My daughter, Cecelia, and her partner, Jamie, celebrated their wedding in Las Vegas amidst 50 friends and relatives who flew and drove from Boston, New Jersey, Colorado, Phoenix, and California. Among Cece's friends were a young woman from second grade, high school friends from Amarillo and Colorado, and law school classmates. Aunts, uncles and cousins rounded out the guests.
I've known my daughter her entire life (duh!), but I must admit that her ability to maintain long-term friendships amazes me as much as the importance of family in her life. When Herb and I visited Cece in her freshman college dorm room during parents' weekend seven years ago, we were surprised to see the wall surrounding her desk covered with computer-printed color photos of all our relatives. Until that time, I had not realized how much Cece values her familial relations.
So, you can imagine the profound gratitude and love I have for my aunts, uncles and cousins, knowing Cece's feelings for them, that they turned out en masse to support the first LGBT marriage of the first out LGBT person in the family. You've got to get that we are a traditional Chinese family, with roots going back centuries to villages in China, and that tradition forms the foundation of who we are and how we relate to one another.
You might find us American-born occasionally verbalizing disdain or disregard for Chinese tradition, but the truth is that we - at least my generation still - are shaped and bound by tradition inescapably. Cantonese is still in our blood - the language, the food, the holiday rituals, and the stories from our childhoods and from our ancestors.
It was 40-some years ago that I was the first to marry outside the Chinese ethnicity to the consternation of all the aunties and uncles. Many of them swore that their children would never marry a non-Chinese. Yet, with the passage of time, several of my cousins did marry non-Chinese, and their parents, my aunts and uncles, learned to love their children-in-law and their hapa (Asian mixed race) grandchildren without reservation.
I now realize that the negativity directed at my first marriage was more surprise at a new and unanticipated situation, a harbinger of a new era, than pure bigotry. Getting used to the idea of non-Chinese in-laws and grandchildren took some time, but to their credit, the aunties and uncles all made the journey to acceptance and love.
By the same token, it is heartening to me to see the connection that my daughter, my youngest child, has to her Chinese heritage and her Chinese relatives. My cousins and I have made tremendous efforts to maintain the family ties for our children, hosting and traveling to family gatherings on both coasts. My children are the oldest at ages 40 and 24, and my cousins' youngest children are ages 9 and 11, the same ages as my two grandchildren. Our generations are accounted for by position in the family tree and not by proximity of ages.
It is this family that has surrounded Cece for 24 years of growing up and at her wedding and that will surround and support her when I am gone and only a memory in her life. It is this family that includes my two grandsons, now only a quarter Chinese, as integral members of the clan. When Cece and Jamie have children and adopt children, as they plan to do, those children, too, will be part of this extended Chinese family, because family is who we are and what we do.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Learning from 12-Steppers
All church leaders these days are deeply immersed in thinking about how to do church better. We are keenly aware of the declining membership rolls and giving to sustain the mission and ministry of the institutional church. Some attention has been given to the emerging church movement and its potential to help stem the tide. Other leaders talk about the need to get back to basics such as focusing on scripture, liturgy and formation. Still others talk about becoming mission-shaped again and returning to why we are the church. Let me share with you another perspective.
A friend's 20-something son is currently engaged in a cross-country motorcycle journey with its only goal being to partake in an AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) meeting everyday in a new place. As I follow his daily travels through his online blog, I am struck by the fellowship and spirituality that he is experiencing as he seeks out meetings and encounters fellow seekers along the way. He meets these fellow seekers in all kinds of places, from rest stops to truck stops to small towns and campgrounds to the side of the road, and of course, at meetings.
There are several aspects of these encounters that I think speak to what's missing in much of organized religion and how we do church that we would do well to pay attention to.
First, these fellow seekers seem to know how to recognize each other and to be open to the possibility of meeting a fellow seeker along the way. It's not the similarity of the clothes they wear, the class ring or the familiar speech patterns; the recognition is not about being from the same social background. What I sense is a humility born of being brought low - in 12-Step terminology, "hitting bottom" and "knowing that I am powerless in the face of my addiction" - that inculcates an openness to "the other" along the road. It reminds me of the blessings of the Beatitudes and how the poor in spirit and the meek are the ones who know true blessings. They know each other by their need for ongoing self-examination, witnessing to one another and continuing in the journey of recovery, one step at a time.
Second, these fellow seekers share their stories, both informally as they meet on the road and in the context of meetings as they lift up their shared values - their "creed" or the 12-Steps - as a reminder of who they are, how they got here, and how they're going to continue in their recovery. It is in the act of telling their stories - admitting to people who are often new friends being met for the first time that they fell and were found, that they're trying and it's hard, that they're glad for the fellowship along the journey - where the strengthening by the Higher Power occurs. Confession to a fellow seeker, acceptance for who are you and where you're at, and authentic, often palpable support in the form of a meal or a bed for the night - these are acts of love and charity, outreach and human kindness that form formidable bonds of fellowship. I also sense a genuine curiosity among these seekers to hear another's story, to know that they are not alone in their story, and a keen awareness of interconnectedness because their stories are the same, about fallenness and redemption, and only the details are different.
Third, not only do these fellow seekers somehow recognize one another, but they also recognize the tenuous nature of one another's journey to recovery and are alert to extending themselves to help a fellow seeker stay on the path to recovery. My young motorcyclist friend writes about making a long ride out of his way to get gas for a fellow seeker who was stranded by the side of the road in the pouring rain. It wasn't just that the new friend by the side of the road needed gas; he also needed to know that someone else was supporting his journey to recovery through the small act of kindness of providing a physical need - the gasoline. There was an unspoken recognition that little things trip us up when we are seeking to become our better selves, and that small acts of kindness say that we know that we need each other, that it's an inescapable fact that we need each other in order to stay on our journey to our better selves.
As I reflect upon these several aspects of these 12-Steppers' experience, I must admit that I haven't experienced anything like them in my lifetime of being a Christian church member. I don't think I'm alone in my admission. I haven't experienced the kind of humility in my Christian community that makes me aware of my fallenness where I can confess to my sisters and brothers my powerlessness. Our confession is to God, and there is a sense in which it is sterile, personal and private - safe. I haven't experienced it on an emotional level; I have contemplated it on an intellectual level, and it's not the same thing.
Where I do experience Christian community that is more intimate, immediate and raw is in some of the small committees and educational groups in which I participate. The experience of community occurs when we share our lives, telling our stories of family, challenges, sadness and defeat, and celebration, passages and new beginnings, and not when we are doing the reporting, planning, organizing and strategizing of the institution or project.
It has often been said that being a true follower of Jesus' Gospel is a radical act that is dangerous and scary. I suspect that home church fellowships and missionary churches might get closer to that experience than mainline denominations with our hierarchies, plethora of structure and myriad buildings.
In the 12-Steppers' fellowship, I see accountability to one another as fellow travelers, which I don't see in denominational Christianity, where our accountability is to God and to the hierarchy. I'm beginning to think we've missed something important, and we're being called to go and find it.
A friend's 20-something son is currently engaged in a cross-country motorcycle journey with its only goal being to partake in an AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) meeting everyday in a new place. As I follow his daily travels through his online blog, I am struck by the fellowship and spirituality that he is experiencing as he seeks out meetings and encounters fellow seekers along the way. He meets these fellow seekers in all kinds of places, from rest stops to truck stops to small towns and campgrounds to the side of the road, and of course, at meetings.
There are several aspects of these encounters that I think speak to what's missing in much of organized religion and how we do church that we would do well to pay attention to.
First, these fellow seekers seem to know how to recognize each other and to be open to the possibility of meeting a fellow seeker along the way. It's not the similarity of the clothes they wear, the class ring or the familiar speech patterns; the recognition is not about being from the same social background. What I sense is a humility born of being brought low - in 12-Step terminology, "hitting bottom" and "knowing that I am powerless in the face of my addiction" - that inculcates an openness to "the other" along the road. It reminds me of the blessings of the Beatitudes and how the poor in spirit and the meek are the ones who know true blessings. They know each other by their need for ongoing self-examination, witnessing to one another and continuing in the journey of recovery, one step at a time.
Second, these fellow seekers share their stories, both informally as they meet on the road and in the context of meetings as they lift up their shared values - their "creed" or the 12-Steps - as a reminder of who they are, how they got here, and how they're going to continue in their recovery. It is in the act of telling their stories - admitting to people who are often new friends being met for the first time that they fell and were found, that they're trying and it's hard, that they're glad for the fellowship along the journey - where the strengthening by the Higher Power occurs. Confession to a fellow seeker, acceptance for who are you and where you're at, and authentic, often palpable support in the form of a meal or a bed for the night - these are acts of love and charity, outreach and human kindness that form formidable bonds of fellowship. I also sense a genuine curiosity among these seekers to hear another's story, to know that they are not alone in their story, and a keen awareness of interconnectedness because their stories are the same, about fallenness and redemption, and only the details are different.
Third, not only do these fellow seekers somehow recognize one another, but they also recognize the tenuous nature of one another's journey to recovery and are alert to extending themselves to help a fellow seeker stay on the path to recovery. My young motorcyclist friend writes about making a long ride out of his way to get gas for a fellow seeker who was stranded by the side of the road in the pouring rain. It wasn't just that the new friend by the side of the road needed gas; he also needed to know that someone else was supporting his journey to recovery through the small act of kindness of providing a physical need - the gasoline. There was an unspoken recognition that little things trip us up when we are seeking to become our better selves, and that small acts of kindness say that we know that we need each other, that it's an inescapable fact that we need each other in order to stay on our journey to our better selves.
As I reflect upon these several aspects of these 12-Steppers' experience, I must admit that I haven't experienced anything like them in my lifetime of being a Christian church member. I don't think I'm alone in my admission. I haven't experienced the kind of humility in my Christian community that makes me aware of my fallenness where I can confess to my sisters and brothers my powerlessness. Our confession is to God, and there is a sense in which it is sterile, personal and private - safe. I haven't experienced it on an emotional level; I have contemplated it on an intellectual level, and it's not the same thing.
Where I do experience Christian community that is more intimate, immediate and raw is in some of the small committees and educational groups in which I participate. The experience of community occurs when we share our lives, telling our stories of family, challenges, sadness and defeat, and celebration, passages and new beginnings, and not when we are doing the reporting, planning, organizing and strategizing of the institution or project.
It has often been said that being a true follower of Jesus' Gospel is a radical act that is dangerous and scary. I suspect that home church fellowships and missionary churches might get closer to that experience than mainline denominations with our hierarchies, plethora of structure and myriad buildings.
In the 12-Steppers' fellowship, I see accountability to one another as fellow travelers, which I don't see in denominational Christianity, where our accountability is to God and to the hierarchy. I'm beginning to think we've missed something important, and we're being called to go and find it.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Averting Negativity
I just happened upon an online article about how to shield one's self from negativity, and it got me thinking about how I protect myself that way and hang onto my sanity and sense of personal peace. Here are my key tips:
1. Give yourself permission to say "No."
I'm not just talking about saying "No" when someone asks you to do something you don't want to do. Of course, it's important to be able to say "No" to another's request when you don't want to go along just to get along. I'm thinking more along the lines of saying "No" internally, where no one else may even know that you've said "No." It's the self-talk that gives yourself permission not to ramp up your anxiety when the anxiety demons are yelling and screaming inside your head to give in to their scree and let your emotions spin out of control. It's the dogged digging in of your mental heels that says to those anxiety demons, "I'm not going there, and you can't make me go." In practical terms, what's usually involved is empowering yourself to ignore the inputs all around you that point in a direction you've decided not to follow. The key is making the decision not to be pushed and pulled.
2. Practice strategic self-indulgence.
Sometimes it's important to indulge in periods of rest, relaxation and self-pampering - especially when your psyche is telling you, "Stop the world. I want to get off." It's a known fact that we Americans do not have a good sense of sabbath, where we honor the time intentionally set aside for recuperation, renewal and reconciliation with our families, friends and better selves. Even our leisure activities tend to be programmed, time intensive and often competitive, so that our work habits spill over into our time away from work. Often referred to as "mental health days," we must take the initiative to walk away occasionally from all that important stuff to take care of the truly important stuff of rekindling our spirits and reconnecting to the things that give us joy and hope. Practically speaking, this might look like anything from a spa day to a day of hiking or hibernating inside with the phones and computers turned off. You get to choose.
3. Lighten up.
Negativity often appears in the form of feeling weighted down with no apparent path to emerge for air and sustenance. So, lightening up in every sense of becoming lighter is helpful. I find that fasting for a day, culling old clothes from my closet, canceling unwanted magazine subscriptions, filling up the recycle and Goodwill bins, or cleaning the fridge all drive the negative vibes away. I emerge from those activities feeling immensely nimbler, more energized and eager to go on rather than feeling mired. For us inveterate list makers, lightening up has the added benefit of items being checked off your "to do" list.
4. Listen to music.
Most of us have some favorite music that we find inspirational and uplifting. I suggest making playlists or CDs of the dozen such pieces to play over and over when you need an emotional boost or calming of frayed nerves. Several years ago, Herb made a compilation of different artists' performances of Amazing Grace for me, and I recently made a compilation of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah by different performers for myself. Those compilations lift me up when I'm in the doldrums and feeling unmotivated. To give myself a proverbial kick in the pants and get the juices flowing when I need to tackle a big project around the house, I have other compilations of driving rock music that no one can sit still to. This is probably the tip that I forget to turn myself onto most often, because I tend to read and work at my computer in silence.
I'd be interested in hearing your tips to avert negativity.
1. Give yourself permission to say "No."
I'm not just talking about saying "No" when someone asks you to do something you don't want to do. Of course, it's important to be able to say "No" to another's request when you don't want to go along just to get along. I'm thinking more along the lines of saying "No" internally, where no one else may even know that you've said "No." It's the self-talk that gives yourself permission not to ramp up your anxiety when the anxiety demons are yelling and screaming inside your head to give in to their scree and let your emotions spin out of control. It's the dogged digging in of your mental heels that says to those anxiety demons, "I'm not going there, and you can't make me go." In practical terms, what's usually involved is empowering yourself to ignore the inputs all around you that point in a direction you've decided not to follow. The key is making the decision not to be pushed and pulled.
2. Practice strategic self-indulgence.
Sometimes it's important to indulge in periods of rest, relaxation and self-pampering - especially when your psyche is telling you, "Stop the world. I want to get off." It's a known fact that we Americans do not have a good sense of sabbath, where we honor the time intentionally set aside for recuperation, renewal and reconciliation with our families, friends and better selves. Even our leisure activities tend to be programmed, time intensive and often competitive, so that our work habits spill over into our time away from work. Often referred to as "mental health days," we must take the initiative to walk away occasionally from all that important stuff to take care of the truly important stuff of rekindling our spirits and reconnecting to the things that give us joy and hope. Practically speaking, this might look like anything from a spa day to a day of hiking or hibernating inside with the phones and computers turned off. You get to choose.
3. Lighten up.
Negativity often appears in the form of feeling weighted down with no apparent path to emerge for air and sustenance. So, lightening up in every sense of becoming lighter is helpful. I find that fasting for a day, culling old clothes from my closet, canceling unwanted magazine subscriptions, filling up the recycle and Goodwill bins, or cleaning the fridge all drive the negative vibes away. I emerge from those activities feeling immensely nimbler, more energized and eager to go on rather than feeling mired. For us inveterate list makers, lightening up has the added benefit of items being checked off your "to do" list.
4. Listen to music.
Most of us have some favorite music that we find inspirational and uplifting. I suggest making playlists or CDs of the dozen such pieces to play over and over when you need an emotional boost or calming of frayed nerves. Several years ago, Herb made a compilation of different artists' performances of Amazing Grace for me, and I recently made a compilation of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah by different performers for myself. Those compilations lift me up when I'm in the doldrums and feeling unmotivated. To give myself a proverbial kick in the pants and get the juices flowing when I need to tackle a big project around the house, I have other compilations of driving rock music that no one can sit still to. This is probably the tip that I forget to turn myself onto most often, because I tend to read and work at my computer in silence.
I'd be interested in hearing your tips to avert negativity.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Greatest Treasure
My daughter's wedding celebration on the 4th of July in Las Vegas was an intense event that has engendered in me the entire spectrum of emotions, from satisfaction and contentment that she is happily married to a partner who will love and support her in her life, to sadness and disappointment that life is so hard and daunting for other young people I know and love. There is a part of me that longs to be able to fix the things that have gone wrong for these young people, and, of course, I can't, and I know it.
The juxtaposition of myriad happy moments with news of schism in the church, recurring illness of several beloved friends, and bad behavior by celebrities and government officials everywhere just makes for a confusing end to a celebratory week. I find myself taking things seriously again and choking on the bile that rises up from the unfairness of disease and poverty and the stupidity and perfidy of famous people with their privilege and position.
I am reminded once again to tend the little patch of garden I've been allotted in my part of the world, to pet my cat, smile at babies, drop some coins or folding cash into the cup, and say a prayer for those I encounter who look down in the dumps or in pain, whether physical or psychic. Those are the things that I can do, and that I should do. It sometimes seems like it would be easy to give up, to say, "Damn it, damn it, damn it," stamp my feet in frustration, and retire to a life of quietude and insulation in my room.
But that's not how most of us are made. We are made for each other and wither when we do not have the approbation of colleagues, friends and family to say, "Good job, well done, glad for the presence of you." We are made for each other and need the interference of others in our lives just as we need to engage, disrupt and poke around in the lives of others in order to feel alive, to feel the reflection of ourselves in and on others, and likewise to reflect others back to themselves for their wellbeing. Ubuntu: I am, because you are. Namaste: the divine in me greets the divine in you. Yin Yang: interconnected and interdependent - this is the way of the world.
In an email conversation with a fellow parent, she mentioned her experience of going away to college, an expected event that involved getting on a plane and going off to the big city, prepared to be independent and to solve any problems that might arise on her own. I think that we have somehow messed up in the way that we have raised our kids with so much coddling and privilege. It feels like our children are experiencing independent adulthood at a slower pace, later age, than we did and than their much older siblings did. Part of it is that as older parents, we were able to provide a lot more support of all kinds, which we did willingly.
Raising kids is never easy, and you never get it quite right. You just do the best you can and hope for the best. Luckily, all of the kids in our extended family have turned out great, without too many scrapes and bumps along the way. Their greatest treasure is knowing that they have this huge, loving, supportive family that they can truly, truly count on, no matter where they are, no matter when the need arises. I just wish that all kids had this advantage of a family that loves and supports without judgment and condemnation. I just wish . . .
The juxtaposition of myriad happy moments with news of schism in the church, recurring illness of several beloved friends, and bad behavior by celebrities and government officials everywhere just makes for a confusing end to a celebratory week. I find myself taking things seriously again and choking on the bile that rises up from the unfairness of disease and poverty and the stupidity and perfidy of famous people with their privilege and position.
I am reminded once again to tend the little patch of garden I've been allotted in my part of the world, to pet my cat, smile at babies, drop some coins or folding cash into the cup, and say a prayer for those I encounter who look down in the dumps or in pain, whether physical or psychic. Those are the things that I can do, and that I should do. It sometimes seems like it would be easy to give up, to say, "Damn it, damn it, damn it," stamp my feet in frustration, and retire to a life of quietude and insulation in my room.
But that's not how most of us are made. We are made for each other and wither when we do not have the approbation of colleagues, friends and family to say, "Good job, well done, glad for the presence of you." We are made for each other and need the interference of others in our lives just as we need to engage, disrupt and poke around in the lives of others in order to feel alive, to feel the reflection of ourselves in and on others, and likewise to reflect others back to themselves for their wellbeing. Ubuntu: I am, because you are. Namaste: the divine in me greets the divine in you. Yin Yang: interconnected and interdependent - this is the way of the world.
In an email conversation with a fellow parent, she mentioned her experience of going away to college, an expected event that involved getting on a plane and going off to the big city, prepared to be independent and to solve any problems that might arise on her own. I think that we have somehow messed up in the way that we have raised our kids with so much coddling and privilege. It feels like our children are experiencing independent adulthood at a slower pace, later age, than we did and than their much older siblings did. Part of it is that as older parents, we were able to provide a lot more support of all kinds, which we did willingly.
Raising kids is never easy, and you never get it quite right. You just do the best you can and hope for the best. Luckily, all of the kids in our extended family have turned out great, without too many scrapes and bumps along the way. Their greatest treasure is knowing that they have this huge, loving, supportive family that they can truly, truly count on, no matter where they are, no matter when the need arises. I just wish that all kids had this advantage of a family that loves and supports without judgment and condemnation. I just wish . . .
Thursday, July 1, 2010
The Gift of Being Slow
I've been thinking a lot about the gift of being slow. . . slow to anger, slow to respond, slow to speak my mind. It's a bit countercultural in the sense that our contemporary culture is based on speed . . . getting things done fast, checking things off a list, driving the shortest route quickly, so that we can move to the next task, assignment or appointment.
The gift of being slow when responding to something that causes your emotions to flare is that the passage of time allows you to reflect on what has been said or done. You get to put things into perspective, so that the words or actions don't get blown out of proportion to what's true of the overall relationship.
If you take a mental step back, away from the immediacy of the words and actions, you also get the chance to reflect on the possibility that you may have misheard the words or misinterpreted the actions. It is possible that you just might be mistaken and that the immediate response you might have given would cause harm to the relationship.
One of my practices when I was working in a large banking organization was to slow down my response to requests from senior management. I had observed that a couple of my senior managers routinely asked for fact-finding reports, driven by their own immediate emotional response to a situation, and then they didn't utilize the information and on occasion, even questioned why the information was being sent to them.
Those senior managers were showing their concern and care about situations through the act of asking for those fact-finding reports. My deliberate slow response was my attempt not to react to those senior managers' anxiety and to utilize my limited staff resources responsibly. Obviously I was judicious in my slow responses, recognizing what was important vs. what was urgent and anxiety-laden, since being unresponsive to senior management could be a real career killer.
Recently, I have been exercising slowness in sharing my opinion about events and situations. (Thus, I have accumulated a number of posts that I've written but not posted right away. That's why suddenly I am posting several from seemingly out of nowhere.) I find that taking the time to reflect on what I want to say always yields more nuanced responses from me and more receptivity from the other. For me, I have noticed that the tone of my delivery is greatly enhanced by being slow to respond. I can usually avoid getting personal and being in attack mode. I am less pedantic and offer suggestions rather than solutions. I can share examples of when I had made a similar or the same gesture or mistake. I am more likely to see facets in what has transpired or been said, including sometimes the opposing views of the other.
You cannot know the mind of the other, but you can take some time to reflect on what might be motivating the words and actions of the other. Such reflection just might help you to see another side to the issue at hand. Such reflection just might help you to see how your part in the situation is interpreted by the other, and whether you are perceived as heaping fuel on the fire or helping to defuse an intense situation.
Ultimately, being slow to respond is about managing my own anxieties. It is easy to get pulled into the emotional content of the other's strongly held opinions, which sometimes get delivered in the form of angry outbursts or invectives and personal attacks. I don't like being called names or being accused of unbecoming behavior any more than anyone else.
However, as a leader, it is incumbent on me to discern the difference between the true content of the other's complaint or concern and the anxiety the other is expressing. My job as a leader is to respond to the content and not to the anxiety. Easier said than done, but worth thinking about and addressing with a genuine willingness to modify one's own behavior and responses.
Betwixt Living and Dying
When Herb was first diagnosed with end stage renal failure fifteen months ago, we turned our focus to dying and all the permutations and ramifications of the death of a husband, partner, father, breadwinner, friend and all around good guy.
Living with a diagnosis of an end stage illness is always waiting for the other shoe to fall. You go about your business and fill your days with busyness, but you also have one ear turned towards the cosmic, alert to the sounds of the clockwork universe slowing, a ping out of place that stirs your heart. You wait even as you live and you do.
We had decided with courage and bravado not to stop living as we were used to doing, because neither one of us wanted to stop being who we are, who we were. Herb didn't want to be the "sick guy," and he didn't want me to stop being the person he has always loved, the one with a multitude of interests, friends and causes.
But, still, there is a part of you that waits for an alarm to sound that will call you out of your everydayness and fling you into the activities of hurried, important phone calls to make arrangements with doctors and airlines, rushing to the airport to be where you're needed, talking to family members and comforting and calming, recalling that you are the best of the best when it comes to someone to be in charge in case of an emergency. It is exhausting.
Then he lived, and lived, and lived, and after more months than those hinted at but not quite promised, I decided that I couldn't live that way any more, and I decided to stop thinking of Herb as dying. That shift of framing where we were at was helpful for a short while. It gave me some breathing space to inhabit my days more fully, less distractedly.
Then it seemed like we were at another turning point. We came back from the Alaskan Inside Passage cruise with Herb enjoying the entire experience and not being overly taxed by the travel and excursions. But three days after our return, Herb came down with a bug of some sort that laid him low again, and I worried. This time, I was scared, and I said to him, "It's time to think about moving back to Colorado, to live where the rest of the family lives, because I don't want you to die alone."
Fast forward another month, and everything has settled back down. It turns out the bug was just a fleeting bug, here for four or five days and gone. Herb's energy returned enough that he took a consulting assignment that he said was really fun, his word. It was intellectually stimulating to help solve engineering problems and fun to be busy and productive.
Today we travel to Las Vegas for the big family and friend celebration of our daughter's marriage to her partner of four years. We are so excited for our girls and for our family. This is the same Chinese family that told me forty-some years ago when I married my son's father, an Irish American, that their children wouldn't be allowed to marry anyone who isn't Chinese. Of course, as time progressed, many of their children married non-Chinese spouses, and they love those spouses and the children of those unions. I am so proud to proclaim that this same Chinese family is rallying in force and with joyful acclaim to see Cecelia and Jamie married as the first LGBT couple in our family. (The girls were legally married in Massachusetts where they live earlier in June.) Hallelujah! The God of Ages is great indeed.
Living with a diagnosis of an end stage illness is always waiting for the other shoe to fall. You go about your business and fill your days with busyness, but you also have one ear turned towards the cosmic, alert to the sounds of the clockwork universe slowing, a ping out of place that stirs your heart. You wait even as you live and you do.
We had decided with courage and bravado not to stop living as we were used to doing, because neither one of us wanted to stop being who we are, who we were. Herb didn't want to be the "sick guy," and he didn't want me to stop being the person he has always loved, the one with a multitude of interests, friends and causes.
But, still, there is a part of you that waits for an alarm to sound that will call you out of your everydayness and fling you into the activities of hurried, important phone calls to make arrangements with doctors and airlines, rushing to the airport to be where you're needed, talking to family members and comforting and calming, recalling that you are the best of the best when it comes to someone to be in charge in case of an emergency. It is exhausting.
Then he lived, and lived, and lived, and after more months than those hinted at but not quite promised, I decided that I couldn't live that way any more, and I decided to stop thinking of Herb as dying. That shift of framing where we were at was helpful for a short while. It gave me some breathing space to inhabit my days more fully, less distractedly.
Then it seemed like we were at another turning point. We came back from the Alaskan Inside Passage cruise with Herb enjoying the entire experience and not being overly taxed by the travel and excursions. But three days after our return, Herb came down with a bug of some sort that laid him low again, and I worried. This time, I was scared, and I said to him, "It's time to think about moving back to Colorado, to live where the rest of the family lives, because I don't want you to die alone."
Fast forward another month, and everything has settled back down. It turns out the bug was just a fleeting bug, here for four or five days and gone. Herb's energy returned enough that he took a consulting assignment that he said was really fun, his word. It was intellectually stimulating to help solve engineering problems and fun to be busy and productive.
Today we travel to Las Vegas for the big family and friend celebration of our daughter's marriage to her partner of four years. We are so excited for our girls and for our family. This is the same Chinese family that told me forty-some years ago when I married my son's father, an Irish American, that their children wouldn't be allowed to marry anyone who isn't Chinese. Of course, as time progressed, many of their children married non-Chinese spouses, and they love those spouses and the children of those unions. I am so proud to proclaim that this same Chinese family is rallying in force and with joyful acclaim to see Cecelia and Jamie married as the first LGBT couple in our family. (The girls were legally married in Massachusetts where they live earlier in June.) Hallelujah! The God of Ages is great indeed.
Being Offline and Coming Back
I've not posted much the last three months for a variety of reasons. None of those reasons has been lack of subject matter or emotions. Indeed, it would be fair to say that there has been an excess of emotion, too raw and immediate to share for one like me who tends to be considerate in just about every respect. I think this is the part of me that my daughter has criticized several times in the past - what I interpret as her interpretation of a lack of emotional authenticity or depth on my part.
The word that comes to me is restraint. I think that I am a person of restraint, a restraint that arises naturally out of the core of who I am, when it comes to how my actions impact others. On the other hand, when my actions have impacted me alone, I have lived episodes of intense extremes and excess, gulping and grasping as many experiences as I could, as quickly as I could. And of course, the passage of time has ameliorated many of those excesses, dampened them simply because as one gains people and things in one's life, one loses discretionary time.
Herb and I have been a unique couple that way. He claims a self-named family motto of "Nihil nisi ad excessum," Latin, meaning "Nothing, if not to excess," and that family motto became his and mine for many years. When we got into pinball, we would play literally all day at a local pinball parlor without stopping to eat. The same thing with bowling, when we once played from the time the bowling alley opened until it closed, and our fingers were swollen from grasping the 16-lb bowling balls. When I paired with Herb, it was hard for me to remember restraint, because he always encouraged me to "go for it."
Upon reflection, I recall that even as a child, I didn't do much emotional falling apart when things saddened, angered or frustrated me. I was always concerned about the effect of my potential emotional outbursts on the people around me, about how my responses would make them feel. I remember having bouts of anger and people knowing that I was angry, because I tended to stay angry for a long time. My youth was filled with sarcasm and sharp, well aimed words. That's why Margaret Atwood's early poetry (see Power Politics, an early book of poetry) really spoke to me. But I don't recall any tantrums or eruptions, which I admit might be selective memory. I believe that my mother and my brother have different memories of a scary, angry girl.
So, from my perspective, it doesn't feel like I am "stuffing" my emotions. I think that this containment of my emotions is part of the way in which I experience my "self," which I would describe as very self-contained, self-reliant and self-defined. I think this is related to eating the mango from the pit and never the mango meat that has been sliced and served to everyone else by me. It has been fewer than ten years that I have allowed myself the luxury of tasting from the mango meat, because my inclination is always to offer the meat to the rest of the family first.
Yet I have always had a capacity for joy and spontaneous enjoyment of the smallest things. I laugh loudly and often and even giggle. My urge every time I complete the journey into the center of a labyrinth is to break out into a dance like the Peanuts dog character, Snoopy, jumping into the air for the pure joy of being at the center.
Well, I'm coming back. I expect to be posting again regularly, and I'm thrilled to have my voice back in this forum. I've been through some health adventures with Herb, which I'll tell about later. There have been a plethora of church meetings for which I've had heavy work assignments before, during and after. I've talked about them in other forums such as Facebook, Twitter, the HoB/D listserv, and various meetings where I've given presentations and reports, etc. I certainly have had no shortage of words in the past three months that I haven't posted here regularly. I've missed all of you terribly.
from Power Politics, an excerpt from a favorite poem:
The word that comes to me is restraint. I think that I am a person of restraint, a restraint that arises naturally out of the core of who I am, when it comes to how my actions impact others. On the other hand, when my actions have impacted me alone, I have lived episodes of intense extremes and excess, gulping and grasping as many experiences as I could, as quickly as I could. And of course, the passage of time has ameliorated many of those excesses, dampened them simply because as one gains people and things in one's life, one loses discretionary time.
Herb and I have been a unique couple that way. He claims a self-named family motto of "Nihil nisi ad excessum," Latin, meaning "Nothing, if not to excess," and that family motto became his and mine for many years. When we got into pinball, we would play literally all day at a local pinball parlor without stopping to eat. The same thing with bowling, when we once played from the time the bowling alley opened until it closed, and our fingers were swollen from grasping the 16-lb bowling balls. When I paired with Herb, it was hard for me to remember restraint, because he always encouraged me to "go for it."
Upon reflection, I recall that even as a child, I didn't do much emotional falling apart when things saddened, angered or frustrated me. I was always concerned about the effect of my potential emotional outbursts on the people around me, about how my responses would make them feel. I remember having bouts of anger and people knowing that I was angry, because I tended to stay angry for a long time. My youth was filled with sarcasm and sharp, well aimed words. That's why Margaret Atwood's early poetry (see Power Politics, an early book of poetry) really spoke to me. But I don't recall any tantrums or eruptions, which I admit might be selective memory. I believe that my mother and my brother have different memories of a scary, angry girl.
So, from my perspective, it doesn't feel like I am "stuffing" my emotions. I think that this containment of my emotions is part of the way in which I experience my "self," which I would describe as very self-contained, self-reliant and self-defined. I think this is related to eating the mango from the pit and never the mango meat that has been sliced and served to everyone else by me. It has been fewer than ten years that I have allowed myself the luxury of tasting from the mango meat, because my inclination is always to offer the meat to the rest of the family first.
Yet I have always had a capacity for joy and spontaneous enjoyment of the smallest things. I laugh loudly and often and even giggle. My urge every time I complete the journey into the center of a labyrinth is to break out into a dance like the Peanuts dog character, Snoopy, jumping into the air for the pure joy of being at the center.
Well, I'm coming back. I expect to be posting again regularly, and I'm thrilled to have my voice back in this forum. I've been through some health adventures with Herb, which I'll tell about later. There have been a plethora of church meetings for which I've had heavy work assignments before, during and after. I've talked about them in other forums such as Facebook, Twitter, the HoB/D listserv, and various meetings where I've given presentations and reports, etc. I certainly have had no shortage of words in the past three months that I haven't posted here regularly. I've missed all of you terribly.
from Power Politics, an excerpt from a favorite poem:
We are hard on each other
and call it honesty,
choosing our jagged truths
with care and aiming them across
the neutral table.
and call it honesty,
choosing our jagged truths
with care and aiming them across
the neutral table.
The things we say are
true; it is our crooked
aims, our choices
turn them criminal.
true; it is our crooked
aims, our choices
turn them criminal.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
