Training Update: Week 2: 6/13/09

I’m sitting in my memoir intensive and while my students are pouring their hearts out on the page, writing about the triumphs and challenges they’ve faced in their lives, I’m taking the time to let you know how my training is going so far.

Wow!

That is to say I really had no idea about the intensity and scope of the time and energy commitment I was making when I plunked down my 90 bucks and registered for the 3-Day-Breast-Cancer walk. As I’ve written before, I haven’t seriously exercised in almost 40 years. In my "good" periods, I’ve taken daily walks to the beach, a round trip of perhaps a mile. In “bad” months, my main exercise has been between the computer and the refrigerator and the bed.

A Goodbye Letter to Eli

Eli in Love

Note to Readers: I read this post and my last one to Eli and asked his permission to publish them here. Graciously, he gave it.

Dear Eli,

It is time for me to say goodbye to you. It is time for me to let go of the relationship we used to have. For years I have been part of your inner world; you shared it with me freely. I was your mentor, your coach, the sun in your sky. I knew your heart, I knew your mind, I knew your spirit. I could read you with a single glance. From a very young age, you told me who you were and how you saw the world.

Your birth cracked open my heart in a way it had never been broken before; you helped make me who I am today. You gave me a new reason to live, someone to focus on, obsess over, provide for. I have always delighted in paving a way for you, supporting your interests, whatever they might be, creating a wealth of positive choices just steps from where you stood. I have guided you, protected you, cheered you on, and yes, at times, cajoled and manipulated you. I have shared my beliefs, my values, my heart, my resources, my best thoughts, and my deepest self. I have loved you and your sister more completely and with less restrictions than I have ever loved before or since, and I want to thank you for entering my world and teaching me to love.

Now you do not need me to be the mother I have been. You no longer need a mother to guide you, to lead you, to make decisions for you. You don't need a mother to watch over your shoulder and make sure you do what you're supposed to do. You don't need a mother to fret over your choices and to push you when she thinks it is necessary. You don't need me to intrude in your life and you prefer it when I do not.

Someone I Miss: Eli at 16

I miss Eli. I miss hearing about his life. I miss being the go-to person when he is upset or musing about life or dreaming about his future. I miss having rummage rights to his psyche, to his thinking, to his growth. I miss his warm hugs and his presence. Now I have to knock on his door to get an audience with the king. And when I open the door, he looks up from his laptop and the cell phone in his lap (inevitably he's talking to his girlfriend and studying or talking to his girlfriend and reading D & D or talking to his girlfriend and doing calculus) and the look on his face is always, Oh all right, all right. How long is this going to take?

The Benefits of Obsession

I have come to the conclusion that no matter how much I meditate, how many silent retreats I go to, how much spiritual evolution I achieve (hmmm…the words “achieve” and “spiritual evolution” are oxymoronic, are they not?), I will always have a degree of obsession. I have always been an obsessive person, as long as I remember. When I get into something, I get totally into it—be it a new eating regimen, a work project, or the planning of an event—I fixate on the goal (or the process) and go for it. When I set a goal for myself, I can be incredibly disciplined.

The benefits of this obsessive streak have been manifold—the seven books I have written, the business I have established, the website I built, the persistence with which I approached learning everything I needed to know about my cancer, making sure my kids have whatever they need to be supported in their interests, etc. The downside is equally evident; when I am driving toward a goal, I put blinders on and stop seeing—or listening—to anything or anyone who gets in my way, anyone who thwarts my mono-focus—and this includes my spouse, my children, or other people close to me. I stop noticing changes in my life that any normal person would assess as requiring a shift in direction.