7:00 pm Taming the Worry-Shrew

We have ultimate control over one thing: choice. I'm thinking of choices we make in response to things outside of our control. In my teacher world it's all about FTE: Full Time Emplyee status.

In fact, I imagin school hallways across the country are abuzz with similar discussions: Who's getting cut? Who's moving schools? Who's changing grades? Who's getting to keep their position? Principals face difficult choices.

I was walking through a room just today, and a staff member shot me a volley in this game of worry: "Are you getting cut?" It nearly knocked me off my feet. The suddenness of the question, so forward, so out there, and yet, so very close to my heart and soul. I chose to presume positive intent; this person cares for me, I know. And yet I forget my response. Stammering of some kind or other, I'm sure.

Industries all across our economy, and the world over, currently search for survival strategies during this difficult time. It's easy to throw up one's hands in futile dismay. After all, which one of us, by ourselves, could begin to think we have control over Wall Street?

It's tempting to let conditions seemingly outside of our control dictate our feelings. Right now is a fine time to be depressed. Of course! It's the economy! I'm in a bad mood - it's the economy! I'm losing my job and feel worthless - it's the economy!

And there's the ironic rub. We let something completely outside our control, completely take over the single most imporant area of our lives that we can control: Choice. I believe that when we choose with positive intetion, how we respond in any given situation, we hold the power to produce happiness in our lives.

Seemingly obvious choices can be the most toxic and ironic. High holidays, times we think we should all feel happy, can bring deep sadness for the lonely, or for individuals who've suffered a great loss at that time of year. Job loss? It can actually be a good thing. I want to keep my job, yes, however if I lose some employment, I will explore other options. Who knows what might happen? It could be that I discover another school, or another work environment entirely. Maybe I'll branch off into some other field. My Dad was laid off over 15 years ago, became a private contractor, and now every year netts more income than any year he was "employed".

My Dad's story may be unusual, however I've heard that contractors can do well in a down-turned economy because they end up being cheeper for employers than retaining staff. In the end, I think my Dad's success more reflected the choice he made: to do what he could with what he had.

He talks about faith, comparing how he feels between contracts to a chartoon character. In the cartoon a character walks along a falling, horizontal steel beam. The moment its foot looks like it's going to step out into thin air, another beam rises for him to cross. The character walks the length of that one, and again steps into thin air. And then another beam rises to catch him.

So in this difficult waiting time of questions, I think about choices. Intentionally waiting to respond in a proactive way feels empowering. Spending my time doing the best work I can is how I show my value as an employee. Deciding to live a healthful, balanced life shows I myself hold well-being in my own two hands. Taming the worry-shrew helps me vanquish the poisonous stress of worrying: Will I have a job next year?

In the school setting, FTE allotment feels like an earthquake to me. The shifts feel continental. And completely out of our control. And after the continental shift comes the aftershocks. I got my first licensed position in an aftershock. See, even when FTE is settled, staff can change their minds, choose something else, decide to move on. That's an aftershock. When it opens up a position, new opportunities open. So I'll take shelter in my classroom, at my desk, in meetings, doing the best I can with what I have, and taking the news as it comes.

4-27-11 5:08 pm I Think I Can...

I think I can leave work on-time. (I did it today and spent more time with Anne.)

I think I can ask for help. (I did it today and it left more time for other tasks.)

I think I can hold others responsible for their actions. (I did it today and felt...lighter!)

I think I can seek out business services to help me. (I did it today and anticipate responses.)

I think I can relax after work. (I did it today and my headache is trickling away.)

I think I can share my woes. (I did it today and caring people at work rallied around me.)

I think I can receive kindness. (I did it today and feel like I have a friend!)

I think I can have faith in my actions. (I did today and spoke of a discipline response, several times, without anxiety.)

I think I can take care of myself. I just need to remember how, and remind myself to do it.

4-19-11 6:55 pm Angerlust

Merriam-Webster on-line says "wanderlust" means a "strong longing for or impulse toward wandering", as in: "Wanderlust ... led him to explore many different parts of the world." The impression in my mind is one of delving deeper. A person full of wanderlust might have explored the depths of the Grand Canyon, the heights of Mount Everest, and the far reaches of Continental shores. Some sort of nebulous yet intrinsic value seems to attach itself to the concept of exploration. Angerlust, then, might mean a "strong longing for or impulse toward anger", as in: "Angerlust has led him to explore many different parts of ... himself." When we include the word "explore" in the definition of "angerlust", does it make the emotion any more attractive?

I can see it now: travel agencies designing ad campaigns touting how much anger this or that destination incites. People could start waking up, planning for events in their day to make them angry. In place of "take a walk in the park" on my daily calendar might appear "get really ticked off!". About what, I don't know. Might have to plan for that one.

Maintaining positive attitudes throughout daily life includes smiles, yes, yet it also includes tears, frustration, and of course, anger. I see nothing wrong with anger. Difficult emotion though it is, it's not necessarily a negative one. Feeling bad about anger is negative. Anger can lead to powerful self-discoveries. A little anger (or a lot) teaches such powerful lessons, it's likely worth the pain of the emotion. Can anger teach us so much that it's worth feeling good about, or even embracing?

Which Greek philosopher said that "knowledge is power"? According to wikipedia, that quote is attributed to multiple scholars. Regardless of its origin, there's truth in the power of self-knowledge.

Most recently for me was a rather gargantuan bought of anger that stirred up the realization that I need to have say. Losing the feeling of having appropriate influence in life situations leaves me feeling powerless, helpless, and at the mercy of others regardless of the outcome. It makes me feel abandoned, even if I'm the one doing the abandoning. (I have abandonment issues.)

Example: last week Anne asked to have a sleep-over. Honestly, sleep-overs are low on my list of favorites when it comes to Anne's time with friends. They go to sleep late, get up early, and require vigilant supervision. It's the marathon of parenting for me. We're better-equipped to deal with these events than in years past, mostly due to experience. Still, I'd rather take a bunch of girls to the park for the afternoon than have a slumber party. I'd rather go to the dentist than invite children over for a sleep-over. Yes, even doing our taxes has more appeal than those late-night slumber parties.

None-the-less, sleep-overs seem to be a part of growing up in America. Who am I to nay-say them? I can, however, put some parameters in place. I tried, all-be-it unsuccessfully, last weekend. "Yes" I responded to the sleep-over request, "as long as you girls come up with a plan."

See, I plan for fun, engaging activities for children all day, every day, at work. What a privilege. During the weekends, however, a break from this seems in order. The remainder of the week came and went; the girls remained planless. Friday afternoon brought an expectant daughter to my desk, accompanied by voice mails from parents trying to make a plan for their families' Friday evenings. So, I complied, and begrudgingly brought home three children, planless though they remained.

The next morning, bright and early, Harold headed out with the children. They went out to breakfast, swimming at the local recreation center, bowling, and out to lunch. My planning. Again. Success strategy for me: stay at home. Yes, it was expensive, and yes, I'm indebted to my husband for his generosity with time and money. And yes, I went through my own personal hell trying to figure out why I felt livid the whole time.

I'd needed more say. Looking back, I could have made many modifications to the over-night plan, seeing that the girls failed to hold up their end of the deal. Ignoring the leverage I possessed left me feeling like I had nowhere to turn. And it made me super-mad.

At 40 years-of-age, I need to be self-reliant. As a parent, I need to be in control. As an adult, I need to take responsibility for myself, and hold others accountable when and where appropriate. If I don't, who will? This revelation gives me a giant dose of power. Good power. "I'm in charge of my life and my destiny" kinda power.

It's so wonderful, I'm considering what other yet-to-be discovered or rediscovered revelations might lurk deep within my subconscious. It might even be worth...getting really mad about something just to find out.

4-3-11 4:23 pm The Boomerang Effect

OK, it's possible I work too hard. This spring break I painted four rooms in our house, rearranged furniture and knick-knacks (yes, Mom, a few decorative items now grace various flat surfaces in our abode), and repaired a lot of stuff. In a 100 year-old house, needed repairs are easy to come by. They also happen to be easy to carry out since the original stuff was crafted using solid, real materials. I digress. Surprise, all that work's left me in rather a funk. On the other hand, the time was available. Carpe diem. This entry, however, is about what happened next. As interesting and involved as all those projects became, they definitely played the supporting role to a deeper tale of universal goodness. In the end, what impressed me the most was the kindness of strangers. So all week I've balanced between acting civil, and completing gargantuan amounts of work. It was tricky to say the least. Smiling, leaving the "b" word out of my vocabulary, all that positivity stuff sat on the back burner while I relocated garden beds, prepared soil, and planted seeds while the paint dried in bedroom number two. And yet, every single sales person, wait person, customer service clerk, heck, even my own family members who've hopefully suffered only a little with all this work, showed kindness beyond my expectations. Ever walk into your local mega-hardware warehouse, ask for something, and then at the promise of "let me find someone who can help" realize, you're watching the back of "assistance" as it walks away from you, never to return? Ever felt left in the black hole of ignorance? It never happened. All week I was met with either help or fulfilled promises of assistance. I'd go to the register and chance upon the first sales clerk I'd queried upon entering, only to be met with: "Was anyone able to help you find those clematis seeds you wanted?" In fact, help had come, the seeds were not in yet, and I'd found some other must-have's in the mean time. We visited a smaller hardware store yesterday, and the staff fell all over us with kindness. I actually momentarily flattered myself with the delusion that one of the young men working that day was flirting with me. Then it came out in our conversation that he was from the mid-west. He was just being his super-nice self. Harold agrees. Anne was helpful. She wanted to paint with me, and did when she could. When she couldn't, she diligently practiced her instruments or read. She claimed to appreciate the unlimited reading time. I certainly appreciated the work time. Harold complimented my work. He worried over me. He urged me to slow down. And then he'd thank me for all I'd done. He cooked dinner. I left my purse at a restaurant. They called my friends and family members from my cell phone before I even missed it. In what universe does that happen? Of course nothing was missing from my belongings. The next time we visited (OK, they do chocolate, and we're having a hard time staying away), our waiter recognized both me and my purse. Same guy. Same purse. Same very excellent chocolate. Ahhh. And friends got together for lunch. They celebrated my birthday. It turns out thoughtful messages in fun cards and a yummy carrot cake make me feel loved and cared for. And my daffodils bloomed. The week held its challenges. And more are yet to come. The kindnesses I experienced made up for them, will continue to make up for them, and then some. All this good energy feels like it's about more than a parsimonious universe paying me back for my lately efforts at positivity. At the risk of sounding ego-centric, I'm gonna go ahead and say that it may have had something to do with my willingness, in fact my hopefulness, to see it. I think we find what we hope for. We see what we expect. It's all about self-fulfilling prophesies, because perception is everything. Take everything for what you hope it will be, for what you hope is intended, and your wishes come to pass. It's like a perpetual prayer which keeps getting answered. Kindness has renewed my faith in the world, and with faith I go out again, looking for kindness in turn. I'm thinking I'll find it.

3-23-11 7:00 pm White Lies Must Die

I told one last night, and knew it the whole time. My lovely book groupies asked about the layout of our nearly 100 year-old house where I hosted the evening. They heard gleeful descriptions of walk-through closets, a large basement, and my daughter's huge bedroom closet. I boasted that it was half the size of my living room. Anne openly corrected me when she entered the conversation later that fateful night.

Everything else I'd said was true. The building was erected in 1919. You can actually get from the dining room to our bedroom via a closet. The basement was dug out some decades ago, and is nearly full-sized. Why did I lie about the size of Anne's closet? What purpose did it serve? Instead of making me feel some form of good, my heart started a relentless and rapid pounding.

It's all about doubt. In the brief moment between thought and words, I worried my lovely guests might not get just how large Anne's closet really is. Actually, it's about a quarter the size of our living room, which is still unusually large. Anyway, I think my white lie was a preemptive attempt to positively impact their perception, which I pre-supposed to be inaccurate. I thought they wouldn't believe me, based on their own experience or misperception that all old houses have tiny closets.

Had I chosen bravery, faith, or good will, I'd have said something like: "...And this is really unusual: Anne's closet measures something like 4' x 8'. Isn't that large for an old house? We're thinking of converting it to a half-bath." Instead I exaggerated. My friends are LDS, so I'm sure they picked up on my lie before I even uttered it.

The larger lesson for me: practice faith. Faith in myself for being able to find the right words to convey complete and utter truth, and faith in others for being capable of really hearing it. If I'm going to live 100% positively, the white lies must die. Part of being positive means building trust, and lies, regardless of their size, erode trust. Plus, they're unnecessary.

Telling the truth requires thought and articulation. I think I believe that speaking 100% truthfully provides an opportunity to become smarter. Ponder these tools for honesty:

• think before speaking
• use the right words
• listen
• say what's meant
• mean what's said

If I do those things, they have to make me smarter, because they will require me to think before I spout off. Maybe I tell white lies out of haste more than lack of trust. Maybe it's a healthy dose of both. In the end, maybe the "why" of it matters little.

This new goal requires planning. I wonder, if my conversation pace slows in order to think about and plan for what I say to be truthful, whether folks will be patient enough to listen. Maybe if I speak only the truth, they'll be eager enough to hear my words that they'll wait for them. Maybe it'll start a trend. How might life change if we all killed white lies with the patience and correct wording that honest communication requires?

3-18-11 9:28 pm A Gift...

It was definitely him, looking more dapper than ever. My Grandpa had a close-cut beard, white of course. In life he kept his face clean-shaven. His shirt was a button-down white Oxford with narrow, dark blue stripes set wide apart, underneath a burgundy v-neck sweater. While he was living, I remember him wearing calm tones that complimented rather than contrasted. He may or may not have had his cane with him in my dream, yet he needed it to walk and steady his balance in his living, breathing days.

Anyway, when he hugged me in greeting, he patted my lower back. I don't know; there's this way he has of pressing the lower back that reassures the hugee it's him. With Grandpa, you were always the hugee. He seemed reassuring that way. And he always did that lower-back press. I feel certain the action was intentional on his part, his signature gesture, if you will.

He was intentional about everything. He even had a breakfast schedule: on a certain day oatmeal, on another fried eggs and bacon. He used to say it was one thing over which he had control in life, so why not take advantage? He'd shrug in a boyish way, and laugh off-handed, feigning boyish innocence in his conquest over the unpredictable. I always secretly guessed that the whole thing was funny until someone really tried to mess with his meal schedule. To my knowledge, no one ever did.

I digress. His coming to me last night, in my dream, it felt like one last greeting, with the whole family there, and it really felt like the real thing. Grandma was smiling in her black patent-leather pumps, pleased as ever to be together looking like one big happy family. My mother stood to the side, smiling, arms crossed, approving. Harold and Anne were somewhere in the room, maybe behind me. And before our visitors, Mom and Grandma, entered through the back door, I remember dreading: this will be the first time I greet my Grandma as a widow. It was a dreadful thought, which made my heart pound and threatened uncriable tears in front of visiting family members who most certainly would be put over their respective edges of barely holding it together for their own grief if they saw me break down.

Jews know how to mourn. The wailing wall gives them cart blanch to cry their hearts out. Even when they're here in America, they own that magnificent tribute to loss, in their history. Catholics somehow presume composure at the most dreadful times. I'm mad he's gone. I miss him terribly. The world is less without him.

And I know it was him, who came to me in my dreams last night, and gave me that one last comfortable family greeting; we could all be there, together, in my night visions. I cherish that memory; I feel literally touched by him. He came through, once again. Grandpa was nothing if not predictably reliable. I love him so much, and it's dreadfully sad he's gone. Thank you, Grandpa.

Thanks for standing up when you hugged me good night, while all the other grown-ups would stay sitting on the couch, unmoving. Thank you for giving me confidence in my taste in clothes, and my choice of diet. Thank you for teaching my daughter how to play tic-tac-toe with even more complexity. Thank you for making tough moments light-hearted. Thank you for taking me to the park when I was little. It's one memory I've lost, which tells me those were carefree moments. Thanks for those. Thanks for standing when I came into the room. Thanks for tipping your hat. Thanks for teaching me how to think about someone else's perspective. I'm still working on that one. Thanks for being so affirming to me. I love you. Thanks for coming to me when I needed you last night, in my dreams. Thanks for still being there for me when I need you.

3-15-11 4:54 pm On the Plus-Side or, Today in My World

Admittedly, a persistent cloud took residence over me a week or so ago. Intentional positive energy slowly moves it, in small increments. Today, my mojo for moving it even further from my heart feels like gratitude. Again.

Today in my world the sun rose. My car started. I'm employed. My students came to me eager for attention and learning. My husband showed me care. My daughter showed signs of health, both mental and physical. I made intentional decisions about how to spend my time. Food availed itself to me, enough to feel healthfully nourished. My house stood on solid ground. My loved ones seemed safe. I practiced yoga. I got the laundry started. Dinner seems doable. Things look pretty good from where I stand.

And with that, my heart feels still a little lighter. Potential for change feels almost more gratifying than my elevated state of mind. It gives me hope.