Now that the story has started to roll out of me, I can’t seem to stop it up! I didn’t intend to write again today (and Lord knows, I have a LOT of work to do), but there’s just so much to cover, and it actually feels…. good, I guess… to get this all out.

So, I’ll press on, into adulthood. Where did I leave off?

Oh, yes. Brad going off to college. It was odd – no, it was actually completely foreign to me – after several years of constant communication with him. I do remember that we spoke somewhat regularly, but it wasn’t the same. He was in a whole new life, and there wasn’t much in the way of privacy from his dorm. And deep inside, there was a real sadness previously unknown to me – not just because I missed my voice, the only one who really understood my soul – but also because I knew how important that day that had passed could have been. I missed what I didn’t know I would have missed, if that makes any sense.

But life went on, regardless. Difficulties at home got worse, and I decided (mostly because of the chiding of my mother) to find some roommates and move out almost immediately after my 18th birthday. I only had three classes to finish high school that year, so I made sure my classes were all in the morning that second half of the year, I expanded my part-time job into a full time job as a shift manager at Taco Bell (we must all hold a job like that at some point in our lives), and moved out. Somehow, I managed, and got through that last semester and graduated; I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was truly lost. I felt betrayed and rejected by my family (on many fronts I can’t even begin to explain, beginning with my father screwing me out of the college money he’d promised for years), I continued back and forth breaking up and getting back together with the loser boyfriend (I also continued with my many varied escapades and one-night stands), and I just didn’t know how I was going to get my life together.

I have to interject a rather interesting experience here. My sister – forever fascinated with “the other side,” as well as psychics – recommended I go and see some woman out on the island, who was supposedly a tried-and-true clairvoyant. As I sort of felt like I was at rock bottom, I figured, what the heck – so I went to see her with my sister (we made back-to-back reading appointments). I don’t remember her name, just that she looked a heck of a lot like Lucille Ball, and that she chain smoked the entire time I sat with her. But I do remember that she was dead-on accurate about a lot of things that ended up happening. However, the one thing of most interest to me was what she told me about marriage – she said I would marry one of two men. One, she told me, I already knew – and she described Brad to a T. The other, she told me wouldn’t be along for awhile yet.

That gave me a lot to think about… and maybe a little hope?

So I did what I needed to do: I bought a plane ticket to Detroit, and planned a visit with Brad.

In school, Brad had played around a bit – the newfound freedom of college – and then had started dating someone. Topically, that was great, and I was happy if he was happy. However, everything else in my life stunk at that point; I missed my stronghold, the sanity of my connection with him – if I’d had the guts to look in the mirror at it, I would’ve been able to admit I’d felt cheated. I know a lot of it had to do with the bad place I felt I was in, but it was the first time ego started coming into play when it came to us; before, it was never an issue, no ego involved. In retrospect, I did something really ugly, but something that, by that time, I was quite versed at – I went to visit him with the intention of having sex with him. It became a conquest; I didn’t care about any girlfriend, dormmate, or whatever.

I felt like it was owed to me – to us – because of what hadn’t happened the year before.

It still hurts me right now to look at those sentences, because I know how true it was – and I’m not that kind of person. Anymore.

So I went out there, and it immediately registered that we had both changed some – something between us had changed. Because I could tell there was something a little bitter and distant with Brad, also. In some ways, he was harsher with me than he’d ever been before – I think that’s when the ego came into play with him, too. I don’t know if he’d thought more about it than he let on (actually, I’m sure he did – because I’d felt it), but for the first time, I also hadn’t let on how much I’d thought about it, either. It felt like he wanted me to want him – but also that he almost wanted to punish me for what hadn’t happened between us. So, though we had a good time that weekend – and we did consummate our relationship in that way – it was OK. That’s all – OK. Which was almost worse than if it had been completely terrible. Because instead, it should have been beautiful and whole, the way our relationship had been – but it was cold, impersonal, and just as if he were one of the many others I had on “the list.”

And though we laughed the whole thing off, I went home feeling as if it would have been better had we not done anything at all.

It left a hole in me.

And so went the next few years, only it got uglier before it got better. I went to Michigan a few times and had several quick liaisons with him – I would almost call them f***s, as they were simply dispassionate acts that almost “proved” that we had certain “rights” to each other. He would be dating someone, I would be dating someone, it didn’t matter – it was a completely separate thing for us, and had nothing to do with those others. When he was on break and home on Long Island, we spent time going back and forth and visiting each other, but it was like he wanted to control our connection, or deprive me of it at will. When he perceived that I wanted to focus on us, he would purposely flirt and disappear with one of my friends. So I started playing the same game -  in return, I would do the same with one of his friends.

It became a push-pull game, like we were trying to hurt each other – or maybe we were trying to keep each other at arm’s length, to shield ourselves from getting hurt, since we probably both had the power to do it moreso than anyone else. I don’t know for sure how he felt about my interest in his friends; however, on my part, I never let him see me get upset about any of his interludes with my friends, even though it would really get under my skin. I really never had very much of any real desire to be with his friends either, but made myself seem interested – at the time, I’d been so hurt by everyone else in my life that his blowing me off – the one thing that I had so deeply feared when this all started – felt worse than anything.

Throughout this period, I really started to find my inner strength, which in turn helped me start to get my act together. I quit smoking, I quit drugs, I finally quit the loser boyfriend that it had taken me 3 years to get rid of. I moved upstate to the Albany, New York area (where my roommates were originally from), and decided to try someplace – and something – new. I found a great job, and started college at night. I went through  some more escapades, but things eventually calmed down again between Brad and me. He’d gotten a place of his own, we were able to resume regular phone conversations, and thus, we dropped our silly pretenses and returned to the egoless relationship with which we were most comfortable when it came to each other. Once we got a little bit of a separation from that junk we’d dragged each other into, we moved on. However, I have to say that the ego never forgot, and it took me awhile to let it go, even if I never let him know it – how could I, anyway, since these were the few things I’d never shared with him?

He dated people; I dated people. As before, it never bothered me. We openly discussed everything – everything – including our sex lives with those we were seeing (and including our brief interludes, as well). Ups and downs. New and different lives, new and different aspirations. Before long, I was in a new relationship with a man named Bill; shortly after that, I moved in with him. Things were good for awhile, but before long, I realized I’d made a HUGE mistake in moving in with him. At the same time, Brad was in a relationship, as well, and over the span had problems with that one, too. So there we were yet again for each other, helping through the happiness and pain, almost day in, day out. We discussed problems and solutions; we shared our innermost feelings and perceptions. We debated, we argued, we agreed, and we solved.

At some point, there became enough distance – and most likely, simple maturity – between those years of ego interference. I was living in Schenectady; he was done with his Bachelor’s and was living/working in Midland, Michigan. It was all too often that we started talking about meeting in the middle – somewhere like Buffalo, NY – to spend a few days locked in a hotel room together, where we would have no outside interferences – and just have each other. Just us.

I don’t know why, but as often as we spoke of it, we never did it. Maybe we were still afraid?

Then I was simply done with my relationship with Bill – he just didn’t know it yet, because I had to get him out of the apartment (which was no easy task – and I knew it would be ugly, which was a long story). I think Brad had recently broken up from a relationship, himself. Anyway, it was Christmastime ‘91, and we both went to Long Island to visit our families, alone; subsequently, we planned a get together one evening at his parents’. As I’ve said before, we were never so comfortable as when it was just the two of us, being able to connect without any interference.

I remember that night, simply sitting together at his family’s dinner table – that was the next time, after that day almost 5 long and intense years earlier – when I again noticed that physical current between us when we accidentally touched, skin to skin. As it had the first time, it completely took me by surprise. And again, it made me uncomfortable because of it’s power.

However, much later that evening, after a long night of just spending time with each other, talking, and connecting – 5 years after it should have originally taken place – it finally just happened.

No egos, no pretenses, and no expectations – it was simple, affectionate, intense, and 100% pure love. It was one of the best nights of my life.

Even putting words to it seems to cheapen the act, but I can’t think of any other way to say it, except that it was just simply… beautiful. Beyond expression.

I went to sleep in the guest room, then got up, had breakfast with his family, and left. I remember my soul feeling so absolutely complete; I also couldn’t explain the magic of such a simple act that had never, in all the relations I’d had before, felt so right, so natural, and so powerful. And for the first time, I really felt hopeful about a different us. I remember somewhere along the way back to my sister’s house, I actually had to pull over on the side of the road, to sit there and let myself feel it all. And I remember I sat there and cried; I had absolutely no idea why I was crying, except that it was such a relief, and that I felt so extraordinarily good.

But I don’t think I ever told him any of that. In retrospect, I don’t think ever told him how special that night was to me, that it did stand out from all the others, at any other time. I don’t know why I didn’t; we pretty much just went back to our lives, and didn’t say much about it at all.

In fact, I told Bill about it when I got back to Schenectady that night, and that it was over for us. He moved out a few weeks later, and I found myself a smaller apartment. What happened between Brad and me had nothing to do with it; the relationship had already been over. Besides, as before, I could never put my relationship with Brad even on the same plane as my relationship with anyone else – there was no way to compare.

I don’t remember a lot of specifics for awhile after that, except that I was by myself for awhile – and I loved it! At this point, I was 23; I continued in school at night, my job was good – and I had a lot of aspirations. I read a lot, I worked out a lot, I dated occasionally, and went out and had a lot of fun with good friends. For the first time, I actually made some real effort to focus from the inside, and really started the search for what I felt was “something more,” and what I felt about my beliefs and the universe. My intuition increased, as well as my perception and empathy. As for Brad, he went back to school for graduate work, and moved to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

And our relationship? We talked, as usual. About almost everything – except we really never talked much about that night.

I think because of that, inside I began to cast doubt on the vague idea that he would be the one for me, and it slowly began to dissipate. We were in different states, we had different lives, and it didn’t seem like we even knew how to move in the right direction towards each other, even if we so desperately wanted to. I knew we were as one, that he was my other half – but there seemed to be too big a wall we couldn’t seem to navigate over, around, or through. Or at least, I had no idea how to scale it.

At some point during this period, I thought heavily about a different passion I’d had for a long time – marine biology. I was about halfway done with a degree in Computer Science, but had decided I really didn’t want to be a programmer. I’d been in marketing for awhile, and liked it a lot. BUT… marine biology really got me going! I soaked in everything possible about the ocean and its inhabitants for a number of years;  I bred fish, and at one point had 6 or 7 tanks going in my apartment, for accommodation. Marine mammals and their incredible intelligence fascinated me, and the thought of spending a career on the ocean, or actually doing  a job in that field seemed indescribably satisfying. Plus, I was still young and unattached, which made a decision all the easier.

In one of my discussions with Brad, I was telling him about this, and that I’d started looking at schools that I could maybe attend – I figured since I’d been on my own for quite awhile, grants and student loans wouldn’t be a problem. Somewhere in that discussion, he brought up Southampton College – and the fact that even though it was generally not a great school, it actually had one program that was excellent – Marine Biology. Then we hatched an idea together – if I went to Southampton College, then maybe I could rent a room from his parents.

I progressed down this path: researched into the school, spoke with his parents (who thought it was a great idea), and even applied. I was accepted to the school for the following year, in January.

This was a serious consideration for me. True, it would be going back to Long Island – where I never wanted to live again – but also true was that it would be in a place that generally had much better memories for me – plus, it would only be for a few years, and then I’d be off again.

Of course, there was also the thought – buried deep in the back of my mind – that this might be the way through that wall between Brad and me, after all – it would give him an excuse to go home more often, and it would definitely provide the opportunity to bring us even closer together – and maybe give us a chance.

So I continued to focus on myself, work hard, have a lot of fun, and start preparing for another change in lifestyle. However, before I knew it – probably because I wasn’t looking for it – there was a new option  for me, with the appearance of Scott.

That was the field- and life-changer, which leads me right into the next phase of my life.

Thoughts and sidelines about “Section 2″…
This was a very formative period of my adult life; again, though this actually only covers 6 years, it was so much! Again, looking at what has poured out is giving me an opportunity to not just look at it as a module in itself, but also together with the previous period. And wow. What a life on whitewater rapids!

What I didn’t really touch on was the amount of intellectual growth I experienced during this period. I became a reading fiend – especially once I moved to Schenectady, because I commuted via bus to Albany for work (what a GREAT bus system that area has!). It basically gave me about an hour a day during the week to do as I pleased. But I devoured many of the classics, including many books about business (and sometimes I did my college homework on the bus, too). I discovered some works and some authors whose works really rang true with me – such as Kurt Vonnegut and Ayn Rand – and many became and remain my favorites today!

I also started to read a lot about metaphysics. One of the things I hadn’t understood was the strength of my own intuition, my empathy, and my natural ability to dream about things that would eventually happen. It used scared me a little, but I think that’s because I didn’t understand it. The more I accepted it eventually, the stronger it became. But that’s taken a long time, and I feel that it’s still not developed enough.

Brad and I would discuss all of this. He was – is – generally very pragmatic, and the one thing we typically didn’t see eye to eye is on the subject of metaphysics. He, like me, was brought up Episcopal (which, as a sideline, was funny, because he was the only other person I’d met at that point who even knew what Episcopal was), but really didn’t think much of church – I don’t think he ever really went, as I’d been forced to do until about the age of 15. And being as black-and-white and analytical as he is, he always had a problem committing to belief in things he couldn’t define. Now, I’ll say that in general, because occasionally, he’d throw out a comment or two in that direction; so I know he’d thought about it, but I honestly never knew if he figured out where he stood in that respect. I’ve had some pretty big and constantly evolving ideas about this universe over the years, and I know we’ve had some extensive debates, but today, I’d say I still have a big question mark when it comes to what – and if – he’s settled on.

During that period, the movie I’ve come to settle on as one of my all-time faves came out: When Harry Met Sally… If you’ve seen the movie, and read through this story thus far, you should start to see why. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve watched it over the years! Besides including aspects of almost every relationship/friendship I’d ever had, it SO spoke to me back then -  like someone made that movie just for me, to tell me, “Hey – it WILL be you and Brad in the end… see?” I still love that movie today, for different reasons; however, deep down, it’s always a little bittersweet, because I remember what it used to represent to me.

Music is another medium that I find I really connected with during that period… and there are several that deep down I will forever associate with Brad, because they spoke to me about him during that period. Specifically, three that come to mind include:  In Your Eyes, by Peter Gabriel; You’re My Best Friend, by Queen; and Breaka My Stride, by Matthew Wilder (this last one has nothing much to do with the lyrics as for some reason, I remember that I was listening to this song on my Walkman the day we met Brad on the ski slopes years and years ago; another from that day was Owner of a Lonely Heart, by Yes).

Now, here’s the funny thing – looking back at this text, you would think I pined over him for awhile. I really didn’t; in fact, quite the opposite. He was my best friend, and that was how he was presented to all my friends – even my “other” best friends! And it was the same the other way around. This is the first time ever that I’ve dug down and verbalized all of what was in mind – actually in my heart and soul – all the way back to then. I’ve always been the most guarded and uncomfortable about things that are core and the most important to me; yet, I’ve always been a great confidante to others, and able to be the shoulder anyone needs to lean on.

I’m starting to wonder why. I mean, why I have two such defined sides to me, and why this has essentially been locked down, so deep that I haven’t ever been able to share it with anyone. Maybe it’s because the only one I would share it with – because he has always understood all the muck down there – is the one who all this was about. And I think once I felt like he’d hurt me – well, even though I knew most of that meant nothing, because it was really all developing ego – it was like I felt it was self preservation to lock all of this up and throw away the key. Because no one else would really understand – nor did (or have) I wanted them to. Plus, by the time I think we were really mature enough to talk about it, it was too late – because I think I was the one who really ended up hurting him that deeply, but even mores0. And I think in the end, it’s that knowledge that scarred me worse than any of this.

But we haven’t gotten to that part of the story yet.

Long before the boomers began to weigh in on the importance of the boomers, life had pretty well established the fact that there were four basic seasons: Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter. And each of these seasons has its own unique set of psychological values.

Life, in other words, has turned out to be bigger than the boomers. In fact, life as we know it hasn’t even been remotely affected by this group; nor have the rumors of extended longevity in the 21^st century (one recent study predicted that half of the American babies born in 2007 would live to the age of 104) changed the rules either.

Below is a shorthand version of The Four Seasons. Remembering the importance, and universality, of these seasons is vastly more important than all the boomer books ever written.

How we process the world around us during each season of life:

SPRING

Childhood to adulthood, ages 7 to 18+

Highly imitative
Unquestioning
Nuance insensitive
Black & white reality

The worldview of life in Spring is comedic (life is great).

SUMMER

Young adulthood, ages 16+ to 40+

Rules-based reality
Rationally imitative
Very questioning
Slight sensitivity to nuance

The worldview of Summer is romantic (just about everything is possible).

FALL

Middle adulthood, ages 38+ to 60+

Reality seen in shades of grey
Context is key
Selectively imitative
Strong sensitivity to nuance
Selective questioning

The worldview of Fall is tragic (not everything is possible).

WINTER

Late adulthood, age 58+

Rarely imitative
Sensitivity to nuance peaks
Everyone’s reality is different
Faith over questioning

The worldview of Winter is ironic (a time of reflection).

Marketing should reflect life as we know it. Unfortunately, when we look in the mirror, the first half of life and the second half of life have completely separate reflections. Just remember that both are changing constantly, but we all go through the same ones on our own time.

Originally posted September 28^th, 2009

It is early autumn, the temperature has cooled and stiff brown leaves are falling from the trees.  I can feel the changing of the season through the position of the mid-morning sun, as I sit in my favorite spot on the screened porch contemplating the long journey ahead of me. Yes, change in is the air. As autumn approaches like a loyal friend, I am filled with thoughts of Halloween, and bright orange pumpkins, and the aroma of burning wood floating through crisp mountain air. Autumn has always been my favorite season. It is the time of year when I celebrate my birthday, and Thanksgiving, and the beginning of a festive holiday season. Each autumn brings new hope, and excitement, and many plans for the new year ahead.

Even so, I clung hard to summer this year, grieving the close of the neighborhood pool, the decreased hours of sunlight, and the blazing heat that blankets the low country like thick pea soup.  It was as if I expected summer to last forever, and I was not prepared for its abrupt departure. I feel the same way about my young adulthood, and my precious fertility, my departed thirties and life in general. Time goes by so darn fast.  By the time I adjust to the rhythm of a season, the season is gone. Change lurks around every corner, reminding me of my own mortality, the fragile nature of our very existence, and the gift of life and love. I feel like it was only yesterday when I cried at my college graduation, clinging to the friends who had become like family, and the memories of a phase of life I would never re-capture.

I have been married for nearly a year now, and my 41^st birthday is fast approaching.  I have always been a late bloomer, and I celebrate this part of my nature.  This is who I am; this is the person I have always been.  It takes me longer to finish things, longer to recover from trauma, longer to re-group in times of transition.  However even late bloomers have plans.  As a snail living in a world of so many thoroughbreds, my timeline was perhaps more relaxed than most, but it worked for me, and that was okay. So I relaxed, and focused on selfish things, like graduate school, and friends and dating, and exotic travel to faraway places.

I planned to marry by the age of 30, and spend quality time alone with my husband. I saw us as young lovers, traveling, exploring and building our life together, gradually, one day at a time. Although my timeline was relaxed, my future vision was incredibly detailed and precise. I saw us as young idealistic graduate students, backpacking through Europe, going to outdoor concerts, sharing a tiny one room apartment in Manhattan and counting our pennies to afford cheap take out dinners. There is no rush, I told myself. I still have time, and once the children come, there is no turning back. Who cares if I am an older mom, and I put off having my babies until my mid or late thirties? Why not live life to the fullest before my babies come along?  I must relax, slow down, and enjoy my youth before these years pass me by.

I fantasized about me and my future husband in middle age; two incredibly hip, liberal, down to earth, parents, driving a jeep cherokee with two sun kissed curly haired toddlers tucked away in the back seat. I imagined looking back on those treasured memories of our early years and thanking god we waited to start our family.  I genuinely believed I would be rewarded for waiting. I trusted all my dreams would someday come true. So I relaxed, and I took my time, and I lived my life for me alone, with nothing and nobody to tie me down.

My mother always told me, good things come to those who wait. What I failed to anticipate, was the painful consequences of waiting too long. I did end up marrying, but I was not a young bride. I did explore the word and visit remote exotic locations, but I did it on my own, not with a husband. I celebrated my freedom, and my courage and my fierce independence.  I lived in a tiny studio in Manhattan and counted my pennies for takeout food, but this too, I did on my own. I lived in different cities – Boston, New York, and Charleston- and cycled through many phases, interests and attractions. I experienced summers in the Hamptons and Newport, Rhode Island. I rented a ski house with friends in Vermont. I went to parties, I dated with a vengeance, I tried new restaurants and experienced the many twists and turns of the New York City dating scene. I wasted my precious time with men who were emotionally distant or unavailable; rarely interested in marriage and babies. A few good ones came my way and genuinely cared for me, but I cast them aside like dirty laundry. I was not ready. It felt too intense. So I earned a doctorate instead, and built a career as a Psychologist.

All these things helped me to grow, and develop, and learn to survive on my own. However, the one thing I did not do during those whirlwind years of early adulthood, the one thing that seemed to elude me time and time again, was to find Mr. Right, marry and start a family. I was a late bloomer, and for so many reasons that are far too exhaustive and complicated to share, it took me longer than most to get here, and embark on this amazing journey towards motherhood.

I feel like a train that somehow got derailed, while the other trains, on parallel tracks, whizzed right on by. I missed an entire phase of life, standing frozen at the crossroads paralyzed by confusion and ambivalence, while my same aged peers moved forward with their lives. I was the bridesmaid but never the bride. For years, I celebrated other people’s milestones- engagements, weddings, pregnancies, baby showers, visits to the hospital nursery, and first birthday parties. When the pain and emptiness grew too heavy to withstand, when my own arrested development became so glaringly obvious that I burned with shame, I stopped participating in the lives of others.  I withdrew to protect myself and my aching heart.

This reality feels me with deep sadness, and fear, and loads of regret. I am sad because I am childless, and I long to be a mother; I am sad because my marriage is strained, and I ache to connect with my husband the way we used to, before the trail of destruction spread out behind us like a billion shattered dreams. I feel regret for the wasted years, and the crucial life mistakes that led me astray, and the babies I might never see. I regret that I might never meet my own biological daughter, and I can’t help but wonder, would she have had my curly brown hair, my brown eyes, my dark skin, my talent as a writer and my love for travel? And my unborn son, what type of man would he have become? Would he have been handsome, and tall, with an athletic build and a warm, protective nature? Most of all, I wonder, are they gone forever- these babies I never knew- or do they still live inside of me, destined to join the world? I am afraid of the unknown road ahead, and the possible loss and devastation I might face, if I never experience the gift  of pregnancy, and childbirth, and becoming a mother.

Most of all, I am tired and worn down. I am tired from waiting, and wondering, and feeling this nonstop ache in my heart. Since the tender age of 31, when I left New York City to live a more settled life in Charleston, I have been waiting for my adult life to start. And now, with a year of marriage soon behind me, the burning desire to have a child threatens to consume me, like a wildfire spreading out of control. For so long now, I have felt like an outsider peering through a window, trying to catch a glimpse of an elusive club; a club I am not allowed to join, because I waited too long. This reality is the product of my own mistakes, my fear and lack of self esteem, and my refusal to stand up, to believe in myself and my right to happiness, to demand more out of life before life passes me by. But the past is gone and I can never turn back, so I must make the most of what I have now, and I must keep moving forward, one step at a time, one moment at a time, and one day at a time.

With fierce courage and determination, with optimism and hope and faith, I must take this leap. It is now or never. This is my only shot, and I must give it all I have. I must not give myself one more reason to look back and wonder, what could have been, what should have been, if only I had tried? So here I am, ready to embark on the journey towards motherhood. I was not planning to share this very personal journey until I emerged on the other side with a healthy bouncing baby in my arms. I wanted to hide, and post to my blog in private, and protect myself from the pain and embarassment of others knowing my story. But then I thought about how isolating it can feel each and every day, to travel this road alone. I remembered all the other women out there like me, who could benefit from reading these words. I thought about a strong, brave woman named Lisa , and her incredible courage, honesty and compassion, as she documented her own agonizing struggles with infertility on her blog, the waywardstork. It took some time, but my inner voice finally spoke to me. By sharing my heartache and loneliness, and documenting my journey every step of the way, I am not only healing myself, but I am helping others to heal. This is an act of courage and strength, and through my brutal honesty I will become a better woman . 

Deep down inside of me, there is powerful sense that somehow, some way, all will be fine in the end, and I will become a mother. The moment is now, and there is no more time to wait. So here I go. Deep breath. One step at a time, one moment at a time, and one day at a time. I will give this everything I have and I will leave the rest to god.  I will summon all my strength and courage and blind faith, and I will take a leap into the vast unknown.

Newsflash: To be young means to not have a clue about life or direction, but to keep living and progressing anyway, hoping something makes sense along the way.

One way of doing this, apparently, is to move to a different location.

Is this like the modern day Vision Quest ?

I picture 20-somethings everywhere having similar conversations as the one Teresa, Lauren, and I had last night while drinking our beverages and watching drunk men show us their nipples as they walked past our bar window—should we stay or should we go?  Not in the  should-we-just-avert-our-eyes-from-this-creepy-dude-or-leave-the-facility sort of questioning, but in the should we move to another city or stay here philosophy?

Perhaps moving to new locations is like the modern day Vision Quest–we’re all prepared to find ourselves in these thousand mile journeys, but we’re all fairly uncertain what it is we’re looking for or what we’re supposed to find.

Being young is like a bad scavenger hunt with no list of what to find.  But we all keep playing.

Here’s one friend who’s already started his own scavenger hunt/vision quest:  http://losangeblog.wordpress.com/

(His life is way more exciting than my life right now!)

-The Leftovers

Just got back from The Scene in our very own lovely Glendale, Ca.

My very wonderful new allies/friends played a fantastic show tonight.

check’em out!

Young Adulthood

Tremellow

Moon Sassafras

II

here is a sneak peek!

these are adjusted to fit the size of this blog….!!! =/

for more pictures of the spectacular night check out my picasa….

http://picasaweb.google.com/ethicca

Nighty Night! =D

In 1961, I had a blind date with a student from all-female  Gulf Park College in Biloxi, Mississippi.  The strange thing was that in order to date  one of  these students, everyone had to write home and get a letter of recommendation from his  home town minister.  I got the letter,  and went to a formal at Gulf Park College.  I don’t think that I have ever been around as many “wild” females as I was here.  The formal was “dry,” so all the students  wanted to do  all evening was to find alcohol   Since I lived in New Orleans, alcohol was no big deal for me.  Anyway, I didn’t particularly enjoy the experience, since I felt like I was out with a bunch of high school students.  I learned later that a lot of “problem” students go to school there because of the strict supervision. 

In my sophomore year in college, I drove with a fraternity brother  from New Orleans to Mexico  for  a week in glorious Nuevo Laredo.  On the way we toured the famous leper colony in Carville, Louisiana. ( By that time in 1961,  leprosy had become “Hansen’s Disease.”)  Anyway, shortly after the first of the new year that fraternity brother’s sister came to visit in New Orleans, and I had a “date” with her.  This was just a few weeks after I had spent a week with that fraternity brother  on the Mexico trip.  The sister was from Virginia, where females were more “modern” than those in the deep South.  She was, or shall I say would have been, very generous with her affections. There was one insurmountable problem, however.  She looked just like a female version of her brother.  As the evening progressed, I was forced to tell her that I was afraid that I would not make a very good companion for her, since every time I looked at her I saw him.  She seemed to take it in stride, and we were cordial for the rest of the evening. 

…I’m a Toys R’Us kid. Sorry, just had that crazy little jingle stuck in my head after thinking about the topic for the day. I was taking a showering this morning and I was thinking about the fact that I am going to be moving soon, starting a new life, and with that comes a whole slew of responsibilities.

I like to joke with people that college is the best time of anybody’s life. The reason is because they get the best of both worlds (no, not you Hannah Montana… sorry, I’ve got little cousins, what can I say?). You get tastes of adulthood by being independent and living on your own while (if you’re lucky) not having to worry about health insurance, major bills, etc. You also get to taste lingering adolescence by living in the dorms with people and trying all kinds of new things because your life is just taking off.
But then the reality of a post-college world hits, and I got stunned. This is where this post may be polarizing. If you’ve already gone through this, you’ll look at this and comment on how young and little I am. If you haven’t gone through this, then you’ll have no idea what is it I’m talking about. But here’s the awakening reality for me.

I’m going to live in a world where not only do I have to pay for things that I pay for right now, but also find and pay for health insurance, car insurance, rent, college bills, utilities, etc. The list is a little intimidating to me, and to make a plan for how I’m going to pay off those things is not pleasant. Basically I think it just means I can say goodbye to buying anything for myself for a long long time.
I’ve got to enjoy this stage that I’m in while it lasts. It won’t be more than half a year before all of this becomes a reality and no longer something looming on the edge. So here’s to the joys of young adulthood… I’ll miss ya buddy.

Let’s keep the momentum alive on being recently adult-ish–When you’ve only recently become an “adult” in the eyes of your family, Christmas takes on a whole new meaning.  As a Christmas adult (yes, this is a particular type of adult), one must keep up with names and ages of small children, write “from santa” on every gift, and “contribute” to Christmas planning procedures. 

I have failed this Christmas at being a Christmas adult.

For instance, as a Christmas adult, one must make a gift list and check it twice…because if you’re me, you’ve most likely forgotten someone and have to quickly run to a Walgreens two minutes before entering the family Christmas party to deliver your recently purchased gift.  From Santa.  Christmas Eve.

It is also important to note that one should never misspell a young cousin’s name on a present “from Santa.”  Santa always knows the names of little children.  I, obviously, do not.  This could potentially have been a huge catalyst in ruining my cousin’s image of Santa Claus.  And the world.

Next, it is always important to keep in mind that stores are not open on Christmas day.  Even for making a fruit salad you were volunteered to make for your large family Christmas.  Needless to say, my family was fruit salad-less on Christmas day.  What a thing to be!

Also, when thinking of white elephant gifts for older ladies, it’s helpful to remember that they always enjoy a nice Christmas pillow or decorative Santa.  Booze and Nutella are not always the winning gifts.  Christmas pot lids are.

And lastly, it’s a good idea to keep family members’ names and ages straight.  Cousins who are seventeen take offense to being called fourteen.  And family members named Lauren will look at you strange when you stare at them and start striking up a conversation with a “Lyla.”  You become that crazy cousin who everyone whispers is a little eccentric…and still not dating anyone.

So once you realize you’ve spent your first Adult Christmas ruining children’s Santa dreams and utterly failing as a Christmas adult, there’s only one thing left to do…hit the Nog running and hide in corners talking only to people you’re fairly certain of their names and ages, and only a little shaky on whether you’ve ruined their Christmas or not. 

Maybe next year, I will have mastered the Christmas Adult enough to appear sharp and prepared with my gifts and my fruit.  If not, I’ll just start calling everyone I see “Mary Martha” and telling all children Santa is a mythical figure used to help Christianity assimilate from what was originally Winter Solstice.  Merry Christmas, everyone!

-The Boxcar Children

Dissecting the Influence of Race, Ethnicity, and Socioeconomic Status on Mental Health in Young Adulthood

Krysia N. Mossakowski

University of Miami, Coral Gables, Florida, krysia@miami.edu<!–
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Studies have provided contradictory findings about the influence of race and ethnicity on mental health. Using data from the National Longitudinal Survey of Youth (1979 to 1992), this study examines the extent to which multiple dimensions of past and present socioeconomic status explain the influence of race and ethnicity on depression in young adulthood. Results indicate that Blacks and Hispanics have significantly higher levels of depressive symptoms than Whites, which supports social stress theory. These racial and ethnic differences are partially explained by family background and wealth, and substantially explained by the duration of poverty across 13 years of the transition to adulthood. Moreover, the robust depressive effect of past poverty duration is independent of present socioeconomic status and family background. Overall, this study was inspired by the life-course perspective and highlights the importance of wealth and histories of poverty for understanding racial and ethnic mental health disparities among young adults in the United States.

Source : http://roa.sagepub.com/cgi/content/abstract/30/6/649

Drgaidhane’s comments: Very important topic for mental health status and recommendations for the same to improve mental health status in different races, and how to tackle barriers.

When we arrived at our first teaching position after graduate school at Presbyterian College  in Clinton, South Carolina, we were surprised by the number of “special needs” people we saw downtown in Clinton.  It seemed that everywhere, on the streets and in stores,  there were “afflicted” people, old and young.  We had read Faulkner and seen the movie Deliverance, so we assumed that generations of inbreeding had led to this unfortunate circumstance.   However, when we mentioned this to a local,  she told us that Clinton was the site of the South Carolina State School, and the town was a kind of halfway house for these people.  That explanation helped clear things up.

In graduate school in the late 1960’s, one of my professors was a real “Hippie” type guy, who wore bell bottoms and had long hair.  One day I was scheduled to have a conference with him, but he had to postpone it, saying there was a “happening” on the mall he had to attend.  When I was a teaching assistant, one day outside our window there was a big rally on the main  mall.  One of my students said that we should be out there rather than in class, since what was happening outside was what was really  “relevant.”  I was happy to dismiss class, since all I wanted to do was finish my dissertation and get out of town.  However, I could not afford to appear too eager to leave.  I decided instead to submit it to a vote.  Of course the vote was unanimous to dismiss.  The students went to the mall and I went back to the library, happy as a lark.  I used to love to use the mocking phrase (which combined several of the cliches of the day) “Let it all hang out, with LSD and other dangerous drugs!”

One day while in graduate school in English,  I saw an ad in a magazine inviting readers to take a test to see if they had the talent to be professional writers.  I wrote for the test, and received it a few days later.  Part of the test required that the applicant complete  the phrase “Strong as ________, ” and weak as “_______.”  This was obviously a test to see how vivid an imagination the applicant had.  Also, the applicant had to write an essay about what he considered his greatest achievement.   I wrote that my greatest achievement was building my own tool shed, then described how I did it.  For  “strong as” I put “a football boy,” and for “weak as” I put “a sick person.”  When I got back the results, someone had written “good for you!” by my description of how I built the tool shed.  However,  I was also told that the results of the test indicated that my talents could be better used somewhere else.  I showed the test and results to a grad school colleague (whose name  I used when I submitted the test),  and he thought it was pretty funny.  We were both surprised that they did not tell me  that I had great talent and should take their writing course.

I had a part-time job in graduate school as a bill collector for Gulf Mart stores, a Wal-Mart type of store in the 1960’s.  I would drive to deadbeat customers’ homes at night and try to get some kind of payment.  One day as part of the training the manager and I went to the local television station in Austin to try to collect from “Packer Jack,” the host of an afternoon children’s show.  We caught him coming off the set, saying “bye bye” to all the kiddies, with a big smile.  When we told him who we were and why we were there, his smile evaporated, and he said never to come to his place of employment again.  My boss used to say “Hot dog” and “good boy” a lot.  When I called him once on the phone and said that I had managed to collect $1.00 from a long-time deadbeat account, he was so excited he mixed the two and said “Good dog!”

In the summer of 1964, I “worked” as a volunteer at the Big Spring State Hospital.  Wayne Bailey, a patient,  appointed himself as the official greeter for the hospital.   When groups would come through on a tour, he would introduce himself somewhat normally, but then out of the blue ask if the guest had been  a “titty baby.”  One day I was in the hall when a group came through, and I said something to one of them.  I could tell by the way one man looked at me (with caution), that he did not know  if I was an employee or a  patient.  I milked the moment for all it was worth,  and tried to think of outlandish things to say to further confuse him.  One female patient described lunch that day as being “round steak.”  I later found out that she was referring to frankfurters.  She also told a joke, which was as follows:” Why do people go fishing and swimming?”  Answer: ” Because they want to follow Goldwater’s orders.”  Goldwater, of course, was the Republican presidential candidate that year, so the joke was topical.  I heard another patient say “I’ve half a mind to (do something),” and another patient commented “If I had half a mind I wouldn’t be here.”

As a teaching assistant I was given an office in an old sorority house.  It was a big office, and I had it all to myself.  One day another teaching assistant showed up and said that he was to be assigned to my room with me.  I had a cigar in my hand, so I lit it up and puffed as much as I could to make lots of smoke.  I told him that I was glad to have him (a fabrication), and that I hoped he liked cigars too.  Just as I hoped, he said that he did not and that he thought it would be better if he found another office to share.  I had a private office for the rest of my career.  In that same sorority house I would bring my bicycle into the office to prevent it from being stolen (a big problem).  My office was on the second floor, so I had to carry/push the bicycle, which made a clicking sound as it rolled.  A particularly obnoxious maintenance man had an office under the stairs, and when he saw me bring in the bicycle, he called the campus police, who came and told me that no bicycles were allowed in the building.  I was not happy about that, so whenever I came into the building I carried two pieces of metal and clicked them together as I went up the stairs.  Every time I did that the maintenance man (when he was there), would fling open his office door to see who was carrying in a bicycle.  I did that for several months, and he never stopped checking.

While working on my dissertation,  I spent a lot of time in the rare books library, since I was working with original manuscripts.  Since my task involved dictating into a machine,  I was given a private room.  Previously, I had worked in the library with the same people who were now there to serve my needs.  This did not “sit” well with one rather severe young lady who served as a reading room “sitter.”  Whenever I asked for materials, she would sigh and then take her time getting what I needed.  One day as she delivered something I had requested she could contain herself no longer.  As she put down the materials rather forcefully she said “I just want you to know that I resent the special privileges you are getting,  like this private room. “  I don’t remember what I said, but months later she accused me of “misfiling” the materials.  I went to my professor, who supervised the library, and he must have said something to her because I never had any more problems after that.  One day I heard her say that she planned to work in the rare books library for the rest of her life.  I later found out that she did stay for about twenty more years.

One time while a teaching assistant  in graduate school I was visited in my office by an old high school chum, who had dropped out of high school before graduation.  Next to my office was the office of a black literature professor, a somewhat liberal chap from Canada.   While waiting for me, my high school chum walked over to his open door and started chatting with him.  I heard the chum ask what he taught, and when the professor said “black literature,”  my old acquaintance  asked “Who is there to study besides Booker T. Washington?”  I know the professor thought I must run with a pretty redneck crowd, but I still thought it was pretty funny.

The summer after graduation from college,  I lived with two others in a house on Lake Austin at 3673 Westlake Drive.  It was a party palace, built over the lake.  The others had boats, which we used to go  down the lake several miles,  where we kept our cars parked on the other side,  closer to the city.   At night we would leave the cars and take the boat several miles up the lake to our house.   One night we had a party, and my plan was to take my date of the evening and leave the car opposite our house on the other side of the lake.  I carried a shotgun which I was to shoot to indicate that I had arrived, and one of the others was to come across in a boat to pick us up.  Unfortunately, we had a hard time finding the right spot across the lake from where we lived,  and did not arrive until the party was nearly over.  It also scared the neighbors on the other side of the lake to see us walking through their yard at night carrying a shotgun.  One day the owner of the house we lived in, who lived in a separate house next door,  invited me alone for dinner.  At first I thought it might be a “gay” thing, but as it turned out he wanted to tell me that he was quite impressed that on Sunday mornings when my roommates were sleeping in,  he saw me leave in a coat and tie.  He thought I much have a lot of character to continue to go to church  regularly while living in such a hedonistic environment.  I never told him that my reason for going to church was to look for women.

While in graduate school, I made a visit back to my home town of Fort Worth.  This was in the late 1960’s.  On a Saturday morning, I went to a local shoe store run by a family of rednecks.  The woman commented to me that there wasn’t much business that morning since everyone was “out on the course.”  I commented “So golf is what they do here, huh?”  She looked at me with that mixture of contempt, suspicion,  disgust, and a hundred other things and said  “Mister, where are you from?”

One summer in graduate school in Austin,  I sold real estate.  In those days (mid 1960’s) one could take the qualifying real-estate exam in a few hours, and it was very easy.  One day while on phone duty I got a call from an older country-sounding woman who wanted to see a particular house with her husband.  I met them, and the first thing she said was that I might as well not try to “put anything over” on them since her husband “works for the city.”   That summer I thought it would be clever to get leads by writing to incoming professors at UT to try to get them to make me their agent.  I went to all the departments and got lists.  I wrote to all of them, got a few leads, but found them to be incompetent, nuts, ignorant, or all of these.  One incoming English teacher went everywhere with “Mother” in the back seat.  We would look at houses and she would say something about them.  He would say “Shut up Mother.”   They finally rented.  Another could not understand that not all houses qualify as “FHA” houses.  He would see a house and ask “Is this FHA?”  Most were not.  I got no sales from any of the professors, but did stumble into a couple of sales before the summer was over, which was enough to pay for my under-the-dash air conditioner, which I had to install to take customers around.

In the 1960’s in Austin, it was tough to find a job, especially in the summer.   One summer I got a job selling gaslights door-to-door.  I made $12 per light, but if I sold more than 10 per week, I  got $14 for each light, with the bonus paid retroactively from the first.  I sold the Arkla Coronet Gaslight.  It was available for $3.95 per month for 36 months,  charged directly on the gas bill,  with FREE INSTALLATION.  The customer could choose between the eagle or the acorn on the top, but otherwise there were no other options.  I placed a stake where the customer wanted the light to be, and the installation crew would do the install within a week after authorization.  I finally worked out a great deal where I would create a “team” to go out and sell, and funnel all sales through me.  That way I got the bonus every week.  In return I paid the team cash and paid the taxes myself.  Finally the boss (Bill Tabb) caught on, but really couldn’t do anything about it.  His needs (make sales) were met, so he kept quiet, but one of the other salesman said ” That was pretty neat what you pulled on Old Bill.”  We used to say to the customer that having an Arkla Coronet Gaslight was “like having a policeman in your front yard.”  If the customer said that he or she could buy one cheaper at a hardware store, we would say ” Do you really want a cheap hardware-store light in front of a nice house like this?”  I learned to sell the wife first, because many times I sold the husband, only to have the wife veto the sale.  I realized at that time how much of a matriarchal society we are here in America.

In graduate school in the late 1960’s a colleague and I were sitting in his apartment near the campus on a quiet Sunday afternoon.  We were bored, so whenever a student walked by outside we would yell  “Why don’t you cut your hair and get a job?”   Some would snicker, some would make obscene gestures, and others would just ignore us.  Since long hair and shabby clothes were the fashion,  we had lots of  ammunition to work with.  It was great fun!

I stayed longer than I intended yesterday, but still left early.  It was a nice little party.  I tried rhubarb cobbler for the first time in my life.

I’m still not feeling well, but have for some reason been invited to three different places tonight!  One group of friends is going to one party, a second group is going to a different party, and a third group is going to dinner and a movie.  Both of the party groups are going to be offended if I don’t attend, and the movie group could care less.  I may just stay home.  Erg.

Even though both party groups will be offended, I know I probably won’t have much fun at either party.  Then again, I probably won’t have too much fun with the movie group, either.  Yes, staying home is looking better and better.  I’ll let you know which one I decide upon.

Well, time to go get ready for something.

Take care,

Lucy