Change is good

This week, I made a big decision. It will take along time to put into action, but in my gut it feels right. I'm going to let go of a dream that has been dead for a long time now. I'm very fortunate that the change I'm going to make can be done slowly, and in a way that shelters me from uncertainty, but it will be a big change. Looking back, I realize that I have been working hard in the last few years to make positive changes, but the paths I followed were dead ends. It's time to cut it all loose.

No more gnashing of teeth, no more chasing my tail, no more struggling, mired in the Slough of Despond. It exhausts me; it is dreary, and boring, and it could go on forever while I sink in over my head, every semester, and gasp and drown and flail.

I hereby declare that my war on reality is over. I surrender, and I'm going to move on. I have tried valiantly, and then foolishly, to change things I cannot change. (Because it wasn't FAIR!) They are not going to change. I, on the other hand, have changed, and need to make change, for the better. I'm must try to move forward  from possibility instead of fear. The fears have not gone away, but now I also feel a sense of certainty that I have always trusted in the past. This feels right.

Already, I am flooded with relief and eagerness for the future. At the same time, I'm humbled to recognize that I have choices that most people won't have. I can't, I won't let fear prevent me from making them.

Small steps.
I'm taking a medical leave to regroup, rest, recover. I'm leaning on my medical team: changing medications, working to find the right therapist, doing my spiritual homework.
So much clutter. It's time to cut it loose.

P.E., fitness, and getting back into shape

I'm thinking about my relationship to my body and fitness as something that I didn't engage with consciously until very recently, despite the fact that I have been very fit for most of my life, if not terribly athletic. If you are old enough, you'll remember when P.E. was subject in school. This was before sportswear was acceptable street clothing, before everyone "worked out at the gym," before Jane Fonda started her second career as an workout guru, and before Title IX was enacted in 1972 and girls began to have the opportunity to become athletes as children. I don't think young women are aware of how different their experience and the expectations of their bodies in relationship to sports are today compared to the experience of women in their late forties and older. Yet, although most of my P.E. experience was of the separate and vastly inferior kind that was provided to girls in the late sixties-early seventies, we did have to change into special clothing and do exercise or a sport, even if it was only kickball, every day in Jr. High and three times a week in high school. I learned how to play kickball as a prelude to softball, how to serve at volleyball, the rules of flag football and field hockey. We also played badminton, I think. In the name of the President and his physical fitness goals, we were taught how to do push-ups, sit-ups and jumping jacks, made to run laps and throw a softball. We climbed ropes and were taught the basic step of the waltz. Oh, and square dancing, we did that in sixth grade. I remember our gym teachers, all women, made us do something called "squat thrusts," (aka "burpees" but a true burpee has a pushup and a jump in it). In Jr. High, the girls' P.E. outfits were a dark blue, short- sleeved one-piece shorts thingie with elastic around the leg holes for modesty, with a belt. This outfit had a special name that I cannot remember. It wasn't bloomers, but it was something like that, and if you did not have it on for P.E. you got into a lot of trouble.

My mother signed us up for swimming lessons, and I even was on a swim team for one season, but I was never very good at the crawl or the butterfly, and mostly did the breast stroke or the back stroke when I swam laps as an adult.

Despite this level of activity, I was always of the "last picked for the team" crowd, partly because I was myopic and refused to wear my glasses so I couldn't tell how far away a ball was. I was also painfully shy after sixth grade, mortified if anyone looked at me. I longed to be invisible. Yet, somehow in college, when I was 17-18, I ended up being recruited by my P.E. major roommate Natalie to be on our co-ed volleyball and softball teams because, I was told, they needed one more person to be able to sign up the team. Again, I was always the weakest link, but some of the guys took pity on me and actually helped me develop a few skills at throwing and catching the ball, even if I would occasionally just lob it in some random uncontrolled direction. Although they purported not to care, I knew my teammates were terribly competitive and I was alternately ashamed and resentful that I didn't measure up, but also thrilled in a puppy-like way that they included me, the dork, in their group. It was a mixed experience, to say the least.

Once I finished college, my main form of exercise consisted of not having a car: I walked, biked, hauled stuff, and generally tramped all over town for hours everywhere I lived, whether it was in the U.S. or Europe. I also started having the symptoms of fibromyalgia (fatigue, pain) but didn't know why or what it was. I was fit, but I hurt all over and all of the time. Because nobody could tell me why, I just lived with it. I would finally get a diagnosis at age 32 and start doing things like yoga and stretching to help manage the pain.

Walking and biking were my primary ways of keeping fit in graduate school because I no longer hung out with people who played organized sports, the whole world was not yet "going to the gym" and my stab at running proved to me that I would never stick with something I found boring. I had been told by the doctor when I had my first of many childhood sprains that I had "weak ankles" and he told my mother not to let me dance (curse him forever!!!). In my twenties, I did join some friends at the pool from time to time. They were dedicated swimmers; I was not, but I was used to being less competent at sports than most people I knew.

I took two P.E. classes in college: British Isles Folkdancing (loved loved loved it! why didn't I continue?) and the very first weight training class offered for women. Actually the women's section was filled, but they let me and a dorm mate into the men's class. The instructor was a woman, a track coach I believe, and I could tell the guys were not willing to grant her any authority as we gathered on the first day. She didn't say anything, just whipped off ten pullups to the back of the neck with some kind of reverse grip that were clearly of the kind that only Wonder Woman could do, and I saw all the guys visibly adopt a submissive posture. She had proven that she was as tough or tougher than all of them. My supercute friend had lots of guys "helping her" with her weights, but I was happy enough to be ignored. My goal for the class? to be able to do ONE regular pull-up. I never achieved my goal, but I did develop some actual muscle definition and a new relationship to my body. It was very satisfying.


After two years of walking and biking around Minneapolis I finally got a car, and my level of activity dropped precipitously. Walking around the lakes didn't quite replace it. But I also started taking an Afro-Caribbean dance class taught by an amazing teacher, who gave us a 45 minute workout before we even started dancing combinations. It took about a year of taking class from him, first only on Saturdays, then on Tues/Thurs/Sat, to finally overcome the body shame and shyness, get the level of confidence and fitness to finally feel as if I could use my body to express myself. It was a revelation that I could actually be good at something that involved moving my body through space. I owe that dance teacher so much. I stopped taking his class when I was five months pregnant, and then he moved away.


After I was 40, and had a small child, I looked to dance agin for the exercise and pleasure that gym classes never gave me. Until a few years ago, I danced either in ballroom classes or socially at least 2-5 times a week. I was in great shape and it helped me manage my fibromyalgia. But when I had my episodes with rotator cuff impingement and frozen shoulder, I stopped dancing and playing the piano. It hurt too much to raise my hands or my arms above my waist. This coincided, not at all coincidentally, with menopause. Hormanal changes and loss of activity have meant that I rapidly gained weight, putting on close to twenty-five pounds in two years. So I'm both out of shape and
I had to give away my wardrobe. I feel sluggish and weak. My fibromyalgia symptoms are worse. I need to get back in shape, not just because I'd like to lose a few pounds but because my future health as an elderly lady will be better if I get fit again. So, despite my fondness for the YWCA, we have signed up at the new LA Fitness about a block from where I live, and I have plunked down the money to have the services of a personal trainer once a week for six months. I know I will not get back into shape unless someone stands over me and counts those repetitions, and I know that if I don't get back into shape, my health and morale will not improve.

The manager put us through our paces in the intake, and my thighs are feeling it, but I feel so excited to have made this commitment, and I want to return to feeling strong and fit again. Then I had an evaluation session where we took measurements and tested what my limits were with a variety of strength exercises: "Pitiful" (that would be my term, not the trainer's).

Epic office move!

My building is finally going to be renovated! Twenty-two years worth of books, files, and office supplies had to be sorted, recycled or packed in two days this week for the move from our building (which will be gutted and remodeled) to "swing space" in another building for 18 months. I'm so happy for the remodel because the outside of our building is quite grand, but the innards were either too hot or too cold, and there was no adequate way to regulate temperatures in classrooms without excessive noise.

So over the last few days, I packed rolling bookshelves and large plastic boxes on dollies with books, the files I did not recycle, and the assorted stuff one has in an office. I found about a million paper clips and pennies. I have no idea how many books I have, but I do know that I recycled the equivalent of two four-drawer file cabinets and ten file boxes worth of paper. About half of the furniture will go to the ReUse Center. I probably kept enough paper files to fill one of the file cabinets and four boxes. The act of sorting and tossing all these files into the huge recycling bin was a kind of "this is your life" in fast-motion: here were the articles I had painstakingly sought and copied in libraries, the drafts of talks, the student papers that had never been picked up, the class material that I had never managed to file. So much is now digitized or available online that it is no longer necessary to keep all of this. yet, so much is still not available online that I did keep what seemed useful or important. And I couldn't bring myself to toss out the files for all my graduate classes--for sentimental value.

I experienced a rush of contradictory feelings while I was sorting through this paper trail of my professional life: pleasure at finding useful and interesting things I'd forgotten I had, disappointment at the projects that never made it past the research phase, a mix of tenderness and exasperation at my previous selves as they appear in the notes in the margins or scrawled labels. I resisted the temptation to read every file as I opened it: keep or toss? I can read it after I unpack and refile, reshelve, reorganize all these things in the new space.

This video is a fairly accurate representation of the process, but I went on to clear my bookshelves and box everything up.


Starting tomorrow and through Wednesday, the movers will roll these things across the street to the building where we will be for the next eighteen months. My temporary office has a window (yay) but is painted a hideous shade of sickly blue. I am slightly panicky about this because color affects my mood in a big way, butI will see how it looks once all the furniture is in, and art is on the walls. I figure I can live with it if I decorate. I'm quite happy to be located in a suite of offices that share a common space that we can furnish as a lounge, and that my suite-mates are all my favorite colleagues (our administrative assistant was very savvy about allocating the space!). We have already agreed to share a couch, table, some chairs, a microwave, coffee-maker, etc. I can imagine a very congenial atmosphere. I will no longer have an office next door to the person who has been the most unpleasant to me over the last two decades, and will no longer have to close the door to keep out the noise of busy hallway traffic.

The packing itself was a physical challenge for my fibromyalgia, and I'm dealing with a huge flare-up, but it will pass. This process feels good. I had been meaning to do a kind of clean-up like this for years, and the moved forced it to happen.
Julie Morgenstern, whose organizing ideas are the best I've read, talks about her process for getting rid of stuff and changing your life! SHED your stuff, change your life.
S-Separate the Treasures: what could I not imagine living without?
H-Heave the rest: purge, recycle, get rid of it.
E-Embrace your Identity From Within (wall of panic: who am I without all my stuff?)
D-Drive yourself forward: move toward the new life. by trying something entirely new.

With liberty and justice FOR ALL

Oh, this kid is amazing. In fact, he is a genius. And his dad is so proud of him. I love how the dad explains how he talks to his kid and doesn't condescend to him. And the CNN anchor asked Will a hard question and he answered it well.
Will, thank you for taking a stand and for being so cool.


Here's an article from The Huffington Post (picking up on the story from Queerty)
If you are on Facebook (I am not) and want to join the Will-Phillips-you-are-awesome group, you can do that here!

Public option?

Protect Insurance Companies PSA from Will Ferrell

"A preferential option for the poor": new Salvadoran president cites Romero

El Salvadoran President Mauricio Funes Seeks Close Ties with US from New America Media on Vimeo.
El Salvador's President-elect is Mauricio Funes. He was elected with 51% of the vote, representing the FMLN and ending twenty years of dominance by the right-wing ARENA party, associated with vicious political repression. For the FMLN to win a peaceful democratic election in El Salvador is a enormous change. From the interview:

Where will the effects of the transition in power be felt most immediately?

We're going to change the way we make policy. And one of the most significant changes is that we will no longer have a government at the service of a privileged few. And we will no longer have a government that creates an economy of privileges for the privileged. Now, we need a government like the one envisioned by Mons. Oscar Arnulfo Romero, who in his prophetic message said that the church should have a preferential option for the poor.

Paraphrasing Mons. Romero, I would say that this government should have a preferential option for the poor, for those who need a robust government to get ahead and to be able to compete in this world of disequilibrium under fair conditions.

This government implies a break from traditional policymaking. Now, what we're going to do is put the government and the structure of the state at the service of the Salvadoran people––the totality of the Salvadoran people – but, fundamentally, to that great majority who are oppressed and excluded from the country's social and economic development. Not just the last 20 years, but for the last 200 years or more, have not had the possibility of participating in the formation of public policies.

To read the English transcript of the interview, and find more news about this important election, go here to the post on the New American Media site. You can also read more on Roberto Lovato's blog Of América.

Upful

By way of Professor Zero: I am posting this video because it's funky, fun,and upful, and because my mama is for Obama, too!


I am also meditating today on how our very real and legitimate fears in this time of uncertainty, violence, and change can both paralyze us or galvanize us into action. It is tempting to react with suspicion, resignation, cynicism and despair. But I choose not to do so. I am going to have to get over my dislike of door-knocking, find a door-knocking buddy, and get out there.


I watched Ousmane Sembene's film Moolaade on Friday. It's a gorgeous, beautiful, luminous, great film about a community which confronts a deep-rooted tradition that is a source of suffering, and how somehow it becomes possible to think of changing that tradition when the youngest, the most vulnerable, the little girls of the village say no, when they are inspired by the only other woman in the village who has also said no, alone at first, and how their example is met with repression, with brutality, but how their example of resistance inspires others to stand with them and insist that there WILL be change. The film is a powerful work of humanistic art. It is not reductive--it loves all its characters-- but it is also committed to a vision of a better world.

Cultures change; they can change, and they do change. But they change when people stand up and stand together. Our country is confronting, not for the first time, deeply rooted beliefs and practices that cause great suffering: racism, sexism, the corruption inherent in savage capitalism. Our history includes many stories of people who said no, who suffered, but who also inspired and created community, solidarity, and change.

We have to say YES to hope in ourselves before we can say NO to oppression.