Tribes

Separate from the tribe; get away from the tribe mentality; leave the tribe behind. Caroline Myss, Wayne Dyer, probably the Buddha all emphasize this point. But where is the line between the confining, constraining tribe, and the supportive, growth-prompting tribe? And how does one find that line?

Faced with a challenging decision about work, I find that I am surrounded at all turns by those who would--well, do--reinforce my choice to be there. Problem is, I'm not sure I want to be there. But no one's going to tell me not to stay there, or even suggest I don't. It's a school, a powerful tribe. How do I individuate myself from this?

After I constructed this dilemma for myself, it occurred to me that this is not the real dilemma, not the real deal. Where I do what I do is hardly the real concern. What I do and how I do it, and why and from what place, is the goods.

So frequently I feel so selfish: single, with no kids, I complain about having no time for myself when I eat most meals alone; about not having enough sleep when I sleep at least seven hours a night. So a choice between two perfectly good work assignments seems an invented dilemma, and I'm tempted to choose based on the good of the group--if it's all the same, why not make things easy for everyone else?

But is it all the same? In the beginning it didn't seem like it, which was what got me into all of this in the first place. It seemed like one path could take me where I wanted to go. Or where I thought I wanted to go until I started thinking about it. And now I just don't know what I want.

"We awoke one day to discover that we had lost our dreams to protect our days." I have worked so hard to discover my dreams, excavate my authentic self. I don't want to forsake her--I'm just not sure where she is.

Neighbors

The phone call came at 5:21 a.m. I don't have a panic reaction to middle of the night phone calls (not being a parent), and it took three rings for me to even recognize what was happening. Then I figured out what it must be, and let the machine take the inevitable message: "We're on a 2 hour delay," A's voice said. It was too dark to see the snow that prompted the call, so I reset the alarm, and refilled the hot water bottle to help me get back to sleep.

When the alarm went off next, light was trying to get through the snow on the skylight. I checked the window: lots of snow. Checked the date: April 5, and yes, two days ago, I could see just about all the grass in the yard. Sigh.

By the time I got showered and out the door I was feeling pretty proud of myself for leaving enough time to brush off and warm up my car. I expected that gravity would get me out of my driveway: wrong. I got stuck halfway in and halfway out, lodged on snow that spilled into the door of the Civic when I opened it. On three separate trips I went to the barn for my shovel (previously put away), the house for salt (the remnants of a bag), and upstairs for better (waterproof) gloves. To no avail. Down the road, I could see the neighbors mucking around with a tractor. I kept shoveling and the shovel broke. I was about to cry from frustration, when the next inevitability occurred: they came to help.

The woman and older man couldn't push me out, gravity now working against us, but fortunately I was stuck out enough into the road to prompt the next car to stop and help push: the extra umph was enough and I was out. Handshakes and thanks all around, and though I was late to work, I got what I didn't know I needed: I finally got to meet the neighbors.