Monthly Archives: March 2017

Alone with my crowded mind

Thoughts about aloneness have been a recurring theme for me over the last few months. The reality of a new life with much time alone became my unsettling truth over the last few weeks. One of my dear friends, Carolyn Newton Curry, Ph.D., founded a non-profit foundation named “Women Alone Together.” (See www.carolyncurry.net). As I sat in my aloneness, I thought about Carolyn and her passion to encourage and support women who are “alone.” Carolyn and I became friends the first time (of three times) her husband, Bill, hired my husband, Ricky. That was almost thirty years ago. When we met in 1989, I was a young law student and a newlywed. Like children watching the grown folks who live around them, I watched Carolyn. Carolyn’s genius must have been filtered by her hospitable, thoughtful, warm spirit. Bill always said that Carolyn was the smart one, but I didn’t see her brilliance until years later. True to the life of a “sister in the shadow” of her partner and a business she didn’t control, Carolyn balanced her support roles as a wife, mother, and mentor while limiting her talk about her really cool academic endeavors and her passionate pursuits.

Carolyn and Bill helped me grow up in the business of football. They taught me how to survive many of the challenges of the business. More recently, I realized that Carolyn began teaching me about the aloneness in the game of life many years ago. In 2002, when Carolyn established this organization, I was in my thirties. I was married to the business of football with two small children. As I recall, I learned about Carolyn’s organization from an excited Bill. He expressed his excitement for Carolyn and his excitement about the mission of the organization. Carolyn states on her website that her organization “provides confidence and community to women who are ‘alone’ for any reason.” At the time Bill told me about “Women Alone Together,” I thought my mother who had become a widow in 1997. At that time in my life, with two young children in tow, I welcomed a moment alone. In fact, as I made plans for the kids, I scheduled in some alone time for myself. I kept the plans of my alone time in mind when I planned trips, activities, and bed times. Alone time was a goal. It was necessary and I embraced it like a warm cup of tea on a cool morning. Then, 2015 arrived and that vision of aloneness transitioned itself from a place in the distance and into my personal space. All those years later I missed some aspects of being busy with little time alone. Watching aloneness force change felt as comfortable as premenopausal hot flashes.

Sometimes I think that I think too much. My life in the shadows fixing other peoples’ stuff mandated thinking through the stuff and planning stuff and just dealing with stuff. There were times when I wanted nothing more than the noise around me to be silenced. I wished for the exterior things that drove my thoughts and expended my energy to allow me to simply relax into a quiet space. The closer I got to the goal of time alone my codependent relationship with fixing people and stuff and the need of people and stuff to be fixed by me became more obvious. Suddenly (or so it seemed), my expectation of alone time changed from a quiet, refreshing retreat to a dreaded isolation and stillness. I feared the judgment of the quietness. I resisted the inevitable maturity and independence of the babies I raised. I resisted the blessings that flowed when I held their feet and prayed over them at night. I fought the internal battle between the celebration of the crop yielded as a result of my timely planting and my tireless tending of the garden and that time that came after the celebration of the harvest. I never expected to live this picture of aloneness that I see now.

A few weeks ago, I said, “Alone sucks!” I meant it with every fiber in me that day. I spiraled into a pity zone where feelings of frustration, regret, second guessing, and wishful thinking live. My spiral didn’t fee like oil in a cylinder though. It felt more like a pinball hitting the obstacles inside of the pinball machine after being launched from the flippers. I wanted no part of this kind of alone time. What irony! I finally had what I wished for and now I wished only for a different dream. Is this what the cliché that “Life comes full circle” really meant? Was this the season to learn to “live off the land?” Was this supposed to be my time to “live off the increase?” Or, was the lesson to just “be careful what you wish for?” Once I stopped the stupid spiral, I owned all of the decisions I made that contributed to my journey to this life alone. Some might argue that I am not alone because I have a husband and kids and my beloved Swaggy. Right now, however, they are away on treks of their own. As a result, I sit at a table with a journal, an empty coffee cup, a cell phone with a blackened screen listening to my breath and the pen scratching blue ink on this page. I am alone. I am alone with my thoughts. I am alone to contemplate change.

In the aloneness, I have spent time revisiting my life journey. Over the years, it has often felt like a series of detours to me. My recent self evaluation yielded a finding that the symbolism of the circle in the cliché about things “coming full circle” accurately described my journey. There was a momentum building from the trajectory of being catapulted into each detour. Although I gravitated toward the fear in being propelled into orbit, age and experience made me appreciate the feeling of freedom offered by the launch. Those times that shocked my senses the most also aroused the most intense feelings of aloneness in me. Those times that registered more on the side of lonely than leisure on the aloneness meter I named. The latest arc on this circular life orbit was named “My desert experience” representative of the time in my life when I was removed from almost everything and everybody with deep familiarity. In the desert, I didn’t find my voice because I always knew it was there. In the desert, I found the alone time I needed to practice listening to my voice without the distractions of the codependent relationships I felt called to make priorities in my life in the past.

I have decided that the tug of loneliness may introduce itself into my quiet time for as long as aloneness is a thing for me. I have also decided that the length of the visit is a choice determined by me. Instead of seeing this part of my journey as closure to the circle, I see that my life has been a series of small circles linking me to this time to be alone so that I can work on mastering the management of the gift of time itself. I want my audience to consider as I did the personal responses to alone time and whether the responses directly relate to the reason we find ourselves alone. Consider the benefits and burdens of being alone. Then, find support to increase the benefits and solutions to help lessen the burdens.

“Hey Ma, Do you think my major is crazy?”

When my kids were in middle school, each of them began to contemplate what they wanted to be when they grew up. I wrote a blog post about the guidance I gave them on that topic (See http://wp.me/p6L8u0-45 ). The question about the major came as the kids got closer to high school graduation.

I wanted to be an interior decorator or a professional dancer during my early years. Both carrier fields were far from my little girl dream of becoming a pediatrician and the electrical engineering major I chose my freshman year of college. When I was in the eighth grade, a dance teacher from a city south of Montgomery, Alabama offered me free dance lessons if my parents could get me to her studio. I couldn’t wait to tell my parents about this opportunity. I honestly believed their response would be, “Yes, when can you start?” As it turned out Mama was not so thrilled about the idea of driving out of town every Saturday to practice dancing. I think Mama and Daddy saw dance as a hobby much like my other dream of decorating. Mama and Daddy wanted me to focus my professional goal setting on more common fields of study like education, medicine, and engineering. They wanted me to select a career field that would provide a stable income and some benefits. While their opinions were sensible, there was no consideration of whether or not those career fields had any relation to the calling on my life, my passions, or the best use of my skill sets. I believed that my parents thought I was smart enough to do any of the jobs they suggested, but it seemed that they considered my passions hobbies that I could work on in my free time.

I tried to keep my dream alive by joining the Tigerette dance team in junior high school and the Jadette dance squad in high school. I also found my way into a few Zumba classes over the years trying to make exercise fun. Since my parents guided me away from the more artistic fields and in the direction of the career fields more likely to guarantee a job, I decided to expose my kids to the arts. I made every effort to take them to musicals, plays, and concerts. I read to them daily book to expand their visions and books that allowed them to see people like them doing cool things. I encouraged them to play instruments, join choirs, draw, paint, take photography classes, and dance classes. Enrolling them in dance classes brought back fond memories from my brief tenure as a ballerina and tap dancer when I was in elementary school.

My son started tap classes in the third grade and loved it. He went through several pairs of tap shoes and moved closer to being descried as a hoofer as opposed to one who performed only choreographed steps. It took a conversation with a musician friend to realize that my son heard beats in his head that inspired his percussive expressions as a dancer and percussionist in the middle school band. Imagine my excitement when I learned that my boy loved dance just like I did. I was ready to pull him from school to pursue dance. I thought I was going to be a dance mom until I learned that he enjoyed dance, but he loved school and his friends. I learned that I had to live my son’s dream along side him and not impose my dreams on my son. I almost let myself get carried away because I loved dance and he was so good at it. When he danced, he seemed to escape to some other place where he just had fun. I also took note that his reaction to dance shoes was very different from the experience I had when I introduced my daughter to dance shoes.

When my daughter was in kindergarten, the small church school invited a dance teacher to come in weekly to teach ballet. Quickly, I signed her up for classes and rushed to purchase ballet shoes for her. The classes began early in the school year. Then, some time in November the school announced the recital. I talked to my girl about the dance rehearsals. I can only imagine that I did most of the talking. She was a quiet, pensive girl who likely allowed me to ramble and hype myself up with the visions of my young ballerina dancing in my head. The teacher asked us to buy pink leotards, pink stockings, and tutus for the girls. I purchased her dance outfit and began thinking about how she would wear her hair. The night of the performance came. I got to the chapel early enough to get a seat near the front and near the center aisle. In life, positioning matters.

In order to get the best pictures and the best view of my girl, I had to be front and center. My heart raced as the girls walked out holding their arms in a circular shape in front of them like an imaginary basketball hoop. My excited spirit dampened a bit as I read the expression on her face. Her face said something like, “Really, Mom?! How could you force me to wear this silly outfit with this scratchy tutu? Why did you ever think I might enjoy standing up here performing this kindergarten awful ballet routine?” “Oh my,” I thought as she glared in my direction with a solemn face the entire performance. I knew that she would never be a professional dancer. I also knew at that moment that I would have to listen to her heart and wait until she could articulate her passions and her purpose.

It is tempting as for parents and good villagers to interject their own purposes and passions on the kids in their communities. The temptation is to influenced the subjects the kids study and the professions the kids select in order to ensure they pick the paths that will result in a “good job.” It is better to spend time serving the role of supporter of the kids while the kids experiment with many things from the arts to the sciences in an effort to figure out what they do best and what they really love to do. I have had “good” jobs before and been completely miserable in those jobs. I have learned that I love my job because it melds the passions I have for building supporting villages for young people, helping young people dream bigger than they ever imagined, and for solving puzzles. My children taught me to have patience with them as they attempted new things and that still holds true. I work to demonstrate the same level of enthusiasm about the newest experiment or idea as I did with the last one (or two or three). I praise them when they incorporate academic principles into daily activities because that is application. I support their creative use of rap songs when they have complete conversations in song lyrics because that is a place where the arts and the analytical minds can unite. Give the children in your space the freedom to learn about themselves and the courage to use what they learn to make themselves and others better for the rest of their lives.

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Lead with passion, humility, & strength

Sometimes the things that you think are going to cause you to stumble may propel you forward. Four of five evenings last week I committed myself to attend events on campus. While each event was very different from the others, my purpose was to support students. I also knew that three of the events would afford me the opportunity to interact with students in at least three different demographic student groups on our campus – international students, fraternity and sorority life, and students from the residence halls.

Contrary to what some students believe, I do not spend my free time trolling them. I am concerned about their individual and collective strides toward academic success, physical and mental well-being, and safety. Sometimes it feels like I melt into the woodwork of the historic building on the south side of campus right after new student orientation ends each summer. I feel like I adopt the persona of a fictitious character who is characterized by students as a person half tin man, half wizard from that imaginary land in Dorothy’s dream. As the leader of the conduct office, I often say that I run a triage. Life in a triage can be hectic, chaotic, unpredictable, and complicated. I spend most days directing traffic and putting out fires. Although my leadership role provides ample opportunity to help students and other campus partners sort through behavioral concerns, I often miss the chance to interact with students outside of my office or students not connected to the issues that connected them to my office. There are many times that I feel that the students and others in the community are fine to just distance themselves from me because of the nature of my job. When I speak to college students who either choose to lead or who find that their peers want them as leaders, I tell them several things that I have learned from leading. While leadership is tough and lonely, it can also be exhilarating, exciting, and gratifying. It is tough to know that your decision will likely change the course of the life of a student or student group. It is tough to hear the details of some of the things that trouble people on the campus. It’s even tough some days to separate from the things I hear or see during the course of a day. It is also very cool when a student says something like, “As much as I didn’t like being held accountable for what I did, your office is ‘hella cool!”

I don’t remember which student called my office “hella cool” a couple of years ago, but I learned from that student the value of being relatable to those I serve. As a result of that lesson from a student, I said yes to opportunities to be in the presence of students in places designed for them last week. I left the security of my Lake Level campus home. Honestly, I shook my head at myself for saying yes to four nights of events after long work days. One night I would be an audience member listening to view points of international students. Two nights I would be a judge and the last night a mistress of ceremonies for an event. I worried that the students would not receive me well. I wondered if students ever imagine that the conduct lady even cares about their thoughts or feelings. The truth is that I care about understanding them, the culture of the community, and how to create and implement programs and educational opportunities to help them develop life skills for campus living and for life beyond the college bubble. I consider myself a thread in a safety net on the campus cast to brace them if they fall while learning how to be grownups.

I am driven by my passion to save kids from themselves. I am driven by my passion to build healthy, supportive villages around young people to guide them personally and professionally. I guess I am passionate about teaching people the benefit of time spent learning from other people. In the leadership community, these cool experiences are referred to as mentor-mentee relationships. Mentor-mentee relationships are excellent tools for learning and relationship building. This week I remembered that the mentor can learn from the mentee. This week taught me that the mentor can learn from the teaching moments crafted specifically for the mentee. My mentees made me a better leader.

I want to encourage leaders to let others see and feel their passion for the work they do. I want leaders to lead with their minds open to hear the comments of those who benefit from their service. Leaders must remember that they are serving others even if they are entrusted with some authority to make decisions. When great leaders lead, the conversation and the focus is more about the plans to improve the station of those they serve than about them. When great leaders lead, they move with urgency and intensity in a direction that takes everyone closer to the goal. Recently, in a yoga class the teacher lead us into the “humble warrior” pose. Immediately, I thought about the seemingly diametrically opposite words that describe many of the most favored leaders – humble and warrior. Great leaders temper their pride and ego-centered thoughts with the humble attitude of a servant. Great leaders, like warriors, prepare, plan, and pursue the missions and objectives with a passionate pursuit of excellence.

Last week I stepped out of my comfort zone and sacrificed some free time to hang out with students in spaces designed with their input and for their enjoyment. Often young people spend their time concerned about how they will be perceived and considering how they will fit in at the places they choose to go. I found myself every might having the same concerns. My hope is that more leaders will go into spaces that make them a little uncomfortable and permit themselves to relax into the environment and experience the people they serve in a way they may not have experienced in the past. I learned something at every event. I met new people and forged new relationships with students, campus partners, and members of the University alumni counsel. I danced. I sang. I ate sweet treats and good food. I got to do life with the people who matter. I go to do life with the students who are the reason that I do the things I do.

Big Mama

Yesterday, I went to do a little self-care at a local nail salon. The young woman who checked me in was so courteous. She was so hospitable that I took notice of her and I paid close attention to how she interacted with other folks in the salon. Her grace and kindness came as easy to her as the “Yes Ma’am’s” she coupled with her smiles. After observing and praising her in my head, I asked the nail technicians in earshot, “Where’s she from?” I was not surprised when they replied, “Um, somewhere in the South.”

I couldn’t say that everybody from the south addressed folks with a handle, or title, but I was reminded of my paternal grandmother, Big Mama, who demanded that the answer to any questions she asked of a child end with “Yes Ma’am,” “No Ma’am,” “Yessum,” or “No’um.” There was no exception to that rule and I haven’t been able to think of one child who dared not follow her directive. The young technicians in the shop became interested in the southern practices because the young woman and I had a few similar experiences. One of them asked what would have happened if I had chosen to address Big Mama without a “Yes Ma’am” or similar phrase. I laughed and said, “I have no idea.” I don’t think any child was brave enough to ignore her “request.” It would have been interpreted as disrespect. So, I proceeded to tell them about Big Mama.

Big Mama’s real name was Ora Lee. She was a “pleasantly plump” woman who was closer to short than she was to tall. Her flat forehead and long, straight dark hair spoke of her blended heritage. Big Mama said she was Black and Native American. I had no reason to doubt her because she believed in the power of the things born from the earth and she devoted her life to healing people through the spiritual compass within her. She believed in becoming one with the land and listening for the voice of the Lord. Little was known about her past because she hid that part of her someplace and she kept that place securely locked. However, she overcame her sorted past and gained wisdom on that journey. Her journey fortified her to stand as the matriarch for our family and the community. I wish I could remember all of the home remedies and wives’ tales Big Mama practiced. Yesterday, I laughed as I recalled a few memories of time spent with Big Mama.

Big Mama took seriously the Biblical directive to walk around Jericho to demonstrate the power of the Holy Spirit. Big Mama once ran circles around a church congregation to seal them in the Spirit. Nobody said she was speaking in tongues, but I am pretty sure there were words coming out of her mouth as she ran laps around the sanctuary “covering” the place with the Spirit. I wrote a blog about that special moment at a church in Montgomery in a post entitled “Spirit Filled.” (See http://wp.me/p6L8u0-5W ) That story made me laugh then and I laughed yesterday while telling it. Big Mama caught those folks off guard and their response was priceless.

There was another time when Big Mama came to our house and Mama started talking about the garden in the backyard. Mama usually grew tomatoes, cucumbers, bell pepper, and okra. That year, the okra crop must have been lagging behind the growth of the other crops if Mama was concerned. Big Mama, a strict disciplinarian, heard Mama’s concern and offered a solution. Big Mama was so strict that she told me that I would be committing a sin if I played a game that required cards or dice. So, no card games and no board games with dice when Big Mama was around. She also stressed that secular music was of the devil so you dared to play any music other than a church tune when Big Mama was present. Big Mama had a strict interpretation of Biblical principals. She expected people and things to obey her. She interpreted the Bible to mean that humans were in charge of the earth and the things that dwelled on the earth. When Big Mama heard about the scarcity of Mama’s okra crop, Big Mama marched out of the house and into the backyard. On her way to the garden, she broke a switch off of one of the trees and proceeded to spank the okra. As she whooped it, she chastised it and told it to grow. Initially, there was shock. Then, there was robust laughter. That story made all of us laugh in the salon yesterday and I giggle every time I think about Big Mama in her ankle length dress with her crucifix hanging from her neck giving the gospel to the okra.

I loved Big Mama. She called me “Tim” instead of “Kim” my whole life. I have no idea why she never pronounced my name correctly. I always answered to “Tim” and I never challenged her on the pronunciation of my name. Big Mama had the belief that once “You put teen on their age they think they grown.” As a result, I didn’t get a birthday present from her after I turned thirteen. Big Mama fascinated me because she didn’t complete grade school, but she could read the Bible and count money. She had a gift of healing and her instincts about people were generally on point. She told me when I was about twelve or thirteen that I would do something special. I often wonder if I have done that “special” something yet. I wish that I had been mature enough to sit with her more often and for longer periods of time to listen to her talk about natural cures for all sorts of illnesses, and to hear her talk about how she seasoned the food she cooked, and to hear her laugh with her whole body when she recounted funny stories about other people she knew. Big Mama always told me that I was smart and she made believe that I was teaching her how to compute simple math equations. One of my takeaways from my time with Big Mama was to be respectful to God and to my elders. Big Mama also taught me to be true to what I believed in and to share my faith with others through prayer and giving. Big Mama taught me to encourage young people to believe in themselves and to believe in the power of the village. I hope that we can all walk in the legacy of my Big Mama and bless people with transparency, humor, and compassionate hearts.