Mr. Gorbachev, ...

 Life in my 40s in Minnesota is not as expected.  Big surprise. Are any of us doing what we envisioned in our youth for our grown-up selves?
I face strange choices about family vs. work vs. pursuing my true talents.  I have the luxury of complaining about first-world problems and not whether the water is drinkable or whether my children will starve.  The death of a good friend's 11-year-old son has knocked some sense into me about the real problems I don't have.
Does this mean I've found contentment? Not exactly.
I had a hard time mourning and grieving after Special K died in May.  I was not near those in Michigan who could reel from this loss with me.  So I picked up The Last Lecture to allow some of my emotions to come up to the surface.  And in it, I did find comfort and release.
I also found inspiration. 
Since moving to MN, I have complained about not finding my way into the yoga community here. I have sent emails and resumes. I have knocked on studio doors.  I have been met with silence at best; offers to take that studio's teacher training program at worst.  I have come up with reasons why there might be resistance to a teacher of my experience.  I have shelved my enthusiasm for introducing Eischens Yoga to a new community.  And Randy Pausch's Last Lecture kicked me in the butt and reminded me that the brick walls you encounter are there to help you discover how much you really want to do something.  How hard you'll try to scale, dig under, or break through that wall.
Eischens Yoga is going to make inroads into the Twin Cities. 
Look out, brick wall.

A year in the life ...

This time last year, I was gearing up for our move to Minnesota after 12 plus years in Michigan.  Mark would be househunting and starting his new MN job in January, and the kids and I would be packing up our house for a late February move.  Since then I have:

• said good-bye to very dear friends and to an idea of myself based on external factors
• repainted our new place's interior when our belongings were delayed
• assisted my oldest during a very rough transition to his new school (never before has summer break come with such relief for him)
• watched as my youngest settled in more easily than expected, and been in awe as she denied living here ("I like gray" in response to the blue skies of a Minnesota winter)
• experienced travel baseball (never again)
• seen a chance to perform with high schoolers ease my middle schooler's pain
• found one studio willing to give me a shot teaching
• created a studio space and made lots of beautiful scarves
• camped in the Black Hills of South Dakota
• attended four art shows, at which my sales were dismal
• figured out what a gift it is to live near extended family
• watched Mark return to a happier frame of mind
• learned how to pull shots and pour latte art
• hosted Michigan friends on assorted trips through the Twin Cities
• adopted a dog (a beautiful Italian Greagle)
• seen my daughter branch out in ways we had only hoped might happen with a move
• cheered on my son as he discovered a new passion for swimming
• realized how deep friendships can run and how tentative it is starting new ones

One of my scattered-throughout-the-globe friends wrote a piece that is so very beautiful about resolutions and taking leaps and falling and starting over.  This is what it has felt like.  Grand and abysmal; barely functioning and laying so much groundwork; knowing I am in the right place but not quite feeling at home.  Staying in touch with old friends helps and hinders.  I need to move forward; I get stuck looking back.  Love from my old friends inspires and sustains and saddens.  Finding new friends is harder each time I move.  But here I am, looking at 2012, ready to start tackling that list of Ways To Feel Like I Live Here.  One item at a time.

• Follow up on people's offers: coffee, introductions, job ideas
• Set aside a few days to finally nail down all our health care providers
• Keep walking the dog in the big park, looking for the elusive albino squirrel
• Practice yoga
• Try felting a tallit
• Create a more structured approach to Woolynns
• Research local art fairs based upon recommendations received this fall
• Explore our new home state in new ways each month (arboretum, Fringe festival, etc)
• Be willing to drop a few balls

Here's to a new year filled with taking leaps, falling, and starting over.
Happy 2012!

Beneficial

In order to get the entirety of this post, you'll need to know a couple things.

One, I used to be a performer, as in I made a living onstage in the theatre.  I worked a lot and therefore met lots of other actors, many of whom went on to much bigger careers than mine.  When you rehearse for weeks on end and then sit backcstage with folks night after night, you develop deep, short-lived friendships.  It is very different from side-by-side office space.

B, I have a family history of all sorts of reproductive cancers, including immediate relatives who had or have breast cancer.

Third, personal finances preclude me from helping others out financially at this time.

How is any of this relevant to Woolynns, you ask.  It seems fate or god or timing has brought them all together recently.  At my last two shows in Michigan, I had women tell me that my square scarves would make nice chemo scarves.  I had a woman ask if I could teach a workshop on wet-felting to a group of cancer patients.  (I was unable to do that due to time constraints.)  A friend from high school started purchasing my scarves as gifts for his friends with breast cancer, including a commission this Spring.  (He also chastised me for not having enough pink scarves in stock.  I've been working on that.)  And then there is Suzanne Whang.

Suzanne and I acted together sometime last century.  We reconnected last year on Facebook.  I had seen her periodically on TV over the years as her star rose.  (Go read her bio and you'll see what I mean.)   This Winter she came out of the closet with her cancer diagnosis.  She'd been keeping it hidden for nearly five years.  Even with insurance and a good income, five years of health issues of this magnitude have wiped her out financially.  Many friends in Los Angeles began having benefits in her honor to raise money for medical expenses.  I wanted to help, but didn't have a penny to spare. That was when it hit me.  I can hold my own benefit.  Woolynns' Whang Fundraiser started on my etsy shop on June 1st.  15% of any online sales will go directly to defray medical expenses for Suzanne.  It runs for two weeks, after which I will decide whether to continue it for the month or find my next benefit recipient.

I know there are countless stories like Suzanne's.  She is fortunate enough to have numerous friends who are coming to her aid.  I consider myself lucky to be one of them, and I intend to create that sort of financial support for others who don't enjoy her large following as the years go by.

Adding to my pink inventory as directed.

Social Being

I am waiting for inertia, like Elvis, to leave the building.   Previous moves always included a failsafe way to find a daily community.  College, work, mothering-related groups, children's schools.  This one is harder.  I don't know my children's schoolmates parents since we are no longer at a small private school.  I am having a slow time finding work teaching yoga.  I don't have any work other than the self-directed kind: unpack, rearrange, help children settle in, locate the necessities of living in a new place (schools, library, grocery stores, medical providers, etc.).  Oh, and felting, which is also solitary and self-directed.  It isn't as though I didn't know this was coming, but living in reality is a bit more challenging than preparing for that reality.  


In the meantime, I found the Textile Center in St. Paul, getting lost more than once on the way. (Not knowing how to get places is my least favorite part of moving.)  A beautiful space housing many classrooms for weaving, dyeing, sewing; a small studio currently housing an exhibit of art dolls (that were extraordinary); a library that was closed; offices; and a small shop.  I browsed, picked up brochures for summer camps for my girl, and purchased something to dispel the inertia: a book called 1000 Artisan Textiles (Quarry Press).  From clothing to accessories to household goods to wall hangings to 3-dimensional art, it is a feast for the weary textile artist.  Something to inspire and challenge.  It has me ready to pull out the sewing machine and learn more about garment construction rather than continue plunging into seamless felted clothing without a basis for my attempts. It has me ready to try a felt painting.  It has me ready to make another hat, another purse, a pillow, a bowl.  In short, it is getting me interested in the days ahead.


Is it enough?  Of course not.  It isn't as though I am all alone.   A friend of a friend took me out for a wonderful evening at the theatre.  A couple of old friends (one from MI and one from high school) are also here, though I have yet to see them in person.  And we have family here, too.  But it is the daily community that I am wanting.  I'm someone who knows her bank tellers by name, who chats with the other parents at a small school, who commiserates with the grocery cashier.  I am a very social being.   But it seems wool and silk are about to become my new best friends.  


I am more excited at the prospect than I would have expected.  


Hello, fiber.