tamarjacobson

Night falls on a long day of nothing in particular. A bit of laundry, baking a chocolate cake and making dinner. A few emails for work and some Internet Scrabble with friends across the nation and the world. Mostly it is getting back into the routine that was disrupted with my travels to and from Atlanta to the NAEYC conference. The cats are pleased I'm home. They follow me around and sit close by whenever I seat myself somewhere: at my computer, in the living room, or on the porch. As I look around I notice Oscar and Mimi hunkered down around me here and there in a peaceful sphinx-like pose with eyes mostly closed. 

A couple of nights ago I dreamed that I was cut wide open and the pain was unbearable … but I knew all along that even though it was painful it was for my own good. The dream was powerful, vivid and felt real. It accompanied me during my waking hours these past two days. This evening I experience a sense of gratitude for this past year of grief. Grieving my mother's death, and my childhood pain has been excruciating. And still much of it lingers and rises up from time to time – though, not nearly as intensely as these past summer and early fall months.

And yet I am grateful for it. It has been a release of many pent-up and stifled feelings, and I am thankful for the thousands of tears I have shed. Indeed, my eyes look back at me in mirrors and photographs more clearly than I remember in the past, and I seem to walk with a back straightened, strengthened by newly acquired confidence and feelings of self-worth as a result of processing these emotions.

So, in this second count down to Thanksgiving, I am grateful for having the courage to allow myself to be split wide open.

My very first NAEYC conference was in Atlanta. I was terrified of the crowds, fast moving glass elevators that raced to the top of tens of stories, and the bright lights of the enormous hotels. I couldn’t believe I was there. As I sat in the sessions listening to the experts of that time, twenty-eight years ago, I wondered if one day I could be one of them. I was just setting out on my academic career and I craved intellectual stimulation, desperately drinking it in as if I had been roaming around a hot, dry desert for years without water. I acutely remember those days. I had stifled professional opinions inside me forever and I longed to passionately express all of them at once. I feared they would rush out of me uncontrollably, and I think at times they did. It was electric, terrifying, exhilarating and fun.

Now I am an elder in the field, often considered an expert in what I profess, and the pace is different: measured and patient. I listen closely to what people are saying about what they are thinking and feeling, and express my opinions only when necessary. And yet, as soon as I hit the old crowds and bright lights I feel appreciated and energetic. This time around I observe that when colleagues reunite joyfully with bright eyes and hugs, we share what we are up to and all seem to expect acknowledgement and appreciation for the meaningful work we are doing.

Yes indeed. I become even more convinced that we all need attention. In our small academic worlds work can get lonely and often goes unnoticed with each person in their own specialized area of expertise. Getting together at conferences is like a huge, warm support group, where we pat each other on the back, and express genuine pleasure at being together for a few, brief, hectic days.

As I fly home today, I am grateful for my colleagues, and to NAEYC for bringing us together from all parts of the nation and corners of the world. Countdown to Thanksgiving has begun!

 Picture Day!

 Yesterday I had my picture taken by a professional photographer. Jo was terrific! What an angel! She took pictures of me smiling, laughing, dubious, chatty, and serious. Even though it took her almost half of the one and a half hours we were together to help me relax into the process, I remained inwardly tense, cautious, and embarrassed the entire time.

I guess I really do not like having my picture taken. I realized it was all the attention that was being paid to me by a person standing in front of me with a camera that made me the most uncomfortable. Jo photographed me in every corner of the house and out in my yard. There were over a hundred photographs to choose from.

After Jo left I scrolled through them over and over again, and struggled to recognize the faces staring back at me. "Is this me?" I kept asking myself. This gray-haired older woman? There was just no way to deny the fact that I have aged. It was, in a way, devastating. I kept on wondering just how much life time I have left. I went to bed hoping that if I slept on it I would wake up and rediscover me in the morning.

But … no … there I was … again … staring out at me as I scrolled through the photographs. How on earth would I be able to choose just one picture for the cover of my forthcoming book? 

I know, I know. I hear you say out there:"You're only as old as you feel." But the reality is hard to deny. I simply have to face it. Young Tamarika is gone! 

And autumn has arrived.