Sharing.

"I always want more," my friend Ann told me, about my blog posts. I wanted to ask, "what more? more what?" but I never got around to it. The truth is, I like to write and I like to share but I don't like to share a lot or share everything. My life is so entwined with the lives of others' and I feel... weird about writing about details that involve not just me, but others, too. It feels like an invasion of privacy and also, I am pathologically afraid of judgment.
I want to put myself out there but I fear judgment, a lack of understanding. I have surprisingly thin skin. You'd think I wouldn't, that being teased mercilessly or having not a lot of friends growing up would've given me thicker skin. But it's done the opposite. When I find acceptance, I want to keep it that way. I am loathe to do anything that would take that away. Sometimes, I wonder if I should give people more credit, if I should give myself more credit.
I really admire people that are able to put their whole selves out there, writers that are not afraid to tell their story. I wonder how they do it. I wonder if they ask permission first from everyone in their lives, or if everyone just knows that being friends or being related to a writer makes you fair game. And yes, I'm not afraid to call myself a writer. It's one of the few things that I can do well, but it's also something I could better if I could bring myself to share more.
And the thing is, I could just journal all this privately, and wouldn't have to worry about what people think or make anyone mad or feel bad. I won't lie, though. I like to have an audience. What writer doesn't? I like the opportunity for engagement, I like seeing my words out there, even if they lack substance sometimes.
I've thought a lot about not blogging at all, just shutting the whole thing down, getting off Twitter and Pinterest and whatever other social media outlet I waste time with. In the beginning, social media sites like Flickr and Twitter were relatively small communities and it was easy to connect with people (heck, that's how I met Henry!) But now, the communities are large and have become little more than marketing tools for people with ad-supported blogs or other businesses. Sure, I follow a lot of interesting people on Twitter but I have nothing of myself to contribute and I wonder if I wouldn't get the same information if I just read the news everyday. I don't even use Pinterest for social networking. I just think it's a neat way to clip ideas from all over the internet and have them all in one place, and accessible from wherever I am.
That said, I'm probably not going anywhere. I guess I don't mind being an observer and I like to keep tabs with what's going on out there. But it's in here that I'm more concerned with. I think there's a fine line between sharing and oversharing, and I'm confident that I know where that line is. I just need to summon the courage to toe that line.

Legend.

There were many, many fascinating details I learned about France, Europe and the development of race as a social construct in Tom Reiss' new book, The Black Count but I really got hooked on the idea of Alex Dumas as a legend in his own time, even before his son, Alexandre Dumas, used him as the inspiration for The Count of Monte Cristo. Alex Dumas, born Thomas-Alexandre, was a legendary figure not just because he was a black man who achieved incredible military success at a time when policies were being enacted to dehumanize people of African descent. His story is the classic stuff of legend: born into dubious social standing, sold into slavery by his desperate father, reclaimed again by the same man and groomed for nobility, rising through the French social ladder. Everyone loves the triumph of the underdog, especially when he's good-looking!

And it got me thinking about how any of us could be legends in the making, without knowing it. Do you think Alex Dumas knew he would be immortalized in his son's novels? That books would be written about him? We don't have to be big legends and we don't have perform heroic acts but we can leave a mark on the world by sharing some part of ourselves for the good of humanity.

Every once in awhile I ask myself, "what is the point of me?" Don't get me wrong-- I place great value on my role as a mother and a keeper of the home but if you know me, you know that I totally buy into that woo-woo stuff about giving back to the universe. Some people call it karma but I think it's a mistake to actively court karma. Instead, you should send out to the universe what you hope to get back.

Not so long ago, the "point of me" was to share my knowledge and passion with teenagers in the South Bronx. I'm still very passionate about education. I don't have a lot of money but I do have time and energy, and that is how I've chosen to return the favor. Getting involved with Pathways Togo is an action that I feel good about, getting to the root of change-- education. The idea of education as a path to empowerment, to personal freedom, to personal success is something that I tried to instill in my students. I reminded them often that I was not in the classroom for them, they were not in the classroom for me. They were in the classroom for themselves, and so our time together would be whatever they made it be.

I try very hard to take my own advice: the quality of my time here is what I make it. When I imagine myself as an old lady, looking back on my life, I don't see myself as a legend, but as a small force that joined together with other small forces to create a powerful synergy in the universe that became an agent of change for the greater good.

Alexandre Dumas' works were heavily influenced by his father, also named Alexandre Dumas. In the biography The Black Count, author Tom Reiss tells how Dumas went from slavery to become the equivalent of a five star general in the French military. Join From Left to Write on October 11 as we discuss the The Black Count. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes. All links to the book are affiliate links. This means if you buy the book using the link, I get a cut. 

A Finisher.

Heather and I, post-race and pre-pancakes

Saturday night, before the Danskin Triathlon out in Sandy Hook, was a veritable carb-fest at my friend Heather's house. I shoved penne down, in between bites of chicken francaise. All week, I'd been scheming ways to avoid this tri while saving face. I was tired and not feeling it, plus I wasn't training as hard as I could. I thought I'd "accidentally" leave my tri suit behind or some other important item for the race. Or maybe it would get rained out. Maybe I'd get sick! Maybe Heather would get sick! Still, I remembered to pack everything I needed. I took the train down to Yonkers, with the bike. Heather picked me up. We settled in for a rainy evening at her house.
After dinner, we both headed up to bed. I tried to watch TV. I couldn't get sleepy. Finally, I took a book out. That would do the trick. I finally got drowsy enough to turn out the light and close my eyes, super conscious of the fact that Heather promised me to wake me up at 4:30 in the morning.
At 3am, I woke up, unbearably hot. I turned the fan and unable to fall back asleep, I made the mistake of looking at my phone. I did my usual check-up of the social networks, predictably dead at that hour. I finally put my phone down and dozed back to sleep. I found myself in a very vivid dream in which Heather came to wake me up, so I got up and attempted to make the bed, only to fall back asleep. I awoke with a start, realizing that it might not have been a dream! I looked at my phone and saw that it was 4:30. I wondered if Heather really had woken me or not. I stumbled around, getting my tri suit ready, brushing my teeth, getting dressed. I put my sneakers on the floor, willing myself to leave them behind. I even shoved them up under the bed, out of sight but unfortunately, not out of mind.
I made the bed, packed my bag and with a sigh, reached under the bed to pull out my sneakers. How lame would it be to tell people that I didn't do the tri because I forgot my sneakers? Very lame.
I met Heather in the kitchen, where we ate a light snack, filled our water bottles and headed out into the chilly pre-dawn to load our bikes onto the car. I had some choice words, regarding the early hour as we got into the car but I won't repeat them here (thought my Facebook friends know just what I said!).
The closer we got to Sandy Hook, the more glad I was that I didn't bail, on the tri or on Heather. I'm not the fastest at anything but I'm a dogged finisher. (Just ask my dad...) It was a beautiful almost-Fall day. The water was perfect, temperature-wise but a little rough. Those waves helped propel me along, though! The bike course follows the shoreline, a great view while zipping along the course. I challenged myself to pick up speed and pass a few people, to my (inner) satisfaction. Getting off the bike, my strategy for the run was to go for a negative split--run the first part of the course at a slow, easy pace, saving my energy for a faster pace during the last part of the 5K. I picked up speed as I approached the finish, sprinting the last few yards and high-fiving the peppy clown that awaited me across the line, where Heather, having finished earlier,  greeted me with a hug.
It was a great race, I was happy that I followed through and noticed that while I didn't necessarily feel faster, I did feel like it took less effort. It turns out that I did do much better than last year! As usual, my main goal was to not come in last. I like to set the bar appropriately, you know. Not too high, not too low.

Drifting.

I did a real writerly thing the other day. When I take the long drives down the Saw Mill Parkway in Westchester, especially when the traffic is light and I can drive long stretches without stopping or slowing down, my mind churns busily. The way some people get their best ideas in the shower, I get mine while I drive. (Don't worry, mom, I'm totally paying attention to the road!)
Back to the writerly thing I did. I thought a thought while I was driving, and as soon as I pulled into my parking spot, I whipped out my phone, opened Evernote and wrote it down, this thought that I thought.

And what was it? I was mulling over my terrible Internet habit. Internet, I love you but you are a timesuck and I have no one to blame but myself for that. Here's the precise problem: I convince myself that the things I'm doing online are important, when they really aren't. I don't need to check Facebook every five minutes. I don't need to go through my Google Reader. I don't need to check my e-mail approximately 5 million times a day (only slightly exaggerating). What I do need is a sort of Internet schedule. I need to decide what it is important, and what needs to be done when. I've reached a point where I recognize that I could get a lot more done during my day if I scheduled specific times to check my e-mail, go on Facebook, whatever the hell it is I do online.

This leads me down a path where I question my purpose. What am I doing with my life that is meaningful, constructive and productive? For a long time, I had clearly defined roles. First, I was a student, then I was a teacher. But these new roles that I have now, being a wife and a mother, I'm still trying to figure out how to act out those roles. The roles of student and teacher are automatically imbued with a sense of purpose. Learn something. Teach something. That's simply put but you get the point. The roles of wife and mother are a little more abstract. It can be whatever I want it to be. For some women, it comes naturally. But sometimes, I just feel like I'm on one looooong vacation from the real world. We are not terribly busy people. I don't shuttle my children from activity to activity. We don't have a lot of appointments. I don't really have a lot going on, or at least, I don't think I do.

And I'm thinking wrong. Because the truth is, I do have a lot to do. I'm just hard-pressed to figure out when and how I'm supposed to do it all. I recently had to write a bio for an online book review site. I closed out the paragraph with "In my free time, I sew small items for children and train for triathlons." After I hit send, I realized that I wanted that statement to be true but in reality, I sabotage myself. I don't prioritize those things and I should. Another thing I don't prioritize is building my tutoring business, which is just plain silly.

But how do I find the time in my day to keep house, keep children and pursue my own interests? The answer, quite simply, is scheduling. When I was a teacher and student, I was a slave to my datebook. I needed that structure to keep myself together. Without it, I was lost. And it has to be a physical datebook, where I write things down with an actual pen. My iPhone is great but typing things doesn't impress details into my memory the way writing with a pen does.

Sometimes I'm blown away by what I figure out about myself as I get older.

(Also, I totally confess to checking Facebook about 1000 times while I was composing this here post.)