Catching up
Hello, my name is Mike, and I’m a waffler. I guess you could say, at times (more often than not, even), I’m indecisive or reluctant to choose. My default position generally seems to be, “I’m not sure.” Which is a crowd-pleasing stance, I’ve found. People love to wait around—after asking sometimes even simple questions—for others to consider, ponder, wonder, reconsider, ruminate, put themselves in other people’s shoes, consider again, and finally arrive assuredly and resolved at…“I’m not sure.”
What should we have for dinner? My knee-jerk response is a shrug. What should we do this weekend? I mean, there are so many choices, and I want everyone to have a good time, and I haven’t been here or to any of those options before, so really, who could be sure at a time like this?!? What should we hang up on the ridiculously-tough, cement-like living room walls? What will you do when Nash goes back to school full time? Did you love or hate the last season of Game of Thrones? …I’m not sure…
I’m not sure if I love to ski or not. I’m not sure if getting four distinct seasons is worth a couple months without air conditioning. I’m not sure if French is quite the romantic language people seem to think it is (actually, I’m pretty sure what I think about that one.)
And I’m not sure I’m a writer. From what I’ve heard and read, writers never claim that writing is easy or happens without a soul-scraping struggle at times. But most of them sure seem to suggest that they could never not write. I had no trouble whatsoever not updating this blog for the last—holy smokes—six months. I found plenty of other things to do, some a lot less productive than others. Maybe we were still getting settled in or adapting in the first year. We tend to expect to hit the ground running no matter how big the change seems. It sure feels like Lisa, the boys, and I have come a long way in ten months. But there’s been a turning and churning and gnawing in the back of my head this whole time, trying to process little by little, looking for an outlet that helps share life with those I haven’t spoken with in too long, turning back to a practice that can help me consider, ponder, wonder, reconsider, ruminate…etc.
Long story long, or long intro long, I’m sorry it’s been a while. (Thank goodness for Lisa and Instagram/Facebook, huh? ) But I couldn’t let this collect dust any longer. Let’s try this again.
Want to catch up quickly? What’s new since the beginning of December…
We got a car. Maybe it was the cold and snow of winter, or the hunger to take more day trips on the weekends that didn’t rely on buses and trains, or the hope of traveling with two young boys with more space and a few less glares, glances, and sighs, but we gave in. And just like my parents before me, we are the owners of a sweet, sweet station wagon. We chose a black Hyundai i40 with two rows of seats, instead of a majestic cream-colored Chevy with wood-paneling and a third row that faced backwards like the one we wore out on vacations and trips to grandparents’ houses. There’s room for skis, it holds 110 Francs worth of diesel each tank, and it beeps and blares to help avoid most wheel scuffs and fender dings while parallel parking.
Speaking of scuffs and dings, we’ve had our first (minor) injuries and ER visits. Cooper had a stomach bug that sent him to the ER back in December. Luckily, he just needed a little more time and some medicine to move things along. Turns out like Nirvana and maybe Eric Clapton, he’s better unplugged.
We took a short ski vacation in February, and Lisa found out the sled lanes can be just as dangerous as the slopes. She crunched her knee while trying to steer a sled with two boys and no rudder on it away from a snow wall, and ended up needing a brace for a while. Allegedly it was an accident that cut our ski-cation short, but someone wasn’t loving the cold cabin life anyway.
Maybe helmets and knee braces should be standard safety accessories for all mountain sports.
Nash was more impressed with the cool lights and tree house bed in the cabin than he was with the skiing and sledding outside.
Pastry? Check. Pair of mom’s sunglasses? check. Partial picture of mom’s thumb? Check.
Oh, and Nash was frustrated with the snack options in the kitchen recently, so he tried to take a bite out of my left hand instead. Jerking my fingers out of The Hulk’s mouth, my wedding ring caught and chipped his front tooth. So we got to make a couple of trips to the dentist to patch and smooth that off, and I learned how to file an accident report through our insurance. Experience is the best, but also a tough, teacher. At least he makes sure to tell everyone who talks about his tooth that it wasn’t daddy’s fault, it was his fault. He may lose control every once in a while, but he’s honest.
Our first visitors have made the trek across the pond! We got to explore Bern and Zurich, along with Chanel’s grave here in Lausanne because Candace, Jessica, Rachel and Sharon showed up. Lisa’s mom and her husband helped us make mandu, found some spring tulips in Morges, and even dragged us along to Paris and Lugano and let me travel back home to Missouri to see family. With the help of audio guides, we really soaked in a castle with Rich. We even got a chance to hang out in an Alien Bar, enjoy the view from Le Deck, and scaled Glacier 3000 with Jeff and Bridgett. I hope they had as much fun hanging out as we did having them here. The boys get stoked when people come to visit, and so do we. We’ve got space to stay if anyone needs an excuse to come check out Europe.
Spiderman wanted a picture with the big church the day before the roof caught fire.
Notice the lack of gloves and warm enough clothing for this trip up the mountain. Nash had his face protected from frostbite the whole time. Didn’t see the view at all. You can’t win the parenting award every day, huh?
We’ve seen long wooden bridges in Lucerne and a city known for its bears in Bern. We saw a big atom and a mini-Europe, a famous whizzer, a grand square, and a banner of bikes in Brussels. We explored caves and mountain rivers in the rain in Vallorbe, and we’ve practiced baseball to remember our roots on the nice days. Along the way, we’ve toasted, offered cheers and thanksgiving, and collected as many views as we can. We’ve posed next to statues and stopped to pause and smile as often as we can. We’re working on slowing things down and enjoying each and every day, weekend, opportunity, and trip as much and as often as we can.
Some of us pick up some posh and unimpressed mannerisms more quickly than others.
He (they) will rock you.
Life is often different and often just the same over here. Some days, I’m back at another French lesson, as I slowly pick up a little more each week. It’s just rollin’ off the tongue these days. Lisa’s adjusting to her role at work and just started her own French lessons too. And some days…we’ve cranked through laundry all day long as we’ve potty-trained. Some days we’ve endured scoldings from the customs agent at the airport or the desk lady at the public pool, and other days we have picnics on the balcony (not barbecues though, dadgummit. Grills aren’t allowed). We go to music festivals down by the lake some days, and on others we wait around half the day for a tow truck when we pop a tire on a roundabout curb, because there’s no room allotted for a spare tire in our boat of a car. But we’re figuring it out, we’re celebrating more than we’re grumblin’, and we’re trying not to take any of it for granted. It isn’t easy, it’s usually crazy and messy, and it’s so stinkin’ good, too.
P.S. Just in case you’re like me, and you’re not sure…about your job, about your dreams, about who you are or could be. Whatever it may be about which you wonder, let me share something that’s got me wondering even more these past couple of weeks.
I was listening to Bill Simmons interview David Epstein, an author who’s just releasing a new book entitled Range: Why Generalists Triumph in a Specialized World. I think the book begins with a simple but possibly unpopular premise: kids are being herded towards one specific sport through club and select teams too early in life. Epstein then looks at famous athletes whose experiences and journeys contradicts that idea. He also shares other stories that suggest that diversifying interests, pursuits, even the sports our children play in elementary school better equips both them and us for the unexpected challenges of life, sports, and everything in between.
During the interview, Epstein enthusiastically points out that we are who we are in practice, not in theory. He adds that we have this idea, this commencement speech idea, that we can introspect our way to what we should be doing, to our calling, our vocation, our purpose in life. He insists this isn’t as helpful or honest as we’d hope.
Instead, he suggests that our insights into ourselves are constrained by the roster of our previous experiences. We should experience more of what we don’t know, seek opportunities to learn something new, and in the process we’ll find out more about ourselves. Epstein and Simmons agree that we should try stuff, lots more stuff, reflect on it, and zig and zag and carry on in that spirit until we find a niche where we can be uniquely successful and fulfilled.
I’m not sure I’m a writer. But I’ll keep trying it on, and I’ll seek out some other opportunities to stretch and grow my arena of practices, to enlarge my roster of experiences, so that maybe I’ll find a little more fit and understanding. Or at least I won’t leave as many potentials unexplored. Who knows what may lie ahead? I’m not sure.