Check, please

The following are tasks I can unequivocably check off my To Do List ~

• formally file my dissertation with my school
• formally file my dissertation with my school three full days before the filing deadline
• complete the dissertation process
• complete the dissertation process fully leaving nothing to read, marinate on, or write toward the dissertation

The following are accomplishments that can be claimed with wild abandon (in process, will happen any minute now) ~

• the accolades and recognition from dissertation committee members, mentors, colleagues, family, friends
• my own recognition and ownership of my accomplishment

For now I can say this for sure ~ it’s a done deal.  Oh, I can also say for sure that the final version looks mighty fancy and official.  Oh and one final thing ~

WOOOOO  HOOOOOOOO ! !

“What Do You Want?”

I am reading Irvin Yalom’s book Love’s Executioner & Other Tales of Psychotherapy.  In the prologue, Yalom writes of the experiential group exercise where strangers are asked to pair up and take turns in asking each other “What do you want?”  This question is asked repeatedly until the one answering gets to the core of what exactly they are pining for.  This is typically evidenced by the person dissolving into tears or jubilant smiles but usually tears.  As Yalom writes, this is a powerful exercise; one that I have participated in and experienced at least once and maybe twice many years ago.  I recall the exercise.  What I cannot seem to recall are my answers, then or now. 

What do I want? 

Top layer answers ~ earn my doctoral degree, get healthier (let go of some dissertation poundage, exercise more, regain some physical flexibility), find and secure a great place to live, stay cig free (after 16 years, I still don’t take this for granted), have my memoir essays about my experiences as a Korean adoptee published and for the book to be well received, spend more time with my family, to live in the country. 

Second layer answers ~ to find my place in this world, to recognize my place when I find it, if I am already in my place  embrace it, to feel  really feel  a sense of belonging, to know my origins   or if that is impossible to let go of the yearning, to see my omma’s face  and not forget it   again.  [okay, so right about here I would be getting to the core cuz I can feel the tears begin to sting] 

and now I want to stop this exercise because it’s not really supposed to be done alone.  remember the original exercise has another person asking the question so that the answer-er is not alone when they reach their middle ground.  and today, I am alone ~ very much alone. 

Space

Not until I moved into my current Attic living quarters did I realize what an amplifier and conduit that a simple blank space between floor and ceiling creates.  I think that the opposite might have been the reason behind this empty space between the second and third floor; a buffer of noise perhaps.  Or maybe I am being too generous, wanting to believe there was a reason.  I mean afterall the landlords tell me that this three story house made of redwood was built well over 100+ years ago.  At some point, the house was sectioned off into three rental units, two on the second floor, and the Attic on the third floor, leaving the ground floor for the owners. 

From the street looking up, the Attic space doesn’t look so inviting, meaning it looks like it is a typical dark and low ceiling’ed affair.  In fact, the Attic is a perfect example of not judging an Attic by its cover, like I almost did five years ago.  Had it not been for the SO’s persistence and insistence of us keeping all of the appointments I had timestakenly made in advance of our quick trip to the Land of Education and Sun from the Land of Family and Snow to secure a place to live, we would have driven on by after the first hopeful look that became an You’ve Got To Be Kidding Me, Not Another Horrible Rental That Sounded So Wonderful on Craig’s List stare.  Yep.  The pedal would have been to the metal and our life that has been lived here in the Attic would not have been lived.  Well hopefully we would have gone on to live a life, just not in this Attic.

Before I succumb to the pull of extolling the Attic’s many renovated glories and lovely quirky features, including the three natural light producing skylights and its numerous windows that open out and up in all four (N, S, E & W) directions, let me digress back to the topic I digressed from originally which is the Space.  Yes, the Space between the second and third floor and as long as I am on the topic of OMG What a Renter is Privvy To That No Person Wants To Know About Their Neighbors rant, let me throw in the space on the landing where all three rental doors are located.  When one stands in this small area, one can hear and smell what is going on in all three units.  Lovely.  No.  Not really.

Because the Attic takes up the entire third floor, we are privileged to be privvy to the lives of both the second floor renters.  Out of the three rentals, the SO and I have stayed the longest.  We have seen a number of folks move in and stay for a while and then move out.  Actually the apartment directly beneath our living room has proven to house the most transient of renters and the guy who lives there now is the fourth in the succession of renters.  I have concluded that there is something about that particular unit that attracts socially inept and sometimes plain weirdos (not in the good weirdo sense if you receive my meaning).  The current renter in that unit seemed to be inexplicably mind melded to me and my dissertation.  Whenever I sat down and was actually writing, not just avoiding writing, he would turn his music up.  Not every time but often enough that I wondered about Cosmic Jokesters.  This is also the same renter who took it upon himself to kindly (he thought he was doing us a favor) to dry our bathroom area rugs with his bath towels.  To clarify, we share a communal washer and dryer, he didn’t enter our Attic and swipe our bathroom rugs.  But I am saying ewwww and ewwww again.  The SO said ewwwww only once. 

Thanks to the Space, I know things about my neighbors that I could have lived a lifetime without knowing and I live in denial over what they do or do not know about me and the SO.  The Space amplifies regular speech to a Bose quality earbud volume that I have wished on many occasions that I could mute.  Sudden noises, like coughing, sneezing, flatulence, crying or laughing are also heard in stereo quality.  And odors all pile up in the Space and then sift up through the 100+ year-old floorboards.  I know that the music loving rug drying man recently changed his brand of shampoo from a citrus fruit varietal to a coconut version.  Yep.  Cooking smells ~ some good some really good and some Open The Windows Bad, all are stockpiled in the Space and spill up into the Attic.  What’s that saying ~ heat rises?  Well as an Attic dweller I can also verify that sounds and smells follow the same upward direction. 

Sunday Sunday

Success on a Sunday.  My committee members approved my dissertation on Sunday.  Aside from securing their signatures, having the appropriate copies made, filling out the required forms, and filing the whole kit and caboodle along with the filing fee, my dissertation process is finished.  As for me?  I have been cycling through a myriad of emotions ~ huge relief, disbelief, belief and then relief all over again   gratitude  and all sorts of other feelings have come and gone and returned.  But while the emotions wash through me and the reality sifts down and around, I thought I would write a little post and share my big news. 

Just hit it, Girl

Hit Send and say good luck and go forth and be approved Dear Dissertation.  This Girl did just that yesterday.   Yup.  I hit Send and my redrafted and revised dissertation was electronically whisked away. 

I am sincerely hoping that other than Table of Content and a few little formatting or grammatical adjustments, that the Dissertation’s chapter in my life will be coming to a close.  sooner than later.  It’s been fun, not really, but it’s been some thing that’s for sure. 

Do you need a bag?

Question of the day ~ how do you give someone your heart? 

Grace

Today I am feeling life’s grace and this is a gift from the Universe for sure.  Another hurdle in the educational and career paths has been successfully jumped and I am relieved to report, cleared without a stumble.  This morning I was offered and accepted a postdoctoral position.  The start date of this position is in the fall of this year which will allow me time this summer to study for the EPPP, the national exam for psychologists for licensure.  The best part of this victory is that the offering site was my first choice on my list of applied for positions. 

So I continue to work on finishing up the very last stages of my dissertation with an exhalation of stress and an inhalation of renewed vigor.  The end of the doctoral degree path is in sight.  When I arrive at the finish line I will definitely belt out a couple of big Wooo Hoooos.

It has been a long time since I have allowed myself to feel the grace of life and I will say that the feeling is worth basking in for a minute or two or maybe three.

The Real Deal

Imposter.  How many variations of this role do I embody?  Korean Imposter.  American Fake.  City Dweller Pretender.  Almost Earned Doctorate Degree Counterfeit.  Mother Without Her Own Mother Phony.  Bisexual Woman in Committed Relationship with a Man Masquerader.  Bisexual Woman of Color in Committed Relationship with a White Man Double Trickster.  Creative Writer and Artist ConWoman.

These are the titles that trip through my thoughts on a regular basis in my search for my identity.  My life is filled with this search for personal identity.  Belonging.  Connections.  In between the lapses of faith ~ the faith that says firmly without flinching that I am who I am, nothing more  nothing less ~ that is when the voices of judgment and comparison grow the loudest.  Those times and times like this, when I grow close to achieving a hard-worked-for-goal or impulsively accept a sincere compliment, the accusations grow loud.  Clamor.  fight for the mic.

I have spent a life time of staving off the voice that chants imposter  fake   fraud    pretender  trickster    deceiver.  I am more than those nouns.  I am me.  I am my own Real Deal. 

ocean walk

I haven’t been to the ocean lately.  For quite some time really.  I haven’t walked along a sandy beach ~ white, yellow, black, fine-grained, pebbled or big rocked.  I haven’t heard the waves ~ crashing huge and foamy or lapping blueish green ripples.  I live very near the big ocean, always have.  East coast, west coast, Alaskan coast.  Oceans, their watery vastness close, nearby, barely a stone or two or three’s throw from my window, depending on one’s throwing ability.  And yet, I have not been to the ocean lately. 

No wonder I find myself exhausted, unreplenished, fighting off or today more like barely staving off a head cold.  Today, I am pretending that I am walking along the ocean’s shore on a sunny day with high clouds and a steady breeze against my skin.  I wear sturdy shoes to navigate the pebbled and big stoned surface.  My eyes take in the life-filled tidepools that I kneel to gaze into.  My jeaned knee dampened by the moist sand.  As I continue down the beach, I remind myself to breathe deeply of the salty tangy beach air and to exhale out my worries.  My mind wanders to the picnic lunch that awaits me on my return ~ soft Cambazola blue-veined cheese to smear on the crusty soft bread, smoked baby oysters ~ ahh, my stomach responds with a small grumble.  I smile and continue putting one foot in front of the other on my ocean walk. 

even

when I do not say

even

when I fail to do good

even

though there is no fault to be had

anywhere

even

in the absence of you I regret your presence

even

when you were here.

@junemoon  2008