JulieLeung.com: a life told in tidepools

We draw lines inside ourselves and don’t realize it. Or maybe we do. Perhaps we are gnostics, separating our bodies from our souls, disregarding and dismissing the discomforts. Or we were taught that etiquette requires us to say we are fine when we are not so we nod when asked “how are you?”. As we decide to keep secret what is happening to us, whether the changes come with childbirth or aging, accident or illness, as we run from the physical reality and pretend everything’s okay, we isolate ourselves, creating further separation and loneliness, both within and without.

Ronni at Time Goes By emphasized the need to share the experience of aging in her post Getting Old is Hard Redux:

What I was trying to get at in that post is that in keeping silent, keeping secret the changes in our capabilities, others have no knowledge or understanding of the physical part of growing old. I want to know what the older years before the old-old age of my neighbor and Aunt Edith are like. I want to know how accommodations to gradual changes are made. What was it like the day it became impossible to move the sofa or climb a ladder? And I’d like to know how these things affect people’s perspectives and beliefs on age and dying.

As Evelyn rightly points out, “how are you” is a greeting, not a request for information. But too much silence poorly serves everyone who is growing older. It’s all part of “what it’s really like to get older” that has been a mystery too long.

I never meant to suggest that we maintain a running commentary on every ache and pain – you are right, that’s boring. But health or, at least, capabilities do wane with age and in silence, we deny reality, pretending that we are just wrinkled kids when we are not.

I’m grateful Ronni wants to break the silence surrounding aging. Her mission is to take away the mystery. I too want to know what it is like. I want empathy and compassion, understanding and gratitude, appreciation and insight. I want to be prepared for what is to come. Those I love and I myself will undergo these changes. Someday I won’t be able to move a sofa or scrub the floor on my knees.

The aging has begun. Today I went to the dentist and I cried. It’s silly. I know. I cried because it required enormous effort to rearrange schedules and bring three young kids along for a teeth cleaning, effort I’d rather spend for something fun. When I finally stop to sit down, I’m in the dentist’s chair – not relaxing. But I also cried because I miss the days when I enjoyed the dentist. Now my teeth ache. They have stains. There are concerns.It’s not an easy in-and-out anymore. My dentist claims I’m not cleaning my teeth well. Yet I neglected my dental care for years of my youth and I didn’t have problems. I suppose this change is one of the first signs of aging.

After a day like today, spent contemplating my teeth, I could relate to Jory’s post describing how her body is like a Honda

I’ve had an interesting relationship with my body. In the past it has been a vehicle, like a beaten up Honda that I drove everywhere because it got me places. I never thought to maintain it, or give it premium gas, and when it rebelled and broke down I was often pissed at it and pushed it harder. During times of full-time employment I tended to drive it to dangerous levels. These days I am much more willing to admit that I live in it; I notice it much more.

I notice it too.

I look in the mirror and see my teeth. I see my hair with gray here and there. And I see wrinkles. I see my parents in the mirror. I remember my perception of them as a child, their fingers, feet and faces, and now when I see myself I see my mom and dad, in the ways the skin and bones have come together on my body over the years. But I’ve started to accept and welcome this resemblance. As a biologist, I see the simple fact of genetic inheritance, but I think I can see also a sense of humility and understanding growing in me emotionally.

So I enjoyed Tamar’s perspective:

I like to think that I am looking more like my father as I get older. I say to my newly acquired wrinkles: “Welcome.”

How can we welcome the changes that come? By realizing that they connect us to others, to our family and friends, to the past and the present. Too often we feel taboos. I know I have resisted describing aspects of my life. I have limits beyond which I refuse to blog. But sometimes I wonder whether revealing these secret sides of myself would help me and help others.

Childbirth brings its own changes to the body. After I had my first baby, I remember conspiring with a friend: we would write a book to tell other potential moms what no one had told us. We made our list. Even though I had taken classes and read books, I was surprised by the body I had after birth. Each woman’s experience is different. Yet I believe we all have pains and joys. The more we can share with each other, the more we can encourage each other as mothers. Annie Feighery in recent posts on preparing for childbirth and c-sections reminded me of Lisa Williams’ informative How does a scheduled birth feel?. Both of these bloggers are excellent resources as well as Liza Sabater’s [explicit] post on sex after childbirth, featuring an interview with her.

What do you wish you’d known about sex after having your baby? I was not at all prepared for how much stress. For an insomniac, the extra lack of sleep can be brutal —doubly brutal with a colicy child. Lack of sleep seriously inhibits your libido.

The sleep deprivation surprised and affected me, in a number of ways. And then I was surprised by my surprise: hadn’t I educated myself? Why wasn’t I prepared? Why didn’t anyone warn me?

One of the best-selling pregnancy books is titled What to expect when you’re expecting. We all want to know what to expect. Life has its curves and corners. Sometimes we have to go it alone. But as we break the patterns and taboos to talk about what’s happening inside us, emotionally, physically, spiritually, we discover we are not alone, and we bless other travellers who are beside, ahead or behind us in the journey of life. Thanks to Ronni, Tamar, Jory, Annie, Lisa, Liza and many others for breaking the taboos and speaking through the silence.

Dave Winer is a musician. Sure, he sings. But I’m using the term musician because it’s the best way I can find to describe how his words resonate and inspire. Like any musician – or any blogger or creative human being – he has his hit singles and his B-sides. This mp3 he made for the Pisa conference today is a rocker. It’s an instant classic. It’s a tune I’d be happy to play over and over until the ears ring. It’s got a good beat and you can dance to it. As all great hits do, it ends with the best part of the song, something to hum long after the music has ended. Here are some quotes I took with pencil and pad while listening (please correct me if I am wrong).

…all aspects of what we do are being driven away from centralization…[snip] everybody’s equally empowered to be creative…[snip]…Maybe we’re going back to the way things were before they were centralized. [snip] We all had to provide our own entertainment….[snip]…and didn’t we lose something when we all stopped being creative and we all started thinking you had to be somebody special, somebody extremely talented, or extremely beautiful in order to have the joy of being creative. And yeah, I think we did lose something. And I think we desperately need to get back to being creative because our world has problems that can only be solved by creativity and they need to be solved by all of us.

Dave’s passion to empower everyone to be creative, reminded me of the dialogue Doc and I had last week (Doc’s piece for Linuxjournal, my response, then Doc) and other conversations that came from his piece on the flat world. Belief in the bell curve logically leads to the conclusion that only the elite may create. Forget it, say the statistics: you’ll never make it. You’re not special enough. Just follow the factory, march with the masses, fit in with conformity. However, as Doc has mentioned in previous posts, blogging allows us to be ourselves. What I love about blogging is that it isn’t school. Instead it’s a great way to discover how the long, flat tail features plenty of original and brilliant individuals. Forget the bell curve and the mistaken conclusion that we have to be super-special to succeed, or even try. As Doc has said, we are all special: Let me add a term so syrupy I can’t believe I’m writing it: we are all also special. Meaning: all of us are valuable. All of us have something to contribute. Somewhere, somehow. Based on this podcast, I think Dave agrees. Imagine everyone empowered to create and share with each other: what potential!

This is the era of ordinary art, to quote Evelyn Rodriguez. This era of ordinary art is extraordinary, and exciting, as Dave described it. I’m grateful and I can’t wait to see what will come next… or at least what song Dave will sing on his next release ;-).

The simplest things are the most difficult for us to capture in words. Love. Beauty. Truth. Quality. Honor. Time. Faith. Not long after we begin an attempt to capture the meaning of these foundational concepts we find ourselves foundering. Each of these experiences is crystal clear. Articulating those experiences is the work of a reflective lifetime. – Tom Guarriello reflecting on John Maeda’s Simplicity blog.

I found Tom through his comment on my blog post and his post linking to Doc Searls and me. John Maeda will be here in Seattle next week, I heard from a friend..

While it’s not the best picture of Bainbridge Island, I thought the sunny day was a good opportunity to test the landscape mode on the camera and get a shot of the Olympic Mountains over Eagle Harbor as the ferry pulled toward Seattle.

I Love Bainbridge Island has been posting some beautiful pictures of this place we call home.

In a post on Bainbridge Buzz titled Thoughts on Prom Night, island counselor Michael Dorsey listed facts and statistics, legal and biological, concerning drugs, alcohol and sex. Continuing the conversation in the comments section, he suggested that perhaps we as parents encourage quick fixes to problems: our attitudes and practices with legal substances may promote the idea that drugs can solve our situations. While he is quick to mention that the roots of addictions are complex, his comments and specific mention of cough syrup, an over-the-counter-found-in-the-medicine-cabinet-standard caught me by surprise and got me thinking.

I don’t think we have cough syrup in the house. Oh, maybe we do. We have other bottles too on the cabinet shelf. From my family history and our desire to avoid extraneous substances or chemicals, I didn’t grow up taking medicine except occasional aspirin. But I do give my kids Motrin or Tylenol when they have a fever above 101. I don’t think I’m training them to take drugs to solve problems. Medicine can lower a fever and help a sick child feel more comfortable. I shouldn’t let them suffer. Michael Dorsey’s piece reminds me to continue in my caution, and to give out dosages only when necessary.

But I’m seeing a bigger application for me as a parent. Let’s face it: am I providing a good example? When I’m in a dilemma, feeling tired or exhausted, sure, I want a quick fix. Who doesn’t? Fortunately I’ve trained myself to turn to caffeine rather than other possibilities. But is that any better? I am in the middle of teaching myself new habits. I’m taking naps instead of pushing myself and trying to say “no” and “stop” when I feel life is going too far off course. Is drinking coffee and chomping chocolate any better than relying on a smoke of something or a gulp of liquor to get by? Even practices and attitudes that seem to be good can become dangerous. Exercise can be helpful and healthy but one can also become addicted and anorexic. Anxiety is anxiety, regardless of disguise.

I’m grateful to Michael Dorsey for the whack on the side of the head. What may matter more than my specific reaction to my stress – choosing to drink a latte instead of liquor, for example – is my stress itself. There’s nothing I can “take” to get a quick fix. Okay, maybe a nap. Taking a nap does help solve some problems, like my cranky attitude, headache or lack of energy.

But the danger may not be as much in what I do but in why I am doing it. Why do I want a quick fix? What’s hurting or frightening me? What is the truth of the situation? How does love fit into the picture, love of myself, love of others, love of God? Patience and grace may be better answers than any cup of coffee. Instead of grabbing something to satisfy the stressful emotions, I should instead open my hands and let go of what has grabbed me.

The only thing I can take to fix it is to take action in my own life. And I can take time to relax and unwind, time to reflect and seek spiritual and emotional refreshment, to get my mind and priorities realigned again. The dilemma won’t disappear, but I can strengthen myself enough to help me wait and wade through the mess, guided by God. I can take a step into freedom instead of fear, and teach my children to do the same.