mulberryshoots

May 31, 2012

what’s real. . .

I was thinking about how well we think we might know someone. Especially someone close to us, like our spouse or someone in our family, like a sister or a daughter. I’ve come to the conclusion lately that it’s hard to know what’s real and what’s an impression of what we think about them, tinged with feeling. How much room is there for honesty with all that thinking and feeling going on?

Some people are pessimistic and others look toward the best of everything. I’m one of the latter, often idealizing someone’s character or abilities just because I love them. I think we all do that. Then, something happens and we are rudely awakened to what’s real. Ego and arrogance coupled with a sense of self-satisfaction or smugness spurts out.

No matter. Because what is truly most important, it seems to me, is to be real to ourselves. To authenticate who we really are within. That takes some honesty, a slice of humble pie and removing the rose-colored glasses to take a good look at what’s real. Actually, you know, it doesn’t look bad at all.

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May 30, 2012

still time . . .

Today, I came across an essay written by Marina Keegan, published in the Yale Daily News. It is inspirational to read and heartbreaking to realize that she died days after graduating from Yale.

After reading it, I believe that whatever our age is or where we are in life, there is still something to be done and to look forward to.

Here it is:

UNIVERSITY | 3:10 a.m. | May. 27, 2012 | By Marina Keegan
KEEGAN: The Opposite of Loneliness

The piece below was written by Marina Keegan ’12 for a special edition of the News distributed at the class of 2012’s commencement exercises last week. Keegan died in a car accident on Saturday. She was 22.

We don’t have a word for the opposite of loneliness, but if we did, I could say that’s what I want in life. What I’m grateful and thankful to have found at Yale, and what I’m scared of losing when we wake up tomorrow and leave this place.

It’s not quite love and it’s not quite community; it’s just this feeling that there are people, an abundance of people, who are in this together. Who are on your team. When the check is paid and you stay at the table. When it’s four a.m. and no one goes to bed. That night with the guitar. That night we can’t remember. That time we did, we went, we saw, we laughed, we felt. The hats.

Yale is full of tiny circles we pull around ourselves. A cappella groups, sports teams, houses, societies, clubs. These tiny groups that make us feel loved and safe and part of something even on our loneliest nights when we stumble home to our computers — partner-less, tired, awake. We won’t have those next year. We won’t live on the same block as all our friends. We won’t have a bunch of group-texts.

This scares me. More than finding the right job or city or spouse – I’m scared of losing this web we’re in. This elusive, indefinable, opposite of loneliness. This feeling I feel right now.

But let us get one thing straight: the best years of our lives are not behind us. They’re part of us and they are set for repetition as we grow up and move to New York and away from New York and wish we did or didn’t live in New York. I plan on having parties when I’m 30. I plan on having fun when I’m old. Any notion of THE BEST years comes from clichéd “should haves…” “if I’d…” “wish I’d…”

Of course, there are things we wished we did: our readings, that boy across the hall. We’re our own hardest critics and it’s easy to let ourselves down. Sleeping too late. Procrastinating. Cutting corners. More than once I’ve looked back on my High School self and thought: how did I do that? How did I work so hard? Our private insecurities follow us and will always follow us.

But the thing is, we’re all like that. Nobody wakes up when they want to. Nobody did all of their reading (except maybe the crazy people who win the prizes…) We have these impossibly high standards and we’ll probably never live up to our perfect fantasies of our future selves. But I feel like that’s okay.

We’re so young. We’re so young. We’re twenty-two years old. We have so much time. There’s this sentiment I sometimes sense, creeping in our collective conscious as we lay alone after a party, or pack up our books when we give in and go out – that it is somehow too late. That others are somehow ahead. More accomplished, more specialized. More on the path to somehow saving the world, somehow creating or inventing or improving. That it’s too late now to BEGIN a beginning and we must settle for continuance, for commencement.

When we came to Yale, there was this sense of possibility. This immense and indefinable potential energy – and it’s easy to feel like that’s slipped away. We never had to choose and suddenly we’ve had to. Some of us have focused ourselves. Some of us know exactly what we want and are on the path to get it; already going to med school, working at the perfect NGO, doing research. To you I say both congratulations and you suck.

For most of us, however, we’re somewhat lost in this sea of liberal arts. Not quite sure what road we’re on and whether we should have taken it. If only I had majored in biology…if only I’d gotten involved in journalism as a freshman…if only I’d thought to apply for this or for that…

What we have to remember is that we can still do anything. We can change our minds. We can start over. Get a post-bac or try writing for the first time. The notion that it’s too late to do anything is comical. It’s hilarious. We’re graduating college. We’re so young. We can’t, we MUST not lose this sense of possibility because in the end, it’s all we have.

In the heart of a winter Friday night my freshman year, I was dazed and confused when I got a call from my friends to meet them at EST EST EST. Dazedly and confusedly, I began trudging to SSS, probably the point on campus farthest away. Remarkably, it wasn’t until I arrived at the door that I questioned how and why exactly my friends were partying in Yale’s administrative building. Of course, they weren’t. But it was cold and my ID somehow worked so I went inside SSS to pull out my phone. It was quiet, the old wood creaking and the snow barely visible outside the stained glass. And I sat down. And I looked up. At this giant room I was in. At this place where thousands of people had sat before me. And alone, at night, in the middle of a New Haven storm, I felt so remarkably, unbelievably safe.

We don’t have a word for the opposite of loneliness, but if we did, I’d say that’s how I feel at Yale. How I feel right now. Here. With all of you. In love, impressed, humbled, scared. And we don’t have to lose that.

We’re in this together, 2012. Let’s make something happen to this world.

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May 25, 2012

time . . .

I’ve been thinking about time lately. How to plan for the next run of time. Because I’m approaching a birthday in December that seems a little high in count compared to how I feel about myself inside, I’ve decided to bring the outside of me more in balance with the inside. So, juicing is a new routine. I prepared green smoothies before but it seemed to be fattening with all the fruit and bananas involved. Now, it’s just juice with vegetables that fill my refrigerator with their bulk: kale, spinach, celery, carrots, green apples, cucumbers.

Instead of fasting on juice only, I’m thinking about juicing for breakfast and lunch, then preparing a light meal for dinner with fresh fish, vegetables and salad. Maybe some charcoal grilled teriyaki chicken thighs like those we had the other night. This way, I don’t have to give up cooking and trying out new recipes or ways to cook, which is something I enjoy doing every day.

stand of siberian iris

Thinking about time makes me think of “carpe diem”–just do what you really want to do and more, each day. But don’t go crazy. Toward that end, I found a new pair of Merrell sneakers, taupe suede, white mesh and apricot-white colored shoestrings like the ones I saw on a young woman with a backpack at the airport last week. Just having them on feels good and makes me want to start walking more. Think I’ll go by Cape Hedge beach this weekend and walk along the shore during low tide. Haven’t been there in awhile (see “ashes to ashes“.)

I also wonder how long I’ll last. I see lots of older people these days it seems. Last weekend, I met a woman in her nineties, who had the most joyful smile and calm manner even though she had a splint bandaged on one leg, her ankle swollen. She was going to visit her husband in the assisted living unit nearby later that morning. In her small home, she had her golden retriever and her Steinway grand piano rebuilt by G. about ten years ago. Plantings outside each dwelling were lovingly cared for — I saw a woman planting some flowers where her Dad wanted them in his front yard, next to the home that M.J. lives in.

iris by front driveway

oriental poppies in back of the house

So, today, because it’s been drizzly and grey, perfect weather for planting, I’m going to find a good place that is part shade for the two Japanese primroses and the perennial dianthus that will surround them in the front garden. And also plant the five flats of morning glories that go in every year in front of the barn which climb the strings to the second floor deck where their color illuminates our mornings in the fall (see “one day at a time“.)

morning glory seedlings

But first, I’m going to make my “mean, green juice” (kale, cucumber, green apples, ginger, lemon, carrots) to give me energy for the rest of the morning. And maybe I’ll think more about time and what’s important about it in the way that I want to spend my days.

japanese primula and dianthus

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May 22, 2012

“carpe diem!” . . .

Did you watch the final episode of “House” last night on television? I thought it was ironic in its exposition about the meaning of life (although some sections ran a little too langourously.) And when the platitudes came forth at the funeral home, you said to yourself, “surely, they can’t end it this way,” . . .and lo and behold, they didn’t. Phew!

Remember in the beginning of the episode when they wondered why House was so happy? and he said “Carpe Diem!” referring to the theme in “Dead Poet’s Society” –(in which Robert Sean Leonard [Wilson] played a lead character who dies)? What a brilliant counter-reference to insert right in the beginning. One thing about watching this series is how much the viewer has to pay attention to what’s going on and what’s said.

“Carpe Diem” in Latin means “Seize the Day” and for 5 more months, that’s just what House and Wilson will do together. That’s the real outcome of the 1) last episode, 2) the series,and also 3) an incantation or final message from the writers to all the viewers too on how to live life to the fullest . . . a brilliant trifecta by the “House” production team!

We should do so well with our own moments, don’t you think?
Carpe Diem!

May 16, 2012

home again . . .

I’ve been visiting family who live in Minneapolis and have been away from home for a few days.

It’s been a time to get to know each other better, the little one playing with me on these last days rather than playing by herself in my presence.

Connection is an intangible spark, her eyes lighting up when she sees me after a nap. When I speak to G. on my cellphone, Josie listens intently to his voice and says softly, “hi, wa-wa.” After we hang up, she picks up the paw of her new stuffed puppy dog and waves goodbye at the cell phone, now still. These heart-filled moments float by like the flicker of light from lightning bugs on a soft, warm evening.

Life is indeed long, I think to myself, when we experience moments of sweet innocence and tender gestures of love by so young a spirit. Or maybe her spirit is wiser than her years.

We seem to go through many phases of our lives: starting out in a small place, wanting a bigger one, expanding and taking on more responsibilities and financial burdens. Then wanting to simplify, downsize and be in a smaller place again. The tide ebbs and flows along with our wishes and desires as time goes by. Health and illness also come and go. If we are fortunate, (and luck has a lot to do with how we fare along it seems,) we may live long enough to be in a soft place where children show us fundamentals we have forgotten about, or might never have had ourselves.

We make our own homes, wherever we happen to be. And I am glad to be returning to mine today even though I am leaving this sweet girl. It’s a good time to celebrate that slice of innocent joy when I return to my own place, home again.

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May 7, 2012

for me . . .

I was remembering the other day something that an important person in my life said to me a long time ago: “don’t do it for me, do it for you.” At the time, I felt a little bit hurt because I was (and am) so used to doing for others.

Now, years later, I am still having trouble “doing it for me.” Somehow, I have kept thinking that if I can just influence others around me to change, that that’s the key to being more satisfied with my life. Tough lesson to realize once again that this is such a waste of energy and won’t ever come true.

So, now what? I’m going to start some activities that only I can do to improve things for myself. Like getting more fit. They say that less is more, right? Even I’ve been saying this often in my posts. And a red cardinal flew in front of my car again yesterday so I must be on the right track.

Time to really walk this talk. And start doing things for me.

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May 5, 2012

imperfect . . .

Sometimes I feel like I’m good at talking a good line, such as the post on “compassion” below. While in real time, I still find myself being impatient and intolerant when I’d rather be more understanding. Why is this, I wonder to myself? I “get it” intellectually about what I think is the best path to follow. But unfortunately, I’m trying to speed down that road rather than being calm and noticing the flowers in bloom along the path.

I guess you can’t change nature by nurture all the time. What I can do, however is to a)be less judgmental and harsh on myself; b) curb my impatience and c) compensate for my shortfall just by realizing that’s what it is. And let go of perfection as the standard I expect of myself all the time.

Oh, and go out to dinner together at a place here in town where the owner of the Chinese restaurant makes the homemade dumplings (shray jow) herself. Nice treat for the imperfect in life.

May 1, 2012

compassion . . .

It seems to me that we hear the word, “compassion” quite often. What does it mean exactly? And how does it work? Here’s what some say:

Compassion is a virtue — one in which the emotional capacities of empathy and sympathy (for the suffering of others) are regarded as a part of love itself, and a cornerstone of greater social interconnection and humanism — foundational to the highest principles in philosophy, society, and personhood.

Sounds pretty important doesn’t it? In our culture, it sometimes takes on religious overtones, at least when I hear the word uttered. Feeling sorry for others is one way to go, I guess, but may also carry patronizing overtones of moral superiority. Maybe the opposite of compassion is to ignore people’s suffering, perhaps because you expect everyone to take care of themselves (Republicans) or because we feel that we have too much suffering of our own already and can’t take on any more. This last thought is enticing, especially since we are living in an economic and psychologically discouraging time. How can we feel sorry for others when we feel inundated with worry and frustration ourselves?

So, let’s take a deep breath. Where are we going anyhow? Perhaps nowhere. Or not very far. Maybe we’ve done what we can in our lives and look around to see how we want to live now. We’ve been working on getting rid of regrets because they’re an anomalous way of feeling sorry for ourselves with imaginings of what might have been–the outcome of which can only be virtual fantasy. Maybe we are feeling overburdened by the problems of others which is outside of our control, but impactive nevertheless.

To have compassion, I think, requires one to be present to someone else’s suffering. Not to try to swipe it aside like windshield wipers flailing away in a rainstorm. I don’t think it’s necessary to try to alleviate it (as in altruism) because just to be present and to accept it is a big deal, it seems to me. So, not cutting and wanting to run and hide in the face of someone’s problems can be an act of compassion, perhaps. Being understanding without feeling like you have to give advice or to “fix it” is a giant step also. I have a lot of trouble not doing this all the time because my project management career in biotech was to catch and fix problems no matter who they belonged to.

On the other side of the coin, being overly cheerful in an effort to make people feel better, I think, is dishonest and a disservice to everyone. Being real and present while maintaining respect toward the other person seems to be as compassionate a way to behave as possible towards someone who is suffering or is unhappy.

While reflecting about compassion, I remembered that family behaviors I observed as a child were laced with anger, resentment and contempt. It’s helpful to notice this history, so that I can avoid falling into those patterns, just because that’s all I knew as normalcy.

If we decide we can be compassionate as described here — not running away, not trying to fix it, showing respect and being present, it might allow us to be born again. At the very least, it might help.

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April 30, 2012

pouf . . .

During our visit with Josie at the cottage, there was a well-loved old Moroccan leather hassock that we usually kept on its side near the television. It was about fourteen inches high and twenty inches in diameter, just the right proportions to support Josie’s frame. We tried encouraging her to sit in a child’s chair but to no avail. Left to her own devices, however, Josie made the leather pouf her own.

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April 28, 2012

regrets? . . .

I’ve been wondering about regrets recently. You know, what they say about living so that you won’t have any regrets. In order to do that, one has to be wise when one is young and make the right choices all the time in hindsight. Or luck into them by default.

What if when you look back on some of what I call “regret candidates” that you are mature enough now to realize that you can tick them all on your fingers as roads better off not taken? For me, they were conventional ones as I took my own path into the lonely dark of the unknown. If anything, I had a huge amount of help from the Cosmos, Helpers and any other forces able to effect synchronicity and serendipity in my life. It didn’t hurt that I was either too dumb or naive to know how close to the edge of failure I was treading the whole time either. I worked hard for a long time and I was lucky.

Now, I am getting my house in order. Painted with fresh “Navajo White” paint. And it’s not a whitewash job either. It’s a clean start, taking care of what we are already lucky enough to have in our home and for our lifestyle. Maintaining what we treasure while simplifying at the same time.

I’m also getting my head in order. To know what has been good for me and who has taken care of me when I needed it the most. And to let go of what I thought might have been better.

Regrets are just fairy tales of our imagination, aren’t they?

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