My Wonderful Son (WS) is off on his adventure today. This morning he left for Singapore, a two-week trip on his own.
As with much of parenthood, this is a bittersweet moment. Yes, I'm happy we've raised a son who's independent and brave enough to discover the world. Just as with the first day of kindergarten, there is the achievement of reaching the milestone, but a reminder of how fast they have grown. Eleven years ago we took WS on his first trip to Europe; his first taste of escargot, playing in Sherwood Forest and skipping rocks in the Lake District. That trip was also the first time we travel out of the country as a family; something I had dreamed about, but wasn't sure we could achieve.
As WS was getting ready, it was hard setting aside the Mom-ness - "Do you have your passport? Did you pack your allergy medicine? Do you have enough sunblock?" Even though I know no matter how much you prepare, there will always be bumps in the road (or crying babies in the cabin). The most important travel skill is dealing with the unexpected. No guidebook or jet lag pill can give you common sense on the road. For just like walking, it's a skill you have to learn for yourself.
Bon voyage Son. Have fun and take chances. Show the world that some Americans love Al-Jazeera and won't let patriotism act like a blindfold. We're proud of you.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
Dusting off the blog
Welcome back.
That was directed to both you, dear reader, and myself.
This project took as respite as life resumed to "normal;" working (teaching) and getting son off to college, home improvements... life.
Then life gave me a wake up call.
One ordinary morning this Spring, I was on my way to work with neither coffee nor lunch - not a pleasant situation. I stepped into Starbucks to correct both issues and hovered over the sandwiches. "I don't like chicken salad with tarragon, the tuna looks dry, the egg salad could kill me..." Without the caffeine, my decision making skills were nil. It was several agonizing minutes before my lunch was decided upon.
As I turned to get into the coffee line, a gentleman motioned for me to go ahead of him. He was a normal, docker-wearing guy - wire-frame glasses, fresh haircut, button-down shirt. The kind of fellow that mom would approve of. Nothing out of the ordinary. I deferred his offer to cut in front of him by saying, "That's ok, I don't know what I want." To which he replied,
"You don't know what you want out of life?"
"Uhhh.....no.... yes, no... I mean... I don't know what coffee I want... no really, go ahead."
The now cruel, but ordinary looking man shrugged and went ahead. Meanwhile, I was shaken to my very core. "What do I want out of life? What am I doing with my life? What kind of sick bastard would ask someone such an existential question before they had coffee?" By the time I had gotten to the barista, not only did I still not know what I wanted but felt like I was thrown into some supernatural scene from the 90's show "Northern Exposure."
After I fumbled my order and paid for my latte and sandwich, I saw the gentleman leave. I was starting to wonder if I hallucinated the whole scene, but seeing him leave with his grande drip coffee struck me even more. He wasn't some stoner, or punk, or Mr. Anti-Establishment. He was a Mr. Ordinary asking an extraordinary question.
As I continued my walk to work, wondering how I could possibly carry on with an ordinary day with such questions rattling in my brain, the answer came to me as clear as a bell:
"I want to travel and I want to write."
This hasn't been an easy thing for me to accept. On some level I feel like an eight-year-old wishing for a pony and wanting to be a ballerina. Sure, honey, good luck with that. Who wouldn't want to travel and write?
Ironically, I have traveled out the country since this blog last updated - twice. In both cases, I considered posting updates with "wish-you-were-here" type of antidotes, but I didn't. Keeping up a blog while traveling is work; work that would keep me away from the experiences of travel. (And I am not the only one facing this conundrum.)
What was missing was the writing component. Over the last several months I have taken some classes and workshops with Lighthouse Writer's Workshop. I am still forming ideas, and taking one-step at a time. But if I want to write... maybe I should be writing.. something.
So here we are. Thanks for coming along.
That was directed to both you, dear reader, and myself.
This project took as respite as life resumed to "normal;" working (teaching) and getting son off to college, home improvements... life.
Then life gave me a wake up call.
One ordinary morning this Spring, I was on my way to work with neither coffee nor lunch - not a pleasant situation. I stepped into Starbucks to correct both issues and hovered over the sandwiches. "I don't like chicken salad with tarragon, the tuna looks dry, the egg salad could kill me..." Without the caffeine, my decision making skills were nil. It was several agonizing minutes before my lunch was decided upon.
As I turned to get into the coffee line, a gentleman motioned for me to go ahead of him. He was a normal, docker-wearing guy - wire-frame glasses, fresh haircut, button-down shirt. The kind of fellow that mom would approve of. Nothing out of the ordinary. I deferred his offer to cut in front of him by saying, "That's ok, I don't know what I want." To which he replied,
"You don't know what you want out of life?"
"Uhhh.....no.... yes, no... I mean... I don't know what coffee I want... no really, go ahead."
The now cruel, but ordinary looking man shrugged and went ahead. Meanwhile, I was shaken to my very core. "What do I want out of life? What am I doing with my life? What kind of sick bastard would ask someone such an existential question before they had coffee?" By the time I had gotten to the barista, not only did I still not know what I wanted but felt like I was thrown into some supernatural scene from the 90's show "Northern Exposure."
After I fumbled my order and paid for my latte and sandwich, I saw the gentleman leave. I was starting to wonder if I hallucinated the whole scene, but seeing him leave with his grande drip coffee struck me even more. He wasn't some stoner, or punk, or Mr. Anti-Establishment. He was a Mr. Ordinary asking an extraordinary question.
As I continued my walk to work, wondering how I could possibly carry on with an ordinary day with such questions rattling in my brain, the answer came to me as clear as a bell:
"I want to travel and I want to write."
This hasn't been an easy thing for me to accept. On some level I feel like an eight-year-old wishing for a pony and wanting to be a ballerina. Sure, honey, good luck with that. Who wouldn't want to travel and write?
Ironically, I have traveled out the country since this blog last updated - twice. In both cases, I considered posting updates with "wish-you-were-here" type of antidotes, but I didn't. Keeping up a blog while traveling is work; work that would keep me away from the experiences of travel. (And I am not the only one facing this conundrum.)
What was missing was the writing component. Over the last several months I have taken some classes and workshops with Lighthouse Writer's Workshop. I am still forming ideas, and taking one-step at a time. But if I want to write... maybe I should be writing.. something.
So here we are. Thanks for coming along.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
