The Search for Self

Men go abroad to wonder at the heights of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motions of the stars, and they pass by themselves without wondering. ~St. Augustine

Every so often, I come across a book that I love so much, I want to buy a copy and give it to everyone I know and love. This is most certainly the case with "The Girl from Foreign" by Sadia Shepard. This memoir is going to be my go-to gift for people I care about. From my mother to my closest friends to my daughter, I hope to share this journey with with all. Author Sadia Shepard grew up, as many people I know did, in the Boston suburbs. However, her mother grew up Muslim in Pakistan, having emigrated there from India during the Partition, when India and Pakistan divided into two countries. Shepard's father is Episcopalian and from Colorado. Her most treasured relative is her grandmother, Rahat Siddiq...who was born Rachel Jacobs into Bombay's Bene Israel community. Unknown to me, as well as to many other people, India has had a strong Jewish history, its Bene Israel members believe themselves to be one of the lost tribes of Israel. They trace their history back to a shipwreck on the Konkan coast more than 2000 years ago. Shepard grows with three traditions: Christian, Muslim and Jewish. Her promise to her grandmother, funded by a Fulbright scholarship, takes her to India to discover her Jewish roots. What she finds both surprises and confuses her; that of a people she has known very little about. In them, she finds a missing part of herself.

Like many of us, Sadia Shepard feels torn between several traditions. During her time in India and Pakistan, Shepard experiences the characterization of people who know their own boundaries. As a woman with multiple points of heritage, she attempts to discover her own boundaries...where she begins and where she ends. She is continually encouraged to pick one tradition and to find the niche in which she fits. As an American, the Indians she meets automatically assume she is in their country to visit an Ashram or to go on a yoga retreat. As a woman making contact with the Jewish community, she's assumed to be a practicing Jew. Shepard's Muslim relatives always believe she is looking for a Pakistani husband. Others assume she must be Christian because of her last name. Shepard's seeking voyage takes her not only to places all over southern Asia to discover her own roots, as well as the roots of the Bene Israel community, but it also becomes a journey within...as she tries to find out who she truly is. As she writes, "I never really felt at home in one place or the other, and yet I'm both American and Pakistani; Muslim and other." Shepard finds herself to be welcomed by all of these communities of which she is a part, and yet, feels unbearably different from each of them.

How often do we all feel this way? How many times have we felt both at home, in our own skins, and yet separate and different from those around us? What makes us feel at home in one

community, and what makes us feel contradictory? These feelings may not even have to do with religion or the cultural backgrounds of our ancestors. We may feel complex and conflicting emotions surrounding our political leanings, our life choices or the decisions we had made. We may see our lives as separate and "other" from those around us, leaving us with a sense of not really 'belonging'. What do we need to do to find that recognition and conscious awareness of fitting in?

As human beings, we all want to find a way to fit in. In middle school, many of us insisted on wearing our hair a certain way, wearing specific clothes or wanting particular, desirable after-school activities. We wanted to be indistinguishable from those around us. As we grow up, we continue to search for meaningful connections with our peers, but we may be less likely to change who we are to find do so. We hope to find our special avocation, by reaching out to those with common interests, common beliefs and common goals. We join book groups, churches, clubs and political parties. We volunteer for worthwhile organizations. We attempt to make sense of our own presence in the world by connecting with others. This might well bring us full circle to lead us back to the roots of our childhood. Or, it may well take us in a completely new direction...to find meaningful bonds outside of a life may find lacking. Like Sadia Shepard, this search may lead us on a physical journey, to visit the native places of our ancestors. Or, these travels might spur us on to discover like minded people in other parts of the country. We feel a dramatic pull towards being with people who resemble us or may believe in similar ideals. Instead of changing who we are in order to fit in, we may try to discern where we can go, to find people with whom we find harmonious traits.

What if we haven't a clue about to who we are, before we begin the search? We begin by trying new things, by rediscovering the traditions of our childhood and by investigating the world around us. We can start reading books written by people who come from backgrounds similar

to our own, as well as those who come from vastly different traditions. We can take classes involving new experiences, as well as talking to family members about the activities we did in the past. We can blend the excitement of learning a new skill, folded in with recipes from our youth. We can look through photo albums, remembering the places we went and things we liked to do when we were young. We can share those very spots and traditions with our children, with our friends and with our spouses. We can cook them the foods we loved when we were younger, and share the memories we have with them. In sharing what we already know about ourselves, we may find that we discover hidden truths, hidden meanings and hidden experiences we can only recapture by experiencing them with others...especially those who care about us. In the process, new insights will find us. When these shared experiences lead to questions and conversations, we will be discover entire parts within us that have laid dormant and buried.

C.S Lewis wrote,"Friendship is born at the moment when one person says to another: 'What! You too? I thought I was the only one!". As we find ourselves on the journey of self-discovery, we may just find kindred spirits....people with whom we share a great deal of ourselves. What we may also uncover are the keys to unlocking our sense of belonging...but we will all find that, until we are truly comfortable with who we are now, with where we have been and with where we are going, those keys will be harder to discover. When we reach the point of comfort within ourselves, we may just find that we do belong in many different places...and we can feel equally comfortable in each one.

And, we may also discover, that the journey is a lot more fun when we include others.

Veterans' Day

It is easy to take liberty for granted, when you have never had it taken from you. M. Grundler

Two weeks ago, I had written some notes regarding my Veterans Day blog. I had planned to discuss our family's experiences during deployments, the way the military community pulls together and how proud I am to be the wife of a veteran. In light of the Fort Hood shootings, however, I find that my heart and mind are walking down a far different path. Although we knew none of the shooting victims personally, nor were we ever stationed at Fort Hood, the Army is a small town with a global impact. There are always people we've known, men and women my husband has served with and far less than 6 degrees of separation from any Army family.

Like the rest of the world, we were shocked and horrified by the news of this past week. The most insidious aspect, in my own heart, was that the shooter was an Army doctor...a psychiatrist. Not only does this situation create a dreadful sense of mistrust throughout the medical system, but it has to be terrifying to live and work on post, and no longer feel safe. That this rampage would occur in a 'secure' location only makes the ramifications more complex and disconcerting.

Ironically, I have never felt safer than when I'd arrive on post. Before the first Gulf War, there was the simple checking of military (and dependent) identification. After the war began, our cars were searched, to include large mirrors on wheels to be rolled underneath, checking for bombs. Although this did present an inconvenience for those us who chose to live off post, it also gave us a sense of security. I was able to go to the American school in which I worked, feeling not only confident for my own sake, but also for that of my students. My classroom, during this time,

experienced a great deal of upheaval. Fathers left our post in Germany to go to the Gulf. Mothers often left children in the care of neighbors to return stateside to be with their own families. My 2nd grade class felt a lot of uncertainty during this time. I found that I needed to wear many hats...none of which were in my job description. This one year, we spent more time creative writing, and less time memorizing. We studied the geography of all the places the soldiers were going, knowing that was more relevant than the social studies chapter on "people in my neighborhood". We cried. We found ways to laugh. We read wonderful books, and composed ones of our own. We created care packages and calculated distances to various locations. We learned about many modes of travel that the military uses. We painted. We made paper mache globes. We learned the names of constellations and understood that the students Mommies and Daddies could see the same stars. We sang. We cooked. We were there for each other. But, at no time did we, ourselves in our own little classroom, feel at risk or in harm's way. Our classroom was our sanctuary. It was where we felt safe, away from the fighting.

President Obama has called the killings "incomprehensible". He went on to say, ""Their life's work is our security and the freedom that we too often take for granted. Every evening that the sun sets on a tranquil town; every dawn that a flag is unfurled; every moment that an American enjoys life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness -- that is their legacy". What President Obama must also realize now is that even our Army posts, here on American soil, have lost the small town safety they once had. In the military, your current post becomes your home. Your neighbors are in the same life situation that you are...which is a far cry from civilian life. Everyone has been the new person, and everyone lends a hand to help out. Army life can be brutally hard, including separations from those we love. But, it can also give you a sense of family, thousands of miles from your home town. The soldiers who lost their lives did so, not by someone who sneaked into this country illegally, but one of their own.It's a case of a neighbor killing his neighbors in small town USA. The tragedy is further reaching than just those of us in the military. As one of my dear friends from our Army days told me "It's not enough that my husband is in Afghanistan right now...in danger and ready to give his life for his country. Now, I have to look over my shoulder at our coworkers." What started out as a peaceful day in Texas, shattered not only a military community but the sense of freedom that our soldiers risk their lives to prevent.

This Veterans Day, I hope you will take a moment, in between parades and shopping the sales, to thank a veteran. Regardless of your political beliefs, the fact is that there are exceptional men and women who put their lives on the line to protect our nation and to facilitate the military life. They might be Army Rangers or Navy Seals. They might be doctors and nurses who provide safe health care for servicemen and their families. They might be college professors, scientists or supply specialists. They might be husbands or wives, fathers or mothers. It does not take one political party, or another, to have faith in humanity, to have appreciation for the courageous actions of others or to hope for peace and better days ahead.

If you disagree with me, that's fine. But, thank a soldier for protecting your rights to your own opinion.

Old Friends in New Times

"A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart, and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words."

One of the truly joyful parts of my life for the past few months has been a rekindling of friendships with people I knew years ago. Thanks to Facebook, and to the Internet in general, I've been blessed to reconnect with men and women who knew me more than twenty years ago. It's been wonderful to catch up, to find out what's going on in people's lives and to figure out where we all fit in to one another's lives again now, in our 40's. It's been an adventure to discover new attributes the school athlete might have uncovered in himself and to see how incredibly brilliant the prettiest girl in class has become. I feel intensely humbled by old friends allowing me into their lives now. Learning to have adult relationships with the people with whom we've grown up can either be powerfully healing, exceptionally energizing, or even, sadly, mildly disappointing...if we find out that someone really doesn't choose to know us again.

One of the ways I'm reveling in my new/old friendships are the memories that my friends have of me....not the married mother of two, not the yoga teacher or even the college graduate. I'm discovering whole events I'd forgotten, thanks to my friends. Our brains only hold so much information. Obviously, for all of us, some memories get lost. In the business of every day life, in the severe stresses that can trigger mild memory loss and in the normal course of our own moving on, we tend to leave little pieces of ourselves behind along the way. A concert here, a picnic there, an impromptu trip to Boston can all be shuffled in the deck of our thoughts and end up on the bottom. I have had friends share beautiful memories they have about my late father, and the difference he made to them. I have had friends remind me of a brave, or a foolish, thing I once attempted. I have had friends remind me of my past, not as judgment, but as a common ground starting point in conversation. Because of this, special events that I'd dismissed as commonplace have been brought to my attention, and I am able to cherish those experiences all over again. I've discovered the beauty in seeing who I was, both the positive and the negative, and how those parts of me helped me to grow up into the woman I am now.

Of course, there are always those episodes in our lives we'd just as soon forget; harsh words spoken in anger, misunderstandings, poor behavior on our own parts for which we've never taken accountability and the low points in our character. There are aspects of our adolescence we'd all like to bury under 14 feet of hard soil, with a big heavy boulder on top, guarded by a 500 pound gorilla, so that these negative moments, of which we're ashamed, will never come to light. Yet, when we have the opportunity to say "I'm sorry" for a wrong done, even if the other party doesn't want to hear the apology, it can be as if the grave we've dug ourselves was never there. Being able to acknowledge our short comings, especially from middle school and high school, can take us a great deal further on the path of adulthood than denial or shame ever could. Holding onto those low points can create invisible restraints holding us back. Just like Jacob Marley, in "A Christmas Carol", we can create our wretched, heavy emotional chains, keeping us from moving forward. The simple words "I'm sorry' might stand like pink and purple elephant in the room, when you meet up with old friends again. But, getting it out of the way can be the healthiest possible way to begin friendships anew...and on a healthy platform. Often, these events loom larger in our own minds than they do in the memories of others. Regardless of the situation, saying your peace and offering a heart felt apology can bring your old friend and you closer together.

On the other hand, there are always going to be people who hold grudges. No matter what we say, or how honest we are, they will use our behavior at 15 or 18 or 25 or 30 as an immovable obstacle in their own lives. Instead of moving on, these people would rather remain bitter. For some, there may be a perfectly good reason why not to renew a friendship. However, I believe that the majority of these "unforgivers" find pleasure in control. And, if they can control our own sense of well being by withholding kindness, then there will be little we can do. This may also let us 'off the hook' from feeling badly any further. I believe, in these rare cases, it's best to move on, be thankful for the friendships we do have, and relinquish all further guilt over the matter.

Friends who are truly our 'amigos' are able to do this. We can laugh and say "Good heavens! We thought we were so mature!" when in fact we were anything but and made complete fools of ourselves together. Old friends are also wonderful because we don't have to explain our life story to them; they knew about us, about the good and the bad, and they love us anyway. They are able to lift us up when we need a shoulder to lean on, and remind us that they were present during our most embarrassing moments, if we get cocky. Old friends are our link to who we truly are; past, present and future. They are our touchstones, our Greek chorus voices of reason and our own devil's advocates. They can love us deeply, and still hold us up to a higher level of accountability. Friendships like this are profound and we shouldn't allow them to disappear from our lives because of time and distance.

Den Ming-Dao wrote, "Those truly linked don't need correspondence. When they meet again after many years apart, Their friendship is as true as ever." While I agree with that, in theory, I do believe that correspondence can be a delightful tool. It can challenge us, it can inspire us, and it can rekindle the flames of a friendship where there were once only the barest embers. And yet, once reconnected, it's a heady feeling to be able to pick up a conversation with a friend that began three quarters of a decade before. It's as if a dream has come true when you can share memories, and remind your friend how precious they were to you...and how precious they still are. Finding hidden treasure in old friendships, when reconnecting after many years, has left me passionately grateful that my errors were enough to allow forgiveness for my many faults. Forgiving a friend who made mistakes is one thing. But to be forgiven is the most faithful of gifts one human being can do for another.

My advice for this week is to seek out one old friend. Discover what she's doing today. Find out if he still loves sports. Learn who your friend is today, while still providing her with a bank of memories for tomorrow. You may discover that you laugh and cry...often both at once. But, I doubt that you will regret the experience.You may even find that your friend shares memories you have long forgotten that will provide a time travel machine to help reconnect with yourself again.

Thankfully, '80's attire is no longer required.

The Whiners

The tendency to whining and complaining may be taken as the surest sign symptom of little souls and inferior intellects. ~ Frances, Lord Jeffrey

One of my favorite Saturday Night Live skits, when I was in high school, was the duo of "Doug and Wendy Whiner". Played by Joe Piscopo and Robin Duke, this irritating, bedraggled and immensely harried couple were instant hits on the popular comedy show. They found fault with everything, with everyone, and with every situation. In the Whiner's trademark nasally, deeply depressing sighs, you just knew that the situation would go from bad to worse because it was happening to Doug and Wendy Whiner. And, you knew that you would hear about every excruciating nuance of why life was so dreadful. I found watching the Whiners hilarious. I believe that most of us knew someone exactly like this couple...those people who have the Eeyore syndrome of gloom and doom. One of the reasons why I believe this skit series was so successful was that most people could easily relate to characters having to *deal* with the Whiners, rather than the Whiners themselves. We usually see ourselves as well adjusted, coping properly and understanding social boundaries appropriately. Yet, when confronted with the real life Whiners, we all look for the quick escape route, even if it means telling a blatant lie just to scrape off the depressing tone and emotional drain.

Yet, how many times are we, ourselves, the Whiners? How often do we endlessly complain about every silly thing that crosses our minds? The statesman Bernard Baruch wrote "We can overcome anything if we don't bellyache." Constant whining is counterproductive to the problem solving process. It takes a great deal of emotional energy to continually dredge up all the reasons why a situation seems to be defeating us. The toll can even become physical; many studies have shown that those with ongoing, superficial defeatism are more likely to die when facing a serious illness. Those energies that are focused on the negative tend to draw negative situations to them. They appear to face more ongoing crises than people who look on the "bright side". There are some, like Doug and Wendy Whiner, who find every day dilemma's and scenarios to be beyond their control. There are others, however, who always seem to have a smile on their faces, no matter what the circumstances. One of the reasons I was drawn to Yoga was the positive nature of the Yoga practice. Unlike aerobics or competitive sports, Yoga brings with it an innate sense of well being. A simple Yoga meditation, that I often open my classes beginning is: "As I breathe in, I am at peace. As I breathe out, I smile." The very act of smiling can diminish worries, can help you relax, and finally, can actually open your mind to finding creative solutions to the dilemmas that nag us. I can't count the number of times I have stepped into the studio, having no idea what I was going to do about a concern. I found myself fretting, worrying, and venting to all who would listen. By the time my practice was complete, the answer came to me. This response might not have been easy to enact, but by releasing all that energy spent worrying and complaining, I was open to solving the problem at hand, rather than agitating myself further.

There is a fabulous Yiddish word for the kind of incessant, annoying and unrelenting whining that Doug and Wendy made a household name: Kvetching. To kvetch isn't just to vent about a complex and difficult life choice. To kvetch means to exasperate, brood, stew, yammer and anguish through the mundane. I, in fact, am more than a whiner by nature: I'm a kvetcher. Even with yoga, even with years of intellectual and compassionate thought, I'm still a kvetcher. I take life's curve balls personally. I take personally the driver who cuts in front of me in traffic. I internalize the thoughtless remark made by an acquaintance. Like the White Rabbit, in "Alice in Wonderland", I anguish over the very thought of being late. I run these situations over and over in my head, like a dreadful movie scene that I'm doomed to repeat, like Sisyphus. It's a constant war that I fight within myself: looking to the bright side. My nature, unlike those who possess a naturally sunny disposition is anything but. I choose to enact a positive outlook, even when I feel gloomy.

How does one do this? How do we take our glum and gloomy tirades and remove them from our lives? The first step is to just be quiet. There are certainly time we need to talk with our closest friends. But, we also need to ask ourselves if we are talking to ask their opinion, or if we are talking just to talk. Venting can help. But, venting can also turn into an extreme. We won't hear the wisdom our friends may share. We won't hear their ideas to solve a crisis. We will only hear the sound of our own voices. Unless we are also willing to listen, we shouldn't talk. We will be wasting our own energy, as well as wasting our friends'. As we just marinate on the problem that's bothering us,one of two things will happen: either we'll figure out that it really wasn't such a big deal to begin with, or we'll realize that we need to solve the issue using another tactic. There are times when just swallowing down the kvetching we desperately want to do is the best solution. There are other times we will need the advice and mentoring of a trusted companion. It will be far easier for our problem-solving team to understand us when we can speak with clarity, rationality and formulate what the actual central issue is. It will also aid in our own problem solving techniques if we can separate annoyance from legitimate dilemma. We need time and solitude to ruminate to sever these two different issues.

While this isn't an easy process, for those of us who are born Kvetchers, it can be done. As Tim Gunn would say, on the television show, "Project Runway": "Make it work, people." We need to quit grumbling and start performing. We need to cease complicating and begin deciphering. Sometimes we will "make it work" with ease. Other times, the answers will be far more difficult to puzzle out. There are even times when, upon unraveling an impasse or reflecting upon a slight, we willgather than we just need to let it go.

Therefore, I've set myself a goal: before remarking negatively on a predicament, I'm going to wait one day.After those 24 hours have passed, I may then ask a friend for help. I may have to bandage my mouth (or my keyboard) to keep me from kvetching needlessly. I may have to go for walks with my dogs, leave my cell phone behind or sequester myself away from all communication devices. I may even need Maxwell Smart's "Cone of Silence". But, I'm going to try.

If you should happen upon a red faced brunette yoga teacher, who is biting her lip, just smile. It may just be me.

To Kindle...or not to Kindle...that is the question...

If it keeps up, man will atrophy all his limbs but the push-button finger. ~Frank Lloyd Wright

In the past few months, the term "Kindle" has entered my vocabulary at a rate that I never could have predicted. My daughter's college preparatory boarding school in Massachusetts is the first in the country to adopt a Kindle library. This prompted national debate between old fashioned bibliophiles and forward thinking technology savvy that turned quite ugly. Those who felt this traditional, historical institution was betraying its mission were irate. Those who believed that we need to prepare the next generations' leaders for all forms of communication found these remarks ignorant and backward. The traditionalists likened the headmaster to instigating a Nazi book burning. The progressives hailed him as a genius on the cutting edge. As for myself, I listened to both sides and chose to wait and see how the Kindles played out in school.

During the parents' weekend recently, I had the opportunity to attend my daughter's classes with her. Her Honors Sophomore English class was actually selected to be the test class for the use of Kindles in place of books. I steeled myself to listen to opposing points of view within the classroom, from both parents and students alike. What happened surprised me: the use of the Kindle had almost nothing whatsoever to do with the class. The students did give a brief synopsis of their feelings on the technology for the benefit of their assembled families. Other than that, the teacher and children proceeded to discuss their books, their study groups and their impressions without regard to the Kindles. The children were articulate about their chosen works and engaging in the way they approached their subject matter. The Kindles themselves were the back story within this course. I couldn't see that the technology made the course easier or more difficult. In fact, it didn't seem to play much of a role other than the media attention. The class was run as one would expect a traditional English class to be run: a balance between the instructor's thought provoking questions and the students' well intentioned answers.

As I passionate Bibliophile, I must say that I have had my reservations about Kindles. I love the feel of holding a book in my hand. I love looking at the front and back covers, wondering how they will give the reader a glimpse into the story. I adore the feeling of putting my finger in between pages to hold my place, if I need to take a break. I feel giddy the first moment I open a new book, and I feel a little sad when I'm on the final page. There is a feeling of accomplishment, however, of holding the vast majority of the pages in my left hand, while my right hand feels increasingly lighter. The tactile sensation of book reading, and also of seeing the letters form patterns on the page, is comforting. I'm also a loyal library user. If I were to buy every book I read, I'd not only be deeply in debt, but drowning in books. Additionally, I love the community that going to the library offers; you can meet with other book lovers, discuss new titles and share common authors.

On the other hand, the thought of having hundreds of thousands of books, plus newspapers and other media, downloadable at my beck and call is deliciously tempting. When waiting in line to speak with the math teacher during Parent Teacher conferences, I spoke with the father of another student, who was perusing the NY Times on his own Kindle, during the down time between meetings. This gentleman happily showed me the features he was delighted about, and openly shared the drawbacks he hoped would be addressed in the next Kindle version. When I pack a bag to go on a trip, I generally bring 3 books, a newspaper and a couple of magazines. The space saving alone is incredibly appealing for travel. I also love the practicality; because I'm a voracious reader, I tend to get through books faster than I'd like....which will leave me with a literary vacuum if I don't have another book. With a Kindle, I could download my next wishlist item immediately. The instant gratification aspect of the Kindle is seductively intriguing. When I perused Amazon's site, I felt like Eve, as if the serpent assured me that I would not die by purchasing one.

It was with great happiness that I was asked to be one of the testers for my own library's pilot program using Kindles. I felt both honored and excited to get to try out all the features about which I'd been curious. The program at my local library loads 5 popular titles and those are simply what come with the Kindle. At this point in the testing process, there is no availability to choose what's on the unit. I received my Kindle, my quick start training and went home eager to begin the Kindle chapter in my life. What I discovered was that I'd already read four of the five given books. As I began to read the 5th, which wasn't necessarily one I'd have chosen myself, I did discover that I enjoyed being able to play around with the font size. Now that I'm in my 40's, being able to increase the font slightly made my reading much easier. That said, I was lost. I kept losing my place in the book, and seemed to scroll too quickly to find it again. While trying to return to my missing page, I somehow managed to delete the entire book. There was no way to get it back. It was, in short, a bust. It did make me realize that I do not need a Kindle, and for that, I'm grateful. I also realized that until a library system, perhaps as Netflix has developed for movies, exists the point in my needing a Kindle remains moot.

My daughter, on the other hand, is loving hers. She has no idea how I managed to remove a book or why I found it so difficult to navigate. She's also of the generation who can text faster than they can speak, and for whom portable technology is an integral part of life. As for me, I'm content to wait for the Advanced Idiot-proof version of the Kindle, complete with a built in GPS, Phone, MP3 Player, Massage Therapist and Personal Chef. Until then, I'll be the woman holding up the line at Security at the airport, with my two carry-ons of books and magazines. I'll also be the woman who can curl up with a good book without the worry of the power supply running out. I don't think that instant gratification will ever replace the Christmas morning feeling of having an inter-library loan book come in with my name on it. Somehow, it just feels more personal.

Masks

Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth. ~Oscar Wilde

I have always loved Halloween.To some children, Halloween was a terrifying night, filled with images of the Grim Reaper lurking around every corner, just waiting to pluck them away. It meant feeling frightened when going into haunted houses, and having to feel "eye balls" and "intestines" while blindfolded. I, on the other hand, was confident that the eyeballs were Jell-O covered golf balls and the spaghetti never once felt like 'guts' to me. Halloween, to me, was not an evening of nightmare and panic. Rather, it was a night to put on a different persona completely and to push the ever present daily timidity aside to step into the shoes of a confident alter-ego. The fact is, I was a terrified child. I was certain that monsters lurked under my bed. I was positive that something horrible was going to happen to my mother at any moment. I lived in a heightened state of heart-sinking dread the other 364 days per year. On Halloween, I felt free to put on the mask of confidence, assurance and aplomb. For me, Halloween wasn't a day to shrink away from the evil lurking around corners. It was the day to face that evil head on.

Costumes are an extraordinarily transforming experience. They allow you to physically become someone else for a moment. Actors have long understood this. When asked how he could play the Phantom, night after night, year after year, on Broadway, Michael Crawford quipped, "I put on the mask." Costumes allow us to become, just for an evening, a completely different person from our everyday lives. The year I was a cowgirl for Halloween, I felt the surge of energy from roping cattle on the Arizona plains. The year I was a Pioneer Girl, I knew that I had the grit to overcome any hardship we faced on the wagon train. When I was Leopard, I felt myself curling up, ready to spring on an unsuspecting prey. Of course, the year I was Dorothy, I had every confidence that clicking my heels three times would bring me home....if I so chose. When we step into a costume, when we put on a mask, when we pretend to be someone we're not, we are able to shed our insecurities, our neuroses, and our weaknesses. We are able to robe ourselves in fortitude, daring and brashness that comes with our characters.

When I first began studying yoga, years before I became a teacher, one of the aspects I most enjoyed was the ability to "play" the roles of the poses we were practicing. In Eagle Pose, I could envision myself perched high up in a tree, gazing down at the small world below and knowing that I could master it. In Lion Pose, I felt the power emanating from the breath, and knew that my strength came from within. In Frog Pose, my muscles feel springy and able to jump at a moment's notice. Dolphin Pose gave me the playful spirit and inner joy that I'd seen dolphins use when they'd swim alongside our boat. Yoga allowed me to put on the masks of each of these poses, while still allowing me to be myself; my own fearful, uncertain, fault ridden self. As a teacher, I've learned to create space in our classes for my students to explore all aspects of their personalities. For those who are shy, we practice powerful poses, such as Warrior, to help bring out the fighter in each of us. For those who lack grounding, we practice Mountain pose, to give the yogini a firm foundation. Most of all, what we practice in the classes I teach, is self-awareness. By learning where we can excel, we can build skill upon skill until the student can draw upon her own knowledge at any time.

The goal of any class, whether it's Yoga or Mathematics, is to teach the student how to learn. It's very difficult to instruct when a student doesn't understand how to open up to the material. By using the metaphors of the asanas in Yoga, I'm able to reach into a student's spirit and say, "It's the Cat working within you...", as she works through Cat pose. This allows the students to surrender embarrassment and reservation. The experience of using these poses to help build tenacity and poise can be as transforming as the donning of a mask. Once a student gains skill she will no longer have to pretend the part in the other areas of her life. She truly will have the grace of a Crane, the flexibility of a Bow and the open heart of a Gate. The masks necessary to pretend will fall away, and she will be as comfortable in life, as she is in the studio.

Do I still wear masks? Of course I do. We all do. We put on the mask of happiness when we're feeling cranky. We put on the mask of sarcasm when we're really feeling hurt. We put on the mask of indifference when we don't know how to change a negative situation. We put on the mask of spunk when all we want to do is curl up and sleep. We use masks every day to overcome our own shortcomings, or to help us through a difficult time. The question isn't whether or not we use these masks, but whether we're aware of the use. If we can be consciously attuned to their place in our lives, we can use them as an intended assist, rather than as an involuntary crutch.

What will I be for Halloween this year? The answer depends a great deal on how I'm feeling that day. I hope, however, that I feel most like being myself, and that masks will be unnecessary.

The Best Laid Plans

“The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” ~ Robert Burns

This past weekend, at my daughter's college preparatory school in Massachusetts, was Parents Weekend. October is the most glorious time of year to visit New England, and the area between the Berkshires and the New Hampshire border is aflame with every

possible Autumn blaze hue. The drive to the school itself is akin to trekking from one picture postcard view to the next. Nothing looks quite real: the entire countryside feels painted or imaginary. The school creates a festive atmosphere, as parents attend classes with their children. The nostalgia this brings back, particularly for those of us who attended similar schools, is palpable. I found myself wanting to raise my hand in French class and duck down below my seat in Algebra II; the old strengths and weaknesses still fully apparent. There were mixers, social gatherings, a hospitality tent, parent-teacher meetings, tours, fancy meals and a whole array of exceptional events to help connect parents with the school their children attend far away. Every sports team was scheduled for home games and each one is meant to be attended by all: not just the parents of those children playing. There is a wonderful sense of anticipation, connection, and a delightful schedule with just enough activity to keep both parents and children on track for a great experience.

Yet, as Robert Burns so eloquently put it, "The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry." One aspect of any kind of special event that can't be taken into the meticulous planning is the weather. As delightful as New England fall can be one day, the weather can turn 180 degrees the next. The rain came pouring down onto the school, onto the elegantly appointed festival tent, onto the playing fields, onto the carefully groomed paths and onto the families scurrying from one ivy covered building to another. The bookstore and student center became a makeshift life raft as parents thronged in to buy raincoat pullovers, umbrellas and dry sweatshirts, all emblazoned with the school's colors and mascot. Mothers that carefully styled their hair and wore their cashmere elegantly, found themselves holding fuzzy school blankets over their heads just to make it to the next destination. Games were postponed, cancelled or played under adverse conditions and all events were modified to accommodate the uninvited guest of an Autumn gale. But, parents, teachers, administrators soldiered on with good cheer and a sense of humor.

There were smiles and jokes about Mother Nature nasty sense of humor until the next snafu arrived: the H1N1 virus. Sadly, there were 7 student cases of the flu diagnosed at school, as well as one teacher. An emergency assembly was convened and a crisis plan of action was enacted. Since many of the students enjoy going to the nearby hotel with their parents for the evenings, strict rules were set in place about both the taking off of campus, and the returning to, of all children. All needed to screened upon arrival, and any child found to have a fever would not be allowed to return to campus. Additionally, parents were informed that, should their child come down with the flu in the coming weeks, arrangements must be made to pick that child up from school until she is better. These precautions complicated the weekend dramatically: plans for groups of parents to go out together changed, students were asked to clear out their lockers in the fitness building to make room for a quarantine area, and returning plans included waiting time at the health center before the child could return to campus. The ill members of the community were never far from any one's thoughts, nor were the concerns about everyone else's health. Parents regarded their teenagers more closely, carefully looking for signs of flu. Children looked at their parents sneezes with more concern.

Regardless of the "Nor'easter" storm, and the Flu outbreak, it was a terrific weekend. Instead of feasting under the bright canopy of golden October skies, families gathered at nearby restaurants. In the place of huge crowds at the football game, a number of kids watched in house movies at the hotel...a rare treat for the entertainment deprived prep school students. Parents had coffee in small groups in the lounge, getting to know one another. Teachers remained longer in the open house, chatting, as much as filling parents in on students' progress. The carefully planned and lovingly tweaked schedule went out the window, as the community came together, putting a brave, unified facade together against the gathering storm of downpours and flu.

Parents Weekend 2009 will probably go down in the school's annals of Murphy's Law: "what can go wrong, will go wrong". I hope, however, that there will also be a note of what went right this weekend: a community came together expecting a weekend of frivolity and instead experienced a flood and flu. Complications notwithstanding, I believe that the perseverance of the entire community, the flexibility of schedules, the generosity of spirit, and the common belief that all will be well regardless of the circumstances, should, in fact, be what is remembered....not the hardships, but the resolution.

Next year, however, I will pack my rain boots.