My father was an incredibly avid soul, gifted in languages and music and theater performance. He worked as a radio announcer during the years we were together as a family. He was admitted to the University of Chicago at the age of 14, which did not turn out as well as might be hoped. My mother was his third wife, so during the years I knew him, he had already been drinking hard for a good decade or two, as far as I can reconstruct.
Nobody wanted to talk much about him after the marriage broke up when I was nine and a half. I never stopped missing him. I miss him today. He was the other half of my soul. We had that perfect understanding and appreciation of one another that sometimes happens between parent and child. I recently read that in certain cases a daughter can be an 'X-clone' of her father. That could explain a lot. I was always called "Bud's Baby" even though I was named for my mother's mother, who was a preachers's daughter.
My father's father was a medical missionary to China, that is how he handled his avidity. He took his MD at Johns Hopkins at the turn of the century, married his Ohio hometown sweetheart, Martha Caroline Carmack, and set sail for China. My father was born and raised there, along with Amy and Mary, his older twin sisters, and my uncles Ben and Hugh. He didn't arrive in this country until he was ten years old. I have often wondered what his teenage years could have been like.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
A Heritage of Avidity
There are a number of notably avid people among my forbears, from whom I am currently seeking wisdom about 'living avid' in a satisfying and productive way. Although my family members who managed their avid temperament in a way that worked well for them (and others) were often those who were 'successful' , I am most interested in how they may have managed the double-edged sword of the avid mind:
We are insatiably curious and very quick at mastering whatever interests us; on the other hand, we are easily bored and distracted and can become overwhelmed by having to do things that are not interesting, especially routine tasks.
This temperament that I am calling 'avid' is my tag for what has recently been described as 'spirited'. There is a growing literature on this; I will add links presently. For now, what I have recognized in myself and the majority of my forebears is a constellation of traits: we are intense, intuitive, sensitive and perceptive. We have very quick minds. Many of us have or had gifts in language, music, spirituality, and art.
My personal experience with this constellation of heart, mind, body and soul tells me that it is not as easy to manage this as those who counseled me in my formative years liked to tell me. I often heard things like, "You're so smart and talented, Miriam, you can do anything!" Yes, well. First I had to get this team of wild horses inside me rounded up and tamed and made into something like a team.
I avidly dislike the term 'smart'. What in the name of all that is holy does that word mean? Is it supposed to be an encouraging word? Is it supposed to help me feel good about myself? I often heard this word as a sign of jealousy and often experienced it paradoxically as a sort of passive aggressive form of rejection. Another effect was a deep-down feeling of guilt, a sense that 'great things' were expected of me, but since I had considerable difficulty getting any concerted energy out of the unruly gang of wild horses inside me, I knew I was not going to live up to their expectations--whatever they were.
Now that I think of it, the last time I had an expectation spelled out for me, it was to become the valedictorian of my high school class. I am nearly sixty-six, and the thought of it still sends a feeling of helpless shame running through my system. There were so many other things that I needed wisdom and support in sorting out, yet none was offered, and I didn't know how to find these for myself.
To wind up on a more positive note, one of my immediate forebears, my father, was a lifelong alcoholic and died of his disease. What, you may ask, is positive about that? Simply that after years of feeling isolated, helpless, and hopeless in my struggle to live with my own avidity, I finally made my way to a Twelve-Step group called Al-Anon. There, among others, many of them gifted with similar temperaments, I am a grateful and joyous member of a group who does not judge me as 'smart and talented'. I have been able to lay aside my fears of disappointing people who think I should somehow be more accomplished or 'successful'. I am accepted for who I am. I am learning to be okay with myself and to take life on life's terms. I am even becoming free to share about my relationship with a Higher Power, another extremely scary and profoundly important element of avidity.
Well, in my usual fashion, I have opened more topics than I can do justice to in one day. This is what my kitchen counter and diningroom table look like, too. I think I will go and do some dishes now.
There are a number of notably avid people among my forbears, from whom I am currently seeking wisdom about 'living avid' in a satisfying and productive way. Although my family members who managed their avid temperament in a way that worked well for them (and others) were often those who were 'successful' , I am most interested in how they may have managed the double-edged sword of the avid mind:
We are insatiably curious and very quick at mastering whatever interests us; on the other hand, we are easily bored and distracted and can become overwhelmed by having to do things that are not interesting, especially routine tasks.
This temperament that I am calling 'avid' is my tag for what has recently been described as 'spirited'. There is a growing literature on this; I will add links presently. For now, what I have recognized in myself and the majority of my forebears is a constellation of traits: we are intense, intuitive, sensitive and perceptive. We have very quick minds. Many of us have or had gifts in language, music, spirituality, and art.
My personal experience with this constellation of heart, mind, body and soul tells me that it is not as easy to manage this as those who counseled me in my formative years liked to tell me. I often heard things like, "You're so smart and talented, Miriam, you can do anything!" Yes, well. First I had to get this team of wild horses inside me rounded up and tamed and made into something like a team.
I avidly dislike the term 'smart'. What in the name of all that is holy does that word mean? Is it supposed to be an encouraging word? Is it supposed to help me feel good about myself? I often heard this word as a sign of jealousy and often experienced it paradoxically as a sort of passive aggressive form of rejection. Another effect was a deep-down feeling of guilt, a sense that 'great things' were expected of me, but since I had considerable difficulty getting any concerted energy out of the unruly gang of wild horses inside me, I knew I was not going to live up to their expectations--whatever they were.
Now that I think of it, the last time I had an expectation spelled out for me, it was to become the valedictorian of my high school class. I am nearly sixty-six, and the thought of it still sends a feeling of helpless shame running through my system. There were so many other things that I needed wisdom and support in sorting out, yet none was offered, and I didn't know how to find these for myself.
To wind up on a more positive note, one of my immediate forebears, my father, was a lifelong alcoholic and died of his disease. What, you may ask, is positive about that? Simply that after years of feeling isolated, helpless, and hopeless in my struggle to live with my own avidity, I finally made my way to a Twelve-Step group called Al-Anon. There, among others, many of them gifted with similar temperaments, I am a grateful and joyous member of a group who does not judge me as 'smart and talented'. I have been able to lay aside my fears of disappointing people who think I should somehow be more accomplished or 'successful'. I am accepted for who I am. I am learning to be okay with myself and to take life on life's terms. I am even becoming free to share about my relationship with a Higher Power, another extremely scary and profoundly important element of avidity.
Well, in my usual fashion, I have opened more topics than I can do justice to in one day. This is what my kitchen counter and diningroom table look like, too. I think I will go and do some dishes now.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Born Avid
The purpose of this blog is to share the things I am avid about.
There are a lot of those, because I was born 'avid'. I have noticed that it takes a fair amount of intention and effort on my part to satisfy my need to be engaged in things that I truly enjoy. In my opinion and experience, for those of the 'avid' temperament, it is actually necessary to be consciously seeking out this engagement. When I get lax about it, I feel like I am dying. This is not a figure of speech--it is descriptive, and, as I have learned, prescriptive.
The 'avid' temperament requires a pretty steady diet of stimulating new input, fascinating topics and activities, just as babies need certain nutrients in utero and in infancy to grow and thrive. One way I have learned to look at it is that avidity is an instinctive and totally ingrained refusal to leave the wonder and constant curiosity of childhood behind. When I have tried to rein it in, or 'act my age', I have succeeded only in cutting off the flow of circulation between my head, my heart, my gut, and the universe.
I have noticed that the people around me do not enjoy being around a half-dead person any more than I enjoy being myself when I feel like I am dying. Therefore, I have made up my mind that I will take the primary responsibility for the 'care and feeding' of my own avid spirit. No one else can discern what I need, and no one else can engage me in the things I need to do for myself in order to keep experiencing my life as avid and vivid. More on this anon ;->
So herewith my effort to share my voyage of discovery about living 'avid'.
Here are a few of my favorite things
Some of you may have been born avid, as I was. My hope in sharing some of the things I have found to be necessary nutrients for my avid spirit is that you will find and try some of these for yourself, and share with me some of the things you have found and tried that are spiritual nutrients for you.
1 ~ Music in and music out
I am not sure why, but in years past, I have considered listening to and making music as a kind of holiday treat or luxury--wonderful but optional.
I have discovered that for me this is most decidedly not true. In my case, it is necessary for my health and sanity to listen to music of all kinds every day; not only that, but I must sing with it and dance with it as well. If I don't have any music to sing and dance with, I need to make up my own, and sing and dance with it. If I don't do this every day, I quickly shrivel up inside and lose my desire to go on living. Not pretty.
2 ~ Outdoor exercise
Due the necessity of ~1 above, I have formed the habit of seeking out and joining in with various exercise classes that involve movement to music. I try not to be too persnickety about it, because it is a deep need that I have learned I must attend to, so I get it wherever I can find it. However, not many dance or exercise classes are held outdoors. I must excercise outdoors every day, not just when the opportunity arises, or even just when I feel like it.
The heartlifter that works for me is "Sunshine by nine". This means I get my body out the door by nine in the morning whether I feel like it or not, and whether the sun is visible or not. I know it's out there somewhere, and I know it's my job to take my body out the door and into nature somehow, even if I can only spare ten minutes. If I am in the middle of a concrete jungle, I will take the time to appreciate the weeds growing in leaf litter in the gutter or in the cracks of the pavement. It's out there, and I need it.
3 ~ Connecting with people
I hope you don't think that I am listing these in rank order. These three are all at the top of my survival list. I have tried living without, and I find I am endangering my wellbeing by skipping any of these for more than a day.
Probably all of us enjoy connecting with people who accept us and whom we accept. However, if the possibilities for this kind of encounter dwindles, there are two things I know I need to do right away, pronto.
First, go to a place where there are lots of people: the supermarket, the mall, 'downtown', it really doesn't pay for me to get fussy about exactly where. Just do it. I learned this trick some years ago from an 88-year-old woman I was visiting, who asked me to take her down in the elevator to sit in the lobby for a while. She was nearly blind and mostly deaf, so at first I didn't really understand what this was about. She explained to me that she just liked to hear the sound of footsteps and voices, and I could see that ten or fifteen minutes of this really lifted her spirits.
Second, find a way to reach out and spend more time with the people I care about and who care about me, even if I am embarrassed or ashamed that I have let time go by and gotten out of touch for weeks, months, even years. It's my choice--which do I prefer, gradually drowning in my guilt? Or enduring the painful confession that I have neglected our bond and that I am ashamed of being so remiss? Which of these is likely to have the better outcome?
Yes, well, I too have had old friends and neglected relatives politely tell me they have no room in their lives for me due to my blantantly inconsiderate behavior.
But much more often, I have had a warm welcome back into relationships that have grown cold due to my own mismanagement of my mouth, my time or resources. Nothing feels better than just facing up to it, and then taking what comes. Really, nothing.
I also have the choice to let certain relationships die a natural death and admit there was nothing I could do about them. But I have learned to grieve these small deaths and get on with relationships that could be living and breathing and life-giving again.
When I was the delighted and fascinated owner of a wood-burning stove, I learned that all it takes is a small, gentle puff to discover whether coals can be rekindled or not. If they are dead, I get ashes in my face; if they are alive, they will start to glow and consume the dead ashes. I learned that live coals are always worth time and breath to get restarted, and I learned just how futile and choking the results of blowing repeatedly on dead coals. Worth remembering.
That's all for now -- time to go outdoors and take myself for a walk in Tropical Storm Sandy.
What a gorgeous stormy day ;->
Avidly,
MiriAvid
The purpose of this blog is to share the things I am avid about.
There are a lot of those, because I was born 'avid'. I have noticed that it takes a fair amount of intention and effort on my part to satisfy my need to be engaged in things that I truly enjoy. In my opinion and experience, for those of the 'avid' temperament, it is actually necessary to be consciously seeking out this engagement. When I get lax about it, I feel like I am dying. This is not a figure of speech--it is descriptive, and, as I have learned, prescriptive.
The 'avid' temperament requires a pretty steady diet of stimulating new input, fascinating topics and activities, just as babies need certain nutrients in utero and in infancy to grow and thrive. One way I have learned to look at it is that avidity is an instinctive and totally ingrained refusal to leave the wonder and constant curiosity of childhood behind. When I have tried to rein it in, or 'act my age', I have succeeded only in cutting off the flow of circulation between my head, my heart, my gut, and the universe.
I have noticed that the people around me do not enjoy being around a half-dead person any more than I enjoy being myself when I feel like I am dying. Therefore, I have made up my mind that I will take the primary responsibility for the 'care and feeding' of my own avid spirit. No one else can discern what I need, and no one else can engage me in the things I need to do for myself in order to keep experiencing my life as avid and vivid. More on this anon ;->
So herewith my effort to share my voyage of discovery about living 'avid'.
Here are a few of my favorite things
Some of you may have been born avid, as I was. My hope in sharing some of the things I have found to be necessary nutrients for my avid spirit is that you will find and try some of these for yourself, and share with me some of the things you have found and tried that are spiritual nutrients for you.
1 ~ Music in and music out
I am not sure why, but in years past, I have considered listening to and making music as a kind of holiday treat or luxury--wonderful but optional.
I have discovered that for me this is most decidedly not true. In my case, it is necessary for my health and sanity to listen to music of all kinds every day; not only that, but I must sing with it and dance with it as well. If I don't have any music to sing and dance with, I need to make up my own, and sing and dance with it. If I don't do this every day, I quickly shrivel up inside and lose my desire to go on living. Not pretty.
2 ~ Outdoor exercise
Due the necessity of ~1 above, I have formed the habit of seeking out and joining in with various exercise classes that involve movement to music. I try not to be too persnickety about it, because it is a deep need that I have learned I must attend to, so I get it wherever I can find it. However, not many dance or exercise classes are held outdoors. I must excercise outdoors every day, not just when the opportunity arises, or even just when I feel like it.
The heartlifter that works for me is "Sunshine by nine". This means I get my body out the door by nine in the morning whether I feel like it or not, and whether the sun is visible or not. I know it's out there somewhere, and I know it's my job to take my body out the door and into nature somehow, even if I can only spare ten minutes. If I am in the middle of a concrete jungle, I will take the time to appreciate the weeds growing in leaf litter in the gutter or in the cracks of the pavement. It's out there, and I need it.
3 ~ Connecting with people
I hope you don't think that I am listing these in rank order. These three are all at the top of my survival list. I have tried living without, and I find I am endangering my wellbeing by skipping any of these for more than a day.
Probably all of us enjoy connecting with people who accept us and whom we accept. However, if the possibilities for this kind of encounter dwindles, there are two things I know I need to do right away, pronto.
First, go to a place where there are lots of people: the supermarket, the mall, 'downtown', it really doesn't pay for me to get fussy about exactly where. Just do it. I learned this trick some years ago from an 88-year-old woman I was visiting, who asked me to take her down in the elevator to sit in the lobby for a while. She was nearly blind and mostly deaf, so at first I didn't really understand what this was about. She explained to me that she just liked to hear the sound of footsteps and voices, and I could see that ten or fifteen minutes of this really lifted her spirits.
Second, find a way to reach out and spend more time with the people I care about and who care about me, even if I am embarrassed or ashamed that I have let time go by and gotten out of touch for weeks, months, even years. It's my choice--which do I prefer, gradually drowning in my guilt? Or enduring the painful confession that I have neglected our bond and that I am ashamed of being so remiss? Which of these is likely to have the better outcome?
Yes, well, I too have had old friends and neglected relatives politely tell me they have no room in their lives for me due to my blantantly inconsiderate behavior.
But much more often, I have had a warm welcome back into relationships that have grown cold due to my own mismanagement of my mouth, my time or resources. Nothing feels better than just facing up to it, and then taking what comes. Really, nothing.
I also have the choice to let certain relationships die a natural death and admit there was nothing I could do about them. But I have learned to grieve these small deaths and get on with relationships that could be living and breathing and life-giving again.
When I was the delighted and fascinated owner of a wood-burning stove, I learned that all it takes is a small, gentle puff to discover whether coals can be rekindled or not. If they are dead, I get ashes in my face; if they are alive, they will start to glow and consume the dead ashes. I learned that live coals are always worth time and breath to get restarted, and I learned just how futile and choking the results of blowing repeatedly on dead coals. Worth remembering.
That's all for now -- time to go outdoors and take myself for a walk in Tropical Storm Sandy.
What a gorgeous stormy day ;->
Avidly,
MiriAvid
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