Did My Chakra Just Bite Your Aura?

Tonight we attended a friend's birthday party, an event for which she hired a clairvoyant.

She apparently called several (who knew there was such a supply of local psychics?) and liked this one the best.  I would have loved to probe her more on that whole process (how do you interview a psychic?  "What number am I thinking of?" "If you're so psychic why are you hiring out for parties instead of living off your lottery & racehorse winnings?"), but I digress.

My husband rolled his eyes when he heard this.  His question would be, who is the bigger crackpot, the person giving the readings, or the person who would pay good money for it.  However, I thought it would be hoot.  And hey, it was free to us.   So, bless his heart, he gamely went along, and we let her have her way with us for 15 minutes.  She first asked if we wanted our relationship read, which we balked at, so she just spooled off some stuff about each of us as individuals.  After that, she asked again about us as a couple and we consented to hearing what she had to say about that.  We really didn't say anything, she did most of the talking.

Folks, it was interesting.  Even Mark agrees.

You could take her comments, repeat them to 100 random couples, and 95 of them would say it applied to them and was insightful.  It was, on most levels, sufficiently vague and general to apply broadly. She included stuff that wasn't exactly advice, but more along the lines of encouragement, and that too was both general and, I think, the kind of thing anyone would be wise to listen to.  Despite the language that clairvoyants use about "reading" a client, I'm sure it's not that different from authoring a self-help book.  There's an endless list of stuff you can write without knowing anything about your audience--because it applies to nearly everyone.  I think successful "psychics" may also have a legitimate talent for picking up on subtle clues and interpreting body language.

That said, I think it's fair to say that both of us were a little ....disarmed is too strong a word, but I can't drum up a better one, so....disarmed by some of what she said.  Our family faced a big change recently, (nothing we told her about though), and she said some things that really fit.  Now, maybe she's a psychic genius who deserves her own TV show and she truly read our auras.  Or, maybe she just was throwing out more general stuff to see what stuck.  It hardly matters. What's kind of neat is that it made both of us think about the situation a little differently, with more an eye for what the other person was going through.

So at the risk of sounding gullible, I have to say I felt better for having had this "reading" done.  I mean, I honestly got something out of it.  Maybe not more than I'd have gotten out of watching an Oprah episode, but still.  Go figure.

Unfortunately, I forgot to ask her if I'm going to get my butt kicked in my office's March Madness contest.

Gardening reality

In theory, I am a gardener.

This is what I like about gardening:

The smell of dirt.  Finding worms in my flowerbeds.  Looking for plants at garden centers.  Buying annuals and perennials without regard for what my beds have room for.  Shaking seed packets.  Drooling over gardening catalogs.   Planning what should go into containers.  Seeing tulips pushing up from the ground, and thinking about my Dutch grandmother.  Picking big fat zinnias.  Admiring old-fashioned Irises.  Loving Daylillies even if they're ditch flowers.

This is what I don't like about gardening:

Seeds that never sprout.  Feeling so attached to plants that I can't thin them.   The never-ending battle with thistles.  The way my containers look when I've not watered them enough.  How unrewarding it is to deal with the ugly parts of the season, when things are withered and need dead-heading and nothing is blooming.  Leaky garden hoses.  And honestly?  THE WORK.  I hate the work.  At the heart of things I'd rather be reading a book than hoisting a hoe.

For years I'd start out with good intentions and then peter out as the summer marched on.  By the end of July the garden looks dreadful, my plants suffer, it feels like a moral failure.   The last few years, I finally got honest with myself and owned up to my lack of follow-through.  Despite the spring urges, I spent a lot less money, made fewer plans, left the garden alone.

As March 2010 rolls to a close, however, I am feeling a kernel of something different:   Hope?  Ambition?  Reform?  Or possibly delusion?  I can't tell yet.  But I dunno; this could the year when I do the garden right.

When a cliche is more than a cliche

When I worked in admissions, I read a lot of application essays. Students grope for topics that they think will stand out, that have gravitas. A popular theme was "how the untimely death of my classmate/cousin/best friend changed my perspective on life." Sadly, you read enough of those and you start to get a little cynical about it. Enough to wonder if there were any teenagers left in the world--the ubiquitousness of the topic made it sound like they were dropping like flies.

But I also had to put that cynicism aside sometimes and recognize that their topic represents more than just a bid for sympathy or an appearance of profundity . The truth is, it can jar the hell out of you when someone you know dies. No matter what your age.

It's happened to me, too--I've found myself trying to find meaning after a friend died after a seizure; an acquaintance had a fatal aneurism; a friend of my parents committed suicide; my housemate's sister was killed by a drunk driver. It makes you think. What are we here for? What would happen if I went like that? What is my legacy? What should it be?

After our friend Stu killed himself, my mom took a hard look at things and decided to retire early. She realized she didn't like her job enough to stick with it, and though it made things a bit less comfortable for her and Dad, it was the right decision. She stuck it out just long enough to get me through college (for which I am profoundly grateful), and then she quit and was a much happier person.

In November, I heard the horrible news that a former professor of mine--a mentor, a friend, dissertation committee member, the man I credit with keeping me sane (well, marginally sane; it's all relative) as I wrapped up the PhD--had died suddenly. Eric was only a few years older than me.

He was gone much too soon, and I think everyone who knew him was convinced the world has been cheated because of what he had left to accomplish. However, in his short life he'd already made quite a mark. His research was important and influential, but to me, it was his teaching and mentoring that really is remarkable. His former students are all over the country, making contributions big and small in our field and in the lives their students. That's one important way Eric will live on.

Sadly, I'd have to put myself in the "small contributions" category. Even before this tragedy I'm been feeling around the edges of this, a little sheepish about the tiny role I play in the larger academic community. My projects are very centered on the question of the moment. I think I could do more. I think I should do more. If I were better following Eric's example, I would be doing more. I've known this for some time but I've not done anything about it.

Those thoughts came to the fore after he died. As I bawled over the news, I thought perhaps this would be the catalyst. Time to think bigger, to invest more of my own time into taking projects to the next level, to do more work with colleagues outside of my office, to re-engage with the scholarly community of IR and Higher Ed. It's worth doing simply because it would help me better realize my professional potential--but it would also better honor Eric's legacy. I feel like I could gain a tiny sliver of sense out of his death if I made it a figurative kick in my pants.

It's been over four months. And while I have THOUGHT a lot about this, I've really not done much. One of the reasons I wanted to put this into an entry is that I don't want these thoughts to go nowhere. So I'm writing this to say that I have not done much - YET. The yet is important.

We'll see how this goes

I forgot I'd set this thing up, except I occasionally go to comment on someone else's blog and Voila! An identity appears for me, reminding me that at some point I actually had some intention of writing here.

And if I weren't running late I'd do something about it right now.