tamarjacobson

[New Yorker cartoon]

Yesterday I was out in my yard raking leaves. It was a brisk, cold day and it became quite strenuous as I threw myself into the task eagerly negotiating the wind whirling the leaves up and around me as I raked. At the same time I was thinking about what I had been writing in my book. My thoughts drifted back and forth and around and about seemingly uncontrollably, just like those swirling leaves. In fact thoughts go from one to another associatively latching onto memories that make us think of something else and then something different again. It felt as if my thoughts had no direct or organized sequence. And yet, somehow, when I reviewed them later I was able to understand how I went from swirling leaves to an understanding about my childhood relationship with my mother. In fact, it felt a bit like a revelation. Like one that I had not had so clearly before. For surely there have been many times I had thought about our relationship in the past. However, this time seemed different. I was reminded of a few lines from a poem by T. S. Eliot:

We shall not cease from exploration

And at the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know that place for the first time.

Suddenly in the middle of pushing the leaves into a large pile I was overcome with grief and almost doubling over in pain I stopped what I was doing, leaned on the rake and wept for a few minutes. It occurred to me then and there that when I was a very young child I loved my mother very much. I adored her. I loved how she looked and smelled. I most especially loved her hands. They were strong, firm and, in my eyes, the most beautiful hands I had ever seen. In fact, when I was eight while my mother was in hospital giving birth to my younger brother, I insisted on staying at a friend of hers because the friend’s hands resembled my mother’s. As I cried out there holding onto the rake, I realized that I have been missing her for a very long time.

Our relationship has been difficult with many challenging moments between us. However, loving her was never my problem. I realized that my problem was that I always felt that I was not her priority. More than that, I felt as if she wanted to be anywhere else, or with anyone else rather than with me. The only way I can describe the feeling is as if she was my lover but always dreaming of being with someone else while she was with me. At the same moment as I felt that old childhood pain rise up in me as if out of nowhere, I realized instantly that in my personal life I had always seemed to choose life partners who made me feel the way I felt with my mother: unloved and unwanted. Hence, a number of failed marriages ensued throughout my life. It was almost as if I had needed to repeat that feeling of wanting someone more than they wanted me or loving someone more than they loved me, over and over again. What a revelation!

Looking back, in reality, my mother did not mean not to focus on me. I was the fourth of five siblings and was born in the midst of three marriages. When I came along, her life was full of complexity and anxiety. She remarried when I was four and most of her energy and attention had to go into her new marriage and youngest son at the time. In addition, my mother was still caring for my three older siblings and negotiating relationships with her two former husbands: my father and the father of my older siblings. Unintentionally, I fell through the tracks. There just was not enough emotional availability or time for me. Today, as an adult, this understanding helps me forgive my mother. She did not mean for me to feel that way. She did the very best she could with what she had under difficult conditions. I realize now that she loved me. Life just got in the way!

Not only did my early childhood relationship with my mother affect my personal life choices, it also influenced my relationship with children. I understand why I have always cared so deeply for children who felt marginalized or unloved. More than that, I have always been very good at managing those kinds of children many teachers consider problematic. Somehow I identified with their pain, longing, or feelings of exclusion. I seemed to speak their emotional language. This sudden understanding that came upon me as I raked leaves in my yard surprised me. For, at age 58 I thought I had worked out and resolved most of my relationship challenges with my mother. I have been researching my self since my early twenties personally and professionally. I realized there is still more to uncover. Researching the self takes time, maybe forever!

Dear Commenters,

Lately I have been wondering about comments and commenting especially since Tamar commented on my blog recently and mentioned liking that I reply. It got me thinking. I guess I do not write the type of posts that have people debating and discussing like I see at some other blog sites. Most of the comments on mine are supportive, or shared stories that are associated with what I have written. And some are greetings of one kind or another.

There are a number of reasons why I enjoy replying to people who comment on my blog.

The first is that I am terribly grateful. Each and every time I receive a comment I cannot get over the fact that someone has actually taken the trouble, not only to read what I have written, but to say something to me, to all of us, about it. It blows my mind!

At times, though, there are comments that are better left without a reply – are meaningful and interesting  in and of themselves and deserve to hang out there in space to be experienced without further comment. Just as in a support group like session we are silent after someone has said something profound or intense and we just listen to the other – actively, with all our hearts and minds.

Secondly, and I simply have to admit it, sometimes I just have to have the last word! It is such an annoying habit and I have been working on myself about it these past few years with some small success. I come from a family of strong-minded, opinionated people. Being the second to youngest I always felt like I was in some kind of competition about who is the wisest and sure-est. People around me always seemed so sure that their opinion or knowledge about something was the right – no, the only way things could be. I believe it is quite common for the youngest to feel that way. Something to do with growing up and becoming an adult. Once the little sister, always the little sister, struggling for her own voice above all those strong, knowing ones around her. But now that I am, in fact an adult and becoming sort of an expert in some early childhood matters, I fear and abhor that feeling I get when I simply must have the last word – speak what I believe is the final truth. And so, lately I work on remaining silent as often as I can stand it, and just listen to others without anxiety or discomfort. Hang in there and let go of that feeling of competition that rises seemingly out of the shadows of my brain. It’s the same thing with comments on mine or other people’s blogs. I try to stay silent and listen instead of find the wisest, most essential, final word.

Third, and finally, as a counselor and early childhood educator, I relate to people. It’s part of what I do. I have become skilled in what Reik calls listening with the third ear. That means I notice people and observe closely. Am keenly aware of things they are saying between the lines of their actual words, through body language or slips or twists of their use of language – metaphors or jokes. That does not mean I am always right – no sir – not by any means. However, it does mean that if you talk to me I will listen and then relate to what you have said. This can be a problem, for example in Facebook. If someone pokes me, I just have to poke back! I can never leave the poke hanging out there without an answer. Frank, surely knows what I’m talking about. I suppose I could work more on this one, too. But it is one of the things I quite like about myself and, believe me, there are not many of those!

Once again I have discovered that why I do what I do is not as simple as I first thought. It is compounded and complex and dependent upon situation, context or anything at all.

However, I must say, I do love it when you comment, and enjoy thinking about how best to reply when you speak to me.

Oh yes, and thank you so much for reading me right now.

Warmly,

Tamarika

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Here I am

Lately, whatever I do, I am thinking, "I should be writing."

• In the shower
• Shopping for food
• Going to the movies with great friends
• Watching television
• Taking a walk in the park
• Brushing Ada
• Sitting on the chair, closing my eyes, and listening to my son playing the piano
• Cooking
• E-mailing friends
• Grading papers
• E-mailing students
• Sleeping
• Dreaming
• Waking
• Speaking on the phone
• Drinking coffee
• Playing Scrabble at Pixie Pit or Scrabulous or even on a real board with my son
• Driving
• Listening to music
• Blogging
• Teaching
• Meeting
• Singing
• Cleaning the house
• Doing the laundry
• Watering plants
• Reading the NY Times
• Checking out Facebook friends
• Sitting and staring at the oak tree
• Eating pie: pumpkin, cherry or lemon meringue
• Having brunch with great friends

The only time I do not think, "I should be writing"

… is …

… when I am writing.

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: We greet the day together

Being a morning person means that usually I am alone every single day. It is mostly good, or am I rationalizing it to feel good about it? I mean, it is quiet and peaceful. I have my space, am able to think and reflect and watch the wonders of sunrise. But it also means that I tip toe around quietly so as not to disturb, not to awaken, not to trouble, not to get in the way of … all the other sleepers out there. Some days it feels lonely and I just wish I could share the start off the day with someone. Go for a walk, talk, or be silent together, share the dawn, the morn, new beginnings.

That is why I love to go to conferences and room with my friends. Some of them are morning people too and we can chit chatter away, make coffee, giggle, walk out into the street, or share some intimate disclosures which always seem to come out best early in the day.

Some days, though, I just become so tired of tip-toeing around …

Once, I was married to a morning person. It was fun. We would wake up very early indeed, pull on our clothes and with our first cup of coffee drive out to see the geese in the swamps flying out for their first morning flight. Or, we would sit out in the yard looking at the birds at the many different feeders he had created for all their various needs, shapes and sizes.

I did not appreciate it.

Now I do.

Early in the morning Ada greets me as I sit down by the computer. She rubs her head on my hands over and over again. I reach into the drawer and pull out her treats and she rubs her head on the bag as I open it. I watch her in wonder at her gratitude. "We should all be so thankful for such small mercies," I think to myself. Ada does not ask for much. A warm spot to sleep, food and water and a daily clean litter box. Every now and again some tuna or shrimp and a small ritual of treats out of a bag with me each morning.

I have been thinking about gratitude quite a bit lately. Can’t help it. ‘Tis the season for it. It seems that as the leaves turn and fall, thankfulness rises. I have much to be thankful for this season:

• Ada Mae
• After 14 years I have just paid the very last installment of a large and onerous debt from a former, bad marriage, and with that I can finally bid farewell to a really painful, shameful part of my life
• Feeling included and appreciated in my job
• Outstanding friends whom I love with all my heart
• I have forgiven me, my past, let go of bitterness, regret and hurt, and given me back my family
• I am fortunate to be writing a book whose subject I have been pondering for over twenty years
• My son coming to us for Thanksgiving this year!
• Relationships – of all kinds – for they are all that matter to me now
• And, yes, I am thankful for this blog for it has brought into my life a community of friends – people whom I would otherwise never have had the privilege to know – people the likes of whom I have never known. It has broadened my world view and expanded the world. It has brought, and keeps on bringing, hundreds of my father’s family into my life ever since I shared my story of Rodos.

Oh yes, and I am also thankful for that sweet voice of Josh Groban especially as he sings Little Drummer Boy to me on my commute back and forth from work lately …

HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO

ALL MY FRIENDS EVERYWHERE

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Some of the best days of my life

[The New Yorker]

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: The art of fiction

A thought came to mind as I hastily try to complete my book:

Children love their mama and papa. Why do we have to hurt children to teach them? If, when they are very young, and they learn to curse by imitation by trying to be "one of the gang of adults they adore," why do we wash their mouth out with soap, put pepper on their tongue, or other such punishment? What’s the difference between pepper on the tongue to pulling out one’s tongue for lying, as they did in ancient times? Why can’t we hold young children close and seriously, earnestly, tell them that we love them and that when they do that it makes us all feel unsafe? Young children need us to approve of and love them. They need us to guide them with kindness and compassion so that they may learn to be humane. Think of those innocent, trusting, yearning, curious, mischievous, needy eyes. Why do we hurt them to teach them? Why? oh why?

As I was driving to work yesterday listening to music, and looking at the glorious colors of autumn leaves passing by along the roadside, I suddenly had this great feeling of being an adult. Released from blaming others, free of anger, I felt master of my domain, in charge of my choices, and aware that my attitude or how I feel is up to me, and only me. No one can make me feel thus, such or any other. I can choose to feel bad, worthless, undeserving, pathetic, a victim. Or, I can choose to feel that I am A-okay, human with frailties, weaknesses, and, yes, strengths too. Indeed, I am responsible for my actions, feelings and thoughts. No one can make me do or feel anything without my permission. And with these choices comes an awesome responsibility. The responsibility to do good, be kind, forgiving, understanding and compassionate to others – just because – we are all human, celebrating the joy and sorrows of humankind – just because – we are all and all are we – we are connected.

And, this very awesome responsibility is what makes me feel like an adult. This very awesome responsibility is what gives meaning and purpose to my life and, thus, makes me feel worthwhile.

It occurs to me that discipline is all about learning about that awesome responsibility. And the boundaries of compassion are the boundaries we must wrap around our youngest children, so that they might learn to feel worthwhile in this way themselves, forever and ever.

Don’t get me wrong. Boundaries of compassion are not wishy-washy or weak. They are firm, serious, awesome. They stop you in your tracks and hold you tight in their embrace. They mean business and they repeat themselves over and over again until you get it! They don’t neglect or ignore you. They are relentless, constant, consistent and strong, and accompany you wherever you go. They show you how deeply we care about you. Compassion is deep, wide, serious, awesome.

And our youngest children (and our inner, youngest children) need buckets, tubs-full, rivers, mountains, of it.

Update:

This just in from my friend Mira. Thanks, Mira. It fits perfectly. Right here:

Anything you do from the soulful self will help lighten the burdens of the world.

Anything.

You have no idea what the smallest word, the tiniest generosity can cause to be set in motion. Be outrageous in forgiving. Be dramatic in reconciling.

Mistakes?

Back up and make them as right as you can, then move on. Be off the charts in kindness. In whatever you are called to, strive to be devoted to it in all aspects large and small. Fall short?

Try again.

Mastery is made in increments, not in leaps. Be brave, be fierce, be visionary. Mend the parts of the world that are within your reach. To strive to live this way is the most dramatic gift you can ever give to the world.

Clarissa Pinkola Estes

[click on images to enlarge]

Quote of the day:

I want to express my age and be authentic. Why do so many people follow somebody else’s idea of what is attractive? Diane Keaton

I once knew an older woman from China who taught me to run my fingers through my hair with strong, firm, deep, massaging strokes one hundred times each morning. Sometimes I remember to do it. And as I massage my scalp I feel my eyes opening and waking and I find myself sighing deeply as if releasing the tentacles of stress that have begun to nestle and settle into my brain.

This time, my travels took me on more than just a journey of conference meetings, presentations and networking. I was faced with some difficult news from a most dearest friend. And a sadness has been accompanying me these past few days. [I think that Dean might term it melancholy.] A sobering sadness that pushes me face-to-face with life’s realities, my own mortality, and a reminder that time is running out. Is it autumn? So soon? Dear, darling friend. My heart is bursting with love and each tender memory of our friendship rises to greet me hour by hour, moment by moment, interrupting me even in the midst of whatever it is I am doing or saying.

[Reflections on a bean … I met two beautiful young people … there we are, the three of us … can you see? And he e-mailed me a picture he took, there and then, with his iPhone but, alas, I must have given him the wrong e-mail address for I never received it … too bad, too bad, for their kindness was healing for me that day … and we disappeared out of the reflections and into the night, our separate ways …]

Well, today is is time to pull out my warm, winter coat. I take a long hard look at it and place it next to the suitcase and back pack waiting by the front door. Rain dribbling down and time to go. I look back at Ada. I hate leaving her, even for just a few days. She is already nestling and settling on the desk next to the place where my computer usually sits. Does she know?

Did you ever love someone so much that it hurts in the chest?

Hm … do I repeat myself every year?