Shaping Space

Have you ever considered the space between? The space between any two people and how it gets there, or how it dissolves, or how it expands and contracts, or how it shifts, or how it establishes its own rules of engagement? Or how the balance of power sometimes simply hangs in the balance. Or how it grows warmer or colder, or lighter or darker. It's nothing more than space, and it sometimes seems that everything, all of it (whatever it is), is all trapped in there. Sometimes it is suffocating snared in confinement. Sometimes it is free-floating lost in vastness.

And it's a constant negotiation. Who we let in to it. And on what terms. Who we keep out of it. Any why. And for how long. The price we make them pay. The determinations we make about what debts to forgive in exchange for proximity again. The debts we create to fortify our own indignant convictions.

The imperfections we accept in people just to have companionship. The demons we create in others just to force them out. However you configure it, one axiom remains. The space is the guardian of the truth. This in-between space is the only space in which the truth can be tolerated. The space where the truth is pure. The space between.

Perhaps Peter Senge is an odd man to quote a time like this, but he said it best-- There is no enemy out there. You and the cause of all of your problems are part of the same system. It's all the same. Because wherever you go in this great spinning world, there you are. And the space remains. You can never leave it. You are always half of it. You own that much. You just drag it around with you. And all of its truth, however inaccessible, however unknown to you, are forever in your shadow.

So, how do you enter it? Do you dip your toe with guarded caution, stand in rigid self-righteousness, or immerse yourself in that space in hopeful promise? How do you shape it? Do you pour in anger, build around your self-manufactured drama, or sculpt it with grace? How do you interpret your own intentions? What do you want from the person on the other side? Are you trying to pull her closer or push him further away? Do you want it more than he does? Will you look with more than your own eyes, will you feel with more than your own heart? Or will you strand yourself in your own reality, unable to connect, compromise, or consider an alternative? Your truth is just one version of many. Can you accept that?

And we're all in it together. Turning to face a new space with a different stranger, turning to shape an old space with an intimate ally. This imperfect world on which we spin. Trading space for emotion, bartering for control, dealing out of pity, making withdrawals out of vainglory, or exchanging out of need.

One day you might turn and find me on the opposite side of your space. One day I might turn and find you. What will happen in that space at that moment? In what currency will we deal? What tools and what materials will we use to shape that space? And what emotions and expectations will we bring to bear on it? And when the truth emerges between us, will we know it when we see it?

"The world spins. We stumble on. It is enough." ~Colum McCann

2012

"Now I am quietly waiting for

the catastrophe of my personality

to seem beautiful again,

and interesting, and modern.


~Frank O'Hara as quoted by Don Draper

---

Suspension

If you have ever driven west out of Pittsburgh, past the airport, and through Weirton, West Virginia, you'll find yourself on the most magnificent feat of civil engineering: the Fort Steuben Bridge.  It will, quite literally, take your breath away.  I haven't been on it recently, but I passed over it many times to visit my grandmother while I was an undergrad at Pitt.  The amazing thing about that bridge, is you pass from one state to another, and all the while, you're suspended in mid-air.  Suspended. Like a tightrope walker.


The word suspended finds its origins in Medieval Latin, meaning uncertain.  And is there any worse sensation than uncertainty?  Indecision, stumbling anxiety, lacking confidence, absent conviction.  The honest response, "I don't know. I'm not sure."  Uncertainty is everything I despise.  To me, uncertainty is akin to despair.


And yet, suspension is the only way I can describe it.  Nothing is as I had hoped.  Expectations failed, failed beyond any shadow of recognition.  The last 18 months feel like a ride on an eternal suspension bridge. No border crossings, no progress, just endless linear movement, sometimes in reverse.  And I don't know.  I don't know if I keep going, pressure on the accelerator, eyes on the odometer, and just go.  And hold steady: commitment. Remain committed to my expectations, and refuse to be disappointed. Is that within my control?


And I don't know. I don't know if I stop, force on the brakes, eyes on the speedometer, and just go.  And walk away: commitment.  Remain committed to what I believe to be possible, and refuse to accept anything less. Is that within my reach?


What is the line between patience and stupidity?  What is the statute of limitations on effort?


I can do a lot of things. But I can't answer these questions. I feel just like I am sitting on that suspension bridge, desperately trying to get to the other side, but I can't get there, and people are counting on me.  I am more frustrated than I have ever been.  And it's all so ... pointless. Isn't it?


Most days, I distract myself with music.  I find some tunes to make me smile, a soundtrack for my days. I always start with All Along the Watchtower (Dave Matthews version), and from there, it's anyone's guess.  This Saturday, suspended in time, working on a holiday week-end, it was no accident that Florence and the Machine invited themselves into my space.  When she was finished, she left her lyrics behind, little drops of wisdom suspended in the air, within my reach, and for a moment, I left all of those unanswerable questions unanswered.  Let them wrestle with themselves for awhile. 


Sometimes it seems that the going is just too rough
And things go wrong no matter what I do
Now and then it seems that life is just too much
But you've got the love I need to see me through


Thanks Florence. You're right. I could stay on this suspension bridge all the livelong day.  I am not patient. But I'm not stupid either. There's a way out of this, or a better way to be in this, or for sure a way through this.  My view is good.  My soundtrack even better. And the company I keep, well, the company i keep is second to none.  But, I don't want to brag.

Inventory

Medical History and Permission to Treat forms: Check.

PTO forms and PTO dues paid: Check.

Family contact information submitted to school directory: Check.

Baseball sportsmanship forms (one for each child): Check and Check.

Baseball Parental Conduct forms (one for each team): Check and Check.

Baseball Permission to Treat in the Event of an Emergency form (one for each child): Check and Check.

Soccer sportsmanship forms (one for each child): Check and Check.

Soccer Parental Conduct forms (one for each team): Check and Check.

Soccer Permission to Treat in the Event of an Emergency form (one for each child): Check and Check.

School uniforms purchased, washed, pressed, folded, and put away in new hanging closet drawers, organized by season and size(one set for each child, spring classroom, winter classroom, spring PE, and winter PE): Check, check, check, and check. Don't forget you haven't bought the PE socks yet. What's another $20?

Hair cuts (one for each child): Check and Check.

Sunscreen permission forms (one for each child): Check and Check.

Sunscreen purchased (one bottle for each child, and labeled): Check and check. MFR: Do not buy Water Babies brand because it is too embarrassing.

Extended Day Medical History and Emergency Contact Forms (one set for each child): Check and check.

Art supplies, including smocks, fine point markers, and baby wipes packed (one set for each child): Check and check. MFR: Do NOT purchase the baby wipes with the picture of the baby's bum on the front because that's too embarrassing.

Soccer uniform purchased and embossed with correct jersey number: Check.

Baseball pants, belts, socks, and shirts purchased (one set for each child -- color coordinated): Check and check.

Cleats! Soccer and baseball (one pair for each child -- color coordinated): Check, check, check, and check. (Thanks Duke!)

Soccer shin pads, socks, and shorts (one complete set for each child -- color coordinated): Check and check.

School supplies purchased, labeled, and packed for each child: Check and check. (Let's not forget labeling each and every crayon and colored pencil. It took an entire bottle of wine.)

Notebooks covered with contact paper, single-handedly the most frustrating task in the history of school supplies: Check and check. (Coming in at a record 12 notebooks this year, could not be done while drinking wine because it requires too much dexterity and concentration).

School lunches ordered and entered into mom's master schedule (a different selection for each child, each day): Check and check.

New NIKE backpacks purchased and labeled (one for each child): Check and check. (Thanks Duke!)

Water bottles purchased and labeled (one for each child -- color coordinated to their sports uniforms and backpacks, of course): Check and check.

New this year! Athletic supporters purchased and presented to each child (one of whom thought it was a computer mouse -- not so fast, buddy.): Check and check. (Duke, this one is all yours next year).

Google calendar updated with every sports practice, game, skills training, husband's travel, board meeting, hair appointment, medical appointment, holiday travel, visitor agenda, and Patriots/Red Sox game: Check.

Team Mom duties performed on behalf of son's U12 soccer team: Check.

Director of Marketing duties performed on behalf of childrens' youth baseball league: Check.

Babysitter secured for PTO Parents' Night Back: Check. (I might never come home).

Let the games begin, boys, because Mama's got to get back to work.

Reaching Our Homecoming

My boys come home in 65 hours (or so). And it's sort of been this long, lonely summer through which I wandered aimlessly. Not really having any the comforts of my attendant shadows to guide me, remind me, inspire me, or bring me purpose. I filled the days, but they all seem a little blurry. No husband near, no big kids near, and no little kids pushing against my heart and stealing my breath.

---

You know, when you practice yoga, it is all about the breathing. It's all about the stretching. How far can you stretch yourself? Can you challenge yourself more? Push harder? Can you show yourself grace? Can you be gentle with yourself? Can you dig a little deeper into authenticity? Can you stand firmer? Can you balance?

---

Push down to lift up. Lift, push, stretch, reach, and breath. Bend, fold, hinge, and breath. Push down to lift up. She's only trying to keep the sky from falling.

---

People say, "Why do you do so much?" I reply, "Why not?" but what I'm really thinking is, "Why do you do so little?" People say "You're too hard on yourself." I reply, "Nonsense," but what I'm really thinking is, "You're a hack." You know what they call people who aren't hard on themselves? Amateurs. And listen up, I'm NOT living my life in a perpetual amateur hour. It's a choice.

---

And when my little kids aren't near, when my husband is perpetual distance, and when my big kids are too far away -- it's just me. Just me. Just me, and my stretching and my reaching. And I can always reach higher, I can always stretch farther. Because it's always on offer. It's always waiting. And soon enough, there'll be a homecoming, and the boys will be stealing my breath and pushing against my space, and forcing everything back into balance. And there'll be bigger things, sweeter things, higher things to reach for. Up! Up! Up! Why stop now boys? Why do less boys? Your mama's not raising amateurs. Get out there and reach.

---

Simply the Best

Here are ten things that are good for the soul.

1. Waking up next to your husband.
2. Going to church and taking communion.
3. Doing a headstand for a few minutes.
4. Playing the piano.
5. Toasted german bread with liverwurst and soft boiled eggs.
6. A strong Starbucks.
7. Getting a package in the mail, surprise from a friend three time zones away.
8. The intrigue of a good book.
9. Hearing your children laugh.
10. The grace of another day.

When You Feel Defeated

This week-end, I drove to Ohio to visit my grandmother in her new home, a care facility where she was admitted against her very strong will. At 98 years old, and with a broken leg, she just couldn't reasonably care for herself independently anymore. This was the best, although certainly not the easiest, solution for her safety. On my way there -- through the Township Roads, that wove me so far off the Interstate that I was concerned I might never be found again -- I received very few radio stations. To my good fortune, NPR came through loud and strong and I was able to listen to the winners of a recent essay contest. During one essay, I heard a beautiful phrase, that I will quote to the best of memory. "My biggest dilemmas in life have been answered in moments, not in words."

I enjoyed a thoughtful and caring visit with my grandmother, in which she bossed me six ways til Sunday. I tucked her in and left Saturday evening more fatigued than my busiest days managing a household of seven people. This I know is true: she's getting even with me. That little voice in her head, saying, "Well Nettie, if you're going to make me stay here, I'm going to make you work for it." And indeed, she did.

I stopped in again before leaving town on Sunday morning and found my grandma in bright spirits. She was sitting in her arm chair, putting her make-up on. Preparing for Coffee Club with her friends at 10:00. After applying her lip stick and brushing her hair, she looked up at me, with such innocence and asked, "Nettie, do I look garish?"

"Of course not, Grandma. You look like the lady you are," I replied.

We talked for awhile. About this. About that. I put my hand on her leg, told her I had to leave. And in that moment, without any words, everything changed. She laid her head back against the chair and lifted her feet slightly off the foot stool. She seemed so small, swallowed by the enormity of it all. The realization she was staying. That I was leaving. And home -- for both of us -- was somewhere far away.

She closed her eyes, and pulled her arms across her chest, and just began talking to me, so quietly: her back hurts, she's lonely, she doesn't get the rest she needs, she wants to go home, the bed isn't comfortable, her leg is sore, could I get her a Tylenol before I go? And then, everything changed again -- in the moment not with words. She put her feet back on the foot stool, readied herself, and turned her wedding bands on her fingers. My grandmother, the widow of almost 30 years, still wearing her wedding bands. "I just need to give myself a good talking to."

And in that moment, she taught me, how you behave when you feel defeated. You put on your lipstick, you comb your hair, you indulge a moment of despair, and you let it pass. You cling to the things that fortify you: a husband, a wedding band, a memory. And you are firm with yourself.

It was hard to leave, but it always is. Leaving is one of those things in life that doesn't get easier the more you practice it. As I was winding my way back to the Interstate, on roads that have long since been forgotten by the Department of Highway Safety, Richard Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries" forced its way through the speakers of my Subaru. There is so much determination, so much intention, so much spirit in the opening of this Act of opera. It's impetuous, it's stubborn, and it's willful. Forget the ways in which it has been used in political history: it is undeniably beautiful, majestic, and complicated music. And I couldn't help but envision my grandmother, head down, shoulder forward, charging down the carpeted hallways of her nursing home, whipping the wheels of her chair, all 4"8' of her, marking her 10:00 arrival at Coffee Club. Singing her battle cry, just like a Valkyrie would.

And so I learned, when you are feeling defeated, be indomitable.

Ok, grandma. I will. Thank you for the moment.