I'm 30 today...

The last decade, I've concluded, was one of major metamorphosis.  It was me, evolving, into the person I wanted to be growing up.  Do I feel grown up now?  Sometimes... sometimes in the right way and sometimes in the "this is all too much" way.  Sometimes- I'd rather put on my knee-high boots, drink too many cocktails and go out dancing with my girlfriends... rather than dancing barefoot in my parents living room with my mom and Silas.  But then again- it is joyful, unpretentious, soul-filled dancing... not hard thumping, bumping, grinding  but drums and laughter and clapping and jumping.

My hope for the next decade is to take what I've learned and where I've been and make it fly.  Release more of the angst-y bullshit I cultivated in my teens and tried to move beyond in my twenties and rock on in my own way.   Judge less, fight less, hide less, worry less.  Listen more, commune more, love more, build more. 

What she said

"The shape of my life is determined by many things; my background and childhood, my mind and education, my conscience and its pressures, my heart and its desires.  I want to give and take from my children and husband, to share with friends and community, to carry out my obligations as a woman, as an artist, as a citizen.

But I want first of all to be at peace with myself.  I want a singleness of eye, a purity of intention, a central core to my life that will enable me to carry out these obligations as well as I can.  I would like to achieve a state of spiritual grace from which I could function and give as I was meant to in the eye of God...

Life today in America is based on ever-widening circles of contact and communication.  It involves not only family demands, but community demands, national and international demands, through social and cultural pressures, through the mass media.

My mind reels with it.  What a circus act we women perform every day of our lives.  This is not the life of simplicity that wise (wo)men warn us of.  It leads not to unification but to fragmentation.  It does not bring grace;  it destroys the soul...

With a new awareness, I begin to understand why the saints were rarely married women.  It has to do primarily with distractions.  The bearing and rearing of children, to running of a house, human relationships with their myriad pulls-- women's normal occupations run counter to creative life, or contemplative life, or saintly life.  The problem is not merely one of Woman and the Home or Woman and Career, but more basically: how to remain whole in the midst of the distractions of life.

What is the answer?  I have only clues, shells from the sea.  The bare beauty of the channel-whelk tells me that one answer, and perhaps a first step, is in cutting out some of the distractions. But how?  I must find a balance somewhere between island solitude and communion, between retreat and return."

-From Anne Morrow Lindbergh's Gifts From the Sea

Antagonism

Sweep up the crumbs or leave it messy

Struggle with the comb or leave it wild

Neaten, purge, dust- or let it all hang out...

Go outside or perseverate on the clutter

Lie around, watching a movie or tackle the mountain of journal articles still unread

Fold yet another load of laundry or leave it all undone...

Every day I try to choose a little sanity, a little relief, a little zen.  I try to let loose, push away panic attacks over dust bunnies- not ruin a day over a cheerio.  But this is my struggle- peace or productivity.  And still tonight- even as I reflect on this, my mind is zooming around and around- glass of wine or chapter review?  Because I continue to be so hard on myself- not wanting to waver in my dedication and pursuit of perfection.  Then I return to the obvious- who cares about perfection if you're miserable?  Who cares about achievement if you're burned out?

This is why I need to vacation somewhere other than my house.  So I can't spend my days raking and cleaning and loading and unloading the dishwasher and cleaning up for the cleaning lady.  I need to get away- fully- and bring my family with me.  Not for the cultural experience (which I crave) but for the moments of breathing- digging my feet in the sand, tumbling in the waves, a second margarita.

In 2000 I fell asleep on the couch in my apartment in the early hours of my birthday... after a night of watching returns, with fleeting moments of hope and persistant moments of fear. Who could have predicted the significance of that outcome? . When I woke up the next morning, wondering what had been decided overnight- I was so naive to think that there would have been a victor.  I watched in horror over the next days, in disbelief that it came down to single votes and our democracy was superceeded by court decisions.

I fell asleep on my couch again last night- Jeff nudged me... "He did It."  I was so relieved- not only at the outcome but at the fact that it was not a day filled with "irregularities".  That we really did get out the vote.  That the contagious hope translated into action.

I woke up this morning with butterflies in my stomach. I listened to the news with tears in my eyes.  And suddenly, it was as if a huge weight lifted from my heart.  He did it. We did it.

There is much work to be done. Thankfully, we have a leader with his nose to the grindstone and hope in his heart.  My faith in democracy has been restored.    I am inspired.

It may look dark tonight but if I hold on to hope, tomorrow will be brighter. ~President Obama

Holding my breath

We went to vote today as a family. Silas (my son to the core), happily squealing "NO John McCain!" as we waited on line. My hands shook with excitement at voting- more energy than I've ever experienced with voting. It's always mattered. Somehow it matters more today.

I then took a long walk home- it is so warm here today... and I spent the morning planting garlic and putting our flower beds down for the winter. I felt so in tune with today- the close of one season and planning for something new.

So I sit here tonight, holding my breath and watching the talking heads ruminate over numbers and projections. I'm afraid to go to bed before it's all settled. I'm afraid if I stay up and it goes the wrong way, I'll cry myself to sleep. I'm afraid that if Hope doesn't prevail, we're all fucked. Excuse me. FUCKED.

In my heart, I can only believe that Obama is going to win. It is the only thing that makes sense. It seems to be the only way to steer us back to some of our roots and get us back on track. Real compassion- that's what I'm talking about.

At the same time, part of my heart has resigned to moving to Canada- somewhere civilized- where everyone has guaranteed health care... I already have my tuke.

So cheers to all of you tonight, watching and waiting... holding our breath for something new, something better, something more.

You Just Have To...

Do it for yourself, your friends, your family, your children.

Do it for the economy, as an example to those who cannot yet.

Do it for the future, for the past, for the present.

I am desperate for something new- a new era, a new time, a new peace.

Get out there. Vote.

Over and Underwhelmed

Vacation... sweet vacation. Not for flying away and sipping coladas but for standing on my legs, straightening out my house and my head. Trying to gather together again. I'm a third of the way through my intern year and we seem to be maintaining. And I'm doing my best...
To not criticize or back-seat drive
To parent with a minimal amount of time
To be a partner, friend and lover to my hubby- even though we didn't even celebrate our anniversary (almost a month ago) because I was post-call and grumpy... and we had no baby-sitter
To keep my house clean (even when I'm not doing my share and we have outside help every few weeks)
To not care when my house isn't clean or to freak out and clean and de-clutter when really what I want to do is go outside, breathe some fresh air... or take a long nap in the afternoon curled up with Silas

And sometimes I fail and fall apart and lose my shit and ruin a perfectly good afternoon by being anxious about clutter or mess or dirty dishes getting crusty or the laundry piled on top of the dryer- not being folded for days... and then when it's folded, sitting in the middle of our living room in piles taking days to make it back into anyone's drawers.

Then I think- with all that we have going on- isn't it better to just say "Fuck It" and walk away...

So this week, my 1st off in 4 months- I'm going to walk away... or maybe walk towards- a few deep breaths, a yoga class, a hair cut, long breakfasts, planting crocuses. Ease my way into the day instead of hitting the ground running well before dawn. A few days of relief, regeneration and celebration.

A Longer Night

While everyone else seems to revel in the thought of daylight savings time... those of us up all night tonight have an extra hour of special-time at work... and while I would not wish to be doing anything else (except being snuggled up under our pumpkin colored flannel sheets at home with my guys) I will happily stay here- for a night of surgeries and births.

Oh Halloween... had friends over and handed out candy while we munched on pizza. Our sweet pea is too shy to truck around to strangers houses to Trick or Treat. I figured it would end up as us pimping him out for candy we weren't going to let him eat anyway. But still- Silas was soooo happy to be fireman. And that was after much anguish and feeling like a horrible mother for not getting a costume together despite much forethought and too little action. Happily, we inherited the perfect outfit Thursday night from a new-dear friend with a kiddo just enough bigger. Now if I could only get him to take the hat off.

I'm going to do my best to participate in NaBloPoMo as a kickstart to this whole self-reflection thing I'm trying to accomplish... we'll see if this experiment works... A post a day? Rather than a post a month? Sheesh.

Where I've been

These last weeks have been full... Full of 30 hour shifts every 4th night. Full of deaths rather than births. Full of family discussions, hand holding, letting go.

I just finished a month in the Medical ICU. Intensity is the rule there. Ironic that while so much of our time is focused on helping people breathe, I had a hard time catching my breath. I got a little more used to crying publicly- for better or worse. At one point, I was writing comfort care orders and signing "terminal extubation" forms with tears running down my face- only to look up and see my entire team as well as the wife of the patient standing across the desk. Sometimes I wish I didn't immediately get the red face and puffy eyes of someone on the verge of sobbing. It is what it is. I am who I am. I also gained more confidence- felt the ground beneath my feet- felt more and more like I was growing into the person I'm supposed to become.

And now I'm back in OB/GYN world. This time I get to be a surgeon. Or rather, learn to be one. Still lots of crying. Yesterday, as I was caring for a post-operative patient with advanced cancer, she showed me a photo album of her daughter. Her daughter died 10 months ago of ovarian cancer. She was 39. She was a patient at this hospital. On the same list of patients as her mother is now on. Her mother showed me pictures of her in her bikini up to her knees in snow, a picture of her with all of her nieces, a picture of her with a beautiful bouquet- renewing her vows- 2 weeks before she passed from this life to the next. We cried together yesterday.

So no poetry for me today. Feeling like I need to find my way back home. Sitting here at work, listening to the wind whip by the windows- barely able to see the Adirondacks for the clouds and snow- unable to believe that Fall has pretty much come and gone. And here I am, struggling to put 2 words together- feeling like I've missed the mark here today. Haven't quite gotten to the point. Still- here I am. And mostly, other than trying maintain myself while learning as much as I can and doing the best by my patients, I've been meditating on the following:
If you are irritated by every rub, how will you be polished? ~Rumi

...wishing this was more polished.

A Tiny Soapbox

I just can't stand it. I am so angry at the Republicans and John McCain I can't bear to keep it in. I can't laugh, I can't even cry- it is so beyond ridiculous. The nomination of Sarah Palin is a slap in the face of all women. To say that she was the best choice for the campaign is to belittle the careers of many smarter and more established women. Or to suggest that the reason she was chosen was to appeal to the marginalized women out there is another excercise in condescention. To say that we would vote for a vagina- any vagina... rather than someone, regardless of gender who supported our choices and freedoms and education and our families- is so transparent and baffling. Furthermore- to characterize her as a feminist, to accuse the media of sexism, to portray the GOP as the party for women- it such bald-face lying I can barely stomach another word about it.

Our current administration isn't bad enough. But, to me, Gov. Palin's nomination is one of the biggest farses in modern times. To suggest she has a single shred of skill that equips her to run the country is a mockery of our system of government. To suggest that she stands up for what she believes in is one thing... but what about the substance of it? It's not enough to just strap on a big pair of balls and put a truckload of aggression beyond them. This country doesn't need another "act first, think later" kind of person at the helm. We don't need judgmental a-holes, playing "holy-er than thou" while jeopardizing our international ties and financial stability. We've seen what 8 years of this has done for our global diplomacy- not to mention our economy. I mean really... crap. Or fuck. Or fuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Yeah, I'm angry. I'm angry and feeling patronized and in total disbelief at the number of people falling hook, line and sinker for the show. And while polls show a drop in their popularity, commensurate with Obama/Biden's gains, I worry that the Rove-esque escapades will pull it off again. That there will be voting "irregularities" and "Supreme Court Decisions" and we will be paddling up an increasingly large creek.

I'm not feeling eloquent, poetic or zen-like tonight. I'm feeling raw. For more coherent and educated banter...
Maureen Dowd
Arianna Huffington

And for a laugh (even if it's a nervous, panicky "this is too creepy to be comedy" laugh)

Onto the next

Fall has suddenly emerged... or snuck up or sunk in its teeth.

It is the time for reveling...
One last swim in the lake
A final ear of fresh corn
Quarts of fresh berries from here and there

The time for preparing...
Making jam, freezing fresh veggies and fruit
Planting a few fall seeds in our cold frame
Tidying up the flower beds
Ordering bulbs

The time for gathering together...
Last picnincs on the waterfront
Welcoming new babies
Harvest festivals and back to school (for some)
New friends acclimating to our community

The time for putting away...
the canoe and hammock
sandtoys, sunscreen and beach towels
sundresses and sandals (not quite)

A time for getting my shit together. Touching my feet to the ground.

Home again

Waking up in my own room, my old room. Surrounded by abandoned college texts, high school yearbooks, boxes full of notes and letters. The sounds of early morning carved into my bones. The trucks roaring by, the breeze tickling the trees, a distant train horn.

Drinking lots of coffee while taking the morning slow. Silas doing laps in the kitchen while Mom makes blueberry pancakes. Listening to our favorite radio station. Waking up, shaking off last night's wine and soft serve.

Gathering ourselves, slicing watermelon, finding the sunscreen and lifejackets. Ready for a day on Captain's sailboat.

My childhood home. My centering place. Several deep breaths and four days off in a row. Blessed be.

3 Sheets

Alright then...

Just coming back from celebrating. A new place. Completing my first two months with some semblance of grace. Moving onto a new service.

I'm here flying solo for one night. I went out with some girlfriends- enjoyed a night on the town, some champagne and fries and a shake on the way home. Slightly tipsy and looking forward to a single day. A day to sleep in and get breakfast out. Perhaps here or maybe here... then the farmer's market... see about a haircut... and maybe some shopping. I really could use some new underwear... or maybe a nap.

Two months... I've evolved in subtle and profound ways. Dozens of babies. One born in the water, en caul today. Mystical. Some through surgery. Three back-to-back yesterday... and bleeding and dizziness and pain and infection... and babies and more babies. I come home and Silas says, "Babies? Mama catch babies?" What will I tell him of my work in the next two months as I venture to the Emergency Department and the ICU??! No babies. Sick people. Lots and lots of sick people. No babies.

I'm looking forwards to a breath. Maybe two. To four days off in a row to spend with my son and my mother. Some time to gather myself again before more craziness. Before I hear, "Anna! Anna! Anna!... Anna! Anna! Anna!"

And off I go with a belly full of milk shake and fries and champagne. For a night without alarms or 2am toddler wake-ups. A night that could go on until morning. Or afternoon. Many thanks. Much gratitude.

Exhaustion sets in.

5 Minutes

Jena, here we go...

5 minutes. All it takes, right? Somehow this post has been brewing for weeks.

My hand no longer shakes when I am handed the scalpel. It is steady when I grasp the handle. Tremors don't surge through my body when it is my job to stitch, my job to grasp, my job to repair.

My heart is still excited. I am overcome with delight and amazement when a baby makes a safe passage into their life. I wonder at the way women's bodies were born to bear children and how our bodies know just what to do, even when our minds tell us otherwise.

My body is exhausted and I am doing all I can- trying desperately to maintain frienships, maintain my marriage, maintain my motherhood, maintain my house, maintain my family. Sometimes all I do is maintain.

I spend my days watching "strips"- the passage of time measured in contractions, fetal heart rates. I listen well into the night to the fluttering murmurs of babies not yet born. One eye and one ear there at all times... even at this very moment.

I am stepping up, stepping in, learning how.

This might not be beautiful or meaningful... but it exists.

Today I missed a delivery. My first one to miss. It was her fifth and she proudly announced no doctor had ever made it to her delivery. I was defiant and confident. I'd be there. I was there, back turned for a minute to get the instrument tray. She delivered in the bathroom. She caught the head herself. Doctor? Who needs a doctor?

5 minutes. 5 more soon, I hope.

Dispatch...

Middle of the night...

Watching fetal heart strips, checking labor progress, monitoring recoveries.

Many hours to go before I sleep- I can almost smell my cotton sheets and feel the fan in my bedroom. Aching just a bit for Jeff's light snoring and Silas's baby breath.

5 weeks in. Learning how to survive. Learning how to teach. Learning how to let go. Surrender or exhaustion? Does it matter?

Passing

There is a gaping hole in my heart tonight. My favorite favorite aunt died unexpectedly in her sleep. There are no words to console, to heal, to soothe. I am raw. Her vibrant energy, sassy attitude and no-holds-barred in your face honest is deeply missed already. I cannot believe she is gone.

My dearest Aunt Abby- you spoke truth and didn't hold back. You were a phenomenal cook and baker... you knew how to make good out of bad. You were my mom's best friend. I aspire to your unabashed fearlessness and wish I could have traveled the world with you. I wish I could remember the last time I saw you. I wish you laugh was not already fleeting from my memory. I wish you were here yelling the truth, grabbing your crotch in a way only you could, living with abandon. I miss you. I am raw.

Please hold my Aunt in your thoughts... Last night after a day spent swimming and sunning and reading and eating and drinking coffee and going for a walk at sunset she passed away in her sleep. A beautiful, poetic, merciful way to go. Twenty fucking years too early. I cannot believe she is gone.

Regrounding

I found your babyhood yesterday as we splashed in the pool. Me bleary-eyed from my crazy schedule and your blonde hair soaked through. My little baldy. Splashing and hugging me close. "Mommy, under!" you yelled over and over again. And we dunked and we sputtered and we wiped our eyes. We had an hour of uninterrupted, unrushing, un-doing time. I am so grateful. I am so so grateful.

Another Day

Bitching seems to be a given these days. A rite of passage in many career paths. In a time that we are blessed with so many opportunities and resources while our time and energy seem to be the limiting factor... why waste it complaining? Especially when it makes you feel worse not better. Commiserating? Yeah- being miserable together. I'm going to try to eliminate this from my way of being. My inspiration is here. Every day is another day. Join me?

Four Short Years

Four years from now....
I will have aided hundreds of women in bearing their children
been with them, held their hands as they faced their mortality
ran to their bedsides to attend to their fevers, pain, bleeding
witnessed their last moments on this earth
shared their euphoria as they saw or heard their baby's tiny heart beat for the first time
heard their dark secrets and deep fears
delivered babies who had already passed from this earth.

Four years from now...
Silas will be six
Jeff will be nearly forty
and I am desperately afraid their hearts will be harder for this time.

Four years from now...
I will have cried rivers of tears
Spent more time at the hospital than at home
Lost my shit and gathered it
Been taken to task in public and private
Become an obstetrician and a surgeon.

Four years from now...
I hope to retain my sense of humor and my humility
my wonder at the true miracle of birth
I hope I can maintain my most valued relationships
without straining them to the breaking point.

Three days from now I start my residency. I am scared shitless. I am excited beyond belief. I am realizing a dream hatched, squashed and reborn. My heart is heavy with the weight of "this one last weekend" but excited for that weekend with my family (at my brother in law's kick ass new studio open house). I am worried I don't know what the fuck I'm doing and I have patients booked into my clinic Monday morning. Mostly I'm worried I'm going to lose my sense of self and my way home in the madness of my training. I worry I'll lose the wonder for the paperwork. That the demands of a full list of people to care for will overwhelm my ability to be fully present with each one. That my heart will slowly close itself.

"Worry is a prayer for bad things to happen." So I am going to take a breath, embrace the four years a moment at a time, give myself the permission to fall apart and get back up and do it again. Reassure myself that my family will thrive even with a smaller piece of me. That I will remain whole as I am enriched by this training.

Priceless

I love Stephen Colbert but don't have cable and don't often think to watch his clips. This one had me laughing until my belly hurt. So much good stuff in it. Enjoy. Maybe empty your bladder first, depending on your mood and the state of your kegel practice.

Boobs

I hate them.  Mine.  I hate my boobs.  I know I'm supposed to love them, embrace them (literally or figuratively?), be grateful for them.  I am none of those things.  Mostly I'm annoyed by them.  I have been for almost as longs as I've had them.  As far as I can tell- other than attracting my husband and nursing my son- they have been nothing but trouble.  

I am not a small woman.  Never have been, never will be.  The years of baggage, volumes of words, hours of tears and frustration allow me to write that phrase nonchalantly- even as I feel my heart well up in my chest just a bit.  I have struggled with the body love/hate relationship as long as I can remember.  At the end of the day, I can cope with my thighs, my belly, my chickenwings.  But I want my boobs to pack up and ship out.  The infamous boob sweat, the impossible to find supportive sports bra, the fact that they are in my face during yoga class.  I said when I was 16 that after I was done breastfeeding (how I knew that was in my future, I'm not sure) I would go under the knife.  I resolutely hold that position.  Can't wait.  Take 'em and run.

But there are moments that I wonder... why?  Why do I have this driving desire to part with a piece of my body?  If it's not for vanity, than what?  There certainly is the practical part (the fit of dress shirts, the incessant bouncing, the need to wear a bra at pretty much all times).  But if I'm honest it's also about the "accidental" two hand frontal plant during touch football, the adolescent guys who would ask for just a feel, the junior high teacher who once asked me to "jump once and bounce twice", the hundreds of men who feel like it's appropriate to stare at my chest as I walk by as if there were googley eyes pasted on my nipples.  I want that gone too.

And then it returns to my body image struggle.  The struggle all women have- expressed differently, felt similarly.  The fact that I so stubbornly wanted to "magically" be the same size I was prior to getting pregnant that I refused to go and buy new bras.  I wore stretched out, uncomfortable ones for a year- ultimately so I wouldn't have to face up that my boobs were EVEN BIGGER.  I mean, seriously.  So when I finally faced up to the fact that I am days away from having no time to go shopping and I'm doing myself no favors my strapping the wrong bra on- I found myself being measured and studied and tucked in by a lady in a bra store.  The same lady who tried to sell me a nursing bra that turned my sore, overworked boobs into torpedos a la 1954 was sizing me up- and selling me a bra a size bigger than the one I was wearing.  Ack.  So I swallowed the lump in my throat and paid up.

I have been sitting here- trying to tie this post up with a neat little bow.  Some upshot, something profound.  And what I'm left with is more of the same.    These "beings" attached to my chest which have taken both physical and emotional tolls have also fed an nurtured a child.  There is also nothing particularly mystical or magical about having them taken away as I know much will still remain even in their absence.  For now, nothing more to do than pack 'em into pretty, supportive containers and take them with me.  That and work on letting the rest of it fall away- loving them a little more, accepting them a little more, caring a little less.

And finally- a video amidst the thousands of "naked tits hardcore boobs porn" hits that I got on you tube (I should have known better).  A video that pretty much sums up the tenderness as well as the struggle to find public acceptance of nursing.  It's sweet.

A single Cheerio

Just one.... that's all it takes.  A single cheerio, staring back up from the floor.  Tempting you.  Taunting you.  Pushing you close to the edge of losing it.  Ruining a perfectly good afternoon, evening, moment.  Losing your cool.  Feeling that everything is just shit.  The house is out of control, there is nothing in the fridge for dinner and you're not sure what bills have been paid.  We're all on the verge of falling apart.  A cheerio.  And a floor that needs sweeping, mopping.  A room that needs organizing.  A tub that needs scrubbing.  The laundry that needs folding and putting away (but didn't I just do laundry?!).  It might as well be that my whole life is on the verge of a breakdown.  So why even bother picking up this one stupid fucking cheerio?  

And then, in a rare moment of grace- I breathe.  Pick up the cheerio.  Avert the crisis.  Refuse to ruin my (and my family's) evening.  Acknowledge that all of the other things will get done.  Or they won't.  The world is not falling apart.  My house is not falling apart. I am not falling apart.

I just returned from a visit with my grandfather.  An amazing man, a powerful influence in my life.  He has been caring for my grandmother for the better part of a decade.  She is losing a long struggle with Parkinson's disease.  Struggle might be an overstatement in some ways.  In my harsh assessment, she pretty much took the diagnosis and laid down with it.  Left my grandfather to do the heavy lifting, the researching, the pill-crushing, the meal-prepping, the care-giving, the diaper-changing, the mouth-wiping.  He is tired but he has not wavered in his love for her.  He looks at her with sincerity, calls her beautiful, kisses her good-morning and good-night, shows her family pictures, tells her stories, shares his pie.  He tells me with no bitterness or irony that she gave him three beautiful children and made him breakfast and dinner every day without complaining... that this is his turn.  He is certain that this is the path chosen for him, even though he can't always make sense of its meaning.  He does not curse the cheerio.  It is what it is.

And so I return again to the understanding that every adversity, no matter the size, is an incredible opportunity.  Our reaction is our truth. 

I think there is choice possible at every moment to us, as long as we live.

But there is no sacrifice.  There is a choice, and the rest falls away.

Beware of those who talk about sacrifice.

~Muriel Rukeyser

What you do

You show up with a smile and a brave face.  You withhold judgement on dustbunnies and mildew.  You tirelessly pack up every little book, piece of paper, trinket and memento; helping to purge when you can.  You laugh hardily with them as you discover the hidden "gigantic orgasm" book- discovered luckily by you when her mother is not in earshot.  You pack and tape and lift and haul.  You sweep and vacuum and dust and scrub.  You marvel at how quickly it all goes into the truck.  

Then... you start to say good-bye.  Tears flow into sobs as you kiss her baby good-bye.  Whose birth you attended.  Who will not remember you next time.  You try to be brave and say things like, "I know this is the right choice for you".  You both admit you're not good at keeping up with e-mail but will try.  You are grateful to have had each other during this time- of weddings and babies and transitions and examinations and failures and resounding successes.  

And you walk to your car- eyes heavy, needing a nap to wipe clean your teary eyes.  And you know that the next time you meet you will be changed.  Perhaps a little less innocent, perhaps a little more confident, perhaps more than a little exhausted.  Maybe there will be more births.  But your heart is aching for missing her... still in her apartment for a few more hours.  The moving truck packed- neither of us ready for her to go.

Unplugged

I found one of our long-lost alarm clocks this morning.  Not that I was looking.  But there it was in the bottom of a "much miscellaneous" bag in our basement.  Our alarm clocks have been in hiding since the move last month and I can't say that I've missed them.  It's part of the luxury of having this time off- not having to glance furtively at the clock and curse at the passage of hours.  Not having to rush off, jump out of bed before the sleep has lifted.  But there it was...

Our life without the alarm clock has gone on much the same, thanks to Silas's unwavering circadian rhythm.  6:15am- pretty much every morning.  Except one day last week that it was 4:30... and I misjudged the amount of light coming into our room and I relented ("Mommy Up.  Daddy Up.  Breakfast?"), wandered downstairs, discovered the real time and marched us back up into bed with a sippy cup of milk in tow.

It's not the alarm itself I mind- it's my obsessive need to check it several times before relaxing into sleep.  It's my habit of checking it as I wake up in the middle of the night to count the hours or minutes until rising time.  It's my life that demands I leave the warm bed and my family to run into the world before my body is ready to get up and go.  It's the sweet feeling of relaxing, blissfully unaware of the passage of time.  

So, for now, I think I will keep it unplugged and out of sight.  Continue to let go of the daily grind.  Keep the bedroom a place a little more separate from the rest of the world.  Allowing the filtered sunlight and my two year old to bring me into the next day rather than talk of tragedies, economies, sports scores and weather reports.  A little less driven for today, a little less plugged in, a little more connected.

Dr. Who?

Here I am... Sunday, hovering on the edge of gaining two coveted letters after my name. And for all the pomp and circumstance, I struggled to muster up much of a reaction. Lame, I know. It was certainly not the groundswell of emotion that I brought to other accomplishments in my life. Perhaps it was that past graduations have also marked the transition of major friendships, the passage of time, a big step. This one caught me off guard... maybe it was taking a year off from school, graduating with a class that I did not spend years of my life with, or my understanding that I still have so far to go. In any case- while I might not have fully felt the immense pride one is supposed to feel at these events, I did have a hell of a time with my family and friends- enjoying the warmth and the wine. I appreciate their presence and continued love and support. Sustenance along the journey as I move forward.

I think some of my lack of excitement stems from my inability to believe I really deserve it. Not that I didn't work my ass off to get to this day. But I was studying ACLS (life support) algorithms today and having a healthy sense of skepticism about my abilities to do what is next.

So, I guess I return to the books, continue to study and maintain guarded optimism that I will rise to the challenges ahead. With grace, abundant humility and a healthy dose of laughter.

Zooming

Be Not Afraid of Growing Slowly

Be Only Afraid of Standing Still

We go so fast from here

Running circles around our ragged selves

Racing to that theoretical finish line

Forgetting that the reward is here, Now.

We honk when others go slowly

Are reminded to go fast by fellow travelers

Don't stop to breathe in the supermarket aisle

Pushing ahead, back out to the rushing.

We frantically move to get dinner on the table  

Only to gulp it down with swigs of wine

Desperate to slow down, calm down, sit down

On our tips toes, hurrying back to clean up again.

Then a quiet call goes out

A two year old, "Mommy, sit."

Toes tapping, on the cusp of getting up

"Mommy, sit"- we linger together.

The People in Your Neighborhood...

Settling into our new house, stretching our legs, painting walls, building shelves, spreading seeds and mulch, planting bulbs- putting down roots of every kind to put us into our place has been wonderful.  Even more so has been settling into our new neighborhood- and feeling like for the first time I'm living in a place with neighbors- a place that neighbors continue to act, well, neighborly.  

I spent our first morning in the house, emptying the basement of much water (think Mickey Mouse in the Sorcerer's Apprentice) with a flimsy half-gallon bucket.  A man my grandfather's age pulled up along the street and asked if he didn't mean to intrude but wanted to offer any help he could be.  Being the strong, independent and non-trusting modern woman I immediately yet graciously refused.  We exchanged names and the next afternoon his wife walked over to make introductions and give me the "run-down" of the area.  Since then I've received brownies, end of the driveway conversations, introductions to other neighbors, the inside scoop on wild-grown raspberries at the end of our street, ,offers of rhubarb and perennial cuttings... And the same man I mentioned before brought over his wheelbarrow when he saw I was using buckets to spread 3 yards of mulch.  And I thought- where have I been?  Why was it that in my last homes, I barely recognized my neighbors let alone know them, their kids and their garden tools?  

I have to say, it doesn't come naturally.  In my former life, I spent a long time studying my shoes as I walked from place to place.  In the pre-iPod world, I loved my now prehistoric Walkman.  Or I walked fast, looking into the distanced, jaw squared, determined, important strides.  Too busy to slow down, connect even for a moment.  It was a way to retreat.  Now it seems we're plugged in, tuned in, inhabiting our own pods... walking, driving, living independently.  Separately.  And where are we really?  

Several years ago, I made myself stop watching my footsteps and instead started greeting the world.  Saying "Hello" and "How are you?" and meaning it.  Making eye contact.  Listening to kids playing and vendors talking and lost people's delusions and  buses screeching by.  I started noticing faces, expressions... and all those people who could not or would not meet my smile. 

This evening as I was walking with friends back from a local creemee joint, one of my neighbors was coming home.  I caught him as he was getting out of his car with a gym bag in one hand and his tie loosened.  I had noticed him and his family several times and had waved while our cars passed.  It would have been so easy to just wave and walk, keep on keepin' on... But I paused, extended my hand and an introduction- pointed out Jeff and Silas who were ahead.  I listened to his family introductions and we made plans to get our kids together.  Almost effortless- it was as easy as merely continuing my walk.  A new neighbor.  Maybe a new friend.

As we were packing up the garage at our old apartment, a man walked up our driveway... Someone I had never seen before.  He was getting signatures for a petition.  We chatted for awhile and it finally came up that he lived directly across the street.  I had watched him work on his car, mow his lawn, shovel his driveway for two years.  Two years- and for the first time we were standing face-to-face... and I had no idea who he was.  How many neighbors do we have that are just like that?  It was a terrible, empty feeling.  I'm glad I am now living amidst neighbors who take time to see each other, stop for each other, visit with each other.  Teach me to do the same.

Acknowledgment

I'm a known perfectionist.  I've been that way since I was a young child.  I grew up "knowing" there was a right way (usually mine) and a wrong way (all the other ways).  I have held myself to high standards, worked hard and tried to not drive myself (and everyone around me) totally crazy in the process.  

I am also fiercely competitive- I want to be known as the best.  I want people to believe I have natural talent and I don't stress myself out agonizing about every little thing.  I want recognition.  But I want to be recognized for those things I don't work hard at- or aren't things I should really compete for... I want to be the most creative cook, the best dancer in aerobics class, the most aligned yoga student- and I want people to know it.  I want to win at Scrabble, have a prize-winning flower garden,  be known as a creatively chic.  I am not any of those things... and why the inherent pleasure of engaging in all of those things sometimes isn't enough, I'm not sure.

But here's the thing... the one thing I've worked for since I was an adolescent, the career that I identified as my chosen path when I wrote a fourth grade essay on "Being Grown Up",  the endless pursuit of this degree since my first day as an undergraduate, the worry that I would never get it, the studying, the test-taking, the interviews... Somehow, now that I am days from graduating, I could care less.  I don't want to make a big deal out of it.  I told my family not to come.  I offended my in-laws by not telling them until now when graduation would take place.  I feel shy and somewhat uncomfortable about the whole thing.  I have sacrificed, grown, changed, cried, raged throughout this process.  I have relied on all of my support people along the way- marveled at my incredible opportunity, been thankful for this privilege, endured sleepless nights, endless criticism, thrived under pressure.  And now I've jumped through all of the hoops and can't quite see why everyone is making a big fuss.  Me- who craves the attention, the recognition... would rather not participate in graduation, forced herself to have announcements made, wishes her family would not take time off from work, spend money on travel, sacrifice their free time.

Seriously- what's my problem?  I'm not sure whether it is that I am uncomfortable with the attention, what the initials after my name says or doesn't say about me, or the knowledge that I have a long row still to hoe.  No matter the reason, more I'm bothered that I can't seem to muster up an ounce of pride and enthusiasm for this accomplishment.  And what does that say about me?  I still feel privileged and proud for the work I will be able to do but not so much for the rite of passage- the moment to pause to appreciate- a time to reflect and be recognized.

Or maybe it's that over the course of this post (as over the course of this period of time in school)- some things have put a different spin on my life.  So- I'll end this muse here, with my energetic toddler in my lap, with his crazy bed-head... enthusiastically demanding my attention to his garbage truck and ladybug book.

acknowledgment |akˈnälijmənt| (alsoacknowledgement)noun

1 acceptance of the truth or existence of something.

2 the action of expressing or displaying gratitude or appreciation for something .• the action of showing that one has noticed someone or something.  

3 (usu. acknowledgments) an author's or publisher's statement of indebtedness to others, typically one printed at the beginning of a book.

Here is my new sexy little thing.  I know, not exactly conventional sexy.  Until now.  I've never been a "Lawn Ranger" but I think I may have been converted.  Having never had a lawn of our own before, we never needed such things as a lawn mower (or a wheelbarrow, a step-ladder, raspberry canes).  So while I generally don't get worked up an excited about power tools... I fell in love with this human-powered tool.  It makes me want to go out and mow.  Again.  And again.

It is light, it is quiet, it is relaxing.  Mowing has become a walking meditation.  Instead of ploughing through, you walk over.  You still get the lovely smell of freshly cut grass- now unadulterated by gas fumes and a rumbling motor.  I'm in love- I'm in love and proselytizing.  If you mow your lawn... convert.  It's inexpensive, doesn't require an outside energy source and there's not much to fix.  No pain in the ass pull-starter, no scaring your dog, no rattling your bones, no turning pebbles and sticks into mortars.  This is a beautiful thing.  In the land of lawn tractors that have their own canopy, headlight and beverage holder I'm loving my less-is-mower.  In the age of "carbon footprints", rising fuel prices and noise pollution I'm loving my little piece of quiet.

Has spring hatched?

This evening, the owner of one of our favorite off the beaten path restaurants, perched next to our table and puzzled, "So what do you think?  Was last week our summer?  Are we going through spring or fall?"

There we were, nestled in together after a hopeful day filled with raised beds and flower sales and compost and I was stunned.  This overcast, gray, windy evening did strike me as much closer to November than May.  Either way, my birks were pushing the boundaries of pedal comfort.

So what?  So what that it's chilly?  So what that for several brief moments this week it snowed.  Hard.  So what that my hands are eager for dirt while the plants are reticent?

My "so what"... is "So, what if it were true?"  What if we were on the midst of plunging back into December, frost-laden grass and frozen breath?  What if instead of new spinach greens and strawberries we were heading back towards cabbage and butternut squash?  What if instead of shedding we were bundling?  What if we were welcoming darkness instead of light?

What if what we know about the next thing coming was tipped ass end up?  Could we cope? What if our assumptions about the future were 180 degrees off?  Then what?  Acceptance or denial, this day is our today.  That's really all we know.  Really, that's all we have.  Everything else is counting chicks.

That said: Bring on the sun, the flowers, linen skirts and beach towels!

Free to Lie around

Today was a lazy day. Laaaaaazy. After mucking through Friday where I forced myself to stay out of bed and be a "productive" human being and a Saturday that was spent running and running and running (with family in tow)... and a rather mundane yet on the go Sunday... Today was a mandated lazy day. 

Silas got the stomach bug that been making rounds 'round here so he stayed home. These days are mostly spent chasing him around, trying to keep up with his unending energy and enthusiasm, doing my best to stay in the eye of the storm rather than in its aftermath. These days there isn't a lot of cuddling. Certainly not like the hours we used to spend napping together, snuggled up, face-to-face- breathing the same breaths, just being together. Now he's 2- with words and ideas and philosophies all his own. He is a marvel and I love it. But I also miss the long stretches of tenderness that have been replaced by kisses on the run and momentary snuggles. So today, while I am still decompressing from finishing school and interviews and life decisions and anticipating the long days and weeks ahead... we lounged. All day. No one got out of their PJs until well into the afternoon. We laid on the couch, vegging out to PBS, drinking sips of water, eating the juiciest pineapple and breathing together. Each of us took turns between awake and asleep. And while I certainly don't wish illness on anyone, most especially my little one, I loved having a day when we could both slow down together.

Last week I commented to a friend that I felt like my vacation time was going by too quickly. April is almost gone and I feel May and June streaming by even though they are not yet here. Her response, "Can you slow down?" A simple concept- much harder to practice. Today I got my shot. No errands, no lists, no unpacking, no tidying, no organizing, planning, running, hoop-jumping, preparing. A revolutionary day. Lying around.

When Silas was tiny, I used to wonder about the concept of baby therapy. Holding and rocking and breathing baby breath, sniffing baby head, nuzzling baby necks. Today my baby, whose babyhood is slipping away, healed me. Again.

Why I love Vermont

Preach On Bernie!

Loving Kindness

It seems so simple.  Love.  Be kind.  Somehow this can become an elusive art.  Most especially with those we hold the closest.  It seems an almost innate behavior.  Young children reserve their outcries and outbursts for their parents.  As teenagers, the words "I hate you" seem to slip effortlessly from our lips.  And now- I find the person I rage with and at the most is my partner.  This person with whom I've chosen to spend this live... this person who I agreed to love and care for... this person who has chosen the same.  Somehow, he bears the brunt of it.  It is commonly understood that we reserve our worst behavior and our worst selves for those we trust and love the most.  As if that was a good reason.  As if this excuses the bad behavior.  "See, this unbridled anger and frustration and exhaustion is really showing you that I trust that our relationship can sustain this assualt."  Bullshit.  I think the reasoning is probably right on... but I think too often it is used as a way of abdicating responsibility.

After getting into an outrageously loud and non-sensical fight today, a friend simply suggested "Remember to be kind".  It seems so simple.  At its core and in its practice it can be more challenging. 

I'm not one to meditate.  It takes the practice of sitting still and quieting one's mind.  Not something I (or many of us these days) find easy.  One meditation I have worked with in the past is on Loving Kindness.  It begins by working first with focusing on being kind to yourself- as a foundation of loving others and the universe.  

May I be filled with loving kindness

May I be well

May I be happy

May I be at peace.

Seems like a radical first step.  I'm going to try being with this for awhile, repeating it in my heart.  Turning off the radio and reciting it while I drive.  While I do the dishes.  While my mind drifts off to sleep.  

And you?

Five (really) good things about (today)

An invitation from Liz in the ethereal "blogosphere"...

1.  A quiet morning in my new house.  I slept in a little and, after getting J & S out the door, am enjoying a huge cup of french pressed coffee.

2. Warm, persistent sunshine.  After what even hardy Vermonters have called a long winter, we have enjoyed a full week of gorgeous weather.

3.  Gardening.  Over the weekend, my mom dug a bunch of her fool-proof perennials and I've gotten them in the ground.  Sweet pea and I planted loads of Cosmos seeds that are reaching high.  I'm going to pick up a composter for our new home today.

4.  My renewed gym membership.  I let it lapse this fall as I was working a lot and on the road often.  Not good.  Not good at all.  After spending several weeks revisiting the university gym and remembering why I hate going there (do I need to see the thong emerging from your butt shorts?  do I care that the bouncer overlooked your obviously fake id?  do I want to hear about your walk of shame?  That would be no, no and NO).  I went to yoga last night and am off to Zumba this morning.  (Try Zumba- it's so fun!)  I love my gym- great hours (even when I'm working a lot), great classes, great pools (even a splash one for S).  Love it.

5.  My sweetheart.  Who didn't grumble while I danced the night away when he wasn't feeling so hot.  Who lovingly and patiently puts his nose to the grindstone and gets stuff done while I pursue my dream.  Who is an amazing parent to our little guy.  Who challenges me and comforts me- and forgives me when I am not so kind.  Who has the warmest heart and softest arms to snuggle into.

I am so lucky.

A Sense of Balance

Even though yoga has been part of my life for years now, I'm not very good at it.  It offers so much of what I strive to include in my life: balance, quiet, presence, breath.  A non-competitive arena for challenge and self-acceptance.  A place to let go and let be.  It is the opposite of the rest of my days.  Still I am drawn to it, love it, am fulfilled by it, enriched by it.  But it takes all of myself to quiet my internal monologue of competition and self-doubt, list-making and planning, agonizing and worrying.  And still- the moments are fleeting that it all comes together.  I am in my body.  I am not worried about my dripping sweat, my protruding belly, my things to do, my places to be.  I am not running over and over the events of my day, the what is next, the where to and the what for.  The moments are few and far between- but they exist.  And when I remember- I work to cultivate that presence (or absence?) of mind off the mat.

Currently I am suspended between my two lives.  Actually- I am fully immersed in my home life.  I am working hard every day to get my new house set up and organized so that when I start working 80 hours a week, it will feel like a sanctuary not a storm.  I am working hard every day to love my partner, to endear myself to him so that he may remember me not pushed to the edge of myself.  I am working hard to store up lovely time with my sweet pea... so that he will fully know that my love is with him even when I am not present.  It is a binge.  It is an immersion.  And the pit in my stomach has already started to churn- anticipating the Next Big Thing... concerned yet again about preserving some sense of balance in the craziness of my metamorphosis.  Our metamorphosis.  So I do my best now to squirrel away that time- to stay with my little guy and watch him amass a truckload of pine cones when I can think of 10 other things that need to get done... so that I may remember the sweetness in his face, the determination in his brow, the sunlight in his hair.  I do my best to take in the smell of my honey, breathe in his embrace, really listen to him about his day.  I'm worried that I will forget these things- or forget to pause for them.

Tonight in class, we spent what seemed like hours in balance poses: Tree, Warrior 3, Side Plank.  I was reminded to breathe, reminded to quiet myself, reminded to be.  Tonight I did it- and just maybe, I can take it with me.  Moments of quietly breathing and being.  Amidst chaos, confusion, criticism: Let's breathe.  Let's be. 

Moving On Up...

This place... which has been our center and stomping ground for 2 years... already has started to take on that vacant air.  It was only days ago that we were living full-fledged in this space and now we're mere transients.  Moving on to the next thing.

This has been a lovely home for us.  It was my place during my intense year at home.  It has seen us through transitions- highs, lows, fights, rages, loves, tears, passions, sweetness.

Now we move on to our new place.  We take with us many fond memories shared and leave behind blessings of love to those that follow us.

Thank you, house.

Haiku for you

this spring emerges

forcefully from snow and ice

to sun and flowers

Now Here

I'm a planner.  As long as I can remember, I've been working towards the next thing- whatever that has been: college, summer jobs, getting into med school, getting married, having a baby.  Check, check, check.  For the last six months, I've been living in a state of suspension, patiently waiting to figure out where I and my family would be for the next four years.  It was uncomfortable and stressful and it made me crazier than I would like to admit.  A few weeks ago, I matched to the hospital where I am currently studying and this week we (with grace and luck) will close on our first house and move in.

Throughout this time, I had a lot of time to ruminate on our future.  I envisioned us living in several different cities: what that would mean for us, our friends, our families, our community.  I love where we live now: I love the people, the farms, the cheese, the familiarity.  But living here, like almost everywhere else I've ever been, has felt temporary.  I've just been passing through.  Another stop on my way to "the future".  

Today, as I was driving home from the market with the sun shining over the lake, nestled between two familiar mountain ranges, looking towards our move and my new job, it struck me: "What if this is it?"

Our generation is one that has benefitted from the struggles of our parents.  They didn't have to fit the (jell-o) mold, stay in one place, settle into suburban hell, stick it out with a job or a life that sucked.  On the other hand, we have inherited a fortune of uncertainty.  Don't like it?  Move.  Break it off.  Quit.  Leap ahead.  Adventure.  We cut ties as easy as we make them.  We hesitate to put down roots.  

A couple of weeks ago, I was talking to an attending doctor who I had known for a sum total of 30 seconds.  She asked me the usual questions: Where was I from?  Where did I go to undergrad?  Where was I going for residency?  After responding, she said smugly "Well- that paints a picture" in this condescending "I have you all figured out" way.  My life was about playing it close, not taking risks, staying in a small pond.  I was so resentful of her snap judgment.  I want people to know me as daring, adventuresome, fearless.  On the other hand- I love this community, the landscape, the vibe.  Many people in Manhattan act as if their world is the center of everyone's world (or should be... or would be if we knew enough).  Why can't here be the center of the world?  Maybe it says that I've been smart enough to know when I have a good thing going and the wisdom to stick with it. 

So what's stopping us from believing in our core that this is our life.  Here is our life.  It started yesterday.  

What if we stopped waiting for the next milestone, the next achievement, the next stage?

Yoga and meditation teaches us a great deal about being present.  Staying.  Being.  So try with me.  Stay.  Be.  Imagine that today is your life.  Stay in your life.  Be in your life.

To paraphrase a friend: "The difference between Nowhere and Now Here is attitude."

Laughing along the way

I recently read that pre-school aged children laugh up to 400 times a day while adults average only 17 bouts of laughter daily.

To me, that's crazy talk... but certainly true in my life these days. It's funny... after weekends or even good chats will some friends, we'll part ways and I'll think "I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard or that much."  (Such was the case as I ended my conversation last night with a hilarious, loving friend with whom I'd been out of touch for several months).

Luckily I have a laugh machine in my house.  Nothing brings on the giggles like a 2 year olds' big huge belly laugh.  Infectious.  Contagious.  One of his favorite ways to elicit a sustained laugh is to cup his hand, toss something imaginary in the air, look up at the ceiling, then wide-eyed look right at me and say, "GO?"  (like, "Where did it go?")  For some reason, tossing invisible objects skyward makes for long stretches of hilarity.

I crave laughter... the laughter that you have to catch your breath from, the laughter that makes you wipe your eyes, the laughter that sends you running to the bathroom, the laughter that creates "spit takes", the laughter that once turned me into a human volcano of milk and chocolate cake... Now that's good stuff.

Our bodies thrive on laughter- the emotional release... It has been shown to reduce cortisol and other stress hormones, increases endorphins levels, and strengthen our immune system.  It also helps work out those critical core muscles.

During my first hospital experience as a medical student, a friend and I were on rounds together.  After exiting a patient's room, we both dutifully reached for the alcohol foam.  Somehow... in my always-graceful way... I caused a major malfunction in the squirt department.  Foam was everywhere- on my coat, on my glasses, in my friends' hair, on the floor, obliterating the notes scrawled on my paper.  She and I took one look at each other and were shaking with laughter.  Trying to be the mature, professional students we sniggered and coughed- almost losing it each time we found a wayward bit of foam.  But what do you think the halls of the hospital needed more at that moment... hearty, authentic laughter or another set of overwhelmed yet attentive students, nodding along to a run down of lab values?

So let's laugh, giggle, guffaw, chortle... at the little things, the big things, the WTF?! things, the imaginary things.  Revert with me a little.  Make me laugh.

This video makes me laugh every single time I see it.  Enjoy!

It Is I Who Must Begin

So here I am- reluctantly, nervously- but resolutely here.

I arrived in this place because for months I have been feeling locked up, disconnected- out of myself. I'm not sure when this happened or why- but I have this sense of watching myself from a far away place.

In my life of rushing, with constant demands on my time (self-imposed or otherwise), it has become clear that I need an outlet, a place for contemplation, reflection- time. I need to reconnect, open, evolve- participate. Ironic to me that like many others, I've chosen to turn to the chaotic, overwhelming internet as a place for peaceful reflection.

So here I am- trying to write freely without worry about perfection, judgment, rejection (or run on sentences!) as I work to cultivate connection.

______________

This poem has been haunting me for weeks. I first found it years ago- in a magazine somewhere. I wrote it out and tacked it to the wall of my "aparto" in rural Japan. The words grounded me a gave me a lot of solace. That paper is probably tucked into some folder, stashed away and forgotten. Until now. It found me again and continues to resonate.

It is I who must begin.
Once I begin, once I try --
here and now,
right where I am,
not excusing myself
by saying things
would be easier elsewhere,
without grand speeches and
ostentatious gestures,
but all the more persistently
-- to live in harmony
with the "voice of Being," as I
understand it within myself
-- as soon as I begin that,
I suddenly discover,
to my surprise, that
I am neither the only one,
nor the first,
nor the most important one
to have set out
upon that road.
Whether all is really lost
or not depends entirely
on whether I am lost.
~ Vaclav Havel ~

Transfixed