Escape

By Wendy Lee

May 7, 2017

“They” say that you should build a life that you don’t need to escape from. This sounds like sage advice.  Who can argue with the notion that you should create a life full of joy and meaning and happiness, one that keeps you quite content?

Yet, even then, we all need to shake up our routine sometimes, to chance upon new things, to adjust our attitudes, to reenergize our spirits, and to pinpoint areas needing our attention.  We need to hit the road and find the extraordinary in the ordinary.

Maybe it is incorrect to say that we are escaping.  Perhaps we are just perspectivizing – a new word to add to the Oxford American Dictionary.

I was in desperate need of perspectivizing. It had been a tough eighteen months, one in which I was terribly depressed, where I couldn’t seem to make a decision on where to live, and my job was squeezing the life out of me.  I also hated to admit that I was lonely, but it was very true.

Sometimes the universe conspires to help me out, and once in a while I actually pay attention to it. A turn of events meant that my vacation plans to travel to Reno had to be aborted, yet I still had time off from work scheduled.

I should have been practical.  There was plenty to do at home and at work.

This was no time to be practical.

Something more important was calling to me.  I needed a mini-adventure.  I needed to explore, to feed my curiosity, and to refresh my soul.

I landed on a trip to Arizona to see my beloved Los Angeles Dodgers play some Spring Training games.  I had always wanted to go to Spring Training yet never made it happen.  The timing was perfect to catch some of the last Spring Training games, and I vowed to explore and see where to road would take me.

Bags packed.  Check.  Dog dropped off at camp.  Check.  Full tank of gas.  Check.

Still, I hesitated.  I had so much to do at home.  Did I really want to take another trip on my own?

I powered through my doubt, up to the last minute, and pointed my car toward Phoenix.

Not far out of town, just over the Nevada border, the open road began whispering sweet somethings of peace at the end of the journey.  But I had to get through all of those troubling thoughts first.

The thoughts in my head were many, and exploded like popcorn, except that there was never ending supply.  I wish I could have grabbed one thought and just savored it for a few moments, even if the thought wasn’t my favorite.  Instead, it was a full explosion of angst and worry.  It was the fear of what the future holds, the seeming despair in how I got here to begin with, and a few too many regrets.  But I also had those fleeting outbursts of positive thoughts.  I wanted to stick with those, but they were crowded out too fast by the unproductive ones.

I had never made the drive before.  I researched so little about the drive that all I really knew was that I had to turn off somewhere past Kingman, Arizona to stay on US-93.

The drive from Kingman to Glendale was surprisingly scenic, for you are quickly in the hills covered with Joshua trees.  This drive was even more special though.  After a wet winter, the hills were bountiful with a carpet of wildflowers, mostly yellows with sprinkles of purples and reds.  There was no practical or safe place to turn off to get snapshots of the beauty, but I was a little thankful for that.  I worry that I sometimes spend too much time trying to capture a moment in digital form rather than actually feeling it.

Actually, I worry about everything.  It is a bad habit that I am trying to break.

There was such expanse on this sparsely inhabited road, that those thoughts and worries began escaping one by one into the hills.  With each mile on the secluded highway, the pressure built in my head was slowly being released.  I could actually feel it.

I arrived in Glendale just in time to see a Dodgers Spring Training game.  The energy around the park was electrifying.  There were loads of families there with young children, vying for an autograph from their favorite player.  I, myself, wore a Steve Yeager t-shirt, one that I had custom made just for this trip.  I was like a little kid, hoping to catch a glimpse of my favorite player of all time.

I soaked up that energy around me and vowed to enjoy every second of the experience.

I walked around the outer fields, and remembered so fondly my love of baseball, especially when growing up.  I laughed to myself as I remembered my childhood nickname of “snowcome” born of my parents’ involvement in Little League baseball.  I have memories so warm of hanging out at the ball fields first as a young child, and then later watching the Denver Bears minor league baseball games.

There is something extremely enjoyable about taking in a baseball game on a warm day.

Although quite hot in the sun-bathed seats, I simply relished the experience.  And I thought, and I thought, and I thought.

In my seat in the sun, I beat myself up pretty good for being so hard on myself.  Ironic, perhaps.  Although I always use that word incorrectly.

What the hell is so bad about me being who I am, anyhow?  Nothing, as it turns out.  I am a pretty okay sort of gal, and I need to remember that more than I forget it.

I did, in fact, love the baseball game.  Yet, I have to admit I was distracted with my thoughts.

I never did see Steve.  Bummer for me.  I guess I will need to head out to Dodgers Stadium again.  I hate when that happens.

The next day, I set out for a different kind of exploring.  It was a day trip to Prescott, Arizona.  Armed with just a few facts from a dear friend, I plotted my course and headed out again on the highway.  This time, the scenery was even more magnificent.  I didn’t think that was possible.  Again, rolling hills and a staggering amount of wildflowers.  On this road, though, the Joshua Trees has been replaced by Saguaro cacti. They greeted me warmly as I made my trek.

I found myself completely lost in the beauty, as if I had entered a lovely and whimsical painting.

I caught myself smiling, and recalled a conversation I had with my daughter a year or so ago.  As she struggled with a new move, I had shared something I heard from Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love).  Elizabeth said that in her darkest moments, she had to force herself to go out each day and find something of beauty.  It forced her to see good things in the world or the situation, and then good things just kept showing up.

I made myself a promise prior to embarking on this trip, that I was going to find lots of beauty, every day.  It was certainly showing up for me.

Upon arriving in Prescott, I saw the turn off for the lake my friend told me about and decided that would be my first stop.

Oh, how I have missed mountain lakes.

I hiked around Lynx Lake, and again, contemplated my life.  My short hike was going quite well, until I wandered off the path. I do that from time to time, which may have something to do with why my family and friends don’t like for me to hike alone.  For my brief jaunt off the footpath, I assure you that my only concern in the world was not if I am okay sort of person, rather it was whether I was going to be eaten by a bear.  I have a vivid imagination.

After a little backtracking and a slip into the water as I crossed two creeks, I found my way back to civilization quite easily.  No bears in sight.

Back to my contemplation in fairly short order.

I remember some of those thoughts in my head as I was walking around the lake. Wasn’t it okay to be a little sad sometimes?  Why did I worry so much that I had put back on a few pounds?  Why did it bother me to not have found the right relationship?  On this point, I laughed.

Yes.  Out loud.  On the trail.  By myself.

A comedian/motivational speaker (an odd, yet effective combination) talked about this in a lecture.  I can’t repeat his content, but he did demonstrate how some people are attracted to you and others just deflect off.  And thank goodness for those people who bounce off and find their way to someone else.   His comedy/motivational bit was quite entertaining, and it made me very thankful for those I have encountered that have gone on their way.  I am grateful, truly.

Why did I care that I was stepping down from my position at work, if such a move was actually going to relieve a lot of pressure in my life?  Why did I worry that it will take me years to get my new old house together, wasn’t that the fun of buying a property that I can personalize to my own tastes?

Those questions were some of the easy ones.

The end of the hike (more of a walk, than a hike) ended with crossing through the water again.

With wet shoes, I set-off after my hike to see the town square in Prescott, and specifically Whiskey Row.  I walked around the town, taking in quaint little shops and galleries.  I found a fun piece of art in one of the galleries, an ode to my love of old neon signs.  It was perfect for my new/old house.  I spent some time there speaking to two wonderful ladies in the gallery, talking of the art piece, volunteering at the Museum, and what brought me to town.

On the street, a gentleman stopped me and wanted to know why I didn’t have someone with me to carry this newly acquired piece of art.  I sheepishly admitted I was on my own, and he commented that he couldn’t understand why someone like me would ever be alone.  I am not quite sure what he meant.  It seemed rather random.  It puzzled me a bit, yet I laughed.

I ended my afternoon in Prescott with lunch at an old saloon and more conversation.

When I returned to the hotel in the early evening, I scoured the advertising brochures in the lobby to see if there was anything big I should take in before heading home.  There was.  Taliesin West, Frank Lloyd Wright’s western home and architecture school.

It doesn’t matter if you believe in fate or luck or good fortune, all I can say is that it felt like the brochure was waving at me while do a little dance.  “Look at me, look at me.”

I have been a Frank Lloyd Wright fan for many years.  I can’t say that as a person he was the best. Of course, I didn’t actually know him.  From what I have read about, he was a quite eccentric and more than a lot arrogant.  Still, it his designs and design philosophies that have spoken to me.

I had never toured one of his homes before, but I came close.  I visited Robie House in Chicago, but by the time we arrived it had closed for the day.  Still, I peered in all of the windows and took lots of pictures.  I also viewed a Frank Lloyd Wright exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City that included some of his stained glass and furniture designs.

The next day, I decided to skip baseball and take in Taliesin West.  The setting was remarkable, nestled perfectly into the landscape.  The seamless transition between the outdoors and the indoors was remarkable.  I very much enjoyed hearing about Frank Lloyd Wright’s vision for his architecture.    I promised to visit more of both his personal homes and his incredible architecture throughout the country.

I have often said recently that I do not have a bucket list and don’t want one.  The reason is that there is so much that I want to do and to accomplish in this life, that I can’t possibly fit it all in.  I don’t want to look at a gigantic list and feel disappointed.  For argument sake, though, if I did have a bucket list it would include taking the Chicago FLW architecture tour, visiting his Oak Park office, seeing Taliesin, and seeing Fallingwater.

Upon returning to the hotel after my Taliesin West diversion, I knew it was time to go home.  While I was enjoying myself, it was also a little too much alone time.

The return home was as gorgeous as the beginning of the adventure.  I was happy I forced myself to explore.

With the return, came the perspective that I must simply be myself.  What others think of me, shouldn’t matter much.  Those who love me, love me for who I am.  I may be too complex for some, and not enough for others.  I might not look like a supermodel or athlete, I may be getting a bit older, I might view life differently than some, but I am pretty satisfied that I am a good person with much more to give to this world.

There is nothing to worry about.

If love is a currency, my life is filled with riches.

Do You Have it in You?

By Wendy Lee

May 6, 2017

“Do you have it in you to be an asshole?” my friend recently asked me, in a tough-love sort of way.  He was genuinely concerned and wanted me to toughen up.  My hesitation in answering, answered the question perfectly. 

Of course, I am fully capable of being an asshole.  I have an ex-husband who can attest to that, although I am pretty sure he would also be quick to mention my good qualities.  We get along fine.

The truth is, though, that I suck at being an asshole.  I don’t like it.  I am not good at it.  I try to be kind and feel really terrible if I am not.  I feel tremendous guilt when I am an asshole (usually).   Hell, I can’t even break up with someone appropriately.  I try to be gentle, and I let some people stay in my life much longer than I should.  My friends have counseled me on this point many times.

As I struggled with my work situation, a spotlight was strangely shone on a bigger problem.  On the surface, my issue at work was fairly straightforward.  I had advanced up the career ladder to a place that I actually despised.  It was no longer about doing a good job, leading and mentoring people, creating positive change in the organization, building trust, and knowing my stuff.  It was more about power struggles, turf wars, deflection, and some old-fashioned bullying.  I didn’t have it in me to stand up for myself, to push my team any harder than I already was, or to throw people under the proverbial bus. 

Nope, I didn’t have it in me. 

My life is much bigger and better than selling out for a few more dollars and a fancy title. 

The bigger problem that was highlighted had little to do with the work situation itself, and more to do with some bad habits I was regressing back in to.  You know, the kind where you step back and realize what has actually happened and you kick yourself in the ass for not realizing it in the moment? 

That is how we grow, “they” say.  How else would I learn my lessons without some really painful, embarrassing, heartbreaking times?  These life tests are getting a little old. I guess life will keep throwing them at me until I finally master the lessons, though.    

My regression involves a terrible pattern of trying to twist and contort myself, morphing into someone that is pleasing, or at least not offensive, to others.  And in the process of doing that, I have held myself ultra-accountable for every problem that ever surfaced where I was even remotely involved.  To top off that pile of nonsense, someone I have worked with for about 15 years metaphorically held up a mirror to me when he said, “You are doing fine work, but no matter how much praise I give you, you will never believe it.  You go to some very dark places in your head sometimes.” 

When he said that to me, all of the air left my body as I felt completely deflated.  It was true, and I hadn’t realized I was going to this place both at work and in my personal life.  Mind you, I never go to these dark places on purpose, but I know that if I don’t keep the beacon on, I have a tendency to lose my way in the dark.

There are consequences, of course.  Potential relationships have been completely sabotaged as I either left before I got hurt or tried to be who I thought someone wanted me to be.  I have stayed in this role at work much longer than I should have for fear of what people would think if I stepped down into a job that is a lot less stressful.  I had pretty much withdrawn from most things I enjoy, partly due to depression and partly due to my self-sabotaging behaviors. 

The things I have done to myself seem so nonsensical right now.  For example, I have been in places in my head where if you have had anything negative to say about me, I have not only cared about it, I have believed it as an eternal truth.  If you disapproved of the way I looked, or a life philosophy, or something I liked, I assumed I must change my ways to make you happy.

The fact that I care so much about what others think is frustrating.  I am sure Abraham Maslow would point out to me that I will never be self-actualized if I care about the opinions of other people. 

I was recently reminded from another friend of a life lesson that came to me a little late in life.  The truth is, most people don’t think about me much at all.  That sounds sad, but it is the fact in most of our lives, especially when it comes to people who aren’t family or close friends.  Even if I perceive that someone is judging me, and they may be judging me harshly, they quickly move on and don’t think about me again.  Why then, do I care so much?    

I do know why, actually.  But I will explore that in another chapter.

Before you feel sad for me, or think I have really gone off the deep end, again, you should know that I am completely fine.  At least today I fully recognize what I have been doing to myself, and I am not really enamored with staying on that trajectory.  There are more positive and productive roads for me, and I definitely have a lot exploring to do and love to give away. 

Oh, about that job, not one person has judged me harshly for stepping down.  Everyone I have talked to has been overwhelmingly positive and congratulatory.  After their kind words, I am willing to bet that no one has given it any further thought. 

All is well. 

…with love.

Meaning and Happiness

By Wendy Lee

February 19, 2017

It was a simple musing in an email exchange with a friend, “I have been frustrated that I had what I felt was a good and meaningful life yet I lost it. How could I lose it when there is little difference between a few years ago and now?” I went on to say what I thought the cause was and what stood out to me in this quest. He, in turn, shared his experiences.

I just couldn’t leave it alone.

Knowing what I believe to be my calling wasn’t enough, for even when doing that it wasn’t helping me. I was feeling empty inside, but determined to figure it out.

I read everything I could about creating a meaningful life, and was fascinated by all of the studies on the differences between happiness and meaning.

While these two constructs can be related, the orientation to one or the other or both can drive your experiences.

People who are oriented to happiness tend to be takers. People oriented to meaning tend to be givers. But optimal well-being tends to happen where the two intersect. You see, neither one is better than the other.

I personally tend to be a giver.

It is not that I don’t value happiness, because I assure you I do. I love having fun, laughing, being silly, and having great experiences. Being present in the moment in these experiences helps me cultivate my joy. It fills me up so that I can give more.

Happiness is a good thing. Happiness, like meaning, is an internally generated state. It is a perspective that allows you to enjoy moments as they are happening, whether it be laughing with friends, watching a sunset, experiencing those things on your bucket list, or whatever. It is an approach to life where you are grateful for the moments you have.

All good, right?

Well, there is actually a downside to happiness when it is used as a weapon, when it blindly hurts others, or when you use it to avoid processing important events such as grief and loss.

I briefly knew a guy who was addicted to what he called happiness. After his divorce, he was on a quest to live the rest of his life happy. He was spontaneous, competitive and on a quest to collect as many experiences as possible, at all costs. Oh, I admired his spontaneity and all of the experiences he had, but he also made me extremely nervous. Have you ever known someone so happy that he or she made you nervous? Plus, from an outside perspective it seemed like his happiness was never long lasting. He was like an addict, and he had to find his next fix while never truly appreciating everything he had or everyone around him.

If you tend to focus only on happiness, you sidestep thinking of anything negative. Sometimes, though, processing those negative thoughts and feelings is actually what helps you to grow.

Meaning is also a good thing. Meaning is something you create.  It gives your purpose. It is what you get up for in the morning. It helps you understand that you matter in this world.

Even with this, those who live a life of meaning are sometimes stressed or unhappy, but they wouldn’t give that up. Take a frazzled parent who identifies with the meaning of raising a happy, well-adjusted child. They wouldn’t give that up, even though it comes with moments of stress and worry.

Suffering will happen. Stress will occur. Grief will show up. Loss is inevitable. But there is meaning in all of these pains as well. The loss of love, for example, means that you were courageous enough to be vulnerable and to love another even if that love wasn’t returned. Grief means that someone was important in your life and you miss them. There is even meaning in suffering.

I read, with great interest Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning. In it, he describes that he even found meaning while in concentration camps during the Holocaust. Sometimes that meaning was simply to help another soul make it through the experience.

It is what you learn about yourself in those trying moments that is most important.

When I examined my own life, I found that when I was at my best, I was cultivating both meaning and happiness. My happiness was around making new friends, volunteering, exploring, traveling, going to concerts, hiking, being with family and friends in a variety of settings, seeing shows, attending sporting events, and an enormous amount of laughter. I laughed all of the time. I am quick to laugh anyhow, but it was something I seemed to do a lot.

My meaning was around helping others realize their dreams, volunteering, helping organizations whose mission I believe in, building new relationships, learning as much as possible, being a kind person, being generous, telling people how I felt about them (which is sometimes weird for them) and simply trying to be my best self.

There was often a juncture between my happiness and my meaning, and then I was in bliss.

So what changed?

Nothing really, except for those thoughts in my own head. I was so focused on having a good, fulfilling, long-term relationship that I stopped focusing on both happiness and meaning. I internalized that struggle, as I often do, to mean that I wasn’t really appealing or attractive in any way. It brought up every insecurity I had, which is sad, because I am awesome. Well, I am kidding about that last part, but I don’t think I am a troll. Not that there is anything wrong with trolls.

To be certain, a happy relationship eludes me. But I have also decided to give myself a break on this point. First, given the age at which I married and the length of that marriage, this is all very new to me. Plus, I am interested in certain qualities that I have encountered in only a few. I have let that all go, for now at least. I otherwise have a full and wonderful life.

It has been really fun and rewarding to re-engage with life. I am not quite where I want to be yet, but I am getting there. In making a decision to stay in Las Vegas, I have moved to a historic area (in Vegas terms) and am having an adventure getting my house in order. I am volunteering now for two organizations that are tied to preserving and sharing Las Vegas history, and I love that. I have great friends, and have been making many new ones which is completely fun.

I have started writing again. I have started researching again for a project I put on hold for a while. I have started getting outdoors again which always brightens my spirits. I have been helping some friends through some hard times. I am planning some adventures for the year. I am simplifying parts of my life.

The real thing that has changed, though, is my approach to life. It is all in my head.

Meaning and happiness are nurtured through gratitude, purposefulness and awareness. Just thinking of how blessed I am to have this life, how grateful I am for the experiences I get to partake in, and knowing that my life here has a purpose has re-oriented my thinking and my life. We all need to believe that we matter, and I have finally regained that perspective for myself. I am here for a reason, so you better watch out.

And for my dear friend who has allowed me to work through all of this heady stuff, I am especially grateful.

Will you all join me in fostering a life of both meaning and happiness?

…with love

For further reading:

Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl

The Difference between Happiness and Meaning in Life by Scott Barry Kaufman published in Scientific American

In 2017, Pursue Meaning Instead of Happiness by Emily Esfahani and Jennifer Aaker

The Dull Lens

By Wendy Lee

July 26, 2016

I swear, I was wholly in “the zone.”  It was the most peaceful, calm, exquisite place I have ever been.  I was alive.  I was experiencing life as the gift it is, and for the first time, ever.  Happy wasn’t a big enough adjective to describe how I was feeling.  It was contentment.  It was bliss.

It was when the drives across the desert would become beautiful paintings with colors and textures so lovely I marveled at all of the times I had missed it, just driving by in obliviousness.  With just the slightest bit of haze, I could see the depth and variety of all of the surrounding mountains, which otherwise appeared flat like two dimensional photographs.  The ranges of volcanic rock, sediment, various minerals, and weathering created such visual wonder that all I could utter each time was, “Wow, beautiful!”

Sometimes, the desert floor was lush with vegetation due to the heavy rains, something unexpected in the desert. The beds of Joshua trees, the most remarkable and seemingly useless of desert plants, rising in formation at the passes of the high desert.

Even the solar plant, something I have driven by at least 50 times, provided fascination because the atmospheric conditions sometimes made the towers look like giant camping lanterns lighting the desert in the middle of the day.  It was so ridiculous that I couldn’t help but be captivated by it.

It was my morning walks where I was intrigued by the wildlife that scampered about in the darkness of dawn.  The coyotes and rabbits, predator and prey.  It was the curious feel of the air on a summer morning, stale and warm in one area but a rush of cool, moist air in another.  Where did that cool air come from?  It was probably just the overwatered grass in the park creating its own climate system.

It was the brightness I felt when seeing a friend.  It was the joy of hearing my favorite music, singing off-key, and dancing to the music from my favorite band.  It was the feeling of love from the abundance of goodness surrounding me.  It was the complete satisfaction of doing a good job.  It was the feeling of elation from a compliment.  It was fulfillment in helping others.

It was my passions woken up.  It was my curiosity in motion.  I was a sponge, absorbing everything I could.  I was drinking life in with all its alluring appeal.  I was open and vulnerable and sharing my raw experiences in the simple attempt to help a few others through their own struggles.  I was writing, a lot.  I was immersed in the passions of others, caught up in their excitement.

It was the pleasure of sharing a little bit of history with twenty strangers on my tour, and seeing the eyes light up from the stories I shared.

Oh, and the hikes and exploring of state and national parks.  I simply could not get enough.

From my observations, even in my glorious contentment, I could sense that many, if not most, were merely going about the motions of life.  Some were happy, some were just letting life happen, some were living in desperation.  But for me?  I was flourishing, and completely living life on purpose.  It was spiritual.  My actions were aligned to my values.  And I was having so much fun, the most fun I had ever had in my life.

And then it is gone.

Just like that.

Stolen in a moment, or most likely many, many moments when I just wasn’t paying attention.  I was distracted.

It snuck up on me, as it often does, but the pain felt this time is more sharp, more acute.  It’s not like I haven’t been here before, but knowing how extraordinary it was when I was in “the zone” makes the darkness even more excruciating.  The brightness, the highs and even the lows, have been dulled such that I seem to be experiencing life by looking through a dirty window.

I fell.

I fell hard.

It hurts.

If I am pragmatic about it, I am sure I can view this is a time of great learning.  What is it here to teach me?  How will I grow?  What will I become as a result?  Who are these magnificent teachers and what lessons are they bearing for me?

I am not reasonable, at least not right now.  All I want to do is give it the middle finger.  F.U.  Haven’t I learned enough lessons already?  Haven’t I grown considerably?  Haven’t I finally opened up to the world, and shed the granite shell that surrounded my heart?  Haven’t I become vulnerable?  Haven’t I risked everything to start over?  I am just not up for another fall, certainly not right now.

Depression.

It is the funhouse mirror that distorts all of life around it.  You can’t see the truth.  You convince yourself that the image you see in the mirror is the one the world sees.

Depression is described in many ways, from constant sadness to loss of interest to inability to function to inability to get out of bed.  As with most of life, though, while trying to apply a stereotype to someone might be a useful clinical construct, it has little practicality when trying to understand an individual.  Each of our experiences are different.  I am unique.   And if I had a dollar for every time I have heard that I am unique…   Throw a bucket of anxiety on top of that and you have an unpredictable mess.

Oh, I know how I got here.  Even though it snuck up on me, I can look back now and see exactly what happened.  I can almost draw you a map.  It won’t be a pretty drawing, and you will have to go through the bad parts of town, but you will see the path I took rather accidentally.

So I have done what I always do, I have withdrawn.  I am a master at it.

It is so easy for me to withdraw, and I can do it in a way so that nobody even notices.  As long as I seem perpetually busy (and I am mostly busy), and as long as I keep the Facebook posts going, no one notices that what I have actually done is withdraw from the very things that bring me the most enjoyment.  It is the huge illusion, a remarkable hiding place, one of great familiarity and comfort.

Except when it isn’t.

Not this time.

For I am simply tired of the monotonous, lifeless feeling of depression.  It is something that has plagued me almost the entirety of my life.  It is something I have hidden and been ashamed of.  It is toxic, and it feeds on itself, creating a giant, boring pile of…well, you get the picture.

And it is mean.  It is a bully.  It makes me fearful.  It takes away my self-worth.

Except this time.

I didn’t exactly expect to have another big fall after such a great rise.  But here I am.

I just need to do the work.

The first thing I need to do is let go of something I have clung to dearly.  It is simply a notion, an expectation of what my life would be.  It is just time to let that go, and to realize that there is a different path for me, one where I think I can do the greatest good and bring the most value to the world.  I honestly have too much love in my heart not to share it.  I have too much helping that I need to do to be sidelined, paralyzed.

I need to let it go.

I will let it go.

And then I will do the work.

It is hard work.  It is painfully hard work.  It tries my very soul.  I have to bulldoze my way forward through some treacherous territory, but I have plotted the course and know just what to do.  It does involve asking for a little help.  It does involve a lot of time in the wilderness.  It does involve a lot of writing.  It involves exercise and eating well and sleeping better.  It involves volunteering.  It involves re-awakening my passions.  It involves reconnecting.  All the while, I have to go through the dark alleys of my thoughts.  But I can certainly navigate my way through there.  After all, I have pretty much memorized the scenery and obstacles.  Plus, I have brushed up on my defensive driving skills.

Don’t despair for me.  It is frustrating, for sure, and a drain on family and friends.  That is why I often choose to just withdraw.  I just don’t want to involve anyone else in the drama that goes on in my head.  I will say, however, that despite the setback I actually like myself well enough.  I think I am a pretty okay sort of person.  I am a good soul.  I have so much love to share that I can hardly contain it sometimes.  In addition, I can recite the lines to Airplane! and Monty Python and the Holy Grail.  As Stuart Smalley would say, “I am good enough, I am smart enough, and doggone it, people like me!”  Of course, he is just a fictional character so what does he know?

So what is the point of sharing all of this, and being completely vulnerable and exposed?  Damn, it is scary.  The point is to put a face to depression.  It is a very real thing, and it can be the dull lens for which some of us with depression see the world at times.  There is no shame in it anymore, though.  As Brené Brown says, “shame cannot survive being spoken.”  I refuse to let depression and anxiety rob me of that pretty remarkable person I had become, the one with the simple dharma to help others in as many ways as I am able.  I need to be the light.

It is far better to see the world through a clear lens of enchantment and curiosity than through the dull lens of depression and anxiety.

So, if you will excuse me, I have some really hard work to attend to.

With love,

Wendy

Led Zeppelin is a Thing With Me

By Wendy Lee

May 1, 2016

I thought it was a funny question, “What is it with you and Led Zeppelin, why is that a thing with you?” All I could think of is the movie Sideways where Maya provides almost the same commentary, “Why are you so into Pinot…I mean, it’s like a thing with you.”

Led Zeppelin is a thing with me. Their music was a great caregiver to me, my comrade through the years of teen anguish.

I wish I could cite that my reason for loving Led Zeppelin is rooted in their unique rock style, influenced by blues and folk music. I wish I could say that I was moved by the experimentation, the layers, and the mystical and mythical aspects of their songs. I wish I could quote the lyrics, and explain their deep meaning. I wish I could describe in beautiful poetry the genius of Jimmy Page and how he inspired me.

I can’t. I knew nothing of these things. My true appreciation of music didn’t come until much later in life.

Led Zeppelin’s music was merely the backdrop of my life. It helped me through the darkness. It is the music I heard while walking the moonless neighborhoods of sadness, trying to navigate blindly through the teenage nightfall. It is as straightforward as this: it was there for me when I desperately needed something or someone to be there for me.

As a teenager, I listened to Led Zeppelin’s music constantly. I connected with it, and still can’t explain why. But we were attached, attracted, completely inseparable.

There are certain events from my teenage years that I can recall or measure time by simply by what Led Zeppelin song was playing in the background. I distinctly remember listening to the Houses of the Holy album when a guy friend stopped by my house. Mark wanted to talk to me. We were friends, but not great friends. Frankly, I was very confused about why he was at my house.

Mark was pretty cute, a skinnier version of Heath Ledger.  Right there, in my bedroom, listening to Led Zeppelin, Mark declared that he wanted to take care of me for the rest of my life. It was a hard time in my life, for certain, and having someone want to see me through it was quite moving. Why I didn’t fall completely in love with him right then and there, even though I was only sixteen at the time, I will never know.

Prior to that moment, I was apparently oblivious to Mark’s feelings for me (an affliction I still possess today when it comes to matters of the heart). I was maybe more flabbergasted than flattered by his pronouncement, and wasn’t accustomed to such positive attention. Poor Mark. All I remember is that I turned him away. And I haven’t really thought of him much over the years, but I definitely remember listening to the Houses of the Holy album as Mark proclaimed his intent.

When you always remember where you were and how you felt when you learned that someone died, you know they made a mark on you. It could be a loved one or a president or an actor or a musician. I definitely remember where I was when I learned that John Bonham (drummer of Led Zeppelin) passed. I was with my high school band, in the stands at the football field.   I was heartbroken. For me, that was the day the music died.

Still, life goes on for those of us left standing. Fast forward 35 years, give or take, and here we are. And I am still a Led Zeppelin fan, though I have expanded to a wide, eclectic range of music interests.

A few years back, I was browsing through a list of upcoming performances at a local performing arts complex, The Smith Center. It is a delightful venue with a lovely art deco style that I adore. I had attended some plays there, and strangely, also saw Weird Al Yankovic perform there. What can I say, Weird Al makes me giggle like a silly 10-year-old. In my perusing of shows, I noticed that a Led Zeppelin tribute band was going to be performing at Reynolds Hall at The Smith Center soon. I thought it would be a fun show, and I was intrigued that they would be playing in that venue. I had to attend.

I went on my own. There was no issue with being alone, though, for a group of four fairly inebriated ladies sat next to me. They adopted me. About halfway through the performance, I was really wishing to be an orphan again, but the well-meaning ladies were having none of that. It was fun anyhow.

The real story is the performance, of course. It blew me away. I was taken aback by the talent on the stage. It wasn’t about pretending to be Led Zeppelin. It was about talented musicians and singers, creativity, and interpretation in a full on production show. The performance was effortless and so right. The musicians had no idea how much I appreciated the majestic performance that night, or how much it took me lovingly back to my teenage years, a trip I rarely refer to as “lovingly.”

I am nostalgic, creature, though. Led Zeppelin was back in my life.

Back to the question, “What is it with you and Led Zeppelin”? I suppose it reminds me of the comfort it gave me as a teenager rather than the turmoil I was feeling. It reminds me that their music was more healing than a handsome, sweet boy who wanted to take care of me forever.

Music is a great healer. It is even scientifically proven to aid in treatment. It is poetry, stories, pain, triumph, love. Consonance and dissonance. It is the timbre, the layers, the raw performances. It is the connection, the battle, the resurrection. It is creativity, genius, showmanship, and contemplative expressions. It can evoke joy or sadness or fervor or reflection. Sometimes it simply has a good beat and you can dance to it. And, at times, it is a powerful emotional trigger to a memorable experience, either good or bad.

Occasionally, music possesses the lyrics of a powerful sentiment or there is a story I essentially make up. By way of example, there are two songs that when I hear, I always think of my brother and become emotional. I don’t avoid these songs, because there is a comfort in remembering my brother who has long ago passed away.

One song is, “Daniel” by Elton John. As I listen, I imagine my brother Daniel in a completely different sort of metaphor, “Daniel my brother…your eyes have died, but you see more than I, Daniel you’re a star.” The second song is “I am” by Train. As I listen to the verses about a man who is questioning what he has done and seen in his life, I am consoled by knowing that my brother has been on a train, and been in the desert, and knew history, and climbed a real rock, and saw Colorado. I am reassured by knowing that while my brother’s life was somewhat short on the timescale, he still saw and did a great deal in his lifetime. Music provides solace in my grief.

I identify powerfully with music. Music has been my great counselor. Thus, Led Zeppelin is still a thing with me.

Project Snowcone

By Wendy Lee

September 27, 2015

Life’s big questions: What am I here for? What is my purpose? What is my calling in life?

My previous life was propelled forward by sheer momentum and obligation and doing what I thought I was supposed to do, while still making the most monumental and devastating mistakes one can make. Never, during that time, did I take the time to think about my contributions to the world, my purpose, or what I wanted my legacy to be. Yes, I want to leave a legacy.

Sometimes an emotional crisis can be a benevolent creature, bringing gifts of contemplation, reflection, clarity of values, direction. Difficulty beats on your door with a battering ram while you hide in your distress trying to find an escape route. When the door is finally opened, you find a world and a life far different than you ever imagined. A world filled with love and peace and beauty and harmony, not just because that is what you’re are seeking, but because that is what you become.

At my recent crossroads, I set out to clarify my values and to try to align my life to those values. It wasn’t enough though. I continued to struggle with the answer to my biggest question. What is my dharma? What is the gift that I have to give to the world? It was the proverbial question: What is the meaning of life? But I was not seeking the answer to what the meaning of life is, in general. Rather, I needed to understand what the meaning is of my life.

It took me three years to find the answer to something I have known my entire life. As T.S. Eliot says, “We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”

The answer to my question was braided into what would become the tapestry of my life, from the very day I was born.

I believe my dharma, or purpose, is simply to help people in any way I can, big or small. It is to provide the gift of time or money or skills to help those in need. And to do it with love.

My parents modeled this for me, in ways they may not have thought about and in ways they may have thought I wasn’t paying attention to. My parents volunteered and offered shelter to many family members and friends and loaned money and did whatever they had the ability and interest to do. This just did it.

I was paying attention.

I’ve always been a sensitive soul, deeply empathic. As Lady Gaga would say, “I was born this way.” This view of life hasn’t always been welcomed by me. I have often felt like it was unfair to feel things so deeply. This quality frequently makes me feel others pain down to my core, as if it were my own to solve.

I have come to embrace this characteristic, though, for it also guides me ruthlessly to do the right thing, to help someone else.

It’s not that I always get it right, mind you. I can easily get caught up in my own drama, and can get immensely irritated when others aren’t nice or friendly or giving or drive rudely. My children will tell you that they learned how to swear by being in the car with me. I have also been known to not pay attention to the external world when I am drowning in my own self-pity. My ego gets in the way too. Still, I strive to not be in that negative frame of mind. It creeps in more often than it should, but I am a work in progress. I am determine to give myself a break on this point.

When I say that my dharma is to help others, it sound so noble and altruistic. I assure you that I am under no illusion that I am those things. I just believe that I need to strive to do what I am here to do. Whenever I am down, the thing I know will resolve this to get out of my own head and help someone else. For me, helping others is almost a selfish gesture to make myself feel better. Isn’t that the opposite of altruistic?

I am not that person who can start a large charitable organization or who can save a village from poverty or who can rally others to volunteer or do charitable work. I just do what I can, when I can. It would be disingenuous to list all of the things that I have done over the years as a volunteer, a fundraiser, or a charitable act. That’s not the point. The point is that I have often felt compelled to help even when I had no means to do so.

This often caused some friction in my marriage, and I can now understand why. On many occasions, I signed up the whole family for volunteer activities or gave away money we didn’t have. I overextended myself dozens of times, sometimes to the detriment of my health or my family. I felt I was doing the right thing, but I didn’t always go about it in the right way.

My passion sometimes overpowers my common sense as well. Actually, this happens more than occasionally. It is who I am, though. I own it.

Has anything I have done ever really made a difference? I have to believe that I have somehow raised some positive energy in this world, even in the smallest of ways. I know I have given to people and organizations I probably shouldn’t have. I have, for sure, been taken advantage of. It doesn’t matter. That is more a reflection on others than on me. I have just tried to make a difference.

Even when trying to do good in this world, I’ve had my detractors. Most recently, I decided that for my 50^th birthday to myself would be to do 50 days of acts of kindness/charitable activities. It was my challenge, my celebration, my rules.   It was hard fitting everything in given my work and travel schedule, so some days my act of kindness was to make a donation to a new or favorite charity. A guy that I briefly dated told me that making a donation was cheating and that I wasn’t really doing what I was supposed to be doing. Another guy I broke it off with months prior only wondered why I wouldn’t buy him something rather than giving money to a stranger or organization. I guess that says more about my dating life than about my passions. Dating is a whole other interesting chapter in my life.

They didn’t stop me. I completed my challenge, doing a wide variety of activities from donations, to random acts, to volunteering, to just helping out friends and neighbors. It was stressful trying to come up with something every day, especially since I work from home when I am not traveling, but it was one of the most rewarding things I have ever done. I held myself accountable by keeping a daily list, and I refused to count daily activities on the list. I made myself go above and beyond. I am proud of myself for doing it.

To clarify, I believe that the meaning of my life is more than helping others. For example, in my opinion, the meaning of my life is to love, to be happy, and to follow my passions. My passions currently include following my curiosity, exploring, writing, reflection and self-discovery, nature, history, and finding beauty in this word. My dharma is to help others.

In keeping in alignment with my dharma, I have decided to start a project called “Project Snowcone.” Sure, it is a silly name. It is a supremely silly name. For those of you very close to me, or who have read my baseball essay, you will recognize my early childhood nickname. “Project Snowcone” is a reminder that I was destined to try to make a change in this world from my day of birth. Through “Project Snowcone,” I will continue my efforts, on my own, and under the radar. However, you will occasionally hear from me as I recruit friends and family to help me with a specific project. For example, when I need help making a Costco run to help me shop for supplies for the Ronald McDonald house, or to participate in a fundraiser for Make-A-Wish. Project Snowcone is a way for me to hold myself accountable for doing what I need to do in this world.

If I leave any legacy at all, I hope that it that I did good rather than I did well.