Critical Condition

Buried in the back of my closet is my old Baby Book. Tucked in its pages are a lock of hair, immunization records and my first grade report card. Under the comment section, my first grade teacher penned these words, “Does not take criticism well.” Nearly twenty years of schooling, numerous report cards and working with several magazine editors has not changed that immortal statement. Faced with criticism, I still get a pit in my stomach, I wake up at 4:00 a.m. to stew and I declare to the universe that I will spend the remainder of my days working in my garden-far away from critical eyes. However, buried in my graduate school experience has been an important lesson. Criticism can also be the greatest gift one can receive. It has caused me to stretch. It has opened my mind to sail in previously uncharted waters and it has taught me to plant my feet firmly and take a stand.

I recently received a paper with an extremely low score. Next to each paragraph the teacher had written, “Beautiful writing, you did not answer the question.” The stomach acid began to pump and my defenses went into motion. I wanted to write back, “Well you did not ask a very good question did you!” Moving quickly through the course, I soon had another opportunity to answer a new set of questions. This second time, I took no chances. I read the questions. I understood the questions. I searched for answers. I formulated answers. I sought with all diligence to present my answers in a clear and concise manner. I stretched myself…and I learned something new.

While studying Shakespeare, I went into unknown waters. How one gets to graduate school with no experience with the Bard says something about my public education and narrow college experience. But it happened. I learned to “start at the very beginning” and thanked God for Cliff Notes and BBC broadcasts. In sophomoric fashion, I muddled through several of Shakespeare’s great plays. I addressed what I thought were profound thoughts on patriotism while studying Henry V, only to receive a stinging rebuke from the professor. He said, “I had not addressed the negative side of patriotism and the religious zeal to which it can be taken in the extreme. Really?? I said myself-I had no idea what he was talking about. I had no idea until the next semester when I took the class “The Age of Revolutions.” Over and over, in revolutionary figures, I encountered Henry V and his speech to the troops before the Battle of Argincourt. Over and over I wanted the opportunity to “rewrite” my Henry V paper.

In an exchange of emails with a fellow student in my Middle Eastern History class, it was once again confirmed, “doesn’t handle criticism well.” I would have “defriended” him had we been using FaceBook instead of ISpartan. Late into the night, I was unsettled by his pressing questions as we discussed Islamic fundamentalism, Palestinian/Israeli relationships and the King James Version of the Bible. Who was this stranger in cyberspace that dared to question what I knew as “the truth?” (And why did I search him out three years later to thank him?) Speaking of “”defriending,” what about my fellow students in Global Economics? They hurt my feelings with their Keynesian philosophies. Criticism of Hayek was criticism of me. It still is, but at least now I know how the other side views the world and I know how to defend myself.

Finally, the process of writing my final reflective essay has almost cured me of my “critical condition.” First I sent my final draft to a professor friend, his reply, “Beautiful,” fed my ego but was not very helpful. It took an advisor, who truly cared, to say, “lacks intellectual empathy.” Ouch! After many middle of the night ponderings, a lot of emails, and several rewrites to finish the process, I found myself saying what I really wanted to say. She forced me to clarify thoughts that I needed to express. She caused me to dig deep inside and ask myself, do I value courage above empathy, criticism over kindness, progress over tradition, freedom over security and writing over gardening? Thank you Deborah, I will always be grateful for your critiques and your encouragement!

I will soon receive a transcript from UNCG. I think I will write a comment on the bottom. “Still doesn’t take criticism well—but oh, how I appreciate it!”

I Heart Google!

Dear Google:

Oh, how I love you. I love you for taking me places I could have never found on my own. I love you for not judging me. I love you for providing me with everything I need. I love you for never letting me down. I love you for always being there. I love you for your images, your maps, your words of wisdom. I love you for making me a blogger. I love you for helping me to find myself. But most of all, I love you for your courage. I, too, will always strive to “Do No Evil.” Please stand strong…and I promise to never Bing you.

me

If Your're Happy and You Know It Post a Blog!

So, it has been a particularly grumpy week or two--just ask my family! Too much going on and not enough time, energy, patience, or parents. Oh well, it happens. However, when I woke up Saturday morning and read Jessica's Happy Blog, I thought to myself, maybe I, too, can be happy today. It turned out to be a really nice day. So, instead of a post of all life's irritations (I'll save that for FaceBook), Here is why it was a good weekend!

Got up with the sun...
Finished my rough draft...
Cleaned the house...
Knew where one dog was...
Fixed dinner (before it was dinnertime)...
Made my bed....
Read a great book....
Knew where the other dog was!

Then I spent 24 hours alone with my husband, watched a movie with my kids, took a long hot shower in the steam room (no picture) and went outside and looked at the stars!

Proprioception

I always like it when I find a new, big word to use! This is one that I have encountered several different times in my reading this week. In a nutshell, it has to do with inner balance. It is the first thing to go when you get old. It is why people fall down, break their hips and die. Ahh, but I digress. I am not old, yet. In fact, thanks to my Prime Movers dance class, I am just getting younger each week. So there we were dancing around, while Aaron (my main dance man) was telling us how beautiful we look and I picture myself looking like this:

While I am sure he is seeing this:

But anyway, he tells us to balance.... then he tells us to unbalance. Then in his calming, reassuring voice he reminds us that dance is about balancing and unbalancing. I feel a little peace sweep over me, because right now my life is totally out of balance. But, that is o.k.--it is all about the joy of the dance and eventually I will find my balance again. (Just not in March!)

It's a Good Day

When I was a young mother, older ladies would sometimes come up to coo over my babies at the grocery store or church. They would always ask, “Is he (she) a good baby?” What they were really asking is, “Does he sleep a lot?” When my children were a little older and I went to Parent/Teacher Conferences, I soon learned that when a teacher said, “________ is a good student,” what they really meant is, they can do math and they don’t talk too much. In my motherhood career, I have also learned that “being a good mother” means that your children have matched socks, folded in a sock drawer and they only eat frozen pizza when a babysitter is involved.

Good, I am now learning, can be broadened to include a few more things in life. For example, my friend Karsten was faced, a year ago, with the decision to totally give up and do something I don’t even want to think about or to “bite the bullet” and pay back to society with some very stringent strings attached. Every time I look out the window and see his car permanently parked in my driveway, while he runs to catch a bus or watch him rake my yard on a cold, Sunday morning after working all week at his job, to earn money for his insane fines, it warms my heart and I think “Karsten, you are such a good man.”

I just received a thank you letter from a lady who had been given a copy of my book. She was so appreciative. She said, “I am eighty-five years old, I was never a very good mother but I am so trying to make it up to my kids at this late time in my life.” Mothers always judge themselves harshly so who knows what was meant by that, but she is obviously still trying to be a good mother.

Our society places so much emphasis on good grades, good credit scores and good appearances that we sometimes forget the most important thing is a good heart and simply trying a little harder next time when we screw up. And what a silly question--”Is he a good baby?” As if there was ever a “bad” baby. In fact, has there ever been a “bad” kid at all? I have met a lot of freethinking, rebellious, individualistic, bright, creative, push the envelope kids but, I have yet to meet one that I would call “bad.” However, I talked to Zac yesterday. He had just got off the phone with a spanish speaking lady at the traffic school. He asked her, “Do I need to bring anything and what should I expect?” She said, “Just bring yourself and we will make you a good person again.” So if I do run into one of those bad kids, now I know where to send them!

To Dance, To Dream

As I have stated many times in the past, my heart is the heart of a dancer, unfortunately my life did not get the memo. However, with a little persistence, Heather finally talked me into attending a dance class for the 50+ ladies called “Prime Movers.” She, then, was kind enough to “midwife” me through the experience just in case I forgot to breathe. It was so fun. I will go back next Saturday, and the next. And, just like my Apple homeboy mentioned in a previous post, I have my Repertory Dance Theater homeboy to remind me of muscles I haven’t used since 1972. Did I mention, it was so fun! Oh to Dance, to Dream.

As I type this, Zac just walked in the room to tell me about the new skis he will finally have the money to buy this week. He then said, “I dream of skiing every single night, I hate waking up because I am always right in the middle of a big jump.” I have never seen Zac so happy. Oh, To Ski, To Dream.

At what point did I decide that I could not dance-even just for the fun of it? At what point did I decide that I wasn’t a good enough artist to pick up a pencil and eraser, just for the fun of it? At what point did I start putting all my dreams on the back burner to do the laundry, run the carpools and pay the bills? I think maybe it happened in college where the competition was so stiff. I think part of it happened in the eighties when I read a book called “Excellence.” Maybe it happened during the years when I simply fell in bed so exhausted at night that I forgot to dream. I am waking up now though. And, to hell with “excellence.” Life is too short!

I am finally learning, way too late, that life is to be lived, not endured. Fun is not bad and perfection has much more to do with how we love than how straight a zipper we can sew. (I think my college Clothing and Textiles teachers may have also scarred me for life!) Today is the day to “taste the strawberries and drink the sweet wine.” Today is the day to dream and dance and draw and soar and write and paint and jump and fly… and love. So ladies, ( and gentlemen if any of you read this blog) what are your dreams?

The Marathon of Motherhood

In my “very limited” experience as a runner, I have had the experience of needing to catch my second wind. I have had to do the self-talk of keeping my eye on the finish line, of telling myself that, “You can do it, Colleen. Just run to the next street sign, just run to the next water station, just run to the next light pole.” There is nothing quite like crossing the finish line, when my greatest fear is being carried home by Draper Police in a squad car. Motherhood also has its “self-talk” moments. A few days ago, Katelyn was hit with a sudden attack of the stomach flu and I was hit with a sudden need to quickly find the carpet shampooer. As I looked at her dinner, spread all over the carpet, I just wasn’t sure if I had it in me to continue the motherhood marathon. Some days, facing a mountain of laundry, I have to tell myself “just one more load--you can do it-just one more load.” Some nights, facing my hundredth sixth grade book report--I must motivate myself--”Just one more trip to All-A-Dollar for poster board, come on Colleen, you have it in you.” And right now, with eleven classes behind me and one more to go, the self-talk has had to be rather stern, “Just one more book, you can make it, just turn the page.”

I am so glad that I have my summer running memories and the lessons learned on the Porter Rockwell trail to remind me that I can “finish the race that is set before me.” I am thankful for sisters who have been there to cheer me on. I am thankful to daughters who have believed in me. I am thankful for neighbors who have manned the water stations along the way. I am thankful that there is always a T-shirt to be had at the end of every race. I am thankful for Rudyard Kipling who said, “If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew,To serve your turn long after they are gone--then yours is the earth and everything in it...” But mostly, I am thankful for that large box of truffles I have hidden in the back of my closet--that makes every race--and every book just a little bit more bearable!