Lately I’ve been finding out interesting facts about the people in my life. Some are people I have just recently met, some are neighbors I have lived near for a decade, some are family members I have known my whole life. All have surprised me with new information about their relationships, hobbies, careers, and experiences. A scuba diver, a talent scout, a collector, an art lover, a dancer, a singer, a survivor. Who would have guessed?
It seems strange that you can know someone without really knowing anything about them, but I guess it’s really not that surprising.
When we are kids in school, we can’t hide much of anything. We spend the majority of our time in close quarters with other kids where our strengths are obvious (math whiz, fast runner, funniest, best singer), and our weaknesses are too (slow reader, badly behaved, last one picked for the team). We tell stories of our families and experiences in writing assignments like “All About Me” pages and weekly journals. We share our favorite items in show and tell. Our interests are broadcast through our participation in various activities in and after school. And any embarrassing facts eventually get revealed by older siblings or bullies or our best friends when they are mad at us.
But once we have grown up and away from the school system, our interests and abilities become less obvious. We focus our energies on building careers and families, and these paths limit the self we show to the world. There isn’t the same array of activities in which we can participate on a casual level. Some athletes may find an occasional pickup basketball game or play softball on their company team, and a few musicians may be able to perform in a local group if they look hard enough. But the primary limitation is time.
Looking back, even those of us with the busiest childhoods can probably now recognize the unappreciated luxury inherent in those days filled with just school and activities all for ourselves. Now with jobs and families to balance, our own interests often have to wait. We befriend those who work in our field or whose children are in class with ours. We keep conversations superficial, censoring ourselves in order not to offend, and spend our time on the sidelines discussing local issues and school schedules, not our dreams and long-hidden talents.
Those of us who gave up careers to stay home with our children can attest to how this choice also serves to narrow our identity. We may have been well-known in our industry, featured as key note speakers, and a favorite to work with, but at the park, we’re just another parent, nothing serving to distinguish us from the others except our physical features.
I remember after leaving the corporate world to stay home with my son, whenever I was asked, “what do you do?” I always started with, “Well, I worked for twelve years as an advertising executive in New York.…” Even though I had become a mom and was also a graduate student, I reverted back to my old title rather than mention my new role. My career had defined me for so long and it brought with it greater stature and more exciting conversation starters than motherhood, and for a long time, it was an identity I couldn’t bear to lose.
Of course, sometimes we want to leave our childhood behind and forge a new identity without being encumbered by the reputations and cliques of our past. Having returned to my hometown, I sometimes cringe when I run into past classmates, finding it difficult to completely erase any bad high school memories while also hoping they don’t have similar memories about me. On the plus side, I am fortunate to have some dear old friends nearby who know me better than anyone, but there is no guarantee that they will keep my secrets!
It was during a gathering with friends old and new that I first began to consider how much of our true selves disappears in our adulthood. When I realized the newer acquaintances had no knowledge of what I would consider the defining talent of my childhood friend, I wondered what we didn’t know about them. But I didn’t ask.
Imagine what I may have learned if I had.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Spring Fever
I love this time of year. After the snow of January and February, and the freaky storms in March, isn’t everyone ready to ditch the heavy coats, revel in the sunshine, and inhale the perfume of the blooming daffodils and hyacinths?
It starts with the crocuses. We have a fun time seeking them out in our yard after a landscaping job a few years ago redistributed all the bulbs to new locations, so it is a surprise when they pop up. It doesn’t necessarily make sense to see these spring harbingers in the middle of the lawn, but it still makes me smile.
Such disorganization in my yard I can handle, but inside my house it’s another story. I am desperately seeking order, even though it is impossible to maintain for more than a day with the crazy family that lives in there. The constant accumulation of stuff makes cleaning countertops, desktops, closets, bookshelves, and drawers an unending job. But spring brings a chance for renewal extending far beyond nature. Spring cleaning begins in earnest, and with it comes renewed hope for a clutter-free life.
I, for one, have been in a cleaning and organizing mode for weeks now, but unfortunately, with a toddler around, there isn’t much time for actual cleaning or organizing. So instead, I often feel dirty and unorganized as I try to work, play, dress, or eat amongst the many half-started projects scattered around the house. Bags of clothing are everywhere and I pray my toddler doesn’t decide to play her favorite game of “empty the bag” with them, because despite the appearance, they are actually sorted to some extent. Photos and empty frames pile up on tables in various combinations, and I make mental notes of those I need to have enlarged, but nothing is even close to being ready for hanging.
Though my efforts are sporadic, I am spurred on by two local annual traditions: the town cleanup and the Boy Scout tag sale (warning, unsolicited promotion coming). Every year I look forward to these events, which provide us the opportunity to clean house of both worthless and useful items. When something breaks, I enjoy the knowledge that though I will shove it in the basement for a while, there is actually a time when it will be removed from my home. When an item outlives its usefulness for us, I am glad that we can pass it on to another owner while also helping to fund a great organization.
Of course, these events also provide me with deadlines, which can be as stressful as they are helpful. No matter how much notice we have about the cleanup, it seems we always wait until the last minute to get our things out to the curb. Some of that is to avoid the inevitable rebounding of items back into the garage when our son sees them heading for the dump, but the rest is just procrastination. Even though we vow to prepare early, it’s always late on the night before pickup, after the kids are finally asleep, that my husband and I run down to the basement and frantically try to identify all those things we tossed down there over the prior year, including the three or four items we invariably forgot to put out last year. We lug and lift and drag and roll out whatever we can under cover of darkness, probably causing the neighbors to wonder what kind of animals have taken refuge in their yards. And never fail, after the truck passes, we find another three or four items that should have gone.
Getting my goods to the Scout cabin on the right day at the right time has been a challenge in the past too, but this year I’ve decided I will try to live by the Scout motto and “be prepared”. I’m putting things into the car as I find them, so that I can deliver them whenever I am in the neighborhood. This is turning out to be a good strategy for me in general. It seems I am much more likely to happen by somewhere than to actually plan to go there. So now when I have donations to make, borrowed items to return, checks to deposit, or coupons to redeem, I put them right in my car so they are ready when I am.
Besides, moving the mess to the car gives me the illusion of organization at home. At least for a moment.
It starts with the crocuses. We have a fun time seeking them out in our yard after a landscaping job a few years ago redistributed all the bulbs to new locations, so it is a surprise when they pop up. It doesn’t necessarily make sense to see these spring harbingers in the middle of the lawn, but it still makes me smile.
Such disorganization in my yard I can handle, but inside my house it’s another story. I am desperately seeking order, even though it is impossible to maintain for more than a day with the crazy family that lives in there. The constant accumulation of stuff makes cleaning countertops, desktops, closets, bookshelves, and drawers an unending job. But spring brings a chance for renewal extending far beyond nature. Spring cleaning begins in earnest, and with it comes renewed hope for a clutter-free life.
I, for one, have been in a cleaning and organizing mode for weeks now, but unfortunately, with a toddler around, there isn’t much time for actual cleaning or organizing. So instead, I often feel dirty and unorganized as I try to work, play, dress, or eat amongst the many half-started projects scattered around the house. Bags of clothing are everywhere and I pray my toddler doesn’t decide to play her favorite game of “empty the bag” with them, because despite the appearance, they are actually sorted to some extent. Photos and empty frames pile up on tables in various combinations, and I make mental notes of those I need to have enlarged, but nothing is even close to being ready for hanging.
Though my efforts are sporadic, I am spurred on by two local annual traditions: the town cleanup and the Boy Scout tag sale (warning, unsolicited promotion coming). Every year I look forward to these events, which provide us the opportunity to clean house of both worthless and useful items. When something breaks, I enjoy the knowledge that though I will shove it in the basement for a while, there is actually a time when it will be removed from my home. When an item outlives its usefulness for us, I am glad that we can pass it on to another owner while also helping to fund a great organization.
Of course, these events also provide me with deadlines, which can be as stressful as they are helpful. No matter how much notice we have about the cleanup, it seems we always wait until the last minute to get our things out to the curb. Some of that is to avoid the inevitable rebounding of items back into the garage when our son sees them heading for the dump, but the rest is just procrastination. Even though we vow to prepare early, it’s always late on the night before pickup, after the kids are finally asleep, that my husband and I run down to the basement and frantically try to identify all those things we tossed down there over the prior year, including the three or four items we invariably forgot to put out last year. We lug and lift and drag and roll out whatever we can under cover of darkness, probably causing the neighbors to wonder what kind of animals have taken refuge in their yards. And never fail, after the truck passes, we find another three or four items that should have gone.
Getting my goods to the Scout cabin on the right day at the right time has been a challenge in the past too, but this year I’ve decided I will try to live by the Scout motto and “be prepared”. I’m putting things into the car as I find them, so that I can deliver them whenever I am in the neighborhood. This is turning out to be a good strategy for me in general. It seems I am much more likely to happen by somewhere than to actually plan to go there. So now when I have donations to make, borrowed items to return, checks to deposit, or coupons to redeem, I put them right in my car so they are ready when I am.
Besides, moving the mess to the car gives me the illusion of organization at home. At least for a moment.
Girl Power
For most of my life, I’ve gotten along better with men than women. Even though I have four sisters, I always felt more comfortable hanging out with the boys than giggling with the girls. During my elementary school years when the rest of the kids feared they would catch cooties if they intermingled with the opposite gender, I was spending weekends and summers playing kickball and Marco Polo with the neighborhood boys.
While I’ve always had female friends as well, the year we changed from co-ed birthday parties to single-sex sleepovers was a tough transition for me. I quit cheerleading in high school to join the band with my guy friends, and never belonged to a sorority in college. After graduation, I twice opted to rent apartments with male friends (and loved it) before finally living on my own.
So, years later, when I learned I was going to have a baby boy, I was ready, excited even. “I can do this,” I thought. “I love boys!”
And so far, it’s been great. I love that my son will play with anybody, isn’t picky about his clothing (well, once we established no buttons, zippers, or snaps), doesn’t get tangles in his hair, and only needs 2 pairs of shoes in any given season. I love that he’ll put on a temporary tattoo and never scrub it off even when just specks of ink remain.
Last year I had a baby girl, and I was a little worried at first. “I’m not a girly-girl,” I’d tell friends. “I don’t know how to raise a girl. I can’t cook or decorate. I’m not into fashion, or makeup, or hair. I don’t want to go to the American Girl café!” (I know, I’m stereotyping to the extreme, but my tendency towards self-doubt combined with pregnancy hormones led me down that path.)
My sister used to tell me that my tendency towards male friendships was going to need to change when I became an adult. I didn’t really understand. During my single years, I was part of a broad group of male and female colleagues who worked and partied together. Why couldn’t that just continue on?
But now I do understand. As a suburban mother, I’ve found it much harder to pal with the guys. It’s not just the obvious concerns of jealousy or inappropriate attention that separate us, but our disparate lifestyles. While I am lucky enough to have maintained some of my friendships with the former boys, now men, of my past, my position as mom brings me much more in contact with their wives, and new acquaintances are almost exclusively female – other moms, nannies, teachers and many of my fellow therapists. There is an occasional man in the mix, but not many.
Note, this is just an observation, not a complaint. I wish I was better at connecting with other women, because they are my compatriots. Women support each other with a sympathetic shoulder and an empathetic ear. They create opportunities for escape with babysitting coops, girls’ nights, book groups, and bunco. They bring you chicken soup when you’re sick, or better yet, offer carpools and sleepovers because they know when mom is sick, nothing can get done (and moms won’t stop unless they are forced to).
And I’ve learned something else recently. Namely, boys are gross. My son is now in first grade, which seems to be a high point for toilet humor. Words like “fart” and “poop” and even “toilet” send him into hysterics, and he will chant made-up verses with these words over and over.
He is messy and dirty, and does not understand the need for baths, toothbrushes, or combs, which apparently goes with the territory. One day he decided to cut (i.e. butcher) his own hair. I was mortified and called the teacher to explain why he looked so disheveled, but she hadn’t even noticed. His hair, with tufts sticking out here there and everywhere, matched the rest of the boys.
And his energy could fuel a small country. He has two speeds, fast and faster, and speaks at two levels, loud and louder. There is no longer any silence in my home until after bedtime.
I adore my son, but he doesn’t seem like the boys of my past, and I have changed too. Now I can’t wait for bright pink manicures and tea parties, ballet recitals, and yes, even trips to the American Girl café. I guess I’m growing up.
While I’ve always had female friends as well, the year we changed from co-ed birthday parties to single-sex sleepovers was a tough transition for me. I quit cheerleading in high school to join the band with my guy friends, and never belonged to a sorority in college. After graduation, I twice opted to rent apartments with male friends (and loved it) before finally living on my own.
So, years later, when I learned I was going to have a baby boy, I was ready, excited even. “I can do this,” I thought. “I love boys!”
And so far, it’s been great. I love that my son will play with anybody, isn’t picky about his clothing (well, once we established no buttons, zippers, or snaps), doesn’t get tangles in his hair, and only needs 2 pairs of shoes in any given season. I love that he’ll put on a temporary tattoo and never scrub it off even when just specks of ink remain.
Last year I had a baby girl, and I was a little worried at first. “I’m not a girly-girl,” I’d tell friends. “I don’t know how to raise a girl. I can’t cook or decorate. I’m not into fashion, or makeup, or hair. I don’t want to go to the American Girl café!” (I know, I’m stereotyping to the extreme, but my tendency towards self-doubt combined with pregnancy hormones led me down that path.)
My sister used to tell me that my tendency towards male friendships was going to need to change when I became an adult. I didn’t really understand. During my single years, I was part of a broad group of male and female colleagues who worked and partied together. Why couldn’t that just continue on?
But now I do understand. As a suburban mother, I’ve found it much harder to pal with the guys. It’s not just the obvious concerns of jealousy or inappropriate attention that separate us, but our disparate lifestyles. While I am lucky enough to have maintained some of my friendships with the former boys, now men, of my past, my position as mom brings me much more in contact with their wives, and new acquaintances are almost exclusively female – other moms, nannies, teachers and many of my fellow therapists. There is an occasional man in the mix, but not many.
Note, this is just an observation, not a complaint. I wish I was better at connecting with other women, because they are my compatriots. Women support each other with a sympathetic shoulder and an empathetic ear. They create opportunities for escape with babysitting coops, girls’ nights, book groups, and bunco. They bring you chicken soup when you’re sick, or better yet, offer carpools and sleepovers because they know when mom is sick, nothing can get done (and moms won’t stop unless they are forced to).
And I’ve learned something else recently. Namely, boys are gross. My son is now in first grade, which seems to be a high point for toilet humor. Words like “fart” and “poop” and even “toilet” send him into hysterics, and he will chant made-up verses with these words over and over.
He is messy and dirty, and does not understand the need for baths, toothbrushes, or combs, which apparently goes with the territory. One day he decided to cut (i.e. butcher) his own hair. I was mortified and called the teacher to explain why he looked so disheveled, but she hadn’t even noticed. His hair, with tufts sticking out here there and everywhere, matched the rest of the boys.
And his energy could fuel a small country. He has two speeds, fast and faster, and speaks at two levels, loud and louder. There is no longer any silence in my home until after bedtime.
I adore my son, but he doesn’t seem like the boys of my past, and I have changed too. Now I can’t wait for bright pink manicures and tea parties, ballet recitals, and yes, even trips to the American Girl café. I guess I’m growing up.
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