A Statement of Purpose

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Where the hell do I start? I've set some of my own deadlines for getting my paperwork in for entry into the master's program.  Now, I'm toiling over my personal statement which sounds like this:

I sat among a scattered bunch of desks full of hopeful University of C. seniors. As we looked towards graduating with our degrees in Creative Writing, we met with the English faculty to discuss our job prospects. Some suggested we apply for ground level positions at the Sentinel. Others mentioned the idea of teaching or pursuing further education. My professor, J.L., revealed, “If you want to sell your soul, you could try your hand at technical writing.” Since my family had a background in computer software, I dove straight into working as a technical writer, creating help files and user manuals. It was the beginning of the Internet boom and the start of my uncreative writing career. I graduated and, at the same time, sold my creative soul.


Outside of collegiate life, I found other ways to bolster my creativity. Though my academic coursework was complete, I continued to write poetry and read both classic literature as well as modern works. I began to rethink my career choice and started to entertain the notion of becoming a professor. After all, I had been heavily influenced by my literature and poetry instructors at UofC. W.C., a well-known author and respected professor, was my mentor and advisor during my coursework at the university. He certainly inspired me by imparting his own love for writing and sharing his life experiences. I hope to have that same impact on my own students someday.


However, another aspiration, (one of starting a family) brought a different direction to my life. I had two little children to raise. I channeled my creativity into weaving imaginary stories for their pleasure. Soon after becoming a mom, I began working part-time, teaching group exercise classes. Along with being a healthy role model to my children, becoming an instructor fed my desire to stay fit and inspire others. I realized my gift wasn’t in writing the instructions of “how-to,” but rather, by coaching and motivating people to push their limits. Between diaper changes and play dates, there were Zumba, Cycle, and Body Pump classes to fill my weekly schedule.


Once my children-- no longer small and helpless-- began their own academic life, I started to think again about my goals and achievements thus far. I had been a scholarship collegiate athlete – a 4-year rower at UCF. I had graduated with my degree in English. I’d worked in corporate America in various roles. With children in school, I was ready to explore the idea of returning to work and dialing in my future goals. I still had interest in working in an educational environment. To that end, I applied and was hired as a tutor at Country C. College. Currently, I work in the writing center tutoring undergraduates and incoming high school students on grammar, the structure of writing essays, as well as, thesis development and proper citation. During the fall semester, I was offered the opportunity to teach the great art of grammar and writing in a College Prep English course. Having a college class of my own to teach has inspired me even further to continue my education and work toward a master’s degree.


Accompanying my growing love for my new academic position, I also began practicing yoga. My personal reading list and studies began to drift into the principles of Buddhism and the art of meditation and mindfulness. This year, I studied and completed a 270-hour Hatha Yoga teacher training program. My role as a yoga instructor began and concurrently, a whole new perspective on life with a concentration on the ideas of mindfulness began. In the past couple of years, I’ve discovered that there is a deep interconnected network of events and experiences that have all come together to influence my personal journey. Though writing and literature have been a big influence on my life, I realize that my interest in studying has grown beyond those areas into art history, philosophy, eastern thought, and the cultural connections one can make in the human experience. Specifically, a fellow colleague suggested I examine the tenets of Stoicism in relation to my studies in the Buddhist teachings. I find these correlations to be what stirs intellectual curiosity and my desire to continue as a lifelong academic.


The Master of Liberal Studies program represents a perfect variety of areas that I want to further explore. I have a particular interest in studying Gandhi’s Philosophy, Life and Legacy offered in the spring term. With my background in creative writing, Dr. Phelan’s Poetry of the Earth course also resonates with my love of the natural world as it relates to poetry. Though this part of my journey has just begun, I’m hoping it leads to a doctoral program and to a continuation of understanding and sharing my passion for learning.

Joie de vivre

I woke this morning with the scent of living things and the faint sunrise lifting over the little lake across the street.  It was beautifully inspiring.  Somewhere between sipping my coffee and nibbling on bites of granola, I decided that both my dog and I are getting fat.  Noticeably so.  The cool air beckoned me to run again.  So I laced up my running shoes, threw on an oversized sweatshirt, and coaxed the lab (who now looks like a sausage link) out the door.

It was an easy run down a quiet morning street.  I expected more rush hour traffic, but only two cars passed by us while we jogged towards the downtown corridor.  Somewhere along the way, I reminded myself that I am, for my age, in great shape.  On a whim, I can gather myself up and pound out a few miles outdoors.  I have a great range of flexibility.  This goes for both my physical flexibility and my life in general.

Lately, there's been a lot of chatter about my busy schedule -- between teaching writing, exercise classes, children's activities, paper grading, grad school applications, friends and family events, and so on.  The schedule overload has been mentioned by friends, but the loudest has been my mother.

"Maybe it's my age. When I was younger, I expect my life was hectic much like yours" she says.
"But now it seems like you're overwhelmingly busy....to me."

I responded with what I tell everyone:  I am lucky.  I have the opportunity to do what I love.  Whether it be motivating them to write or motivating them to move, I spend my waking hours helping people. I live through the moment to moment mantra that "the most important person is the one you are with right now."  So if I'm tutoring someone, it is that student.  If I'm with my children, it is their moment to shine.  If I am with my friend, he or she is the most important person.  If I am alone, then it is me.  It is the moment to take care of myself.  I love living that kind of life. There could be worse things.

I thought of my friend who vacillates in and out of this mode of just waiting for death.  It is a precarious place to dabble.  He spends nights filled with anxiety and mornings trudging through bouts of pain.  I worry that the more he falls deeper into that realm of thinking, the harder it will be for him to climb out once again.  He typically dwells there for a day or two and remerges from the funk with a renewed self.  I wonder, as I grow older, if it will be the same for me.  The pain and thoughts of mortality could override my rose-colored view of things.  I hate to be in that place.  I hate to see others worry so much, especially someone like him, who seems to defy age and gives the middle finger to social graces and the "normal" life.   I am saddened when he feels like giving up.  I think of Bill Murray (see here), who is a lot like this friend of mine.  They are artists that do things that are out of the ordinary.  Their collective happiness does not rest in the idea of pleasing others.  They live outside the lines.

I thought of the man I helped tutor yesterday who has tremors in his left hand and is stuck in a wheelchair.  He has difficulty even typing his name.  I held doors for him. I walked patiently with him to the elevator in the library, since he can't climb the stairs.  I waited for him to enter his personal information three times before the college system worked.  I retrieved his documents from the printer.  In the moment, I thought of my own physical faults - the clusters varicose veins, the way may stomach now puckers around my navel when I crouch over, the speckling of fat across my thighs -- and how minor those things are in comparison to the handicaps, the limited movement, the lack of intellect some may be forced to endure.

I returned from my run -- and although I had to disinfect my hands from carrying around a bag of dog shit,  I felt like it was a decent pace.  I even powered through the 7 minute workout my friend had shared from a New York Times article.  I did the advanced version with such joie de vivre...after all, it's only 7 minutes.

Then I read about my friend's decent into the idea that life is not forever. The anxiety and pain.  What good does it do to dwell on what is? What good is it to think that nobody would want to love him, take care of him, as if he were a chore?  I am not sure if human beings should be so focused on death.  It is about the living and what we are capable of doing, even if all we are capable of is just a stroll on a beautiful morning.  It is the living that is beautiful.

Tis the Season to be Exhausted

It's my daughter's birthday today. Two or three blog posts ago I was expressing how much I love this time of year.  The change in the weather is something to be celebrated. Yet, now I'm realizing how much I have a love/hate relationship with the fall season. Or what remains of this year, from now until New Years.

From last week until the start of 2015, there will inevitably be something happening.  My birthday begins the rush of the holidays. Then, my daughter's birthday will be followed up within the week with the remaining festivities of Halloween.  Afterwards, my soon-to-be ex will be playing "rock, paper, scissors" with me to see who gets dibs on Thanksgiving. Between then and Christmas, we will be carving out time and festive rituals with the children.

It is a season of pure exhaustion.  Not only am I settling into a new place, but also, I'm dealing with my first semester as a professor.  Though I've got a syllabus and a plan, every class is a new beginning.  I have an idea in place, but I haven't implemented it.  It is not fully realized until after it is taught -- after the handouts have been printed, after the lab tests have been administered, after the essays have been graded.  It means putting together my own rubrics for grading and attendance and figuring out exactly what I should find important or what I find to be less worthy of my energy.

Many nights I've found myself no closer to the end of my daily checklist.  There is still a personal statement and a 4 page analysis to write for my entrance to the Master of Liberal Studies program.  I have two more trainings to complete for my part-time group exercise gig.  I can't seem to get through to the end of anything.  I have a stack of papers to edit.  There's an insurmountable, endless collection of tasks that haunt me.  And all I want to do is shut my eyes and sleep.

I'm ready for this exhaustion to pass, but I'm pretty sure it's my body's defense mechanism against stress. I know I will survive though.  I just know I will.

New Age Resolution

Yesterday was my birthday.  I had plenty of cake; there was a chocolate chip cookie one in the morning delivered by my two sweet children.  As I was getting clothes and shoes from my closet, I heard their little feet scampering down the hallway.  They began singing "Happy Birthday" while surprising me with the cake they'd picked up the night before with their daddy.  It was quite possibly the sweetest moment all year.  Later in the evening, one of my best friends brought along a chocolate cake covered with luscious strawberries and rich fudge icing.  The combination was irresistible.  In between the cake-filled moments were lots of birthday wishes, flowers, a couple of drinks, and plenty of hugs and smiles.  It was a beautiful day.  I felt spoiled to have such thoughtful people in my life, willing to take a moment out to share the love.

Birthdays, for me, are another time to which I assign "resolutions" much like the New Year.  It is, by default, a time to reflect upon the past year and wonder what, as I get older, I want to change.  Maybe it's time to drop an old habit or way of thinking.  Maybe it's a good time to start doing something I haven't done in awhile.

This birth year I've decided to refocus on my practice of meditation.  Actually, it wasn't really an original thought.  My therapist asked me this week if I was still meditating on a daily basis.  I responded with a half dozen excuses, all of which were not even worth my breath.  I know firsthand the benefits of meditation, especially for someone like me who can easily fall into auto-pilot.

This morning (on the birth of my new birth year), my estranged other half called just in time for my meditation practice.  I was using the Headspace app on my phone; otherwise, it wouldn't have mattered. He rang in just as I was listening to the introduction, so I was able to take the call -- telling him I'd call him back afterwards. I didn't want whatever he had to say to disrupt or disturb my sense of serenity at the time. It wasn't a bad conversation afterwards.  He threw in some acerbic comment, but it bounced right off of me, perhaps because I took the time to meditate.

There are other resolutions I've made.  I'll be eating clean. I'll be getting outside in this beautiful weather.  Those are tales I'll explore at another time.

Sleep

Gone are the mornings that I sleep soundly until the chime of my alarm.  Nowadays, my body stirs in early morning and I rise before the sun.  There are so many things to do and the only time available is while it’s still dark.  At least, that is what I tell myself.  In reality, it’s various factors. 

My bed is now a queen sized futon mattress.  I sleep on what has become a landing pad.  It’s purely circumstantial, but between the stress of the days events or the ongoing emotional saga, I have no problem sleeping.  I thud hard into slumber each night as if the everything (classes/kids/cleaning/dinner/work/attorneys) has wrung all of the energy out of me. Last night, 10:00 came and I was irritably ready to close my eyes, but trying so hard to keep going and going.  When they’re finally closed, It’s heavy and deep. There’s no tossing and turning — unless, of course, the dog has snuck into bed with me as well. The bed frame is a couple feet from ground zero and I believe she thinks it’s her glorified dog bed.  It feels much like one; however, I hear that this hard mattress is good for your back.  Time will tell.  Whenever I “thud” into bed and curse at the lack of comfort, I think about what I’ve read about Ajahn Chah, a Buddhist monk who recounts his nights of sleeping on a broken wooden door.  I’m quite sure that my little bed provides much more comfort than what the monks could afford as they built their monastery in the middle of the woods. 

There is also the lack of a bedmate.  I have become accustomed to decades of falling asleep in the arms of another.  Now, most nights are just me. The exception is when my littlest one tiptoes into the room after a restless dream and snuggles up. Those are the sweetest moments.  The dog also finds her spot sometimes. Although I don’t particularly want her on the bed, I also find solace in feeling her sweet warmth and sensing the cadence of her puppy breath against my thigh.  When it’s just me, I find that there’s no reason to linger in sleep.  I will wake early and do the things (like a blog post or pick up on my reading) that I couldn’t force myself to do before the crash-landing of the previous night.  

This is an era of love and hate.  I love this house. That’s for sure.  The price I’m paying to orchestrate this, well, it is a hefty sum. Don’t misunderstand; it’s totally worth it, but that weight is heavy enough to make me want to close my eyes and sleep. 

Out of the Box

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A friend sent me this for perusal.  It reminded of me of my whole CrossFit box social experiment hypothesis. If you've spent any time debating workouts and speciality gyms with me, you probably already know where this is going (so disregard the following rant).

I've been to several "boxes" in the past couple of years.  The writer of the article accurately describes the latest obsession people have with pushing limits, doing the unthinkable.  What she fails to identify is the physiological/psychological mind game this type of workout breeds.

 ((((For those of you that aren't down with the CrossFit lingo -- when I write "box," I am referencing the asphalt-covered warehouse/gym environment where these classes take place.))))

The one of a handful I've visited is in a plaza which houses various manufacturing type companies. It is, in most ways, an empty space filled with simple, back to basics conditioning materials such as bars, weights, places for pull-ups, things to throw or push or jump onto.  While some boxes may focus on brute strength and others on cardio conditioning, all boxes are some combination of these elements: space, bars, minimalistic workout gear.

But I'm not blogging in regards to what this writer already identified.  This particular box stands out because for one, my best friend (at the time) left her husband for her fellow CrossFitter.  What started out as a friendly exchange of motivation became, over time, a willingness to succumb to what I'm about to propose. This was also the site of various other relationship/marital breakups/hookups/threesomes etc.  It was a mess of a place, where the co-owner/manager cheated on his girlfriend with her best friend (who also went to this box) to which he's now engaged, all the while he continues to send nude pictures of himself to other various ladies.  A mess.

This is not the first instance.  I've heard of other boxes in the area and even in the state where this sort of workout becomes the doorway to something more. It's a common theme for sure.  I started to question the reason.

My conclusion, logical or not, is this:  CrossFit promotes an atmosphere where members do things they never imagined they could do.  They lift and jump and run and press what seems an insurmountable amount.  They are pushed beyond what they thought, in their minds, was just not humanly possible.  CrossFitters also pay an extremely exorbitant amount of money -- which for most will be incentive for them to continue going (to get what they pay for).  Along the way, this little workout society of people form an inextricable bond.  Why? Because they are working together to do things they thought they'd never do.  It breeds a sense of accomplishment, yes.  Moreso, it creates this air of invincibility. I think this level of "invincibility" truly influences and clouds the minds of its participants.  Here are these people of questionable athletic ability, who are going through these arduous workouts and pushing/shouting/chanting each other's names all the way to the bitter end.  

I have never encountered an environment quite like this.  I have been known to call it a 'cult.'  It, at the very least, can be defined as a misplaced or excessive admiration of  "sport" or workout.

With all of this excessive behavior and exercise in invincibility, one has to be mindful of what other things are at stake.  You may be shedding weight or gathering a whole new sense of self, all the while giving in to, well, a whole hot mess.

Intellectual Curiousness

Along with the various changes that have come into recent view, I've also decided it's time to apply for grad school.  After all, I am a professor now, and I can't see myself being Zen enough to teach college prep courses forever.  Of course this means I also have to gather some rather hefty paperwork as proof of my "willingness" or "desire" for this intellectual pursuit.  

Applying means taking a hard look at what makes the most sense with my already limited time and even more limited finances. Then there's motivating others to vouch for your "willingness" and "desire."  I nonchalantly mentioned my plans to my department lead.  It's a known fact in our department that J.S. writes glowing recommendation letters.  Perfect, I thought.  He readily agreed to help me; however, later that week, he returned with some questions.

He sat cross-legged at one of the student tables with a copy in front of him, pursing his lips.  

"I'm looking over this rather extensive recommendation questionnaire and wondering what I should write," he said.  

 "Which ones are giving you trouble?" I nervously replied.

"There's the one that asks 'does the applicant possess the intellectual ability to succeed in this program.'  If someone is really looking at this, I don't want to give just a milquetoast answer. What really is your interest in this area?  Why this program?"

I shifted uneasily in my chair.  J.S. is one of those deep thinkers who continues to study philosophy in his spare time and is always ready to craft and defend his analyses in such detail that I knew even trying to answer this question would be difficult. 

I took a deep breath and then replied, "Well, since getting into yoga, I've become deeply interested in eastern philosophy, specifically Buddhism."  There. That's something. My statement felt extremely flat. Thud. "Oh and I've always had an interest in studying art history. I love the arts."  Thinking to myself: It's not getting any better. I should just shut up.  This wasn't nearly enough for him to even bother writing one sentence, let alone a paragraph or two about my "abilities."

From there, the J.S. spent the next hour comparing eastern thought to Epictetus, along with the western philosophy of Stoicism.  He explained in excruciatingly precise detail how though Buddhism was about finding enlightenment, the Stoic thinkers believed that it was just the most logical way of existing.  God is logos.  

I am sure it appeared as if I wasn't too involved or engaged in this discussion (if you could even call it that); however, I was writing furiously in my notebook some of the ideas and tenants that could connect the eastern philosophical views I'd come to appreciate to the western equivalent.  

After nearly an hour of this, I told him I'd send him the personal statement I'd be submitting, thinking maybe it might help drive his recommendation.  Or perhaps it will just give him a chuckle.  Yes, it probably will.

Friday Nights for the Elderly

I know I'm getting old when my Friday night consists of vacuuming and steaming the floors and feeling a sense of accomplishment.  This is quite the departure from my younger years, before children, when there was always somewhere to be and someone who could possibly entertain you all weekend.  Now it's just me and my steam vac.  Oh, and my dog.  I finally introduced her to the new place today.  There's enough of a fenced in yard for her to play outside and chase lizards.  I'm watching her out the french doors.  She will have to be retrained in some ways.  She's been jumping on my bed and the couch with her bone. It's just us bitches tonight.

Tonight will be a quiet one.  My parents took the children for a weekend of fun and frolic. Originally, I planned on escaping this little town for the weekend for the big city.  Finances, complications, lack of a travel guide all kept me home.  Oh, and there's plenty to do here.  You never know how much crap you have until you move.  I, for one, have too much of everything; however, my socks and panties are missing.  Where do they go?  Where?

A Season of Change

Just this week the raging heat of summer has begun to subside.  Sunday was the first rather chilly morning.  I'm adjusting to the temperature of a musty, older home with hardwood floors throughout. Cooler days will mean slippers and fuzzy robes. It's quite a departure from the A/C and ceiling fans swirling at high speed.

My place is still in a bit of disarray, but it's getting better.  My friends and parents have stocked it with all the goods necessary to sustain me.  There are loads of paper towels, a new toaster, bottles of wine, plates, coffee, condiments, chocolate.  Wine and chocolate: the essentials.

The kids arrived with various autumn-flavored decorations.  My girl took the reigns (as she always does) and placed miniature scarecrows in the overgrown front yard.  No need for scarecrows, as the uncut, unkempt, moss-covered lawn would scare anyone.  A vintage pumpkin-headed character shines brightly at the front door.  He will soon be surrounded by candlelit pumpkins carved for the season.

Yesterday, a friend of mine shared his thoughts on this season of change.  This is the perfect time for revision and rewriting your life's direction.  He detailed how he gets so focused on what's coming his way that he rarely stops to question if his end result is really where he needs to end up.  In the same line of thinking --there's this book on cd that's been playing in my car the past week or so. 10% Happier says a lot of the same about life.  I started jotting down notable quotes as I listen, like:

"If you are never looking up, you are always just looking around."

and a funny saying the author quotes from his friend:

"With one foot in the past and one foot in the future, you're pissing on the "now."

It's tempting to listen to that voice in our head, who seems to be a reliable internal guide.  It isn't.  It is driven by our skewed thoughts.  We have to think less with our head and lead with our heart.  Maybe that's the change, the revision I'll be making with the season.

I Wear the Pants Now

There are a few downsides to being a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl--the possibility of failure, the learning along the way, the potential for loss. My ability to jump into something that I have little to no experience or training is a curious part of my past. There has always been the potential for a misstep, but those have rarely happened.

Perhaps it is a mental disfunction: that everything looks better in theory.

There are upsides of my disfunction.  I don't regret much about my life path.  I have lived more than most women I personally know.  Sure, there are the great adventurers we read about, but there aren't many of my acquaintances or family that have done so many things.  The listing of jobs in various industries is quite an interesting adventure in itself: hostess, technical writer, public relations person, waitress, nanny, stablehand, marketing coordinator,  administrative assistant, personal trainer, valet, sales engineer, exercise instructor, tutor, professor..... those are just to name a few.  There was a time in my life that I felt it was necessary to take every job opportunity I was ever offered.  Just recently, I finally learned how to say to myself, "Yes, I COULD do that, but I'm not going to do it. It's not what makes me happy/fulfilled/successful/whole."

Though it may seem like one's natural response, in the past it was never mine.  I think I'm a step closer to listening to my heart.  

A Room of Her Own

Look at that-- another *blip* another *gap* in the blog writing.  This was a purposeful pause though; it was more than just being too busy or a lack of mindfulness.  A great change has occurred and finally the dust is settling on a new way of being.

There's this little house in the woods I've rented for myself and, of course, for the children.  It's nestled back on a tiny street in a quiet part of town. It's a wreck of a place, but it is mine.  I fell in love with its hardwood floors, its amiable landlord, its quirky split-plan structure.

So I am following Virginia Woolf's advice (as pictured above).  The money part....well, I'm quite sure that will run out soon, but, I've got a room. I've got some space to write.  Above all else, I'm writing.  There couldn't possibly be a better set of circumstances.  The drama is full-throttle in my life (something I try so hard to avoid).  My schedule still revolves around classes and taking care of children; however, there is time for other things now.  This should be one of them. It has to be.