Now the parking lot is empty, everyone’s gone someplace.
I pick you up and in the trunk I've packed a cooler and a 2-day suitcase.
Cause there's a place we like to drive, way out in the country.
Five miles out of the city limit we’re singing, and your hand’s upon my knee
-The Indigo Girls
It is 8:00 on a Sunday night. My house is a mess, piles of laundry both done and undone surround me, the bathroom could use a going over, the kitchen as well, the scones I wanted to make remain but an idea I had on Friday, the material I bought to sew new napkins is in the closet next to the machine that has not been touched, I should have gone in to the office this weekend but didn’t, and once again at the end of a weekend I wonder how on earth one manages balance in this life. Two days a week away from work isn’t enough.
I want to be up the hill riding my snowboard, or trekking on my snowshoes. Soon I will want to hike and camp. I also want to be in town and go out to dinner, go to the symphony, go for a walk, go to the farmers market, and ride my bike. I want quiet down time to read a book or watch a movie or even, gasp, take a nap. I want to take classes, I want to use my sewing machine more, I want to cook more, I want to spend my free time doing things I love, but then who will do the laundry and pay the bills and vacuum and grocery shop? How does everyone do it? Does everyone do it? Is it merely an illusion that the rest of you have it figured out while I am grossly behind and ill equipped to manage my own life? I tell my friend, Dave, I am writing about finding balance and he gives me a knowing look. I’m astonished, he seems to have it all figured out, but maybe not? What we see on the outside is not always what is real.
It seems to all be about choices and priorities. I had a fantastic weekend and it flew by. Friday night I was out with Maura and Kim, Saturday I lollygagged around on the couch watching "Downton Abby", then went out in the snow and played, then came home with just enough time to shower and meet up with my friends for dinner, then the art gallery, then drinks. This morning I slept in, went bike shopping, and now I am on the computer. It was glorious just playing all weekend, but now I see how behind I am at work and in the details of my home. I want to read a book, it seems like so little to ask but every day is work, then exercise, then dinner and dishes and getting ready for work the next day. I’m not a morning person, I must do as much as possible the night before, and I need my 9 hours of sleep, and then the whole thing starts over again. Timing is almost crucial or the entire, precarious house of cards will blow away like so much dust in the wind.
There is work. There is play. There is rest. There is down time. There is social time. There are times when I feel like I fail spectacularly in every area. What is the worth of each? I love when I have a productive day. I sit on my couch and enjoy the splendor of my clean home, my completed laundry, my full refrigerator, the smell of something yummy in the oven, feet up on the table with a book and a drink. I feel content and peaceful. I love when I have a weekend in the great outdoors and I come home smelly and filthy and beat. I feel like I have lived my free time, not just had free time.
I have never understood people who say they wouldn’t know what to do if they didn’t work. Are you out of your fucking mind?!!!!! Forgive the vulgarity, but seriously, you couldn’t find anything to do? In this vast world of so much to do, you go to work 40 hours a week for lack of anything better? What is wrong with you?! Oh my word, the endless possibilities of what to do boggles the mind, the classes to be taken, the volunteer opportunities in which to take part, the time to spend indulgently on a hobby that you love . . . what I would give, my kingdom for more time. Alas, my kingdom does not amount to much and thus far no one has offered to trade it for more time.
Have I ever told y’all the “woot doot doot” story? I feel like maybe I have, but if I did it’s long enough ago that I can’t remember so I’ll bank on you all forgetting as well. This is my friends story, not mine, but I love it so I re-tell it often. When she was a young girl living at home her neighbors had a young son. Every single day of the summer, EVERY single day of the summer, he would get on his bike in the morning and ride it in circles on the driveway screaming “Woot doot doot! Woot doot doot”! C’mon, how great is that, now that is enjoying your free time. I love when I’m happy enough to yell out nonsense. When I am having a good run on my board I often yell “Yayayayaya”! . . . and why not, I feel great! Today when I was bike shopping I test rode a lot of bikes, nothing can make you feel the joy of youth quite like riding a bicycle, and a shiny new bike to boot. I wanted to scream “woot doot doot”!
Let’s get back to the choices and priorities part of this. My job is stressful, very, very stressful. There is no catching up, ever. The only way to catch up is to work until 10:00 every night. I won’t do it. I did for a while but I have put my foot down, I will only work painfully late once a week and I will not go in on weekends, or I will at least do my best to not go in on the weekends. My choice is to have balance and to live my life and let me tell you people, I love my life. I love going up to the mountains to play, I love staying in town to play, I love everything I do in life . . . except for house cleaning, gross . . . other than that I love everything in my life.
I don’t know how to make it all work. There are days I feel like I’m going to explode from the stress of trying to fit it all in. Add in the fact the I'm a singleton and that makes it even harder, there’s no one to help out. I was grocery shopping at 9:00 p.m. last week because after work there’s yoga, and then after yoga there’s grocery shopping, and then putting away the groceries, maybe eating something over the sink, and then washing the dishes from this morning and getting coffee set to go so all I have to do is turn the pot on in the morning. I can’t call Lucy Lulu and Delilah Jane to ask them to pick up almond milk, they’re cute but fairly useless.
As I begin to wrap this months edition up I see that I have no answer. No epiphany . No ding ding ding, you’re a winner winner chicken dinner, bell ringing. I suppose something is always sacrificed and you have to know what is most important. I need to do a good job so I can stay employed and continue to enjoy the lifestyle to which I have become accustomed. So, sacrifice work, yes but not at the expense of work. Sacrifice play time? Rarely, very, very rarely, because play is important. Sacrifice a clean house? Yes, duh. I’ll just get over it. And it can all cycle ya know; work very hard for two weeks before I take one week off of work. Take a day off of work here and there to catch up on my home life. What will I never sacrifice? My friends, family, and loved ones of course. . . never. You all come before funded loans and a clean house and a stocked fridge. I can order food in, I can pay someone else to clean the house, and funded mortgage loans . . . well, I guess I still have to go to work and fund mortgage loan, damnit, but I can choose to limit my hours and just do the best within that.
I haven’t purchased a season pass for my beloved snowboard in some years, and I have missed it greatly. My once okey dokey skills are now rusty at best. I have made a vow with the lovely Maura, we will buy passes again this fall and go up often, for fun and sanity and balance. My old bike is done and I’m buying a new one, I’ll ride it to work on Fridays. I leave work early every Thursday to get to the early yoga class, I go in to the office early on Thursdays to make up for leaving early and that part blows, I believe I mentioned not being an early bird, but I stay true blue to my early Thursdays. You gotta find ways and sometimes, you just have to say no to a clean house and give that laundry pile the Heisman. It’ll still be there when you get back, don’t worry about it.
Get out and play for gosh sakes . . . WOOT DOOT DOOT!!!!!!!
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Friday, February 22, 2013
Kate
Happiness runs in a circular motion. Thought is like a little boat upon the sea. Everybody is a part of everything anyway. You can have everything if you let yourself be.
-Donovan
You want a thing. Oh man how you want a thing. You envision it, you dream about it, you imagine how great your life will be when you get it, oh my gosh you want that thing.
And then you don’t get it.
Pppphhhhhlllllllbbbbtttttt. Two thumbs down. Call the wah wah wahmbulance. Story as old as time, eh? And then you do the whole "if it was meant to be . . . if was right it woulda coulda shoulda, blah blah blah". Yeah, it is an old story, and it’s boring. But how ‘bout this, you want a thing. Oh man how you want a thing. You envision it, you dream about it, you imagine how great your life will be when you get it, oh my gosh you want that thing.
And then, you do get it.
What the . . .? Now what? What on earth will I bitch about? When I go to brunch with the girls what the hell will I talk about? People are funny creatures, aren’t we? What is it about being happy that’s harder to talk about than being unhappy?
Beauty Queen : “How was your week?”
Drama Queen : “Oh.my.gawd., my butt is so big. I got new jeans and I look terrible in them. My boss is a total jackass, they don’t realize how blessed they are to have me, they’re lucky I don’t walk out. I went out for sushi last night with Brad Pitt and he was looking at another girl the whole time. He’s called like 18 times this morning, but I’m not answering, he’s going to have to do better than that, I mean c’mon, flowers please? And my mother, puhleaze, don’t get me started. I broke a nail and my hair is full of split ends. My life is in ruins! How was your week?”
Beauty Queen: “I had a great week! I got those new boots I’ve been thinking about. The book I had reserved at the library came in and so far I love it. I’m looking forward to getting my golf clubs out and practicing my swing.”
Drama Queen: “Oh.”
See? Not much to talk about with Queenie.
Paintings, song lyrics, poems, books, sculptures, dances, are all created from pain. They are certainly created from joy as well, I would not want to exclude Beethoven’s “Ode To Joy” or Elizabeth Barrett Brownings beautiful poems of love from the list of truly inspired works of art, but mostly we think about our gut being eviscerated as a catalyst for art. And pain is so much more glamorous, right? Pain and martyrdom are oh so cool.
I wonder if we feel some small measure of guilt. Your friend is bitching and all you have are good things to say, just makes ya clam up. It’s tough to say happy things to an Eeyore, nothing’s ever good enough, and that gets tiring. And what kind of creepy peep says “Yeah, that sucks for you, but I got the high score on Galaga! Yay!”
When we get what we want it’s almost hard to believe sometimes. So hard to believe that we don’t believe, or don’t believe ourselves worthy, or don’t trust that it really is what we want. Ever met anyone who sabotages the good things in life? Sure ya have, I swear it’s harder for people to just settle in and be happy. When you’re happy your mind can be at rest. Your heart can be at peace and we don’t always feel comfortable with the calm space that brings. It’s a shame, isn’t it? A shame that we can’t believe we deserve such grace and goodness and then just sit and let the calm and surrender waft over us like eider down on a winter day. You want a potato, you get a potato, and then you drop it like it’s hot, “Goddamn it who gave me that f-wording potato?! Who would do that?!”
So then we focus on what we didn’t get, or we focus on the bad part of what we did get; chocolate cake? Yay for chocolate cake! Chocolate cake? Boo for calories. For cryin’ out loud just eat the cake, it’s yummy. Have your cake and eat it too.
I have a friend I’ll call Kate . . . because that’s her name. Kate lives a life so full of great things. I look at Kate and I marvel at her constant happiness, and her belief in her happiness. Kate knows her value and she never feels guilty about the great things that come her way. She never gloats about good things in her life, she never hides good things, she just lives a life she loves. Kate lives in the moment and embraces everything that comes her way. She goes on great trips, she goes to see great bands, she has a really cute pair of brown boots that I love, and she is about to marry such a great guy who completely loves her. Kate does not question for a second that she deserves happiness, and happiness has found her and blessed her because happiness has a home with her. Happiness is welcome in Kate’s world. If you were happiness, wouldn’t you want to go somewhere that welcomes and embraces you? You would probably avoid places that don’t have faith in you and kick you to the curb. I would. I hate being kicked to the curb.
Oh my friends, ya gotta want it! And then, then, ya gotta love it and own it and raise the roof and can I get a “Hell yeah”?!
Chocolate cake rules. Taking a day off in the middle of the week to chase the snow rules. Having a job (even a job you don’t love) rules because then you can pay your bills and take a day off and buy boots and get pedicures.
So listen, when you get what you want, don’t be scared. It’s not a big scary monster with gnashing teeth waiting to bite you, it’s something awesome. Love it. When you find the perfect jeans buy them. When you get perfect weather CALL IN HAPPY and take the day off, life is too short to work all the time. When you get a promotion know you deserve it and others have enough faith in you to see it. When you finally save enough money for vacation don’t spend your fun money on an extra car payment, bleck. Your car and its accompanying payment will be here when you get back, go on vacation. When you meet that special person, and you can’t believe your luck, believe it, because it’s not luck, it’s life giving you a big ol’ hug. A real hug, not a choke hold, a hug to let you know what a marvelous and wondrous creature you are, and you deserve all the happiness you are willing to accept.
And stop messing things up just so you can have brunch stories. You can still have brunch stories, you’ll just have to learn to tell happy stories instead.
We all deserve happiness, and happiness wants to be treated well so be a gracious host and invite her (or him) to come on in and stay a while.
Blessings y’all!
-Donovan
You want a thing. Oh man how you want a thing. You envision it, you dream about it, you imagine how great your life will be when you get it, oh my gosh you want that thing.
And then you don’t get it.
Pppphhhhhlllllllbbbbtttttt. Two thumbs down. Call the wah wah wahmbulance. Story as old as time, eh? And then you do the whole "if it was meant to be . . . if was right it woulda coulda shoulda, blah blah blah". Yeah, it is an old story, and it’s boring. But how ‘bout this, you want a thing. Oh man how you want a thing. You envision it, you dream about it, you imagine how great your life will be when you get it, oh my gosh you want that thing.
And then, you do get it.
What the . . .? Now what? What on earth will I bitch about? When I go to brunch with the girls what the hell will I talk about? People are funny creatures, aren’t we? What is it about being happy that’s harder to talk about than being unhappy?
Beauty Queen : “How was your week?”
Drama Queen : “Oh.my.gawd., my butt is so big. I got new jeans and I look terrible in them. My boss is a total jackass, they don’t realize how blessed they are to have me, they’re lucky I don’t walk out. I went out for sushi last night with Brad Pitt and he was looking at another girl the whole time. He’s called like 18 times this morning, but I’m not answering, he’s going to have to do better than that, I mean c’mon, flowers please? And my mother, puhleaze, don’t get me started. I broke a nail and my hair is full of split ends. My life is in ruins! How was your week?”
Beauty Queen: “I had a great week! I got those new boots I’ve been thinking about. The book I had reserved at the library came in and so far I love it. I’m looking forward to getting my golf clubs out and practicing my swing.”
Drama Queen: “Oh.”
See? Not much to talk about with Queenie.
Paintings, song lyrics, poems, books, sculptures, dances, are all created from pain. They are certainly created from joy as well, I would not want to exclude Beethoven’s “Ode To Joy” or Elizabeth Barrett Brownings beautiful poems of love from the list of truly inspired works of art, but mostly we think about our gut being eviscerated as a catalyst for art. And pain is so much more glamorous, right? Pain and martyrdom are oh so cool.
I wonder if we feel some small measure of guilt. Your friend is bitching and all you have are good things to say, just makes ya clam up. It’s tough to say happy things to an Eeyore, nothing’s ever good enough, and that gets tiring. And what kind of creepy peep says “Yeah, that sucks for you, but I got the high score on Galaga! Yay!”
When we get what we want it’s almost hard to believe sometimes. So hard to believe that we don’t believe, or don’t believe ourselves worthy, or don’t trust that it really is what we want. Ever met anyone who sabotages the good things in life? Sure ya have, I swear it’s harder for people to just settle in and be happy. When you’re happy your mind can be at rest. Your heart can be at peace and we don’t always feel comfortable with the calm space that brings. It’s a shame, isn’t it? A shame that we can’t believe we deserve such grace and goodness and then just sit and let the calm and surrender waft over us like eider down on a winter day. You want a potato, you get a potato, and then you drop it like it’s hot, “Goddamn it who gave me that f-wording potato?! Who would do that?!”
So then we focus on what we didn’t get, or we focus on the bad part of what we did get; chocolate cake? Yay for chocolate cake! Chocolate cake? Boo for calories. For cryin’ out loud just eat the cake, it’s yummy. Have your cake and eat it too.
I have a friend I’ll call Kate . . . because that’s her name. Kate lives a life so full of great things. I look at Kate and I marvel at her constant happiness, and her belief in her happiness. Kate knows her value and she never feels guilty about the great things that come her way. She never gloats about good things in her life, she never hides good things, she just lives a life she loves. Kate lives in the moment and embraces everything that comes her way. She goes on great trips, she goes to see great bands, she has a really cute pair of brown boots that I love, and she is about to marry such a great guy who completely loves her. Kate does not question for a second that she deserves happiness, and happiness has found her and blessed her because happiness has a home with her. Happiness is welcome in Kate’s world. If you were happiness, wouldn’t you want to go somewhere that welcomes and embraces you? You would probably avoid places that don’t have faith in you and kick you to the curb. I would. I hate being kicked to the curb.
Oh my friends, ya gotta want it! And then, then, ya gotta love it and own it and raise the roof and can I get a “Hell yeah”?!
Chocolate cake rules. Taking a day off in the middle of the week to chase the snow rules. Having a job (even a job you don’t love) rules because then you can pay your bills and take a day off and buy boots and get pedicures.
So listen, when you get what you want, don’t be scared. It’s not a big scary monster with gnashing teeth waiting to bite you, it’s something awesome. Love it. When you find the perfect jeans buy them. When you get perfect weather CALL IN HAPPY and take the day off, life is too short to work all the time. When you get a promotion know you deserve it and others have enough faith in you to see it. When you finally save enough money for vacation don’t spend your fun money on an extra car payment, bleck. Your car and its accompanying payment will be here when you get back, go on vacation. When you meet that special person, and you can’t believe your luck, believe it, because it’s not luck, it’s life giving you a big ol’ hug. A real hug, not a choke hold, a hug to let you know what a marvelous and wondrous creature you are, and you deserve all the happiness you are willing to accept.
And stop messing things up just so you can have brunch stories. You can still have brunch stories, you’ll just have to learn to tell happy stories instead.
We all deserve happiness, and happiness wants to be treated well so be a gracious host and invite her (or him) to come on in and stay a while.
Blessings y’all!
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
EMBRACING THE RECYCLING BIN
I'm grounded and rusty, and my dance card is dusty now because I wanted to be what the angels see when they look down, just a couple on the avenue with their feet on the ground. And I'm nobody's angel now
-Nancy Griffith
I haven’t written in a handful of months, I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but here I am again. Thank you to those of you who have asked where the monthly post had gone. Thank you to my friends who have encouraged me to continue writing, and I suppose a small debt of thanks goes out to the a-holes that add fuel to the writing flame.
You make plans in life. You have desires. You work hard. You do all you can to ensure your dreams become reality, but sometimes life takes you down an entirely different path . . . not of your own choosing. Listen, before you start harping on me with the whole “life is about choices” and “you create your reality” crap, I know. I know all that. Life is about choices, yes it sure is. You do, indeed, create your own reality. And sometimes life you hands you a shit sandwich instead of the pastrami on rye you ordered. Maybe it’s lifes way of saying “pastrami makes you gassy and the shit sandwich will fertilize something amazing later on”. If you’re one of those people who can’t tolerate, even for one minute, the thought that life isn’t always puppy dogs and rainbows, then you’re not living in the real world. I know someone like that and I don’t really take issue with the fact that it’s annoying, I take issue with the fact that it’s not real. (and as an aside, in order to avoid things perceived as “bad” this person hides those things and is outright deceptive, which is significantly worse than just serving up the shit sandwich). Yes life is great. Life is wondrous. Life is joyous, and it’s also life people, it’s ok to be a little less than jubilant sometimes.
When I was young I had a vision of what my life would look like. My life now looks nothing like that vision other than the fact I’m breathing and walking upright. I don’t have the home I envisioned. I don’t have the dog I envisioned. I don’t have the car I envisioned. I don’t have the responsibilities of motherhood and the arterial children to go along with that role. I don’t have the family I always wanted. So how does a woman who was supposed to be baking cupcakes for the classroom while making sure the dog doesn’t pee in the house and my husbands shirts are pressed become a woman who cleans the cats barf while ensuring her own cupcake intake stays down and wondering “Why keep the cupcake intake down? For whom”?
I don’t know the answers, and many of you know what I say to the infamous “I don’t know”. That’s right, I say “Bullshit, I don’t know is a child’s answer, you do know”. And so it is, I do know, mostly. As always fate lends a hand. I didn’t meet the right one. I didn’t meet the father of my children and therefore, they do not live in this dimension. I didn’t meet the master of my hearth and heart and home and dog kennel so the dog is living happily with another family somewhere. The son I wanted to name Jack Rogers ended up being born to someone else, as did Ruby Lee (or Grace), my unborn daughter, and I hope they are living blessed lives with the other Laura Ellen “no longer Rogers but different last name”, somewhere. (Yes, I would take my husbands name, what of it?) And the third child, the one I planned on adopting and would probably already be named, I hope he is happy with his other adoptive family, whomever and wherever they all may be. And I’m sure they are because life didn’t have that in store for me. Life did not send motherhood and familydom my way.
And here we come to the point of the story . . .
Some of you are saying to yourselves “you could have had children”. Yes, I could have. Some of you are saying “You passed up a few marriage proposals”. Yes, I did, because I wanted a life of happiness. Because I wanted a family, not just children, and they are not the same thing in my mind. Children are an expression of the deepest kind of love. To me they are not something you merely set out to have and then find your breeder. I wasn’t looking to simply be a breeder, I wanted so much more than that. But the years went by and I began to realize what I thought was inevitable was becoming inconceivable. At some point you make choices because life takes you down a path you didn’t even realize you were on. You have to prioritize then. You have to dig deep in your belly and ask what is the most important to you. You have to embrace one side or the other, and the hour glass sand is sifting quickly.
Many years ago a girl lived down the hall from me, back when I lived in a tiny little studio in Capital Hill. She was smart and young and pretty and funny. I could never figure out why she was single. I have to imagine she wondered the same thing. I saw her going out on dates here and there but eventually I began to see her with the same guy over and over, after a while “she and he” became “we”. Her face lit up and she became even prettier and happier. Then one night, as I walked down the hall, I heard her inside her apartment crying . . . and I never saw him again. Don’t you dare start on me with how other people do not own your happiness. I know all that, you think I’ve wandered around on this planet without learning a thing or two? But I will tell you that with 49 years of life under my belt, many of the “all smiles all the time” clichés of youth are just pseudo-intellectual crap. No, we can’t all be friends with our ex’s, it’s dumb. No, we can’t all be comforted by our own wonder 100% of the time, how would we ever learn anything? Sometimes other people do hurt us, for cryin’ out loud what’s so wrong with admitting it? Maybe he chose to leave my pretty and smart and funny neighbor and it hurt her. Maybe she chose to leave him, which can sometimes hurt worse. Life tossed her a bunch of roses but a hand grenade was buried inside, who knew? Sometimes you amble down a path and it surprises the hell out of you. Oh look! A rose! Oh wait, a hand grenade.
I’m at yet another point in my existence where I look up from the madding crowd that is my life and see that I’ve somehow gone quite far down another path that, it turns out, is NOT the yellow brick road. How will I embrace this newness in my life? How will accept what I never wanted and yet, is happening? I suppose, as I always do, I will pester the crap out of my friends until I’m done yammering about it and I feel I’ve trod on their patience and good nature and loyalty long enough. I will remind myself that yes, I could have made another choice, but it would not have been right for me. I will look at my cats, the only cats I’ve ever had because I’ve always had dogs, and know that some choices, which are seemingly foisted on us quite against our will, turn out to be wonderful and warm and cuddly, you just have to ignore that occasional hiss and scratch. I will continue plodding down my path and seeing the joy and knowing I’m awesome, even when others do not.
And I will take out the recycling bin twice a month, even though it’s a boy job, because who else is here to do it?
-Nancy Griffith
I haven’t written in a handful of months, I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but here I am again. Thank you to those of you who have asked where the monthly post had gone. Thank you to my friends who have encouraged me to continue writing, and I suppose a small debt of thanks goes out to the a-holes that add fuel to the writing flame.
You make plans in life. You have desires. You work hard. You do all you can to ensure your dreams become reality, but sometimes life takes you down an entirely different path . . . not of your own choosing. Listen, before you start harping on me with the whole “life is about choices” and “you create your reality” crap, I know. I know all that. Life is about choices, yes it sure is. You do, indeed, create your own reality. And sometimes life you hands you a shit sandwich instead of the pastrami on rye you ordered. Maybe it’s lifes way of saying “pastrami makes you gassy and the shit sandwich will fertilize something amazing later on”. If you’re one of those people who can’t tolerate, even for one minute, the thought that life isn’t always puppy dogs and rainbows, then you’re not living in the real world. I know someone like that and I don’t really take issue with the fact that it’s annoying, I take issue with the fact that it’s not real. (and as an aside, in order to avoid things perceived as “bad” this person hides those things and is outright deceptive, which is significantly worse than just serving up the shit sandwich). Yes life is great. Life is wondrous. Life is joyous, and it’s also life people, it’s ok to be a little less than jubilant sometimes.
When I was young I had a vision of what my life would look like. My life now looks nothing like that vision other than the fact I’m breathing and walking upright. I don’t have the home I envisioned. I don’t have the dog I envisioned. I don’t have the car I envisioned. I don’t have the responsibilities of motherhood and the arterial children to go along with that role. I don’t have the family I always wanted. So how does a woman who was supposed to be baking cupcakes for the classroom while making sure the dog doesn’t pee in the house and my husbands shirts are pressed become a woman who cleans the cats barf while ensuring her own cupcake intake stays down and wondering “Why keep the cupcake intake down? For whom”?
I don’t know the answers, and many of you know what I say to the infamous “I don’t know”. That’s right, I say “Bullshit, I don’t know is a child’s answer, you do know”. And so it is, I do know, mostly. As always fate lends a hand. I didn’t meet the right one. I didn’t meet the father of my children and therefore, they do not live in this dimension. I didn’t meet the master of my hearth and heart and home and dog kennel so the dog is living happily with another family somewhere. The son I wanted to name Jack Rogers ended up being born to someone else, as did Ruby Lee (or Grace), my unborn daughter, and I hope they are living blessed lives with the other Laura Ellen “no longer Rogers but different last name”, somewhere. (Yes, I would take my husbands name, what of it?) And the third child, the one I planned on adopting and would probably already be named, I hope he is happy with his other adoptive family, whomever and wherever they all may be. And I’m sure they are because life didn’t have that in store for me. Life did not send motherhood and familydom my way.
And here we come to the point of the story . . .
Some of you are saying to yourselves “you could have had children”. Yes, I could have. Some of you are saying “You passed up a few marriage proposals”. Yes, I did, because I wanted a life of happiness. Because I wanted a family, not just children, and they are not the same thing in my mind. Children are an expression of the deepest kind of love. To me they are not something you merely set out to have and then find your breeder. I wasn’t looking to simply be a breeder, I wanted so much more than that. But the years went by and I began to realize what I thought was inevitable was becoming inconceivable. At some point you make choices because life takes you down a path you didn’t even realize you were on. You have to prioritize then. You have to dig deep in your belly and ask what is the most important to you. You have to embrace one side or the other, and the hour glass sand is sifting quickly.
Many years ago a girl lived down the hall from me, back when I lived in a tiny little studio in Capital Hill. She was smart and young and pretty and funny. I could never figure out why she was single. I have to imagine she wondered the same thing. I saw her going out on dates here and there but eventually I began to see her with the same guy over and over, after a while “she and he” became “we”. Her face lit up and she became even prettier and happier. Then one night, as I walked down the hall, I heard her inside her apartment crying . . . and I never saw him again. Don’t you dare start on me with how other people do not own your happiness. I know all that, you think I’ve wandered around on this planet without learning a thing or two? But I will tell you that with 49 years of life under my belt, many of the “all smiles all the time” clichés of youth are just pseudo-intellectual crap. No, we can’t all be friends with our ex’s, it’s dumb. No, we can’t all be comforted by our own wonder 100% of the time, how would we ever learn anything? Sometimes other people do hurt us, for cryin’ out loud what’s so wrong with admitting it? Maybe he chose to leave my pretty and smart and funny neighbor and it hurt her. Maybe she chose to leave him, which can sometimes hurt worse. Life tossed her a bunch of roses but a hand grenade was buried inside, who knew? Sometimes you amble down a path and it surprises the hell out of you. Oh look! A rose! Oh wait, a hand grenade.
I’m at yet another point in my existence where I look up from the madding crowd that is my life and see that I’ve somehow gone quite far down another path that, it turns out, is NOT the yellow brick road. How will I embrace this newness in my life? How will accept what I never wanted and yet, is happening? I suppose, as I always do, I will pester the crap out of my friends until I’m done yammering about it and I feel I’ve trod on their patience and good nature and loyalty long enough. I will remind myself that yes, I could have made another choice, but it would not have been right for me. I will look at my cats, the only cats I’ve ever had because I’ve always had dogs, and know that some choices, which are seemingly foisted on us quite against our will, turn out to be wonderful and warm and cuddly, you just have to ignore that occasional hiss and scratch. I will continue plodding down my path and seeing the joy and knowing I’m awesome, even when others do not.
And I will take out the recycling bin twice a month, even though it’s a boy job, because who else is here to do it?
Sunday, August 26, 2012
UBU
He wants me, but only part of the time. He wants me, if he can keep me in line. Hush hush, voices carry.
-Aimee Mann
I am a Dallas Cowboys fan. I always will be. Being a Cowboys fan is hard for many reasons but mostly because I fear suffocation while wearing the paper bag over my head that being a loyal Cowboys fan requires. Nonetheless, it’s who I am . . . and I like me. I won’t go changin’ for Billy Joel or anyone else.
I don’t have Glamour magazine or Vogue or Cosmo or any other girly girl type magazine delivered to my house. This doesn’t mean I don’t read them, it just means I don’t pay to get them in the mail. Believe me, when they’re plopped down in front of me, I read them, because, you know, they’re chock full of oh so valuable information on how I should live and how I should look. Also, as is readily apparent, I am an internet user which means every time I turn my computer on there is some sort of headline telling me what I need to know about men and what they like, and, again, how I should dress and talk and carry myself. I’m a sucker, I admit it, I’ll read that before I’ll read about the war on drugs, the disappearing middle class in my country, or the latest college football scandal. Let me go on record as saying that I also happen to read Sun Magazine (a non profit magazine for writers) and The Atlantic and The New Yorker, all of which are delivered to my home. But I still read crap too. And sadly, I can tell you way more about the crap I read than I can about the more cerebral things I read.
According to these magazine articles (the crap, not the heady stuff), both hard copy and internet, I fall short in pretty much every area imaginable . . . and according to the world of fashion magazines, so do you, on any given day. It’s ok, just wait until the next day because you will find favor and be approved by the powers that be once again. You can read an article telling you (me) that you should always be dressed in your finest, right down to your underroos, always . . . ALWAYS, do not leave the house if you are even slightly underdressed and you are not wearing make up. You can also read an article, often times within the same publication, telling you (me) that you should be more natural, don’t overdo it, go outside in sweats with dirty hair . . . you’ll be adored! Men love red lipstick! Men hate red lipstick! Men hate needy women! Men love to be needed by women! It can all be so confusing, if one were to take it seriously, and some people really do. Witness the unbelievable amount of eating disorders and anxiety issues in our country. We’re living in an eating disorder and male entrapment learnedness Mecca. God bless America.
When you look down at your cotton Fruit of the Loom granny panties and then read that you’re supposed to be wearing a lace tanga in melon color this season, don’t you go feeling bad about yourself my pet. Now if you want the melon colored lace tanga then get yourself out there and have it . . . but only IF YOU WANT IT. Don’t do it because a Prada wearing devil that you don’t know, and doesn’t know you, said to. And don’t do it because an imagined partner, whom you’ve not met, may or may not come along and have read the same article and get pissy about your not having a melon colored lace tanga. If you’re happy with your cotton wrapped booty, then you just stay that way and be who you are. (I’m starting to regret my decision to go with undergarments here, but I’m too far in to change course now.)Anyway, love your undies.
If we all were to take all the advice we’d been given in our lives, how much of it would be worthwhile? How much of it would be consistent with who we are, on the inside? How much is a crock of crap? I read an article the other day that in one paragraph said “just be natural, be yourself, have fun, it’s all about having fun” and, I shit you not, not two paragraphs later it said “don’t have too much to drink, don’t be too casual, don’t be just the cool fun girl.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry so instead I vomited in my mouth a little. Now see, that was crass and if I was trying to hunt, track, and trap a man that would just be wrong, or would it be? I’m just being me and that’s good, right? Only Glamour magazine knows for sure, or maybe it’s Harpers Bazaar. Who knows? But the bigger question is, who cares? Well I just so happen to have the answer to that question for you; you. You care about who you are and don’t waste your precious time worrying about what others say because someone’s always going to tell you you’re wrong no matter what you’re doing . . . but you can also always find someone who sees what’s right in you.
It’s not just about women and it’s not just about appearances. Got a funny accent? Pronounce a couple of words a little bit goofy? Whatever, it’s who you are. It’s what makes you, you. But people will harass you and tease you about it. That’s fine if it’s good natured. You’re unique! Embrace it! How boring would the world be if we were all so homogenized? What would we talk about? What if I agree with everything you say? What will you know about me then? What will I know about me then? Who will I be? I’d be no one, or more accurately, I’d be everyone . . . and that’s a snore-fest.
I was already writing about being yourself this month and then I read “The Paris Wife”, a novel inspired by Ernest Hemingways first marriage to Hadley Richardson. She was herself. Despite being surrounded by beauties draped in Chanel and sporting the requisite bob haircut of that time, she was herself. She was reportedly plain in her looks, straightforward in her words, and traditional in her ideas of love and marriage. Did I mention she was married to Ernest Hemingway? A guy you may know as being not so traditional in his ideas of social mores and customs. They lived in Paris . . . in the roaring ‘20’s . . . and spent time with the likes of Ezra Pound and Gertrude Stein and Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald. Convention was not abundant. But Ernest loved Hadley. You may be thinking “but their marriage failed.” Indeed it did, as did three more for Ernest, well, only two more failed I guess since he committed suicide during his fourth. Hadley went on to have one more marriage that lasted the rest of her life. I am not pissing on Ernest here, though it may seem that way. The point I’m making is Hadley knew who she was. She knew herself to be different than all the other women surrounding her and while it proved difficult at times and she questioned herself at times, in the end she was true to herself and led a happy life. Ernest was always questioning himself, never sure of himself on the inside, always needing external approval. The same holds true for many artists and our world would be so much dimmer without the contributions that their insecurity, their neediness, and their passion gives us. The artists of the world are who they are and Ernest Hemingway has given us astounding literature . . . and also an illuminating life . . . be who you are. You could turn out to be a quadruple married genius . . . but let’s not see you end your life as Ernest ended his, ok? They were both true to themselves.
And if you are an artist of some sort? If you paint, write, draw, sculpt, play music, any creative venture, you can rest assured you will get plenty of unsolicited advice. What one person finds too edgy, another will not find edgy enough. If you are writing a book you will get plenty of rejection letters. If you take pictures you will hear that your subject matter isn’t interesting. If you write music you will be told it’s too sappy. You will be told this by people who matter to you, you will be told this by people you could not care less about, but your art is yours. It’s yours to share with the world should you care to and someone, someone will like it, and even more than that, some will love it, and even more than that . . . you will love it. Express yourself Madonna.
To be yourself in our ever shrinking world is hard. It’s hard to come here to our country and wear the clothes of your native country because, God forbid, you not look like everyone else. It’s hard to come here and have an accent, because you’re supposed to sound like everyone else don’tcha know . . . unless it’s a very chic accent, British or French or something equally high brow sounding, then you get the stamp of approval. We are not taught to celebrate our unique characteristics. Teeth are straightened, noses are shrunk, accents “corrected”, and the crazy artistic side of you needs to be put away and you should just straighten yourself out and fly right little bird. I hope none of y’all do though. I hope none of y’all decide that just the way you are isn’t good enough. There’s always room for learning new things and growing and evolving so please don’t misunderstand me, always grow and learn. But do it because you want to, because it will fulfill you, because it’s your choice in your life for your happiness. Never, ever, ever, sacrifice who you are for someone else. Have some dignity and take pride in who you are, just as you are. When you do, you won’t even think about sacrificing yourself, and no one around you would even dream ask, because they love you as you are.
And with this I say to all my friends, I love you as you are, and I am deeply blessed that you all love me just as I am . . . and will administer CPR to me when I have a paper bag over my head this fall.
-Aimee Mann
I am a Dallas Cowboys fan. I always will be. Being a Cowboys fan is hard for many reasons but mostly because I fear suffocation while wearing the paper bag over my head that being a loyal Cowboys fan requires. Nonetheless, it’s who I am . . . and I like me. I won’t go changin’ for Billy Joel or anyone else.
I don’t have Glamour magazine or Vogue or Cosmo or any other girly girl type magazine delivered to my house. This doesn’t mean I don’t read them, it just means I don’t pay to get them in the mail. Believe me, when they’re plopped down in front of me, I read them, because, you know, they’re chock full of oh so valuable information on how I should live and how I should look. Also, as is readily apparent, I am an internet user which means every time I turn my computer on there is some sort of headline telling me what I need to know about men and what they like, and, again, how I should dress and talk and carry myself. I’m a sucker, I admit it, I’ll read that before I’ll read about the war on drugs, the disappearing middle class in my country, or the latest college football scandal. Let me go on record as saying that I also happen to read Sun Magazine (a non profit magazine for writers) and The Atlantic and The New Yorker, all of which are delivered to my home. But I still read crap too. And sadly, I can tell you way more about the crap I read than I can about the more cerebral things I read.
According to these magazine articles (the crap, not the heady stuff), both hard copy and internet, I fall short in pretty much every area imaginable . . . and according to the world of fashion magazines, so do you, on any given day. It’s ok, just wait until the next day because you will find favor and be approved by the powers that be once again. You can read an article telling you (me) that you should always be dressed in your finest, right down to your underroos, always . . . ALWAYS, do not leave the house if you are even slightly underdressed and you are not wearing make up. You can also read an article, often times within the same publication, telling you (me) that you should be more natural, don’t overdo it, go outside in sweats with dirty hair . . . you’ll be adored! Men love red lipstick! Men hate red lipstick! Men hate needy women! Men love to be needed by women! It can all be so confusing, if one were to take it seriously, and some people really do. Witness the unbelievable amount of eating disorders and anxiety issues in our country. We’re living in an eating disorder and male entrapment learnedness Mecca. God bless America.
When you look down at your cotton Fruit of the Loom granny panties and then read that you’re supposed to be wearing a lace tanga in melon color this season, don’t you go feeling bad about yourself my pet. Now if you want the melon colored lace tanga then get yourself out there and have it . . . but only IF YOU WANT IT. Don’t do it because a Prada wearing devil that you don’t know, and doesn’t know you, said to. And don’t do it because an imagined partner, whom you’ve not met, may or may not come along and have read the same article and get pissy about your not having a melon colored lace tanga. If you’re happy with your cotton wrapped booty, then you just stay that way and be who you are. (I’m starting to regret my decision to go with undergarments here, but I’m too far in to change course now.)Anyway, love your undies.
If we all were to take all the advice we’d been given in our lives, how much of it would be worthwhile? How much of it would be consistent with who we are, on the inside? How much is a crock of crap? I read an article the other day that in one paragraph said “just be natural, be yourself, have fun, it’s all about having fun” and, I shit you not, not two paragraphs later it said “don’t have too much to drink, don’t be too casual, don’t be just the cool fun girl.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry so instead I vomited in my mouth a little. Now see, that was crass and if I was trying to hunt, track, and trap a man that would just be wrong, or would it be? I’m just being me and that’s good, right? Only Glamour magazine knows for sure, or maybe it’s Harpers Bazaar. Who knows? But the bigger question is, who cares? Well I just so happen to have the answer to that question for you; you. You care about who you are and don’t waste your precious time worrying about what others say because someone’s always going to tell you you’re wrong no matter what you’re doing . . . but you can also always find someone who sees what’s right in you.
It’s not just about women and it’s not just about appearances. Got a funny accent? Pronounce a couple of words a little bit goofy? Whatever, it’s who you are. It’s what makes you, you. But people will harass you and tease you about it. That’s fine if it’s good natured. You’re unique! Embrace it! How boring would the world be if we were all so homogenized? What would we talk about? What if I agree with everything you say? What will you know about me then? What will I know about me then? Who will I be? I’d be no one, or more accurately, I’d be everyone . . . and that’s a snore-fest.
I was already writing about being yourself this month and then I read “The Paris Wife”, a novel inspired by Ernest Hemingways first marriage to Hadley Richardson. She was herself. Despite being surrounded by beauties draped in Chanel and sporting the requisite bob haircut of that time, she was herself. She was reportedly plain in her looks, straightforward in her words, and traditional in her ideas of love and marriage. Did I mention she was married to Ernest Hemingway? A guy you may know as being not so traditional in his ideas of social mores and customs. They lived in Paris . . . in the roaring ‘20’s . . . and spent time with the likes of Ezra Pound and Gertrude Stein and Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald. Convention was not abundant. But Ernest loved Hadley. You may be thinking “but their marriage failed.” Indeed it did, as did three more for Ernest, well, only two more failed I guess since he committed suicide during his fourth. Hadley went on to have one more marriage that lasted the rest of her life. I am not pissing on Ernest here, though it may seem that way. The point I’m making is Hadley knew who she was. She knew herself to be different than all the other women surrounding her and while it proved difficult at times and she questioned herself at times, in the end she was true to herself and led a happy life. Ernest was always questioning himself, never sure of himself on the inside, always needing external approval. The same holds true for many artists and our world would be so much dimmer without the contributions that their insecurity, their neediness, and their passion gives us. The artists of the world are who they are and Ernest Hemingway has given us astounding literature . . . and also an illuminating life . . . be who you are. You could turn out to be a quadruple married genius . . . but let’s not see you end your life as Ernest ended his, ok? They were both true to themselves.
And if you are an artist of some sort? If you paint, write, draw, sculpt, play music, any creative venture, you can rest assured you will get plenty of unsolicited advice. What one person finds too edgy, another will not find edgy enough. If you are writing a book you will get plenty of rejection letters. If you take pictures you will hear that your subject matter isn’t interesting. If you write music you will be told it’s too sappy. You will be told this by people who matter to you, you will be told this by people you could not care less about, but your art is yours. It’s yours to share with the world should you care to and someone, someone will like it, and even more than that, some will love it, and even more than that . . . you will love it. Express yourself Madonna.
To be yourself in our ever shrinking world is hard. It’s hard to come here to our country and wear the clothes of your native country because, God forbid, you not look like everyone else. It’s hard to come here and have an accent, because you’re supposed to sound like everyone else don’tcha know . . . unless it’s a very chic accent, British or French or something equally high brow sounding, then you get the stamp of approval. We are not taught to celebrate our unique characteristics. Teeth are straightened, noses are shrunk, accents “corrected”, and the crazy artistic side of you needs to be put away and you should just straighten yourself out and fly right little bird. I hope none of y’all do though. I hope none of y’all decide that just the way you are isn’t good enough. There’s always room for learning new things and growing and evolving so please don’t misunderstand me, always grow and learn. But do it because you want to, because it will fulfill you, because it’s your choice in your life for your happiness. Never, ever, ever, sacrifice who you are for someone else. Have some dignity and take pride in who you are, just as you are. When you do, you won’t even think about sacrificing yourself, and no one around you would even dream ask, because they love you as you are.
And with this I say to all my friends, I love you as you are, and I am deeply blessed that you all love me just as I am . . . and will administer CPR to me when I have a paper bag over my head this fall.
Monday, July 9, 2012
In Valor There Is Hope
If life seems jolly rotten, there's something you've forgotten
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing
When you're feeling in the dumps, don't be silly, chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle, that's the thing
Always look on the bright side of life – Eric Idle
Sometimes the stars align and everything goes your way. You’ve got “everything’s coming up roses” playing in your head and your heart. Other times, not so much. There really is always a silver lining, but it’s not always your silver lining. For instance, someone else in the world needs a new car, so when they get hit by you, oh happy day for that person, and you? You’re the provider of someone’s new car. Sometimes you have to take one for the team. And that’s ok, be a good sport. I went on a date recently, a bad date. My friend, Kim, noted that it might have made him smile and that was the purpose of our brief, and decidedly singular, encounter. True enough, this mans life is a bad country song and maybe a couple of hours of pasta and non-stop talking about himself, with nary a question about me, was exactly the kind of therapy he needed. I took one for the team. And God bless him, seriously, I wish him all the best.
My life is happy. Lately, a piece of my happiness has come from watching situations in the lives of others and determining “that’s a great idea, I think I’ll try that” or “Yikes. I feel bad wiping my forehead with the back of my hand and saying there but for the grace of God go I, but holy hell, there but for the grace of God go I”. Lesson learned, I’m not doing that . . . ever . . . or in some cases ever again. It’s been said that sometimes your purpose in another persons life is simply to serve as a warning. Perhaps not a goal we wish for, but worthwhile nonetheless. Some people serve as a warning, and I thank you for it.
I have decided on a new course in my life, charted a map, and am machete-ing (it’s my blog, I can make up words if I want) that trail. More on that in the next month or two, can’t disclose until it reaches fruition. But I have a plan and focus and I am working toward the goal because . . . I have hope. It’s hope that can make a less than sunny occurrence have a shiny sun spot buried in it. The hope and the belief that even if this current job, date, relationship, race for first place, or batch of homemade cookies bombed, you can keep going on your path, it’s not over. What may seem like a setback can really just be a piece of the puzzle, a learning piece, a metaphorical walking before running. But you have to have hope. Hope can make you stand up again after a fall. Hope can make you date again after the worst date of your life. Hope can make you continue looking for the right job, going to class after a failed test, and baking yet another batch of cookies. Without the possibility, the belief, and hope, why bother? Before something there is nothing, and before nothing there is EVERYTHING . . . all things are possible.
I knew I wanted to write about hope this month. I got as far as the three paragraphs above and hit a wall. I decided to take a break and watch a movie. I had “An Act of Valor” here at the house, just waiting to be watched and returned to Netflix, so that’s what went in the DVD player. I watched the whole thing, felt joy and sorrow and pride and then, at the end of the movie was the statement . . .
IN VALOR THERE IS HOPE.
I didn’t imagine this was a line made up for the movie so I looked it up. (I have often said the library is one of my favorite inventions, thank you Ben Franklin. The internet on my computer brings the library right into my home at any time of day, thank you Al Gore.) The statement, in valor there is hope, is attributed to Publius Cornelius Tacitus, a senator and historian of the Roman Empire. This statement is most often seen on the tombstones of fallen policemen, but certainly found in other places where heroes have been felled in the line of duty. Valor is to be strong and courageous, most particularly in battle, but also of strong character. Hope is defined as entertaining a wish for something with expectation, to be confident and trust. Hope is what we have at the very base of our beings. Hope gives us the power, the will, the motivation to forge ahead rather than take a back seat and say “meh, whatever”. And I do mean forge ahead. Have you watched or read “The Secret”? I have. I have heard many people say that what they took from it was that all you have to do is mentally transport yourself to Disneyland and wish upon a star, makes no difference where you are, anything your heart desires will come to you. Well, yeah, but you don’t just sit on your ass eating bon bons while millions of Publishers Clearing House dollars rain down on you like manna from PCH heaven. Actually, PCH may work that way, bad example. If you want something, go f-wording get it, but you have to believe and trust and expect and indeed, HOPE, that you will get it. As Julia Cameron notes in her much loved book “The Artists Way”, if you’re going to be late for the bus you must first believe the bus will come, second believe that you can catch the bus, and then . . . RUN LIKE HELL. You don’t just sit on your fat duff waiting for the bus driver to knock at your door.
Hope is valorous, because it does take a metric f*** ton of strength and valor to hope for something that you have not yet attained. And the valor of others, those of us that will sign up to be a Navy Seal and WILLINGLY throw yourself on a grenade to save the lives of many, that persons valor gives hope to us all. (A side note, of all the navy vets I know not one of them was with me watching this movie to answer questions I had. Boo. But I must reiterate, that’s why Al Gore invented the internet).
Hope can change your world. Hope can make the implausible, plausible. I have been guilty in the past of hoping for all manner of things, both tangible and intangible, and in that hope just sitting around waiting for a miracle. Mostly it doesn’t happen. Here and there it does and, at least for me, it’s not nearly as rewarding. I think of the old quote “Give a man a fish and you feed him once. Teach him to fish and you feed him for life.” Does that fit here? Kinda, I guess. Things easily gained are not as rewarding as those things for which we worked, and we would not have ever even fathomed working for said things without hope. Things that you can feel good about and say “Hell yes, that test was hard but I studied and made mince meat of it. Booyah.”
Whatever it is in your life that you want, work for it. Have a plan. Focus. And above all else, be valorous in your hope and believe that you will get it, don’t give up.
"Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me... Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.”
― Shel Silverstein
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing
When you're feeling in the dumps, don't be silly, chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle, that's the thing
Always look on the bright side of life – Eric Idle
Sometimes the stars align and everything goes your way. You’ve got “everything’s coming up roses” playing in your head and your heart. Other times, not so much. There really is always a silver lining, but it’s not always your silver lining. For instance, someone else in the world needs a new car, so when they get hit by you, oh happy day for that person, and you? You’re the provider of someone’s new car. Sometimes you have to take one for the team. And that’s ok, be a good sport. I went on a date recently, a bad date. My friend, Kim, noted that it might have made him smile and that was the purpose of our brief, and decidedly singular, encounter. True enough, this mans life is a bad country song and maybe a couple of hours of pasta and non-stop talking about himself, with nary a question about me, was exactly the kind of therapy he needed. I took one for the team. And God bless him, seriously, I wish him all the best.
My life is happy. Lately, a piece of my happiness has come from watching situations in the lives of others and determining “that’s a great idea, I think I’ll try that” or “Yikes. I feel bad wiping my forehead with the back of my hand and saying there but for the grace of God go I, but holy hell, there but for the grace of God go I”. Lesson learned, I’m not doing that . . . ever . . . or in some cases ever again. It’s been said that sometimes your purpose in another persons life is simply to serve as a warning. Perhaps not a goal we wish for, but worthwhile nonetheless. Some people serve as a warning, and I thank you for it.
I have decided on a new course in my life, charted a map, and am machete-ing (it’s my blog, I can make up words if I want) that trail. More on that in the next month or two, can’t disclose until it reaches fruition. But I have a plan and focus and I am working toward the goal because . . . I have hope. It’s hope that can make a less than sunny occurrence have a shiny sun spot buried in it. The hope and the belief that even if this current job, date, relationship, race for first place, or batch of homemade cookies bombed, you can keep going on your path, it’s not over. What may seem like a setback can really just be a piece of the puzzle, a learning piece, a metaphorical walking before running. But you have to have hope. Hope can make you stand up again after a fall. Hope can make you date again after the worst date of your life. Hope can make you continue looking for the right job, going to class after a failed test, and baking yet another batch of cookies. Without the possibility, the belief, and hope, why bother? Before something there is nothing, and before nothing there is EVERYTHING . . . all things are possible.
I knew I wanted to write about hope this month. I got as far as the three paragraphs above and hit a wall. I decided to take a break and watch a movie. I had “An Act of Valor” here at the house, just waiting to be watched and returned to Netflix, so that’s what went in the DVD player. I watched the whole thing, felt joy and sorrow and pride and then, at the end of the movie was the statement . . .
IN VALOR THERE IS HOPE.
I didn’t imagine this was a line made up for the movie so I looked it up. (I have often said the library is one of my favorite inventions, thank you Ben Franklin. The internet on my computer brings the library right into my home at any time of day, thank you Al Gore.) The statement, in valor there is hope, is attributed to Publius Cornelius Tacitus, a senator and historian of the Roman Empire. This statement is most often seen on the tombstones of fallen policemen, but certainly found in other places where heroes have been felled in the line of duty. Valor is to be strong and courageous, most particularly in battle, but also of strong character. Hope is defined as entertaining a wish for something with expectation, to be confident and trust. Hope is what we have at the very base of our beings. Hope gives us the power, the will, the motivation to forge ahead rather than take a back seat and say “meh, whatever”. And I do mean forge ahead. Have you watched or read “The Secret”? I have. I have heard many people say that what they took from it was that all you have to do is mentally transport yourself to Disneyland and wish upon a star, makes no difference where you are, anything your heart desires will come to you. Well, yeah, but you don’t just sit on your ass eating bon bons while millions of Publishers Clearing House dollars rain down on you like manna from PCH heaven. Actually, PCH may work that way, bad example. If you want something, go f-wording get it, but you have to believe and trust and expect and indeed, HOPE, that you will get it. As Julia Cameron notes in her much loved book “The Artists Way”, if you’re going to be late for the bus you must first believe the bus will come, second believe that you can catch the bus, and then . . . RUN LIKE HELL. You don’t just sit on your fat duff waiting for the bus driver to knock at your door.
Hope is valorous, because it does take a metric f*** ton of strength and valor to hope for something that you have not yet attained. And the valor of others, those of us that will sign up to be a Navy Seal and WILLINGLY throw yourself on a grenade to save the lives of many, that persons valor gives hope to us all. (A side note, of all the navy vets I know not one of them was with me watching this movie to answer questions I had. Boo. But I must reiterate, that’s why Al Gore invented the internet).
Hope can change your world. Hope can make the implausible, plausible. I have been guilty in the past of hoping for all manner of things, both tangible and intangible, and in that hope just sitting around waiting for a miracle. Mostly it doesn’t happen. Here and there it does and, at least for me, it’s not nearly as rewarding. I think of the old quote “Give a man a fish and you feed him once. Teach him to fish and you feed him for life.” Does that fit here? Kinda, I guess. Things easily gained are not as rewarding as those things for which we worked, and we would not have ever even fathomed working for said things without hope. Things that you can feel good about and say “Hell yes, that test was hard but I studied and made mince meat of it. Booyah.”
Whatever it is in your life that you want, work for it. Have a plan. Focus. And above all else, be valorous in your hope and believe that you will get it, don’t give up.
"Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me... Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.”
― Shel Silverstein
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Donkey and Dragon
If I could be the me you wanted me to be you’d see I’m only scratching at the surface. I’m so much deeper, understand? Like you, an enigma.
-Huffamoose
I have thought about so many different topics for this month; patience, changing gender roles in society, focusing on goals, living in the moment, or maybe just having an open forum where you all tell me what you would do for a Klondike bar, but in the end I settled on a mish mash of God only knows what,
and came up with . . .
FINDING FLEXIBILITY WITHIN RIGIDITY, I think . . . or maybe maintaining self while also growing and compromising . . . or not compromising, per se, so much as being open while still being yourself and not being a shrinking violet . . . something like that.
At a party several months ago some friends and I were discussing how your name can affect who you become and even how successful you are, or are not, in your chosen field. For instance, if your name is Candy Sugarwalls, you should start pole dancing lessons when you’re about five. When I revealed that my sister wanted my parents to name me Pebbles, it was determined that I would still be the exact same person I am now had she won out. I love being me. So, does that mean I can’t change? Yes and no. Read on for a ridiculous analogy.
If you have known me for any length of time longer than, let’s say, fourteen minutes, you know I love sweets. If you have known me a bit longer, maybe thirty seven minutes, you know that one of my favorites is lemon bars. If you were to say to me “Laura Ellen, I know your true and abiding love for the lemon bar, but I would like you to try a new taste delight that features strawberries and dark chocolate coupled with powdered sugar and love”, by golly I’d do it, that’s just how flexible I can be when necessary. HOWSOMEVER (a word my daddy made up and I love), if you say to me “Laura Ellen, I know your true and abiding love for the lemon bar, but I would like you to try a new taste delight that features coconut”, then you will see the “stop in the name of all that is sacred” palm of my hand and I will adamantly say “OH HELL NO”. You gotta be willing to bend a little and you gotta know your boundaries. I.Hate.Coconut. And yet, things can change. I didn’t like watermelon when I was young, but once I was taught to put salt on it then, KABAM, my life and watermelon’s presence in it completely changed. I was willing to compromise, I learned a little something, and thus my evolution in life continues.
It’s a tough road to hoe sometimes though, knowing when to really stand your ground and knowing when to be chance-y. You don’t want to be rigid, but being a doormat’s no good either.
It’s been said many times by people smarter than me “You can only change you”. So, you can only change your reaction to a situation, you can’t change the other person. This, for me, is one of those things I have heard over and over again in life (along with “Hey, pay attention”) and one day, for whatever reason it finally lit the bulb in my head. I was listening to one friend advise another friend on a spouse spat she was having and she pulled out this time honored bit of wisdom. But then she went on to say how she does this. At some point, she said, you just have to take care of yourself by letting it go, “it” being the situation at hand, not the person. To me this has always been tantamount to being a wimp and accepting, and even encouraging, bad behavior. But I was wrong, oh yeah I was. It’s not accepting another persons bad behavior, it’s just not getting too caught up in it. And it bears pointing out; what constitutes bad behavior to one person may not to another. Our good buddy, Goethe, tells us “if we treat people as they are, we make them worse. If we treat people as they ought to be, we help them become what they are capable of becoming”. It’s an ok theory, but a little didactic, wouldn’t you say? After all, who is Goethe to say what anyone ought to be? Having a disagreement is almost never about one person being completely right and the other being completely wrong. Maybe one person did something dumb, but then if the other one handled it poorly then both people contributed to the unraveling at hand. There’s a big difference in walking away for the moment and walking away for good. You can wash your hands of a situation, but that doesn’t mean you want to wash your hands of the entire relationship.
Life provides us with lots and lots of opportunity for growth. Sometimes growth involves doing things differently than ever before, and it may involve knowing exactly where you have to stop and say “this is it, I am at my limit.” I am reminded of this all the time in my yoga class and it’s a good thing to carry off the mat and into real life. Bump up against your boundary and try something that’s a little hard, but stop when it’s time. In yoga and in life you’ve got to be patient and be able to laugh at yourself. I fall in yoga a lot, and I also do pretty damn well at times, but I always show up, I always try, and if something is beyond me I am completely happy to fall to my knees in childs pose but I never, ever, just quit and walk out. This is a class though. If you are in a bad situation and reading this please do not think I am urging you to stay if you really must leave. Don’t be a push over. Don’t be an asshole. Where’s the middle ground? Only you know yours.
What does it take to find your middle ground happy place? Lots of practice, unfortunately this sometimes comes at the expense of others; lots of mistakes, again, at the expense of others. Lots of successes, lots of positive feedback, lots of peace, lots of love, and all these things can be shared with others – even with the others that had to live through our mistakes. I’ve been focusing on patience in my life, not my strong suit. You know what happens when you focus on a weak point that you would like to strengthen? You get bombarded with situations to flex that muscle. My patience is being put to the test, but I have a plan and that plan helps me to focus and have patience. And patience, I am learning, saves me a lot of headaches and helps me find my middle ground.
In our quest to find who we are as individuals we sometimes dig up the ghost of relationships past and foist these terrors out on others. My dad did this, or my ex-boyfriend did that, or my family sucked at communicating. Oh listen honey, I feel ya, but grow the hell up and take charge of your own life. I’ve done it too, I’m not pointing a finger. It’s pretty horrifying to find yourself doing the exact thing, and I mean exact thing, that you hated having done to you as a kid. And it makes perfect sense, that’s what you know so you think the whole world operates that way and then you move around with other people in the world only to find out you were raised by a clan of well meaning psychos. I get it. I love my Rogers clan of psychos but holy hell, straight up crazy folks. And for better or for worse, I got some of it. We’re good people, just completely impatient and pretty Goddamn sure we’re always right. (Sound familiar? Do you know me?) And I can’t stand it about myself. I have learned to apologize with abandon. Next on deck is learning to calm the f*** down, exercise some patience, and perhaps not say every blessed thing that pops in my head. I think of Dragon in Shrek. She’s so scary, until you get to know her and then she purrs like a kitten, but you still wouldn’t want to threaten Donkey – she will kill you. This is me. Pebbles is me. Laura Ellen is me. And maybe all of too. You’ve got to know who you are, all the who’s that make you who you are, to be able to find your happy ground, to know when to balance on one foot, to be ok with falling, to know when to put your palm up and say “don’t tread on me, respect my limits”, and to know when to give watermelon, or maybe even coconut, another shot.
You can always grow. You can always learn new things. But that’s YOU. And that’s ME. I don’t care what Goethe says, you can’t force it on others. As another wise man, Nigel Tufnel, reminds us “it’s a fine line between clever and stupid”.
Ok, so really, what would you do for a Klondike bar?
-Huffamoose
I have thought about so many different topics for this month; patience, changing gender roles in society, focusing on goals, living in the moment, or maybe just having an open forum where you all tell me what you would do for a Klondike bar, but in the end I settled on a mish mash of God only knows what,
and came up with . . .
FINDING FLEXIBILITY WITHIN RIGIDITY, I think . . . or maybe maintaining self while also growing and compromising . . . or not compromising, per se, so much as being open while still being yourself and not being a shrinking violet . . . something like that.
At a party several months ago some friends and I were discussing how your name can affect who you become and even how successful you are, or are not, in your chosen field. For instance, if your name is Candy Sugarwalls, you should start pole dancing lessons when you’re about five. When I revealed that my sister wanted my parents to name me Pebbles, it was determined that I would still be the exact same person I am now had she won out. I love being me. So, does that mean I can’t change? Yes and no. Read on for a ridiculous analogy.
If you have known me for any length of time longer than, let’s say, fourteen minutes, you know I love sweets. If you have known me a bit longer, maybe thirty seven minutes, you know that one of my favorites is lemon bars. If you were to say to me “Laura Ellen, I know your true and abiding love for the lemon bar, but I would like you to try a new taste delight that features strawberries and dark chocolate coupled with powdered sugar and love”, by golly I’d do it, that’s just how flexible I can be when necessary. HOWSOMEVER (a word my daddy made up and I love), if you say to me “Laura Ellen, I know your true and abiding love for the lemon bar, but I would like you to try a new taste delight that features coconut”, then you will see the “stop in the name of all that is sacred” palm of my hand and I will adamantly say “OH HELL NO”. You gotta be willing to bend a little and you gotta know your boundaries. I.Hate.Coconut. And yet, things can change. I didn’t like watermelon when I was young, but once I was taught to put salt on it then, KABAM, my life and watermelon’s presence in it completely changed. I was willing to compromise, I learned a little something, and thus my evolution in life continues.
It’s a tough road to hoe sometimes though, knowing when to really stand your ground and knowing when to be chance-y. You don’t want to be rigid, but being a doormat’s no good either.
It’s been said many times by people smarter than me “You can only change you”. So, you can only change your reaction to a situation, you can’t change the other person. This, for me, is one of those things I have heard over and over again in life (along with “Hey, pay attention”) and one day, for whatever reason it finally lit the bulb in my head. I was listening to one friend advise another friend on a spouse spat she was having and she pulled out this time honored bit of wisdom. But then she went on to say how she does this. At some point, she said, you just have to take care of yourself by letting it go, “it” being the situation at hand, not the person. To me this has always been tantamount to being a wimp and accepting, and even encouraging, bad behavior. But I was wrong, oh yeah I was. It’s not accepting another persons bad behavior, it’s just not getting too caught up in it. And it bears pointing out; what constitutes bad behavior to one person may not to another. Our good buddy, Goethe, tells us “if we treat people as they are, we make them worse. If we treat people as they ought to be, we help them become what they are capable of becoming”. It’s an ok theory, but a little didactic, wouldn’t you say? After all, who is Goethe to say what anyone ought to be? Having a disagreement is almost never about one person being completely right and the other being completely wrong. Maybe one person did something dumb, but then if the other one handled it poorly then both people contributed to the unraveling at hand. There’s a big difference in walking away for the moment and walking away for good. You can wash your hands of a situation, but that doesn’t mean you want to wash your hands of the entire relationship.
Life provides us with lots and lots of opportunity for growth. Sometimes growth involves doing things differently than ever before, and it may involve knowing exactly where you have to stop and say “this is it, I am at my limit.” I am reminded of this all the time in my yoga class and it’s a good thing to carry off the mat and into real life. Bump up against your boundary and try something that’s a little hard, but stop when it’s time. In yoga and in life you’ve got to be patient and be able to laugh at yourself. I fall in yoga a lot, and I also do pretty damn well at times, but I always show up, I always try, and if something is beyond me I am completely happy to fall to my knees in childs pose but I never, ever, just quit and walk out. This is a class though. If you are in a bad situation and reading this please do not think I am urging you to stay if you really must leave. Don’t be a push over. Don’t be an asshole. Where’s the middle ground? Only you know yours.
What does it take to find your middle ground happy place? Lots of practice, unfortunately this sometimes comes at the expense of others; lots of mistakes, again, at the expense of others. Lots of successes, lots of positive feedback, lots of peace, lots of love, and all these things can be shared with others – even with the others that had to live through our mistakes. I’ve been focusing on patience in my life, not my strong suit. You know what happens when you focus on a weak point that you would like to strengthen? You get bombarded with situations to flex that muscle. My patience is being put to the test, but I have a plan and that plan helps me to focus and have patience. And patience, I am learning, saves me a lot of headaches and helps me find my middle ground.
In our quest to find who we are as individuals we sometimes dig up the ghost of relationships past and foist these terrors out on others. My dad did this, or my ex-boyfriend did that, or my family sucked at communicating. Oh listen honey, I feel ya, but grow the hell up and take charge of your own life. I’ve done it too, I’m not pointing a finger. It’s pretty horrifying to find yourself doing the exact thing, and I mean exact thing, that you hated having done to you as a kid. And it makes perfect sense, that’s what you know so you think the whole world operates that way and then you move around with other people in the world only to find out you were raised by a clan of well meaning psychos. I get it. I love my Rogers clan of psychos but holy hell, straight up crazy folks. And for better or for worse, I got some of it. We’re good people, just completely impatient and pretty Goddamn sure we’re always right. (Sound familiar? Do you know me?) And I can’t stand it about myself. I have learned to apologize with abandon. Next on deck is learning to calm the f*** down, exercise some patience, and perhaps not say every blessed thing that pops in my head. I think of Dragon in Shrek. She’s so scary, until you get to know her and then she purrs like a kitten, but you still wouldn’t want to threaten Donkey – she will kill you. This is me. Pebbles is me. Laura Ellen is me. And maybe all of too. You’ve got to know who you are, all the who’s that make you who you are, to be able to find your happy ground, to know when to balance on one foot, to be ok with falling, to know when to put your palm up and say “don’t tread on me, respect my limits”, and to know when to give watermelon, or maybe even coconut, another shot.
You can always grow. You can always learn new things. But that’s YOU. And that’s ME. I don’t care what Goethe says, you can’t force it on others. As another wise man, Nigel Tufnel, reminds us “it’s a fine line between clever and stupid”.
Ok, so really, what would you do for a Klondike bar?
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
SUBLIME TOUCH
When the rain’s blowing in your face and the whole world is on your case, I would offer you a warm embrace, to make you feel my love
-Bob Dylan
Ah the human touch, it’s nice isn’t it? Nice when it’s appropriate. Nice when it is delivered with good intentions. One good hug, and I do mean a good hug, not one of those “stiff armed pat you on the back” hugs, a good hug, can really make your whole day.
Physical touch is something all animals, including human animals, need. It’s how we bond. And as evidenced by babies who do not receive touch, lack of touch affects the rest of their lives negatively. Conversely babies and children who are massaged and held and hugged regularly score much higher academically along with being well socialized. When we’re sad nothing soothes the soul like a hug, a good one. Think of the last time someone cupped your face in their hand or touched your cheek. It was nice wasn’t it? Sadly, touch can be delivered in such harmful ways. An open hand gently touching your cheek is lovely, but what if that same open hand is delivered with greater velocity? The same action, but with the wrong intention and pressure, can go from loving to hateful and hurtful in no time. An intimate act of love can be turned into a malicious act of ugliness. Some people can hug me, but not all people. Touch is quite particular . . . and powerful. Touch can help immensely, or harm immensely. But I don’t want to talk about ugly stuff, not just yet.
Think of the different ways in which we touch others; with our hands, our hearts, our words, our intentions, our body language, our smiles and frowns, our laughs and our tears. We carry beautiful moments around in our hearts, our minds eye, and sometimes more tangibly in the form of a saved letter or a text or an email or a card. How fun is it to go back and re-read these and recall the way it made our hearts flip? Love love love it. Our muscles also hold memory. Many is the time people have unexpectedly cried on my massage table. Something from long ago is triggered, something forgotten surfaces and can then, gratefully and at long last, be released. In the same way, many is the time I have cried in my yoga class. Stuff comes up, stuff gets released, but also, it’s just nice when someone touches you. Whether it’s a hug, a massage, or a gentle stretch from your yoga instructor, it’s awesome. C’mon, you know it is, you love it.
Let me tell you about how blessed I am in my life and share just a few of the ways I have been touched in my life:
1) I had dental surgery yesterday, jealous? The blessed part is how many of my friends reached out to me. I received so many phone calls, emails, and text messages. I am overwhelmed by the outpouring of love. And not just a quick “How ya doin’?”, but continual check-ins and endless offers of help. Follow up calls and texts and emails today. I am truly touched, touched by their words and open hearts and generosity. Maura, Mindi, Laura, Kim, Jen, Rachelle, Missy, Therese, and so many others, thank you.
2) A handful of years ago I had a client that I will never, ever forget. She was an elderly German woman who survived World War II and came to America to start fresh. She shared stories of her life with me, and in turn asked me about my life; I shared stories with her. At the end of our time together she asked if she could pray for me. Who wouldn’t say yes to this? But I thought she meant in a more general way, until she took my hands in hers. My client held my hands and prayed for me. I cried as it happened. I cry when I re-tell the story, every time I re-tell the story, I cry now as I remember it and write about it. Clients have generously tipped me, given gifts to me, candles, cards, scarves, candy, all kinds of tangible gifts . . . but this woman held my hands, bowed her head to mine, and prayed out loud for me. Now that, my friends, is a gift. That was some years ago and her prayer for me has not yet been answered, but it will, of this I have no doubt. She touched me in many ways.
3) Lately I felt shattered, snot slinging, shoulder shaking shattered. I called Therese. All she can hear through the phone is the guttural sound of my wailing. She says to me “Oh honey.” Mind you at this point she has no idea what is wrong, only that something is wrong. I continue my epic battle with speech and she softly coos to me “Ok, take your time, I’m right here.” As I continue sputtering she asks “Are you safe”? I know that answering this question is imperative and I, not unlike a moose in heat, bellow out “Yes.” And with that she is satisfied to just listen, as long as it takes, and continues patiently purring into the other end of the phone “Whenever you’re ready, I’m right here, I’ll listen when you’re ready, take your time, I’ll be right here.” Her comforting and mothering tone soothes my broken soul, and touches me.
And there are many more blessings; moments in my life that I can pull out and relive anytime I want. A kiss on top of my head, standing on daddy’s feet and holding his hands while we “danced” around the living room, mama’s proud smile when I won a writing contest in school, the very first time I received flowers (16 roses on my 16th birthday from my brother, Lee), another brother (Eddie) racing out the front door to scoop me up off the street and in to the house after a particularly nasty fall off my bike, the very deep sense of love I felt the first time I saw my niece, watching B.D. look at the river and tell me how to find fish (having someone share their passion with me is touching), sitting on a ski lift with Therese trying to determine what sort of horrific terror would make us leap off the lift to the slope below, hot dogs with Rick on the last day I ever saw him alive. All of these moments with all of these people have touched me, they are woven together to form pieces of me, gifted by others. I am blessed and touched by many.
I can also conjure up painful memories of ugly words and how they made me feel. It hurts, eh? Even some words I know were not meant and only thrown out in a fit of anger or frustration can sting my heart and twist my stomach. We’ve all said things that we know we shouldn’t have, it happens. I recently told someone I hope their relationship turns to crap, oh yes I did. I said it. And now we get to the aforementioned ugly part, as well as the part where I have to humbly admit my own shortcomings. I’d like to be able to say, at this point, that I feel badly about having said it and I didn’t mean it. But here’s the thing; that would be a big fat lie and lying is not a way to touch people kindly. Because I am who I am, I don’t feel badly and I really do mean it. I know, I’m craptacular sometimes. I should have just kept my mouth shut, but I didn’t. I’m human, I lashed out and touched someone harshly. I could roll out about 1000 defenses here, i.e., “but what I meant, but what happened before, but it doesn’t really mean . . .”, what good is that? That just makes me look even smaller than just being a shit heel in the first place. When you make a dick move at least own up to it and don’t point out all the reasons, be they real or imagined, that it’s ok to make a dick move. A dick move is a dick move.
Try your best to make your touch appropriate, whether it’s physical, verbal, written, or furtively sent across a crowded room. And let me just hand out this little nugget of thought; while generosity is beautiful in some arenas, being discreet and ensuring your “special touch” is special to only a small group is, indeed, a prize to be valued. Touch people with love, and while there is always enough love for all and none should be withheld, there is a beauty in giving very particular sorts of love to only a very small and very particular group, if you catch my meaning. Don’t go “spreading your seed” all over the place, that hardly makes it special now, does it? People like to know they are part of an elite group of a fortunate few, to be otherwise is just cheap and tacky and meaningless. Yeah, I said it, I’ll say it again if you make me. You know I will.
The words we use, the intonation with which we speak those words, a look across a sea of people that is meant only for you, a hug, a whisper, a pat on the back, a tearfully shared moment, a joyfully screaming and jumping up and down happy beyond control moment, a toothy (or toothless) grin, these are all ways we touch each other. Our touch holds an enormous amount of power, be responsible, never use your power for evil. Others have entrusted you with the care and feeding of their hearts, know how remarkable that is and take care of this gift; don’t just blithely waltz in and out of people’s lives, don’t spew out pretty words you don’t mean and have no intention of living up to, don’t spit out cruel words; they are worse than a slap on the face. Just as the sun can touch your skin with warmth and love, the rain can cleanse and cool your soul giving you a fresh start, so can the winter ice sting and burn with its cold clampdown.
Touch people in your life, hug your mama, hug your spouse, hug your children, and hug your pets. Use your manners with your words, say ma’am and sir and please and thank you. Words are powerful and with them you can easily gain respect . . . or just as easily lose that respect. And remember, there is always a pretty way to say something ugly (try to avoid being craptacular). Sometimes the truth hurts, but you can deliver it mindfully. Never tell a lie, never back down from the truth, you can say it, don’t run away, just man up and do it, and be kind while doing so. Honor others, and honor yourself, and don’t follow me as an example. We are responsible for our interactions with each other and the affect our words, our touch, and their intention have. We are, indeed, our brothers keeper. Think enough of yourself to do right by others.
All y’all are awesome, love ya, mean it!
-Bob Dylan
Ah the human touch, it’s nice isn’t it? Nice when it’s appropriate. Nice when it is delivered with good intentions. One good hug, and I do mean a good hug, not one of those “stiff armed pat you on the back” hugs, a good hug, can really make your whole day.
Physical touch is something all animals, including human animals, need. It’s how we bond. And as evidenced by babies who do not receive touch, lack of touch affects the rest of their lives negatively. Conversely babies and children who are massaged and held and hugged regularly score much higher academically along with being well socialized. When we’re sad nothing soothes the soul like a hug, a good one. Think of the last time someone cupped your face in their hand or touched your cheek. It was nice wasn’t it? Sadly, touch can be delivered in such harmful ways. An open hand gently touching your cheek is lovely, but what if that same open hand is delivered with greater velocity? The same action, but with the wrong intention and pressure, can go from loving to hateful and hurtful in no time. An intimate act of love can be turned into a malicious act of ugliness. Some people can hug me, but not all people. Touch is quite particular . . . and powerful. Touch can help immensely, or harm immensely. But I don’t want to talk about ugly stuff, not just yet.
Think of the different ways in which we touch others; with our hands, our hearts, our words, our intentions, our body language, our smiles and frowns, our laughs and our tears. We carry beautiful moments around in our hearts, our minds eye, and sometimes more tangibly in the form of a saved letter or a text or an email or a card. How fun is it to go back and re-read these and recall the way it made our hearts flip? Love love love it. Our muscles also hold memory. Many is the time people have unexpectedly cried on my massage table. Something from long ago is triggered, something forgotten surfaces and can then, gratefully and at long last, be released. In the same way, many is the time I have cried in my yoga class. Stuff comes up, stuff gets released, but also, it’s just nice when someone touches you. Whether it’s a hug, a massage, or a gentle stretch from your yoga instructor, it’s awesome. C’mon, you know it is, you love it.
Let me tell you about how blessed I am in my life and share just a few of the ways I have been touched in my life:
1) I had dental surgery yesterday, jealous? The blessed part is how many of my friends reached out to me. I received so many phone calls, emails, and text messages. I am overwhelmed by the outpouring of love. And not just a quick “How ya doin’?”, but continual check-ins and endless offers of help. Follow up calls and texts and emails today. I am truly touched, touched by their words and open hearts and generosity. Maura, Mindi, Laura, Kim, Jen, Rachelle, Missy, Therese, and so many others, thank you.
2) A handful of years ago I had a client that I will never, ever forget. She was an elderly German woman who survived World War II and came to America to start fresh. She shared stories of her life with me, and in turn asked me about my life; I shared stories with her. At the end of our time together she asked if she could pray for me. Who wouldn’t say yes to this? But I thought she meant in a more general way, until she took my hands in hers. My client held my hands and prayed for me. I cried as it happened. I cry when I re-tell the story, every time I re-tell the story, I cry now as I remember it and write about it. Clients have generously tipped me, given gifts to me, candles, cards, scarves, candy, all kinds of tangible gifts . . . but this woman held my hands, bowed her head to mine, and prayed out loud for me. Now that, my friends, is a gift. That was some years ago and her prayer for me has not yet been answered, but it will, of this I have no doubt. She touched me in many ways.
3) Lately I felt shattered, snot slinging, shoulder shaking shattered. I called Therese. All she can hear through the phone is the guttural sound of my wailing. She says to me “Oh honey.” Mind you at this point she has no idea what is wrong, only that something is wrong. I continue my epic battle with speech and she softly coos to me “Ok, take your time, I’m right here.” As I continue sputtering she asks “Are you safe”? I know that answering this question is imperative and I, not unlike a moose in heat, bellow out “Yes.” And with that she is satisfied to just listen, as long as it takes, and continues patiently purring into the other end of the phone “Whenever you’re ready, I’m right here, I’ll listen when you’re ready, take your time, I’ll be right here.” Her comforting and mothering tone soothes my broken soul, and touches me.
And there are many more blessings; moments in my life that I can pull out and relive anytime I want. A kiss on top of my head, standing on daddy’s feet and holding his hands while we “danced” around the living room, mama’s proud smile when I won a writing contest in school, the very first time I received flowers (16 roses on my 16th birthday from my brother, Lee), another brother (Eddie) racing out the front door to scoop me up off the street and in to the house after a particularly nasty fall off my bike, the very deep sense of love I felt the first time I saw my niece, watching B.D. look at the river and tell me how to find fish (having someone share their passion with me is touching), sitting on a ski lift with Therese trying to determine what sort of horrific terror would make us leap off the lift to the slope below, hot dogs with Rick on the last day I ever saw him alive. All of these moments with all of these people have touched me, they are woven together to form pieces of me, gifted by others. I am blessed and touched by many.
I can also conjure up painful memories of ugly words and how they made me feel. It hurts, eh? Even some words I know were not meant and only thrown out in a fit of anger or frustration can sting my heart and twist my stomach. We’ve all said things that we know we shouldn’t have, it happens. I recently told someone I hope their relationship turns to crap, oh yes I did. I said it. And now we get to the aforementioned ugly part, as well as the part where I have to humbly admit my own shortcomings. I’d like to be able to say, at this point, that I feel badly about having said it and I didn’t mean it. But here’s the thing; that would be a big fat lie and lying is not a way to touch people kindly. Because I am who I am, I don’t feel badly and I really do mean it. I know, I’m craptacular sometimes. I should have just kept my mouth shut, but I didn’t. I’m human, I lashed out and touched someone harshly. I could roll out about 1000 defenses here, i.e., “but what I meant, but what happened before, but it doesn’t really mean . . .”, what good is that? That just makes me look even smaller than just being a shit heel in the first place. When you make a dick move at least own up to it and don’t point out all the reasons, be they real or imagined, that it’s ok to make a dick move. A dick move is a dick move.
Try your best to make your touch appropriate, whether it’s physical, verbal, written, or furtively sent across a crowded room. And let me just hand out this little nugget of thought; while generosity is beautiful in some arenas, being discreet and ensuring your “special touch” is special to only a small group is, indeed, a prize to be valued. Touch people with love, and while there is always enough love for all and none should be withheld, there is a beauty in giving very particular sorts of love to only a very small and very particular group, if you catch my meaning. Don’t go “spreading your seed” all over the place, that hardly makes it special now, does it? People like to know they are part of an elite group of a fortunate few, to be otherwise is just cheap and tacky and meaningless. Yeah, I said it, I’ll say it again if you make me. You know I will.
The words we use, the intonation with which we speak those words, a look across a sea of people that is meant only for you, a hug, a whisper, a pat on the back, a tearfully shared moment, a joyfully screaming and jumping up and down happy beyond control moment, a toothy (or toothless) grin, these are all ways we touch each other. Our touch holds an enormous amount of power, be responsible, never use your power for evil. Others have entrusted you with the care and feeding of their hearts, know how remarkable that is and take care of this gift; don’t just blithely waltz in and out of people’s lives, don’t spew out pretty words you don’t mean and have no intention of living up to, don’t spit out cruel words; they are worse than a slap on the face. Just as the sun can touch your skin with warmth and love, the rain can cleanse and cool your soul giving you a fresh start, so can the winter ice sting and burn with its cold clampdown.
Touch people in your life, hug your mama, hug your spouse, hug your children, and hug your pets. Use your manners with your words, say ma’am and sir and please and thank you. Words are powerful and with them you can easily gain respect . . . or just as easily lose that respect. And remember, there is always a pretty way to say something ugly (try to avoid being craptacular). Sometimes the truth hurts, but you can deliver it mindfully. Never tell a lie, never back down from the truth, you can say it, don’t run away, just man up and do it, and be kind while doing so. Honor others, and honor yourself, and don’t follow me as an example. We are responsible for our interactions with each other and the affect our words, our touch, and their intention have. We are, indeed, our brothers keeper. Think enough of yourself to do right by others.
All y’all are awesome, love ya, mean it!
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