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The Opposite of Life is Indifference-So What Are You Doing About It?

Posted on April 3, 2013 by Jennifer Wolfe

Apathy or indifference? (Photo credit: Toban B.)

The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.

The opposite of art is not ugliness, it’s indifference.

The opposite of faith is not heresy, it’s indifference.

And the opposite of life is not death, it’s indifference.

– Elie Wiesel

Be honest, now. Wouldn’t your life more meaningful if you just stood up for…

your self?

your child?

your job?

your beliefs?

for something?

for someone?

So why don’t you? Why are you indifferent?

Apathetic?

Scared?

Worried about what someone might think of you?

What if that’s what Elie Weisel thought?

Or Helen Bamber,

Founder of the Medical Foundation for the Care of Victims of Torture, Amnesty International, the Helen Bamber Foundation and campaigner for human rights?

Or Camila Batmanghelidjh,

The founder of Kid’s Company, which offers practical, emotional and educational support to vulnerable inner-city children?

Or Margaret Chan,

Director of the World Health Organisation, battling international viruses, and championing improvements in all of our most pressing diseases?

Or Shirin Ebadi,

Iran‘s first female judge, founder of the Human Rights Defenders Centre and the first Muslim woman to be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize?

OrLubna Hussein,

Sudanese writer and women’s rights campaigner, who asked to go to trial after being arrested for wearing trousers?

Never heard of them, you say?

Well, the world had never heard of them, either,

until

they fought for

love

peace

faith

and made a

DIFFERENCE.

Now it’s our turn.

Love and… (Photo credit: dutchamsterdam.nl)

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Finding My Muse: Searching In Tahoe Snow and Pine Trees

Posted on April 1, 2013 by Jennifer Wolfe

Along the way via mamawolfeto2

I set out to find my muse today. Long dormant under piles of paper, loads of laundry and unwashed dishes, her elusiveness is starting to wear me down. Like the moment when you realize your body doesn’t react they way it did twenty years ago, panic begins to take over. Perhaps she’ll never return? Is there something I’m doing wrong? Maybe it’s just not meant to be this way.

Certain she won’t be found within the four pine paneled walls of the cabin, I zip up my vest, grab a camera and head out. The perimeter of the lake is blessedly free of snow, and as I walk I feel the rhythm return. The roads are quiet, the birds have returned, and the sun hovers before dusk. I can breathe deeply, matching the pace of my boots along the pine cone and broken branch strewn path with the breath in my lungs.

Snow art via mamawolfeto2

To my right I see the sun glistening through the pines, casting sparkles on what remains of the winter snowpack. It’s fading fast around here; trickles of run-off moisten the path beneath my feet. It’s funny how nature creates such unintended art. I’m fascinated by the randomness of it all; some places deep with ice, others down to the bare earth that will remain until next fall.

Something tells me not to go in my usual direction; she’s not there. I turn left instead of right, past the sign declaring to all that this is not a through road. There is no outlet. Stubborn, I continue.

Love via mamawolfeto2

Someone has created a bench out of cast off logs. Sitting on the edge of the meadow, I imagine returning next month. I suppose I’ll find mule ears just beginning to poke through the muddy dirt. I notice nature’s destruction next to me-it looks like love in my eyes.

The wind whistles through the pines, calling to me. I stop, intent on hearing her words. What does she want me to know? Stop teasing me…I’ve been waiting too long for this.

Pine tree (Photo credit: GaggieITMI)

Making my way to the end of the road, forced to turn around and retreat, I heard it. The whispers again. This has got to be it. The perfect place. Stopping to listen, wait, and absorb her message. In the trees, on the earth, all appears as it should be. Tangled branches push through, waiting for the moment to leaf out. Dusty brown leftovers of something long ago bloomed bend in awkward posture from the weight of the snow. Lime green spikes of grass poke up, the afternoon sun bringing them back to life.

Crossing the road towards home, I continue to see signs of life amongst the schizophrenic ground. Strength shows in the patches of sunlight. It’s there somewhere. I see it. I hear it.

I know it.

Jennifer Wolfe

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Marco Sullivan Rocks

Posted on March 29, 2013 by Jennifer Wolfe

Volkl skis

I spend a lot of time with ski racers. Growing up, I loved to ski for fun, but when I fell in love and married a ski racer, I had no idea what was in store for me.

It wasn’t so bad in college-he raced, and I did my thing. It didn’t much effect my life.

And then we had kids. And he taught them how to ski.

And, believe it or not, they loved it. Especially when they could ski fast and straight down the hill. Starting them on race teams was a no-brainer.

Over the years I’ve gotten used to being a race parent-the early mornings, the gear, the soggy socks, the constant supply of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and hand warmers for jacket pockets, and the equipment. The older they get, the more skis they seem to need. It’s kind of out of control.

But one thing I didn’t expect was how amazing the people would be. Ski racers are tough-and so are their parents. They don’t coplain, they work hard, and they are seriously goal driven.

And they know how to win, and how to lose.

I’ve also been amazed at how the pro racers really give back to their communities, or the sport in general. Each year my kids have had the chance to meet U.S. Ski team and Olympic ski racers, and they couldn’t be more kind, friendly and down to earth.

Marco Sullivan and mamawolfe

One of my favorites (besides Mikaela Shiffrin, who I wrote about earlier this week) is Marco Sullivan. Every year Marco comes back to his home mountain, Squaw Valley, to hang out and support racing programs. He started out just the same way my kids have-training in Tahoe, working hard, and loving the sport. He worked his way onto the U.S. Ski Team, where he’s been for the last 13 years. He competed in the Olympics in 2002 and 2010. He’s a speed skier, which means he likes to go fast and straight down the hill.

Maybe that’s why I like him so much.

Actually, I think the main reason I think Marco rocks is that he’s just such a nice, friendly guy. When the crowds were swarming Mikaela Shiffin, Marco was hanging at the finish line watching his girlfriend, Anna Goodman, who ended up winning the race. Like Mikaela, he took the time to talk to my son and me, and made me happy to think that my son looks to him as a role model.

To support Marco as he works towards his third Olympics, you can become an official Marco Sullivan fan (like me) and get his cute “Marco Rocks” hat by clicking here.

After all, who wouldn’t want to see a nice guy keep working towards his dream?

Jennifer Wolfe

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Feeling Depleted

Posted on March 27, 2013 by Jennifer Wolfe

I’m feeling depleted. As much as the rich brown earth of my backyard garden is bursting with new green growth on the rose bushes, brilliant red and yellow tulips, and creamy white fragrant freesias, my mind and my heart are drained. Dwindling. In need of refueling.

Freesia ×hybrida Freesias Photo by Jean Tosti ...

Freesia Photo by Jean Tosti License GFDL

The last several months have depleted me, left me questioning – often those big sticklers, like, Am I really doing the job I’m meant to do, and Is this right and fair and just, and what can I do about it?

I definitely have moments of extreme despair as I watch things that I love dissolve in front of me. I’ve watched injustices before my eyes, children confused at the choices other adults have made, and I must remain painfully silent.

I don’t like to be silent. I grew out of that years ago.

As I stuff the reasons back inside, the depletion festers and stirs and sometimes erupts in rage, fear and indignation. It feels unsettled. Unfair. Sad.

My mind spins it around and around until I’m dizzy with the thought of it all. Logic, rationales and what seems to me to be ‘right’ is losing to…what is wrong. Illogical. Irrational.

My heart-it cracks. It oozes with the pain of relationships built purposefully over time, suddenly tossed into the turbulence of what someone else thinks should happen. It blends into a muddle of someone else’s perspective, someone else’s control.

The silence depletes me.

june (Photo credit: the past tends to disappear)

I tell myself that it really will be ok. That this is temporary, and in June I will breathe again. I can tell the real truth about what pushes me deeper and deeper into introspection and despair. I tell myself to listen, to watch, and to look for openings for light to shine through. I know now to look for change, for help, for a guide to lead me out of this moment and into a new space.

I tell myself to be patient, and that surely truth will show itself.

But the silence. It slows my breathing. I clutch the pillow to my chest, exhale, stretch, and really feel it. I feel it engulf me, slow me down, and surprisingly, give me a moment of hope.

My hope grows in the sunshine, in the vibrant pinks of the primrose, still fighting to share their fading beauty. It grows in the dusky red pansies planted in stone pots, their faces following the sun. And the iris, strong, tall and majestic, who remind me that beauty comes from deep within, despite the conditions.

In the silence I hear the doves calling to their partner, the dog barking in the distance, and the call from my son announcing he’s home. At least one of my questions has been answered.

Jennifer Wolfe

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Life Lessons from Mikaela Shiffrin: What a Real Winner Looks Like

Posted on March 25, 2013 by Jennifer Wolfe

Meeting Mikaela Shiffrin, Squaw Valley, U.S. Nationals

See that boy in the red sweatshirt? That’s my son. And the girl handing him the paper? That’s Mikaela Shiffrin, the World Cup champion slalom ski racer. She’s smiling, but she just lost a ski race. My son waited and watched her with careful concentration as she made her way down the ski course. She’s not hard to miss, really. We just had to follow the little girls, tv cameras and reporters that trailed her every move.

She was full of grace, really – on and off the slalom course. This year, 18-year-old Mikaela Shiffrin won the World Cup in slalom. That’s a huge accomplishment for anyone, let alone a teenager. She’s only five years older than my son.

As soon as she crossed the finish at the U.S. National Championship races at Squaw Valley last weekend, she skied into the open arms of her fans, mostly young kids. The budding races were eager to meet her, pose for a quick photo or have her autograph something-anything, really. Helmets, speed suits, arms, sweatshirts and scraps of paper were quickly scribbled on, and then Mikaela flashed a huge smile for the best moment any young racer could hope for. She’s quite cool for 18. Barely bigger than they are, she’s small for a female ski racer-but mighty.

Ski racing is a sport against the clock. Hundredths of seconds can separate the winners from the losers. The sharper the ski edges, the wax on the skis, the split second decisions as the racers run down the course can change a first place run to last place. Intense pressure, to be sure. Mental and physical toughness are essential. Hours and hours of training result in one sixty-second run. And one guarantee: everyone falls. Including Mikaela.

In first place after the first run, she was poised to win. But that didn’t happen. In front of a crowd of thousands, she straddled a gate instead of skiing around it, and her race was over.

C and Mikaela Shiffrin

And still, she smiled. She skied into the finish area to once again sign autographs and pose with her fans. All the racers knew how she felt, the disappointment of going from first to last in one split second. All the race moms wanted to give her a hug.

And still, she smiled. TV cameras waved in her face, and she smiled.

“I think it’s most important that I just try to connect with the younger kids here. Most of them say they watch the World Cup races so I think they’ve seen the skiing and it’s probably cool to see it live. But I think the most important thing is that I get to have some time face-to-face with them and show them I’m not actually that different and that I’m a goofball. We can have conversations and they can get to this point,” she said.

She’s right. The fans didn’t care that she didn’t finish. This crowd of kids-including my son-know that she’s a real racer. She’s just like them. She’s not perfect. She falls, gets up, and does it again. Over and over. She knows there’s another race, another victory, and likely another defeat, too.

He’s still watching her, carefully. It doesn’t matter that the scoreboard shows her in last place. We can all clearly see what a winner looks like.