a nice bit o' navel gazing never hurt anyone...right?

watch out, folks. this space is rapidly becoming a forum for all things psychological---an outlet for the myriad new thoughts my psych coursework is engendering, and a place for some self-indulgent self-analysis.

what fascinates me most about psychology is the uniqueness of each individual: the ways in which we are consistent, and the ways in which we alter over time. the ways we adjust to life's demands and the ways we fail to adjust. the place that I, and many of those I am close to, suspect that I am stuck is in the developmental phase of generativity. productiveness. procreation. this is the time of my life when i vacillate most strongly between poles of self-absorption/stagnation and creativity/citizenship. those of you who visit here frequently are probably already aware of my somewhat conflicted attitude towards motherhood; this conflict extends throughout all productivity-related aspects of my life. career, writing output, all those outward forms of investing one's life energy in lasting ways--they are the most likely to suffer from self-sabotage.

isn't it interesting that i can know this and yet still persist in self-defeating behavior? i wonder frequently where i learned this behavior; somewhere along the line i must have experienced positive reinforcement for holding myself back. i wonder if i can un-condition it. it would be an interesting experiment: to reward myself for every act of creation, every focused step toward productivity, every act of nurture...rewards that would compensate for the loss of immediate gratifications such as sleep, indolence, and even the subconscious fears of what success would mean.

it interests me, too, that so many of my female friends are stuck in the same place. we are child-women, unwilling to commit to one form of life for fear of selling ourselves short; unwilling to mature fully for fear of becoming stodgy or dated. we struggle with the selflessness that raising children demands of us and the lack of support for the selfish behaviors that used to characterize our lives. the role of a woman these days is awfully ambiguous: everything is possible, or so we are told, but the support systems are not in place for the realistic achievement of these possibilities. and so, we are always falling short. i can see how this might lead to an unwillingness to "grow up" and face the impossible expectations; better to develop a self-identity of vacillation than to solidly fail at the goals one has set for oneself.

And yet elusiveness---the quality of remaining noncommittal; the quality of refusing to be pinned down---is a defense mechanism. It can't ever take us anywhere; it masks the central conflict here, the conflict between human capability and societal expectation. I know exactly where I learned my elusiveness---it was adult-onset, and the very clear product of marriage to an incredibly opinionated and judgemental spouse. Now i am slowly, carefully, unlearning it, allowing myself to both have and express opinions. even when they are, sometimes, wrong. even when they alienate others. even then.

and i find myself almost giddy with it....skipping through the leaves, sketching the sky, carrying on animated conversations with strangers. it is amazing how energizing the simple act of holding an opinion can be. the energy it frees is tremendous.

just bizarre...

I thought this morning "what I am is a creative generalist. I ought to start a website for people like me and see if generalism in general can be brought back around." so I typed in "creative generalist" and discovered, naturally, that it has already been done (and rather well!) by this guy.

And then not five minutes ago, whilst uploading adorable pictures of my children on facebook so as to counteract the smear job I've done on them here, this ad pops up.

I kid you not. I think I have a little crush on the man.

a rant. take two.

I get it when people are annoyed by a crying child. I really do. I mean, I'M sure as hell annoyed by crying children. I just don't understand the behavior of some of the people who are annoyed by a crying child. Let me just get this off my chest.

1) Could you shut that kid up? No, actually. I can't. Don't you think I would love to?

2) That child is upset! Really? Omigod. You must have majored in childhood development.

3) Get that kid out of here. He's bothering all of us. All right, I'll just get off the bus five miles from home, that's no problem at all. So sorry I didn't think of that.

4) If you can't handle kids you shouldn't have them. Oh, shall I just give them to you then? Or do I drop them off at the nearest orphanage? What, exactly, is the protocol here, seeing as how there is NO WAY OF KNOWING whether or not I am going to be able to handle motherhood WITHOUT BECOMING A MOTHER?

That said, there are of course the truly lovely people who go out of their way to help carry strollers, return fallen toys, and share snacks. Probably twenty of them for every one of the nasties. Somehow, though, it takes just one of the remarks above to throw me into a tailspin that thirty or more kind gestures may not be able to undo.

Here's the thing: it's Xir's birthday today. And for whatever reason, Anainn chose today to have one loooong....as in 23 hours looooong....meltdown. As in screaming, crying, throwing things, rubbing snotty paws over face and everything else. Incessantly. Meltdown.

So my options were: nix all the carefully laid birthday plans so as not to expose child-in-meltdown to world at large ( and therefore deal with TWO children-in-meltdown, one of whom is quite scathing in his ability to express resentment) or go ahead and proceed with the birthday and keep my fingers crossed that exhaustion would kick in at some point and knock Anainn out. Or wait, there's a third one which at least three people over the course of the day kindly suggested: get a nanny. By the third time I just held my hand out and said "YOU pay for it, and it's a deal." Guess what? I still don't have a nanny. But I didn't have to deal with any more snide remarks from that particular individual, at least.

Do people not realize that they can go home? They can walk away? They can bury their face in a newspaper or turn up their iPod? This is MY LIFE. What do they want from me?

Prejudice is definitely at work here; it is insidious but it is there. I just can't decide whether it is blatant societal prejudice against small children or blatant societal prejudice against mothers of small children. Or maybe it is blatant societal prejudice against just the mothers and small children that don't act like the mothers and small children in Johnson & Johnson ads.

Why on earth does this culture design public places that are supposed to be entirely quiet when we all KNOW that developmentally there is no child under 4 that can be expected to do this? CHILDREN EXIST. EVERY ONE OF YOU WAS A CHILD ONCE. THEREFORE JUST FUCKING DEAL WITH THE FACT THAT EVERYWHERE YOU GO, THERE WILL BE CHILDREN.

Sorry. I'm done now.

When I first wrote this, I was too worn down to suggest any solutions, so I'm adding them now. AND I intend to write letters including them to all of the major entities mentioned here, including the editorial section of the LA times.

1) Big Blue Bus: Include a storage section near the front where strollers can be stowed. Wall off a part of the bus with plexiglas; this will be the "children's area" and will have, at the very least, seatbelts. Soundproofing would be good too. But I'm not holding my breath.

2) Movie theaters: Have a room back amongst the theaters, with a door that closes, filled with cheap toys and books. This can be the waiting area for younger siblings of moviegoing children so that the mothers (or fathers) of said children do not have to pace the halls braving the glares of other moviegoers. Better yet, staff it with another of those bored teenagers they always have at movie theaters so that the mother or father can actually watch the movie they paid for.

3) Libraries: This should be obvious. DON'T put the "Quiet Study" section DIRECTLY ADJACENT to the "Kids" section. Are you listening, Julian Dixon Library? Also, some kind of low gate closing off the kids section from the rest of library would save a lot of baby-chasing and its accompanying noise.

4) Restaurants: This might be playing into the hands of prejudice, but how about a little segregation? Every restaurant from the mightiest French spot to the lowliest Denny's should have a Kids Section. In this section, there are no little trays of sugars on the table. No one hands silverware to the baby. High chairs are de rigueur and don't have to be requested multiple times. (Also their restraints aren't broken. ) The moment you sit down in the Kids Section, little cups with lids and straws are brought to everyone along with trays of finger food. There is no dessert menu. If the children go into meltdown mode the staff are authorized to bring the mother a complimentary stiff shot of something. Any adult who so much as glares at any other adult in the Kids Section is ejected from the premises forthwith. (Unless they're in the same party: that's just marriage.)

5) Museums: On Free Days, offer family-centric tours of the museum that emphasize points of interest for all ages and are a little more tolerant of general rambunctiousness than most. Although, I have to say, most museums are FAR more on-the-ball regarding children than other places.

6) Universities: C'mon. EVERY extension course should have childcare on the premises. This is not a hard one, folks.

I would like to state, too, that I am not suggesting all of these things simply to make my life easier. I think that all of society would benefit from a more thoughtful inclusion of children: study after study has proven that children who are exposed to varying and stimulating environments grow into more intelligent and responsible adults. And, lest this evidence be interpreted as a call for children to be secreted away in stimulating day care from day one, studies have also proven that in cultures where all generations are integrated into daily life, general happiness is higher. Now doesn't that sound good?

the uncontained ones.

the one on the train

the one walking by the side of the road

dust-coated

the one walking on water

or striking toward the sun

the one writing, collapsed,

arm, head to sand

the one who travels

the one who doesn't know

the one who can't say

the one in flowing clothes

or sweat-stained

or smelling of

horses and juniper

the one playing cello in concrete canyons

the one who stands on the sand

facing sunset

the boy that jumps both feet high in his joy

uncontained

some combination of these factors...

what i have been doing instead of writing here:

riding a train to san luis obispo to wander in yarn stores, read up on personality theory, and spill the beans to my sometime-boyfriend about The Way Things Are.

having my wallet lifted on the bus home. no money, no credit cards, no i.d. But lots of id.

taking 12 credits of classes, all in the evening, and returning home most nights past 11...with four hours worth of homework.

deciding to go to court for full custody.

planning the trajectory of a life and the birthday party of an almost-6-year-old simultaneously.

finding more questions than answers in each new thing I learn.

and yes, I know ALL about repression, denial, and rationalization thank you very much. I have a quiz on them tomorrow...

some things i have noticed:

children love to watch fish.

strangers, when you flash them a wide smile, almost always glance over their shoulder before daring a smile back.

NPR goes with everything.

people's secrets generally make them more interesting, in direct proportion to how cleverly they are concealed.

those who are brave enough to be disliked or even unlovable tend to advance the understanding of the human race.

it defeats the purpose of taking a lover if you are going to choose one that lives 5 hours away.

an entirely free day never turns out to be as fun as a day that is entirely free except for one commitment.

true thing: I don't think I am ever entirely honest with anyone.

une femme de genie ayant l'existence d'une femme ordinaire.

That is what Proust believes makes a real-life heroine: a woman of genius leading an ordinary existence.

When I read this for the first time I felt stunned and slightly sick. Because Proust did not say this is what makes a woman fulfilled. He did not say this is what makes a woman happy. He did not say this is what makes a woman powerful. He said that this is what makes a woman heroic.

The women that I love--and there are many--are all women of genius. They look at the world in ways that would break its heart if it knew. They have ideas I cannot wrap my mind around. They create beauty as if it were a reflex. Given time, and space, and financial backing, I have no doubt that these women could create entire worlds of their own, peopled with rich ideas, unusual music, new thoughts and traditions, provocative poetry...

...and some already do. But most of us do this in the snatches of time found between all of the other wearing daily obligations that don't seem to get us anywhere. The floor that always has to be swept, for all the good it will do you. The clothes that still need to be hemmed and washed and folded, though they'll be back in the hamper almost instantaneously, ready for another go at your lifeblood. The food to buy and cook and stow away and wipe up. Toilets to scrub. None of this is news. But---somehow---there are women who submit to all of this, these all-consuming claims upon their time, and still manage to write heartrending poetry. Paint. Coin philosophies. Run for congress. Dream up new ways of being in this world. LIVE.

These things are heroic precisely because they demand everything of us. Maintaining a life that requires routine, drudgery, paperwork, scheduling and yet finding the space somehow for thoughts that are untethered, amorphous, shifting---finding space for the new and brave and bold and unorthodox---finding space to love new people, change, alter, bend---this is the ultimate tightrope act. This is where the revelatory art is, the most fraught poetry, the deepest experience. Everyone can relate to it, that search for meaning amidst the dross of day-to-day dulness. WE ARE IT. We are the heroines of this time when nothing seems important enough to be heroic.

I don't know if there is a way to hold onto those moments when I can FEEL life, when there is intimacy on every level, when the world makes sense even as its incessant complexity forces me to struggle along, keep up. They don't happen so often. I don't know if such a state is even sustainable; it could get exhausting. But I don't want to fall into the dulness either, to accept a routine that replaces my curiosity and craftiness and potential with an easy schedule.

But we are equal to it, aren't we? We are heroic. We have to be. Even when it is perplexing and it hurts.

True thing of the day:

I am more myself when I am with friends than when I am with my children.

C'mon, now, you lily-livered blogreaders. If you're out there--tell me something true.