δίψυχος

I once majored in Ancient Greek.  I do not remember much these days, but I often think about one particular word, δίψυχος.*  It appears often in ancient literature and it means, literally, "of two souls" or "of two selves."  I think of it as "of two minds."

I am so often "of two minds."  Likely this developed partly as the result of being a middle child -- I could look both ways and see a reflection of myself.  I often sat in between my two closest siblings and I developed excellent peripheral vision;  you need to look from both sides of your head when you sit in the middle and it certainly has stood me in good stead as mama to five!

For years, I could see the benefit of this.  I am a good mediator; I can see both sides of the argument.  I forgive easily because I can so empathize with the other person.  I am generally empathetic, which is why babies love me and school principals - not so much!  It makes me easy to hang out with; I am equally fond of martinis and coffee.  Whatever you are in the mood for will probably bring a smile to me, as well.  Prefer beer?  That's fine with me.  Iced tea?  I can go there! Sweet or un-sweet?  No matter -  I love them both.

So you see the trouble.   For δίψυχος also means wavering and fickle; in fact it points to a kind of faithlessness.  When, for example, I am in a leadership role, sometimes people just want to be led.  They lose faith when I present too many options;  and the internal pressure to commit sometimes catapults me into bossiness.  It's a kind of dissimulation.  And it can be frustrating as heck.

I am easily distracted, I am sometimes indecisive, others doubt me and  I often doubt myself.  On the other hand, I have a knack for soothing, for helping people see the other side, for loving challenging people because I can just see the hurt child beneath.


I wonder how much of my dissimulation comes about because I put myself in situations that are actually too much of a stretch for me?  I know it sounds like I am wimping out but truly, I wonder, isn't there some innate value in realizing how I am made and embracing it?

To reach my full "potential" shall I see this as personality flaw and work to overcome it?  Or is it in fact possible that there is room in our world for the middle child with eyes on both sides of her head?  Perhaps our society needs a little δίψυχος now and then.

But I can't say for sure, because of course, I am of two minds about it! (Wink.)

*Transliteration: dipsuchos

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

Update, a decade later:

I think the biggest change in me is that a couple of years after this was written, I decided to stop sidling sideways toward my purpose, and run straight at it. My entire life, all I've ever wanted "to be" was a teacher. In 2014 in an odd quest to get more "steps" in my day, I followed a friend into Special Education as a paraprofessional and instantly felt "at home."  Within 8 months, I was a certified teacher and began teaching in the fall of 2015. I have never looked back -- or sideways, for that matter. 

I believe that some of my "double-mindedness" had to do with my evasion of my purpose. My dad had strongly discouraged me from teaching when I finished high school. He had a lack of faith -- a big skepticism, actually -- in the educational bureaucracy so I did not pursue it. I have been a "teacher," for sure, but not in the way I truly desired. 

I wake up every day excited to go to work. Tired? Occasionally. Stressed? At times, mostly predictable. Nonetheless, I want to go. I am often working outside of school because nothing else so joyfully and thoroughly occupies my thoughts. My only regret, if I have one, is that because I got a later start, I'll have fewer years to teach. 

Teaching in a Special Ed classroom means I work with a team of paraprofessionals. This has necessitated more leadership and less of the  laissez faire attitude I tend to adopt. When you are required to lead, you lead or decisions take their own course in the vacuum. I have grown as a leader, certainly, and have the scars to prove it. Teaching, at least in the US, means being a part of a large team of women with only a few men. Having worked with mostly men in my professional life, this has been a difficulty for me but has also helped me welcome my feminine side and encouraged me to soften. 

That "middle child" pleaser still dwells within and is usually quite happy to do whatever pleases the majority. This means I play games with my kids still at home when I "should" be doing housework and that my house is currently full of other people's belongings. Bur it's all good and will sort itself in time. Very shortly, they will all be gone, my house will be clean and I will be so grateful to go to school each day to the children. 

This has become a very long post. Thank you for reading it. 

Grandma Huntley

Today my Grandma, Ada Poland Huntley, would have been 105.   She was the wife to Guy Huntley and mother to 9 boys and 1 girl, 4 of them already passed on.  All of them are living or have lived interesting and productive lives.  She loved each and every one of her kids and was widely known as a good cook who could create something delicious from virtually nothing.

I lived over 1000 miles away from her for most of my life, so I did not get to know her well when I was young.  However, when I was 9 or 10 years old, she came to stay with us and left me with one memory so vivid I can still taste it.  She taught me how to bake bread.

I remember she got a little cross with me because I wanted to go play while it was rising.  She set me straight right away.  Instead at her behest, I sat with her at the kitchen table and she taught me how to play solitare.  There is something very wise in teaching a kid to entertain herself.

When that bread came out of the oven, it smelled heavenly.  And although I had been spoiled by my mom all my life with homemade bread, none ever tasted so good as those first loaves I baked by my own hand.  That was some 40 years ago and to this day, I never bake bread without thinking of her.  She did so much more than teach me the art of dough making, kneading and baking.  She invited me to cook, which has been my creative outlet of choice ever since.

Grandma was like so many of the mentors of my life:  She taught me something which was in this case a process, bread making.  But more importantly, she recognized that glimmer -- that spark of true passion -- and she blew on and tended and fanned that spark until it burst into flame.  That is what the best teachers, coaches and mentors do and if you are not blessed to have such a mentor or coach like that in your life right this minute, drop everything until you find one!

 I still, on occasion, bake bread.  Five children and calorie cutbacks have curtailed that a bit.  But every day -- every single day -- I love creating nourishing and delicious food for myself and my family.  It is my favorite part of every day.  Thank you, Grandma.

Note:  This is a duplicate post with my family blog, Bright Love - Living Large in a Big Family