A Series of Serendipities and Oprah Winfrey

The middle of this week landed the three of us my mom, Kimberly and I together at 4pm watching Oprah saying her final farewell (after a series of farewells in her countdown of shows).  This was totally unexpected on a Wednesday afternoon, especially since, coincidentally; I was supposed to be landed in Chicago, where the Oprah show is aired from, at that time.  Chicago is a place I usually don’t work; however, I was doing a colleague a favor.  But I never got there- who knows really why- the crazy weather or some unexplained force in my own personal cosmic energy. 

I arrived at the airport just in time to board my plane but there was no indication that was happening.  There were too many people sitting around looking that way most people look when they’re inconvenienced by delayed flights.  I got my cup of coffee and found a seat next to a gray-haired, Midwestern-looking woman with friendly eyes. 

“Are you going to Chicago?” I asked her. 

“Well I’m hoping to, but the flight is delayed at least an hour,” she replied.

“I’m doing a presentation for about 75 people at 1pm today.  I hope I make it.” I said, thinking out loud but glad I had someone to talk to. 

“That’s what happened to me yesterday,” the Midwestern, gray-haired woman told me.  “I had a job interview and my flight was delayed coming in; I made it just in time.  Now I’m even wondering whether I want to live in New York at all.” 

I think she was “thinking out loud”, too. 

We talked for about an hour while we waited.  She was from the Midwest, as I predicted- Missouri, although, originally from Illinois.  We got to know some things about one another, except never exchanged names.  At one point I asked her what her interview was for.

“College administration,” she answered. 

“Wow, that’s funny.  My daughter is going to grad school for that now.  Is it a good field?  I asked.

“Yes, it’s great, I love it.  I used to be a professor, then I decided to go into this.” 

“What did you teach?”

“I taught TESOL- Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages.”

“Oh wow, that’s so funny- my daughter did her undergrad in that and even was an ESL teacher for a year.  What a funny coincidence.”

We talked for a while, she pondering about a life change- accepting this job and moving to New York, me talking about whether there was a point to even wait for a flight that looked less likely to take me to my destination in time as the minutes ticked away.  Finally I got a call from my colleague, who told me to go home; he would do my presentation. 

I said goodbye to the Midwestern, gray-haired, former college professor, and current college administrator woman and told her to consider moving to New York.  I quoted a line from a speech that was written by, coincidentally, a columnist from the Chicago Tribune.  Wear Sunscreen was the name of the speech and it’s a series of suggestions on living your life.  The line was Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard.  She wrote down the name of the speech and said.  “Who knows, maybe we’ll meet again.” 

And that’s how I got home in time to watch Oprah’s last show with my mom and Kim.  Three generations of women.  One who watched Oprah for the later part of her life, one who watched in the middle and one who watched at the beginning, or really her whole life, so far. 

I began watching Oprah when I was pregnant with Kim.  I was lucky enough to be a stay at home mom at the time; I would watch while my older daughter, three-year old Lindsay and I waited for my husband Mark to return home before I would put up dinner.  Actually, Mark was the one who told me about Oprah Winfrey and how great she was supposed to be.  I used to watch and love Phil Donahue’s show, although I forgot his name and had to google him through his wife, Marlo Thomas. 

Oprah affected me like countless others.  I even started a gratitude journal as she instructed, on July 17, 1997.  It ended on July 19, 1997.  I didn’t write for a month after that, and then on August 18, 1997 I began again, writing-that is- first with pejoratives directed towards Oprah because the “Attitude of Gratitude” journal did not work for me.  However I did continue to write, and it has always been a hobby of mine, sometimes, neglected, though always something I am passionate about. 

Oprah has been a constant in most of my adult life.  I read books recommended by the Oprah Book Club.  I even participated in her Webcast with Eckhart Tolle, while reading A New Earth.  I also joined her website.  Obviously, she has influenced my life.  Although I’m just a little bit pissed at her for ending her show before I got my book published and have the opportunity to be a guest on the show.  Now I have to dream up a brand new fantasy of fame.

I have watched Oprah this year, more than I had in the recent past.  This is because while I was working in Providence, I returned to my hotel in time for the 4pm show.  Normally at that hour, I’m either still working or sitting on some expressway with a million other cars.  As they reminded us of the countdown to the finale I have to admit, I got a twinge of sadness deep in my soul, the part that Oprah has touched in most of us.  I got to see Monday’s show with my mom, and then my mom excitedly told me about Tuesday’s show, which I missed.  These shows were extravaganzas.  The last show was anything but.

So here we were, the three of us together, mother-daughter, daughter-mother, and grandmother-granddaughter as we watched Oprah say her final farewell.  It was serendipitous, yet meant to be.  It was simple, yet profound.  It was just Oprah, guiding, inspiring, encouraging each and every one of us one more time, reminding us to always find something to do that we have passion for, providing us with quotes to live by, such as Please be responsible for the energy you bring into this space.

The week continued and I took Oprah’s motivation to get me through it, a little bit more aware and responsible for my energy.  On Thursday I took a train that was not delayed, thank goodness, to Providence.  I sat across from another college administrator- I overheard his wife say he was the former chancellor of Brown University.  He stepped right on my foot and could not stop apologizing to me.  I texted Kim about my latest happenstance with yet another college administrator.

On Friday Kimberly called me with the news.  She had gone on a job interview on Tuesday for a position in Hunter College in the Career Services department.  This would pay part of her tuition, count as her internship and offer her a salary as well.  It was a very competitive job and there were many applicants.  She told me how much she wanted this because this was something she felt passionate about, just like Oprah Winfrey had advised.  She was supposed to hear from them next week but they called before the holiday weekend to let her know that she had the best qualifications and they were offering her the job.  Woohoo!!

Was it just serendipitous or a sign that I came so close to two people who worked in the career that Kim is entering, one to have a conversation with and one who literally tripped on my feet?  Was it serendipitous or a sign that the three of us watched Oprah as she told us to always find something to do that we have passion for?  I will not ever know; all I do know is that it was a good week and right now, I’m using my energy to feed my passion and write about it. 

We pass through each other’s life sometimes just for an hour, sometimes an hour each day, other times just a split second.  In that time, some of us are affected with a lifetime change or a moment of epiphany.  I wonder if my brief encounter with the gray-haired Midwestern, college administrator made her consider taking the job she was offered and move to New York.  I might never know, but then again, I just might.  Maybe Kim might be working alongside her one day.  Now that would be serendipitous.

And thank you, Oprah, for the energy you bring into my space. 

The Ups and Downs of Motherhood

Happy Mother's Day.

I have been a mother now for exactly 28 years, 8 months and 19 days.  I remember that moment when they placed that tiny little being, all five pounds of her, into my arms and the feeling of absolute responsibility I had never felt before.  Actually, it was more a chasm of inexplicable joy mixed with a bit of terror and the clear knowledge that life would never be the same again.   In reality, that is what motherhood is all about- a conglomeration of sensations. 

My mother was the youngest of eight children.  Her mother, my Grandma Fannie, once told her that when the doctor informed her that she was pregnant, she told him, emphatically “I don’t want this baby!”  The doctor just replied, “You have seven children already; one is not going to make much of a difference.”  Ironically, Fannie told my mom this while she was living with her.  My mother was giving Fannie a shower at the time when she recounted this story and then in the next breath, said, “And you’re the only one of my children who took me in.” 

Needless to say, my mother has always had a sense of being unimportant.  She was the second daughter to six sons.  When my Aunt Dorothy was born- the first daughter to five sons at the time, they celebrated for two weeks.  But when my mother was born, there was no celebration.  Hence, the beginning of my mother’s life really explains my mother’s low self-esteem and constant self-deprecation.  

In spite of my mother’s feelings of inadequacy, she made each of her four children feel special.  I attribute my finishing college at the time when it wasn’t so important for girls to finish college to my mother.  She made me stick it out.  And I am grateful to her for that, amongst so many countless other things. 

My mother was the one who begged me to have a baby. I was married four years already.  However, Mark and I were not financially ready at the time; although, when is one ever financially ready to have a baby?  She promised I could go back to work and she would take care of the baby.  I had a second bedroom already, so I thought, why not?  And on the second try, I got pregnant. 

Happy and scared- an emotional roller coaster- my first reactions to being a mother.  And then I got up one night in my first trimester and was bleeding- not spotting, bleeding.  I was sure that it was a miscarriage.  I called the doctor and he said to come in the next morning.

At the doctor’s office, it was my obstetrician’s partner who examined me.  He told me, nonchalantly, that either I miscarried or the baby died inside me, because I didn’t appear pregnant anymore. I needed to take a sonogram to verify this.  In those days, obstetricians did not have sonograms in their offices and I had to wait three very long days to get an appointment for one in the hospital.  I was devastated.  I was sure I lost my baby, although, my pants wouldn’t close and the night before the sonogram, I could swear I felt fluttering in my stomach.  But I dismissed these two things because I didn’t want to get my hopes up. 

In the 1980’s, you had to drink gallons of water before taking a sonogram.  The technician at the hospital told me in order for them to get a clear picture, I need to feel that I have to pee so bad that I can’t hold it in anymore.  When I felt that way, I remember, going in thinking, let me just get through this so I could go to the bathroom.  I laid on the cold flat table and the technician globbed cold slimy liquid on my belly and began sliding the probe on it. “There’s the baby’s heartbeat,” she said in less than a minute.  I was stunned.  “What baby?”  “Your baby,” she said laughing, “You’re about thirteen weeks.”  Elation.  Pure elation.  That was what I felt and of course, still having to pee worse than ever in my whole life.  I think I flew off that examining table and as I headed for the bathroom, I spotted Mark and gave him a thumbs-up before I raced to relieve myself.  Relief, elation and then that phenomenon of utter fear that I was really going to be a mother. 

That was my first peak into what it really means to be a mother- to always be ready for the unexpected, to have this consciousness of trying to control the uncontrollable.  From the moment you put that infant down in the crib, then check five more times in all of five minutes to make sure she’s breathing- that’s what it really feels like to be a mother. To be jubilant over a burp, a first step, a smile, a laugh.  Then comes the uncertainty of caring for that fussy baby, that curious toddler, that unpredictable child, that insolent adolescent.  It’s the hardest job in the world. 

And yet…

My mother recently told me that when she was talking with a group of women she lived with at assistant living, the topic came up of what part of their life they would live over again if they could.  They all agreed- it would be when their children were children.  That was the best time of their life.  I have to concur.  I would go back and do it all over again. 

Climbing Mountains with Kim

I cannot do everything, but I can do something. I must not fail to do the something that I can do.

Helen Keller

My very favorite story about Kim was when we were in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia on a vacation we took after attending my cousin Laura’s Wedding.  Kim had just turned six years old.  She had the prettiest little face- like a doll’s; huge dark almond-shaped eyes, a tiny pointy nose and heart-shaped full lips, framed by bangs and lovely dark brown straight hair down to her waist that would curl at the very ends. 

After Laura’s wedding, we stayed at a lovely bed and breakfast in Staunton, Virginia.  My parents came with us, so it was a true family vacation in our mini-van, with grandma and grandpa “in tow”.  We decided to explore the beautiful Shenandoah Valley and do all the things that Daddy and Lindsay loved to do- including canoeing and mountain hiking.  Thanks to our video recorder, I have much of this converted onto a DVD, so I can revisit the past and see my kids when they were kids, my mom when she was so much younger and my dad the way I want to remember him.  Of course I have photographs, too- of Kimberly crying and holding onto the sides of the canoe she was in with her dad; I remember her wailing, “I hate you Daddy. I want to go home.”  And then there’s my favorite photo of my two beautiful girls, clinging to each other, sitting atop the highest point of the mountain on a cluster of rocks, with the endless pale blue sky behind them.  This is my very favorite photo…because it tells the story of Kim and climbing mountains. 

One of Mark’s favorite outdoor activities is hiking and he researched this area well and planned a hiking trip up the Blue Ridge Mountains.  My parents stayed back in the town, walking through the shops and Mark, the girls and I started hiking up the trail to the top of the mountain.  As we walked farther along, the trail became steeper, with jagged, uneven rocks.  I was never a fan of hiking and certainly less of a fan of mountain hiking.  So I decided to let Mark and Lindsay continue and that Kimberly was much too young to handle such a vertiginous trail.  I was exhausted anyway.  So, Kim and I sat down on a slab of stone, while Mark and Lindsay trekked deeper to reach the summit.  

At six years old, Kim was extremely inquisitive and in that “why” stage of childhood.  My Aunt Dorothy even used to call her “the how come girl.”  So while we were sitting on the rock, as other hikers passed us, Kim asked how come we were not moving on.  “You’re so little and it’s getting too dangerous for your little legs to carry you up this trail,” I replied, attempting to justify my prudence.  After about ten minutes, there came a group of hikers that raised some more questions, not only for Kim, but also for my cautious decision and me.  

A girl was traveling in this group with a man beside her.  She seemed to have her eyes shut and he was guiding her, step by step, describing the trail as she walked, carefully, but determinedly.  “How come he’s telling her where the steps are Mommy? Kim asked me.  “Because she’s blind and she needs someone to explain the path to her while she’s walking,” I explained, which prompted another why question, naturally, from her- “Why is she walking up a mountain, if she’s blind.”  It was one of those “aha” moments in my life where the answer to a question is so obvious and simultaneously epiphanic.  I watched the girl and her guide pass us and after a few moments, I responded with a deep sigh, “Because, because…she’s showing us that if she can walk up the mountain, and she’s blind, we can certainly walk up the mountain, too.  So, come on, let’s go.”

Thus, we gave in to my fears and trepidations and conquered the narrow, precipitous path, eventually catching up to the girl and her guide.  The guide chuckled to me as we passed, “So you decided to do it after all.”  It was as if he knew exactly what was going through my head.  Soon after, we caught up to a very pleased daddy and sister.  I really don’t remember the walk up the path after passing the guide; I just remember reaching the top and my girls sitting on the highest rock and posing for that iconic picture.

What’s so ironic about this account is that Kim remembers nothing about it.  Nothing.  And to me, this story defines who she is and represents how I steered her or even quite possibly deterred her on all the paths that followed.  Isn’t that the case, most often, though- our experiences with our children, sometimes the ones most precious- the ones that give us that crystal clear indication of who they are, the ones that are indelible to us are occurrences that have not even made an imprint on their memory.  It’s as if who they are to themselves is so different from who they are to us.

Before I even brought Kimberly into this world, I had some foresight into the kind of person she was going to turn into.  I was in labor with her on three separate occasions.  The first time, she would have been four weeks early.  I recall the midwife, Karen, began knitting something while my contractions slowed and then disappeared.  It was hours into a long night.  I said to Karen, I have a vision of my baby being born and whatever you’re knitting being a large blanket.  

I did not give birth that night, or the next time I went to the hospital with false labor pains.  The actual day that she was born, on the morn of a full moon the previous night, I hesitated going to the hospital because I didn’t want to be sent home a third time.  Karen, the midwife, finally delivered her and she mentioned that what she had begun knitting three weeks before was coincidentally now a sweater.  

What did this whole birthing escapade forewarn me of?  Kimberly’s indecisiveness, of course, not to mention how we’re always waiting for her when we’re going somewhere and how even when we get into the car, she has to run back to get something she forgot.  I keep picturing her last week, even, getting a new pair of glasses after trying on 50 different pairs. 

So, what is the significance of our mountain hike and the blind girl who inspired me to take Kim and climb that steep trail to the top?  Many times in Kim’s life, there has been something that paralyzes her from doing something or causes her to change her course of action.  She is afraid to drive.  Even after driving for a few months, after delaying getting a license, she panics when she gets behind the wheel.  She went all through college deliberating and changing her mind many times about what to major in; then finally graduated with a degree and license to teach English as a Second Language.  Nevertheless, after one year of trying it, she decided she hated it, mostly because she lacked the confidence to believe she was truly helping her students and not screwing them up. 

Now she works at Planet Fitness and is in grad school majoring in an entirely different field.  It has been an uphill battle (excuse the pun).   Oftentimes, I think it’s her pervasive, perpetual perfectionism.  If she cannot do something flawlessly, she deems it unsuccessful and abandons it.  Did I do that to her, I wonder, by being afraid, at times, to let go and encourage her to take risks?  That was why I didn’t want to go up that steep trail; until I realized what a wuss I was being when we encountered the blind girl. 

For Kim’s 20^th birthday, I took her to a psychic-astrologer in the village.  She did an astrological reading and read her tarot cards.  She told Kim that she would become some kind of counselor, which surprised us, because at the time, she was majoring in Speech Pathology.  She also told her that it would take from four to nine years for her to emerge into this amazing person she is meant to be.  Before that time, she would struggle a great deal. So far, the psychic has been correct in her predictions and surprisingly accurate when considering this new profession Kim is studying for.  And then one wonders, do people take certain paths after these so-called psychics plant seeds? 

In reality, my Kim is not much different from most young adults trying to find their niche.  After all, I, myself, have had quite a few careers in my history.  And even though she has no recollection of our climbing up the steep mountain event, except what I’ve told her, I hope she learns that the decisions and journey are just as valuable as reaching the pinnacle.