September (MB)

Today is the first really chilly fall-like day this season here in Madison.  It really feels like you might be sorry if you left the house without a substantial hoodie or closed-toe shoes.  Up until now, we’ve been having the most glorious September you could ever imagine.  Well, I guess the way I’ve framed that is very colored by my personal preferences; I just ran into somebody who was raving about how refreshing today felt.

Me, I’m a lover of warm weather, and with this brisk day I deeply sense the encroaching limitations of deep fall and winter and, for that matter, much of the spring  – on hours of light, on our ability to go out without dressing in layers, on our energy as we slightly hibernate, on our activities and on the ability to see green life in our midst.  So for me, those warm bright blue days in the 70s and low 80s, with white puffy clouds and a slight breeze, through about, say, yesterday, were perfect in the most pure aesthetic way.  But they were also an extension of freedom.  I was still bombing around in my flip-flops and not caring whether the kids were properly dressed (at least in the weather sense) when they left for school.

And yes, from a social perspective, fall has already long since begun.  We were at the Willy Street Fair briefly this weekend – the last festival of the season; Peter and I went to the Badgers game on Saturday which was like a cornucopia of blissed out traditional fall Wisconsin fun.  Kids have been in school several weeks now.  There have been football game Fridays, Spanish quizzes, lengthy pre-calc assignments, and seemingly already countless packed lunches.  It’s going to be a good year, I keep telling the kids.  10^th and 7^th grade. . . . 10^th is the year I started really deviating; 7^th is the year all other parents around here seem to think must be endured by plugging one’s nose and waiting it out. Notwithstanding those somewhat superficial associations I may have with the particular grades, I’m convinced we are going to have a great year.

We definitely had a great summer.  We stuck close to home as you know.  A big summer trip really wasn’t an option, and this scenario really opened up some quality of living here in Madison and in Wisconsin in general that it’s easy to miss out on when you are cramming all of your vacation days and expenditures and “family time” into one big trip.  We had a lot of family goings-on in the early part of the summer, as you might imagine, after my grandma’s funeral.  My grandma’s passing at the very beginning of the summer really put a focus on things.  I have spent a lot of time this summer thinking about what matters in life, to be honest.  That my summer was already planned to be close to home fit well with that thought process.  We spent time with my sisters and their families, we got good slow time in La Crosse and the surrounding (gorgeous – only discovering how gorgeous 35 years after being born there) area with my parents.  We went to the famous Madison Saturday Farmer’s Market (8 blocks from our house but easy to miss when the travel plans and pace get going) many times, we went camping and fished and watched the Brewers and went to the State Fair for the first time.  We golfed and paddled and spent time with the many, many cousins.  We were really good Wisconsinites this summer.  We even had some poison ivy in the family, to prove it.

This summer we also had some interesting encounters with some new elements for our little family.  For one thing, we had a 100 year drought here.  It was kind of scary.  The resilient Midwestern earth was a scorched wasteland.  People were freaked out.  My garden died almost completely (partly because I just gave up after a point.  And, for the record, as bad of a gardener as I am, I have never had a garden do this poorly).  People around here started talking about this being the “new normal”.  I have a client that does work on climate change issues, and those folks are basically like, this is Exhibit A to what’s really going down.  I suppose I’m now about to commit the common sin of simply recognizing that it was freaky and glossing over, moving on.  I promise to ride my bike and burn less gas and buy less meat and . . . . really, I will, but that’s a whole other blog post and for now I’m trying to squeeze out this re-cap of some other summer stuff.

As for another new element for us this summer -- as you know, the beau has bought a large house in the old, distinguished, monied neighborhood of Maple Bluff.  Now, mind you – he seized on a deal that landed him there.  Not that he’s not doing well for himself, but it’s a little bit “there goes the neighborhood” that we’re even up there, you know?  Anyway, this summer that included some tennis and pool time at the country club, some neighborhood gatherings that look NOTHING like the block parties and house parties we used to rock back in the day on the near east side, dear Abby.  I got to throw some backyard parties to get everyone else that always invites me and the kids over back (I don’t even try in our little old house anymore, but the Maple Bluff backyard is perfect!)  We did some house-sitting for extended periods while beau was out of town, and you hear birds and see chipmunks when you get up in the morning, as opposed to my (still lovely) city dwelling which seems constantly bombarded with the sounds of sirens, people in the street fighting, and general traffic noise.  I know, I know – you live in L.A., and you’re wondering what the hell I’m talking about – Madison?  Yes, actually.  Really.

So we hung out some up in Maple Bluff and at first this seemed like it would be an illustrious fun adventure for the summer.  With complete open-mindedness and a slight hint of excitement that maybe I could play-act or be the outlier or just adjust to belonging in that world TOO, I was rather looking forward to a potential extended adventure in this somewhat cloistered, aesthetically gorgeous new slice of Madison.  But, true confessions: it didn’t take long for me to honestly realize and feel that it’s just not my scene.  This should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me.  I mean the natural features can’t be beat.  But you have to drive up and down a hill to even so much as get a newspaper, and, maybe I need more time, but I just didn’t feel the vibe of the people all that much.  I guess for now I think there’s nothing about that world that’s all that enticing to me now that I’ve seen it.  I guess if I happen to get to enjoy it and be invited “in”, I’ll continue to enjoy it as possible. 

I know you know all about needing an escape or theoretical “other world” from the world we usually dwell in. How many years did we gather around the kitchen table in a neighborhood in Madison that people engineer their lives around getting to live in, and both talk about our respective (imagined or real) next moves, steps to get out, etc. Now you’ve really made yours. Me, not so much – well, or at least not in the last 7 years or so, after all the international adventuring stopped and I had to get to work here. I guess Maple Bluff was a little escape for me, and in the end it was kind of like a vacation to a place that’s really pretty and you have really good memories of, but you’re not exactly planning to move there.

Peter and Madeline both shared in the Maple Bluff experience, became occasional country club dwellers, and also ran into a few new elements of their own . . . Peter was a caddy, so got to see what being a service provider was all about, and what making money of his own was all about, which I think made a pretty big impression on him, actually.  He’s already talking about maybe we can’t take a vacation next summer because he’s going to have a job (I’m convincing him every job permits time off).  Madeline is on a full-fledged campaign that this virtuous city-living in an old house in an eclectic neighborhood is total CRAP and we should have long ago moved to where her cousins live in Holmen, Wisconsin, where everyone has brand new houses with fresh carpet that are three times as big as ours but cost about the same amount (she actually knows this; I’m not kidding – the kid reviews house listings online to verify the basis of her arguments).  She reminds me that their schools have enough money that they don’t need to have PTG fundraisers, and they have brand new gym equipment, and the people there are not all hippies who don’t let their kids shop at the mall, etc, etc.  You get the point.  The girl is on to the very significant impact a very well-intentioned decision made eleven years ago to live on Madison’s East Side and raise these children in this accepting, progressive community (or as it is thought of by some, anyway) has had on, well, everything in her world.  And, she’s not so sure she appreciates the woodwork of our 110 year old rental home or her ability to bike to school along the river path or the summer festivals in our neighborhood or that any other factor really outweighs her interest in fresh construction, a finished basement, and a posse of girlfriends with good make-up and hair.

Speaking of moves, you are now in L.A.  Frank has a new job, Henry’s climbing the ladder of his Hollywood acting career, Jimmy seems to have found some things to get excited about there (although, more information, please), and Charlie has started kindergarten (!).  I feel like maybe you could write all day and I’d still need to see this all with my own eyes.  However, I really wouldn’t know since you haven’t written (aw, snap! – just kidding).  Anyway, we must, must get out there next summer.  Tell us more in the meantime – please!

I guess on my side of this blog, and in my little family, we’ve all done a little digging in on where we’re from, where we are and where we really want to be (all things being equal).   There’s been some slow and steady realization of what sheer goodness, albeit not glitzy, we come from and have before us here in Wisconsin with our big crazy extended family.  There’s been some reckoning with the truly specific and odd combination of factors that make up our life on the Isthmus in Madison.  And then, there’s been that healthy dose of escapism too, especially for Mads.  Although I must admit that observing Peter taking driver’s education and working this summer, and now starting Year 2 of high school, my new thing is a combination of the real deal AND escape, which is – in a few years the whole game changes again for me.  Maddy and I will be sending our Peter off to college in less than 3 years, and if the past is any gauge. . . I’d better hold on because it’ll be here soon.  What will that next chapter be like for all of us?  For now, I’m trying to use the awareness that it’ll come one day to slow me down here today and here with what I’ve got and make sure I’m doing right by it and planning for the future but not letting myself get too bogged down with work and planning and stress to savor and enjoy and again, do it right and not frenetically.  It’s really really hard to do that, and it’s so cliché to even say it that I don’t want to even say it.  But, that’s what I got.  I did a good job at points this summer, and I’m trying to carry that forward.  Work is full of challenges but very very good, I am earning, I am making progress on goals with various things, and I am really trying to be thoughtful about these kids and who they are and what they need and want and how I play into that.  I know I can’t hold on to notions of control, but I still have a pretty big job in the whole process.

September’s always that time when you can see things visibly changing, you hold on a little to the freedom and warmth of summer, you enjoy the freshness in the air but note with some pause the pending changes. . .l what’s September like for you? 

Happy, Happy Birthday!! (MB)

Dear Abby:

Happy, Happy Birthday to YOU!  We thought we might be celebrating together this year, here in Madison, but alas, it did not come together.  When I woke up this morning I thought of you and our original plans but I actually thought it might be okay we didn't get together because I don't think I could have sustained hosting or preparing for a party today!

I just came off a whirlwind couple of weeks after my grandma's funeral.  The kids got out of school, which as you know changes everything, we were on the road for Father's Day and partying it up in La Crosse with a bunch of cousins and relatives for high school graduations and Father's Day festivities, and then my sweetest ever 20-year-old cousin came to stay most of last week because she had to have oral surgery (and recover) here in Madison.  By Saturday night she was ready for salsa dancing so I had my first out-til-3 a.m. night in as long as I can remember this past weekend.  Sunday and Monday after, my sister Anna and her little girls were here.  So today, I'm celebrating in a way that works in the context of all that's been going on.  Ran this morning, had an abbreviated but otherwise normal work day -- with added awesome treats of flowers and cards and gifts from colleagues (so sweet!) -- now grabbing a little "me" time to catch up on emails and random work stuff at a coffee shop before a quick swim and a cookout with the beau and kids.

What are you doing today?  I hope it's good to you, whatever it is.  I fear that Frank's work schedule will not let up too much, but I hope you either get some Abby time or family time or date night time or whatever trips your trigger.

Someone reminded me today that I am now old enough to be the President.  That's a little scary.  Does this magical age really mean I'm that mature?  (Then again, looking around at elected officials, perhaps any assumption of maturity is misled; but at a minimum our founders thought 35 was a relevant benchmark).

I do feel as if 35 is an age you kind of can't deny is up there enough that any mistakes excused by youthfulness are no longer possible (for other reasons, sure, but. . . .).  On the up side, I think I've got a pretty good vantage point on drama and distraction and I'm ready to be pretty real with myself about what matters, being present, focusing on the task at hand, etc. -- a la recent posts.  Do you feel that way?

I guess there are still a lot of question marks and mysteries about the world around us and ourselves; thank goodness, otherwise life would be pretty boring.  But, the core stuff seems pretty settled.  And therefore tolerance for BS pretty low, which can be a good and bad thing.  I guess as long as you couple that with a healthy dose of compassion it's okay.

This morning Peter and I were up together getting him ready to go to a golf tournament, and I said in my pre-coffee haze: "Yep, I guess I'm gettin' pretty old, Peter."  And he says, "Aw Mom; I think you're just looking at it all wrong.  What you should be thinking is you're 35 and you have a 15-year-old and a 12-year-old, and a whole life ahead of you."  Deep, sweet thoughts from my teenager.  I cherish that one.

I miss ya, Ab.  Would've been fun to party for the birthdays.  But have a drink for me and spend some time this birthday week thinking about our next little reunion and what that should look like.  Miss you madly, actually, and your boys.  Would be cool to be around the long kitchen table with y'all tonight.  We need to make that happen. 

You're gorgeous, smart as hell, and full of adventure.  I hope you feel all of that today and are getting some good feedback from those around you.  Love!

Being Present (MB)

It means a lot, a real lot, to me that you read my amazing grandma's obituary and cried, and you captured something important in your reflections.  What she did with what she had -- be fully, without abandon, in the life she led -- is really, really what it is all about.

I have had a chance to write about her at some length in these last weeks, and maybe I will send you, privately, the essay that I sent for a family collection of stories and reflections that my aunt was putting together for her for her birthday in July.  My grandma didn't get to see the final collection but the stories were already coming in when she was getting more and more worn down, so they just started reading them to her instead, mine included.

My hesitation to post that essay here goes along with one of my planned blog posts: "Dignity and Decorum in the Post-Digital Age."  I've been thinking about how we manage this blog and stay authentic and interesting while not turning into hated assholes who only have each other by the end of it all because everybody's so appalled by all we wrote.  Anyway, I think we'll figure it out. 

For now, I have nothing too philosophical or composed to say. 

But your timing on saying something about "Being Present" was impeccable.  Madeline was just yelling at me in the grocery store parking lot for losing my phone in my purse and then proceeding to take a work call and send a text and -- well, you get it.

I have also failed Peter miserably this week by not "Being Present" with him as he works his way through Round 2 High School Finals.  I am so thinking about the things he forgot or didn't quite put the effort in on and so thinking about the end game that I am just acting like a huge psychobitch narrating and nagging in my own little sphere as he, young man, truly approaches a new task and tries to figure it out.  I haven't been present for that process.  Enough, anyway.

Tonight is different.  We are here and Mads is playing her lovely piano recital song.  Peter and his friends were here working on a group project and I had some nice moments with everybody.  Now he's just walked in with a new haircut I sent him off for on his own.  He looks all tall and grown up.  We've got a little Brewers Cubs in the background and soon Recall Election results.  Say what you will about your exhaustion with the politics of Madison, but there is so much energy surrounding that today you almost can't NOT be present in the moment of it and the kids and I are all captivated along with the rest of Wisconsin (and some of the world).

Another sweetness tonight -- a work colleague stopped by with gorgeous salad, homemade mac n cheese, bread, and amazing brownies -- her condolences.  That just made me bubble over with appreciation.  People who care and food to match.  Meanwhile my family home in La Crosse is overflowing with that -- and my sisters are there already with their babies.  I am still here Being Present with the kids and the last week of school.  We'll be headed for services and the weekend in La Crosse on Friday.  I'm going without plan or agenda and will absorb and be still.

When we're old ladies we'll be making sure we both stay healthy and enjoy being sassy with an excuse.  We'll have the occasional howling laugh around the dining room table but if we have to stay in touch by late-night blog so our days can be spent rocking babies and going to grandkids' school concerts and teaching our kids and their spouses recipes from our past, so be it.

Peace and Presence be with you, Ab.  Let's do this thing, this one thing it's really all about.

Grandma

Sorry to hear about your grandma.  She was awe inspiring.

My fetish for a particular grandma ideal is alive and well.  I still sometimes poke through thrift stores searching for the remnants of an age gone by.  Aprons.  Lace.  Quilts.  Cookie cutters.  Canning jars.  I know it's all bullshit but I can't help myself.

In sunny San Diego the thrifting is not as good.  Most of the grandma transplants inhabit second life mobile homes and prefer yoga and beach walking to caring for grandbabies.  They don't bake and might even be vegans!  Do they visit their grandchildren on the holidays or host them here for a visit to the beach?  Where would the children sleep in the mobile trailers?  The image confuses me -- the lack of coziness painful.

My own grandmothers are nothing like the story book version in my head.  My Grandma Helen cooks with Campbells soup and reads bad romance novels.  She doesn't like to sew and is luke warm on nurturing in general.  I love her fiercely but would never ask her for a favor.  My Grandma Lorraine lives in an Arizona trailer park that allows two weekends a year for children to visit the premises.  She likes shuffle board and gambling.  We never visit.  Going back a generation I remember my Great Grandma Mildred smoking long brown Moore cigarettes and drinking luke warm coffee well into her hundreds.  She could garden and can with the best of 'em but failed to take an interest in anything I ever did.  It stings a bit.  The gap between what I wanted and what I got.

The complete indifference my parents display for my own children slips the ideal further afield.  Somehow I know they feel it, their total failure to connect with what is right in front of them, the distance much further than a life across the country.  My parents (and in laws) continuously check in on  facebook or cspan for meaning while spending time together.  (And that generation says we are addicted to social media.)  They don't twitter but somehow they are staring at a screen while grandchildren take their first steps or try to show them a drawing.  They are absent even when present.  I want to shake them but somehow together we find solace in taking photos of memories for facebook.

Their visits feel like poking at a wound.  The vague memory of a mother and a giant 1980s mobile phone and an empty fridge.  Something about that. 

Right now I am teaching Charlie about eye contact.  Really I am trying to teach him about being present, about paying attention to who is there at the moment.  It occurs to me that my own behavior needs tweaking.  I turn off my phone.  I watch myself.

 Almost nothing else is possible if you really want to be present for your kids.  Not really.  None of us can multitask.  I am particularly bad at it.

You sure as hell can't quilt or bake or make jelly or any of those storybook grandma things I find appealing. It doesn't matter if it's facebook or lace making.  Not really.  We all want desperately to escape.  I struggle.  I have stopped thrifting.  I try to only write at night or do yoga before the kids awake.

And in regards to your last post...  maybe I am an entrepreneur or maybe an artist or maybe a fill in the blank.  It doesn't matter to me really.  Yes money needs to come in the house to survive, but beyond that I don't care much.  My path is to try and be an attentive mom.  That's all.  I want to be the kind of parent (and grandparent) who is around and useful and can make eye contact.  This may sound easy and simplistic, and god love the people who find this so, but for me it means unlearning generations of failure and neglect.  It means giving up on storybook idealism.   I want to undo the cycle.  I just do.  And it's crazy hard.

I cried when I read your grandmother's obituary.  I was going to put a link here on the blog but I thought maybe you should decide if that's appropriate.  I cried particularly here,

Marilyn loved babies. Nothing delighted her as much as rocking, reading to, and caring
for the babies in her family. She never forgot a grandchild’s birthday and attended many of their
performances, school and sporting events. 

Now that's a good thing to have written about you at the end of the day.  That's the best.

I will report that attentiveness has gotten easier since moving to San Diego.  I find it much simpler to focus in on family without all the distractions of an extended community.  Maybe this has more to say about my own introverted qualities, but I definitely find more delight in parenting outside of the hubbub of Madison and other adult friendships.  I was interested in your Grandma Marilyn's experience being so very different from my own.  She found community and nurturing synonymous.  How lucky.  Perhaps this is where some of your own instincts arise MB?

I have found myself at many parks with Charlie over the past year.  The mom groups seated together on the grass always interest me because they resemble the old me, the Madison me.  The moms sort of ignore their kids, talking fast with their girlfriends (sometimes about their own kids who are present), desperate it seems to communicate all the minutia of their lives.  Their general repose is the opposite of what I want.  It is delightful to be at a park with your child.  It is delightful to talk with friends.  It is really hard to do both things at once delightfully.  The distraction of friendships is the same as looking away at your phone.  It is trying to be absent and present at the same time.  It seems impossible even though I did it through ten years of parenting.  I am happy that I have had this last year with Charlie to show him my best self.  I believe I will be working on all this for a lifetime.

Please slap me if when I am an old grandma I have moved away from my children to an ashram or some such bullshit. 

I Think We Are Entrepreneurs (MB)

I haven't historically been that into Myers Briggs types.  Similar to my reaction to horoscopes and signs of the Zodiac, I gobble up fun insights and true-ringing characterizations that can come from these types of things, but I never think to ask people what type or sign they are, and I haven't memorized much at all about various types or characteristics in either case.  I do realize Myers Briggs and the Zodiac are completely different.  I only compare because of my very amateur knowledge of both. 

I took the Myers Briggs test as you requested, and I am an ENFJ.  I am not sure about this.  I think I took the test years ago and put in a bunch of different answers -- still honest, mind you, but I think I am a changing person.  But I do admit I think I got the same result.  I think being an ENFJ feels like pressure.  (I am a tired ENFJ, okay!)  I often ruminate on the fact that I'm NOT as giving or empathetic as I would like to be.  So, I'm not sure if I'm the best ENFJ around.  Well, I guess that's obvious, considering Abraham Lincoln was an ENFJ. 
Here are the parts I like about your INFJ profile description, Ab: 
"The INFJ individual is gifted in ways that other types are not. Life is not necessarily easy for the INFJ, but they are capable of great depth of feeling and personal achievement."
and
". . . they have very high expectations of themselves, and frequently of their families. They don't believe in compromising their ideals."

The part about your description I do NOT agree with, at least as it pertains to you, is: "They are not good at dealing with minutia or very detailed tasks."
I believe I have observed you organize about four (4) large Rubbermaid containers full of legos for an entire day, and have also seen an entire felted vegetable set you created for Charlie, complete with realistic stems and seed stitches.  I would say you have a gift for (creative) minutia.

I think in your passionate and frank last post, regarding your dream, you talk about uncertainties, but they are not really uncertainties about your dream. Thing is, you articulate gloriously what your dream is:  

"My dream is not a destination but a style of living. I want to keep things simple and graceful."
". . . To find beauty and magic in all the little things. . ."
". . .  to live effortlessly. . . "
". . . [for] my kids to have time to figure out what's interesting to them. . . "

I spent last night working on some things at home and intermittently weeping over the loss of a community member here in Madison who died of colon cancer.  I didn't even know she had colon cancer.  She was a mom a bit older than us, with kids about the same age as Peter and Henry.  She had gone back to law school as a non-traditional student and was kicking ass all over the place, involved in stuff, engaged.  And within a year and half from diagnosis she was gone.  We can set dreams to the highest hilt, to the most detailed degree, but life is more powerful than us.  But, we can't live limiting ourselves, cowering in the looming possibility that life won't let us play out our dreams, either.  It seems we must set our dreams in a way that simultaneously allows us the greatest possibility to run our lives out for the full long haul, actualized, fulfilled, contributing, and positive, while not compromising the days between, should -- God forbid -- life have different plans for us. 

It's a much more true-to-life description to say your dream is to live gracefully and effortlessly, and for your kids to find their own passions, than to say you hope to sack away a million bucks by the time you're fifty (50) or that you want to build a house in Mexico or that you want to start your own art gallery or pilates studio or whatever.  You have a good chance of realizing your dream and being sure your dream is accurately what you want under this approach.

In short, contrary to the title of your last post, I think you DO have a clue what your dream is, I think it is a good one, and I think you might be getting to it.  But I think, like me, you get jammed up on all the uncertainties and steps and drudgery and decisions to be made on the actual path of moving forward on this dream.  Your last post focuses a lot on jobs and identities defined by jobs, and making money.  To me, these acts -- the work we do and how we pay the bills -- these are the steps we take to realize our dreams.  But they're not our dreams. 

Remember that epic emotion ballad by the Verve "Bittersweet Symphony"?  Here, you can watch them play it in Glastonbury (another story, but I camped there once when I was pregnant with Peter and got to go to the famed tor and medieval fountain of youth that brings pilgrammages of readers of The Mists of Avalon there): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3GnWRjoP9mQ.  Anyway, as a young person I was extremely moved by the inherent, deep, universal-feeling sound and sentiment of this song.  But I was always confused by the line "try to make ends meet, you're a slave to money, then you die."  Now, say what you will about the extremely melodramatic nature of that line, and whether a bunch of world-famous UK singers can pull off singing it, but now that I'm older, I kind of smile when I hear it because sometimes life CAN slightly feel like that.  I mean for those of us without a trust fund, aren't we bascially always thinking about how we're going to make the money we need, and doesn't that issue have at least the power and potential to really have us by the balls?  This is a part of the paralysis we can feel about our dreams when what we're really stuck on is the steps we're taking to get there.

It sounds like the question of "what you're doing" is making you sweat when you're answering the question of "what's your dream." But I think I have a solution for that -- for both of us.

Here is the part I like about my profile description, Ab:
"Many ENFJs have tremendous entrepreneurial ability."

I like this part best because I often feel that if I could just put all my good ENFJ intentions out in the world in my own format, under my own vision, and according to my own principles, I'm fairly certain I could be very successful in creating some great stuff. It's all the damn rules and unavoidable conflicting responsibilities that get in the way!  I, too, am hung up on the steps of getting to the dream, instead of the dream.  In an effortless world where all things fall into place, I have a dream (or 100!), and I'm certain I could reach the dream famously.

I guess what we both need to work on is not only answering the question "what's your dream?" in a way that contemplates all the uncertainties of life, but also answering the question "what are you going to do about it?" And your last post certainly also explores the question of "how do I define what I'm doing now?"  You have your ample share of variety and breadth in the various professions and experiments and accomplishments you have taken on, from artist to pilates instructor to baker to illustrator to home renovator to host of art club and so many things I can't do justice here.  I've already articulated through this blog and otherwise that I believe in your primary profession -- MOM -- you kick serious ass.  But, through all of those accomplishments and roles, you're left feeling empty about that one, consistent role that others seem to have.  Some people can define themselves as writers or teachers or doctors or artists.  Although I may be defined often as a lawyer, single mom, non-profit Executive, etc., even I feel this same anxiety about not being quite able to put my finger on whether any of those roles should really define me, whether any of them can properly encapsulate the dream I would like to live, if only these pesky daily responsibilities and money-making and dish-washing and negotiating-the-phone bill could get out of my way.  The roles we've played are steps toward the dream, but they're not the dream.  Maybe we should forget about defining who-we-are and what-we-do and just get down to business on the dream, but I fear we humans have a gluttonous desire for definitions (at least I do).  I want to give things a name, and have a clear response when asked (even if only by myself) what the hell I am doing.

I think if we must define who we are and what we do in a universal sense, in a way that can carry the dream forward for each of us, I suggest we think about it like this:

"We are entrepreneurs".  Here is a nice thorough wiki post about the full meaning and history of the word and concept: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Entrepreneur

I'll let you take a look and consider all the ways this word might apply to what you have been doing, what you are doing, and similarly, what I'm up to -- not only in the work force, but as moms, seekers, lovers of life, and artists.  The Webster definitition of the word goes something like this: "one who organizes, manages and assumes the risk of a business or enterprise."

Our enterprise is the dream; and we are certainly doing nothing if not organizing, managing, and assuming risk related to that enterprise.  You have fairly well defined your enterprise, your dream, as I've summarized above.  I still need to work on how to explain my dream.  It's in there somewhere but I'll get it out in a future post.  For now, if we wish to seek comfort in a definition about who-we-are and what-we-do, I'm inclined to embrace the term "entrepreneur", an all-encompassing definition of all the steps we're taking, things we're learning, and progress we're making on the dream, rather than try to pinpoint what role or act or creation or single profession that could possibly define us or what we do.

I think Penelope Trunk, fellow former Madison resident (who -- fun fact --  lived in the house that my family lived in while I was in law school, after we moved out), acquaintance of yours, and source of much good blogging entertainment for both of us, would approve (PS I just looked at her blog again and was reminded: she is OUTRAGEOUS!).

And, I do believe "entrepreneur" might fit for both INFJ and ENFJ.  But I welcome your thoughts.
With total appreciation.

I Don't Have a Clue What My Dream Is

Do you geek out on Myers Briggs types Mary Beth?  I am an INFJ, which is just to say, that I am intuitive and introverted.  I have a hard time explaining myself but feel and judge things constantly and intensely.  It has given me great solace as an adult to understand why my motivations are different from other peoples.  INFJs make bad employees and tend to devalue money.  INFJs are creative and good at meeting their own needs.  INFJs need to trust their own instincts.  You should take the test here.  I wonder what type you are?

I have spent a lot of time not understanding my own motivations but trusting my gut.  Quite often I feel lost when I compare myself with other people.  Now I learn that INFJs are only one percent of the population.  Go figure.


So you asked me about my dreams?  Somehow the question makes me nervous and sweaty.  I feel like I have to explain myself.  I'm an INFJ.  Right?  To me this means that I will continue to try and order my dreams around strong ideals and intuition.  I will get lost and actually that's ok with me.  I will always be creative.  I will focus on process more than destination. It means I don't know.

I have tried being an art historian.  A baker.  An arts educator.  A Pilates instructor.  A seller of fine fabrics.  An artist.  A blogger.  A waitress.  A stagemom. 

sigh.

It always goes something like this.........

When I went to college I had no idea what I wanted to do.  Then I attended a lecture given by a beautiful woman in the dark.  She flashed sultry images like some sort of fever dream.  Fleshy Rubens nudes made me want to lick something.  All my muscles relaxed.  I decided a major in art history was the most sensual thing I could possibly do with my life.

But later, when I try to turn art history into a job, everything seems hopeless.  At The Art Institute of Chicago crabby women scuttle around frowning about grants and docents.  In graduate school professors make art theory sound like some sort of political diatribe.  Tension crackles through hunched shoulders.  Overly clever words beg for relief.  I am in the wrong place.  Change scene.

I have changed scene my fair share of times.  I think this seems lucky.

Mary Beth, I want to tell you all these stutter steps are totally fine with me and make perfect sense.  That would be my 1A.M. lie in the mirror.  What's the point?  Self doubt sinks in constantly.  I feel like I should pursue a practical thing like nursing and help take some pressure off Frank.  Currently my sweet workaholic husband is having a meltdown over his job.  He feels the corporate suck.  He would like a break.  Talk about drawing a bad hand.  I was hoping if Frank liked his work I could fly under the radar.  No such luck.

I often believe I am a huge fraud at 1A.M.  Really.  And selfish.

I like to write and I want to tell you that my dream is to be a writer.  I have no clue.  It sounds weird to say it.  But I do write.  I also draw.  Does this mean I should be an illustrator?  It just doesn't follow in my brain.  I recently had a friend who was making a line of herbal essences with animal themes.  She needed images for all the little bottles.  I drew her the animals.  She loved them and couldn't believe I could draw like that.  I laughed because I can't believe it's anything special.  People can't draw animals?  Why?  It's really just that my skills don't seem to equal cash money.  

Money is an issue for me currently.  I feel guilty about not earning any.  It helps that we don't have a mortgage anymore.  I am slowly getting rid of things.  I want to live more and more monastic.  I have realized that in order to not value money you have to live cheap.  This is not easy in California.  In California children are luxury items because rent goes up by a grand with each extra bedroom.  Why can't we all just sleep together I wonder?  The older children cringe.

I haven't been spending hardly any money lately.

My favorite place in Los Angeles is called Clementines.  I go there every Saturday and buy myself a special pastry and tea.  I try not to blanch at the $10 price tag.  Last week I was in line behind a beautiful California style family with two kids and they were ordering food for the entire weekend for pickup.  They were using Clementines like a grocery store.  They left with almost $400 dollars worth of seasonal soups and breads and little delights for their weekend.  Done.  I wanted to tear my eyes out -- not because I thought they were silly, but because I wanted to be them and I hated myself for it.  When I sat down I made myself pause and feel super grateful for my ten dollar afternoon tea.  It really was enough.

My dream is to transcend. To find beauty and magic in all the little things.  To stop asking myself such hard questions about what I'm going to be when I grow up as if I'm ever going to come up with the answer to that riddle.


I just want to live effortlessly, you know?  This may sound like Zen spiritual mumbo jumbo, but I can't really put it any other way.  My dream is not a destination but a style of living.  I want to keep things simple and graceful.  Everything I have ever pursued has been about grace and a real aversion to struggle.  I can't compare myself with the Beverly Hills types, but I certainly admire their taste.  I hope taste isn't just about money.  I don't think it is.

On the subject of education, we all need to bring more grace to the table, right?  We are all losing it.  Fear reigns supreme.  The expectations we place on our kids are crazy unreal.  There are Mandarin lessons being taught after school all over the place.  Private tutors galore.  Are there high school classes that aren't advanced placement?  I know of two month SAT prep classes over the summer.  Two months.  These kids are getting perfect scores on the SAT after taking these classes.  So then what is the value of the test?  Do all college bound kids need to take these courses just to keep up?   Kids need to read before entering kindergarten.  Really?  Shit.  I better get Charlie to work.   There is this huge inflation bubble hanging over higher education that could burst at any moment.  I used to be the person thinking that we were not doing enough.  I know.  I have changed my mind.  Now I just think kids need to find themselves outside of school.  And forget about concepts like permanence and financial aid.  I don't even think that home school is necessarily the answer for everyone (especially not for extroverts), but I think that having time and fluid expectations will ease the pain.

And kids should not look stressed out. We need our kids to look beautiful and lithe, otherwise who will?  I am so happy to hear that Peter is six feet tall.  Amazing.

I just want my kids to have time to figure out what's interesting to them.  Time to figure out self worth and style beyond grades and transcripts.  I am not signing them up for enrichment classes or telling them what classes to take.   Jimmy is going back to public school next year.  If we move to LA they will all be in the craziest public school system in the country --- LAUSD.  gasp.  This should be some awesome new material for our blog at the very least.  The bottom line is I'm not a tiger mom.  I just can't fake it.

I also want to respect my kids if they don't have dreams or ambitions that are traditionally predictable.  The Myers Briggs test can also be taken by children (after a certain age of course).  If you have a kid like me, there's no education formula obviously. Remember in college I just wanted to lick things and look at sexy Rubens nudes.  Do I want to pay for that fun if one of my kids is an INFJ?  I think in the future any INFJ child-o-mine will be encouraged to follow their intuition outside of the bounds of traditional education.

More later.  Miss you.
Abby



 

Mirror Under Florescent Lights at 1 a.m. (MB)

Hey again, Abigale.  Just letting you know that ever since I read your last post, and wrote my response, I've realized I've been harping on the "work and toil and figure out the main game" theme way too hard with myself and my kids.  I think my last post tries to emphasize the importance of the balance between instilling and honoring basic work values and the ability to play by the rules to ensure survival, versus encouraging and inspiring the outlandish dreams that might be seeds of greatness.  But in reality, I've been way more concerned about me and my kids playing by the rules, and -- true confession -- I have become quite the nagging mother about it all.  I guess even after reflection these last days, I stand by my pleas for balance between the two approaches -- get your bearings on the main game and hard work while never abandoning crazy dreams.  But I've started a new mantra at home, and as I speak it, I realize how unfamiliar it feels: "What's your dream?"  My little family has been missing that, at least as a legitimate way to talk about things, for a little while now, what with the onset of high school and those damn permanent transcripts (Peter), the start of middle school and real deadlines and grades (Madeline), and the 7-year-itch in the work force since law school graduation (Me -- trying like hell to play by the rules since 2005).  Not to mention the constant pounding of the radio news and TV news telling us about how much harder it is to make it these days, talking about kids living at home til they are thirty (30) years old, talking about this and future generations not being able to own their own house, talking about college being so hard and expensive to get into . . . .but perhaps this context, this horrible economy, actually makes your case.  If we're facing such poor odds on such hard work, why not roll the dice on the dream?  Thanks for the reminder, my mirror under florescent lights at 1 a.m.  We mustn't forget the possibility of those rare and special dreams and the rare and special ways we may just pull off a good con.  Lord knows playing by the rules isn't a cakewalk either way. 

What's your dream, baby?