Hmm... as my hands dry from the third .. or is it fourth?.. time washing dishes today, I can't help but wonder how I became domesticated so quickly.
Think of me - generally - as having more the habits of a guy (I know, guys, you're probably better than me, so forgive me the insult). For the last three years, I've lived alone. Answered to no-one, had few guests, and so chores were, well, optional. Except laundry. Don't worry, I did laundry. Although I did learn how to make certain items of clothing last longer.... (I also own many, many, many pairs of underwear.. oops TMI)
Make my bed? Why? I was gonna be back in it later that night.. Aw hell, who am I kidding? If I was at home, I'd be back in it within a few minutes, getting out usually just to go to the fridge or the bathroom or something. I was the only one using my toilet, and I had no pets (for the most part), so there was no reason to put the lid down. My bathroom was spacious enough it wasn't as if I had things above the toilet waiting to fall in. As long as I could get back and forth to the fridge and the bathroom and the front door, who really cared if there were clothes, or books or other things on other parts of the floor? If I had plenty of clean dishes (and I had plenty of sets of dishes) what was the rush in washing the dishes?
Well, I wasn't necessarily that bad...
Oh, wait, that's right, my girl reads this, I can't get away with that...
But it's been just under two weeks here, and I have been quite domesticated. If I'm still in bed when she leaves in the morning, I make the bed. (Usually not until about 3 PM or so, but still...). And if she's here, I often help her make it. I've learned to put the lid down on the toilet because the bathroom is, shall we say, cozy. I don't always get it right. I've learned to pull the shower curtain shut before drying my towel, so that it won't get mildewy on the bottom. And, I've learned how to wash dishes after every meal (or right before she comes home, whichever works...), and put the dishes away, even.
I have been domesticated.
It's not necessarily a bad thing. I'm not sure if I ended up living on my own again any time soon (and I'm not hoping for this, understand) I'd probably quickly revert to my slovenly ways. Because I understand very well what the motivation is for doing them now. (Hopefully you haven't eaten any time soon, because I might make you gag....) The motivation is "Love".
Now, it would *PROBABLY* be more loving if I didn't point it out every time she came home, "Hey, babe? Look, I made the bed! You know what this says?" She's started to roll her eyes at this point, and frankly, I can't blame her... "It says, 'I love you!'"
I do these things because it makes HER happy. And that's reason enough. And that, my friends, is how I have become domesticated.
P.S. I'm sure I still have quite a ways to go... but I am a work in progress at least... ;)
Showing posts with label inconsistency. Show all posts
Showing posts with label inconsistency. Show all posts
Friday, March 22, 2013
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
People
There are moments in life when you want to crawl into a hole and just get away from all people. Right? Tell me, you've had those moments, too?
Except the pathetic irony is that even when you crawl into that hole ostensibly to get away from everyone, because everyone seems to suck, you really want that special someone to notice you've crawled into a hole and to come and find you.
Yeah.. Humans are inconsistent creatures...
I'd crawl into the hole.. but there isn't anyone special that would come looking for me... Nope. The one who would has decided she doesn't want to be that special someone. And it's been three months since she has come looking for me... (Oh, woe is me... Pity party of one? Your usual table is ready...)
So, I find out this news today. And the first live person I try to tell - the first friend I run into - doesn't even realize what I'm trying to tell her. I have to try and tell her about four different times in four different sightings before she pays enough attention to me to realize what I'm saying. And then what does she do? She changes the subject...
As Bartles & James would say, "Thank you. Thank you for your support."
Another friend was less supportive last week, and after I got a little irrationally upset, hasn't really spoken to me since. And there's a part of me that prefers that because even though I was irrational, I'm still not happy about her behavior and her absence. Even though it likely has nothing to do with me.
Another friend has recently declared about another friend of mine that she not only doesn't like the sin, she doesn't like the sinner. Knowing that I have committed the same "sin" and yet, blindly, she doesn't hate me? But she should if she were consistent, so I don't really feel like spending time around her...
I got bitched at by a parent the other night at soccer - the wife of a member of the Board. She was upset because apparently my cohort telling her in person about the fundraiser money deadline was not sufficient, and she was angry because *I* didn't call her to tell her money was due. Your husband is on the Board? The calendar has been posted since last November? Um, the coach called everyone to tell them when it was due? We sent home flyers? And *I'm* the one responsible for you not knowing the money was due?
F-you.
And frankly, at the moment, that is what I feel like saying to most people. All while hoping they come looking for me under the rock I plan on hiding under.
Humans are inconsistent crazy creatures. And I am most certainly one of 'em...
Except the pathetic irony is that even when you crawl into that hole ostensibly to get away from everyone, because everyone seems to suck, you really want that special someone to notice you've crawled into a hole and to come and find you.
Yeah.. Humans are inconsistent creatures...
I'd crawl into the hole.. but there isn't anyone special that would come looking for me... Nope. The one who would has decided she doesn't want to be that special someone. And it's been three months since she has come looking for me... (Oh, woe is me... Pity party of one? Your usual table is ready...)
So, I find out this news today. And the first live person I try to tell - the first friend I run into - doesn't even realize what I'm trying to tell her. I have to try and tell her about four different times in four different sightings before she pays enough attention to me to realize what I'm saying. And then what does she do? She changes the subject...
As Bartles & James would say, "Thank you. Thank you for your support."
Another friend was less supportive last week, and after I got a little irrationally upset, hasn't really spoken to me since. And there's a part of me that prefers that because even though I was irrational, I'm still not happy about her behavior and her absence. Even though it likely has nothing to do with me.
Another friend has recently declared about another friend of mine that she not only doesn't like the sin, she doesn't like the sinner. Knowing that I have committed the same "sin" and yet, blindly, she doesn't hate me? But she should if she were consistent, so I don't really feel like spending time around her...
I got bitched at by a parent the other night at soccer - the wife of a member of the Board. She was upset because apparently my cohort telling her in person about the fundraiser money deadline was not sufficient, and she was angry because *I* didn't call her to tell her money was due. Your husband is on the Board? The calendar has been posted since last November? Um, the coach called everyone to tell them when it was due? We sent home flyers? And *I'm* the one responsible for you not knowing the money was due?
F-you.
And frankly, at the moment, that is what I feel like saying to most people. All while hoping they come looking for me under the rock I plan on hiding under.
Humans are inconsistent crazy creatures. And I am most certainly one of 'em...
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Good enough...
Okay, so an hour ago I found out I have 48 hours until my "handoff" meeting.
That seemed do-able. Still does - don't know why I wrote in the past tense!
Put together a macro-punch list of what still needs to be done, and put together a schedule totry and get it done. (Yoda on my shoulder (he's heavy, by the way) : NO! Try not! Do or do not! There is no try!)
Andtry and be reasonable and realistic and plan in breaks and other life events. I cannot - and will not - spend the next forty-eight hours on this project. (Forty-six now...)
I realize my biggest issue with this project is letting go, and recognizing when it is "good enough".
"Good enough" is a really hard concept to accept. There's always a tweak that can make it better. Letting go, though, and recognizing that something or someone or some event or some whatever is good enough is really tough. I want to be able to say I did my best, but "good enough" is rarely one's best. So, I qualify and instead will say, "I did the best I could given the... " whatever comes next refers to limitations. And even that, sometimes, is not true. But I have to believe it, and I have to let go.
It is hard for me to realize, and easier for others to see for me, that sometimes my "good enough" is still much better than many people's "best"s and that is even more reason why I should be able to accept "good enough".
You can see that I am still trying to convince myself.
But this is an ongoing struggle on a much larger level. It is a circular fight. At some level, we have to give ourselves permission to be human, and to not be perfect, and to accept that we do, generally, do the best that we can given the circumstances. We do this in parenting, we do this in our relationships with others, we do this at work, we do this in keeping commitments. But sometimes we give ourselves too much permission to not bring our best to the table. To not give our best. To instead spread ourselves so thin, to create circumstances, where we have to accept "good enough".
It is a double-edged sword "good enough".
I brought in Yoda above partly as a joke, but I think his comment addresses a broader issue. Sometimes we need to just do. There is no trying. And sometimes, we need to change the circumstances that prevent us from doing. In wanting to get the correct exact line, I googled it, and re-watched 44 seconds of the scene from which it comes. In the scene from Empire Strikes Back where Yoda is instructing the young Jedi that he is what prevents himself from raising the X-wing fighter that has sunk into the morass,
"So certain are you? *sigh* Always with you what cannot be done. Do you nothing that I say?" Luke tells him that moving stones around is one thing, that this huge thing is totally different.
Yoda says, "No. No different. Only different in your mind. You must unlearn what you have learned."
And that's when Luke says he'll give it a try.
What often keeps us from getting things done is ourselves. Whether it is accepting actually good work as "good enough" or believing that the circumstances around us really prevent us from doing something the way we think it should or could be done.
This is a rambling post, with some real potential in it for great thoughts. But the current circumstance is that the time I allotted for a break is over. So this will have to be "good enough" to provoke some thought from you and from me about how we approach getting done what we need to get done. And how we let go of the things we have done.
It's one big circle, and I am already dizzy thinking about it... ;)
P.S. Hit 5,000 hits last night. Thanks all! Keep reading!
That seemed do-able. Still does - don't know why I wrote in the past tense!
Put together a macro-punch list of what still needs to be done, and put together a schedule to
And
I realize my biggest issue with this project is letting go, and recognizing when it is "good enough".
"Good enough" is a really hard concept to accept. There's always a tweak that can make it better. Letting go, though, and recognizing that something or someone or some event or some whatever is good enough is really tough. I want to be able to say I did my best, but "good enough" is rarely one's best. So, I qualify and instead will say, "I did the best I could given the... " whatever comes next refers to limitations. And even that, sometimes, is not true. But I have to believe it, and I have to let go.
It is hard for me to realize, and easier for others to see for me, that sometimes my "good enough" is still much better than many people's "best"s and that is even more reason why I should be able to accept "good enough".
You can see that I am still trying to convince myself.
But this is an ongoing struggle on a much larger level. It is a circular fight. At some level, we have to give ourselves permission to be human, and to not be perfect, and to accept that we do, generally, do the best that we can given the circumstances. We do this in parenting, we do this in our relationships with others, we do this at work, we do this in keeping commitments. But sometimes we give ourselves too much permission to not bring our best to the table. To not give our best. To instead spread ourselves so thin, to create circumstances, where we have to accept "good enough".
It is a double-edged sword "good enough".
I brought in Yoda above partly as a joke, but I think his comment addresses a broader issue. Sometimes we need to just do. There is no trying. And sometimes, we need to change the circumstances that prevent us from doing. In wanting to get the correct exact line, I googled it, and re-watched 44 seconds of the scene from which it comes. In the scene from Empire Strikes Back where Yoda is instructing the young Jedi that he is what prevents himself from raising the X-wing fighter that has sunk into the morass,
"So certain are you? *sigh* Always with you what cannot be done. Do you nothing that I say?" Luke tells him that moving stones around is one thing, that this huge thing is totally different.
Yoda says, "No. No different. Only different in your mind. You must unlearn what you have learned."
And that's when Luke says he'll give it a try.
What often keeps us from getting things done is ourselves. Whether it is accepting actually good work as "good enough" or believing that the circumstances around us really prevent us from doing something the way we think it should or could be done.
This is a rambling post, with some real potential in it for great thoughts. But the current circumstance is that the time I allotted for a break is over. So this will have to be "good enough" to provoke some thought from you and from me about how we approach getting done what we need to get done. And how we let go of the things we have done.
It's one big circle, and I am already dizzy thinking about it... ;)
P.S. Hit 5,000 hits last night. Thanks all! Keep reading!
Friday, September 14, 2012
Today is the first day...
Blah, blah, blah...
Although it's fricking true. Still, blah, blah, blah.
I am at another, shall we say, "transition point" in my life. The part-time contract that was supposed to be somewhat short-term and that I managed to actually stretch out for a full year - much past it's expiration date - is not-so-surprisingly coming to an end.
In the bigger picture, I know this is a good thing.
And I know my friends are stuck providing me all the good trite sayings I would say to them in the same situation. "Today is the first day of the rest of your life", etc., etc.
And I feel their pain. I know that there is NOTHING they could say to me - trite or otherwise - that would necessarily penetrate this bubble of concern that is surrounding me.
Now, I'm not on full blown panic or distress (yet). But I'm not exactly happy, either.
I have several months before full blown panic or distress comes in (not that I won't have my moments, mind you).
One of the problems I have is that some of my contracts are open ended, so it's not always possible to prepare ahead of time for another one, because it's not always clear with the first one is going to end. It took me eight months between the last one and this one to have more than a two or three week gig, and those were eight long months. I made a small amount of savings stretch quite far. I was quite impressed with myself, frankly.
But my savings going into this round, though, are a little less impressive because I had some serious dental bills at the beginning of the year. So I'm nervous.
I try to have faith. God and I are having quite a few conversations lately. He's the strong silent type. He knows anything he might say I'd probably respond "blah, blah, blah" to, much as I have been doing to my friends. But I am trying to have faith that when this door closes, another one will open. Or a window (although it's starting to get chillier...).
I also know job hunting before Christmas is not always easy. I've got an extra month or so jump from prior years when I've found myself in this situation, but I know once mid-November hits, I just have to hold on until January. And I'm hoping it doesn't come to that.
The problem with these transition points, as I so politely call them, is that it also calls into question other "life choices". Now this can be a good examination, or a not-so-good examination. It is good and healthy, as a general rule, to make sure you stop and examine if you are in the place (literally, figuratively, metaphysically) that you want to be in your life, and when certain obligations that have been keeping you in those positions release, to confirm you are where you want to be. Those are good examinations, because if you're going to make big changes in your life, these are good moments to make them.
The trouble is that the flip side of that can be a little bit like Alice's rabbit-hole. And it doesn't take much to slip into full-on crisis and doubt that everything you've done to get yourself to this place and everything that you're doing is wrong. And that you aren't supposed to be here, and .. well... you can already see how the cycle can swirl out of control quite quickly.
And I have spent a considerable amount of this summer beginning to wonder if this is the place I should be. Wondering if despite how much I *do* like small town life, if this isn't still a bit too small for me - or perhaps, at least, not as diverse for me as I might want. Surely there are small towns in the world with larger lesbian populations <*cough* Oregon *cough*>. Of course even those that are nearby seem a little too political for my taste... (picky, picky, picky). But in late June when my landlord told me I might have been better off if the Poltergeist tree had taken out my house, I have been wondering what I would do if it had. Where would I go? Would I stay here?
The problem, then, with grand sayings like "Today is the first day..." is that while it's meant to be optimistic and full of possibilities, is that it is just full of possibilities. And they swirl in front of someone with no direction like a tornado. (And tornadoes are not good around here, because they bring down the BIG ASS TREE onto my house, and well...)
My friends are stuck in a hopeless situation. I want feedback, I want *something* from them in response to my growing fear, and yet, I know, my response to anything they might offer me is "Blah, blah, blah..." I'll have answers to refute any of their good suggestions (not that they won't stick in my craw and gestate even after I refute them) and that I will be quite stubborn and frustrating. Which is why God stays silent. He knows that actions speak louder than words. Right, big guy? *wink* *wink* *nudge* *nudge*
Today is the first day....
Although it's fricking true. Still, blah, blah, blah.
I am at another, shall we say, "transition point" in my life. The part-time contract that was supposed to be somewhat short-term and that I managed to actually stretch out for a full year - much past it's expiration date - is not-so-surprisingly coming to an end.
In the bigger picture, I know this is a good thing.
And I know my friends are stuck providing me all the good trite sayings I would say to them in the same situation. "Today is the first day of the rest of your life", etc., etc.
And I feel their pain. I know that there is NOTHING they could say to me - trite or otherwise - that would necessarily penetrate this bubble of concern that is surrounding me.
Now, I'm not on full blown panic or distress (yet). But I'm not exactly happy, either.
I have several months before full blown panic or distress comes in (not that I won't have my moments, mind you).
One of the problems I have is that some of my contracts are open ended, so it's not always possible to prepare ahead of time for another one, because it's not always clear with the first one is going to end. It took me eight months between the last one and this one to have more than a two or three week gig, and those were eight long months. I made a small amount of savings stretch quite far. I was quite impressed with myself, frankly.
But my savings going into this round, though, are a little less impressive because I had some serious dental bills at the beginning of the year. So I'm nervous.
I try to have faith. God and I are having quite a few conversations lately. He's the strong silent type. He knows anything he might say I'd probably respond "blah, blah, blah" to, much as I have been doing to my friends. But I am trying to have faith that when this door closes, another one will open. Or a window (although it's starting to get chillier...).
I also know job hunting before Christmas is not always easy. I've got an extra month or so jump from prior years when I've found myself in this situation, but I know once mid-November hits, I just have to hold on until January. And I'm hoping it doesn't come to that.
The problem with these transition points, as I so politely call them, is that it also calls into question other "life choices". Now this can be a good examination, or a not-so-good examination. It is good and healthy, as a general rule, to make sure you stop and examine if you are in the place (literally, figuratively, metaphysically) that you want to be in your life, and when certain obligations that have been keeping you in those positions release, to confirm you are where you want to be. Those are good examinations, because if you're going to make big changes in your life, these are good moments to make them.
The trouble is that the flip side of that can be a little bit like Alice's rabbit-hole. And it doesn't take much to slip into full-on crisis and doubt that everything you've done to get yourself to this place and everything that you're doing is wrong. And that you aren't supposed to be here, and .. well... you can already see how the cycle can swirl out of control quite quickly.
And I have spent a considerable amount of this summer beginning to wonder if this is the place I should be. Wondering if despite how much I *do* like small town life, if this isn't still a bit too small for me - or perhaps, at least, not as diverse for me as I might want. Surely there are small towns in the world with larger lesbian populations <*cough* Oregon *cough*>. Of course even those that are nearby seem a little too political for my taste... (picky, picky, picky). But in late June when my landlord told me I might have been better off if the Poltergeist tree had taken out my house, I have been wondering what I would do if it had. Where would I go? Would I stay here?
The problem, then, with grand sayings like "Today is the first day..." is that while it's meant to be optimistic and full of possibilities, is that it is just full of possibilities. And they swirl in front of someone with no direction like a tornado. (And tornadoes are not good around here, because they bring down the BIG ASS TREE onto my house, and well...)
My friends are stuck in a hopeless situation. I want feedback, I want *something* from them in response to my growing fear, and yet, I know, my response to anything they might offer me is "Blah, blah, blah..." I'll have answers to refute any of their good suggestions (not that they won't stick in my craw and gestate even after I refute them) and that I will be quite stubborn and frustrating. Which is why God stays silent. He knows that actions speak louder than words. Right, big guy? *wink* *wink* *nudge* *nudge*
"Do not cling to events of the past or dwell on what happened long ago. Watch for the new thing I am going to do. It is happening already - you can see it now! I will make a road through the wilderness and give you streams of water there." (Isaiah 43)I have carried this in my wallet for three years.
Today is the first day....
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
A rose named Borg...
Original Title (so you can understand the original theme I was writing from):
Rocks, Hard Places, Awkwardness and a Game Called Jenga
I've just had another individual from Twitter politely note, "I just realized I don't know your real name". When I politely ignored that particular comment, she less passively (after politely waiting for one or two more exchanges) directly asked, "So... not gonna tell me your real name?"
There is only one person I've met on Twitter who knows my real name. My full real name. One other person knows my first name. That's it. (So, yes, you two, you should feel REALLY special, but you can do so quietly)
And that is not an easy decision. And by next week, that circle may increase.
The first one who I gave it to had shared some quite intimate details about herself by e-mail earlier in the day, and that evening we were chatting by g-chat, and twenty minutes into the conversation she stated, finally, near the end of the conversation: "You have to tell me your name. I can't call you the borg blog!"
Um, yes you can? And her argument, as go all the arguments I get, is "who am I going to tell?"
If she were to disclose herself (which I am asking her not to), she'd tell you that all she got for a long time was just my first name. In fact, the last name slipped really only because I sent her an e-mail from the wrong account. (Dratted iPhone and human error).
This is not easy for me. I do not like living in closets. I do not like hiding who I am. I have no desire to be the tiny "wizard" hiding behind some great contraption of fire and smoke appearing to be bigger than who I am. I HATE closets (except the big walk-in kinds where I can keep my clothes that I've never actually had the joy of having...).
I have written several blog entries already about anonymity. I don't know if I've tagged them all, but you'll see several of them if you click on the label over there on the right. This is something I've struggled with. And still struggle with.
At some level, in my last anonymity post, I acknowledged that I could not keep my two worlds separate forever. But that each time one side touches the other side, it's like taking out a piece in a game of Jenga. The first pieces are easy, and bring no significant threat to the structure. Really, only the dog wagging its tail will knock it down. As a side note, playing Jenga with a yellow lab puppy, by the way, is very hard to do! But there does come a time where you've taken out so many pieces it makes the structure very precarious, and even the slight vibrations from the plane taking off nearby or the train rumbling by (I've lived both near airports and train tracks) will knock it down while you aren't even looking.
Part of the reason for this blog, I've admitted openly, is as a way for me to heal from the loss of some important people in my life. People I've loved dearly. People I still love dearly. While really I am writing in here only about me, I'm not. And I live in a small enough town that you would know who (crap, what was the name I gave him, oh, yeah) Tom was, and you'd know who tulip girl was, and you'd know who a lot of people were if you knew who I was. And while Robin Sparkles doesn't live here in town, and is an old friend from college, it wouldn't necessarily take long to identify her. (It is true, though, that I don't feel a compelling need to protect Tom, but I also don't need someone telling him I'm writing about him and have him track down this blog, either! *smile!*)
And the reality is that one of my points from the beginning, and I still maintain today, is that we all could be you. Or someone you know just down the street. Who we are - name wise - is unimportant to understanding and enjoying (I hope) our story. And maybe you can take insight you learn from reading here to apply to that person down the street whom I remind you of. That reading about my struggles and my successes and reading my thoughts and ramblings might just help bring us all together as one loving society and community (Okay, there's that big ass guy full of smoke and mirrors, but....). That knowing who I am as an individual shouldn't affect your ability to relate to what I'm writing.
But last week, it got even more complicated and troublesome keeping these worlds separate. Because last week my tweeps did something that a lot of people in my real life have never done. Heard my call for "help" and came and supported me EVEN if they thought I was nuts to think I needed help, and/or thought I was being really irrational and over-reacting. EVEN when they didn't agree with me, they still supported me. Simply because I asked for it. And until they did it, I didn't realize how absent that had been, for the most part, in my life.
It was a real WOW moment. A real you-guys-are-really-special and where-have-you-been-all-my-life kind of moment!! And yet, I won't / can't / don't even tell them my name?
And this is the moment where I change the title of this post. I gave you the original title above so you can see the framework I started with, and understand where I am or was going. But somewhere along the line most of you have decided that I smell just as sweet, even if my name is Borg, instead of ________. And that's pretty darn special. And I'm pretty darn lucky!!
Have patience with me, then, my friends. Because so many of you have become my friends. This is not personal to you - it is my fears, my concerns, and my need and desire to protect others whom I care about, too. I know that you can respect me on this. I've seen how you support me, despite my name. And I appreciate you all.
-----
If you're new to this somewhat one-sided conversation I keep having about this, I suggest you can read the following posts to catch up on some of my thoughts (if you've read everything I've written, you can skip this and go to the bottom of the entry, post your comment and collect your prize):
I addressed the topic on my very first day of writing this blog in a post called Assimilation.
There I wrote:
Three months later, I addressed the topic directly again in my post Clark Kent .. This is when I began to realize I might want Lois Lane to know that I was both Clark Kent and Superman so she'd know she was in love with me (well, maybe not quite that...). And what would I do at that point? Mostly I was looking for the Anonymous Anonymous support group. I was sure that Flash, Wonder Woman, Superman, Batman and all the other caped (and not so caped) crusaders might be dealing with some of the same issues I was just starting to deal with.. (and this was before I ever even knew anything about Blogher and then began to wonder how could I ever go?)
The blog post titled simply Anonymity really does state some of the reasons above (protecting others, and also a little left over self-protection) and I think it was when I typed that post that I began to decide this recurring theme / topic needed to have a label of its own. I also described briefly a very unpleasant encounter I had with one twit (because frankly she was a twit) who got really upset and really rude when I gave her a generic answer in response to a direct question about where I lived. Frankly, given her response - and she was one of the first people to ask me anything so particular (which I realize is not that particular at all) - it reinforced my rationale to remain somewhat anonymous. This person, frankly, even now long after I've blocked her, still scares me. I'm glad she only has a narrow geographic region in which to ponder where she might find me.
I also talked briefly about the sensitivity I had about my identity / location after leaving an abusive relationship. There are, unfortunately, people who I have been close to in my life who don't have any idea where I am. For some of them, I wish I could change that. For some, eventually over time, I will. But for many, unfortunately, I just had to disappear. Facebook has managed to keep me in touch with many I might otherwise have lost touch with, but my in real life close friends (only one of which is on here from that period) will tell you it was still months - if not a year - before I revealed specifically where I was in even that closed environment of hand-picked friends. While MOSTLY I am over that, I admit my steadfast responses are cultivated / learned from that experience. As I wrote in Anonymity, murder-suicide was most certainly an option on the table at the end that many - including myself - were afraid could happen. I think enough time has passed that it is very minusculely likely to happen, but when you experience that possibility and that kind of fear, trust me, you learn to be a little protective.
(Wow, that took me back to such a lovely dark place - are any of you still here? ;) )
I wrote Anonymity Revisited after I told an in real life friend - not a local friend, of course! - about the blog since it and Twitter is becoming such a big part of my life - at least big parts that I am excited and enthused about. The world didn't fall apart when I told her. Although it did give her a bit more information about something she'd known a little bit about. And she didn't (to the best of my knowledge) rush off and plaster it all over Facebook. And she hasn't disowned me as a friend. Again, an early Jenga piece.
And then a month ago, I finally came up with the Jenga analogy after I felt safe enough to share this blog with a memory-impaired local friend (she will agree with me, if she ever does find the blog again, that "memory-impaired" is a fair term to use to describe her lately). It was somewhat safe because she's likely already forgotten about the blog, or if she remembers it, has no memory of how to find it or what it was called. It was also somewhat safe because the things that I write on here about local people would not be news to her, would not reveal any new "secrets" and she has already demonstrated, as such, that I can trust her not to hurt the people I love with the information that she knows.
--------- (did you skip above? Start reading again here....)
I have fallen in love with the Jenga analogy. It fits this perfectly. Because that one friend asking, "Who am I going to tell? What harm will it do?" is correct that telling just her alone will not cause my life or this separation to come crumbling down. It won't. But telling a lot of people, even one piece at a time, will make it harder to keep this construct up.
Basically, I've come to the conclusion that the wall will naturally come down as soon as I become as popular as Jenny The Bloggess - one of my "heroes". But until then, and until I have a book deal and a way to support myself through the publishing of this blog and my ramblings, I hope you won't mind if I try to preserve this delicate balance for as long as I can. Because I admit, if and when that happens, if and when the Jenga pieces all start crumbling down, I'm going to have to think long and hard about possibly pulling some of my more 'exposing' posts, even though, of course, they've all been out there. And I don't want to censor or edit myself.
As I said, I don't like hiding. All while writing this really, really long post about why I'm hiding.
Yeah, look over there, one of the labels, too, is "inconsistency" - what can't see it? It's right there wedged between "I'm human" and "insanity" (at least at the moment I type this! I'm sure over time I'll find some other 'i' label to add...)
For those of you who made it all the way to the end of this post - wow! Thank you. And congratulate yourselves - or give me an opportunity to congratulate you for reading this really long somewhat winding post - by posting a comment here, too. I promise to comment back and thank you, and add you to my list of REALLY loyal supporters! ;)
And in the meantime, I hope you accept this rose is named Borg... I swear I smell as sweet (I *did* take a shower this morning!) as whatever my "real life" name does.
Rocks, Hard Places, Awkwardness and a Game Called Jenga
I've just had another individual from Twitter politely note, "I just realized I don't know your real name". When I politely ignored that particular comment, she less passively (after politely waiting for one or two more exchanges) directly asked, "So... not gonna tell me your real name?"
There is only one person I've met on Twitter who knows my real name. My full real name. One other person knows my first name. That's it. (So, yes, you two, you should feel REALLY special, but you can do so quietly)
And that is not an easy decision. And by next week, that circle may increase.
The first one who I gave it to had shared some quite intimate details about herself by e-mail earlier in the day, and that evening we were chatting by g-chat, and twenty minutes into the conversation she stated, finally, near the end of the conversation: "You have to tell me your name. I can't call you the borg blog!"
Um, yes you can? And her argument, as go all the arguments I get, is "who am I going to tell?"
If she were to disclose herself (which I am asking her not to), she'd tell you that all she got for a long time was just my first name. In fact, the last name slipped really only because I sent her an e-mail from the wrong account. (Dratted iPhone and human error).
This is not easy for me. I do not like living in closets. I do not like hiding who I am. I have no desire to be the tiny "wizard" hiding behind some great contraption of fire and smoke appearing to be bigger than who I am. I HATE closets (except the big walk-in kinds where I can keep my clothes that I've never actually had the joy of having...).
I have written several blog entries already about anonymity. I don't know if I've tagged them all, but you'll see several of them if you click on the label over there on the right. This is something I've struggled with. And still struggle with.
At some level, in my last anonymity post, I acknowledged that I could not keep my two worlds separate forever. But that each time one side touches the other side, it's like taking out a piece in a game of Jenga. The first pieces are easy, and bring no significant threat to the structure. Really, only the dog wagging its tail will knock it down. As a side note, playing Jenga with a yellow lab puppy, by the way, is very hard to do! But there does come a time where you've taken out so many pieces it makes the structure very precarious, and even the slight vibrations from the plane taking off nearby or the train rumbling by (I've lived both near airports and train tracks) will knock it down while you aren't even looking.
Part of the reason for this blog, I've admitted openly, is as a way for me to heal from the loss of some important people in my life. People I've loved dearly. People I still love dearly. While really I am writing in here only about me, I'm not. And I live in a small enough town that you would know who (crap, what was the name I gave him, oh, yeah) Tom was, and you'd know who tulip girl was, and you'd know who a lot of people were if you knew who I was. And while Robin Sparkles doesn't live here in town, and is an old friend from college, it wouldn't necessarily take long to identify her. (It is true, though, that I don't feel a compelling need to protect Tom, but I also don't need someone telling him I'm writing about him and have him track down this blog, either! *smile!*)
And the reality is that one of my points from the beginning, and I still maintain today, is that we all could be you. Or someone you know just down the street. Who we are - name wise - is unimportant to understanding and enjoying (I hope) our story. And maybe you can take insight you learn from reading here to apply to that person down the street whom I remind you of. That reading about my struggles and my successes and reading my thoughts and ramblings might just help bring us all together as one loving society and community (Okay, there's that big ass guy full of smoke and mirrors, but....). That knowing who I am as an individual shouldn't affect your ability to relate to what I'm writing.
But last week, it got even more complicated and troublesome keeping these worlds separate. Because last week my tweeps did something that a lot of people in my real life have never done. Heard my call for "help" and came and supported me EVEN if they thought I was nuts to think I needed help, and/or thought I was being really irrational and over-reacting. EVEN when they didn't agree with me, they still supported me. Simply because I asked for it. And until they did it, I didn't realize how absent that had been, for the most part, in my life.
It was a real WOW moment. A real you-guys-are-really-special and where-have-you-been-all-my-life kind of moment!! And yet, I won't / can't / don't even tell them my name?
And this is the moment where I change the title of this post. I gave you the original title above so you can see the framework I started with, and understand where I am or was going. But somewhere along the line most of you have decided that I smell just as sweet, even if my name is Borg, instead of ________. And that's pretty darn special. And I'm pretty darn lucky!!
Have patience with me, then, my friends. Because so many of you have become my friends. This is not personal to you - it is my fears, my concerns, and my need and desire to protect others whom I care about, too. I know that you can respect me on this. I've seen how you support me, despite my name. And I appreciate you all.
-----
If you're new to this somewhat one-sided conversation I keep having about this, I suggest you can read the following posts to catch up on some of my thoughts (if you've read everything I've written, you can skip this and go to the bottom of the entry, post your comment and collect your prize):
I addressed the topic on my very first day of writing this blog in a post called Assimilation.
There I wrote:
Our experiences while seeming unique to ourselves are also universal.
...
When one becomes assimilated into the Collective, they become one with another, and all of their memories are now part of the collective. There is no unique "I" in Borg. There is just Borg.
So while you think you may know me, you probably don't. Or rather you may know me, because my experiences are similar to yours or those you do know. But you do not know my identity.
Three months later, I addressed the topic directly again in my post Clark Kent .. This is when I began to realize I might want Lois Lane to know that I was both Clark Kent and Superman so she'd know she was in love with me (well, maybe not quite that...). And what would I do at that point? Mostly I was looking for the Anonymous Anonymous support group. I was sure that Flash, Wonder Woman, Superman, Batman and all the other caped (and not so caped) crusaders might be dealing with some of the same issues I was just starting to deal with.. (and this was before I ever even knew anything about Blogher and then began to wonder how could I ever go?)
The blog post titled simply Anonymity really does state some of the reasons above (protecting others, and also a little left over self-protection) and I think it was when I typed that post that I began to decide this recurring theme / topic needed to have a label of its own. I also described briefly a very unpleasant encounter I had with one twit (because frankly she was a twit) who got really upset and really rude when I gave her a generic answer in response to a direct question about where I lived. Frankly, given her response - and she was one of the first people to ask me anything so particular (which I realize is not that particular at all) - it reinforced my rationale to remain somewhat anonymous. This person, frankly, even now long after I've blocked her, still scares me. I'm glad she only has a narrow geographic region in which to ponder where she might find me.
I also talked briefly about the sensitivity I had about my identity / location after leaving an abusive relationship. There are, unfortunately, people who I have been close to in my life who don't have any idea where I am. For some of them, I wish I could change that. For some, eventually over time, I will. But for many, unfortunately, I just had to disappear. Facebook has managed to keep me in touch with many I might otherwise have lost touch with, but my in real life close friends (only one of which is on here from that period) will tell you it was still months - if not a year - before I revealed specifically where I was in even that closed environment of hand-picked friends. While MOSTLY I am over that, I admit my steadfast responses are cultivated / learned from that experience. As I wrote in Anonymity, murder-suicide was most certainly an option on the table at the end that many - including myself - were afraid could happen. I think enough time has passed that it is very minusculely likely to happen, but when you experience that possibility and that kind of fear, trust me, you learn to be a little protective.
(Wow, that took me back to such a lovely dark place - are any of you still here? ;) )
I wrote Anonymity Revisited after I told an in real life friend - not a local friend, of course! - about the blog since it and Twitter is becoming such a big part of my life - at least big parts that I am excited and enthused about. The world didn't fall apart when I told her. Although it did give her a bit more information about something she'd known a little bit about. And she didn't (to the best of my knowledge) rush off and plaster it all over Facebook. And she hasn't disowned me as a friend. Again, an early Jenga piece.
And then a month ago, I finally came up with the Jenga analogy after I felt safe enough to share this blog with a memory-impaired local friend (she will agree with me, if she ever does find the blog again, that "memory-impaired" is a fair term to use to describe her lately). It was somewhat safe because she's likely already forgotten about the blog, or if she remembers it, has no memory of how to find it or what it was called. It was also somewhat safe because the things that I write on here about local people would not be news to her, would not reveal any new "secrets" and she has already demonstrated, as such, that I can trust her not to hurt the people I love with the information that she knows.
--------- (did you skip above? Start reading again here....)
I have fallen in love with the Jenga analogy. It fits this perfectly. Because that one friend asking, "Who am I going to tell? What harm will it do?" is correct that telling just her alone will not cause my life or this separation to come crumbling down. It won't. But telling a lot of people, even one piece at a time, will make it harder to keep this construct up.
Basically, I've come to the conclusion that the wall will naturally come down as soon as I become as popular as Jenny The Bloggess - one of my "heroes". But until then, and until I have a book deal and a way to support myself through the publishing of this blog and my ramblings, I hope you won't mind if I try to preserve this delicate balance for as long as I can. Because I admit, if and when that happens, if and when the Jenga pieces all start crumbling down, I'm going to have to think long and hard about possibly pulling some of my more 'exposing' posts, even though, of course, they've all been out there. And I don't want to censor or edit myself.
As I said, I don't like hiding. All while writing this really, really long post about why I'm hiding.
Yeah, look over there, one of the labels, too, is "inconsistency" - what can't see it? It's right there wedged between "I'm human" and "insanity" (at least at the moment I type this! I'm sure over time I'll find some other 'i' label to add...)
For those of you who made it all the way to the end of this post - wow! Thank you. And congratulate yourselves - or give me an opportunity to congratulate you for reading this really long somewhat winding post - by posting a comment here, too. I promise to comment back and thank you, and add you to my list of REALLY loyal supporters! ;)
And in the meantime, I hope you accept this rose is named Borg... I swear I smell as sweet (I *did* take a shower this morning!) as whatever my "real life" name does.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Jenga
So, I have come with a new analogy for this balancing act I am doing - or trying to do - with being anonymous here.
I have decided it is like one big game of Jenga, and each time I tell someone I meet as BorgBlog my own true identity - or facts, even, that are greater and more significant or identifying than I have published here, I pull out a piece like a big Jenga game. And each time I tell one of my IRL friends that I'm doing an anonymous blog, or even more, show them the blog, I pull out another piece.
Early on, Jenga is easy. You can pull out lots of pieces without the whole thing crumbling down. But there comes a time - there always comes a time - when you pull out one piece too many and it all comes crumbling down. I'm not there yet. I've only pulled out four or five blocks, but with each block I know I am only getting closer to the point when it all may crumbling down.
The last two Friday nights I have missed #wineparty in favor of #happyhour. Half price drinks and appetizers at the local Applebees with a friend of mine.
And last night, I pulled a Jenga piece and told her about my blog. We went back to her place to hang out, and it was fun, I admit, to watch her peruse through the blog on her iPad and watch the expressions on her face, hear her laugh, and share something that has become an important part of my life with her. Even watching her as she made a sad expression on her face, pushing out her bottom lip, at the end of reading P.S. I love you (one of my favorites - an oldie but goodie). She had a hard time believing that all those entries on the right there were written by me. Once she started reading, of course, I'm sure she recognized my voice.
It was amusing as I'd say, "Read x" next. Or she'd browse on her own, and I'd say, "No, you have to read this one first..." She was amazed (I'd like to think) at my knowledge and quick reference to the various entries from my blog. Although there were still a few occasions when she'd ask me about some obscure reference I have no memory of writing, and I'd have to remind her I'd written 140 entries - I can't remember them all. (There's that inconsistency thing).
This block will not make the whole anonymity come crumbling down. She is one who has kept my secrets for years... But one day, I will pull one too many pieces.
But that's okay. When I do, I'll just take Jenny The Bloggess' path, and publish my own book! ;)
I have decided it is like one big game of Jenga, and each time I tell someone I meet as BorgBlog my own true identity - or facts, even, that are greater and more significant or identifying than I have published here, I pull out a piece like a big Jenga game. And each time I tell one of my IRL friends that I'm doing an anonymous blog, or even more, show them the blog, I pull out another piece.
Early on, Jenga is easy. You can pull out lots of pieces without the whole thing crumbling down. But there comes a time - there always comes a time - when you pull out one piece too many and it all comes crumbling down. I'm not there yet. I've only pulled out four or five blocks, but with each block I know I am only getting closer to the point when it all may crumbling down.
The last two Friday nights I have missed #wineparty in favor of #happyhour. Half price drinks and appetizers at the local Applebees with a friend of mine.
And last night, I pulled a Jenga piece and told her about my blog. We went back to her place to hang out, and it was fun, I admit, to watch her peruse through the blog on her iPad and watch the expressions on her face, hear her laugh, and share something that has become an important part of my life with her. Even watching her as she made a sad expression on her face, pushing out her bottom lip, at the end of reading P.S. I love you (one of my favorites - an oldie but goodie). She had a hard time believing that all those entries on the right there were written by me. Once she started reading, of course, I'm sure she recognized my voice.
It was amusing as I'd say, "Read x" next. Or she'd browse on her own, and I'd say, "No, you have to read this one first..." She was amazed (I'd like to think) at my knowledge and quick reference to the various entries from my blog. Although there were still a few occasions when she'd ask me about some obscure reference I have no memory of writing, and I'd have to remind her I'd written 140 entries - I can't remember them all. (There's that inconsistency thing).
This block will not make the whole anonymity come crumbling down. She is one who has kept my secrets for years... But one day, I will pull one too many pieces.
But that's okay. When I do, I'll just take Jenny The Bloggess' path, and publish my own book! ;)
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Sticks & Stones - A Follow Up - Pt 2 - Beating Yourself Up
Yesterday, I began typing the prior post (Sticks & Stones - A Follow Up - Pt 1 - Self Esteem) in response to a comment I had received on my June 30th post.
I began the Pt 1 post:
My post Sticks & Stones from June 30th really struck a chord with folks. It's currently the fifth most read post of all-time on my blog.
Today I received a comment that struck me:
So this Pt 2 is a continuation of the earlier post. (I'm guessing labeling them Pt 1 and Pt 2, you may have already figured this out?? Maybe..)
The next part about this comment that struck me and I wanted to talk about was the element of beating ourselves up.
Raise your hands if you've beaten yourself up... Yes, that's what I thought. So, the first thing I want to ask you is NOT to beat yourself up for having beaten yourself up when I now tell you to quit beating yourself up. Okay? Okay.
Quit beating yourself up.
In the early nineties, Saturday Night Live began a series of bits called "Daily Affirmations" with Stuart Smalley, played by Al Franken. (If you want the full history and all the facts you never wanted to know, including that the first episode this appeared on was in 1991 and hosted by Kevin Bacon, feel free to read the Wikipedia article.)
His catch-phrase at the end of it was "Because I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me."
And I admit that I did watch many of these bits "live" (yes, from New York) when they first aired, and I was amused by Stuart. He is a character that has remained with me since then. Yes, he is a caricature.
But, nonetheless, we can learn from our friend Stuart.
My commenter bemoans a point I made in the original post about how we hear the negative things 10x louder than we hear the positive things. It may perhaps be most true of what we say to (or hear from) ourselves.
In Pt 1, I wrote:
It's not the first time in this blog that I have admitted (despite the jokes about collective, etc.) that I am human. I even have had a tag for it over there on the right - go ahead, when you're done here, click it (I don't remember what comes up, but have fun). I also have a tag over there for inconsistency. If you knew me in real life, than at some point, you've heard me say, "I'm wrong. I've been wrong before, and I'll be wrong again. That you can count on."
The first thing you need to do, then, to work on building your own self-esteem is to recognize that NONE of us is perfect. NONE of us. Not the Pope, not Mother Theresa, maybe (although this actually feels blasphemous to write) not even the Dalai Lama (although he's damn close!). Not you. Not me. Not your significant other. Not your parents. Surely, from what I hear from you guys, not your kids. Not your teachers. Not your priests or your bishops. Not your Rabbis. (I could try hard to be inclusionary, but let's just pretend I listed every potential religious kind of leader, and move on). Certainly there are many out there would agree not our politicians, or our political leaders. Not our friends.
NONE of us is perfect.
So tell me something, then, if none of us is perfect, why do *you* expect yourself to BE perfect?? Isn't one of the key ways to achieve success is to begin by setting realistic goals? (I just made that up, but it sounds good, right?) So why do you set yourself up for disappointment and failure by expecting yourself to be perfect?
Accept that you are not perfect, and that you never will be. Not in your mother's eyes, not in your teacher's eyes, not in your spouse's eyes. Guess what? Everyone, including yourself, WILL FIND FAULT with you, because none of us is without fault.
Wow. That sucks, doesn't it?
Alright, stay with me now. Don't curl up into that depressed ball and give up.
That's actually the good news. Really. Because if you can TRULY believe that you're not perfect, and that there is fault and all that does is make you JUST LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE, then you can begin to stop being so hurt by these simple truths.
Now, to be clear, I do not use the fact that I am human to absolve me from blame. Nope, in fact, you'll remember up there, I said we all have faults, and we are, therefore, sometimes at fault, too. It's not an excuse to just give up and do nothing, and just go, Oops, well, I'm human, what can you expect? No. That's not the message.
The message is once you shed the basic things that first slow us down when someone "attacks" us or "criticizes" us, or we even beat ourselves up for being imperfect, then we can take time to focus on the true content of what is being said or observed or reflected. And then figure out whether there's anything we can gain or learn from it. And I'll talk a little more about that in Pt 3 when I get there.
But next time you find yourself beating yourself up, stop. Figure out how productive that is. Figure out why you are upset at yourself. Are you upset because you're not perfect? See above and get over it. You're not alone. There's no use being upset about something you can't change.
One of my good friends is 4'8". She's short. She knows she's short. She used to teach, and has been mistaken, from behind, of being one of the kids. We frequently make jokes about her being short today, even though she's 75+ years old. And she often participates in the jokes. What she doesn't do is get upset about it. You want to know why? Because she IS short. And she knows it. She's accepted that this is part of who she is. Why be upset about something she can't change about herself? What purpose does that serve?
So, next time you are being attacked - particularly by yourself - for not being perfect, say, "Yep. I'm not" and move on. Don't get stuck here.
EDITED:
But do move onto Pt 3 which is will addresshow DO we find something productive in all the noise around us. how to incorporate this understanding into something positive. Pt 4 (may) address how to find something productive in all the noise around us.. that's the problem with publishing as you go!! ;)
I began the Pt 1 post:
My post Sticks & Stones from June 30th really struck a chord with folks. It's currently the fifth most read post of all-time on my blog.
Today I received a comment that struck me:
Why is it so hard to believe a compliment someone gives us,and so easy to believe the hurtful things other can say? I admittedly have Self Esteem problems. I have severe depression and a tendency to self harm (generally more mentally than physically) I beat myself to a pulp all the time. I don't need anyone else to do it for me. How do I stop letting it effect me?This comment set my mind off in several different directions (and based on how long I typed on the second direction, it will clearly also, set me off on several blog posts, too).
So this Pt 2 is a continuation of the earlier post. (I'm guessing labeling them Pt 1 and Pt 2, you may have already figured this out?? Maybe..)
The next part about this comment that struck me and I wanted to talk about was the element of beating ourselves up.
Raise your hands if you've beaten yourself up... Yes, that's what I thought. So, the first thing I want to ask you is NOT to beat yourself up for having beaten yourself up when I now tell you to quit beating yourself up. Okay? Okay.
Quit beating yourself up.
In the early nineties, Saturday Night Live began a series of bits called "Daily Affirmations" with Stuart Smalley, played by Al Franken. (If you want the full history and all the facts you never wanted to know, including that the first episode this appeared on was in 1991 and hosted by Kevin Bacon, feel free to read the Wikipedia article.)
His catch-phrase at the end of it was "Because I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me."
And I admit that I did watch many of these bits "live" (yes, from New York) when they first aired, and I was amused by Stuart. He is a character that has remained with me since then. Yes, he is a caricature.
But, nonetheless, we can learn from our friend Stuart.
My commenter bemoans a point I made in the original post about how we hear the negative things 10x louder than we hear the positive things. It may perhaps be most true of what we say to (or hear from) ourselves.
In Pt 1, I wrote:
I know who I am and I am comfortable with who I am. I know I'm not perfect,
and I'm happy with that. I know that I am human. I know that I will make
mistakes. I know that I will hurt people, even though, for the most part, I try
very hard to be supportive and not hurtful. I know that I do the best I can,
and I try not to beat myself up too much about the things where I fall short
where I want to be, and instead, try to learn from those experiences and do
better next time.
The first thing you need to do, then, to work on building your own self-esteem is to recognize that NONE of us is perfect. NONE of us. Not the Pope, not Mother Theresa, maybe (although this actually feels blasphemous to write) not even the Dalai Lama (although he's damn close!). Not you. Not me. Not your significant other. Not your parents. Surely, from what I hear from you guys, not your kids. Not your teachers. Not your priests or your bishops. Not your Rabbis. (I could try hard to be inclusionary, but let's just pretend I listed every potential religious kind of leader, and move on). Certainly there are many out there would agree not our politicians, or our political leaders. Not our friends.
NONE of us is perfect.
So tell me something, then, if none of us is perfect, why do *you* expect yourself to BE perfect?? Isn't one of the key ways to achieve success is to begin by setting realistic goals? (I just made that up, but it sounds good, right?) So why do you set yourself up for disappointment and failure by expecting yourself to be perfect?
Accept that you are not perfect, and that you never will be. Not in your mother's eyes, not in your teacher's eyes, not in your spouse's eyes. Guess what? Everyone, including yourself, WILL FIND FAULT with you, because none of us is without fault.
Wow. That sucks, doesn't it?
Alright, stay with me now. Don't curl up into that depressed ball and give up.
That's actually the good news. Really. Because if you can TRULY believe that you're not perfect, and that there is fault and all that does is make you JUST LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE, then you can begin to stop being so hurt by these simple truths.
Now, to be clear, I do not use the fact that I am human to absolve me from blame. Nope, in fact, you'll remember up there, I said we all have faults, and we are, therefore, sometimes at fault, too. It's not an excuse to just give up and do nothing, and just go, Oops, well, I'm human, what can you expect? No. That's not the message.
The message is once you shed the basic things that first slow us down when someone "attacks" us or "criticizes" us, or we even beat ourselves up for being imperfect, then we can take time to focus on the true content of what is being said or observed or reflected. And then figure out whether there's anything we can gain or learn from it. And I'll talk a little more about that in Pt 3 when I get there.
But next time you find yourself beating yourself up, stop. Figure out how productive that is. Figure out why you are upset at yourself. Are you upset because you're not perfect? See above and get over it. You're not alone. There's no use being upset about something you can't change.
One of my good friends is 4'8". She's short. She knows she's short. She used to teach, and has been mistaken, from behind, of being one of the kids. We frequently make jokes about her being short today, even though she's 75+ years old. And she often participates in the jokes. What she doesn't do is get upset about it. You want to know why? Because she IS short. And she knows it. She's accepted that this is part of who she is. Why be upset about something she can't change about herself? What purpose does that serve?
So, next time you are being attacked - particularly by yourself - for not being perfect, say, "Yep. I'm not" and move on. Don't get stuck here.
EDITED:
But do move onto Pt 3 which is will address
Monday, February 27, 2012
Twitter Haters and the Dalai Lama
So, I go onto my newly created Twitter account to remind The Bloggess about her picture. I know she was busy last night watching the Oscars with her cat and taking their picture on the red carpet, but I feel confident that she will send me a picture collating paper and juggling twine shortly. But a little reminder couldn't hurt, right?
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So, last night, I tried to find folks to follow, and as I've mentioned before, I *love* the Dalai Lama. LOVE him! And so I was pleased to see in my newsfeed (wait, that's a FB term, what is the appropriate Twit-term?)
I admit, his morning tweet wasn't rocket science. It wasn't one of his more uniquely profound statements, but WTF, to the first comment?
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Wow! Um.. if anyone reading has this kind of a response to my blog, um, could you go somewhere else? I mean really? No-one told him to read the Dalai Lama, or if they did, go be angry at them, not at the Dalai Lama. And, um, he isn't telling you what to do, he's just stating a fact. Or some might consider it an opinion - I won't quibble that point. Clearly you need some comforting, and you clearly don't have peace within yourself. But he isn't telling you to seek comfort, nor to find peace within yourself.
Um, one more requirement of my readers. A mastery of the English language and basic sentence structure. Even if I don't always write in sentences... (There's that inconsistency thing rearing its ugly head. Luckily, there's a tag for that!)
.JPG)
I admit, his morning tweet wasn't rocket science. It wasn't one of his more uniquely profound statements, but WTF, to the first comment?
.JPG)
Um, one more requirement of my readers. A mastery of the English language and basic sentence structure. Even if I don't always write in sentences... (There's that inconsistency thing rearing its ugly head. Luckily, there's a tag for that!)
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Love yourself
This one I am starting before I hit the shower because I know it will be zinging through me in a few moments when I hit the water. I will wait to post to add whatever brilliance I have from there to here.
In my life I have used what I will call "situational" therapy. Therapy to help me during, well, situations. Often transitions. Often around relationships, whether with lovers or with family. Sometimes it helps to have a second person help you navigate and negotiate through those straits. In keeping with a nautical theme, it never hurts to have a second set of eyes helping keep watch as you move forward for things like, well icebergs (Can you BELIEVE that they are bringing The Titanic BACK to theaters? I saw that in a trailer yesterday!!! In 3-D! You'd think in 3-D they'd be able to see the iceberg... but I digress)
So I have heard the words from these folks and from other good well meaning intentioned friends that I need to love myself.
I admit I've often been puzzled by this direction. Not that I don't think it is important to love yourself - I do - but how do you KNOW if you love yourself? Or don't love yourself? I wonder now, what self-loathing these people were observing, because frankly, I never saw it.
I do think I love myself. I am quite comfortable with myself and have a pretty reasonable self-esteem. I think their concern may arise from the fact that when I am in relationships, I tend to become involved in others' interests that I may not necessarily pursue on my own. I can see, from the outside, where that could be concerning for those who love me, but I can say with all certainty that I am not losing myself in them in the way that they fear. I am enjoying the company of people I love. And if something is important to them, particularly if I haven't done it myself, I'm willing to to give it a whirl and see if it's fun. I will admit, most often the reason it is fun, is because of their company. And, yes, some of those activities fall off my to-do list when I am no longer hanging with a particular person.
But ironically, this post isn't about me. Or rather this post isn't inspired by me.
My head feels, at the moment, like it is going to explode.
I came out in high school. And looking backwards from there, it made sense. I had crushes on several female teachers, I liked to look down some of their shirts (natural curiosity that doesn't mean I'm gay, but certainly makes more sense in context of it), had ardent feelings for my female best friends, etc. And most people, apparently, knew before I did, and asked me when I finally did come out what took so long, or said "Duh!"
But I do remember that early time period wondering, "could I be... " "Am I..." I couldn't even write the word "lesbian" then. But I knew what I was referring to, so I didn't need to. I went on a journey of exploration. Remembered my interest and curiosity in other lesbians I had met or had seen on television. Read "Our Bodies, Ourselves" and recognized an an affinity with the writing about the women who loved women. But I was scared to kiss one, and even more scared of what else might happen - I had not yet been sexual, although I had done some heavy petting. I had no idea what to do with a woman. And frankly the thought of doing some things that I really, really, really enjoy now were quite disgusting to me to think about. But then again, who is turned on by french kissing before you actually try it? I digress.
I'm lucky. My family was reasonably supportive. And all of this, frankly, should have been part of another post, but today's pending head explosion has required me to get all this introductory stuff out of the way.
A friend of mine is coming out late in life. Ironically she's one of several. I always seem to attract people who are about to come out as friends. I wonder why? ;)
And she has the normal questioning: Am I really this way? Why am I this way? Did I drink the Kool-Aid? What will others think? Who do I tell? Do I tell anyone? Can they tell just by looking at me? What does it mean? Am I okay? Will my friends still like me? Will people still love me?
My answers to those questions, frankly, are:
But I am beginning to sense that the underlying question that she may be asking or she should be asking is "Do I still love myself?"
Because she has acknowledged that she doesn't think there's anything wrong with LGBQTalphabet in others. She's not queer-phobic or think that it's wrong in others. And actually, this isn't her first time at the rodeo.
To me, being gay is just a part of who I am. A part that has always been there. A part as natural to me as having five fingers. I don't define myself by having five fingers, but if you took them away, I wouldn't quite be myself. (Maybe this is a bad analogy, but it is similar to the one I made to her, so let's roll with it). She is worried that maybe she was this way because others told her she was, and not because she had arrived here on her own. And yet, she agreed upon further questioning, that there was no one throwing her out or pushing her or pulling her out of the closet door this time. That coming out was not something that was fashionably correct that she was trying to emulate. But, she wondered, do I really have a mark on me or do I just believe I do because others have told me I do?
So I made the analogy of a birthmark. Analogies are tricky things. If you don't think them out first, they could back-fire on you. And maybe I didn't. But I explained to her that being this way (and exactly what "this way" means is still unclear - there's a lot of grey area in sexuality despite what others might say or think) for her and her experience is like having a birthmark on her back. It's been there all along, but she couldn't see it. Others told her it was there when she was younger, but she never saw it, herself. She trusted others that it was there.
Now she's wondering if it is really there. And I told her I had fancy mirrors and could take a picture of it so she could see.
And this morning she asked, "what if it's a melanoma?"
What if her queer feelings were actually a cancer?! Really???
I'd like to say I'm speechless, but you can see from above, I'm clearly not.
I am kind of angry, I'll admit. But mostly I am very, very sad.
Because suddenly I was struck with this lightening bolt: "Oh, this is what it looks like when you don't love yourself"
The good news for me is I know that is not me - I am clear that I do, very much indeed, love myself.
And as much as I'd like to rejoice in that knowledge, my heart is heavy for my friend. Very heavy.
Now I ask questions in life. And so I have, on more than one occasion, asked in response to someone who told me I needed to love myself how I do that. And none of them exactly had the answer to that, although one did give me a guide to masturbation. (No, I kid, but really, you knew the joke had to come in somewhere....)
I am shaking my head because I really wish, now, I had the answer.
And I think the answer might be that you love yourself the same way you love others. You put their needs first. You make what is important to them important to you. You try to make their burden easier. You accept them with all of their flaws. You recognize that they are not perfect. That they will make mistakes. That they will have inconsistencies. They are beautiful in your eyes just the way they are because you love them. You want what is best for them. You want them to find happiness and peace. You don't want them to hurt. You enjoy their company. Their smile makes you smile. You want to support them no matter what they want to do. I don't know - this isn't easy. Often hormones help you "love" someone else while you build a solid foundation of emotional love underneath the chemical one.
There is a lot of what Paul wrote that I don't agree with, but this seems as good a guideline as any:
"Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way, it is not irritable or resentful, it does not rejoice in wrong doing, but rejoices in the truth"
How to apply that to loving yourself?
Love is patient. Be patient with yourself.
Love is kind. Be kind to yourself.
It is not irritable or resentful. Accept yourself as you are, without resentment.
And find some way to rejoice in the truth - no matter how scary it is.
And know that others love you and you deserve to be loved. Most especially by you.
In my life I have used what I will call "situational" therapy. Therapy to help me during, well, situations. Often transitions. Often around relationships, whether with lovers or with family. Sometimes it helps to have a second person help you navigate and negotiate through those straits. In keeping with a nautical theme, it never hurts to have a second set of eyes helping keep watch as you move forward for things like, well icebergs (Can you BELIEVE that they are bringing The Titanic BACK to theaters? I saw that in a trailer yesterday!!! In 3-D! You'd think in 3-D they'd be able to see the iceberg... but I digress)
So I have heard the words from these folks and from other good well meaning intentioned friends that I need to love myself.
I admit I've often been puzzled by this direction. Not that I don't think it is important to love yourself - I do - but how do you KNOW if you love yourself? Or don't love yourself? I wonder now, what self-loathing these people were observing, because frankly, I never saw it.
I do think I love myself. I am quite comfortable with myself and have a pretty reasonable self-esteem. I think their concern may arise from the fact that when I am in relationships, I tend to become involved in others' interests that I may not necessarily pursue on my own. I can see, from the outside, where that could be concerning for those who love me, but I can say with all certainty that I am not losing myself in them in the way that they fear. I am enjoying the company of people I love. And if something is important to them, particularly if I haven't done it myself, I'm willing to to give it a whirl and see if it's fun. I will admit, most often the reason it is fun, is because of their company. And, yes, some of those activities fall off my to-do list when I am no longer hanging with a particular person.
But ironically, this post isn't about me. Or rather this post isn't inspired by me.
My head feels, at the moment, like it is going to explode.
I came out in high school. And looking backwards from there, it made sense. I had crushes on several female teachers, I liked to look down some of their shirts (natural curiosity that doesn't mean I'm gay, but certainly makes more sense in context of it), had ardent feelings for my female best friends, etc. And most people, apparently, knew before I did, and asked me when I finally did come out what took so long, or said "Duh!"
But I do remember that early time period wondering, "could I be... " "Am I..." I couldn't even write the word "lesbian" then. But I knew what I was referring to, so I didn't need to. I went on a journey of exploration. Remembered my interest and curiosity in other lesbians I had met or had seen on television. Read "Our Bodies, Ourselves" and recognized an an affinity with the writing about the women who loved women. But I was scared to kiss one, and even more scared of what else might happen - I had not yet been sexual, although I had done some heavy petting. I had no idea what to do with a woman. And frankly the thought of doing some things that I really, really, really enjoy now were quite disgusting to me to think about. But then again, who is turned on by french kissing before you actually try it? I digress.
I'm lucky. My family was reasonably supportive. And all of this, frankly, should have been part of another post, but today's pending head explosion has required me to get all this introductory stuff out of the way.
A friend of mine is coming out late in life. Ironically she's one of several. I always seem to attract people who are about to come out as friends. I wonder why? ;)
And she has the normal questioning: Am I really this way? Why am I this way? Did I drink the Kool-Aid? What will others think? Who do I tell? Do I tell anyone? Can they tell just by looking at me? What does it mean? Am I okay? Will my friends still like me? Will people still love me?
My answers to those questions, frankly, are:
- Yes,
- Does it really matter?
- Maybe, but it wasn't Kool-Aid that made you this way.
- Who cares?
- Anyone you want or no-one you don't want.
- It's up to you.
- Some might, most won't; those of us who are may have a better chance of recognizing you.
- It means, at a minimum, you're not straight.
- Yes, you're okay.
- Yes, your true friends will still like you.
- Yes, people will still love you.
But I am beginning to sense that the underlying question that she may be asking or she should be asking is "Do I still love myself?"
Because she has acknowledged that she doesn't think there's anything wrong with LGBQTalphabet in others. She's not queer-phobic or think that it's wrong in others. And actually, this isn't her first time at the rodeo.
To me, being gay is just a part of who I am. A part that has always been there. A part as natural to me as having five fingers. I don't define myself by having five fingers, but if you took them away, I wouldn't quite be myself. (Maybe this is a bad analogy, but it is similar to the one I made to her, so let's roll with it). She is worried that maybe she was this way because others told her she was, and not because she had arrived here on her own. And yet, she agreed upon further questioning, that there was no one throwing her out or pushing her or pulling her out of the closet door this time. That coming out was not something that was fashionably correct that she was trying to emulate. But, she wondered, do I really have a mark on me or do I just believe I do because others have told me I do?
So I made the analogy of a birthmark. Analogies are tricky things. If you don't think them out first, they could back-fire on you. And maybe I didn't. But I explained to her that being this way (and exactly what "this way" means is still unclear - there's a lot of grey area in sexuality despite what others might say or think) for her and her experience is like having a birthmark on her back. It's been there all along, but she couldn't see it. Others told her it was there when she was younger, but she never saw it, herself. She trusted others that it was there.
Now she's wondering if it is really there. And I told her I had fancy mirrors and could take a picture of it so she could see.
And this morning she asked, "what if it's a melanoma?"
What if her queer feelings were actually a cancer?! Really???
I'd like to say I'm speechless, but you can see from above, I'm clearly not.
I am kind of angry, I'll admit. But mostly I am very, very sad.
Because suddenly I was struck with this lightening bolt: "Oh, this is what it looks like when you don't love yourself"
The good news for me is I know that is not me - I am clear that I do, very much indeed, love myself.
And as much as I'd like to rejoice in that knowledge, my heart is heavy for my friend. Very heavy.
Now I ask questions in life. And so I have, on more than one occasion, asked in response to someone who told me I needed to love myself how I do that. And none of them exactly had the answer to that, although one did give me a guide to masturbation. (No, I kid, but really, you knew the joke had to come in somewhere....)
I am shaking my head because I really wish, now, I had the answer.
And I think the answer might be that you love yourself the same way you love others. You put their needs first. You make what is important to them important to you. You try to make their burden easier. You accept them with all of their flaws. You recognize that they are not perfect. That they will make mistakes. That they will have inconsistencies. They are beautiful in your eyes just the way they are because you love them. You want what is best for them. You want them to find happiness and peace. You don't want them to hurt. You enjoy their company. Their smile makes you smile. You want to support them no matter what they want to do. I don't know - this isn't easy. Often hormones help you "love" someone else while you build a solid foundation of emotional love underneath the chemical one.
There is a lot of what Paul wrote that I don't agree with, but this seems as good a guideline as any:
"Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way, it is not irritable or resentful, it does not rejoice in wrong doing, but rejoices in the truth"
How to apply that to loving yourself?
Love is patient. Be patient with yourself.
Love is kind. Be kind to yourself.
It is not irritable or resentful. Accept yourself as you are, without resentment.
And find some way to rejoice in the truth - no matter how scary it is.
And know that others love you and you deserve to be loved. Most especially by you.
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