This Mortal Coil

“Whether ’tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fortune
Or take Arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them: to die, to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; Ay, there is the rub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause.”

Shakespeare, Hamlet

Today was a day of wonder, a break from the monotony of taking care of my two great lights, a day of rough housing in the pool, a Mexican meal that sat for hours in my stomach, a day of running on Alpine trails, a day of reading. And of joy. Such immense great joy.

For a while life was a giddy ride of near perfection, then came the crash, the bottom, the arrows of misfortune which caused me to pause and reflect and weep for two lost pregnancies and changed my worldview to one of an ancient Greek, pausing for the next thunderbolt of good or ill. I crept, I stayed out of view, I blogged. If you are reading me, you did not know the confident creature I once was, full of adventure and glamor, living in Notting Hill, holidaying in Fitzgerald’s former home on Eden Roc, racing in a jeep to catch sight of a cheetah family in Tanzania or fly-fishing in Montana. It was over-the-top, it was life at its fullest.

A week ago I wearily rolled out my trash cans, my energy always depleted, my hair missing in patches I no longer try to hide, wearing sweatpants and Darcy’s shirts and my glasses: I look sad, or invisible in the worst sort of way: that old sad housewife. Life’s slings and arrows have dragged me down. Infertility and loss had nearly destroyed me.

It may not seem like it, but I have a choice, to listen to the sad reminders of what I have lost and acknowledge the pain and stress I went through. But there’s also the choice to embrace the joys. My husband who brings great happiness to me. My precocious beautiful children. Our beautiful garden and comfortable home. Our extended family. My friends, who both understand and don’t understand. Both groups are valuable.

What I don’t have, I don’t have. I have an exquisite wedding quilt, I have French gold-rimmed China, I have two pieces of my grandmother’s cocktail jewelry, I have a flower compressed by a dictionary that my daughter gave me. I have my mother’s chapbook of poetry and my dad’s novels. I have a passed-down piano which desperately needs to be tuned.
I won’t have a large family.

I will have a life, full of pain and joy. While I can’t ignore the pain, I shall notice the good, the beautiful, the important work to be done as a wife, a mother, a friend.

This mortal coil shall claim us all, even the fortunate, the sad, the unlucky, the brilliant, the popular.

The best we can do is embrace the goodness in ourselves, in our family, in our children and try to enjoy the good fortune. Not expect it, but recognize it when it comes our way.

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The Year of Living Joyfully: What Did I Learn?

I proclaimed 2011 the year that I would live joyfully. I even said I would try to write every day about joy.

Eh, I mostly complained.

I found that trying to live joyfully was not really practical. As my dad said a few weeks ago:

“Maybe joy just happens and you enjoy those few moments. But you don’t try to plan your day around it.”

I think that’s maybe the definitive word on the subject.

I did make five unexpected discoveries through the process of writing this blog which directly led to more happiness in my life.

1. Friends. I was really lonely in my SAHM life, and until this year didn’t have any real friends who understood the sort of strange hold infertility still had on me. They couldn’t comprehend how anxious I was to keep my twins safe and secure. They didn’t get why I was so devastated by my miscarriage, since I already had two kids. I pasted a fake smile on my face everywhere I went and acted the way I thought someone should. It felt like a charade.

But this blog opened the door to a whole secret society of women who wrote about similar feelings. About survival guilt, the need to always be grateful. These women were funny, bitter, real, optimistic and helpful. You all made my life so much better, richer, thoughtful and more fun. I really can’t thank you all enough.

2. The importance of making occasions special

I tended to slog through life as if everything was a chore to be gotten through. That is a natural tendency of mine. It’s probably some sort of genetic thing, plus a legacy of the pain and tragedy endured in my 30s. But this year we did a few things that were SPECIAL. We went to Disneyland, we saw my parents for Thanksgiving, my daughter and I saw The Nutcracker for the first time, I went to a concert with Esperanza and Bodega on my birthday, Darcy got a hotel suite for our anniversary. Those moments when I was able to break free from routine and enjoy either the wonder of others or be silly or live glamorously: those were joyful moments and I think I did a pretty good job of inhabiting them fully. It’s those moments that I remember as I look back on 2011.

3. The lessons of “Status Anxiety”

I tried to embrace different philosophies in my attempt to seek joy. Most of them didn’t help me, and a comment Lut Cass made stuck with me for the most part:

“I find that philosophy was invented by men who had too few household chores.”

Isn’t that awesome?

One book, though, I did enjoy: “Status Anxiety”, a prescient slim tome written almost a decade ago. Botton encourages people to not keep up with the Joneses, but to live a simpler, slower life devoted to more bohemian ideals. He also taught me that spending time with my peers in my area, who only really talk about working out, how perfect their kids are, remodeling and starving themselves is not good for me. Each time I would return from speaking to people like this, a little bit of my soul would die. That’s why the blogosphere is so necessary to me. Y’all are real and down-to-earth.

4. I love writing

Blogging, which some people consider writing and others don’t, is something that makes me tremendously happy. Everyone in my family is a published writer (my brother was nominated for a Pushcart this year, my dad is a well-known Bay Area journalist and novelist, my mother has won several major poetry contests) so I was the rebel who worked for the “man” and turned my back on my heritage. I so didn’t want to be a writer, mostly because I would never measure up to my lineage. Now I know that while I am by far the lesser writer of the Carrolls, I don’t really care anymore. I just love what I’m doing.

5. Laughing is really important

Whether it was:

– Texting with Esperanza about what cars are the douchiest. (Her: Audis. Me: Range Rovers.) And our bottom fives. (1. War 2. The Babble Top 100 Mom Blogs List 3. Social inequity 4. The Kardashians 5. Disease)
– Hilarious Tweets from The Bloggess

A violent windstorm outside just blew Beyonce over. Victor yelled "CHICKEN DOWN." I do love that man.

— TheBloggess (@TheBloggess) November 26, 2011

– Laughing at Darcy’s stories
– Listening to the epic tale of the time well-known, sincere, urbane Brooklyn musicians Matt and Kim played at a last-minute concert promoted and organized by my brother. The concert featured a buddy’s first (and last) performance as “Mr Hand”: he played samples of obscure dialogue like “I smell a rat” over loud, techno beats – and Caged Match to the Death. Talk about a mismatch of audience. “Kim looked really scared.”
– Cake Wrecks

SO that’s what I learned. In short, laugh, have friends, enjoy the fun times and don’t hang out with douchebags.

What did 2011 teach you? What’s your current Bottom 5?

Does Music Inspire You to Write?

I LOVE Prompt(ly), Stirrup Queen’s new project. If you haven’t been, go check it out.

I have been thinking of ways to get the writer-ly juices flowing. I have one quarter of a book to finish, and I need to get moving. But I don’t blog daily either, one of my goals for this year. So, how should I inspire myself?

I find lately that music can be that inspiration. I like the “Atonement” soundtrack a lot. As I was listening to it the other day, my iLike application suggested “Buckbeat’s Flight,” from “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.” So I bought it, and I remembered that the scene the music was written for is one of my favorite scenes in the series so far.

Here’s the scene:

Isn’t this one of the most perfect distillations of pure joy ever put on screen? There are a few moments in my life when I have felt this way: walking up the aisle at my wedding after my beloved and I were wed, driving through the middle of a wildebeest migration and rappelling down the face of a mountain in the Alps. Those moments were far and few between: unless you are a mountain climber or an adrenaline junkie, you only have a small amount of them in your life. But, oh, how beautiful they are. And we should harbor them in our memory. Safeguard them for the times we have people telling us we are “less than”. For those times when life seems completely shitty. For those times when sorrow creeps in. Somewhere, at some time, you rode a hippogriff and yelled; “Woo-hoo!”

And that moment was worth 12,000 bad ones.

Welcome ICLWers!

Welcome everyone from ICLW!

ICLW is hosted by Mel at Stirrup Queens, and it’s a meet and greet of sorts for bloggers who write about all kinds of things, although the larger focus is on infertility.

I love ICLW.  It’s like a schmoozefest at a really comfortable lounge where everyone is nice, kind and friendly.  In my mind, mini-donuts and salmon puffs would be served, organic cream sodas would flow and everyone would be dressed to the nines.  (In reality, I’m sitting at my computer while The Princess and The Frog plays in the background, and I am wearing Uggs and jeans.  Same difference.)

The focus of my blog is trying to live every day this year joyfully.  For my kids, for my family and for myself.  Read more here.

So please pull up your most comfortable velvet chaise lounge, dig into the donuts and puffs, and stay a while!

Feel free to follow me on Twitter, too 😉

That photo is from my overachieving MIL’s garden.  She makes Martha Stewart look lazy.

Day 44: Evany, Fametracker and Mr. Rogers

Back a million years ago, when I was young and fearless, I entered a world completely out of my league. That world was a community board (I’m sure they called it something more clever than that, but early senility is kicking in) called “Fametracker”. It was run by the same people who created “Television Without Pity” and it was an absolutely ruthless place where grammar and spelling were prized, arcane rules were strictly enforced (you were not allowed to comment on any topic unless you had read the ENTIRE thread of comments, sometimes hundreds of pages long) and some of the greatest wits of the Internet would come and give their sharply critical digs on some celebrities (Jennifer Garner was especially hated) and gushing praise of others. (Like Michael Vartan, which, random, and who I think at the time was dating Jennifer Garner. Which maybe explained the hate for JG?) Off the top of my head, some of the seriously funny commenters of the day were the Fug Girls, Sars from Tomato Nation, Pamie and Evany. I think they were all recapers for TWOP, too. Obviously in the company of such modern-day Dorothy Parkers, I was the equivalent of pond scum. My greatest coup on the board was starting a topic about Tawny Kitean. Which, yeah.

I follow/stalk the Fug Girls still (they are better than ever, BTW) but I hadn’t read Evany’s blog in a while. Back in the day, I loved her, but I guess she hasn’t written in a year. Which is a great shame. I came across her link at Smitten Kitchen, and went back and read her again, and found a wonderful Mister Rogers story.

I am a huge fan of Mister Rogers. There is no smack talking of him allowed in my presence. My dad interviewed him when he came out with a book, and he inscribed it: “Jjiraffe, you are special and I like you.” It made me smile for a week, and that was during my surly teen years. Mister Rogers rules.

Here’s Mister Roger’s story:

Have you heard my favorite story that came from the Seattle Special Olympics? Well, for the 100-yard dash there were nine contestants, all of them so-called physically or mentally disabled. All nine of them assembled at the starting line and at the sound of the gun, they took off. But not long afterward one little boy stumbled and fell and hurt his knee and began to cry. The other eight children heard him crying; they slowed down, turned around and ran back to him. Every one of them ran back to him. One little girl with Down Syndrome bent down and kissed the boy and said, “This’ll make it better.” And the little boy got up and he and the rest of the runners linked their arms together and joyfully walked to the finish line. They all finished the race at the same time. And when they did, everyone in that stadium stood up and clapped and whistled and cheered for a long, long, time. People who were there are still telling the story with great delight. And you know why. Because deep down, we know that what matters in this life is more than winning for ourselves. What really matters is helping others win too. Even if it means slowing down and changing our course now and then.

That is awesome beyond all measure. Thanks to Evany, and also, to the late, great Mister Rogers.