Rallying the troops

ral-ly (v) from the Old French ralier meaning “to unite”: To call together for a common purpose; assemble: To reassemble and restore to order: To recover abruptly from a setback or disadvantage: To show sudden improvement in health or spirits.

I’ve always loved the phrase “rally the troops.” I searched for the historical significance of the phrase- who the first person was to say it; what it meant originally; its first context. Alas, I couldn’t find anything super specific. But a Google search (what did we do before Google?) can tell you that it’s been used in political and motivational speeches from great leaders of the US military as far back as Washington, and as recently as last week in a Washington Post article describing Obama’s recent trip to Afghanistan. So all in all, a pretty oft used and heavily quoted little idiom. (Oooo, let’s add “idiom” to my list of favorite words.)

What it has come to mean over the course of the years is mostly the last of the definitions above: to show sudden improvement in health or spirits. That’s what presidents do when they go out and talk with the troops in the field. They are trying to renew the soldiers’ belief in the cause, raise their spirits, and motivate them to continue on the path. (Not that they really have a choice, mind you. But those of us who study educational psychology…or, you know, just have any common sense at all, know that if you believe in something and are passionate about something and feel that the end result is important and necessary, you’re gonna try harder and be more emotionally invested and thus usually be more successful. So, there’s my piece of educational wisdom for today: caring equals trying harder which equals greater success. [By the way, this will become an interesting little corollary to tomorrow’s posting which will be titled “I don’t even care.” More to come.])

So, as all my friends know, and as you readers could probably have guessed by now (subtlety-- not my strongest quality…or a quality I possess in any form…) I’m actively looking for a new job. Not necessarily because I want to, but because apparently having a PhD does not make your position any more recession-proof than anyone else’s. (One of the statistics that they use to scare you when you go into graduate school is that there are more PhDs driving cabs in New York City than exist at most small universities. I used to think that was urban legend…I’m starting to believe it. )

Relax, dear readers. I’m not jobless. I have signed a contract for this coming academic year… And as long as I don’t mind that I’ll be picking up some additional duties at a slightly reduced salary with the promise that this time NEXT year I *will* be jobless, then I’m just fine. Right. (Most innovative HR incentive plan ever? Nay.) And so, since all that seems like nonsense to me, I’m actively looking for something else, effective next year for certain, or even better, immediately.

Now because I’ve been very happy in my job and because “the plan” (what’s the old saying…if you want to make God laugh, make a plan? Touché, God. Touché.) was for me to stay in this position until J came home, when we would then know where his next assignment might be, and we would get married, and happily move wherever that next place might be…together… (sigh…could it please be that day? Please?) I have never spoken of leaving my job or looking for something else. Not yet at least. I have two more years before I have think about that, right? Wrong.

Man, let me tell you, though… Once I did even make *mention* of leaving here…my friends have shown up. Talk about rallying the troops! It seemed like once I started talking about finding something new, all my friends got totally behind me. Started looking for jobs for me. Started dropping my name and resume on people’s desks. They have definitely come together on my behalf…united in mission. And being so good to me.

What their support has done in turn for me is provide the feeling that comes with all those remaining definitions of the word “rally”. I have suddenly had a lift in spirits… a realignment of mission and focus…a recovery from what seemed a horrible setback. I had never before so directly felt the importance of rallying the troops! It’s amazing what a difference that can make to a person (thanks friends.)

I wish that I could do that for J right now. Provide that support and motivation. I feel like he’s a little down recently. He’s super busy. He’s super tired. And from his voice, I feel like he’s super frustrated. (Though honestly, I don’t get that kind of information right now. Between his feeling that he can’t really talk talk over the phone and his just natural inability to say anything overly negative about anything, especially as it relates to his job, I won’t ever really know the intricacies of his current frustrations- at least not for a long time.) This makes me sad. I so wish that I could serve as his rally point right now like all of my friends are doing for me.

What’s it gonna take to raise his spirits? I don’t know right now. But I can tell you this-- I’m committed to figuring that out.

Resolve

44 weeks left
1 pound lost (18 total)
16(ish) months until the wedding

I have a dear friend who is a blogger (actually she is so much more than a blogger. She is this amazingly gifted, stunningly gorgeous, singer, actress, comic, poet, human being.) She is an INFINITELY more beautiful writer than I am. Her posts are always so rich with language and symbolism-- lush images, poignant text, and such profound insights that after I read each and every one of them, I feel like I have just finished devouring a gourmet four course meal of words- utterly sated and all the better for having indulged.

A few weeks ago she wrote an incredible post about words that she loved--her favorites to write, to hear, to speak. And then she asked we readers to tell her what our favorite words were. This has caused me pause for lo these many days. What are my favorite words? I don’t know if I’d ever thought about favorites. I definitely have a list of words that I DON’T like. Beyond the heavy-duty ugly dirty curse words that lots of people dislike, you’ll never hear me use the word moist (it actually oogs me out a little bit just to write. J likes to try and trick me into situations that force me to use it, e.g. like asking me about the things you use at a picnic or after eating messy hot wings to clean off your hands. By the way, in my household those will always be called Handi-wipes and nothing else. I digress.) I additionally dislike the word seep. I’ll avoid use of the word ointment if at all possible. And I have a very hard time finding a word to refer to ladies’ undergarments that doesn’t make me a little uncomfortable.

But favorites? Now there’s something that I hadn’t much thought about. Sure, there are some words that are just fun to say for the novelty value (like onamonapia.) I love the word plethora (insert pretentious, possibly British accent here.) I like the words catalyst and myriad. I really like to use the word intrepid (a lot) because it means being bold and brave and fearless. And doesn’t everyone want to be described as intrepid? One of my best friends from grad school and I had a running bet with one another that we could fit the words “zeitgeist” and “blunderbuss” into all of our graduate school papers. (We lived life on the edge, obviously. I came damn close to doing it, too, by the way. But seriously, blunderbuss isn’t as easy as you might think.)

But a *favorite* word? I thought and thought. Finally after much serious deliberation and careful consideration of my vast (obviously) vocabulary, I have decided that my very favorite word in all the land is RESOLVE (and all derivations thereof: Resolute; Resolution. Resolved.)

I like the word for many reasons. First, I appreciate the fact that it is multi-faceted: has many forms, many meanings; can be a noun or a verb; describe an action, or proudly stand all by itself. (I like my words to be versatile- Makes crossword puzzles more fun and punnery* easier.) But more than that, I actually genuinely like every single connotation of the word (and how often can you say that about anything?)

*punnery- the art of the construction of a pun, also affectionately known as word play

To solve.
To separate.
To declare by firm decision.

A person who is said to be resolved, is a person at peace.

A person who makes a resolution is firm in her belief of making a change for good.

A person who is resolute is determined, steadfast, and strong.

As you’ve probably gathered by my not-so-subtle, oh-so-thinly-veiled, angst-ridden recent posts, I’ve got quite a lot up in the air currently, especially as it pertains to my job. Right now, I am desperately seeking resolution. But, I think I’ve come to the conclusion that the only way to truly find resolution, is by being both resolved and resolute: The only way that I’m going to be able to make it through this particular brand of change is by remaining at peace with what comes next, and by being determined, steadfast, and strong. It’s then (and only then) that resolution can be possible.

One of my best friends who’s been riding this wave of uncertainty with me these last few days made the most profound comment to me yesterday, probably without even knowing that he had done so. When he asked about the craziness in my workplace of late, I calmly and rationally told him that I had had my 48 hour freak-out-pity-party, and that now, I had to pull it together, because it was time to fix it, change it, and move on. “Feeling miserable isn’t going to solve this. I gotta be done with that helpless self-indulgent business and work it out already.”

He chuckled. “You’re back. I like this version of you. I love it when you’re in determination mode. It’s when you’re at your best.”

Thanks for that, friend. I needed to be reminded that I AM in my wheelhouse now. And you’re right: the intrepid version of me has in fact stepped back up to the plate. And I’m feeling more resolute than ever.

I'll be seeing you

Most of you know that I was trained as a musician about a hundred years ago. Not just a musician, but a singer of jazz (how sexy does that sound?) I learned this love of jazz from my father who played a killer jazz saxophone in a band and listened constantly to Big Band vinyls in our basement. (I was weaned on Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller. Ask me about Tuxedo Junction.) I practiced the art of jazz singing ardently in high school and college; as a solo artist and with jazz groups (a la Manhattan Transfer, New York Voices, Real Group, Take 6,etc.) And then, as all mediocre musicians do when they graduate from college, I (with a heavy heart) gave up the singing. (Because: A) I really wasn’t very talented; 2) I really hated practicing; and d) There really isn’t much of a market for jazz singers unless you want to live a life of poverty and work only between the hours of 10 p.m. and 4 a.m. …unless of course you’re really talented and/ or you really want to practice. And then, well, see points A and 2 above.)

At any rate, I miss those days of singing standards with a small band in a smoky bar. And I do still quite love jazz. Especially the old torch songs, sung by the geniuses of the genre: Ella, Billie, Sarah (the ORIGINAL one-named artists... you didn’t have to ask which “Ella” someone was talking about. It was just Ella.) These ladies could level you with a note; captivate you with the smallest inflection of the voice; make you drown in their pain and longing—feel, to the depth of your being, the sheer and utter agony of being in love, by the mere and oh-so-subtle way they drew a breath before they started a new phrase. These ladies, they were communicators of emotion.

I think we’ve established by now that I am a lover of language. I like words. A lot. And anyone who has spent time listening to these old torch songs knows that they contain the most brilliantly written lyrics of all time. (You make me smile with my heart. Is there a better image ever written in song? *Thank You* Mr. Hart. ) My father and I on occasion tussle over whether any good lyrics have been written since the golden age of Broadway. I argue that there have been some good lyrics since then …he holds firm to the belief that people don’t write songs like this anymore. I think we’re both right to some degree. Yes, there are some good recent lyrics penned in the last few decades (please go fall in love with Colin Hay if you have not yet done so), but overall, Dad, you’re right. Not much like these old tunes is written anymore.

Now, because I love words, and because I love jazz (any music actually), I often find that there’s pretty much a constantly running soundtrack in my head. And I would wager that there’s a jazz standard to address just about any emotion-driven situation we might encounter in life. I’m always having snippets of tunes, fragments of lyrics, pop in and out of my head, almost like I imagine other people have basic sensory-driven descriptors pop into theirs (e.g. Some people might observe “It is spring” and “I am sad.” I look at the same situation and say “Spring can really hang you up the most.” Basically, I think in song lyrics.) And this was my weekend.

I was on a business-related outing these last few days. On the road …again (Ha! Willie Nelson writing some applicable lyrics...) for my work. And this was a jam-packed three days in which we had a very long way to go and a short time to get there (wow…Jerry Reed. Thank you too.) Normally, especially when I’m on business, I don’t mind being shuffled rather expeditiously from one place to the next: Just point me where to go, and tell me what to do, and there I’ll go and I’ll do that. But what made this trip hard was that this business was to be conducted in J’s hometown.

And man, if the people with me on this trip didn’t just set the ol' jazz standard soundtrack in my head off. It was like I pushed play on Billie's greatest hits album…and put it on repeat.

We lunched there in a place where J and I had one of our first lunch dates. We did a walking tour of the buildings J took me to when he was first showing off his fair city to me. We went to entire exhibits dedicated to J’s favorite historical figure. We drove *literally* through the backyard of J’s parents' place. (And all I wanted to do was jump out of the car and go have dinner with the family.) I’m not sure why I wasn’t prepared for it-- why I thought that being in J’s town, in the town that has come to feel like *our* town would be comforting and familiar. Instead, it made me miss J terribly, and wish so much that he was back with me, walking hand in hand down the city streets, listening to the music of the city, bantering with each other over who was the most important figure in U.S. history, with the day completed by J snatching my leftovers from me to give away to the homeless and the hungry that line the streets.

It’s funny how things are cyclical. One of the most popular songs during World War II (when women sent their men off to war and waited patiently for them to come home again to them) was a song by Sammy Fain and Irving Kahal from the ill-fated Broadway show, Right This Way. In my head, the entire time I was in our city, I could hear Billie Holiday singing these beautiful, poignant, heart-wrenching words:

I'll be seeing you
In all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces
All day through.

In that small cafe;
The park across the way;
The children's carousel;
The chestnut trees;
The wishin' well.

I'll be seeing you
In every lovely summer's day;
In every thing that's light and gay.
I'll always think of you that way.

I'll find you
In the morning sun
And when the night is new.
I'll be looking at the moon,
But I'll be seeing you.

Thanks, Billie for saying it when I couldn’t. For summing it up when I felt it. For expressing it with just the right amount of longing, sadness, hope and resolve. Yet again, you were right on the money.