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I often enjoy one glass of wine or beer with dinner.
And typically that one drink is my limit. Except that I'll have a second if we're out with friends for a weekend night out. Why do I self-impose this limit? Mainly because I hate that spinny feeling when I lie down afterward.
But sometimes I let myself go. And I've noticed that, on those occasions, I get chatty. Really chatty.
On Friday night, friends of ours hosted a wine pairing dinner at their home. Each of the five courses featured a different wine specifically chosen to go with that course. And we started with a before-dinner champagne toast. The evening was spectacular - the conversation lively, the meal and wine selections comparable to any five-star restaurant.
Six glasses of wine for a one- to two-drink girl was definitely over the top. {Oooh - but so very good!}
So yesterday I was reflecting on my chatty-Cathy alter ego from the night before. {If you haven't guessed yet, I'm prone to self-analyzing...} Some people would say that a person's conversation or behavior when under the influence of alcohol reflects their true personality because they are uninhibited. However, others might argue that since the alternative behavior is displayed only when that foreign substance is consumed in large quantities, it reflects an aberrant personality.
So, which is it? Is my "true" personality one of excessive chattiness that I simply suppress most of the time? Or is my "true" personality just average chattiness (conversational) because that is the way I behave without the influence of alternate substances?
Hmmm... Maybe I need to do some more field research ;)
There was the night, ten years ago, when the ringing phone woke us at 2 a.m. The NICU nurse said that our daughter had "coded" and doctors were doing everything they could to resuscitate her. She said to come quickly, but she wouldn't say what we would find.
For the next hour, nearly all of it spent in silence, our voices were paralyzed as our minds played out every possible scenario and explored every possible fear that we could not verbalize. We rushed into her room toward her incubator. Hoping to find her still there. Fearing she would not be.
Life? or Death?
Relief doesn't describe a parent's emotion upon discovering her daughter alive. It's a start, but ... Saved? yes Helpless? yes Fragile? yes Mobilized? yes Small? yes Numb? yes. And more. Not a linear progression of emotions, either; just a cloud of them obstructing your actions. You need to do something, yet you can't do anything.
We weren't allowed to hold her yet. As a preemie infant, she didn't know who we were, or that we were there. We could offer her no comfort. It was she who offered us comfort. She offered us the sight of her chest moving up and down with every assisted breath she took. She offered us the occasional twitch of an eyelid or finger. She communicated with us through the beeps of the equipment attached to her, the graphs on the monitor to show us her heart rate as proof that it still beat.
She didn't know, in her two months spent in the NICU since her birth, that she had become integral to our family. She didn't know the emotional devastation her premature departure would create. She didn't know she had the capacity to leave a twin twinless, creating a void that could never be recovered.
She didn't need to know any of those things. We carried those thoughts for her. All she needed to do to save us was to live through the night.
And she saved us.
Ten years later, we can see the otherwise invisible scars of her prematurity and her cardiac arrest. She has, and will continue to have, struggles that others do not. But in many ways, we are lucky. Our daughter's fight for life was a short war. Twenty-four hours later, we were certain of the outcome. No, we didn't realize at that time the years of therapy and the challenges that would follow. But we knew she was ours to keep. And that's all that mattered.
Life is precious. When our time to fight for it - and we all will have a time to fight for it - comes sooner than we expect, or comes to our children, causing us agony and heartache while we watch, we will struggle. I feel for the parents today who watch their children fight a war within their own bodies. I feel for those fighting or watching a war that may not be won in hours, but in weeks, months, or years.
To Them: As you watch your child fight his war, know that you are important to me and that you are not alone. I will listen to you and cry with you. And I will help you with practical and logistical measures so you can focus on your child. This is a war that can be won with strength and faith.
You are not alone.
Have you ever thought how important nothing is? For example, the white space we use to separate words, paragraphs, and images on a page is simply the absence of text or pictures. It is nothing. Yet when the white space is missing, so is the organization of thought. We don't know where to stop and catch a breath. Or to stop and think about what we just read or saw. White space actually draws our attention to the text or images on the page. Though the text or images may have importance, without a break for our minds to stop and consider them, they are just characters. Isn't that what's happened to the text you are reading now? This seemingly endless string of black characters on a white background?
Now stop. breathe. think.
Here is the space to do it.
Ahhhh... That's better...
Similarly, we need the equivalent of white space in our living surroundings and the demands on our time. After the rush of the holidays - time spent with loved ones, hustle and bustle of preparations, excitement of annual traditions - it's time to just be.
Yesterday, I threw away the remaining Christmas cookies.
Today, I took the ornaments off the tree and put away the decorations.
We took the leaf out of the dining table.
Without all the trimmings, the house looks sparse. Yet pleasing.
It's our white space, giving us time simply to live our normal lives. The stores may have filled the spaces vacated by Hanukkah menorahs and Christmas trees with Valentine's cards, but I haven't.
I like Christmas, New Year's, the long break from routine. They're happy times, allowing us to bake yummy treats, spend extra time with loved ones, dress up our home and our bodies for special events. The end-of-year holidays are like a giant exclamation point in the story of our year.
But after that exclamation point, I appreciate the space that comes after. Maybe even a line break or two.
Because I also like the vacated spaces in our home and in my schedule. I'm ready for the steady predictability of our lives. I'm not ready for the next holiday.
Yes, I'm happy in this space.
Today is the first day of January 2010. 01-10.
You know that. I'm just practicing saying it.
I don't make New Year's resolutions... I set goals for myself throughout the year. It's mental self-preservation: I just don't care for the artificial pressure of creating resolutions on January 1, then feeling the disappointment the first time I fall short of meeting those goals.
However, these are not resolutions. It's just a score sheet on my Bucket List. (Nice loop hole, huh?)
In September 2008, I created a Top Ten list, containing the first 10 items below. In January 2009, I added #11. So, since it's no longer a list of ten, let's just rename it Bucket List: It's the list of things I'd like to accomplish or do before I die. {Preferably sooner.} This list is ever-changing: Each year I'll cross off some, I'll make progress on some, I'll add some as my interests change.
So, how'd I do this year?
1. Visit all 6 inhabitable continents (we'll count Antarctica as a bonus continent). {Note that I included Antarctica in my January 2009 revision. So I would like to visit all 7 continents, whether or not they're permanently inhabitable. I mean, I'm not planning on living on all of them - just visiting.}
Holding steady at 2 so far. Thinking about hitting a 3rd in 2011.
2. Visit all 50 states in the U.S.
Visited several favorites this year, but no new states. Will try to add 1 or 2 in 2010.
3. Climb a mountain.
Done! Along with five amazing family members/friends, I climbed to the peak of Mt Whitney in July 2009. It is the highest peak in the contiguous United States, at 14, 597 feet. Though the challenge was difficult in the thin air, and our muscles fatigued with the relentless up, up, up, it was nevertheless an exhilarating and memorable experience - one made all the more possible with my fabulous family and friend! Thanks to Kelly, Dad, Joey, Tony, and Connie for this one-of-a-kind experience. I love you all!
4. Run a marathon.
Not yet. But getting closer. I ran my first half-marathon in October 2009 and found it to be an experience that I loved and definitely want to repeat! However, I have to respect my aging bones. So I've scheduled two half-marathons for 2010 - focusing on improving my time - and then I plan to tackle a full marathon in spring 2011.
5. Write a book (that is actually published!).
Again, not yet, but working toward it. It may take several years before I'm there.
6. Learn to fly an airplane.
Haven't even attempted this one yet. I'm waiting until my son, who also has an interest in learning to fly, is 14 so we can learn together.
7. Play in a tennis match and (here's the kicker:) actually keep score, by myself, without having to stop and think! (I know -- doesn't seem like this should be so hard. But I must have a mental block about scoring tennis. I always have to stop and figure it out.)
Done! And OK, this wasn't nearly as difficult as I'd made it out to be. I joined a tennis team on a competitive league this past fall and am having a blast. Now, if only I could log more wins!
8. Cook a Thanksgiving turkey dinner without help from my mother or mother-in-law. (OK, I don't really want to achieve this so badly; I just think I should.)
Don't know how to answer this one. Does it count if it's a joint effort? Wait a minute, it's my own goal, so I get to decide. But I think that means I also have to do it myself. Let's replay this past Thanksgiving: My husband and I hosted Thanksgiving here for the first time, and we prepared everything (well, not quite: Mom brought the pies - her specialty!). I did all the appetizers and sides. My husband deep-fried two turkeys. To be specific, he deep-fried one turkey completely; the other was deep-fried partially. Then he brought it in the house and I stuffed it and finished cooking it in the oven. So - wait a minute! - I think that counts! I had no help from my mom or MIL. I stuffed it and I did actually do some cooking of the turkey. Let's go ahead and cross this one off the list...
9. Create something, from scratch, with my hands. (A quilt? A needlepoint creation?)
Not this year.
10. Dance sometime in public the way I dance when I'm at home - unselfconsciously!
Not this one either. This one takes a lot of guts! And anyway, I didn't go dancing. Would have been kind of weird to dance at the mall or my kids' schools...
11. Wear a bikini -- in public! This isn't a "body" issue so much as a "mind" issue. It doesn't matter if you're a size 2 or a size 20, if you weigh 110 or 210 lbs, as long as you exude confidence. That's the real goal, of course.
Yeah, I did it. This one's kind of tough around the neighborhood pool. But I can handle it better on vacation, where I don't know anyone except the close friends and family I bring with me.
So here's the score: I can cross off 4 items on my Bucket List (#3, 7, 8, 11)! That leaves 7 goals, and nearly all of them will take time and perseverance to accomplish. Though I may not be able to cross any off the list by the end of 2010, I expect to make good progress on four or five of them in 2010. And I might even add a few - 7 items on a Bucket List seems a little light.
What's on your list?
It has come to my attention that some of you have noticed I've taken a break from blogging during the past two weeks. It wasn't planned, but it sure feels good!
No, nothing's wrong. There haven't been any sicknesses or emergencies. No, I don't have writer's block (I've started lots of drafts). I'm just chillin' with the family over Christmas break.
(Also, I prefer not to spend long periods of time on the computer while the kids are home. And they've been home since 3:30 pm on December 18.)
In the meantime, I hope all my cyberfriends are enjoying the holidays! Looking forward to catching up in 2010!
PS - There will be a new post tomorrow, January 1. I can't let New Year's Day come and go without comment ;)
This weekend, while finishing up Christmas shopping at the mall, I stopped in a little snack shop. Having not eaten in hours, I was hot and tired and hungry - and the yogurt parfait was calling to me.
Unfortunately, my wallet contained only $2.00 cash - not enough to cover the $3.50 snack. No problem: I was armed with plastic. I laughed with the sales clerk about having to pay with a credit card for such a small transaction.
Just then, the gentleman behind me (maybe 10 years older than I - does that make a difference?) extended his hand, containing $2.00, toward me. That, along with the $2.00 I already had in my wallet, would be enough to cover the yogurt.
Let's stop here. What would you do in response to his offer? Would you accept or decline? Would it make a difference whether you are a man or a woman? Would your age, in relation to his, make a difference? Would the sum matter?
Here was my reaction and my thought process to support it: I smiled and graciously (body language, tone of voice) declined his offer. Although hungry, I could have lived without a snack at that moment if necessary. Yet I didn't have to, because I could pay with a credit card. Silly, due to the size of the transaction, but doable. If I hadn't had an alternative means of paying, and really needed to eat (for example, for fear of passing out due to low blood sugar), then I would have accepted his offer readily.
In that moment, I felt comfortable with my response - politely declining his offer. Yet his response made me wonder if I had done the wrong thing: He slowly and reluctantly withdrew his hand. He didn't smile back at me. He looked confused.
Was it my obligation to accept money from a stranger - money I didn't actually need - in order to make him feel good? By declining his offer - no matter how nicely it was done - did I act rudely? Or was the decision to accept or decline the offer a true choice that I could make freely?
The moment lasted about 30 seconds in its entirety. Yet I've been thinking about it, on and off, all weekend. What would you have done?
After that disastrous dental procedure in October - the one in which I suddenly and uncharacteristically felt an attack of anxiety - I was not happy to discover that I needed another such procedure. The lower tooth is now perfectly fine. But when I felt an all-too-familiar pain in the upper tooth right across from it, I knew what I was in for. The dentist merely confirmed the diagnosis.
Because of my previous anxiety attack, I asked about taking anxiety medication prior to the second procedure. The dentist's office staff readily agreed to write the prescription. Ask, and ye shall receive. I felt relief just over the thought of receiving relief.
Yet as the date drew near, I began to think again. I didn't take the Valium that was strongly suggested before my Lasik eye surgery four years ago, and I was fine. I didn't have an epidural when in labor, and I was fine. Clearly, I was not fine during my last dental procedure, though. Hmm.
The second procedure was scheduled for this morning.
Up until yesterday, I still didn't know what to do. Then I decided that my indecision was indicating that, deep-down, I didn't want to take anxiety medication after all.
So I didn't.
Yet I wondered whether my reluctance was sign of (1) my stubbornness to receive perfectly acceptable help, or (2) a desire to face my anxiety head-on by finding emotional and mental ways of dealing with it.
By that time, it was out of my hands (no time to fill the prescription). So the answer was anyone's guess.
Before the appointment, I worked out. Exercise always helps to clear my mind and give me positive energy for the day. Then I took a hot, hot shower and put on warm, comfortable clothes. While showering and changing, I visualized the steps of the procedure (which was easy to do since I'd gone through it so recently). I imagined what the dentist and his assistant would be doing during each step, how it would feel (I hoped to feel nothing!), how I would feel about it.
Then it was time to see whether my relaxation and visualization strategies worked.
And did they? you wonder.
Actually, yes - they did! So now, in retrospect, I can label this experience not as stubbornness, but as successful coping.
And I'm not worried about my next dentist appointment. Whenever that might be... Hopefully, not soon...
I often enjoy one glass of wine or beer with dinner.
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