December
December is always like this; it's just that everything is compounded by several factors: I'm leaving for Greece and trying to have a real Christmas here and trying to get all my work done--which is to say, mine and several other people's who haven't been doing theirs. On top of this, there has been so much loss and tragedy and grief in my life lately, mostly other people's, but I have been holding them up and advocating for and caring about them--which is both energizing and exhausting. There are things to mourn--a student who has passed away, her death rippling across time and space for so many of my favorite students; the teenager from our town stabbed to death by her boyfriend; and, on a smaller scale, the people I care for are retiring or leaving, and I'm discovering how disconnected I feel from some people I used to love, and how connected I feel to others who won't be here much longer. So, basically, I'm more swamped and overwhelmed and sad than I usually am during finals week in December, and I literally have no idea how I'll get everything done by December 27, when the plane takes off and we're above ground and it will be too late to worry about the fact that one day this semester I literally showed up to one of my classes having forgotten to do the readings, or that maybe I should have left clearer instructions for the people who are doing very little but will need to actually follow through on several details while I'm gone. I'll just be...
I'll be taking 13 students to Greece. And my daughter, and her college buddy J. It's going to be a whole different kind of stress, and for awhile I was sort of dreading it, but suddenly, earlier today, I had this moment of clarity, and I realized the following:
1. I'm going to Greece.
2. I'm taking my daughter--it will be the biggest adventure of her life, even if she's feeling, at the moment, more terrified than excited.
3. Lisa's college buddy J will leave for a semester and most of next summer, and I haven't totally processed how this will affect my life--but I get to spend three more weeks with her, and she's going to keep me and my daughter sane as she so often does, and it will be fun to have this adventure with her, too.
4. And the students--they are engaged and funny and excited, and, I think, less nervous than me. This trip, in its earlier iterations during May session, has changed so many people's lives, and I'm certain it will change some of theirs as well.
5. And the elders--I miss them, miss how it feels to be at the nursing home, with them, with that kind of time stretched out to just be present with people who want companionship more than anything else.
The other night I was talking to a student of mine about a kid he knew who died--how sad he was, how he didn't know for sure how to process it, or how much of an impact he'd had on any of the kids at the after school program where he used to work. We talked about how the moment of connection is sometimes all that matters, all we can be sure about--how the times when my daughter belly-laughs or lays her head on my shoulder and talks to me, really talks to me, matter so much, even if I can't be sure now or ever about the long term, the big picture.
I could be panicked, and maybe I should be, about how much I have to do. But I'm also glad that, even though I've been getting so little sleep, I'm letting myself enjoy little pleasures--letting myself stretch in the ballet class I can't really afford (time or money-wise), letting myself eat good food and drink wine with people I love, letting myself sit in front of the lit Christmas tree and just breathe, breathe, breathe.
S's therapist from the city she is from contacted me recently, just to check in. I sent a very long e-mail at 2 a.m., then apologized for how much I had babbled and mentioned how tired I was.
She wrote back, "Please never apologize for long emails- I love them! Every time I have read about S's progress since meeting you, I am filled with happiness, and I always think what a miracle it is, but the more I think about it the more I think it is no miracle at all. It is simply the result of giving a healing child everything that they need to heal and grow. I truly believe they should use your story as an example of the potentials that exist when the right time, energy, resources, and love are put forth."
That night, after a particularly hard day at work, and after writing a very honest e-mail that included all that has been uplifting and hard about parenting this child--I so needed this response. I felt blessed--and since getting the e-mail, I have also felt my heart slow down. I'm making good choices about how to spend my time. I'll get everything done, and I'll not get enough sleep, and there will be moments of panic and frustration--but I'm not going to let all of that get in the way of being present in my own life.
And so, in the midst of it all, I took the time to have two of my favorite students over for dinner--and they made Christmas cookies with S and laughed at our shaggy and overly affectionate dog. I took the students who work with me (and S, and J) out to dinner--and we talked about silly things and laughed and had a few deep exchanges, too. Last night J took a study break and I took a break from my work, and she came over at 1 a.m. and we had a glass of wine and talked about nothing and everything, and instead of getting sad, I just savored this last time that we'll be in this space talking like this over wine for a long time. Tonight S's other college buddy K came over, and we let ourselves cry a little, but only a little--mostly we just told stories about our semester and laughed at S's comments. I am remembering to care for myself and the connections I have here. I want to know that I am strong enough to sustain myself through the most stressful times by being unwisely generous with my time--but opening my home and heart and feeling the reward, even if I don't have the time.
...and, anyway, it will all get done, and when it does, I'll be going to Greece!
I'll be taking 13 students to Greece. And my daughter, and her college buddy J. It's going to be a whole different kind of stress, and for awhile I was sort of dreading it, but suddenly, earlier today, I had this moment of clarity, and I realized the following:
1. I'm going to Greece.
2. I'm taking my daughter--it will be the biggest adventure of her life, even if she's feeling, at the moment, more terrified than excited.
3. Lisa's college buddy J will leave for a semester and most of next summer, and I haven't totally processed how this will affect my life--but I get to spend three more weeks with her, and she's going to keep me and my daughter sane as she so often does, and it will be fun to have this adventure with her, too.
4. And the students--they are engaged and funny and excited, and, I think, less nervous than me. This trip, in its earlier iterations during May session, has changed so many people's lives, and I'm certain it will change some of theirs as well.
5. And the elders--I miss them, miss how it feels to be at the nursing home, with them, with that kind of time stretched out to just be present with people who want companionship more than anything else.
The other night I was talking to a student of mine about a kid he knew who died--how sad he was, how he didn't know for sure how to process it, or how much of an impact he'd had on any of the kids at the after school program where he used to work. We talked about how the moment of connection is sometimes all that matters, all we can be sure about--how the times when my daughter belly-laughs or lays her head on my shoulder and talks to me, really talks to me, matter so much, even if I can't be sure now or ever about the long term, the big picture.
I could be panicked, and maybe I should be, about how much I have to do. But I'm also glad that, even though I've been getting so little sleep, I'm letting myself enjoy little pleasures--letting myself stretch in the ballet class I can't really afford (time or money-wise), letting myself eat good food and drink wine with people I love, letting myself sit in front of the lit Christmas tree and just breathe, breathe, breathe.
S's therapist from the city she is from contacted me recently, just to check in. I sent a very long e-mail at 2 a.m., then apologized for how much I had babbled and mentioned how tired I was.
She wrote back, "Please never apologize for long emails- I love them! Every time I have read about S's progress since meeting you, I am filled with happiness, and I always think what a miracle it is, but the more I think about it the more I think it is no miracle at all. It is simply the result of giving a healing child everything that they need to heal and grow. I truly believe they should use your story as an example of the potentials that exist when the right time, energy, resources, and love are put forth."
That night, after a particularly hard day at work, and after writing a very honest e-mail that included all that has been uplifting and hard about parenting this child--I so needed this response. I felt blessed--and since getting the e-mail, I have also felt my heart slow down. I'm making good choices about how to spend my time. I'll get everything done, and I'll not get enough sleep, and there will be moments of panic and frustration--but I'm not going to let all of that get in the way of being present in my own life.
And so, in the midst of it all, I took the time to have two of my favorite students over for dinner--and they made Christmas cookies with S and laughed at our shaggy and overly affectionate dog. I took the students who work with me (and S, and J) out to dinner--and we talked about silly things and laughed and had a few deep exchanges, too. Last night J took a study break and I took a break from my work, and she came over at 1 a.m. and we had a glass of wine and talked about nothing and everything, and instead of getting sad, I just savored this last time that we'll be in this space talking like this over wine for a long time. Tonight S's other college buddy K came over, and we let ourselves cry a little, but only a little--mostly we just told stories about our semester and laughed at S's comments. I am remembering to care for myself and the connections I have here. I want to know that I am strong enough to sustain myself through the most stressful times by being unwisely generous with my time--but opening my home and heart and feeling the reward, even if I don't have the time.
...and, anyway, it will all get done, and when it does, I'll be going to Greece!
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