dearest daughters & son

Mothering my children, mothering myself

Dearest Daughters,

Let me start by saying: I am an awesome mom.

Correction: I'm a really, really, really awesome mommy.

In our culture and in this blogosphere, we spend too much time criticizing others, ourselves, parenting philosophies, our very own children.

And I’m just here to say that I’m doing right by you.

I mentioned recently how well behaved you are; not just relatively, but truly.

You play well together and show each other the concern, compassion, respect, and understanding that I’ve encouraged.

I have a four year old with better emotional maturity and vocabulary than I have. She can tell me when I hurt her feelings. She can tell me how she feels, why she’s crying, that she doesn’t want to cry, to feel the way she’s feeling. That is more than most adults are capable of.

And I have a two year old who has never wavered in expressing her feelings; who feels so intensely that every day is a roller coaster ride. Sure, she laughs manically when, suddenly, cuddling with her turns into a bout of jiu jitsu and you tell her, “no, don’t kick me in the face” and yet the kicking continues. So there is that. But, she is in other terms: passionate, expressive and honest. She is quick to offer remorse. And slightly-less-quick to forgive, but forgiving nonetheless.

I give you both the space to feel; to use your unique voices; I affirm who you are as individuals and as a part of our family.

And I’d like to take credit for all of that. I could have done worse. And I do from time to time.

I still have trouble with intervening too soon when you are working on puzzles. And there’s that whole Danjo not hearing the word “no” in relation to physical boundaries thing. But, hey, we’re not perfect; we’re works in progress.

So, to recap: I’m this amazing parent.

I am patient. So so so patient and present. Encouraging, comforting, creative. I am silly and fun. I am serious and thoughtful. I am cuddly and smell like only a mommy can smell as you bury your faces and sorrows in my arms. I am respectful and you respect me. I have answers and, yet, no answers. I am mean, firm, fair and unfair. I braid your hair; I let it be. I tie your shoes when you want me to; I wait patiently when you don’t. I nourish your bodies, your minds, and your spirits. Sometimes I feed you Goldfish for breakfast and spoil you with surprises.

I spend a lot of time and effort being your mommy. I can’t recall what I ever did with my days and energy before there was you.

Alas, I’m so busy parenting, making organic push pops from scratch, getting kicked in the face while cuddling and engaging in various other activities, that I too often and too long ignore myself.

I know this sounds so cheeze-ball-psycho-babble, but I'm saying it anyway:

I ignore the little girl inside of me, the child; the person so deserving of kindness, nurture and love. She gets scraps, the leftovers. Some days, she gets nothing. And some days she gets the garbage, earfuls of criticism, judgment, defeat.

Why would I treat my daughters one way? With the kindness, nurture and love they deserve? And deprive myself?

What lesson am I teaching my daughters? When we talk about self-care, about taking time outs when we need them, about our amazing capacity to cry aloud, about discovering what we love, about saying N-O to what we do not need? What lesson do I teach you? When we talk about these things, but you don’t see me doing them? When I don’t live by my words?

I ought to truly, visibly and routinely mother myself the way that I mother you. I think amazing things would unfold in my life, much the way they do in your lives every day, every moment, every skinned-knee, every climbed tree, every new word, every new plan, every block tower toppled, every masterpiece created, every sparkle in your eye, every rise of your voice, every laugh, every tear, every eyelid shut at day’s end.

Wouldn’t it be awesome if my eyes sparkled? If I squealed in delight? Or if I could be so vulnerable, could allow my sorrow to be transformed by a vigorous embrace?

I am an awesome mommy.

And I will work on becoming an awesome mother to the little Lauren inside. I will listen. I will encourage. I will praise. I will be kind and forgiving with myself. I will provide her opportunities for fun, for rest, for nourishment, for growth. I will let her cry. I will let her laugh. I will let her make mistakes. And be there for her when she does. I will love her unconditionally.

No matter what. Right, Dearest Daughters?

I love you no matter what,

When Down Days Persist So Must I

Dearest Daughters,

The more aware I become of my moods, my mild dips into and out of both depression and mania, the more I realize how absurd my life was before my diagnosis.

The ups and downs that I struggled through or—more accurately—that I ignored, tried to push down, attempted to normalize, neutralize, hide, pass off as nothing, no big deal.

Wow. Just wow.

I’m only now realizing, with assurance from a supportive, affirming therapist, how resilient I am. That I am, as cheesy as it sounds, a Survivor. I went through so many years and into the worst year of my life, un-medicated, unaware. There were so many horrible things I could have done to hurt myself, vices or addictions I could have picked up, relationships I could have utterly destroyed. But, for the most part, I didn’t.

I plugged away until I couldn’t ignore and hide the moods, the pain, the highs, the crazy, the demons, the brain chemicals; I couldn’t ignore myself anymore.

If you’re an acquaintance or even my family or close friends, it may look like nothing to you. Maybe you see me at church or a party and think to yourself how fine Lauren seems? Maybe you look back on the years we’ve spent together or look at my life now and think to yourself how okay Lauren seems? Maybe the diagnosis isn’t accurate? Maybe Lauren’s hyperbolizing? (Maybe Lauren’s projecting now?)

Before my diagnosis, it was my full time job to put on a good display of A-OK-ness. And I still do it. Auntie Ninang Katherine visited recently and I’d say we had a good visit—I mean, she brought me goat milk caramels. What more could I ask for? Besides an actual goat. But, for a few days before her visit I had an inkling that I was in a “funk.” I tried to put it on pause for Easter and her visit, but when she left I let the mood take over again.

Over the past couple weeks, through and after a visit to my Grandmother, I’ve been in and out of this funk, flatness, depression.

As I’ve shared before, my brand of depression doesn’t delve into deep despair, with the exception of my psychological break a year ago. I feel flat, numb, distant, disconnected, unmotivated and tired, exhausted, even after ten hours of sleep.

It’s taken all of my whispy strands of motivation to wake up at a decent hour; to take care of my Dearest Daughters instead of letting them watch PBS all morning while I languish in bed. I’ve made myself go on runs and do a chore here and there. I’ve tried to fight the cold and distance I put up, like a wall, towards your father, you and general humanity. But, all I truly feel like doing is getting back into bed.

Now that I would generally describe myself as “Better”—the persistent, daily, hourly anxiety and panic have subsided, I can travel here and there, I can take care of my family, I am functional—I can work myself into a bit of denial about my moods. I’m back into the habit of putting on my Okay Face. Because the meds have worked, I’m in therapy, I have coping mechanisms to rely on—God damn it—I’m supposed to Better. I’m supposed to be equipped, able to handle ALL THIS. THIS shouldn’t happen anymore. Yet, the moods still come and go. The Crazy takes over, The Doing. Then, the Darkenss, the Blues and Grays take their turns.

But, some days, some weeks, I’m not Okay. It’s what I tell people, because it’s what they want to hear. When someone asks how you are, they don’t really want to hear the sad truth of it. In fact, I don’t want to hear the sad truth of it.

I want to talk about our new baby chicks or the weather or my new favorite reality show (Preacher’s Daughters on Lifetime). I want to feel normal. I want to feel Fine.

But, you guys, I don’t. I don’t always feel Fine.

And I’m learning that it’s okay. That feeling Less-Than-Happy is okay in and of itself. It’s part of who I am, my story, my lot in life. Something I will always have to deal with, work around, walk through.

(This, of course, doesn’t mean that I should ignore my mood fluctuations or stop taking my medicine. This doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t ask for help when I need it or when I need more of it.)

On Facebook I re-posted a list of 21 ways to not self sabotage yourself when you have depression. And a Dearest Reader summarized the articles sentiment well in a Facebook comment recently: “you can live a meaningful and worthwhile life with depression. That is such a more realistic goal to have then the theory that depressed people just need to get over it or snap out of it.”

I’ll see my psychiatrist in a few days for my regular appointment and we’ll see what she can do for my current brain chemistry.

In the meantime, I try to think positively, to maintain mindfulness, to congratulate myself for my small victories (like making pancakes this morning and at least considering changing out of my pajamas), to not let the self-deprecating thoughts of my worthlessness or obsolescence take over, to instead recognize happiness when it peeks out its little head in a giggle or a hug or Danjo’s funny “underpants” jokes, to grasp love and light and sit in its warmth for as long as possible.

Love you no matter what,

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With my commitment to taking care of myself and my mental health--in addition to (or in conjunction with!) taking care of my family--I'm not able to post here as regularly as I would like or as much as I did in the past.

Lucky you! I'm pretty active on the Dearest Daughters Facebook page. So, make sure you like DD by heading on over to our page or clicking the Facebook button on our sidebar (over to the right). And you'll keep getting all the Dearest Daughters' latest and greatest!

A Celebration of Life

Dearest Daughters,

I don’t remember when it all happened exactly. It’s not like I was keeping a detailed calendar of events.

But, it’s been about a year since my life crisis, my psychological break, what have you. It’s been a year since shit got real. Real Real.

Instead of rehashing all things anxiety/panic, depression, bipolar that I’ve already documented here on this blog, I want to celebrate! Put on your party hats!

I want to celebrate the fact that I’m still alive, that I made it through, that I’m functional again, that I’ve come so far, that I can live most days and survive most situations without Xanax, that I’m becoming aware of how stress affects me, that I’m learning to let go of what no longer serves me, that I’m getting to know myself better now than ever before, that I’m exploring new things, that I’m finding what brings me joy and fulfillment.

I want to celebrate the people who have supported me: my husband, my parents, my best friend, my sisters and brothers, my aunties, uncles, network of extended family and, even, my Dearest Daughters who knew and sensed what I needed when I needed it most. And, seriously: for Lapu, my parents’ Golden Retriever who offered me the unconditional love and nonjudgmental presence I needed in my darkest moments.

I want to celebrate life, and love and you, my Dearest Readers for reading through my epiphanies and drivel alike, walking with me on this journey, riding the waves with me, affirming and supporting me. I wish I could give everyone a big hug or, at least, a high five.

Instead, I offer some words that capture better than I ever could what a Gift this Life is:

“Living well is an art that can be developed: a love of life and ability to take great pleasure from small offerings and assurance that the world owes you nothing and that every gift is exactly that, a gift. ”
― Maya Angelou, Wouldn't Take Nothing for My Journey Now

“Life is not easy for any of us. But what of that? We must have perseverance and above all confidence in ourselves. We must believe that we are gifted for something and that this thing must be attained.”
― Marie Curie

“Live. And Live Well.

BREATHE. Breathe in and Breathe deeply.

Be PRESENT. Do
not be past. Do not be future. Be now.

On a crystal clear, breezy 70 degree day,
roll down the windows and

FEEL the wind against your skin. Feel the warmth of
the sun.

If you run, then allow those first few breaths on a cool Autumn day to

FREEZE your lungs and do not just be alarmed, be ALIVE.

Get knee-deep in a novel
and LOSE track of time.

If you bike, pedal HARDER and if you crash then crash
well.

Feel the SATISFACTION of a job well done-a paper well-written, a project
thoroughly completed, a play well-performed.

If you must wipe the snot from your
3-year old's nose, don't be disgusted if the Kleenex didn't catch it all

because soon he'll be wiping his own.

If you've recently experienced loss, then
GRIEVE. And Grieve well.

At the table with friends and family, LAUGH.

If you're
eating and laughing at the same time, then might as well laugh until you puke.

And if you eat, then SMELL.

The aromas are not impediments to your day. Steak on
the grill, coffee beans freshly ground, cookies in the oven.

And TASTE.

Taste every ounce of flavor.

Taste every ounce of friendship.

Taste every ounce of Life.

Because-it-is-most-definitely-a-Gift.”
― Kyle Lake

Love,

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With my commitment to taking care of myself and my mental health--in addition to (or in conjunction with!) taking care of my family--I'm not able to post here as regularly as I would like or as much as I did in the past.

Lucky you! I'm pretty active on the Dearest Daughters Facebook page. So, make sure you like DD by heading on over to our page or clicking the Facebook button on our sidebar (over to the right). And you'll keep getting all the Dearest Daughters' latest and greatest!

Know Thyself

Dearest Daughters,

I love my new therapist. She makes me work. She stops me. She challenges me. She cuts through my bullshit, my intellect, my technicalities, logic and loopholes. She hears what I say and what I don’t say. She’s in my corner.

The thing is: I’m not in my own corner.

And while my bipolar diagnosis, in part, explains my do-this-then-that-go-here-then-there-and-check-this-off-my-list behavior, there is a part of me that is simply running from something—from feeling, from fear of the unknown, from myself.

Bam. #epiphany

She tasked me with planning a day wholly, entirely, fully for myself.

This may be the single most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do—childbirth included.

Looking back on my life I can’t sort out what Lauren loved to do from what Lauren was expected to do from what Lauren thought she was expected to do.

Do I have a garden because I genuinely like gardening or do I have a garden because it’s good for the earth, our tummies, and my Dearest Daughters’ understanding of the world?

Do I truly like cooking or am I trying to live up to the my California foodie reputation?

Did I learn to crochet because learning something new and challenging is fulfilling, or was it because I wanted to make a hipster infinity scarf?

And these are the easy questions; they don't include questions about my college choice, my career choices or lackthereof, marriage, motherhood, mediation, what I ate for lunch.

I know not all things are strictly black or white, here or there, this or that. But, I’ve been so so so led by figments of my imagination and diversions of my wonky brain, that I can’t tell what is true. I’ve been so led by ideas, assumptions and, sometimes, delusions of who I should be and what I should do.

Today is my twenty-ninth birthday and I can’t tell you who Lauren is. I can tell you what she’s done, where she’s been, how she got here, but I can’t tell you who she is.

(Perhaps, you can, but for the purposes of my therapy homework, I’m not allowed to ask you.)

This is a sad and honest fact that brings me to tears, makes me feel lost and hopeless.

It might sound melodramatic to you, but that is how out of touch I am and have been with myself the past couple of decades. I have sailed the seas of life, rode the rollercoaster, climbed mountains, but I have done so blindly, driven by who-knows-what, always climbing, out of habit, grasping at the next thing and the next, never in the present, always guessing, second-guessing, checking off a box on an endless To-Do list.

I've always been moving, never pausing, running and running.

I can’t sit still.

I figuratively and literally can’t stand being alone with myself. I can’t blame even a percentage of that feeling on my iPhone, but having one has certainly made my self-tolerance over the past few years worse, as I use social media and the Weather Channel app to fill the gaps, the silence, the stillness.

Life finally stopped—about eleven months ago. My body and my soul shouted: STOP! YOU CANNOT GO ON LIVING LIKE THIS!

I certainly stood at attention, took note and the past year has been about taking care of myself, about coping with depression, anxiety, panic.

I have come so far and yet here I am still.

And so, I sit here, forcing myself to focus, to sort out my truth. My truths.

Dearest Daughters, I try my best to give you opportunities to be who you are, to be authentic and true. I think that’s pretty easy when you’re two or four. I know, it’s also all too easy to mold, shape, and shut down a growing child. I pray that is not my roll in your life.

I don’t want to put you in boxes either, but I do take note of things that delight you, things that you gravitate towards, things that make you unique.

I wish that I could go back and watch myself playing when I was two, four, seven. What would I see? Who would I see? Who would I have become if I had listened to, not the voices—real or imagined—but to my heart of hearts, my mind of minds, my dream of dreams?

Who? 

Dearest Daughters, who? Who are you? What makes your heart beat? What makes your mind leap? What are your dreams?

We all struggle with these questions, some more than others, some for a moment, some for a lifetime. Some for twenty-nine years.

But, only you know the answers. Only you know your truth. Don’t let anyone write it for you. Don’t let the world, or a map, or a list dictate your life. Don’t let me or your daddy or your Facebook friends have a goddamn say. Trust yourself, tune in to every fiber of your being, and don’t let yourself think for one second that the person you are isn’t worth being known.

Love,

From Your Experienced, Thoughtful and Faithful Lolopop

Dearest Daughters,

I'm a woman, I'm a person of color, I'm biracial/bi-cultural, I'm a Californian, I'm well-educated, I've traveled the world and beheld poverty and violence and extreme wealth, I've taught it Watts, I was once a vegetarian and I believe supremely, above all else, in the Two Greatest Commandments to love God and love your neighbor (no matter what)... so you might be able to construe many things about me and my politics.

While I hope that not only my mind, but also my heart and my faith show in the letters that I write to you, I don't get too political too often.

And, yes, the election is coming up. And I will exercise my right and privilege to vote. But, I'm not posting the following because of Proposition 34 itself. Mine is not a blog to convince anyone of anything. But it is a place to share words of wisdom.

As such, here is Lolopop's letter to Auntie Merissa about an upcoming California proposition that would repeal capital punishment.

You won't be old enough to vote for 15 (and 16) years, so read this not as a voter guide, but as a letter to you from my Daddy, your Lolopop, sharing his life experience, his thoughtfulness and his faith.

 

(Me as a baby. Oh wait, I mean the wise woman and man to whom I was born.)

 

Letter to Merissa about Proposition 34 Repealing Capital Punishment [originally published here]

My niece, Merissa recently wrote to me asking my opinion on Proposition 34, which would replace capital punishment (i.e. "the death penalty) with a sentence of Life without Possibility of Parole.  With her permission, following is the response I wrote:

To Merissa, my sweet and amazing niece, who I helped raise from the day you were born:

I am flattered that you asked for my opinion on California Proposition 34, which would replace the capital punishment (i.e. "the death penalty") with a sentence of Life without Possibility of Parole. As you know, I worked as a peace officer in California Prisons for 23 years. Since I was your neighbor for 10 of those years, you probably remember that I did not wear a uniform. That is because I was not a "guard" (they actually prefer to be called Correctional Officers). I'd tell you my official title, but that wouldn't tell you much about what I did. My job was like a Parole Officer, except I worked with inmates in the prisons before they were released, rather than afterward. So I worked directly with inmates daily, often getting to know their background, substance abuse history and criminal history very well; understand their attitudes towards their crimes and their victims; and get to know them individually.

You might think because of my experience that I would support capital punishment. At first I did. Partly because I felt that, for my safety and that of other peace officers, there needs to be an ultimate penalty for killing a peace officer. If someone is already serving life in prison, what do they have to lose by killing me? Or somebody who has committed a horrible crime and is facing arrest and a lengthy term, what do they have to lose by killing the police officer who is trying to arrest them? And shouldn't it be a really bad penalty for those who commit the most heinous crimes?

But over the years my work helped change the way I looked at capital punishment. But more importantly, my work forced me to really look to my faith for answers to everyday problems I faced working in the prisons. Many people I worked with became very jaded and cynical from working with the worst of criminals who end up in prison. It's hard to explain to someone who hasn't worked in a prison or jail, but it's like the people guarding the prison see and read so much bad stuff that they lose faith in human nature. Over time they become a little like the people they guard, not criminally, but psychologically. I saw this right away in others who worked there for years before me, and I didn't want to end up like them. I had no where else to turn, but my faith, for inspiration to go to work everyday, and to make the hundreds of little decisions that would define me as either a cynical person or a person of faith. And if I relied on my faith for the little decisions, then what about the big questions? I had to ask myself, as a Christian, what do I believe about killing? Well, based on my experience with criminals AND my personal faith journey, here are five reasons I can give you for opposing capital punishment:

1)  You can't get around it, the Bible clearly says killing is wrong. It doesn't provide for any exceptions. No wiggle room there.  I think the only possible exception is if you kill someone in the defense of your life or another's life, but the Bible doesn't even give you that. And it doesn't work to ignore the issue and pretend you're not responsible because you're not the one "pulling the switch." It's like being opposed to killing animals but eating steak.  As a member of our society, if you don't oppose the death penalty then you are just as guilty of killing the condemned person as the people on the jury who imposed it, the judge who allows it, the prison staff who facilitate it and the person who "pulls the switch."  Some Christians quote the Old Testament to justify capital punishment, but it's mostly God who goes around killing people and we are not God.  The other's who kill also do a lot of other bad things, so you can't say it's okay to kill because King David did it.

2)  Contrary to arguments of some, capital punishment does NOT deter anybody from committing murder.  I have talked to hundreds of murderers in detail about their motives for committing murder, and NOT ONE of them ever said they were thinking they'd get caught, much less that they might be put to death.  They were a) Overwhelmed with anger at the victim for some reason and couldn't stop themselves; or b) They committed the murder in the course of committing another crime, like a robbery gone bad, and never thought it would come to murder; or c) They are criminally insane and either driven by their inner demons to take someones life, they are incapable of feeling any remorse for their victims, or they don't think laws apply to them.

Sure, you could argue that the ones that were deterred wouldn't be in prison.  But I am convinced that my experience says something basic about human nature:  Most of us stop short of taking someone's life, regardless of the provocation.  Then there are those who may understand murder is wrong, but in a moment of anger or in a specific situation or because they just don't care about life, they lack the self control to stop. You can debate about what caused them to be like this: Is it genetics, upbringing, childhood trauma... But  in the situation or moment, nothing would have deterred them because they weren't thinking about being caught.

If you think about it, what does it mean when you say someone can be deterred from committing murder by any form of punishment?  Do we think murder is like jaywalking...if we think the police aren't looking it is OK? What kind of person thinks "Gee, I'm thinking I need to murder my wife, but I don't know...if I get caught I might be killed!  I guess I better not do that!"  If one believes people are like this, then I will pray for them because they have a really nihilistic view of people and the world.  My experience with criminals is that 90% are not violent.  They may sell drugs or steal your car stereo to support their drug habit, but if faced with getting caught and sent to prison, they submit to arrest rather than try to kill the officer to escape.  For them, it is like when we jaywalk, except their line of acceptable behavior is a little more extreme.

3) There is absolutely no question that capital punishment wastes tax dollars.  There is something called "Life without Possibility of Parole" which means that they will NEVER be released from prison under any circumstances.  We could house every inmate on "death row" in a normal maximum security prison for the rest of their natural lives for less than it costs to house inmates on death row, especially when you add in all the costs of handling the numerous appeals filed on behalf of death row inmates.  Some people argue that if we limited their appeals and killed them faster, it would save money.  But when you consider the number of inmates who have been sentenced to death and subsequently acquitted, if we are going to have capital punishment we MUST allow exhaustive appeals for every death row inmate to minimize the chance that an innocent person is executed.  Anyway, it is the nature of our justice system that the convicted have the right to appeal.  The alternative is a Russian style justice system where guilt is usually determined BEFORE the trial.

4)  Speaking of innocent people being found guilty of murder and sentenced to death:  There are proven cases where, despite the appellate system, innocent people have been executed.  There was a man in Texas last year whose innocence was clearly proven after his trial but, never-the-less, he was executed after the Supreme Court refused to permit any more appeals and the Governor refused to grant a pardon.  What is the moral cost to us, the stain on our souls, if we allow EVEN ONE innocent person to be executed on our behalf?  Life without Parole can be reversed if the person is subsequently acquitted.  Death cannot be reversed.

5)  Even if none of the above are persuasive, consider this:  THE JUSTICE SYSTEM IS RACIST!!!  I've seen the result first hand. Blacks and Latinos are far more likely to be arrested, receive a stiffer plea-bargain offers, go to prison, and yes, to receive capital punishment than are whites.  People of color receive far greater sentences than white people who commit the same crime under the same circumstances.  The causes are many.  Among them:  Inner-city predominantly Black and Latino people usually do not have the resources to hire a good private attorney to represent them; instead they are stuck with an overworked and often younger, inexperienced public defender.  Judges and juries are predominantly white, even in big cities.  Some of the judges and juries could be unconsciously biased, or just plain racist? (Ya think!) Inner-city youth  often grow up in situations that seem hopeless - raised by a single parent who has to work two jobs just to survive, high unemployment, few good role models, dilapidated schools with burned-out teachers who are past caring, gangs, pervasive drug culture - they can easily fall into a pattern of increasingly destructive and illegal behavior.  It is hard to blame a kid entirely when they see no one in their neighborhood succeed, except the local drug dealers who drive nice cars and wear expensive clothes.

Bottom line, we live in a society where racism still exists.  Sometimes there are bigoted people.  More often it is just a social structure that favors people with more money, which roughly correlates with less skin color; what I have always called "institutional racism."  Until we can GUARANTEE that every accused person receives absolutely fair and impartial treatment in the judicial system, I think it is morally bankrupt...no, it is OUTRIGHT SINFUL, to continue executing more people of color than whites.

These are my thoughts, but not necessarily the only way to look at the issue.  I hope it is helpful, but however you vote on this issue, I know you will vote your heart, because I know you have a good heart.

Love you,

Uncle Joel [Lolopop]

More on Introversion

Dearest Daughters,

I've been attending a mindfulness class on Wednesday nights. This is a good thing because:

1) I am doing something for myself, by myself, period.

2) I am expanding my understanding of the mindfulness and meditation practice that I began a few months ago.

3) In his support of my efforts to care for myself (when I finally and sincerely ask), your Dad has committed to come home a bit early on Wednesdays and spends time alone with you playing pirates or Just Dance or, as the case was last night, indoctrinating you into the world of professional sports fanaticism. [Go, Giants!]

On my way home from class last night, my radio tuned to public broadcasting, a serendipitous TED Talk about introversion was playing.

(source)

Turns out it was by the same woman who wrote about Rovers and Sitters in the New York Times last year (remember when I wrote about that?) And continuing her line of research about the value of introverts, she published a book earlier this year: Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking. (Adding that to my reading list.)

(source)

The introvert and academic in me had me bounding into the house to tell your Daddy all about the science and psychology and general amazingness of introverts. But, I'll spare you the animated synopsis and just let you watch the TED talk itself:

After spending the evening in a bit of solitude of my own (albeit amongst meditating strangers), this was a nice bookend to my day.

Like the talk says, we live in a Culture of Personality, not a Culture of Character. So, sometimes it takes some mental and real work for not only society, but little ol' me to stop self-negating, to value myself as I am, stop forcing myself into another mold, embrace the contents of my "suitcase," find my own time alone in the woods or a class or running or just staring into the abyss.

Dearest Daughters, come stare with me? According to Susan Cain, it'll do all of us some good.

Love,

P.S. Bearing in mind the fact that I am raising at least one introvert (in addition to caring for myself):

(source)

Happy Internet Things

Dearest Daughters,

I'm not so great at keeping up with "Internet Things" as Auntie Ninang Katherine calls them because she's even worse at paying attention to honey badgers and PopTart cats.

Lately, I've taken more intentional time for myself, weaning myself from said Internet Things and the reading of blogs and the window shopping I used to do on. the. daily.

Your dad keeps up with Internet Things like it's his job, well, because it sort of is. He tends to like all the People Falling on Their Faces and Cool Dance Moves kind of Internet Things. But, once in awhile he'll show me things that he thinks I'll like, that is to say: uplifting, not embarassing, political neutral, fuzzy happy space things.

There's a lot on the Internet. A lot of crap on the Internet too. And if you even dip your toe in, with the best of intentions of reading just that one story or looking at just that one squirrel meme, you can get so lost and end up wondering how you watched five hours worth of YouTube videos.

So I'm glad your daddy wades through the Internet and filters out the best for me. He's like my own personal search engine.

And I know I'm a million years late in Internet time, but I wanted to share some things that not only make me laugh, but make me feel good inside.

Did you know the Internet can do that? It can do more than just make you feel Pinterest inadequacy or viral-human-rights-jump-on-the-band-wagon excitement?

Here are some of the Internet things I like to watch when I need a little pick-me-up. Again, they're like a million Internet years old, but if it ain't broke, don't fix it.

1. Marcel the Shell with Shoes On

2. Mister Rogers Remixed

(And for some OG Mr. Rogers feel good, there's his theme song.)

3. Som Sabadell orchestral flash mob

4. B*tches in Bookshops

5. The Parent Rap

6. Babies Movie Trailer

(The whole movie is worth a watch, but this is good for a quick baby-fix.)

Hope something up there ^^^ put a little pep in your step this lovely Friday!

Feel free to leave a comment to share your favorite Internet Thing.

Love,

My new project

"Love after Love"

The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

- Derek Walcott

More on poem and Jon Kabat-Zinn's Science of Mindfulness can be found here.

Have I Told You Tuesday: I'm as awkward as it is to spell. Huh?

Dearest Daughters,

I'm socially awkward. Or, at least, I like to think so.

I, unlike your father, lack what we would euphemistically call "interpersonal intelligence." That is to say, I routinely stick my foot in my mouth, never think of or, conversely, over-think the appropriate thing to say, and make jokes that no one gets.

I don't mean to sound so self-deprimenticalating. That's a word I coined in college, because I gave up trying to pronounce the real word. Your dad assures me that my personality is charming, but I think that may also be a euphemism in sheep's clothing.

If you don't believe me, let me take you back to tenth grade.

I was The New Girl and, as such, I was a very novel idea. I wasn't sure where I fit in at my new school of over 1400 students. I started out where almost every new kid does, hanging out with the cool kids in the Quad. I was genuinely welcomed by the cheerleader, jock, student body council types, but, being quiet I didn't earn my keep and the outgoing kids moved on to other things.

I made my way to another area of the campus where the somewhat cool Asian, mostly Filipino, kids hung out. And this is where I met my first boyfriend. There's really no story there, other than that my parents were terrified by (but allowed me to make) this horrible choice, motivated by a) fitting in and b) all too eagerly accepting the first display of attention I had ever received from a boy.

When I realized what a doofus I was for deciding to "go out with" (i.e. eating lunch with and being ditched at one school dance by) a generally nice, but altogether undeserving tenth grade boy, I decided we needed to break up.

Have I Told You Tuesday: All I Know is I Can Pull Yellow Off Okay

Dearest Daughters,

I was born into a fashionable family.

I mean: look at your Great Grandpa and Great Grandma Gibbs and Lola rockin' Pendleton plaid in 1984. And Lolopop in his vintage graphic tee. What hipsters!

Hold up. Wait a second. There weren't hipsters in 1984. And Lolopop's shirt didn't become vintage until Abercrombie & Fitch started faking vintage tees in 1999.

Furthermore, isn't it true that if three people are gathered wearing the same thing, then they are by definition a gang? Or in church? I forget. There's a fine line.

Well, at least we were rocking the "mixed family" thing. That wasn't so common in 1984 as it is now. Now, in California and on morning network news shows, at least, hapa peeps are ubiquitous. So, I guess we were kind of "ahead of the times" in that regard.

As if being mixed can be boiled down to a trend. Gah!

Never the mind. Forget I said anything. Plaid, cotton, church or gang. I know not from whence I come.

(But look how cute I am, sporting gender neutral yellow, a perennial baby fashion favorite! And not, in general, a good color on Asian-hued skin, but given my mixed-ness, I think I got away with it nicely.)

Love,