Because Kyle is now doing a semester abroad in Sydney, I am crossposting this Sydney Post from our other website, Wanderhive.

Sydney, Australia: A Revelation

Introduction: For years I have been determined to get my husband to travel to Australia. He poo-pooed me at every turn. Alas, I secured some cheap airfare and encouraged him to buck up and do some research. Thankfully, his favorite travel writer, Bill Bryson, wrote a great book on Australia: “In A Sunburned Country.” My husband loved the book, which turned his Australian frown upside down.

After eight days in Sydney our entire family began calling Australia “better America.” With its civilized (plentiful free toilets and drinking fountains), clean and accessible infrastructure, such as miles of coastal walking paths, we found Sydney to be a delight.

In truth, we like to travel on the cheap. We get annoyed with cattle call tours, and like to explore on at our own pace. The other truth is that we heard Australia is pretty expensive (and it is). So, we were determined to find inexpensive & free things for our family to see and do. Below is a list of our some of our Sydney, Australia favorites, our recommendations, with map coordinates and accompanying feedback. Have fun!

Our Favorites:

Wendy Whiteley’s Secret Garden

Maybe because it was our very first stop when we arrived in Sydney, we found Wendy Whitely’s Secret Garden to be a magical place that opens its arms to its visitors. The garden is a delight! It offers sculptures, stunning harbor views and clever walking paths filled with the local flora and fauna. We explored. My boys hung on tree branches. Then they sat on cute little stools. As we looked out onto the harbor we could not believe this inviting oasis is in the middle of the city.

Tramsheds

Our son, Kyle, is the one who suggested we put our favorites near the top. He also said that Wendy Whiteley’s Secret Garden and the Tramsheds were our favorites. I agree. Maybe it is because the Tramsheds housed a Messina Gelato location, or maybe it was so close to where we were staying. I am sure it is the building’s design, the yummy food, the overpriced but cool grocery store, the free 2 hour parking, the walking paths, harbor and park nearby.

Things To Do Recommendations:

Sydney Opera House

• Try to see it at sunset. It is amazing!
• Daily Sail Lightings at 9pm

Sydney Harbor Bridge

• You can see in the picture above that there are people climbing along the very top of the bridge near the flags. But you don’t have to pay for the bridge climbing tour to experience the bridge. You can just walk across it as a regular pedestrian. The bridge is amazing & beautiful.
• Pro Tip: Ride the ferry from Circle Quay toward any of the western ferry routes. You will travel right under the bridge, which was a highlight of our trip.

Royal Botanical Gardens

UNLESS you think you NEED a special tour guide, know this: THE ROYAL BOTANICAL GARDENS ARE FREE. Yes, this means there is no entrance fee. DO NOT be fooled by the GOOGLE MAPS AD (that doesn’t look like and ad) & asks you to buy tickets. The Royal Botanical Gardens are a centerpiece to Sydney, even a walkway to get to the harbor.

• FREE ENTRANCE
• Beautiful banyan and fig trees
• Free exhibits
• The fanciest drinking fountain you will ever see
• Beautiful walking paths
• FREE WIFI

Museum of Contemporary Art Australia

• FREE entrance
• Great exhibits
• We really enjoyed all of the local art.
• The Rocks neighborhood around the museum is a great place to explore.

Art Gallery of New South Wales

• FREE entrance, except for special exhibits within the museum
• Great exhibits
• Wealth of Australian art
• Bonus: I took a picture of a Picasso without being scolded.

Sydney Observatory

• FREE entrance, except for special exhibits within the museum. Seriously don’t let the website fool you. If you scroll down, you will see that there is stated FREE admission, except for special events.
• Beautiful location above the harbor.
• Check the hours. They close early.

Wendy Whiteley’s Secret Garden

• FREE neighborhood garden in the most charming location
• This was one of our favorite spots. You can walk along the winding paths then under the railroad to the waterfront.
• We found 2 hour free parking in the public park close to the garden.

Cockatoo Island

• FREE entrance, accessible via the Sydney public ferry system.
• The island was a prison, then an important military base and shipyard.
• From the UNESCO WORLD HERITAGE WEBSITE:

“Cockatoo Island is a UNESCO world-heritage-listed island in the middle of beautiful Sydney Harbour. Hop on a ferry and explore the island for the day or stay overnight in the campground or holiday houses.”

Manly Beach

• Manly Beach is a gorgeous swimming and surf beach.
• Use the public ferry, not the (private) fast ferry (*see notes about transportation below).

Bondi Beach – Bronte Beach Walk (you can walk the path further. We walked the Coastal Path to Coogee Beach)

We loved the Coastal walk. We also were captivated how the mood of each beach changed. Every beach, however, has a very structured lifeguard team protecting its swimmers.

• Graffiti walls
• Extensive Lifeguard Stations
• Free bathrooms and changing rooms

Sydney Neighborhoods:

All neighborhoods mentioned here can be accessed by public transportation, including the ferry for all neighborhoods except Surry Hills & Haymarket.

Darling Harbour

• Food
• Touristy
• Aquarium and Maritime Museum
• Walkable, including paths along the water

The Rocks

• Groovy street market on weekend (I bought my mother-in-law a handmade card)
• Sydney Observatory and the Museum of Contemporary Art located in this neighborhood
• Locals selling their very cool wares
• Delicious Food Options
• Walkable, including paths along the water

Lavender Bay / McMahons Point / Milsons Point

• Picturesque neighborhood across the bay from downtown Sydney
• Wendy Whiteley’s Secret Garden is a short walk from either ferry stop.
• Great view of the bridge and/or opera house from various points
• Old-timey amusement park, Luna Park

Surry Hills

• Hip
• Foodie Land
• Walkable

Balmain Ferry Stop/ Birchgrove

• Neighborhoody
• Walkable, including paths along the water
• Ballast Point Park (so cool)

Glebe

• We loved the architecture of the Glebe neighborhood. We also loved (again) that we could walk along the waterfront. Glebe is a very active and lively neighborhood.
• Tramsheds: The Tramsheds are on the northwestern edge of the Glebe neighborhood. We made several stops there for Gelato Messina. We also ate at Belles Hot Chicken. I loved their Gluten Free fish & chips. Because we loved their Circular Quay food court location, we wanted to eat at Bekya at the Tramsheds as well.

Haymarket

• Chinatown
• A group of outdoor goods stores
• Seemingly miles of Boba Tea shops
• An astounding assortment of hole-in-the-wall Asian restaurants including PhoV (where my son & I ate Pho)

FOOD:

Gelato Messina Sydney

• Favorite Location: Tramsheds
• Favorite flavor: Salted Coconut & Mango Salsa Sorbet

Bekya

• Middle Eastern with gluten free & vegan options
• We ate at the Circle Quay location

Belles Hot Chicken

We ate at the Tramsheds location.

PhoV

• We at the Haymarket location
• We liked their Pho & Pork Spring Rolls

Woolworths Supermarkets

• I do not need to include a map location for Woolworths grocery stores. They are everywhere. Because we were staying at an AirBnB in BirchGrove, we found it very helpful to have a consistent grocery store so we did not have to eat out for every meal. We did find other more expensive & less expensive grocery stores. We felt like Woolworths had a consistent selection.  
• Woolworths has gluten free & vegan options.

Pro Tips:

• Maximizing Public Transportation: Buy an Opal card for each member of your party at just about any convenience or grocery store. You can start with a small amount, like $20, and top it up at transit station kiosks or online. To minimize expense, try to concentrate your public transportation usage into the same day because there’s a daily maximum charge of $15.80 adult (AUD)/$7.90 youth/child. So after paying for one roundtrip ferry ride, the rest of your ferry, train, and bus travel will be free. NOTE: Some transportation is not included in this daily maximum, even if you can use the Opal card to pay. For example, the private “fast ferry” to Manly Island will charge its own fare even if you’ve already reached the daily maximum.
• BONUS Public Transportation tip: On Sundays you can ride all the public transportation you want for $2.70 (AUD).

• Ferries:  Honestly, we just thought riding various types of ferries around Sydney Harbor was super cool.
• Weekend Parking Rates: Look for parking garages who offer special weekend All day parking rates
• We parked at the Goulburn Street Parking for $12.00 (AUD) for all day parking.
• We wish we would have parked a little closer to things and parked at Wilson Parking Domain Car Park near the cathedral.  Parking there was $13.00 (AUD) for all day parking.
• Nomad Bouldering Gym: Our sons love bouldering. We were able to get a day pass $20.00 (AUD) per person.
• According to my son, Sydney has a healthy Pokemon Go Infrastructure.
• Lodging: We stayed at Meriton Suites & AirBnB. We found that using AirBnB lodging in Sydney for more than 2 people was less expensive.

Enjoy!

It has somehow taken me three years to write about Eli’s jaw. I think my inability to write has something to do with the trauma I witnessed and the utter fear I experienced watching my son experience so many months of so much pain and discomfort.

It was Sunday, January 29. Dave, Eli and Kyle went skiing at Snowbird Ski Resort and met up with our friend Robbie and his boys. It was near the end of the day. Eli and Dave were skiing down a relatively easy run. Eli motioned to Dave that he wanted to jump a thicket of small trees. Our boys are fairly competent freestyle skiers, and to Dave the jump appeared very easy. At that, Dave motioned back with a thumb’s up. Eli jumped. In the air, his ski clipped a branch, and one of his skis flew off, into the air, and planted itself in the ground. Within a millisecond, Eli landed onto his planted ski, slicing his face open, fracturing his jaw in several places, and knocking out his lower right canine tooth.

In Eli’s words,

“I have never heard Dad swear so much. He was completely freaked out! But he made me put my ski back on and ski down to the lift. So I did. People always ask me why I skied down to the lift. I just say, ‘what else was I supposed to do?’”

Of course at the time, to Dave it only seemed like Eli had a deep cut on his face and was missing a tooth.

Within seconds Dave was texting me. Here is what he said.

“Eli crashed. Do you know a good dentist?”
“A dentist?” I asked.
“I think Eli might lose a tooth.”

I was in my pajamas and completely disoriented. I texted my neighbor. Her dad is a dentist. She wanted to know what was up. I had no idea.

Within seconds, Dave was texting me in a panic. I was struggling to understand what was going on. Thankfully, I was able to get ahold of Kyle, who told me that from the lift,

“Mom, there was blood all over the mountain. I knew it was Eli’s.”

I still was not sure what was going on. Eli had recently gotten braces. Because I was unable to really get ahold of a dentist, first I emailed the orthodontist’s office. Within minutes, the office manager called me. Within minutes after that, our orthodontist, Dr. Michael Richards, called me. Anyway, Dr. Richards insisted we do whatever we could to push Eli’s tooth back into place. To this day, I wish I would have. So, while I was juggling dentists and orthodontists, Dave was fervently trying to get Eli off the mountain. Since they were in the back bowl, they had to take the lift up to the summit. There, they were met by Ski Patrol with a stretcher, who were get Eli into the gondola for a direct ride down to the base area. They went to the on-site medical clinic, where the doctor said he was not equipped to determine the extent of Eli’s injuries, and told them to go to the hospital. I still think Dave was in shock. Neither he nor the clinic doctor yet realized how seriously injured Eli was. What he could see was Eli’s unflappable nature, his “missing tooth,” and facial laceration. As a result, Dave thought addressing Eli’s tooth and cut were most important. So he left Kyle with our friend and drove Eli down the canyon. On the way, he called again to see if I had found a dentist. What Dave didn’t realize is that Eli’s jaw was separated so significantly that it appeared Eli’s tooth was gone. The tooth was only pushed out of the socket. What I could hear in Eli’s voice, was the incredible pain he was in. I knew there was something more. I also know that Eli has inherited a lot of my Midwestern stoicism. Meaning, the more significant the pain, the more even keeled we appear. (Sorry, Dave. I know stoicism leads to mixed signals).

Because our home was on the route to the Emergency Room, Dave picked me up. We headed over to Primary Children’s Medical Center. (Pro Tip for Utahns: if your child has a dental emergency, avoid PCMC and head over to IMC). Again, because Eli was eerily calm the Primary Children’s Medical Center staff ER misread the signals and let Eli sit. They finally called a dentist, who said something like,

“It is Sunday and I will only come in if I have to.”

I asked again. The dentist never came. Eventually (and without pain medication), they stitched up Eli’s laceration. During this time, Dr. Richards (our orthodontist) kept calling. He stridently advocated for Eli and that we try to save Eli’s tooth. To no avail, PCMR was not having it. I begged them to keep his tooth right where it was. Eventually, they pulled his tooth. Again, to this day, I wish I would have taken the orthodontist’s advice and pushed Eli’s tooth back into the socket myself. Why, when a medical person speaks, are we so easily complicit? Anyway, still unmedicated, they finally X-rayed Eli’s jaw. I could see the look of horror on their faces. They could not admit they were wrong about letting Eli sit for so long, and without pain medication. Eli had two complete fractures with displacement: The first fracture was a complete open fracture of the lower condyle, which is an area of the jaw that sits about a half an inch below Eli’s right jaw joint. The second fracture was more severe. It ran from the bottom of his chin up through his right side lower canine tooth socket. His canine tooth was pushed out of the socket, and his jaw is completely separated at this point. His fracture was about 3 millimeters away from where his facial nerve enters his jaw. Additionally, he was now missing a tooth, had a deep laceration and a concussion. Then the hospital sent us home.

Here is a text I wrote right before Eli’s surgery: “n a few short hours this amazing, kind and handsome human, our son, grandson, nephew, cousin, brother and friend, goes into surgery. ❤🤕❤️ This week has been challenging to say the least. And Eli is extremely hardcore. His pain tolerance and patience with all of this broken jaw business is unprecedented! ❤❤ We know Eli has a long healing journey ahead (2 months of NO chewing/eating, for instance). And RIGHT now we need all the good energy. SO we ask you to hold Eli close in your thoughts & prayers. Thank You! ❤ And ELI, we really do LOVE you so much it hurts! ❤❤”

A few days later, and after Eli’s jaw surgery, we would learn that Eli also had several additional impact cracks in his jaw bone. The surgeon said that his braces most likely saved his teeth.

Funny story (not so funny story): As I mentioned, Eli needed surgery. PCMC referred Eli to a plastic surgeon. We were in between insurances. Our new insurance started on February 1. Nevertheless, I began the process of scheduling Eli’s surgery with the plastic surgeon. Between January 29 – February 1, we also tried to figure out how to survive until our new insurance kicked in. Oddly (and gratefully), this insurance SNAFU turned out to be a blessing. See, my mom radar kicked in and I never really felt good about a plastic surgeon performing jaw surgery. Consequently, I kept asking the hospital why they would not just send me to a maxillofacial surgeon and a dentist. They kept insisting that a plastic surgeon is the best person for the surgery. It wasn’t until later that I learned that PCMR has a weird relationship with maxillofacial surgeons and dentists. Meaning, they don’t actively contract with maxillofacial surgeons, at least not at that time. (I don’t get it either.) Instead, they cobble together other surgeons who could do the job.

So, there we were, killing time, waiting for Eli to get his jaw put back together. I still do not know how Eli survived these few days. Here is sort of how: Remember how I have this neighbor whose dad is a dentist? The day Eli crashed, I was able to get ahold of her, and she connected us with her dad. Over the next few days, and around-the-clock, my friend’s dad administered lidocaine into Eli’s jaw. Honestly, the reason Eli made it through is because of this man’s loving and generous care. We will always be grateful. This man also teaches in the school of dentistry at the University of Utah. Each time I brought Eli to get another shot, he and I discussed our options. Over and over again, we weighed the pros and cons of using a plastic surgeon versus a maxillofacial surgeon. Ultimately, we were convinced that a maxillofacial surgeon was the way to go. Our decision was affirmed when the maxillofacial surgeon told us that instead of risking damage to the facial nerve that he would wire Eli’s jaw shut to stabilize Eli’s lower condyle. As a result, he would only put screws in the most significant fracture, the complete open fracture through the middle of Eli’s chin. In contrast, the plastic surgeons were going to put screws in both of Eli’s fractures, which would definitely risk severing his facial nerves.

It gets better. Remember our rad orthodontist, Dr. Michael Richards? He continued to check in. Of course being new to mouth injuries, I was eager for his opinion. Remember, he was the one medical professional determined to save Eli’s tooth? Somehow our conversations led me to tell him that Eli would normally need screws put into his jaw so the maxillofacial surgeon could wire Eli’s jaw shut, but he pondered if we could use Eli’s braces instead of drilling screws into his bone. I passed this information along to the orthodontist, then connected the two doctors. Dr. Richards manufactured an extra-strong wire for Eli’s braces with hooks welded on at intervals that allowed the top and bottom to be wired together. The day before surgery, I took Eli, who was still unmedicated, to the orthodontist. Eli wanted novocaine, but the stupid assistant, who no longer works there, said it would take too much time to numb Eli up. So without any sort of pain medication, Eli calmly sat while the orthodontist pulled the separated parts of his fractured jaw together so he could install the new wire contraption. I honestly cannot imagine Eli’s pain. I am sure this is one of the reasons I have struggled to write about Eli’s ski accident. During surgery, and after the surgeon used a titanium plate to hold Eli’s jaw back together, he used the hooks to band Eli’s jaw shut.

Once the surgery was over, the recovery nurse at IMC insisted Eli swallow a pain pill. By that point, a groggy Eli had his phone in hand. He texted me the following:

MOM. I CANNOT OPEN MY MOUTH!”

I already knew that. The nurse did too. I told her she was nuts and was endangering my son.

“His jaw mouth is banded closed. His face is swollen. He will not be swallowing those pills.”

Again, Eli took one for the team. He said he was fine so he could go home. I knew he wasn’t.

For the next two months, Eli’s mouth was banded closed. During this time, his sweet friends brought him milkshakes and would often stand far from his bedside, a little freaked out. I remember mothers bringing their kids by and forcing them to talk.

“Come on, Jon.” One mom implored, “Say something. We didn’t just come over for you to stand there and stare.”

Here is a text I wrote at the time:

“A slog: that is how I would describe this week. Eli’s mouth is banded shut. His surgery went well. And aside from unexpected congestion, a possible popped stitch and a terrible sore throat, Eli’s healing is going as expected — painful, annoying and long. Eli cannot talk, unless you count inaudible sounds. He barely eats. Our house is quiet. And I am certain he is giving Netflix a run for its money. Nevertheless, Eli is hardcore. He is dealing with this most uncomfortable injury with grace and tenacity. Thank goodness for text-to-voice apps, very supporting friends & family, and an injured son who has an impeccable sense of humor! Go Eli! Heal well. And know you are LOVED! ❤❤ Also know how sorry we are that you have to go through this most crappy ordeal.”

In truth, Eli looked disfigured and was in pain. It was hard to be around him. He also loved being remembered. I did not blame these kids for being weirded out. Thankfully, there was one friend who literally saved all the days. Remember my friend’s dentist dad? Well his granddaughter is one of Eli’s friends. She is super calm and easy going. Initially, she came with a milkshake or a Jamba Juice because that’s what you do. Thankfully, she started coming almost every day. Each time, and without expectation, she would get right up next to him and quietly sit. She was never freaked out, or at least she didn’t show it. She never made Eli interact and she appreciated that Eli was starving. Soon Eli was asking me when she was coming by. I will always and forever be indebted to Olivia. She is a kind, empathetic soul and a forever friend. If only her parents, Dave and I could be more like she and Eli, if only.

Eli’s quiet pain was tough. His hunger was hard to see. There are only so many smoothies and milkshakes one can take. During this time, Eli lost forty pounds. He was also the Freshman class president at the time. His advisor would not let up on his responsibilities. So, like he always does, Eli took a deep breath and steadfastly followed through. I was amazed. I still am.

Recently, Eli had surgery to begin the tooth implant process. Because his bone is still so thin at the fracture site, they also need to attach a plate to the screw. Eli handled it with strength and calm, just like he did before. I am still processing.

Eli, we are glad you are ok.

I knew what she was thinking. I paused. I watched my therapist’s reaction. I took note of her intentional eye contact and the warmhearted turn of her mouth.

“Your life is a lot!” she compassionately said.

Except for in safe spaces, like a therapist’s office, I was taught to hide. I went to therapy years ago. I hid there too. I did not cry, except for on my last visit (true story). My therapist at the time, taught me about forgiveness, boundaries, shutting doors and respecting spaces. I really liked her. I was sad it came to an end.

Now back in therapy, I cry all of the time. I do not know if it was the look on her face. I do not know if it was the certainty that Dave was sitting by my side. I do not know if it is the actuality that I am getting older. Nonetheless, as I sat looking back, I choked up. Then I responded,

“Yes. It is a lot.”

I paused again. Then I thought, “instead of always talking sideways, or not talking until I blow, why don’t I just honor the trauma?”

So, buckled my proverbial seat belt, shut my mouth and let myself feel that moment.

I do not know if it was because she could see me take a deep, calming breath. (Probably. Body language is a great indicator.) Whatever her reason, she followed with,

“Beth, you definitely have all of that trauma,” (perhaps implying that “all that trauma” informs most of my decisions).

She is not wrong. And yes, Dave and I are in therapy. I only wish we had started therapy years ago. I love him. I love working things out with him. He is easily distracted. He is often steadfast and he is stubborn. He is also open, supportive and kind. I love how our therapist assures us we are good:

“You two are good. No. I mean that. You will get through the hard moments, because you are really good to each other.”

Our hard moments, or better, our particular boil is where our emotional paths meet. Meaning, even though our paths are different, Dave and I have similar snap-to-anger responses. We are calm until we are flooded (therapy term). Then we lose our respective shit. I will not expose Dave’s personal history here, or rather, I will only expose a smidgen. The smidgen I will offer is that Dave did not experience the crazy trauma I did (obviously). Nevertheless, he does have his stuff. Really, we all have our stuff. (IMHO) Dave, for instance, experiences a lot of anxiety due to clutter, chaos and inconsistency. We are also our pasts, right?

That is why I remember my empathetic reaction the first time I stepped into his parent’s house. I beheld rooms with stacks of organized groupings, including, but not limited to mail, opened and unopened, credit card statements, newspapers & magazines dating back years, little plastic clips, leftover napkins from all the restaurants, pens, rubber bands and other run-of-the mill clutter. Seconds after stepping into their home, I also have vivid memories of his parents telling me in no uncertain terms that I should not disturb their piles. After that, anytime I visited, they led with,

“Do not touch anything on that table (which meant all the tables and all of the counters). They are important! If I do not see that paper sitting there, I will forget.”

When Dave or I moved any of the piles, even a few inches, his parents, who I imagine were immediately overwhelmed, would 0-60-flip out, (which seemed strange because his parents are pretty even).

On the other hand, I am sure I drive them nuts. I am more Scandinavian Aesthetic: clear, open spaces and cool, neutral tones. I am energized by the balance between positive and negative space. As a result, I am very clean. I am intentional. Ask my family, (or my mother-in-law). I am certain they assume I lean toward a brutalist style. Meaning, with my lack of art on the walls, or really anything ornate, implies that I am stark, cold, heartless and obscure (obviously). They may not be wrong. Yet, in my defense, my mom is really clean; so was her mom. I grew up in Minnesota, the US’s epicenter for all things Scandinavian: Uff-Da! Honestly, I love the peace an uncluttered house provides. One could even argue that a clean house offers me respite from all the things I have worked to hide: my trauma.

As a result, I think I have made it pretty clear that when I see cluttered rooms, I panic. I do not like piles of shit giving birth to other piles of shit, or watching hairballs, dust bunnies, or half of last week’s sandwich suffocating under even more piles of shit. I think my need to live in visual calm, and his personal aversion to clutter may be one of the things that attracted Dave to me.

But although Dave does not like clutter, he still has a tendency to create it. The way his brain works, if something has been put in a drawer, it may as well have been cast into the lava at Mount Doom. So let’s just say that he wants to keep things in piles, out in the open, until they are properly dealt with. When we come to blows over his native urge to create a pile, then another one, I remind him, “Well, at least I help you keep it under control.” He agrees. Then usually follows with, “At least the inside of my drawers don’t look like yours.” He is not wrong. Lately, my drawers are much better. (But please do not look at my desk. It is my safe place, and yes, it is cluttered.)

Alas, time is an excellent teacher. Instead of wanting to fix someone else, I think time has helped me appreciate and respect that someone’s stacks of bills are anything but accumulations of shit. On the contrary, these purposeful piles of newspapers, mountains of treasured trinkets, and comforting Christmas trees (complete with empty, wrapped presents) left up all year, are just fine.

Be you, not how I judge you. It really does not matter if clutter is a way of dealing with the chaos of your inner world, or just a personal space preference. Similarly, I do not think it matters if my lack of clutter or adornment is simply a style preference, helps me relax, or actually saves my life. We have the agency to figure it out. Even in marriage, even in life, I get to be me and you get to be you.

Here I sit, singing Coldplay’s song, “Daddy.” I really like it. It is from their new album, “Everyday Life.” Apparently there is a SubReddit, which discusses Chris Martin’s explanation of the troubled paternal relationship explored through “Daddy’s” lyrics. I confess. I did not read the thread. There are also websites that deconstruct the song’s meaning, and its accompanying video, suggesting “the song shows the disconnection between a kid and her father in the music video.” I agree. The song is magnificently mournful. 

It is intentionally slow and measured, like a modern Pachelbel’s Canon, “Daddy’s” tempo is similarly achy beautiful. The song’s introspective pace offers me time to digest its provocative words:

“…Daddy, are you out there?
Daddy, why’d you run away?
Daddy, are you OK?

Look dad we got the same hair…”

My thoughts beat like a metronome. My mind drifts and I think,

“It is funny, just this morning I took a picture of Eli. From behind, his hair looks like mine, thick, medium blond, and a little wavy. In fact, if I were just taking a picture of his head, one could mistake him for me. Weird. I often tell Eli, ‘the one good thing I got from my dad is this awesome hair. Your hair is also fabulous. You can thank my dad.’”

Before I finish analyzing how genetics play into hair quality, I hear the next lyric:

“And Daddy it’s my birthday…”

In step, my mind meanders:

“About birthdays. I have no idea if my dad ever remembered my birthday. I remember spending my weekends with him. Most of the time I was left alone in his basement. My parents divorced when I was baby. He never thought I was his. I am not sure that his feelings ever changed. I do not know my dad. I do not think I ever did. I know his refrigerator was always stocked with V8 and Perrier. All the bottles were facing forward.”

“Daddy,” the song continues,

“But all I want to say
Is you’re so far away
Oh, you’re so far away
That’s OK
That’s OK
That’s Ok…”

“That’s not ok!” I literally say out loud.

My mind continues serpentining its way between Coldplay’s lyrics and my own life story. As if we, the song and I, are now talking. I respond,

“I am not sure it is ok that my Dad is far away. We were never close.” I continue. “Yes, well, maybe it is ok that he is far away. Maybe it is ok that I have nothing to say. He had heart surgery once, a triple bypass. I thought he would die. I am surprised he didn’t. His own heart broke more than twenty years ago. For him, my heart stopped beating years before. In truth, except for the random bits my sister tells me, I do not know him. I am not sure I never will. He is almost eighty. I know that because my mom just turned seventy-nine. His third wife recently sent me a Christmas card with their picture. Kyle and Eli were like, ‘wow mom, you really look like your dad.’ My mom disagrees.”

“Daddy,”

Won’t you come and won’t you stay?
One day
Just one day.”

The song stops. I do not want it to end so I start it again:

“Daddy, are you out there?
Daddy, won’t you come and play…”

Here is where Coldplay’s lyrics and my own thoughts depart: I don’t want my dad to stay. My own kids are grown. They have a dad who is connected and who loves them. His name is Dave. I also know what it is like to suck it up and be the parent. I know what it is like to keep your kids upstairs and present, even in the uncomfortable breaths. I know what it is like to be there, even when ”there” is where you do not want to be. My dad dropped the ball. He kicked it in my face. Then he said it was all up to me. He is not a redemptive caricature in a Coldplay song. He is a man who married my mom long ago. I do not feel much, if anything. Should I?

Instead, I find my reliable rhythms in other spaces. Maybe that is why I have had a soft spot for Coldplay ever since I heard their song “Fix You.” At the time, I was trying to be a mom while stomping through my own infertility treatments and second trimester miscarriages, heartbreak after heartbreak. It never really goes. As a result, I  feel lonely, self-indulgent sobs every single time I hear those words:

“When the tears come streaming down your face
‘Cause you lose something you can’t replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you…”

I test my theory, search for the song in Spotify, and play it. Good grief. All these later, I am triggered. Thoughts of my Dad completely fade away, which is a  relief, by the way. Instead, “Fix You” lyrics transport me to SpongeBob, a nickname we called baby number three. I return to what I wrote when I was pregnant. At this moment, I want to feel that grief. I need to remember so as I read, I listen to the song. I am completely engulfed. I sob. I weep. Then, without any introduction, I text Dave the following from the post:

“I think this baby is ready for his code-name. Kyle and Eli had one. I think we should call him SpongeBob,” (after Kyle and Eli’s favorite show, cartoon character, etc).”

A few days later I miscarried.

“Goodbye SpongeBob. Even though we really didn’t have a lot of time to get to know you, we would have loved having you in our family. Hey, and every time we look at pictures from our trip to Capitol Reef, we will always remember that you were there with us. We are still so sad that you couldn’t continue to be a part of our family. Eli tearfully told me how sad he is that he isn’t going to be a big brother and then Kyle joined in and told me how sad he is that he isn’t going to be a double big brother. We will all miss you. We will always have the picture our friend took on the 4th of July. You can actually see my pregnant belly. When I look at that picture, I will always think of you. Goodbye little buddy. You will always be our SpongeBob.”

Here is Dave’s response:

Dave: [literally crying]

Grief comes in waves. I am done grieving a dad I never knew, a dad who chose to abandon me. I was done a long time ago. I will never stop grieving my unborn children. They had no choice. And now I grieve my sons who are leaving home. I grieve what would have been. I grieve all I have loved. I grieve what I do not know.

Life moves on. I am singing again. Eli has a snow day. He just walked into the office and told me about their sledding adventure. He quickly leaves,

“Bye mom. We are going out again.”

I catch my breath and think, “What was I writing about?” Coldplay’s song, “Daddy.”

Through my SpongeBob tears I remind myself that this is not going to be a Chris Martin, or Coldplay, love fest. I actually prefer the Avett Brothers. Nevertheless, Coldplay’s lyrics are evocative and the melody is really great. Well done, Chris Martin. I love where your music took me. Ultimately it is the tempo. It transports me every single time.

According to the Silicon Slopes Newsroom, “Silicon Slopes is the voice, hub, and heart of Utah’s startup and tech community.” Silicon Slopes Tech Summit began in 2017. I attended the summit on a free pass in 2018. I think that is the year Dave, my husband, and also a high tech product guy, and I saw the Neon Trees perform with our eldest son and his ex girlfriend. Then, in 2019, my husband and I attended a fancy industry party. While Dave networked close by my side, I spent my time revisiting the nice woman representing the Slack organization, where work happens, (even after her pitch was over), and when I somehow cornered Gavin Christensen, the founder of Kickstart Seed Fund, Utah’s most active tech investor. Gavin, (also my new BFF for the evening), and I spoke for nearly an hour. I blame the conversation on the literal corner we were standing in and the fact that I had nothing to pitch, which was probably quite a pleasant change of pace for a guy who’s constantly being pitched. That being said, he did promise to look out for me. My guess is he says that to everyone. In case he was actually serious, maybe he can fund my travel writing company. Wouldn’t it be weird if he did? I would call my company: CBTW, obviously for Cranky Bitch, I mean, Beth Travels the World.

Now it is 2020, Silicon Slopes’ fourth year. Later today, Mark Zuckerberg will be served up in a neutral-colored hoodie as the summit’s finale. Woot! At this moment, I am opting not to attend. I will let you know if that changes. Here is why: If I were to attend a Mark Zuckerberg tech summit, I would clearly be forced to pull out my sharpies and brush up on my Photoshop skills. “Why?” You ask. Well, I would surely have to make a bright neon orange poster stating the following:

“Mark Zuckerburg, YOU and your FACEBOOK, with your dissemination of bottom-feeding Fake News, is rotting our elderly relatives’ brains!”

Wait! I know. No one would actually read my long-worded poster. Three-quarters of the way to finishing said prolific poster, I would also realize that my sentiment is lost, get frustrated and be forced to spend the next few hours figuring out how to shorten my message, never an easy task for a rambler such as myself. Then I would undoubtedly imagine that maybe I would be chosen to ask Mark a question, which would definitely place me in an anxiety-spiral as I tried to compose the best question. I am sure my question would be something like,

“Mark Zuckerberg, why do you continually allow Facebook to be weaponized for dissemination of false information?”

In a heightened panic, I would rush to finish my new, neon green poster (I already ruined the orange one). I would cover said poster with the following words:

“Mark Zuckerberg, you sold your soul and ruined truth as we know it!”

Right. I am thinking the same thing. It is too much. I will stay home. 

Alas, yesterday, I actually did attend the Silicon Slopes Tech Summit. Dave procured me a pass and texted me to come on down. I did. Now in my car, I almost heeded the “Our Parking Lot is Full,” sign at the Salt Lake City, City Creek shopping center. Instead, I drove into the “full” parking lot, which is located across the street from the Salt Palace Convention Center, the site of Silicon Slopes. I grabbed a parking ticket. (“Grabbing” my parking ticket entails putting my car in Park, unbuckling my seat belt, opening my car door to actually reach the parking ticket.) As I did all of these things, I worried I was not fast enough and that the little parking lot arm thingy would fall down on my hood. It didn’t. With the parking ticket in my purse, I drove right to our usual City Creek Mall parking spot.

Somewhere between greeting me at the West Temple entrance, which is adjacent to Nordstrom, and eating a not very lemony lemon cookie, Dave mentioned he wanted to attend a 4:15pm panel. We had just enough time to walk the vendor booths. I remember the days of sitting in one of those booths, trying to convince the consumer that ShopSite was the way you could commerce-enable your company website. 

As we walked, Dave encouraged me to network. I wanted to say, “network this, Dave.” Then realized I had nothing for him to network. So instead, I refused to make eye contact with my husband. I smiled at the lady recruiting people for the food bank service project. My eyes also wandered to a booth that contained a very large bowl of lifesaver white peppermint candy. I already imagined myself projecting all of my anxieties as I chomped through the entire bowl. Consequently, I urged Dave to grab me and I quote, “a bunch.” He turned and walked toward the bowl. He came back with two. “What?” I am still upset.

Subsequently, Dave spent an unduly amount of time speaking with some sort of e-commerce company. She said something about how their company is special because not being B to B, but B to C. Dave seemed more interested in the cookies. I know this because as Dave listened to the woman’s pitch, someone tried to grab a cookie. Out of nowhere Dave blurted,

“They look really lemony. They are not very lemony.”

In a disconnected flash, I found myself only about six minutes late, listening to Mark, Harry, Matt and Sagi. Their panel: Digital Consumer Experience. As I listened to Harry Kraemer use Mark’s name over and over just like Dale Carnegie would recommend in his book “How To Win Friends and Influence People,” I thought to myself and then said to Dave, “Oh my God! Harry Kraemer, former CEO of Baxter Healthcare, well done on using Mark’s first name at least seventeen times in the last thirty seconds.” Wait. Who is Mark? I was confused. I look around. I look at the speaker’s faces. Mark must be here, but Mark is not listed on the speaker list. 

Then Harry, literally said, “If you are self reflective and self aware, you won’t be surprised,” but I am surprised. Harry, who is Mark?

Another panelist continues,

“I went to Davos. I got to speak with Bill Gates, Nelson Mandela and Jeff Bezos, (speaker pronounces his  name like, Bee-Zohs),” said by Mark. “Mark, you are real.” I thought to myself. 

Now that I know Mark is real, I listen more intently. I think Matt is discussing how he hates the word “partnership.” He has his own buzzword. Because I was immediately distracted by the three times he used the word “grit,” I cannot remember Matt’s personal buzzword. Again I think, “Oh grit, you are so 2015.” Next I hear the words: inertia, domain, expertise, flywheel, culture and Harvard. I think Matt mentioned Harvard, but I am not sure he attended Harvard. “Risk averse.” Hold up. Risk averse is an old school buzzword. “And yes, Matt, I am completely risk averse. Remember me refusing to network not even ten minutes ago?”

Then Harry pivots back. He introduces what he sees are the four principles to success. Here  they are:

• Self reflection
• Balanced perspective: flexible
• True self confidence (Meaning, you are not a con.)
• Genuine humility.

Before I push back, I have to admit that I have thought about these four principles since they left his lips. They are good. I agree that we are better humans, especially if we can behave with humility, truth, confidence and balance. Now the pushback. It is like Harry believes he has discovered some secret truth, that if we pause, consider the nuance, the perspective and our feelings, that we will have better success. Further, Harry states that he looks for these principles when he tries to hire. And that is when I literally say out loud,

“Here is a thought, how about hiring more women?”

Women already know how to tap into their feelings.”

Ah, women. That brings me to the panel Dave and I almost entered (twice). The panel is in the Women in Leadership track, and called, “Change your mind to change your life: 6 Happiness Tools.”

The first time we tried to enter, the ticket scanner lady was wearing a pink shirt. Yes. The bright pink shirt terrified me. I caught my judgey breath and looked into the room. The rooms was also adorned in pink. I wanted to be open and was even close to entering. Then I made the mistake of asking Dave about the speaker.

“She runs a yoga studio.”

(Insert my hand over my face human emoji here). I had a low scale GOOP flashback. You know, GOOP, Gwyneth Paltrow’s modern lifestyle and wellness brand. GOOP also has a new docu-series on Netflix, called the, “Goop Lab:”

“It’s goop HQ’s worst-kept secret: Gwyneth is both our CEO and our bravest guinea pig. That open-minded ethos is adopted by staffers, too—if you’ve watched The goop Lab on Netflix, then you get it. We love being vulnerable and asking difficult questions and trying new things. It’s our job.”

Shout out to Netflix. You were also at Silicon Slopes. Dave wears his Netflix swag (a baseball cap) well. The other day I watched about fifteen minutes of Netflix’s, “Goop Lab.” It was like a fresh, warm plate of perfectly salted french fries. I loved it. I was not sure it was good for me. I could not stop eating, I mean, watching. I felt like a voyeur in a world I would never be invited to join. It was like a Park City Yoga Class, where I was the only one wearing yoga pants from Walmart. I was an imposter. Looking in on that Women in Leadership panel made me feel the same. 

Ok. Truth. None of us are as perfectly blond, cool, pretty, thin or as cleansed as Gwyneth Paltrow. How could we expect to be the world’s bravest guinea pig? That’s Gwyneth’s job. We are, at best, low scale Goop. This was about the moment I realized that I was in a shitty mood. So instead of turning my frown upside down,  and sitting in the Women in Leadership panel with an open heart and a good attitude, I thought of my own six ways to be happy: 

1. Cake 
2. Make sure my second born son goes to college & does not get his girlfriend pregnant.
3. Give me, I mean, Dave some sort of gadget that translates my words so my husband understands them.
4. Guarantee that my eldest son will no longer get stuck with a middle seat.
5. Take me on a walk (and talk to me).
6. Send me on a trip, in Business Class.
Namaste

Instead, I went with my dude back to the dude panel. Sure, there were other women in attendance. That being said, four women, one by one, exited the room as I took notes. Hey and sure, it is also a little disingenuous listening to men describe the four keys to success when from my humble experience, women have had those keys all along. Further, it is hilarious to listen to a man describe how introspection and understanding your own feelings actually help in business. Duh!

While I was spinning out, I heard Dave laughing. Matt’s feelings talk is resonating with Dave. Wow. I hear things like,

“You can’t run and you are moments away from trashing your reputation…Instead, be straight. Be upfront so those moments will not happen.” Matt proclaims, and Matt is not wrong.

I continued to listen,

“If you know what you are good at, stay focused on that. Don’t overreach.” Harry states. Wait. I actually like their message. 

I was engaged exactly when they opened the panel to questions. Instead of saying something I shouldn’t, I decide to sit on my hands and use my scarf to tie my mouth shut. Here is what I wanted to say:

“Hey Harry. I really enjoy your 4 ways to a successful company. They really resonate with me. Yet it’s like you, Harry, you think you men have invented the nuance-wheel. Here is a thought: Maybe if men would have listened to women years ago, the corporate world would be a better, more successful, more confident, honest and nuanced place because women  would have taught the business world these intuitive and insightful feelings years ago. Just a thought.”

As I was struggling  for self control, people asked questions. I was quickly bored (again), others left. I still wanted to ask my question, yet I recognized that even though my question may shake things up, it would undermine the intent, and I think the intent was actually good. Instead, I decided to use some grit. I exercised some self reflection (Harry’s point number 2) and opened up my Pokémon app. I whispered to Dave, “Maybe there’s a gym nearby.” 

As the panel ended, the skies parted. I finally get it. See, it was actually a three person panel, a panel with a moderator. The moderator, well, that would be Mark. 

Earlier today I met my wonderful friend for our semi-regular walk. I love our walks. They remind me that I am sane. They fill my heart with validation. In this strange, strange world, they affirm that I am not alone. Thank the stars for these walks. 

Lately our walks are much less ambitious than the climbs we used to take to places such as the promontory where the local High School’s Initial is painted on a stone face. These days our walks typically lead us to our local Starbucks. The path we take is underwhelming at best. Considering the crazy, wide intersection we have to cross, it is also a little treacherous. I enjoy these walks as much as I enjoy walking in the woods, along a beautiful ocean path, or climbing to the highest point in a new city. 

Nearly to our destination, we crossed the crazy strip mall entrance, avoiding oncoming cars. (There is no crosswalk. I think it is because the strip mall entry is actually not meant to be crossed, at least not on foot.) We made our way down a little hill, then walked along the Starbucks drive through, trying to avoid the cars that did not see us. As I was balancing on the curb, my friend slid down the muddy hill next to me proclaiming, 

“I think I am going to walk behind you.”

She did. 

We passed the drive through window, hopped over another curb, entered the coffee shop, and approached the counter. My friend ordered, found a table and probably wondered what happened to me. Here is what happened to me: I am conditioned to get the best deal. I remembered that my Cash App might be offering 1$ off at Coffee Shops. I knew  Dave would be happy about my responsible attention to detail. So, before I ordered, I was determined to make sure there was enough cash in my Cash App. There was not. So I had to figure that out too. It took me a minute of me texting Dave back-and-forth. Totally worth a dollar, right? (I’m still on the fence.) 

Then I ordered my usual drink: Venti Green Iced Tea, Unsweetened, No Water, Light Ice. I just want straight green iced tea. I want to order iced tea and have the barista put a few ice cubes in a cup. Then fill the rest with green tea. Nope. To get the tea the way I want it, I have to deconstruct Starbucks’ standard way of making it: (1. Pour tea up to line in the cup. Pour ice enough to fill to the next line. Add water to the next line. Add sweetener. Then dump the mixture into a shaker and shake. Dump mixture back into cup. Then add ice to fill the cup. Yes! That is a lot of ice and a lot of water.)

You are probably wondering, 

“That was a lot of unnecessary detail.”

What you actually may be wondering is, 

“Well, if that is what you want, why don’t you just say I would like Green Ice Tea?” 

Believe me, I have tried to ask for straight green iced tea. Once a barista in a Starbucks that was located in a grocery store made me a matcha green tea latte instead. She charged me the latte price and would not take my drink back. Then she scolded me relentlessly for not knowing what iced tea is. 

“A Matcha Tea Latte is not green tea!” She shrieked. 

I tried to keep my cool. 

“Um, that is why I asked for regular green iced tea. I have been ordering iced tea for years.” I responded. 

All the other times I tried to order a simple green iced tea, the sweet baristas simply short circuited. Then like a broken robot chanting, “Does not compute. Does not compute,” they asked me to repeat my order. Bless their hearts.

Today I saw that my order was wrong. I grabbed my tea anyway. I looked at the approximately 78 – 101 ice cubes. I laughed out loud and said to another barista while pointing at all the ice cubes, 

“This is not light ice.”

At that, the sweet, pink-haired barista offered to make me a new one. Instead, I said, “the same thing happened the last time I was here. The girl insisted it was light ice.” I paused. I smiled. I made eye contact. Then I said, “I will drink this one and get a refill.”

Here is what I wanted to say: 

“I have been ordering this drink for fifteen years now. I know what light ice and no water looks like. Don’t get me started on how stupid it is to say, ‘no water in a drink that is 99.9% water.’ And unless you are my mother-in-law, who considers a block of ice with a teaspoon of water to be the perfect ice-to-water ratio, then this is not light ice.”

Alas, I did not unload. That would be rude. I took my tea and walked away. 

Before I sat down, I noticed a girl that one of my boys dated. This girl was sitting within ear shot. I cryptically pointed to my friend and whispered,

“Maybe we should move to another table. That girl dated my son. And I also know her friend.”

“We should totally move.” My friend assented. 

At that, we were now sitting at a round table about fifteen feet from the first. 

As my friend and I talked about my life falling apart, how I think I completely suck as a parent, that I cannot seem to connect cohesively with my husband, and that my inability to feel grounded in any sort of direction is making me really sad, I stared, fixed on my iced tea. 

“There is more ice than tea. I will be done with this in no time.” I laughed.

“That’s how they want it.” She said, and followed compassionately with something like, “It’s a total rip off.”

She is correct.

The ice filled 75% of the cup. The tea was almost the color of water. I began snapping photo after photo of my Venti Green Iced Tea, Unsweetened, No Water, Light Ice. For like three seconds focusing on my ice imbalance gave me purpose. For a fleeting three seconds, I had a pure, unadulterated cause: righting the ice in my green iced tea.

I laughed and said, “Last time I was here, they did the same thing. I think they auto-piloted my drink. I think most people auto-pilot life. It’s easier. We live in a world that does not listen. While the other person speaks, we are at best thinking about how we are going to respond. We are distracted. Understandably, there is also so much input: Facebook, Snapchat, Twitter, Reddit, Instagram, Tik Tok, Fox News… There is a lot to keep up with. We do not pause. It is hard to remain present. And when we are present, no one seems to care. And they fill your cup with like 700 ice cubes. It is not personal. It is what it is.” Noticing I was getting ahead of myself, and because I mentioned that fact that people do not pause, I actively made myself pause. Then I took a breath, and said, “I am so glad you listen. I am really grateful you care.”

“I am sure you are right about our world. It is nice to have a friend.” She kindly responded.

Life is not happy, nor is it completely dark. Life is hard. Life is breathless. Life is joy. From one second to the next life is connected and wonderful and the next it is soul crushing. I am often not sure what to do. I have lived far too many years living life so other people would like me. I have lived far too many years stepping back and stepping out of the way. When Dave says, “WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO WITH YOUR LIFE? I usually get flustered and proclaim, “I DO NOT KNOW.” Now at least I often add, “I DO NOT KNOW BECAUSE I AM THINKING OF EVERYONE ELSE. GIVE ME A SECOND. I WILL GET THERE.”

I am not a martyr. Thinking of everyone else kind of protects me from risking being me, you know what I mean? I am sure that is why I have lived my life trying to use the right words, trying to advocate diplomatically, trying to use the damn Cash App to save a dollar in an attempt to make my husband happy. I also really love the positive feedback looking out for others brings me.

Alas, when I do catch my breath and when I do attempt to claim my space, I feel totally exposed and insecure. These days I wonder if it is too late. Ageism is definitely a thing, a thing that now gets into my head. But mostly I get in my own way. I always have. It has been a hard lesson to learn. I understand that performing and pleasing does not work, or better, is not sustainable. I see now that I will always let you down. In truth, I do not think it really matters. I hope I have not wasted my life stepping out of the way, or stepping aside. I should have remained in the car in Athens. I should trust my judgement, even when it completely goes against the flow. Ultimately, I hope it is not too late to ground myself and stand in my own space. I am not sure I even know what my own space looks like. 

And for today, I hope my boys do not hate me. I hope I have not failed them. I hope they soar. I also hope we remain close. I hope Dave and I can figure each other out and forgive each other more. I hope I do not give up on me. I hope I do not become a cup filled with too much ice because I am too disconnected to read the instructions. Seriously, I do not want to be an ice block. Cold ice hurts my teeth.

I set a high bar. Maybe that is why the hope for something more terrifies me. I want to get it right. I want to live without regret or anger. I want to get it with love.

Oh hey, and please take a listen to this song, “No Hard Feelings,” by the Avett Brothers. It says it all:

“…When my body won’t hold me anymore
And it finally lets me free
Where will I go?
Will the trade winds take me south
Through Georgia grain or tropical rain
Or snow from the heavens?
Will I join with the ocean blue
Or run into the savior true
And shake hands laughing
And walk through the night
Straight to the light
Holding the love I’ve known in my life
And no hard feelings
Lord knows they haven’t done
Much good for anyone
Kept me afraid and cold
With so much to have and hold
Under the curving sky
I’m finally learning why
It matters for me and you
To say it and mean it too
For life and its loveliness
And all of its ugliness
Good as it’s been to me
I have no enemies
I have no enemies
I have no enemies
I have no enemies.”