Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Angry? Me? Never!

Anger.

Let's talk about anger.

I don't consider myself an angry person, but I'm starting to wonder if my self-awareness is a bit off-kilter, because I've been struggling with a lot of anger as of late - and been hearing from people in my life that I am angry - and screwing up relationships because of anger...so even though I don't CONSIDER myself angry, gosh, maybe I need to change my perspective.

It's confusing, though, because I really don't FEEL angry. Well, except for sometimes.

Which leads me to the practice of Osho Kundalini Meditation, because I think there is a connection between my experience with the practice and my current inability to SEE myself as angry, even though I'm hearing from a lot of people that I am, indeed, such. I had an experience with anger last August that didn't make a ton of sense to me at the time, but it's starting to make a little more sense to me now.

About halfway through Yoga Teacher Training at Kripalu, we did the Osho Kundalini Meditation practice. Instead of trying to summarize this meditation technique, allow me to quote the Osho website:

Many meditative techniques require one to sit still and silent. But for most of us accumulated stress in our bodymind makes that difficult. Before we can hope to access our inner powerhouse of consciousness, we need to let go of our tensions.
Osho Active Meditations have been scientifically designed by Osho over a period of time to enable us to consciously express and experience repressed feelings and emotions, and learn the knack of watching our habitual patterns in a new way. (from the Osho website
At Kripalu, we were guided in the Osho Kundalini Meditation one fine Sunday morning, and I am pretty sure I went into it with an open mind and heart. I was two weeks into my YTT experience, and I was probably the happiest I'd ever been in my whole life, save a few choice moments at Kenyon. I was eating amazingly well, practicing at least four hours of yoga a day, surrounded by like-minded human beings with the most incredibly kind and generous spirits, getting eight solid hours of sleep an night, spending an hour in the sauna and hot tub a day, in one of the most beautiful places on earth. And I was IN SCHOOL, working toward a goal, feeling completely in the right place at the right time. All of this to say that I was NOT. ANGRY. Not in the slightest.

In the Osho Kundalini Meditation, you go through four stages over the course of one hour, all to a very specific soundtrack of music. The first stage is shaking - just shaking to this pulsating music, trying to feel the shake originate from somewhere deep underneath you, feeling the energy bubble up through the soles of your feet and letting it move your body - pulsing and shaking while standing mainly in place. The music is rhythmic and loud and INTENSE. The second stage is dancing, again to very specific and intense music. You dance like there is no tomorrow, letting the dance emanate from deep inside of you instead of YOU dancing the body. You let the dance be organic and natural - it doesn't have to look like any dancing anyone has ever seen before - it's all YOURS. Dance like it's the last time in your life you'll feel this way, be able to express yourself this way. Dance. The third stage you either stand or sit, completely still, and just WATCH. After thirty minutes of movement, you simply stay completely still and watch the flow of energy that you created as it bubbles through you, noticing thoughts, feelings, emotions, physical sensations as they occur, without inviting them or pushing them away. Just being AWARE. There is a soundtrack for this, too, that facilitates stillness. Lastly, in the fourth stage, you lay in savasana posture and simply let go, relax. Breathe. You stay here for 15 minutes.


So the theory behind this makes sense to me - it's hard to just SIT in meditation without transition, without releasing any pent up energy in the body first. This is why I always start my meditation classes with about ten minutes of light yoga - mainly pratapana and movement. But Osho meditation takes it to another level, with thirty minutes of intense, purposeful, powerful movement. And then you sit (or stand) in stillness, and then you relax. And then? Well, I guess that depends on who you are.


We were encouraged, immediately following the four stages, to spend another fifteen minutes writing ourselves a letter. And for this specific practice, we were encouraged to open our letter "My Dearest ______".


I was aware I was FEELING something powerful bubbling up inside of me as I sat to begin writing this letter to myself, but it was undefinable. However, as soon as our guide added the caveat of writing from a place of love and compassion, I felt something inside of me break wide open and I was SEETHING. I felt as though I was in a blind rage, I was so totally and inexplicable furious. What I wrote in that letter is immensely personal and not something I'm sharing on a public blog, but suffice to say I was PISSED OFF. And I'm not someone who considers anger a dominant emotion in her life. Hmm.

Now the inquiry, yes?

In any event, I'm leading my meditation group tonight in the Osho Kundalini Meditation, and I'm already thinking in terms of holding space afterward for whatever people might need. This can definitely be an intense experience. After I did it, I skipped lunch and spent two hours in the hot tub, letting the scalding hot bubbles mirror the anger that was pouring out of me. Unfortunately for my meditation students, I don't have a hot tub. But a comfy couch, a shoulder to cry on, Skinny Girl margaritas, snacks and leftover Sweet & Salty cake? Yup, I've got them covered. =)

Monday, June 27, 2011

Reading List

I'm currently in the process of reading The Strand 80, having been inspired by my friend, Melissa. Some of these books I have already read at some point in my life, but I'm going to re-read the entire list.

Start date: June 13, 2011
Books read to date: 4/81 (as of June 27, 2011)


  1. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
  2. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
  3. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
  4. The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
  5. Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand
  6. The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
  7. The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkein
  8. One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
  9. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë
  10. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling (6/2011)
  11. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
  12. 1984 by George Orwell
  13. On the Road by Jack Kerouac
  14. Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
  15. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
  16. The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky
  17. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky
  18. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith
  19. Slaughter House Five by Kurt Vonnegut
  20. Ulysses by James Joyce
  21. Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
  22. Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
  23. Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
  24. East of Eden by John Steinbeck
  25. The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway
  26. War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy
  27. The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkein
  28. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling (6/2011)
  29. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon
  30. Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë
  31. A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving
  32. The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas
  33. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll
  34. The Stranger by Albert Camus 
  35. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
  36. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
  37. Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
  38. Moby Dick, or the Whale by Herman Melville
  39. The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho
  40. Les Misérables by Victor Hugo
  41. A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
  42. Anthem by Ayn Rand
  43. The Wind-up Bird Chronicles by Haruki Murakami
  44. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
  45. In Cold Blood by Truman Capote
  46. Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut
  47. Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
  48. Le petit prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery
  49. The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
  50. Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison
  51. The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera
  52. The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
  53. The World According to Garp by John Irving
  54. Middlemarch by George Elliot
  55. To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf
  56. The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingslover
  57. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling (6/2011)
  58. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K. Rowling (6/2011)
  59. The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway
  60. Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card
  61. Bleak House by Charles Dickens
  62. Beloved by Toni Morrison
  63. Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
  64. A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers
  65. Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk
  66. The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
  67. Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf
  68. The Giver by Lois Lowry
  69. Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov
  70. Blindness by Jose Saramago
  71. Life of Pi by Yann Martel
  72. Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert
  73. Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak
  74. The Narnia Chronicles by C.S. Lewis
  75. The Odyssey by Homer
  76. The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown
  77. Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger
  78. A Wrinkle in Time by Madelein L'Engle
  79. Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer
  80. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
  81. The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

persistent practice and dharma, imperfectly carried out.

It's interesting to me (and maybe to no one else) to take note of how my practice of yoga has evolved, shifted and changed over the past year, so I'm going to (attempt) to do so in this blog. Which is to say - this is a self-serving, self-indulgent sort of blog, and mainly only for my own documentation and processing. I'd love to hear your feedback and thoughts - but please understand I'm not writing with an audience in mind, per se. =)

A year ago right now I was driving two hours, round-trip, to go to a hot yoga at a studio in Evansville, Indiana about five times per week, as the best possible preparation I could think of for going to Yoga Teacher Training at Kripalu for a month, along with taking a once a week class in town. Where I live, there is not a single yoga studio - there was, at the time, one class a week taught at the YMCA (where I currently teach four classes a week). It was a basic Hatha class, led by a lovely and talented teacher, to be sure, who made a very positive impact on my life, and really encouraged me in my yoga journey to becoming certified to teach, but as it was an all-levels class, it really didn't offer me consistent growth opportunity. Even in Evansville there isn't a lot of opportunity for yoga; I thought a hot yoga practice would really challenge me, and help me with my two weaker points at the time: strength and balance. (Flexibility has always been my strength in yoga, but we all know it's not just about being bendy!) And I think the hot yoga WAS an excellent pre-training for the yoga boot camp that is Kripalu YTT.

After Kripalu, of course, my entire practice completely shifted and transformed. I came away from Kripalu with such a deeper understanding of yoga, on the whole, and my practice went from being something that kind of made me feel good to truly being sadhana - a spiritual practice of compassionate self-awareness and learning to tolerate the consequences of being myself. In September and October I did a lot of Kripalu practices: audio practices from Danny and Grace, Stephen Cope's video, and then a lot of PERSONAL practice, something I really had no experience with prior to Kripalu. I started teaching at the Y in mid-October, so my personal practice started blurring with my class planning, which is both a blessing and a struggle, as I'm sure many yoga teachers can attest.  My practice during these months was very strength oriented - a lot of the Kripalu classes I have on audio (and the way I was trained and the classes I took at Kripalu) focused a lot on holding poses for longer amounts of time - really exploring the alignment and the breath as the pose was sustained. Hold Warrior I and II for long periods of time, repeatedly throughout a 90-minute practice, and tell me that isn't strength training at its best. Hi, really big quads and very developed hamstrings. (So now I had flexibility and a LOT of muscle strength. Still not so great at balance. =)

In late November I had a horrible car accident (I wasn't hurt, thank goodness) that really threw me for a loop, and in December, I discovered Yogaglo. Sometimes I feel like I owe Yogaglo my sanity - my love for the site has encouraged at least six people I know of off the top of my head to join, and it has been a life-saver for me. On the Yogaglo site you can track your practice; there is a calendar that shows you how many hours of video you viewed each day of the month. I was shocked and mildly impressed when I went back through my calendar - I've done a LOT of Yogaglo practices. I have averaged six to nine hours a week on Yogaglo since mid-December! I discovered my yoga-teacher crush of all crushes, Kathryn Budig, on Yogaglo!

So, January through March was a lot of Yogaglo, which caused me to transition from Kripalu-style practices to a lot more Vinyasa Flow, which I do adore, even though my heart will always belong to Kripalu. I started incorporating a lot more Vinyasa into my own teaching as a result. This led me to explore further weaknesses (that seems like a negative word, and I don't mean it in negative way) in my physical asana practice, and I enrolled in Kathryn Budig's heart-opening, back-bend workshop in Nashville at the beginning of April. April and May, then, became ALL about heart-openers, and something about the workshop style in which I learned them with Kathryn took me back to my Kripalu days; I started exploring, in my personal practice, a lot of long sustained heart-openers and psoas stretches. This was a great, great thing - something I absolutely needed - and I did see the reverberations off the mat in my personal life. But then at the beginning of June I started struggling with some deep shoulder pain that is VERY much related (maybe physically and emotionally) to my hyper-focus on back-bends. (Even today, my shoulder not bothering me at all anymore, I felt the the reminder of the feeling of injury in the spot ONLY while doing cobra pose as part of a Kathryn Budig level 2 Vinyasa Flow class.) I had to take about two weeks off from yoga - the third week I started back in Danny's gentle Kripalu practice, which is VERY gentle, to say the least, and have slowly been building in some Vinyasa practices on Yogaglo. I've become very aware of where I need to back off (only very gentle back-bends for me these days) and where I can still find a lot of support in my abilities (hamstring and hip-openers are making my heart sing and rebuilding my confidence) and THAT in and of itself is part of the practice, right? Being AWARE of your body, your breath, your spirit - knowing when to be strong, and when to surrender, even to taking it easier than you think you should. Maybe I STILL haven't mastered balance in my physical asana practice (I fall over all of the time, but I try to laugh at myself) but I'm getting better at balancing challenging myself without HURTING myself!

So my own practice has had ebbs and flows - has shifted with me both in response to AND in informing my life off the mat - and yet all the while I've been teaching regularly. I am less aware of how all of this has affected the classes I've taught - but without really sitting down to think about it, I'd guess they have followed a very similar pattern. I know, at least, that I taught a LOT of heavy-duty heart-opening classes in April and May. I taught a LOT of restorative classes right after my accident. And recently, while dealing with this shoulder injury, I've found comfort going back to my roots in terms of teacher training, teaching more traditional Kripalu style classes.

My practice teach evaluator at Kripalu told me that she knew being a yoga teacher was my dharma. That felt a lot easier to believe ten months ago, fresh off a month in the Berkshires. What she also told me, that is actually easier to believe now, or at least to understand, is that it takes at least a year to find just the beginnings of your VOICE as a yoga teacher, and that the voice is constantly evolving. I haven't yet been teaching for a full year, and I don't know that I've found my voice just yet (I'd really like to do a focused Vinyasa Flow Teacher Training program and explore that further) but I at least can look back and know that I've been present for the journey, and that the journey IS happening. That's something, right?

Monday, June 13, 2011

Inspiration

My darling friend from college, Melissa, has inspired me immensely today! Her blog is a GREAT read, and she has a list of 40 things she wants to accomplish before she is 40 (which she aptly titles the 40/40 project) and I WANT TO COPY HER. I want to make my own list of 40 things to accomplish before I'm 40, but first on the list is something I want to accomplish MUCH sooner - which I am also copying from Melissa - I want to read (or re-read) all 81 books on The Strand 80 list. I'm so excited about it! I'll be starting with Harry Potter - I borrowed all seven of the books from my friend Devin. Thank you, Melissa, for inspiring me today! I'll start working on that 40/40 list ASAP!

so hum-shanti-shanti-shanti-om.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Thrown off the mat/INJURY: What is Practice?

I sort of feel like I'm the outside looking into my practice today. It's sort of weird.

I haven't practiced in over a week. I've taught, but I have not actively engaged in MY practice of yoga.

What does that mean, though? My practice? I can get all lofty and trippy and see my entire LIFE as my PRACTICE. "It's all yoga, baby, " they say. And it is - truly. But it's ALL just about EVERYTHING, isn't it? So let's narrow it down a little bit.

I haven't been on my mat by myself, or in a class as a student, or in front of a video or YogaGlo, in over a week. Why? Because I'm INJURED. And I hate it. I really, really hate it. Ever since Yoga Teacher Training at Kripalu I've had this little, faint rumble in my right shoulder. It's always been just to the left of the curve of the blade, and very deep. I've had two massage therapists since then tell me my muscles are supple everywhere BUT this location, where it feels "stringy and clumpy." Someone mentioned rhomboid connection once. I've tried researching it but I really can't quite figure out what the anatomy is or what the problem might be. (I do hyper extend my right elbow, which I feel might be related to pressure on my right shoulder in asana practice, though.) In any event, this deep pain really never inhibited me in my practice or in my teaching whatsoever. In fact, I never felt pain often, or doing anything with my shoulder specifically - it doesn't hurt in downdog or chaturanga or handstand, etc. (Even now.) However, in deep forward folds - especially seated forward folds (specifically in upavista konasana, actually) I'd feel this dull, aching pain deep in my upper back, again, right underneath the shoulder blade in between the blade and my spine.

After a spectacular weekend at my alma mater for my Chamber Singers reunion, I got back home deflated and depressed. I struggle deeply with mourning the end of experiences - especially experiences that have incredibly deep meaning for me, and that either can't be repeated or won't be repeated for an extensive period of time. The second day I was home, I woke up in excruciating pain in my shoulder - right where the deep, dull, pain has popped up for months - that was traveling up my neck and making it impossible to turn my head. Kind of like a crick in the neck on a massive amount of steroids.

Needless to say, the six days since haven't left me in any shape to practice yoga, especially not when I read that if it's a ligament strain or tear, the last thing I need to do is stretch it more before it can heal. So I've been walking some (which I read helps the body pump blood through the inflammatory healing response and encourage it to go faster) and doing some pranayama (breathing) and meditation, but no asana - which I know, for a lot of people, is the only definition of yoga that computes.

And it's really gotten me thinking about what, exactly, my yoga practice is to me. Or at least, I realized I was thinking about exactly that, today. Getting forced off the mat - at least in terms of my vigorous, challenging, very physical-focused practice - has almost put me square in the MIDDLE of my mat in terms of real contemplation.

A possible good thing?

ps - any ideas/advice about my shoulder, I'll happily listen to. It's feeling much better as of today, but it's still frustrating. Not exactly sure what to do.

Monday, May 30, 2011

One of those Kenyon moments: quoting P.F. Kluge to himself.

I wrote this in September, 2008, after a reunion planning weekend at Kenyon.

Posted using Mobypicture.com

September 15, 2008

When we were still students, my friend Rea used to talk about how she had this odd urge to walk up to people in the campus a cappella groups and start singing their solos to them. Especially funny as she was a Chaser, herself. I think we almost walked up to Adam Hunter Howard with plans to sing "Another Saturday Night" to him outside of Old Kenyon once. But, we didn't.

This weekend, though, I quoted P.F. Kluge to himself, and I could not be more thrilled.

On Friday night I was being wined and dined by the Kenyon College Alumni Office – and truly, they do know how to wine and dine us alumni. We were in the beautiful new Alumni Dining Room (I'm told this is an official name) that has, if I can figure it out correctly, replaced Lower Dempsey. I'll save most of my thoughts on the new Peirce for another time and place – suffice to say it is beautiful, indeed, but somehow not exactly Kenyon. It isn't that I want to live forever in 1997 (coughMattLavinecough) by any means, but I do wish they could have kept that beautiful terrace off the back of Peirce – you know, where we watched the fireworks from the night before graduation? I realize it didn't get a ton of use, but that view WAS epic. The Great Hall remains unchanged, except that the glass doors and windows on the left when you walk in no longer look outside, but look into the new addition. And you don't enter via the catwalk anymore. There is something about it that doesn't click in my brain completely, and I'm trying to NOT let it just be the part of me that also misses Word Perfect on the VAX and thinks that Andrew Quinn's full time job should be singing "Veronica" with the 1994-1995 Kokosingers every single night, on that little stage in the Great Hall, while Marc Lacuesta conducts.

But, of course, I digress. I was being wined and dined in the beautiful new Alumni Dining Room, sitting with my classmates as we filled our glasses (again and again and again) and toasted to '99 (again and again and again) and ate prime rib and roasted vegetables. Across the room I see Lisa Schott laughing with P.F. Kluge. P.F. KLUGE, HIMSELF. And now I need to digress with the utmost of purpose.

Alma Mater was published in September 1995, as I began my freshman year at Kenyon College. I was so ridiculously HAPPY to be at Kenyon I could not see straight. I realize I possess a certain enthusiasm generally, but this was beyond measure. Kenyon was my dream school in every sense possible. And I was there. And look! On prominent display in the Bookstore (you know, the capital-B Bookstore, as it was in the mid-90's, the current bookstore is a sad skeleton of former comfort and belonging) was this book about this place that was so special to me I couldn't even begin to believe my luck to be there. It was almost a guilty pleasure, a lavish indulgence to sit IN the place while reading ABOUT the place. I read Alma Mater that fall, spending my evenings in the Bookstore, escaping the noise and busyness of Gund dorm and the oppressive silence of the library. I was fascinated to read about this place for which I already felt this strange sense of ownership that contradicted my removed sense of awe. I was constantly doing the math, figuring when Kluge had been there, who those freshman boys in Lewis were now, who the faculty members he referenced were. They became celebrities to me – Kluge and the characters in his book and even the places – the Lewis apartment I longed to explore, even Kenyon somehow, on the whole. Celebrities that you read about in the grocery store aisle. Instead of "Justin Timberlake at In 'n' Out Burger" it was "Perry Lentz in Ascension." Except I was there, too. I was living my celebrity dream.

Although, in truth, the word 'celebrity' does not do the feeling I'm talking about justice – not at all. Celebrity and pop culture and the vacuous nature of such things is as far from how I experience Kenyon as you can imagine. No, this was the way I experienced "The Neverending Story" when I was six years old, the way I first heard – truly HEARD harmony and understood the power of the third above a note when i was seven. This was learning Canon in D on the violin and Bach's 1st prelude on the piano and listening to my old Sha Na Na record when I was eight or nine or ten. This was a glimpse of some truth that I couldn't quite understand. I was experiencing (and, more importantly, still experience) Kenyon – the sacred space of Samuel Mather lawn, an Adirondack on South Quad; the holiness of the gap trail and the quarry chapel and the fields of wild flowers between the two; the ritual of freshman sing and the Kokes coming to the dorms (and following them to the next dorm and the next dorm!) and Friday dinners in Peirce – the way devoutly religious people experience their faith. Frank Tuttle, Kenyon class of 1988, told me I was a "Kenyon Kid" when I was 13 years old in his Life Science class, before I had even HEARD of Kenyon. When I was a senior in high school visiting Gambier, still technically deciding between a few other schools and Kenyon, my mom saw me from afar walking down Middle Path. She told me years later that her breath had caught in her throat and she had started to cry because she knew, then and there, that her daughter was home. Home.

How profoundly the idea of home relates to the idea of memory and past and connection and place and promise and love and anger. These are the things I have thought so long and deeply about, that I have contemplated since I was even too young to be aware of such ideas. These are the things I am always searching for, in music, in words, in connections with people. The very end of Alma Mater focuses on this idea, as Kluge ties up his year at Kenyon, connects it to his own Kenyon experience in the 1960's. And the way he did as much struck a chord in me then, struck a chord in me every time I read it thereafter, and will, most likely, do so forever more. If I had easy access to the book at this moment I would quote the passage that begins "It comes back to memories…" and ends with "…memory holding onto love and keeping anger young." You should go dig it out if you can. And open a bottle of Cab.

All this to get to the story: last Friday night. The Alumni Dining Room. Lots of wine. Lots of memories. And then, P.F. Kluge.

I walked up to him and I reached out my hand and I said, "Professor Kluge, my name is Hilary Lowbridge, class of 1999, and I am profoundly honored to meet you." He smiled at me, he is quite the charmer, really, and we made small talk that I cannot remember verbatim. About how part of me still regretted not majoring in English (why didn't I? because Lentz had scared the crap out of me in American Lit, of course!) even though I wouldn't exchange my Poli Sci experience for the world. How people like Baumann and Van Holde (more of those Kenyon celebrities!) gave me the opportunity to think and question in a way I still use every single day. About how I had been, honestly, sort of intimidated by the Kenyon English department but had also been equally railing against the expectation of me to major in English – it had, after all, been one of my two shticks: Hilary and music. Hilary and writing. And at 18 years old I was so tired of meeting expectation so I found something (I thought was - haha) completely different. We talked about his books and the new one he has coming out and his 45th reunion coinciding with my 10th reunion. And then it happened.

I looked P.F. Kluge in the eye and said, "I really want you to know that there are few books that have moved me more profoundly than Alma Mater, and it is still a touchstone for me, not just in terms of Kenyon, but in terms of using words to express something that transcends the words themselves…" and I paused, and I gathered myself, and I said slowly and deliberately, HIS words, the one truest example I could offer him: "…memory holding onto love and keeping anger young."

I wish I could put into words the look in his eyes. I wish I could explain what it felt like to give his words back to him, the only gift I could possibly offer that could even come remotely close to expressing my gratitude. My seriousness. There was a heavy pause until he finally asked, "What was your name again? Why did I never have you in my class? And why, again, didn't you major in English?"

And for one fleeting moment, I was Home.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

April Showers, May Horse Races.

This April was ridiculous. It always is, though. I've never been a big fan of April. In my experience of this big, mysterious thing called life, I have what I call my off-kilter months. They are January (I've discussed this at length here), March and April. I used to think March and April were bad because I worked in college admissions, and those are the months when every college admission office is DESPERATELY trying to make their class, planning, coordinating and hosting HUGE visit programs, staying at the office until 9 or 10pm calling prospective students trying to win them over any way possible, and then staying until midnight, even 1am doing paperwork.... oy, just thinking back on it makes me cringe. May 1 is the National Candidate Reply Date, and it was always a very abrupt transition. The last week of April we'd be working 18 hour days, desperately reading daily yield reports, feeling that twist of the knife when the student you thought was in the bag chose Denison/Ohio State/Miami, being the powerless go-between with angry parents trying to milk just a few more scholarship dollars out of the deal and the financial aid office... and then it would be May 1 and BAM. Over. Done. As the higher ups slowly came to terms with the outcome of our efforts - good or bad - counselors began actually leaving at 5pm and talking over lunch about vacation plans. Visits would go from the panic and inescapable rudeness of frenzied seniors (frenzied parents!) trying to make up their minds to the calmness of smarty-pants sophomores and the parents who speak for them getting a head start on college visits.

But this is the second spring that I've NOT been working in college admissions, and yet March and April still felt off to me. Not sure what to make of that.

But it's May now, thank goodness, and I leave for Ohio two weeks from today for my college reunion - Chamber Singers reunion, specifically, which is my favorite kind of reunion at Kenyon. And then it will be June, and I'm REALLY excited for the summer.

Oh! Right!! I just re-read the Title I typed. The point of this entry was supposed to be that we had INSANE storms in April. Way too many tornado warnings for my liking. I've been to Louisville twice in three weeks and might have finally fallen in love with a city in Kentucky - the first time I was there for my dear friend Emily's wedding and the second time was for Derby weekend - so April storms transitioned into May horse races, which kind of felt a lot like the transition from my days in college admissions, actually. Going to Churchill Downs was so relaxing and just FUN. I can't wait to do it again next year!