I'll be here awhile, ain't goin' nowhere
-311
The first hour or so of 2012 was absolutely lovely for me, and then with rapier like speed and precision it sliced me to ribbons. Sometimes people will slam you with something so seemingly out of nowhere, it feels like being hit by a truck and left for dead. Sadly though, you’re not dead. You’re just sitting there filled with truck shrapnel wishing you were dead. And your aggressor? Gone. Happy and free from the weight of the lead they’ve just unloaded on you.
You know what I do when this happens? I call Maura, I call Laura, and I cry. When life diabolically gives me lemons, these pillars of strength give me love, hugs, words of comfort, and margaritas . . . several strong margaritas. They drop what they’re doing, leave their own loved ones, and come to my aid. You know what else I do when receiving one of life’s tart, citrusy blows? I look at my life, I look at myself, and I take stock of all the beauty that surrounds and is, indeed, inside me. My life is a wondrous fractal of imperfection, as am I.
My initial intent for this blog was to write about the Mayan calendar, all the information I have gathered on the phenomenon of Winter Solstice 2012, and what this could symbolically say about the world in which we all live. After my rocky start to this freshly born year, what I really want to say is “SUCK IT 2012” but I’m not going to say that. (See how cleverly I actually did say that)? I really don’t think that though, well . . . I did, but only briefly. On New Years Eve I got zero sleep and on New Years Day I got somewhat greased with tequila; with severe sleep deprivation and mild tequila lubrication comes a glimpse of the hoary netherworld of nasty feelings and negativity. Not a pretty place, and not the place for me because really, I’m a pretty happy girl, despite being filled with truck shrapnel. I won’t condemn the driver, I’ll pick out the shards and move forward.
As I pick out the shards I know I have way more living to do than just a scant twelve months; good thing because we’re probably not all going to perish in a cold nuclear winter. In my research of the Mayans and their calendar ending ways I have learned much. Mostly, folks far more schooled than I, in areas of astrology, astronomy, history, and theology, agree the world is not going to physically end, but the world as we know it will. What a relief, eh? Maybe not quite so grandiose as, say, the final moments of “Fight Club”, but perhaps similar in feeling. I use the 2012 theory to my advantage when I have spent too much money or I’ve done something flat out ignorant. I tell myself, “Oh what the hell, I’ve only got until the end of the year anyway. Yes, I’ll take those boots and for heaven’s sake, charge them!” With any luck the end of the world will be like the end of “Fight Club” and all the credit card companies will get blown to bits, we can all have a level playing field, and just start over. But I digress, whether from a scientific approach or a more celestial approach, a large contingency of smart folk all seem to agree we are currently in one of the darkest ages ever on this centuries old planet of ours, and with the folding of Fall 2012, as it ushers in the Winter of 2012, the world will begin it’s comforting time of renewal, to turn itself back to enlightenment, love, and beauty. It’s a theoretical end of the world and believe me, I’ll take it. No one is saying you’ll wake up on 12-22-12 with a clean slate, a barter system replacing our current economies, and every Miss America’s dream of world peace come true, but a change indeed. Is it so off the mark? The world certainly does seem to be imploding, every country is broke, people are out of work and that’s not getting any better, going to college to better ones self is outrageously expensive, the rich keep getting richer while the poor get poorer and the middle class, along with their middle class dreams of a tract home and a backyard grill, are disappearing (thanks a lot republicans, you can still suck it).
I often find myself thinking in terms of the future only. I think “my life will be so different a year from now”, or “in six months this sub zero temperature and scraping ice off my car nonsense will give way to my blessed heat and sun and the wearing of pretty sundresses”. This past year I did a lot more living in the present and finding the joy in my life in the here and now, otherwise I feel that I’m just chasing an idea of perfection rather than seeing the wonder in my wonderfully flawed and silly life. My life is beautiful NOW, shrapnel and all. My life is full of escapades that I would not change and due to these merry jaunts into frivolity I feel uniquely poised to pass on a few notions of mine. For the year 2012, to which I will not say suck it, I share the following insights . . . I hope you find them useful in your life as well.
1. It is perfectly acceptable to put your head down on a bar IF a) the sun is up AND, b) you are drinking a bloody mary. At no other time and with no other beverage is this acceptable.
2. If this is the last year on the planet make it good; charge up all your credit cards and fall in love.
3. Ok, I’m kidding, don’t charge up all your credit cards. Make wise financial decisions and give yourself treats when you can. Still fall in love though, not kidding about that.
4. Say “I love you” to all living things in your house three times at a day . . . at least.
5. The human body makes a lot of noises. They’re not all pretty but they’re all hilarious if you just decide to let them be.
6. You can get used to almost anything in time so if you sleep with a snorer, try to resist the urge to smother him or her with a pillow. If you’re sharing your bed with this person, chances are you really like this person.
7. When your friend is in the hospital and she asks you to do her a favor DO IT. This may involve humiliating yourself by having to buy her husband a nudie magazine, but still . . . DO IT.
8. If you love something set it free . . . no, wait . . . that’s stupid crap from a 70’s black light poster. If you love something take care of it. When you love someone, care for them and let them be who they are, just as they are. Honor what and whom you love.
9. Everyone deserves a second chance.
10. My friend, Robyn, once asked me (due to my love of yogurt) “If God is love, and God is in everything, and you love yogurt, is God in your yogurt?” The answer is yes, a most emphatic yes.
So, “Suck It 2012” was good to say all day New Years Day as my friends purged at least some of the sad out of me by getting me sauced, and as we shared the various woes in each of our lives we toasted 2012 and decided to move on. We pinky swore to make 2012 a fantastic year. Really, you can’t do much better than a pinky swear with friends and margaritas . . . unless you’re also wearing rockin’ boots, and hey, guess what, I was . . . so SUCK IT MAYAN CALENDAR, MAMA’S GOT FRIENDS AND FRYES AND LOTS MORE LIFE AHEAD!
Happy New Year my friends.
1. I love you.
2. I love you.
3. I love you.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Monday, October 31, 2011
Texting Blows
Don’t think me unkind, words are hard to find, they’re only checks I’ve left unsigned, from the banks of chaos in my mind. When eloquence escapes me . . .
The Police
I hate texting. I hate it for so many reasons, not the least of which is the inability to have a real, meaningful, communication with a text. Texting has its place, it’s great for sending a quick message to say “Are you here yet? I’m upstairs.” Other than that, too much room for mishaps and misinterpretations.
That being said . . .
I messed up . . . in a fairly colossal manner. Go big, right? Not really. There was a misunderstanding, I sat around and let myself stew about it, let a few other minor catastrophes affect my personal marinade, and then, here comes the brilliant part, I decided to drink . . . excessively. I am not blaming the alcohol, it was me, all me, no one but me. I take full responsibility, drink or no drink. However, as the night went on, and I turned into a cat like princess, I had not yet taken any amount of responsibility. The next morning, however, ugh. As I went over the previous nights events in my head I slowly began to come around, and with every minute that passed my initial glimmer of “I may have been unreasonable” turned into a blinding comet of utter shock at my atrocious behavior. When I discovered that the whole reason I was upset in the first place (a text message that went unanswered) was not even correct (turns out the message failed and was never sent and, therefore, never received, who knew?) I began the desperate search for the nearest sharp object to plunge into my jugular. Failing the location of said shiv, I called my innocent victim, got voice mail (which I expected, I’d have let me go to voice mail hell too) and began my sincere, rambling, act of contrition. I admitted I was wrong, that I acted like a tool, and for reasons I would like to explain (the unanswered but, oooops, never actually sent text), got myself all worked up and that I am so sorry, so very, very sorry. I failed. In every possible way I failed. Because I am human, I am fallible, I falter, and I failed.
With each passing hour, as the requested return call did not occur, I felt more and more sad. I was so un-kind to someone who has been nothing but kind to me. Every time the phone rang I raced to see who it was, but it wasn’t my friend. I kept the phone strapped to me all day, until I began to realize, there will be no phone call. There are a lot of thoughts that come to mind. I had very sincerely apologized, and wanted to do all that I could to make my wrong right, but without communication I was banned. And it was a lack of good communication that got me all worked up in the first place. I began to think about the art of forgiveness. There’s only so long you can spend in the pout house before you need to think about letting the other person off the hook, because eventually they will unhook themselves and no longer be tethered by bad feelings. The punishment has to be equal to the crime or after a while the offender will leave the contrite feelings behind and start thinking “Enough is enough, let’s move on”.
I’ve been on both sides of this fence, the grass isn’t green on either side. The grass is dead and prickly and there’s no swing set in the yard, I hate both sides of this fence, it’s in a crappy neighborhood. Forgiveness can be a tough one. We want to make people pay, and sometimes it just doesn’t feel like enough. My ex-husband once told me I was a world class grudge holder. The horrible, horrible thing about this is that at that time, many years ago, I found that to be a badge of honor. He, of course, didn’t mean it as a compliment, but I wanted people to know when they had wronged me and to never forget. How stupid is this?! But it took me a long time and a lot of experience with others failing me and me, in turn, failing others. I really don’t know what I expected to gain, but back then I didn’t know how to communicate well. I think being a “see you next Tuesday” (you know what I’m sayin’) was my way of pretending to be tough and hoping to ensure that at least that particular person didn’t put me in an uncomfortable position again, a position where I might have to have an uncomfortable conversation.
Again, failure to communicate well, i.e., texting when I should have just called, why didn’t I just call? Because it was during work hours and I don’t like to bug people at work if I can help it.
Being an Astro Creep, though, doesn’t show you’re tough at all, it just shows you can’t be more human than human. All relationships require communication; relationships with friends, with co-workers, with significant others, with your family, and with the checker at the grocery store. Many years ago I had to take a long look at some of the ways I had acted and I saw that people I ousted from my life, or kept in my life just to make sure they were still paying that debt, moved on and led happy lives, free of the crappy feelings I harbored. Oh the humanity, oh the indignity, so incredulous. I found it so hard to forgive then. It felt like it showed weakness in me. Silly, eh? Forgiveness takes an amazing amount of strength and resilience, far more than being unforgiving. Forgiveness requires opening your heart while simultaneously saying “What you did is not ok, but we can talk about it and establish some boundaries and move forward”. You have to walk that knife edge of not accepting poor behavior and still showing love and compassion. You know how this is best done? Say it with me, COMMUNICATION. When you’re the one who has been the jackass (I’m raising my hand right now) you have to be able to hear that, and it’s hard. I’ve had many, many opportunities to experience this and it’s still hard every time. You’d think I’d get used to it by now. I once told The Black Dogs Dad that people should come with warning labels. I was, of course, being accusatory, but I really should have a label myself. It would say something like “98% lovely, but look out for the other 2%”.
We all need forgiveness sometimes. Sometimes it takes a while, that’s ok. Sometimes you have to sit with a thing for while and think about that thing and then walk away from that thing a bit and maybe then go back and look at that thing and decide you’re ready and then maybe not and then you try again tomorrow and then you finally get there, with that thing. It’s not always instant. But like the building of any muscle, the more it’s done, the stronger it becomes and the easier it is to put to use. Forgiveness releases everybody. Not just the transgressor, but the transgressed upon as well. You’re free to leave it in the past, exercise your inner Taoist and be the water flowing over the rock, leaving it in your path, rather than banging your head against the rock for a million or so years before you even begin to make a dent in it. If you flow over the rock, then a million or so years from now you won’t even remember it. Leave it, let it go, be forgiving . . . when you can.
Forgiveness also shuts everyone else up. There can be no speculation when there is communication and forgiveness. When you don’t talk, then you can only guess and that usually makes it all even worse. Trust me, that’s how I got myself here in the first place. Did I mention it’s my fault? It’s my fault. Many years ago when Hugh Grant made his gargantuan error of having a liaison with a prostitute it was all over the news. He was supposed to appear on Jay Leno’s show that night and, naturally, the whole world assumed he would cancel his engagement after this embarrassing gaffe. But, he did not. He manned up and made his appearance. He was remarkably humbled, but he went through with it. When Jay Leno said “I gotta ask, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!” his response was “When you reach a certain age, you know the difference between right and wrong. What I did was wrong. I have no one to blame.” Not only did he man up and show up, he ‘fessed up and made no excuses. His already bright star went super nova right then. The world forgave him and the salivating tabloids had the wind taken out of their sails. What can you say now? Nothing, except “What a stand up guy”, tabloids don’t love that. No gossip, no speculation, and no need to hold a grudge. The story was old news in no time and no one even thinks of it anymore.
We all mess up sometimes, every single one of us, and here and there, we all mess up in a Herculean way. It’s not just me (although it’s me a lot), it’s everyone. The next time you are faced with the opportunity of forgiving someone try to remember a time when you asked for forgiveness. If you can’t grant it right away, that’s ok, at least try to talk about. At least let the other person know you need a bit of time. And if, in the end, you just can’t get past it, then have a talk about that too and try to part ways diplomatically. Easier said than done, I know, but at least think about it. You’ll feel better about it later, you really will. And, ya know, glass houses, stones, all that cliché rot. Additionally, when you have said your mea culpa’s and you’re waiting for the forgiveness train to come your way, let it go. You never know why some people take a while, or maybe even never come around. Maybe what you did brought up issues from someone else, you can’t help that. Maybe they have other mental bits and pieces going on, maybe their heads are full of things like “Should I become a chef or an astronaut”? Maybe their shoes are just too tight, you never know. Give your heartfelt apology, but then move on, don’t sit around just waiting. You’ve got a life to live too.
The events that inspired this story were totally avoidable. My behavior was inexcusable, yet I am asking to be excused, and here, before God and everybody, I can say “I was wrong. I am sorry.” This story is likely not even going to be read by the person to whom I am apologizing, but that’s ok, it still needs to be said and I feel good about it.
To err is human, to forgive; divine. Yeah, it’s cheese-y, but whatever, it’s true.
The Police
I hate texting. I hate it for so many reasons, not the least of which is the inability to have a real, meaningful, communication with a text. Texting has its place, it’s great for sending a quick message to say “Are you here yet? I’m upstairs.” Other than that, too much room for mishaps and misinterpretations.
That being said . . .
I messed up . . . in a fairly colossal manner. Go big, right? Not really. There was a misunderstanding, I sat around and let myself stew about it, let a few other minor catastrophes affect my personal marinade, and then, here comes the brilliant part, I decided to drink . . . excessively. I am not blaming the alcohol, it was me, all me, no one but me. I take full responsibility, drink or no drink. However, as the night went on, and I turned into a cat like princess, I had not yet taken any amount of responsibility. The next morning, however, ugh. As I went over the previous nights events in my head I slowly began to come around, and with every minute that passed my initial glimmer of “I may have been unreasonable” turned into a blinding comet of utter shock at my atrocious behavior. When I discovered that the whole reason I was upset in the first place (a text message that went unanswered) was not even correct (turns out the message failed and was never sent and, therefore, never received, who knew?) I began the desperate search for the nearest sharp object to plunge into my jugular. Failing the location of said shiv, I called my innocent victim, got voice mail (which I expected, I’d have let me go to voice mail hell too) and began my sincere, rambling, act of contrition. I admitted I was wrong, that I acted like a tool, and for reasons I would like to explain (the unanswered but, oooops, never actually sent text), got myself all worked up and that I am so sorry, so very, very sorry. I failed. In every possible way I failed. Because I am human, I am fallible, I falter, and I failed.
With each passing hour, as the requested return call did not occur, I felt more and more sad. I was so un-kind to someone who has been nothing but kind to me. Every time the phone rang I raced to see who it was, but it wasn’t my friend. I kept the phone strapped to me all day, until I began to realize, there will be no phone call. There are a lot of thoughts that come to mind. I had very sincerely apologized, and wanted to do all that I could to make my wrong right, but without communication I was banned. And it was a lack of good communication that got me all worked up in the first place. I began to think about the art of forgiveness. There’s only so long you can spend in the pout house before you need to think about letting the other person off the hook, because eventually they will unhook themselves and no longer be tethered by bad feelings. The punishment has to be equal to the crime or after a while the offender will leave the contrite feelings behind and start thinking “Enough is enough, let’s move on”.
I’ve been on both sides of this fence, the grass isn’t green on either side. The grass is dead and prickly and there’s no swing set in the yard, I hate both sides of this fence, it’s in a crappy neighborhood. Forgiveness can be a tough one. We want to make people pay, and sometimes it just doesn’t feel like enough. My ex-husband once told me I was a world class grudge holder. The horrible, horrible thing about this is that at that time, many years ago, I found that to be a badge of honor. He, of course, didn’t mean it as a compliment, but I wanted people to know when they had wronged me and to never forget. How stupid is this?! But it took me a long time and a lot of experience with others failing me and me, in turn, failing others. I really don’t know what I expected to gain, but back then I didn’t know how to communicate well. I think being a “see you next Tuesday” (you know what I’m sayin’) was my way of pretending to be tough and hoping to ensure that at least that particular person didn’t put me in an uncomfortable position again, a position where I might have to have an uncomfortable conversation.
Again, failure to communicate well, i.e., texting when I should have just called, why didn’t I just call? Because it was during work hours and I don’t like to bug people at work if I can help it.
Being an Astro Creep, though, doesn’t show you’re tough at all, it just shows you can’t be more human than human. All relationships require communication; relationships with friends, with co-workers, with significant others, with your family, and with the checker at the grocery store. Many years ago I had to take a long look at some of the ways I had acted and I saw that people I ousted from my life, or kept in my life just to make sure they were still paying that debt, moved on and led happy lives, free of the crappy feelings I harbored. Oh the humanity, oh the indignity, so incredulous. I found it so hard to forgive then. It felt like it showed weakness in me. Silly, eh? Forgiveness takes an amazing amount of strength and resilience, far more than being unforgiving. Forgiveness requires opening your heart while simultaneously saying “What you did is not ok, but we can talk about it and establish some boundaries and move forward”. You have to walk that knife edge of not accepting poor behavior and still showing love and compassion. You know how this is best done? Say it with me, COMMUNICATION. When you’re the one who has been the jackass (I’m raising my hand right now) you have to be able to hear that, and it’s hard. I’ve had many, many opportunities to experience this and it’s still hard every time. You’d think I’d get used to it by now. I once told The Black Dogs Dad that people should come with warning labels. I was, of course, being accusatory, but I really should have a label myself. It would say something like “98% lovely, but look out for the other 2%”.
We all need forgiveness sometimes. Sometimes it takes a while, that’s ok. Sometimes you have to sit with a thing for while and think about that thing and then walk away from that thing a bit and maybe then go back and look at that thing and decide you’re ready and then maybe not and then you try again tomorrow and then you finally get there, with that thing. It’s not always instant. But like the building of any muscle, the more it’s done, the stronger it becomes and the easier it is to put to use. Forgiveness releases everybody. Not just the transgressor, but the transgressed upon as well. You’re free to leave it in the past, exercise your inner Taoist and be the water flowing over the rock, leaving it in your path, rather than banging your head against the rock for a million or so years before you even begin to make a dent in it. If you flow over the rock, then a million or so years from now you won’t even remember it. Leave it, let it go, be forgiving . . . when you can.
Forgiveness also shuts everyone else up. There can be no speculation when there is communication and forgiveness. When you don’t talk, then you can only guess and that usually makes it all even worse. Trust me, that’s how I got myself here in the first place. Did I mention it’s my fault? It’s my fault. Many years ago when Hugh Grant made his gargantuan error of having a liaison with a prostitute it was all over the news. He was supposed to appear on Jay Leno’s show that night and, naturally, the whole world assumed he would cancel his engagement after this embarrassing gaffe. But, he did not. He manned up and made his appearance. He was remarkably humbled, but he went through with it. When Jay Leno said “I gotta ask, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!” his response was “When you reach a certain age, you know the difference between right and wrong. What I did was wrong. I have no one to blame.” Not only did he man up and show up, he ‘fessed up and made no excuses. His already bright star went super nova right then. The world forgave him and the salivating tabloids had the wind taken out of their sails. What can you say now? Nothing, except “What a stand up guy”, tabloids don’t love that. No gossip, no speculation, and no need to hold a grudge. The story was old news in no time and no one even thinks of it anymore.
We all mess up sometimes, every single one of us, and here and there, we all mess up in a Herculean way. It’s not just me (although it’s me a lot), it’s everyone. The next time you are faced with the opportunity of forgiving someone try to remember a time when you asked for forgiveness. If you can’t grant it right away, that’s ok, at least try to talk about. At least let the other person know you need a bit of time. And if, in the end, you just can’t get past it, then have a talk about that too and try to part ways diplomatically. Easier said than done, I know, but at least think about it. You’ll feel better about it later, you really will. And, ya know, glass houses, stones, all that cliché rot. Additionally, when you have said your mea culpa’s and you’re waiting for the forgiveness train to come your way, let it go. You never know why some people take a while, or maybe even never come around. Maybe what you did brought up issues from someone else, you can’t help that. Maybe they have other mental bits and pieces going on, maybe their heads are full of things like “Should I become a chef or an astronaut”? Maybe their shoes are just too tight, you never know. Give your heartfelt apology, but then move on, don’t sit around just waiting. You’ve got a life to live too.
The events that inspired this story were totally avoidable. My behavior was inexcusable, yet I am asking to be excused, and here, before God and everybody, I can say “I was wrong. I am sorry.” This story is likely not even going to be read by the person to whom I am apologizing, but that’s ok, it still needs to be said and I feel good about it.
To err is human, to forgive; divine. Yeah, it’s cheese-y, but whatever, it’s true.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Symbols, signs, omens and stuff
. . . and it was Jane who spoke, she said "It's true, your cousin's not a Christian, but we love trees, we love the snow, the friends we have, the world we share and you find magic from your God and we find magic everywhere.
-Dar Williams
This entry started out as a look at the rituals people observe, be they catholic, protestant, pagan, or otherwise. As I look at the word “ritual” however, I see how extensive it can be. Much like Elvis, ritual is everywhere.
I have a client I see semi-regularly. She came in a while back and seemed determined to keep herself in a state of fear and misery while simultaneously questing for grounded-ness, connected-ness, and general happy-ness. She has complained to me of various maladies that are physical, emotional, and spiritual. If you’re thinking “No kidding Laura Ellen, you’re a massage therapist, that’s kinda what you do”, then you’re right. I began to wonder, though, how much do we reinforce our negative attitudes while searching for a more positive life? My client told me she has a regular therapist back home in Kansas, I am her regular therapist when she is in Denver, she has an acupuncturist, a chiropractor, and an herbalist. She told me she brought her spiritual guides in the room with her, she asked me to sage the room, she told me she was in dire need of either Cranial Sacral work or Reiki, she wishes she had brought her new crystals with her, she has been journaling, she feels her chakras are out of alignment and this is exacerbating her irritable bowel syndrome. Are you snickering? You shouldn’t be. We all do these things, it’s just that some of us use rosaries and liturgies and altars. Now, I want to let you know it is absolutely not ok for me to talk about clients and their issues outside of work. If you think you know who this is, I promise you, you don’t. I would NEVER name a client, nor would I ever discuss a client in a way that could reveal their identity. Furthermore, this writing is not about my client, this writing is about the different symbols we all need and how we may make fun of someone for choosing to use crystals, but then many of us feel the need to show up in a church, of which we are not active members, at least for Christmas or Easter . . . or light a menorah at Hanukkah and yet never honor Shabbat , or claim Paganism but have no idea what solstice is all about.
We tend to think of rituals as relating only to religion and spiritual derivations thereof. But as I look around me I see rituals expand into so many areas of our lives. People like to scoff at ritual and its frivolity, accusing such behavior as meaningless and worthless. But then, money is worthless too, it’s just paper. It’s not literally worth the amount it represents but, that’s what’s important, what it represents. The more zeros the better, the more of absolutely nothing printed behind a measly little number one, you’ve really got something . . . on paper. Move all those null sets in front of your measly little number one, and you’ve got my bank account. But it means something to us. Money, and what it represents, is important to us. Try to eat without it, you’ll be wishing on your crystals and rosaries and menorahs as well.
A ritual is indeed, initially, defined in The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language as a rite in a religion or spiritual practice. It is, secondarily, described as any regular practice that one follows. Coffee is a ritual. I do not drink caffeine and, believe me, the world is a better place for it. However, I absolutely love my morning coffee. I drink two cups of decaf every single day of my life. I get the coffee maker all set up the night before, a ritual, so that in the morning all I have to do it hit the mighty “on” button. It’s truly one of the most delightful moments of my day. Some mornings, while battling the urge to just roll over and sleep another three or four hours, a light comes on in my head and says to me “Laura Ellen, my love, coffee is ready to go. Just get up and hit the button. All will be well.” I love that light in my head. This morning ritual of coffee follows me everywhere, to any state, on any trip, camping or in a five star hotel, coffee is an integral part of my morning. I mention coffee very specifically because when people find out I drink decaf, only the feeble (of which there are many), will raise an eyebrow and numbly ask “what’s the point?” True coffee lovers never ask this, by the way. The point is this, aside from being warm and tasty, it’s comforting. Coffee makes the house smell good. Coffee is the signal to my synapses that’s it’s time to wake up and start firing. Coffee time is also quiet time. Coffee=morning ritual.
Walking your dog every morning when you could just as easily send his or her furry self out to the back yard is a ritual. Hugging your spouse after a long day of work is a ritual. Going on dates, watching fireworks on the 4th of July, sitting on Santa’s lap, putting a pulled tooth under your pillow for the tooth fairy, watching football every Sunday in the fall, are all ritual; our lives are fraught with, seemingly, meaningless ritual. But, much like cheap paper money, the perceived value of ritual means so much and adds to our lives. Freud wrote to his wife, Martha, the following:
“Tables and chairs, beds, mirrors, a clock to remind the happy couple of the passage of time, an armchair for an hour’s pleasant daydreaming, carpets to help the housewife keep the floors clean, linen tied with pretty ribbons in the cupboard and dresses of the latest fashion and hats with artificial flowers, pictures on the wall, glasses for everyday and others for wine and festive occasions . . . are we to hang our heart on such little things? Yes, and without hesitation.”
Yes, hang your hearts on such little things, they have unfathomed value.
I think in the more conservative world people are scared that having trinkets and shrines and crystals is the belief that these totems become actual deities rather than symbols connecting us to our higher self, our God; that some people pray to their sage sticks and eagle feathers as though these non living objects house the power of the universe. And yet, the dichotomy is that more conservative people rely even more heavily on their dogma. God forbid homosexuals get married or heterosexuals have a child out of the ritual of wedlock. Still, people have their beliefs and I shouldn’t really say anything crappy about it; but oh look, I did, and here’s my opportunity to delete it . . . annnnnnnnd the moment has passed. Look at Wilson in the movie “Castaway”. Tom Hanks really needed that ball. Did he ever lose his marbles to the point that he thought it was animate? I doubt it, but the need to connect is great, so he found a ball with a name on it and a connection was born. It kept him from going 100% batty. Remember how he screamed “Wilson” when the connection was broken, literally, in the water? It was anguish. Wilson represented some semblance of normalcy, of humanity, and gave him hope. Rituals give us hope.
I have a stuffed blue dog named Ol’ Blue because, duh, he’s blue, so I couldn’t very well name him Ol’ Yeller. Blue has just about no stuffing left in him and the years have worn his material hide quite thin. When I was little I believed he could fly. I would frequently tie string around his neck and twirl him about to prove my point. Ol’ Blue still sits in my room. Need I remind you I am approaching 48 years on this planet? Still, Ol’ Blue is out in my room, not shoved in a box or rotting a land fill. Ol’ Blue is a symbol in my life. He reminds me of a time when my life revolved around my mama and flying blue dogs and peanut butter & jelly sandwiches on soft white bread with the crusts cut off. Ol’ Blue has been with me my entire life. Ol’ Blue is a touchstone for me. He knows everything about me, and loves me still. He has lived with me in Texas and Oklahoma and California and Georgia and New York and my beloved Colorado. Having something tangible can help us mere mortals to feel connected to our sense of spirit. God doesn’t care if you see him in a church or while you’re snowboarding and I don’t think he cares if you find him in a rosary or roast beef sandwich or a no longer stuffed, stuffed dog. Additionally, given the many names he has I don’t believe he cares if you call him God or not; you can call him The Universe, The Great Beyond, He Who Is Super Awesome, or Chet if it suits you. Whatev’s, He’s flexi.
So let’s get back to my unnamed client. As I mentioned, despite all her rituals she seemed quite determined to tell herself she is sick and needs help . . . lots of help. There are those who poo poo all things spiritual as being cults and giving people crutches to lean on. I don’t agree with all religions being cults, but that’s ok, I’m not opposed to others thinking that. I certainly can see why religion and spirituality is accused of being a crutch; it is for some. Some people are determined to remain unhappy. Maybe this is their ritual, I don’t know. Still, saying spirituality is bad 100% of the time fosters the same level of ignorance as those who say religion is the only way to know God. God is everywhere. I’m certain he’s in my coffee and that’s why it’s so tasty. It’s worrisome though, to see this reinforcement of things negative built into things that are meant to be positive. Book stores are full of titles telling us how to get what we want, how to stop falling in love a crazy people, how to keep a balanced life, and so on. All these books focus and feed on people’s need, under the pretense of being positive. If you get everything you want, never love someone crazy, and have a totally balanced life then what have you learned in life and when, oh when, have you ever had any fun? For cryin’ out loud, go eat a corn dog and immediately after, ride a roller coaster, live a little.
Rituals, signs, omens, hearing just the right song on the radio at just the right time, these things speak to us. If I were to lose Ol’ Blue I would feel genuine anguish, just like Tom Hanks losing Wilson. I have many such totems, an old beat up jacket that belonged to my dad, mama’s recipe box, a letter from a friend who died, a stone from another friend, they all mean something to me. They all connect me in my heart to people I love and love is a divine feeling, it is our reminder there is something greater than us all that binds us all.
Without ritual what gives our life meaning? If we do not pray or love or hug or become emotionally attached to stuffed animals or drink coffee then what is there?
Enjoy it. Eat a corn dog and ride a roller coaster.
-Dar Williams
This entry started out as a look at the rituals people observe, be they catholic, protestant, pagan, or otherwise. As I look at the word “ritual” however, I see how extensive it can be. Much like Elvis, ritual is everywhere.
I have a client I see semi-regularly. She came in a while back and seemed determined to keep herself in a state of fear and misery while simultaneously questing for grounded-ness, connected-ness, and general happy-ness. She has complained to me of various maladies that are physical, emotional, and spiritual. If you’re thinking “No kidding Laura Ellen, you’re a massage therapist, that’s kinda what you do”, then you’re right. I began to wonder, though, how much do we reinforce our negative attitudes while searching for a more positive life? My client told me she has a regular therapist back home in Kansas, I am her regular therapist when she is in Denver, she has an acupuncturist, a chiropractor, and an herbalist. She told me she brought her spiritual guides in the room with her, she asked me to sage the room, she told me she was in dire need of either Cranial Sacral work or Reiki, she wishes she had brought her new crystals with her, she has been journaling, she feels her chakras are out of alignment and this is exacerbating her irritable bowel syndrome. Are you snickering? You shouldn’t be. We all do these things, it’s just that some of us use rosaries and liturgies and altars. Now, I want to let you know it is absolutely not ok for me to talk about clients and their issues outside of work. If you think you know who this is, I promise you, you don’t. I would NEVER name a client, nor would I ever discuss a client in a way that could reveal their identity. Furthermore, this writing is not about my client, this writing is about the different symbols we all need and how we may make fun of someone for choosing to use crystals, but then many of us feel the need to show up in a church, of which we are not active members, at least for Christmas or Easter . . . or light a menorah at Hanukkah and yet never honor Shabbat , or claim Paganism but have no idea what solstice is all about.
We tend to think of rituals as relating only to religion and spiritual derivations thereof. But as I look around me I see rituals expand into so many areas of our lives. People like to scoff at ritual and its frivolity, accusing such behavior as meaningless and worthless. But then, money is worthless too, it’s just paper. It’s not literally worth the amount it represents but, that’s what’s important, what it represents. The more zeros the better, the more of absolutely nothing printed behind a measly little number one, you’ve really got something . . . on paper. Move all those null sets in front of your measly little number one, and you’ve got my bank account. But it means something to us. Money, and what it represents, is important to us. Try to eat without it, you’ll be wishing on your crystals and rosaries and menorahs as well.
A ritual is indeed, initially, defined in The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language as a rite in a religion or spiritual practice. It is, secondarily, described as any regular practice that one follows. Coffee is a ritual. I do not drink caffeine and, believe me, the world is a better place for it. However, I absolutely love my morning coffee. I drink two cups of decaf every single day of my life. I get the coffee maker all set up the night before, a ritual, so that in the morning all I have to do it hit the mighty “on” button. It’s truly one of the most delightful moments of my day. Some mornings, while battling the urge to just roll over and sleep another three or four hours, a light comes on in my head and says to me “Laura Ellen, my love, coffee is ready to go. Just get up and hit the button. All will be well.” I love that light in my head. This morning ritual of coffee follows me everywhere, to any state, on any trip, camping or in a five star hotel, coffee is an integral part of my morning. I mention coffee very specifically because when people find out I drink decaf, only the feeble (of which there are many), will raise an eyebrow and numbly ask “what’s the point?” True coffee lovers never ask this, by the way. The point is this, aside from being warm and tasty, it’s comforting. Coffee makes the house smell good. Coffee is the signal to my synapses that’s it’s time to wake up and start firing. Coffee time is also quiet time. Coffee=morning ritual.
Walking your dog every morning when you could just as easily send his or her furry self out to the back yard is a ritual. Hugging your spouse after a long day of work is a ritual. Going on dates, watching fireworks on the 4th of July, sitting on Santa’s lap, putting a pulled tooth under your pillow for the tooth fairy, watching football every Sunday in the fall, are all ritual; our lives are fraught with, seemingly, meaningless ritual. But, much like cheap paper money, the perceived value of ritual means so much and adds to our lives. Freud wrote to his wife, Martha, the following:
“Tables and chairs, beds, mirrors, a clock to remind the happy couple of the passage of time, an armchair for an hour’s pleasant daydreaming, carpets to help the housewife keep the floors clean, linen tied with pretty ribbons in the cupboard and dresses of the latest fashion and hats with artificial flowers, pictures on the wall, glasses for everyday and others for wine and festive occasions . . . are we to hang our heart on such little things? Yes, and without hesitation.”
Yes, hang your hearts on such little things, they have unfathomed value.
I think in the more conservative world people are scared that having trinkets and shrines and crystals is the belief that these totems become actual deities rather than symbols connecting us to our higher self, our God; that some people pray to their sage sticks and eagle feathers as though these non living objects house the power of the universe. And yet, the dichotomy is that more conservative people rely even more heavily on their dogma. God forbid homosexuals get married or heterosexuals have a child out of the ritual of wedlock. Still, people have their beliefs and I shouldn’t really say anything crappy about it; but oh look, I did, and here’s my opportunity to delete it . . . annnnnnnnd the moment has passed. Look at Wilson in the movie “Castaway”. Tom Hanks really needed that ball. Did he ever lose his marbles to the point that he thought it was animate? I doubt it, but the need to connect is great, so he found a ball with a name on it and a connection was born. It kept him from going 100% batty. Remember how he screamed “Wilson” when the connection was broken, literally, in the water? It was anguish. Wilson represented some semblance of normalcy, of humanity, and gave him hope. Rituals give us hope.
I have a stuffed blue dog named Ol’ Blue because, duh, he’s blue, so I couldn’t very well name him Ol’ Yeller. Blue has just about no stuffing left in him and the years have worn his material hide quite thin. When I was little I believed he could fly. I would frequently tie string around his neck and twirl him about to prove my point. Ol’ Blue still sits in my room. Need I remind you I am approaching 48 years on this planet? Still, Ol’ Blue is out in my room, not shoved in a box or rotting a land fill. Ol’ Blue is a symbol in my life. He reminds me of a time when my life revolved around my mama and flying blue dogs and peanut butter & jelly sandwiches on soft white bread with the crusts cut off. Ol’ Blue has been with me my entire life. Ol’ Blue is a touchstone for me. He knows everything about me, and loves me still. He has lived with me in Texas and Oklahoma and California and Georgia and New York and my beloved Colorado. Having something tangible can help us mere mortals to feel connected to our sense of spirit. God doesn’t care if you see him in a church or while you’re snowboarding and I don’t think he cares if you find him in a rosary or roast beef sandwich or a no longer stuffed, stuffed dog. Additionally, given the many names he has I don’t believe he cares if you call him God or not; you can call him The Universe, The Great Beyond, He Who Is Super Awesome, or Chet if it suits you. Whatev’s, He’s flexi.
So let’s get back to my unnamed client. As I mentioned, despite all her rituals she seemed quite determined to tell herself she is sick and needs help . . . lots of help. There are those who poo poo all things spiritual as being cults and giving people crutches to lean on. I don’t agree with all religions being cults, but that’s ok, I’m not opposed to others thinking that. I certainly can see why religion and spirituality is accused of being a crutch; it is for some. Some people are determined to remain unhappy. Maybe this is their ritual, I don’t know. Still, saying spirituality is bad 100% of the time fosters the same level of ignorance as those who say religion is the only way to know God. God is everywhere. I’m certain he’s in my coffee and that’s why it’s so tasty. It’s worrisome though, to see this reinforcement of things negative built into things that are meant to be positive. Book stores are full of titles telling us how to get what we want, how to stop falling in love a crazy people, how to keep a balanced life, and so on. All these books focus and feed on people’s need, under the pretense of being positive. If you get everything you want, never love someone crazy, and have a totally balanced life then what have you learned in life and when, oh when, have you ever had any fun? For cryin’ out loud, go eat a corn dog and immediately after, ride a roller coaster, live a little.
Rituals, signs, omens, hearing just the right song on the radio at just the right time, these things speak to us. If I were to lose Ol’ Blue I would feel genuine anguish, just like Tom Hanks losing Wilson. I have many such totems, an old beat up jacket that belonged to my dad, mama’s recipe box, a letter from a friend who died, a stone from another friend, they all mean something to me. They all connect me in my heart to people I love and love is a divine feeling, it is our reminder there is something greater than us all that binds us all.
Without ritual what gives our life meaning? If we do not pray or love or hug or become emotionally attached to stuffed animals or drink coffee then what is there?
Enjoy it. Eat a corn dog and ride a roller coaster.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
THE LAST TIME YOU BROKE MY HEART
It was still warm outside at night. We were at a poetry reading and in her poem she spoke of an event that in the past would have held a secret shared moment between us. In the past we would have surreptitiously caught each other’s eye and oh so discreetly smiled. A knowing moment of times gone by would have passed between us in a room filled with people, and only we would be aware. But not tonight, not this time. I look at you and I see you purposely avoiding my eye. I see how stiff you hold your neck, how rigidly you stare above my head, how purposeful you are in your ignorance of me. YOU WILL NOT LOOK AT ME NO MATTER WHAT . . . and then I know. All my suspicions of the past several weeks are confirmed in that moment. Before then I could pretend that I was just imagining things, but not now . . . now I know. Soon I will dream of you and I will be wearing exactly what I am wearing tonight, but I don’t know that now. All I know now is everything has changed, and you didn’t even bother to tell me.
Fall sets in, the air gets cool. I wait for you to tell me the truth, but you won’t, you don’t. A few weeks later, it is no longer warm outside at night, you invite me to spend your birthday with you and I wonder “was I wrong”? But I call you the morning of your birthday and you do not answer, I know I’m not wrong. She is there and you will call me when she leaves. You call me later, I come over and see the evidence that you have not hidden well enough. I say “I’m going to have a cigarette”, I step outside on the front porch . . . and cry quietly. It’s your birthday, I can’t say anything on your birthday and it’s really not my business anymore . . . but I did think we were closer than this. You ask me to send a card to your mother and I’m sad for the girl who was here just a few hours before. She is not spending your birthday with you or sending a card to your mother. She doesn’t know what’s in store for her, but I do, and I hurt for her.
Many weeks later I am at your house for dinner. It has not been warm outside at night for a long time. I see the evidence again and I think “It must be hard to tell me, I will help him”. I ask you about it, giving you an opportunity to get it out so we can have openness and honesty. You pretend not to hear me. I have a moment to renege on my question. I can drop it right here and not hear the truth, and in my nanosecond of hesitation I have unwittingly given you time to dream up your lie. And lie you do. I ask again, I will not be daunted, and you look at me . . . . and lie to me. You look your friend in the eye and spew a river of bile. You tell me more than I had asked, always a sign of lying, and your lie is so outrageous it’s insulting. If I hadn’t been so stunned and hurt I would have laughed at the sheer audacity and stupidity of it. I let you have your lie, what else can I do? I lost my friend weeks ago. It is snowing and cold outside now, but I lost my friend when it was still warm outside at night. I have clawed on to my friendship with you, looking away, ignoring what I see and hoping it will all go away . . . and it does. It goes away, but not in the way I had hoped.It will take several more weeks for what remains of our friendship it to die its slow painful death but it began in summer, when it was still warm outside at night.
And now, many years later I watch your duplicitous nature with someone else. I watch you lie to her. It has been summer, fall, winter, spring, and then summer again many times since that first time . . . when it was summer, when it was still warm outside at night.
Fall sets in, the air gets cool. I wait for you to tell me the truth, but you won’t, you don’t. A few weeks later, it is no longer warm outside at night, you invite me to spend your birthday with you and I wonder “was I wrong”? But I call you the morning of your birthday and you do not answer, I know I’m not wrong. She is there and you will call me when she leaves. You call me later, I come over and see the evidence that you have not hidden well enough. I say “I’m going to have a cigarette”, I step outside on the front porch . . . and cry quietly. It’s your birthday, I can’t say anything on your birthday and it’s really not my business anymore . . . but I did think we were closer than this. You ask me to send a card to your mother and I’m sad for the girl who was here just a few hours before. She is not spending your birthday with you or sending a card to your mother. She doesn’t know what’s in store for her, but I do, and I hurt for her.
Many weeks later I am at your house for dinner. It has not been warm outside at night for a long time. I see the evidence again and I think “It must be hard to tell me, I will help him”. I ask you about it, giving you an opportunity to get it out so we can have openness and honesty. You pretend not to hear me. I have a moment to renege on my question. I can drop it right here and not hear the truth, and in my nanosecond of hesitation I have unwittingly given you time to dream up your lie. And lie you do. I ask again, I will not be daunted, and you look at me . . . . and lie to me. You look your friend in the eye and spew a river of bile. You tell me more than I had asked, always a sign of lying, and your lie is so outrageous it’s insulting. If I hadn’t been so stunned and hurt I would have laughed at the sheer audacity and stupidity of it. I let you have your lie, what else can I do? I lost my friend weeks ago. It is snowing and cold outside now, but I lost my friend when it was still warm outside at night. I have clawed on to my friendship with you, looking away, ignoring what I see and hoping it will all go away . . . and it does. It goes away, but not in the way I had hoped.It will take several more weeks for what remains of our friendship it to die its slow painful death but it began in summer, when it was still warm outside at night.
And now, many years later I watch your duplicitous nature with someone else. I watch you lie to her. It has been summer, fall, winter, spring, and then summer again many times since that first time . . . when it was summer, when it was still warm outside at night.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
The Day The Earth Stood Still. The Day The Music Died.
It’s 5:00 and I’m driving home again, it’s hard to believe it’s my last time. The man on the wireless cries again “It’s over, it’s over”. Dancing with tears in my eyes.
- Ultravox
I wasn’t going to write about September 11, 2001 and the 10th anniversary. It seemed obvious, purposely dramatic, maybe a bit flippant, and possibly cheesey; writing about tragedy just to elicit a response, so distasteful. But as it draws near and the stories of loss and gain and love and heroism unfold, I find I am compelled to write about it and it seems that to let it pass by blithely would be disrespectful.
When I was very young people knew exactly where they were, what they were doing, and with whom when President Kennedy was shot. The world seemingly stopped in November 1963. I had three weeks left in the womb, that’s where I was. Now, though, everyone knows where they were, what they doing, and with whom on that God awful morning of September 11th, 2001. The world stopped again, and has not spun the same since. Loss and gain in the same moment, a man quietly leaps out a building to his death while another wins a Pulitzer for his haunting photo of the flight downward to earth. Thousands of families are torn apart while a few people find love in the face tragedy.
There is silence, and then there is deafening silence. There is the kind of silence when you ask a question and the person hesitates, you know what’s coming . . . they are about to lie, to break up with you, to not break up with you when they should, to say something uncomfortable. It’s a silence we all know, it makes us roll our internal eyes and think “Spit it out, get on with it”. But then, there is that most peculiar silence that signals you something is wrong . . . very, very wrong. That silence is horrific, terrifying, and in that moment you wonder “Do I want to know what’s coming? I only have a nano-second of blissful ignorance before the terror comes out”. That was the silence of that day. My dearest friend, Therese, was living with me then. She was embattled with her own life changes and as a result slept on my couch for several months. We went through many tragedies together during that time and have come to see it as fortuitous and divine that we were led to be roommates during those months.
That particular morning the phone rang early, back then plain ol’ push button house phones were still the norm. Ours was black, rang loudly, and sat right by T’s head. It woke me up that morning, but it must have really jarred her. We were both asleep still. I heard her early morning, confused voice, the not quite focused voice, and then I heard something odd . . . the t.v. She turned the t.v. on. It seemed strange, but I was rolling over to go back to sleep and didn’t think too much about it, then I heard it . . . the nothing. The void. The absence of anything. Utter shock. The deafening silence. It crept down the hall from the front room and filled my room. It filled my mind. It filled my heart. I was scared. Something had happened, someone must have died. I have a choice, if I don’t go in the front room then time will stop right here and I won’t have to know and it never will have happened. If I don’t move, then it never happened . . . but then I’ve abandoned my dearest friend in a dark time, whatever it may be. I would never do that. I get out of bed, I pad down the hall, and I see it. I see her horror. Her indescribable look of horror. She has no words. She is stripped of her normal eloquence and inhumanly large vocabulary. Some pieces of that day are blurry now. Did she just point at the t.v. screen and utter a caveman like “ugh”? Did she say anything even remotely cohesive? I don’t remember. I only remember being on the couch, watching in horror and just as we are beginning to wrap our brains around the fact that this is real, this is not some sort of epic “War of The Worlds” hoax, one of the towers really has been attacked by terrorists, just as we are getting that . . . it happened again . . . and we saw it. Right before our very eyes, we saw it. We huddle together on the couch crying, helpless, watching people choose to jump out of buildings rather than being burned to death. People are dying, Pulitzers will be awarded. The symbiosis of life and death.
The horror continues. A plane crashes in Pennsylvania, the Pentagon is bombed, what would be next? Who is safe? And then, wait, back up, the Pentagon? THE PENTAGON?! MY BROTHER AND HIS WIFE ARE THERE! OH JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, LEE AND SARAH ARE THERE! DEAR GOD GET THEM OUT, GET THEM OUT! I DEMAND IT, I AM NOT EVEN ASKING I AM TELLING YOU FIRMLY AND RESOLUTELY, GET THEM THE FUCK OUT . . . NOW. I cannot reach my brothers house, phone lines are down, or crammed full or God only knows what but I cannot reach my brother and his wife. Where are they? WHERE ARE THEY? JESUS FUCKING H. CHRIST ON A BIKE WHERE ARE THEY?!!!! Ten years ago I did not have a home computer. Why would I? I had one at work and who the hell wants to be on a computer on your free time? Oh how times change. I know that I need to go to the office and at least try to reach them via email. I have no intention of working and if I had any means of reaching them at home I would, but I need that computer and it’s in my office.
I get in the car, turn the key, and the radio comes on. I notice that whatever cacophonous, possibly base, and revolting morning show would normally be offending my ears right now has become a whole other animal indeed. I am grateful and happily surprised to hear that even the loudest and most ridiculous of radio on air hosts are professional broadcast journalists today. Today they deliver the news with dignity and compassion. I am proud, but I beg for life to go back to normal. I want to hear Lewis & Floorwax make off color jokes about human anatomy and peanut butter. It’s degrading and vile, but it will mean the world is normal again. I drive to work. The streets are barren. The entire world is stricken. We have been sucker punched. There are a few people at work, but no one is working. Everyone is glassy eyed and wondering around aimlessly, like zombies. One man I work with is retired from the Army. I see the look of despair and helplessness in his eyes. He is fighting tears. I see that he feels a type of pressure and separation I can’t know. He is trained to serve his country, but here he is in a mortgage office. He feels there is something he should do, but what? Why is he even here? And then I know, he feels a sense of duty. It doesn’t matter if it’s serving his country or being a good employee, he is a dutiful person. We are all broken today, but duty and honor are still intact.
I search my email, no word. I send emails and wait for a response. I get nothing. I finally am connected with another brother, Eddie. Did he call home and get Therese? Did he email me? Did I reach him at work? I don’t remember, I only know he told me Lee and Sarah are safe. Lee and Sarah are safe. Lee and Sarah are safe. Lee and Sarah are safe. Have you ever heard more melodic words in your life? Those words are a song, a hymn, an anthem. Lee and Sarah are safe. Do you feel the calm those words bring? This is my story. This is my world. My little world is ok. The big world is suffering. An email arrives, it’s my boss telling us all to go home, my Army co-worker races out the door with nary a goodbye. I laugh at the message and wonder, “Did you really think anyone would stay?” Still, it was the right thing to do. Today isn’t a day to pick on my boss. We’re all lost today, and besides, Lee and Sarah are safe.
I go back home. Finally I am able to talk to Sarah on the phone. I collapse. I break down at the sound of her voice. Fears I didn’t even realize I’ve had these past few hours come tumbling out. I am terrified in my own home. I am miles and miles from my family and I am not safe in my own home. For the first time in my life, my country is not hallowed ground. What will be next? Where? Who? Are they flying over head right now? Will my little house be bombed too? I don’t feel safe in my home. I’ve never felt so vulnerable in my life. This is not an embellishment for the sake of interesting story telling, I’ve never felt so unsafe and vulnerable in my own home in my life. I have no control over what happens to me. Anyone can walk in my door right now and kill me. Planes are going down everywhere, people are leaping to their deaths, Lewis & Floorwax are acting like adults, my world is not safe. And then my sister in law, Sarah, exudes grace under fire. She calmly, firmly, reproaches me. She is likely wagging her finger at me as she tells me “Don’t you dare feel that way today. That is mental guerilla warfare and that is how they want you to feel. If you feel scared today then they have won. You are safe. You are safer now than you were this morning and don’t you give in to them, it’s unpatriotic.” She is right, and she gives me hope. I did not vote for President Bush, but he was the President on that day and I am an American on any day, I will be sure of that every day of my life, no matter who is President. I am safe. Lee and Sarah are safe.
Lee was indeed in the Pentagon, but unharmed and he was out performing his duty as a former officer and always a gentleman by driving people home who could not get there otherwise. He was out driving the streets of D.C., where God only knows what could still happen, to make sure his co-workers got home. Lee and Sarah are safe, and now others are safe at home somewhere in the D.C. area, where they should be, because Lee took them there. He is a hero.
On the t.v. the world continues it’s twisted, tormented decline. Lives are changed forever. It’s become unimaginable. Back then I hadn’t met my friend Maura, or her brother David. As I write this I wonder how Maura felt that day. Did she know her brothers were on the scene, saving lives? How scared and proud she must have felt. David was with the NY Fire Department. There are people in the world who are willing to save you, to save me, to save every one of us and they have never even met us. There are hero’s who will rush into a fire to drag you and your pet out and bring you to safety. David is one of those people. David has lung issues now, the ramifications of one day, of one minute in one day, can be so far reaching. David is a hero. He should wear a cape . . . every day. There are so many who should. In my world Lee and Sarah are safe. In the worlds of others how many people are able to count their loved ones among those who are safe because David was there? Another of her brothers owns a bar, 80 blocks away from the site. People covered in dust and debris walk in and he gives them water, an oasis in the middle of their long march home. Another hero. What a welcome sight his bar must have been.
I think back on the Pulitzer prize winning photo. It’s beautiful, quiet, serene, not at all a scene of horror. The man in the photo is not flailing wildly about, it’s as though we are watching his last moment of prayer and resignation and acceptance, he is going to meet his maker and, quite possibly, is already there in his heart. It’s one of the most peaceful moments I’ve ever seen, almost intrusive, watching this mans final, personal atonement. And below him, thousands are shrieking . . . and thousands are being hushed forever. It is said there are no atheists in fox holes. I wonder if the same holds true for burning buildings. The three men I admire most, the Father, Son, and The Holy Ghost, they caught the last train for the coast . . . the day the music died.
Tomorrow marks ten years. Tomorrow is the first Sunday of the football season, a day normally filled with immense joy for me. I do love my football Sunday’s don’tcha know. Life goes on because it must, and at times life stands still because it must. So tomorrow, when the National Football League poses the question “Are you ready for some football”, my answer will be “Yes, but after a time of quiet, reverence and reflection”.
It’s a tough day. Do whatever it is you need to do. Blessings to each of you.
- Ultravox
I wasn’t going to write about September 11, 2001 and the 10th anniversary. It seemed obvious, purposely dramatic, maybe a bit flippant, and possibly cheesey; writing about tragedy just to elicit a response, so distasteful. But as it draws near and the stories of loss and gain and love and heroism unfold, I find I am compelled to write about it and it seems that to let it pass by blithely would be disrespectful.
When I was very young people knew exactly where they were, what they were doing, and with whom when President Kennedy was shot. The world seemingly stopped in November 1963. I had three weeks left in the womb, that’s where I was. Now, though, everyone knows where they were, what they doing, and with whom on that God awful morning of September 11th, 2001. The world stopped again, and has not spun the same since. Loss and gain in the same moment, a man quietly leaps out a building to his death while another wins a Pulitzer for his haunting photo of the flight downward to earth. Thousands of families are torn apart while a few people find love in the face tragedy.
There is silence, and then there is deafening silence. There is the kind of silence when you ask a question and the person hesitates, you know what’s coming . . . they are about to lie, to break up with you, to not break up with you when they should, to say something uncomfortable. It’s a silence we all know, it makes us roll our internal eyes and think “Spit it out, get on with it”. But then, there is that most peculiar silence that signals you something is wrong . . . very, very wrong. That silence is horrific, terrifying, and in that moment you wonder “Do I want to know what’s coming? I only have a nano-second of blissful ignorance before the terror comes out”. That was the silence of that day. My dearest friend, Therese, was living with me then. She was embattled with her own life changes and as a result slept on my couch for several months. We went through many tragedies together during that time and have come to see it as fortuitous and divine that we were led to be roommates during those months.
That particular morning the phone rang early, back then plain ol’ push button house phones were still the norm. Ours was black, rang loudly, and sat right by T’s head. It woke me up that morning, but it must have really jarred her. We were both asleep still. I heard her early morning, confused voice, the not quite focused voice, and then I heard something odd . . . the t.v. She turned the t.v. on. It seemed strange, but I was rolling over to go back to sleep and didn’t think too much about it, then I heard it . . . the nothing. The void. The absence of anything. Utter shock. The deafening silence. It crept down the hall from the front room and filled my room. It filled my mind. It filled my heart. I was scared. Something had happened, someone must have died. I have a choice, if I don’t go in the front room then time will stop right here and I won’t have to know and it never will have happened. If I don’t move, then it never happened . . . but then I’ve abandoned my dearest friend in a dark time, whatever it may be. I would never do that. I get out of bed, I pad down the hall, and I see it. I see her horror. Her indescribable look of horror. She has no words. She is stripped of her normal eloquence and inhumanly large vocabulary. Some pieces of that day are blurry now. Did she just point at the t.v. screen and utter a caveman like “ugh”? Did she say anything even remotely cohesive? I don’t remember. I only remember being on the couch, watching in horror and just as we are beginning to wrap our brains around the fact that this is real, this is not some sort of epic “War of The Worlds” hoax, one of the towers really has been attacked by terrorists, just as we are getting that . . . it happened again . . . and we saw it. Right before our very eyes, we saw it. We huddle together on the couch crying, helpless, watching people choose to jump out of buildings rather than being burned to death. People are dying, Pulitzers will be awarded. The symbiosis of life and death.
The horror continues. A plane crashes in Pennsylvania, the Pentagon is bombed, what would be next? Who is safe? And then, wait, back up, the Pentagon? THE PENTAGON?! MY BROTHER AND HIS WIFE ARE THERE! OH JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, LEE AND SARAH ARE THERE! DEAR GOD GET THEM OUT, GET THEM OUT! I DEMAND IT, I AM NOT EVEN ASKING I AM TELLING YOU FIRMLY AND RESOLUTELY, GET THEM THE FUCK OUT . . . NOW. I cannot reach my brothers house, phone lines are down, or crammed full or God only knows what but I cannot reach my brother and his wife. Where are they? WHERE ARE THEY? JESUS FUCKING H. CHRIST ON A BIKE WHERE ARE THEY?!!!! Ten years ago I did not have a home computer. Why would I? I had one at work and who the hell wants to be on a computer on your free time? Oh how times change. I know that I need to go to the office and at least try to reach them via email. I have no intention of working and if I had any means of reaching them at home I would, but I need that computer and it’s in my office.
I get in the car, turn the key, and the radio comes on. I notice that whatever cacophonous, possibly base, and revolting morning show would normally be offending my ears right now has become a whole other animal indeed. I am grateful and happily surprised to hear that even the loudest and most ridiculous of radio on air hosts are professional broadcast journalists today. Today they deliver the news with dignity and compassion. I am proud, but I beg for life to go back to normal. I want to hear Lewis & Floorwax make off color jokes about human anatomy and peanut butter. It’s degrading and vile, but it will mean the world is normal again. I drive to work. The streets are barren. The entire world is stricken. We have been sucker punched. There are a few people at work, but no one is working. Everyone is glassy eyed and wondering around aimlessly, like zombies. One man I work with is retired from the Army. I see the look of despair and helplessness in his eyes. He is fighting tears. I see that he feels a type of pressure and separation I can’t know. He is trained to serve his country, but here he is in a mortgage office. He feels there is something he should do, but what? Why is he even here? And then I know, he feels a sense of duty. It doesn’t matter if it’s serving his country or being a good employee, he is a dutiful person. We are all broken today, but duty and honor are still intact.
I search my email, no word. I send emails and wait for a response. I get nothing. I finally am connected with another brother, Eddie. Did he call home and get Therese? Did he email me? Did I reach him at work? I don’t remember, I only know he told me Lee and Sarah are safe. Lee and Sarah are safe. Lee and Sarah are safe. Lee and Sarah are safe. Have you ever heard more melodic words in your life? Those words are a song, a hymn, an anthem. Lee and Sarah are safe. Do you feel the calm those words bring? This is my story. This is my world. My little world is ok. The big world is suffering. An email arrives, it’s my boss telling us all to go home, my Army co-worker races out the door with nary a goodbye. I laugh at the message and wonder, “Did you really think anyone would stay?” Still, it was the right thing to do. Today isn’t a day to pick on my boss. We’re all lost today, and besides, Lee and Sarah are safe.
I go back home. Finally I am able to talk to Sarah on the phone. I collapse. I break down at the sound of her voice. Fears I didn’t even realize I’ve had these past few hours come tumbling out. I am terrified in my own home. I am miles and miles from my family and I am not safe in my own home. For the first time in my life, my country is not hallowed ground. What will be next? Where? Who? Are they flying over head right now? Will my little house be bombed too? I don’t feel safe in my home. I’ve never felt so vulnerable in my life. This is not an embellishment for the sake of interesting story telling, I’ve never felt so unsafe and vulnerable in my own home in my life. I have no control over what happens to me. Anyone can walk in my door right now and kill me. Planes are going down everywhere, people are leaping to their deaths, Lewis & Floorwax are acting like adults, my world is not safe. And then my sister in law, Sarah, exudes grace under fire. She calmly, firmly, reproaches me. She is likely wagging her finger at me as she tells me “Don’t you dare feel that way today. That is mental guerilla warfare and that is how they want you to feel. If you feel scared today then they have won. You are safe. You are safer now than you were this morning and don’t you give in to them, it’s unpatriotic.” She is right, and she gives me hope. I did not vote for President Bush, but he was the President on that day and I am an American on any day, I will be sure of that every day of my life, no matter who is President. I am safe. Lee and Sarah are safe.
Lee was indeed in the Pentagon, but unharmed and he was out performing his duty as a former officer and always a gentleman by driving people home who could not get there otherwise. He was out driving the streets of D.C., where God only knows what could still happen, to make sure his co-workers got home. Lee and Sarah are safe, and now others are safe at home somewhere in the D.C. area, where they should be, because Lee took them there. He is a hero.
On the t.v. the world continues it’s twisted, tormented decline. Lives are changed forever. It’s become unimaginable. Back then I hadn’t met my friend Maura, or her brother David. As I write this I wonder how Maura felt that day. Did she know her brothers were on the scene, saving lives? How scared and proud she must have felt. David was with the NY Fire Department. There are people in the world who are willing to save you, to save me, to save every one of us and they have never even met us. There are hero’s who will rush into a fire to drag you and your pet out and bring you to safety. David is one of those people. David has lung issues now, the ramifications of one day, of one minute in one day, can be so far reaching. David is a hero. He should wear a cape . . . every day. There are so many who should. In my world Lee and Sarah are safe. In the worlds of others how many people are able to count their loved ones among those who are safe because David was there? Another of her brothers owns a bar, 80 blocks away from the site. People covered in dust and debris walk in and he gives them water, an oasis in the middle of their long march home. Another hero. What a welcome sight his bar must have been.
I think back on the Pulitzer prize winning photo. It’s beautiful, quiet, serene, not at all a scene of horror. The man in the photo is not flailing wildly about, it’s as though we are watching his last moment of prayer and resignation and acceptance, he is going to meet his maker and, quite possibly, is already there in his heart. It’s one of the most peaceful moments I’ve ever seen, almost intrusive, watching this mans final, personal atonement. And below him, thousands are shrieking . . . and thousands are being hushed forever. It is said there are no atheists in fox holes. I wonder if the same holds true for burning buildings. The three men I admire most, the Father, Son, and The Holy Ghost, they caught the last train for the coast . . . the day the music died.
Tomorrow marks ten years. Tomorrow is the first Sunday of the football season, a day normally filled with immense joy for me. I do love my football Sunday’s don’tcha know. Life goes on because it must, and at times life stands still because it must. So tomorrow, when the National Football League poses the question “Are you ready for some football”, my answer will be “Yes, but after a time of quiet, reverence and reflection”.
It’s a tough day. Do whatever it is you need to do. Blessings to each of you.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Awakening
Across the purple sky all the birds are leaving. But how can they know it’s time for them to go? Before the winter fire, I will still be dreaming. I have no thought of time. For who knows where the times goes? Who knows where the time goes?
-Sandy Denny
This summer has been busy. Very busy. Tremendously busy. It’s been filled with a lot of fantastic weekend trips, some great concerts, and some awesome volunteer opportunities. This summer has left me with no time for just me. This summer I have learned I am absolutely terrible at time management. I try to post my blog around the 20th of each month. It is now the 7th of August and I am just now getting to my July writing. Fail. This summer has, often times, found me feeling tired, overextended, behind on the things I want to get done, and no time to just lie on the couch and read The New Yorker. Yes, I get The New Yorker, so what? I don’t even know why I keep my Netflix account open, the movies just sit around and get dusty. Summer in Colorado is short. It doesn’t stop snowing here until late May and starts falling again in October. If you want to camp, raft, canoe, hike, bike, rock climb, practice yoga in the park, go to Red Rocks, Jazz in the park, or whatever your favorite summer pursuit may be during our warm weather days, you have to make a commitment to get out there and do it. Last weekend, as I canoed down the Escalante Canyon, my friend and I talked about how neither of us feel that we have enough time to do all we want to do. I said I wanted to create more time and he said “Yes, but it’s summer. If you don’t get summer pursuits on the calendar the time will fly by and the opportunity will be gone.” It’s true. That was such a fun weekend and such a beautiful part of Colorado to see and I spent it with such great people, I’m very happy I didn’t miss it. There is precious little time for lounging about, and yet, we need balance. At least I do anyway. Some people find balance in large increments such as “I’ll play hard all summer and rest in the winter”. But winter is no time for resting, there’s snowboarding, winter camping, snowshoeing, hut trips, ice climbing, and all kinds of outdoor activities that now just move indoors; not to mention indoor activities, if you paint, knit, or create in an indoor kind of way then your time is still full. And for those of you who don’t live in my beautiful, adopted, home state, I can tell you that a blizzard one day still brings sunshine the next. You can ride your bike outside here most days of the year. Still no balance.
Many times during the course of the last year I have said I wanted to have more down time and more time just for me. I have been enormously insufficient in this endeavor. As a new years resolution I said I was going to stay home one night every weekend. I haven’t always achieved this but even on the nights I have, I haven’t gained what I sought. I don’t think I even had an understanding of what I sought. Originally I just wanted rest I suppose, but that’s not enough . . . or not accurate at least. What do I want? What do I hope to accomplish and what has to go in order to convert my goals to accomplishments? The last six weeks of my life have been a blur and as this weekend grew ever closer on the calendar I got more and more excited about it. On Saturday and Sunday of this weekend I stayed in town, I did not cover for any one at work, I did not go out Saturday night, I did not go out Sunday night, and I did not say yes to any volunteer projects. I have stayed home. I have been doing whatever I feel like doing for two solid days and the luxury of it is beyond what I had even imagined. Yesterday, while lying on the couch reading The New Yorker, I fell asleep and took a nap. Can you imagine?! A nap! What the . . . ?!
I think back on a time in my life when people seemed to “empty out” for a while. Most of the friends I spent time with moved away, got married and disappeared, or had kids or any number of other life changes that take people out of your circle. I felt lonely during this phase and had more time than I knew what to do with. Weekends at home with not much to do became normal for a while, and I did not like it. I felt sad and friendless. I am grateful in my life now to have more invitations than I can manage and more friends than I can count and a continually ringing phone. I never thought I would need to schedule ME in my daytimer. When I was younger I never would have wanted to. When I was younger being at home just one night during the course of an entire month was a horror, but those days are long gone.
So here’s what I have learned about me; I am terrible about saying NO and I have no focus. The Black Dogs Dad told me I lacked focus (or was it discipline?) and I wasn’t sure what he meant at the time. I thought, quite indignantly mind you, “I have complete focus and you, sir, have no idea what you’re talking about”. Then I threw down my gauntlet and challenged him to a duel. Ok I’m kidding, I didn’t actually call him sir. I didn’t say any of it because I felt a bit jabbed and I didn’t feel like starting a fight. Pick your battles don’tcha know. Now though, in trying to find time in my life I see that it’s true. I completely lack focus. That’s why my staying home once a weekend didn’t produce great results, because I had no expected outcome, no goal. I didn’t have “my eye on the prize” as people say, because I hadn’t chosen a prize. I am quite easily distracted. When I clean my house (which I admit is rare) I have to remind myself to stay on task. If I start in my bedroom and move a dirty glass into the kitchen then I will stop along the way to pet the cats, see that the floor needs vacuuming, drop off the dirty glass in the bathroom, pull the vacuum cleaner out of the closet, notice the coats in the closet are looking a bit worn and determine to make a Good Will pile starrrrrrrttttiinnnnnnnnngggg NOW, make piles of clothes all over the house and four hours later I have a dirty glass in the bathroom, the bedroom has not been cleaned, and the floor has not been vacuumed. Focus. Clean the bedroom. One thing at a time, stop getting distracted by shiny things in the sand.
I believe if I have a goal then the time management issue becomes less of an issue and more of a happy necessity. Additionally, part of time management means that I need to say “no” much more frequently. This is hard for me. It’s not hard because I feel obligated. I don’t feel bad saying “no” at all, it’s just that I like saying “yes”. When someone asks me to volunteer to help out children or animals or cancer survivors or to save Mother Earth, then I want to always say “Yes, most emphatically yes”. When I am invited to a party or camping or a concert or a weekend in one of the many beautiful places in my state I want to go! Nonetheless, I have made a goal for myself and achieving that goal means I need more time for me, and more time for me is created by giving away less time. I will, of course, finish out what I have already committed to doing for the next couple of months, but after that I’ll relax a bit.
Dr. Bud Harris wrote a book called Sacred Selfishness. This book reminds people that it’s ok to give time to you before giving time to others. I think the books message is a bit more slanted to people who feel flat out guilty saying no (not me) rather than those who just suck at it (totally me), but the message is still the same. In Julia Cameron’s classic book, The Artists Way, she echoes the same sentiment, make time for you and your goals, fulfill your needs. I read both of these books a couple of years and I believe strongly in the messages of each. At the time they seemed like good reference books for me to have under my belt as suggestions to my clients and not necessarily something I needed personally. Massage Therapist, heal thyself. If you’re not happy, no one around you will be happy either. I can think of many times I’ve made people around me miserably unhappy because I wasn’t giving enough to me, because I wasn’t feeling fulfilled on my own. When we’re not fulfilled in our own lives we look to others to fill in the gaps. That’s no one else’s job and they’re not too happy about having to do it. Don’t ever look at someone and say those dumb words “You complete me”. Ick, I just wretched a little.
So, as part of my new goal oriented, making time for myself, theme in life I have decided to make better time of the three mornings a week I have. Rather than sleeping in, heading to the gym . . . or not, then off to work, I’m setting an alarm and have a wee bit of a morning schedule, thus my writing right now. Today that nasty, beeping, noise rudely, abruptly, cacophonously jarred me out of my restful slumber, slapped me across the face and said “GET UP LAZY BONES”. I did as instructed. I do not generally rise at 7:00 a.m. if not forced to do so but today I got my lazy bones up. I was not forced, I had a plan, and I am happy to be sitting at my computer writing and feeling that I am actively pursuing my goal, with focus, with discipline, rather than just waiting for it to come to me and knock on my door. I wish that plan had worked but, alas, it did not.
So, have I written about focus or free time or discipline or pursuing a goal? For me they all seem to be the same right now. For you, it may be just one of those things. As always, I write about what’s going on with me because I know I’m not so special that I’m the only one. Whatever I’m feeling, I’m sure the rest of the world has felt at some time as well. Maybe your goal is to get more sleep and not be so productive, God love ya, that’s awesome. It doesn’t matter, focus on your dream sleepy head, and create the time to do it. You may have to say “NO, NO, NO!” to some things, but it’s alright. There’s only so much we can all do in the world so choose wisely.
Pick your battles don’tcha know.
-Sandy Denny
This summer has been busy. Very busy. Tremendously busy. It’s been filled with a lot of fantastic weekend trips, some great concerts, and some awesome volunteer opportunities. This summer has left me with no time for just me. This summer I have learned I am absolutely terrible at time management. I try to post my blog around the 20th of each month. It is now the 7th of August and I am just now getting to my July writing. Fail. This summer has, often times, found me feeling tired, overextended, behind on the things I want to get done, and no time to just lie on the couch and read The New Yorker. Yes, I get The New Yorker, so what? I don’t even know why I keep my Netflix account open, the movies just sit around and get dusty. Summer in Colorado is short. It doesn’t stop snowing here until late May and starts falling again in October. If you want to camp, raft, canoe, hike, bike, rock climb, practice yoga in the park, go to Red Rocks, Jazz in the park, or whatever your favorite summer pursuit may be during our warm weather days, you have to make a commitment to get out there and do it. Last weekend, as I canoed down the Escalante Canyon, my friend and I talked about how neither of us feel that we have enough time to do all we want to do. I said I wanted to create more time and he said “Yes, but it’s summer. If you don’t get summer pursuits on the calendar the time will fly by and the opportunity will be gone.” It’s true. That was such a fun weekend and such a beautiful part of Colorado to see and I spent it with such great people, I’m very happy I didn’t miss it. There is precious little time for lounging about, and yet, we need balance. At least I do anyway. Some people find balance in large increments such as “I’ll play hard all summer and rest in the winter”. But winter is no time for resting, there’s snowboarding, winter camping, snowshoeing, hut trips, ice climbing, and all kinds of outdoor activities that now just move indoors; not to mention indoor activities, if you paint, knit, or create in an indoor kind of way then your time is still full. And for those of you who don’t live in my beautiful, adopted, home state, I can tell you that a blizzard one day still brings sunshine the next. You can ride your bike outside here most days of the year. Still no balance.
Many times during the course of the last year I have said I wanted to have more down time and more time just for me. I have been enormously insufficient in this endeavor. As a new years resolution I said I was going to stay home one night every weekend. I haven’t always achieved this but even on the nights I have, I haven’t gained what I sought. I don’t think I even had an understanding of what I sought. Originally I just wanted rest I suppose, but that’s not enough . . . or not accurate at least. What do I want? What do I hope to accomplish and what has to go in order to convert my goals to accomplishments? The last six weeks of my life have been a blur and as this weekend grew ever closer on the calendar I got more and more excited about it. On Saturday and Sunday of this weekend I stayed in town, I did not cover for any one at work, I did not go out Saturday night, I did not go out Sunday night, and I did not say yes to any volunteer projects. I have stayed home. I have been doing whatever I feel like doing for two solid days and the luxury of it is beyond what I had even imagined. Yesterday, while lying on the couch reading The New Yorker, I fell asleep and took a nap. Can you imagine?! A nap! What the . . . ?!
I think back on a time in my life when people seemed to “empty out” for a while. Most of the friends I spent time with moved away, got married and disappeared, or had kids or any number of other life changes that take people out of your circle. I felt lonely during this phase and had more time than I knew what to do with. Weekends at home with not much to do became normal for a while, and I did not like it. I felt sad and friendless. I am grateful in my life now to have more invitations than I can manage and more friends than I can count and a continually ringing phone. I never thought I would need to schedule ME in my daytimer. When I was younger I never would have wanted to. When I was younger being at home just one night during the course of an entire month was a horror, but those days are long gone.
So here’s what I have learned about me; I am terrible about saying NO and I have no focus. The Black Dogs Dad told me I lacked focus (or was it discipline?) and I wasn’t sure what he meant at the time. I thought, quite indignantly mind you, “I have complete focus and you, sir, have no idea what you’re talking about”. Then I threw down my gauntlet and challenged him to a duel. Ok I’m kidding, I didn’t actually call him sir. I didn’t say any of it because I felt a bit jabbed and I didn’t feel like starting a fight. Pick your battles don’tcha know. Now though, in trying to find time in my life I see that it’s true. I completely lack focus. That’s why my staying home once a weekend didn’t produce great results, because I had no expected outcome, no goal. I didn’t have “my eye on the prize” as people say, because I hadn’t chosen a prize. I am quite easily distracted. When I clean my house (which I admit is rare) I have to remind myself to stay on task. If I start in my bedroom and move a dirty glass into the kitchen then I will stop along the way to pet the cats, see that the floor needs vacuuming, drop off the dirty glass in the bathroom, pull the vacuum cleaner out of the closet, notice the coats in the closet are looking a bit worn and determine to make a Good Will pile starrrrrrrttttiinnnnnnnnngggg NOW, make piles of clothes all over the house and four hours later I have a dirty glass in the bathroom, the bedroom has not been cleaned, and the floor has not been vacuumed. Focus. Clean the bedroom. One thing at a time, stop getting distracted by shiny things in the sand.
I believe if I have a goal then the time management issue becomes less of an issue and more of a happy necessity. Additionally, part of time management means that I need to say “no” much more frequently. This is hard for me. It’s not hard because I feel obligated. I don’t feel bad saying “no” at all, it’s just that I like saying “yes”. When someone asks me to volunteer to help out children or animals or cancer survivors or to save Mother Earth, then I want to always say “Yes, most emphatically yes”. When I am invited to a party or camping or a concert or a weekend in one of the many beautiful places in my state I want to go! Nonetheless, I have made a goal for myself and achieving that goal means I need more time for me, and more time for me is created by giving away less time. I will, of course, finish out what I have already committed to doing for the next couple of months, but after that I’ll relax a bit.
Dr. Bud Harris wrote a book called Sacred Selfishness. This book reminds people that it’s ok to give time to you before giving time to others. I think the books message is a bit more slanted to people who feel flat out guilty saying no (not me) rather than those who just suck at it (totally me), but the message is still the same. In Julia Cameron’s classic book, The Artists Way, she echoes the same sentiment, make time for you and your goals, fulfill your needs. I read both of these books a couple of years and I believe strongly in the messages of each. At the time they seemed like good reference books for me to have under my belt as suggestions to my clients and not necessarily something I needed personally. Massage Therapist, heal thyself. If you’re not happy, no one around you will be happy either. I can think of many times I’ve made people around me miserably unhappy because I wasn’t giving enough to me, because I wasn’t feeling fulfilled on my own. When we’re not fulfilled in our own lives we look to others to fill in the gaps. That’s no one else’s job and they’re not too happy about having to do it. Don’t ever look at someone and say those dumb words “You complete me”. Ick, I just wretched a little.
So, as part of my new goal oriented, making time for myself, theme in life I have decided to make better time of the three mornings a week I have. Rather than sleeping in, heading to the gym . . . or not, then off to work, I’m setting an alarm and have a wee bit of a morning schedule, thus my writing right now. Today that nasty, beeping, noise rudely, abruptly, cacophonously jarred me out of my restful slumber, slapped me across the face and said “GET UP LAZY BONES”. I did as instructed. I do not generally rise at 7:00 a.m. if not forced to do so but today I got my lazy bones up. I was not forced, I had a plan, and I am happy to be sitting at my computer writing and feeling that I am actively pursuing my goal, with focus, with discipline, rather than just waiting for it to come to me and knock on my door. I wish that plan had worked but, alas, it did not.
So, have I written about focus or free time or discipline or pursuing a goal? For me they all seem to be the same right now. For you, it may be just one of those things. As always, I write about what’s going on with me because I know I’m not so special that I’m the only one. Whatever I’m feeling, I’m sure the rest of the world has felt at some time as well. Maybe your goal is to get more sleep and not be so productive, God love ya, that’s awesome. It doesn’t matter, focus on your dream sleepy head, and create the time to do it. You may have to say “NO, NO, NO!” to some things, but it’s alright. There’s only so much we can all do in the world so choose wisely.
Pick your battles don’tcha know.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Abhor, adore? Tomato, tomahto?
Some words are sad to sing, some leave me tongue tied, but the hardest words I know are I love you, goodbye.
Thomas Dolby
There are times in your life when you have to say goodbye to the idea of something, or someone, you wanted. Times when you finally, finally realize it’s not going to happen, continuing to want it and feel it slip through your fingers just hurts. It’s always hurt, but it’s reached a point where you can’t take it anymore. The hurt no longer serves you and no longer defines you. Sometimes we really do let our wounds define us to some extent. We let the hurt serve the purpose of blocking us, keeping us from moving on. We let our fear guide us nowhere, it just holds us back. Could be the loss of a career, a lofty goal you had set, maybe a big purchase like a house, and often times it’s a person.
Recently I sent an email to someone with whom I had a very close friendship several years ago. Through changes in both our lives; marriage, divorce, children, no children, we have managed to both move on in separate directions and our friendship only lives in the past. I was looking forward to hearing back from her and hearing about her life now. She did respond . . . two weeks later . . . in a very polite and professional manner and signed her short email with her best and warmest regards. Best and warmest regards? I wasn’t applying for a job, I was reaching out to an old friend and for whatever reason her reach back didn’t have the same length. I don’t know why, it’s alright though. I’m sad, I’m hurt, but it’s alright. Did I offend her? I dunno, she didn’t tell me. Communication is key, who knows what it would have revealed? But she didn’t tell me.
A while back I needed to communicate some very strong and difficult feelings I was having to a different friend. I needed to tell my friend I was having feelings of childish petulance, feeling left out and unimportant, feeling jealous, feeling embarrassed about my feelings, feeling vulnerable, and finally . . . (deep breath in), feeling love. So many things bottled up for so long and I wanted to get them all out, I wanted to tell my friend everything I felt but when I reached out . . . the reach back didn’t have the same length. Communication is key, who knows what it would have revealed? But I got no response at all.
One of my closest friends and I exchanged life experiences today about moving on; the beauty of it, the bitter of it, and the better of it. Someone with whom she shared a life, a house, dogs and dreams is gone . . . and has moved on to another. She has also moved on to another. They were both relieved to finally tell the other and, of course, there were some loving, confusing, bittersweet tears. Eventually you wish the people in your past all the best, and you wish it sincerely, but even that has just the tiniest haze of glum and gloom in it. You think back on what could have been, and the picture you had painted in your mind. You think back on what really was there, the birthdays you shared, the song you loved and he hated, the times you laughed until you snorted, that one time in that one place and when you did that other thing, and the secrets you still keep. You dig in to touch the old scars and you wonder what happened. In these watershed times of life I often look back over journal entries, saved emails, saved text messages, and of course, pictures. It’s also good to listen to some sappy music that reminds me of this past part of life just to really add to the melancholy and drama of it all; throw in some alcohol and I’ve got myself a first class pity party, yahoo! Bummed out? Party of one? Your hari kari knife is ready for you, we can serve you now. As always though, time marches on and the wounds really do begin to heal.
One of the mysteries and glories of life is it propels you forward no matter what, and sometimes very much against your will. Many years ago a friend I loved and held so dear reached the conclusion that his troubles were insurmountable. He decided to shuffle off this mortal coil and took his own life. I remember waking up the next morning and dropping to my knees in the kitchen, broken and wondering “How can the sun rise today? Doesn’t it know the world is no longer as brilliant? Doesn’t it have the decency to hang its shameful head at least for today?” But the world really does know better (as does my dear friend Therese who was there to scoop me up off the kitchen floor that horrible morning). I am certain my friend has found his peace, and maybe that’s why the sun shines so bright. Maybe it’s his smile. I want tell you though, there were some times when he was alive that he made me spittin’ mad, times I could have absolutely rung his neck. It’s important to mention this because this story is about the two sided coin of moving on. Even with people you love, or maybe especially with people you love, there will be times when you wonder why on earth you allow this cretin in your presence. Here’s a little hint, it’s because you love them, against all odds and sometimes defying all logic, you love them. Life will always move you forward; you might walk upright on your own two feet, life may drag you by the ankles kicking and screaming, or it may have to pick you up and gently carry you, but it will always move you in the best direction for you. For a while I kept several pictures of my friend up in my house, until my house began to feel like a morbid shrine. Little by little, as life went on, as I forgave the sun for shining, and as I began to laugh again more than I cried, the pictures came down, allowing me to move on. I still keep one picture up to honor my friend, the brilliant star I once knew, and one picture is enough. Life has moved me forward.
And how wonderful is it that life moves you forward?! Whether you are willing at the time or not life refuses to let you stagnate. What if I was still breaking down in the kitchen every single morning? What if every morning for nigh on ten years now I still had a collapse? What kind of testament is that to my friend? To me? To the others in my life and to my divine maker who has bigger and better things in store for me? To not move forward is to slap all that is good in this world straight across the face . . . with your ring hand. (funny eh? I owe that bit of humor to my friend Jeff)
There are times when we hold on to the notion of something for so long because it just becomes habit, we don’t remember life without it. But even so, everything fades, and then one day, it’s just gone. In a puff of smoke all becomes clear and with no drama, no pipe organ playing, no parade down Main Street, and frequently no monumental epiphany, nothing . . . you just say to yourself “Huh, well that no longer suits me, it never really did, I think I’ll move on now. “ You turn your back so easily and walk on so blithely, leaving something that maybe as little as a week ago would have torn your stomach up. You dig in to touch the scars and you find . . . nothing, they’re gone. It’s a crazy miracle, but thank God it happens. All that time you clenched your fists trying to hold on so tightly to something, but it slipped through your fingers anyway, and when you knew it was gone you opened your hands wide and cried out to the great beyond “What happened? Why? Why can’t I have this?!”, and then, a while later, you notice that your open hands are in a perfect state of receiving. Wide and willing to accept what is new, and better.
Like every one of you I have lost hope, dreams, jobs, relationships, loved ones, money, and friends during my stay on this planet. Each of them has pained me and, at times, caused me to lose sight of who I am and sacrifice my dignity (don’t you give me that look, you know you’ve done it too). . . and just like you, I have survived each of those pains. And with each loss there is always that day, that magical day, when you can say “Life’s okey dokey. I think I’m gonna be alright”.
Keep those hands and hearts open wide so you can experience all the good stuff life has in store for you.
Love ya, mean it.
Thomas Dolby
There are times in your life when you have to say goodbye to the idea of something, or someone, you wanted. Times when you finally, finally realize it’s not going to happen, continuing to want it and feel it slip through your fingers just hurts. It’s always hurt, but it’s reached a point where you can’t take it anymore. The hurt no longer serves you and no longer defines you. Sometimes we really do let our wounds define us to some extent. We let the hurt serve the purpose of blocking us, keeping us from moving on. We let our fear guide us nowhere, it just holds us back. Could be the loss of a career, a lofty goal you had set, maybe a big purchase like a house, and often times it’s a person.
Recently I sent an email to someone with whom I had a very close friendship several years ago. Through changes in both our lives; marriage, divorce, children, no children, we have managed to both move on in separate directions and our friendship only lives in the past. I was looking forward to hearing back from her and hearing about her life now. She did respond . . . two weeks later . . . in a very polite and professional manner and signed her short email with her best and warmest regards. Best and warmest regards? I wasn’t applying for a job, I was reaching out to an old friend and for whatever reason her reach back didn’t have the same length. I don’t know why, it’s alright though. I’m sad, I’m hurt, but it’s alright. Did I offend her? I dunno, she didn’t tell me. Communication is key, who knows what it would have revealed? But she didn’t tell me.
A while back I needed to communicate some very strong and difficult feelings I was having to a different friend. I needed to tell my friend I was having feelings of childish petulance, feeling left out and unimportant, feeling jealous, feeling embarrassed about my feelings, feeling vulnerable, and finally . . . (deep breath in), feeling love. So many things bottled up for so long and I wanted to get them all out, I wanted to tell my friend everything I felt but when I reached out . . . the reach back didn’t have the same length. Communication is key, who knows what it would have revealed? But I got no response at all.
One of my closest friends and I exchanged life experiences today about moving on; the beauty of it, the bitter of it, and the better of it. Someone with whom she shared a life, a house, dogs and dreams is gone . . . and has moved on to another. She has also moved on to another. They were both relieved to finally tell the other and, of course, there were some loving, confusing, bittersweet tears. Eventually you wish the people in your past all the best, and you wish it sincerely, but even that has just the tiniest haze of glum and gloom in it. You think back on what could have been, and the picture you had painted in your mind. You think back on what really was there, the birthdays you shared, the song you loved and he hated, the times you laughed until you snorted, that one time in that one place and when you did that other thing, and the secrets you still keep. You dig in to touch the old scars and you wonder what happened. In these watershed times of life I often look back over journal entries, saved emails, saved text messages, and of course, pictures. It’s also good to listen to some sappy music that reminds me of this past part of life just to really add to the melancholy and drama of it all; throw in some alcohol and I’ve got myself a first class pity party, yahoo! Bummed out? Party of one? Your hari kari knife is ready for you, we can serve you now. As always though, time marches on and the wounds really do begin to heal.
One of the mysteries and glories of life is it propels you forward no matter what, and sometimes very much against your will. Many years ago a friend I loved and held so dear reached the conclusion that his troubles were insurmountable. He decided to shuffle off this mortal coil and took his own life. I remember waking up the next morning and dropping to my knees in the kitchen, broken and wondering “How can the sun rise today? Doesn’t it know the world is no longer as brilliant? Doesn’t it have the decency to hang its shameful head at least for today?” But the world really does know better (as does my dear friend Therese who was there to scoop me up off the kitchen floor that horrible morning). I am certain my friend has found his peace, and maybe that’s why the sun shines so bright. Maybe it’s his smile. I want tell you though, there were some times when he was alive that he made me spittin’ mad, times I could have absolutely rung his neck. It’s important to mention this because this story is about the two sided coin of moving on. Even with people you love, or maybe especially with people you love, there will be times when you wonder why on earth you allow this cretin in your presence. Here’s a little hint, it’s because you love them, against all odds and sometimes defying all logic, you love them. Life will always move you forward; you might walk upright on your own two feet, life may drag you by the ankles kicking and screaming, or it may have to pick you up and gently carry you, but it will always move you in the best direction for you. For a while I kept several pictures of my friend up in my house, until my house began to feel like a morbid shrine. Little by little, as life went on, as I forgave the sun for shining, and as I began to laugh again more than I cried, the pictures came down, allowing me to move on. I still keep one picture up to honor my friend, the brilliant star I once knew, and one picture is enough. Life has moved me forward.
And how wonderful is it that life moves you forward?! Whether you are willing at the time or not life refuses to let you stagnate. What if I was still breaking down in the kitchen every single morning? What if every morning for nigh on ten years now I still had a collapse? What kind of testament is that to my friend? To me? To the others in my life and to my divine maker who has bigger and better things in store for me? To not move forward is to slap all that is good in this world straight across the face . . . with your ring hand. (funny eh? I owe that bit of humor to my friend Jeff)
There are times when we hold on to the notion of something for so long because it just becomes habit, we don’t remember life without it. But even so, everything fades, and then one day, it’s just gone. In a puff of smoke all becomes clear and with no drama, no pipe organ playing, no parade down Main Street, and frequently no monumental epiphany, nothing . . . you just say to yourself “Huh, well that no longer suits me, it never really did, I think I’ll move on now. “ You turn your back so easily and walk on so blithely, leaving something that maybe as little as a week ago would have torn your stomach up. You dig in to touch the scars and you find . . . nothing, they’re gone. It’s a crazy miracle, but thank God it happens. All that time you clenched your fists trying to hold on so tightly to something, but it slipped through your fingers anyway, and when you knew it was gone you opened your hands wide and cried out to the great beyond “What happened? Why? Why can’t I have this?!”, and then, a while later, you notice that your open hands are in a perfect state of receiving. Wide and willing to accept what is new, and better.
Like every one of you I have lost hope, dreams, jobs, relationships, loved ones, money, and friends during my stay on this planet. Each of them has pained me and, at times, caused me to lose sight of who I am and sacrifice my dignity (don’t you give me that look, you know you’ve done it too). . . and just like you, I have survived each of those pains. And with each loss there is always that day, that magical day, when you can say “Life’s okey dokey. I think I’m gonna be alright”.
Keep those hands and hearts open wide so you can experience all the good stuff life has in store for you.
Love ya, mean it.
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