Doing "Nothing" is "Something"

Don't feel like “doing” today…want to relax this morning after teaching my college class for four hours last night.

Slept in…looked at the clock…and rolled over. Permission to self to take the day off.

List of things to do can wait till tomorrow. Instead, sip coffee in my pjs on the front porch and write while the birds sing and the soft breeze and checkered sunlight caress my neck ever so gently. Enjoying a sunny day in Phoenix.

Ah, the luxury of musing, reflecting without deadlines, appointments and obligations for the day.

Simple and delightful and so different from my former self, the Type A, overly responsible, overachieving Super Woman who tried and at times did do it all…single mother, professional career woman, wife, hostess, etc. Exhausting.

No more. I have officially retired my Super Woman cape, and I don’t feel the least bit guilty about it.

My “self” has earned and deserves time without the requirements of work and responsibilities that compete for my time with me.

Putting me first is a relatively new experience after years of doing just the opposite for bosses, family and friends. It’s very liberating and peaceful to not have “to do” anything. I never had that choice or so I believed.

How lovely to finally know what it’s like to be free and not have to answer to anyone but me, a heady thought indeed. Just floating for now…see where the current takes me. During my life, the raft has taken me over the “falls” (divorces, moves, layoffs), and I’m still here.

The fears and worries of those times no longer have power over me. I realize now I did learn survival skills on my life journey, but the angst isn’t worth it.

Is my glass full or empty?

Both, I think: Full from my life’s experiences with some wisdom from my life's challenges and Empty of the cares and struggles of the past with space available now for what comes next.

Doing nothing for a day is good for something:)

 Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2010-11 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


Alarm clock photo by Zvone Lavric

Rooms R Us

My own room for the first time ever. I could hardly wait!

I didn't have to sleep with other people in the room anymore...a place where I could close the door and escape into daydreams, fantasies, and PRIVACY.

My parents even found a used vanity table with a mirror and chair for my room. The cosmetics on the vanity crowded my stuffed animals. I knew sooner or later there would not be room for both.

I felt so feminine and grown-up in the vanity's mirror seeing the reflection of a future acclaimed actress or best-selling author.

The closet held only "my" things, no one else's.

My storybook dolls, timeless princesses adorned in beautiful gowns and tiaras, slept undisturbed in their plastic, see-through boxes, unspoiled and forever perfect. Like Sleeping Beauty, they awaited the kiss of the handsome prince to awaken them.

I would transform my room into a sanctuary, dreamscape, and bigger-than-life movie starring me. Sometimes the room became a time machine transporting me to a wonderful future filled with love, romance and riches.

On my fantasy stage, I would confront my parents and win; accept the Oscar graciously; be crowned Miss America; and passionately kiss the senior class president.

It was here where I rehearsed for life; and, all my stories had happy, victorious endings written, produced and directed from the theatre of my mind.

Years later, I shared my room, this time with my husband. How strange to be lying there beside him with my parents in the next room. I felt self conscious about the squeaky bedsprings and refused to make love, for somehow that would be sacrilege.

In this place, nothing in reality could compare to the exquisite romances of my girlhood fantasies.

After my divorce, I stayed in my room for the last time. The house was empty. My parents had divorced long ago and my mother had passed. I went there with a man I cared for but had no plans to marry.

As I lay beside him, memories and ghosts swept over me. I wept as I realized my lovely, girlhood dreams had shattered in the outside world.

Now I possessed wisdom and experience, but the innocent girl imagining her first kiss was gone forever.


Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2009-10 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Missing Person

I think most of us at some point experience feeling lost or invisible, drifting without direction.

Looking back at that time in my life, I remember the discomfort of not knowing who I was any more, because my old life of marriage, corporate career, and family, shifted off its foundation officially when I moved from Washington, D.C. to Los Angeles.

 I became a missing person.

I had followed the scripts of the American dream for women of my generation: married my college sweetheart, a successful attorney; raised two children; lived the good life on a house on five acres along with indistinguishable years of beach and ski vacations.

Somewhere along the way, I vanished.

Divorce extricated me from a stifling marriage only to find myself wedded to the corporation that took over my life instead. Bottom lines, deadlines, meetings and management consumed my life along with single motherhood.

And then after my children moved away and another marriage ended, I walked away from it all, quit my stressful job, sold my home of 20 years and moved to LA to be near my children and start over.

I was at a loss without the trappings, structure and patterns that glued my life together before.

I was beginning my life again in my 50's and not sure where I was headed, but I had to discover if the girl who once dreamed of doing something creative still existed. I'd come so far to find me again.

Once the familiar props were gone, I was adrift. I wondered if it was possible to rediscover myself and pursue my dream to write and teach, to be free, true to myself, and be of service.

I decided to pursue my passion without giving in to the fears and insecurities that sabotaged my dreams in the past. I had to know.

I looked for my new identity with other singles, at churches, in classes and retreats.

I had no idea where the search would take me. Dipping into myself for affirmation, I found doubts and misgivings.

Surely, the idealistic, creative young woman I was once was still alive. How could I find her? I refused to believe she was gone forever. I searched on long walks on the beach, in mediatation, reflection and time with loved ones.

Slowly, signs of her began to appear: laughter, joy in writing and teaching, delight in small things. I caught glimpses of her from time to time.

Major life changes required shedding my former life's skin for a new one. Renewal felt unsettling and scary, but I knew there was no going back.

I learned it would take time to reconnect with my former self, return to my internal roots, and get my life back.

I didn't want to be afraid to go it alone, if need be. This part of the journey required being solo to be open to life's possibilities without the distractions of someone else's needs.

It was part of my reunion with myself and all that had gone missing  for a long time.

homem invisivel..photo by Jonathan Phillip

Puzzle Missing photo by Michał Trochimiak

Also see: DC to LA: A Monumental Change
http://justdoingmythingcom.blogspot.com/2009/09/dc-to-la-monumental-change.html


Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Rooms R Us

I could hardly wait!


My own room for the first time ever. I didn't have to sleep with other people in the room anymore...a place where I could close the door and escape into daydreams, fantasies, and PRIVACY.
My parents even found a used vanity table with a mirror and chair for my room. The cosmetics on the vanity crowded my stuffed animals. I knew sooner or later there would not be room for both. I felt so feminine and grown-up in the vanity's mirror seeing the reflection of a future acclaimed actress or best-selling author.

The closet held only "my" things, no one else's. My storybook dolls, timeless princesses adorned in beautiful gowns and tiaras, slept undisturbed in their plastic, see-through boxes, unspoiled and forever perfect. Like Sleeping Beauty, they awaited the kiss of the handsome prince to awaken them.

I would transform my room into a sanctuary, dreamscape, and bigger-than-life movie starring me. Sometimes the room became a time machine transporting me to a wonderful future filled with love, romance and riches.

On my fantasy stage, I would confront my parents and win; accept the Oscar graciously; be crowned Miss America; and passionately kiss the senior class president. It was here where I rehearsed for life; and, all my stories had happy, victorious endings written, produced and directed from the theatre of my mind.

Years later, I shared my room, this time with my husband. How strange to be lying there beside him with my parents in the next room. I felt self conscious about the squeaky bedsprings and refused to make love, for somehow that was sacrilege. In this place, nothing in reality could compare to the exquisite romances of my girlhood fantasies.

After my divorce, I stayed in my room for the last time. The house was empty. My parents had divorced long ago and my mother had passed. I went there with a man I cared for but had no plans to marry.

As I lay beside him, memories and ghosts swept over me. I wept as I realized my lovely, girlhood dreams had shattered in the outside world. Now I possessed wisdom and experience, but the innocent girl imagining her first kiss was gone forever.

Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Womenpause

OK. I'm 60 something. The American dream of getting married and living happily or at least securely thereafter didn't happen. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I followed the script at 22: married my college sweetheart, became a lawyer's wife with two kids and a house in the country in a small, safe town in the Midwest.

At 47, I had another chance for the American dream: a professional career and a second marriage to a charming therapist, ten years my junior.

Now I'm pursing a different reality as a single woman in her 60's. I'm moving to Phoenix after almost four years in Marina del Rey, LA's sailing area known for singles. At this point I thought I'd be approaching a comfortable retirement and enjoying wonderful trips to exotic places along with free time to write, do pottery, and volunteer for worthy causes.

Instead, I'm relocating to a more affordable city to start again. According to the original script, at this age I was looking forward to relaxing in my paid for home, enjoying leisure time and grandchildren.

So it's time for me to take the advice of my philosopher son, "Blaze a trail, Mom. You have before." And, I'm not alone. The majority of the women I know my age are still in search of the dream through Internet dating, singles events, and speed dating...seeking that happy ending.

We are educated, attractive women with no defined role for this unexpected passage. We exercise, play tennis, and pursue hobbies; but mostly we are solitary figures who previously defined ourselves as wives, mothers, and career women. We live longer, look better, and lead active lives only to return to our single lives in apartments and condos.

There's not a prescribed identity or path for single, mature women. We don't fit in the conventional roles of matron or grandmother. Our social life is primarily with other women like ourselves. What is our place now in the tribe?

Sure we've thought about the bag-lady syndrome and worry about getting sick. The stats for remarrying at this stage of life are not promising. There seem to be too few available knights in our age group. Some of us prefer to remain single and free, but most of us still want to relate and be connected.

What are our options? We talk about living together and creating new family units in group houses and modern communes.

As for me, I'm not giving up. It's an adventure far different than what I expected. Today's script is being written by those of us living it. So I'm on the road again with Phoenix as my next destination. Will I find community there? My place? I remain hopeful.

There needs to be a name for this phase of mature women's lives. Post something: postmarriage, postchildren, postcareer. I think we could call it womenpause. I can say I'm going through womenpause.

I have no roadmap and few role models. With the others, I will blaze a trail so the women that follow us will know how to navigate womenpause.

Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED