The Existential Garage Sale Manifesto

I walk through Sobo (South Boulder as the cognoscenti call it) this Independence Day morning. On Ash I encounter a small garage sale with a difference. A brown cardboard sign is posted with the Gothic lettered title: Existential Garage Sale

In very small black hand-lettering beneath is a lengthy diatribe on how we all have way too much stuff, how we have multiples of stuff we don’t even need singles of, how we’ll all feel a lot better if we unload some of our stuff and find ways to reuse the stuff we have. How stores like Target are filled with unnecessary stuff like many brands of toilet paper when it would be better to have one superior brand of toilet paper and be done with it.

Two thoughts immediately occur to me: 1) Despite the fact that I already have too much stuff, I really must find something to buy at this garage sale to reward the creator for this unusual and timely sign and 2) one man’s superior toilet paper is another woman’s bathroom crisis; I remember an old friend’s trip to Poland several few years ago when she was told to take toilet paper with her because of tp shortages. Shortages of Toilet Paper! That’s deprivation.

In any case, I found a dog-eared and annotated $1 copy of Eudora Welty’s “The Optimist’s Daughter” to buy, and had a short conversation with the existentialist, a relatively young man. I complimented him on the sign, and he told me he had sold it to a guy for $100 and would be handing it over once he moved away. I gave him another $1 in tribute to the sign.

He said he was “trying to be a good socialist through capitalism.”

“Easier said than done,” I remarked in return, and we smiled at each other. Another fine day in Sobo.

Wearing Slacks in Ellettsville

I attended high school in the small southern Indiana town of Ellettsville. (You remember Ellettsville—I wrote a song about it). Back then, girls were not allowed to wear slacks in high school; it was Against the Rules. Don’t even ask about jeans—that would have really been pushing the envelope.

My 16-year-old heart was outraged at this injustice, especially in the dead of winter as I shivered waiting at the bus stop in my pantyhose and skirt uniform. One icy February morning I defied the rule, and wore a very nice pair of sea green tweed wool slacks to school. My father was called at work and had to come get me and bring me home to change. My mother, a teacher in the school system, was called on the carpet. Needless to say, my parents were not thrilled with my rebellion.

I also wrote a letter to the editor of the Herald-Telephone suggesting that in enforcing this rule the all-male school board was driven more by prurient interest than the best interests of female students, since they benefited from clear views of young girls’ legs in the bleachers at the gym during basketball games. The authorities remained unamused, and unswayed.

Oddly enough I never wrote a letter to the editor about another matter at the time. Abortion in even the first trimester was illegal and a girl that wanted one had to take a shady trip to Indianapolis and pay cash for a dangerous procedure rumored to involve coat hangers.

Now I watch events unfold in Iran. Courageous women and men face injury and death to stand up for their human rights. The Internet obligingly carries full coverage, and a young woman named Neda (whose name means “Voice” in Farsi) dies before our eyes. You have only to peruse a book like “Reading Lolita in Tehran” to see how much has been denied the woman in Iran since 1979—the right to wear what they wish, look as they wish, read and study what they wish, speak their minds, have their votes count, be who they really are. Mixed anger and admiration surge in my 56-year-old heart as I see their amazing bravery in the new Iranian revolution.

I just saw the absolutely marvelous new Pixar film, "Up." It has an elderly widower in it with black-framed glasses who reminds me greatly of my father in his last years. The theme of the movie, that every closed door results in another new one that opens--that the adventure is never over if you can let go of what you have lost--is uplifting. The animation and colors are marvelous. The love story at the beginning is very moving. See this movie!

The Slackline of Life

Yes you who must leave everything that you cannot control.
It begins with your family, but soon it comes around to your soul.
Well I've been where you're hanging, I think I can see how you're pinned:
When you're not feeling holy, your loneliness says that you've sinned.

"Sisters of Mercy" - Leonard Cohen

In any relationship, there can be such a precarious, hovering balance between feeling trapped and feeling abandoned. Walking life’s slackline and holding onto love for a lifetime, one must somehow be independent of the person who is loved, and yet remain connected. And the idea that you can control what happens to you is an illusion—all you can control is how you respond. So it boils down to a series of choices between love and fear—fear that the one I love will turn away from me or trap me; abandon me or take away my freedom.

You can only choose love over fear if you can find it in yourself to believe in love, and love can seem so ephemeral (“if you’re not feeling holy, your loneliness says that you’ve sinned”). I remember once many years ago a co-worker and friend of mine tried to talk to me about the “L” word--the central importance of love in all our lives. It was as if she spoke another language—I wasn’t ready to hear those ideas yet.

Fear and love aren’t opposites, but I think of them together; one is the answer to the other. Stuffing fear doesn’t work, it just creates a smoldering volcano of feelings. I do know that when I’m feeling emotional pain and I stop to focus on the present moment, accepting whatever I find in that moment, I am immediately more peaceful.

An interesting twist is that sometimes strong feelings of love generate fear in me—fear of losing what makes me most happy. My life partner creates beautiful flower gardens, and I’m torn between enjoying the beauty he’s created, and fearing a day when he may no longer be able to do it. In fact, when he was not well for awhile last year and the flowers went unplanted and untended, that was one of my greatest sorrows and my fear was reinforced.

When I struggle against the truth that nothing lasts forever and all things must pass, I feel fear and a terrible grief; I lose the present and the chance to enjoy what I do have. Remembering to be right here, right now and love the moment helps – “nothing that is real can be destroyed”—do I understand that idea finally?

For myself, the fear of abandonment is the greatest—I mould myself to fit the desires of the person I’m with “because it is easier,” I tell myself, but really because I am secretly afraid they’ll turn away from me given half a chance. In truth, even strong (and quite uncharacteristic) outbursts of rage on my part have resulted in shockingly few changes in other people. People change only when they are ready, not as a result of anything I do.

Love does have indirect influence—the presence of love, asking nothing in return, can bring peace and comfort to those around you—I remember this from parenting challenges with teenagers a few years ago. I have a feeling the biggest influence was my love for them, keeping the lines of communication open so that whatever else happened they knew I loved them.

The lessons all seem to weave together to make the pattern. The path is much more spacious each time I choose love, not fear.

The Greening of Boulder

Rain has been more plentiful than usual this May in Boulder and I’m reveling in the sight of unusually lush green foothills and trails.

We walk from South Boulder up to Chautauqua, down to Pearl Street for a writing session at Bookend Cafe, then home in the pouring rain, and we’re happy. Our walk is in a parallel universe with the massive 10K Bolder Boulder footrace also occurring in town today but we walk alongside many of those who've completed the race as we make our way home in the downpour.

It was also May when we first arrived in Boulder in 1977, with every belonging we had packed in a tan square back VW (two guitars, a tent and cook stove, our clothes, and a remarkable number of books). For the first few nights we pitched out tent along the creek at the Wagon Wheel Campground in Four Mile Canyon outside town.

That year the weather was mild and very dry. Colorado’s arid climate and the muted sage green and gray of the Flatirons were a radical change from the emerald green forests of maple, sycamore and oak in southern Indiana. We were luckier than we knew, since May in Boulder can be quite rainy; some years, late season snowstorms cruelly weigh down and break the flowering fruit tree branches. It is only after many years here, some during severe drought, that we fully appreciate the precious rain when it comes. So it’s been raining all Memorial Day weekend in Boulder and I’ve been falling into grateful sleep each night to the steady, gentle patter on our roof.

Up in Chautauqua the sage was abundant--we each picked and crushed a leaf; the delicious scent filled me with peace and joy. When it’s been raining this long it seems as though all the green plants come out of hibernation and suddenly it looks a lot like Ireland without quite so many pubs.

Also in Chautauqua Park is a small circular flower garden with four pebbly paths leading up to an oblong sign that proclaims, in multiple languages: May Peace Prevail on Earth. As I’m reading the sign and saying my own little prayer, a woman drives by, leans out the window with a smile and calls out “Peace for all the world!” I do feel peace in my souI right here, right now in Boulder.

Mother's Day 2009

I was well and truly pampered on Mother's Day with homemade quiche, biscuits with "Bonne Maman" French strawberry preserves, coffee and fresh-squeezed orange juice. Not to mention two homemade Mother's Day cards and a pedicure after brunch. So tonight I write about what it's meant to me to have the privilege to be a mom.

From the minute they're born, children are a revelation, opening your eyes to the real magnitude of what your own parents did for you, as well as what you yourself are capable of accomplishing. Parenting is exhausting, exhilarating, glorious, frustrating, terrifying and joyous. It demands constant judgment calls large and small, with no way to fully prepare for it ahead of time--it's the ultimate in on-the-job training. Here are the top 10 things I've learned as a mom, and I'm still learning:

10. If you really want children--if the bio clock is ticking and you're in a reasonably good place--try and find a way to have them. So many times I've been so very glad I did.
9. Expect the unexpected. No matter how many books you read, this universal experience ends up being highly unique, and is full of surprises.
8. Read to your young children every day, and make sure you find time to simply be with them and play.
7. Especially when they're teens, keep the lines of communication open. Don't sweat the small stuff--save your energy for the big battles that truly affect their health and well being.
6. Listen carefully--have real, two-way conversations with your kids. You'll learn a lot.
5. Set limits and stand by those limits; it is a terrible lie to lead your children to believe that the world will give them everything they demand.
4. Give them much more time and love than things and money.
3. Showing them how to live works better than telling them how to live. They can see a phony a mile away.
2. Believe in them, so that they can believe in themselves and fly on their own.
1. And the number one thing I've learned: Let go. From the moment they are born, you're loving them fiercely and yet letting them go a little at a time--leaving them with the babysitter who is hardly beyond childhood herself, sending them to kindergarten, handing them the car keys, moving them into the college dorm and crying on the way home. Let them go; let them live their own lives and make their own mistakes. As young adults they don't need your unsolicited advice--mind your own business and one day you might find they consider you their friends.

There is no more important decision or life's work than to bring children into the world--and no decision in my life I've been more positive was right. I'm grateful every single day for my kids. Happy Mother's Day.

To Boldly Go

We walk over to CU’s East Campus Research Park along Innovation Drive, noticing the inspirational quotations embedded in the sidewalk. For the first time I see that one of these is a quote I hadn’t spotted before:

“To boldly go where no man has gone before…” – James T. Kirk

Many questions arise, not the least of which is “will future generations realize that James T. Kirk is a fictional character (he is, right?) played by an actor named William Shatner? Who later in life ended up as a cocky senior partner in a Boston law firm ironically continuing to boldly go where no man has gone before?"

And another question: how do we know these are places no man has gone before? It can only be because women, having already been to these places and confirmed that there were indeed no men there nor had there ever been, have obligingly shared that information with the men. But we always knew women were good communicators. What the heck do you think Uhura’s job was on the starship Enterprise? She was the beautiful black communications officer; the men on board were at a loss to communicate with all those non-human sentient life forms without her help, as she flipped switches on some giant switchboard-like panel and fiddled with that pre-Bluetooth device in her ear that always seemed to be screeching painfully. It was Uhura who kept saying to Captain Kirk, “Yes, captain, I can confirm that this is yet another place where men have yet to boldly go! But you go now, boy.”

Speaking of communication, I still long for those wonderful devices from Star Trek that translated language automatically. If I could have one tool at work that I don’t currently have that would be it, since there are days, my friend (and I assure you that you are my friend of you are still reading this) when there’s a world of confusion and wasted time around miscommunication, misunderstandings, impedance mismatches and confused priorities that would be aided by such a device.