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I left Hawai’i in 1979.  Seventeen and eager to start my life, I enrolled in college in Portland. 

I intended to return to the Islands upon graduation, but ego got the best of me.  I couldn’t imagine moving my grown up 21 year-old self back in to my parent’s house.  So in 1982, I decided to put down roots in Portland.

Today, twenty-nine years later, I have lived more of my life in Oregon than in Hawai'i, and yet, my roots still refuse to be transplanted.

I have tried. 

I have gotten married…and divorced.

I have raised four children as Oregonians.

I have volunteered and I have started a career.

I have created a family of friends.  Their love sustains me, even as my soul aches to return home.

Home. 

Home to the land of my father.   

Home to the nation that exists in the collective memory of the people whose independence was stolen.   

Home to the language I never learned and the culture I never lived, that call to me as the tide calls the ocean to the shore. 

Home.

Dreams

I grew up during the 60’s and 70’s.  It was a time of blossoming awareness, women’s empowerment and ardent feminism.  My friends talked about becoming doctors and lawyers, teachers and nurses, journalists and business tycoons. 

I remained silent.

I loved my friends’ dreams.  They were fine dreams.  They required passion and commitment.  I just didn’t have any passion and commitment to spare.  All of my passion and commitment were busy holding space for my dream.

My dream, was to be a mother. 

I know now, that it is possible to have a career and be a mother.  I’ve seen done; and I’ve seen it done well.  But at the time, in my mind, the two ideas were mutually exclusive, so I chose motherhood.

I practiced being a mother.

I learned how to fuss like a mother and cook like a mother and worry like a mother.

Twenty two years ago today, my dream became a reality.

Twenty two years ago today, Oldest Daughter was born and I began living my dream.  My dream has tested me.  I have not always passed, but I like to think that I have always learned.   

I am forever grateful for those lessons. 

I am forever grateful for Oldest Daughter, who birthed me into motherhood.

Dealbreaker?

I gave a training today about healthy relationships. 

Women In the group came up with a list to define the term.

Here are some of my favorite items on our list:

• ·         Mutually respectful

• ·         Honest, with ourselves and with each other

• ·         Understanding

• ·         Safe, both physically and emotionally, so neither person is afraid to live and express his/her trut

• ·         Shared responsibility that appreciates the gifts and resources that each person has to offer

• ·         Fun

• ·         Shared empathy that allows each person to see the other’s point of view

• ·         Assumed goodness, always starting with the premise that the other has good intentions

• ·         Flexibility

• ·         Supportive so that each person knows that the other has her/his back

I like the list, but it makes me wonder…if one of the items on the list is missing, is that a deal breaker?

Struggling with Returning the Embrace

I think of my co-workers as my peers.  Age does not typically factor in to any of our conversations.  In reality, though, many of my co-workers are peers of my children.  I don’t think about it much because they interact with me as colleagues, while my children interact with me as, well, my children.

Last week, a ran headlong into the brutal truth. 

It hurt!

The messenger was a woman at work who is absolutely beautiful.

Her skin has a soft, warm glow that speaks of sunshine and sandals.  Her smile brings spring to the coldest winter day.  She is equally comfortable taking charge of a situation or standing back, offering quiet support.

Last week she came to work with an extra bounce in her step.

“I was at a training,” she grinned, “and guess what?  Someone there thought I was your daughter.  I was SO flattered!”

I managed a weak smile and tightly grabbed a hold of her exuberance, making it lift me out of the ice cold water of reality.

I let myself be dragged quickly around the clock.  Starting at six o’clock where I am O-L-D and landing in the embrace three o’clock and blessing of the compliment.

Truth be told, I am still struggling with returning the embrace.  

With Reckless Compassion

Oldest Daughter has been a joy and a challenge to mother.  She lives life outside the box, and even then, she pushes against boundaries.

She is a thoroughbred, who thrills at taking the turns at full speed, a hair’s breadth away from careening over the edge.  It is exciting and it is scary and I am rarely sure which emotion is more appropriate.

Today, I know. 

Today, Oldest Daughter was out to lunch with a friend when a young teen at a nearby table started choking.  Oldest Daughter didn’t hesitate.  She didn’t concern herself with the fact that her First Aid card has been expired for four years.   She didn’t think about the fact that she has only ever practiced the Heimlich maneuver on a lifeguard’s practice dummy.   She didn't freeze.   She didn’t avert her eyes and wait for someone else to step forward.

Today, my reckless, daring, out of control daughter stepped up and stepped in.

Today, my phenomenal daughter saved a life.

She literally saved a life.

Today, I know that I am not the only one who is grateful beyond measure for the blessing that is Oldest Daughter.