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It turns out that blogging is much more easily accomplished from a Days Inn hotel room in an unfamiliar town during a blizzard than on a birthday or a visit home for the holidays. I’m not sure I have anything particularly insightful or pertinent to put out there, except to express my gratitude for warmth and safety. We sat on Interstate 90 for hours today with our surprisingly patient four month old in her car seat in the back, chattering (I’m assuming) about her hopes that we would change her diaper and feed her again some day. Finally, the state patrol kicked everyone off of the freeway and we found ourselves on even more treacherous country roads. There’s nothing like seeing car after car in ditch after ditch to remind you how lucky you are to be creeping at a snail’s pace ahead. On that potential metaphor, I think I’ll call it a night– only adding that in the past, I’ve spent the first few days of new years looking back and tallying up signs of progress. This year, I would rather look out at sideways snow and be glad that there’s more than a car between it and my family.
… and how I became that mom.
You can already guess, this is more minutiae than crucial. If you want something on the grounded and meaningful side from me, go back and read my birth story.
This all starts back when I was a kid and wanted to be an actress more than anything besides having lots of dogs and rabbits and a pony. I took acting classes, got headshots, and did a victory dance when a local talent agency wanted to sign me. Then my lawyer mom read all the fine print and became concerned about someone “owning” any part of her daughter. End of my career, thanks Mom. (Just kidding. I find writing far more rewarding.)
Cut to: Monday night when I got an e-mail looking for babies 1-3 months for a commercial shoot with a certain famous toy company. I thought of my friend’s niece who was all set for college by age five because of the Baby Gap ads she did, asked the potential star’s daddy for permission, and sent in her pictures. The next day I got a call that yes, they wanted to “use” Francesca and maybe me as well. Could I send in a full-length shot of myself? I was flattered, but completely unprepared. I found a couple of candids where I’m holding Francesca, and I’m wearing tennis shoes and not much makeup. Why was I surprised when the response from the agent was… “Yeah. They just want Francesca.”
“Don’t tell Mom.” = An e-mail from my sister.
“I know.” = My response.
We hadn’t done anything illegal (you’re shocked, I’m sure). We hadn’t broken anything or hidden any evidence, and we weren’t re-enacting the Christina Applegate movie. We simply decided to protect the woman who bore us from: news of the Return of the Thrush. It may not be grammatically correct to capitalize the name of the infection or to put “the” in front of it, but it feels appropriate. We just weren’t sure Mom could handle it, even though she’s dealt with much greater crises with one hand behind her back and the other one cooking a gourmet dinner. You could hear her teeth grind every time she asked, “Is it any better?” and a pained sigh every time I said, “No, not really.” And I might have thought she was overdoing it a bit, had I not discovered for myself that knowing that your daughter is in pain is a whole new kind of anguish.
A brilliant healer friend of mine recently gave me homework: “You always write about the space around you, what you see, how others respond to their surroundings. Why don’t you spend some time writing about the inner space?” I am continually obsessed by the contention that our inner space is shaped by our outer space. But instead of exploring that orientation (again and again), here goes an attempt at only the inner space.
I am a chronic anticipator. I anticipate what will happen next, how it will happen, and often I anticipate the worst in order to pre-grief whatever might await. As Rebecca Solnit writes, “Worry is a way to pretend that you have knowledge or control over what you don’t–and it surprises me, even in myself, how much we prefer ugly scenarios to the pure unknown.”
So when another friend of mine (a visionary artist) shared his debilitating worry about whether a commission would go through with an important client, I told him about what I try to do in those moments of self-doubt or worry. Imagine that “worry thought pattern” inside your brain. Give it a color and watch it traversing across your scalp. Now, erase it; start at one end and smudge it out inch-by-slow-inch. With that new vacant space, draw a vibrant healthy thought pattern in a different color. Do this every time that “worry thought pattern” appears. Eventually, you reprogram yourself.
That’s an inner space I can visualize. We make grooves in our brain and our heart. Usually those grooves are worn-down roads. Despite the difficulty of traveling these roads, we like strolling down them again because they are familiar. I wonder about all the uncharted pathways in our inner spaces. There’s a fact floating around out there that humans only use 10 % of our brain. The possibility, the possibility, the possibility. And what of the heart?
I have an addiction. I admitted this yesterday while staring at the ancient lady–her bright-red, hair-sprayed beehive and two-tone glasses–at the New York Public Library. She is practically a fixture, and has been here forever, or at least during the three years I lived here, and even now when I stroll the marble halls as a visitor. She looks the same. She is still perfectly coiffed. I like that she’s still here. But my brain says, Ugh, how boring. I don’t want to be her, or someone who, at any point in time, is still anything. And therein lies my addiction. I am addicted to that shameful, self-conscious, liberal, privileged concept–new experiences in new places. It feels as strong and confusing as a drug.
“Go a mile wide, not deep” has always been my family’s mantra. I lived in five different countries before the age of 11 and my parents instilled in me the importance of a particular mindset–global, open and evolving. As an adult, I have translated that vision into two principles: the need to continually change environments in job and place (not so hard) and to seek out, in our “like-attracts-like” world, a good proportion of friends who don’t think, look, act, or feel like me (harder than it sounds).
But, knowing that the flip side can be sweet, I also have a thing for the word local and the idea of being deeply connected to a community and a landscape. The instant I start to slip into reverie about such a life, my wandering self barks, “But you must always push beyond your comfort zone! DO NOT get stuck in your comfort zone.” So I live my life wondering, Which way is better?
9/9/09, huh? It’s an exciting day! It marks the last set of repeating, single-digit dates that we’ll see for almost a century (until January 1, 2101), and the Remastered Beatles catalog, Beatles Rock Band, and the new Apple iPod are all being released today.
But my favorite celebration today is my third wedding anniversary with the extraordinary Christopher Gandin Le. Suicide prevention expert, exquisite photographer (still and motion pictures), beloved friend, and the best damn husband and partner I could ever desire.
For our anniversary, he gave me the gift of music from one of my favorite artists: Erin McKeown. Since I first heard Distillation 9 years ago, I have loved this woman’s music, and have had a total crush on her as well. She’s excruciatingly talented across a wide variety of instruments and musical styles, her lyrics are poetic, her style is fantastic (check those Fluevogs!), and her live show is always fabulous. Oh, and she’s only 31; she’s been making great music since she was in college.
Her newest album, Hundreds of Lions, comes out this October on Righteous Babe records, and to raise funds for this self-financed album, she launched a very cool endeavor this summer.
Photo Credit: Nancy Palmieri
Natalie Goldberg’s most recent book, Old Friend from Far Away, came out in 2007, but I didn’t discover it until earlier this year, when I had the privilege of hearing her at an Austin synagogue. This book is focused on the practice of writing memoir, and is as rich as all of her other books on writing.
One chapter is titled “Practice Notebook.” In it, she suggests keeping a small separate notebook where you write a brief note about your practice every single day. You write down the date, whether or not you practiced, and any other short notes about the day’s practice. The idea is to be aware of your writing practice, rather than feel ashamed or derailed by the days that you don’t write. It’s all part of the practice. She says, “This act of noting makes your writing–or not writing–conscious. It plants a seed; you stay connected.”
I’m now keeping a practice notebook for my writing, and, indeed, I feel the ways that this kind observing of myself has started to transform the evil, self-judgmental voices in my head that crop up when I skip a day.
This style of radical self-acceptance and awareness is useful beyond writing practice, too. I’m using it to observe myself around other habits that I’d like to change, and it’s such a relief to see the habits clearly written on the page, rather than seeping like mist through the dangerous regions of my mind.
What places in your life could use this kind of loving, non-judgmental attention?
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Beauty in a Wicked World is a weekly column by Jennifer Gandin Le. It appears on Wednesdays.
Last Wednesday, I stood at the back of a cafetorium while 100+ teens clustered around the B-boy City Dance Crew, who showed off their moves to Busta Rhymes. The crew called for dancers from the audience, and a group of girls near me nudged and shoved their friend toward the stage. She waved her hands frantically and shook her head, not willing to single herself out. (She later did go up and show off her dance moves, along with another girl who sang an impromptu solo for us.)
We were all there for the iChoose: Real Talk on Sexual Health Teen Summit (I was a volunteer). This one-day workshop for teens provides real information and education about healthy sexuality, with an emphasis on each teen’s opportunity to choose what’s best for them. Over 100 Austin-area teens came out on a summer weekday for over 13 sessions, including “Sexuality & the Law,” “Healthy Masculinity,” and “Birth Control Methods.” I learned about very cool organizations like Men Rally for Change and Love Is Respect: National Teen Dating Abuse Hotline.
“Ma’am. Is it true Missouri girls are crazy?” I had just grabbed a bite while my flight was delayed. I looked down at my eight and a half months pregnant belly while I swallowed and then glanced back up to see the National Guardsman who had directed this question at me. A fresh scar ran from the side of his mouth across his left cheek.
“I don’t know,” I laughed it off.
“Well, are you crazy?” His southern drawl slowed the question while his buddies flirted with the women behind the fast food counter, trying to talk them into a lower priced hot dog.
Please reply in 500 words or less! GO!
_____
Kimmi
Therapy Thursdays
For those who haven’t seen it, here’s Ellen DeGeneres’s commencement speech at Tulane. It’s about 10 minutes long, but worth watching every second, especially when you get to the end. I don’t watch her TV show, and it’s been ages since I read her writing, so I had almost forgotten how sharp and hilarious she is.
Enjoy, and happy Friday!
Two headlines this week:
Excess Cola Can Cause Super-sized Muscle Trouble
Texting May Be Taking a Toll [on health]
Did anyone ever think that drinking Coke or texting incessantly were going to be good for us? C’mon people.
Recently, a friend who’s my father’s age shared frustration with blogs and things like Twitter. He cannot keep up with the flow of information. It’s a complaint many people of a pre-computer generation have. This phrase of his stuck: The onslaught of information invades “a quiet space.”
I cut my texting plan in an attempt to cut costs. When my little brother visited me last month, he expressed his profound shock and irritation at not being able to text me: “Who are you? What do you mean you can’t text? That’s impossible.” So, I told him to email me, since I have a blackberry leftover from my former job. One evil swapped for another… or, just trying to stay on the wave. I’ve never like the idea of doing what everyone else is doing, but in this case, at my tender age of 29, unless I plan to divorce myself from society, I should probably be onboard with email (which I am) and cellphones (which I am) and maybe even texting (which I’m not at this point). Why? Read more…
I spent most of the fall and winter helping create an online tarot game for myLifetime. I worked closely with Eve Lavendier, a super positive and passionate project lead over at Lifetime, and Lucy Blackwell, an awesome graphic designer, as you can see below. I directed the designs and wrote the copy, and think it turned out really cool. Shuffle the deck and let me know what you think!
I’m reading this book by Kabir Jaffe and Ritama Davidson on a friend’s recommendation. This quote leaped out at me today:
…in a sense, I am working on the one square meter of the planet that happens to be in the location where ‘I’ am now standing, just as you are working on your square meter of the planet. And with millions of people working on their square meter, we are changing millions of kilometers. Each one of us is contributing in tremendous ways to the evolving life of the planet, and the emergence of the New. And really, in a very short period of time we are changing thousands of years of vibratory structure.
The authors are speaking specifically of energy work here, of evolving our individual consciousness, but I think this quote applies to the physical world as well. What we do in our square meters makes a difference, in the physical and energetic world and in the people around us. Even if it feels like a tiny positive action, it ripples outward.
I’m taking vitamins and drinking water. I’m reading this Marianne Williamson quote daily. I’m releasing everything item in my house that I don’t need anymore. I’m talking to my neighbors. I’m breathing.
What are you doing in your square meter to contribute to human evolution? Remember, no action is too small to claim as your own.
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Beauty in a Wicked World is a weekly column by Jennifer Gandin Le. It appears on Wednesdays.
Six months pregnant and living 750 miles away from family, it suddenly struck me as incredibly important to go home for Mothers’ Day. I grabbed a last-minute fare, threw my clothes in a bag after work, and took a plane back to the Midwest. My sister, who became a mom herself just over a year ago, picked me up at the airport and we surprised my sleeping mother. She must have some kind of daughter homing device, because even in the dark of night with her eyes half closed and before I could utter a word, she said, “Cristina?”
I imagine that maternal instincts are innate and that with the stacks of borrowed books on my shelf, I will find my way in this new role. Forget the fact that the books don’t concur or that friends mostly share their most traumatic experiences and not the day to day of course you’ll be fine stories. In addition to being a treat, my first Mother’s Day weekend at home in years was anthropological. I got to see how my sister parents and to remember how my mom pulled off the work/family trapeze act.
Another video landed for my column this week, this one about a promise made on YouTube that exploded into playful creativity amongst a group of strangers.
Here’s the video that started it all, from writer Amy Krouse Rosenthal. It’s strangely touching to me, the gathering of big and small things that she’s made. I’ve been in a funk this week where all I can concentrate on are the things I haven’t made. It gave me perspective to see “this mess” nestled in with “this boy” and “this book” as things that she’s made. It all counts. It’s all part of life.
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Beauty in a Wicked World is a weekly column by Jennifer Gandin Le. It appears on Wednesdays.
Last Friday, Chris and I bought and moved into our first home. It’s beautiful, built in 1962, and updated gently by the previous owner. It’s just the right size for us, and has a magnificently-sized yard that I didn’t think we’d find.
I’m still digesting the fact that such a long-held dream has come to fruition. I feel deeply grateful to be able to touch a wall and say, This is mine, or to walk on the wood floors, and think, These are mine.
But what makes this most real for me are the three trees: two live oaks and one red oak. The live oaks must be at least 40 years old, and the red oak about 15.
Yesterday, I read that Virginia Woolf’s husband, Leonard, had a remedy for depression:
“move house, develop a new hobby, work with your hands, buy a puppy.”
The first one on the list interests me most–Moving. People have long changed home and scenery in search of a fresh start, a term used by D.H. Lawrence, Elizabeth Bishop and practically everyone I know. As someone who has waved goodbye to many places, I experience a clockwork-like moving process. I start to itch for new-dom and make a choice in that direction. Then 2-3 weeks before leaving, I grow angry at the place. Somehow it makes the splitting up easier: “We weren’t meant to be together anyway. It’s just so obvious now.” Once I’m physically gone, the mourning begins.
I know. It’s a pattern I need to break.
For a moment, let’s put aside the pain of leaving a place you’ve attached to. Leaving can also be exhilarating. What is it about a new house, city, or landscape that allows us the promise of rearranging ourselves, doing all those things we always wanted to do, being better? As a kid, I relished the anticipation of exploring a new backyard and neighborhood. Each move felt like an opening. My goals: #1 I would become a better student and definitely nicer to my parents and brothers. #2 I would become my perfect self. We think a new outside will mirror a new inside. When you clean your bedroom, don’t your emotions suddenly fall into a neat order, at least for a couple hours?
Moving is a good shake-up. It forces us to re-open our eyes, sharpen our senses, use new skills, get comfortable with fear and reorganize some of our beliefs. I’m in the camp that believes some movement in life makes for a more tolerant and brave person. Though in my recent thinking, I suspect it’s also addictive, a slippery slope to always looking for satisfaction outside of yourself.
Buy the book and ask Jodyne for advice! She’ll coach you through any situation. Shoot!
