Those Alumni Magazines

I recently received my alumni magazine. You know what they’re like, filled with news of renovations, new endowments new faculty, and of course, all the gossip listed at the back, graduation year by graduation year. To be honest, I rarely read it when it comes. Frankly, it’s just not as interesting as all the other reading that I don’t have time for. I never send in information about myself, either. I did a couple times years ago, but I remember painfully trying to figure out what to write to “keep people up to date,” but at the same time not sound boastful, or boring, or like I had something to prove. I remember seeing the information about me in print and realizing with horror that they printed it all, word for word. It was too long and seemed boastful and boring at the same time and I definitely sounded like I had something to prove. I mean, what do you write? “Gosh, I am anxiously awaiting the birth of my second bundle of joy! Meanwhile, I am getting my masters’ degree and just returned from a fabulous trip to Cuba!” Or, “I am still working at my same job and living in the same place. I like to catch a movie now and again.” See what I mean? It’s hopeless.

 

Anyway, my magazine arrived last week when I was recovering from the stomach flu and suffering from a respiratory infection. My husband was traveling and both my kids were as sick as I was. Even though I felt like hell I had no choice but to nurse my two children back to health. Because they were sick they were both in horrid moods all week: irritable, whiny, clingy, argumentative and overly sensitive. I dragged myself through the week, coughing up phlegm and applying lots of cover-up to my red, sore nose to try not to look sick. I could not exercise, had little interest in cooking and could not seem to keep my calendar straight and consequently missed appointments and felt I was letting people down. For some reason, I thought it would be a great time to read through my alumni magazine.

 

There was a movie featured on the cover. “Wow,” I thought to myself, “I’ve heard of this movie!” Then I flipped the magazine open and learned that a fellow alum had been nominated for an Oscar for directing this award-winning film. I looked at the photo of my fellow grad, standing on the red carpet at the Academy Awards ceremony, glowing, in a designer dress. I know her. She graduated the same year I did. I read all about her and the movie and proceeded to read about another grad from my year who is CEO of a really cool environmentally responsible company based out of Alaska. He is also an accomplished tri-athlete and dog-sled racer or something like that. Oh, this is not the first time I’ve encountered a very successful former classmate. I’ve gotten used to hearing one former classmate’s voice on NPR every time I turn on the radio. I see another one’s name in the New York Times Bestsellers list, and see that a television show is coming out soon, based on her books.

 

I decided to read news from different class years and stumbled on a profile of one recent alum who just ran multiple legs of a 189-mile relay race, was a math/art double-major, ended up at Harvard for grad school and now has an incredible job—and she only graduated four years ago. Needless to say, at that particular moment reading about these alumni, I thought, “how on Earth did I get in to college in the first place?”

 

I feel like the world is just filled with uber-people. Some successful people can chalk it up to hard work and a little luck to get their big break. People like the recent grad though blow me away. How does she manage to accomplish so much in so many areas at once? I read about them and get kind of sweaty (and having a fever didn’t help one bit last week). I wonder if I should be doing more, though I don’t know how that is even possible when I can’t keep up with the laundry.

 

I think about my approach to life, and maybe there is just some deep fundamental part of my character that separates me from the people glowing on the pages in front of me. Maybe I’m not that ambitious. I don’t really drive myself hard. For instance, many people talk of the days they were on a sports team of some sort and “ran until I puked.” Yuck, I always viewed that as some kind of disorder. I would run until I was sweaty and a touch out of breath, and call it a day. Then maybe another day I’d push a little more and then stop. When I was old enough I would push a little more, stop, then meet friends for beers which felt so well-deserved after getting sweaty and a little out of breath. I didn’t just have that approach with athletics, I remember in college that some friends would pull all-nighters to cram for exams or to write a paper. I would work a bit late, get sleepy, decide a “B” grade isn’t so bad and go to bed. I tend to work until whatever I’m doing is “good enough” and then call it quits.

 

Overall, when I’m not feeling sick and awful, I think my approach to life seems fairly balanced. Maybe I’m not destined for greatness, but I’m also probably not going to have a nervous breakdown. I don’t think my approach is very American though. I sometimes think it’s more “European” though I’m sure many Europeans would be very insulted to read that. I just don’t think that they tend to be as extreme as us, that it’s not necessarily part of European culture for everyone to constantly strive to be the best at everything. Maybe I’ll live abroad for an extended period in the future to test my theory. But for now, it’s getting late and I’m feeling sleepy, so I’m off to bed.

Mother Pain

What a title, right? Oh, but I felt it today, and it’s so real. I’ve felt it before, but it keeps changing. Basically, I think that after the pain of childbirth, “mother pain” becomes whatever pain your child might be feeling, magnified inside you, the mother, one hundred times more. When kids are really tiny you feel the pain of their cries when they are uncomfortable and you don’t know why, or when they are toddling along and fall and get hurt. You want to take that pain away from them. Now I know that as they get older and can explain things to you and don’t really fall and get hurt so much, that their pain is often emotional. And the last thing you want is to see your sweet little child feel that kind of pain, because that kind of pain takes away little bits of their innocence.

 

My oldest son is very, very sensitive. He is self-conscious and moody and hard on himself. I’ve seen him in mental pain from early ages because he is a perfectionist. If he can’t get something right he just loses it. He’s torn up drawings and said he hates reading, his bike, the piano, and everything else he hasn’t mastered the first time he’s tried. It’s a difficult trait and one I still struggle with to handle as delicately and helpfully as I can. But today I saw him in a different kind of pain. He’s the kind of kid who makes friends slowly and carefully and doesn’t just bond with everyone. He can count on one hand the kids he views as his close friends, his little posse. And one member of that posse is moving away.

 

Up until now I wasn’t sure how he was handling it because he would say in an offhand way that their moving adventure, “sounds fun.” But he and his friend have been constant companions for several years. He has grown accustomed to seeing his dear posse of friends regularly, and counts on them being available to play on an almost daily basis. When the weather is nice he can count on running around with these friends after school. But that is changing. Recently, on sunny days after school, the crowd thins pretty quickly. The friends are unavailable to play for various reasons—they are busy packing or are sick or have some other commitments. This is normal, this is life. But, it is incomprehensible to a child who likes his routine.

 

After school today my son ran around with some classmates for a few minutes. Then, suddenly, everyone was gone. The usual posse was not available and even the acquaintances just weren’t around. My son suddenly said he didn’t feel well and wanted to go home. He got weepy, but when I asked what was wrong he wouldn’t talk. Then I asked if he missed his friends and he just broke down, crying that everyone used to play after school on the pretty days and they don’t any more and he doesn’t see his friends as much and his grief just sank to the depths of his soul as he cried. I could feel the loneliness seeping out of his pores and there he was: the loneliest, saddest boy in the whole world. It was gut wrenching, and as sad as he was, I felt like my heart had just been wrenched from my chest and smashed in to the ground. I could explain that sometimes your best buddies just aren’t available, but it’s hard to explain that from time to time, one of those friends might move away and you won’t see them regularly any more and it’s part of life. I know he knows his friend is leaving and I know he is beginning to realize that he will experience the sadness and loneliness of missing someone for a long time to come.

 

I know this is all part of growing up. There is no way to shield a child from the sorrows of life, and I don’t even think it would be good if we could because we will have to send them out in to the world some day and they need to develop skills to survive there. But children are so beautiful in their innocence and every experience, painful or positive, that takes away that innocence and leads them one step closer to being a regular person with baggage, is hard to bear.

 

I also learned today that I am DOOMED regarding all the mother pain I will be feeling in the years to come. Having a friend move away is sad, but that is just one of the many sorrowful experiences my children will have until they one day can relate to their mature peers about all the difficulties in life, learned by experience, that I can talk about with my peers.

 

As it was today we returned home and decided to bake a new kind of cookie to cheer us up. Then my boys and I played baseball in the yard, followed by a game of tag. When we finished, my oldest son hugged me and said, “I had a nice day, did you?” I was touched that he could say that after how deeply sad he’d been only a couple hours earlier. I had to agree with him, it was a nice day, in the end. We had a good talk about what made him sad. We found ways to make some fun for ourselves, and we got to eat some tasty new cookies. I hope we can weather the next storm so well.