Same Shit. Different Day.
When I was a teenager, like so many teenagers (I think it's a job requirement), I was a bit, um, dramatic. I was a drama queen. Everything was about me, or had to do with me. That butterfly flapped its wings in China to make some point to me.
And then I grew up, met my wife, bought the house (no white picket fence, but it was there symbolically), had a stable career (at the time, in hindsight.. well...), and was settled and happy, for the most part. Life, of course, had its difficulties. It was life, after all. But for the most part, I was content with my life and fairly drama free.
In hindsight, it could have been because I was living with a woman who, instead, drew and created all the drama. Because she was the drama queen, I had to be the stable one who was not dramatic. I'm not sure.
I had always liked to think, instead, it was about me getting to a place of maturity where I knew it didn't have to be all about me. Where I was comfortable enough that I didn't have to whine and complain my way through life.
Then the life I had built fell apart. Huge crash - earthquake, tsunami um.. wait, I'm detecting a pattern here. Let's just say there was a "dramatic" end. And I have worked hard to make sure that this particular event in my life does not define my life. But I know, on occasions, it most certainly does. Whether I want it to or not.
It is hard to step back outside of your life and see if you are being a drama queen. When you're in the midst of the drama, it feels perfectly normal and understandable that the world IS out to mess particularly with you. It is easy to see the drama in others, but not so much in you.
I wonder, sometimes, whether we create the drama (and by we, I mean "me" - aren't you paying attention? It's all about me!) specifically to be interesting. Let's face it. Your friend tells you everything is wonderful in her life, and you're bored. You don't want the lovely details of their cool vacation rubbed in your face. You don't want to know that she just got a raise, and her partner does more than 50% of the chores. There is something inherently interesting - to a point- about drama.
The reality is that about 80-95% of our lives (made up statistic) are boring. We get up. We shower, get dressed, ideally eat breakfast, pack our bags, go to work, drop off kids, (probably not in that order), clean house and do chores, go to soccer practice or baseball practice, exercise ideally, watch way too much television, eat lunch and dinner in there somewhere, and then crash to sleep at night. And then we get up and we do it all over again. And many of us seem to do this every day without incident.
Many of us seem to do it without complaining about our spouses, our jobs, our kids, our houses, our cars, the traffic, our co-workers, the weather, the price of gas (oh, who am I kidding? We *all* complain about the cost of gas!), the laundry, the dog, the plumbing. We get up every day and lead responsible lives. And then get up again the next day and do the same thing.
I don't want to live an overly dramatic life. But I can't seem - at the moment, at least - to lead the same boring life day after day, either. How do you find contentment on the treadmill of life? How do we find satisfaction when it's the same shit, just a different day?
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If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Crazy
I have had more than one person ask me lately if I thought they were crazy.
And I can't help but wonder if that isn't a universal question we all ask at some point?
Someone wise (who I can't remember) once said that if you're asking if you are crazy it means you're not. Crazy people, apparently, are just crazy. They don't ask such silly questions.
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If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
And I can't help but wonder if that isn't a universal question we all ask at some point?
Someone wise (who I can't remember) once said that if you're asking if you are crazy it means you're not. Crazy people, apparently, are just crazy. They don't ask such silly questions.
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Wine Party - Twitter
Thanks to my new twitter friends from Wine Party (#wineparty) for a very positive experience to outweigh last week's crazy one. Perhaps Twitter isn't so bad after all!!
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If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
dyke, insanity, relationships, romantic
These are the tags for the "Unfinished Masterpieces" entry and I can't help but look at those four words together and laugh.
Dykes DO have insane romantic relationships. (Of course, so does everybody else, but, I can only speak from direct experience about relationships with dykes).
We also have romantic relationships with insane people. (Of course, so does everybody else, ... )
Perhaps even pursuing romantic relationships is a sign of insanity to begin with.
But it is no coincidence that we describe ourselves, when in love, as being "crazy" about someone.
And clearly those who have been hurt by others think that it's crazy to think that romantic relationships are worthwhile.
Whatever the case, while I'd like to think of "insanity" as the Sesame Street thing which does not belong, the reality is that it does.
So be it.
Resistance is futile.
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Dykes DO have insane romantic relationships. (Of course, so does everybody else, but, I can only speak from direct experience about relationships with dykes).
We also have romantic relationships with insane people. (Of course, so does everybody else, ... )
Perhaps even pursuing romantic relationships is a sign of insanity to begin with.
But it is no coincidence that we describe ourselves, when in love, as being "crazy" about someone.
And clearly those who have been hurt by others think that it's crazy to think that romantic relationships are worthwhile.
Whatever the case, while I'd like to think of "insanity" as the Sesame Street thing which does not belong, the reality is that it does.
So be it.
Resistance is futile.
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Same song, different drummer...
In my twitter experience last weekend, at one point, the person told me: "All women lie and this story you relayed to me I've been told almost word for word before."
I had a lot of responses to that statement. I admit one was feeling shocked and dumbfounded about being called a liar. But the other, frankly, was sadness. That so many other people had a similar story.
I had tried to explain to her that I was protective of my location because my ex-wife is an ex-cop. And towards the end, frankly, she became more and more volatile, and she did still own a gun. While I had strong doubts that she would travel many states to find me, or bring her gun with her, I also had never expected her to do many of the things she had done in the last few months. And in the end, murder-suicide was definitely on the table as a possibility.
My memory is kind to me - it makes me forget all of these horrible things I experienced. It softens my memories. But something will happen, or a conversation will take a particular turn, and then my memory does come back. I prefer to keep the past in the past and move forward.
I didn't give her all of these details. Mostly I just said, ex is an ex-cop with a gun, and I don't want her to know where I am. There weren't that many words that I gave her to distinguish me from whoever also told her the same story.
My response, I'll admit, reflected some of the snippiness I was feeling as a result of being called a liar, and accused of playing mind games. But there was a genuine sadness involved as well: "Well, aren't you blessed that you've never been in such a situation, and so many of us have?"
This morning I was tripping down memory lane and re-reading some of my earlier entries. Trying to see if I was developing a consistent style, a consistent theme. I've now written 70+ entries - how much have I told you and how much still do I have to share that I wanted to tell you? Quite a lot is the answer to both parts of that question.
And if I had practiced patience and waited to respond, perhaps I could have shared with my "friend" one of my earlier posts: Assimilation, where I discuss how my story is the same as everyone else's. So she shouldn't be so surprised when mine sounds word for word of someone else she knows. That's kinda been one of my points all along. I just forgot it at that moment..
We are all one - there are no new stories. Basically, it's just the same song, with a different drummer. Resistance is futile.
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
I had a lot of responses to that statement. I admit one was feeling shocked and dumbfounded about being called a liar. But the other, frankly, was sadness. That so many other people had a similar story.
I had tried to explain to her that I was protective of my location because my ex-wife is an ex-cop. And towards the end, frankly, she became more and more volatile, and she did still own a gun. While I had strong doubts that she would travel many states to find me, or bring her gun with her, I also had never expected her to do many of the things she had done in the last few months. And in the end, murder-suicide was definitely on the table as a possibility.
My memory is kind to me - it makes me forget all of these horrible things I experienced. It softens my memories. But something will happen, or a conversation will take a particular turn, and then my memory does come back. I prefer to keep the past in the past and move forward.
I didn't give her all of these details. Mostly I just said, ex is an ex-cop with a gun, and I don't want her to know where I am. There weren't that many words that I gave her to distinguish me from whoever also told her the same story.
My response, I'll admit, reflected some of the snippiness I was feeling as a result of being called a liar, and accused of playing mind games. But there was a genuine sadness involved as well: "Well, aren't you blessed that you've never been in such a situation, and so many of us have?"
This morning I was tripping down memory lane and re-reading some of my earlier entries. Trying to see if I was developing a consistent style, a consistent theme. I've now written 70+ entries - how much have I told you and how much still do I have to share that I wanted to tell you? Quite a lot is the answer to both parts of that question.
And if I had practiced patience and waited to respond, perhaps I could have shared with my "friend" one of my earlier posts: Assimilation, where I discuss how my story is the same as everyone else's. So she shouldn't be so surprised when mine sounds word for word of someone else she knows. That's kinda been one of my points all along. I just forgot it at that moment..
We are all one - there are no new stories. Basically, it's just the same song, with a different drummer. Resistance is futile.
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Practicing Patience
The original title of this post was "Back the Bus Up!" - a title that reflected my frustration when I first began it. But I decided to "practice patience," and step away from it for a few days, so that I could - to quote the Dalai Lama - respond "in an appropriate and compassionate manner rather than being driven by [my] anger and irritation." Taking the time to back off and think has changed the focus of the post. I left the front part - the build-up - so that you can understand the framework behind the post. I admit wholly that this post could benefit from probably a little more practice at patience, but it'll have to do for now. I am, after all, only human.
Now, I'm gonna rant a little in here. Just warning you upfront. And I welcome any ranting back. Go ahead, get it out. But, I ask just one thing, first. Read through the whole entry before releasing your rant on me. Thank you.
I've been observing a trend lately - that I know is not new, but I've just been paying attention to it. This is the tendency to shoot first, think later, if at all.
We are not generous with each other, nor do we, apparently, naturally expect generosity from each other. So when we hear something, we often quickly react - whether in action or word or merely in thought - and often don't step back and really think about what might have happened. Then this spirals. Quickly.
You read meanness into your co-worker's e-mail, so you send something short and sharp back. The co-worker that thought she was being nice is now upset because you're upset at her, and suddenly something innocent - and perhaps even generous - has become something else due to a misunderstanding and a miscommunication.
I have problems with lawn mowers. As long as they do not belong to me, I can start them and use them just fine. Once they come under my ownership, I, no longer, have the power or ability to make them go. I have no idea why, but this is a pattern I have observed, so - in the spirit of this post - I choose to take it personally.
I received a note the other day from a neighbor who had clearly observed I was having problems getting my lawn mowed. He (or she?) offered to mow my lawn for me if I wanted, and left his number and suggested a $10 payment. I walked in and found it on my door, and felt a little sheepish because I know my lawn is getting long, and took his note as nothing but kind-hearted generousness. Yes, he suggested a fee, but I took it as kindness.
Later, after getting settled in, I was sharing my day with a friend, and I mentioned this note. She was immediately offended on my behalf and basically suggested I tell him to shove his lawn-mower where the sun don't shine (which doesn't make sense, because if the sun didn't shine, then the grass wouldn't grow, and then you wouldn't need a lawnmower??? But I digress).
I was a little surprised at her reaction, and I reassured her that, no, I thought he was just being kind. I went back and re-read the note, though, and saw that, yes, one could - I guess - take offense to it.
And this is the problem that I am observing. Faced with a choice of whether or not to take offense, so often so many of us seem to be choosing the take offense option rather than step back and try to figure out what might be going on.
Even the best intentioned person says stupid things. Some of them are genuinely stupid, and that person should be taken out back and at least gently explained why what they said was inappropriate.
But if someone doesn't tell us, then how do we learn? Oh, yes. We learn by seeing outrageous reactions to what was meant to be harmless comments. An e-mail among co-workers, a note among neighbors, a twit (er, tweet, whatever you call it) among strangers, or a warm open invitation among friends.
We all have land mines. Things that even if Mother Teresa said them to us (well, maybe I should choose someone living, like my favorite, the Dalai Lama) we'd hear in the most negative light.
I love the Dalai Lama. I've been looking back at some of his recent works to try and find the right quote for this post.
This sorta fits:
If we can manage to refrain from harming others in our everyday actions and words, we can start to give more serious attention to actively doing good, and this can be a source of great joy and inner confidence. We can benefit others through our actions by being warm and generous toward them, by being charitable, and by helping those in need.
Refraining from harming others. Good idea. Benefiting them by being warm and generous towards them. Also good.
This other one is something I've had posted lately for myself to remember by reading and re-reading
The practice of patience protects us from losing our composure. In doing that it enables us to exercise discernment, even in the heat of difficult situations. It gives us inner space. And within that space we gain a degree of self-control, which allows us to respond to situations in an appropriate and compassionate manner rather than being driven by our anger and irritation.
And I do think it fits this post well - that if we manage to practice patience and protect ourselves from losing our composure, then we can think more appropriately about the situation and how to react.
In the last twenty four hours, two separate and unrelated "events" occurred with me that has brought this issue to a head for me, and inspired this post.
The first was inadvertently tripping over a trigger for a Twitter fan. The second was recognizing that I, now, have a new trigger of my own.
I was having friendly banter with someone new yesterday afternoon via Twitter. Saw a post she made about a place I used to live, and at lunch, I posted a comment in return. Read a few more of her twits, tweets, wha-t-ever - I'm not going to become a Twitter person at this rate!!! - and enjoyed some things she had to said, and made a few more comments in reply. She replied back to me and we started an enjoyable little banter online. Or so I thought.
At one point she asked a personal identifying question of me. The question was perfectly reasonable, and certainly understandable in the context of the banter thus far. Well.. this raised an issue I've been trying to figure out how to deal with, and wrote about in my post Clark Kent - what to tell who and where? So I gave a general answer rather than a specific one, and apparently tripped over a trigger with her. What happened next may be familiar to those of you who twit on a regular basis, but let's just sum it up by saying it spiraled out of control quickly with her getting more and more upset by my responses, and me being more and more confused, dumbfounded and hurt by hers.
What became clear from her responses is that she is someone who has been hurt a lot by others, and therefore doesn't trust anyone. I'm a stranger - I don't expect a very high level of trust. But I would also not expect - and did not expect - a high level of DIS-trust. Essentially, her argument boiled down to was that "all women lie, therefore, you must be lying." I was a bit bewildered by that because, frankly, I couldn't figure out what she thought I had to gain by lying to her about very basic things. Nor what she thought I wanted from her. These are questions I still have no answers to.
The only thing that was clear was that in the moment, I had irritated and angered her. She was unable to step back and think through the situation to think about it calmly. Let alone compassionately.
And within that space we gain a degree of self-control, which allows us to respond to situations in an appropriate and compassionate manner rather than being driven by our anger and irritation.
Instead, she immediately assumed the worst about me - a virtual stranger - that I was a lying, playing mind games and thinking it was cute.
In the meantime, I was off on my way to spend some time with a friend. She has a weekend get-away spot that she goes to most every weekend, and has told me repeatedly, that I'm welcome anytime. So, taking her up on that, I joined her this past weekend. Driving home, I felt as frustrated with that situation as I had driving up about the Twitter exchange. I took some time to analyze my feelings, and realized that while it is "sweet" to think that I am welcome anytime - an open invitation I receive from many people - I came to recognize in that moment that I never wanted that kind of "invitation" again.
I knew I was reacting strongly rather than responding in an appropriate and compassionate manner, and instead I was being driven by my anger and irritation. And I know, nonetheless, that the next time someone utters those words, "You're welcome anytime" that they're likely to get a reaction that doesn't belong to them. Much as I had received from my friendly twit not 24 hours earlier. The details and analysis of THAT situation I will save for another post.
But when I began this post, I was very much aware of the similarities. Perhaps it provided me a small measure of compassion for my friendly twit. It made me realize, though, the need to encourage people to take a moment and back the bus up (the original title) and think about a situation before immediately reacting to it. Did that co-worker mean what I thought she meant in that e-mail, or is there another explanation? What happens when I look at the situation from a more compassionate perspective than an immediately offended perspective? How can I avoid the spiral?
And I think the Dalai Lama got it right. When I first read that passage, I wondered "How does one practice patience?" I thought about those hotel.com commercials where the one co-worker / friend is trying to teach the other how to wait and not feel the need to book immediately to get the best deal. Watching the turtles race. Going to the DMV. And I didn't think that was the way, but I didn't know how - in real life - one "practices" patience.
Change begins with me. It is easy to get lost and caught in that space of impatience, frustration and irritation, and then pay it forward. But I know that whenever I do that, all that I do is increase the level of impatience, frustration and irritation in the world. That if I respond with generosity, if I respond with compassion, maybe, just maybe, that generosity might encourage generosity in others.
Next time someone pushes your buttons, or acts in a manner that you find offensive, step back - back the bus up! - and try to respond in a compassionate manner. Try and stop the spiral. Try to pay the generosity forward.
If you respond, "but yeah, all women are liars, why should I trust them?" or some similar knee-jerk reaction to behavior stop and ask what you have to lose by responding with kindness and generosity rather than irritation. (Ask, so what if I *am* a liar? How does that really hurt you? I am a stranger who lives several thousand miles away who you only interacted with for the first time in the past few hours.) Try and practice patience.
As the Dalai Lama said: We can benefit others through our actions by being warm and generous toward them, by being charitable, and by helping those in need.
Let me know how it goes, and feel free to write me about your experiences. Or rant. Whichever. The first will bring a smile to my face and the second will give me more opportunities to practice. ;)
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Now, I'm gonna rant a little in here. Just warning you upfront. And I welcome any ranting back. Go ahead, get it out. But, I ask just one thing, first. Read through the whole entry before releasing your rant on me. Thank you.
I've been observing a trend lately - that I know is not new, but I've just been paying attention to it. This is the tendency to shoot first, think later, if at all.
We are not generous with each other, nor do we, apparently, naturally expect generosity from each other. So when we hear something, we often quickly react - whether in action or word or merely in thought - and often don't step back and really think about what might have happened. Then this spirals. Quickly.
You read meanness into your co-worker's e-mail, so you send something short and sharp back. The co-worker that thought she was being nice is now upset because you're upset at her, and suddenly something innocent - and perhaps even generous - has become something else due to a misunderstanding and a miscommunication.
I have problems with lawn mowers. As long as they do not belong to me, I can start them and use them just fine. Once they come under my ownership, I, no longer, have the power or ability to make them go. I have no idea why, but this is a pattern I have observed, so - in the spirit of this post - I choose to take it personally.
I received a note the other day from a neighbor who had clearly observed I was having problems getting my lawn mowed. He (or she?) offered to mow my lawn for me if I wanted, and left his number and suggested a $10 payment. I walked in and found it on my door, and felt a little sheepish because I know my lawn is getting long, and took his note as nothing but kind-hearted generousness. Yes, he suggested a fee, but I took it as kindness.
Later, after getting settled in, I was sharing my day with a friend, and I mentioned this note. She was immediately offended on my behalf and basically suggested I tell him to shove his lawn-mower where the sun don't shine (which doesn't make sense, because if the sun didn't shine, then the grass wouldn't grow, and then you wouldn't need a lawnmower??? But I digress).
I was a little surprised at her reaction, and I reassured her that, no, I thought he was just being kind. I went back and re-read the note, though, and saw that, yes, one could - I guess - take offense to it.
And this is the problem that I am observing. Faced with a choice of whether or not to take offense, so often so many of us seem to be choosing the take offense option rather than step back and try to figure out what might be going on.
Even the best intentioned person says stupid things. Some of them are genuinely stupid, and that person should be taken out back and at least gently explained why what they said was inappropriate.
But if someone doesn't tell us, then how do we learn? Oh, yes. We learn by seeing outrageous reactions to what was meant to be harmless comments. An e-mail among co-workers, a note among neighbors, a twit (er, tweet, whatever you call it) among strangers, or a warm open invitation among friends.
We all have land mines. Things that even if Mother Teresa said them to us (well, maybe I should choose someone living, like my favorite, the Dalai Lama) we'd hear in the most negative light.
I love the Dalai Lama. I've been looking back at some of his recent works to try and find the right quote for this post.
This sorta fits:
If we can manage to refrain from harming others in our everyday actions and words, we can start to give more serious attention to actively doing good, and this can be a source of great joy and inner confidence. We can benefit others through our actions by being warm and generous toward them, by being charitable, and by helping those in need.
Refraining from harming others. Good idea. Benefiting them by being warm and generous towards them. Also good.
This other one is something I've had posted lately for myself to remember by reading and re-reading
The practice of patience protects us from losing our composure. In doing that it enables us to exercise discernment, even in the heat of difficult situations. It gives us inner space. And within that space we gain a degree of self-control, which allows us to respond to situations in an appropriate and compassionate manner rather than being driven by our anger and irritation.
And I do think it fits this post well - that if we manage to practice patience and protect ourselves from losing our composure, then we can think more appropriately about the situation and how to react.
In the last twenty four hours, two separate and unrelated "events" occurred with me that has brought this issue to a head for me, and inspired this post.
The first was inadvertently tripping over a trigger for a Twitter fan. The second was recognizing that I, now, have a new trigger of my own.
I was having friendly banter with someone new yesterday afternoon via Twitter. Saw a post she made about a place I used to live, and at lunch, I posted a comment in return. Read a few more of her twits, tweets, wha-t-ever - I'm not going to become a Twitter person at this rate!!! - and enjoyed some things she had to said, and made a few more comments in reply. She replied back to me and we started an enjoyable little banter online. Or so I thought.
At one point she asked a personal identifying question of me. The question was perfectly reasonable, and certainly understandable in the context of the banter thus far. Well.. this raised an issue I've been trying to figure out how to deal with, and wrote about in my post Clark Kent - what to tell who and where? So I gave a general answer rather than a specific one, and apparently tripped over a trigger with her. What happened next may be familiar to those of you who twit on a regular basis, but let's just sum it up by saying it spiraled out of control quickly with her getting more and more upset by my responses, and me being more and more confused, dumbfounded and hurt by hers.
What became clear from her responses is that she is someone who has been hurt a lot by others, and therefore doesn't trust anyone. I'm a stranger - I don't expect a very high level of trust. But I would also not expect - and did not expect - a high level of DIS-trust. Essentially, her argument boiled down to was that "all women lie, therefore, you must be lying." I was a bit bewildered by that because, frankly, I couldn't figure out what she thought I had to gain by lying to her about very basic things. Nor what she thought I wanted from her. These are questions I still have no answers to.
The only thing that was clear was that in the moment, I had irritated and angered her. She was unable to step back and think through the situation to think about it calmly. Let alone compassionately.
And within that space we gain a degree of self-control, which allows us to respond to situations in an appropriate and compassionate manner rather than being driven by our anger and irritation.
Instead, she immediately assumed the worst about me - a virtual stranger - that I was a lying, playing mind games and thinking it was cute.
In the meantime, I was off on my way to spend some time with a friend. She has a weekend get-away spot that she goes to most every weekend, and has told me repeatedly, that I'm welcome anytime. So, taking her up on that, I joined her this past weekend. Driving home, I felt as frustrated with that situation as I had driving up about the Twitter exchange. I took some time to analyze my feelings, and realized that while it is "sweet" to think that I am welcome anytime - an open invitation I receive from many people - I came to recognize in that moment that I never wanted that kind of "invitation" again.
I knew I was reacting strongly rather than responding in an appropriate and compassionate manner, and instead I was being driven by my anger and irritation. And I know, nonetheless, that the next time someone utters those words, "You're welcome anytime" that they're likely to get a reaction that doesn't belong to them. Much as I had received from my friendly twit not 24 hours earlier. The details and analysis of THAT situation I will save for another post.
But when I began this post, I was very much aware of the similarities. Perhaps it provided me a small measure of compassion for my friendly twit. It made me realize, though, the need to encourage people to take a moment and back the bus up (the original title) and think about a situation before immediately reacting to it. Did that co-worker mean what I thought she meant in that e-mail, or is there another explanation? What happens when I look at the situation from a more compassionate perspective than an immediately offended perspective? How can I avoid the spiral?
And I think the Dalai Lama got it right. When I first read that passage, I wondered "How does one practice patience?" I thought about those hotel.com commercials where the one co-worker / friend is trying to teach the other how to wait and not feel the need to book immediately to get the best deal. Watching the turtles race. Going to the DMV. And I didn't think that was the way, but I didn't know how - in real life - one "practices" patience.
Change begins with me. It is easy to get lost and caught in that space of impatience, frustration and irritation, and then pay it forward. But I know that whenever I do that, all that I do is increase the level of impatience, frustration and irritation in the world. That if I respond with generosity, if I respond with compassion, maybe, just maybe, that generosity might encourage generosity in others.
Next time someone pushes your buttons, or acts in a manner that you find offensive, step back - back the bus up! - and try to respond in a compassionate manner. Try and stop the spiral. Try to pay the generosity forward.
If you respond, "but yeah, all women are liars, why should I trust them?" or some similar knee-jerk reaction to behavior stop and ask what you have to lose by responding with kindness and generosity rather than irritation. (Ask, so what if I *am* a liar? How does that really hurt you? I am a stranger who lives several thousand miles away who you only interacted with for the first time in the past few hours.) Try and practice patience.
As the Dalai Lama said: We can benefit others through our actions by being warm and generous toward them, by being charitable, and by helping those in need.
Let me know how it goes, and feel free to write me about your experiences. Or rant. Whichever. The first will bring a smile to my face and the second will give me more opportunities to practice. ;)
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Letting Go
This is the post that I almost started with Sixth Sense. But I could hear my editor friend in my head telling me that these are really two different ideas, even though to me they intertwine.
To explain to you my current issue of letting go, I needed you to understand my sixth sense, and that I tend to trust it. Now you do. Or if you don't, go read it and then come back to this.
I wrote the following paragraph in the last entry:
I wrote a friend recently that it's a fine line between faith and foolishness, in particular reference to holding onto the hope of a relationship. When our faith is "rewarded" we look good. When it's not, it is quick to be dismissed as foolishness. I don't like that the wisdom in these choices can only be decided in hindsight and based upon results, but even as I type that, I recognize there are a lot of situations where our wisdom can only be seen when what we anticipate comes to fruition.
I am a big fan of romance. I love Nicholas Sparks. The Notebook is both my favorite book and my favorite movie. I recently watched The Vow and The Lucky One, and another favorite movie of mine is The Time Traveler's Wife. I love the idea that "true love" wins in the end. Against all odds. Against separation. I am a sap.
I don't think I believe in "The One" although I do have moments while in love, that I believe in soul mates. I think there are a series of "ones". I am too cynical to think that in a world of 7 billion, there is only ONE and that many of us are fortunate enough to find it. Although I did find comforting Plato's description of us initially as hermaphrodites, separated and then always looking for our other half. Again, I am a hopeless romantic.
Hopeless.
It gets me in trouble.
When I was with my wife, particularly towards the end with her volatility I had at some level come to peace with the possibility that we would separate at some point. That one day she would push me away and she would run away. But like all good romances, I had determined that I would stay true to her and wait for her to get herself together and come back to me. That I made a vow to her and I had every intention of keeping it. I would continue to wear my ring and wait.
There's a country song that talks about leaving every light in the house on to let one's love know that they were waiting for them. There's another country song about someone leaving and moving to Austin a year before and this guy leaving a message for her at on his answering machine message which he changed frequently, but always ended: "If this is Austin, I still love you".
There is something "noble" in waiting.
In the end, my wife crossed a line I couldn't have even imagined. I didn't know I had such lines, but when she did it, my reaction was immediate, and I pulled off the rings I swore I would always wear. Not in anger, not in outrage, not in the middle of an argument - as she had done several times - but in acceptance. It was over. And I could never trust her and be with her again after what she had done.
(A friend just texted me completely apropos and completely unrelated, but amusing, nonetheless in this context, as if she were reading over my shoulder: "She's an evil bitch". I'm not sure I would go that far, but again, in context, I thought it was amusing...).
That decision haunted me. In fact, it still haunts me. But I trust it. (That sixth sense trust your gut thing) I do not expect that one day she will come riding in on her white horse and that she will have done the very hard work that she needs to do to be healthy and that she'll want me back. I do not want that. I want her to be healthy, and it would be nice to know that she was well, but I have let go and I know better than to go back.
You would think that experience might teach me something about this ideal of waiting. But it doesn't.
I was very fortunate that an old friend came riding in on her white horse to help me pick up the pieces of my life. As was completely natural, I fell in love with her, even though she wasn't available. It was impossible not to. But, at the moment, she remains unavailable. (Love those qualifiers).
We became close in that period of time and we shared practically everything. She told me multiple times - almost with surprise - that I was the best friend she'd ever had, and that she had never been closer to anyone else. She told me that she could imagine sharing her life with me. But circumstances changed, and she is gone.
My feelings for her are unchanged. And despite new interests and distractions, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about her and miss her. A lot of really hard things would have to happen in her life for us to be together. And I don't want her to experience that pain. So I have not pushed. I am not pushing. But I am waiting.
I don't believe I should have my life on hold, and I don't believe that I shouldn't be with others, necessarily, while I wait. And perhaps in that process - moving forward in my life - I might find that I do move on. I accept that possibility, and at moments, I hope that it will happen. But I feel this strong feeling in my gut, deep down in my bones, that in the end, we'll be together - or at the very least, we still have more in our future together, and I can't seem to let go of that. As that one guy said to the other in Brokeback Mountain, I just can't seem to quit her.
But I have moments - LOTS of them - when I wonder whether I'm listening to the voice of God pushing me to remain open, or just my own strong, stubborn will. And whether I should start letting go.
I loved this scene from The Notebook back when I was still with my wife - the arguing part struck me then. The "pain-in-the ass" 99% of the time resonated loudly!
Young Noah: Would you just stay with me?
Young Allie: Stay with you? What for? Look at us, we're already fightin'
Because that is where I am today. Maybe my faith is foolish. Apparently, only time will tell. But right now, apparently, I'm not yet ready to let go...
And this is what I was really thinking about when I started the Endings entry with: "Letting go is never easy. Figuring out when to and how to make it harder still."
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
To explain to you my current issue of letting go, I needed you to understand my sixth sense, and that I tend to trust it. Now you do. Or if you don't, go read it and then come back to this.
I wrote the following paragraph in the last entry:
I wrote a friend recently that it's a fine line between faith and foolishness, in particular reference to holding onto the hope of a relationship. When our faith is "rewarded" we look good. When it's not, it is quick to be dismissed as foolishness. I don't like that the wisdom in these choices can only be decided in hindsight and based upon results, but even as I type that, I recognize there are a lot of situations where our wisdom can only be seen when what we anticipate comes to fruition.
I am a big fan of romance. I love Nicholas Sparks. The Notebook is both my favorite book and my favorite movie. I recently watched The Vow and The Lucky One, and another favorite movie of mine is The Time Traveler's Wife. I love the idea that "true love" wins in the end. Against all odds. Against separation. I am a sap.
I don't think I believe in "The One" although I do have moments while in love, that I believe in soul mates. I think there are a series of "ones". I am too cynical to think that in a world of 7 billion, there is only ONE and that many of us are fortunate enough to find it. Although I did find comforting Plato's description of us initially as hermaphrodites, separated and then always looking for our other half. Again, I am a hopeless romantic.
Hopeless.
It gets me in trouble.
When I was with my wife, particularly towards the end with her volatility I had at some level come to peace with the possibility that we would separate at some point. That one day she would push me away and she would run away. But like all good romances, I had determined that I would stay true to her and wait for her to get herself together and come back to me. That I made a vow to her and I had every intention of keeping it. I would continue to wear my ring and wait.
There's a country song that talks about leaving every light in the house on to let one's love know that they were waiting for them. There's another country song about someone leaving and moving to Austin a year before and this guy leaving a message for her at on his answering machine message which he changed frequently, but always ended: "If this is Austin, I still love you".
There is something "noble" in waiting.
In the end, my wife crossed a line I couldn't have even imagined. I didn't know I had such lines, but when she did it, my reaction was immediate, and I pulled off the rings I swore I would always wear. Not in anger, not in outrage, not in the middle of an argument - as she had done several times - but in acceptance. It was over. And I could never trust her and be with her again after what she had done.
(A friend just texted me completely apropos and completely unrelated, but amusing, nonetheless in this context, as if she were reading over my shoulder: "She's an evil bitch". I'm not sure I would go that far, but again, in context, I thought it was amusing...).
That decision haunted me. In fact, it still haunts me. But I trust it. (That sixth sense trust your gut thing) I do not expect that one day she will come riding in on her white horse and that she will have done the very hard work that she needs to do to be healthy and that she'll want me back. I do not want that. I want her to be healthy, and it would be nice to know that she was well, but I have let go and I know better than to go back.
You would think that experience might teach me something about this ideal of waiting. But it doesn't.
I was very fortunate that an old friend came riding in on her white horse to help me pick up the pieces of my life. As was completely natural, I fell in love with her, even though she wasn't available. It was impossible not to. But, at the moment, she remains unavailable. (Love those qualifiers).
We became close in that period of time and we shared practically everything. She told me multiple times - almost with surprise - that I was the best friend she'd ever had, and that she had never been closer to anyone else. She told me that she could imagine sharing her life with me. But circumstances changed, and she is gone.
My feelings for her are unchanged. And despite new interests and distractions, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about her and miss her. A lot of really hard things would have to happen in her life for us to be together. And I don't want her to experience that pain. So I have not pushed. I am not pushing. But I am waiting.
I don't believe I should have my life on hold, and I don't believe that I shouldn't be with others, necessarily, while I wait. And perhaps in that process - moving forward in my life - I might find that I do move on. I accept that possibility, and at moments, I hope that it will happen. But I feel this strong feeling in my gut, deep down in my bones, that in the end, we'll be together - or at the very least, we still have more in our future together, and I can't seem to let go of that. As that one guy said to the other in Brokeback Mountain, I just can't seem to quit her.
But I have moments - LOTS of them - when I wonder whether I'm listening to the voice of God pushing me to remain open, or just my own strong, stubborn will. And whether I should start letting go.
I loved this scene from The Notebook back when I was still with my wife - the arguing part struck me then. The "pain-in-the ass" 99% of the time resonated loudly!
Young Noah: Would you just stay with me?
Young Allie: Stay with you? What for? Look at us, we're already fightin'
Young Noah: Well that's what we do, we fight... You tell me
when I am being an arrogant son of a bitch and I tell you when you are a pain
in the ass. Which you are, 99% of the time. I'm not afraid to hurt your
feelings. You have like a 2 second rebound rate, then you're back doing the
next pain-in-the-ass thing.
Young Allie: So what?
Young Noah: So it's not gonna be easy. It's gonna be really
hard. We're gonna have to work at this every day, but I want to do that because
I want you. I want all of you, for ever, you and me, every day. Will you do
something for me, please? Just picture your life for me? 30 years from now, 40
years from now? What's it look like? If it's with him, go. Go! I lost you once,
I think I can do it again. If I thought that's what you really wanted.
Today, what resonates from me as I read this passage, is the last part: "I lost you once, I think I can do it again." The idea that we can withstand the loss, and yet, not let go. Because that is where I am today. Maybe my faith is foolish. Apparently, only time will tell. But right now, apparently, I'm not yet ready to let go...
And this is what I was really thinking about when I started the Endings entry with: "Letting go is never easy. Figuring out when to and how to make it harder still."
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Sixth Sense
Yesterday's post Endings had a particular focus to it regarding "letting go" but even as I typed that opening line, I knew there was a whole other branch to discuss. In the circumstances and scenarios described in yesterday's post, the end was there. It was clear. All that was left to do was to "let go". But as I began, it isn't always clear when it is time to let go.
I wrote a friend recently that it's a fine line between faith and foolishness, in particular reference to holding onto the hope of a relationship. When our faith is "rewarded" we look good. When it's not, it is quick to be dismissed as foolishness. I don't like that the wisdom in these choices can only be decided in hindsight and based upon results, but even as I type that, I recognize there are a lot of situations where our wisdom can only be seen when what we anticipate comes to fruition.
That applies to so many situations. We have these sixth senses about things - or at least I do. I have these feelings so strong on a subject for which I can't articulate the basis. A fellow blogger I follow on Twitter (I'm getting versed, folks) wrote yesterday about having this bad feeling about something happening with her room-mate. My understanding is that everything was fine (although I am waiting for confirmation) - so was she "foolish" for worrying?
I don't think so. Even though everything turned out fine, I think we have an obligation to ourselves to listen to these voices. (Now you know why I seem to attract mentally ill women!). But seriously, the statistics are that we only use 10% of the grey matter we carry around in our cranium. But I think more is at work behind the scenes. I think our brain takes in a lot of information we aren't even aware of and processes it behind the scenes and then spits out the results, if important, to the rest of our brain.
I think these output come out in various forms. A sinking feeling. Hairs standing up on the back of your neck. Dreams.
There is a television series this season that illustrates a computer version of this process. Person of Interest on CBS. There was this super computer / program / algorithm that processes all of the information everywhere. All of the security camera data, all of the web data, all of the database entries that were accessible (and it was originally a government project, so it has high level access). Everything. And then, almost like that magic guru from the carnival machine, it spits out a ticket with a name on it. The people who get this name don't have any other information as to why this person might be in trouble or involved in trouble, just that this person should be watched.
I think our brains do the same thing as that super computer program.
I think we're human, though, and we don't always understand the results or what we're supposed to do with them. Some people refer to it as their gut.
There are some religious folks - from a variety of faiths - who believe that God is within us. And so, when we hear these voices, we might think we are hearing the voice of God.
I admit the temptation is there, and that I do sometimes firmly believe that a message I receive strongly is from God. That it is God telling me what I need to do or what I should do. It is God showing me a purpose to whatever steps I am taking or about to take.
But I find it hard sometimes to distinguish between God's will and my own. Particularly when it comes to letting go. But that, my friends, is another post. Because it is a fine line between foolishness and faith.
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
I wrote a friend recently that it's a fine line between faith and foolishness, in particular reference to holding onto the hope of a relationship. When our faith is "rewarded" we look good. When it's not, it is quick to be dismissed as foolishness. I don't like that the wisdom in these choices can only be decided in hindsight and based upon results, but even as I type that, I recognize there are a lot of situations where our wisdom can only be seen when what we anticipate comes to fruition.
That applies to so many situations. We have these sixth senses about things - or at least I do. I have these feelings so strong on a subject for which I can't articulate the basis. A fellow blogger I follow on Twitter (I'm getting versed, folks) wrote yesterday about having this bad feeling about something happening with her room-mate. My understanding is that everything was fine (although I am waiting for confirmation) - so was she "foolish" for worrying?
I don't think so. Even though everything turned out fine, I think we have an obligation to ourselves to listen to these voices. (Now you know why I seem to attract mentally ill women!). But seriously, the statistics are that we only use 10% of the grey matter we carry around in our cranium. But I think more is at work behind the scenes. I think our brain takes in a lot of information we aren't even aware of and processes it behind the scenes and then spits out the results, if important, to the rest of our brain.
I think these output come out in various forms. A sinking feeling. Hairs standing up on the back of your neck. Dreams.
There is a television series this season that illustrates a computer version of this process. Person of Interest on CBS. There was this super computer / program / algorithm that processes all of the information everywhere. All of the security camera data, all of the web data, all of the database entries that were accessible (and it was originally a government project, so it has high level access). Everything. And then, almost like that magic guru from the carnival machine, it spits out a ticket with a name on it. The people who get this name don't have any other information as to why this person might be in trouble or involved in trouble, just that this person should be watched.
I think our brains do the same thing as that super computer program.
I think we're human, though, and we don't always understand the results or what we're supposed to do with them. Some people refer to it as their gut.
There are some religious folks - from a variety of faiths - who believe that God is within us. And so, when we hear these voices, we might think we are hearing the voice of God.
I admit the temptation is there, and that I do sometimes firmly believe that a message I receive strongly is from God. That it is God telling me what I need to do or what I should do. It is God showing me a purpose to whatever steps I am taking or about to take.
But I find it hard sometimes to distinguish between God's will and my own. Particularly when it comes to letting go. But that, my friends, is another post. Because it is a fine line between foolishness and faith.
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Doh! Spell Check!
It is easy in these days of spell check to give crap to others - or at least think it - when we see spelling errors. Use Spell Check! Microsoft and other applications have tried to make it easier for you by making a red squiggly line so you don't have to open it and run it.
Blogger makes you run it.
And even though I'm a former English major and should spell everything perfectly, I don't.
And sometimes, I forget to spell check!
Typos happen.
I'm human.
And I just realized that the footer I had added - and have since ideally fixed - had a typo, that I then copied and pasted over and over. Ooops.
So try to remember to be kind when you come across typos. We've been spoiled by those programs that send, literally, red flags to announce our typos to us, that we have become lazy, and blind.
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Blogger makes you run it.
And even though I'm a former English major and should spell everything perfectly, I don't.
And sometimes, I forget to spell check!
Typos happen.
I'm human.
And I just realized that the footer I had added - and have since ideally fixed - had a typo, that I then copied and pasted over and over. Ooops.
So try to remember to be kind when you come across typos. We've been spoiled by those programs that send, literally, red flags to announce our typos to us, that we have become lazy, and blind.
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Endings
Letting go is never easy. Figuring out when to and how to make it harder still.
In my head I have a general timeframe of when my marriage went south. No-one will argue that the last year and a half we were together that we were in the process of ending it and letting go, despite our attempts to make it work.
Even when I realized it was over, it still took a full month for me to leave and let go of my expectations of what might or could happen.
Three years later, I am still rebuilding my life.
A colleague of mine has been in one of these phases the last year. His wife announced to the pastor that they were getting divorced. Then, they were going to counseling, and then yesterday he confided to me that they were divorcing again.
I empathized with his unexpressed helplessness. There are kids involved, and he remembers his own experience with his parents' multiple marriages. I sensed his defeat and his uncertainty at what was best and how to move forward.
He doesn't want the divorce. And I have no idea if only for the kids, or also because of remaining affection for his wife. This period takes a lot out of you. I shared with him that I knew it was finally the end when she made one of her many threats to end it all, and I felt relief.
I remember well the night after a day and a half of long emotional terror when she announced by text (she had run away by then - having snuck out of the window from a locked room so that I still have no idea how long I spent pleading to an empty room - that she was going to pack up her car and essentially ride off into the sunset.
My mother - correctly - warned me that this wouldn't happen. That my ex didn't really have a practical plan, and wouldn't really be so stupid as to leave and leave everything behind.
But I remember the immense relief I felt. I remember feeling the pleasure at a sense of certainty. So long that I couldn't even remember I had been continuously planning to leave all options open in case we stayed together, in case we didn't. Until she had suggested a finality, something I could actually plan, I didn't even realize how exhausting that was.
I knew the road ahead of me would be hard. We were behind on our mortgage and many other payments. But I had found myself limited in making long term plans with my hands tied not knowing what was happening with us.
My mother was right. She didn't leave. And even though she had family in the area that she had frequently threatened to go live with, she never did that, either.
Instead, she made my life a living hell to where I had no choice but to not only let go and walk away from her, but also to walk away from everything else in my life. From, essentially, my life.
I admit I mourn that more than I mourn losing her. Even though at some level it was just stuff. Letting go of my life, after I left, has been really hard.
Sometimes I have wondered why letting go of her was easier. And I came to realize it wasn't. I had just started earlier. I was looking back the other day at some old emails to friends. And I was surprised to remember that there was another milestone point in the end of our relationship - that we had been having problems a good year or so before the period I typically think of as the beginning of the end. I had softened my memory. But in hindsight, I had been learning to let go of her over three years before I was able to actually let go.
Today, another friend received correspondence from her soon to be ex-spouse saying that in order for him to be happy, he couldn't have any more contact with her. And while I know she was done being his wife, I can only imagine that part of her reaction is part of letting go, and the pain when someone else lets go of us.
It isn't easy to know these things, to go through these things. It takes time.
When my colleague told me of the change in tides, all I could do was give him a big hug. Even knowing that with time it gets better, it is hard to watch those you care about struggle with letting go.
As Elizabeth Bishop once wrote, the art of losing isn't hard to master:
-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
In my head I have a general timeframe of when my marriage went south. No-one will argue that the last year and a half we were together that we were in the process of ending it and letting go, despite our attempts to make it work.
Even when I realized it was over, it still took a full month for me to leave and let go of my expectations of what might or could happen.
Three years later, I am still rebuilding my life.
A colleague of mine has been in one of these phases the last year. His wife announced to the pastor that they were getting divorced. Then, they were going to counseling, and then yesterday he confided to me that they were divorcing again.
I empathized with his unexpressed helplessness. There are kids involved, and he remembers his own experience with his parents' multiple marriages. I sensed his defeat and his uncertainty at what was best and how to move forward.
He doesn't want the divorce. And I have no idea if only for the kids, or also because of remaining affection for his wife. This period takes a lot out of you. I shared with him that I knew it was finally the end when she made one of her many threats to end it all, and I felt relief.
I remember well the night after a day and a half of long emotional terror when she announced by text (she had run away by then - having snuck out of the window from a locked room so that I still have no idea how long I spent pleading to an empty room - that she was going to pack up her car and essentially ride off into the sunset.
My mother - correctly - warned me that this wouldn't happen. That my ex didn't really have a practical plan, and wouldn't really be so stupid as to leave and leave everything behind.
But I remember the immense relief I felt. I remember feeling the pleasure at a sense of certainty. So long that I couldn't even remember I had been continuously planning to leave all options open in case we stayed together, in case we didn't. Until she had suggested a finality, something I could actually plan, I didn't even realize how exhausting that was.
I knew the road ahead of me would be hard. We were behind on our mortgage and many other payments. But I had found myself limited in making long term plans with my hands tied not knowing what was happening with us.
My mother was right. She didn't leave. And even though she had family in the area that she had frequently threatened to go live with, she never did that, either.
Instead, she made my life a living hell to where I had no choice but to not only let go and walk away from her, but also to walk away from everything else in my life. From, essentially, my life.
I admit I mourn that more than I mourn losing her. Even though at some level it was just stuff. Letting go of my life, after I left, has been really hard.
Sometimes I have wondered why letting go of her was easier. And I came to realize it wasn't. I had just started earlier. I was looking back the other day at some old emails to friends. And I was surprised to remember that there was another milestone point in the end of our relationship - that we had been having problems a good year or so before the period I typically think of as the beginning of the end. I had softened my memory. But in hindsight, I had been learning to let go of her over three years before I was able to actually let go.
Today, another friend received correspondence from her soon to be ex-spouse saying that in order for him to be happy, he couldn't have any more contact with her. And while I know she was done being his wife, I can only imagine that part of her reaction is part of letting go, and the pain when someone else lets go of us.
It isn't easy to know these things, to go through these things. It takes time.
When my colleague told me of the change in tides, all I could do was give him a big hug. Even knowing that with time it gets better, it is hard to watch those you care about struggle with letting go.
As Elizabeth Bishop once wrote, the art of losing isn't hard to master:
-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Unfinished Masterpieces
For the most part, once I start writing here, I finish and hit "Publish". I'm not an overnight draft-thinker. You can probably tell that I don't agonize over every word, and polish this beyond shining to brilliant.
So, when I look at my Blogger dashboard, most of the entries I've written are published.
Only four remain drafts.
And I think their titles are very instructive on a topic I've been trying to write about. Here are the titles:
But unfortunately for me, all four tie together into the same topic.
My big serious (we got married, after all) relationsihp that ended was with a woman who was mentally ill. Unfortunately, we got to a place where my being there was more hurtful to her than my being gone. It's a long story that the telling of wouldn't really add much more value here. I still regret, though, leaving her, even though I knew I had no other choice.
It's been a few years since that relationship imploded, and I have continued to breathe, to live, to be. I have even fallen in love again since then, although as is my luck, that person is unavailable. I have also had a crush or two. It is good to know that a broken heart can still function despite the wear and tear.
There is a lot of thought here - a lot of meat to write about - in these inter-related topics.
And maybe, some day, I will.. and I will hit "publish".
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If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
So, when I look at my Blogger dashboard, most of the entries I've written are published.
Only four remain drafts.
And I think their titles are very instructive on a topic I've been trying to write about. Here are the titles:
- Love
- Mental Illness
- Choices
- True Love or The One
But unfortunately for me, all four tie together into the same topic.
My big serious (we got married, after all) relationsihp that ended was with a woman who was mentally ill. Unfortunately, we got to a place where my being there was more hurtful to her than my being gone. It's a long story that the telling of wouldn't really add much more value here. I still regret, though, leaving her, even though I knew I had no other choice.
It's been a few years since that relationship imploded, and I have continued to breathe, to live, to be. I have even fallen in love again since then, although as is my luck, that person is unavailable. I have also had a crush or two. It is good to know that a broken heart can still function despite the wear and tear.
There is a lot of thought here - a lot of meat to write about - in these inter-related topics.
And maybe, some day, I will.. and I will hit "publish".
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If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Clark Kent
I wonder if there is a "superheroes" anonymous support group for Superman, Flash, Wonderwoman, Batman, and all the caped (and not-so-caped) crusaders? I mean is there a support group for those who do one thing with part of their life as one identity, and then go about their regular lives in another identity.
I am very much myself. I don't know how to be anyone but myself. I'm not a pretender. I don't play games. I've never really been in a closet, never had to pretend to be anything other than me. I'm just me. For better or worse. I hope for better.
So, I find myself getting to know people as this "alter ego". Which as I type my entries, I'm me, in my head, but I am hiding behind this secret identity. And I have begun twitting, as you know, in this alternate identity, but I do not twit in real life. Which doesn't make sense, exactly.
So I am starting to make connections as me. Well, as the Borg Blog, which IS me, but isn't.
At some point, I may want to meet some of you in real life, or to have you know ME, as I am.
I wonder if Jenny ever tried to hide behind The Bloggess, or if she gave up her identity early.
I have some of my favorite bloggers following me here on Twitter. I'm excited, because I enjoy their blogs. But one of my blogger followers also knows Clark Kent. We're actually starting to get a little conversation going, and a part of me wants to scream out to her that she is already following me as Superman, er, Borg Blog. But I'm trying to keep the identities separate. And it isn't as if she's shared HER real name with me.
I don't know how those superheroes did it. I imagine the money from the movies helps them cope...
Eventually, I imagine, I'll end up disclosing my secret identity. Particularly if I want a book deal like The Bloggess... Until then, just enjoy this caped crusader and be friendly to those around you. One of them could be me.
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If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
I am very much myself. I don't know how to be anyone but myself. I'm not a pretender. I don't play games. I've never really been in a closet, never had to pretend to be anything other than me. I'm just me. For better or worse. I hope for better.
So, I find myself getting to know people as this "alter ego". Which as I type my entries, I'm me, in my head, but I am hiding behind this secret identity. And I have begun twitting, as you know, in this alternate identity, but I do not twit in real life. Which doesn't make sense, exactly.
So I am starting to make connections as me. Well, as the Borg Blog, which IS me, but isn't.
At some point, I may want to meet some of you in real life, or to have you know ME, as I am.
I wonder if Jenny ever tried to hide behind The Bloggess, or if she gave up her identity early.
I have some of my favorite bloggers following me here on Twitter. I'm excited, because I enjoy their blogs. But one of my blogger followers also knows Clark Kent. We're actually starting to get a little conversation going, and a part of me wants to scream out to her that she is already following me as Superman, er, Borg Blog. But I'm trying to keep the identities separate. And it isn't as if she's shared HER real name with me.
I don't know how those superheroes did it. I imagine the money from the movies helps them cope...
Eventually, I imagine, I'll end up disclosing my secret identity. Particularly if I want a book deal like The Bloggess... Until then, just enjoy this caped crusader and be friendly to those around you. One of them could be me.
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If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Shower-Time
I must admit there is something about lathering my hair in the shower with shampoo that seems to massage the creative writing juices in me. I can create these incredibly well-worded pieces to be written, but like dreams, they seem to fade quickly as soon as I exit the shower.
I have begun, actually, keeping a dream journal. It is crazy what little tidbits from the previous day seem to enter into our subconscious and manifest themselves in our nocturnal wanderings.
One of the reasons I began keeping the dream journal was after a colleague commented about one of my dreams connecting it to another dream I told her about earlier that I, now, had no memory remaining of such dream or telling her about it. That she, someone who I thought I kept at somewhat of a distance, was able to recall and connect my dreams suggested that I, too, might want to collect and connect my dreams to each other.
I have a very vivid dream cycle lately. So vivid, in fact, that it's hard to wake up and go wherever it is I need to go next. So vivid, in fact, that I look forward to afternoon naps much as a kid looks forward to his tv time when he gets home from school. Sometimes I remember the dreams after, and often, I don't.
Much like my shower thoughts.
This morning, for instance, inspired by some random comment about Thomas Jefferson writing 19,000 letters, I constructed this long detailed framework for a snail mail correspondence to a friend of mine who had sent me a letter last fall by mail that I had not responded to, yet, in the same form. Don't worry, she knows I'm still alive. We are, after all, Facebook friends. We've even spoken on the phone and I acknowledged how wonderful it was to get her letter, and my regret at not having yet responded in kind.
So, in the shower this framework of a letter forms. The first introductory paragraphs, apologizing for the delay in writing, and how much I love and enjoy the form of writing are written whole as I rub-a-dub-dub. And then all the areas of my life that I want to share with her - lost loves, unrequited loves, unavailable loves (wait, there seems to be a pattern developing here) as well as my hum-drum every day life, begin to form.
In the shower, I dream up this vivid rich correspondence. The letter will be ten pages typed by the time I'm done. I am so inspired that even though I got in the shower so that I could move forward with a different task I need to do today, I felt compelled to sit down - still in my towel - and begin this epic letter that I had dreamed up in my shower.
"Dear xxx," it began so originally.
Then I crafted this inelegant paragraph:
"The last time I tried to write you via snail mail, I did it by hand, and I think that was part of the cause of failure. I type much more easily than I do write by hand. And, fortunate for you, it is much more legible when I type."
That was not quite how I had mastered it - or clearly NOT mastered it - in the shower. And then, all of the rest of what I wanted to write, while I sit here in front of my laptop in only my towel, disappeared. And I stared at the remaining blank "page" on the screen.
You know there is that moment when you wake up from a dream when it is so vivid and fresh in your mind you think you'll never forget it. Boy are you wrong. Even by the time I manage to open up a place to write it down, it has already begun to fragment. Sometimes all I can get down are things I hope / think will trigger memories of pieces of it.
"Saw Dad."
No memory of what Dad was doing, or why he was in there, but I remember that much. And I remembered it with such intensity, that the fact that it stuck after it faded must mean it's important.
I am brilliant in the shower. I am a virtuoso of words in the shower.
But by the time I get here, so often, it has faded.
I know, now, that I will not finish that letter. That despite the shower-time inspiration, clarity, intensity of the mission, it will not get written. At least not as I had envisioned it there. Perhaps another shower another day may inspire me past: "you're lucky I'm typing this because my handwriting sucks" inspiration.
Or perhaps, it will, instead, inspire another brilliant blog entry.
I try to capture my shower inspirations, much as I capture my dreams. Because I believe if I string them together they may have some meaning. But maybe, in the end, they will just be fragments. I'll never know, though, if I don't step back and look at them as a whole.
Read on...
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
I have begun, actually, keeping a dream journal. It is crazy what little tidbits from the previous day seem to enter into our subconscious and manifest themselves in our nocturnal wanderings.
One of the reasons I began keeping the dream journal was after a colleague commented about one of my dreams connecting it to another dream I told her about earlier that I, now, had no memory remaining of such dream or telling her about it. That she, someone who I thought I kept at somewhat of a distance, was able to recall and connect my dreams suggested that I, too, might want to collect and connect my dreams to each other.
I have a very vivid dream cycle lately. So vivid, in fact, that it's hard to wake up and go wherever it is I need to go next. So vivid, in fact, that I look forward to afternoon naps much as a kid looks forward to his tv time when he gets home from school. Sometimes I remember the dreams after, and often, I don't.
Much like my shower thoughts.
This morning, for instance, inspired by some random comment about Thomas Jefferson writing 19,000 letters, I constructed this long detailed framework for a snail mail correspondence to a friend of mine who had sent me a letter last fall by mail that I had not responded to, yet, in the same form. Don't worry, she knows I'm still alive. We are, after all, Facebook friends. We've even spoken on the phone and I acknowledged how wonderful it was to get her letter, and my regret at not having yet responded in kind.
So, in the shower this framework of a letter forms. The first introductory paragraphs, apologizing for the delay in writing, and how much I love and enjoy the form of writing are written whole as I rub-a-dub-dub. And then all the areas of my life that I want to share with her - lost loves, unrequited loves, unavailable loves (wait, there seems to be a pattern developing here) as well as my hum-drum every day life, begin to form.
In the shower, I dream up this vivid rich correspondence. The letter will be ten pages typed by the time I'm done. I am so inspired that even though I got in the shower so that I could move forward with a different task I need to do today, I felt compelled to sit down - still in my towel - and begin this epic letter that I had dreamed up in my shower.
"Dear xxx," it began so originally.
Then I crafted this inelegant paragraph:
"The last time I tried to write you via snail mail, I did it by hand, and I think that was part of the cause of failure. I type much more easily than I do write by hand. And, fortunate for you, it is much more legible when I type."
That was not quite how I had mastered it - or clearly NOT mastered it - in the shower. And then, all of the rest of what I wanted to write, while I sit here in front of my laptop in only my towel, disappeared. And I stared at the remaining blank "page" on the screen.
You know there is that moment when you wake up from a dream when it is so vivid and fresh in your mind you think you'll never forget it. Boy are you wrong. Even by the time I manage to open up a place to write it down, it has already begun to fragment. Sometimes all I can get down are things I hope / think will trigger memories of pieces of it.
"Saw Dad."
No memory of what Dad was doing, or why he was in there, but I remember that much. And I remembered it with such intensity, that the fact that it stuck after it faded must mean it's important.
I am brilliant in the shower. I am a virtuoso of words in the shower.
But by the time I get here, so often, it has faded.
I know, now, that I will not finish that letter. That despite the shower-time inspiration, clarity, intensity of the mission, it will not get written. At least not as I had envisioned it there. Perhaps another shower another day may inspire me past: "you're lucky I'm typing this because my handwriting sucks" inspiration.
Or perhaps, it will, instead, inspire another brilliant blog entry.
I try to capture my shower inspirations, much as I capture my dreams. Because I believe if I string them together they may have some meaning. But maybe, in the end, they will just be fragments. I'll never know, though, if I don't step back and look at them as a whole.
Read on...
-----------------------------
If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.
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