Stillmother

The Atlantic Monthly had a question in the November magazine: What do we call parents who have lost a child? What do we call women who gave birth but who aren’t mothers?

I lived in this limbo for a year and a half between the death of my first daughter and the birth of my second daughter. Ada was a forty week stillbirth who was delivered on her due date. I was a mother with no child to show for it. I wasn’t really a mother though, as I had no child to call my own. Aside from preparing for and giving birth, I had no experience of mothering.

I was talking to my friend Sharon who commented on the term stillbirth. She thought it was a fitting name for an infant who died in the womb. "The baby came into the world," she said. "It was 'still' born."

"And it was still, as in not moving," I said. "Maybe the term for a mother of a stillbirth is stillmother, or stillfather. The mother is still a mother, but not a moving or active one."

We could have stillbrothers and stillsisters, though it would be hard to know which child was alive and which one was deceased. The terms could apply to any child that died, as the parents are still parents.

Ada's eighteenth birthday was October 15.

Reachire, or "And then depression set in..."

I am part of a "get a job" group for women who are attempting to return to the workforce after an extended absence for raising kids. Julia, our leader, sent out an invitation asking us if we wanted to attend another event with her sponsored by another organization, Reachire, which is also trying to help women return to the workforce after parenting.

This organization is different than Julia's. According to its website, this group selects women who attended competitive colleges and worked in corporate jobs before leaving to have kids. Julia's group takes a variety of women--teachers, sales people, journalists, business owners--not just those who attended Ivy League schools or want to return to a middle management job.

Reachire provides training in the latest office software tools, as moms have not likely been using SharePoint or Tableau in their daily lives. Reachire also different because it gives women temp work at corporations before helping to place them in "returnships" at large employers in the region. My understanding is that Reachire works with companies to create these returnships to help women return to the workforce. Some of these jobs require an extended leave from the paid workforce.

This sounds awesome. There is a fee associated with the program--$2,000 for sixty ours of training over five weeks--which is not listed on their website but can be found with a Google search. But hey, if I can get a job with a large, local employer, the fee would be less than my first month's salary, which is more than I am making now. It could be a worthwhile investment if I got a job afterward.

The day after I saw this, I got a bullet from one of the jobs I applied for. I researched this job, learned how to use SQL and Tableau, and activated with my network to talk to the people who worked in this department.

And then, as Bill Murray said in Stripes, depression set it. It wasn't that this program Reachire wasn't cool: it made me realize how firmly the front doors are shut at large corporations against women who have taken time off to raise their kids. Those doors are closed so tightly that a group like Reachire, started by a Stanford and Northwestern University's Kellogg graduate, had to create a side door for moms to get back in. Me and a thousand other middle-aged moms would have a better chance getting into the hottest and hippest nightclub in New York wearing yoga pants than getting a job at Amazon.

Julia posted an article on LinkedIn called "There is NO 'Gap in My Resume'" discusses how parents looking to return to the workforce can talk about their experience while parenting. We have lived and learned during this time. One of the most telling comments was from a man who posted that HR folks don't even want to look at people who have a month long gap in their resumes.

Wow. A one month gap? That sucks. My resume and the resumes of thousands of other moms returning to the workforce would never get read in an organization with that criteria.

So what to do? Find a job a job where I am overqualified but will help me get my feet wet? Give up on Corporate America and go with a small company willing to take a risk on someone like me? I could go back to consulting, but I fear the true workaholic job. One firm looked interesting until I saw on their website that they promise their clients 100% travel from their consultants. I get it. Before kids, I'd hop on a plane any day of the week except Saturday for my job. Some years, I'd have very little travel if I had local clients. Other times, I was out of town three or four days a week. My family already has one workaholic parent--I am not sure my teenage kids could handle a second. (The day my youngest leaves for college, I am considering taking one of those traveling jobs if I have to beg to get it.)

I am figuring out what to do next. I ran into a friend at my daughter's cross country meet and she returned to work when her oldest of three daughters was a senior in high school. Looming college tuition bills scared her husband and he nudged her to get a job. She loves working for a small company. She gets to wear a million hats and every day is different. The leadership opportunities there abound, albeit on a smaller stage. Maybe that is the way to go.

Run, Baby, Run! Part 2

Exercising: Running on a treadmill

Distance: 1.0 miles in 20 minutes

I have a confession to make.

I don't know how to run.

You would think that everyone in the work knows how to run, but I don't. I tried running track in middle school, but I got shin splints. I tried running my freshman year of college. At the beginning of the school year, my dad took me to buy running shoes. I remember running up and down Sheridan Road in Evanston in my yellow sweatpants. I got shin splints. Aside from the shin-slints, I enjoy running, but since I get shin-splints, running isn't worth the agony.

Before my accident, I could run in bits. I could sprint across the street when cars were coming. Since I am a pedestrian, running is a useful skill to have to jump out of the way of inattentive drivers.

Yesterday we took the Boy to his soccer game and we saw an old guy crossing the street. He was crossing in the middle of the street--not at a corner--and he was moving very slowly. I used to think those people were passive aggressive, walking slowly as if to tell if the drivers, "What are you going to do, hit me?" I now know that sometimes even people who looked able bodied can't run. Jack told me a story of when he finished an Iron Man length triathlon in his early twenties and he came back to Chicago and was trying to catch the El. When the train stopped, Jack had to walk to the doors of the car. Normally, people hurry along, but he slogged, achy and in pain from his over-extertion from a few days earlier. The El attendant yelled at him to move faster, but he couldn't.

Friday, I ran and started to get shin splints. Jason told me to run on the middle of my feet, not to land on my heel, and then I was fine. He gave me the "Return to Running Program" sheet and said I should either run on a track or run on a treadmill, not outside on concrete or uneven surfaces.

This morning, I went to the YMCA and ran on the treadmill. It was raining, and there were a fair number of people running inside. I tried one treadmill, but it was too squashy, so I moved over to the next one. I realized treadmills are just squashy.

When I got home, Jack coached me on form. "Most people don't know how to run. People think it comes naturally, that everyone should know how to run, but they don't." He explained that he Kenyans, who now dominate long-distance running world wide, have a different style of running compared to their international competitors. They place their feet under their hips when they run instead of extending their legs out straight in front of them and landing on their heels. The Kenyans then engage their quads, hamstrings and glutes, which makes them faster.

I am going to try running like this. It will take a while until I am competent. At the rate I am running now, I could finish a 5K in an hour when my daughters' cross country teammates are able to finish in a fraction of the time. Maybe I can run this winter while my family is skiing.

Run, Baby, Run!

Yesterday I went to physical therapy and had a follow-up with a new surgeon, as Dr. Tex got a new job in a different state. The recovery process continues to be a roller coaster.

I am almost eight months out from surgery and I doing all of my activities of daily living.  Jason, my physical therapist for the day, asked what I wanted to work on: strength? stretching?

"Running," I said. "I want to run."

"Okay," he said, and he suggested a few warm ups first. This was a lie. They were not warm-ups. Jason is not a malicious liar--he is a nice liar. He didn't want to tell me that this was a test to see if I was ready to run.

"Let's do thirty 'running mans' on each leg," he said. Running mans are where you stand on one leg, lift your other leg, and tilt back and forth.

Done.

"Now hop on both feet thirty times," he said. Done.

"Hop on your left leg thirty times, then your right," he said. I was doing this.

"Thirty one legged bends, both legs," he said. I was starting to get tired, but I was doing it. I had been kind of slacking on my exercises these past few days, and I was surprised I could handle all of this! My calf got a little tired with the one legged jumps, but other than that I was fine.

"Now we need two more sets of each," he said. ugh.

But I did them! I think I was more surprised than Jason was. After that, Jason let me run on the anti-gravity treadmill. I squeeze into the shorts, zipped into the air bubble, and let the machine adjust so I would run carrying 70% of my regular body weight. I walked for two minutes, and ran for one, for five sets. When I got off of the anti-gravity machine, my legs felt all jiggly. It was cool.

I was pretty psyched from running, and was in a good mood when I got to meet the new surgeon. He shook my hand, shook my leg and told me my knee was solid and stable. Good news again.

"What sport do you want to get back to?" he asked.

"Skiing," I said.

"Did you have an allograft?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"This is only my opinion, but give it a year after your surgery to let it completely heal before you ski," he said."This is not something you can speed up. It takes time for all of the blood vessels and nerve endings to connect."

Oof. I wasn't planning on skiing this year necessarily, but now it is completely out.

Fear of "Calendaring"

My writing teacher Theo once had us write about what we didn't want to write about. She didn't mean write about boring things like emptying the dishwasher, but rather exploring those areas where we were afraid to go. Her idea was that the juiciest material lies in that dark, hidden spot. We like to keep it dark and hidden for a reason because it is ugly and we don't want to talk about it. Those ugly spiders, snakes, and rats of our consciousness are often our most complex and conflict-ridden thoughts, and therefore the most interesting.

I am looking for a job, and my biggest fear is when I "calendaring" listed as a job expectation. This doesn't mean manage your own calendar, but manage someone else's by booking appointments for them and arranging travel plans. This isn't project management work either, where the job requires setting the schedule for work to be done. The job might list a dozen cool things to do, but when I see "calendaring," I short-circuit. It screams to me "Whatever else we said about this job is irrelevant. We might ask you to create marketing materials or write communications or assist with this or that, but really, this job is an Admin position, which means you have no power or control over your destiny, we will pay you almost nothing, and there is no room for promotion." The job description doesn't say that, but my mind leaps and jumps to that conclusion.

Why does this freak me out so badly? When I started work a million years ago, admin positions were for women who didn't go to college. Or maybe they went to college for a year or two before they had kids. Admins I knew were forty years old or older. They were typing, answering phones, managing the boss's schedule and making his travel plans.

It wasn't that I didn't respect these women or the work they did. I did. I remember Joan who answered the phones at my first job and Anne who supported for the partner I worked for. Delores did our typing. Marilyn was the gatekeeper for the Managing Partner. (Marilyn was probably born in the same year as Marilyn Monroe--1926.) Marilyn printed out the partner's email for him and then replied on his behalf. I thought that was absurd until someone pointed out that Jack probably never learned to type, and probably never needed to until email came along. Jim, the partner I worked for, said being an admin was one of the most stressful jobs there was because they had no control over their work flow. I could see that.

I went to an elite college (as they define themselves) and I have an analytical background. I did all of that so I wouldn't have to be a secretary. One of the major points of going to college was to have the options after graduation and freedom to choose what I wanted to do. Many of the women who were admins when I started working were admins because that was all they were qualified to do. Likewise, options for women joining the workforce twenty or thirty years before I did were even more limited than in 1991. It was chicken and egg. With limited options, working women worked up to where they could go in the narrowly defined path that lay before them. Jack's Great Aunt Jean was an intelligent, hard-working woman who was secretary to the Secretary of the Navy during WWII, which was incredibly cool. But what could she have done if more options were available?

At the consulting firm I worked at in my twenties, I was one of two women on a team of nine. I was assigned a project where I had to meet with dozens of partners in the Chicago office. None of them were women. I remember meeting two or three Senior Managers who were women. There were plenty of women in the junior ranks, but they dropped out after having kids as the workload and culture were not family friendly.

I talked to a retired recruiter here in Seattle and I told her I didn't want to calendar, that I cringed when I saw that on a job description. When I ran for School Board, my campaign manager scheduled my meetings and events. I know it is shuffling a million moving parts.

The recruiter raised her perfectly tweezed eyebrows and said, "Perhaps you should learn calendaring." I nearly barfed. I told her other people used to manage my calendar. She was nonplussed. (So much for my chances landing a job at that organization...)
At first, I was too dumbfounded to be furious, which came later. Would she have told a man returning to work he wouldn't be allowed back into the professional ranks and that he'd have to be an admin or perform manual labor? I don't think so.
I know how to calendar. I manage a family calendar that has a husband who works nights and weekends, and I have middle school and high school aged kids who both play sports. I also know how to plan, schedule and manage projects, but that is different than making sure the conference room is booked for twelve people, and donuts and coffee will be delivered by 8:45. Which by the way, I know how to do. It is not that I am above doing what needs to be done. I am a PTA mom for crying out loud. All PTA roles have their own share of grunt work. I get it.

It is more than that--it is that my expectations of what I am capable of doing are so massively misaligned with what corporations think I can do. I am not sure where the attitude adjustment needs to take place--with me, with Corporate America or both. And I don't speak just for myself. I speak on behalf of millions of overeducated women who stayed home with kids. I also speak for millions of overeducated women who wanted to stay home with kids and didn't because they feared losing their place in line, and having to start back at the bottom.

I also speak for millions of undereducated and/or undervalued women in the workforce, like Jack's Aunt Jean, or Joan, Anne, and Marilyn. What might have they chosen to do if there were more opportunities for women when they entered the workforce?

Then I think about my marriage. When my husband and I met, he thought I would make more money than he would. What would happen to the balance of power if I took on an admin role? He works with highly educated women with specialized skills. How would I stack up next to them? He says it doesn't matter to him, but it matters to me.

I have other mom friends who are highly educated and take on these light admin jobs part-time precisely because they are easy. It gives them something to do during the day and brings in a little cash. They can leave work at work and come home and manage the carpool for their kids. Am I wrong about calendaring? Do these friends have the right plan?

Own It and Mommy Wars

Let me get this out of the way: it has been sixteen years since I was last in the paid workforce. I haven't worked for money since Claire-Adele was born. Right now, I am looking for a job and/or a book contract. Since my daughter entered kindergarten eleven years ago, I've had dozens of volunteer jobs, some of which were full-time and leadership positions. I've applied for numerous paying jobs via computer applications in the past five years. I've had one interview where the woman asked what my Chinese zodiac sign was. I didn't know, and failed to see the relevance.

Julia, the coach of my "get a job" group for full-time parents returning to work, asked me if I wanted to attend a Change Management conference in Portland. She was going down to talk about her business. When I first looked at the agenda, there were classes like "Learning Through Improv," "Death or Cake," and "Storytelling." I thought it was about personal change, not corporate or institutional change. She poked me again: "Lauren, you should go to this. We both can go for free if we volunteer." After the second invitation, I said yes. Last week, Julia and I took the train from Seattle to Portland and went to the conference together.

When I had a day job sixteen years ago, I worked at a major firm where I worked in change management. I loved it. Back when I was in Change Management, it was a relatively new field and in lower case. I take that back. Back in 1996, it wasn't a field yet. There were no LEAN credentials and no PROSCI certifications, and there certainly wasn't an association for Change Management professionals. At the time, all we had were a few Harvard Business Review articles and a very recently published book called Leading Change by John P. Kotter, a guru in business transformation. We made the rest up as we went along.

Before the conference, I was preparing my pitch so I could explain to people what I had been doing and what I was hoping to do next. In one of our team meetings with the "get a job" group, Julia said we didn't have to mention that the work we did was volunteer. Rather, let the work speak for itself. I felt a huge relief when I thought about this way. I cringed when I thought about how many cover letters I sent that started with "I am looking to return to the paid workforce..." No wonder no one hired me.

I felt better about my new pitch: "I ran for School Board last year and lost. Now I am looking for Plan B. I used to be in Change Management back at a large firm, and then I got involved in community advocacy where I used change management skills in the public sphere..." A vast majority of the people at this conference were in corporate or consulting environments. A handful were in non-profit or government, but I was the only one who ran for office. I was different and people were curious about me. It was cool.

Julia and I were busy with our separate activities and schedules during the first day of the conference. At the end of the evening at the bar, I ran into Julia while she was talking to two other women. Julia introduced me as one of her clients. I withered as my cover was blown, but Julia was working too. Part of her job was to promote her clients.

I joined in the conversation with these women, who were close to my age or older. Both were moms. One worked part-time and her kids were in school. One worked full-time and her kids were grown.

"Are there still conversations about the 'Mommy Wars'?" asked the full-time woman whose kids were launched.

"I think the Mommy Wars are really between a mom and dad, a husband and wife, more than between mothers," I said.

"That is fascinating," she said. "Tell me more."

"My decision whether or not to work had more to do with the unique circumstances of the job I had at the time my kids were born and my husband's job," I said. "I didn't think about or care whether some women stayed at home or others worked." I explained how I had been traveling three days a week, and that my husband's job required night and weekend work in addition to the usual Monday though Friday workdays. I explained how I had been pregnant twice before my daughter was born. I was seeing a high-risk obstetrician, and I didn't want to another pregnancy.

"You made the right decision," said the woman who worked full-time as she put on her coat to go back to her hotel for the night. "You made the right decision."

She left before I could ask her why she thought that. I was jealous looking at her with her big job in a good company. I didn't know if she ever stayed home with her kids, but I doubted it, otherwise she would have offered me advice on how to relaunch. Would she really have traded her career for her kids? No one can go back and live their lives both ways, once as a stay-at-home parent and once as a working mom. Perhaps she underestimated how hard it is to get back into the ranks of the professional workforce, as did I.

After the woman left, Julia asked how people were reacting to the fact that I had been out of the work force for so long.

"I haven't been telling people," I said.

"You should tell them," she said. "Own the fact that you've been out for sixteen years. See what people say. Ask them for advice how to get back in the game."

What? I thought. There is no way.  "I thought you told us we didn't need to tell people we were volunteers..." I said.

"Give it a shot," she said. "See what happens. You might be surprised."

I decided to trust Julia. She had spent all day talking to people about her business. Maybe she knew something I didn't. Maybe she wanted me to be her guinea pig. Either way, eventually it would come up at some point that I hadn't gotten a paycheck in years. This cocktail networking event seemed like a safe enough environment. If I bombed with one person, I could move on to the next.

At the bar, I walked up to a woman and we started to talk. I asked her what she did. She worked for a company after spending a few years in consulting.

"What do you do?" she asked.

I paused. "I ran for School Board last year and lost. I used to be in change management and community advocacy, and now I am looking to return to the work force after being out for sixteen years."

She seemed a little miffed. "I wish I could have quit after having kids, but I couldn't," she said.

(I guess I was wrong about the Mommy Wars. They are alive and strong.)

"I wanted to work after I had kids, but I had to travel three days a week for my job and my husband works nights and weekends," I said.

She paused, her defensiveness dissipating. "I really wanted to stay home with my kids. The firm I was working at four years ago made a special effort to help moms stay working."

"A lot has changed in twelve years," I said. "And for the better." I asked her for advice on what she thought I could do to return to the workforce. She seemed stumped, but eventually gave me a few suggestions. Perhaps she was thinking herself now how hard it would be to re-enter the workforce after leaving to stay home with kids. Maybe looking at me made her grateful about the decision she made.

Or maybe not. It was near the end of a long day, and she was tired. She was debating whether to go home before or after her preschool age child would be asleep. If she got home before he kid was asleep, the bedtime routine would start all over. If she wasn't working, she wouldn't have to decide.

The next day, I ran into a woman over lunch at the conference and she asked me to join her. Lunch was a buffet, and I asked the guy behind me to join us. She was young--thirty-one to be exact. The guy was a few years older than me, but with no kids.

I gave them my pitch, including that I hadn't worked in sixteen years. The three of us had a lively and fun conversation. "Would you be interested in going back to consulting?" she asked me. I told her I was open and flexible. Later, I went to give the woman my card.

"I really enjoyed meeting you," she said. "It was nice to have an authentic conversation instead of all of the glad-handing that goes on at a conference."

Hawaiians in Whistler

This summer, I joined a "get a job" group for women who used to have nice careers who took time off to be the primary parent for their kids and now want to return to the paid workforce. There are nine of us and we are lead by Julia Freeland, who created the curriculum for this program from her own experience relaunching her career after her divorce. She is as serious as a heart attack and is a true feminist as she is bringing other women along instead of closing the door behind her. She is guiding us through the work world where we used to blossom and now have lost touch with the culture, practices, and lingo.

Here is an analogy: 

Imagine being a really awesome skier and then you moved to Hawaii sixteen years ago. Black diamonds were where you used to thrive. For sixteen years, you haven't seen snow, let alone gone downhill. Can you still ski? You might be a little out of shape compared then, but you aren't a couch potato. Instead of skiing, you have been swimming, snorkeling, rowing, doing yoga and surfing, and you have a beautiful tan. 

The first time you get back on the mountain at Whistler, you are going to fall and get some powder up your nose. For the first day, it is best to stay off the black diamond runs until you get your confidence up so the mountain doesn't totally kick your ass and tear your ACL. You have to get used to the newly designed skis, which have evolved since you last skied. The concept of going downhill is the same, but your muscle memory buried away needs some refinement.

After a day or so on the greens and easy blues, you get your groove back. All of that swimming, surfing and snorkeling has built up your core strength, which is really much better than it was sixteen years ago. You never really had great upper body strength until you started rowing. All of those yoga classes have improved your balance, so when you hit a few bumps, you can quickly adjust and regain your balance. After three days at Whistler, you are skiing off the Harmony lift and doing Seventh Heaven. After five days, you are killing it in the Whistler Bowl.

Ta da! This is just like getting a job after being out of the workforce for sixteen years, right?

Not exactly.

Unlike real world skiing where you can walk up and buy a lift ticket, in this analogous world, you need a special invitation to ski. You get one run down the bunny hill each day where everyone in the Village gets to see you and then the lift ticket guys decide if you are ready for the real mountain. If you are lucky, someone will see you and tell the lift ticket guys you can do it. Most people won't watch, and some who do are waiting for the crash. 

"But I used to be great!" you say after you face plant and scrape the snow off your goggles. "Really! I am also a terrific swimmer and my yoga is fantastic. I know where to find sea turtles when I snorkel!" 

And they laugh. 

"Why would you want to ski when you can do yoga and snorkel all day?" they say. "Maybe you should go back home. You don't belong here."

You go back to the lodge and cry. You Facetime your friends back in Hawaii. Some wish they could go to Whistler with you. Others think Hawaii is just fine and wonder why you want to leave. Others don't have the option to ski. "I tore my ACL last time I was at Whistler," says one of your friends.

Unlike your Hawaiian activities which have deep spiritual and social benefits, this skiing gig pays. With the additional income, you could pay for:

(Check all that apply)

___ Your kids' college education

___ Your mortgage because your adorable husband wants to quit his job

___ Your divorce from your deadbeat, boring, addicted, adulterous and/or abusive husband

___ A nice vacation because even if you live in Hawaii, the sunshine gets old
___ Your parents can't ski anymore and need financial support
___ Your own retirement

___ Damn it, you don't need the money. You love snow and you love to ski. Can't that be enough?

___ Other

You think of Mrs. Ryan, your ski instructor from the 1970's. You remember hearing people whisper behind her back "She doesn't need to ski, but she does!" like it was some kind of miracle.

So you go out there on the bunny hill day after day, being judged for not only your bad form but also your sixteen year old ski jacket. You look at these Millennials who weren't even born when you were doing moguls. Your husband travels from Hawaii to Whistler during the week. His skills are in top form. Your kids are allowed on the mountain because they are learning to ski. You are left behind and alone until the slopes close. Then your family comes home and tells you about the runs they did today, snow conditions, and how many times they nearly fell but didn't. You listen, but don't contribute.

After dinner you take a walk. "You know, I look great in a bikini," you say to people walking by who are bundled up so that only a tiny part of their cheeks are exposed. You can hold your own apres-ski, but apres-ski won't pay for college.

"You know, surfing is almost EXACTLY like SNOWBOARDING," you scream, but everyone is done for the day and gone to dinner. You feel invisible, and not in a good way. You don't blame the Canadians, because they are very nice. It is really not their fault they don't have snorkeling and swimming. A few very, very brave souls surf in Tofino on the western coast of Vancouver Island. In Tofino, they wear the thickest wet suits known to man. You consider going to Tofino to surf there, but only the craziest Canadians surf in January.

At the bottom of the hill, you find a quiet bar with a cozy fireplace. In there are a group of women.

"You are from Hawaii?" one asks. She just finished Peak to Creek without breaking a sweat. "Why are you here? I would love to snorkel and surf, but man I can't afford Hawaii."

"You made the right choice to move to Hawaii," another one says who is wearing the latest high tech fabrics. "I could have moved there, but I stayed close to the mountain."

"I bought a condo here years ago," another says. "It wouldn't be practical for me not to ski."

You get it. Skiers, too, have their own hopes and dreams. Some love to ski. Others like to ski but wouldn't mind a trip to the beach, or moving there permanently.

You keep getting on the hill, day after day, hoping that someday someone will notice your persistence, but they don't. You go to the coffee shop/yoga studio, the one that reminds you of the one you frequent in Hawaii. There you meet a few fellow Hawaiians. You are shocked to see so many Hawaiians in Whistler. They are dealing with the same shit. Every now and then, someone breaks through and gets a lift ticket. But most of you and your fellow Hawaiians wait.

You decide to go out in a group. Maybe if you try the bunny hill together, you can learn from each other. If nothing else, you have someone to drink coffee with, do yoga with, and talk about surfing. Maybe the lift ticket guys will notice you all standing in a group trying as hard as you can. A few people stop by and cheer you on, but that doesn't get you a lift ticket.

Your husband knows you are an awesome skier, and believes that any minute now you'll get your ticket. You admire his optimism, but know otherwise. Your high school friend and old ski buddy is shocked--SHOCKED--that you don't have a lift ticket.

"You are the best skier I've ever seen!" This makes you kind of sad, when it really shouldn't. Unfortunately, your best friend skis at Vail, and has no pull with the lift ticket dudes at Whistler. Otherwise, you'd be golden because she would walk in and talk to the head ski lift guy and tell him how great you are. She also had a reasonably good life. She goes to Vail in the morning, and goes to Hawaii in the afternoon. She often calls and asks for rowing advice since she is new to crew. You feel for her, because she struggles at times to transition between the two.

"My wife is Hawaiian," one of the guys in the Village says. He is afraid to make eye contact. "She used to ski back in the day, but now she surfs." He knows if he acknowledges how hard it is for you, he will need to acknowledge how hard this is for his wife who also wants to ski.

You sigh, and your other fellow coffee drinking, snorkeling, yoga-doing Hawaiian friends sigh, too. You feel the little bit of sand still stuck in between your toes inside your ski boots, and wonder if it is worth it to battle to get up this hill. The beach is nice, you begin to think. It is warm there and I know it well. Do I really want to change?

Another Hawaiian skis by and sees all of you there. She stops. "I used to be a Hawaiian. I still am, and always will be, but I also ski. I got my lift ticket."

You and your friends pause, waiting for her to tell you to enjoy the moment, blah blah blah. Instead, she says "I'll show you how to get that lift ticket." You and your friends listen. She isn't doing this because she is nice--which she is--she is doing this because she is pissed, pissed because it was so hard for Hawaiians to get lift tickets. Like a true skier and a true Hawaiian, she doesn't think the two are mutually exclusive.

"I fell on my butt a lot after I got my ticket," she said. "I had to get dragged down the hill on the sled by the ski patrol. I dusted myself off, got a new ski jacket that wasn't from 2004 and got back on the mountain!"

She teaches your squad squats and stretches. Together, you review the maps of the mountain and are given guidance on the terrain of different sections as not all blues are created equal. She reminds us of the heavy winds at the summit and the protected, quiet areas near the bottom. She teaches your group to read the weather forecasts on different parts of the mountains. She takes you and your fellow Hawaiians to buy new ski jackets so at least you look like you know what we are doing.

She also starts talking to the guys selling the lift tickets. He talks back:

"I need to know they can do the Peak to Creek without collapsing before they get to Dave Murray Downhill. I need to know they will be safe in the fog, on ice and in deep powder. I need to know they won't give up in the middle of the Whistler Bowl and decide to go back to Hawaii."

"My Hawaiians are awesome," she tells him. "I'll agree they are rusty in some aspects, but they have skills your other skiers might not have. Do you need balance? They've got it from yoga. Do you need endurance? Try swimming in open water for two miles while watching out for sharks. Their thighs might not be as tight as they were forty years ago, but their core and upper body strength are incredible from snorkeling and rowing, and that will come in handy in the deepest powders and on tough moguls."

She keeps going: "They did all of this rowing, snorkeling, and surfing because they wanted to, not because they had to." 

"How will they function in a place where they have to get stuff done?" the lift ticket guy asks. "This is a mountain, not a beach. Once they get to the top of the mountain, they need to get down. They can't decide to quit because the fresh pow has been stripped away by the teenage snowboarders who leave nothing behind but concrete. It might be a bluebird day today with six fresh inches, but tomorrow might bring slush and a night freeze. Then what?"

"That remains to be seen," Julia says. "But have faith. They are here and they are trying. They have learned agility from shifting sports. They learned flexibility from yoga, strength from rowing, and endurance from swimming. They learned to problem solve while they navigate the waves of the surf. And they learned to exercise both sides of their brain while following a school of fish through a coral reef. Give them a chance."

To be continued...

Hillbillies and Ambient Pressure, Part 2

I just finished reading J.D. Vance's Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis about growing up in southern Ohio and Kentucky's Appalachia. What a great book! I learned so much about where I grew up and a group of people I never knew existed, which is bizarre if you think about it.

I didn't know any "hillbillies" growing up. I was born in Chicago and moved to Columbus when I was twelve. There are two types of people who live in Columbus: those who were born there and those who are transplants. My linguistics book in college called out my suburb of Worthington specifically as a "Yankee enclave," which it is. I have two friends with family roots in New York. People from Worthington don't sound like people from the rest of the state. What I didn't realize about Ohio was its industrial towns were made up of transplants from the Appalachia. A few of us made jokes about high school teams we'd complete against from Chillicothe in southern Ohio, but I thought it was because they were small town and we were from the big city.

Big cities have plenty of issues and complexity, but I never considered that industrial towns could have their own challenges. I always thought the collapse of small town economies had to do with Walmart moving in. Now I know otherwise.

I have a friend who might consider herself part hillbilly. The odd thing is that I never would have considered her hillbilly, as I didn't know what it meant before I read this book. Hillbillies might blend in to middle class surroundings when they move out of the holler. They might feel different, but they don't look different, and people like me might underestimate the struggles they encountered growing up. I just see her as a well read, creative and thoughtful individual, not realizing how out of place she might have been growing up.

Which brings me to my third point: J.D.'s childhood is so different from how my kids are being raised with the ambient pressure for success. J.D. grew up where he didn't know anyone who went to an Ivy League college. I can throw a rock and hit a dozen parents who attended competitive colleges. I can rattle off a bunch of couples who met at fancy colleges: Cornell, Stanford, and Michigan, not to mention a small group of people Jack and I went to college with who married other people from Northwestern. Most other people we know attended good state schools, have graduate degrees and landed great jobs.

While kids in Appalachia struggle with lack of examples of success, other kids are oppressed by too many examples. My daughter attends a high school where lots of kids attend private college after graduation. She has a friend whose sister applied to twelve very competitive schools and got into ten. She chose Duke over Brown. I told the mother my daughter looked up to her older daughter as an example of academic excellence. The mother nearly barfed. "My daughter was uptight and stressed out. There is no way she should be an example." Her father was an elite athlete who was the best in his sport for many years. He is a quiet, mild mannered guy, and you would never guess he was (is?) that big of a stud. Was he beating down his kids to be competitive? I seriously doubt it. Those who have achieved that level of success usually know they were self-driven, and that intrinsic motivation can't be taught. Still, this girl was clearly driven, and unlike the kids in Appalachia, she had dozens of people in her community supporting her goals and cheering her on. She probably had a few "holding her back," as in keeping her from falling off the edge and having a breakdown. I imagine her mother had to tell her more than once the world wasn't going to end if she got a B. The town where J.D. grew up has kids dying from drug overdoses. My daughter's high school had two suicides in the past few years. Different causes, same horrifying outcomes.

Yesterday, Jack and I met with a super nice guy from Alumni Relations from our alma mater. He said the college is working to support "first gen" kids like J.D. when they arrive on campus, teaching them to visit professors during office hours to ask questions. Likewise, for a core group of competitive colleges, one out of four students are on behavioral medication when they arrive. The Dean of the School of Engineering has to tell kids it is okay to get a B, and they can learn a lot from that.

Ancestry, Part 2

Yesterday was a big day. I collected my saliva sample for my Ancestry.com DNA test to figure out where I am from. After lunch, I brushed my teeth and set a timer for thirty minutes during which I would not eat, drink or chew gum, which is hard for me to do after lunch. I usually sip on a cup of tea after lunch and chew gum. I didn't want my results to come back "German, Swedish, Jewish, Italian, and Peppermint."

I mailed my sample off today. Now I wait for six to eight weeks.

I had a friend whose father was into genealogy. She warned me I might discover things I'd rather not know, and I can see that. "I could have lived my whole life not knowing I was related to an advisor to a fascist."

There was an interesting clause when I went online to register my spit. They asked if I wanted to be part of their research study. They didn't say what they were studying, just that they would be looking at DNA and historical trends. I decided to say no. They could have legitimate areas of research, but I didn't know if they were trying to prove some crazy nonsense about ethnicity or race, like "Everyone who descended from King George III is a genius. Everyone who didn't isn't and should be purged."

Dancing, Falling and Not Moving in Straight Lines

Today was probably the first day I was glad I had ACL surgery. There are times when I wonder if this was worth all of the effort. Last night, my daughter had a cultural event with exchange students from South Africa at her school and everyone was expected to dance. We did a rendition of the "How Funky is Your Chicken" with a call and response. There were several verses I never learned as a kid, and in some we were expected to squat to the ground. In another dance, we had to twist and shake. I wasn't awesome, but I could do it without needing a cane, crutch or walker. Mission Accomplished.

Today, I went to the YMCA and there were no spaces in the parking lot. I had to park several blocks away and walk, which I could do just fine. It turns out there was an event at the YMCA; hence, the lack of parking. This wasn't too big of a deal as I could walk just fine.

Famous Last Words.

For the past nine months, I've been looking at the ground when I walk to make sure I don't trip or fall. As I was walking to the Y from my parked car, I saw an empty parking spot on my left and I turned my head to study it: was it there before I drove by and I missed it? Would my car have fit? As I was pondering, I hit a patch of uneven concrete in the sidewalk. There were leaves on the ground and it was a little slippery from the rain this morning, and I tripped. I fell and my right hand scraped the ground and two of my knuckles bled, but the rest of me was fine. I didn't hit the ground like I thought I might. For the most part, I was able to stay upright. I think the only reason my right hand hit the ground was because my purse was filled with two books and a water bottle, and the weight of the bag shifted and caused my arm to fall. My ankle was tweaked, but it was fine by time I walked the extra half block to the YMCA.

That's what did happen. Let's talk about what didn't: My knee didn't slip. I didn't crash to the ground, land on my hands and knees, and break my wrist. I can't prove this hypothesis because I can't take out my ACL and go back and trip over the sidewalk in that same spot to see what would have happened. My knee held. It didn't buckle. In fact, I noticed how stable it was. Maybe my strong hamstrings and quads were holding me up. Maybe I have good balance that kept me upright. Before the surgery, I felt my knee slip when I was walking upstairs. Before the surgery, I never would have tried the chicken dance.

I think back to when Dr. Tex and Dr. Backer were discussing surgical options with me. They didn't care either way if I had the surgery or not. The question was did I want to ski or play tennis. While I am not eager to hop back on the ski slopes, I am not ready to say "No, never."

Today I realized life doesn't move in straight lines. Sometimes we zig, sometimes we zag. I want to be ready for whatever comes my way.

After I rode the stationary bike and lifted weights, I found the BOSU disc and stood on top of it while I bent my legs. I wobbled back and forth, but not as bad as I did the first two times I tried standing on the disk. I imagined this is what it would be like to ski--bend down on a wobbly uneven surface where I'd have to hold my balance as the ground underneath me squished and squashed. Maybe, just maybe, I could see myself skiing again. I survived a tumble on the sidewalk, and I was fine. Maybe I am getting strong enough to ski.