dare to dream

Janika Dillon: Interview with Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

Janika Dillon holds a Masters degree in Organizational Behavior and International Development, and worked in Executive Education prior to staying home full-time with her four young children.  You can read her previous guest post 'Taking a Stay-Cation' and full bio here. 

One of the dreams that Janika is currently 'dating' is pursuing a PhD in History.  This "has translated into reading many historical books, researching History PhD programs, contacting students and professors in the field, attending lectures on historical topics, and even mapping out a possible time line to completion of the degree."

She continues, "One person that I wanted to learn from was Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, winner of the Pulitzer Prize in History and other awards for her book A Midwife's Tale, a Harvard professor of history and author of several other fascinating books about women in history, including the more recently published Well-Behaved Women Seldom Make History.

A few days before my September 2008 meeting (yes -- asking to interview Laurel Ulrich took some daring), I mentioned the upcoming meet to a friend who promptly exclaimed, "Oh, she's my hero!"  I agreed wholeheartedly.   As you'll read below, Laurel Ulrich managed to raise a family and excel at her academic interests.  My thanks to her for sharing her time and wisdom with us."

*** 

Janika:  Your life's work has been to study the daily lives of women in history.  What do you think is the benefit to women today in looking back?  What can we learn from these women in history?

Laurel:  I think the biggest benefit is exemplified by Christine de Pizan in The Book of the City of Ladies written in 1405.  She wrote, "There is nothing in the world that women can't do." 

We have the notion sometimes that women's lives have been uniform and unchanging over time.  What's so interesting in Christine's book is the variety of things women have done.  They've invented things, been leaders, been good at gardening, religious heroines. They've been queens.  She's got something for everybody in that book! 

It's a very, very simple lesson that I think has been lost.  There's a classic narrative that "Women have been confined to the home and then maybe 20 years ago there was a woman's movement and all these opportunities opened up.  Or conversely, all these terrible things started to happen", depending on your point of view.  If you look at the long view, women have always contributed to the economy of their society -- always!

Janika:  What were some of the obstacles you faced in becoming the kind of writer you wanted to become?

Laurel:  Time.  Finding time to write and forcing myself to use the small amounts of time that I had.  I remember when I was doing Beginner's Boston, a guide to the Boston area.  When my kids went down for a nap, I had to choose between trying to write or taking a nap myself.  It was a hard choice.  It was so easy to let all the demands take over.  Kind of like that Steve Covey thing about the urgent and the important.  The urgent always pushes out the important.  Then I would sit down and the words would come so slowly because I was out of practice and I didn't know how to write what I wanted to say.  It was a real challenge to get one sentence written. 

I continue to face this same challenge every day of my life:  shall I sit down and be miserable for a little while until I can make it work or not?  Writing is very, very hard, and it has to happen daily, inch by inch, sentence by sentence. It's hard to produce more than one paragraph a day.  Sometimes I let my students see my really rotten initial drafts.  It's comforting for them to realize, "Oh, she has trouble too!"

Janika:  Who helped you along this path and what kind of help did you need?

The #1 help and support has been my husband.  He thought my interests were great and he often recognized better than I did what really made me happy.  He was also a great practical help through the years by doing his share with the children and being a good dad and then he had a good income.  Let's face it!  That helped.  I didn't have to work for money.  My first paying job was when I was in my 40s. 

Second to my husband was my network of Latter-day Saint women.  Very important.  My good, supportive friends in the Boston area and New Hampshire.  I mean, I had friends who believed in me.   

Janika:  So, how did your kids fit into the picture?

Laurel:  My kids were good.  My kids grew up with me boiling things over and destroying pots and they joke about my absentmindedness.  They were good sports.  I did my graduate degrees one course at a time.  My oldest was in elementary school when I began and he was in college when I finished.  It was a long process.  I got my bachelor's degree in 1960, my master's degree in 1971 and my PhD in 1980, when I was 42.  My oldest child was 15 years older than my youngest.

Janika:  I think it would be interesting for Whitney's readers to know, did you ever dream you'd go from a small-town Idaho upbringing to Pulitzer Prize-winning author and professor at Harvard?   And what advice might you have for women pursuing their dreams?

Laurel:  Well, first, No--I never imagined that I'd be doing the kind of work that I'm doing now or be in the place that I'm now in.  So, I didn't plan my life. 

The advice I'd give people is that old cliche "Blossom where you're planted."  That is, do whatever you do wholeheartedly and with joy:  the joy really is in the doing.  I don't think we can expect or plan or attempt to win the prizes.  What I attempted to do was write with passion and in a way that would be accessible to other people.  I didn't ever want to just write books for other historians.   So I've worked hard to write in an accessible way.

I really didn't think I had achieved that with A Midwife's Tale so it was a surprise to me that it had the kind of success it did.  But, it was a joy to do.  I loved working on that book.  It was a transforming experience, really.  This may be a conventional insight, but it really is the doing that's fun!  The fifteen minutes of fame are exciting, but that's not what sustains any of us.

It's kind of like my husband, who likes to build things and I always want to see it get finished.  But I am gradually starting to realize that what he enjoys is the doing.  That's a really good lesson because if you don't enjoy the small pieces of whatever it is that your job is, you're probably not going to enjoy the end product when you get there.  I've heard that the best predictor of happiness in the future is enjoying what you are doing right now.

****

First off, 'Atta Girl' Janika for reaching out to Laurel (that really did take some daring, as it always does with someone that we admire) -- and for spending the time to transcribe the interview!

What have you learned from this interview?

Were you surprised to read about Christine de Pizan's findings?

As I read Laurel's remark that it's important to enjoy the small pieces of a job, I couldn't help but think of Bonnie White's Delight in the Doing, Christine Vick's Simply Living and Lisle Hendrickson's What Makes Me Happy.

Who would you like to learn about and from?  What if you were to contact and ask for the interview?  Even if they say 'no' -- what a victory it will be to ask for what you want.  (I did that this week.  No response, but I asked).  If she says yes, and you would like to publish excerpts from the interview here, we'd love to learn! 

For a transcript of Janika's conversation with Laurel Ulrich, click through to Janika's blog Run 'N Stitch.

I Dream of Disruption

In June, unemployment hit 9.5%, the highest rate in 25 years, and a "sobering indication that the longest recession since the 1930s has yet to release its hold", wrote the NY Times.

Not that any of us needed this statistic to know that times are tough.

Many of us have seen our net worth dwindle, and are tightening our belts to an extent we haven't had to in years, if ever.

Yet I find myself curiously optimistic.

When the Wall Street Journal asked Harvard Business School professor Clayton Christensen how the recession would affect innovation, his responding that it would have an "unmitigated positive effect on innovation"  was seemingly counter-intuitive.

He continued, "When the tension is greatest and the resources are most limited, people are actually a lot more open to rethinking the fundamental way they do business.  That's when breakthrough innovations occur."

Source:  istockphoto

A recent CNN Money article tells of a woman whose husband was out-of-work.  As she and her husband fundamentally rethought how to do business, they've made ends meet -- and then some.  This same article cites a study by the Kauffman Foundation indicating that 51% of the Fortune 500 companies began during a recession or bear market or both.

Maybe Christensen's ideas aren't so counter-intuitive. 

We recently heard CK Woolley's story.  Without the need to rethink how she does business and lives her life, would there have been a Shabby Apple?

As an analyst on Wall Street, would I have amassed a set of portable skills if the resources I'd needed had been readily available?

Would our 'dare to dream' community have had the marvelous month of guest blogs, if I hadn't been resource-constrained?

Source:  istockphoto

Most women, particularly mothers, continually feel the tension of having too little time and too small of a budget.  Because of this tension, we are expert at rethinking how things get done.

And with the 'recession to have yet released its hold', is the time not ripe for our expertise?

I'm dreaming of disruption.

In my own life and in yours.

And that's a good thing.

What are some other breakthrough innovations?  Under what circumstances did they occur?

Have the current economic difficulties opened doors to your dreams sooner than you had anticipated?

Thanks to Dana King for passing along the CNN article. 

Hero of Support Giveaway

We heard so many lovely voices in June.

So many stories of moving to the center of your lives -- becoming the hero.

It was a privilege to listen to and learn from you.

***

Thank you also for your systergy.

I was moved as I read your responses to one another.

Because of what you have said, done and offered to do, many are dreaming and daring more.

***

To encourage a show of systergy, I sponsored (4) random giveaways of $75 spa gift certificates.  It was fun to announce that Ilene, Lisle, Maria and Shelly had won. 

It was so much fun, I've decided to do one more giveaway. 

There were a number of women who consistently showed up:  Amy, Bonnie, Dana, Emily, Janika, Janna, Jenny, Lisle, Luisa, Macy, Maria, Mercedes, Rebecca, Stacey.

Without you, it would have been more difficult to become the hero of our story.

To say thank you on behalf of all of us, I've put your names into a hat (excluding Lisle and Maria who've already won prizes)... and am awarding one more $75 gift certificate:  Mercedes White -- you're the winner.

Thank you to each of you for showing up, listening, questioning, encouraging.

For being heroes of support.

Miranda Johnson: My First Sewing Machine Project

Before I wrap up and put a bow on our month of guest posts, there will be two, possibly three, more guests, one of which is by my 8 year-old daughter.  Below I've transcribed what she shared with me about her first sewing machine project.

Mrs. Abernethy came to my house this week and taught me how to use our sewing machine.  

A few weeks before Mrs. Abernethy came over, my mom and I went to Home Goods and picked out two different placements.  I chose the tiger placements, because I love animals, and then I chose the other placement with the flowers because my mother liked it.  Both had orange and brown in them.

I made the bag and sewed on the pockets; I came up with the idea to put on pockets.  Mrs. Abernethy started to sew the handles together for me, and then I finished them.

Now that the bag is finished, I use it for all sorts of things.  I put my bathing suit in it yesterday to go to the Hutchins.  Today, I'll put my scriptures in the bag when I go to church.

I may do more sewing.  It was fun.  And I liked sewing with Mrs. Abernethy.

Do you remember when you first made or did something in which you felt your self emerging, establishing your own 'I'dentity?   How did you feel?   I certainly remember learning to play the piano and to sew.

It seems that Miranda's choosing the animal print for her, and the flowers for me, is a metaphor for how we hope our children will develop:  become their own person while carrying some small piece of us with them.

Mrs. Abernethy is now on Miranda's dream team - and mine.  Who was on your 'dream team' as a child? Are we surrounding our children with family, family friends and teachers who can teach our children in ways that we can't?

What if each of us were to accomplish one 'I'-dentity project this summer? And help our children to do the same?       

Lisle Hendrickson: What Makes Me Happy

I was born on my mother's bed in Santa Ana, CA, the third of eight children.  It had the potential to be an embarrassing situation, but thankfully I was busy enough that I didn't care.  I went to Ricks College, then to Weber State University, where I met my husband and then finished my degree (BA in English).  I have four children, no marketable skills, and I spend all my "free" time driving, planning youth activities for church, and pretending I can manage my time well enough to have a creative hobby.

For this post, I asked Lisle what makes her happy and to then collect images that visually capture the why of her happiness.  Make sure you read all the way to #14 - her discussion of Wyoming is quite lovely -- and leave a comment to be eligible for the $75 spa gift certificate. 

Lisle's (14) things that make her happy are:

1.  My Family -- I suppose it's obvious, because everyone loves my family (and their own!).  I like being with people who have the same sense of humor that I do, and that think I'm funny.   I also take enormous pride in the fact that my kids can do a lot of things on their own, and I marvel at all the traits that didn't come from me.  They're really good at lots of stuff!  And Husband?  He can do all sorts of stuff I can't, like car fixing and computer stuff, and wiring the house...

2.  Good hair days -- Silly as it is, a good hair day makes me feel special, like receiving a little gift "just because."

3.  My bluetooth headset -- I love being able to have a conversation without my arm getting tired!  Plus, I talk to my sister all the time, and it's fun to test the limits of the batteries.  I'm on my 5th headset...

4.  Reading a really good story -- I grew up with my head in a book, and only pulled it out for special occasions, reading all the Nancy Drew books, then the Hardy Boys series, and then the Bobbsey Twins.   The result of this was that my childhood memories are a little out of sync with the rest of my siblings ("I don't remember that...  Are you sure it happened that way?  Where was I when that happened?)

I have this brilliant ability (disability?) where I can turn off all of the anticipatory senses in my brain.  I love to just let the story unfold without making any guesses as to what's going to happen.  A story that unfolds quickly is the best, since I have a ridiculously short attention span, and the unexpected twist at the end usually turns out to be just that--unexpected.  It's a joy!

Source:  istockphoto

5.  Service -- I know it's a little cliche, but when I'm worried about doing for someone else, I don't worry about me.  And that's the best thing I can do some days.

6.  The smell and feel of a really good wool or fabric -- I'd probably have to lump them in with office supplies, for the reason that they are the things I use to create stuff.  I don't make things that are grand, or professional, or even always good, but it pleases me to no end to be able to have the goods to make "anything" and "something."  I guess I smell potential!

Source:  istockphoto

7.  Church -- I like the frequent reinforcement of the knowledge deep in my soul that my Heavenly Father loves me.

8.  Playing in the dirt -- It's a plus if things actually grow well - this makes me feel like I can do something productive and profitable for my family.  It's a long process, but harvesting vegetables grown in my garden at the end of the summer isa treat!

  Source:  istockphoto 

9.  Not having to be the driver of the car -- It feels so unproductive to me, and my frustration increases with the number of people paying attention to my driving.  I'm not a bad driver, but I don't like being under the microscope when husband is sitting next to me.

10.  Snoring babies - There isn't anything sweeter!  They smell good, and it's probably the most relaxing white noise ever created. 

 

Source: istockphoto

11.  Having my own ideas work out - Some things I'm really good at--spatial relationships are easy.  I can pack more stuff into a moving van or car trunk or suitcase than you'd think would fit.  Unfortunately, I have a tendency to fill all of those things right to the brim.  It's like a big puzzle; fun to do because there's a solution.  I don't always think through to the end, though, so I often find myself off on an adventure that can't end well, because I missed a crucial step in the planning process.  

12.  Yoga - Makes me feel strong, and limber, so that I can do anything, and do it without ever losing my center.  

 
Source:  istockphoto

13.  Jack Black movies -- I never wanted to be a fan of Jack Black, because current comedians have a real tendency to be "funny" about things that aren't, like sex.  Jack Black's films have spots that tend toward the vulgar, and sometimes the language isn't lovely, but by the end of the movie, you just love his character. 

He's always some slightly goofy guy who's not quite in the same place as everyone else, and through all his silliness and perseverance, he brings everyone else in the movie around to his way of thinking and they all join in to help him achieve his goal.  His goal, of course, is usually something that helps people, something lofty and community-based.  So, in the end, you see that his disconnectedness and his unrealistic view of his place in the world work to his advantage, and that in turn changes the world around him. 

Could we all be Nacho Libre and save an orphanage?  Would you want to remake a whole video store full of movies to save your neighborhood?  Can I be that positive all the time, even when my friends are telling me that I'm wrong and that I'll never make it? Maybe.  Maybe not.  But, wouldn't we all love someone to rally around, even if they're a little goofy? 

Source:  People Magazine

14. Wyoming -- It's difficult to articulate my love of Wyoming.  Wyoming seems overlooked somehow.  Oh sure, everyone knows there's Jackson Hole: Classic pretty with trees and mountains and celebrities, but that's not where I spend my time.

The big part of Wyoming is everything else, and that's what I love.  It's a great big desert state with hardly any people.  There are antelope, rodeos, windmills and high winds, horrible winter storms, hot dry summers, and big long stretches of freeway so straight and monotonous that you could just fall right asleep at any moment. 

I still love it.  It's all brown and green with blue skies and clouds.  There's Farson, a town that is literally just an intersection, only a dot on the map.  They have a real soda fountain in the general store.  And Rip Griffin's Texaco, which is big and has I-don't-know-how-many gas pumps and a huge gift shop inside and showers for truckers!  Little America, home of the best serve-your-own ice cream cone in the state and really nice bathrooms.  Good fireworks aren't illegal there.  None of this is travel literature that makes you itch to see it.  But if you take a few minutes off the side of the freeway and really look, you see this whole other world.

Source:  istockphoto

Wyoming has people, but not too many.  It's stark, but It's not pristine; you can take a side road and see where people have been, but the people who came didn't change it.  There are ruts made from wagon wheels 150+ years ago, that nobody ever filled in or made into something else.  There are windbreaks, and snow fences, and wire fencing to keep cattle from wandering too far.  There aren't obvious signs of huge irrigation projects.

There is just space, and the face of things as they are now.  Like wrinkles, maybe: laugh lines and crow's feet upon the land.  Wyoming is aging gracefully.   Wyoming didn't spend its youth trying to convince you it was cool, it just did what it needed to do.  It took a different path than the surrounding states, did what it was designed to do,  and it's proud of that.  It doesn't care if you don't love it; it only changes when it wants to.  You don't have to want to be there, you don't have to stay. 

If you want to visit, Wyoming welcomes you.  Hmmm...Maybe I do know why I love Wyoming.  I think it's my idol.  I want to be Wyoming when I grow up.

***

The foolish [woman] seeks happiness in the distance, the wise just under [her feet].  James Oppenheim (via Melanie Mauer)

If we spend time each day doing things we love to do (noting what we have loved in the moment), we will have likely assembled the key ingredients of our dream a la Christine Vick's approach.  And thanks to Emily Anthon for the 'Here's to Happiness' idea.

If we list competencies, instead of kitchen contents, can we in a SuperCook-like way determine yummy life recipes? You may also want to take a look at Pam Slim's post Are you Ingredients Looking for a Recipe.

What makes you happy?

Michele Pierce: A Mother's Thoughts on Adoption

Michele Pierce has worked in the field of education and educational publishing for over 25 years as a teacher, editor and writer.  She holds a master's degree in Education from Harvard.  Michele enjoys being a wife and mother, practicing yoga, skiing, reading, and walking her new baby -- a 90lb. Bernese Mountain Dog named Boots.

After you read Michele's post, and leave a comment you will be eligible for a $75 spa gift certificate. More importantly, we will have the opportunity to listen to and learn from one another.

“It must be hard to love an adopted child as much as your own.”

Groan. A familiar wave of disappointment rushes over me. “When will they get it right?”

This tagline from a soon-to-be-released “slasher” movie is a stinging example of how the media continues to drive the myth that parents can’t love a child they adopted as much as a biological one.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, though. Adoption receives very little public attention, and the attention it does get is mostly about the extremes. Why wouldn’t people’s ideas about adoption continue to be formed to a large extent by myths and stereotypes?

I’m the mother of two beautiful and strong-willed daughters, ages 11 and 8. My life is probably a lot like yours—filled with mothering my children, walking the dog, keeping up with laundry, volunteering, working full-time, and trying desperately to find time for myself and my husband. 

I’m so busy with all of this that I mostly forget how I became their mother.

Source:  istockphoto

It’s been over 12 years since my husband and I first began our journey to adoption. It started with letting go of a dream of creating a child together. (A child that looked like us and of course only inherited our most positive traits!) It continued with the recognition that the most important part of our dream was the desire to create a family. And it ended with learning firsthand that parenthood is not about biology.

It is my hope that as more and more people become touched by adoption, they will come to the same understanding. In the meantime, here are some things to know: 

• Adoption happens because some adults cannot parent; it is not because they are uncaring or a child is “bad.”

• Adoptive parents are “real.” Children who were adopted have two sets of “real” parents. The ones who raise them and the ones who created them.

• Adoptive families are created in a different way, but being in an adoptive family is the same as being in any other family.

• Children who were adopted are not more likely to be “troubled.” Research shows that adoptees are as well-adjusted as their non-adopted peers.

• Children who were adopted are not “lucky.” We are the lucky ones. Without them, we would not have had the opportunity to become parents.

And most importantly, adoptive parents love their children no differently than if they were “their own.” I think Marie Osmond said it best. When asked which of her children were adopted, she simply replied, “I have no idea. I can’t remember.”

***

In reading Michele's piece, I realize that I've thought, if not said, "it must be hard to love an adopted child as much as your own", making me wonder how much I, or any of us, really know about how to love another.

When we have biological children, do we take for granted that we will be close as a family, rather than recognizing that we need to create ties that are familial?

Some of us may have biological parents, siblings, cousins to whom we are close, others do not. What can we learn from Michele's thoughts and feelings about the essence of building relationships that are safe and secure, even family-like?

Do we have to birth all of our dreams?  Or can we adopt a dream?  Once we adopt a dream, and tend and care for that dream, is it any less or more ours, than if we had 'birthed' it?

Macy Robison: Picture Perfect

Macy Robison is a teacher, performer, and photographer from Shrewsbury, MA. She was in the Music Dance Theater program at Brigham Young University and performed with the Young Ambassadors.  She also holds a masters degree in music education from The Ohio State University.  Macy has performed in professional, community musical theater productions in Utah, Ohio and Boston.  Most recently she has developed a cabaret-style recital Children Will Listen:  Reflections on Mothering which she will perform in Utah in mid-July.

After you leave a comment here (and become eligible for the $75 spa gift certificate), click through to Macy's photography blog, leave a quick comment, and you'll be eligible for a photo shoot.

***

Sometimes I feel like a priest.

I'm actually a music teacher.  For the past ten years, I have taught general music, been a choir director and taught private voice lessons.  When people discover this, they immediately start confessing their musical sins.

"I'm tone deaf."
"Oh, you don't want to hear me sing!"
"My family doesn't let me sing!"
"I love music, but I just never kept up with (insert instrument here)."

 And most common:

 "I would love to sing, but I just can't…"

Sometimes the conversation turns into a debate over my firmly held belief that anyone can learn to sing.  Sometimes I just listen.

I'm also a photographer, but I'm starting to feel like a priest in this role as well.  Photographic sins from both sides of the camera…

"My pictures never turn out."
"I would love for you to take my family pictures, but I'm not Christmas-card worthy."
"I always hate myself in pictures."
"I would get pictures taken more, but it's such a hassle."

It can be a hassle to have pictures taken.  Finding the outfit. Wondering if the outfit will photograph well.  Worrying about fixing hair.  Keeping that hair looking good.  Stressing over whether your son will pull that crazy face he's so fond of making every time the photographer takes a picture.  Screaming.  Crying.  Fights.  We all know the stories.  We've all lived the stories.

But when you look back at the pictures, do you regret the hassle?  Need to think about it? While you are pondering, I'll give you an example of why the hassle is worth it.

This last Christmas the stars aligned and my family was in the same place at the same time for a couple of days – me, my husband, our son, my husband's son and daughter and their fiancées.  Since the next time we would be together, we would be in wedding clothes, I wanted to get pictures of us together.  I scouted the location, we coordinated clothing, I got there early to set up my tripod so I could be in some pictures.

Everyone arrives.  We're ready to smile and have fabulous pictures taken.  We're braving some unexpected cold, but it's a lovely location.  Just as we start taking the large family group picture – my usually angelic toddler gives us this:

And this:

Here, let's zoom in so you can really experience the fun:

There was no consoling, bribing, joking, or anything else that would get this child to stop screaming and crying.  We finally broke down and gave him his beloved animal, hoping to calm him down to get a few pictures.  But instead, we got this:

So, with no cooperation from the toddler, what did I do?  I kept shooting.  The point of the photos was to document our family.  To show the relationships between us.  To capture our family at that moment in time.  Toddlers cry, kids make silly faces.  But if you keep shooting, you will end up with some fabulous pictures that you love. 

Eventually, our little guy calmed down.  Though he didn't crack a smile for the entire day, I ended up with some pictures of him that I loved.  Like this one:

And this one showing how much he loves his big brother and wants to do everything he does.

And finally, this picture of my husband, son and I that my dad took with my camera.

Is this a perfect picture?  No.  To start with, there's a branch coming across my husband's face.  I could remove it with Photoshop, but I love the memory of shouting back and forth with my dad about framing the picture and still ending up with a branch tickling my husband's chin.  

Is this my favorite picture of myself?  No.

Do I look as horrible as I imagined I did?  No.  (And isn't that always the case?  When I look at the pictures of myself from 10 years ago when I thought I looked awful and needed to lose 20 pounds, I want to reach into the picture and slap my 1999 self.)

Do I love this picture?  Yes. 

In part because I got out from behind the camera.  My son needs to see me in pictures with him.  I have very few pictures of me with my mom. (Something I didn't realize until right this minute.)  I wish I had more.  She passed away suddenly almost 10 years ago.  I know she loved me and loves me still, but I wish I had more examples I could see.  I cherish the few I have. 

I want my son to see our relationship and how much I love him.  And as Saydi Eyre Shumway  put it so eloquently in her post last week – I need to see myself in the picture with him.  See how much I love being with him; become the kind of mother I want to be.

 

In fact, in addition to having another photographer take our family pictures later this year, I'm going to start work on a self-portrait series. I've been inspired by amazing photographer Davina Fear's self-portrait series to take more pictures of me with my son.  Not only when we're dressed up in our best clothes, but when we're in our every day clothes coloring together or working on puzzles together.

Coordinate the clothing. Come out from behind the camera. Embrace the hassle.  Document your relationships. Capture who you are -- who you want to be.

It will be picture perfect.

Promise.

For more on the importance of photos, take another look at Rebecca Ellsworth Menzie's post:  she too wishes she had some photos with her mother.  And Saren Eyre Loosli's post with her daughter crying?

There are so many ways to tell our story.  Macy chooses to tell her story through words and images and music via her cabaret act.  There are so many ways.  Take another look at Lizzie Christensen's Recipe Story, Rebecca Menzie (via her mother's journal), Stephanie Soper's painting, my soundtrack story.  Will you tell your story?

Any thoughts on how Macy's approach to photography is allowing her to Be her Own Batman, even as she's Robin?

When you finish leaving a comment here, click through to her blog and become eligible for her photography shoot. 

Emily Anthon: Suiting up and Showing Up

Editor's note:  The following bio was written by me, not by Emily, and therefore contains glowing excerpts from a letter of recommendation I wrote for her in 2008.

Emily Anthon is not only a person who sparkles, bringing happiness to those around her, she has tremendous initiative.  In her early 20s, she picked up and moved from California to New York City.  Despite a limited college education, because of her sheer effort (and a great dream team), she has graduated from being a nanny to a fairly significant support role at Disney and with Governor Romney's presidential campaign.  Many people at Emily's age are more credentialed, but given her trajectory, she will have surpassed many, if not most, within another 10 years.  This woman is a winner.  

After you read Emily's post, please leave a comment, and share your thoughts, ideas and 'atta girls'!

***

Do you remember during the opening credit to Pretty Woman where some guy on the streets is talking to anyone who will listen?

Welcome to Hollywood!

Everybody comes to Hollywood's got a dream!

What's your dream?

My current dream started a few years ago when I wasn't happy at what some would call a dream job, but it just doesn't working for me.  Because I love movies so much, my roommate suggested that I move to L.A. and get paid to work in the entertainment industry.

Source:  istockphoto

Realizing she was right, this was what I wanted, I few months later I moved from NYC to LA and eventually landed jobs across three major motion picture studios, Warner Bros, Dreamworks and Disney. A few years later I temporarily left LA for a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to work on a presidential campaign, knowing that I would eventually come back -- and again become involved in the movies.

In January 2009, I moved back to L.A.  I felt I had already had my 'break', had a resume that rocked, and I had contact within the industry.  I just knew getting a job in my industry wouldn't be hard.  They don't just post these jobs on Monster; you have to know where to look.  But just to be sure I also made a small list of 10 companies that I would want to work for, a list that included production companies I had worked on the studio side for, or others whose products I was passionate about.  I did a specialized cover letter, explaining why I wanted to work for each of the 10 employers detailing why I wanted to work for them, and sent my resume 'old school' -- through the mail.

From some I received the form letter thanking me for my interest.  From another, a postcard with a box checked saying they had nothing available.  From the rest I heard nothing.

I know the economy is tough, studios are laying off employees, not hiring. I apply wherever I can.  If I see something I'm qualified for, even if over-qualified, I send in my resume.

But I have been undeterred -- I love movies, and by being in L.A. I can find ways to be 'involved' in the industry even if I'm not yet getting paid

 

Source:  istockphoto

There are advance screenings that I go to, I participate in focus groups about trailers, upcoming films, unfinished projects -- you name it -- and I've made business cards that promote me and my skills and have given them out when I make contact with someone who might be of help professionally.

I've called old bosses, old co-workers, responded to ads on Craig's list (click here for some of the odder ones) registered with every temp agency that feeds the studio pools. Minus the temp agency informational, I had seven interviews one week. I've interviewed to be the personal assistant to a Japanese rock star, event coordinator for a small amusement park, and executive assistant for a sound design company, but never felt the right fit.

I've made time to seek out music in the Hollywood club scene.  Perhaps an odd way to achieve my dream, but here I've been able to make contacts that may help me out down the road.  In this town, it's all about who you know.  In discovering some of these new artists and bands, I came across lyrics to a song by the late Spencer Bell.  They capture how I feel:

Louis thought the world was his to see

But it didn't matter cause California's where he needed to be.

It's been nearly six months, and about a month ago, I found a temp job working for Netflix.  It's a job that allows me to be in L.A., includes perks like access to lots of DVDs, affords flexibility to interview when I want, and pay my bills.

Source:  istockphoto

  

And while I still haven't found the right job -- and at times my dream seems out of reach -- but I've suited up, shown up -- to Hollywood.

Cause California is where I need to be.

***

Is it possible that if we will observe what we are 'suiting up' for on a daily basis, we'll have a better idea of what our dream is?  

Jane Clayson tells a story similar to Emily's about suiting up.   The week she arrived in L.A. to work for ABC, they closed the cable news division down.  There was Nothing for her to do.  For months she showed up anyway.  Eventually her break came in the form of the O.J. Simpson trial.

Any suggestions or ideas for Emily?

For those of you that You may want to re-read Throw down your Pom-Poms and The Hazards of Getting in the Game.

After you leave a comment here and become eligible for the $75 spa gift certificate (congrats to Ilene Ellsworth, Maria Carr and Lisle Hendrickson, the previous winners), click through to Emily's blog.

Alyson Jenkins: Be Your Own Batman

Alyson Jenkins is the mother of two young sons and lives with her husband in the city of Boston. While she is enjoying her time as a stay at home mom, she dreams of a day when she can return to her professional helping role in psychotherapy, treating children and their families. In addition to receiving a Masters in Clinical Social Work from Simmons College, Alyson is an avid marathoner and fitness enthusiast. If you don't see her running or biking the city roads, she can be usually be found in her kitchen surrounded by vegetables, experimenting.  She authors The Doubting Daikon, a blog where she chronicles her family's journey toward eating natural, organic, local, and sustainable whole foods.

After you leave a comment here (for the $75 gift certificate), click through to Alyson's blog to read about her most recent Batman and Robin feat.

***

One of my dad’s friends always said, “What’s better than one Meidell?  My sister and I would grin shouting in unison, “Two Meidells!”  In our small California town, I was Brooke’s little sister, one of Pat’s daughters, and Mr. Meidell’s youngest girl (though people often thought my dad was my grandpa).  Though I knew where I belonged, my life felt solely defined by my relationships -- by being someone else's something.

Moving to a new city and later going on to college in a different state was an opportunity to develop my own identity, but when I married and eventually had children, I began to feel a bit lost again.  I'm no longer Brooke's little sister, but I'm Mackay or Grant's mom or David's wife.  Even before I married, because I have a Master's degree in Clinical Social Work, my life was focused on helping others, pushing for social change.  And while I love and cherish all of these roles, they've made it difficult to further develop an independent identity:  to be MY something.

Thinking about being the hero of my own journey, thanks to Whitney's inspiration, has really changed my life.  As a woman and social worker, by nature and by training, being Robin -- someone else's something -- has been easy.  Realizing I can also be Batman -- my something -- has been life-altering. 

 

I've never felt like a hero.  No single bound leaping here.  However, when I look back on my past through this new lens, I see small acts of heroism.  My first Batman experiences were leaving the city of my birth, going to college, obtaining degrees, and getting married, to name a few. 

Before all this hero talk, I would have said it ended there, I think it's actually just beginning.  I didn't recognize it then, learning to Be my Own Batman began in earnest after I had my first baby six years ago. Being a stay-at-home to a newborn was tedious, and truth-be-told, a little boring at times. 

I looked to the women around me to learn something new.  Judy taught me to knit.  Ann taught me to sew.  Stacey showed me the art of book binding.  Heidi passed on her knowledge of jewelry making; I did end up selling my jewelry to boutiques.  I then taught myself to cook, researching recipes and trying out new foods.  And with some inspiration from my brother, I ran my first marathon.  This was all just in the first year.  When I look closely enough, I see in my actions small acts Batman-like heroism by finding space in my life for me. 

As women we often identify heroics with Robin-like rescue missions.  Who else can fly in and whip up a healthy meal from the paltry ingredients left in the fridge, complete with hors d'oeuvres and dessert for the friends who drop in?  Who else can negotiate with insurgents to rescue an ill-fated art project from the grips of devious younger siblings?  Encounter and restore order to a flooded laundry room and fix an unintentionally broken lamp?  In my Robin world, this is a typical Monday night, but it is my Batman moments that provide the fuel.

I love being Robin, riding along in my husband and children's sidecars, championing all their efforts to move forward, but when I also see myself as Batman, with my husband and children riding along in my sidecar, I'm happier -- so much happier -- and not coincidentally, a much better Robin.

Will you put on the cape?

Be your own Batman?

How does your perspective change when you think of yourself as both Robin and Batman?  Mary and Martha?

As you about brushing up on your Batman skills, what will you do differently?  If you are currently in Batman shape, but moving into Robin territory, what will you do to hang on to Batman?

After you leave a comment here (for the $75 gift certificate), click through to Alyson's blog to read about Alyson's most recent Batman and Robin feat. 

Stephanie Soper: Portrait of an Artist

Stephanie Soper grew up in Rhode Island, and currently lives in Washington D.C. where she does intuitively-guided emotional healing.  Previously she was an education consultant, which included leading a project for the State Department's Office of Overseas Schools that designed standards for the American overseas schools.  Her three childhood dreams were to be telepathic, an artist and to be a doctor.  Though not a doctor, she does help people heal.  With the addition of her newly-revived habit of painting, she is living out all three of her dreams.

Once you've heard Stephanie tell her story, will you leave a comment?  You will be eligible for the $75 spa gift certificate AND give the gift of listening - is there a better gift?

I've been ruminating on the idea of daring to dream in the weeks since I first encountered Whitney's website.  It made intuitive sense to say dare to dream instead of just dream, but I kept wondering why dreaming requires daring. Seems like a thing we all do naturally, right?

I also thought about Janna Taylor, who has guest blogged here.  I've watched Janna's own dreams (and her accompanying fears) unfold over the last two years. There's been daring in what she's doing. It's been thrilling to watch, but I haven't been sure I had the nerve to do the same.  Janna introduced me to this site because she knew I was trying to start painting after a long time of avoiding it (about fifteen years) and was trying to make a go of my home business.  I thought the home business was the big issue for me, but it's turned out to be my painting that has really taken some daring.

Besides Janna, I've been fortunate to have in my life two other friends, Jan and Michaela, who have steadily 'noodged' me back to painting, which is my dream. They, in turn, have been trying out, but dancing around, their own dreams of becoming published writers.  They are both so gifted that it seems ridiculous to even imagine that they might not succeed if they brought their dreams to life. But I also know how horrifyingly natural it can be to sabotage one's own dreams.

A few weeks ago, while Michaela and I were on the phone telling each other yet again that we REALLY SHOULD paint/write, we simultaneously had this 'feeling' that we should promise each other to write (her) and paint (me) for three hours each week and report on our work each Thursday afternoon.  Miraculously, making a commitment to one another has worked; we have now checked in with each other four weeks in a row.  She has a story nearly finished, and I've completed one new painting, finished three that have been half-done for forever, and started a new one today.  It's been about more than painting and writing, though -- it's been about figuring out our fears and stepping through them.

I finally finished two works that put out in public view my grief over not having had children (I'm 49, not yet married, childless, and Mormon -- not an easy combination).  More to the point though, these paintings made ME acknowledge my own grief.  I think that part was harder.  

The first painting is a forest along the banks of a river.  I knew it was missing something, but didn't know what.  About a year ago, I figured out that it was little ghost babies, the five babies I'd always wanted, and that the river was a River of Tears of Grief.  I couldn't make myself paint those babies until last week.  The other is called The Offspring; it has similar themes.  Finishing these paintings has been surprisingly liberating.

Both of them were done in the medium I'm comfiest with -- temperas.  Tempera paint (basically the poster paint we used in kindergarten) has saturated, brilliant, opaque color.  It's cheap and it dries fast so you get quick satisfaction.

  

But the real reason I use temperas is to avoid oils.  Using oils always seemed like a real commitment to painting; it means saying I am an artist, not just that I do a little painting.  And wow, have I avoided that. 

About a decade ao, I bought a gorgeous collection of little oil paint tubes, a palette, brushes, turpenoid, the works.  They went untouched until today, when I finally used them.  I had to wrench the caps with pliers to get them unstuck (kind of metaphor, I guess).  I half hoped they were too dried out to use, but alas, they were still fresh and I had no excuse to avoid.

The result?

I did a so-so job with the painting, and I'm almost unbelievably ok with that and am willing to keep trying.  For a perfectionist's eldest daughter who's used to success at everything I'm willing to try because I so carefully avoid doing what I think might end in failure, this is a titanic shift in perspective.   The dare part of dare to dream came alive.  I was well into work on a canvas when I decided it was too big.  OK, I made a wrong choice -- not a big deal.  (But thinking not a big deal WAS a big deal).

I began again on a smaller canvas and made a fresher-looking drawing.  It looks like it's just a sailboat far from the shore; in fact it's a metaphor for my capacity and willingness to sail in deep emotional waters, to become my whole self.

Because oils take so long to dry, all I have to show right now is the rough undercoats that look, frankly, dreadful.  And yet it feels OK that it's a work in progress.  

OK that it's not perfect.  

OK to put this on the web where it will be seen in its way-less-than-perfect state.

OK that I'm doing something that I really want to do, even though I'm not very good at, and that after all the work that lies ahead, I may still not like it.

OK to have to learn instead of starting out as an expert.

This -- for me -- takes daring.

***

In the post Listening to and Learning from... I mentioned the importance of our bearing witness to another's grief.  I am honored, and hope you are, that Stephanie would choose us -- our community -- as a safe place where she could talk of her grief.  You may say -- it's not us -- but that's not true. Were your comments not so insightful, supportive, and generous, she would not have shared her work with us.  I believe that. 

The systergy that Stephanie experienced was crucial to her moving forward.  Is there something we want to do, that making a commitment to another trusted friend will become our pivot point?

In one of our e-mail exchanges, Stephanie remarked, "now that I'm painting, I feel like I can breathe again."  Her answer as to why she feels this way is broadly applicable:  "I often catch myself holding my breath [before I sit down to paint], but when I do finally settle down, I feel my whole body and mind relax, and I flow, and breathe.  On a deeper level, I think there is a connection to prana, the breath of life, that by the act of non-painting, I deny life itself.  When I paint, I become whole again.  This wholeness is not just the painting, but the sense of joy and peace I feel.  I shift from part-me to whole-me."

Is there any piece of your self that it is time to bring back to life?