Je peux le faire

Je peux le faire. (A little pronunciation guide: zhuh [zh is pronounced as the 'ge' in Peugeot] puh luh fair)

This is my new motto, mantra and way of thinking. A week ago yesterday I took an exam to be placed in a high-level French course with the goal of total preparation for the DELF B2 exam and diploma. (The DELF stands for Diplôme de l'Etudes en Langue Français - essentially a diploma of French proficiency and will look really good on my CV - that is if I pass the exam). But I'm getting ahead of myself. So, a week ago yesterday I took this test, a placement test which I ended up failing miserably, beyond a doubt. A score of 35/90 just doesn't cut it. I was depressed to say the least, but I went out to my usual bar afterwards to try and forget it, and a good friend came and met up with me, we talked, caught up on life, summer, etc. and I went home, trying not to think about it.

Then, a week ago today I received a call from the secretary of the school, asking about my enrollment. After I told her that the B2 course was really the only time I could manage a class she said she'd be speaking with the professor and call me back. About 20 minutes later I received a call from the secretary again and she let me know that the teacher, despite my horrible score would let me try out the class (free of charge) on the first night.

So Monday night I went. And to my great surprise and joy, halfway through the class the teacher said: "stay here, you can do it. With a lot of work and effort, you'll be fine to test in June." It was the greatest sigh of relief. And honor and love and excitement.

So that's where my new mantra comes in. Je peux le faire. It means "I can do it" and it's really true. Without this reinforcement of self I know things are harder. And the fact its in French makes me sound so much cooler.

After I started using this phrase I noticed others beginning to use/adapt it as well. It really works. There is something incredible about positive mental vibes. As humans we NEED to stay positive. I know I do. My life can be STRESSFUL, it can be cRaZy, it can be joyous and it can be mundane. But it's all LIFE. And I can do it.

My boys have been (as I have decided to dub them) circus monkeys as of late. (Or to be French about it: les singes du cirque). As I just exasperated and said to my mother (who I owe SO much to, for not loosing her mind dealing with four children, especially 3 boys and let's face it, not the easiest girl) they've been driving me NUTS. But my mantra rings through. Je peux le faire. I can do it. I can do this. Whatever it is, whatever needs to happen, I can do it. Life is too short to give in. But sometimes, oh my gawd it's tough. Several of my au pair friends, and friends who are parents in their own right know the feeling. As a dear au pair friend here said just this evening, "no wonder I eat so much chocolate here, sometimes I just have this feeling that after that I need chocolate." My response was "usually chocolate AND a beer."

It's important to take a break. To get away. I have needed that all week and tomorrow night will finally get it. I now understand more than ever why my parents went out to dinner on occasion, why they hired babysitters, why sometimes the lock on their door was switched. It's important to get away.

I know this posting is a little rambling, but you should know by now that it seems that's how I work. Just remember, and feel free to use it yourself. "Je peux le faire." I CAN DO IT. (And when saying to others it becomes "tu peux le faire" : YOU CAN DO IT). I think someday I'll try to write a bilingual children's book, or perhaps an adult's picture book and include that phrase. The Little Engine That Could always stuck with me, but well I'm NOT a little train engine. I'm a person and I need a personal mantra. I CAN do it, not "I Think I Can."

And I think we can all agree on that.

I'm going to bed now, despite the early hour (before 10pm can you believe it!) But I appreciate your notes, input and ideas. And let me know how you've used the mantra in your life.

Saying goodbye to Amsterdam

This was the last entry I made while in Amsterdam. 4/4 Enjoy... Oh! And photos from my trip can now be found here

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21 August 2010 6:05pm

I just finished a book that made me feel like perhaps, someday I could be a writer. The author, Anne Lamott was and is much of what I want to be as an author. Humorous and poignant. Honest and cheeky. Straightforward but not harsh or brutal. Her subject matter, in this case her own story of finding faith was complete and beautifully written. New, yet refreshing. Composed, yet sporadic. In short, something I can aspire to. I am at this point where I am not sure my writing is good enough, let alone my story to be on the same level as she is. Or Anne Frank for that matter. I'm certainly no Dan Patterson or Emily Dickenson. I'm not even sure I could write simple articles for the dying age of print. I can tell stories, but often they are meandering to say the least. I have hopes of making a name for myself somehow, someday but what that will be seems to be far out of my hands. Maybe someday I'll find an answer, but not knowing draws me closer until I'll either succeed or fail.

I just spent a moment re-reading excepts of things people wrote me in this journal (the one that was present at my going away party). I am so incredibly blessed by those around me, who know me and know where I'm coming from. And are excited to hear where I'm going (those of you reading this are included in that). Faith is a tricky thing. It is very personal to me. I often reflect on other peoples' faith-ness and either I get a pinch of jealousy or I feel sorry that they haven't realized where real faith comes from. It certainly doesn't come wrapped on a shelf. It rarely comes in book format. It cannot be successfully duplicated, copied or mimicked (although many try) and it has to come to you (and this might just be personal speculation) when you least expect it. Age doesn't always make it easier either. I often think that children have more of a spiritual self and acknowledgment of faith than adolescents and adults. They trust without knowing the devil or adulthood looming over their shoulder. I am somewhere in between it seems. Not all crushed down by adulthood, but no longer possessing the innocence of childhood. This is something a therapist later in my life will have a field-day with, because of the lack for so many years to act my age. (Added side note, just last weekend someone thought I was at least 26... which goes to show you...) My ability to be so mature and so young at the same time. Not innocent or ignorant, just young. This is being simultaneous to times when I sit, laugh, sip (or slurp) good wine and share my perspective of politics, society, history and relationships with much older, more mature and wiser people.

It is very hard for me to embrace, this duality of life I have. I don't remember my adolescence. Ok, that's a lie. I remember the ages of 13-18 as one giant blur, followed by 2.5 years of slightly more memorable moments. But remember when and where specific events happened is much more difficult for me. Remembering the order of events is trying and exhausting. Sometimes I do remember approximately how old I was when something happened and then, sometimes a wave of shame or guilt flies over me: "I was only 14?!?" I seem to say to myself. Other times it is more of "Oh my... well I was only 14" and then console myself over the matter based on my status as a "child." It is a constant inner battle over which situation is better, acting my age or acting the age I felt, or simply acting. At some point, and I believe this really only just happened (maybe 9 or so months ago) I grew up. I suddenly was the age I often thought I should be, or perhaps I was happy to be the age I am. Probably a little of both. I finally felt accepted in all of my social interations, be it with the toddlers I worked with, my friends, roommates, brother and their colleges/friends to my parents and their friends.

I have come to realize though, that I am at home being a floater. I enjoy being able to move around from group to group, filling my spiritual needs from one to the other. I never liked to fit in like everyone else, but I do like to feel as though if I chose to stay, indefinitely in one group, I could and would be welcomed for whom I am. My train is leaving soon and I must go back to my hostel and gather my belongings. So at this moment, this rambling is over. But the good news is, Amsterdam ROCKED and I think I learned a little more about myself.

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These last 4 entries are from my journal while in Amsterdam. From this point on, I hope to write more current and perhaps more reflective ideas and thoughts. To all my readers, THANK YOU. You are why I feel I can share things, that I can be heard, and maybe, perhaps, someday I can share with the rest of the world.

Keep the faith, wherever it is, wherever it came from and whatever it makes you feel.

My love,

Mattie

Temple Bar Irish Pub - Amsterdam

This is entry 3 of 4 from Amsterdam, as with the last two, little has been changed in the posting of this. I wrote this entry while sitting at an Irish Pub near my hostel in Amsterdam.

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20 August 2010 'Evening'

I've been here for a while now, enjoying a rum & coke and enjoying the busy evening. The opposite of dining alone, being at bar alone gives you more one-on-one time with the bartender. Not shoved into the corner, but rather right in the middle of all the action. If you're lucky, as I currently am, you have the best view in the house: you can see the door, street, windows, tables and bar. As sad as it is to sit alone in a pub it isn't all bad. I quite enjoy the solitude of the moment, and the overly nice bartender always seems ready to send a smile to my lonely side of the bar. The time in Amsterdam has really flown by quickly, and I am rather proud that I was not in a coffee shop for the majority of this trip. And alcohol has been limited as well (although at this moment, I seem to be making up for that).

I've now switched locations now, however. Outside the bar, facing a canal having a cigarette and soaking in the clear summer evening. I have bicycles behind me, along with a million tourists and in front of me, 19th century (new by Amsterdam standards) and the canal. I'm watching busy people walking along the other side of the canal walking towards New Market, which is currently housing an orange and yellow circus tent, along with the 17th century (perhaps older) "weigh house." An interesting juxtaposition. I'm only a block or two from my hostel as well, so I think I will make it an early night. I'm trying to decide what to do with my last day in Amsterdam. I'll also have a few hours of my iAMsterdam pass to try and use. I think I've already gotten my money's worth out of it though: Van Gogh Museum, The Historical Art Museum (Rijks Museum), Our Lord in the Attic Museum, and the Amsterdam historical society. Not to mention the canal cruise and the public transit. But I am my father's daughter and I have to get everything I can out of the card. Let's face it, I'm a bit frugal. Except when it comes to food, and drinks. I like good food and drinks, so I'll go inexpensive, but not cheap. I do enjoy getting a good deal on food, but I also like good food. So sue me.

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This entry is a little... spotty. It was the end of the day and I was running low on energy and inspiration. But it has a little whimsy and a little bit of myself.

The final entry from Amsterdam will be coming shortly. For now I am off to Germany this weekend with my host mother's mother, Doris. I'll be bringing my journal and hope to have some more insights/ramblings for you in the coming week. Photos to my Amsterdam trip will also be posted soon, and I will include a link to the album here.

Best to all my readers,

Mattie

Thoughts on Dining Alone - From Amsterdam

The following post was written while in Amsterdam. It has not been changed much, except to fix some obvious spelling and grammar issues, otherwise it is as I wrote it on 20th August 2010 at "Dinnertime"

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I can't decide which is more embarrassing to do while dining alone in a big city: is it worse to read or journal? I couldn't decide so I pulled both out from my backpack. Let's start off by saying they don't make it easy on you (they = the restauranteurs, you = the single diner). More often than not you're pushed to the back of the floor. And then, to avoid putting your back to everyone else in the restaurant and face the kitchen (or even worse, a wall) you must sit and essentially watch everyone else eat (everyone else being in groups of 2 or more). Either way you, at the same time boarder on a live theater act, in which, at least once, everyone in the room realizes you are alone and then briefly stares as if expressing "sadness/empathy" or "total confusion."

Personally, I prefer the former ("sadness/empathy") much more because it means that that person, too has been there, alone and still eating.

It's the confused look which offends me. Because its those people who just can't believe it. Can't believe a person, a woman, sitting alone at a sit-down restaurant, pen & paper in her hand, sipping her diet coke and always making up an excuse to add more cheese to her pasta (for example: I can't see the cheese anymore, therefore there isn't enough!)

And whilst all this is happening you simply fade into your own world, where your personality (or personalities) can be out and open. Your writing just flows, your humor the only humor, your world what is real and for a brief moment, you are the center of attention. Pity or otherwise.

Yes, this all did spur from a reflection on sitting alone at the back of the restaurant, but there is much truth in these ramblings. You know, while everyone seems to have their eyes on me from time to time, it seems that I, also, spend a lot of time staring back. I analyze the crowd, all couples and groups of friends, about 15-20 or so in all. That might also include the floor staff who sort of blend in. I've spent a rather fascinating day, seeing the Anne Frank Haus and then the Amsterdam Historical Museum, which was massive and full of some amazing works and history but was terribly unorganized (along with its audioguide) and while I respect their decision to leave it out, there was actually NO signage making the "suggested path" visible or navigate-able. The art was amazing though, that pleased me. And I suppose made up for it.

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At some point I am sure I will elaborate this topic, since it is one I have come to know quite well. Perhaps I can write a series of articles or something about the experiences of eating alone, followed by tips on how to succeed.

Anyway, this is number 2 of 4 entries I wrote in Amsterdam. The third & fourth will follow soon.

My best to all my readers, feel free to comment or reflect.

Love,

Mattie

Anne Frank Haus

The following post was written on 20 August 2010 around 12:15pm in the café of the Anne Frank Haus in Amsterdam, Holland. There has been some editing for clarification and spelling, but mostly this is verbatim as I wrote it that afternoon.

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I am at this moment sober and full of emotion. As an inspiring writer, watching, listening and reading snippets of Anne's life is truly heart-wrenching and warming at the same time. I remember reading her diary in school but I had not remembered how moving it had been. Perhaps it is because I was younger, or perhaps it have something to do with the fact that since reading it, I have become somewhat more expressive in my own writing so that now, it actually means something. There is a lightness here, a vision that despite the horrid circumstances, still ended up satisfying a need of the human condition. Anne wanted to share her story, she was thoughtful with every syllable, every pen stroke.

Sometimes I wonder if it was in some way my own doing that my life seemed to take a wrong turn somewhere around my 13th birthday. Then I realize, Anne was 13 too. Why does that age, that number have so much influence in my life and in the lives of others? Is it simply my mind over-working things? Or does it have some further significance?

Anne Frank was a girl. I am not yet a woman (or at least, not 100%) but I am certainly no longer a child. She knew what she wanted, and tried to follow through, despite the tremendous hardships she encountered along the way. There is no way to compare her sacrifice to my misadventures, but I feel a deep connection to this girl. As if, we could have been friends, companions. I am fairly certain that since 1947 (when the diary was first published) and in over 70 languages - that I am not the first young(ish) person to say that. I am fairly certain that most people with a heart would find a common thread or two between Anne and themselves.

Life Sucks. Why such a gifted young person was snuffed out at such a young time I (and most others) will never understand. And yet, we have her diary, journals and notebooks. Her "blog" so-to-speak, written from behind closed doors, in a tiny room, in a space shared with 7 other people (who she really didn't get along with most of the time).

I doubt I will ever have her fame or success, but I don't want it. What makes Anne Frank special is that she changed the world (and still is). I don't plan on changing the world, but I hope that I can find purpose in writing. She was so mature by the time her family went into hiding. Reflecting on my own journals at that age they were self-indulgent rants and complaints which led to a few moments of true self-expression. (This isn't to say that she never had moments of adolescent pettiness, but in all she was mature). The majority of my writing is crap. And yet, I keep writing. I kept filling these notebooks until they were full and falling apart. If nothing else, they will exist for my children to read (when they're grown). But I feel as though when I got sick,, I suffered from what I will call (and I call it this without any evidence or without meaning to invoke rage or misunderstanding) "Anne Frank syndrome," which is to say that I wanted to be heard, in case the future never came. (Much as Anne decided that once she heard the government of Holland wanted 1st hand accounts of the war once it had been finished, she began to edit and focus on that being her mission within her writing). Anne didn't know what was coming to her, and for a long time, neither did I. And so there was some part of me that needed to write it down, share my story, just in case. I don't believe that was always (if ever) Anne's intentions, but she wrote, knowing the future was unknown.

Much of me wishes there was more. The 2nd act so-to-speak to her story. But perhaps this is why Anne has so much value to modern society. Perhaps it is because of the lack of act 2 that readers (at least in my case) and visitors (again, at least in my case) are propelled to write (and live) their own second act. She gave us the gift of our own ending. I hope others might find peace in her story. I hope I can find peace in my own 2nd act.

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There are a few more entries from Amsterdam which will be following shortly. Please feel free to comment if you have any thoughts on the above. Thanks for reading, as always.

Best,

Mattie