feels uncertain, strange, and deeply troubling. There is economic uncertainty - a phrase that sounds academic more than the reality, because the reality is that little phrase means some kids are going hungry, some mothers are looking at piles of pink envelopes that they are afraid to open, some fathers are pretending that they're okay even though they're trying not to vomit, some seniors are sitting in the cold. Businesses that were once vibrant are now gone, or holding on by a thread.

And this is contrasted by incredible financial gains from Microsoft, Amazon, and a handful of others. I cannot wrap my head around the wealth of someone like Jeff Bezos in a world where a few miles from him (or, likely, much closer than that) people are hardly holding on.

It's so hard for me to wrap my head around the president of the USA saying that it's all under control, that we've turned the corner with coronavirus when over 225,000 have died and we are experiencing record numbers of new diagnoses every day. (Waiting to see if my number will be added to the 8.8+ million doesn't help.)

I can't wrap my head around it.

As I wait to find out if our country values compassion over belligerence, integrity over bluster, facts over lies, leadership over rage, I wonder how I will make it through the next week. As I wait to hear if Americans care more about protecting people of color, or believing some lie that anti-racism is anti-American, I feel panicked. As I wait to see if Americans still believe that a man with a host of credible rape allegations is fit to be President, I tremble at the thought of what that means for myself, and my daughter. I think about my LGBTQ friends, and how they wonder if their marriages will be honored.

It's all on the line.

Personally, I'm not at my best. I'm getting lonely, because pixels aren't people, even though I know I'm surrounded by people who care about me as much as I care about them. Everything seems harder lately. I take some small comfort in knowing that I'm not alone, that I'm not the only one struggling, that so many of us feel like that - but then I think "how on earth can we all go around feeling like THIS?!" because it seems too much, too hard to be true. Personally, I have a sore throat, muscle aches, and I woke up coughing in the night, and I think it's just some random fall crud, but there's always the possibility that somehow I have managed to pick up COVID at the grocery store or some-such. 

I'm tired. I'm weary of so much struggle, and then I feel guilty because I have it so much easier than so many other people: my work is stable, I have a wonderful comfortable home, I have friends who love me. I have hope that one day it will get better.

I hope that my test result is negative for covid, and that as I start to feel better, I feel my old energy and optimism return. I hope that next Tuesday we'll watch the returns come in, and I will cry tears of happiness at the hope that this nation can rebuild, and cement in stone the inalienable rights which belong to all of us, not just some of us. I hope that I can catch up, hit my deadlines, and do right by all of my students.

I hope.

If I have covid, I hope that it's not a bad case.

If this country's blood runs red, not blue, I hope that I have misunderstood what that means, and that justice will prevail in the end.

I hope that I am using my life wisely to help others through a hard time.

I hope.

***

Too often, when things are rough, we tell ourselves that we're doing it wrong, that we have to work harder at feeling better. Well, that's not what I'm telling myself right now.

I feel terrible right now because in this moment things feel pretty terrible.

Yes, they're worse for some, but they're nowhere as good as they can be, and that's disappointing.

I'm not doing it wrong. I'm human, and sometimes humans struggle, and I'm struggling. There is no shame in struggle.

It's a hard week. I am miserable with how hard it is, and I also feel hope. This is what it is to be human: it's a mixture of the good and the painful, the wonder and the confusion. I'm a hot mess, and I've got it all together, depending on the minute, the day, the year.

There is nothing to do, but keep going. I won't figure it all out, but I'll figure out bits of it. Much of it is out of my control but I will control what I can (for example, I did vote, but I can't control the outcome). Some of the news will be great, some of it will be troubling, and some of it I will misinterpret.

***

Yesterday the dog needed a walk, and so after work I dragged myself out of the house to get us both some exercise. The sky was blue, the leaves on the trees were filled with golden light, and it was beautiful. It made me think about the seasons, and how grateful I am to have seasons to remind me that even though soon the skies will be leaden, the branches bare and dark, the days short. It will rain, and rain, and rain, and it will feel like it's dark most of the time (because it is)...even though all that is true, and predictable, I can also predict cherry blossoms, and daffodils, and summer days with picnics and ocean swims and paddle boarding. It's not supposed to be clear and dry in Seattle all the time, and I love having seasons, even though some are easier than others. The hard days make the lovely days all the lovelier, and I appreciate the goodness in my life because I know what hard days are like.

Cancer. Divorce. Some really dark, hard days, when I didn't think I had what it took to get to the other side, and when I wondered if the other side actually contained any happiness. I know hard days, intimately. They are old friends.

And I know joy. I'm better at joy than most people: the joy I take in the small joys is exponential because I can compare them to my lows. I know how it could be, and when it's better than that, I'm overwhelmed with gratitude. When I am picnicking with a friend, I know I could be in a chemo chair. When I'm walking in the woods, I know I could be talking to a divorce mediator. When I'm coaching a student through an English paper, I know that I could be wondering how to find my career path (which is much worse than it sounds - I was adrift for a while).

So - right now it's bad. It's not as bad as cancer and divorce, although it does feel lonelier due to quarantine. There is too much that is wrong, but there is right, too.

It's just a bad day, a bad week, a bad month. And this too shall pass. It won't stay like this forever.

Just a bad week.

***

Here's a song that got me through chemo; I listened on repeat. Maybe it'll help me (or you) again today.

https://youtu.be/QuR6ACrbC70

Bad Day, Daniel Powter.

***

How do you get through bad days? Are you struggling right now, too?

New-old-new body

My body has been through the wringer.

Cancer treatment was brutal. Not only did I need double mastectomies, a node dissection, a port (and its removal) to do some incredibly nasty chemo (and I was allergic to chemo so went into anaphylactic shock!), some pretty intense surgical biopsies, and a salpingo oopharectomy, I also had countless reconstruction surgeries. When I did radiation, I got third degree burns and had to go into intensive wound management. I took drugs that nearly crippled me; in the morning when I attempted to stand, my legs would buckle until I caught myself; I couldn't chop a carrot or sign my name because my hands hurt so much.

Ugly.

But along with the ugliness, there was another ugly: from a combination of the chemo steroids and the carb cravings, I gained weight. By the time chemo was done, I needed to lose 40 pounds - and I did! I joined Weight Watchers fresh out of chemo, and by the time I was done with radiation and a few more surgeries, I had gone down to my lowest adult weight. I was wearing size 4 clothes for the first (only!) time in my life, and people actually said "you're too skinny!" In hindsight, they might have been right, but not by too much.

From about 2006-2015 I kept up my good habits of diet and exercise. I did yoga sometimes, and I ran and hiked and walked a lot. From 2015-2017 my weight crept up a bit, but still in my comfort range.

But when I started teaching, I was so tired and overwhelmed that I let my good habits completely fall to the wayside. I started eating all of the staff room treats, sharing the treats that I brought for the students, and eating too much take-out because I was too tired to cook. I stopped exercising.

This January, I went in for my annual blood work, and I was shocked when I stood on the scale: it registered a number that I hadn't witnessed since my third trimester of pregnancy! As if that wasn't shock enough, my blood work came back with high cholesterol. It stung: I fought so hard to get my health back from cancer, and now I had to worry about heart attacks or strokes?!

I should have known. When I looked in the mirror, I didn't recognize what I saw. I saw pictures of myself and thought "SURELY I'm not that big?" even though I was buying larger clothes and my old clothes didn't fit. Even though my knees creaked on stairs, even though I had no energy, even though my face had changed shape. I should have known.

I knew what I had to do, so I immediately re-joined Weight Watchers the same day I got the results. I told my doctor that is what I was doing, and she was pleased: it's a program known for its health benefits, relying on balance and reason rather than trends and deprivation.

I joined on 2/2, and today, almost three months later, I'm down exactly 21 pounds.

21 pounds in just under three months is two things:
1. Not that remarkable. People can lose weight a LOT faster: if you look at The Biggest Loser, they might lose that much in a week or two.
2. Extraordinary. My body is transformed...is transforming still.

I lost on average less than two pounds per week this whole time, and I couldn't be happier about that. Why? Well, while I'd clearly like to be my ideal weight (I'm not there yet) as fast as possible, what I really want is to be healthy, and to pick up a plan to be healthy for the rest of my (hopefully long) life. Last time I lost weight, I did so quickly, and I did it by obsessing over every bite, and by being hungry all the time. Well, I like food, and I hate being hungry, so I wasn't going to do that again. At the pace I'm going now, I'm still eating contraband like brownies, bread with butter, and coq au vin. I've had take out, burgers, and pizza. I can eat like this for the rest of my life because NO food is off limits, and I'm thrilled about that.

How am I losing weight, then? Well, though I have eaten all of the fattening foods on that list, I don't eat them all the time, and I eat them in moderation. What an unsexy thing! No "get skinny fast!" and no "instant results!" There is no pill that is doing the work for me, no magic food that melts the pounds away. There is, instead, a constant series of choices: if I have this now, I can't have that later. If I want that really fattening food, I'll have to pare back on this meal, and that one. I'm eating far more fruits and veggies, and I've switched from white rice to brown, from plain pasta to brown rice or whole wheat pasta. I've switched from chicken thighs to chicken breasts, from ground beef to ground chicken or turkey, from pork sausage to chicken sausage. I'm eating a lot of fruit for snacks. I eat a lot less cheese.

And I'm happy.

21 pounds is a LOT of weight. Picture a pound of butter, those four sticks in a box: I've lost 21 boxes worth. That's crazy! Every part of me is different: my face has changed feet, and (much to my surprise) I've lost a half size in my shoes! (My slip on shoes no longer fit. My lace up or buckle shoes have gone to tighter settings.) I pulled clothes out of the back of the closet that I haven't worn in years - and they fit again! Clothes that I wore all year to school are now in the donation bin. And the shorts from last summer that barely buttoned because they were so tight? I've had to give them away because they're too big! (Craziest yet, I'm not done. While my BMI is back in healthy range, my squishy stomach is letting me know there is still work to be done, and that's okay. I'm on it!)

My knees don't creak as much. I'm sleeping better.

I don't know if my cholesterol is falling, but statistically, just losing 5% of one's weight is enough to lower cholesterol, and I've lost 12% so far. I was supposed to go back to the doctor next month to have my bloodwork re-done, but since I fear the doctor's office due to sick patients, I cancelled until further notice. I already know it's going to be better: how could it not? I look forward to seeing the results.

But the thing that surprised me, although I don't know that it should have, is that I am enjoying feeling attractive again. I pride myself on not being too vain, valuing substance over style, and I'll be like that until my dying day....but it's not all or nothing. I walk with a little more bounce in my step now. I enjoy getting dressed (even though there's nowhere to go!). I feel - dare I say it? - pretty.

I like it.

I deserve to feel good, and I am SO TIRED OF FEELING BAD.

Life is messy and complicated. My father is ashamed of me, my mother incapable of speaking up for me, and I've recognized how much that is a part of me. I think I was beginning to accept that feeling bad was just part of the deal, and my weight might have been my way of embracing it. Just typing that sentence makes me feel so sad for myself, and for what I've lost, and for what could have been and isn't.

And then there is the world gone mad that is coronavirus, and working from home, and social isolating, and the uncertainty of it all.

But I am more excited for what is ahead than I am sad for what is behind.

My new body is still my old body: it is the one I was born with, and the one that has been through transformation after transformation. It is the body that grew a human and then, impossibly, gave birth on Pitocin and through pre-eclampsia without meds, and that body discovered the super-human strength within. It is the body that was maimed, poisoned, burned during chemo, but then rose up again to run half marathons. It is a body that has grown, and shrunk, and grown again - but it is still elastic, still capable of shrinking to a size more becoming.

I am not done becoming who I am meant to be.

I am fifty years old, but I feel that I learn lessons every five minutes, and often it strikes me that everyone else learned these lessons years before and that I'm the last one to arrive to them... but then I realize that no, we're all learning lessons, and I'm ahead on some and behind on others, and that is how it is for 99% of us.

Right now, I'm learning that I crave a beautiful body that is filled with strength, and that having such a body makes me feel confident and beautiful, and I deserve that. I'm learning that my appearance matters to me more than I thought it did. I'm learning that I can reshape myself, not only emotionally but also physically, again and again, and that sometimes my physical and emotional states are tied to one another. My layers of fat were not protective, as I'd hoped: they were a trap that held me still, prevented me from becoming who I want to be.

Now, for those fat-acceptance folks out there: you go, girls! I'm glad you're happy. But this isn't about that. This is about me not being healthy, and embracing health, and finding the joy that comes with that health.

And it's about feeling beautiful. Maybe others feel good at a high BMI, but here's the truth: I don't.

I am thrilled to get this body back, to re-inhabit my skin in this way.

I bought a bikini, and a paddle board. I intend to spend as much of the summer as humanly possible out on the water, gently gliding over the waves. Maybe sometimes I'll even picnic out there, or read a book out there. I'll explore the coastline of West Seattle, free and strong. I hope to backpack too - and anyone who has backpacked knows that you'd go to a great deal of trouble to avoid carrying an extra five pounds, so losing 21 pounds not out of my pack but off my body will make all the difference in the world. There is no feeling in the world like climbing to a beautiful place with an alpine lake, setting up a tent, and then diving into icy cold waters on a hot day. The water washes away the trail's dust, reinvigorates the soul, and fills me with a joy that is hard to come by on an ordinary day.

I want that again.

And, despite the fact that it's coronavirus quarantines and so I deleted my dating app (I'm not risking my life to meet a stranger!), I think I'm just that much closer to being ready for love. Having some confidence about my appearance is certainly helpful, but I honestly believe that there are changes happening within that are bigger than the changes on the outside.

I deserve to feel great. I'm willing to put in the work. I believe in myself and my ability to make progress, to change, to become a new person.

I believe that I'm still the little girl who was once filled with possibility and promise, before the world gave her messages about being enough, or being someone who would cause shame in a father.

I am going back to who I am, old and new, all at once. I believe in do-overs, I believe in fresh starts, and I believe in learning and growth. As my body continues to shrink to the size it is meant to be, I feel myself growing.

The best is yet to come.

Longing

Today is day 46 (?) of quarantine in our house.

And I am filled with longing.

I long to hear my daughter and her friends in our basement, laughing and talking as they eat pizza and popcorn and home made brownies, watching a movie but really just being together.

I long to go on a long walk with a friend, winding up at my house for a healthy lunch.

I long to hop on a bus downtown to go to a movie, a museum, a lunch date.

I long to go on a date, to dress up just a little (sundress season is nearly here!) and to feel that little spark of excitement as I think, "oh - maybe?"

I long to take my market basket on a Sunday to the farmer's market. I stop at Bakery Nouveau for a treat (their raspberry croissants are otherworldly, perhaps my all time favorite food), pick up my market goodies (greens and fruits, particularly June strawberries), then pop in to Pegasus Books to find a treasure to read. My final stop is Easy Street, where I go upstairs to flip through their "just arrived" used records, finding funny or wonderful treasures like John Denver, Ella Fitzgerald, Linda Rondstadt, or Queen. Sometimes I do this activity solo, but I'm never alone, because I run into neighbors and friends, and we stop and visit and share tips about what the farmers are selling, and maybe we grab a coffee together.

I miss the dog park almost as much as Chance does. When the world isn't gone mad, we go weekly. He swims in the lake, and I stand around talking to other dog owners, and generally soaking up the good will of those joyful dogs running at mad speeds and splashing and stealing one another's balls.

I want to go on a ferry to a nearby destination. I want to sit out on the deck, sun on my face, chatting with a friend, admiring the views, wind in my hair. I want to wander through a small town.

I long to visit my favorite bookstores, picking up books and putting them down again, getting recommendations from staff, chatting quietly with the people who say, "oh that's a good one!"

I long to meet my friends at an outdoor concert - at Hiawatha park, where I never know if I'll like the music but I always love the vibe; or a ZooTunes or Chateau Ste. Michelle concert, where we pack gourmet picnics and spend an hour or two before the concert chatting and laughing and drinking wine before the concert begins, and we dance and clap and laugh.

I long to go to the Seattle Art Museum, taking in the beauty and the strangeness.

And most of all, I long to fill my house with friends. I long to host a game night: we do potluck, and the teenagers come too and they love it as much as the adults do. I long to host a special dinner, the kind where I cook all day, and get the house shining and tidy, and put flowers on the table, and light candles. I long to have backyard hangouts where we laugh and talk and share food and come in and out of the house.

I want to have a murder mystery party.

I want to sit in a restaurant and take my time, ordering new dishes, chatting with a friend.

I want to go to plays, movies, Broadway shows. I want to get dressed up, and go with a friend or a date or Tessa.

This weekend, I'm going to two birthday parties where we drive by in cars, and I'm going to a wedding on Zoom. I'm going to a baby shower next week on Zoom. I don't want to drive by parties, I long to go inside. I don't want to look at my computer, I want to hug my friends and sit with them.

I want to go to my yoga class. I want to listen to the music, and the gentle breaths of other students, and be in the dim lighting. At the end, after savasana, I want to sit in lotus and chant "om" with the other students, filled with the beauty of the practice.

I want to go to Alki for so many things. I want to sit in a chair and read, I want to swim and stand up paddle board, to meet my friends for happy hour at Cactus, to have a bonfire on the beach and sit on the logs under the stars.

I want to try an escape room.

I want to visit neighborhoods - Wallingford, Fremont, Ballard, Columbia City, Beacon Hill, Capital Hill, the I.D. - and poke around little shops, try out new restaurants.

I want to spend hours browsing at Elliott Bay or Pegasus or Paper Boat or a bookstore I've never heard of.

I want to rent a cabin in the San Juans.

I want to go camping, and sit in on ranger talks, and around campfires with other folks.

I want to go whale watching from kayaks with friends.

I want to get my hair cut, a pedicure, and (ahem) ready for bikini season with waxing.

I want to bring my friends birthday cakes and hugs.

I long to visit someone dear to me who was recently in the hospital.

I want to teach my students IN PERSON AT SCHOOL. Oh, how I long for that!

***

So much longing. It will happen again. But right now - just longing.

I do see the half full part of the glass. I'm comfortable and safe at home. We're eating better than ever. I'm exercising midday. I have time to do hobbies like jewelry making.

But I still long for more.