Survival

Yesterday, while awaiting the impending tropical storm Irene, I began rereading a book called Deep Survival: Who Lives, Who Dies, and Why. It is a fascinating and well-written book by journalist and author Laurence Gonzales, which compellingly combines neuroscience with stories of people of every stripe embroiled in great battles for survival. As the title suggests, the book explores what it takes to survive such challenges as being lost at sea or in the wilderness, natural disasters, and accidents- who lives, who dies, and what decides it? I won't reveal too much of Gonzales' findings here, for I highly recommend reading this book and think it makes much more interesting reading if you approach it with curiosity and innocence. I do, however, want to touch a bit on what reading Deep Survival is bringing up in me, for while it largely relates to surviving extraordinary, life-or-death experiences, the same mechanisms seem to allow us to get through the challenges of life intact, and to enjoy a long and fulfilling life.

We are constantly confronted with experiences and environments that don't match the images our minds are projecting onto them, that defy our "mental map" and the resulting expectations associated with it. We are challenged to adapt to the realities at hand (a changing environment, an evolving concept, shifting perspectives) in the face of our disappointment or fear and sometimes this can be a difficult thing to accomplish. This applies not only to physical challenges but to emotional or mental ones as well. What allows "elite performers" to survive high-intensity challenges is the same thing that allows we regular folk to survive the heartbreak of loss or the disappointment of failure, or to successfully transition into new environments. Adaptation. When we fail to adapt to the realities of life, we bring unnecessary harm and pain upon ourselves and we challenge our very survival.  

I am embarking on a new life path and I am scared. Elite performers and survivors aren't devoid of fear, in fact they allow a healthy dose of fear to simultaneously sober and motivate them as they take gigantic risks. I find that I am almost overwhelmed with anxiety when I pull back and look at the enormity of the task I am about to undertake: two years of full-time school while co-parenting a young teen and working at the family business, all the while attempting to maintain a web of intimate relationships. I have seen others take on similar challenges and watched as they depleted themselves of every resource. I wonder, "Who do I think I am to believe I can do it any more smoothly, or even do it at all?" Mostly, I just wonder how the hell I'm going to find that much energy to perform to my own high standards on every front. I think that the answer is, "I'm not." Something's got to give. I'm in transition and life isn't what it was just a week ago, nor is it how it's going to be next week. I have to be in the present to attend to the decisions and take the necessary actions which will allow me to begin school next week. If I go too far out, get too far ahead of myself, my confidence gets shaky and I am enveloped in anxiety. 

What reading Deep Survival has done for me is to illuminate something very basic: survivors adapt. They don't hold tight to a fixed mental image of a situation while the reality stares them in the face. They get with the reality at hand and take action to survive within it, attending to small tasks which will keep them alive (like a shipwreck survivor spending an entire day catching and eating a fish while floating on the open sea) without allowing themselves to be overwhelmed by the enormity of the situation they are facing. If I can keep my mind focused on what needs my attention in any given moment and not be overly concerned with the complex set of demands I am facing, I have at a shot at not only surviving this transition but thriving within it. It's just one moment, one day, one task at a time. 

I'm a survivor.

Questioning My Sanity

Classes haven't even started and I'm already procrastinating. I finally logged into my school email account today and was horrified by the number of messages awaiting me. Important information here, people! Who knew? Right now, instead of filling out my overdue medical forms, I'm eating green olives marinated in garlic and lemon juice, and writing this. I'm setting the bar high. Each morning this week, I've felt fall in the air as I greeted the day and a feeling of doom has settled in my gut that not even these delectable green olives can assuage. People, I'm scared. I keep thinking, "What have I done? What was I thinking? What have I gotten myself into?"

But, then I go to work and poke holes in cupcakes, filling them with vegan cream and topping them with smooth chocolate ganache and I remember. No matter how much I appreciate what those humble cakes have done for me, I'm most ready to bid them adieu. Really! I've got a callous on my right index finger from poking holes in cupcakes, a little reminder that I am on the right path. Star told me recently (making me cry), "You've earned this. You've paid your dues. You deserve this more than anyone I know."

School. I really love school- the structure, the challenge, the synergy, the constant stream of information, the irrelevant tangents made by professors during lectures. Actually, that part annoys me to no end, but the rest is delightful. I'm taking these next two years as a kind of large, living crossword puzzle designed to stimulate massive synapsis growth and reverse the effects of what feels like middle-age dementia. My brain feels dried out and crusty, desperately in need of an energizing zap of ideas and concepts. I'm terrifically excited. And, shhhh, don't tell anyone, I'm terrified.

How the hell does anyone hold it all together while they're in school? Parenting, job, health and fitness, some semblance of a social life, personal hygiene? My mom went back to school full-time when I was a kid while she worked a couple of jobs and things didn't go so well, really. I've watched women much stronger and wonder-womanly than I fall to pieces in the face of what I'm about to take on and, yeah, I'm a little unsure of how I'm gonna pull it off, but I'm guessing I'll need a lot of hugs.

The Call

Today, we got "the call" from Rain's overnight camp. Star called me afterward and we had a long talk, as most parents would upon receiving word that their child was choosing not to participate in camp activities and was behaving in a disruptive manner. My first question was, "Oh shit, what did he do?" But by the end of our conversation, I realized that what Rain had "done" was less important (as his infractions seem very minor) than the fact that we had gotten the call in the first place. It is said that idle hands are the devil's workshop and I want to ask, "Why is anyone allowing my son to be so idle?"

On drop-off day, as we helped Rain get set up in his cabin, Star and I saw immediately that there would most likely be problems with his cabin assignment, as he was obviously the oldest in his cabin. Rain is a sophisticated only child who grew up in his parents' cafes, surrounded by adults. He has traveled a fair amount, lived on both coasts, and seen the difficult realities of life up close. While he is still a child, he is no babe in arms. He has always, always most closely resembled a cross between Lenny Bruce and Bambi- equal parts scathing, dead-on, witty social commentary and too-long legs skittering wildly across glittering ice, big eyes wide open and awestruck. Because he missed the cut-off for starting public school by a day, Rain has always been the oldest in his class, which meant that every-other year he would be a full two years older than half of his class. While his actual peers (the kids his age to whom he is naturally drawn and relates, all of his closest friends) are about to start high school, Rain will enter 8th grade this fall, a chasm too great to ignore. For Rain's entire life, we have watched as systems have continually failed to serve him- unwilling to place him with his peers unless he shows that he's "doing the work," unwilling to accept that it's only when placed with his peers that he will "do the work." This camp session seems to be unfolding in a similar fashion and I want to know, Who is going to step up and show my son that they care enough about him to engage him in the program, instead of allowing him to opt out of activities or loiter and cause trouble? If I'm getting the phone call, who's not doing their job?

On that first day, I went to the camp director and asked, "Is Rain married to that cabin, or can something be done to accommodate him more appropriately?" I explained, yet again, that Rain functions better when placed with kids either a year or two older than he, rather than with kids either his own age or younger. When placed with younger kids, Rain backslides, seems to regress, goofs off, acts out, turns into a disruptive presence. But with older kids, he strives to keep pace and participates fully, because he wants to be accepted by his peers and because there's just no opportunity to goof off- he's too busy! Boredom is a great motivator of negative energy. I told the director, " It's not going to go well leaving him in that cabin with those little boys." I warned him, and I read his response as a willingness to accept responsibility for the situation and recognize and address the problem before Rain could show it to him. As with people of any age, if Rain's acting out, it's a sign that something's wrong, as well as a sign that we adults have some work to do to help him. When Rain is met for who he is, as a full person regardless of his age, and he is shown that he matters, that his individual needs are important, he will jump through every hoop, write every paper, do all the chores required, even go on that most heinous hike. He will perform to his very best when he observes that he is valued. By leaving him in that cabin, forcing him, once again, to be the "mentor" to younger kids (as he has been constantly called upon to do his entire school career), he was told that his needs did not matter. And, if he doesn't matter to camp, why should camp matter to him?

The camp director is going to call me tomorrow and I have some things to say from which I believe he can benefit. Most immediately, I want to remind him, without being didactic, that his job as a director is to direct. Most often, with kids (as we parents know), that means a whole lot of re-directing: noticing where a young person's energy is going and re-directing it to a healthier, more productive place when its careening off into negative territory. We parents start doing this from the get-go! If this director doesn't see himself as as sort of Meta Dad to 150 kids, we're all in trouble. Frankly, if the director is calling us (and my son is not huffing glue, smoking pot in the woods, beating up or bullying other kids, painting swastikas, or self-harming), it makes me wonder if he is the right guy for the job! Who's in charge? You or my almost-14-year-old? Whoever it is that is allowing Rain to opt out of participating in the camp program is doing him a terrible disservice.

When my child acts like a monster, I look at my own choices closely to see what I've done to create that monster. Nine times out of ten, it's pretty clear. When infanticide seems like the only option and my son clearly has too much power, the holding of which frightens him terribly and causes him to behave uncharacteristically poorly, I remember that I contributed to the situation at hand and ask myself what I am going to do to change it. How am I going to help that monster revert back to it's human form? This is the duty with which the director of Rain's camp is currently charged and, as Rain's Mom, it is my job to remind him of it.