Rings and jewels are not gifts,
but apologies for gifts.
The only true gift is a portion of thyself.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Source: istockphoto
Thank you for your generous portion of self at dare to dream.
I am (I think we all are) deeply grateful.
Merry Christmas!
The below, a companion piece to my HBR post The Holiday Card Quandary, includes two examples of finding the right mix of 'efficient' and 'personal'. The images are courtesy of Macy Robison Photography.
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Menzie Family:
The photo shoot was at the Menzie's favorite camping site. It provides a glimpse into their family's summer reading challenge; they are sitting on a quilt made by Rebecca. This card harnesses technology. It's unique to the Menzie family. Add a personal note -- and it's a perfect communique.
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Sanderson Family:
Matt Sanderson, a lawyer in D.C., writes, "We enjoy sending cards and keeping in touch, but I've found it vital
to my career to send a custom card every holiday season. Maintaining
those connections with people is key. When we design the cards, we leave space to write a personal note if one is necessary. If
a note isn't necessary, having recent photos and family highlights from
the year right on the card provides a personal touch."
What about your holiday cards?
Will you share links to cards (or blogs or essays -- any type of communication) you think are the right mix of efficient and personal?
Are these ideas relevant to other aspects of our lives, including daring to dream?
The Resolutionary Challenge begins on January 11, 2010.
I am happy to announce that Bonnie White, who was integral to the success of the 2009 Challenge, will be our helmer this year.
For more on this year's rules and to participate, click here.
If you sign up (read: pay your $30) by Friday, December 18, you will be eligible to win the 'Winter Cheer' print from Sarah Jane Studios.
Courtesy: Sarah Jane Studios
Are you ready to be a Resolutionary?
P.S. Thanks again to Heather Clayton Stake for starting this in 2008. The tweaks to my daily routine inspired by the Challenge have become foundational to my daring and dreaming -- and I've made some wonderful friends in the process.
Emily Orton is a former middle school teacher turned New York City SAHM and part-time writer. Her most recent offerings can be found on Work. Life. Balance., The Apron Stage, and Segullah. She is a huge fan of Dare to Dream and pleased as punch to contribute. When she's not reading or writing, Emily enjoys walking all over Manhattan, coastal sailing, and editing her apartment. She and her husband, Erik, home school their five children.
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By four months old, my daughter Mermaid was showing signs of developmental delay. Despite reassurances from my midwife and my pediatrician, I wearied myself with inconclusive internet research about Down Syndrome.
My husband called me paranoid. I craved certainty. Even the highly praised geneticist of thirty years couldn’t give it to me. Finally, with Mermaid at six months of age, blood tests revealed the microscopic extra chromosome that shook our paradigm. There was some reeling and some relief. At least now I didn’t have to worry if anything was wrong. I could get to work.
Source: istockphoto
Genuine acceptance and resilient humor, two of my husband’s hallmark qualities, buoyed us over the first few hours of transition. He wanted matching T-shirts that said, “We put the O in Chromosome” or “I’m down with Downs.” He said Mermaid’s four older siblings would be so jealous of all the cool trips Mermaid got to take with us in our wild retirement years. Encouragement from friends and family enveloped us as a whirlwind of evaluations and a battery of medical tests, I thought reserved only for politicians and celebrities, ensued.
Through it all, I held my girl. I nuzzled her soft warm head. I considered her future. So much was still uncertain, but I knew she would have to work hard for every achievement. I wanted to do something hard, too. The circumstances of my life aligned to make a marathon possible. It had been scratched off my dream list for years, but the shape of my dreams was changing. I wanted to run to honor Mermaid.
Source: istockphoto
I began training by taking the stairs instead of the elevator. I had worked up to ten miles with my steady friend, Heather, as my trainer/partner when Mermaid began having seizures. Tracking down a pediatric neurologist on a holiday weekend (these things always happen on weekends or holidays, don’t they?) was a saga unto itself. She interpreted the mass of EEG scribbles as electrical misfires in Mermaid’s brain and we had a shared suite in the NYU pediatric ward within three hours.
Fortunately, Mermaid obliged us by having a seizure shortly after she was hooked up to the EEG and video monitors. She was immediately diagnosed with Hypsarrhythmia. Sounds like a dance craze, right? I wish. It was actually the beginning of an insurance tango, learning to give my infant injections, and more tests than I ever took in college. By day two of hospital vigilance, I needed to run. I knew I might have to give up the marathon, but my body needed to move. My husband took over the bedside duties while I held my other children, slept in my own bed and ran with Heather.
Source: istockphoto
Almost every day I trained with Heather. On weekends a larger party would form for the long runs. Sometimes the conversation would transport me into the concerns and joys of the other women. Miles of quiet along the river was the sanctuary for my searching prayers. Often enough that Heather wasn’t surprised, my voice would tremble and the wind would send my tears sliding sideways across my cheeks as I uncovered my unbearable fears. But we laughed a lot, too. I always came home with flushed cheeks and the crazy notion that I could do hard things. I could carry my load that day.
The whole family came to cheer for me at the marathon. They were at mile 1, mile 20 and mile 26.2. The older children held signs, waved bright orange pom-poms and shouted out to me. Mermaid was slumped, disinterested, in her stroller. The medication wasn’t working. I hugged her and gave her a big kiss. I ran for both of us.
Source: istockphoto
Running down my dream kept me two steps ahead of despair. This unexpected protracted trial gave focus and purpose to my marathon dream. My training schedule gave routine, energy and sustaining friendship to my uncertainty. Achieving what I set out to do reminded me that I can do hard things one step at a time.
Epilogue: There are only two medications for treating Hypsarrhythmia. The second one worked for Mermaid. She is alert, engaging, determined and curious. She’s beginning to walk and talk. She smiles and laughs. She will be two in December.
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What's the hardest thing you've ever done? How has running that down helped you face other challenges? Achieve your dreams?
After you read Emily's post, re-read Elizabeth Stewart Dunford's post Solace in Creativity. What similarities do you find?
I'd also re-read Emily Anthon's Suiting Up and Showing Up. What similarities do you see here? What can we learn?
And finally -- Stephanie Soper's Portrait of an Artist.
Amanda Dickson co-hosts Utah's #1 rated morning show, "Utah's Morning
News with Grant and Amanda," on KSL Newsradio. Amanda earned her B.A. in English and Juris Doctorate at the
University of Utah. In her 40+ years, she's held 18 different jobs. She's been good at a few of them; and fired from a few. Given her work experiences combined with being married, the stepmother of three children, Cameron 16,
Ashley 19 and Laurel 20, and the mother of Ethan 4 and Aiden 2, Amanda is no stranger to change. You can read her blog here, and about her latest book Change It Up here.
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Some months ago, I found myself surrounded by the word “change.” It was the theme of political campaigns, a point of contention (“That’s not real change!” “That’s just change for change’s sake.”), something companies and entire industries needed to do (“We’ve got to change something around here, or we’re all going under.”) There was no ground under my feet, or what ground was there was shaking the china out of the hutch.
During this time of unsteadiness, companies would hire me as a speaker to address their management retreats and employee off-sites. The topic they wanted me to address with their teams? How to handle change.
Source: istockphoto
When I’d go to these gatherings, I’d often get there early, early enough to hang around the lobby and see if I could get any of the attendees to talk to me before the event began. “How’s it going?” I’d open. “Pretty good.” The standard response. “No, really. How’s it going? How’s everybody taking all the changes?” Whoa. Would that open the floodgates? This was a topic people wanted to talk about. I felt their stiffness, their reluctance to embrace the changes, no matter what they were. I felt their unease, their worry for the future, for their family’s security. Change was not a good word for these professionals, of every pay grade, of every stage in their careers.
That got me thinking. How can I help? If one of the themes of my life is helping people see happiness where before there was only worry, lightness where there was despair, then how can I help people (myself included) to see playfulness in change, if not pleasure. I started to think about some of the changes we do like.
There are some, you know. For instance, we watch those makeover shows. We love to watch people change hairstyles and wardrobes and kitchen appliances. We love to make those little changes in our own lives. And when we do, we feel great. Why? It’s the energy.
Source: istockphoto
There is a charge on change. That’s why when you change your hairstyle, people will compliment you, even if your old hairstyle looked better. It’s not about the quality of the change – it’s about the fact of the change. The change woke you up on some level, and that’s what they feel. So, knowing this, if we want energy in our lives (and who doesn’t) we just need to welcome some change in. Any change. It doesn’t really matter what you change. Drive to work a different way. Move your books. Paint something. Wear a different color. Wear dresses if you used to wear pants, or vice versa. Feel the charge that comes with change.
And feel the skill. Change is like any other ability – the more you do it, the better you get. Since we know that change is coming to all of us, big, hairy, painful change, shouldn’t we try to develop a little skill in this area while we can, while there’s a calm in the storm. Change something now. Feel the rush of it. Feel the ease of it. That wasn’t as hard as you thought.
Source: istockphoto
Then, when the painful change comes, remember what you’ve learned. Let go. Keep moving. Keep loving the living. You know those six little words that we crave during difficult times, that we want our husbands to say to us, or our parents, or even our presidents. “Everything is going to be okay.”
Do you know why we crave those exact words? Because they’re TRUE! Their truth makes them powerful in the quietest of ways. And do you know how I know they’re true? I’m not privy to any secret information. I’m just a mom who’s trying to juggle work and kids and life, like you are. I know they’re true because of change. Change – the eternal do-over. No matter what is happening right now, hang on. It will be okay. It will be different, to be sure, but it will be okay.
These are the ideas that prompted me to write my new book, Change It Up. I felt the power in these thoughts when I shared them with groups, and I was humbled by the simplicity of their strength. I know I’m not the first person to have these thoughts. You’ve probably read them and thought them before, but in case you have not – I offer them to you in this book – with the wish that you have more change in your life, not less.
Change is life.
Change is joy.
No one is getting out of this life alive, and no one is getting out unchanged.
Change it up!
***
Change - the eternal do-over. I like that.
I know I tend to speak of change negatively. And yet, as Amanda points out, so many of the changes in our life are quite good. What are some of your recent positive changes? And what is there to be learned from the process? I'll have to give this some thought.
Six months ago, my daughter Miranda started a blog.
She really, really, really wants a dog, but I'm allergic, so she has a fish, had a lizard, and now a guinea pig -- and has started a blog about dogs.
She asked me to tell you about Miranda's Dog Blog; I promised her I would once she had 10 entries.
Now she does.
This is a picture Miranda, Age 8, drew; read more about it here.
Will you go visit her blog and leave a comment?
Even better, why don't you share her blog with fellow dog lovers, daughters, granddaughters or nieces?
She will be thrilled.
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We really are a gatekeeper to our children's dreams. What dreams are our children dreaming?
And if we can't open the gate (because we don't know how to (e.g. learn to sew or become an Eagle Scout) or don't have the energy), are there people in our sphere that can?
Blindside (v.) - to tackle, hit, or attack (an opponent) from the blind side.
I just finished reading The Blind Side by Michael Lewis; the film was released last Friday.
Here's a synopsis from the backcover:
When we first meet him, Michael Oher is one of thirteen children by a mother addicted to crack; he doesn't know his real name, his father, his birthday or how to read and write. He takes up football, and school, after a rich, white, Evangelical family plucks him from the streets. Then two great forces alter Oher: the family's love and the evolution of football into a game where the quarterback must be protected at any cost. Our protagonist becomes the priceless package of size, speed, and agility necessary to guard the quarterback's greatest vulnerability, his blind side.
Here's what's interesting.
The left tackle, the player guarding the quarterback's blind side, goes largely unnoticed by the general public because the camera follows the ball. It's in the quarterback's hands. He hands it off to a running back, or throws it to a receiver. The camera follows them into the end zone. Touchdown. These are the players that the media tells us are important. I don't follow football, but I can name quarterbacks and receivers (Tom Brady, Chad Ocho Cinco, LaDanian Tomlinson). Left tackle? Nary a one. I didn't even know the position existed until I read this book.
Yet, if the left tackle does his job, the quarterback not only avoids being sacked by linebackers like Lawrence Taylor whose "instinct is to find the quarterback and kill him", he remains injury-free, and he has the time needed to throw touchdown-producing, headline-grabbing passes.
Which is why the camera may not follow the left tackle, but the team owners do -- and have the big, fat canceled checks to prove it. According to Lewis, "In 2004, the average NFL left tackle salary was $5.5 million a year, and the left tackle had become the second highest paid position on the field after the quarterback."
We all have a blind side.
Because it's blind, we can't see the people who are guarding against attacks from our opponents.
Which means -- of all the people that we need to be grateful for, it's 'left tackles in our lives' we're mostly likely to overlook. Like my husband. And a few dear friends.
Who are your 'left tackles"?
Are you like the media who follows the ball, blind to these key players?
Or do you have an owner-like view of their value?
Either way, will you tell these individuals thank you very soon?
In fact, why not today?
P.S. I don't play football. If you do, and I'm getting this wrong, or there are nuances I've missed, do share.
Elizabeth Stewart Dunford studied music and photography as an undergraduate, and is currently pursuing a Master of Liberal Arts at Harvard, one class at a time. She lives in Newton, MA with her husband, Michael and their three children with whom she has the opportunity to spend the bulk of her time. You can learn more about Elizabeth here, here, and her family's start-up business here.
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My mother told me never to read anyone else’s diary.
Is that why all the diaries I coveted growing up came adorned with a miniature lock and key? To ward off all those who didn’t observe social protocol? Ashamedly, I have found myself in this category at times. (I have older sisters). So, when an opportunity to research Charlotte Brontë’s diary arose, my childhood impulse was to call my mom and ask if she thought Brontë would mind.
Charlotte Brontë fascinates me. She already had my attention with Jane Eyre, but after I read the following words from her diary, she commanded my attention.
How few would believe that from sources purely imaginary such happiness could be derived! … What a treasure is thought! What a privilege is reverie! I am thankful I have the power of solacing myself with the dream of creations … May I never lose that power, may I never feel it grow weaker.
(This is my favorite image of her; a chalk drawing by George Richmond, 1850, commissioned by her husband)
A study of Brontë’s life reveals many sobering reasons why she turned to creative pursuits. The death of her mother and older sisters created a void that she felt obliged to fill. It was expected of her to assume the position of mother figure to her remaining younger siblings. It is a burden Brontë shouldered throughout most of her life. Creative expression is how she dealt with her day-to-day problems. As her diary firmly establishes, she found solace in creativity.
I identify with her.
Last summer I recorded some songs that I had written over a five-year period. Recording my songs facilitated a creative process that allowed me to find closure to painful relationships and celebrate current relationships. As I lost myself in the process and didn’t focus on the outcome, my creative endeavors healed and invigorated me.
The benefits inherent in creative acts are accessible to everyone. Creativity shows up differently from one to another: could be strengthening relationships, could be collecting sporks, or could be creating an edible dinner with what’s left in the fridge.
Creativity is not only available to everyone but easily visible during one’s early years. Think about this for a moment. All children draw. All children sing. In fact, it’s easy to find a 3- or 4- year-old child who will have a go at creating or trying anything. I am lucky enough to have one currently living within my walls—my daughter Ella Sophia’s creations are delightfully present all over the house.
(Noah's Ark animals being fed cut-up Twizzlers)
What happened to us between preschool and the present? We’ve all heard these reasons before—being taught that there is a “right” and a “wrong” way to do things, others’ criticism and fear. Even Charlotte Brontë feared rejection of her writing. Shortly after the publication of the wildly successful Jane Eyre, thirty-one-year-old Brontë nervously wrote to her editor “It has no learning, no research, it discusses no subject of public interest.”
So where to start? How can we, like Brontë, find solace in creative pursuits?
Observe the creative process undefiled. Grab the nearest preschooler and ask her to draw. Watch what she does. The preschooler has no fear and is almost always happy about her creation. If the preschooler is still present (hasn’t run off and “seatbelt taped” the Playmobil girl into the car—my recent favorite from Ella Sophia) you’ll notice that she enjoys the process as much as or more than the final outcome. You don’t need to create a masterpiece—a wildly successful novel or painting or song. Creation itself is the therapy.
What is creating? Your answer will vary from that of everyone else. The point is that you create without judgment. In the context of art therapy, the art created is secondary to the process. Go out and be a child. Create something and remove the critique.
Maybe I’ll get that diary with the lock and key and start by filling the pages with a story about a creative little girl who uses tape for seat belts.
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Does your creative outlet sustain you through loss, grief, your day-to-day difficulties?
Mine is not a traditional outlet, like painting or composing, but when I can help bring to life to someone's story and ideas on 'dare to dream', this for me is an act of creation -- one that brings me happiness. As Elizabeth said, creativity can take so many forms -- what does yours look like?
As we consider gifting the art of expression to our children, you may want to re-read Tie-Dye, Daughters and Dreams.
Finally, when Elizabeth and I first discussed a guest post after Kimberly Carlile's presentation at Fusion (Kimerly's presentation also inspired Julie Berry's Embracing Round post), I had no idea Elizabeth was a composer/vocalist/musician. Surprise. I especially liked Hush.
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