25 Things About Me - Gray Areas

Glennon Doyle started her successful blog, Momastery (pronounced like monastery, not mastery) with a list, 25 Things About Me. It seemed like an effective introduction to who she is and what the blog might be about. So, I thought I’d try the same.

My best and worst trait is my honesty.
When I write a long thoughtful email, I reread it several times before I send it AND every time someone replies. I also do this with my FB posts, I reread them every time I get a comment. Do other people do this? This is probably not a good habit for a blogger.
Writing helps me to think more clearly. When I put things in writing I can organized my thoughts and see my faulty logic more clearly. I can name my feelings and distinguish ideas. When I write I can release myself from thinking the same thoughts over and over. Writing clears my mind. But comma placement still confuses me.
I grew up in a small rural neighborhood (dozen houses) where just seven of us were all teenagers at the same time. Only three of us are still living; we’re in our mid 40s. This death thing keeps going though…
I’ve dated 5 people on a long term basis. Two of them are alive right now, my husband and one ex. Count them, THREE dead exes. The ones who broke up with me are all dead now. (Really. I’m not making this stuff up.) My husband has been forewarned.
I’ve had 5 coworkers or supervisors with cancer. Some I was quite close to. One kept it a secret; she told me two years after the hardest part of her battle, once she was certain she would survive. Two died. Four of them all worked in the same building that I did, and I wonder about the safety of our work environment back then.
I was born on an infamous death day, the 30th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor. Three of my peers have died *on* my birthday. I mean, would you blame me if I told you that I spend a lot of time wondering if all of this death stuff is *about me* somehow? So, yeah, I’m writing a memoir about this.
All told 11 of my peers have died. Some died from accidents, but most knew they were dying. I have learned deep meaningful life lessons from witnessing these folks’ lives. I have had a front row seat to several people shifting toward valuing every one of their last days, living with intention and meaning. For a decade I wondered what I would do if I knew were dying. I know the answer now. Stay tuned.
I’m really comfortable talking about death, even with people who are facing it. It’s a challenging space to hold for people, but I can. I’ve had practice. In that space is rich clarity about what matters in life. It’s a gift for all who can stay present for it. Moving on from the death stuff…
I’m kind of a rule follower. I smoked pot once. Might as well get that in the open. It was legal though. And no, I wasn’t in Colorado recently. I traveled to Amsterdam in college for a study abroad trip. A big group of us went to a “hash bar” and ordered a couple joints with our coffees then passed them around. I made sure I was inhaling big. I wanted the experience. But nothing. Nada. Didn’t feel a thing. Maybe I needed to have more of the joint than just the three drags I got. Others told me that you don’t feel it the first time and that I’d have to try again. No thanks. Not my thing. I just wanted to say that I did it, and that it was legal.
In my life at some point I’ve claimed all of the following religions/beliefs in no particular order: atheist, United Methodist, Jehovah’s Witness, agnostic, and self-constructed.
I was born and raised in Virginia. I spent most of my childhood in the same town my father grew up in, and his parents, and so on. In my direct genealogical line, I am the first “Carter” who lived outside of the state of Virginia (other than for war) since the 1600s when they arrived here from Bedfordshire, England.
I love history now, but as a child I hated it. My only D in college was a history class, European Civilization. I didn’t begin to like history until I left Virginia and I could see how local histories shaped those places. When I moved back to Virginia I was ready to know about its history and my own.
I am a descendant of both a Confederate and a Union soldier. I think a lot about what this legacy means for me in this lifetime. I feel a special duty given my social inheritance.
I’ve moved around quite a bit as an adult. I lived in central Pennsylvania for five years for graduate school and my first job. I did two quick summer internships in South Carolina and North Carolina. I moved to Chicago with a love interest, and stayed there for nine years working and studying. Then I got a tenure track faculty job in Hawaii (!) where I lived with my husband and gave birth to our two kids. After four years there we moved back to my home state of Virginia where I live now.
I lost my tenure track job eight years ago. What they say is true, that you shouldn’t have kids while on the tenure track. So be it. My kids were born when I was 36 and 38. I wasn’t about to wait until my 40s because higher education can’t figure out how to make the tenure-track more human-friendly.
Okay, so the “so be it” attitude is relatively new for me. I was really crushed to lose my job. I internalized a lot of it. I was too ashamed to tell people that it happened. I feared their judgement, which I later saw as me projecting my judgmental feelings about myself onto others. What a horrible feeling to not feel valued.
Sometimes I internalize social expectations that I hear (and sometimes state) about women, and mothers in particular. These beliefs have hurt me more than I’d like to admit.
What I consider a valuable person is shifting and opening. In fact, now, I believe that every person holds great value. No kidding. The secret to life is NOT to *become* valuable, but for each of us to see our own existing value and be free to live into it. For me this shift means that I work to shed cravings to become valuable and seek validation from others, and instead live into a peace in knowing that I already am valuable. And so are you. It’s true.
When I was in 4th grade, I thought there was nothing really interesting about me, so I made up stories to sound more interesting. I told the kids in my class that I was born in Hawaii and that I was related to Jimmy Carter. I was embarrassed when I got caught in my lie. Now, decades later, both of my kids really were born in Hawaii (how’s that for manifesting?), but they are still not related to Jimmy Carter.
My kids are both fascinating people. I have learned some deep shit about life from being their mom. I want so badly to tell you about them; but I also don’t. I want them to become in the world without me first telling the world who *I* think they are. But they shape me. And I want to share that. This is a tension I’ll hold. I want to figure out a way to hold their stories private, but also share how I’m growing because of them.
Sometimes I over-inflate the travel experience I have. I might say I “lived” somewhere or “studied abroad” and let people assume more of my experience than is actually true. In all honesty, I’ve done two short term (two week) study abroad experiences. One where I traveled to four different locations, and another where I stayed put in one location. All in Europe. Living in Hawaii was the most culturally immersive experience I’ve had. I did get to vacation in Costa Rica and in Taiwan, both for two weeks each. And actually, right now (July 2019) I’m in Switzerland for a week. So, yes, I do get to travel, but maybe not as much as I’ve led folks to think. I’m sneaky like that.
I’ve never quite identified with the “impostor syndrome” (you know, that feeling that you are not deserving of where you are, that someday people will be able to see that you don’t deserve what you’ve achieved?). But I do question if I’ve taken the easy route through my education, that maybe I’m not as smart as my credentials might lead you to believe. I got a bachelor’s in art (pff). And a master’s of education (cake). And then a doctorate in administration (whatever mystery discipline that is). Other’s judgmental comments creep into my brain and tell me I’m not as good as others. Or maybe I’ve been projecting. Maybe *I* hold those assumptions and doubt my own value. Dang. Okay, I guess I do feel like an impostor.
I geek out when I encounter a good paradox. Heal pain by welcoming the pain. Build genuine community after adversity. Conflict is good. Negative emotion is neutral; positive emotion is neutral. Dying offers clarity of life purpose. Both diversity and unity hold value. Self-attention is unselfish. And my dad says that my husband and I are a pair-of-docs. Dad jokes.
I’ve edited and reedited this post dozens of times. This feels too vulnerable, self-important, and choppy. I’ve come to the conclusion that I could continue to edit this indefinitely. I’m challenging myself to lean into this imperfection, and trust that if you are supposed to stay with me you will.

Welcome.