Middle Child

I was reading in some magazine or e-news item about birth order and how it affects who you are.

They said first born children become CEO's and are conservative but good at excelling. And the youngest children take more risks. Even if they become CEO's they manage differently and they are more likely to try new ideas and they're more likely to crash and burn but are really good at get up afterwards because they're used to it.

Middle children. Middle children...are a conundrum. They can go either way and nobody can predict middle children like they can the first child and the last child. They're a mystery. The nut scientists and sociologists would like to crack.

Nice to know...since I'm surrounded by 'em. Both siblings and both parents are or were scientists/engineers. **hee hee** But also very odd since there are probably more middle children out there than first and last children. What are we? Invisible? [inside middle child joke ;)] Yes, yes, invisible.

And what of only children? Or children who are of a different generation than their siblings? (My friend Will is the fourth [I think] child of his mother but the first for his father.) Curiouser & Curiouser.

I'm especially curious to see my new upcoming nephew grow up and adjust to the world. How he interacts with his older brother. How he behaves being the youngest. And possibly, how he behaves as an older sibling if another little one comes along. And then, if he does have a younger sibling--how he develops into the mystery of the middle child.

Letting Go

"When do you know that you're in a healthy place?" I ask a friend. "When you don't care if you're in a healthy place any more and you're just living your life."


Have you noticed that it's true for so many things in life? With parents and children; with relationships; with health...


It's Fall and I'm climbing in Red Rock National Park. The next hold is just out of my reach. I reach for it...slip, and miss and scramble to keep hold of the rock with the tips of my toes and my other hand. It's hot, I'm sweating, and all my muscles are tight and straining to finish this climb.


"Buck up, Alice, Buck up," I mumble to myself. (Okay, so maybe I don't mumble it so much as yell it at myself to keep myself for turning hysterical and bumbling mass of fear.)


Look up and not down. And a fellow climber tells me to relax and hang from my bones instead of my muscles, turn my hip in and reach again. I do...and miraculously the hold is within reach--with a few centimeters to spare. I'm amazed.

It reminds me that sometimes struggling to get what you want is more work and less effective than relaxing and relying on the core of who you are or what you've built. Relying on your skeleton and just choosing to change direction--and leaning in sometimes brings a goal within reach with an ease that is surprising.


"It's actually a skill," my friend says, "learning to let go."

Practice makes perfect right? But practicing isn't very fun. As a child my mother had to chase me around the house to get me to go practice. I'm known as the "I don't want to practice!" child.

Ironically, I'm coming to realize that someOne out there has me practicing a lot because this letting go thing is becoming a re-occurring theme.

I just have to remember there's a point to practice, right? A little improvement every time until you have what it is you're practicing down and you can move on to something new.



It's funny isn't it? That sometimes we clutch so strongly at something it slips through our fingers. Only to find that those points where we keep our hands open allow the thing we're clutching for to come for and stay awhile, even if it's not forever--but long enough to enjoy the stay.


With the sun on my back I climb on and tap the top hold.
"Okay! Ready to Lower! Sit back!"

I let go sit back and kick my legs out. "Lower me!" and the wall flies past as I kick away from the wall. My hands free and clear. Letting go.

To Hear Your Voice

Lately issues about what makes quality of life have been popping up. After looking at the people whom I've come across in my travels and in life and seeing the people who are content and who are not -- I've come to the belief that what makes life fulfilling is a genuine connection with each other.



It can last just a moment. Have you ever been traveling and had a talk with a stranger you will never see again and you only spend a short amount of time with them but you walk away feeling good? It's that a part of them acknowledges a part of you when you're open and there's a connect.



The need for a true connection can explain why people who gain fame--especially at an early age--often search for something more. If you're a little older when you gain fame, you've already made genuine friendships and acquaintances who see you for who you are and have accepted you into their life. If you're young, there's been less of a chance for that.



Celebrities or children of a celebrities often don't know if someone is connecting to them truly or if they're being sought after because they have fame or wealth.



And in the midst of searching for something drugs and alcohol can begin as an experiment that causes a numbness that feels good to begin with but then actually infiltrates a person's life and distances them. The numbness causing an inability to truly be present to connect with other people. Ironic, isn't it?



I look at my parents and their friends and am grateful that the Asian community values their elders. Although, with every generation here in the U.S. I can see that value slowly deteriorating.



The gap in everyday American life is growing too with every generation. I just had a conversation today with a young woman in her early 20's that I work with. "Why is text messaging so attractive to people in their early 20's?" All of my younger friends text me instead of calling to leave a voicemail. A small thing, but one that takes me one step away from hearing his or her voice. From connecting to who they are. I can see people moving further and further away from having to deal with each other face to face or voice to voice and thus living in a virtual world.



The young woman laughs as I continue to ask her whey text vs. voice and wonders how it can be such an issue with me.



On the radio a few years ago I heard about a study where people who surfed the net more and e-mailed and chatted with people more felt lonelier and had less of a sense of leading a fulfilling life than those who did not spend as much time on the internet. In fact, the more time spent online, the worse they felt.



I guess you could consider me old. It's not that I don't believe in technology because I do. I also believe there is a place for text messages and a time for distancing yourself from the world. But what I believe in most is those genuine passages of time where you and another person talk and enjoy each other's company. Where you come away feeling energized and spiritually fed having recognized and having been recognized by another human being in a world that's quickly moving away from people and toward computers, phones, videogames and convenience.

Grinches, Grinches, everywhere

A week in Hawaii island hopping and not knowing what I'm seeing because I'm on an foreign language tour gives perspective. Everything goes by so fast. There's no time to really see anything. Just enough to scan the scenery and go. 10 minutes here, 10 minutes there. Go, go, go.


That's how it is for the holidays too. Back in the U.S. at work people are calling in frantic on the mobiles trying to buy presents as they do other things. No time, no time, go, go, going so they don't really enjoy the season in any way. They're grinchy and grouchy and snapping at the people at work here.



Sometimes it's easier to take it out on the people on the phone. Sometimes we're punching bags while the people who they're really mad at (themselves, family, God, etc.) go unspoken to.



But sometimes, it's better not to spend 10 minutes here and 10 minutes there. Sometimes it's actually better to BE PRESENT. Sometimes, that's the best present of all. For family, for friends, and for the poor service people on the phones.



That's all I have to say today. That and Happy Holidays in order of appearance: Happy Eid al-Fitr, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Winter Solstice, Merry Christmas, Happy Boxing Day, Happy Kwanzaa, and Happy New Year!

Whatever...

My brother's getting married next week. And I don't have a present. Now, I am not one that has difficulty getting presents for weddings. There's usually a creative twist with something meaningful behind it with custom wrappings.

But with my own brother, I'm stumped. It's like a shopping block. How do you get a meaningful present that will be enough to impart how much your own brother means to you? Nothing can measure up to that. All gifts that come flying through my brain aren't good enough or just aren't right for him and his upcoming bride.

If I didn't care about my brother it wouldn't be so hard. But he's my only brother and I've spend most of my life and all of his life knowing him.

In the end, we are a materialistic society and truly everything he literally needs he already has. Families in Africa would be grateful for 1/100th of what most of us Americans have. A magazine subscription is truly a non-essential luxury. It's all about food, water, air, clothing, and shelter.

So, back to the question of what to get. A donation to a charity? A nondescript gift card? A plunger with money stuffed inside?

Whatever it is, whatever it ends up being, the day belongs to them and what my gift is doesn't really matter does it? Ever?

Swarming Season

The door opens into darkness. I turn the corner and flip on a light. There's a towel lining the bathroom door. Wha?!? Drop the bags off my shoulders. Is it a leak? Is it too loud and this is a sound muffler? I slowly open the door and turn on the light.


AAAaaaaaeeeieeeesshhhooooootttt!

There are swarms of winged things all over the floor by the towel, lining the wall, on my floor, in my sink, in the shower! I flip off the light and shut the door. Ooofph!

Darn. I need to use the bathroom but I'm afraid to with all that--that---WHAT are they?!? Wwweeeeelllll..... as you can see by the photo, I did some research on the internet. (Isn't the internet handy?) And ....drum roll please....they're termites. Dry wood termites.

My apartment manager tells me it's normal and that it's swarming season. Especially for the termites with wings. I'm supposed to look around for a tiny hole and spray the wood with Windex and then put scotch tape over the hole and she'll have a maintenance guy put putty over it.

At work I ask, "Other than eating wood, can termites do any harm?"

The woman sitting next to me sarcastically says "You mean other than falling through your bathroom floor because they've eaten their way through? No."

Hmmmm.....falling through the floor. How would that feel? And would it the whole toilet go? Or would it happen when you're just standing there? And what would my neighbors downstairs think?

And yet, you have to give these termites credit. They knew just how to pick the right apartment complex. Eat a good meal for a few years and then every once in awhile they'll run into scotch tape and get a hit of the ole Windex.

We humans will live with it too. Because it takes too much energy to deal with it. In the end, if you think about it, whether you're a termite or a human the compromise is better than a tent.

The Fall

This morning was a wake up call. It wasn't expected, it wasn't from anyone I knew, but it was profound and revealed itself in a nice way--like a soft blanket being pulled down toward your feet slowly.

Early this morning while stretching in the park with a friend an elderly, well dressed man shuffled across the grass and proceeded to tip over in slow motion.

The back of his hands were blue and mottled and they were extraordinarily soft. And as I grabbed those hands and held him steady we talked. It was then it dawned upon both of us that he needed more help than just getting up off the ground. My friend mouthed "Alzheimers" and we took him to a bench to assess the situation. It forced us to slow down.

And later that morning his eyes lit up and his face filled with joy as a young woman with red hair grabbed his hands and said "Dad!" That image is so clear. It replays in my mind throughout the day at moments where life issues that had been making me anxious and upset flit through my mind and then those things, those things that were so important are no longer issues.

It was truly a Blessing, because I remember...I remember all the things that do matter. How at the end of life the things we want aren't so much the things we want today.

I remember. As the gentleman forgets--and I'm sure he's already forgotten the both of us--I continue to remember and hope it's long lasting.