grateful #43 - my dad's pride

 On the last day of school in the 2^nd grade, my dad celebrated my perfect report card by taking me to lunch and getting me the Optiums Prime toy I so badly wanted.    That’s not my earliest memory of my dad, but it’s one that stands out; I’m fortunate in that I have so many to choose from; my dad has been so present and involved throughout my entire life.  With the exception of a few of my friends, I can’t recall anyone else whose dad has been such an active participant in his child’s life.  I can only guess as to the reasons for this; the pressure society puts on men to be strong,  authoritative, and in charge, yielded a generation of dads who were hands off emotionally, sometimes not there at all, or only there to dole out responsibilities and punishments.  The way my father raised my brother and I had little to do with strength and power, and much more to do with family values and love.

I did my fair share of stupid things as a teenager, but what kept me out of any real  trouble wasn’t the fear that my dad would kill me or ground me for eternity.  My fear was seeing disappointment in his eyes.  There’s nothing worse than disappointing someone who thinks the world of you.   And he truly does think the world of me. 

Last year, my dad sent me print out (which I still have) of the email he wrote to my brother with the play by play of one of the most important tennis matches in my high school career, along with several newspaper clippings he kept from 1993-1997,  highlighting my scores and statistics.  He came to every match; he rearranged his schedule and his appointments to make sure he was at every tennis match I played.  In the email he wrote to my brother, which I didn’t see until 20 years later, you would think my dad was describing the world’s most talented, heroic tennis player to ever get on the court. 

I know my dad told me he was proud of me, but for him to take the time to describe how proud he was of me to someone else?  That’s legit. That's the real thing.

And now as the 35 year-old who has taken up this little blog endeavor, I find myself picking up the phone to conversations like this:

"Hey blair."

"hey dad, how are you?"

"i could be better."

"why?"

"id be better if i had one of your articles to read."

"ha, ok.  i'll write one."

"they really make my day."

My dad calls my blogs my "articles."  It's quite possibly one of the cutest things ever.  

Again, the support and pride my dad shows me is unwavering, still.   I am grateful for my dad's constant and complete pride he feels towards me.  The superhero student, the superhero tennis player, and the superhero writer my dad makes me out to be are only indicative of the kind parenting my father does.  And now I'm telling the world in one of my articles how proud I am to have him as my father.   That's legit.  That's the real thing. 

Grateful #42 - what matt nathanson's song, "headphones" makes me think about

So I heard Matt Nathanson’s new song today – “headphones.”  It’s a little more poppy than Im used to from him, but the lyrics, though simple, really resonated with me.     

The premise of the song is:  girl goes to New York City because she’s sick of everyone and everything in her life.  Wants to get away from it all.   The chorus: "I feel invincible with my headphones on.” Anyone who has ever put a pair of headphones on has felt this – the blocking out of the whole world, only hearing the music, only seeing the music, only moving to the music, and feeling like you can do anything. It’s like the song coming out of your headphones completely covers you and pulls you into your own private world.  You’re invincible. 

Listening to music with headphones is dramatically different than say, listening to music in your car or from the speakers of your computer.  When you have headphones on, the music is the first thing you’re doing – the main thing you’re paying attention to.  When you’re in the car or fluttering about your house with some background noise, the music becomes just that.  Background. 

Anyway, my point about hearing this song today is that it took me back to a specific day in April of 2011.

I was that girl.   I was tired of everything around me; I needed to get out of Atlanta in order to find home again.  That comfortable-in-your-own-skin, home.  So I left.  I went to New York City and I put on my headphones. 

Being that it’s me, I walked all over Manhattan in search of cozy seats in cute coffee shops where I could write and find the inner peace I swore was hiding up the the sleeves of the baristas serving me.   I walked 12 miles with my headphones; invincibility and the sun were at my back. 

I am grateful that I heard Matt Nathanson’s song today -  it made me remember my bold move to get up and go somewhere else, throw myself at the mercy of the busiest city in the world armed only with headphones, and come out unscathed.  for the better.  finding home. 

Below is the blog I wrote about it back then.

Grateful #41 - it's ok to say yeah

 

Desperate to write something down, I find myself turning to the people I’ve talked to in the past few days.  In any and all of those conversations,  I have had moments that stuck out and stayed with me.  In fact, I have about 5 sets of paragraphs strewn about my computer screen that never made it past the rough draft stage.  Perhaps the sun is making me lazy, but I can’t seem to finish a thought. 

The extra time built into only teaching 3 hours per day of summer school as the only form of distraction isn’t as easy breezy as one would think.   

I get caught up in my own thinking when I’m not being distracted by teenagers’ constant buzzing in classrooms, parent emails, tennis practices, planning and grading.  And so instead of purposefully setting aside time to write in my blog with whatever alone time I could muster up, I sit here with no time constraints, constrained. 

The plus side to this is that I’ve actually had time to talk on the phone or to hang out with people I generally don’t get to see very often – even my long-distance best friend commented on how often he has heard from me lately.  What’s funny is that 3 people have asked me in the last 2 days if I’m happy - my father, my long-distance best friend, and another friend.   Each time I immediately said, “yeah.”  Not, “yes,” but, “yeah.”  I over-thought about the difference, and decided that “yeah” implies that things are fine.  I am good.  I am even.  I think the word “yes” would have implied more than even.  More than good.  My answer flew under their radars, I think, which is probably better for me – I don’t have to try to discern the difference out loud.  It wasn’t until my dad asked me for the second time this week if I am dating anyone, that I began to panic a little.  Is he trying to tell me that I’m not getting any younger and that I should probably meet someone soon?  Is he trying to imply that true happiness is being with someone you love, thus bringing my “yeah” back into the spotlight for speculation?  Or is he just simply catching up on what’s going on in my life? 

Moreover, this is supposed to end in some circular fashion where I’ve pulled out a piece of gratefulness from life and assigned warm, fuzzy feelings to it.   I don’t’ think I’ve even picked out something I am grateful for yet.   I seem to be focusing on things that don’t really feel warm and fuzzy. 

But you know, maybe that’s my “yeah” talking.  And maybe it’s ok to be at just a “yeah, I’m happy.”   Gratitude doesn’t have to be something warm and fuzzy - after all, I could have responded with a "no."

Grateful #40 - Forks

Sometimes I imagine what it’s like to be one of those people who crave the energy of the masses – one of those people who can walk into a room and be completely fulfilled by the constant buzz and movement of conversing with the crowds.  I’m curious about what it’s like to be the center of attention, reciting the most ordinary facts in what seemingly comes off as chocolate-coated charisma.   I know people like this; the common thread in all of them is extroverted and it’s shiny. 

I do not have that thread; being in large groups makes me come undone.   My sugar rush is in the quiet, alone-time act of writing.   

With all this extra summer time on my hands, I wanted to spend it doing what makes me happy.  What makes me shiny.    My short-term goals, my long term goals, my bucket list, my dreams, and my wish list always include: write a book a someday.  I can’t remember not wanting to do it.  I’ve always just assumed it would happen in some very romantic, serendipitous way – to the point that I never really had to take ownership of it; I just assumed it would magically happen. 

From writing this blog, (and if you remember, my goal was to write in it at least 4 times a week) I realized that writing is not only time-consuming and hard, but it is a craft – it’s something that you have to work at and on – it’s something that takes planning and drafting and editing.  It’s something that doesn’t just happen because we think it should happen.   And so with that lesson staring blankly (sometimes literally) at me, I decided to go for it. 

But I’m stuck and I need your advice.   The proverbial fork is this:  Write a memoir/non-fiction style book, similar in style to these blogs, which would hopefully leave the reader feeling like he or she could identify with someone.  That we all understand.  That we all have the same thoughts and fears.  That’s the bottom line in all of this - I want to connect through our similarities, not isolate each other by highlighting our differences. 

OR.

I could put on my best American novelist hat, which I’ve never even tried on, and delve into the world of fictional characters and made up city streets covered in secrets and folklore.  I could try my hand at being someone else.  Someone else’s perspective.  Someone else’s thoughts, friends, and feelings.   

This fork is the last thing that will stop me from chasing my dream.  I just need a little push in the right direction.  I am grateful for spotting my road block instead of plowing into a brick a wall.   Any advice or thoughts are welcomed.  With your help,  my story cloud just may have a silverware lining.