tamarjacobson
Looking back and thinking forward
August 8, 2008
A letter to my child …
My darling child,
It was so good to see you looking strong and healthy, navigating the streets, and participating in the culture of a new and different city of your dreams. As we wrapped our arms around each other and talked of this and that I realized your questions and confusion about advice I have given you over the years. How right you are to question it! How courageous and strong you are! I have always loved and admired your intelligent, inquiring mind, even from the very day you were born. I could see it in your bright, searching, and sensitive eyes as you stared back at me from your little newborn-crib – sizing me up through your long intent gaze.
The older I become, the more I understand my own psychic and emotional development, the more life experience I acquire, and the more I work with teachers of young children and their families, I have come to realize that advice giving is a treacherous and risky business. Especially between parents and their children.
Especially between you and me. The desire to give my child the very best that life has to offer clouds my clarity of vision or understanding of where you actually are in your own psychic and emotional development, or what would really be good, or make sense for your present and future. Indeed, my advice is subjective in the extreme, made up of painful life experiences, dreams and fantasies of how I would have liked to be.
Follow your heart, was just one of those types of advice that I metered out to you immediately, spontaneously, and generously – or so I thought. Based on pure fantasy, I might add, and not coupled for one instant with any details about the trials and tribulations, payments and punishments that come with such a dream – a notion. For, following one's heart, is made up of other people's dreams and fantasies, poetry and fiction, movies, plays and songs. It is a dream that inspires great art. For example, recently I realized that Jane Austen wrote the most inspired stories that have lasted for generations. They are all based on magnificent happy endings where her characters achieve all their desired dreams. In point of fact, she never married herself, and one has no idea what loneliness she might have experienced in her own life. Following one's heart, is advice given by sages and artists, many of whom have paid the price for it in other ways. It is a dream that gives us hope and inspires creativity.
In point of fact, I have found that for me to be successful, belonging or accepted, or taken even half-way seriously in real-life society, professionally and personally, whether in Africa, Israel or the United States, no matter whom I married or worked with, I had to bind myself to a life of obligation, duty, commitment, resignation, and compromise – laced with healthy doses of guilt and shame. When I was young I felt trapped in conformity or obligation, and tried time and again to follow my heart. Each time was met with self destruction, and most of all I seemed to cause pain for those closest, the most dear to me. When I said to you, "Follow your heart," I gave you advice that I could not use. It was the advice of my dreams. For, as Bob the therapist told me more than once, most of us live quiet lives of desperation.
I have tried to weave joy, music, love, and creativity into a life of obligation and responsibility, and always seem to find strength, courage and hope through it. So, please, do not think I am sad or wistful about how I see my reality of now. Indeed, it feels like a relief for me to face these things realistically. I feel as if I am finally mature – have grown into an adult, even at age 59.
I want to tell you, and I wish I could do it with my arms wrapped around you like yesterday as we walked through those busy and intense streets surrounded by the noise and bustle of that wonderful city of your dreams. I want to tell you not to take my advice. I really do not have any idea what is best for you or what makes sense for your psychic and emotional development right now or ever, really. I want you to be happy. Even though I know that's a crazy notion. For I grab at moments of happiness and peace of mind. They are not constant for me – they cannot be – not based on my life, past and present. Just not my reality. I want you to feel successful for being who you are: sensitive, loyal, courageous, creative, talented, intelligent and full of love to give and receive. Even though I know that it is so hard to feel successful or know what one is capable of. Self confidence is something that eludes me. I hold onto brief moments of that feeling. I hardly know myself what it is like to feel successful – indeed, by whose measure? Whose definition? I want you not to feel alone or lonely. Even though I have always felt alone and lonely even when surrounded by friends or family. For, now and again I have sensed belonging and comfort, not often, and often when I was alone, with nature, or Ada, or in the quiet of my study. Feelings of happiness, belonging and self-confidence, have always been elusive to me, and yet I want all of them for you!
And so, I do not want to give you my advice unless you can see it for what it is. Stuff about me! As most advice is – stuff about the people who dish it out! Mostly, and most importantly, though, I want to tell you that I have loved you, do love you, and will always love you with all of my heart, mind and soul, and as long as I can and am able, I will support you in any way I can through whatever you choose to do with your life.
I will always be your mother and friend.
With great love I write these words to you.
A year ago at Mining Nuggets: My morning greeter
August 6, 2008
Emotional boundaries
On my morning walk recently, I got to thinking about how this year, all year, has been the twentieth anniversary of my emigration to the States. I realized that I have learned so much since arriving in Buffalo, and even more since our transition to Philadelphia four years ago. Indeed, I grew up in America – emotionally – and it does not matter that next year I will be sixty years old. I am learning new things all the time. As I walked along looking at the scenery and allowing my mind to wander, I found myself asking silently through my brain, what was the most important thing I learned since coming here. The answer rose up to greet me immediately, without hesitation:
That emotional neglect in my childhood led to a confusion of emotional boundaries throughout my life. Since coming to America, I have learned about understanding and clarifying – tweaking at – some of them:
- What I need, how I need it
- What I give, how I give it
- What I receive, how to receive it
- What I hear, how I hear it
- What I say, how I say it
- Who I love, how I love them
- Emotional memory
- Emotional space
- Emotional distance
- Emotional availability
- Intimacy
- Connections between emotional boundaries and sexuality
It was exciting for me, thinking about these things. Enormous energy seemed to rise up together with the realizations, and I felt as if I was flying high – my feet barely sensed the pavement under them. I arrived home rosy-cheeked and breathless.
I must have crossed some kind of forbidden line, though, because as quickly as the energy rose, so it pulled back in fright, and I became light-headed and dizzy for the rest of the day. Feeling faint and nauseous, I lay down and withdrew inwards, nursing my fear.
One more thing I have learned these past twenty years. Emotional boundaries are deep. They come from way, way back. Separating myself emotionally and crossing forbidden lines feels dangerous, and causes anxiety attacks.
Twenty four hours later I felt stronger and less fear-full. As I walked along the tree-lined roads the following day, I thought of the expression: Pride comes before a fall. It reminded me of another one I had often heard growing up whenever people were raucously laughing, rough and tumble playing, or just having a really good time: Be careful! It will end in tears!
I wondered: When we are children, do the significant adults in our lives give us those warnings just to keep us in our place? Or do these warnings come from their own fears and past life experiences?
August 3, 2008
On the tip of my tongue
Each day a blog post is on the tip of my tongue. There was the afternoon while watering my yard that a 24 inch East Ribbon snake sidled out of the ivy and through the flower bed as droplets of water sprinkled its back. That day, as I watched with a type of mesmerized fascination as the snake meandered around the building to the hose, and then proceeded to suck up a tiny frog, legs wiggling and sinking into its belly, I experienced a chill throughout my body, skin crawling uncontrollably. I wanted to write about my traumatic snake experience as a child growing up in Africa and explore innate fears, expounding theories about thus and such to do with snakes, mice and so forth.
Then there was the morning I jumped on the scale and realized that after only one month of dieting and exercise I had miraculously lost 10 pounds. My fingers itched to scribe about feeling lighter and relieved at health-fullness. I longed to write about the return of energy as each morning early I walk out into the sunshine and briskly stride about the neighborhood for 3 miles or so, greeting fellow exercisers, cyclists, runners, or other walkers like myself, and feeling, for the first time in close to four years, at home in Philadelphia. But then the past week even with all the exercise and dieting that I maintain, the scale shows a plateauing and I struggle to hold onto the hope, energy, and motivation I mustered over a month ago!
Working through July starting out as the new Chair of our department has brought up many moments of thoughtfulness and ponderings about the upcoming year’s challenges and interesting times ahead. Blog posts have been starting up in my mind over and over again.
Excitement at the thought that within only a few weeks my next book will be born, published, sent forth into the early childhood communities for teachers and professors alike to explore, read, critique, question, and share. I have wanted to write about the growing anticipation as I await its arrival. For, this particular book, has been brewing and hatching, incubating and simmering for all of my teaching life. And just as I thought my writing days were over, I was asked to edit a tome about gender and early childhood education. This is a subject close to my heart for, after all, I discovered feminism only 16 years ago, and there is still so much more to think and wonder about. Just as I was sending out a call to colleagues and fellow early childhood professionals, yet another book was offered me by a very dear friend. He said, “write about anything – from the bottom of your heart to the middle of your mind.” These books will accompany me as I start out in a new position this new academic year. I have been wanting to write a blog post about how fulfilling and exciting all of this is – just when I thought my writing days were over.
Oh, and of course, I have been meaning to write all manner of posts about politics, summer as it slips away as fast as it arrived, Ada Mae as she sits close to my back while I pull my body into yoga postures, and especially about upcoming trips to Cape May and Buffalo next week.
All, on the tip of my tongue, edge of my fingers …
… But, quite simply … I have not had the time …
A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Internal ethnography
July 23, 2008
Heart, soul, and mind
Two quotes I have read and heard recently, and have been thinking about lately:
1. From the bottom of your heart and the middle of your mind.
A colleague emailed me recently inviting me to write a book for a series he is editing. He said that I could write about anything: from the bottom of my heart and the middle of my mind. It excites me to the core of my being. And terrifies, at the same time.
2. There are still months and miles to go.
Barack Obama said and says this about his candidacy. I relate to it and identify with it for every stage of my own life. It talks about patience and faith. It reminds me of the tall, solid, strong oak tree outside my window – of holding still through the fiercest storm.
July 20, 2008
Evening ramblings
There is nothing I enjoy more than sitting with Ada as the evening falls and a cool breeze rises. Well, there are other things I enjoy, to be sure, but sitting silently at dusk with Ada listening to the final peeping of the cardinals gathering one or two last seeds at the feeder for the day, is … well … magic.
The family of wrens who took over a planter on our patio have moved on with their fledged young-lings and it is still and quiet. It has felt like empty nest syndrome all week since they flew away after weeks of hustle and bustle, chirping, warbling and “sh … sh …” warnings as the mama and papa wrens fed their babe-lings.
It is muggy all right. And hot. If I stop to listen I hear air conditioners all around whirring and grinding. I allow myself to be bathed in heat and Ada sighs stretching out a paw towards me.
Today I spent some time reading my blog posts from last summer. It feels like many years ago. So much of the stresses and concerns of this past year have gone, disappeared, blown away. Poof! It amazes me how tenaciously I held onto “stuff” and “baggage” for so long. Wasted time? No regrets. That was then and this is now.
“Moosh, mooshini little angel girl,” I whisper to Ada as I stroke her fur from the tip of her head and all the way along her back. She turns her head slowly, tail swishing ever so slightly, and stares with a full gaze into my eyes.
A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Melting the ice
July 20, 2008
Moving on …
Just in from MoveOn:
July 19, 2008
Hope in the healing
There have been many times in my life when hope has pulled me through. A general kind of feeling of faith that eventually everything will be all right. It usually rises with me early in the morning with the dawn’s gentle light. I awaken and feel hope stirring within even as the birds call out high up in the surrounding trees.
I have strong memories of hope stirring within. It was in early June 2006, when I had the privilege of hearing Obama speak. I remember the excitement and exhilaration as I realized help was on the way. I allowed myself to hope, to dream about a new day for the world. This morning I awoke to news of Barack Obama landing in Afghanistan. Hope soared again. How thrilling. Is this dream starting to materialize before my eyes? Yes, I know. He is our nominee. But now the great work can begin for real.
Feeling the passion surge within, I walked out into the early morning and found my legs moving briskly through the neighborhood as people stirred around me, gathering newspapers lying in their driveways, or walking out sleepily with dogs pulling at the leash.
Healing takes time. I know. I started the process within my psyche years ago and only recently am sensing the rewards of my hard work in how I breathe, move, think, and feel. Hope has been a loyal companion.
And now, what I did not hardly dare to imagine back in June of 2006, is taking place in our country and in the world. Barack Obama is on his way. I wondered out loud, as I walked in the brilliant sunshine this morning, “How proud his mother would be if only she could see what I see!”
Keeping the faith is not easy. There are so many temptations along the way that discourage and alarm me. But, like the constant, tall oak tree that stands solidly outside my window, I have learned to hold still, hold on, and hold firm to hope.
For, hope is in the healing of self, country and the world.
July 11, 2008
Between reality and virtuality
Quote of the day:
Recently a friend of mine talked about some discomfort she was feeling between getting to know me in reality, and reading my inner rumblings and ramblings on my blog. It got me to thinking about who I am when I am being me.
It is so much much easier for me to express myself in writing than it is to talk about myself with friends or family. The difference for me is clear. Most of the time I am convinced that I take up too much time and space. Indeed, I am constantly afraid that I am a burden. For example, I often find myself saying to people things like, “Please don’t feel like you have to come if you are too busy.” Or, when I was in Israel a month ago I left a message on a friend’s voice-mail saying something like, “I am here and would love to see you if you feel like it or have the time.” It is as if I leave an opening for the other person to get out of having to spend time with me. Some people have misunderstood those types of things that I say. They feel as if the double message I extend to them means that I am not sure if I want to see or invite them over. In the latter instance, my friend was astute enough to hear the insecurity in my message, and ask me what I had meant.
When I write, however, people have the choice to read what I write, and/or reply to me. It is almost as if I am freed of the anxiety of being responsible for the burden that is me. Mostly, when people comment on my blog posts, reply to letters or emails, or react to my articles or books, I am often a little surprised that they cared enough to take the time, and make the effort. Indeed, I am always grateful. I do not take reciprocity, or gifts of other peoples’ time for granted. Indeed, any relating-to-me crumb thrown my way will be most valued by me.
I have a friend who always tells me what he feels and thinks about my behavior and/or our relationship. It is not always easy to take because some of the things he says hurt me. Especially when they are true and hit home. However, I have come to appreciate him deeply. His honesty is true friendship. He is constant and true – always there. As he says, “I’m still on the other end of the line.” His friendship is unconditional. But mainly I appreciate him because he relates to me.
It seems that silence confirms for me that I am, just as I feared, a burden, and not worthy of the other person’s time.
Of course, through years of therapy, reflection and self-alteration, I am becoming stronger and more confident. I am definitely not as pathetic as I might sound in this description of how I understand myself. I think the writing Tamarika is different to the in-the-flesh Tamar. In the former, I have courage and insight. And with the latter, I am more vulnerable, afraid, confused, and complex.
On the other hand, I am probably a combination of all of those all the time.
One thing I do know about myself is that I love relating to others, even though my interactions are not always clear or positive. I love listening to and observing, really getting to know people. And I long to share all my frailties and strength, complexity and vulnerabilities, even though it terrifies me to the core and opens me up for awesome hurt and rejection. I struggle with that aspect of relationships more and more as I gain the courage to open myself up. For, now and again I am surely hurt and rejected, because inevitably there are those who are not comfortable with my level of intensity, or who have felt just as hurt or rejected by me.
In point of fact, I do not know why people read my blog – whether they are friends, family members, or passers-by. In fact, I have no idea really how many people or how often they stop by. I used to care a lot, and there are times especially when I am feeling vulnerable or having an out-of-confidence moment, when I wish more people would read or comment. However, mostly I write because I want to express, nay, need to express myself, process a thought, idea or feeling.
And, if someone should stop by, take the time to read what I write, and make the effort to share a comment, I am often a little surprised, and always most grateful.
A year ago at Mining Nuggets: On the road again
July 8, 2008
Cyber trotting
Quote of the Day:
What I’ve learned from my children:
1. You can be smarter than your teachers
2. Don’t always say what you’re thinking
3. Getting along with people involves time
4. The value of doing nothing: i.e. hanging out
5. There are no ‘second string’ friends — only friends
And speaking of “hanging out,” everyone has probably seen Matt Harding’s dancing with the world, right? I had to read about it in the New York Times this morning. Gee, I feel so out of it. Where have I been?
In any event, it made me very happy this morning, and I guess I am # 4,631,384 to see it so far?
I enjoyed Matt’s “out takes” almost as much!
A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Bringing it all back home
tamarjacobson 