Category Archives: deep thoughts

heartbroken

a rose is a rose is a rose

A few days ago I took a walk in the dark, late at night to clear my head of a few things. Within a few blocks I found myself at the site of my former garden. It was the first time I’d been to the site since saying good-bye a few months ago. I peered through a gap in the protective fence around the construction site. The earth there had been scraped clear by bulldozers. There was not one bit of evidence of what had been there before. I cried.

It’s hard to acknowledge how deeply it broke my heart to lose my garden. I’m feeling it especially acutely this spring as I ache to have my hands in warm soil and to sow seeds.

I have so much else to keep me busy right now that there is little time to dwell on what I’ve lost. But there are those moments when it still hurts deeply. And I am grateful that I’m still surrounded by plants (in pots) to remind me of the magic of spring, even if I won’t be celebrating the blossoms of my peach tree this year.  Recently a friend brought me a plant that has flowers that close each evening and open again in the morning.  I love the symbolism of that–to know that there are those dark nights when things are closed and tight.  Yet soon enough there is the morning again: a time to be open and feel the sun.

catharsis and emergence (through ritual)

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For a long time I’ve wondered what to do with my wedding dress. It had severe mildew stains so it was unwearable. And certainly since the divorce it seemed like something that I would never want to wear again. I kept pulling it out of the closet and looking at it, wondering if I should simply toss it. But I kept thinking that it would work far better to do some sort of art project with it. I loved the dress and its simple lace–a reproduction of an Edwardian garden party dress. The ‘romantic’ within me knew that I couldn’t simply cast it into a trash bin.

At the same time, I’ve been yearning for some sort of ritual to bring closure to my marriage. I had planned some spectacular way to throw my wedding rings into the Back Bay, but it just didn’t feel right. So it seemed more apropos to use the dress for my ritual. And I also knew that it needed to involve the ocean. My ocean. My beach. Near where John proposed and where we created all of our family memories of the Balboa FunZone, kayaking, and bonfires. As these ideas percolated around in my brain, a plan came together. And a photographer-friend was as delighted to be a part of this ritual as I was to perform it.

That we did this the day after the tsunami, when the ocean water was still roiling with storm, was coincidence that turned into something meaningful. The currents came from Japan and touched our shores–just as in my cross-cultural marriage to a Japanese-American man. All of that connecting, all tugging at each of us, all testifying to the sometimes-destructive tide of relationships pulling us towards each other and then apart again…

I thought this might be a somber occasion.  I thought I might cry, or even feel loss and anger.  Instead, I was ebullient. Emerging feeling washed clean of the ugliness that came from the end of my relationship.  Stepping out of the sea alone and full of joy, flower petals scattered along my path…

[flickrslideshow acct_name=”pilgrimgirl” id=”72157626352812872″]

connection

Japanese

Because my children are each one-quarter Japanese I have a powerful connection to that land and culture.

So of course I am aching today along with so many of you. Wishing that there was something to be done to alleviate the suffering of so many.

Doll pictured above was a wedding gift from my former mother-in-law.  She still sits prominently in my living room.  Photo taken by AlanaK

let me count the ways…

mornings, with coffee

Many people have asked me whether I’ll return to the Mormon church now that John isn’t in my life (this probably stems from the assumption made by many people that I only left the church to please John–which is wrong on so many counts, including the one where he recently blamed me for pushing our family out of the church too quickly when I was finally done with it)…

So this morning (a typical morning) I thought it would be an interesting exercise to count all of the ways I violated Mormon commandments before I even got into the office.  Because I don’t live a Mormon lifestyle or even make any pretense of doing so:

1) I awoke wearing a tank top and short-shorts, and proceeded to bare my shoulders and thighs all morning long to anyone who happened to be looking through my windows.

2) At various times I entertained  four five fifteen several lewd thoughts.

3) As per my morning ritual, I brewed myself some coffee and drank two cups full, while basking in the sunshine on my living room rug (in immodest clothing, see #1) and doing yoga.

4) When I got dressed for work I put on a bra (next to my skin), underpants, and a sleeveless shirt (see #1), in addition to pants, socks and shoes.

5) I got a favorite bottle of wine out of the cupboard and licked it. (since I don’t drink in the mornings. Sheesh–just how depraved to think I am?).

6) Upon receiving a humorous text message from a friend, I burst out into laughter.

7) After my shower, I rubbed some lotion on to my new tattoo.

8) Although I abstained from drinking any morning tea, I did throw a new box of black tea into my purse to take to work for drinking later in the day.

9) While driving through some heinous traffic, I sang along to a song on the radio that had the dirty words omitted, but I sang them out loud anyways.

valedictorian

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I wasn’t the valedictorian of my high school. In fact, I wasn’t even close. If I remember correctly, I barely even made the top 100 out of a graduating class of about 600. But for some reason, these past few years, I’ve attempted to be the valedictorian of just about everything I do. To be the valedictorian of homemade healthy meals cooked with plenty to share with the neighbors. To be the valedictorian of the organized university administrator who can work well with my cohort and solve “big problems.” To be the valedictorian of divorce–sailing through it easily and moving on to the rest of my life. To be the valedictorian of athletic endeavor, where I work tirelessly and am a stellar team player. To be the valedictorian of leaving the Mormon church, showing that it’s possible to walk away and be a values-led person despite no longer believing in God/Jesus/magical underpants.

<sigh>

So I think for awhile, I’ll just try to be the valedictorian of cozy socks, fireplaces, and afternoon naps instead.  Something tells me that I might just be really (really really) good at all of that, too.

Picture taken on a recent beachside retreat.  Aren’t those just the cutest valedictorian-worthy socks ever?

scholarly (or not)…

When I host parties, I like to mix up old invitations between old and new acquaintances.  So whenever anyone new arrives at the door, I make them endure a round of introductions wherein I typically introduce my friends by their graduate school affiliations.  Over time, I’ve come to realize that intro-ing my friends by their scholarly identities is pretty snobby of me, because it tends to marginalize those of my friends who aren’t in academia.  So at my last party I attempted to make introductions in a new vein, and it was far harder for me to do.

The thing is, I don’t think my academically-inclined friends are any more brilliant or interesting than any of my other friends.  But I think I’ve moved in academic circles for so long, that I’ve fallen into this habit–we tend to define ourselves by our field and our institutional affiliation.  And perhaps most significantly, as someone who is a nontraditional student, I worked so hard to get me some academic credibility that I think I probably wear it too boldly on my sleeve.  I don’t do so to raise myself above anyone else, but to acknowledge my own journey from housewife to scholar.  It’s been a hard-earned path.

As I’ve considered the qualities I’d like to have in future romantic partners, I’m weighing the pros and cons of dating other academics.  While it’s nice to be with someone who can understand the tensions and pleasures of my research, I wonder if it makes more sense to pursue a relationship with someone outside the ivory tower?  Because it could allow for more balance in a life that’s already rather stress-filled with writing deadlines, grant applications, and teaching (not to mention the pressures of simply finding a job!). On a related note, I’ve found Kelly’s list about what she’s looking for to be rather helpful in my considerations, but it doesn’t mention career paths specifically.

What do you think, internets?  Is it best to choose a partner who follows a similar career path, or one who is different (but complementary)?

to the shores of your own choosing…

harbor mouth with the nose of my boat
Over the years I’ve signed up on a lot of mailing lists and sometimes get rather surprising emails in my inbox from some long-forgotten blog or listserv. That happened this morning, when I received a V-Day email from Magpie Girl (Rachelle Mee-Chapman). I clicked through to her link, sinking some inspiration for my day and my week. I found a poem and a blessing. What struck me most were these words:

In this time of great upheaval
when the seas shift beneath you
may you find your own deep balance
lying there betwixt your ears,
behind your breastbone,
warm in the core of your belly.

And may you stand in prow of your own ship,
guiding your self-christened vessel,
to shores of you own choosing
where a peaceful story awaits you,
and sometimes, a star.

This past week I’ve been considering what I most want out of my life right now and in the near future. Perhaps what surfaces the most easily when I ask this question is that I don’t want to be hurt. I want a soft cozy bubble of protection all around me to keep me from more pain. And I’ve been surrounding myself with soft cozy things as a manifestation of this: a plush rug, a new flannel bathrobe, a snuggly blanket, my Elly-kitty, etc.

But of course it’s not enough to simply want not be hurting. First of all, I know I need to keep moving forward with my life, and while there are times to wrap up in a blanket and just be, I know I can’t do this for very long. I need to keep seeking new opportunities, to make progress towards my goals, to keep myself open to what the universe has in store for me. Second of all, I know all the blankets in the world can’t protect me from more pain. Pain will happen. (That famous quotation: “Life is pain, your highness,” rings so loudly in my ears right now…).

Perhaps that’s why I love the image above of ‘standing at the prow of my own ship.’ I know what it means to be the steersman for my own canoe, and to listen to the wind and water and adjust my course accordingly. I don’t have any concrete examples to follow in where I’m going right now. I have only the dimmest outline of some island-goal ahead, and no compass at hand. I’m seeking counsel from friends and family, but for the most part I’m figuring this out myself–and I’m the only one who can do this. I don’t have to negotiate or compromise or apologize anymore. But I do have to dig my paddle in and make some decisions about where to point the nose of my boat.

Some days I even find myself turning around 180 degrees from the goal of the day before, but I do think, I’m making progress and figuring it out.  I suspect that if I had a GPS-charted map for my life right now I’d see a lot of zig-zagging (and a few circles), but overall I’m headed in the right direction.

snapshots of my week…

Last night we celebrated Le Chandeleur, a holiday with traditional religious underpinnings, but for us was a reminder to note the first signs of spring.  After an especially dramatic ‘winter’ at the Remy household, this was a lovely way to celebrate the return of the light.  And as is traditional, we celebrated with crepes (the one below being a ricotta-raspberry crepe, but we also made some equally yummy lemon-curd & fresh strawberry crepes):

The new semester began at Chapman last week so I’ve been far busier than usual. It feels good to have much to do, but it’s also overwhelming at times. Especially when we have major systems fail, as we did the first day of classes (ugh). Fortunately, I’m learning better how to troubleshoot problems with my IT team, and am becoming a better administrator:

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And to combat stress, I’m exercising everyday, including some paddling on the weekend with my team (Go Imua!).   I also did some impressive weightlifting with friends on Monday and my regular rock climbing stint on Wednesday:

With some of the residual stress from Toby’s death, I haven’t been terribly productive on my dissertation this week. However I do plan to work on it as much as possible this weekend, in addition to visits with friends both new and old. I’m finding that it’s important for me to make plans to look forward to–especially as those seed catalogs come in the mail and I remember (again and again) that I don’t have a garden to prep this spring, nor do I have my wee kitten to cozy up with in my big purple chair. In the past, the garden was what helped me keep death in perspective. When Paul, Sara, Linda, grandma, and Madge died–that garden kept me whole. I am missing that so much right now, because there’s so much hope in every peach blossom bud (and I still simply can’t believe that my peach tree is gone now, but I never have been able to face that patch of bare earth since the garden was razed)…

bud

to take what is given…

star daisy

An excerpt from “Daisies” by Mary Oliver:

…What do I know.
But this: it is heaven itself to take what is given,
to see what is plain; what the sun
lights up willingly; for example–I think this
as I reach down, not to pick but merely to touch–
the suitability of the field for the daisies, and the
daisies for the field.

After realizing how my skewed “sunny-side up” view of the world contributed to the breakup of my marriage (because I simply wasn’t able to see what was in front of my eyes since I was so comfortable in my own view of the world), I decided I should probably tone down my rosy-colored outlook. It seemed that I would be better served by having a more realistic, perhaps even more somber, perspective. I began to wonder if I even really felt the events of my breakup, since even in the dark times so many moments of beauty came bubbling through. And even in the midst of those first few awful days, I could still see so much good on the horizon. What was wrong with me, I wondered, that I didn’t cry and scream and yell and melt into a ball of sorrow? Instead, I wandered gardens and embraced friends and enjoyed my children.

My insistence on optimism is a long-honed skill that stems from the difficulties of living with a disability and the residue of having survived cancer, as well as a variety of other personal setbacks. I simply can’t seem to sit in the midst of a storm without seeing a silver lining. I deliberately choose happiness over sorrow, every time. Like the poem fragment above, I believe in “taking what is given” and seeing the light, whatever difficulties are thrown my way.

But I don’t sit around with my head in the sand denying life’s cruelties, either.  For example, for my dissertation research I purposefully chose to study the awfulness of life.  Children suffering from horrific incurable diseases.  Scores of soldiers dying for want of care.  I pore over case studies of bodies mangled by machinery, or injured by the foolishness of quack remedies.  I hold these stories in my heart, trying to make sense of a world where people suffer so often and so deeply (and, so needlessly)…

But I think you can know the awful and still see the beauty.  Which reminds me of a favorite quote from The Man of La Mancha:

When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? Perhaps to be too practical is madness. To surrender dreams — this may be madness…Too much sanity may be madness — and maddest of all: to see life as it is, and not as it should be!