strange dream

I dreamt last night that I lost strength in my legs. I had control over them, but they wouldn't support my weight. I was playing field hockey. For some reason, just before each game I had to rinse off in the shower. Then, as I waited to run onto the field with my team, my legs began to get weak. I finished the game last night, but I had to be helped off the field by my teammates. My legs were buckling any time I tried to stand up.

I've had this dream many times before. It doesn't feel like a nightmare, although my paranoid side wonders if it's a premonition of some kind. I do not seem to be very alarmed in my dreams -- just annoyed. Usually, I am asking someone to help me up a flight of stairs and explaining that my legs had just given out on me. Weird.

riding on the BART train

The sun makes me squint. I think about the wrinkles that will show up later, but there is nothing to be done. I am surprised that I am not nodding off. Perhaps the extra sleep I got two days ago is fueling my consciousness now. The sounds of the train -- the screeching, the computerized voice -- are muffled by my earplugs. I love my earplugs. They are fluorescent green soft foam and come in their own orange case.

We enter the Transbay Tube. I have not noticed a sign or anything. The lights in the tunnel zoom by. Occasionally, there are gaps. I don't think about what's outside the tunnel usually. Sea monsters, old tires, perhaps a dead body.

Most people are reading, sleeping, or listening to their headphones. I wonder what worlds they've created for themselves. I imagine that many are enjoying their own private concert. Maybe someone is listening to a story or a sermon. I picture a translucent sphere around each of them and think of what images and sounds would fill them.

My bubble would be filled with z's if I weren't writing. It's a half-sleep where part of me stays awake to hear station announcements. On one occasion, that part deserted its post and I wound up three stations north of my stop.

Another tunnel. More lights. More screeching. Now I am getting sleepy. At least I made it to 16th Street.

it's official

Woohoo! As of today, I am a career UC employee. I was initially hired on a two-year contract, which would have expired in September. I don't want to jinx it, but I have to say that I have really enjoyed working for CDL. A quintessential team player, I need to feel like I'm a valued member of the organization I'm working for and I need to believe in its mission. CDL has been very supportive of me and my work, and I am happy that I will be able to continue my career there.

neighborly serenade

My next door neighbors occasionally subject me to really bad (and loud) Chinese (possibly Vietnamese) karaoke. Even with the walls muffling the sound, I can hear every off-key note. It's really bad. It makes my face scrunch up involuntarily.

bad jane

Yikes. I have been delinquent in my blogging duties. The first month of 2006 is a blur. I wish that I could report that this is because I was having too much fun for my own good, but alas, my life is not that exciting. But, I am happy to announce that I am emerging from a haze that has enveloped my life for over a year. Many thanks to all my friends who put up with me.

In the next weeks, I will try to organize my thoughts into coherent posts. I feel like I have a lot to say, but it will take me some time to put my ideas into any sort of readable form. I appreciate your patience.

happy new year!

I spent New Year's Day surrounded by my extended family: 4 grandmas, 1 grandpa, mom, dad, my second cousin, her husband, and their two adorable kids. We ate a superb brunch prepared by my second cousin, and then the bowing commenced. There was much laughter as everyone wished one another good fortune in the new year.

Merry Christmas

I'm at my parents' house watching "A Christmas Story" for the umpteenth time. TBS has a marathon every Christmas Eve, and I can't seem to stay away. It's like my panda addiction. For those of you who don't know "A Christmas Story," here's a summary.

Merry Christmas, Happy Channukah, Happy Holidays, Peace to everyone!

a house full of cheer

Karen and I hosted a holiday housewarming party last night. Many friends joined us for great food and great company. Thanks to all for a wonderful housewarming. We are lucky to have so many friends.

rock zero at Caren's Pickin' Party

Rock Zero had its first public performance at our teacher Caren's annual holiday party last Saturday. Caren invited all of her students to her home and everyone played holiday songs together. Then we all had the opportunity to play a song for the group. It was a supportive and festive atmosphere.

Everyone did a great job, and I had a blast.

Jane 1 Bloodsucker 1

I was terrorized by a mosquito at 3am last night. I awoke to a buzzing in my ear and a burning sensation in my bottom lip. The bastard had bitten me in the lip and was circling for more! I feel so helpless when I'm trying to sleep and there's a mosquito in the room. I turned my light on, hoping to spot and kill the sucker. No such luck. I turned the light off and tried to go back to sleep. Two more hours, two more flyby's. Meanwhile, my bottom lip swelled to twice its normal size.

By morning, the swelling had gone down a little, but I still felt like Bubba from "Forrest Gump". I am happy to report, however, that just before I left the house to go see "Harry Potter," I spotted the mosquito on my wardrobe box and killed it. The bright red blood that was left on the box and my hand was undoubtedly mine. Jerk.

one reason why I left teaching: "Kids Gone Wild"

The New York Times Week in Review has a great article that examines some of the reasons for kids' bad behavior. I often felt like I was the first adult ever to have said "No" to some of the students I taught.

giving thanks

I'm at my parents' house taking a break from dinner prep. I spent an hour or so prepping 1.5 pounds of brussel sprouts. There were some weird things growing on the leaves, so I think I pulled about half of the outer layers off. We will be having a traditional turkey dinner with family, a few of my parents' friends, and a couple of Korean grad students who are studying at a local institution.

It's been a tough year for me, but I have plenty to be thankful for, including the following:

• my family - I am lucky to have a large extended family.


• my friends - I don't get to see many of them very often, but they are always in my thoughts. (Come on, people! Hurry up and get a Mac and an iSight already! I need more friends on my buddy list.)


• my job - I am fortunate to work on interesting projects in a place with people whom I respect and like.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

wake up call from my APC

This morning, I was woken up by my APC, the device that keeps my computers safe and happy during power surges and outages. I guess the power was coming in and out because the APC would turn on for one second intervals periodically. It's kind of spooking me out, but maybe if I ignore it, it'll go away. ;-)

I am embarrassed to report that I am going to be about two weeks late turning in my final essay. I missed the final class because of a business trip. In the last 2.5 weeks, I've been out of town 12 days. I am just now getting to revising my last draft. My final draft looks like it's going to be significantly different from the previous drafts; I feel like I'm writing a whole new essay.

I have a couple of blog posts that I haven't finished writing. One is about the people I met during my trip back home from Washington, DC. I plan to catch up over the holiday.

discombobulated

My internal clock is confused and has responded to jet lag in the wrong direction. I am in Virginia for a conference, and last night I fell asleep at 9pm. This morning I woke up at 4:30am, and I don't think I'll be able to go back to sleep. My body seems to be 3 hours ahead of itself instead of 3 hours behind, which is the way eastward jet lag usually works.

I need to work on my personal essay. It is going to undergo serious revamping. My writing teacher gave me some great ideas to play around with last week. I am sad that I will miss the last class because of this conference.

personal essay - version 4

Sudden death overtime. What a shocking image: sudden death. Both teams play until one scores and terminates the game. For some, it marks the end of a collegiate career. For me, it was the death of a part of me that I’m still trying to find a replacement for. As with many games, it all comes down to a single moment. All the preparation and hard work and training boil down to a single moment…and regardless of the outcome, it is etched into my memory.

I had never imagined that I’d play varsity sports in college. I had been a valued member of my high school teams, but I knew my limitations. In the early nineties, my high school was the kind of place where a kid with no previous experience in a sport could try out for the JV team and play. With hard work and dedication, one could make up for the lack of summer sports camps and private lessons. I was neither the fastest nor the strongest player on my teams, but I played with the passion and intensity of an Olympian.

One thing I remember clearly from my first day of field hockey try-outs is watching a senior, varsity player pushing the ball across the grass field. This was just part of a warm-up routine. But as she pushed the ball with eyes looking forward, arms holding the stick in perfect position, and legs moving at top speed, it seemed as though the ball were accelerating along a fixed track. Coming from the West Coast, where field hockey is virtually non-existent, I had never witnessed anyone control the ball the way that these players did. My own attempts at ball handling looked clumsy by comparison. If I didn’t keep my eyes glued to the ball, I’d overrun it and have to backtrack to retrieve it. I gave my best effort during the training drills, and the words of praise that one of the juniors gave me during a defensive drill offered me hope. Running to the top of the 16-yard circle from the end line when it was my turn to go out, watching the offense develop and come towards me, going in for the tackle, and then getting back in line when the play was over…. The focus and energy that were required during these drills grounded me in something familiar from my past life. For at least two hours a day, I knew exactly what I was supposed to do, and that was comforting.

At the end of the second day of tryouts, I was walking back to the field house with the varsity goalkeeper. I don’t remember how the subject came up, but I ended up telling her about my experience playing 30 minutes of a game as the goalkeeper for my high school team when the regular goalie, who was a boarding student, took off at halftime to catch a plane home. Next thing I knew, the varsity goalie looked over to the head coach, started waving one arm in the air, and yelled, “Hey, Chris! This one’s played goal before!” I didn’t know it then, but that moment marked the beginning of the most formative experience of my college years.

Memories of my first weeks as the JV goalie return to me as snapshots – many of them comic as I fumbled with my new position. Getting my goalie equipment on and off was a challenge in and of itself, at first. There were so many buckles, and one day my teammate used the opportunity to sneak up behind me and empty a water bottle over my head after practice. She escaped easily as I sat on the ground struggling to free myself from a legguard so I could go after her.

My first real instruction in goalkeeping began the week before our first away game – about three weeks into the season. The varsity goalie was going to have to miss the game because of the law school admissions test. Williams and Trinity were big rivals in field hockey, and our varsity coach’s attempts to reschedule the game had failed. The varsity goalie worked with me and a volunteer from the varsity team in the days leading up to the contest. I remember two important lessons from that week. First, when trying to close the gap between me and an approaching attacker, move in baby steps. Second, and more important, field hockey goalies hold their stick in their right hand. (Having watched more ice hockey than field hockey, I thought that I was supposed to hold the stick in my left hand. I never questioned the deep purple bruises that I had developed from stopping shots with my unpadded right glove instead of the inch-thick left.)

If the walk up the hill on the second day of tryouts marked the beginning, then the Trinity game created the identity that I would develop over my college career. I was giddy with excitement at going on my very first collegiate road trip – and as an athlete, no less. The morning bus ride through the Berkshire mountains at the peak of the fall foliage season was every leaf-peeper’s dream. When we arrived at Trinity, I could not stop grinning as we walked past the expertly manicured fields bordered by brick buildings whose age was given away by the thick carpet of ivy growing up the sides.

The varsity coach had not decided who she was going to put in the goal. Later in my career, she would tell me that she and the assistant coach, who actually warmed us up for that game, decided that I looked more comfortable than the varsity player who had also suited up, so they went with me. During that warm-up, the former First Team All-American assistant coach drove the ball straight into my shin, leaving me momentarily on the ground clenching my teeth and clutching my right leg. How that ball always managed to find the gap between my pads baffled me.

In the final team huddle before the start of the game, the coach told me that I would be starting. I remember thinking, “Oh my God.” Minutes into the start of the game, a questionable call by the referee gave Trinity a corner (similar to a corner kick in soccer), and they got off a quick shot on goal. I did the splits in an attempt to make the save, but the ball was just out of my reach. Fortunately, the senior sweeper was in perfect position to stop the shot on the goal line. As her brother would say after the game, the expression on her face resembled “a squirrel who had just found a nut.”

The score remained tied at 0-0 for most of the game until one of our juniors scored. We had the lead 1-0 and the sweeper ran over, grabbed the bars of my face mask, looked me straight in the eye and said, “Jane, we are not going to lose this game.”

We did not lose that game to Trinity. The score ended 1-0, and the post-game celebration was a blur of cheering and hugging that left me dazed and high on adrenaline and endorphins. In a single athletic contest, I had acquired an instant identity and an instant family.

I finished my inaugural season playing JV games and accompanying the varsity team as their backup goalie. The next season, I beat out the first-year recruit and started for the varsity team, but I felt far from confident. What did I really know about being a varsity goalie? The Trinity game could have been a fluke. Now, it was trial by fire on a daily basis. Luck can play and does play and important role in what happens in sports, but discipline and training are what sports are all about.

As I settled into my new role, I developed a routine. I arrived at the field before any of my teammates did and took a warm-up lap or two. Then I’d stretch. Then I’d start putting my gear on. Right shinguard, left shinguard. Right kicker, left kicker. Right legguard, left legguard. And so on from bottom up until I put on my helmet and gloves. It was very important for me to go through my pre-game ritual. The solitude gave me the opportunity to center my thoughts and focus on the game or practice ahead. It was my job to protect our goal during games. I took that responsibility seriously, and this meant that in practices, it was not only my job to develop my own goaltending skills, but it was also my duty to help my teammates hone their offensive and defensive skills by making it extremely difficult for them to score on me. I forced them to earn every point that they got. I made them better, and they, in turn, made me better. This is the meaning of teamwork.

Between the Trinity game and my final collegiate game, my teams enjoyed an undefeated regular season and three straight appearances in the NCAA Division III tournament. I devoted my heart and soul to my team, and I was rewarded with close friendships with my coach and teammates and recognition for my accomplishments on the field. Although much of what happened was the result of luck as much of effort and I should be thankful, I’m still left with a profound sense of loss.

In my final collegiate game against Lebanon Valley College in the 1996 NCAA quarterfinals, four years of training and preparation came down to a single decision. After regulation, we were tied 1-1, so we went into 7-on-7 sudden death overtime. Only seven players per side were allowed on the field, so the field was more open and the gameplay faster. A Lebanon Valley player managed to get open and take a shot from the right side of the circle. I saw the shot and made the split-second decision to do the splits instead of diving for the ball. My left leg lunged out to meet the ball, but it sailed past the tip of my toes. The sound of the ball striking the metal baseboard of the goalcage signaled the end of my season and career.

a day for sanity

I took a day off work today in order to keep myself from going crazy. Sometimes I get stuck in a rut and have a hard time keeping negative thoughts from consuming me. I thought that a day just for me might help. It did. I escaped the fog and cold and headed to my old neighborhood up in Marin. I started by exchanging a CO2 canister for my aquarium and getting an oil change for my car. Then I headed to Trader Joe's to pick up lunch for a picnic at Pheonix Lake. I sat on a bench by my favorite fishing spot and ate, read, edited an essay, and tried to take a nap. The sun felt warm against my back and I enjoyed the sense of solitude. Encroaching shade and a cool breeze convinced me to leave that spot and walk around the lake. My last stop for the day was a Border's bookstore.

personal essay - version 2 (but probably more like a 1.1)

Sudden death overtime. What a shocking image: sudden death. Both teams play until one scores and terminates the other’s season. For some, it marks the end of a collegiate career. For me, it was the death of a part of me that I’m still trying to find a replacement for. [end of more than just a season. Do I describe final scene here or at end?]

I had never imagined that I’d play varsity sports in college. I had been a valued member of my high school teams, but I knew my limitations. In the early nineties, my high school was the kind of place where a kid with no previous experience in a sport could try out for the JV team and play. With hard work and dedication, one could make up for the lack of summer sports camps and private lessons.

In the ninth grade, I tried my hand at basketball. I fell in love with the sport, but the level of my commitment overshadowed my level of talent. The next winter, after agonizing for weeks, I decided not to play basketball my sophomore year because I was worried about being able to juggle my demanding academic schedule and basketball. I did not want to shortchange either, so I switched to field hockey. Field hockey had a shorter season and it looked interesting.

[Falling in love with the sport.]

In my first days at Williams College, I cried often, but secretly. One afternoon, I retreated to the 4th floor bathroom of my dormitory, sat on the cold, tile floor, and wept alone. I had not expected the effect that moving 3,000 miles away from home would have on my 18-year-old self. An intense sadness hit me as soon as I turned away from my father at the boarding gate at SFO. [I knew somehow that I was at the end of something. Was it “easy” to let go at this point? Why does it seem like it was easier than now?] Of course, I couldn’t let him see me cry, so I held it together until I was safely buckled in my seat. Even then, I tried not to let my emotions show. I knew that I was going through an adjustment period, but understanding with my head did not comfort my heart.

On the East Coast, it turned out that the two sports I had enjoyed the most in high school, volleyball and field hockey, competed during the same season: Fall. [Describe fall in the Berkshires?] After determining that I probably wouldn’t be able to compete with the volleyball recruits, I decided to try out for the field hockey team, which fielded both junior varsity and varsity teams. Volleyball only had varsity. I thought my chances of making a team were better with hockey. I did not care about varsity status. I just wanted to play.

The only thing I remember clearly from my first day out on the field is my sense of awe at the stick skills of the varsity players. Coming from the West Coast, where field hockey is virtually non-existent, I had never witnessed anyone maneuver and manipulate the ball the way that these women did. [Describe Kelly Faucher pushing ball at top speed.] I gave my best effort during the training drills, and the words of praise that one of the juniors offered me gave me hope. The focus and energy that were required during tryouts grounded me in something familiar from my past life. For at least two hours a day, I knew exactly what I was supposed to do, and that was comforting.

At the end of the second day of tryouts, I was walking back to the field house with the varsity goal keeper. I don’t remember how the subject came up, but I ended up telling her about my experience playing 30 minutes of a game as the goalkeeper for my high school team when the regular goalie, who was a boarding student, took off at halftime to catch a plane home. Next thing I knew, the varsity goalie looked over to the head coach, started waving one arm in the air, and yelled, “Hey, Chris! This one’s played goal before!” I didn’t know it then, but that moment marked the beginning of the most formative experience of my college years.

I don’t remember many details from my first weeks as the JV goalie. I do remember the friends that I made.
Fumbling with my new role. Asking for help – sort of. Comical moments – holding stick in wrong hand.
First away game at trinity. Wonder and awe. In that instant, I found the identity that I would assume and cultivate for the following four years.
Relationships and a sense of belonging
Developing a philosophy of goalkeeping
Duty and sacrifice
Lessons learned and what this experience meant to me
Team and sport as a microcosm of life: the benefits and dangers of viewing it this way.
Issues of identity: shaping it, losing it

Mourning the loss of identity. Not letting go gracefully.

Still searching?

the zone

Yesterday, I hit the perfect ratio of coffee to muffin to water and had an ultra-productive day. No jitters, just total concentration. I was in the zone.

the return of calluses

My friends Kim and Denise and I are the founding members of rock zero, and we had our first lesson last week. I am thrilled to be playing in a band and taking music lessons again. Having a teacher makes a big difference. After one lesson, I already feel like I'm moving off the plateau I've been stuck on for the last four years.

personal essay - rough draft

Sudden death overtime. What a shocking image: sudden death. Both teams play until one scores and terminates the other’s season – and for some of us, our collegiate athletic careers.

I had never imagined that I’d play varsity sports in college. I had been a valued member of my high school teams, but I knew my limitations. In the early nineties, my high school was the kind of place where a kid with no previous experience in a sport could try out for the JV team and play. With hard work and dedication, one could make up for the lack of summer sports camps and private lessons.

In my first days at Williams College, I cried often, but secretly. One afternoon, I retreated to the 4th floor bathroom of my dormitory, sat on the cold, tile floor, and bawled my eyes out. I had not expected the effect that moving 3,000 miles away from home would have on my 18-year-old self. An intense sadness hit me as soon as I turned away from my father at the boarding gate at SFO. Of course, I couldn’t let him see me cry, so I held it together until I was safely buckled in my seat. Even then, I tried not to let my emotions show. I knew that I was going through an adjustment period, but understanding with my head did not comfort my heart.

On the East Coast, it turned out that the two sports I had enjoyed the most in high school, volleyball and field hockey, competed during the same season: Fall. After determining that I probably wouldn’t be able to compete with the volleyball recruits, I decided to try out for the field hockey team, which fielded both junior varsity and varsity teams. I did not care about varsity status. I just wanted to play.

The only thing I remember clearly from my first day out on the field is my sense of awe at the stick skills of the varsity players. Coming from the West Coast, where field hockey is virtually non-existent, I had never witnessed anyone maneuver and manipulate the ball the way that these women did. I gave my best effort during the training drills, and the words of praise that one of the juniors offered me gave me hope. The focus and energy that were required during tryouts grounded me in something familiar from my past life. For at least two hours a day, I knew exactly what I was supposed to do, and that was comforting.

At the end of the second day of tryouts, I was walking back to the field house with the varsity goal keeper. I don’t remember how the subject came up, but I ended up telling her about my experience playing 30 minutes of a game as the goalkeeper for my high school team when the regular goalie, who was a boarding student, took off at halftime to catch a plane home. Next thing I know, the varsity goalie looks over to the head coach, starts waving one arm in the air, and yells, “Hey, Chris! This one’s played goal before!” I didn’t know it then, but that moment marked the beginning of the most formative experience of my college years.

----------------------------

First away game at trinity. Wonder and awe.
Relationships and a sense of belonging
Developing a philosophy of goalkeeping
Fear and courage
Duty and sacrifice
Lessons learned and what this experience meant to me
Team and sport as a microcosm of life: the benefits and dangers of viewing it this way.
Issues of identity: shaping it, losing it