Hi, my name is Susan.

I went to my first day of classes for Spring quarter '08. I'm taking: New Testament Gospels, Assessment, and Child and Family Development. They were all fascinating classes, and I'm sure to be blogging on each at one point or another. However, for today, I must share a moment (or two) from Child and Family Development before I retire for the night.

The professor is a mother of 3 (one is six months!!), an ordained minister, a researcher, and, obviously, a professor. Now, I'm not under the impression that anyone can do it all. But, I have to say, I found myself wondering what gives in her own life. I mean, she had makeup on, clothes pressed, and fancy heeled shoes ... with painted toes sticking out of the top. And no chips in the paint! But, the longer I live, the more I realize that something always has to give. But, that's not the purpose of my writing.

The purpose of my writing is to tell you about an activity she did with us today that really touched my heart. After we'd talked a bit about how we were going to tackle lifespan development in ten weeks (ha!), she said we were going to do a "fun (hopefully)" activity to help us understand a bit more about where we were each coming from in our own lifespan development and to give her a better idea as to the makeup of the class. Then she asked if we'd ever been to any sort of 12-step group before. A few brave souls raised their hands. "As you know," she went on, "12-step groups always start in the same way. Each person introduces themselves, the group says 'hi' back, and then each person states 'I am a ________.' Well, we're gonna follow that model. I'll start." So, she introduced herself, "Hi. I'm Pam." The class looked at one another for a moment, everyone waiting for the next person to take the lead. Eventually someone did, and we all followed suit. "Hi, Pam." Pam: "I have developmental issues. I am the mother of three; my baby still isn't sleeping through the night. I am really active in church, have just come back to my job from maternity leave, and I'm a wife. And, I just turned 40!" And after that, each person in the class introduced him/herself, followed by our, "Hi, ______," and talked a few moments about his/her "developmental issue." And, I tell you, it was so beautiful to watch walls fall down. Some people kept things light, mentioning school burnout issues or career decisions. But other people courageously went deeper. Broken relationships with Dad. Wishing for children. Wishing for a spouse. Meeting her spouse all over again after children left home. Feeling rootless from having never lived anywhere for too long. Feeling like she should have children, but not wanting to. Caring for sick parents. The list went on. I sat there sort of in awe. I'd never realized how much the roles we play in life are so central to who we are. And I'd definitely never realized all the tender places those roles tap in our hearts. As people talked, the room got quiet ... like everyone was aware that these things were important.

We were all sort of in shock, a bit, at how similar our stories sounded. I think that's one of the hardest parts of struggle in life ... that it often makes you feel alone. And perhaps a part of the success behind 12-step groups is that they deconstruct that myth. We are not alone. For each person that wished for children, there was another. For every caretaker of a parent, there was another ... every student far away from home, another ... every person wishing for a home, another.

Most of the time, as I walk through the world, I see "me" and "them." (And in traffic, it's definitely "me" and "them!") I swim in my own thoughts and take very little notice of what others are doing around me. In fact, often the "other" represents so much of an unknown that self-protection is my most immediate emotion. But, occasionally, I am able -- for a few blissful moments -- to get outside of that false understanding of the world. And instead of seeing "me" and "them," I look people in the eye. And I see them. And I smile at them. And I feel connected to to them. Like family. And I feel acutely aware of all the stories of joy and woundedness, of wander-lust and boredom, of fear and anticipation, of lost loves and hopeful dreams ... of all of that stuff that we carry around within. And I feel like it all crashes around in the air, in our words, in our misunderstandings and short tempers. And I wonder why we spend so much time talking about everything else.

I think I will send my professor an email to thank her, for inviting us to be honest, to be real, to be us.