Sylvia's Journal

As the news about our departure for Afghanistan is spreading, more and more people are introduced to us who have some connection or another to this country. Yesterday morning we went for a walk downtown and introduced ourselves to Denise, the manager of the Nantucket chocolate shop downtown. We had learned that her husband is embedded as an historian with the military in afghanistan. Her 6 year old twins cope, each in their own way, with having their dad in that faraway and scary country.

We exchanged names and email addresses and when Axel pulled a business card out of his wallet I noticed the crisp bills of 100 and 500 Afghani  (this is how we are different, mine were put away in the foreign currency drawer, weeks ago). We gave Denise two bills of 100 for her boys and she repaid us with chocolate truffles. Where else in the US could you exchange Afghani for chocolate truffles? We parted with the plan to connect her kids’ school with Afghan kids who can write in English and have internet access. I think I can find some among my new Afghan colleagues.

We also made contact with DJ’s neighbor Robin, who is enjoying a New England summer in her house in Rockport after four and a half years in Afghanistan. She knows tons of people in our new homeland which is not surprising as communication is her field. It seems that most of our recent contacts are communication people: film makers, strategic communication specialists, writers and journalists. Robin, it turns out, has worked in that capacity with several of the organizations and projects Axel has been trying to contact. We made plans to see each other soon and she will introduce us to others of the community in greater Boston who have a connection with Afghanistan.

For the rest of the day we watched the outer tendrils of hurricane Bill come closer and closer while trying to stay productive in the intense heat and humidity; for me that meant sitting right in front of the fan in my office; Axel was better off in his tiny air-conditioned office. Tessa did the only smart thing and sat on the beach or in/on the water, where Chicha accompanied her for a ride on the surf plank. She finally had a day off.

Somehow, all the experiences, thoughts, worries and anticipations of this and the next weeks wrapped themselves together during the night into a dream or series of dreams. ‘Adverse’ was the word that was on my lips when I woke up and it described well the conditions of people, cars, environment, bodies that were featured; yet everyone was smiling and coping as best as they could, and most importantly, taking great care that I was comfortable and safe. I woke up in a coughing fit just when I was going to call for help to remove, in my dream state, an insect that looked like a flying tick, bulging with my blood but with delicate moth like wings. It had embedded itself firmly in my arm. In Dutch the word for arm is the same as for poor (penniless); adverse indeed.

I went through whole sagas during my dreams last night – full stories with beginnings and endings, good people, bad people, much movement, laughter, anxiety and tropical fruit. That’s all I remember, and the fact that I was in places far from home. You’d think there was travel afoot. There is. We are off to Charleston tomorrow.

But yesterday was still a workday. My project for the day travelled to me. It was one of Alison’s teams that needed some help in its formative years to create an atmosphere in which everyone could contribute their best. It was called a retreat but turned out to be more of an advance.

I am not sure they had not realized that the teambuilding started the moment they got into a taxi to North Station. Travelling together is a great ice breaker if there is any ice to break. You discover things about each other that office life does not reveal or that has been obscured by irritation and mutual frustration.

Travelling together also presents a very clear and unambiguous common task: how to get from A to B. You have to do the same things that are required in the office, but seem less urgent there, such a being in constant communication. Moreover, the landscape changes all the time so that even old-timers and more senior folks find themselves in new situations that require some level of humility. And finally, not acting or complacency can make you miss your train and thus not end up where you wanted to get to.

I had a feeling that the tiny, three-member team had already bonded more on this trip north than during their last four month together by the time I greeted them on the platform of North Beverly.

We worked loosely through an agenda I had prepared after individual interviews. It included learning about styles, getting focused, digging below symptoms, addressing sticky issues and making commitments to each other.

Joyful collaborative effort was the magic word. When I dropped them off at the train they were off on two journeys at the same time: back to Cambridge and onwards to their newly articulated vision about superb work, great impact and communication at full throttle. I knew that the final part of the team building retreat/advance would take place during the train ride back. Alison, over to you!

All through the day I wore multiple hats as I picked them up at the train station, gave them a tour of our ‘estate,’ made them lunch, coffee, tea, cut up fruit, and finally opened the bottle of wine so we could toast to a bright future. I dropped them off at the train station after office hours, when the weekend had started. I was caterer, taxi driver designer, facilitator, psychologist, leadership developer, waitress and tour guide. I loved it!

We ended the day at Axel’s cousins Nancy and Ed with a fabulous dinner in great company. We played cards until I was the only one left in the game. We ended the evening watching the hysterically funny John Pinette talk about food and dieting (I say, nay, nay). Snippets from his show can be seen in various YouTube videos. Axel had tears streaming down his face – I haven’t laughed that much and that loud with others in ages.

Now back to earth – it’s a cold and grey day. I am drinking tea while waiting for the phone to ring. It will be a call from Kabul. On the phone will be two members of the project’s senior management team. One of them is an Afghan doctor who is the boss. He holds our immediate future in his hands.

I woke up from a very vivid dream about meeting up with friends in a Buddhist temple somewhere in Pakistan or Afghanistan. The dream was full of images that are associated with ordinary life as well as adventurers.

For ordinary life there was, among other things, a kitchen overrun by dirty dishes and ants. The ants marched in full platoon formation as the Romans do in comic books. They were carrying loot with them.

The adventurers consisted of hippies, pilgrims and a family on World War I motor bikes, mom and dad on their own, with baby strapped to the back and little Johnny, hardly 6 on his own bike that was way too large. He managed with utmost concentration while his proud parents smiled at their clever progeny.

The friends who I found in the temple were my colleague Chantelle who lives in Pakistan for real and with whom I am about to get in the phone – and Tina, the wife of MSH’s president, who has lived in Pakistan at some point in time for real as well. Both wore scarves covering their head. Needless to say, Afghanistan is on my mind a lot these days.

I drove in to work yesterday listening to Obama addressing the world from Cairo. I heard his dream, which is one I share. Dreams are conveyed by words and thus words are important. People can say what they want about action. I prefer a thousand times words spoken from the heart before action over words spoken after action. In the latter case such words are almost always about regret or, if there is no heart involved, to justify the action.

With Obama’s words in my head and heart I had my second interview for the position in Afghanistan with a colleague in Nicaragua who is one of 5 people I am to speak with. The remaining three are all based in Kabul and have all known about my intention to apply for the job. I have worked closely with each of them during my last visit there. They know what I can do. But there is a corporate recruitment process that has to be adhered to and it is possible that they are interested in other candidates. Scheduling the remaining interviews is becoming increasingly difficult. As a result, I don’t think our planned trip to Kabul on June 15 will happen.

Back in the US I have a vivid dream life again. They are full of plane and hospital themes. In one dream I am in a Baptist church hall, full of tables with strangers around them. Axel is with me. My (ex)sister in law Judith who was buried a week ago sat at another table. We explain that we are here to say thanks and celebrate our survival after the plane crash. People gape at us as if we are aliens, their mouths open, some smile. Judith was in the crash too and had survived. Of course in real life this did not happen: she was not in the crash and she did not survive.

In another dream I am landing in a plane piloted by a former colleague who I don’t entirely trust – it was a hard landing after a moment of suspense. In the same or another dream I am in a hospital with my colleague Kathleen; our two beds get moved in unison from one room to another until one day I can walk and we are separated since I don’t have (need?) a bed anymore. I limp to the washrooms which took much effort and time. When I get there I realize I have forgotten my towel. I do not want to go all the way back but also do not dare to ask the stern looking nurse for another towel, knowing I will be lectured. I am not sure how I solved the dilemma; I suppose by waking up since I cannot remember the next scenes.

It was a dreary rainy spring day yesterday – good for flowers and crops but not for human beings. I decided not to bike to Friends Meetings but instead had Axel chauffeur me. One of the messages was about John Woolman’s ‘right motion.’ What he means by these words is action that is motivated by love for the other rather than self-interest. ‘It is not about the result but about the intentions behind the action,’ spoke Nancy, ‘we can never guarantee the result.’

And then it dawned on me that with all the results language that development projects and organizations have adopted we are missing something very essential and that is whether the motions (actions) that people undertake to get the results are ‘right’ (out of love for the other) or ‘wrong’ (out of love for self). In our leadership work we look for Leader Shifts, there are five of them and the last one is ‘from self absorption’ to ‘generosity and concern for the common good.’ My colleagues want me to change the wording, they don’t like self-absorption but so far I have not found a better word. And now it seems John Woolman has deepened my understanding of what this shift is all about. It is indeed a transformation, one that he documents with great eloquence in his journals.

Back home I hunted for my copy of his journal but could not find it. Instead I found it on the internet, downloaded it to computer, and then sent it as an attachment to the Kindle Department at Amazon. Within a minute it was wirelessly downloaded onto my Kindle all this for a total cost of 10 cents. Imagine that! Woolman would have thought this an act of divine intervention; even tech-savvy Axel was impressed.

I had felt called during Meeting to ‘acts of creativity’ (any kind) but ended up mending clothes and cooking. I suppose the latter was an act of creativity. Moreover, because it consisted of the preparation of two lasagnas for the Baptist Church dinner today for some of Beverly’s down and out, it was ‘right motion’ that also produced a good result. I will know this for sure tomorrow when I serve the lasagnes and see them wolved down.

Outside the sun is up and the snow gone but it is very cold; a spring teaser. I am staying inside, in my pajamas, maybe even the whole day as there is no reason to leave the house. All my work can be done via a computer screen and a phone line.

I woke up from a dream that included a plane (the Iron Lady) that toppled over on the ground. “A silly little ground crash,” I explained to the woman sitting next to me with a petrified expression on her face. “It’s nothing,” I said and then in my mind imagined what the crash would have been like if we had been in the air. The tour leader of our outing in the plane came to our rescue and gave us necklaces made from African beads. I declined as I had most of them already. Although threads of the dream stayed with me for a while they are now mostly gone, because I already started to work and work, I learned, interferes with dreams (even though we encourage people to work towards their dreams).

Waking up was accompanied by a piercing headache and nausea, a lousy combination. I am usually quick to wake up and get myself into fourth gear but not this morning. Maybe it was the week old cabbage soup I had for dinner last night, standing at the kitchen counter while reading Heifer International’s beautiful magazine. On impulse I went to their website to see if they have a job for me in the Boston area, I like what they do and how they do it and suspects it has more impact than what I do. But they only have one job in Arkansas for an operations director at a salary that I could not afford (maybe I could in Arkansas). In the process I discovered they organize trips to the places they have made an impact. What a great idea. This could be a source of revenue for MSH, we have plenty of places to show to rich people who want to be more relevant to the work of the world.

I have been on the phone already for hours trying to figure out whether I shall be going to Ghana next Saturday and it looks like I will not, since I can’t reach the people I need to talk with to start organizing stuff. Not feeling all so great, cancelling a trip seems like a good idea.

I had my hair cut yesterday and in the process learned the gory details of a marriage disintegrating with years of resentment spilling out like angry flames from a house on fire, devouring every last bit of self respect and confidence that my hairdresser had left in her. It is the opposite of the 70-year old predator female from yesterday’s entry. But once again the law appears to side with the predator, the unfaithful and greedy husband this time. And then I read a story about the bailout and the banks and realize that everything converges on this one phenomenon: the strong, the rich, the ones in power always win (male or female), no matter what. It could make me a cynic, especially if it comes to me in such large doses from so many different directions.

Yesterday’s near spring weather, the blue skies and the balmy temperatures have gone and we are back to winter. All the exposed mud is covered again by snow, which is prettier but it does feel like a setback.

My huge blue, purple, bright red and violet bruise on my arm remains. I decided not to bother my local doctor on weekend duty; instead I solicited two opinions from my brother and his wife, by phone, and combine it with a catching up phone call that was due anyways. Both said something that is a variation on a familiar family mantra. My mother, also a doctor, best expressed the mantra by saying “It will be over before you turn into a boy.” It is a nice way of saying that you are making too much of something.

Despite the injury I had much exercise yesterday, the kind that does not involve the biceps: biking and walking. The biking was to Quaker Meeting where I practiced silencing my busy mind (and was only partially successful) and was reminded about Lent which requires, in the orthodox traditions, giving up something of value. Nancy spoke about this and suggested that for many of us the thing to give up may well be ‘being too busy and trying to do it all.’ I could relate to that and took it as an exhortation and ended up not doing as much on Sunday as I had originally intended.

I did bake a cake with about one pound of butter in it which I will not disclose any further. Coming back from Quaker Meeting I felt too wholesome to make a cake from a box. In hindsight I should have because the cake I made may not be as fluffy as the cake boxes advertise. But the frosting was to die for (it would, with more than half a pound of butter). Tessa had the leftover frosting on a slice of bread; something that Dutch kids have for breakfast when not having jimmies on their bread (or sometimes both). The birthday cake was for Nuha who turned 27 but we got our signals crossed and so we did not see her and offer her the cake as we had hoped. This is postponed until today when she will come up, and we will treat her to a belated birthday dinner.

After the baking Axel and I went for a very long walk at the Ipswich Audubon reserve which brought back thousands of memories to our time as young parents. The park was a regular weekend outing when Sita was very little and later, when Tessa had joined us. They went to vacation nature school, we learned about sugaring, animal tracks, mushrooms, fed the chickadees from our hands and made up stories about who lived in the rockery. All that came flooding back as we sat watching the activities of beavers by a quiet, semi-frozen pond. It made us feel a little old but the memories were sweet. We also resolved to go kayaking through the reserve as soon as we are physically fit enough for this, later this year.

I wonder whether the large bruise is responsible for my tiredness. I took a long bath yesterday and went to bed before 9PM, to wke up from a dream in which I had a cat sitting on my head, at about 7 AM. That’s when I discovered everything was white again, except my upper arm.