Memorializing as one

"What we feel in our hearts, we need to express."

Cemeteries have always been a dreaded place for me. The reason is probably obvious and not uncommon: on the rare occasions that I visit them (usually during a funeral service), I am there to acknowledge the loss of someone I knew. 

If I am visiting a grave site of a loved one to whom I was particularly close, I am there to mourn their absence in my life, or perhaps if I spin that around, I am there to recognize the value of their presence in my life as it was “then” and as it is “now.” Either way, that can be a painful thing, no matter how much time has passed.

So it is a bit odd for me to consider that on a recent visit to the Washington, D.C. area, the place that I spent the most time visiting was a cemetery.

I was in the area on business, but my husband had joined me so we could spend the weekend sightseeing and visiting family. Once my work obligations were completed, we set out to see what we could see. 

The first place on our list was Arlington National Cemetery. Both of us had been there before, many years ago when we were younger and had little life experience through which to filter our understanding. This time, we came wearing the lens of adulthood. 

Arlington National Cemetery draws some four million visitors each year, many of whom are there to say a final farewell to their loved ones. Others go to pay respects as American citizens (or visitors to the U.S.) with an appreciation for the history and sacrifice that saturates the green rolling landscape.

For me, perhaps it was because I have been researching memorialization and the ways we express our grief individually and collectively that I was more aware of my reactions to the monuments and other sacred spaces.

A trip to D.C. is bound to expose you to any number of “memorial” sites. In just a couple of days, we visited Memorials dedicated to President Lincoln, the Vietnam War, and World War II. We also walked the grounds of Mount Vernon, the estate of the first American President. It is here that George Washington died and is buried, and visitors can get a glimpse into the lifestyle of the day, right down to the stable where his horses were kept and the bed he allegedly died in.

I have to wonder about the scores of tourists that are drawn to these sites and so many others there, each year. Students on their class trips, honeymooners (like my parents some 52 years ago), business travelers squeezing in a few sites while in town. We all want to see these places. We bring our cameras and capture the sites so we can remember them and revisit them in photo albums later. 

What is our fascination? 

As I reflect on my own recent exposure to these monuments to our dead, I am stunned that I never noticed the fascination before. So many of us are drawn to these sites, and our individual experiences, of course, are personal and unique, but also are very similar. 

It speaks to a commonality in people that we want to have that direct experience in seeing with our own eyes these monuments we have erected. What we feel in our hearts, we need to express. With national memorials, we can mourn, reflect and respect as a country. The individual stands tall, but stands stronger when standing together. This is one of the things that these memorials give us the opportunity to do -- to stand together in our collective respect and grief.

With the American holiday of Memorial Day approaching, I hope the fascination in our memorials is generated by a deep respect and admiration for our country’s leaders and heroes -- the soldiers who protect all that we have by serving in our armed forces. World events continue to remind us of the dangerous job our soldiers do. We should never take them -- or our freedom -- for granted.

For more information on Arlington National Cemetery, visit:

http://www.arlingtoncemetery.mil/.

Next post: A Hometown Name on the Wall

Copyright 2011 by Marianne V. Heffernan

Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan

Let the music play

Driving home from work the other day, a song came on the radio that I hadn’t heard in probably ten years. It was Phil Collins’ “You’ll be in my heart,” a song from the Tarzan soundtrack that I would play for my nephew, Lucas, when he was a little boy. 

He would be strapped into his car seat in the back of my Jeep Wrangler. I would pop the CD into the dashboard, and the two of us would connect, making eye contact through the rearview mirror as we sang along to the songs. If you’ve never heard the song, you probably have not had young children in your life or perhaps you simply missed this particular Disney film. So courtesy of YouTube, I'm sharing a link here, because it may be the best way to emphasize the point of this blog post. Take a listen to the words.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JIVaUcE4kAM

The song caused a heartwarming flashback for me because it brought me back to a time in my life when Lucas and I would spend a considerable amount of time together. Now that he is a teenager, we don’t have the opportunity to hang out as much as we used to, so the memories we created back then are that much more precious.

We all get nostalgic now and then, but it occurs to me that without realizing it, often the catalyst for our reminiscing is music.

Music connects us to our memories. Depending on whether the memory is a good or bad one, music can return us to another time in our lives, and with it, return us to the people who were “there when.” It is powerful stuff.

For me, any Bob Seger song is an instant reminder of my sister Joyce. As teenagers, we loved his music and would blast it from the car radio. We had so much fun at a Seger concert one night, going with two other girlfriends, that we immediately decided to return to the concert venue the next night to buy tickets on the street, so that we could hear it again, live. We had to split up to do so, since the tickets we scored were not all in the same section, but we were all about the music that night so it really didn’t matter.

That may have been the night that sealed the Bob Seger-Joyce connection for me. There are plenty of others, too. My brother John was a big Tom Petty fan. Hence, Petty for me equals John. It is automatic and it is usually instantaneous, this recognition of the personal connection.

Let me try to put this in the broader perspective, because obviously everyone has a different experience. When it comes to the power of music, we have had some tremendous examples to send us back in time to a particular memory. I bet any of the “rock anthems” of the Baby Boomer and Gen X generations can catapult you to a moment in your life that you cherish -- or maybe wish you could forget. See if any of the following does anything for you:

Aerosmith’s Dream On.

Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Freebird.

Michael Jackson’s We are the World.

Sly and the Family Stone’s We are Family.

Kool and the Gang’s Celebration.

Queen’s We are the Champions.

What comes to mind when you hear one of those golden tunes, or any other that is a particular favorite of yours?

Maybe it is your wedding song. Or the song from your junior prom. Anyone who has ever gone to a game at Yankee Stadium (past or present) can probably relate to Frank Sinatra’s New York, New York, since they play it at the conclusion of every Yankee home game (or if you grew up where I came from, that song may have been the last song you heard before you were tossed out of the local dance club as they turned on the lights at 2 a.m.)

Whatever the memory, the music brings it all to life so you can relive the moment and reconnect with the people who made that moment one to cherish. 

So I guess this week it was Phil Collins that reminded me of this cool function of the technology of memory. It’s the music that we love that writes a soundtrack to our lives. Let it play.

You’ll be in my heart. Yes, you’ll be in my heart. From this day on, now and forevermore. You’ll be in my heart, no matter what they say. You’ll be here in my heart always.

Always.

Copyright 2011 by Marianne V. Heffernan

Back on track

It’s done.

I’ve been stressing out over my dissertation quagmire long enough. I have been considering whether to continue on the path I have been on, with the Committee I assembled and the question that has developed as my “topic” these last several months. My decision has weighed heavily all this time: Do I want it that badly to continue to feel inadequate or unworthy on a regular basis, or at all?

I had to decide if I truly want this degree. I also had to decide whether a possible mismatch on my Committee held the key to freeing me to pursue an exploration of the “real” questions inside me.

Tonight I pulled the trigger. I composed a note to Professor Three respectfully thanking her for her insight, guidance, and expertise. Then I told her I was moving on without her.

I take no pleasure in doing so, because no matter how professional or respectful or logical my note was, I am sure that on some level, Professor Three’s reaction will not be a positive one. I cannot concern myself with that. This journey is very difficult, and I will have many moments where I will feel frustrated and discouraged. I may even wonder if I made the right decision in dismissing the insights of such an expert in the grief field. 

I cannot look back. Tonight, I need to move on. I have a new Professor to begin introducing to my proposal, and I have renewed optimism that this combination of expertise and experience will be the one that leads to a successful conclusion of this research project. The goal is still far off, but I believe I can see it again and it still appeals to me.

For now, that is enough to get me back on track.

Copyright 2011 by Marianne V. Heffernan

Follow the current where it leads

There may come a time when you feel lost or out of sorts. Life gets complicated and intense, and it can feel like there is no way to set things back on course. Those of you who have been walking my dissertation journey here with me know what I am talking about, because you have borne witness to my prolonged malaise in this rigorous course of study.

It is certain that I have been wrestling with this process. I hate to belabor the point but the experience has been such that it is taking me much longer than I expected to snap out of it. That’s because, instead of trying to “force” a resolution, I have been letting the malaise simmer. I’ve got a regular malaise stew a-cooking these days. 

My logic? The conflict within me needs to work its way out. I have a tendency to be impulsive, making snap decisions in the heat of the moment without thinking things through and later wishing I had taken time to let my subconscious contribute to the conversation. In this situation, I am trying to take a mature view of my situation and make a decision on “next steps” based on truth. My truth. 

Sometimes, it means having a conversation with a good friend. Not a conversation that is intended to examine the problem directly, and then come to a conclusion through the give-and-take of the discussion. I mean a conversation that evolves while you are catching up on each other’s lives, and the flow of the chat is just that kind of easy discourse that opens up the ideas being exchanged while you are connecting -- or reconnecting -- with a good friend. 

I am thankful that I have these kind of friends in my life. They are steady as a drumbeat. They are there when I need them, whether I reach out or not. 

Lately, in all the madness that my daily life has become, I have been taking the path of least resistance. Part of me wants to call it “succumbing to the easy way out.” By that I mean, I have been making decisions based on what pulls at me from the most basic level. Sometimes that means my dedication to my schoolwork takes a back seat to my devotion to my family. Or to my own human side. 

For example, when I return home from a full day of work, after navigating the 40-plus-minute commute, and having somehow managed to pull together a reasonably decent dinner, I face the choice that I am sure every graduate student faces: at this hour of the evening, do I have it in me to sit down at my computer or with a research book, to reengage my already weary mind for a few more hours? 

I wish I could say emphatically, “Yes! I can and I do have it in me!” The truth is, I often do not. I will not force myself these days to continue to sacrifice rest, sleep, or precious time with a loved one, for the sake of this coveted degree that I do -- let me remind you -- I do want to achieve.

You can question my commitment if you wish. I don’t care. I prefer to look at it as being true to my personal philosophy, which has two parts. Part one: Don’t miss the opportunity to spend time with those you love. Part two: When the body says “rest,” listen to it.

In a way, my combo of a personal philosophy is another way of saying I am all about living my own authentic life. I keep running into this idea in the things I read -- somehow, it seems to be an undercurrent of my dissertation topic, if I think about it. Just this morning, I picked up a book that was offered as a freebie at church, and my curiosity got the better of me so I began to read it. (Because, you know, I had nothing else to do.)

Rediscover Catholicism, A Spiritual Guide to Living with Passion and Purpose by Matthew Kelly (Ohio: Beacon Publishing, 2010) may be just a momentary diversion from my required scholarly reading, but it is in line with my current practice of doing what appeals to me at the moment, regardless of what my “To Do” List demands of me. 

What happens when I give in to my whims is this: inevitably, I am offered some crumb of wisdom or insight or support or encouragement. I don’t have to scrutinize the evidence to gain this blessing of a revelation. I only have to follow the current where it leads me. 

Today, the reading led me to this, right there on page 33: “We have a universal hunger for the authentic, a longing to be and become and experience all we are capable of and created for. Everything good in the future (for ourselves, our marriages, our families, our communities, our Church, our nation, and humanity) depends on whether or not we will follow this longing.”

Well, there it is. 

My interpretation was rather immediate. I took this as personal validation that I am right where I need to be, in my pursuit of a doctorate. I am striking a balance that at times is frustrating because I am used to being out of balance most of the time. I have lived most of my adult life burning the candle at both ends. I have lived with the daily mantra of “Suck it up.” I have put off relaxation and declined social events for the sake of work or school. 

Now, I am taking a stand. I am saying, “No more.” All the things that I want to do, I will do. I will do them in my time, on my schedule, and in my way. And you know what? I will get them done. The things that mean the most will fill my days. I trust that those “things” will be the right things for me. None of these lofty goals in life is worth feeling stressed about when you can step back and say, “I already have the most important things. I have family. I have friends. I have love in my life.” 

Everything else is a bonus. 

Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan

Treading water

I realize it has been about a month since my last post. You’ll recall, that was the post in which I wore my heart on my sleeve, lamenting the stinging critiques of my dissertation committee as I failed yet again to gain their approval of my latest attempt at clarifying my research topic.

It's not their fault; this is all me.

A month of licking my wounds, and I am still not up for another round. What, you say? Backing down from a fight, you? Not possible.

I am grateful for the encouraging comments from many of you. It means something to me to know that others are pulling for me and have an appreciation for my writing and aspirations of higher learning.  

Unfortunately, I am still treading water. I have been around in circles reviewing proposal comments, seeking the sage counsel of one or two good friends who never let me down when it comes to picking me up. I am trying to sort it out.

I hesitate to say the words, but I am at a crossroads. The signs are pointing in directions, none of which, at the moment, appeal to me:

• Turn around, go back, start over. Maybe even pick a new topic.
• Forge on with this Committee, take your lumps, figure it out no matter how difficult or painful it will be. In other words, Suck it up, Probie. You have not earned the right to feel anything but humble.
• Take a year off. Give the latest discouragement time to heal, then try again.

I can tell you, I am not digging the options. 

Option 1 means a major setback on my road to a PhD. Graduation becomes an even further-off dream. Option 2 likely means continued “punishment” by way of feeling inadequate, unintelligent, un-academic (if that is a word) and “just plain old not good enough.” Option 3 is a lot like Option 1, except it has the added bonus of me potentially deciding after a year off that it is just too darn hard to restart the old research engine. Look, middle age is middle age, and we only get older from there if we are blessed.

Or, perhaps there is an Option 4. Refresh my original idea, flesh it out, clarify it, and clean house. Start fresh with a new committee and my early idea of what it is that I want to know, explore, and offer to the world. 

Ah. This coud be tricky. Egos are undoubtedly involved when intelligent, accomplished individuals are brought together to discuss and develop a researchable question that ultimately will contribute to a larger conversation. I’m talking about my ego included. Sometimes, the chemistry just doesn’t work. I have begun to think that, in this case, bad chemistry may be worth a closer look. 

Who am I to suggest “removing” a professor or two, or maybe even all three, from the team? I’m the one who is seeking the doctorate, and seeking a team that I feel I can work with respectfully and productively. I’m not sure I have that mix, at the moment. Painful as it may be, I may need to consider if I have assembled the right team for this task. Because ultimately, if I am not making progress after more than a year of trying to flesh it out, it may be time to make a change. 

Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan

One lump or two?

Another learning experience on the Journey to Dissertation. I am forced to consider a serious question: Am I a quitter? 

I’m not going to answer that just yet because my immediate, defiant, stubborn response will be, “No, I am NOT a quitter.” 

After setting myself up for public humiliation last week by posting (with great jubilation, I recall) that I had completed yet another iteration of my proposal, and was feeling like I had figured out a clear path, I took a one-two punch from two of my Committee members after they reviewed my latest flash of brilliance. The lumps  are just beginning to subside, but I have to say, my early and fierce reaction to some of the remarks was, “Life is too short for this kind of self-inflicted torture. The hell with this.” 

I really can’t bear to get into the details of their comments because it doesn’t matter at the moment. The upshot is, I was stunned at some of the harsh tones and took it personally. That’s the trouble with email communication (although I am not so sure that a phone conversation would have sounded less critical; after all, I don’t know my professors as “people” but as Experienced, Educated Professionals who also happen to already have the coveted doctoral degree hanging on their walls).

I’m sure many of you would feel the same way. You put your heart and soul into something, sacrificing your precious “free” time because you see the goal in the distance and want it so badly that you are willing to give up time with your loved ones, relaxation time after putting in a 10- or 12-hour day at your “real” job, and weekend fun, because this goal is going to give you new opportunities and unknown insights. Not to mention how rewarding it will feel to accomplish something so challenging.

It has been incredibly difficult to find and retain a strong focus on my research, this I freely admit. Not because I am not interested in it. Not because I am afraid of hard work. I will blame much of it on a demanding full-time job that usually requires more than eight hours of my energy, time and attention. Tack on a daily commute, a sickly pet that requires high-maintenance daily care, a few family crises, and the normal life requirements of staying healthy and being happy, and voila! You have a fantastic recipe for a nervous breakdown.

Look, no one said it was going to be easy to get a Ph.D. I get that. I am, however, surprised at what I am learning about academia, about academicians, and about the process of orchestrating a doctoral degree. Until now, I had felt that the grueling schedule of course work, capped by an intense comprehensive exam, were the toughest part of this Ph.D. experience. 

I’m starting to think getting over the “Proposal Hurdle” is the real nut to crack. At least, it is for me. Since I cannot take a sabbatical from my day job to focus on my schooling, I have to make a decision. Plow ahead, figure it out, get the Three Wise Committee Members to Align. Then surge along to the finish line. 

OR, I could just take satisfaction in having come this far. 

I did get something for my efforts, after all. At the completion of my course work and comp exam, I received a “Certificate of Advanced Graduate Studies,” one of those “in-between” awards that is beyond a Master’s but not exactly a doctorate. Some might call it a consolation prize for those who don’t have it in them to go that extra distance to get the Ph.D.

Am I a quitter? The answer lies deep within me. I need to ask myself this in solitude, and consider what more I am going to have to sacrifice at this point in my life to achieve this lofty prize. Is it worth it? 

Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan

The clearing appears

In the midst of beings as a whole an open place occurs. There is a clearing, a lighting... Only this clearing grants and guarantees to us humans a passage to those beings that we ourselves are not, and access to the being that we ourselves are.

Martin Heidegger 1971 (1935): 53

This was a good week on the road to dissertation. After multiple rewrites of my proposal, prompted by the very blunt and direct reactions of my committee to each iteration that I painstakingly pieced together, I handed in a “finished” product.

Over 30 pages of details that suggest a phenomenon is taking place in our modern society. At the moment, it is called, “The influence of technological culture on the experience of grief.” 

Of course, I realize I am setting myself up here for public humiliation in a week or so when I get back comments from the Three Wise Professors who certainly could say that my latest proposal is yet lacking something. Still, I have been wrestling with it for too long, and just want to get on with it. I cannot move ahead until they say so.

But the mind is a puzzling thing. If you force it to think about something, it may not be ready to do so, at least, not in a way that will be clear to you. It will reject the ideas and follow other distractions, or it will work so hard that it just produces a raging headache. When you want to sleep, it will decide to keep you up because NOW it has something to tell you. Or ask you. Or demand of you.

All you can do is go with it, go about your days, fitting in the reading and the thinking and the dissecting. Cry a little. Get mad. Refuse to continue. Use every expletive you have ever learned, and make some up while you’re at it.

Until you reach a clearing. I can’t believe this term came to me, because it is one that I learned during my PhD coursework a few years ago. At the time, it was profound but ever-so complex, at least to me. It is a pleasant surprise to realize that I retained this idea and am able to apply it to my research experience. Learning is a wonderful thing.

Martin Heidegger developed a philosophy of being that introduced the term “clearing” as an opening through which entities other than ourselves can emerge out of hiddenness, or are made visible by a bringing into the light. (You may want to reach for the Tylenol here because this sort of thing can make your head hurt.)

The place where this unconcealment occurs is the clearing. Without getting into the intricate and deep thinking involved here, let me explain that this philosophy holds that the clearing is a “place” but it is more a state of being, or consciousness, into which revelations come. Everything that we come to know and experience in the world enters into us through this clearing. Heidegger called it Dasein.

This week, I call it joy. I don’t want to belabor the point that this journey to dissertation is an arduous one. I know you get it. It’s work. I’m sharing my challenges with you, though, because I am not experiencing any of this alone, and whether you like it or not, you are in this with me. 

Heidegger compels me to think deep thoughts, and right now, I am realizing that my sleeplessless, my frustrations in juggling the “day job” with the responsibilities of home life and family, and the demands of research that require extraordinary concentration and commitment... none of this is just me, in isolation, figuring things out.

Every human connection we have affects the ultimate end product of who we are. I love this thought and it is one I entertain often. We are always on the way to becoming. We cannot control it, and we cannot influence it. Not really.

How does this apply to my current state? I’m not sure yet. I am recognizing that this clearing for me has allowed me to find focus in my work here. I know what I want to know, and that is, how is the technological culture of today influencing our experience of grief? Do we turn to our computers when we are sad and say, “I need to reach out but I cannot wait for an in-person opportunity. I must say how I feel right now, regardless of whether anyone is out there listening, or if they will respond. I must get this off my chest.”

I am tracking down Marshall McLuhan here, friends. He coined the phrase, “The medium is the message,” and that says something about what’s going on with our electronic grief sharing. I just don’t know quite what yet.

I have put together a plan of action to investigate this intriguing phenomenon. I really want to know what this electronic age is saying about us when it comes to the most painful emotional experience we can endure.

For now, I am enjoying the moment. It may be a bit premature to celebrate my proposal, but I’m going to remain optimistic that I am on to something important. Whatever The Committee says, it will still be a step forward. 


Copyright 2011 by Marianne V. Heffernan