Spirituality

Convention wrap up

By / August 8, 2010

The convention is over. The boxes are packed and hauled away for shipping and storage. Nothing went wrong. There were no disasters. I can feel myself unwinding, relaxing. This whole event has been a very stressful one for me. It was filled with things I knew I could do, but had never actually done. Most of them were small things, like calling for a cab. But small things add up and filled the weekend with variables rather than certainties. I spent most of the event riding an emotional sine wave with oscillations between overwhelmed and okay. I tried to keep all of it suppressed so that my oscillations did not affect those around me, but they’re smart people and they could tell I was stressed.

More than anything else this event taught me that large events require a crew. We had an amazing booth crew. Problems were solved without me even knowing that they existed. They had things so well in hand that I was able to be away from the booth more than I was present at it. That capability was critical because I had to shepherd Kiki and Link through the show, keep track of them, and make sure that they were safe. This was made easier by the third cell phone we acquired several weeks ago. Kiki and Link are fairly self sufficient and were very good about following instructions. Even so, there were several times when I felt like I’d lost track of them or was not doing as much as I could to maximize their convention experiences. This was where my second crew came in, the one I hadn’t even considered as a crew, but who turned out to be invaluable in reducing my stress and helping me make sure the parenting portion of this event was a success.

Friends drove down from Michigan specifically to visit Howard and I. They hauled me out to lunch and listened to me ramble about my stresses. I mentioned how I wanted Link to have a chance to explore some games that were not electronic. They then introduced me to one of their friends who is here demoing board games. Together we collected Link and hauled him, despite his protests, to a board game room where he proceeded to have fun for hours. The whole process was one of those moments where I am filled with gratitude at not being alone in the tasks that are in front of me.

These same friends then continued to hang with Howard and I through dinner and late into the evening. It was so good to have familiar people near me. We wandered the convention looking at the spectacle and talking. We wandered by the place where giant structures were created out of cards then knocked down by a siege of small change. Then the change was collected to donate to charity. It is only one example of the activities at the convention. Everywhere we looked adults were expending energy and creativity on play activities. I love this about science fiction/fantasy/gaming conventions. Grown ups get to play. I’m very glad my kids got to witness it. At the end of an evening wandering with good friends I was calm and happy for the first time in the entire convention. I was sad to say goodbye, but they had to go home.

Going to church this morning completely changed my emotional landscape in regard to the convention. The kids and I walked into the church building and it was like we had taken a single step that transported us home. The feel of the place and the format of the meeting was completely familiar. My brain was too full for me to pay focused attention to the speakers, it was the place I needed. I finally had sufficient clarity of thought to see a disconnect in my own thinking which has been creating emotional dissonance.

When deciding what events and challenges fit into our lives, I evaluate them for business usefulness and family strain. These are important measures in decision making. I have been neglecting a critical third evaluation measure. After I do all my logical, logistical, and emotional evaluation, I need to step back from all that I’ve previously considered. I need to pray and try to feel whether the thing I am considering is right or wrong for our business and family. I did this today. I sat in church and prayed about our attendance at GenCon both this year and next. Both feel right. Having that confirmation separate from business considerations was amazing. All my conflicted feelings about the amount of effort and expense vanished. With them went my worries about the strains on our family and about working on Sunday. I felt peace and was thus able to be happy about the convention as a whole. After church I returned to the booth and it was fun. Having the quiet confirmation gives me a big stick with which I can beat back the voices of doubt. Because doubt always sneaks in the back door and tries to make me second-guess my stressful decisions.

This convention has been full of amazing things about which I’ll be telling stories for years to come. The stressful aspects will fade away. Next year will be easier because fewer things will be new. We won’t have as many set up costs. I can truly and honestly say that this has been a good show and I finish it feeling both happy and grateful to have been here.

Thoughts on ambition in the absense thereof

By / July 30, 2010 / 1 Comment

My ambition appears to be AWOL right now. Not surprisingly in the absence of ambition, I’m finding it hard to feel stressed about this. I would probably be more worried about it, but it has done this before. My ambitious drive is somewhat similar to my childhood dog who would periodically escape our yard to wander for a bit. He always came home, just as I know that my drive to create and put myself forward professionally will come back to me. But in its absence I find myself reveling in the calm security of home things. And I wonder why on earth I wanted to struggle to write and then put myself through an emotional grinder to attempt to publish. I already have so many important and difficult things to do without that as well.

But in the back of my brain a quiet little voice whispers a that once I had a strong feeling that finishing my book is somehow important. The voice is a mere echo, soft and low. I hear it, but I’m not ready to rediscover that sense of importance. I’m not ready to do all the hard and scary things necessary to bring that project to completion. It has been so nice to vanish into my supportive roles, to be wife, mother, business manager, neighbor, sister, daughter, and friend; all roles where I am defined by how I relate to others. I even find scriptural and religious evidence that self-abnegation in the service of others is a good thing. I remember how a decade ago I used to picture myself as a sturdy, deep thread in the tapestry of life; the kind of thread that is almost invisible but makes the beautiful patterns possible. That is who my younger self believed I would be. I remember that then wonder from whence came the drive which has me stepping forward to attempt to weave a shiny pattern of my own? Religion and scripture answer me here as well. Yes, I am to serve others, but the primary point of my existence on earth is to learn, grow, and become. The service I give is to teach me as much as it is to bind me to others and assist them. Because all I will get to take with me when I go are the things in my head and the relationships I have formed.

So I am called to step forward, do hard things, be not afraid. I must follow the call, not for personal ambition or aggrandizement, but because I feel it is the right thing to do. The call is soft right now, like the distant bark of a dog headed home, but I know it is coming. Then it will be time to stop resting and work again. At the moment I don’t look forward to that, but I know when I get there I will find the work rewarding.

Church and Conventions

By / July 25, 2010

Our business includes attendance at conventions which tend to take place over an entire weekend. We attend a church which reveres the Sabbath day and includes a command to keep it holy. I sometimes feel conflicted by the coexistence of these two facts. I do my best to find a middle ground where I do not forget the Sabbath even when I make business decisions which result in me having to work on it.

In a week I’ll be packing up my two oldest kids and taking them to GenCon. This will be their first opportunity to see how we work a major convention. It will also be their first chance to see how we handle Sundays when we are at conventions. It occurred to me that our church has congregations all over the world. The internet tells me that one of them is meeting at 9 am Sunday morning a mere 1.5 miles from the convention center. That is a walkable distance if it is also a safely walkable route. By Sunday it might be a welcome relief for the kids and I to escape the convention and spend an hour or two at church. Howard would not be able to go. He can’t abandon the booth for long enough. But the kids and I could. And it would probably be a good experience for all of us to be able to attend church outside of Utah. My kids have grown up in the religious majority, they would benefit from seeing a different perspective.

Interesting how I expend more effort on something I felt I ought to be doing anyway, merely because my children will benefit as well.

Teaching the Children

By / June 13, 2010

One of the heaviest responsibilities for me as a parent is to make sure that my children are firmly grounded in the religious beliefs that I hold dear. This is primarily important because of what I believe about this life and life hereafter, but it is also important because faith has been an essential tool for me in handling life. When I am faced with things that are difficult or frightening, I turn to prayer, church, scriptures, and personal revelation. These are the means by which I have survived and will continue to survive. I desperately want my kids to have those tools at their disposal. So I take my kids to church. We pray in our home. Family scripture study is the beginning of the day. (At least in theory, scripture study got lost somewhere in the end-of-school craziness and we’ve yet to put it back.) Most of all, I tell my kids how I feel about these things and they have helped me. But all the teaching, shaping, modeling does not guarantee that my children will adopt these tools for themselves. I can demonstrate the usefulness of a fork all day, but until the child picks it up and practices using it, the fork is only a pointy piece of metal. (or a drumstick, or something to fling off the edge of the high chair.)

Many a parenting book or magazine article will tout the importance of “teachable moments.” These are the times when a child is actively curious about a particular topic. It usually begins with a question and sometimes sparks a discussion which expands to fill whatever time is available. Unfortunately these teachable moments arrive on the child’s schedule, not the parent’s. All too often I stay up late at night talking things over with a child because I found a moment where the words I say will really be absorbed. This is particularly true in relation to spiritual and religious topics. My kids know the right answers. They’ve been going to church their whole lives, it would be nigh impossible for them not to know. But there is a difference between answering “prayer” to a Sunday School question and getting onto your knees in real need, searching for answers to your troubles. It is the difference between seeing forks everywhere and actually using one. (The use of a fork is actually a skill, ask anyone who grew up using chopsticks.)

To my joy, I am not alone in this effort to teach my children about these spiritual tools. Howard and I believe the same things and so we work together rather than at cross purposes. That helps. It also helps that all of our extended family are immersed in the same beliefs. Everywhere my kids go, they see loved ones using these same tools. Most importantly the tools actually work. When my children pick them up and try them, then the same God who helps me, helps them in the same way. That knowledge alone lightens the burden of all the rest. I am not alone in this effort. They are His children too.

It is hard to describe the joy I feel when I see my children reaching for their own spiritual connections rather than relying upon me for answers. I love it when they have their own experiences with prayer or scriptures and then choose to share their feelings with me. At such moments I really feel how my children are spiritual beings in their own right and they’ve only been loaned to me for a time. I have a responsibility to teach them, but I do not own them. I’ve had several such experiences in the last few months and I do not have words to describe how grateful I am to be a part of the growth of these amazing people who happen to be my children.

Cadbury Eggs, change, and life after death

By / April 4, 2010

When I was a child Cadbury eggs were the epitome of Easter goodness. I saw them on TV. There was this bunny who would wiggle his nose while making chicken noises and then hop away leaving the egg behind. A pair of hands would demonstrate how the chocolate shell was filled with gooey white goodness. I watched that long sweet string stretch between the two halves of the chocolate shell and I wanted one. Cadbury eggs were my Easter dream. On the few occasions that one came into my possession, I treasured as I ate. It was heaven on earth as far as I was concerned.

The Easter season of my first year at college, the local grocery store had a box of Cadbury eggs sitting at the check out stand. It was one of those newly emergent adult moments when I realized that I did not have to beg for this treat. I could just buy it. And so I did. Then I ate it and it tasted pretty good, but my stomach was unsettled afterward. It became a yearly ritual, buy egg, eat egg, wish I had not eaten egg because I felt sick. It took four or five years before I really faced the fact that I don’t like Cadbury eggs. That gooey sweet heaven to the child me is sickeningly sweet to the adult me. Part of me feels sad for the little girl I was who now has the ability to buy all the eggs she could dream of, but who no longer wants to.

This is part of growing up. This is one of the things children sense and fear about it. They know that in the years to come they will change. They will become so different from what they are and the worry how they will still be themselves. I’ve felt that fear.

When I became pregnant with my first child, I buried myself in research. I wanted to learn everything about pregnancy so that I could know what to expect. What I found was alarming. My body was going to change weight and shape, my balance would be changed, my joints would loosen, I would become forgetful, moods and emotions would shift on the waves of hormones, even my clarity of thought would be shifted. I cried to Howard one night because I could not see how I could still be myself when everything about me was going to change. I went through it all. I went through all the mothering that came next. I set aside old dreams of writing and drawing to pick up new dreams of nurturing and teaching. I repeated the pregnancy process three more times. I set aside almost everything to survive radiation therapy. I learned to love gardening. Then I came to a time when the nurturing and teaching left enough room for me to dust off the other dreams. I have changed and changed again, yet through it all I was still me.

I used to joke that my oldest daughter had the taste of a magpie. She loved all things sparkly, shiny, and bright pink. She bedecked herself often. She and I had a bit of a struggle over how we should decorate her room, she won the day with a hot pink Barbie comforter. That girl is gone. The daughter I have today does not like pink, particularly not hot pink. She likes cool colors and solids rather than prints. Sparkles and shine are occasional accents, not standard fare. Yet she is still the person she was. And she is not yet the person she will become. Neither am I.

I am thinking of Cadbury eggs today, because it is Easter. They sit at the check out stand and I do not buy them. This year Easter is also the General Conference for my church and many of the speakers have spoken of death, resurrection, and life thereafter. I know that not everyone who reads this blog believes in life after death, but I do. And today I have been thinking about how life after will be different. I will be different. I will be as different from who I am now as I am currently different from the girl who loved Cadbury eggs. Today this thought is not frightening, because I can see that though I will be different, I will still be me. Those I love will meet me there and they will still be themselves too. We will all be moving on to whatever comes next just as the Cadbury girl moved on to be me.

Change is paradoxically the one constant. We continually shift and grow. I look forward to seeing who I will become in the years to come and in the years hereafter.

Homes and Places

By / March 15, 2010

The discussion of Place in Native American culture was brief, a mere footnote to an undergraduate lecture on Native American Arts. But I was fascinated by the concept that some locations are more than a set of coordinates or a landscape. Some locations have a spirit to them which makes them sacred, or the opposite. These locations become places. Many different belief systems incorporate similar ideas. Catholic churches have hallowed ground where the sinful are not allowed to be buried. Moses removed the sandals from his feet at the site of the burning bush because the events there made the ground itself sacred. My own religion dedicates temples and churches to their purposes. Even secular organizations acknowledge that the events of a particular location make the spot special. This is why there are memorials at sites of great triumph or tragedy. This is why we have the 9/11 memorial, Tours through Dachau, and Abraham Lincoln’s home.

I was fascinated by place because I believed it. I had seen the way teenagers on a tour through Alcatraz prison became subdued, their moods affected by the feel of the island. I had stood at the Vietnam Memorial and touched row upon row of names which impressed upon me the weight of events that took place half a world away. I looked up into the giant stone face of Abraham Lincoln and walked the steps of the capitol building and pondered those who had gone before me. Most of these places were very consciously created. Structures and memorials are arranged specifically to affect those who visit. The intention in no way diminishes the power of the created places. I can not think of a more consciously created place than Washington D.C. Every thing about it is planned. It declares in art and buildings that it matters, that what happens there matters. Washington D.C. declares importance. I felt that when I visited, even before I learned about place as a concept.

I witnessed the power of place just a month ago when Gleek and I visited the Oakland temple grounds in California. She dashed her way through the visitor’s center, touching every display, pushing every button. She teased and tormented her brother as usual. But when we climbed to the terrace of the temple, her steps slowed. My Gleek, just nine years old, the girl who constantly bounces, sat on a bench and was still. Then she lay down on the stone bench as if she wanted more contact with the place. Sitting wasn’t enough, she wanted to feel the cool stone with her whole body. Her chatter dried up and her steps became reverent. No amount of scolding or coaxing from me can elicit this behavior from her. The place somehow got inside her, changed her. Patch was not as affected. He jumped and climbed and laughed. Gleek just sat, and felt, and looked. She did not want to leave when it was finally time to go. She took a blade of grass and wrapped it into a ring around her finger. She wanted to take the calmness with her.

It is human nature to adjust our surroundings to our comfort. We paint our walls, and pick our furniture, and hang our pictures. We are striving to create a space that is comfortable and pleasing. But some take this a step further, they don’t just decorate a space, they try to create a place which affects the minds and hearts of those who enter it. This is the basis for the design principles of Feng Shui. It is also what architects such as Frank Lloyd Wright hoped to achieve when designing houses.

When Howard and I first set up housekeeping together, I realized I had a chance to make our home more than just shelter and storage space. My actions and choices could turn my home into a place which could positively affect all those who entered it. I wanted our home to be a haven of peace, love, beauty, prayer, and safety. The prospect was both exciting and daunting. I did not know how to go about it. We could not afford to rent or purchase a place that was already aesthetically beautiful. Our first apartment was the basement of a tiny house. Our first house was a glorified wooden box with windows in it. Even our current home is a tract home, nearly identical to a dozen others in our neighborhood. At first my plans for creating a place centered on a time when we could build the home we really wanted. But then I started paying attention when I went into the homes of others.

Sometimes I walk into a home and I am instantly comfortable. My comfort is not related to the décor, or to the level of tidiness. I’ve been extremely uncomfortable in spotlessly clean, beautifully decorated homes. I’ve also been in very messy houses where I would not hesitate to stay for hours. I can’t really say where my reactions come from. It is as if all the hours of living, fighting, loving, yelling, and laughing soak into the walls. I usually can tell if a home is a place I want to be within moments of entering it. I am fortunate that I’ve not often felt the need to flee.

So while beautiful architecture and careful decoration can contribute to the making of a place, what really matters is what happens there. The Lincoln monument is awesome, not just for its size, but because all the lingering awe of all the people who have stood there. Alcatraz is grim because of the hopelessness that dwelt there. The temple gives peace because of all the people who come seeking it, and find it, and leave some behind. This means that if I want my home to be welcoming, we need to be welcoming people and our home will absorb that. If I want my home to be happy, then we need to live our lives in ways that promote happiness. All the things I want my home to be, I need to be. As with most things I want to accomplish, the solution starts with me.

Since one of the things I’d like my home to be is orderly, I should probably go clean up now.

The Working Desk

By / March 9, 2010

Desks are surfaces on which one piles Things To Do. My piles of things always begin as neat stacks, but the stacks quickly encroach upon each other. New layers are constantly added to the top, while the lower layers are slowly squished into the paper equivalent of sedimentary rock. In theory desks are also used as work space. I should be able to lay things out around me while I am actively using them, and be able to write notes using the available clear spaces. Usually my available clear space is about the size of a post it note and I have to slide the keyboard out of the way when ever I need to put a signature on a document. Eventually I have to have a day when I scrape the whole mess off of the flat surfaces and sort through the archeological layers of my business life. Then my desk functions as it is supposed to for a brief period of time.

Working Memory is the desk of the brain. It is the place where ideas and thoughts are processed before being used. It is where stray thoughts are organized into cohesive sentences. It is where numbers are added and multiplied. It is where images are mentally transformed. Like a physical desk the available space varies. Fatigue and distraction fog out the edges so that the working space is smaller. At these times it is literally harder to think and organize. Other things can clutter the working memory space. To Do lists, relationship shifts, and any other stress you can name all act like piles on the edges of the desk. They eliminate chunks of the working space and distract the attention.

Of late my working memory desk has been extremely cluttered. The result is that I feel closed in, unable to focus, and frustrated at my inability to process things efficiently. It is time for me to scrape the desk clear and sort through what is there.

Work:
I’m still trying to be in talent wrangler mode, but it is wearing on me. Howard doesn’t need full attention as much as he did early on, so we’re shifting this to a more balanced state of affairs. There is still lots of work to do. Howard is almost done with the RMS bonus story. Then he’ll have to catch up on the buffer, create a cover, and help with the last odds and ends on the book. I am also coordinating arrangements with 3 conventions. We’ve also gotten started on some necessary preliminary work for some of our summer events.

Family:
I’m in the process of getting Link registered for his first year in junior high and Kiki registered for her first year of high school. Both processes involve learning curves for me to hike. I’m also attempting to be more consistent about homework times and dinner times. In theory this structure will help provide a framework so the kids can succeed, which will lead to them feeling better about themselves and thus reducing conflict. So far the results have been various.

Community:
I’ve been a bit of a social hermit. All the stress causes me to draw back and conserve my energy. Unfortunately this also has the effect of reducing some of the contacts which provide me with energy. I need to be getting out more because I think it will make me happier when I am at home.

Spirituality:
I attend church every week, which gives me hope and energy. I have not been doing so well at regular scripture study, which also helps me gain perspective on the other parts of my life. This is my center of balance. If I do better here, everything else will probably fall into place.

Me:
I have not had much time for the things which matter to just me and I can feel that. I need to get outside. I need to garden. I need to walk. I need to get to the gym. More writing would be good too.

As usual, once I clear the desk and toss the stuff that is just clutter, I find that my piles really are not all that big. I don’t have too many things. I am not buried. Now I just need to get stuff done.

A Snowy Walk to Church

By / February 21, 2010

The snow was one of those ultra-fine powders that is a mere glitter in the air rather than proper snow flakes. Not much had accumulated. There was a bare fraction of an inch coating the ground as I left to walk to church. I was late, Howard and the kids had gone ahead of me. I could see the separate trails of footsteps leaving from our door and tracking off down the cul de sac. It was like one of those “guess what made these prints” books. I stepped lightly, making toe-heel impressions with my boots. Winter is not my favorite, but this was beautiful. Even this light coating of snow dampened the normal sounds of my suburban neighborhood. I looked up for a moment, letting snow sparkles fall onto my face. I listened to the hush. Then I followed the trails of footprints toward the church building.

I saw the scuffs and shuffles of my two youngest, their feet leaving evidence of snow joy. Howard’s long stride was all focused, except where a print turned to connect with the prints of a child. All the trails had started out separate, but the closer we got to the building, the more the footsteps overlapped. My family’s footprints were not the only ones anymore. They were mixed with dozens of other footprints, all heading the same direction. Those not headed to church at that early hour were keeping their footprints indoors.

I passed a bush with fingernail sized leaves. Each curled leaf had caught a little pile of snow. The bush looked like a child holding up a hundred handfuls of snow. See? Isn’t it pretty?
Yes. It is beautiful. I can see that it is beautiful. I can appreciate it, but I’m also very glad that poking through that fraction of an inch of snow are the first sprouts of Spring bulbs. March is almost here.

The glitters on my scarf turned into water droplets moments after I entered the warm church building. I hung up my coat to wait for the return trip. Then I went into the meeting to contemplate less visible, but no less wonderful, creations.

The things I don’t write about

By / January 16, 2010

I have been gathering and revising blog entries into a book of essays. I intend for the book to have five categories exploring my interactions with family, community, myself, my work, and God. The category that I am having the hardest time filling is the last one. This is not for lack of experiences. I am surrounded by experiences that I feel are inspired, guided, and blessed. I have them all the time, but I tend not to write about them publicly.

This reticence has several aspects. First and foremost, I do not want to alienate anyone. I have friends and strangers reading this blog who believe things which are very different than what I believe. I know that there are people out there for whom the very fact that I believe in God, particularly a god who communicates with me, would make them view me askance. So I keep my writing about that aspect of my life to a minimum. I try to use words that are as religiously neutral as possible. I suppose I am trying to emphasize the points of connection rather than disconnection. I believe that people of different religions, atheism, or agnosticism all have much in common. I am more interested in building bridges than I am in making a stand.

Another reason I tend to not write about the spiritual things in my life is that the experiences tend to be intensely personal. They are sacred to me and they must be protected if they are to remain sacred. There are some things which will never get put into an essay. There are some things which don’t even get shared beyond my very closest family and friends. There are even things which don’t get shared at all because they are for me alone. But there are lots of things that I can share, and sometimes I do.

Sharing things that are personal is scary. I feel vulnerable when I do so. But as I look back on the track record of this blog, I realize that opening myself up and sharing my experiences has been overwhelmingly positive. Yes I give others greater power to wound me, but for the most part that has not happened. Instead I discover closer connections to the people around me.

I don’t know that the balance of what I do and don’t write about in my blog needs to change, but examining the reasons behind the decisions is useful. I learn a lot about myself when I dig into the motivations behind my decisions. I learn even more when I examine my own assumptions so that I can see what they are. I may discover nothing that needs to be changed, but even if I don’t, it is good to see where I am coming from as I try to tackle my life’s choices and challenges.

Gifts of the Storm

By / December 31, 2009

I’ve been feeling lots of decade resonance lately. Things that happened 10 years ago are coming back in unexpected ways. We’ve been watching kid movies that were the 10-years-ago favorites. Howard met a man at the gym who was in the cardiac care unit at the same time he was ten years ago. I just finished an essay that discusses my radiation therapy in 1999 and the effects in my life since. Six months from now will be the 10 year anniversary of Schlock Mercenary. None of us intended to get all retrospective about our lives ten years ago. It happened anyway.

Do you see? asks the universe.
So I look at where we were then and I look at where we are now. Then I answer.
Yes I do.

I offer what I see as hope to anyone out there for whom 2009 was an awful year: 1999 was really hard for us. Some of what came after was also hard. Some of it has been amazingly good. But the amazingly good stuff was made possible by the hard stuff. So hang in there. Ride out your storm. Then see what you can make out of the gifts the storm brings to you.