first times

A good cook knows that it's not what is on the table that matters,

it's what in the chairs.

Ultimately, perhaps what I wrote about the valuable constant of family is really true. So I don't know when the packers swiped the stuff on top of the cabinet and just packed them (and thankfully my driver's license is not on there, but goodness knows what we had left there!), and if we will be fortunate we will get to unpack all of our material possessions in our new home a few months down the road, but the most important thing: every evening we will sit down to dinner and we will look around the table and see each other. Yes, we may be irritated and annoyed at each other more often these days and patience is not exactly in over-supply, but deep within, I sigh with relief and gratitude that I have you all here with me, eating the soggy take-out.

And yes, having said quite some good-bye's the last days, we regret we cannot take our friends with us, and I know you wish we could send the packers over to your friends' houses and have them round up your wonderful play-mates. We cannot do that, but we can take away the friendship, and keep it going. 

Speaking of friends, a friend shared a most refreshing way of looking at a move. She told me every time she had to go to a new place she would think: "Wow, there is just this great person there that I would have a wonderful time with and we will get along really well, and though we've never met I am going to meet her now."

I thought that was a positive way to look at our move, and get excited about the people we are going to meet, the friendships we are going to make. I also wondered what connections could be made between all the people we know. Some of my best friends now were introduced to me by mutual friends, and perhaps some of our friends will eventually become best of friends too!

As I said goodbye to our friends the last days, I had spent quite some time indulging myself in memories. I thought of a lot of "first times" and how I met all these wonderful people here in Arizona. I recall my first questions to them, the first jokes we shared and the first things we did together. The first times we discovered our similarities, our differences, our pet peeves and our common delights. You are going to have a lot of these "first times" too, even if you do not realize it then.

We are going to experience a lot of "first times" together as we set about learning about our new home, meeting new people and making new experiences.

It is true, "first times" are exciting, but they can be a bit scary too. It is not always easy for me to approach someone and introduce myself and make friends; I do not have that kind of personality to say, "Hi! I think you are going to like me very much because I am simply, the most awesome person in the world." I have my concerns and reservations, and yes, I am afraid of rejections. I remember reading to you from a book about making new friends in a new place, that one should just extend one's hand and say, "Hi! My name is XYZ and I am 4 years old! What's your name?" And you looked at me and wondered if I was telling a joke. -- could it be that easy and straight-forward?

Well, I guess it could be, and then there will be times when things do not work out quite as well or as magically. But sometimes I also think some friendships are just meant to be. We shall find out, bearing in mind that to make good friends, you need to be one first.

Some years down the road, we will be looking back on all these "first times" and I am sure you will be very proud and glad with all those first attempts that you dared to make.

comfort and familiarity

I will tell you a secret. When I was a graduate student in Hong Kong, I often came in touch with foreign exchange students, mostly coming from the United States. I observed that often they were excited to be in the exotic Orient, but also that they often complained that they could not find the things they were familiar with. Once I went with a couple of them to Beijing and they were absolutely exhilarated to finally be able to eat a meal at McDonald's. I listened to their complaints about how things were different and how things were in the US, and secretly I snorted at them.

I thought, "Well, if you want all those things, why didn't you just stay home? If you came here to experience and learn something different, then you ought to expect very different things!"

Oh, talk about youth and arrogance!

Well, what was one of the first things I did when I learned about our move? I went and check if they have the following in Albany: Trader Joe's. Whole Foods. Costco.

And the answers: NO. NO. NO.

Did I panic? YES. Was I overcome with a sense of dread? Er, yes.

I mean, what about those chocolate-covered almonds with sea salt and turbinado sugar? And the sprouted wheat bagels? And the delish Thai dumplings? Organic roasted chicken that had rescued our dinner many a time? And I have never bought wet wipes from anywhere else but from Costco.

You asked if they will have a library as great as our beloved Sunset library? I wondered the same.

I have been thinking how long it will take for me to get used to all the roads, and figure out how to drive there, and how difficult will it be for me to source out staple foods that we will all be happy about.

Ah, familiarity and comfort. We all crave that. We all need that.

This is why foreign students cramp their luggage full of foods from home and loving mothers (and grandmothers) labor to fill containers and jars with home-made curry paste and chili paste that can never, ever be found in that other foreign country. Home is the best, home-made even better. Being able to take a piece of home with you (including tattered blankets and old stinky pillows) is even better. Security blankets come in all forms and shapes (and smells).

Do you remember that evening when I righteously expounded upon the need to move beyond our comfort zone? To explore the new, and expose ourselves to unfamiliar circumstances and test ourselves? Remember when I boasted that I will even survive harsh winters, and maybe even thrive in it?

Oh well, it is time for me to take the examination now. I am going to be put to the test. And I know you are watching, maybe even silently snickering. (And that is why I have quietly vowed that I am not going to whine about winter, even if it will stretch out six months long. Heck, I will get some Huskies and go sledding around the neighborhood, or fashion a similar sport.)

I know you will watch closely if I burst into tears not finding my familiar condiments and foods I enjoy.

Or maybe we will all delight in the farmers' market's offerings and make fast friends of the employees at that co-op that everyone seems to be talking about.

I know you will listen intently to my sighs, or even my curses when things do not go smoothly and I just wish there are a few familiar things around so I can just relax and lean back.

Hopefully I will not forget to hang on to my sense of adventure, and together each time I lose my way (yet again) we will discover something new and delightful, or maybe find that there is indeed something familiar.

You know, years ago when I traveled on my own I always went with the notion that there were more good people than bad, and that I will always somehow chance upon a helpful and kind soul. And indeed I had been lucky many times. I still want to believe in that notion, even though I am older now and not feeling as naive. Hopefully, that belief will still act like a good luck charm.

But honestly, you are my good luck charm. You are the comfort that I will hang on to as I learn to relax my grip on the steering wheel. You have no idea how much your are buoying me along. You are why I will rise to the occasion when all I want to do is cower, hide and whine.

To our adventures. Beyond the comfort zone.

last times

As the time for us to leave Arizona draws closer and closer, I began to notice more intently how I am doing things for the last time. Starting from when we collected eggs from our "egg-man" for the last time, I thought to myself maybe I ought to make a list of the dates of all the last times we do things here: last visit to the library, last trip to the post office, last park day, last purchase at Trader Joe's, last load of laundry. But goodness, I am not having the time (and mind) to keep track of all these! But I do look at the environment around us more closely and think to myself, "This is one of the last times you are going to see this, look! Look! I know you are going to miss them when you no longer get to see them."

I thought of how the small foliage of the flora here sometimes drove me crazy, when I thirst and longed for large green leaves (big enough to wrap you in) and enormous exotic blooms. But I know I am going to miss the beautiful bronze of the ironwood, and the amazing century plants, and the ocotillo plants. And the cactus flowers. And I know you will miss the saguaro cactus. And we will miss the amazing sunsets and so many other things.

So I looked, and bid silent farewell's, and ruminated.

The truth is, we never really know when the last time will be. The recurring lesson in life is that you never know, and therefore it is best to treasure what we have now. Laugh now, live now, love now. Say "thank you" now. Do it now. Life is not a series of postponements, or waiting for the "right moments." There is no perfect moment, except now.

saying goodbye

I see how difficult it is for you to say goodbye.

As you said, this is the first time in your life that you are leaving behind all the friends you have ever, ever made.

I understand, I really do, even though you think I do not.

I am finding it hard too. Especially going somewhere where we basically know nobody.

But we are always arriving, and we are always leaving, whether we are aware or not, whether we want it or not.

I kept thinking about how we never got to say goodbye to our little Ferdinand. No hello, no goodbye. That still hurts me to the core, even though every time I think of it, I try to let it go a little bit. This will also be the first year I will remember Ferdinand's birthday without friends around me. Not that I have sobbed on a friend's shoulder on that day ever, but it still makes a big difference, knowing someone will be there, if I would just say the word.

Being able to say goodbye is good. Being sad in saying goodbye, is good. This means we have made good friends; this means whom we are saying goodbye to is precious.This means we have made connections, and those can last a long time after goodbye's have been uttered, sobbed, whispered, or yelled.

I just hope we will get to say proper goodbye's when the time comes. My biggest fear as a mother is that I will not get to say goodbye to you. Every time I drop you off for a class, I drive away with a prayer, that please, no one will get me in an accident that kills me instantly. It just breaks me to think that you will be waiting for me to pick you up as promised, and then waiting, waiting, and waiting. First impatient, then annoyed, then scared. Then the kind stranger appears and takes your hands and tells you there is bad news.

I do not want it like that and I wish with every fiber of my being that will never ever happen. I will try my utmost best to prevent it. But as we know, sometimes we have no control.

That's why every meeting is so precious, and every moment so begging to be treasured. I know that is easy to forget. Especially in the past days, when I feel I only have this much time, and this much patience.

I have to keep reminding myself, treasure it now. Now, now, now. Not till after we settle in, not then. It is now.

As we say our goodbye's, let's remember all the wonderful good times, let's hold each moment with tenderness and gratitude, it will make our onward journey full of joy.

leaning into fear, relaxing in the face of it

Dear girls,

as you saw yesterday, I embarrassed myself on the trapeze yesterday morning. (Even though you were all so kind about it, telling me I looked great, even though I was like a fish out of water!) Your father and I bought the tickets to the class, thinking we would do it as a date, but as it turned out, we did not have much time to use it due to our move. Your father was not sure how his back will respond to the trapeze, and together we decided I will do the class with Sophia.

Boy, was I scared when I climbed up that long and narrow ladder the first time to get to the platform! It seemed like it took forever to get there and even while standing on the very firm platform I was not convinced or secure. I was nervous but was told "nervous is fine!" I gave myself the permission to chicken out if need be, but I did not. I wanted to try. After all, I had nothing to lose. I could just fall and the net is just beneath, even though it looked like it was a million feet away. Sure, the others sitting around watching or my "classmates" could snicker but we are moving away and really everyone was focused on who they came with so I didn't feel I need to perform ballet in air to the (imaginary) audience.

The first time was the hardest because I kept thinking of all the things that could go wrong. And then I was in the air and those "professors" were right: I just had to LISTEN and respond right away and everything would go as they said it would. When I hesitated just a spilt-second to release my hands from the bar I immediately felt how everything got "heavier" and required more effort. Thankfully, I could always wait for the next swing and when the command came again, I let go, and viola! I was hanging upside down by my knees, looking down at the net and my head was not even spinning. It felt pretty awesome, even though there were several things I could fine-tune on and improve (like not looking like a three-tiered wedding cake hurtling through air).

I thought this class was perfect during this time, when we are going through this move and I am feeling both excited and quite, quite nervous. This class taught me to lean into the fear. If I just let go of it, it truly can do nothing to me, and I could literally just fly. Even when standing on the platform, one arm on the rope, and the other on the bar, preparing for the take-off, one is asked to really lean into that vast empty (and scary) space before her. Trying to lean back on the platform makes take-off clumsy, if not dangerous. Chest out, hips forward, the "professors" kept repeating. Chest out to tell fear "I'm not afraid. I'm facing you squarely." It makes the fear dissolve, even if just a little bit. Hips out to bring the body even further into the space, and while it seems to make it easier to fall off the platform (god forbid!), it actually makes take-off easier, and more graceful. If I did both of that, and took a deep breathe before I hear the shout of "Hep!" (circus code for "go!") I knew it was going to be OK. Alright, so once I started off really well and then brought my legs over way too far and almost rotated 360 degrees and essentially was let down in an awkward position, so what? People told me I looked "cool." (According to your father, indeed so, until er, I had to come down in that same position instead of flipping down.)

In any case this is what I took away from my trapeze class:

• The first time is always the scariest. But that is only because you are not aware of how MUCH you are capable of. Usually you are capable of far more than you think you can.
• Even if timing is crucial, there is often (almost always) a second chance.
• But you need to grab at that chance.
• Falling is ok. (Yes, I got scratches, skin burns and bruises, but like you told me, "They are going to heal in no time, mom!")
• Focus on what needs to be done, and forget fear.
• Fear consumes a lot of energy.
• To fly, you need to lean into that empty space.
• Until you lean forward, nothing will happen. 
• No one can put the fear in you. Only you can allow the fear in you.

I did not get the certificate from the trapeze school because I rubbed off a large piece of skin from my palm and could not move on to the "catch" segment (and you need to do a "catch" to obtain that certificate). I was bummed about it, but really I took away more than what a certificate can give me. The certificate will say I did a "catch" there but I did more than that during those two hours. While battling the sun beating down on us, I observed all three of you for one of the last times under the Arizonan sun, grateful we are together. I discovered I have my fears and that I could overcome it, even if not completely (my heart still beat like crazy every time I climbed up to the platform, but I did not feel like dying anymore). I experienced the exhilarating feeling of leaning into fear and then abandoning it.

I am looking forward to us going on more adventures like this. Now that you are older we could go zip-lining, have a lot of fun and experience that unique feeling that is the exhilaration of joy after fear has been overcome. I know you have so much in you.

And I will love to be there to watch you fly, every time.

(And thank you for being so supportive of me when I tried to fly.)

Much love,
mama

the "just in case" mentality

Right now, there is stuff everywhere: on shelves, in boxes, on the floor, in my brain folds.

Some await their ride to Goodwill, some anticipate being sold at our yard sale, some boxed up waiting to get on a moving truck.

Whatever it is, it's a whole lot of stuff.

Some are very useful, others essential. Some we keep because we do not want to spend money buying new ones, or can't afford getting a better-quality one yet. And then there are a good number who fall under the "just in case" category.

That is of my doing. I have this "just in case" mentality that I am trying to get rid of.

You know: cart around cardigans in the car in the summer just in case we go someplace where the air-conditioner had been cranked up too high. Lugging along umbrellas when there is a 0.1% chance of showers. Bringing sweaters, thick leggings and oh yes, a jacket when we go on a trip, just in case inclement weather finds us (You just never know. You better bear this advice in mind. Your mother told you so: You. Just. Never. Know.). Too much food and snacks just in case you get very hungry. Your dressers all contain an extra few sets of clothes just in case some unforseen circumstances require you to have three extra set of clothes. And so on and so forth.

I am very determined to pare down and in general I am not an old sentimental rag so I can give away, donate and sell stuff pretty fast and easy. But oh, that just in case mentality. It will do me in.

Don't I need a few extra birthday gifts on hand in case someone invites us to a party that happens the very next morning at 7am, before the stores open? You need an extra set of oil pastels, because you may just run out tonight. An extra half dozen of underwear? Of course, you never know when they may come in useful. Oh, and this pen that we all like? They may not manufacture it anymore in three months but hey,we will have a dozen of it because I have already bought extras, just in case.

Why am I embarrassing myself here?

Well, I am not embarrassed at all. I just think ahead, am a bit neurotic, and like to be prepared.

And I am prepared to change. I want to adapt, go with the flow, and just be. Enjoy the moment without fear, and welcome surprises. Allow for tiny "disasters" so we can laugh about that later. Open up opportunities, make space for new things, new possibilities.

I am not going to throw all caution to the wind, but I will relax some more. I think it will be very good like this.

what is constant

In the book I am reading about moving with kids, some families soothe the ache of parting with friends by telling their children that "no matter what, we are always a family, and we are always together." Some even venture to go so far to say that no matter what, you will always have your family with you.

Hmph. I am not so sure.

Especially on days when you bicker, fight and spit bitterly at each other, I wonder if the fact that you are family and that you are always stuck together offers you comfort. To be fair, you also support and care for each other in the most beautiful way, but I' afraid this "family as a constant" proposal may not always sit well with you.

I am just waiting for the day when you hiss, "But I did not get to choose my family!" Ouch.

No, which makes this a mysterious and (sometimes) wonderful thing. By some weird force of nature, we came together as a family. By some coincidence your father and I met and we decided we would torture love each other to the end of our lives, and we decided to have a family, and we had the four of you. We wondered so much about each of you before you were born: how you will look like, how you will act, how you will be. You are each a mysterious gift, and this is what makes us being a family unique and special. Maybe we did not choose it, but that happened and now, well, we are stuck together, for good.

I also thought about how I can provide some sort of a "constant" for you during this chaotic and crazy time of preparing for the big move. I am trying to still bake once a week so we have home-made baked goods and snacks. I am trying to cook when I can, though I have declared that eating frozen meals or take-out is going to become a regular feature. Your father tries to keep up with the bedtime story and I am doing my best to keep up with my share of story-reading (but those times are dwindling, I know, and I apologize sincerely. I miss us reading together too!). I have succumbed to the snappy alligator in me sometimes and I am trying to keep my mood on an even keel. (yoga, breathing, chocolates.)

Not surprisingly it had not been easy trying to be constant, it is a complex equation involving sleep quality, amount of caffeine in my blood stream, how much control I exercise over myself and... discipline. But I am trying and I will keep trying, every time I fall off-track. I appreciate your reminders and your telling me that I had been nasty sometimes. Thank you. You are the constant in my life right now, I love it. Thank you.