dare to dream

When a dream dies

My first pregnancy had been SO easy.

First try.  Pregnant.  Not a day of morning sickness.

And notwithstanding the fact that I'd had my son the old-fashioned way because no anesthesiologists were on hand when I arrived at the hospital, his birth was also easy.

Two years later, I was ready to have another baby.

I'd get pregnant in late August; an early summer baby wouldn't interfere with my busy time at work, and allow me to enjoy a summer off.

Baby number two -- coming right up.

Easy peasy.

©iStockphoto.com/RonTech2000

Until I miscarried.

I was only one month along.  No big deal - I told myself.

But it was a big deal.

My body and world were reshaping, welcoming new possibilities -- I was going to have another baby.

And then I wasn't.

***

Several months ago, one of my girlfriends' dreams derailed.

Oddly enough, I immediately thought of a miscarriage.

Perhaps we've hoped and planned, planned and hoped.  Perhaps the dream was borne of necessity as was my friend's.

As we dare to dream, we are preparing to birth a new piece of our self.

Something wonderful is going to be.

But sometimes the dream dies.

And we are sad -- very sad.

Do we eventually make meaning of the experience, tell our story?

Yes.

Do we try to have another baby, dare again to dream?

Yes.

In the meantime, do we need to grieve?

Yes.

I'm trying to -- I hope you will too.

Related posts:
Morning sickness metaphor
Google lesson on dreams vs. expectations
Tell your story
Soundtrack story:  Career, motherhood and 9/11

Scribble Press: Helping our children tell their story

When I was in Mexico last month, my friend David Luhnow told me about his sister-in-law Anna's store Scribble Press, a place where children can write, illustrate and publish their very own books.

Why was I so taken by their concept?

Because Scribble Press helps us help our children move to the center of their story.

To dream, not deflect -- to be the hero.

For example, Anna shared with me that several children had recently made meaning of their adoption by writing and illustrating books that were then bound before their eyes.

What events do your children need to make meaning of?

What do you need to make meaning of?

If you are going to be in Los Angeles this summer, and want to encourage your children to be the hero of their story, then run, don't walk, to Scribble Press.

In the meantime, take a moment to go to kirtsy and click through on the link Scribbling our children's way to self-esteem. I can't think of a better way to say Atta Girls -- Darcy and Anna!

Related posts:
NY Times: This is if your life (And how you tell it)
Dreaming or deflecting?
Children and the call to adventure
Soundtracks: Finding our voice, telling our story
It takes courage to tell our stories

If you get defensive, you're getting close

Several months ago, my friend Kathleen Stone introduced me to Manhattan entrepreneur Janna Taylor. Knowing of Janna's pedigree and track record, I was surprised to read that she had initially been defensive when people suggested she open her own tutoring business.

I had unequivocally believed that if people saw possibilities for us that we couldn't ourselves see, we would readily and gratefully embrace these possibilities. Yet as I reflected on my own life, I found that this has not always been the case.

BUT, here's what I've discovered -- the more defensive I become, the closer I am to identifying my dream.

With Janna having pinpointed defensiveness as a bane, but especially a boon, to daring to dream, I've asked her to 'tell her story'.

May you be as encouraged as I was.

In fall 2007, I opened Mind Full Tutors, a tutoring company located on the upper east side of Manhattan. Even though starting a tutoring business had been my dream for several years, I resisted pursuing it like a stubborn mule.

Prior to receiving a Master's of Education at Harvard, I'd helped build a successful tutoring company. But when I graduated, I took a job working for a non-profit teacher education program with no plan to start a tutoring business. Even though my work for the non-profit was meaningful, I was unhappy. The job responsibilities did not play to my strengths and were far from the “action” of educating students.

When I complained to friends about my job, many responded with, “When are you going to start your tutoring company?” Each time, I met this encouragement with defensive responses such as, “There is no way I can do that,” “I can’t even think about that right now” and “Maybe someday…I don’t know.”

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I have wondered -- why was I defensive?

Firstly, I was protecting my heart. I fervently wanted this dream to be a reality. But to pursue the dream would be to expose it to possible failure. I wondered if my heart could bear the disappointment.

Secondly, I was deflecting guilt for not acting authentically. I knew in my bones that part of living authentically was to start my own tutoring company. Because I knew it was going to be difficult and risky, I resisted.

These two factors blinded me to the possibility of success.

After several more months of job dissatisfaction, I decided to take a chance on what my friends and family could see, and what I had lost sight of. I wrote a business plan and five months later opened Mind Full Tutors. When I shared this news with my loved ones, all of the responses were akin to, “Finally!”

So what were my friends seeing that I wasn’t?

My friends saw an open road to success, where I saw barricades and roadblocks. They saw abilities, where I saw deficiencies. They saw, “Why not?” and I saw, “Because…” They saw my need to live with passion and purpose, and I saw a need to compromise because of fear.

I’ve learned that others can play an important role in anchoring us to our dreams. They remind us of what we can and are meant to accomplish in this life. While it is true that some people can detract us from our dreams, those who know us the best often see us for what we are – women of great ability and purpose.

Mind Full Tutors has been in business for almost a year now. My heart feels alive and I know that I am making difference in the world every day – one student at a time.

How would your loved ones respond if you asked them, “What do you see is my dream? And what qualities and abilities do I possess to make my dream a reality?”

Have ever felt defensive when someone mentions you should fulfill your dream? If so, why?

Have you ever fulfilled a, “Finally!” dream?

Related posts:

Play to your strengths
Rock climbing and rethinking our competence
What is your dream?
Why we tell our story
Walking through the unknown

Getting in the game

I went to a Celtics game last week -- my first actually.

I was neither a player, nor a cheerleader, but a spectator. 

But you know, I didn't feel like a spectator.

Perhaps because my friend Kim had purchased four tickets at the East End House's Cooking for a Cause benefit, and invited two up-and-coming professional women, and myself, along.  There is something empowering about paying our own way.  Remember the Destiny Child's song, all the honeys making money, throw your hands up at me?  Well, I'm throwing my hands up at Kim.

Then there were the remarkably short lines in the women's bathrooms, a metaphor, odd as it may seem, that women still aren't contributing as they could in the workplace.  Beth Peterson of life as a hero made the comment some weeks back that getting in the game can be so much easier, when someone invites us, and then shows us how, to play.  Being the oldest of the four women, I certainly hope that I am doing my share of inviting and teaching...

The winning shot of the evening was the systergy, the connecting and collaborating, as we discussed our career aspirations, and the challenge of balancing work, family, church, and life.

None of us were cheerleaders, nor were we any of us dribbling the ball down the court.

But we were cheering one another on -- and playing ball.

Spectators -- yes.

But in all the important ways, we were players in the game.

Our game.

Related posts:
The hazards of 'getting in the game'
Throw down your pom-poms
A down payment on our dream
Do you need to do-it-yourself?
Soundtracks:  finding our voice, telling our story

Soundtracks: finding our voice, telling our story

Before I list the songs that comprise my current top five (for my top 40s), may I share with you some of the 'dare to dream' lessons learned from this six-part series 'Tell your soundtrack story'?

1)  Re-listening to beloved childhood music helps us become the hero of our story

As I re-listened to music I loved as a girl, I remembered (I really had forgotten) that I once LOVED making music, playing the piano in particular.  Which is why my recently volunteering/being asked to play the piano every Sunday for the children at our church is such a gift; I'm rediscovering the making of music, and taking back something that I loved.  I'm even toying with trying to compose a children's song.  Any lyricists or poets among you?

As you listen to music from the time in your life when you still knew you were Rachel (see Thank Heaven for Little Rachels below), what do you remember about who and how you wanted to be?  How can this remembering help you to be the hero of your story?

2)  Are any of the songs/musicans we loved as teenagers the keepers of our dreams?

In his book 'This is Your Brain on Music', Daniel Levitin writes "Safety plays a role for a lot of us in choosing music...To an extent, we surrender to music when we listen to it -- we allow ourselves to trust the composers and musicians with a part of our hearts and spirits."  (see Soundtrack Story:  Career, Motherhood and 9/11 below)  Remember how each of my soundtracks had a song that I labeled as my 'imagine and explore' songs, from 'Everybody wants to be a Cat', 'Play that Funky Music White Boy' to 'Smooth'?

As you re-listen to music you loved as a teenager, is it accurate to say that these songs felt safe to you?  What did you aspire to be or do that you couldn't share with others, but shared with the musicians you listened to?  Is it time to take this piece of our selves back?

3)  Soundtracks tell the story of finding our voice

It is interesting to me that I loved Helen Reddy's 'I am Woman' thirty years ago, but it is striking that my 'girl power' songs have evolved from the myth of Psyche's head-butting to fleece-gathering 'girl power' (see Second Thoughts on Psyche's 2nd Task below) whether India.Arie or Zap Mama's songs.

What will your soundtrack say about the finding of your voice?

Virtual Insanity -- In the spring of 2005, just weeks prior to my leaving Merrill Lynch, I was in Holland in the back of yet another cab.  Jamiroquai's 'Virtual Insanity' came on the radio.  I was so taken with the music, I asked the driver to turn the volume up really loud.  This song, more than any other, reminds me of the thrill of imagining and exploring and then daring.

Sweetest Someone that I Know -- It wasn't until my husband and I had been married for over 20 years that I heard a song that pinpointed how I feel about him.  It is fitting that this song came from the mind and heart and voice of Stevie Wonder.  It also reminds me that when we as women undertake the hero's journey, the journey only has meaning if it helps us be happy at home.

Miss Q'In - Love the music.  Love the lyrics more.  Zap Mama distills into one song my hope for me and for all women -- that we may travel far and wide, seeking to be a princess, but eventually we will realize that what we want is to be 'me'.  Such a Rachel, learning-to-be-the-hero-of-our-story, song.

For Good -- I've written extensively on this song (see Why I Like Wicked below), but at its most basic this is my systergy song.  It always reminds me how happy and grateful I am to have so many women with whom I can share the dreaming and daring.

Beautiful Flower --  India.Arie is herself a huge admirer of Stevie Wonder.  Yet another Rachel, myth of Psyche song.  For more details, see the 'A Song to dream by' below.

P.S.  One of my runner-up songs is Tamyra Gray's Ha Ha.  This song gives utterance to the anger that I, and perhaps you, sometimes feel when what we want to give the world isn't received.  (Note too that I was only willing to give it runner-up status -- some interesting psychology there no doubt).  I've got a lot of thoughts about why anger is our friend.  Another day.

Related posts:

Thank Heaven for little Rachels

Soundtrack story:  Career, motherhood and 9/11

Second Thoughts on Psyche's 2nd Task

Why I Liked Wicked

A Song to dream by:  Beautiful Flower

Soundtrack story: Career, motherhood and 9/11

In his book This is Your Brain on Music, Daniel Levitin, a rocker-turned neuroscientist, explores the connection between music and our brain, providing some interesting insights on why we love the music we do.

In particular, Levitin helped me understand why Stevie Wonder, who made his way on to my soundtrack as a pre-teen, was still on my soundtrack during my 30s, the decade of launching a career and learning to mother.

He writes, "teenage years are emotionally charged years of self-discovery. Because of the emotional component of these years, our amygdala (the seat of emotion in our brain) and neurotransmitters (transmitters of information from the brain to other parts of the body) act in concert to 'tag' these musical memories as something important."

What kinds of music and which artists did you love as a teenager? Now in your 20s, 30's, 40s, 50's, or 60s, do you listen to similar music?

Isn't She Lovely -- Stevie Wonder composed 'Isn't She Lovely' when his daughter Aisha was born. I loved listening to this song as a teenager, cradling my newborns to it as an adult. It is a song that gave utterance for me -- and no doubt millions -- the importance of connectedness and caring.

Smooth -- Definitely the 'imagine and explore' song in the mix. Not surprisingly this yearning plays out for me via Latin music.

Fragile -- Having read Levitin's work, it's fascinating to me that the Police who were so popular during my relatively carefree college days, could capture the sadness, the grief at innocence lost on 9/11. Gratefully, I wasn't in my World Financial Center office to witness the horror firsthand, but I needed (as we all did) to eventually grieve. It was in a taxi, on my way into Manhattan, listening to Sting's Fragile, some weeks later, when I finally cried.

Diggin' your scene -- Smashmouth's ode to the fictional Sydney Bristow on Alias. As Psyche would have acknowledged, Sydney was about connecting and caring AND daring and dreaming. As a 30-something trying to marry these two, Sydney Bristow was my archetypal gal. Smashmouth says it all.

For those of you who want to explore musical intelligence (as defined by Howard Gardner), you will no doubt find Levitin's book interesting. Levitin also observes that if you want to be a great musician, or great at anything for that matter, practice -- not talent -- makes for virtuosos.

If you'd like to test Levitin's premise that we hardwire our musical preference as teenagers, check out www.pandora.com, a music genome project, which allows you to specify a song you like, and via the matching of that song's DNA to the DNA of other songs, make recommendations. For example, knowing of my fondness for Stevie Wonder, I wasn't surprised that I instantly liked the Brand New Heavies.

Related posts:
Tell your soundtrack story: Self-discovery and setting the musical dial
Seeing with new eyes
Soundtrack story: High school, cheerleading and finding true love
What I've learned by identifying my heros
Asking and answering the big questions

Tell your soundtrack story: College, culmination of childhood dreams

If you are here for the first time, you may want to skim through Tell your soundtrack story:  Part I before reading further.

Important music during my 20's seems to largely represent the culmination of childhood dreams, prior to pursuing different dreams.  I've tried to capture this experience in a children's book which Mallika Sundaramurthy has illustrated; I will share the book with you at a later date.

Clip 1:  I am playing Lizst's, Concert Etude in D-flat Major, "Un sospiro" as part of my senior piano recital (for my posterity -- entire program is below).  This recital was a significant milestone: it allowed me to be the hero of my story, rethink my competence, and tell an audio story for my posterity.  It was also a stepping stone, as I symbolically closed the chapter on a childhood dream, prior to starting my career chapter in New York.  I owe a debt to Dr. Paul Pollei for pushing me and preparing me to pull this off -- a huge debt.  A reminder of the importance of our mentoring others.

Clip 2:  I am playing the piano, but this time as part of Brigham Young University's big band Synthesis performing at the renowned Montreux Jazz Festival.  Even a short listen will reveal I don't have the same confidence playing jazz as I do classical.  But in some ways, I am even more proud of this recording because it signalled a departure from reading music to improvising, providing me with another opportunity to rethink my competence.

Two more lessons learned as it relates to 'dare to dream'.

Saying our dream out loud -- As a freshman classical piano student, when I heard Synthesis perform which included Sam Cardon and Kurt Bestor, I later made the pronoucement in front of a large group of women at my church (the Relief Society) that I was going to play in Synthesis.  Given my skills at the time, the pronouncement was pretty laughable.  What dream do you need to utter out loud?

Mentors were key to achieving this dream -- Without my piano teacher, Steve Erickson, who now plays with the U.S. Air Force, and the encouragement of Jeff Campbell, an amazing musican who now teaches at the Eastman School of Music, who was gracious enough to never remind me just what an amateur I was.

Clip 3:  Nancy Wilson with Cannonball Adderley performing The Old Country.  This was the kind of music I aspired to play, and still love to listen to.  You can buy here. And listen below.

Clip 4:  I've written extensively about my Wall Street story, but I haven't spoken much of my spiritual/personal life during that decade.  Eternal Day was set to music by D. Fletcher, performed by D. Fletcher on piano, Alison Eldredge on cello, and Ariel Bybee, vocals.  When you hear it, perhaps you'll understand how church every Sunday was always complete with D. Fletcher at the organ with nary a word spoken. . For more on spiritual journeys, you may want to read Neylan McBaine's article, Seeds of faith in city soil.

Do you have spiritual or secular stories that need to be told?  And better yet, stories that marry the two?

P.S. Thank you to Neal Robison for helping me with the clips. Check out the blog of his darling wife Macy.

Related posts:

Tell your soundtrack story:  Part II

Tell your soundtrack story:  Part III

Giant baby steps

Telling my Wall Street story

Boston Globe Op-Ed:  Romney, Mormons and Me

A is for Amy's choice: Full-time mothering

After reading my post about Stephenie Meyer's Twilight Series, Amy Sorensen and I exchanged several e-mails in which Amy shared that her dream right now is to do precisely what she's chosen to do: be a full-time mother. She shares her story below:

Almost a month ago Whitney asked me to guest blog and in the midst of the holidays I put it off and then after the big holiday push my grandfather died and I flew to Boise to celebrate his passing with my parents, aunts and uncles and cousins I haven'€™t seen in forever. It truly was a beautiful celebration, my grandfather was 95 years old and ready to die. We laughed over stories about his garden and the menacing squirrels and it was nice to be with family.

Amy's twin Chris, photo courtesy of Amy Sorensen

It has taken me several weeks to figure out what to say here and how to say it. Whitney asked if I would tell a little about myself and my dream journey. I grew up in Las Vegas, NV, finished my degree in communication studies from UNLV and met my husband, an officer in the Air Force, by the time I was twenty-five. We both wanted a family so shortly after we were married I found out I was pregnant. I was excited and scared and nervous. I was a journalist and publicist for a small publishing company in Vegas and I was worried about what I knew I would do next. I knew that I would leave the professional world behind and become a mom. I knew it would be hard, and it is. I am a dirty and tired mommy most days; I'€™m a taxi driver and a librarian and a teacher. I was a military wife and now I am a student wife with my husband working on his masters. I play and have played so many roles.

When I started reading Whitney's blog I thought what is my big dream? Was my big dream to be a journalist and did I let that slip by? I am a dreamer by nature, I like to think of all the things I could do, all the avenues I could take. I could do so many things. And as I have thought about this precious gift of life I have been given I realized that I am already living my big dream. For me the big dream is to have children who are mostly well adjusted, happy and successful. I want a relationship with my husband that will last and that we will enjoy being together even after 50 years of marriage. For me the best way to achieve these goals is to be at home. I can do whatever I want. I choose this dream; this is the most important thing for me right now.

I could be that writer and I do photography as a paid hobby, Thanks Whitney for encouraging me to have multiple dreams and to follow them. I started a blog and I have started a small business taking family pictures and shooting special events. But even in working with my photography I am still the mom, and the most important thing to me is to be the mom.

Amy's children, photo courtesy of Amy Sorensen

With the military we have moved from Las Vegas to Southern Georgia to Central Massachusetts and back west to Utah to attend school. And I am the constant in my children'€™s life and I enjoy being that. I figure someday I'll get the opportunity to go to New York and work at a magazine and someday I'll get to go on photo shoots to remote locations and spend hours just taking pictures. But right now I am living my first dream to be the mother of my children.

Please do take a moment to re-read the Pew Research Center post which I've flagged below. Why do you think we don't do a better job of acknowledging and affirming our own decisions as well as those of others?

Do you see in Amy's decision a hero's journey as outlined by Psyche? Especially Psyche's first task -- the sorting of the seeds?

Have you noticed how Amy is already harnessing her passion for photography in service of her feminine impulse to connect and collaborate?

I would encourage you to click into Amanda DeCardy's blog, an 8th grade teacher in Shanghai, in which she she also affirms her love of mothering. And of course there's Jane Clayson Johnson's book, I am a Mother.

Finally, for those of you that have had the chance to read Jean Shinoda Bolen's Goddesses in Everywoman, which archetype do you believe most closely aligns with the dream of mothering?

Related posts:
Pew Research Center's "Fewer Mothers Prefer Full-Time Work"
Mothering matters
Psyche's 1st Task -- Sort the seeds
It takes courage to tell our stories
iPhone iNeed

Boston Globe Op-Ed: Romney, Mormons and Me

I hesitated to publish my Boston Globe op-ed piece in 'dare to dream'. But isn't an essay about political and religious identity a chapter in the telling of our story?

Related posts:

Exploring possibilities and presidential politics

Why we are skeptical of Hillary Clinton

Why we tell our story

Making meaning in Malawi

Morning sickness metaphor

Elizabeth Crook's The Night Journal

The Night Journal by Elizabeth Crook has me asking a lot of questions about the telling of our story.

Here's a synopsis from the back cover:

Meg Mabry has always felt oppressed by her family's legendary past. In the 1890's her great-grandmother Hannah Bass wrote revealing diaries of her life on the southwestern frontier, Hannah's daughter published these accounts, creating an American literary landmark, and cementing her career as a renowned historian in the process.

Meg, however, in rebellion against the imperious Bassie, has refused until now to read her great-grandmother's journals. But when the elderly Bassie returns to New Mexico, Meg concedes to accompany her--and soon everything they believed about the family is turned upside down.

Some observations, and many, many questions:

1) It had never occurred to me that one could be oppressed by a family's legendary past given that the past of my family isn't legendary.

Does this mean that if we 'tell the story' of achieving our dreams, our daughters will view this story as a burden rather than a gift?

2) As a follow-on, because my college degree is from a 2nd-tier university, it hadn't occurred to me that someone with an MBA from one of the world's foremost universities could feel pressure, as does one of my girlfriends, to make something of her life.

When our dream doesn't directly build on our own impressive past, will we give ourselves permission to pursue our dream, trusting that our seemingly unrelated skills will eventually come into play?

3) As The Night Journal unfolds, we find that Hannah Bass' legendary past was only part of the story. The Night Journal is the proverbial 'rest of the story.' It is only when Meg learns the whole story, the true story, that Hannah's story becomes a gift.

With the proliferation of blogs, do we risk telling a story that is so glammed up that our posterity will fail to know our true story?

As we give voice to our experiences, they do gain power, but do they influence lives for good or ill? Inspire or oppress?

***
Barbara Torris comments on this post in her blog entry Telling children the truth?, asking some of her own questions. Thank you Barbara!

Related posts:
Tell your story
Telling my Wall Street story
Doorsteps, doors and dreams
Making meaning in Malawi
Children and the call to adventure

Tell your soundtrack story: High school, cheerleading and finding true love

In analyzing my teenage 'tell your story' soundtrack, I observed a thing or two about myself. Not so much the need for story edits, but definitely some insights, clues as to what I might want to think about as I write my story into the future.

But more on that later.

As you scan this iMix, you'll see that, as a teenager, daring to dream for me was largely about becoming a cheerleader and finding true love. Piano and grades had become inconsequential, and angst was now on the scene: so much of living gets compressed into those four years.

Which songs best tell the story of your teenage years? What do your song choices say about your emerging and shifting priorities as you moved out of childhood?

Nature Boy -- Nat King Cole's music bound me to my grandparents (first heard his music at my grandparents' home) and parents (my mom heard him live in San Francisco before he died), even as I began to individuate. I think this song put to music some of the sadness of those years -- thrilled to be growing up. And not.

Still the One -- In 8th grade, I went to see the Castillero Jr. High songgirls perform. After watching these pretty, and seemingly popular, girls perform to this song, I knew I wanted to be just like them.

Play That Funky Music -- At the first school dance I remember attending, the DJ played this song, and I reveled in the abandon. (I don't know about you, but I am intrigued by the fact that at every age there have been songs that remind me just how much I longed to imagine and explore.)

Always and Forever -- Being in love, and having my heart broken, for the first time. Ironic that I chose a tune which referred to 'always' and 'forever'.

Can't Hide Love -- Though the song makes me so, so happy today, as a 16 year-old, 'Can't Hide Love' always made me think of two boys (they don't know it of course) to whom I had given my heart.

Related posts:
Tell your soundtrack story: Part I
Tell your soundtrack story: Part II
What I've learned by identifying my heros
imagine and Explore
Getting gratitude

P.S. Because I need to figure out a technical thing or two, look for the the second half of my soundtrack story in January.

Tell your soundtrack story: Pre-teen, Stevie Wonder on the scene

Definitely, definitely consider creating a musical mix for your children, grandchildren.

As I pull together these songs, limiting myself to only five songs (constraints can be a good thing), I am not only sharing the highlights of my soundtrack story, I am finding that I'm re-writing certain portions -- edits can be a very good thing.

But more on that later.

Without further ado, here is Part II, memorable songs from my pre-teen years:

I Woke Up in Love This Morning -- My crush on David Cassidy was so HUGE. I still have a picture of myself standing by a poster of him in my bedroom. And, as I've shared previously, it was remarkable to me that Shirley Jones could be an ingenue AND a mother.

I am Woman -- We would listen to Helen Reddy on an 8-track player as my mom would taxi me to ice skating. I LOVED taking ice skating lessons; gliding over the ice I felt such my sense of self surge. In hindsight, I'm laughing that I liked this song so much; my desire to affirm 'us girls' seems to have started at the tender age of 10-11.

Come, Come Ye Saints -- Singing this hymn always moved me, an homage to both my spiritual heritage and family roots, especially of my pioneer ancestors that settled southern Arizona.

Don't you Worry 'Bout a Thing -- My lifetime love affair with all things Spanish/Latin America began at an early age, with my birth actually: my children even think that we are part Spanish. But not sure why I have such a love for the music of Stevie Wonder. Perhaps because his lyrics give utterance to my deepest feelings/longings in a way that few musicians can and do.

Ease on Down the Road -- Another happy, carefree song, that encourages me to imagine and explore, to face my fear.

Related posts:

Tell your Soundtrack Story: Part I
What I've Learned by identifying my heros
Finding our Reality in reality TV
Asking and answering the big questions
Rock climbing and rethinking our competence

Tell your soundtrack story: Of childhood and Christmas

Have you ever wondered:

What if my great grandmother had bequeathed to me an iPod (suspend your disbelief for a moment) with songs that had inspired her?

What if she had annotated her musical mix with a sentence or two saying why these songs had been meaningful to her?

In short, what if she had told her story with a soundtrack to her life?

On the odds that I will someday be a great grandmother, and because I do have an iPod, I hereby bequeath to my children Part I of my soundtrack story (thanks to iMix), the music which inspired me as a child, as well as my best-loved Christmas songs.

What songs were most meaningful to you as a child? Why?

Which Christmas songs do you cherish?

What if you were to create your own iMix and e-mail it to your children and grandchildren as a last minute Christmas gift?

Do-re-mi -- The Sound of Music, which I saw for the first time at San Jose's domed Century theaters next to the Winchester Mystery House, was the catalyst for my playing the piano. I still remember plunking out 'do -- a deer, a female deer' when I was three. Given that I have only two memories from when I was three, need I say more?

Melody -- I played this by Robert Schumann at my first piano recital, around the age of 7. I loved to play the piano; playing well nurtured my growing sense of self.

Six Grande Etudes after Paganinni -- My family listened to Andre Watts almost every Sunday; as an 8-9 year old, hearing Watts play (and also seeing him in concert) encouraged my dream of becoming a concert pianist.

Abide with Me, 'Tis Eventide -- As I sat in our chapel on Cherry Street late one Sunday afternoon, the singing of this hymn, stirred deep spiritual feelings within me. It is the first memory of this kind.

Everybody Wants To Be a Cat -- The Aristocats was so real to my 8 year-old self. This particular song was rowdy, and happy, and tapped into a creative impulse which manifested itself in my sister and I making up dances. Remember the kind: carefree, uninhibited dances that only young children are capable of doing.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year -- Whenever I heard Andy Williams belting out this song, the Christmas season had officially begun.

Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker -- My mother took my sister and I to San Francisco every year to see the Nutcracker when I was growing up. Even today, I thrill at the music which accompanies the Christmas tree growing and growing and growing. It was pure magic!

Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas -- I could have chosen the entire Carpenters' Christmas Portrait, but this song best recalls the occasional longing I felt for home as a 21 year-old on a mission in Uruguay.

Vince Guaraldi's 'Oh Tannenbaum' -- If there is an album that most recalls our happy decade in Manhattan, it's this one. And because I still daydream about becoming Diana Krall's younger sister (musically speaking), 'Oh Tannenbaum' is one of my favorites.

I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day -- Definitely my favorite Christmas song. When I sing "God is not dead, nor doth he sleep", my heart swells with gratitude for the birth and life and death of Jesus Christ.

Related posts:

NY Times: This is your life (and how you tell it)
Your very own song?
It takes courage to tell our stories
Triangulating on our story
A quote to dream by: Robert Atkinson

Why we tell our story

Will you enjoy with me a poem by Carol Lynn Pearson?

Titled 'Journal', it beautifully captures one of the many reasons we tell our story.

Journal

Put the thought
In words
And the words in ink
In a page in a book
In a very private place
Like under a mattress.

A sacred process
Wonderful as alchemy
Is at work
Even in the dark
While you sleep
Making something better
Than history:

Understanding.

Related posts:

A poem to dream by: Carol Lynn Pearson
Fields of love
It takes courage to tell our stories
Mourning Virginia Tech
Storytellers wanted

It takes courage to tell our stories

It is sounds so easy.

When we suffer loss, if we'll talk of our loss with others, we'll more quickly work through, and learn lessons, from the loss.

That's what psychologists who study trauma say.

A different set of psychologists -- those who study women in our society -- say that talking of our sadness, mourning out loud, if you will, requires us to appear vulnerable, needy even.

Which we are loathe to do.

So, we need to talk, but we don't.

Which is why two blogs I read this week were so moving.

Macy Robison, wrote of the loss of her mother, in Mom, while Jennifer Judd-McGee, reluctantly talked of her stepbrother's death, in an entry titled bittersweet.

After you listen to -- and bear witness -- to their stories, will you take a moment to thank them for their courage?

What story of loss have you yet to articulate, to make meaning of?

Related posts:

Tell your story
Storytime by Ashley Goldberg
Three cheers for oxytocin
Making meaning in Malawi
Handicrafts for the hero's journey

Making meaning in Malawi

It is time to make space for another voice -- a lovely voice.

Belle Liang (who I met through my friend Jane -- go systergy!) is a professor at Boston College, and an expert on youth mentoring. In 2006, Belle's students launched an outreach website Generation Pulse, a place where high school and college-age students can come to discover their pulse, their who they are, by telling their stories.

Belle and her husband David, an adult internist and pediatric physician, have for several years been involved in relief work, work that has shaped her "faith, vision and sense of purpose". In the below essay poem, Belle tells of her encounter with two Malawian newborns, one who dies, one who lives.

May you be as moved as I was.

beauty and death

Our minds spin with the contrasting images of Malawi.
The dirt roads, goats and dogs wandering, huts with thatched roofs,
the faces, sweet faces, some laughing, and watching us
others crying, looking away, quietly dying.
Most of all, I remember the singing voices of youth praising God
just like angels from heaven.

Two babies are born, perfect and pure.
Disease attacks and now they are dying,
the first one in the arms of her grandmother
who has very recently buried her daughter.

As we witness this mystery of suffering
we try to revive her AIDs stricken body.
We watch her chest rise and fall so deliberately
gasping her last breaths, at four in the morning,
she dies.

We are sick with despair as she fades away in this dark hospital
and her grandmother is all alone and cannot cry.

God, why?

And just as hope is fading,
the other baby arrives gasping her last breaths
but she lives.

Not only lives, God has special plans for her
to bring a doctor thousands of miles
to save her.

Oh what mercy and grace
that one tiny life counts.

And so we have no answers
just a veiled sense
that despair and hope live side by side.

There is a link between death and beauty
for it is the splendor of living that so ignites our mind's eye
that makes us more conscious of death.

It is despair in this place,
that causes us to long for,
and rejoice at Hope's arrival.

Just beautiful.

Thank you Belle.

What part of your life have you yet to make meaning of? What story is waiting to be told? Through word, music, painting, drawing?

Belle's story seems to be a metaphor for moving to a both/and mindset? What are your thoughts?

About Belle Liang
Belle Liang, an education professor at Boston College and a national expert on youth mentoring, is the author of numerous papers and several new measures for the study of qualities underlying growth-fostering peer, community and mentor relationships. In an upcoming book, First Do No Harm: A Call for Ethical Guidelines in Youth Mentoring (Harvard University Press), she and her colleagues synthesize the research on youth mentoring in ways that are accessible to practitioners not in academia.

Liang and her students also recently launched an award-winning Web outreach project created for and by young people called GenerationPulse that has received hundreds of submissions in its first year.

Telling my story to Pursue the Passion

Thanks to an introduction from Matt Langdon's The Hero Workshop, in early August I met with Brett Farmiloe and Zach Hubbell from Pursue the Passion. Both recent college grads, Brett and Zach have been on the road for 100+ days interviewing people who are passionate about their careers.

In embarking on their very own hero's journey, Brett et al were intrigued by the following two data points: Half the American workforce is not satisfied with their job, and only one-fifth apply passion toward their career.

When Brett interviewed me, he did what any good interviewer does; he asked good questions, and seemed genuinely interested in my story. If you'd like to read the blurb, and take a peek at the video clip, here it is. Then I'd be interested in your thoughts on the following:

Did you notice how the hero's journey of a man, differs from that of a woman?

If you were to be interviewed for 10 minutes about your story, what would you say?

Isn't it interesting that even in the U.S., there is still so much discontent? We may be placated, even pampered, but if we're not dreaming....

For any of you that read Of Corvettes and Porsches, you'll find the juxtaposition of that entry with this interview odd. My hope is that you'll take courage in my self-contradiction, that even as I am daring you to dream, and most of the time I do a pretty good job of walking my talk, I have my moments.

P.S. Off camera, I was able to ask Brett and Zach about their dreams. Their moxie is impressive: a dream, and a few dollars, and they were off.

My friend's daughter will go away to college next year.

Her daughter is bright, hard-working, well-rounded, and could have gone pretty much anywhere, but elected to go to Brigham Young University (my alma mater, by the way), a university that many would consider a second-tier 'safety' school.

The decision has been tough for both.

For Daughter, because she wants Mom to be proud, and the 'safety' school wasn't Mom's first choice.

Source: Growing, Growing by Ashley G

For Mom -- for all moms -- I wonder if it's tough because we are afraid, feel fear?

The fear that we inevitably feel at the start of a hero's journey as we prepare to walk through the unknown?

Except that when it's our children, not us, the fear is heightened because we desperately want them to become more of who they are, and yet we realize that because it is their journey, not ours, we are supposed to be bystanders.

And could it be that this fear makes it nearly impossible for parents not to try and tell their children where to go, what to be?

Knowing my friend and her daughter, had Mom insisted, required, even simply asked Daughter to go to a different school, Daughter would have.

Mom wanted to ask -- oh, how she wanted to.

But she didn't.

She instead courageously walked into her unknown, so that her daughter can walk into hers, and be the hero of her story.

In this unknown, Daughter -- and Mom too -- will no doubt find more of who they are.

Why else might it be difficult to send our children off on their journey?

Could it be possible that our children have become our dream keepers, and so we've become attached to a specific outcome for their lives -- Do you remember the NY Times article about Esther Mobley, and Susan Minot's Evening?

Why does allowing our children to walk through their unknown, allow us to walk through ours?

Pop Quiz:

What percentage of dance students throughout the world are girls?

I'm going to guess 9 out of 10, or 90%.

How many of the teachers from L.A.'s inner-city schools that attended the So You Think You Can Dance (SYTYCD) workshop were women?

I'm estimating 7 out of 10, or 70%.

How many of the SYTYCD choreographers this season were women?

Roughly 4 out of 19, about 20%.

Of the eight choreographers invited to choose their favorite dance, how many were women?

1 in 8, or 12.5%.

Which of the dances did the judges regard as the most profoundly moving?

A dance choreographed by one of the women, Mia Michaels.

Some of you may say, Wake up Whitney, it's a man's world. Women would like to choreograph, to have a say within their professional community, but they just can't break in.

But, but, but... we're not talking about technology, we're talking about dance, a field in which women are trained to dance, to choreograph, to critique.

So I only buy part of this argument.

If we have a gift for and love to do something, and we don't pursue that something, don't we bear some responsibility for our not breaking in, breaking through, for allowing our Leah to remain in the building?

Choosing to be Rachel is not easy, at least not for me. I seem to ask Leah to leave nearly every day.

But when you and I make the choice to move away from Leah toward Rachel, just think of what we can do, what we can create, of the stories we will tell.

Stories like those told by Mia Michaels.

What do you have a gift for, that you love to do, that you aren't pursuing?

Why?

Do you really not want to, or is society telling you not to?

Writing about my heros (which you can find at the bottom of this post) was indeed revelatory. Here's why:

1) I was surprised by how much my heros have changed over time -- from Bewitched's Samantha to Peggy Noonan?

2) It was also interesting to observe that my childhood heros were imaginary. A reminder just how much children identify with the imaginary, magical world. I wonder too if I over-agonize about the quantity of television my children consume. I clearly watched television as a child, yet most would consider me a contributing member of society.

Who were your heros as a child? Who are they today? How have they changed?

2) My heros have played a greater role in who I've become than I would have predicted prior to this exercise.

Example A: The fact that I so admired Samantha and Shirley Partridge as a young girl makes it a lot less surprising that I care about mothering well, my many years of "not wanting to have kids yet" notwithstanding.

Given your current vantage point, anything about your childhood heros that surprises you?

Example B: I'm rather astonished that my interest in attending UCLA was piqued because of their cheerleaders; were it not for a providential fluke, I would be a UCLA graduate. Which leads me to wonder what other decisions I've made on the basis of who I admire. Perhaps more importantly, why did I admire them in the first place?

What about you? Any decisions that you've made that now surprise you given how little forethought went in to the decision?

Example C: If I consider a cheerleader a metaphor for a hero of support, I've observed that in some aspects of my life I've internalized this

Parenting and the hero's journey

My friend's daughter will go away to college next year.

Her daughter is bright, hard-working, well-rounded, and could have gone pretty much anywhere, but elected to go to Brigham Young University (my alma mater, by the way), a university that many would consider a second-tier 'safety' school.

The decision has been tough for both.

For Daughter, because she wants Mom to be proud, and the 'safety' school wasn't Mom's first choice.

Source: Growing, Growing by Ashley G

For Mom -- for all moms -- I wonder if it's tough because we are afraid, feel fear?

The fear that we inevitably feel at the start of a hero's journey as we prepare to walk through the unknown?

Except that when it's our children, not us, the fear is heightened because we desperately want them to become more of who they are, and yet we realize that because it is their journey, not ours, we are supposed to be bystanders.

And could it be that this fear makes it nearly impossible for parents not to try and tell their children where to go, what to be?

Knowing my friend and her daughter, had Mom insisted, required, even simply asked Daughter to go to a different school, Daughter would have.

Mom wanted to ask -- oh, how she wanted to.

But she didn't.

She instead courageously walked into her unknown, so that her daughter can walk into hers, and be the hero of her story.

In this unknown, Daughter -- and Mom too -- will no doubt find more of who they are.

Why else might it be difficult to send our children off on their journey?

Could it be possible that our children have become our dream keepers, and so we've become attached to a specific outcome for their lives -- Do you remember the NY Times article about Esther Mobley, and Susan Minot's Evening?

Why does allowing our children to walk through their unknown, allow us to walk through ours?

Pop Quiz:

What percentage of dance students throughout the world are girls?

I'm going to guess 9 out of 10, or 90%.

How many of the teachers from L.A.'s inner-city schools that attended the So You Think You Can Dance (SYTYCD) workshop were women?

I'm estimating 7 out of 10, or 70%.

How many of the SYTYCD choreographers this season were women?

Roughly 4 out of 19, about 20%.

Of the eight choreographers invited to choose their favorite dance, how many were women?

1 in 8, or 12.5%.

Which of the dances did the judges regard as the most profoundly moving?

A dance choreographed by one of the women, Mia Michaels.

Some of you may say, Wake up Whitney, it's a man's world. Women would like to choreograph, to have a say within their professional community, but they just can't break in.

But, but, but... we're not talking about technology, we're talking about dance, a field in which women are trained to dance, to choreograph, to critique.

So I only buy part of this argument.

If we have a gift for and love to do something, and we don't pursue that something, don't we bear some responsibility for our not breaking in, breaking through, for allowing our Leah to remain in the building?

Choosing to be Rachel is not easy, at least not for me. I seem to ask Leah to leave nearly every day.

But when you and I make the choice to move away from Leah toward Rachel, just think of what we can do, what we can create, of the stories we will tell.

Stories like those told by Mia Michaels.

What do you have a gift for, that you love to do, that you aren't pursuing?

Why?

Do you really not want to, or is society telling you not to?

Writing about my heros (which you can find at the bottom of this post) was indeed revelatory. Here's why:

1) I was surprised by how much my heros have changed over time -- from Bewitched's Samantha to Peggy Noonan?

2) It was also interesting to observe that my childhood heros were imaginary. A reminder just how much children identify with the imaginary, magical world. I wonder too if I over-agonize about the quantity of television my children consume. I clearly watched television as a child, yet most would consider me a contributing member of society.

Who were your heros as a child? Who are they today? How have they changed?

2) My heros have played a greater role in who I've become than I would have predicted prior to this exercise.

Example A: The fact that I so admired Samantha and Shirley Partridge as a young girl makes it a lot less surprising that I care about mothering well, my many years of "not wanting to have kids yet" notwithstanding.

Given your current vantage point, anything about your childhood heros that surprises you?

Example B: I'm rather astonished that my interest in attending UCLA was piqued because of their cheerleaders; were it not for a providential fluke, I would be a UCLA graduate. Which leads me to wonder what other decisions I've made on the basis of who I admire. Perhaps more importantly, why did I admire them in the first place?

What about you? Any decisions that you've made that now surprise you given how little forethought went in to the decision?

Example C: If I consider a cheerleader a metaphor for a hero of support, I've observed that in some aspects of my life I've internalized this

Rachel, Leah and "So You Think You Can Dance"

Pop Quiz:

What percentage of dance students throughout the world are girls?

I'm going to guess 9 out of 10, or 90%.

How many of the teachers from L.A.'s inner-city schools that attended the So You Think You Can Dance (SYTYCD) workshop were women?

I'm estimating 7 out of 10, or 70%.

How many of the SYTYCD choreographers this season were women?

Roughly 4 out of 19, about 20%.

Of the eight choreographers invited to choose their favorite dance, how many were women?

1 in 8, or 12.5%.

Which of the dances did the judges regard as the most profoundly moving?

A dance choreographed by one of the women, Mia Michaels.

Some of you may say, Wake up Whitney, it's a man's world. Women would like to choreograph, to have a say within their professional community, but they just can't break in.

But, but, but... we're not talking about technology, we're talking about dance, a field in which women are trained to dance, to choreograph, to critique.

So I only buy part of this argument.

If we have a gift for and love to do something, and we don't pursue that something, don't we bear some responsibility for our not breaking in, breaking through, for allowing our Leah to remain in the building?

Choosing to be Rachel is not easy, at least not for me. I seem to ask Leah to leave nearly every day.

But when you and I make the choice to move away from Leah toward Rachel, just think of what we can do, what we can create, of the stories we will tell.

Stories like those told by Mia Michaels.

What do you have a gift for, that you love to do, that you aren't pursuing?

Why?

Do you really not want to, or is society telling you not to?

What I've learned by identifying my heros

Writing about my heros (which you can find at the bottom of this post) was indeed revelatory. Here's why:

1) I was surprised by how much my heros have changed over time -- from Bewitched's Samantha to Peggy Noonan?

2) It was also interesting to observe that my childhood heros were imaginary. A reminder just how much children identify with the imaginary, magical world. I wonder too if I over-agonize about the quantity of television my children consume. I clearly watched television as a child, yet most would consider me a contributing member of society.

Who were your heros as a child? Who are they today? How have they changed?

2) My heros have played a greater role in who I've become than I would have predicted prior to this exercise.

Example A: The fact that I so admired Samantha and Shirley Partridge as a young girl makes it a lot less surprising that I care about mothering well, my many years of "not wanting to have kids yet" notwithstanding.

Given your current vantage point, anything about your childhood heros that surprises you?

Example B: I'm rather astonished that my interest in attending UCLA was piqued because of their cheerleaders; were it not for a providential fluke, I would be a UCLA graduate. Which leads me to wonder what other decisions I've made on the basis of who I admire. Perhaps more importantly, why did I admire them in the first place?

What about you? Any decisions that you've made that now surprise you given how little forethought went in to the decision?

Example C: If I consider a cheerleader a metaphor for a hero of support, I've observed that in some aspects of my life I've internalized this