Northern Exposure

I was reluctant to venture North, in the beginning. Hearing the eager tones in dad’s voice as he put his plans to me was enough to make me go and knowing how worried he was that I’d back out last minute was enough to make me see it through, although secretly, I wished I could stay in the south where it was warm and familiar. I am a homebody, a title that’s taken years to own up to and one that only my closest friends know to be true. To the rest of the world, I am as adventuresome as I am courageous. Fearless as I am strong. In reality, I am the world’s best actress. “We’re going on an Arctic adventure,” were words that served my purpose of trickery and deceit. I used them liberally so as not to expose my true self to my (somewhat) adoring public. But the truth was that leaving was like jumping into an abyss of my own uncertainties. 

Suddenly, here I was, at the leaping off point into the uncharted, the unknown.

Some say it’s the unknown which shapes us. The fears we choose to face determine our journey on this planet. The cracks in our character can be, if properly and truthfully decoded, smoothed over to become the pillars of our very humanity.
I can never express the magnitude of the gift my father gave me, by showing me his true North. And it was there that I came to find an extraordinary and beautiful treasure…my true self.
I now know that I AM adventuresome as I am courageous. Fearless as I am strong. I recognized a part of me in the endless tundra, could hear my own heart calling back to me on the wind. No longer uncertain.   

Northern Exposure

I was reluctant to venture North, in the beginning. Hearing the eager tones in dad’s voice as he put his plans to me was enough to make me go and knowing how worried he was that I’d back out last minute was enough to make me see it through, although secretly, I wished I could stay in the south where it was warm and familiar. I am a homebody, a title that’s taken years to own up to and one that only my closest friends know to be true. To the rest of the world, I am as adventuresome as I am courageous. Fearless as I am strong. In reality, I am the world’s best actress. “We’re going on an Arctic adventure,” were words that served my purpose of trickery and deceit. I used them liberally so as not to expose my true self to my (somewhat) adoring public. Leaving my family behind was like jumping into an abyss of the unknown. I simply couldn’t see it.

I honestly didn’t accept that I was actually leaving my husband and children until the night before my planned departure and I faced the truth in my tearful farewell to them. I, in 15 years, have never done anything by myself. I’ve always had the love and support of MY family and plans have always been made together. Suddenly, here I was, leaping into the uncharted, the unknown.

Some say it’s the unknown which shapes us. The fears we face determine our journey on this planet. The cracks in our character can be, if properly determined, smoothed over to become the pillars of our very humanity.
I can never express the magnitude of the gift my parents gave me, by showing me their North. They showed me themselves and, extraordinarily but not unexpectedly, they showed me myself.
Because of this, I am special. I belong to an elite group and I now know that I AM adventuresome as I am courageous. Fearless as I am strong. It’s funny how the biggest lessons in my life were taught to me as an adult. And I’ll remember them easily, every time I see my dad smile.

The Sweetest Things

” You’re so weird.”
” I’m going to pretend I don’t know you right now”
” Please, stop singing. ”
” What are you even talking about? ”
” Where did you learn to dance? The old folks home? ”
” Seriously, mom? ”
This is the process deemed by psychologists as the “transition.” In order to grow up and move in your own directions, you must first establish independence from those who influence you the most. Yeah, whatev’s.
The problem I have with this is that I’ve always felt weird, I have an intense need to fit in, I sing all the time and I rarely even know what I’m talking about most days. I think I can dance when I’m drunk but let’s get real already, and as for seriousness…..well, that’s a toss up. You hit me where it hurts. Every single time. Not that it’s intended. For the most part you’re the sweetest things! You make me stuff and write me funny notes and stories. If I have a headache, you run me a bath and make me the most delicious mystery sandwiches I’ve ever tasted. You listen to my garden fairy stories and believe that I have “mommy magic” that fixes everything from broken bones to broken hearts and can even take the itch out of a mosquito bite! Still, I constantly question my ability in this role.
I remind you that being weird is great and that you shouldn’t care what other people think as long as you think you’re okay. Sing at the top of your lungs, that’s when the music will heal you. Dance even if you think you can’t and never take yourself too seriously. Finally and most importantly, appreciate the people, the fun, the beauty and the love that exist for you and only you. And if you’re ever in doubt just look in your heart, for it’s there that you’ll find the sweetest things…
XXXOOO
PS—– YOU are MY heart.

My Mother, Myself

People think I’m my mother. They call me Wendy and ask me how John and the girls are. I take it as a compliment although I wonder how my mom would like being mistaken for my grandmother. Not much I think. My own father even mistook me at my son’s Christmas concert, seeing me across the auditorium, knowing he’d left mom at home, yet there she/I was, prompting a relieved and nervous laugh at his own gaffe once he realized he wasn’t demented. That must have been strange for him.

I wonder sometimes where my mother ends and I begin. It’s like we share a brain and actually can speak telepathically, no need to finish a sentence. Along with my sister, we have a language invented over time. It’s private though not a secret, but I doubt any one else could decipher our abbreviated version of the English language, so many inside jokes that I sometimes can’t recall which is the normal way to say an everyday phrase. Everything has been tweaked in a tiny and hilarious way. Is it a “red setter” or “red letter” day? I’m not always sure. “Chachages” (sausages) anyone? This variation of English is chiseled into my general makeup to the point that I’m certain my great great grandchildren will speak it fluently. Will they know where it came from or will they take it for granted, thinking it was born in them like the blood running in their veins? Either way, they’ll be right.

I’ve watched my mom struggling with the loss of my grandmother these past couple of years. I am brought to my knees by her grief, so connected with her that her feelings may as well be my own. Her sorrow scares me. I have been strong enough to overcome insurmountable loss, damage, and fuckedupedness that not even my mom could comprehend. I am still standing. I will ALWAYS prevail. But watching her lose her mom staggers me like nothing in my life ever has. Her despair is a preview of my own and I’m not positive I’ll survive it. After all, how can I go on without my soul? I am everything because of her. My thoughts, my ideas, my heart…. they are only because she made them this way. Shaped them into what they’ve become. The most beautiful and important gift was herself and I am indebted, although I hope that being her mirror is a testament to what she’s given to me. She is me and I am her. And we are glorious.
Our difference amongst our friends marks us. We are strange, struggling for a place in this life that we can deal with, that is bearable for us and it isn’t easy to find. Thank God I was born to this amazing creature. Unlike her, I’ve never been alone here, she’s always reminding me there’s at least one other that’s of my species.
My tissue and sinew and DNA are hers. I lived and grew inside of her, just as she lives, grows, becomes…inside of me. She is my mother. She is myself.