Hansel and Gretel

I just talked with an old-new friend about the losing of oneself as you hide who you are. Or bury who you are.  Or just plain forget who you are. It's incremental, we agreed.  You give bits of yourself away, piece by piece, and you just erode.  To keep the peace.  To keep the job. To make a relationship work.  To get where you want to go.  Whatever.  You look up and suddenly, you're lost. Like Hansel and Gretel dropping bread crumbs that just get eaten and they lose their way.

Lately, I am back on the path to finding me.  Building myself back up.  Piece by piece.  Granted, it has come at a steep cost.  I've faced depression, anxiety and panic.  I'm recently divorced. I've lost friends as my social landscape has changed and made new ones. But those weren't what allowed me to find me.  What was it?  Motherhood.  Oddly enough, many woman find motherhood to be the place where they lose themselves.  For me... it was the beginning.  The beginning of this road I'm on.  This time I won't lose pieces of myself and leave them for the birds of depression, negativity and doubt to eat at.  I'll set out with eyes straight forward and build a life for my kids and me that I caught a glimpse of when I became a mother.

I remember holding my boy one of the very first nights at home.  I was nursing him, dead tired, food packed in a little cooler in his room because he ate so often and woke so often, I hadn't the time to feed myself.  I looked down at him and began sobbing.  It was huge.  This little human had come from me and, at this age, I was all he needed.  I was his sustenance, his pillow and his comfort.  I understood then, how motherhood changes a woman.  Why it makes women do insane things to protect their kids.  I told a friend once... in simplest terms motherhood has taken me from the woman who freezes and breaks out in a cold sweat when she thinks someone is breaking into the house to the woman who has grabbed a sword (yes a sword, shut up) off the wall and rushed to the door when she thought someone was breaking in because, fuck it, those bastards were coming through me and this weapon before they got to my kids.  That's motherhood.  For me.

I had a joyful childhood.  Yes, my parents were (gasp) divorced.  Yes, we didn't have much for a long time.  But I had a lot of joy.  In very simple things.  I was telling a friend about it recently, who said he wasn't as practiced at joy as I was.  And I began to think of what made me "practiced".  I'll be honest, I fell out of practice for a while.  A long while.  Motherhood made me determined to bring it back.  I want my kids to get dirty, be silly, laugh, be curious, be adventurous as much as I want them kind, courteous, big-hearted, sensitive and loving.  I want them JOYFUL.  I cannot MAKE them joyful, each human is responsible for his own happiness.  You can exhaust yourself trying to make others joyful, especially when they refuse to be.  But I can lead by example and I can give them every opportunity to find it in the little moments by finding it myself and pointing it out.

What made me practiced was not luxury vacations or fine things.  It was attitude.  I remember a driving vacation with my sister and dad.  Dad would plan these trips down to the hour.  With how far we'd get and where we'd stay.  But one time, life had a different plan.  The town we wanted to stay in was COMPLETELY booked by a Shriner's Convention (no joke), so we had to travel to the next little town.  The "cabin" (I'll use quotes and you'll see why shortly) we stayed in was ummmm... rustic, to say the least. They had tiny corrugated tin showers and questionable bedding.  But that is not what stood out.  My dad, exhausted from driving, could have been a grump.  Instead, what I remember is he, my sister and I making the best of it and in his exhaustion my dad holding out the Scrabble and Cribbage games and saying "Scribbage or Crabble?"  All three of us paused a beat and then... we were on the floor.  Rolling, tearing up, laughing hysterically.  It has remained a joke to this day.  When we're exhausted or when we want to play a game - Scribbage or Crabble.  Joy, folks.  It is found in the little moments.

And another memory I have is of my mom, my sister and Phil - the man who is now my step-dad but who at the time was my mom's boyfriend.  We wanted to go fishing in the Sierras as we had started doing recently with Phil. Mom had this old Toyota Celica hatchback and we were fishing at some place I don't remember well. It was not our typical rocky shored lakes like Gull Lake or Silver Lake.  I just remember steep concrete sides and LOTS of rain.  It was POURING.  But it became an adventure.  Mom had some kind of tarp and she opened up the hatchback (like I've done for my own kids in the back of my Ford Escape) and let us take shelter and picnic there.  And while we smile at that memory of the driving rain, still trying to fish and that tarp, it isn't even the best part.  At one point, Lori and I (quite young, maybe 6 or 7) spotted some kind of bird struggling in the water.  I think it was a bird.  And we wanted Phil to save it.  Now, here is a man who didn't want kids (or so he thought - he and mom had a son together when I was 10).  He's not even married to my mom.  We're not his kids.  But there he goes.  Big, strong, Phil... reduced to soaking-wet rescuer because two teary-eyed girls begged him.  What I laugh about now, what we all laugh about, is Phil beginning to slide down those steep sides toward that water.  Poor man nearly went in the drink himself to save some damn animal that two bleeding-heart tiny girls were worried about.  Joy folks.  It's there when you look.

I feel like I'm making headway in teaching my kids to look.  We've developed a motto called "We'll Make The Best of It" that we particularly use to make us laugh during hard times like when we're all trapped in my place because we're sick or when the day doesn't go as planned.  My life has changed financially, so it's forced me into creativity to plan little adventures like hikes and road trips and feeding ducks at the park... but it's during these little adventures that we tend to find our joy.  We like to "narrate" the ducks' activities.  Giving them voices and conversations.  We race around the little docks at the park before we row canoes.  We go out in POURING rain on 'worm adventures' or stay holed up inside and do science experiments.  We pretend we own a restaurant and all work together to put dinner on the table.  We take breaks on our long hikes where the kids start to melt down and "name" the spots to make us laugh.  To date we have christened spots on the path to Sweet Creek Falls (which was a long rainy hike) with names like William's Melt Down Rock, Dizzy's Pee Pee Flower, William's Pee Pee Tree, Dizzy's Spider Discovery Hole, Mom's Stumble Spot, etc. so that on the next hike, when we get tired or hot or grumpy or hungry, that we'll remember to laugh and find the joy and just start naming our landmarks.  The other night, as I could see them starting to fade, I did my best carnival worker voice and began yelling "GET your hot dogs HERE!" as I slung hot dogs across the bar in my apartment.  It worked... silliness always works.

What are you doing, friends?  Are you still casting pieces of yourself about to be eaten up so that one day, in your old age, you look up and have no idea where you are?  Are you "living" dead inside, drowning in the day-to-day?  Are you the one whose first words are a complaint or a sigh or a negative observation about your co-worker or child or home or job?  Or are you LIVING? Taking each hill, uncertainty, bend, complication, surprise, etc. as an opportunity?  Are you making the hard choices to make sure your heart feels alive, you spread some joy and silliness, and you MAKE yourself? Are you MAKING your first words words of joy or silliness or humor?

Folks, my Opa could make a story about PRISON CAMP funny, because he knew that's where LIVING happened.  Living happens when you choose to do it and choose to climb and try and laugh and reach out and not hide in the "what ifs" or "oh wells" or "maybe somedays".  He knew, in camp, there might not be a tomorrow.  And after liberation, after years of struggle, whenever I listened to my Opa... he reeked of positivity.  Funny stories about tricking the guards.  Magic tricks even after he was exhausted from a day of work.  Laughing at my amazement at his painting.  Picking a perfect fruit from a tree and teaching me.  Tirelessly teaching my sister and me to swim.  He LIVED.

My Dad can make anything joyful.  Putting on music and letting his daughters dance in "twirly" dresses before bedtime instead of worrying if it's pumping them up too much.  Burning to a crisp at the pool because his little girls can swim all day.  Reading fabulous stories like Rikki Tikki Tavi with multiple voices or the same poem (Daddy Fell Into the Pond) over and over and over because it's funny to his girls.  My dad taught me joy.

My mom can be joyful even in tough times.  She would make goofy faces right in my face to make me laugh after we'd argued.  She would dance, flour-covered with us in the kitchen to The Ronnettes or The Supremes because, as usual, we'd waited for the last minute to bake too many Christmas cookies.  She can use her sarcasm and humor and just a touch of toughness to deflect a would-be suitor on the slopes in Mammoth or in the Hallmark shop at the mall and let us all laugh about it later.

Live, dear readers.  Choose.  Your choices, like my recent ones, may earn you pity or anger or disappointment or encouragement or admiration.  But it doesn't matter what anyone thinks because now is what you have. You may have to turn your entire world upside down or maybe just make the incremental changes to get your path more in the direction you want.  You may merely have to continue on your same path, but just look at it through different glasses so you see (as a friend would put it) the flowers instead of the weeds.  It's YOUR choice though.  Make no mistake.  It's YOURS.  No one else is to blame and no one else gets the credit.  You are not at the whim of your boss or parents or friends or spouse unless YOU choose to be.  Otherwise, pick the boss or friends or partner who brings out the best in you and for whom you do the same or QUIT GRIPING, because you chose.

I could complain about my divorce or my change in finances.  I could complain about a hard day or being exhausted or my choices making my kids learn some hard lessons rather young in life.  But what good would that do?  What would that teach them and what would that do to those around me?  I'd rather be thankful I'm good friends with my ex husband.  I'd rather be silly when I'm tired and make the kids laugh.  I'd rather beat my exhaustion by throwing on a fancy dress and fairy wings and walking the river with my daughter.  I'd rather try a hard hike again and name a few more landmarks. I'd rather laugh hysterically with my co-workers about how one of our oldest and most crotchety investors maybe just needs a boyfriend in her old age.  I'd rather laugh.  I'd rather live.

Don't be the Hansel and Gretel who lost their way.  Don't lose you.  Instead, be the Hansel and Gretel who, with a bit of ingenuity, cooked the witch and found their way.  Your choice, folks, your choice.

Travel Alone... and find the company you love

I had an amazingly rare (during my son's baseball season at least) kid-free, baseball free weekend this weekend.  So yesterday, I threw food in a cooler backpack I have, got in my car, rolled the windows all the way down, and hit the road.

I live in an amazing place.  Eugene, Oregon.  A bit over an hour in one direction and you're at the coast.  A bit over an hour in the other and you're in the mountains.  Stay right here and you have buttes to hike, rivers to float, ponds to fish in and a strange little town to just swim in and enjoy the oddness.  I love it.  Yesterday, I took the mountain route and went up to some waterfalls.  I parked at a reservoir at the bottom of a trail and sat there for a bit by myself.  Watched a family of ducks teach the babies to dive.  Watched a family of humans teach their young children to fish.  And then I began hiking.  Alone.

It's amazing what happens when you take the time to be with yourself.  There's a danger in spending too much time in your own head, however, it can be equally as damaging to avoid yourself too.  So I got out of my head and into my body, yet back in my head at lovely little stops where I took a moment to REALLY look, REALLY breathe, REALLY think and write and meditate and just "be."

This new venture into single life can be fraught with dangerous self-talk.  I'm finding friends who panic at the idea of being lonely.  Of never finding love.  My father worries for me... that I won't find that connection with someone.  I have friends asking me when I'll date, if I'll date.  So why don't I care?  Why am I not panicking?  Why was I so happy, so at peace, so utterly joyful yesterday just sitting and hiking by myself?  My self talk can quickly get me into thinking something is WRONG with me that I'm just fine.  I'm actually quite happy.

Friends who have been single longer tell me it's because it's new.  Just wait until I've been alone for years.  Wait until I go a long time without arms to hold me when I need a lift.  I have friends who fill their every free moment with activity, activity, activity in a mad rush to fill themselves.  And I keep looking at myself wondering, does it mean I'm depressed if I'm not getting OUT there?  Joining gyms and taking classes and going on dates and, and, and.  This is what I mean by too much time in your own head.  We humans were blessed with brains that think, however, we often overshoot our mark and get into overthinking.  Like if we mull something long enough and weigh it enough, we'll FINALLY pick the right choice.  I'm honestly starting to think my heart does the better thinking and my head needs to shut the hell up.  My heart said hike alone.  My heart says I'm not lonely.  My heart says I'm joyful and I actually REALLY like this woman I've met named Mariska Cooper.

When you were younger, did you dream of what you'd be?  I did.  And I dreamt of living alone in a small place on the Oregon Coast writing.  You may think that sounds lonely.  I didn't.  I honestly imagined kids would somehow be involved.  I imagined good friends and lovers... many, or just one.  But I didn't imagine myself married.  And it didn't seem lonely to me.  Recently, a friend and I discussed the number of unhappy people we know and the number of divorces and he said so many of us get stuck in that choice between "annoyance and loneliness".  He was saying there were no easy choices... it's hard to go it alone and hard to make the compromises that come with marriage. I kinda had to call bullshit on that.  It's an awfully negative way to frame it, quite honestly, and I've discovered (as I'm finding me) that I am naturally positive, optimistic and downright joyful.  I'm silly and playful and I love to laugh.  I think our choices are how we frame them.  And I'm framing mine in a positive light.  Is the road I'm choosing a hard one?  Sure... in some ways.  But like any good hike, the path with the steeper climb often leads to a more beautiful summit.  He calls me brave to make the choice I made... divorcing with kids.  Maybe it is.  I don't know.  Brave or not... I needed to be the best woman and mother I could be.  I was dragging down the ship, I had to stop being the anchor.

 I don't think of what I've done as choosing to "go it alone".  What's lonely about my time with my children?  What's lonely about spending time with friends who CHOOSE to spend their time with me and carve out that time?  What's lonely about visiting my parents, hanging with my sister, going on a fun date or two if someone intrigues me enough to say yes and not just because I "need to get out there"?  I'll tell you what... there's NOTHING lonely about it.  It's how you view it.  Truly.   And why is it bad to be home on a Friday night but not a Tuesday night?  It wasn't bad that I cleaned Friday night so I could have an awesome hike yesterday.  It wasn't bad that I had drinks with a friend on Thursday night, but no one to come home to last night.  I've thoroughly enjoyed myself these past few days.  These past couple weeks actually.  I'm not distressed at the lack of a body in bed next to me.  I'm not sad at the lack of arms to hold me... my kids give the best hugs anyway.

And maybe it is because it's new.  Maybe I'm just a little different.  I don't know.  What I do know is... travel alone folks.  Once in a while.  Whether you're single or married or have kids or none.  Whether you live in a big city or small beautiful place.  Travel alone.  Don't be afraid of you.  Don't be afraid to really, really like who you are and SAY it.  We are taught to be careful of too much alone time.  We are taught it is conceited to like yourself too much.  Always give to others and forget yourself.  But as my therapist once said, "Note that they say on the airplane to put your oxygen mask on FIRST before helping your kids or those around you.  You can't help someone else if you're dead, so take care of you too."

I turn 41 in August and I'm finding no shame in saying that I REALLY like me.  I feel more beautiful than I have ever felt.  Whether that beauty is inward or outward, I don't care.  I have never felt more beautiful.  I like that I'm a goofball.  I like that I love Star Wars still, I dance alone in my kitchen, I'll always try a handstand if there's a big enough stretch of grass and I'll eat Fruit Loops for dessert.  I love that, if I can find one, I'll walk around in some fluffy costume with wings and a tiara just because my daughter wants me to.  And I like the woman I hiked with yesterday - me.  She was damn good company.