tamarjacobson

My publisher recently interviewed me for a future, featured slot on their website to promote my latest book. They wrote to me with a bunch of questions and I sat thinking about and writing out my responses over the course of a few days. The one that I found the hardest to answer had to do with what might be on my "bucket list." In fact, I completed all the other questions and still could not think of anything at all to say about my wish list. Finally, I managed to write this response:

This question always baffles me. I think if I am honest with myself I have always tried to follow my heart personally and professionally. This hasn’t always been easy, and as a result I have at times made poor life decisions. On the other hand, I think I have mostly reached out with enthusiasm and excitement, and grasped opportunities that came my way. This included different relationships, as well as travel, academic and scholarly prospects. As a result, I don’t really feel like I have a bucket list, because while I have become more responsible and cautious as I become older, I am still fortunate enough to be able to seize interesting or intriguing opportunities that might come my way. I guess, though, it would be fun to be interviewed by Oprah!

When I woke up this morning the air was clear and cool and I decided to go for a long walk. I set out and soon my mind became lost in thought. It strayed back to the question of my bucket list and I thought about being interviewed by Oprah – something I had joked about at the end of my response in the interview question. I imagined sitting on the stage with her and she asked me questions about my book. Very soon, she was asking me about my relationship with my mother, because I describe some hurtful interactions between her and me in my book, and how that affected the way I viewed myself for many years. Now the interview with Oprah became intense, and my stray thoughts turned into a full blown day dream. I almost blurted out aloud on my walk as I heard myself fervently stating to Oprah and her audience,

"No! On the contrary," I exclaimed. "I adored my mother. I loved her with a passion. I admired her for the charismatic and large-as-life person she was. She was a voracious reader and taught me to love plants and flowers. She had an amazing sense of humor and a huge, healthy appetite for food, life and travel. She was a non conformist and quite irreverent, which made me think critically, largely and widely about everything and everyone. She was shockingly intolerant and did not suffer fools. It took courage to have the opinions she had in the small, provincial town we lived in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe). She followed her heart no matter what, and voiced her opinions no matter how they offended people. My issue was never that I did not love her. No! I adored her. My issue was that I longed – yearned – for her to love me back as passionately, and make me a priority from time to time. I longed for her acknowledgement, and felt lacking in so many ways." 

I began to weep silently as I dreamed of my interview with Oprah. It had become intense and almost real. My statement during my reverie was exactly what I felt. I laid out for myself the relationship with my mother clearly and absolutely. By this time, my walk had taken me up to the beginning of Chestnut Hill and I was startled out of my day dream when my husband came up beside me in his car. He was smiling. "Want a ride the rest of the way, honey?" he asked sweetly. I climbed into the car and as we drove together to the center of town for brunch, I wiped away the tears and beamed at him. I had lived out my bucket list wish in my mind on the walk up to town. I felt full of love for my mother, and I thought to myself that in March when it is the second anniversary of her death I want to visit the grave and tell her just how much I had loved her.

Being in a phased retirement program at my university has helped me experience what it will be like to be fully retired from my faculty and academic position next June. Indeed, each year for the past two years and including this academic year coming up, I have leave from the university from December through September. While I have continued to write a book and article, facilitate professional development workshops for teachers, and present at regional and national conferences, I have not had to teach students or attend department meetings during that time. So, to all intents and purposes I have been slowly phasing into retirement. It has been interesting to be sure. The pace of my life toned down away from the intense life pitch of years gone by. In the beginning it took a bit of getting used to. I found myself anxious at times when I did not have the usual running around schedule of full-time work outside the home. Slowly but surely, though, I got into the new rhythm, and now enjoy it very much.

This morning during yoga exercises and meditation, I suddenly realized that retiring from my full-time work does not mean I am retiring from me. I am not my work. I am me. Retired or not – I will always be me. It sounds almost like a cliche, and for some this might be a given or superfluous for me to say. For me, though, it felt like a large discovery – an epiphany. Indeed, it made me smile out loud in the midst of deep breathing as I sat crosslegged in an almost lotus posture. There was a gentle breeze through the window that brushed my head and hair as I straightened my back feeling as if someone was pulling the back of my head upward toward the sky. It was thrilling. I am and always will be me complete with my beliefs, interests, desires, ideas, emotions, relationships, interactions, activities, loves, anxieties, creativity, intensities – all! My self worth is not tangled up with a pay check or business card. I cannot imagine I will stop traveling around the country or world sharing my passion with other early childhood educators. Instead, I will do it as me, not as belonging to thus and such institution, but I will always be my own kind of institution. Just an ordinary human being connected to many others through community – or communities as a citizen of the world – a citizen of humanity. I felt a different kind of energy for the rest of today. Warm and exciting, as if I had discovered something very special, precious, and important.

Last weekend a dear friend made a party for me, my family and friends, in order to celebrate the launch of my new book, which came out last month in Texas. It was a beautiful affair – classy, warm, friendly, and shiny with people dressed up, all of whom had come to celebrate and support my accomplishment. My friend had made all the delicious food herself, and there was much happiness in the room. As I stood and read a passage from the book, and answered questions that people asked, I spoke as me – not as a professor who belonged to any specific institution. I shared my thoughts and feelings openly and with full heart with people, who were genuinely interested, loving and supportive.

It is hard for me to express my gratitude for my friend, Helen, who made this beautiful party for me, for I think it helped me celebrate not only the launch of my new book, but also the beginning of a new journey for me – one, that I am excited to embark upon. I feel strengthened and supported by a vibrant and caring community, and look forward to ending my academic position but never retiring from me.

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Pay attention to children with an open heart