Our Layers

Disclaimer: Feeling a little "off" for the last few days so this entry is a bit more serious than I usually allow myself to be here. However, there is a great poem at the end so feel free to skip to the bottom for a powerful piece of writing worth printing out! When I get back from vacation next week, I promise, back to my usual lighthearted self!

We are complicated beings. Ones filled with twisted, gnarled emotions, attached to memories, people and losses we should have let go of long ago. There are nights, like this one, when I cannot forgive myself for not being able to do just that. Let go.

The world I have constructed for myself is one that is full of questions, insecurities and fear. I can only recall a handful of times when I have actually just allowed myself to relax, have fun and not "overthink" (my husband's favorite description of me). Those nights are so precious to me because I felt wonderfully alive and free. Many of you who read this blog were probably at most of those events. Let's see...my wedding, a Halloween party at the "famous" NYC apartment (shout out to Super Jeff), a night at Sweet Melissa's (bar in NYC), a dinner party at my house, one night at the "upscale" campus bar for my 22nd birthday, and my senior spring college formal. Strange that they all involve alcohol, but let's not deconstruct that now.

What I do notice, though, is the events do have people in common. So while I search for a hobby that fulfills me, a place that feels comfortable, or a dream that is realized, perhaps I should just spend more time with the people who know me (really know me) and love me anyway. Perhaps I should dedicate less time to climbing a corporate ladder and accumulating materialistic goods. Maybe I should focus on them, on you, on the people who matter to me.

Stanley Kunitz writes "Live in the layers/ not on the litter." It is from one of my favorite poems (see below), and it is a line I repeat to my students time and again when they get caught up in the thorny parts of life. Maybe it is time I listen too.


The Layers

I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
"Live in the layers,
not on the litter."
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.

Stanley Kunitz

That Crazy Lady at the Gym

Stop the presses...I went to the gym yesterday. Yes, it has been a full year since I showed my face at the Y for a reason besides "Mommy and me" swim classes. But yesterday Princess went to school in the morning, and I (in my continuing search for me - see previous post) thought a trip to the gym would do me good. I dusted off my sneakers, found my ipod earphones, and off I went.

It was great - exhilarating and fun. In my previous life (before husband and daughter) I loved going to the gym, especially lifting free weights. When I was in college, those little dumb bells helped me lose that freshmen 15 ( and the sophomore 10). So I really owe them a visit, at least for old times sake. I still love my infrequent trips to the gym, as they allow me to just focus on being healthy and give me 60 minutes to listen to my music - really loud. And this music listening may be where I get myself in trouble.

In the life before my previous life (aka high school), I was a dancer and music lived in every muscle. It was impossible for me not to tap my foot, shake my shoulders, and/or snap my fingers when a song was playing. If I knew the song well, it was more impossible for me not to mouth the words.

This kinesthetic condition continues to this day. I can hide it a bit on the treadmill because I simply time my walk/run to the beat of the music. While "Mr. Brightside" by The Killers plays, I run quickly; "Stay" by Dave Matthews gives me a boost as I trudge the incline. But the problem really shows itself when I move to the beloved dumb bells. Again, I can time my bicep curl so it aligns with the beat, but any trainer will tell you you should rest between sets. And so I sit on a bench for a few minutes. Before I know it, I am mouthing words to a song only I can hear and nodding my head like a bobble head doll. I don't know how to control it. Yet I don't know if I should have to.

A few weeks ago my husband, Princess and I took a trip to my sister-in-law's house. On our way there, we passed a large marina with an active running path. As traffic slowed, I noticed a woman with large headphones dancing and singing as she jogged. She was living by the motto "dance as if no one is watching," because she was swinging her arms, jumping up and down, and shaking her whole body. To me, she looked like she was having a great time. I felt a pang of jealousy of her uninhibited nature. My husband thought she was crazy.

While I rested on the bench yesterday I thought of her. She would probably bob and sway and sing without a care. Perhaps I should do the same. So I let myself go a little. I did not bust out with a Martha Graham performance (well more like a So You Think You Can Dance? reject), but as I did my ab crunches I moved a little more, I mouthed all the words, and I felt really good.

Maybe I am now known as "that crazy lady at the gym," but I like to think they are all just jealous.

And you are....?

My daughter went to "school" this morning. We send her two mornings a week during the summer even though I am on vacation so that she will keep the routine. Plus, she loves, loves going. Her teachers are wonderful, and she gets so excited to see her pint-sized friends. When she shuffles through the classroom door, all her friends shout "Princess!" It is reminiscient of Norm's entrance from Cheers (except without the beer). So cute.

So here I am - 9:00 a.m. on a Wednesday morning - all by myself. The house is quiet except for the soothing rattle of a train every now and then. What shall I do with myself? The possibililities are endless...I guess. I don't know. What is it I like to do again?

So far I've checked my work e-mail, written a few messages, and logged onto my paperback exchange account, requesting several Virginia Woolf titles that I may never get to read, but I will feel smarter with them on my bookshelf. And now, well, here I am. Writing, thinking, wondering - what could I do for the next three hours that will fill my soul just a little? Not enough time to go to the beach or the city. If I go to the mall (which I really don't enjoy that much, so I am not sure why I would consider it), I will spend money I am not supposed to. And hey, I could unnecessarily spend cash online right from the comfort of my own home! It's too early for the bar, right?

I know you're all screaming at me right now. "If I had 3 hours to myself, I would...!!" I'd probably do the same if I was in your position. In fact, I know I would. I often tell my husband, "I just need a break so that I can go out and be me for a little while. Not the mom, not the wife, not the career person, just me." Yet, I am not really sure who she is anymore. What did I do during the summers I was not a mom and did not have to go to work so frequently even during "vacation"? I really cannot remember.

I guess my mission is to figure out who this new version of me is. I can never be the college co-ed, graduate student or the newlywed again. Instead, I need to carve out a little space for the fulfilled individual who also happens to be a working mom. Maybe a yoga class? a therapy group? a writer's workshop? a gardening club? a softball league? a dinner with friends?

I just hope I am greeted with a resounding "Working Mom!" when I arrive. Then maybe I'll know who I am.