Siri Lindley - Surfacing: From the Depths of Self-Doubt to Winning Big and Living Fearlessly

SURFACING

For M, always my rock and biggest supporter

Copyright 2016 by Siri Lindley

All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by VeloPress, a division of Competitor Group, Inc.

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Distributed in the United States and Canada by Ingram Publisher Services

A Cataloging-in-Publication record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

ISBN 978-1-937715-52-6

eISBN 978-1-937716-85-1

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Art direction by Vicki Hopewell

Cover design by Pete Garceau

Front cover photograph: Erik Isakson

Author photograph: Christina Gandolfo

Photo section: Siri Lindley; Rich Cruse; Timothy Carlson; and AP Photo/Keystone, Fabrice Coffrini

v. 3.1

I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.

MICHELANGELO

CONTENTS

THE DAY I WAS BORN May 26, 1969my dad, Peter Lindley, came to the hospital with arms loaded full with clothes and toys fit for a little boy. Hed done the same thing when my sister, Lisa, was born two and half years earlier, and both times was crestfallen to learn that my mom had given birth to a baby girl. They named me after my great-aunt, the sister of my Norwegian maternal grandfather, Erling Naess, a shipping baron who had been knighted. Siri, derived from the Nordic name Sigrid, means beautiful victory.

My first night home from the hospital, I slept from 7 oclock in the evening to 7 the next morning. My mom kept checking on me to make sure I was still breathing. A 12-hour sleeping jag is highly unusual for a newborn, but it became my standard. While my older sister had cried all night long, I never fussed, day or nightI was a preternaturally easygoing and happy baby. But once every few months, I would scream at the top of my lungs for no apparent reason. Id get beet-red in the face and cry inconsolably for hours on end. After checking to make sure I wasnt being stuck with a diaper pin, my mom would call the doctor to come over to the house and look me over. Without a medical explanation for my outbursts, my mom concluded that I just needed to blow off some steam after being so well behaved all the time. Aside from those perennial episodes, I was totally content. As an infant, Id spend hours suspended from the doorway in my Jolly Jumper. Id bounce up and down, pushing off the ground with my tiny legs. Mom says it was the precursor to becoming a great athlete.

My mom, Astrid, was stunning. She had carved cheekbones and a wide smile, long blonde hair, blue-green-hazel eyes, and a lean, fit physique. Dad was classically handsome and a star athlete who had been captain of the baseball, football, and hockey teams at Yale. (Hed been drafted to play baseball in the Major League but opted to travel around the world instead.) They met on a double date in New York City, right after my mom had returned home after attending university in Switzerland. On the date, Mom was supposed to be with the other boy, but she hit it off with my dad, who made her laugh until it hurt. He was the life of any party, always engaging people with his quick wit. They shared a passion for sports and an upbringing in Greenwich, Connecticut, so the relationship felt immediately comfortable and compatible. They were married a year later, and my sister arrived before their first anniversary. My mom, whom Ive simply called M for years, was just 20 when Lisa was born.

My best memories as a little kid took place in a cheery little yellow house on a quiet cul-de-sac on Plow Lane in Greenwich. Cozy at just 1,500 square feet, it had powder-blue shutters and a rustic wood fence encircling the front yard. I can still feel the warmth of the living room, where we spent most of our time as a family. It had a red couch and a matching recliner that Dad always sat in, blue shag carpet, a large brick fireplace, and honey-colored walls. Dad would bounce me on his knee while Cat Stevens music played from the large stereo. We spent hours playing Candyland and card games as a family, and Mom would dash between the living room and kitchen to bring us snacks like Dads favorite, artichokes dipped in melted butter. She would set the platter in front of him, and hed thank her and tell her how beautiful she looked. Damn, Bird, you look good, hed say in his New York accent. Despite being only a toddler, I remember feeling surrounded by love and lightness in that tiny house.

There was also a little pond and a huge weeping willow tree. We would spend hours playing beneath that tree on warm summer evenings. Wed splash around all day long in the kiddie pool and chase our two shih tzus and cat around the backyard. My dad had rigged up a trolley in the front yard that swung us between two tall pine trees. Before I was four years old, he had taught me how to swing a bat, throw a ball, and ride a bike with training wheels. He was endlessly patient and passionate about sharing his love of sports with his girls, and both Lisa and I were drawn to anything athletic.

One of my happiest enduring memories is our annual family visit to Playland in Rye. The amusement park was on Long Island Sound, and wed ride the donkeys and the miniature train. Every birthday, from the time I was 4 to 10 years old, my mom took me to Playland. I could bring five of my friends, and she would carry a bag filled with extra pairs of undies, knowing that with all the excitement and the exhilaration of the rides, we would all pee our pants at least once.

Another favorite family spot was Old McDonalds petting farm, where wed go on hayrides and visit all the animals. My lifelong love of animals started there.

Every summer we would visit Point O Woods on Fire Island in New York, where my mothers family had a home. Shed been going there since before I was born, and it was the ultimate family summer vacation spot. There were no cars on the island, just bicycles and surreys. Wed be there with my mom and her family during the week, and Dad would join us on the weekends.

When Lisa was a year old, M decided to put her multilingual talents to work and got a job as a secretary to Bill Fugazy at Fugazy International Corporation, a successful travel agency in Manhattan. At the companys height, it booked in excess of $100 million in travel annually and had 35 agencies throughout the United States. Three days a week, she would meet Mr. Fugazy at the train station, climb into his chauffeured Lincoln Continental limousine, and take dictation as they made the drive into the city. She would spend the day doing a host of secretarial duties, including a lot of translation work (M is fluent in French, Italian, German, and Norwegian), and take the train home at the end of the day. Some days her assignment was to act as Big Apple tour guide to foreign clients.

My parents began hosting international au pairs so that there was someone to look after my sister and me on days when Mom worked in the city. The au pairs were allowed to stay in the United States for only one year on a visitors visa. Our favorite was our first one, Hermine, a maternal and sweet German woman. Toola from Iceland was pretty and shy. Christina from Norway was clearly in America to find a man to take care of her. She met my moms brother on her first night with us, and they had a date the next night and ran away together a week later. They got married and had two boys but were divorced after seven years.