I had to go to the Social Security office and the DMV both in one day. After a decade or more of going to these places, I was prepared with a folder of multiples of every possible paperwork, something to sew while I waited and a grim forbearance. I was bracing myself for the dull faces who always give me attitude because their jobs are so incredibly boring that they have to make my life difficult in order to make their own interesting.
I was shocked to find the persons behind both desks were lively and efficient and had an attitude like they wanted to help me. No this has never happened to me before - two in one day even. Where did these crummy boring offices find such gems? And why now all of a sudden? Oh, yeah...
I don't know which companies laid them off, but I am so grateful to find them in their new jobs.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
Why all mothers are Crazy
I understand today why all mothers are crazy. It is an observation I've made for many years, beginning as a teenager - I don't know one single mother who is totally normal. They worry way too much, have irrational fears or emotional outbursts or are controlling etc. I was really hoping to avoid being that and even thought I had a chance since being aware of a danger can usually aid in preventing it.
But Today, my baby fell onto the floor. I wasn't in the room, I wasn't even in the house. Both his parents were using his nap time to do some gardening and from outside I heard a thump. My first thought, with a primal ache inside of me in some place I didn't know I had, was "dear god, please don't let that be my baby." And as my feet were running to the door my mind was racing to find any other explanation for that sound and by the time I was helpless in that, I saw his tiny curled up body, face down on the floor and he was wailing.
I was crying, I was screaming: I picked him up and held him, shutting my eyes against what I was afraid I would see and I asked Peep, who was right behind me to look. I asked, "Is he okay? Is he okay?" through my tears. (Writing about this makes my stomach churn) Peep was shockingly calm when he answered that he was fine.
And I am afraid that little incident may have finally shattered the glass of my sanity and I am filing into the ranks of motherhood. And I understand it now.
In other things in life, when we fail, we have the option to quit. We pick up the violin and it sounds terrible - We feel bad for a minute but then we put it down and move on to something else. Or even when the stakes are higher: we crash our car and hurt someone, we can say we will never drive again, and so on. But in this task, we do not have the option to quit. I felt it today - like I have failed so badly there is no going forward, and my mind wanted to take me down that familiar route of coping - "let it go, move on" but I couldn't budge. I'm here for life. He's still my baby, he's still in my arms and he could fall again and what's to say I can do a better job then. And I'm only 2 months in.
I spent the rest of the evening traumatized, hearing him fall all over the house and jerking my head around to see him, happy and gurgling. I saw that this was 10 times harder on me than it was on him. And then I saw the future - this is only the beginning - he will fall again, harder even.
Any time people have talked to me about parenting being hard, this is what they meant. I've been saying, "No, we get plenty of sleep." "He really doesn't cry that much." "He's such an easy baby." but they weren't talking about those things. Today was my initiation. And it turns out there's no chance of dodging that bullet, even though I saw it coming a long way away and had plenty of time.
But Today, my baby fell onto the floor. I wasn't in the room, I wasn't even in the house. Both his parents were using his nap time to do some gardening and from outside I heard a thump. My first thought, with a primal ache inside of me in some place I didn't know I had, was "dear god, please don't let that be my baby." And as my feet were running to the door my mind was racing to find any other explanation for that sound and by the time I was helpless in that, I saw his tiny curled up body, face down on the floor and he was wailing.
I was crying, I was screaming: I picked him up and held him, shutting my eyes against what I was afraid I would see and I asked Peep, who was right behind me to look. I asked, "Is he okay? Is he okay?" through my tears. (Writing about this makes my stomach churn) Peep was shockingly calm when he answered that he was fine.
And I am afraid that little incident may have finally shattered the glass of my sanity and I am filing into the ranks of motherhood. And I understand it now.
In other things in life, when we fail, we have the option to quit. We pick up the violin and it sounds terrible - We feel bad for a minute but then we put it down and move on to something else. Or even when the stakes are higher: we crash our car and hurt someone, we can say we will never drive again, and so on. But in this task, we do not have the option to quit. I felt it today - like I have failed so badly there is no going forward, and my mind wanted to take me down that familiar route of coping - "let it go, move on" but I couldn't budge. I'm here for life. He's still my baby, he's still in my arms and he could fall again and what's to say I can do a better job then. And I'm only 2 months in.
I spent the rest of the evening traumatized, hearing him fall all over the house and jerking my head around to see him, happy and gurgling. I saw that this was 10 times harder on me than it was on him. And then I saw the future - this is only the beginning - he will fall again, harder even.
Any time people have talked to me about parenting being hard, this is what they meant. I've been saying, "No, we get plenty of sleep." "He really doesn't cry that much." "He's such an easy baby." but they weren't talking about those things. Today was my initiation. And it turns out there's no chance of dodging that bullet, even though I saw it coming a long way away and had plenty of time.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Birth and Death
It occurred to me while I was pregnant that there is a profound parallel here.
While pregnant, I could feel the spirit of the one coming (every woman I know has felt this)
I began to have this eerie feeling: Here I was, walking around in the world and my baby was with me - I felt him - but he was not aware at all of where we were. Looking at the situation in terms of physics, the baby was inside of me and I was walking in the park, therefore the baby was also moving through the park.
It struck me that he was existing on a parallel plane - those parallel universes we talk about in terms of science fiction actually happen in a practical, observable way. He was here but he wasn't at the same time - and that perhaps in this experience I was so privileged to partake in, there was some enlightenment about how we travel to and from this world.
People who have near death experiences often describe travelling through a tunnel toward a bright light. That is also what birth is. The baby, all of sudden, on one fateful day feels called (or is pushed?) through a tunnel toward a very bright light.
Those who have come close to death and come back say they could feel loved ones on the other side waiting to greet them. That is birth - he came out stunned, brand new, and we who knew he was coming caught him in our lovingly awaiting arms.
Now he looks around at the world as though he's never seen it - but he was with me all along. And there were brief instances when the worlds crossed. He always kicked in response to his daddy's loud booming response and it still arrests his attention and gets him squirming. His active time in the womb is still his most restless out here. I wonder then, if that's what our miraculous moments are - when we just "know" not to go that way or when we suddenly feel the presence of a long dead loved one in the room with us - if we are also walking parallel with the spirit world but we just can't see it. And perhaps there are people who know our fate and our watching us develop, and are preparing for the moment when we, scared and unknowing, will birth ourselves back into their world.
While pregnant, I could feel the spirit of the one coming (every woman I know has felt this)
I began to have this eerie feeling: Here I was, walking around in the world and my baby was with me - I felt him - but he was not aware at all of where we were. Looking at the situation in terms of physics, the baby was inside of me and I was walking in the park, therefore the baby was also moving through the park.
It struck me that he was existing on a parallel plane - those parallel universes we talk about in terms of science fiction actually happen in a practical, observable way. He was here but he wasn't at the same time - and that perhaps in this experience I was so privileged to partake in, there was some enlightenment about how we travel to and from this world.
People who have near death experiences often describe travelling through a tunnel toward a bright light. That is also what birth is. The baby, all of sudden, on one fateful day feels called (or is pushed?) through a tunnel toward a very bright light.
Those who have come close to death and come back say they could feel loved ones on the other side waiting to greet them. That is birth - he came out stunned, brand new, and we who knew he was coming caught him in our lovingly awaiting arms.
Now he looks around at the world as though he's never seen it - but he was with me all along. And there were brief instances when the worlds crossed. He always kicked in response to his daddy's loud booming response and it still arrests his attention and gets him squirming. His active time in the womb is still his most restless out here. I wonder then, if that's what our miraculous moments are - when we just "know" not to go that way or when we suddenly feel the presence of a long dead loved one in the room with us - if we are also walking parallel with the spirit world but we just can't see it. And perhaps there are people who know our fate and our watching us develop, and are preparing for the moment when we, scared and unknowing, will birth ourselves back into their world.
Friday, March 11, 2011
The Birth Story
My due date came and went and I was still pregnant. We went from an excited "it could be any day now" feeling to a disappointment and concern. I even started to give up - I had dreams at night that the baby left my belly and went to another person - that he'd changed his mind about being with us.
On January 28, 8 days after he was "supposed" to come, I went in for a checkup with the midwife. She said she would have to make an appointment for me to be induced in 2 days at which point my loosening mind could no longer talk itself into staying together. I nodded and accepted, then left the building and cried for 2 hours in the parking lot. It was like I had failed and that the people who had been helping me along the way expected me to fail. Then, as always happens when something is pushed too far, I snapped back. They can't induce me if I don't show up. So I called the midwife back and said I was sorry but I was not going to go to that appointment, and after much haggling, finally won. My dear husband spent the whole afternoon with me, bought me primrose oil and a wholefoods blueberry muffin that my sister swears made her go into labor.
That night, I sat and stewed and realized I had so many issues. This impending birth was swimming in my fears and past and stories... I had been preparing for a natural birth, training my mind to find it peaceful and pleasurable, though I had never done it before and didn't know how so wasn't sure if I was training right. During my own birth, labor was induced - it was long and painful and the mother went crazy afterward and I have always tried to be nothing like her. And there I was, teetering so maddeningly on the edge of making my first step into motherhood the same first step she took.
So I called my dad. I couldn't ask the question I really had in my mind, so I said something polite and appropriate like, "tell me about my birth, dad." But he must have known, so he answered my real question. He told me I was nothing like her and specifically detailed the differences between our lives and who we are. I felt peace after that, like I could move forward. I can still feel the essence of that evening, glowing with intense emotion and red light.
That night, around midnight, I felt contractions start, the same as in every night for the previous 10 days. They wouldn't let me sleep so I got up and walked. Around 1:30, I began to feel the slightest hope that these weren't Braxton Hicks, but I wasn't about to count on it. But they were intense enough that I thought this was a good opportunity to practice for the real thing so I started trying out different things. I got into a warm bath - it felt really good but restricted my movement, so I had to keep getting out. I turned on my meditation tape but it made me vomit. I tried some belly dancing. Around 3:00 am it occurred to me that this was probably labor, and at 3:30 I had no further reason to doubt that, so I called Lily and Jayme to give them a "heads up" that some time today, I would probably have a baby and to go back to sleep since this was still the beginning. (Labor lasts 18 hours, right?) I was alone in my silent dark house. As the contractions became stronger, I found the best way to get through them was by laying my head down on my arms (on the back of the couch, kitchen bar, etc) slightly bent over with my legs bouncing beneath me. In between contractions, I was doing a load of laundry - trying to clean up the vomit. Sometime after calling Jayme, maybe 3:45, I woke my sleeping husband and said, "honey, I think we're having a baby today" and continued bouncing.
I could never describe the feeling as painful. At the top of each contraction, there was a moment - I have no idea but maybe 20 seconds - where I could see why women want epidurals. But then that moment would fade and I was washed over with rushing warmth and euphoria, followed by an open sea of peace. And so I bounced and rested through these cycles.
I had been bouncing in my bathroom when I felt a subtle change, like a shift of pressure inside me and I told Peep to call the midwife. I talked with her on the phone and said I felt pressure and thought I needed to go to the hospital. She sat there through one of my moaning contractions and I said "that was a contraction". She told me to stay home and keep timing my contractions (I had not been). It felt wrong, but she was the expert. Peep started timing, though I was oblivious of him (they were in fact 2 to 3 minutes). Then I felt the urge to push and I realized with horror just how far along we were. I had been waiting for the pain to become unbearable - up to that point, it had been so nice - what I thought was the prologue had in fact been the whole play and here it was already the end and I was not at all ready!! Peep heard me say "I want to push" and flew into his own parallel panic. He readied things in the car (having only been himself awake 20 -30 minutes).
I called the midwife and said "I am coming now" (no matter what you say!) I managed to put some clothes on, while my water broke on the floor and I saw blood. The water breaking felt good - it felt like the release of pressure , satisfying like scratching an itch is satisfying. And I kept wanting to push, and I could feel the baby coming down and there I was still in my bathroom. Everything in my body and heart wanted me to stay right where I was and finish this - I couldn't go; I couldn't leave. And then my mind engaged and I took a look at my situation and laid out my choice: I could have the baby here, but did I want that? My husband would be panicked, this was not what we planned - we would be all alone. And I decided to try go to the hospital, even though I might not make it.
So I crawled/shuffled/pushed myself out of the house, with no shoes, and tumbled into the front seat of Peep's car, where I kneeled down with my back to the windshield and my arms around the headrest and he drove. I remembered that you can blow to prevent yourself from pushing, so I was blowing and blowing with every thing I had - but I felt the baby progressing anyway. After an eternity, we made it to the hospital doors and I felt so relieved. Peep drove straight to the entrance and said "Just wait here while I bring you a wheelchair" to which I replied through my breathing, "I'm not waiting" and stumbled out. Peep had my elbow and I was barely on my feet and we somehow managed to cover the hallways and finally I was where I was supposed to be. Peep went to move the car.
In seconds, I was on the bed with several nurses and my midwife, busying around me and gazing expectantly between my widespread legs. We were all ready, but now we were waiting for Peep- I was blowing and blowing - and then he came, and finally I was allowed to birth my baby. It was wonderful. It was like singing out my heart's desire to an adoring and admiring audience. I told everyone to be quiet and let me do my thing. A few pushes and he was out at 4:58 am: Perfect, plump, with big open peaceful blue eyes. The nurses told me I was on that bed less than 10 minutes.
On January 28, 8 days after he was "supposed" to come, I went in for a checkup with the midwife. She said she would have to make an appointment for me to be induced in 2 days at which point my loosening mind could no longer talk itself into staying together. I nodded and accepted, then left the building and cried for 2 hours in the parking lot. It was like I had failed and that the people who had been helping me along the way expected me to fail. Then, as always happens when something is pushed too far, I snapped back. They can't induce me if I don't show up. So I called the midwife back and said I was sorry but I was not going to go to that appointment, and after much haggling, finally won. My dear husband spent the whole afternoon with me, bought me primrose oil and a wholefoods blueberry muffin that my sister swears made her go into labor.
That night, I sat and stewed and realized I had so many issues. This impending birth was swimming in my fears and past and stories... I had been preparing for a natural birth, training my mind to find it peaceful and pleasurable, though I had never done it before and didn't know how so wasn't sure if I was training right. During my own birth, labor was induced - it was long and painful and the mother went crazy afterward and I have always tried to be nothing like her. And there I was, teetering so maddeningly on the edge of making my first step into motherhood the same first step she took.
So I called my dad. I couldn't ask the question I really had in my mind, so I said something polite and appropriate like, "tell me about my birth, dad." But he must have known, so he answered my real question. He told me I was nothing like her and specifically detailed the differences between our lives and who we are. I felt peace after that, like I could move forward. I can still feel the essence of that evening, glowing with intense emotion and red light.
That night, around midnight, I felt contractions start, the same as in every night for the previous 10 days. They wouldn't let me sleep so I got up and walked. Around 1:30, I began to feel the slightest hope that these weren't Braxton Hicks, but I wasn't about to count on it. But they were intense enough that I thought this was a good opportunity to practice for the real thing so I started trying out different things. I got into a warm bath - it felt really good but restricted my movement, so I had to keep getting out. I turned on my meditation tape but it made me vomit. I tried some belly dancing. Around 3:00 am it occurred to me that this was probably labor, and at 3:30 I had no further reason to doubt that, so I called Lily and Jayme to give them a "heads up" that some time today, I would probably have a baby and to go back to sleep since this was still the beginning. (Labor lasts 18 hours, right?) I was alone in my silent dark house. As the contractions became stronger, I found the best way to get through them was by laying my head down on my arms (on the back of the couch, kitchen bar, etc) slightly bent over with my legs bouncing beneath me. In between contractions, I was doing a load of laundry - trying to clean up the vomit. Sometime after calling Jayme, maybe 3:45, I woke my sleeping husband and said, "honey, I think we're having a baby today" and continued bouncing.
I could never describe the feeling as painful. At the top of each contraction, there was a moment - I have no idea but maybe 20 seconds - where I could see why women want epidurals. But then that moment would fade and I was washed over with rushing warmth and euphoria, followed by an open sea of peace. And so I bounced and rested through these cycles.
I had been bouncing in my bathroom when I felt a subtle change, like a shift of pressure inside me and I told Peep to call the midwife. I talked with her on the phone and said I felt pressure and thought I needed to go to the hospital. She sat there through one of my moaning contractions and I said "that was a contraction". She told me to stay home and keep timing my contractions (I had not been). It felt wrong, but she was the expert. Peep started timing, though I was oblivious of him (they were in fact 2 to 3 minutes). Then I felt the urge to push and I realized with horror just how far along we were. I had been waiting for the pain to become unbearable - up to that point, it had been so nice - what I thought was the prologue had in fact been the whole play and here it was already the end and I was not at all ready!! Peep heard me say "I want to push" and flew into his own parallel panic. He readied things in the car (having only been himself awake 20 -30 minutes).
I called the midwife and said "I am coming now" (no matter what you say!) I managed to put some clothes on, while my water broke on the floor and I saw blood. The water breaking felt good - it felt like the release of pressure , satisfying like scratching an itch is satisfying. And I kept wanting to push, and I could feel the baby coming down and there I was still in my bathroom. Everything in my body and heart wanted me to stay right where I was and finish this - I couldn't go; I couldn't leave. And then my mind engaged and I took a look at my situation and laid out my choice: I could have the baby here, but did I want that? My husband would be panicked, this was not what we planned - we would be all alone. And I decided to try go to the hospital, even though I might not make it.
So I crawled/shuffled/pushed myself out of the house, with no shoes, and tumbled into the front seat of Peep's car, where I kneeled down with my back to the windshield and my arms around the headrest and he drove. I remembered that you can blow to prevent yourself from pushing, so I was blowing and blowing with every thing I had - but I felt the baby progressing anyway. After an eternity, we made it to the hospital doors and I felt so relieved. Peep drove straight to the entrance and said "Just wait here while I bring you a wheelchair" to which I replied through my breathing, "I'm not waiting" and stumbled out. Peep had my elbow and I was barely on my feet and we somehow managed to cover the hallways and finally I was where I was supposed to be. Peep went to move the car.
In seconds, I was on the bed with several nurses and my midwife, busying around me and gazing expectantly between my widespread legs. We were all ready, but now we were waiting for Peep- I was blowing and blowing - and then he came, and finally I was allowed to birth my baby. It was wonderful. It was like singing out my heart's desire to an adoring and admiring audience. I told everyone to be quiet and let me do my thing. A few pushes and he was out at 4:58 am: Perfect, plump, with big open peaceful blue eyes. The nurses told me I was on that bed less than 10 minutes.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
And, all of a sudden, there were three
I married my One in April 2010 and found out about 1 month later that I was pregnant even though that wasn't supposed to be possible without surgery. I remember the day the strip turned pink - I dropped everything and drove to Peep and the next hours and days were nothing but testing and testing to confirm the impossible.
When I finally believed it, I was swimming in such a cocktail of feelings. I was in shock. I felt robbed of the time I thought I had to be me, to be young, to enjoy my new marriage. I also felt giddy with joy and so special. I felt a profound relief that I could in fact have children. And I was scared because I didn't know what I was doing.
In those days, a few things established themselves. One, this is our love child and we are so honored to be chosen and even though it was not our plan, we accept it. And, I was not in control of this, so, just in this part of my life, I stepped aside and into a new paradigm - that my life is the wave I am riding, not the path I am walking.
And, as I think do most young women who just find out they are pregnant and bow down to whatever force of power they can find, I frantically prayed for guidance, and got one simple answer: "Have me and I will be easy."
And then there was 9 months of pregnancy. For the first 3 months, I did not breathe a word. I was holding my breath for the miscarriage I was statistically likely to have. I lived life as usual, even throwing ourselves another wedding and going on a honeymoon. I was sick. So sick. Two pieces of advice for pregnant women: 1. Wait till your second trimester before going on your honeymoon. 2. Wait till your second trimester to remove your wisdom teeth.
All of those difficult weeks were in Estonia, the wrong place to be for a nauseous pregnant Texan who only wanted tacos and hates pork. But we survived, and Peep was so caring and patient. At 13 weeks, we found out the baby was fine and would probably stick. We also heard he would be a boy. Then, I told my family and I believed it.
And the remaining months, he was right. He was easy. Pregnancy did some wonderful things for me.
1. No stress. Somehow, my whole being knew. It was like I grounded myself into my pregnancy so that not only did I eat the things that would be good for the baby, I thought and felt things that would be good for the baby. All of a sudden, I had an off switch for the stress and it was automatic. I didn't try or focus or commit or anything like that - just 15 seconds feeling stressed out and then the mind/body would like stop bloodflow to that bit of my brain and I would be happy again. I also never got mad at my husband. I was always nice.
2. My skin cleared up. I have since the age of 12 had a bit of a battle with my body over being a woman - like somehow not all of me was on board and we were a bit out of sync, causing me suffering in all kinds of ways. Pregnancy cured me.
3. I was forced to take care of myself. For reasons that I analyze and trace back to ancient bits of my life, I habitually prioritize myself and my well being last. I, like many, have lived under the self-imposed dictum that the more I suffer, the more virtuous I am and walk around making my life as difficult as possible and then bragging to others in complaining tones how little sleep I get and when my last meal was and what a heavy thing I carried, etc etc. So pregnancy rescued me from that. Now, to be virtuous, I HAD to take care of myself. And what a relief, to be pulled away from the selfishness of selflessness.
4. It made my take the short path. There are two kinds of people and I am the kind that does things the long, hard, complicated way. Perfectionist for its own sake and often to a fault. A few friends coming over might turn into me cooking a 5 course meal and inventing a new cocktail and buying more furniture. But pregnant, I had no extra energy to waste and my thoughts changed to take that into account: remove me from my tunnel of vision and ask the question - does the energy I put in really affect the result?
When I finally believed it, I was swimming in such a cocktail of feelings. I was in shock. I felt robbed of the time I thought I had to be me, to be young, to enjoy my new marriage. I also felt giddy with joy and so special. I felt a profound relief that I could in fact have children. And I was scared because I didn't know what I was doing.
In those days, a few things established themselves. One, this is our love child and we are so honored to be chosen and even though it was not our plan, we accept it. And, I was not in control of this, so, just in this part of my life, I stepped aside and into a new paradigm - that my life is the wave I am riding, not the path I am walking.
And, as I think do most young women who just find out they are pregnant and bow down to whatever force of power they can find, I frantically prayed for guidance, and got one simple answer: "Have me and I will be easy."
And then there was 9 months of pregnancy. For the first 3 months, I did not breathe a word. I was holding my breath for the miscarriage I was statistically likely to have. I lived life as usual, even throwing ourselves another wedding and going on a honeymoon. I was sick. So sick. Two pieces of advice for pregnant women: 1. Wait till your second trimester before going on your honeymoon. 2. Wait till your second trimester to remove your wisdom teeth.
All of those difficult weeks were in Estonia, the wrong place to be for a nauseous pregnant Texan who only wanted tacos and hates pork. But we survived, and Peep was so caring and patient. At 13 weeks, we found out the baby was fine and would probably stick. We also heard he would be a boy. Then, I told my family and I believed it.
And the remaining months, he was right. He was easy. Pregnancy did some wonderful things for me.
1. No stress. Somehow, my whole being knew. It was like I grounded myself into my pregnancy so that not only did I eat the things that would be good for the baby, I thought and felt things that would be good for the baby. All of a sudden, I had an off switch for the stress and it was automatic. I didn't try or focus or commit or anything like that - just 15 seconds feeling stressed out and then the mind/body would like stop bloodflow to that bit of my brain and I would be happy again. I also never got mad at my husband. I was always nice.
2. My skin cleared up. I have since the age of 12 had a bit of a battle with my body over being a woman - like somehow not all of me was on board and we were a bit out of sync, causing me suffering in all kinds of ways. Pregnancy cured me.
3. I was forced to take care of myself. For reasons that I analyze and trace back to ancient bits of my life, I habitually prioritize myself and my well being last. I, like many, have lived under the self-imposed dictum that the more I suffer, the more virtuous I am and walk around making my life as difficult as possible and then bragging to others in complaining tones how little sleep I get and when my last meal was and what a heavy thing I carried, etc etc. So pregnancy rescued me from that. Now, to be virtuous, I HAD to take care of myself. And what a relief, to be pulled away from the selfishness of selflessness.
4. It made my take the short path. There are two kinds of people and I am the kind that does things the long, hard, complicated way. Perfectionist for its own sake and often to a fault. A few friends coming over might turn into me cooking a 5 course meal and inventing a new cocktail and buying more furniture. But pregnant, I had no extra energy to waste and my thoughts changed to take that into account: remove me from my tunnel of vision and ask the question - does the energy I put in really affect the result?
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
The Jewelry Business
I started a jewelry business a few months ago. It is intended to be a way for me to use my particular gemstone knowledge to create a bit of cashflow.
I read a book a few months ago which seems to have possibly changed my life: Ready, Fire, Aim by Michael Masterson. I am the type who is thorough, thoughtful and 100% sure it is right before I act. In the book, this author encourages me to act first and refine later. So that is what I am doing with this business. My experiences so far are proving him right. I am a guerilla: I go to any little fair that will accept my booth: flea markets, art shows, gem and mineral shows, highschool band fundraisers, christmas fairs, mardi gras, even Harley Davidson races. I go to tiny towns and big cities. I will do jewelry parties. I have a website and an SEO guru helping me invade the internet.
I am learning a lot. I have sold over 300 peices of jewelry to that many people and I have had 5 times as many conversations with them one-on-one, spanning every demographic. This has given me insights into human beings, what they want from jewelry ranging from the emotional to fashion to mechanics. I have 3 more unique jewelry brands in the pipelines that I have created based on the information I have collected.
Here is a taste:
I read a book a few months ago which seems to have possibly changed my life: Ready, Fire, Aim by Michael Masterson. I am the type who is thorough, thoughtful and 100% sure it is right before I act. In the book, this author encourages me to act first and refine later. So that is what I am doing with this business. My experiences so far are proving him right. I am a guerilla: I go to any little fair that will accept my booth: flea markets, art shows, gem and mineral shows, highschool band fundraisers, christmas fairs, mardi gras, even Harley Davidson races. I go to tiny towns and big cities. I will do jewelry parties. I have a website and an SEO guru helping me invade the internet.
I am learning a lot. I have sold over 300 peices of jewelry to that many people and I have had 5 times as many conversations with them one-on-one, spanning every demographic. This has given me insights into human beings, what they want from jewelry ranging from the emotional to fashion to mechanics. I have 3 more unique jewelry brands in the pipelines that I have created based on the information I have collected.
Here is a taste:
Friday, September 19, 2008
Death in a Flood
The place in the Comarca of Panama that has been so special to me, where I volunteered and where the bags come from, has been ravaged by a flood. A big river runs through these communities, fed by mountain rain runoffs. It used to be a great source of pride. These last weeks, it brought only death and destruction.
I know and love the community generally, but in my time there I also formed a few individual friendships. One of my friends was Plinio. I read in an email a few days ago that Plinio is dead, washed away by the flood.
I am sad. I am shocked. I disbelieve. I wake up happy in the morning thinking it was a bad dream. There are a few things to say about the death of Plinio, now a part of my life.
No one knows Plinio in my community. There are a lot of people in Austin, where I am now, with whom I am as close as I was with Plinio. If I was to lose anyone of them, I would feel others around me grieving. We could talk about it, hug each other, go to the funeral. Almost no one who knows me knows that my friend has died. I want to tell them, but they would just feel sad and scared - they don't know Plinio.
My friends who also know Plinio, the Ngobe people who live in the comarca, are devasted beyond anything any of you can imagine. Medo, the organization founded by Plinio's brother, my shining leader friend Adan, of which Plinio was also a member, has worked diligently creating miracles, bringing in talent, support and money from more developed places and slowly, with great vision hope and promise, developing the poor communities of the Comarca.
We in rich cement cities can't understand what the destruction of infrustructure means to poor isolated places. All that work, all that hopeful development - so much of it washed away. Who knows how many years, or decades, it will take to get it back. Entire communities are isolated from schools and medical help by impassable rivers that used to have bridges.
The one everyone is relying on - the Ngobe, though they might not know it, and the westerners who want to help -that person is Adan Bejerano Rios, the brother of Plinio. I am always cc-d on Adan's Medo related correspondence, sometimes I translate for him, and I have to say, this is my biggest heartbreak. Someone so good, who has worked so hard with such integrity and generosity, had his BROTHER, who he loved so much, washed away in a flood, his home washed away and his life's work set back. He's still working. He's coordinating the distribution of relief money and supplies. He's getting people temporary shelter. He is asking his outsider contacts for help. He didn't deserve this. Everyone who's ever worked with Adan wants to help him -he's that kind of an inspiration. We want to lighten his load. I feel so helpless. He's been hurt so irreparably.
I don't have many people who've died. Mostly they have been elderly relatives. I can't say I was prepared but I did know they would die in my lifetime. Plinio wasn't that much older than me.
He died by being washed away in a flood? He must have been so scared... I didn't want my friend to die in a flood.
Plinio was a special character, a kind of serial entrepreneur. He started the Ngobe botanical garden and got a bunch of German and Austrian scientists supporting him. He even got to visit Austria's botanical gardens. He visited Gardens in Costa Rica and was about to study in the USA. This set him apart in his community. He and Adan are the only members of their community who've ever been to other countries. Few have even visited bigger cities in Panama.
When I last saw him, he was telling him about his men's coffee growing cooperative, brought me to a meeting, discussed marketing, and sold me two bags of his finest. He was ambitious, involved in lots of things, eager for his big break, struggling to find ways for his work and interests to earn him money. He was not married but he had a girlfriend. He just always seemed to be so eager for his great future, when he would be wealthy, well traveled, owner of a respectable botanical garden, owner of a house with a family.
He was also humble and respectful. He had a great mind, taking joy in discoveries. He had a bigger vision of plants and culture and ecosystems. Anyone who's ever been to a really poor rural place in a developing country should appreciate the kind of person who is from there and poor also, but wants to preserve and educate people about native plants, because it's right and important.
So this takes me to my next thought: I live my life on the assumption that I will live to be 80, that I am exploring now, trying to raise money, soon I will buy a house, then I will have a family, then I will be a leader in a field or in a community and change the world. But that is not something that is, in fact, necessarily the case. I can't know when the flood will wash me away. I feel like I am working towards something. Like this moment is not life - like it is preparation for what's coming. But that is not the truth. This moment is life. It is folly to lend my current happiness on credit to the "greater worthiness" of the future.
In my culture, we see people who live life for the present and we judge "irresponsible". If I rent a $1200 apartment that I think is beautiful, without saving for the future, or trying to buy a house, etc, I am judged badly. I should scrimp and save and suffer for a few years to "build my future". If I want to have a family-husband, kids- I should wait, put it off, keep wanting it but not having it, until I have enough money to be sure I can support them. These are the values of my culture.
I don't know when the flood is coming for me. I remember parts of my past, I can conjure them clearly, but there is no sense of chronology. It is just snapshots of different incarnations of me in worlds of their own unique hues and smells. And as far as my honest experience of life, there is no future. I have no EXPERIENCE of the future. So it seems to me there is no time. There are just many different tiny experiences of "now".
I don't know if this mentality will be mine to carry forever, or if it is a natural part of the sudden shocking loss of a peer, and will eventually dissolve. But these days, "Now" is the only thing that matters to me.
I wish there was some way for me to grieve for Plinio. I can see his face in my memory, but I haven't found any photos, even. I think this is one of the reasons humans live in groups - to help each other grieve. It's so disorienting, because the fact is, my daily life is not changed by the absence of Plinio. I would not even have to face the truth of it until I go back to Soloy.
Going back to Soloy... I was going to go in October. I don't know now if I am welcome. I don't know if it would be a good time, in that I could bring aid and help, or a bad time in that there would be no place to stay, no one to host me, no clean water and perhaps embarassment to show the destruction to an outsider.
Here is the project I worked on with Plinio, the website for his botanical garden. I see it now and I notice so many little flaws. But he was grateful and proud of it. soloy. pueblerino.info
Here is the blog post about my first meeting with the Ngobe, Adan and Plinio: http://sarahsight.blogspot.com/2007/10/week-in-another-world.html
EDIT: I just searched the Panamanian newspapers. I learned that Plinio was pulled away while trying to rescue an 8 year old girl. He was missing. Then they found his body. The girl died too. I could not imagine Plinio watching one of his village girls drowning and not try to help. But I just wish...
RE-EDIT: I got an email from a friend telling the story of a peace corp friend who is part of this community and is there helping to rebuild. The Panamanian newspaper got it wrong. He said that Plinio was saving children who were trapped inside a wooden house during the flood. He saved several of the older children, making trips back and fourth. He went back for the 8 month old baby, and the house collapsed on top of them. He was carried away in the flood inside the house, being trapped beneath it, and could not struggle out.
I know and love the community generally, but in my time there I also formed a few individual friendships. One of my friends was Plinio. I read in an email a few days ago that Plinio is dead, washed away by the flood.
I am sad. I am shocked. I disbelieve. I wake up happy in the morning thinking it was a bad dream. There are a few things to say about the death of Plinio, now a part of my life.
No one knows Plinio in my community. There are a lot of people in Austin, where I am now, with whom I am as close as I was with Plinio. If I was to lose anyone of them, I would feel others around me grieving. We could talk about it, hug each other, go to the funeral. Almost no one who knows me knows that my friend has died. I want to tell them, but they would just feel sad and scared - they don't know Plinio.
My friends who also know Plinio, the Ngobe people who live in the comarca, are devasted beyond anything any of you can imagine. Medo, the organization founded by Plinio's brother, my shining leader friend Adan, of which Plinio was also a member, has worked diligently creating miracles, bringing in talent, support and money from more developed places and slowly, with great vision hope and promise, developing the poor communities of the Comarca.
We in rich cement cities can't understand what the destruction of infrustructure means to poor isolated places. All that work, all that hopeful development - so much of it washed away. Who knows how many years, or decades, it will take to get it back. Entire communities are isolated from schools and medical help by impassable rivers that used to have bridges.
The one everyone is relying on - the Ngobe, though they might not know it, and the westerners who want to help -that person is Adan Bejerano Rios, the brother of Plinio. I am always cc-d on Adan's Medo related correspondence, sometimes I translate for him, and I have to say, this is my biggest heartbreak. Someone so good, who has worked so hard with such integrity and generosity, had his BROTHER, who he loved so much, washed away in a flood, his home washed away and his life's work set back. He's still working. He's coordinating the distribution of relief money and supplies. He's getting people temporary shelter. He is asking his outsider contacts for help. He didn't deserve this. Everyone who's ever worked with Adan wants to help him -he's that kind of an inspiration. We want to lighten his load. I feel so helpless. He's been hurt so irreparably.
I don't have many people who've died. Mostly they have been elderly relatives. I can't say I was prepared but I did know they would die in my lifetime. Plinio wasn't that much older than me.
He died by being washed away in a flood? He must have been so scared... I didn't want my friend to die in a flood.
Plinio was a special character, a kind of serial entrepreneur. He started the Ngobe botanical garden and got a bunch of German and Austrian scientists supporting him. He even got to visit Austria's botanical gardens. He visited Gardens in Costa Rica and was about to study in the USA. This set him apart in his community. He and Adan are the only members of their community who've ever been to other countries. Few have even visited bigger cities in Panama.
When I last saw him, he was telling him about his men's coffee growing cooperative, brought me to a meeting, discussed marketing, and sold me two bags of his finest. He was ambitious, involved in lots of things, eager for his big break, struggling to find ways for his work and interests to earn him money. He was not married but he had a girlfriend. He just always seemed to be so eager for his great future, when he would be wealthy, well traveled, owner of a respectable botanical garden, owner of a house with a family.
He was also humble and respectful. He had a great mind, taking joy in discoveries. He had a bigger vision of plants and culture and ecosystems. Anyone who's ever been to a really poor rural place in a developing country should appreciate the kind of person who is from there and poor also, but wants to preserve and educate people about native plants, because it's right and important.
So this takes me to my next thought: I live my life on the assumption that I will live to be 80, that I am exploring now, trying to raise money, soon I will buy a house, then I will have a family, then I will be a leader in a field or in a community and change the world. But that is not something that is, in fact, necessarily the case. I can't know when the flood will wash me away. I feel like I am working towards something. Like this moment is not life - like it is preparation for what's coming. But that is not the truth. This moment is life. It is folly to lend my current happiness on credit to the "greater worthiness" of the future.
In my culture, we see people who live life for the present and we judge "irresponsible". If I rent a $1200 apartment that I think is beautiful, without saving for the future, or trying to buy a house, etc, I am judged badly. I should scrimp and save and suffer for a few years to "build my future". If I want to have a family-husband, kids- I should wait, put it off, keep wanting it but not having it, until I have enough money to be sure I can support them. These are the values of my culture.
I don't know when the flood is coming for me. I remember parts of my past, I can conjure them clearly, but there is no sense of chronology. It is just snapshots of different incarnations of me in worlds of their own unique hues and smells. And as far as my honest experience of life, there is no future. I have no EXPERIENCE of the future. So it seems to me there is no time. There are just many different tiny experiences of "now".
I don't know if this mentality will be mine to carry forever, or if it is a natural part of the sudden shocking loss of a peer, and will eventually dissolve. But these days, "Now" is the only thing that matters to me.
I wish there was some way for me to grieve for Plinio. I can see his face in my memory, but I haven't found any photos, even. I think this is one of the reasons humans live in groups - to help each other grieve. It's so disorienting, because the fact is, my daily life is not changed by the absence of Plinio. I would not even have to face the truth of it until I go back to Soloy.
Going back to Soloy... I was going to go in October. I don't know now if I am welcome. I don't know if it would be a good time, in that I could bring aid and help, or a bad time in that there would be no place to stay, no one to host me, no clean water and perhaps embarassment to show the destruction to an outsider.
Here is the project I worked on with Plinio, the website for his botanical garden. I see it now and I notice so many little flaws. But he was grateful and proud of it. soloy. pueblerino.info
Here is the blog post about my first meeting with the Ngobe, Adan and Plinio: http://sarahsight.blogspot.com/2007/10/week-in-another-world.html
EDIT: I just searched the Panamanian newspapers. I learned that Plinio was pulled away while trying to rescue an 8 year old girl. He was missing. Then they found his body. The girl died too. I could not imagine Plinio watching one of his village girls drowning and not try to help. But I just wish...
RE-EDIT: I got an email from a friend telling the story of a peace corp friend who is part of this community and is there helping to rebuild. The Panamanian newspaper got it wrong. He said that Plinio was saving children who were trapped inside a wooden house during the flood. He saved several of the older children, making trips back and fourth. He went back for the 8 month old baby, and the house collapsed on top of them. He was carried away in the flood inside the house, being trapped beneath it, and could not struggle out.
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