Stories

Last weekend, I shared my 'story' with someone. My life story; the whole thing, birth to present. It took a long time, honestly, more than an hour and a half. I had never before done it all in one go. This person had specifically set up our lunch date to hear my story - no one had ever asked before, and I found myself eager to share it.

I'm not really sure where this eagerness came from. Maybe it's a secret fear that (I hope) we all have, that we'll be forgotten after our moment in time is over. We're all just blinks in the universe's eye. Are we making an impact? Does anyone or anything care? I have answered those questions for myself, but it is still daunting and overwhelming to ponder upon your potential legacy. What will you leave behind? Who will remember? Will your name still be known in three generations?

Telling my story was an emotional drain. Not because I find my story particularly dramatic, but because I was processing my entire life as I was telling it. The most interesting part for me was realizing later who and what I included, and who and what I left out. There are parts of my life that have felt mountain-shattering, that have ripped me apart and made me feel like I would never be able to tell which way was 'up' ever again. There have been times of extremely negative and overwhelmingly positive emotions; there have been times I have given up; there have been moments of triumph and pride; there have been people I have loved, I have betrayed, and others who have done the same to me. Some of these things and people didn't even get a footnote in my story the way I told it. Others, unexpectedly, got full chapters.

Listening to my own story unfold (through my own eyes, I should add) reminded me that maturity is a long road, and I hesitate to say I'll ever be an upstanding human specimen at the rate I am going. I don't say that in a self-depreciating way; I say that because I really believe there are always things one can be doing to better oneself.  Listening to my story reminded me of where I came from and who I have been. It reminded me how I have already grown quite a bit, sometimes by leaps and bounds over short periods of time. I think I'm closer to the person I would like to become than I was five years ago. Hopefully I'll continue in the right direction as my life progresses. I wonder what changes will occur in the way I tell my story as it continues.

A day later, I sat on the bus. It was a long ride to my destination, so I brought my book. I was clearly engrossed (or so I thought), when someone asked to sit next to me. He was probably in his mid- to late-thirties, and although he didn't look disheveled he gave the vibe of someone who was probably on the outskirts of society. Someone who had probably been put there against his own wishes, I would also guess. He started asking me about the weather. I nodded and smiled my appreciation of the sun on my face. He asked about the Seattle Public Library. I said I liked it. He mentioned his Kindle. I smiled. After each of these brief interactions, I put my head back down into my book. He quietly moved away from me to an adjacent seat just a few stops before I got off the bus.

As I exited, I realized how selfish I had been. I am not saying that I should have dropped everything and engaged this man in conversation...but why not? Why didn't I? He was clearly looking for someone to talk to. Maybe he has no one to talk to. Maybe no one has ever asked his story.

I think never telling your story to anyone, because they don't want to listen, is probably as draining as telling your story. Except the former hurts more, because those questions of what your life means in the universe are probably (erroneously) pointing towards one thing: nothing.

If this post comes off as depressing, I apologize. I just found it odd how these two, mirrored events occurred within 36 hours of each other. This post is really meant to say that your story is important, and you should tell it. In pieces, all at one time, whatever you want. Just share it with others. It's what connects us as humans, and it is what reminds us that we're all struggling with the same problems: selfishness, pride, control, fear, love, heartbreak, greed, lust, and the great unknown.

Before the end of the year, I would like to really challenge you all to ask someone their story. Maybe a parent or a friend, maybe a stranger. Maybe they will not know what to say and laugh it off, maybe they will get defensive and ask why, but maybe they will tell you. And we should listen.

Thankful for all of your beautiful souls. Thankful that you've all been a part of my life so far. Stick around, ok?

A Week of Caretaking, Pt. 1-- Mother's Day

This has been an interesting week for me in North Carolina that I'd like to share with you all. I usually keep them a little too busy, I now recognize, and am in the process of cutting back. Perhaps this post is to replace what silence I have had toward this blog, and perhaps the lack of continuity I've had in trying to create skype dates.

And so there's really, way too much to express. I live a life filled with experiences that I want to share with you all, though every time I get down to talking about it, I don't want to overwhelm. Perhaps I'll split this up into three posts based on the core quest that I am pursuing: how to take care of people throughout your own pursuits. I'll address today, Chief Care-taking day of them all, I guess, and work backward through my week, unpacking it as I go... I think three over the next week should be a nice compromise between the two.

So, hey, today is mother's day, a day when we celebrate one of our chief care-takers. It's a day filled with early brunches, extended movies, kids jumping headlong onto a sleeping mother's mattress with stuffed animals or a homemade card to share, single mothers taking each other out for lunch (that may or may not be happening with my mom right now). Sons and daughters flock to florists, gift shops, or their own creativity to give back to their mothers in swoops.

I did a little of the same, maybe even too much. I took advantage of my current proximity to home, and showered my mom with a breakfast (sprouted whole wheat grain pancakes with bananas and chocolate chips, an omelette of tomato, spinach, onions and mozzarella, and a kiwi-strawberry-blueberry fruit salad). Next up: flowers tonight and a showing of Wicked this Thursday at the Durham Performing Arts Center.

A bit egregious, but while I'm here, why not overdo it a little? ;-)

But it's interesting that I do, because for me, though, this is a day that has typically been very confusing to me for a number of reasons. My mother was my daily chief care-taker throughout 12 years of my life, simply because of divorce circumstances. Living in a fractured family confused me whenever mother or father's day rolled around. I was not part of a normal family, but the rest of the world seemed to be that way. It maybe even put a little more pressure on me to fulfill because I didn't have the other adult helping me out in celebrating the other. For some reason, though, the act of taking care of me and my brother Rehan became what bound us all together despite the civil disputes and low blows. Love and caring became how each mother and father's day had some semblance of normalcy (I've since figured out being normal is not as cracked up as it seems). My life has been devoted to creating positive relationships with each of them so as to make each life in their own respect peaceful, to perhaps comfort all of us that it was for the best in the end.

But that is perhaps a story for another time.

Mother's day: I should celebrate today in wild fashion to help acknowledge my mother's sacrifice toward raising me and my brother single handedly, though I've always still had qualms with the concept of just a one Mother's/Father's day; parents to me deserve at least one small celebration per day. Why should we decide to set aside one day for an intentional mother/father's day? Why can't we honor our mother on a daily basis? Why isn't this an accepted practice?

I will say, this notion comes from my own upbringing as a Jew. The 9th commandment in our statutes says, more or less, to honor your father and mother. The implication is that it does not stop after a holiday, or after you transition home from school. Perhaps it is my Jewishness that keeps me an inquisitor, an anthropologist.

Hand it to Judaism to lay down the guilt complex, and they'll go above and beyond the call.

Though, I now recognize how difficult it is to devote time every day to my mother even though I live with her. We keep to our own agendas-- mine with my volunteer social work/whole foods wage laborer/oral history enthusiast/Judaism/creativity/dialogue work, her with her dog training and care-taking/global health research/home-owner stress/mom of the fam role/modern family addiction. Whenever our calendars coincide, we break out a glass of wine to toast the occasion. As she says, habitually, "us Blooms are people of action," but try as we might, our actions are not always able to focus in on each other. With time, I don't think this busyness will go away, no matter how much I wish it to.

And so I took time this morning to slice the tomatoes, to skin the kiwis, to press her coffee. I'm a giver by nature, and so this comes naturally, and I felt good while I did it, even though my head was also tuned into the resources I had to compile for the facilitation training I'm giving this Tuesday. She told me this was a "bang "of a breakfast. I saw it, instead, as being active in taking care. Maybe next year I'll be able to give the small things every day, but for today, in the unsteadiness of a wanderer's life, I decided to focus deeply on caring for the woman who literally built me into who I am. This will be my celebration this year, and I will set an intention till next Mother's Day to do the small things each day as well.

Perhaps this is also what Mother's Day is beginning to mean to me: take a day to celebrate, to give out, in an effort to replenish for a year of snipetted love.

Regardless, I hope you all had a meaningful day of taking care of your mothers, in whatever context or whatever capacity you were able.

And, perhaps more broadly, here's to the love that we received and continue to receive unconditionally, from the lovers that span our lives. I'm thankful for all of you who give care to me whenever it is possible, and I can't wait to indulge in another year of care-taking and taking care :-)

*It would still be my honor, to be your new stepfather...*