Writer

45 weeks down
8 weeks to go
7ish months until the wedding

As most of you know, I am an educator both by profession and by disposition. And for most of my professional career I have also served as an advisor of some sort. Sometimes it was in an official role as an academic advisor or club advisor or a residence hall advisor. But much of the time, it was in an unofficial capacity—just a trusted adult that kids felt like they could talk to about big heavy life stuff: An informal ear to listen, to not pass judgment, and to lend some big sisterly advice.

Like most people, I am much better at giving others advice than actually taking advice from others. And even worse, I almost never take my OWN advice. It’s always easier to look at other people’s lives and “fix them” than it is to turn that lens introspectively. It’s funny that people are like that, but honestly, I don’t know many folks for whom that’s not pretty accurate. We never take our own selves seriously.

When I was advising, I always had a couple of pat responses to the existential crises of my middle schoolers /high schoolers/ undergrads, which I mostly used to deescalate the Crazy (yup, capital “C”.) They went a little something like this:

1) Calm down, killer. It’s not the end of the world. Almost nothing is.

2) Seriously, calm down killer. It’s probably not worth freaking out about. Take a deep breath already. You’re fine.

3) But if you are freaking out, and you need a break, for goodness’ sake, take it. It doesn’t mean you’re weak, it means you’re smart enough to know it’s time to step away. And you’ll come back better after you have a chance to kick Crazy to the curb. So stop beating yourself up already.

4) And stop making excuses. Own whatever it is that’s causing the Crazy. And then, if you need to…fix it.

5) Don’t be afraid to say “I don’t know.” Saying that you do know, when you don’t just causes more Crazy. And also makes you a liar.

6) Don’t forget to say please and thank you (lest people think you are Crazy…and a little rude.)

7) And finally, in the immortal words of Elvis: A little less conversation, a little more action…PLEASE. If you want to be a singer, just sing. If you want to be a dancer, dance already. If you want to be a writer, just shut up and write. Spinning in the Crazy, ain’t gonna get it done. And neither is talking it to death. So buck-up Charlie, and make it happen.

This list generally takes care of at least 85% of the drama for my students, and I would wager, takes care of at least 85% of the drama for us all. How many times have you just needed your best friend or significant other to just listen, pat you on the back, tell you you were fine, and then help you come up with an action plan? I’m guessing it’s pretty often. That’s all that most of us need. An ear, some love, and an action plan.

The last two weeks have been yet another example of how I’m oh-so-capable of dolling it out, but not so good with the taking. Because if I had paid attention to, oh, I don’t know, even one or two of these little gems of wisdom over the course of the last couple of weeks, I would be feeling much better about life than I am now.

Now first, let me dispel a few rumors before they fester into fact. My life is really good. And I’m happy. I like my new job. I love being in DC. And are you watching those numbers up top there as I write? J is coming home *soon* (actually, I’m pretty sure it’s even less time than what I’ve listed there…like maybe closer to 4 or 5 weeks. But we’re not getting excited about an early return right yet.) And my wedding is definitely sneaking up on me. All of these are unbelievably good things.

But my job has been insane and intense. I don’t know how else to say it. I have worked no less than 10 hours every day of the work week…and I have come in on Saturday for the last two weekends and worked all day Sunday this week just to have some quiet catch-up time so I don’t start the week behind. And I still just can’t get ahead. And I like to complain about it. And I like to feel badly for myself about it. I have not taken breaks from the work like I should have (#3); I have not felt comfortable saying “I don’t know” (#5); I have definitely made excuses (#4); and I have pretty much been functioning through the ol’ Chicken Little Life Plan (#1 & #2) for the last two weeks.

But most of all, I have not, a la Elvis, stepped up and taken action like I should. Not when it comes to my job, and certainly not when it comes to my actual life.

It’s funny that my prime example of that phenomenon is always this blog. I love writing this blog. It is by far one of the best and most productive uses of my time, especially in regards to Crazy removal. And you’ll notice, historically, that it’s when I can’t see straight, when I soo (still pushing the double-o spelling) need to exorcise the Crazy, that I make excuses for not writing. Now, granted. I do basically fall asleep on the bus home for work every night and get home just in time to slink into my bed. But still. No excuses. If this is something I love (it is) and something I need (it SOO is) then I need to make time for it. Period. ( I feel like there’s a grammar joke in there somewhere…)

You should know that in the two weeks since I have last posted I have started four separate entries, gotten about half way through, and scraped them all. In one, I talked about how much I loved my friends, even as our relationships ebb and flow and change as we get older and how sometimes that’s been hard for me. One passage was about my mom, whom I find I am missing lately more than I have in a long time. One entry was entitled “An open letter of apology” that was mostly for J, post-the day that he tried to calm my Crazy, and I just started being short and/ or yelling at him and/ or crying on the phone (p.s. pick “and” in all those scenarios above.) And one post was a bit of an existential reflection on turning 35. (Yup, that happened recently, too.)

Last night, I was at a dinner with some dear friends. And as I was talking about my frustrating work week and how tired and exhausted I was, the hostess playfully asked, “So if this isn’t the long term, what do you want to be when you grow up?” I stumbled into another pat response I have about loving students and wanting to be a teacher and wanting to listen to kids and change the world and maybe start my own school (all of which are true, and all of which I have wanted for a very long time.) But there was a moment right after she asked me; no more than a split second pause that no one except maybe J would have perceived from me, a brief hiccup in my rote response where I almost, *almost* responded:

I want to be a writer.

The almost slip of these words was shocking to me. And I thought about it for the rest of the night.

And so here I am. A la #7. If I want to be a writer, the first thing I’ve got to do, is shut up and write. And no, this doesn’t necessarily mean writer with a capital W, like-best-selling-ferfillion-dollar-publishing-queen WRITER. That’s not really what I meant. I just want to write. I’ve always just kind of wanted to write. So, it’s time to just step up and do that. No more excuses.

It makes me happy that I have this blog to do just that. And it makes me happier still that J has been the impetus for this writing. Because let’s be honest, he is and always has been the guy to lend me his ear, give me his love, and set me on an action plan. That’s what he does. And isn’t that all we’re asking for in life?

There will be more army wife ramblings in the days to come, especially as it gets closer to reunion time. And I gotta be honest, if I don’t start putting some thought into ye olde marriage ceremony, J and I are going to be getting hitched by a JP on the front steps of my apartment building. But for now, for tonight, I just needed to take my own advice for once, and start again on the practice, the art, of just putting words to paper. Because rumor has it, that’s something that writers do, and by God, I’m a writer.

Servicemen and Solider Boys

42 weeks down
11 weeks to go
8ish months until the wedding

Ever notice how when you go about the business of buying a new car, the very *second* you decide which make and model you are going to purchase it is the only car you see on the road? There’s another one. And another. And another. Sometimes you see it so often that you decide it’s not so special at all and you get turned off by it. And other times the more you see it, the more you appreciate the goodness of it and the frequent spotting just makes you want it even more.

For me, once I hooked my wagon to J and officially became a part of the military circuit (circus? circuit? potato, po-TAT-o?) I began to notice, literally every place I went, military folks. I mean everywhere. You can’t sneeze without having an officer hand you a tissue it seems. Now granted, I know that now that I live in DC this effect is probably greatly amplified. But I’m not just talking about my time since I’ve been in DC. It’s any place I travel. It’s everywhere I go.

And not only am I starting to more often notice these folks, I’m also starting to pay more attention to them as well (a subtle difference.) I check them out. How they walk and talk; how they interact with others; how they carry themselves, and, if I can decode their chest-and-shoulder-swag, what their branch and rank and specialty is as well. (By the way, my skills in this capacity are laughable. I can basically pick out an Army guy if they are the same rank as J. After that, I got nothin’. I feel like I need a class on that so I don’t go bad mouthing a General by accident. Seriously, who teaches the “Try Not to Piss-off Superior Officers” class for spouses? I’ll totally sign up for it.)

I did a lot of travel over the holidays (for a refreshing change of pace) and found myself in various airports around the country. And at each airport, lo and behold, I saw servicepeople. At one airport, I must have been very close to several military installations because I am going to say that a full 30% of the people there were in uniform from all different branches of the service. And I definitely got in on the start of a deployment by one of the groups, as they were moving en masse with their duffles and because each *extraordinarily* young serviceman had a crying 19 year old girl in tow. (P.S. I also found out that in *some* airports, in *some* situations said-19-year-olds can get a special pass to go all the way to the gate instead of not being allowed to pass security. I actually thought this was unbelievably kind of airport security people.)

I sat and watched these teary goodbye scenes, wondering if that was what J and I looked like when we parted—if I looked like a crying 19-year-old and he the stoic young soldier. I was lost in these thoughts as I sat down in the waiting area for my flight.

A few moments later a linebacker sized brute of a young man came and sat down beside me, a 6-foot-something oxen-esque 20 year old, plain-clothesed, in jeans and a camo hat (camo like, “I’m a deer hunter” not camo as in uniform.) He was interested in talking to people. I became very interested in my book.

A few minutes later, a young soldier came and sat down a few seats on the other side of me. He was 18 if he was a day: skinny as a rail, white-blonde hair, an acne-covered, hairless face and the very close buzz-cut of a young soldier.

*So this is the part in the story where I have to fully admit that I was unable to read the chest swag of this young man and that I am using the term “soldier” liberally. J would warn cautious use of this term and point out to me that a Soldier is an Armyman… Sailor a Navyman…Airman an Air Force term and, well, a Marine is a Marine, and therefore I shouldn’t be calling this kid a soldier unless I know he was in the Army. Let’s just pretend he was. Because I’m pretty sure that he was. And the branch of the service to which he belonged is really irrelevant to the point of the story. This is my military disclaimer and it is applicable to the title of this blog as well.

This kid was clearly wrapped up in thought: Focused, wringing his hands slightly, and staring down at his feet. Ox tried to start up a conversation.

“You in the Army huh? Me too.” And then he went on in a loud and rather boorish manner talking about how he wanted to be a special forces guy. How he hated school. How he partied hard. Didn’t have time for book learning. And basically he just wanted a gun in his hands so he could go kick some ass.

I looked at this kid and sighed deeply. He was so young. And he didn’t know any better. Didn’t know when to shut up. Full of bravado and fire. I didn’t know whether to feel really sorry for him or punch him in the mouth to get him to stop talking. And clearly he had not seen battle. Young and so stupid. In my head I thought: when people think about the military in any sort of disparaging way, this kid is probably the poster child.

The young kid next to me listened politely, saying nothing at all. He nodded his head every once in awhile to indicate he was still there. But clearly, he had no time for this guy and was not going to engage in a conversation about his antics. Finally Ox stopped for a breath and a sip of his coffee as we were getting ready to board the plane.

“Hey man, I didn’t even ask you…what do YOU do?”

The young kid smiled softly, and turned his face full on Ox for the first time in the entire conversation.

He stared straight into Ox’s eyes and without flinching simply said, “I serve my Country.” And with that, he turned to board the plane.

I think my gasp was audible because Ox, finally realizing I had been listening to the conversation going on around me, looked right at me with a look of utter humiliation. I don’t really think that was what the young soldier had been aiming to do necessarily, to humiliate Ox, but in just those four words he had spoken volumes about himself and his intentions, and served as the mirror Ox very much needed. (This was such a J moment- he would have said exactly the same thing I think. It made me miss him terribly.)

I couldn’t shake this interaction for the entire plane ride. It occurred to me that there are some folks who join the military to be soldiers (or airmen, or marines, or sailors) and there are some that join to be service-people. And I had just seen what the difference looked like.

When I got off the plane, I found myself standing next to the young soldier who no longer seemed young and nervous, but rather manly, confident and composed. I felt compelled to say something…to say thank you…to say, you’re gonna be ok kid, anything. All I could really think was that 1) I know how uncomfortable that makes J, who *easily* had 15 years on this kid, and who I felt like would have no idea what to do with a thank you yet, and 2) I didn’t think I could get a “thank you” out to this kid without crying (and I really didn’t want to be the weird middle aged lady who cried in the airport.) But I was so touched, and I wanted to let him know that what he said had had an impact on me.

His back was to me, but I gently grabbed his forearm in a very motherly-like squeeze. He turned around to face me (I’m pretty sure he recognized me and knew I had been a “participant” of the pre-flight conversation.) I teared up when he looked at me and knew I wouldn’t be able to speak. I gave him a small but warm smile, and just simply nodded my head. He understood.

“Thanks ma’am,” he said, as he grabbed his duffle bag and walked out the door to whatever came next.

In my head I thought of J and how I feel like I could have been having that same conversation with an 18-year-old him. He would be a Serviceman (and always has been a Serviceman in my mind’s eye) and not the soldier boy.

As I turned to grab my luggage, I thought of J fondly, so glad to have had this interaction and to know that when J retires there will be other young servicemen behind him to lead the way. And until then, I’m going to happily keep spotting this kind of "Army guy," reminding me why I chose to be with J in the first place.

Defying Gravity

41 weeks down
12 weeks to go (less than three months…we’re so close.)
8 months (to the day!) until the wedding

And so begins a new year. I do not feel like it will be surprising to any of you to hear that I’m pretty amped about the year 2010 being over. It’s been a doozey, yes? And let’s be honest…2011 is the year J comes home and we get married. So that’s fun. (Note to self…carve out some time soon to plan that pesky wedding.)

I’ve been reflecting a lot on what this last, crap-tastic year has taught me, and what I can point to as the “take-aways” (business school buzzword anyone?) Because remarkably (and possibly even contrary to what you might think from the *marginally* cynical nature of my writing here) I do truly believe that we learn and grow from everything put in our path: good, bad, or ugly…maybe even especially from the bad and ugly. And so in that vein, I feel safe in saying that I must be BRILLIANT from all the learning and growing achieved by the bad and ugly put smack-dab directly in my path during 2010. (Even year, my ass.)

Probably not surprisingly to you all, I felt like I should try to sum up the year in song (my life, it is summed up in song.) I thought about what my personal year LP might sound like. In my head, it was a surreal combination of the soundtrack of a 1940’s black and white film and an early Alanis Morissette album: longing and nostalgic; simple and melodic, and simultaneously mad and angsty and cynical, and perpetually putting me at-the-ready to shake my fist at the world. (That’s not schizophrenic, right?)

So ok. There’s been a little bitterness in the last 9 months especially. And some crankiness in the job search and find and adjustment. And some mild health blah. Oh, and my fiancé is 7200 miles away at war. Ok yes—I’ve had some legit reasons to be a wee bit frustrated with life.

But when I dug deep and truly examined my year, I realized that more than anger and sadness; more than disappointment and longing; more than all the rest of the low lows, there were very high highs, especially in the lives of those closest to me. And there was triumph. And perseverance. And resolution. And the slightest glimpse of what life is going to look like for me soon (“The thin horizon of a plan is almost clear…”)

And I realized that I don’t really have a New Year’s Resolution. But rather, I think I have found some resolution in the new year. And I like that better.

Yes. We can definitely tick off the “everyone picks that one” resolution-type edicts: I am reenergized to return to my new job (which I won’t be able to call new much longer) and kick some ass and take some names. And yes. I am newly refocused (again, once more) on health and diet and fitness (I’m actually really excited about getting to the gym and getting back on the Healthy Train that’s been strangely parked at the station labeled Butter Products for several months now.) Renew and Refresh. I’m in.

But I still felt like I needed a 2010 soundtrack. Or better yet, not the whole album, just the single: My own 2010 Song of the Year (because the Grammy people *always* get it wrong.) What sums up my year: triumph, renewal, rising above, gathering strength and coming out above doubt and sadness?

As a Christmas gift, I took my father to see Wicked. In addition to the tickets, I also bought him the book and the soundtrack. As we were driving to see the show, we listened to the show CD: Dad, my best friend A, and me. When we got to the song “Defying Gravity” (best ending to any Act I of a musical ever by the way) I mentioned that whenever I heard the song it made me cry. Every.single.time. since the first time I had heard it.

After listening to the song together (tears streaming down my face, obviously) A and Dad agreed that it was powerfully sung, but didn’t really see why it made me cry. Good song—but why so emotional?

I started thinking about why the song had that kind of effect on me, and why it had since the very first time I had heard it.

It occurred to me that this year I had felt a lot like the character in the show singing it…that my year had really truly been about rising above something that seemed impossible to transcend, and doing so with the kind of determination and fervor that didn’t leave my motivation or intentions to question. I was gonna do it, because I had to do it. Shut up, and get to work already. No big deal—just defy gravity.

I loved it because it meant something to me. I got it. Whether my trials this year were real or imagined, I could hear myself singing this song to the people I met on the street in answer to their probing questions and half-smiles of doubt (that wouldn’t have been weird at all, right? Randomly breaking out in song?) This song summed up the courage that I think needed to get through this year that I didn’t even realize I had needed. I had just, in the immortal words of Stephen Schwartz, “closed my eyes and leaped.”

And so I guess if I was going to have any kind of new year’s resolution; the one promise I want to hold myself to this year; a goal to be steadfastly set upon, it would be to continue to be strong enough and courageous enough to try defying gravity: to never accept something less than what is acceptable; to never quit because things seems too hard; to never choose the path of least resistance merely because I can; and to always stay true to myself and what I know in my heart to be right regardless of naysayers.

And that’s what I would wish you all in the new year too: courage to never give up on what it is you know to be real. Strength to go forward into 2011 fearlessly, setting your sites upon what you know needs to be done no matter how terrifying it seems. And not feeling scared by taking a leap of faith, but rather to be freed by it.

And so in that spirit, I have pasted below a good portion of the lyrics of the song “Defying Gravity” from the Broadway musical Wicked. It closes Act I in which two best friends have a falling out over an ideological difference. And while one decides to sit by passively so as to not ruffle feathers, our fearless lead (and the person whose part of the song I have included below…the ones that have inspired me so this year) chooses to fight for what she believes in even when she doesn’t feel supported and she knows it might cost her dearly.

Here’s to bravery, friends. And a seriously better 2011.

Defying Gravity

Something has changed within me; Something is not the same.
I'm through with playing by the rules of someone else's game.
Too late for second-guessing; Too late to go back to sleep.
It's time to trust my instincts- Close my eyes: and leap!

It's time to try defying gravity
I think I'll try defying gravity
And you can't pull me down!

I'm through accepting limits 'cause someone says they're so
Some things I cannot change, but till I try, I'll never know!
Too long I've been afraid of losing love I guess I've lost.
Well, if that's love, it comes at much too high a cost!

I'd sooner buy defying gravity
Kiss me goodbye, I'm defying gravity
And you can't pull me down:

So if you care to find me, look to the western sky!
As someone told me lately: "Ev'ryone deserves the chance to fly!"
And if I'm flying solo, at least I'm flying free.
To those who'd ground me, take a message back from me.

Tell them how I am defying gravity
I'm flying high, defying gravity.
And soon I'll match them in renown…
And nobody in all of Oz, no Wizard that there is or was
Is ever gonna bring me down!

Idina and Kristen sing Defying Gravity