What's the Greatest Moment of Your Life?

The sun shining through smoke from a wildland grassfire. Photo by keagiles.

I recently saw this question, "What was the greatest moment of your life?," on a blog post as I was flipping through my Google Reader list. I can't tell you which blog it was or what the author meant by the question — that is, the context. But the question stayed with me enough that I wrote it down and posted it on my desk.

Since then, I've been going over the question in my mind. What IS the greatest moment of my life?

Thankfully, the first answer I come to is when I met my husband. I knew on our first date, when I looked into his blue eyes, that he was someone special, someone with whom I wanted a serious relationship. Amazing that it happened that way, but it did. It hasn't always been smooth sailing, but what relationship doesn't go through problems? And we're the stronger because of it. So another great moment in my life was marrying this man and sharing in an adventurous honeymoon cruise up the Inside Passage from Vancouver to Alaska.

This is good, right? To have such a ready, and wonderful, answer. But I'm disappointed in myself. My answer is so, well, normal, expected, stereotypical. Not that it makes it any less true, of course.

So I'm trying to dig a little deeper. What else could be considered "greatest moments" in my life? The answer: some of the worst moments of my life. Irreconcilable differences, I call them. And here's one example:

My last job, which I left more than 12 years ago, was intense and rewarding. For the first five years, I loved it. I was really, really good at it. I even got an award for employee of the month, which at that place was an almost impossible accomplishment. Then I applied for and received a promotion and transfer to a different department (just a desk-width away from where I had been working). My hours changed (from swing shift to 9 to 5; I always preferred swing shift), my relationship with my coworkers changed, and, of course, my responsibilities and job duties changed. Now I can look back and see that I wasn't cut out for the new job, even though I was still very good at it and learned a lot. Problems with workplace politics and interpersonal conflicts increased, as if my desk were across a divide and on another plane of existence. For the next four and a half years, I struggled on the job, and finally, the day happened. The day that changed everything. I made a decision to complain about someone's sexual commentary casually delivered in front of me and several personnel from my old department. Folks turned on me. Before I even knew I had made an official complaint of sexual harassment (because I had not [I thought I was talking friend to friend]), I was being blamed for doing so. Former friends made up stories about me. Things went south. I was so upset that I started a no-win argument with my boss, a coworker, and our superior. A no-win argument of asking for a transfer to a different department and being told "at this point, I couldn't recommend you to anyone." I could see nothing else to do, no way forward, so I left. Packed up my desk and walked out the door.

That was a horrible day. But it's also one of the top five greatest moments of my life — because I left. I left the most intense workplace you can imagine — with such highs and lows that we were all like family. You don't betray your family. You don't mess with the unspoken rules. You stick together. You don't single yourself out and let people get the better of you emotionally — you don't make it easy for them to turn on you.

Now I have a good job, doing what I was meant to do: I'm an editor. I wouldn't have gotten this job ten years ago, and the community college teaching job 12 years ago, if I hadn't walked out that dark day. I'm not serving my fellow human beings in the same way I had then, but I am serving myself much better. I am who I was meant to be: more joyful, wiser, stronger, saner.

The worst thing that happens on my job now is a bitter intellectual argument that gets people's feathers ruffled. It's hard to bear at the time, mostly because I simply do not understand why people get so angry.  Life is so much deeper than an academic argument, so much wider than the gulf between two philosophies. Workplace politics will always baffle me (and sometimes make me cry). But the job, applying my skills to the task at hand, helping to make what other people do just a little better and better known, makes me happy, and what I do makes others happy too — fulfilling a need and playing out a part in what for some people is the greatest focus of their lives, the means to perhaps the greatest moments of their lives.

Time Passing

For my 50th birthday back in August, Bear and I took a road trip down to Durango, Colorado, with stops in Salida, Colorado, and Farmington, New Mexico. It was supposed to be a celebration, but for various reasons, it turned out to be a difficult trip for the both of us. I think when I try to force something to be very, very good, I usually get too uptight to let it be what it is.

We did have some beautiful vistas on our trip, especially when we decided to drive the "Million Dollar Highway" (U.S. Route 550). The picture at left shows one of our favorite stops (we went there twice that week): Andrews Lake (with Snowdon Peak in the background). We plan to go back there this coming summer to hike from Andrews Lake to Crater Lake and take another drive along the highway to really enjoy it without pressure to make it "the best birthday trip ever."

But this post isn't about my birthday or about the drive. It's a consideration of how I think sometimes: That the hotel room, the incidentals, the ability to take perfect photographs, how I look, really matters more than enjoying time with my husband and with myself for that matter, at peace in my own body. For instance, we were to meet a friend of Bear's and some of his family for drinks and nachos... I panicked. I didn't have anything to wear, I didn't look right, I couldn't do it, I just couldn't do it. I forced Bear to go shopping with me for new clothes and a new camera (because everything had to be perfect and my Canon G11 had a scratch on the lens...). When we got to the restaurant and met Bear's friend, I immediately relaxed. These people were really nice. They weren't there to judge what I was wearing or how much I weighed or anything else for that matter. It was a happy, congenial setting. Bear had someone to talk to about computer stuff and work, and one of the women wanted to talk to me about my recent back surgery, because she was considering back surgery too. They were accepting and interested. It was a great time, cut too short because they had other commitments.  They had taken time out of their day to get together with us, and I had made way too big a deal out of it. Later that evening, Bear was really sick. We chalked it up to the food, but now I know it was all the stress I was venting.

Why am I confessing all this in a public blog? Because I developed this blog just for this purpose — for examining the conflict that we have within ourselves — using the metaphor of "Dragonfly Wars."

The second best part of the trip was visiting with my dad (Ernie) and his wife (Betty). Driving down to their place, enjoying their garden and the many hummingbirds buzzing about, getting to eat great barbecued chicken courtesy my dad and tender corn on the cob courtesy Betty — this is the good life. One of the reasons I wanted to head south from our place was to spend some time with Dad and Betty. When things went wrong with our hotel room, instead of trying to make it perfect again, we should have taken my dad up on his offer to stay in Farmington. Another error.

What I want this coming summer is a chance to recreate the good parts of that trip, without trying to force it to be GOOD, and FUN, and full of opportunities to take "PERFECT pictures." I want to enjoy the motion of the car as we drive, the book that we choose to listen to along the way, and the company of my husband, friends, and relatives. I want to take care of myself by eating right (no sugar, little alcohol) and taking time to calm down. I want to see my husband happy.

That's a lot of wants. How can I erase all the wants and still make it a good trip? Remember the dragonfly. The adult dragonfly has a lifespan of only five to six months. During that time, its fragile beauty, the glint of sunlight on its wings, its flight as it catches insects and alights on prairie grasses — it is what it is, and that is all.

Even as I write this I'm aware that I'm trying too hard. I want to go back over the paragraphs to perfect my writing. The paragraph above has too many "its" in it. Take a deep breath, Kea. Let it be. Publish the post as an exercise in imperfection.

What's so Amazing?

    It's been a while since I've stopped to write a thoughtful post here. I've been busy working on my other blog, KeaNeato.net, on which I try to make daily posts. That's possible because the posts are shorter, usually a photo or a link. Sometimes I do get a little more verbose, but I'm saving some things for Dragonfly Wars.
     For instance, I wrote a post on KeaNeato.net called "One Amazing Thing — How much do we reveal of ourselves to others?" I based the post, the question, on a book, One Amazing Thing, by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni. Characters in the book are asked to share one amazing thing about their lives. I won't take the time to explain it all here — see my KeaNeato post.
     I'm following up on the question of how much I should, can, may, may not, reveal myself to others here because it's more the point of this blog. As I wrote in my first post here, this blog's title, "Dragonfly Wars," relates to the conflicts inside a person, between fear and beauty, ignorance and acceptance. It's about whether I should live my life "out loud" or keep myself safer by writing outside the lines (that is, in generalities).
     I'm not sure what that means, exactly — I'm having trouble expressing myself for some reason. I think that's because of the topic. I'm uncomfortable with how much I want to write about all facets of my life and how much of it I know might be too revealing.
     But writing just this much is like leaving clues that only make people guess at the answers, and guessing can be dangerous. Folks might think one thing about you and so their thoughts get caught up down one road or another, when you're just really meaning to point them to a path.
     Maybe I can do it a little at a time.
     So, I go back to the question: If someone asked me to tell "one amazing thing" about my life, what would my answer be? My first thought is there is nothing amazing about my life. Not in the sense of what we see as amazing in the lives of others — the real and fictional folks we see on TV and in the movies. Of course, those people have really lived extraordinary lives. Perhaps I'm putting too much into the word "amazing."
     Dictionary.com defines "amazing" as "causing great surprise or wonder." That's quite different from extraordinary, which labels someone as "exceptional in character," "noteworthy," and "remarkable."     So, that takes a load off, doesn't it? I don't have to be "exceptional in character," I just have to cause great surprise or wonder. I can do that. I've had quite the life. But, is it really that different from anyone else's? Maybe it's because who I am now contrasts so greatly to who I have been.
     I'm a successful editor; I have a master's degree in journalism, and I put myself through both undergrad and graduate school. You can read more about that kind of stuff on my LinkedIn page.
     But how did I get here? Well, for one, I have benefited from white privilege. What? Yes, I said it. It's hard to notice if you don't have anything to contrast it with, but I know it's there. I read a really good blog about this called, "Straight White Male: The lowest difficulty setting there is." The author writes that even if you start at a lower level than other people, getting ahead in the game is just easier if you're a straight white male. It's easier if you're a male in general, but compared to the lives of other women, Straight White Female has to be pretty low on the difficulty setting as well.
     But yes, I did start off with a lot of things against me, and life growing up was hard. Maybe very hard, depending on your point of view.
     Stop. This is where I start wondering — how much more do I write? Anything more and I'll be stepping over that threshold, revealing PRIVATE things. Not that there's anything to hide...
     Oh, the conflict! Maybe this is where I end for now — leaving us both hanging (you, the reader, and me, the writer). If I were writing anonymously, I might be more bold. Who am I worried about? What am I worried about? My professional life, my parents. What if someone I work for reads this blog? How will it affect my job? What about my parents? Is this my story or their story? Is it right to include them in this?
     So, "gentle reader," this is where I ask for your feedback, your thoughts? What would you do?