I need an audience

I’ve worked for an online university for eight years. For most of this time, I have been a part-timer. I’ve worked for many different bosses, and taught many different kinds of graduate courses. Recently I’ve been asked to create a course that I’m now teaching. Every one of my experiences with this university has been enriching in some way. I confess that I haven’t always seen the enrichment in the moment, but I have grown as a scholar, a writer, an editor, a mentor, and a colleague at this place. I’ve even done a little of what I think I do best, present positive psychology and appreciative inquiry to an audience. I haven’t done as much as I would like or as often as I’d like to do it.

Today I had a meeting by phone with two of my bosses and a finance person. The finance person asked me to justify the amount of coaching I’d written into and we were providing in a doctoral course. He asked me to do this from a learner perspective and from a financial one. I told him immediately that I couldn’t plead the financial case, but I did plead the learner case. After I had done this, the finance person asked me to create two videos for enrollment counselors to use with prospective students to encourage them to enter our program and take these courses. Yes, it was the finance person who asked me to do this marketing. He said he thought the budget would support continuation of the coaching component of my class and hoped that my videos would help enrollment counselors differentiate our program from our competitors. One of my bosses described me as a “rock star.” I described myself as a ham (being a ham is someone being funny but in a cheesy way according to one website I consulted). Being a ham is not exactly what I am being, then. Being completely alive and me is what I am in front of an audience–being my best self.

Being with an audience is what I do best. I think I knew this at a very young age, perhaps in middle school. I did lots of theater in high school and college but never wanted to be an actor. In my corporate career I had plenty of opportunities to be “on” with a group. As an online academic, there are fewer opportunities. Perhaps today’s phone call signals more of them. If you read yesterday’s post you know that my mom says I’ll be working as they lower me into the ground. My hope is that there is an enormous crowd at my interment and that I get to speak to them, to engage them, to ask them how the experience is for them, and how we can both grow from it.

Still Working

I don’t know at what age people stare in disbelief or feel free to comment on your mental health when you talk about your work. I do know I’m past that age. My sister-in-law, asks “Are you crazy? Why would you want to do this?” when I tell her that I’ve accepted a full-time position at the university where I’ve worked part-time for 8 years. My mother tells her friends and anyone else who will listen, “My daughter is driven. She will be working as they lower her into the ground.” I kind of like that image. My husband advises me to prioritize after I’ve accepted a new board position, 12 hours a week on a consulting contract, and membership on a program committee for my church. These are in addition to my full-time work.

I’m 67. I work full-time. Well, more than full-time. Many evenings I’m too tired to cook, or even speak. It is a small price to pay for daily engagement with the world and with its human citizens. I love the work I do. All of it. I love teaching and inviting managers to view themselves as leaders. I love listening and talking to city workers who are mad as hell and don’t want to take it any more. Some say their anger is whining. I need to hear them and begin to collaborate for more effective organizations. I’m committed to the growth of my professional coach’s organization. I’m also committed to the expansion of my growing spiritual community.

So I work. My area of interest is the positive processes that enable us to expand and grow as humans. Furthering my interest, I’ve completed some short videos to explain Appreciative Coaching (my own contribution to the positive processes) that I will add to my website as soon as the videographers (my step-son and his wife) and I have edited them. They’ll be up soon, so look for them. Perhaps I am an example of the processes in which I believe.

The complexities of a blended family

My grandson Lachlan is visiting. He lives in Minneapolis with his mom, my daughter Lindsay, and his dad, my son-in-law Kelly. Lachlan comes to California every summer and stays in our guest bedroom with his legos, his Star Wars books from the library, and his clothes. His mom packs for some tropical climate. I go to Target every year to buy more socks, sweaters, and long pants. Northern California is especially cold this summer.

I adore my grandson. So does my daughter Blake who lives nearby. There is a bit of a tug of war over this six year old. Blake has step-children who are Lachlan’s age. I don’t. I have grandchildren whose parents are my husband’s grown children, and some of them are Lach’s age. But Lach doesn’t know them as well as he knows Blake’s kids. I have DVDs and videos and trips to the library. Blake has a Star Wars Wii. I love to have him every minute, and I get tired. Blake has him somewhat less and gets less tired. I feel sad and a bit relieved when he’s not with me. I’m glad to have him back after an overnight.

My husband is often gruff with children (his own and his grandchildren who all live nearby) and I try never to be gruff with Lachlan. My husband feels justified in demanding that Lachlan behave when he’s being a little silly or resistant. My preference is to ignore the behavior til it goes away.

All of this collides when I get especially tired. Lach has been here for 9 days and grandma is pretty bushed. Grandpa looses his patience and yells at Lach. I want to punch grandpa when I see the fear in Lach’s eyes. Blake whisks Lach away and I feel terrible.

Action for the one eyed monster

About two weeks ago I found a shadow in my right eye. I had had problems with this eye about five years ago, but since the lens had been replaced I couldn’t imagine that this shadow was serious. Now two weeks and two surgeries to repair multiple tears in my retina in that eye later, I am one eyed as the right one is swollen shut for the second time in two weeks.

I’ve been utterly dependent on the kindness of friends and family during this time. For the first week I had to lie on my left side and not get up for more than an hour a day. Now I have to keep my head down to let the gas bubble that completely takes up the volume in my eye reabsorb and keep the healing retinal tears from coming unstuck. My husband, whom I’ve misjudged in the past as not being able to tolerate any infirmity, has read to me, put eye drops in my eyes, driven me to doctors and hospitals, and generally been a good humored nurse. My daughter Blake is made for this kind of emergency. She marshals community resources and has, with Murray’s children and Second Wind (my spiritual community), organized every evening meal for two weeks.

I think of myself as not very gracious when needing help. I’ve found I needed a lot of it. For all of you who have helped with phone calls, meals and visits, I am so moved by the humor, generosity, and love that has been given to me. If you are reading this as a regular or occasional visitor and not as a personal friend, know this. Karen Armstrong says that religion was meant to be about action, not belief. We act like generous and loving people and by these actions we are known as “religious.” I can tell you that this definition and demonstration make perfect sense to me. Thanks to all who have acted in behalf of the one eyed monster!

Too much travel!

There was a time when my job demanded air travel on Sunday and Friday every week. I would travel to the client’s site on Sunday, drive up to an hour further upon arrival at the airport, and reverse the process on Friday. My social life came to a screeching halt. I barely got groceries purchased, drycleaning exchanged, and hair cutting accomplished over the weekends at home.

Since November my husband and I, or just I, have been traveling at least twice a month. It is April. I’ve just returned from my second cross country trip since the beginning of March, and I’ll travel half-way across the country from the west coast to Chicago in 10 days. I’m tired and my husband has gotten a wicked cold.

Some of this travel has been for pleasure–family weddings and birthdays, a wonderful trip to Egypt in January–and some for work, my work as adjunct faculty at an online university. All of it is stressful, particularly since the advent of long security lines, the necessity to disrobe and rerobe at the beginning and end of these lines, planes with less and less leg room (I’m 5’9″ and my husband is 6′), connections that are scheduled too close for us over 60s to run from one gate or one terminal to another in 20 minutes, and other hassles related to air travel. We put on our virtual patience helmets when we leave the house and try to leave them on throughout our trips.

Last weekend, on our trip to the Washington DC area, I could feel my patience unraveling as we sat in freeway traffic at the end of a very long day. I could also feel my body rebel against the stress of the kind of life we’ve been leading over the last 5 months. My neck is seriously stiff. My shoulders are hunched close to my ears. My wrist is screaming due to both lugging bags too far and already suffering from carpel tunnel. My good eating habits go all to hell when I’m tired. And exercise? Other than walking along endless gateways and getting in and out of cars, forget it. When I get where I’m going, I just want to go to sleep.

I don’t imagine this is any easier for 30-somethings. I do imagine that the diminished physical capability of us over 60s makes this kind of activity even more stressful than for younger people. It is my choice to do what I am doing and I look forward to NOT doing it as of the end of this month.