These Certain Musings

I haven't even attempted to start my poor last-legs laptop for a few days.

I have my Kindle, and am doing my best to keep up with everyone here. Commenting is at a minimum because I'm ridiculously fumble-fingered on this touch keyboard thingy. (Insert cane-shaking) But I am around -- Twitter is easiest -- and I so look forward to really catching up with folks by the end of August.

At the moment, I'm taking a little break from everything. Dev -- still on the edge of being sick -- asked if I'd drive him to Gen Con since he'd already paid for his ticket. I'm not sure if my doing so makes me a good mom or a bad mom, but there ya go. So while he's at Gen Con, I'm enjoying a little lunch on the Indiana State Museum terrace overlooking the canal and Medal of Honor memorial, wishing I'd brought something to take pictures with, and doing a bit of writing while breathing. That sounded much better to me than paying money to fight crowds and sit in conference rooms.

In the meantime, packing is progressing, revisions are being performed with old-fashioned pen and paper, and I have a mere eight teaching days remaining before I quite literally hand over the keys of my dojo.

Inspired by the lovely blue of Stephanie Charette, I decided I wanted to play with some color. Alas, I can't get in to my favorite hair gal for a couple weeks, so it will have to wait. Besides, she's getting some sort of new product in and wants to experiment with it first. I'm not sure if I'll keep my hair auburn and go with burgundy ombre, or dark brown with deep purple ombre.

I don't know if I'll need to walk into a more conservatively professional environment for consulting/teaching by September, so it needs to be something I can trim off, if required.

On the other hand, I'm moving to frickin' Denver--far away from the Land of Limits and Laments. There, purple hair is no reason to point someone out on the street unless it's too say, "Cool hair!"

Yes, the more I think about it, the more I want the purple.

When I told my son I was going purple, he told me he'd checked into getting some deep blue in his hair, but opted to save the money for a con he's attending next weekend instead. When I told him I thought the blue would look awesome on him, he said, "You know, some people can't believe you don't freak out over stuff."

Apparently, the list of unbelievable things that don't freak me out include tattoos, frank discussions about sex and attraction, staying up until wee hours, cussing, and having different opinions.

The last one brought me to a full stop. It is amazing, among my son's age-mates, that a parent tolerates--nay, encourages--kids to have independent opinions. Contrary ones, even! And it is sad that it is so.

Around here, I can honestly say it is not religiously and politically driven. Truly, my parents--my father in particular--are extremely conservative and regular church-goers. But they raised their daughters to challenge the world, not mold themselves to it, and they offered themselves as our earliest quintains in verbal jousts. Some topics were touchier than others, and differences in opinion didn't mean we didn't have house rules to follow. But our very thoughts weren't expected to align with our parents!

No, around here, the drive to conform and carry on is instead cultural--as deeply set as the assumption big-city living is inherently immoral and leaving town will result in heartache. Conformity is its own high virtue.

I've sat here for the last half hour considering the words I just wrote and wishing I didn't have to leave my young karate students behind.

Last week, I told the students in my women's class about my upcoming move. To say I was unprepared for the emotional reaction is an understatement. We ended up going out for drinks for two hours after class. I keep making mental notes of things I want to see these women achieve, or groundwork for achievement I want to see in place, before I move.

During regular classes, I catch myself calculating when this or that student is likely to be testing for their black belt, and wondering if I'll be able to travel back to sit on their review boards. I wonder where they'll end up in life, and I hope there will be someone to remind them they have choices and options and can ask questions of smart people and never have to apologize for dreams that don't fit in the confines of a small town.

The most insidious "inspiration" quote I've heard used around here is, "Grow where you're planted." It's often on posters alongside pictures of a single flower blooming between cracks in a sidewalk, or on an expanse of parched earth, or some other such appropriately challenging environment.

Yes, yes, I understand it's supposed to be about acceptance and inner peace and doing what you can where you are. But it's a pretty screwed-up message to give people who are in toxic, stifling, and abusive environments. It's basically saying, "Look: you had no power to choose where you were born and raised, and you have no power to go anywhere else now that you're an adult, so you might as well just make the best of your crappy situation and get on with doing what you can until you die right in the same place."

Or, perhaps, "You're screwed, but it's immoral to want anything more."

You know what would be better? "Choose where you want to grow." Then you can have all sorts of wonderful conversations about choosing rich soil, the right amount of sunshine, and good companions for optimal growth.

And I doubt that scrappy little flower bloomed all alone in the crack of a city sidewalk so it could be lauded from afar as a shining example of tenacity and humble virtue. It would likely prefer a bit more soil and little less trampling instead.

And, perhaps, a touch of purple hair and transplant.