Saturday was a glorious day in Duluth. Sunny, maybe 72 degrees. I sat on a rock near the lake at Canal Park, looking out at nearly-flat water. A slight northwest wind propelled a single large sailboat. On the rocky beach, a couple searched for sea glass and precious stones, and children threw rocks back into the lake. The midday sun hung relatively low and pale in the sky, a sign that winter isn't far off.
I was grateful for this beauty, and I tried so hard to stay in the present, as wise ones tell us to do, just as I have from so many other U.S. ports-of-call over the years. And yet, like the prickling of an amputated limb, my consciousness felt London, felt and saw and heard the music lists (from English cathedrals, chapels and abbeys) that I've seen recently on social media. I saw the classic art in great galleries and the soaring cathedral structures and felt my feet rooted in another soil. I wasn't fully on that lake shore any more than I am fully anywhere over here, ever. It must be as painful for you, my readers, to read about as it is to be me sometimes, and I am sorry about that. I am plugging away at my book even though it may end up being a hard read. I don't know how to get permanently where I want to be, or to be fully at peace where I am, and, like the little kids, I just had to throw this lifelong conundrum into the motherly embrace of the lake. It remains far too big for me to solve.
Not surprisingly, the next 24 hours unrolled, if not a solution, then at least a new understanding.
As my regular readers know, I've spoken several times recently about rising above duality. I can see that our culture's addiction to division and conflict is killing us. All of us were trained to look at life this way, to "fight" crime, disease, global warming, homelessness, war, discrimination, hatred, evil. And yet none of these conditions is solved by that rigid wall down the center of life and our nonstop struggle. If anything, they are all simply getting worse.
I've seen this so clearly outside me, so why have I not seen the same situation within? I am a being of such contrasts: left brain (lawyerly, organized, managerial, verbal, "male") and right brain (artistic, spontaneous, spiritual, creative, "female"); American (by birth) and English (in spirit); upper crust and poor; passionate about a form of Christian music and Goddess-centered; civilized and yet wild; powerful yet powerless.
Each side of me has been at war with the other. I have wanted one side to win out and extinguish the other, just to make life easier to explain, to make a simpler narrative. I have been terrified of the possibility that I am big enough and all-encompassing enough to be all of these things. If I could consistently say as I began to do above, "I am __ and __," how would my life change?
Nothing in me is wrong or evil. There is no reason to kill any of these qualities -- except to keep me hobbled and small. Perhaps the only "evil"/source of pain in any scenario is the trained impulse to build a wall down the middle, to hunker down, and to start fighting.
This realization helped. A lot. It helped me embrace my reality here just a little, and fully appreciate that beautiful moment on the beach. I'll write more on all of this very soon.
Monday, September 16, 2019
Monday, September 9, 2019
Audition and Visualization
Last week, I plucked up my courage and put together a submission of my book to a literary agent. Within a little over an hour, I had received a rejection note. Now, this was my first effort of this kind, and I didn't necessarily expect first-time success or even moderate interest. But what felt like a kick in the stomach was the immediacy of the turnaround. I'm a "girl" of the pre-internet era, clearly, a "My Brilliant Career" writer of sending things off hard copy and waiting weeks to hear back.
Fortunately, I quickly realized that this had triggered a really powerfully painful response, and why. There has been a recurring theme in my life, arguably since birth, of me showing up raring to go and being rejected without, so to speak, "an audition." Of course, the older I get and the more I write and act from the heart, the more painful rejection becomes. I spent the weekend in a state of shock; but I've survived it; I wrote some more of my book this morning and am writing here as well. As I say, the fact of rejection is less painful than the knee-jerk timing of it. The kindest thing would have been for the agent to wait several days to give a potential author at least the sense that their work has been fully considered, but, ahem, our system is far from kind, the issue I have had with it my whole life.
I didn't watch the U.S. Open this weekend, but of course I was intrigued by the surprising win of the young Canadian player. I heard an interview with her this morning, and she indicated that she had been practicing creative visualization since she was a kid (yes, about a decade!) -- and that she had frequently pictured winning this tournament. Wow, what a sea change for girls born in the c.2000 era compared with those of us from the '50's. It's amazing that such empowerment was encouraged so early in her, when many of us of my generation experienced the exact opposite. I've been practicing visualization for decades too, but earlier negative messages too often seem to negate the progress I make.
Nevertheless, I persist. The courage of these younger women helps to keep me going.
Fortunately, I quickly realized that this had triggered a really powerfully painful response, and why. There has been a recurring theme in my life, arguably since birth, of me showing up raring to go and being rejected without, so to speak, "an audition." Of course, the older I get and the more I write and act from the heart, the more painful rejection becomes. I spent the weekend in a state of shock; but I've survived it; I wrote some more of my book this morning and am writing here as well. As I say, the fact of rejection is less painful than the knee-jerk timing of it. The kindest thing would have been for the agent to wait several days to give a potential author at least the sense that their work has been fully considered, but, ahem, our system is far from kind, the issue I have had with it my whole life.
I didn't watch the U.S. Open this weekend, but of course I was intrigued by the surprising win of the young Canadian player. I heard an interview with her this morning, and she indicated that she had been practicing creative visualization since she was a kid (yes, about a decade!) -- and that she had frequently pictured winning this tournament. Wow, what a sea change for girls born in the c.2000 era compared with those of us from the '50's. It's amazing that such empowerment was encouraged so early in her, when many of us of my generation experienced the exact opposite. I've been practicing visualization for decades too, but earlier negative messages too often seem to negate the progress I make.
Nevertheless, I persist. The courage of these younger women helps to keep me going.
Tuesday, August 20, 2019
Choir
A news report about the unsuccessful effort by a 9-year-old girl to join an elite German boys' choir has, once again, brought up this core part of my own journey, which I am writing about in my book.
On the one hand, I feel such solidarity with her. It is vindication, validating my own desire, starting 59 years ago, to sing the music of the English men-and-boys' choir tradition. I shouldn't still need to validate it, but strangely, I do.
And yet the fact that she was blocked in court causes a new wave of heartbreak. In the 1960's no one would even have considered suing. I am not big on lawsuits, but in this case I'm glad she and/or her parents had the courage to take that modern route. It brought into the public eye all the traditional arguments against girls in these choirs -- the slightly different sound made by girls and boys at young ages, and the limited time that the boys can sing soprano. Then there is the appeal to tradition; 500 to 1,000 years is a long time, and a huge barrier to even the slightest change. The court ruled for the choirmasters' artistic discretion and against the young singer..
Many English cathedrals have instituted girls' choirs which alternate services with the boys. But the most prominent English and American choirs are still men and boys. And while adult women have increasing numbers of opportunities in secondary and visiting choirs, full acceptance of us within the tradition seems to be almost as far off as ever. This makes it very hard for young women to pursue the related option of entering the field as organist-choirmasters or organ scholars...as I learned too well, if you don't have a solid network of older role models and a variety of welcoming opportunities, it is impossible to move upwards.
At my age, I guess I am more aware of what all this "feels" like than the actual intellectual, musical or legal arguments. It is, above all, about feeling welcome -- or not. I saw the words, "Never will a girl sing in a boys' choir" and I felt the punch to my stomach just as I have so many times before. When you are called to sing a specific tradition of sacred music at a high level, and you are not "allowed" to, your soul may never fully recover. Mine didn't. I pray that this young girl discovers some new, satisfying alternatives, or that her suit eventually opens some doors for her and others of her generation. I'd like her to know that I, too, tried my best! (As I write this, I am crying.)
On the one hand, I feel such solidarity with her. It is vindication, validating my own desire, starting 59 years ago, to sing the music of the English men-and-boys' choir tradition. I shouldn't still need to validate it, but strangely, I do.
And yet the fact that she was blocked in court causes a new wave of heartbreak. In the 1960's no one would even have considered suing. I am not big on lawsuits, but in this case I'm glad she and/or her parents had the courage to take that modern route. It brought into the public eye all the traditional arguments against girls in these choirs -- the slightly different sound made by girls and boys at young ages, and the limited time that the boys can sing soprano. Then there is the appeal to tradition; 500 to 1,000 years is a long time, and a huge barrier to even the slightest change. The court ruled for the choirmasters' artistic discretion and against the young singer..
Many English cathedrals have instituted girls' choirs which alternate services with the boys. But the most prominent English and American choirs are still men and boys. And while adult women have increasing numbers of opportunities in secondary and visiting choirs, full acceptance of us within the tradition seems to be almost as far off as ever. This makes it very hard for young women to pursue the related option of entering the field as organist-choirmasters or organ scholars...as I learned too well, if you don't have a solid network of older role models and a variety of welcoming opportunities, it is impossible to move upwards.
At my age, I guess I am more aware of what all this "feels" like than the actual intellectual, musical or legal arguments. It is, above all, about feeling welcome -- or not. I saw the words, "Never will a girl sing in a boys' choir" and I felt the punch to my stomach just as I have so many times before. When you are called to sing a specific tradition of sacred music at a high level, and you are not "allowed" to, your soul may never fully recover. Mine didn't. I pray that this young girl discovers some new, satisfying alternatives, or that her suit eventually opens some doors for her and others of her generation. I'd like her to know that I, too, tried my best! (As I write this, I am crying.)
Thursday, August 8, 2019
Shifts
OK, so I remember when I first lived in Duluth in the 90's, I began to sense that we were nearing major shifts in both human consciousness and our cultural center-of-gravity. It just seemed to me that we were on an unsustainable path and that things were going to change quite substantially -- at some point. And then it seemed like the kinds of shifts I was envisioning weren't happening. I wondered for several decades if it hadn't just been a figment of my imagination...
These last few weeks, I'm becoming pretty convinced that it wasn't my imagination. What is happening is too big, too dramatic, too close to home.
I'm tired from working on my book -- it's an emotional thing to do. And the news simply becomes more terrifying and more grotesque by the minute. So how to continue on a forward path right now without losing heart? All I seem to be able to do is keep checking in with myself about who I am, what my values are, and what forms of beauty constitute my personal backbone. All I can seem to do is be that person in the world. Coming from the background I come from, such a self-focus doesn't come easily, and can be uncomfortable. But I cannot control anything, anything, outside myself. Beauty, joy, love and truth will certainly exist beyond these shifts, probably in even greater measure than before; those of us who can must consistently personify these positive qualities as events unfold, as kind of a golden path through the darkness.
These last few weeks, I'm becoming pretty convinced that it wasn't my imagination. What is happening is too big, too dramatic, too close to home.
I'm tired from working on my book -- it's an emotional thing to do. And the news simply becomes more terrifying and more grotesque by the minute. So how to continue on a forward path right now without losing heart? All I seem to be able to do is keep checking in with myself about who I am, what my values are, and what forms of beauty constitute my personal backbone. All I can seem to do is be that person in the world. Coming from the background I come from, such a self-focus doesn't come easily, and can be uncomfortable. But I cannot control anything, anything, outside myself. Beauty, joy, love and truth will certainly exist beyond these shifts, probably in even greater measure than before; those of us who can must consistently personify these positive qualities as events unfold, as kind of a golden path through the darkness.
Tuesday, July 23, 2019
Where I come from
It's hard to speak about the unspeakable, so I'll take a slightly different tack.
Putting aside all human-created physical boundaries, where do I come from?
I would like to think I come from Love. I would like to think I come from Truth. I would like to think I come from Harmony and Music. I would like to think I come from Beauty. I would like to think I come from Art. I would like to think I come from Good. I would like to think I come from Empathy and Generosity. I would like to think I come from Joy. I would like to think I come from Expansion and Spiritual Growth. I would like to think I come from Vision. I would like to think I come from Perfect Self-Expression. I would like to think I come from Wisdom. I would like to think I am as good a representative as I can be of the Divine Feminine.
And if there are days or even weeks when I am off-center, this is the general neighborhood of energetic expression that I hope to go back to.
Putting aside all human-created physical boundaries, where do I come from?
I would like to think I come from Love. I would like to think I come from Truth. I would like to think I come from Harmony and Music. I would like to think I come from Beauty. I would like to think I come from Art. I would like to think I come from Good. I would like to think I come from Empathy and Generosity. I would like to think I come from Joy. I would like to think I come from Expansion and Spiritual Growth. I would like to think I come from Vision. I would like to think I come from Perfect Self-Expression. I would like to think I come from Wisdom. I would like to think I am as good a representative as I can be of the Divine Feminine.
And if there are days or even weeks when I am off-center, this is the general neighborhood of energetic expression that I hope to go back to.
Friday, July 12, 2019
Fragility
On this hot, exceedingly blustery summer day, I'll take a moment to muse about fragility. A few short years ago, I assumed that all my previous challenges would evaporate, and my sixties would be the apex of my own life and the lives of my female friends. I assumed that reaching the high points of careers, retirement, and power would put most of us in good places. Yet the reality is that many of us are either in extremely fragile places, or flirting with fragility in a way I don't remember in my mother's generation. My personal fragility is, as always, the transitional nature of my housing and a wavering sense of being able to fulfill my unique place and purpose. But my fall in England made me feel exceptionally fragile too, in a physical way. It cracked more than my wrist.
Friends in their sixties and early seventies are dealing with all manner of personal illnesses, challenges within their larger families, downsizing, disappointments. And of course so many of us are "freaking out" on some level about the direction our country seems to be taking. It is like there are storms blowing (more tsunamis?) and some of us, try as we might, are cracking, or breaking outright. Many of us are single, too, and as I've mentioned before, this brings up unique issues. If we aren't in close contact with birth family, who are our proverbial "loved ones"? And it's not like society at large loves its older single women. There's no, "Bravo, you! You've lived an unconventional life, you've contributed in unique ways (large and small) to our society, and we are proud that you are in our midst. Let's make the tallest and most elegant building in town its housing for wise older women"! (Hand to ear...still listening! No, I have never, ever heard words to that effect!)
My backbone right now, my counteraction to fragility, is writing my book. I am writing a blue streak, with index cards being filled up at an alarming rate. The "bringing cards to the library and typing" piece is going rather more slowly, but I'm not too worried. The book, in its early form at least, will be done by Labor Day, as I promised myself. Every word I write is empowering me, and I hope the ripple effect will subtly empower my personal friends and other women as well. I don't think it is possible to be empowered and fragile at the same time.
Friends in their sixties and early seventies are dealing with all manner of personal illnesses, challenges within their larger families, downsizing, disappointments. And of course so many of us are "freaking out" on some level about the direction our country seems to be taking. It is like there are storms blowing (more tsunamis?) and some of us, try as we might, are cracking, or breaking outright. Many of us are single, too, and as I've mentioned before, this brings up unique issues. If we aren't in close contact with birth family, who are our proverbial "loved ones"? And it's not like society at large loves its older single women. There's no, "Bravo, you! You've lived an unconventional life, you've contributed in unique ways (large and small) to our society, and we are proud that you are in our midst. Let's make the tallest and most elegant building in town its housing for wise older women"! (Hand to ear...still listening! No, I have never, ever heard words to that effect!)
My backbone right now, my counteraction to fragility, is writing my book. I am writing a blue streak, with index cards being filled up at an alarming rate. The "bringing cards to the library and typing" piece is going rather more slowly, but I'm not too worried. The book, in its early form at least, will be done by Labor Day, as I promised myself. Every word I write is empowering me, and I hope the ripple effect will subtly empower my personal friends and other women as well. I don't think it is possible to be empowered and fragile at the same time.
Monday, July 1, 2019
Atypical
As I move forward with my book, and with my life, I realize that there is nothing "typical" about me that I can discern. Nothing.
I guess this moment in Duluth is allowing me to fully appreciate this without totally freaking out. The circumstances of my life have been so wide-ranging and contradictory that I may never find a friend or community who I can hug and say, "You get this, you lived this too."
Friends who grew up in "typical middle-class American suburbs" at least may have been brought up with some shared values and experiences...type of housing, public high school, work ethic, etc. I have several friends who grew up on farms. On a very basic level, they lived a shared experience. They know what it is like to grow up in that unique environment. I have several friends who grew up in fundamentalist households. However different their circumstances might have been, there is a core spiritual experience that they could mirror to each other were they to meet. And of course, virtually all my friends married and had children, so no matter the dissimilarities in the other details of their adult lives, they know some of the "typical" trials and joys of partnership and childbirth and beyond (along with some atypical ones, surely).
It has always been hard for me to find a family of people who know what it is like to be American, but to have grown up with ultra-upper-crust "aristocratic" values but no money. To have family living in luxury one minute and dire poverty the next, and not even be allowed to talk about it. To be an American girl wanting to sing the English men and boys' choir tradition of music decades before that was possible. To have never settled down to husband or home because of those reasons and more. I have had so many friends over the years, and I love them and am so grateful for them. Right now, though, I am in such a different "place" than any of them that I feel somewhat panicky. Whether they are American or British, our actual day-to-day lives and struggles have had very little in common. I can rarely say, "You know what this is like." I wish I had more people with whom I had a specific shared mix of life experiences. From that standpoint, my life can feel outrageously lonely.
Yet this is all the more reason to increasingly tell the truth in my writing, the truth not only of what happened at specific moments, but also the truth of how things felt. I need to tell the truth of the evolution of my ability to emerge from numbness into human emotion. What I have experienced seems to set me apart from most other people, but how it affected me is the factor that may bring me back, closer to others. I may never be "typical" except on that deeper, feeling level. My heart has been broken over and over. That cannot possibly be atypical.
I guess this moment in Duluth is allowing me to fully appreciate this without totally freaking out. The circumstances of my life have been so wide-ranging and contradictory that I may never find a friend or community who I can hug and say, "You get this, you lived this too."
Friends who grew up in "typical middle-class American suburbs" at least may have been brought up with some shared values and experiences...type of housing, public high school, work ethic, etc. I have several friends who grew up on farms. On a very basic level, they lived a shared experience. They know what it is like to grow up in that unique environment. I have several friends who grew up in fundamentalist households. However different their circumstances might have been, there is a core spiritual experience that they could mirror to each other were they to meet. And of course, virtually all my friends married and had children, so no matter the dissimilarities in the other details of their adult lives, they know some of the "typical" trials and joys of partnership and childbirth and beyond (along with some atypical ones, surely).
It has always been hard for me to find a family of people who know what it is like to be American, but to have grown up with ultra-upper-crust "aristocratic" values but no money. To have family living in luxury one minute and dire poverty the next, and not even be allowed to talk about it. To be an American girl wanting to sing the English men and boys' choir tradition of music decades before that was possible. To have never settled down to husband or home because of those reasons and more. I have had so many friends over the years, and I love them and am so grateful for them. Right now, though, I am in such a different "place" than any of them that I feel somewhat panicky. Whether they are American or British, our actual day-to-day lives and struggles have had very little in common. I can rarely say, "You know what this is like." I wish I had more people with whom I had a specific shared mix of life experiences. From that standpoint, my life can feel outrageously lonely.
Yet this is all the more reason to increasingly tell the truth in my writing, the truth not only of what happened at specific moments, but also the truth of how things felt. I need to tell the truth of the evolution of my ability to emerge from numbness into human emotion. What I have experienced seems to set me apart from most other people, but how it affected me is the factor that may bring me back, closer to others. I may never be "typical" except on that deeper, feeling level. My heart has been broken over and over. That cannot possibly be atypical.
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