If you may, or may not, be leaving in 27 days for a job that may, or may not, be your stepping stone to oblivion or redemption and you may, or may not, be separated from those you love most in the world for 4 months and you are a stiletto and wrap dress-wearing woman, then you do what every good woman does: You pull out your credit card and book a trip to Cambodia. Isn’t that the obvious solution?
Forbidden holidays are so much more fun, more memorable and far sexier than those taken at appropriate times. My revenge is happiness.
Being happy. The first step in my revenge plot is to celebrate. And, the best celebrations are spontaneous, unexpected and without excuses. We’ll be playing hooky. Skipping school, skipping the Salt Mine and skipping town for a few days. We are headed to Siem Reap and Angkor Wat and Bayon Temple. We’ll be 4-wheeling, taking tuk-tuk rides and sipping cocktails by the pool at a place called Navatu Dreams Resort & Spa.
A woman spurned needs a holiday at a resort with the word “dreams” in it. A woman I know is taking that holiday. She is taking it with the man of her dreams and the three little Defectors. She is taking it because she deserves it, they deserve it and she isn’t going to let anyone or anything spoil it. Her Daddy is right. This woman is made of steel and she is gonna walk tall and, eventually, she will be ‘more than’ or at least ‘equal to’ but she will no longer be ‘less than.’ 27 days — maybe a few more or a few less. At the end of the day — whether it is 1 day, 27 days or 270,000 days — all you really have is your family and a few true friends. In addition to being the opportunity of a lifetime, it has also been an opportunity to discover, if not confirm, who is family and who is friend.
Tail of the Dragon
February 2013
Shanghai
We are in the final days of the Year of the Dragon here in the Middle Kingdom. The tail of the dragon is taking its final swipes at me before it finally leaves. It hurts.
Someone once said you come into this world alone and you go out alone. I have no idea who said it, when it was said or why they said it, but I’ve been thinking lately that there are many, many, many things in life that you must do alone. You must do them alone no matter how much others may love you or want to help you. You have to walk some roads alone.
He bought me tulips today. My favorite flower. They are next to me now as I am writing this. What is this? My midnight confession. I can’t sleep, again.
He held me, told me it would be okay while I wept into his chest. It won’t be okay for a little while yet. Before then, there are some things I must do alone. Things I don’t want to do. Things I am not sure that I still have the strength to do. But do them I must and I must do them alone.
I don’t know if it is irony or just bad luck but this all started with me getting on a plane alone and it will end that way too. I don’t know when exactly. The Salt Mine is still mulling it over — it is just my life — no reason to rush to any decision. It may, in fact, be a good sign that I am still waiting for the official order. I am stalling for every week, every day, every hour, minute and second that I can. I do not want to get on that plane and leave him and them behind for even a day. I am not sure I can bear it but I must. I must get on the plane and go alone.
Years ago when I was a new lawyer, I had the opportunity to work on a team of lawyers representing clients on death row in Illinois. I could not imagine what these men went through waiting to learn if they would be spared the sword. Someone else holding your life in their hands. Unable to control any aspect of the process and not knowing exactly when the final day might arrive. These men were literally and figuratively isolated — alone. Working on these cases leaves an indelible mark on you. It is a powerful and humbling thing to end or save a life.
I am not sure why that occurs to me now other than it is hard to imagine a more lonely time than your last moments on death row. Although, as a parent, I have felt extreme loneliness when I have been separated from my children. I have felt alone in their presence when they have been in physical or emotional pain that I cannot fix no matter how much I love them or want to fix them. A mother’s love can be comforting but it cannot fix everything.
It is not loneliness that I feel now. It is aloneness, which is not the same thing at all. I am surrounded by people who love and care about me. My family and friends have been wonderful throughout this roller coaster ride. In the past few days, I’ve learned that my team at the Salt Mine had too many drinks at lunch and started speaking their minds. While there has been no protest march, there has been an out-pouring of support for me that I never expected. Certainly, not in this culture. Not in Asia Pacific.
At Chinese New Year, red envelopes containing money are given as gifts. It is a very significant tradition in China and this is how the Salt Mine bonuses are delivered. While delivering my red envelopes, I received gifts, was hugged and even had an employee cry. The Chinese do not hug and, if one has ‘lost face,’ then the practice is to physically distance oneself from the outcast. It is not to embrace them. I know this should make me feel better but somehow it has made me feel even more alone.
It gets harder every day to go to the office and it will be harder still when I return to the States. I know this and I am trying to prepare myself. I tell myself that I have only until March 1st and then I will be on the plane alone. I tell myself that I will have 4 to 5 months without him and without the children. I tell myself that I can walk into the building with my head held high. I tell myself that I am smart, good and important. I tell myself I can do it . . . alone.
As Bonnie Raitt sings in “Silver Linings:” “Help me Lord, help me Lord, I’m feelin’ low.” Of course, I don’t believe and I don’t pray, so mercy seems unlikely for me.
We come into the world alone and experience life alone. We share moments and experiences with others, make connections, find love, joy, despair and sorrow but really we are alone. In our heads and our hearts, we are alone. There is no one with you. Some may say that God is with you but I have never believed or felt that in any way that I can remember. It is you — alone.
I have filled up the spaces in my life with wonderful people and experiences and, for the most part, when they surround me I don’t feel alone. It is the gut-check moments when you are reminded that you are alone and that no one can walk in your shoes but you. I am loved. I know this; I do. But, I will have to get on that plane and go back to the States — for months — home to an empty house where I will not just feel alone but be alone.
The Salt Mine is spiteful, vengeful and without remorse. It will have its pound of flesh.
And, so at 1 a.m. on a newly minted Friday — the last of the Dragon — I am alone at the table with my tulips and my thoughts (which will not turn off and allow me to sleep). Upstairs, in my bed, is the man who is desperately trying to keep the pieces of me together. He knows I slipped out again and that I am likely sitting at the table with the tulips. But he also knows it is best to leave me alone so that I can prepare myself to be alone.
Burned by the Dragon, I am hopeful that the Snake will charm and not bite me in the ass. I will celebrate the coming year, with my family here in Shanghai. We have planned a surprise and it will be wonderful. We are taking the kids to the Shangri-La on the Bund for the Chinese New Year’s Eve. The kids love hotels and room service! I will be surrounded by my three wonders and the love of my life and I will be happy. It will lurk in the darkness and in the recesses of my mind. I know it is coming.
But, Saturday night is New Year’s Eve and I will not be sitting at the table with the tulips. I will be watching fireworks until I can’t stand it anymore and then, with any luck, making some fireworks of my own with him.
Throw Away People
February 2013
Shanghai
The news came this morning at 8. I’ve been granted a 30-day reprieve and will be in Shanghai until April 1st. Of course, I will extend the time to include the Easter holiday with our children in an exotic location of our choosing! If they keep moving the da
te, this is going to bankrupt me.
I was the model citizen, really. I stopped short of being grateful but I offered to provide all the support required to enable a smooth and orderly transition, including playing tour guide to the new guy. My 30-day reprieve will involve a bit of country-hopping. Oh joy! I heard myself say “happy to do whatever is required to make this work,” and thought “who is this person?” But, alas, we all do what we have to do when we have to do it.
There was snow. The buses failed to run. The children had a snow day. I was home because my office building was shaking and was “unsafe” for an as yet “undetermined” reason. No avoiding it. They heard me on the phone and now they knew that there was an end date. Mom was leaving. I would rather have had this conversation without the kids in the room listening to every word and watching my reaction.
Put on the happy face, I thought. “We have some extra time together and Mommy will bring your cousin back in May. It actually works out great.” Again, “who is this person?” Please, someone, shoot Pollyanna in the head.
Realizing that I was out of anxiety pills and still behaving as though I was fully dosed, I knew I needed to get to the shrink’s office. Of course, I dragged him with me to the shrink’s office. We stopped at the shaky office building on the way so I could pick up a few things (letting go seems to be an issue) and then we hit the road. I felt fine. I did. I had just been granted a stay of execution. No clemency but a stay. I should be grateful. I should be grateful.
There it was “should be” as in I am not grateful. Feel it rise up and push it back down, I told myself trying to keep it together as we got closer to the shrink’s office. We were just five minutes late and he was another 10 minutes behind. I was pacing now in the hallway. He was sitting calmly playing ‘Words with Idiots’ or something on his phone. He hardly noticed me or so he wanted me to think. But, I knew he saw it building. I was not going to sit. I needed to keep moving or I was going to explode.
I heard my name called and I saw Dr. Feel Good motion to me. I was outside the office in the hallway. He got up off the couch and walked back with me. I didn’t have to ask him. He knew. He always knows. We sat down and he settled in and placed his arm around me. I sat there, arms folded, clutching a bag. Dr. Feel Good was across from us.
It was maybe 2 minutes at the most before the cork left the bottle. I know I should be grateful. I know I should not care what others think. I know that there are more important things in life than this stupid job. I know that I have it better than most people. Yes, I have my health. I know all of this — I am not stupid. I was nearly screaming at the good doctor.
Intellectually, I know all of these things but when I try to put my head on my pillow at night, that is not what occurs to me. What occurs to me is much darker and comes from a place so deep it scares me. I am afraid to close my eyes. It is not about this stupid job. It is about the demons that I have yet to slay. The demons I was battling before I was distracted by the skirmish at the Salt Mine. I am afraid of the dark again. I cannot remember the last time I really slept. And, now, I can’t hide it anymore. I am a walking zombie.
Dr. Feel Good would not let up. “You know, some people would see this as an opportunity.” “This could lead to something better.” “My friend is a writer and he says there is no bad experience just good material.” And, on and on and on.
Finally, I could take no more. “I get that everyone wants me to move on. I get that this could be a blessing in disguise. I get that I have a loving family. I get that anyone else would handle this better than I am handling it but they aren’t me. And, this isn’t about what I know; it is about how it makes me feel. And, really, I don’t want to keep apologizing for the way I feel.”
Dr. Feel Good couldn’t help himself “but you can control your response, control your emotional response.” With all the control I could muster, I reminded him that “I control my emotional response for 14 to 16 hours a day. But, when I lay down at night, everybody comes out to play.” I was actually pounding on the couch. He was sitting calmly as ever next to me. Patient, loving and non-judgmental. He put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“What are you afraid of . . . what scares you the most?”
Without hesitation, I looked over at him and then at Dr. Feel Good: “Being thrown away.”
It was quiet as Dr. Feel Good took that in for a minute.
“I’m a throw away person.”
‘That’s a rather harsh assessment, don’t you think?” Dr. Feel Good poked at me.
I laughed. “I’m garbage. People throw me away. I am always fearful of being thrown away.”
It was quiet for a few moments. Then I heard my voice crack and say, “People use me and then throw me away. That is my experience.” It was a matter of fact as far as I was concerned. You want examples, try me, I thought. He didn’t.
Session over.
He has never thrown me away. I am devoted to him. I have tried to push him away. I have tested him in every self destructive way I could ever imagine but he refused to go. I know the job is crap. I know what is important. I just can’t shake the fear of being thrown away, particularly when I am being thrown away again. Yes, this is likely a totally distorted view of myself but it is my view. It has been my view for nearly 30 years. It won’t go away overnight even with magic pills.
So, here I am at the table with the tulips less than 24 hours since I was last here. I think it is a good thing that we won’t be home tomorrow. Perhaps, the demons and the tulips can battle it out for the night without me.
I think the point of today was to release the anger and say what is really scaring me aloud. I’m sure — like this whole experience — I’ll look back one day and be grateful. I know I should be grateful. Today, though, today I am not grateful. I am scared, humiliated, angry and very, very tired.
Tomorrow, though, is another day!
Tangled
February 2013
Shanghai
With some relief, I can finally say that it is the Year of the Snake. Our son, who will turn 12 this year, should have an especially auspicious year as it is his year. If I am lucky, some of that auspiciousness may rub off on me.
To celebrate, we took a staycation at an amazing hotel in Shanghai and enjoyed the most wonderful views of The Bund and the city alight. After a great meal, we bundled up and headed down to the river to watch the celebratory customs of Chinese New Year’s Eve. We found ourselves quickly wrapped up in the wonder of the event.
While China Police Authorities were busy pushing lantern peddlers along and stomping out lit lanterns set to launch into the sky, we searched desperately for a match to light ours. A group of three policemen stopped and said “Happy New Year,” smiled at our vendor who emerged with a lighter and then moved along staring back at the two blonde children with the crazy mother. In China, no one can resist the lanterns’ pleasing glow — not even the police.
Each of our children had a lantern, and we added a fourth for the family. As each child lit their lantern, you could see them unraveling wishes in their heads and concentrating deeply on them as the lanterns warmed and began to fill and prepare for flight. Daddy was taking photos and Mom was helping them hold onto the lanterns until they were ready to float. Magic. Pure.
Fireworks, the beauty of The Bund, the river and our children — all together in this wondrous country on a night when everyone is happy, wishful, hopeful and looking forward. Even me.
Gone was the tangled web of emotions running through me these last weeks. Everything became simple in that moment as I hung onto the lantern with our children. That single shared moment, where their desires were the most important desires in the world. And getting that lantern off the ground would determine if those desires would have a chance at flight.
I was completely overtaken by the fireworks last year and still this year, they amaze me. But more striking to me are the beautiful and hopeful red lanterns lighting the dark (if somewhat “foggy”) sky.
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br /> Let’s face it, when you are lighting the fire beneath the lantern of a precious, beautiful 10-year-old, waiting for it to warm enough to float and carry her most heartfelt wishes and desires toward the heavens in the dark of night just as the fireworks begin their tune, how can you be anything but hopeful? How can you not look around and feel the longing we all share as a human race for something better for each of us, for all of us?
As we launched our New Year’s Eve lanterns, I tried to release my disappointment and look more hopefully toward the future. It is often one step forward and two steps back, but I am hopeful that my step forward is getting larger so as to overcome the setbacks. It has been an amazing two years. It was an amazing evening on The Bund.
I am lucky. I am fortunate. I am going to be okay. In fact, we are going to be so much better than we have ever been before . . . I know it.
Part Four:
Leaning In & Moving On
The Assignment
February 2013
Shanghai
My assignment from my executive coach is to write a stream of consciousness — so to speak — using the following theme written at the top of the page:
“It’s been a very good year after all . . . and I am so pleased now that . . . ”
You might be wondering why I have an executive coach. I already have a shrink, so why exactly is the executive coach necessary? Because I need a team. A dedicated team of people working to improve me or, at least, to make me believe that I am improved. Yes, it does take a village to raise an adult. Or, at least, a sane adult.
Yes, it has been a very good year after all. We celebrated 20 years of marriage, our children traveled around Southeast Asia and Europe, and I learned that there really are people out there who care about you, and that you can be completely overtaken and surprised by that fact.
Sheryl Sandberg, China & Me Page 20