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Today I picked up my son from preschool. One of his teachers, a woman I admire for her patience, wisdom, and strength of character, mentioned that he had struck a friend and another teacher. She was very surprised (as was I), because he’s usually a pretty level-headed little person.

I mentioned to this woman, who is always especially kind to my son and to me, that his father had moved out of our house, and that we’d had some changes, especially in the last few weeks. I watched as her face changed. I was suddenly not the good mother who had walked in the door. I could see my stock drop. And while it wasn’t pleasant, I expected that reaction from some people (though admittedly, not from this lady). What I was not prepared for was the look she then cast upon my son–a mixture of pity, sadness, and regret–as if this wonderful little boy was somehow doomed due to the actions of his mother.

I’ve struggled with the changes and decisions of the past year, and I know in my heart the right ones have been made. But I didn’t expect that simple reaction from someone to whom I’m not even really close to knock the breath out of me the way that it did.

So, I’ve spent the better part of my evening pondering the effects of those few seconds, and feeling terribly alone.

Time will pass, kids are incredibly resilient, and when my three-year-old has more words than grunts, he will certainly find better ways to express himself. However, that exchange will remained tattooed in my memory for a long time.

Even if your hands are shaking
And your faith is broken
Even as the eyes are closing
Do it with a heart wide open
Why?
Say what you need to say
from “Say” by John Mayer

I feel so much better.

It is a dazzlingly beautiful day today. The red and gold autumn leaves are reverberating against the blue of the sky in that almost painful way they do when you step from the darkness of a theatre into the light. I suppose part of that is me–I took another step forward today. I took my GRE this morning, and I’m still a little lightheaded and buzzing with adrenalin and caffeine.

There are two gingko trees outside my office building that have been playing games with me. You see, I have a photograph to shoot at the peak of their color (a brilliant yellow), and they utterly refuse to turn. However, I have had the most wonderful time enjoying each shade of green–kelly, lime, chartreuse–it has been a lesson in patience, in enjoying a process. Each day, I’ve picked up a leaf to examine the change in color. Each day, the leaf has been so individual, like a fingerprint. I had never noticed what strength those delicate-looking gingko leaves possessed. Despite their lacy edges and slender stems, they are tiny architectural wonders. I will actually be sorry to see them turn to their final golden color; while I can take my photos, it will mean only about a day before all of those fan-shaped leaves spin to the ground.

Another step forward. I find myself striking out at the air lately, fighting changes when I know that just makes it harder to take that next step. Maybe I’ll just take my cue from the gingko leaf: recognize that I am strong, and the wind is going to blow. I’ll just see where it takes me next.

I’m listening to Beautiful World by Colin Hay, which seems particularly appropriate today.

It has been on my mind frequently over the past few weeks. Regret. Even the word itself brings a frown, like “brussel sprouts” or “tax audit.”

re gret: a sense of loss, disappointment, dissatisfaction, etc. The common dictionary definition doesn’t begin to infer the damage we do to ourselves reliving the choices we’ve made, for better or worse, throughout our lives. Interestingly, opinions seem to be mixed on whether regret is detrimental or beneficial to our growth and development as human beings. Jonathan Larson, the composer and writer of Rent, said, “Forget regret, or life is yours to miss.” Wise words from one who barely had time to live himself. Then again, Henry David Thoreau saw regrets as entities to be embraced: ”Make the most of your regrets; never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it till it comes to have a separate and integral interest. To regret deeply is to live afresh.”

Rita Mero, an ex-wrestler and author, expressed the attitude I agree with most (on paper) regarding regret: “I have no regrets in my life. I think that everything happens to you for a reason. The hard times that you go through build character, making you a much stronger person.” In practice, it’s not always easy to see the bigger picture when you are in the middle of the composition. Even harder is watching someone you care about in pain, struggling with the past.  

I have regrets. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t. I’m working on resolving or at least learning to coexist with most of them. Some are easier than others. Twelve years ago, I got married when I shouldn’t have. Big regrets? Yes. And no. I sit and watch Audrey and Xander, and can’t imagine life without them. (Okay, there are days when I CAN imagine at least a few days without them.) I ended up in Kentucky instead of New York or Palo Alto. Regrets? Well, yeah. However, the Kentucky sunrise is so lovely every morning…and like pulling a screen print gradient, each pull of the squeegee brings a different sky, with a foreground of trees and leaves in silhouette. I have been fortunate to meet some extraordinary people along the path I’ve travelled, however unwillingly or unwittingly, which makes those regrets a little easier to bear.

My final thought on regret: if I believe that God has a plan for my life, should I allow regret to be a part of it? Should I not instead focus on faith, trust that each choice, each change is for a reason? Very difficult for someone who prefers to “lean on my own understanding.” Note to self: be still and know.

Listening to Jason Mraz (Thanks, Ryan)

I have not lived up to my moniker the past few days. I have vegged out. Sofa surfed. Allowed my brain to go to mush. The most challenging reading I’ve been able to face is the August issue of Cooking Light. A good magazine, yes, but hardly an intellectual stretch. I haven’t picked up a drawing pencil or even worked on my web freelance work. I could chalk it up to a long week at work, stress from my little ones, or what everyone else here in Kentucky blames basically everything on–allergies; however, I think I’ve just hit a wall. Similar to creative block (a condition with which I am all too familiar) or writer’s block, only more vague and, for some reason, less troubling.

On the upside, I spent a good part of the weekend in this laziness with my kids. The heat and humidity were too unbearable to do anything but head for the pool. I didn’t broaden my horizons this weekend, but (wow, this is sounding unbelievably corny) I added quite a few great snapshots to my memory. Xander discovering how to control the water fountains with his feet, Audrey figuring out how sliding down the water slide on her back made her go faster, both jumping off the side of the pool trying to make the bigger splash.

Okay, so there is something to be said for occasionally thinking less and living more. 

Listening today to Adrian Legg, Guitars and Other Cathedrals. Isn’t that an amazing title?

I’m reading blink by Malcolm Gladwell, which is a hell of a book (if you have not had the opportunity, I highly recommend you pick it up and don’t leave it to gather dust on your nightstand). The gist of blink is that our minds are far more intuitive and able to ‘jump’ to the correct conclusions much more often than they are given credit.  

This begs the question, what about those endless proverbs in direct opposition to this theory? Look before you leap; don’t jump to conclusions; don’t put that in your mouth, you don’t know where it’s been. Okay, maybe not that last one. Still, we are raised to ignore our initial impressions (although, strangely, encouraged to make a good first impression…hmm) in favor of research and fact checking.

According to the book, we can even train ourselves to better recognize these initial impressions and focus in on them, ignoring any extenuating circumstances or random thoughts buzzing about.

As for the “thin slices,” it seems that we need very little time to absorb, interpret, and make decisions about the information that is thrust upon us on a daily basis. Students who are asked to evaluate an instructor on a silent 2-minute videotape will rate that instructor almost identically to students who study with him or her for an entire semester.

So, I’ve been looking through my own experiences for opportunities to check out these ideas. I have always thought of myself as a remarkably bad judge of character, so I must not be paying attention to those initial impressions closely enough.

Today has sucked in general. Not even Norah Jones’s Not To Late has made it bearable.

Tomorrow will be better.