Docent

Last week’s annual trek to the pediatrician’s office with my 16-year old son seemed somewhat like an oxymoron.  My oldest, looking down on me now and sporting facial hair, seems wildly out of place in this juvenile space, his attention no longer held by the board books and Disney movies in the waiting room. But I just love the doctor so much I can’t bring myself to make a change. 

I forget as the seasons fly by what a valuable asset this man is to us, wondering this year as I left the office, how to capitalize on this resource despite his sporadic appearance in our lives. With an amazing way of connecting with both parents and their offspring, he truly differentiates himself from his peers. 

The visits are always structured in the same way.  The bulk of the time is the three of us in the room talking.  He asks all of the standard medical-type questions, but he wants to know about life, too, delving into school, grades, friends, eating, sleeping, hobbies, habits (good and bad) and the future.  He truly treats the whole person. And these conversations are not easy anymore.  As the kids grow, so do the issues.  Drinking no longer refers to milk and helmets aren’t necessarily for bike riding.

His bedside manner makes it impossible for even the most guarded kid not to give up at least a little bit of what’s on the inside.  He is compassionate.  He listens.  He makes you feel like he has all the time in the world for you.  He is fair and balanced. He is fact-based and credible, yet he acknowledges fears and apprehension with soothing empathy.  He talks about lapses in judgment and bad choices not with disdain or retribution, but in terms of their potential to close doors to the future.

When I look at this man, I see someone who has found his calling. 

Mother and son ended up on opposite sides of a recommendation at one point in the conversation. The doctor stated his reasons in support of my opinion, but also acknowledged that there are no huge risks with the course of action my son favored.  Rather than force the issue, knowing that this could jeopardize an important relationship, we agreed it was wise to leave the choice up to my son.  Funny thing is, when he referred to the relationship at risk, he wasn’t talking about me.  He was talking about his connection with my child!  This doctor actually told my boy, “You need me to get through the balance of high school.”  He extended an open-ended invitation for a phone call if there was ever a need to talk.  Wow.

I know few men in this day and age who are willing to put themselves out there like that for a child who is not their own. With that offering he crossed the line from ordinary to extraordinary.

Beyond that, he helped me see my son in a whole different light that day.  I gleaned from an unfamiliar vantage point that it truly is time for me to let my child grow up. The reins of decision-making are slipping from my hands.  Choices that were fully in my control now need to be made jointly, or even solely by him.  He can and will consult other trusted adults when he has questions. We’re at the tipping point. I have to share him now.  And I’m not sure I want to.

Launching a child out into the world is fraught with mixed emotions.  I wish I could be certain that every person he’s exposed to is of the caliber of the doctor.  Wouldn’t that make things easy, to hand our children over to those who share our views and truly care?  The world is a tough place.  My kids won’t leave the nest to experience nothing but smooth sailing.

But neither have I.  Somehow I’m finding my way and they will too. 

Pulchritude

“She has wrinkly knees,” was the response my 8^th grader supplied last spring in answer to my inquiry as to what could be so awful about his math teacher that would cause his grade to plummet.  I felt myself suck my breath in.  How could a boy who has not even fully made it to manhood know that he’d just delved into an arena of dread and distress for me?  It might even make the top-ten list of most middle-aged women:  The fear of aging.

Of course, his teacher’s knees had nothing to do with his performance in math class.  He couldn’t have known either that I’ve been looking at my own knees lately, wishing I could stop the pooling of skin at my joints that has me wondering if, despite my dedication to running,  I’ll someday resemble an elephant.  But I found it perplexing that in his desperate grasp for some excuse to deflect attention from the real issue, he chose to blame her appearance.

I don’t know a woman out there who hasn’t at one time or another wanted to change some physical feature in hopes that the alteration would make her more attractive to men. I’m struck by the excessive amount of time I’ve spent over the course of my lifetime worried about what I look like.  I’m sure it’s crossed my mind multiple times every single day of my life.  Is that normal?

I’m talking about it now because I’m wondering how often a woman unsure of her appearance allows her power and confidence to be sapped.  Do we share less of ourselves with others if we feel we don’t look right? 

When we speak up, people notice us.  And they are taking in far more than just the words coming out of our mouths.  They’re looking at how we carry ourselves, whether we deliver our message with a smile, or a frown, with a deliberate ease, or in an uncomfortable rush.  And they’re looking at what we look like.  Is our clothing appropriate for the environment, is our jewelry too loud or excessive, is our hair smooth or disheveled?  Heels too high?  Make-up too pronounced?  Perfume too strong?  The list goes on. 

And sometimes, we women are harder on each other than the men are on us. 

I was out for drinks with some colleagues recently, and when the waitress came over, clearly falling out of her low-cut blouse, she became the topic of conversation for the table.  The men, of course, had no issue with her attire.  And the women, well, we wondered why we are as compelled as the men are to gape.  We pondered our reflex to compare her to ourselves, and questioned why we are so willing to judge her with a measured level of harshness. Are we so insecure in our own ability to please the men around us that we need to critique and criticize a stranger?  Wasn’t she, in her selection of clothing, doing what we all do to some degree, trying to satisfy her own need to feel attractive to men?

Our society has set us up to aspire to be the beautiful people. The media heralds and chronicles celebrities’ perpetual pursuit of the fountain of youth.  We’re inundated with beauty products and elixirs to fend off the beast that is aging.  We’re told that bald is not beautiful, an extra ten pounds is unacceptable, teeth need to be straight and sparkling white, creases and blemishes need to be smoothed and erased, hair should be tamed, and everyone knows that even 13-year old boys are repulsed by wrinkly knees. 

The real question, I think, is how do we move beyond the notion that our value is somehow wrapped up in what we look like?  When we realize our power comes from who we are on the inside, we become infinitely more comfortable with what’s on the outside.  I believe the collision of fading youth and flourishing wisdom is the deliberate design of a careful engineer.  The challenge is in crossing over, or attraversiamo, as the Italians say.

And this takes me back to what others take away when they experience us.   When I’m listening to a confident person, someone who looks comfortable in her skin, is expressive, authentic, and genuine, I probably couldn’t tell you what she’s wearing.  Because she’s got me engaged in her as a person by how she is conveying what she has to share. It can be mesmerizing and unleashing.  All of the beauty that is inside comes tumbling out. 

With that same group of colleagues that evening in the bar, we started talking about a man we all know who is very good at this very thing.  I was explaining how I feel when this guy talks to me, and I was lit up and animated telling my story.  Not because I want to date him or because his behavior is exclusive to me, but because I’m so impressed with his skill and desire to make anyone he is with feel so special.  He is infinitely more attractive because he is not afraid to be himself with people.   

And as I was talking about him, I was watching my friends watch me.  I realized that in my own genuineness, the real me was making an appearance.  I could have had three heads or green skin. My friends saw something engaging in me in that instant, gleaning a beauty no amount of cosmetics could ever hope to garner.

Why not try stepping off the weight loss carousel for a bit and invest in yourself by indulging in an interest you’ve pushed aside?  Your happiness with pursuing your passion will seep into interactions with everyone you meet.

Confidence creates comeliness. We might think it’s the other way around, but I’ve learned it’s not. Our bodies will eventually decline.  There is no escaping it.  The only option is to find the beauty inside.

Nascence

Opinions abound on the appointment of Marissa Mayer as Yahoo’s next CEO and the news she is carrying her first child. As the story unfolded last week, my emotions ran the gamut:  Excitement that yet another woman has made it into the highest leadership spot. Annoyance that we’re even wasting a minute comparing her situation to the struggles faced by working mothers much further down the food chain. Green-eyed envy over everything this woman has accomplished at only 37 years old. And sympathy.   

When I got to the heart of the matter, all I could think about was how Mayer must have felt, wanting the job so badly, knowing she was pregnant, and wondering how her prospective employer would respond when she told them. I’ve been in that place. 

Fifteen years ago when I was carrying my youngest I was offered a new job.  I was miserable where I was at, but had resigned myself to wait it out until after the baby was born.  Who would hire me just months away from giving birth?  Coveted by a client who knew and respected my work, I was enticed with my first-ever leadership role as Director of Design and Construction.  Wow, did I want that job!  It was for more money.  It was closer to home which meant more time with my kids.  I would manage a team. I couldn’t have found anything better at the time if I tried. Yet my blood ran cold at the thought of disclosing my situation.  Would they still want me? 

This is not the way a woman should be thinking when expecting a child.  It’s supposed to be an incredibly joyful time in her life.  Instead she’s conflicted about how this will impact her career and whether she may lose out on a really good opportunity because she’s made a choice in her personal life that can’t, by its very nature, be kept personal. And if she is successful in securing the role, will people question whether she can cut it?  What man would that ever happen to?

Bringing a new life into the world is a gift.  There is no doubt about it.  If you’ve ever carried a baby inside of you, you know what I mean.  It is awe inspiring to think that a human being can be a vessel capable of such a magnificent creation.  And like any gift, it comes with responsibility; the obligation to nurture and care for that life. The instincts to do just that are innate to women.  The mother who denies her child the gift of herself is an anomaly.

Do I think Mayer is kidding herself when she told Fortune magazine "My maternity leave will be a few weeks long, and I'll work throughout it" ?  Yep. It’s my belief that when a child is born, a mother is created.  She can’t possibly know how she’ll feel or what she’ll do until she cradles that precious baby in her arms. None of us do. She’ll figure it out. And whatever she decides needs to be okay. 

Women are designed to feel responsibility toward the lives they bring into this world.  That’s not going to change.  What needs to change is how we as a society treat women who are taking on this incredible commitment.   While many women choose to pursue careers and personal ambitions in addition to raising their children, it always comes at an unquantifiable emotional cost. Read Anne-Marie Slaughter’s “Why Women Still Can’t Have It All” published in July’s Atlantic Magazine if you don’t believe me:  http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2012/07/why-women-still-can-8217-t-have-it-all/9020/

I wish the men and women who question Mayer or the wisdom of the Yahoo executives would take a minute to think about what their mothers have meant to them over the course of their lives. Mothers shape us in ways no one else can.  They give themselves completely over to us and our needs.  The bonds they create with their children are ferocious and unmatched. They sacrifice their own desires to make sure we are cared for. No one gets here without a mother. No one. 

You know what?  The Yahoo executives have a coverage plan for Mayer when she leaves to celebrate the birth of her child.  Yahoo will not fall down. Kudos to this company for recognizing Mayer’s talent, and for supporting her wishes to combine a career and family. This kind of thinking needs to touch every working woman out there, no matter where she is in the ranks.

I am eternally grateful to the generous and courageous family man who, in 1998,  not only hired me six months prior to my due date, but  granted my request for a five month maternity leave and somehow made certain I was eligible, as new hire, for insurance benefits  I would surely need. He chose to put his valued employee first, and while it was extra work for him, we made sure he had a contingency plan in place and coverage for my work while I was out. 

Without him, I’m not sure where I’d be today. He hired me into the company that was eventually purchased by my current organization.  He started me on my career trajectory in leadership and people management.  Would I be an executive at the top global firm in my industry without that opportunity?

If I hadn’t had a job that played to my strengths and allowed me to develop, would I have eventually dropped out of the work force?  Would I have had the autonomy that allowed me the option to end my marriage and support my family as a single mother?  Would I be in such a strong position to advocate for other women today?     

Working mothers are challenged over and over again to prove their commitment to their jobs.  When are we going to realize that women bring value to the work force because of the qualities that make them good mothers, not in spite of them?

Haven ♕

Flames roared out of the bat mobile by the time we barreled into the hidden driveway that leads to our secret hideout in western Michigan.  Bursting at the seams with a week’s worth of vacation rations and two raucous teenagers, we couldn’t get out of the car and onto the beach fast enough.  As the boys raced inside for dibs on the choice sleeping quarters, I breathed in the fresh sea air and patted myself on the back for making it.  I have been running on fumes lately, my fuel light on “low” for some time.  I was dangerously close to empty and pinning my hopes on the magical, restorative powers of the lake to bewitch, filling me up again.

I don’t know about you, but I want vacation to be a true hiatus, a peaceful place to dock and suspend any activities that constitute the daily grind.  I rid myself of all but the completely necessary chores which, on this particular vacation, leaves us with little else than activities centered on consuming food and drink. I ignore what I can’t eliminate, like my e-mail, simply choosing not to read it.  A bight is allowed in the rope I extend to the boys, and I welcome the gift of influence from other quality adults in the clan that these close quarters afford us.

With time devoted solely to the pursuit of pleasure, I should have easily refueled and reset my compass.  Yet, as the week wore on, I found myself more lost in some ways than I was at home.  Our vehicle was packed to the gills on the way up north, how had my self-doubt and self-pity found space to stow away and intrude on the ride?

I wasn’t sleeping well at night. The knot that has been loosely tied around my right shoulder suddenly laced itself up tighter than a corset. My oldest offered more evidence that you can run, but you can’t hide. Even the most secluded and sheltered lair can be capacious when it comes to trouble.

And then it rained.  Everything was wet, it seemed.  Pieces of clothing that had never touched the water were cleaved with a determined dampness.  While I had been reading at the beach daily, this bewildering change in direction caused me to pour myself into my books, and it was here that I untangled my rope and found the peace I was seeking.

The aspiring writers in the two stories I read couldn’t be more different.  Shay Youngblood’s Eden in “Black Girl in Paris” is 26 years old, wandering the city in 1986 in pursuit of her idol, James Baldwin, believing he will supply her with inspiration and words of wisdom she thinks she needs to launch her own career.  In “Joy in the Morning”, Betty Smith’s Annie is an 18-year old uneducated newlywed who, in 1928, tries to fit the mold of wife and mother but can’t deny her calling as a budding playwright. The theme that runs through both books is the same:  These women find the power within themselves when they write, filling themselves up with the outlet of creative expression.

Friday dawned sunny and gorgeous, making it easy to forget the rain.  I pulled on my running clothes and put one bare foot in front of the other along four miles of coast, the waves lapping at my toes as sweet purls ceaselessly gave way to clear pools of water. Feeling human again, I traded the shorts and shirt for a bathing suit, and grabbed my books.  I read for 3-1/2 hours before I saw another soul from our tribe.  During that time Annie discovered her best work came when she wrote from the heart about people who matter to her, and her husband Carl found the security he needed to support her interests with the knowledge that Annie couldn’t give up her writing any more than she could give up him.  Eden, in her writing, found a gift belonging solely to her, and realized she didn’t need anyone to show her the way, that everything she needed had been inside waiting for her. 

The whole week I had been thinking I needed someone else to fill me up, and feeling sorry for myself because he doesn’t exist right now in the form of a kind, dependable and attentive man made just for me.  I had forgotten my own power, once again. 

All of the pieces came together when I dove into Deborah Harkness’ “A Discovery of Witches”. Diana, a scholar researching rare manuscripts, meets Matthew.  They find themselves attracted to each other, in spite of the fact that witches and vampires just don’t mix.  Matthew’s friend Hamish is slowly extracting the story of Diana during a chess match which Matthew loses when he leaves his king vulnerable to attack. His pawns, a knight and a rook were all occupied protecting his queen.  Matthew’s explanation for the loss is more telling to Hamish than anything he says directly about Diana:   Sometimes guarding the queen’s freedom is more important than winning the game.

We are fully capable of filling ourselves up, even when our vessels feel bone dry. This is never the responsibility of someone else.  But that doesn’t mean we’re alone.  The generous friends in my tribe were my unwitting protectors.  They kept an eye on my children and allowed me the luxury of an entire, guilt-free day, yes, nearly eight hours, in my favorite spot on earth. When everyone else packed up, there was no pressure to follow, instead, the offer of another drink to savor all by myself, as the sun inched closer to the water on the horizon.

Like the queen, my power lies in the autonomy to move around my chess board at will. And with this cue that I have boundless choices, I refilled my trove with patience to let the game of life continue to play out.  I don’t need to rush.  Some days I may see several moves ahead, and be swift and decisive.  Other days I may not see what is right in front of me, or need to wait for a move to be made by another, unveiling new options to contemplate.

It is inside each one of us.  No one can take it away.

With the freedom to go in any direction, and her merit so clearly visible  that a slew of allies gird her like no other, no wonder the queen is the most valuable and powerful piece on the board. ♕

Caliginous

I’m spending quite a bit of time in the dark these days.  Not in the literal sense, although I’ve become somewhat nocturnal, burning the midnight oil writing blog posts and copy, designing and producing art work I intend to market. I’m talking about the figurative dark, like I’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere and can’t program my GPS.  I know where I want to go, but I’m not sure how to find my destination.  All my usual signposts and markers are invisible.  While I’ve never questioned whether I belong in the driver’s seat, I could sure use a trusty navigator right about now.

As I sail in uncharted waters at work, I’m getting involved in aspects of business that are new to me.  This is invaluable experience and surely another arrow in my quiver, but it can be a little unsettling being asked to lead in a new and unfamiliar realm. I’m used to being the one with all the answers, confident and sure-footed.  I’m learning it’s easy to lead when you think you can predict the outcome, and have enough experience to know where the pitfalls are, anticipating the issues and adeptly maneuvering around them.  Quite a different story when you’re out of your element. 

The real test for a leader, I’m finding, comes when you’re in darkness, the truly unfamiliar and unknown.

Peter Bregman, my dreamy HBR blogger, wrote last month on the idea that the most formidable leaders are the ones who get acclimated to the feelings associated with being “lost while people are following you.”  Right on!  What an insightful way to describe it.  Read more here:  http://blogs.hbr.org/bregman/2012/06/the-emotional-adventure-of-lea.html?cm_sp=blog_flyout-_-bregman-_-the_emotional_adventure_of_lea

Really great leaders learn to trust the mess.  They somehow persevere and are able to make decisions to move forward, while living in an uncertain environment.  One of my literary heroines, Scarlett O’Hara, is the archetype for endurance in extraordinarily trying times.  Scarlett is infinitely resourceful, making do with what she has in front of her (remember her dress fashioned from draperies?), but never losing sight of where she is going. She becomes proficient at moving forward in spite of those unsettling feelings like frustration, embarrassment, humility and angst that can bubble up when the course is indeterminate or unpredictable. But Scarlett is also glaringly human; we see in her that if we’re not careful, even the best of us can find ourselves climbing the walls like raging lunatics or dissolving into a puddle of tears on the floor. Unacceptable behavior, for sure; especially when others are depending on you to take charge, but also very real.

So what do you do?  How do you deal in uncertainty and keep it all together?

What I’m learning at work, is that my unfamiliarity causes me to default to active listening and to naturally delegate tasks.  I have no choice.   I’m surrounded by really talented people who are the subject matter experts in these areas that are foreign to me. I am leaning into them to educate me and trusting the knowledge they bring to the table.  My role is to keep everyone organized and focused on the vision and our goals, recognize when the team needs additional expertise and run productive meetings that keep everyone on track to meet the deadlines.  I’m talking less and listening more.  I’m learning to be okay with not having all of the answers. I might be in the dark, but my team sees the light.

At home, it’s not so easy.  Raising teenagers is truly the blind leading the blind. And it’s really difficult not to lose your mind and spout off some regrettable words, especially when you can keep your behavior confined to the domestic.  Yet, after another challenging week with my kids, Bregman’s words are strangely like a salve on my wounded pride.  Not only does he say the ambiguity and anxiety that swirls around us in the dark is to be expected, but that great leaders need to possess an abundant and endless supply of forbearance, fearlessness and faith for this very reason.  These are the qualities that allow us to trust our gut and move forward.

I’m granting myself a little more grace.  There is no manual for raising children.  And there is no one formula that works on every kid, even when two kids grow up in the same house together.  As awkward as it feels, this really is how it is supposed to be. 

Some people make leadership look so easy.  They are charismatic, confident and nimble, even in situations sure to ruffle staunch feathers. This is what I aspire to be. Have I ever lost my temper or burst into tears?  Of course I have.  Who hasn’t?  With most affairs in life, a mishandled matter is an opportunity to reflect and consider new tactics for the next time.  Character isn’t found in perfection, it’s found in striving to be perfect.  It’s what gets us out of the dark and also what allows us to shine brilliantly in our own light. 

No one knows this better than Scarlett:  “After all, tomorrow is another day”. 

Roar

Way back in 6^th grade, I remember an assignment to write a position paper on the question of whether barbequing, burning leaves, and other assorted practices with environmental impacts should be banned. I was the only person in the room who took the stance that we should unequivocally ban it all. When the teacher announced this and asked me to stand up in front of the class to defend my position, I shriveled faster than those leaves everyone wanted to ignite do when they meet the flame.  Was she kidding me?  I was the cheese standing alone, twenty pairs of eyes staring me down like I was some kind of a killjoy.

It can be intimidating when our point of view differs dramatically from the rest of the population. Many of us literally lose our voices in these situations, clamming up and keeping our opinions to ourselves when the rest of the world doesn’t notice what seems like a blatant issue or opportunity to us. 

There have been times at the office, too, when I felt like my opinion was too different and I’d really be rocking the boat if I said something.  And besides, who would want to hear from me anyway?   Didn’t I need to be at a certain level in our hierarchy before the people at the top of my world view would give me the time of day?  It took several years, and some coaxing from patient mentors, for me to really believe in the power of my voice.   

Women, especially, seem to underestimate their ability to influence, and can be intimidated into silence or acquiescence.  Why does this happen and how do we get better about speaking up?

Naturally, self-doubt comes into play.  When everyone else doesn’t seem to see a problem and, “we’ve always done things this way,” is the default response to inquiries about the steady state, we wonder if there’s really a problem, maybe we’re just blowing things out of proportion. 

Then there’s the issue of defending our position if we do get an audience who takes us seriously.  Women have an overwhelming need to be able to dot all of our “i”s and cross all of the “t”s before we pipe up. If I say something is a problem that ought to be fixed, I better have indisputable evidence and an airtight solution, right?  What if I shoot my mouth off and I’m really just mistaken?  Where does that leave me?

And in some cases, the whole situation can just seem bigger than we are.  Even if we do build our case successfully, how on earth can we possibly move the mountains ourselves?

At some point, the need to voice an opinion trumps the fear of putting it out there.  I’ve learned over the past several years that you can recover from a poor decision or situation.  You really can.  What I know I can’t recover from anymore is holding my tongue in a bad state of affairs. 

I think the watershed comes when we believe in an idea or approach so vehemently that we can’t keep our mouths shut.  When we talk about something we are passionate about, it’s more than just our words that others experience.  It’s the broad smiles on our faces, the light dancing in our eyes, the rapid cadence of our speech, the animation in our bodies, the conviction that can come only from the heart.  When you believe like that, others can’t help but listen.  It’s earnest and compelling and genuine.

I’m not sure where this comes from.  It feels to me like a chicken and egg question.  Do we recognize our power to influence when we put our opinions out there and see success?  Or do we need to find the power within us in order to take a risk and put an opinion out there?

 I’ve seen victory by presenting an unbiased and logical statement of the facts, absent of all references to laying blame, along with the benefits I believe could be realized. Complaining never gets you anywhere and “comparison is the thief of joy,” as Theodore Roosevelt so eloquently puts it.

And it helps to get to the right person.  Sometimes we feel like we are screaming and not being heard because the person we’re talking to lacks the power to provide the support we need. 

I never underestimate anymore the ability my voice has to ring, even in a whisper.  Do I always get my way?  No.  But I am always heard.  The advice I give others is this:  If you believe in it, you need to speak up. If for no one else, do it for yourself. Everyone is going to have an opinion.  Just because yours is different doesn’t mean it’s wrong. 

But I would advise that you know what you’re talking about.  That 6^th grade paper, well, I didn’t know what the word “ban” actually meant.  So, I got to choose whether I would stand up in front of the class defending a controversial opinion I didn’t believe in or admit I was ignorant to the whole premise of the paper.  Yuck!  Mercifully, I can’t remember the outcome.  They didn’t burn me at the stake or anything like that; but, wow, did I sweat. 

Jettison

I can feel the tug, the magnetic force attracting me to my summertime mecca, the beach in western Michigan. It’s so strong this time of year I believe I could sail there without my compass, maybe even without lifting my anchor. There is something magical about this annual pilgrimage. I’ve noticed over the years that I am usually at my best here, and as I eagerly pack my bag for a few days of estivation I’m contemplating the reasons why. 

I’ve referenced “Gift from the Sea”, written in 1955, in a previous blog post (Scalar, Sunday July 1, 2012 http://yourwindlass.blogspot.com/2012/07/scalar.html).  It’s compelling in the timeless way Anne Morrow Lindbergh describes the complications in life faced by American women.  Plus ça change, plus c' est la même chose. The more things change, the more they stay the same.  

The premise of her book is that when we are at the beach, life is lived in its most simple form.  There is a natural shedding of all but that which is essential. And through this outward simplification we find the strength and grace inside to be our best selves.  I can’t say I disagree.

A trip to the beach is in some ways similar to my annual Madison to Chicago relay race, in that beauty products don’t cross the state line. Swimsuits, a few pairs of shorts and t-shirts are all that is required. Given that the cottage we stay in was built in the 1920’s, modern plumbing was an afterthought.  The lone shower, accessed from the back porch, is a deserted haunt.  The boys and I prefer to help ourselves to the grooming products free for the taking in the great outdoors:  The voluminous freshwater bathtub that is the lake and the stiff wind at the shore affectionately known as nature’s hairdryer. My companions on this trip once told me they like me in my natural state.  I choose to think they weren’t just being polite.  I like me this way too. 

There is something about the beach that makes a rustic cabin the ideal living quarters.  Equipped with no more than the basics, everything is vintage, weathered and worn; well-loved by the generations of people who created lasting memories of joy, revelry and solace in this abode.  The sand on the floor and in the beds, a condition intolerable on the home front, feels like it belongs here to be relished rather than removed.  We drop off to sleep with the windows wide open, the waves in the distance singing sweetly a never-ending lullaby. 

And the stars, well, they take my breath away.  There is little in life I find more intoxicating than the beach after dark on a clear night. Remote from the overpowering glow of city life, even the shy, retiring stars can’t help but put in an appearance.  Who knew the sky bursts with so many of these twinkling, glimmering points of light?  Here I discover the daring to sneak in underneath them for a stealth dip in the water; the ultimate paring of any pretense.

Yet the true force of the freedom and abandon I uncover here comes from the total sense of belonging and acceptance I’m filled with by the friends who so generously share this treasure with me.  As my son says, these are our real friends, the ones who let us be ourselves.  We each own a deep and intensely personal love for this place, agape and connected by our desire to protect with ferocity our slice of heaven on earth.

It’s so much more than where we are; it’s who we are when we are here.

We make plans based solely on what the day looks and feels like.  We eat, sleep and run whenever and wherever we choose.  We lose track of time, routinely and readily.  We breathe easier and more deeply. We loosen the reins we hold on our ever-growing boys. We loosen the reins we hold on ourselves. And in this casting away of all structure, comes the revelation that we are becoming more real and precious to each other.

This year, I’m committing to leave behind permanently some of the complications in life I shed so easily at the beach, those things that distract me, so that all my energy and attention is there for what matters.  The sea girl in me will bring home what is most valuable:  The capacity to let go and recreate the inimitable feeling of release that comes when my tired body flattens into the sun-warmed sand, lashes pull the covers over my eyes, and the wind and surf drown out all other sound around me, leaving no choice but to find the peace that’s inside.  

“One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach – waiting for a gift from the sea.”  --Anne Morrow Lindbergh