Over the last few weeks, I 'd been channeling (or being channeled by) Pete Yorn - specifically his songs from Musicforthemorningafter. I just loved that album. Why were they spinning around my mind in an endless loop? Was there a meaning? Was Pete trying to tell me something? Anyway, on Tuesday, he was inexplicably supplanted by the Counting Crows when I heard this at T.J. Maxx. Remember that video? Back when MTV actually played music, I recall seeing it frequently.
If I had to pick a character in the video that I feel akin to, it would be the guy in the desert. I totally understand the sense of waiting, the need to stay busy with meaningless things, the loneliness. But I was also struck by Adam Duritz.
Watching him, I feel like I am looking back in time. There is Adam. Still there. I remember all his mannerisms, his silly dreads, his '90s black boots. Wasn't he dating Courtney Cox then? I know here's here now, even after all he's been through, but watching that video (like all old tapes and photographs) engenders in me the idea that a version of a person can be caught forever in a previous place. Adam is still standing on those railroad tracks on that day. Somewhere back then a woman is still schlepping a suitcase around Los Angeles.
And where am I? I am still driving my white Chevy Cavalier downtown, and around Cockeysville. I am still invisible inside a corporate cubicle. I am still wishing I were a grown-up, though I was in my mid-twenties. And I still connect with the girl on the car in the parking lot. I look back over my shoulder and see the dresses I used to wear and feel the summer heat in my apartment.
When JBL and I took J by 17J recently to show her Mommy's old place, I knew the creak of the door opening, and the musty smell of the hallway, even though we didn't go in. I knew the thud-thud-thud my feet would make walking up the carpeted steps, and I knew the semi-gloss of the brown door to the third floor apartment (on the left) - noticeably thick since it had been painted so many times since the '70s when Lakeside Living was built. I wouldn't knock even if I could have because I would want to open the door and see my pine table and giant old stereo, my TV and gauzy curtains, my shower curtain covered in roses and cherry rice-carved post bed. I am still in there - how could I possibly knock from the outside?
She said, "Shh...I know. It's only in my head." But where are you?
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Touching base
"If you could thank God for one thing for today, what would it be?"
"Hmm."
"Peppermint Patties?"
"Mmm, but..."
"What else?"
"That my Momma loves me SO much!" (she says, snuggling into me)
Amen.
"Hmm."
"Peppermint Patties?"
"Mmm, but..."
"What else?"
"That my Momma loves me SO much!" (she says, snuggling into me)
Amen.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
(*)
Lowest point ever two nights ago, and last night wasn't much better. I can breathe tonight. I feel good. Looking at some star fire lilies that are lighting up the room with their scent and beauty. They just 'are'.
Peace, however short-lived, is a miraculous thing.
Peace, however short-lived, is a miraculous thing.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
In absentia
J has a knack for calling things like she sees them, and she seems to feel like she (and everyone else) should be entirely truthful and accurate at all times. There was a time not long ago when she was in a fibbing phase, so this penchant towards truthfulness was welcome at first.
Let me clarify: her truthfulness and joy in accuracy is always welcome, but....
Have you ever thought one word and said another? This happens to me all the time, so last week was nothing new. On weeknights there is not enough time for play-filled baths, so we force J to take showers, having done so since the beginning of the school year. Last Tuesday: "J, it's time to hop in* the bath."
"Momma, don't you mean shower?"
"Yes," (grumble, grumble), "of course I meant shower."
Or how about, "Honey, it's time to put your crayons away."
"Mommy, they're MARKERS." Well, sorry.
Her eye for detail is a bit more selective. Ask her to clean up the basement, and she'll consider herself done with precisely two-thirds of her toys put away, and will be genuinely befuddled when you point out forgotten items. Her facial expression implies said items appeared out of nowhere
However, when JBL left the bottle of handsoap destined for the basement bathroom upstairs for several hours, J felt the need to point it out every time she laid eyes on it. "Daddy still hasn't taken the soap downstairs?!"
It's this kind of critical comment that makes her seem like an old mother-in-law to me. Or my own mother. You will frequently hear her pipe up from the back seat, "Daddy, you're driving too fast!" And don't even get me started on her opinion of my hair. Too late - here I go...
She doesn't like the way I look when I wear my hair up, which I do roughly 80% of the time (what can I say? I exercise, I garden, I have to clean, and a big mop of hair in my face is irritating and hot [not in a good way, either]), and will take any opportunity to remind me. The first time she told me her opinion, I laughed it off. How cute! A 4-year-old critiquing me!
"Mommy, I don't like it when your hair is up in a pony tail. I don't like the way you look."
Heh-heh, yeah. Subsequent comments began to get under my skin. Finally, I calmly sat her down and explained that I am aware of her feelings, but that continued reminders are impolite at best and hurtful at worst. Consider your opinion duly noted, I said, and let this be the last we speak of this.
Did the topic end there? Come now. Don't be foolish. J simply substituted passive and none-too-subtle tactics that only a woman could employ. She began the heavy compliment of the behavior she preferred to see. Every time I come downstairs after preparing for a Date Night or a business meeting, I get to hear it. "Mommy, you look so pretty! And your HAIR! I just love it DOWN!"
Sometimes she'll talk about me in the third person, as she did last night while snuggling on my lap after dinner. I'd just taken out the clip which had been holding my hair up while I slaved over a hot stove. Read that while imagining me with the back of my hand against my forehead, my face pitifully woeful. J grabbed handfuls of my locks while murmuring wistfully, "Mommy looks sooooo pretty with her hair down..." You can tell she just can't help herself, and yet... I wanted to scream. Or at least roll my eyes and storm out of the room in a huff.
Her comments garner the same reaction in me as when I was a teenager and would come downstairs in the morning to be met with my mother's pursed-lipped comments ("You're not going to wear that belt with those pants, are you?"). Or like when I was a young adult and would come home for a visit to hear, "You've plucked your eyebrows too much! You should let them grow in a little more. Oh, sorry, I shouldn't have said that."
OK, I'm exaggerating, but J's comments do make me cringe a little. Isn't it funny that over your whole life you just want to feel safe and accepted by those closest to you, no questions asked? I guess there's a lesson for me in this - after all, I spend my time with J peppering her with advice, suggestions, and direction on everything from table manners to how to properly wash her hair.
Ok, Mom, I hear you....
*To 'hop' in or on something is something my dad used to say. It's a funny phrase to use, but it sounded to me then as now as being less demanding and more suggestive when I am trying to get the girls to do things around the house. See, I do try to be nice sometimes.
Let me clarify: her truthfulness and joy in accuracy is always welcome, but....
Have you ever thought one word and said another? This happens to me all the time, so last week was nothing new. On weeknights there is not enough time for play-filled baths, so we force J to take showers, having done so since the beginning of the school year. Last Tuesday: "J, it's time to hop in* the bath."
"Momma, don't you mean shower?"
"Yes," (grumble, grumble), "of course I meant shower."
Or how about, "Honey, it's time to put your crayons away."
"Mommy, they're MARKERS." Well, sorry.
Her eye for detail is a bit more selective. Ask her to clean up the basement, and she'll consider herself done with precisely two-thirds of her toys put away, and will be genuinely befuddled when you point out forgotten items. Her facial expression implies said items appeared out of nowhere
However, when JBL left the bottle of handsoap destined for the basement bathroom upstairs for several hours, J felt the need to point it out every time she laid eyes on it. "Daddy still hasn't taken the soap downstairs?!"
It's this kind of critical comment that makes her seem like an old mother-in-law to me. Or my own mother. You will frequently hear her pipe up from the back seat, "Daddy, you're driving too fast!" And don't even get me started on her opinion of my hair. Too late - here I go...
She doesn't like the way I look when I wear my hair up, which I do roughly 80% of the time (what can I say? I exercise, I garden, I have to clean, and a big mop of hair in my face is irritating and hot [not in a good way, either]), and will take any opportunity to remind me. The first time she told me her opinion, I laughed it off. How cute! A 4-year-old critiquing me!
"Mommy, I don't like it when your hair is up in a pony tail. I don't like the way you look."
Heh-heh, yeah. Subsequent comments began to get under my skin. Finally, I calmly sat her down and explained that I am aware of her feelings, but that continued reminders are impolite at best and hurtful at worst. Consider your opinion duly noted, I said, and let this be the last we speak of this.
Did the topic end there? Come now. Don't be foolish. J simply substituted passive and none-too-subtle tactics that only a woman could employ. She began the heavy compliment of the behavior she preferred to see. Every time I come downstairs after preparing for a Date Night or a business meeting, I get to hear it. "Mommy, you look so pretty! And your HAIR! I just love it DOWN!"
Sometimes she'll talk about me in the third person, as she did last night while snuggling on my lap after dinner. I'd just taken out the clip which had been holding my hair up while I slaved over a hot stove. Read that while imagining me with the back of my hand against my forehead, my face pitifully woeful. J grabbed handfuls of my locks while murmuring wistfully, "Mommy looks sooooo pretty with her hair down..." You can tell she just can't help herself, and yet... I wanted to scream. Or at least roll my eyes and storm out of the room in a huff.
Her comments garner the same reaction in me as when I was a teenager and would come downstairs in the morning to be met with my mother's pursed-lipped comments ("You're not going to wear that belt with those pants, are you?"). Or like when I was a young adult and would come home for a visit to hear, "You've plucked your eyebrows too much! You should let them grow in a little more. Oh, sorry, I shouldn't have said that."
OK, I'm exaggerating, but J's comments do make me cringe a little. Isn't it funny that over your whole life you just want to feel safe and accepted by those closest to you, no questions asked? I guess there's a lesson for me in this - after all, I spend my time with J peppering her with advice, suggestions, and direction on everything from table manners to how to properly wash her hair.
Ok, Mom, I hear you....
*To 'hop' in or on something is something my dad used to say. It's a funny phrase to use, but it sounded to me then as now as being less demanding and more suggestive when I am trying to get the girls to do things around the house. See, I do try to be nice sometimes.
Monday, April 19, 2010
The season
Spring, you are my favorite. Mornings that begin at 38 degrees, afternoons that top out at 65. Lush, lush green everywhere you look. Every day is better than the last, what with growing amounts of sunlight and explosions of flowers, overflowing their planting beds. The air is thick with pollen and promise.
Spring, you could be described as a temptress. The instant J finishes breakfast she begs to go outside to be enveloped by you, to commune with you. 'Can I go without shoes, Momma?' she begs. There are few things more appealing to her than your soft grasses and warm pavement underfoot.
Even my favorite childrens' books tout your charms:
"Spring Spring Spring!" sang the robin. It was Spring. The leaves burst out. The flowers burst out. And robins burst out of their eggs. It was Spring.
Jemima Puddle-duck* became quite desperate. She determined to make a nest right away from the farm. She set off on a fine spring afternoon along the cart-road that leads over the hill. She was wearing a shawl and a poke bonnet.
-------
And I am tempted by your charms as well. The season has already found me practicing yoga on the patio, weeding feverishly between the stones of our walk, and planting peas and lettuces. I dream of new perennials to be acquired, and meals to be enjoyed al fresco. I schlep houseplants out during the day and back in at night so they, too, can get some fresh air. Your days offer none of the sinking feeling of fall, when the bright sunshine and blue skies are a precursor to weeks of unrelenting cold and colorless landscapes.
I am aware that I opine frequently about this season, but isn't my affection warranted?
*On an unrelated note, I adore the language in Beatrix Potter stories (though it is depressing how it highlights that we have dumbed-down our current childrens' books to an abysmal extent). Where else will you read the word 'perambulator'? Where else do your kids hear of one character describing another as being 'superfluous'? And ah, the subtleties: 'Jemima Puddle-duck was a simpleton: not even the mention of sage and onions made her suspicious.' LOVE it.
Spring, you could be described as a temptress. The instant J finishes breakfast she begs to go outside to be enveloped by you, to commune with you. 'Can I go without shoes, Momma?' she begs. There are few things more appealing to her than your soft grasses and warm pavement underfoot.
Even my favorite childrens' books tout your charms:
"Spring Spring Spring!" sang the robin. It was Spring. The leaves burst out. The flowers burst out. And robins burst out of their eggs. It was Spring.
Jemima Puddle-duck* became quite desperate. She determined to make a nest right away from the farm. She set off on a fine spring afternoon along the cart-road that leads over the hill. She was wearing a shawl and a poke bonnet.
-------
And I am tempted by your charms as well. The season has already found me practicing yoga on the patio, weeding feverishly between the stones of our walk, and planting peas and lettuces. I dream of new perennials to be acquired, and meals to be enjoyed al fresco. I schlep houseplants out during the day and back in at night so they, too, can get some fresh air. Your days offer none of the sinking feeling of fall, when the bright sunshine and blue skies are a precursor to weeks of unrelenting cold and colorless landscapes.
I am aware that I opine frequently about this season, but isn't my affection warranted?
*On an unrelated note, I adore the language in Beatrix Potter stories (though it is depressing how it highlights that we have dumbed-down our current childrens' books to an abysmal extent). Where else will you read the word 'perambulator'? Where else do your kids hear of one character describing another as being 'superfluous'? And ah, the subtleties: 'Jemima Puddle-duck was a simpleton: not even the mention of sage and onions made her suspicious.' LOVE it.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
If wishes were horses
I stood outside the car this morning watching J and K get on the bus and settle into their seats. As I raised my arm to wave (noting J was already searching out the window for the final salutation before school, while K - not a morning person - was digging intently through her backpack to fish out her mp3 player and earbuds), it occurred to me that both girls sit in the exact same seats every day. They are the first stop, so except for the seats claimed by the boys who get on at the same time, they have their pick of any spot. A sea of dark green pleather awaits them, and they unquestioningly seek out the places they chose on the first day of school more than 7 months ago.
I was reminded of a remark made by my favorite Economics professor from undergrad. She noted on the first day of class, "Pay attention to the desk you chose. You will sit in that same exact chair every day for the rest of the semester." It was kind of a smart-ass, smug thing to say now that I think about it. But it was also a segue into the topic of human behavior as it relates to predictability and macro-economics. That's all economics is, after all - psychology and statistics. Anyway. The teacher was telling us about unconscious assumptions, and she was right. That desk I chose was 'mine' as far as I was concerned. I would have been shocked had someone else elected to sit there in any subsequent class.
What are the assumptions you make?
J and I drove through fog yesterday morning en route to the bus, and before I launched into an esoteric and overly-detailed discussion of temperatures, humidity and evaporation, I quipped, "We can't even see up the hill! We have to just assume the rest of the road is there like it usually is!" J immediately responded with enthusiasm and without a lick of fear, "Yeah! It might have fallen away in the night!" I could tell by her tone that this sort of abstract thinking makes her brain feel good. Oh, the possibilities! And yet, we both assumed the road was in its normal, rightful place.
We assume the seasons will change as they always have, that we know our spouses like we know ourselves, and that our home is a safe place. And I have always assumed that about 4 people read this blog - and probably not all of the posts at that - and that they are people I know. I am aware there are people who dig through trash to find social security numbers in order to pilfer money by stealing an 'identity', and I have mulled over the idea that there are child abductors and molesters who prowl neighborhoods in search of unsuspecting victims. I have even searched the web to determine if there are convicted sex offenders in my local area. There are.
But it never occurred to me that someone might find my blog, look at pictures of the girls, somehow find my whole name by piecing together clues on my location, hack my Facebook account and stalk my family. Thank God that hasn't happened as of yet (not that I know of, actually), but JBL brought the prospect to my attention recently. He has been doing work in the land of Cybersecurity and has heard first-hand accounts of such activities from FBI agents. Such victimizing is incredibly easy to do for the criminally motivated, they say.
So now what? I have removed last names and images from most other sites I frequent. I have removed all links to this blog. JBL says I should remove all old posts, especially ones that contain photos. This all makes my stomach hurt. Through the internet, I have found a very small but important community of friends that make me feel connected, and the idea that anyone I befriend might read my words and like them has brought me happiness. No longer.
I wish it wasn't such a sad, sad world out there. But, as the old nursery rhyme goes, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. My assumptions have been common and childlike, and I need to change them. Heaven help me.
I was reminded of a remark made by my favorite Economics professor from undergrad. She noted on the first day of class, "Pay attention to the desk you chose. You will sit in that same exact chair every day for the rest of the semester." It was kind of a smart-ass, smug thing to say now that I think about it. But it was also a segue into the topic of human behavior as it relates to predictability and macro-economics. That's all economics is, after all - psychology and statistics. Anyway. The teacher was telling us about unconscious assumptions, and she was right. That desk I chose was 'mine' as far as I was concerned. I would have been shocked had someone else elected to sit there in any subsequent class.
What are the assumptions you make?
J and I drove through fog yesterday morning en route to the bus, and before I launched into an esoteric and overly-detailed discussion of temperatures, humidity and evaporation, I quipped, "We can't even see up the hill! We have to just assume the rest of the road is there like it usually is!" J immediately responded with enthusiasm and without a lick of fear, "Yeah! It might have fallen away in the night!" I could tell by her tone that this sort of abstract thinking makes her brain feel good. Oh, the possibilities! And yet, we both assumed the road was in its normal, rightful place.
We assume the seasons will change as they always have, that we know our spouses like we know ourselves, and that our home is a safe place. And I have always assumed that about 4 people read this blog - and probably not all of the posts at that - and that they are people I know. I am aware there are people who dig through trash to find social security numbers in order to pilfer money by stealing an 'identity', and I have mulled over the idea that there are child abductors and molesters who prowl neighborhoods in search of unsuspecting victims. I have even searched the web to determine if there are convicted sex offenders in my local area. There are.
But it never occurred to me that someone might find my blog, look at pictures of the girls, somehow find my whole name by piecing together clues on my location, hack my Facebook account and stalk my family. Thank God that hasn't happened as of yet (not that I know of, actually), but JBL brought the prospect to my attention recently. He has been doing work in the land of Cybersecurity and has heard first-hand accounts of such activities from FBI agents. Such victimizing is incredibly easy to do for the criminally motivated, they say.
So now what? I have removed last names and images from most other sites I frequent. I have removed all links to this blog. JBL says I should remove all old posts, especially ones that contain photos. This all makes my stomach hurt. Through the internet, I have found a very small but important community of friends that make me feel connected, and the idea that anyone I befriend might read my words and like them has brought me happiness. No longer.
I wish it wasn't such a sad, sad world out there. But, as the old nursery rhyme goes, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. My assumptions have been common and childlike, and I need to change them. Heaven help me.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Pause
Feeling a little anxious now. I think it's okay, but I don't like feeling that I don't know where the edge is. Just telling myself this will pass. It always does.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Life in the night sky
What is that effect where you can see a dim cluster of stars more clearly when you aren't looking directly at them? JBL and I were sitting on the deck on an unusually warm spring evening, and while spying the constellation Orion, I noted just such a group of stars. They were barely visible until I looked away. Why is that?
----
Last week I had the misfortune of sitting in an Enterprise storefront. Mike, the 'sales manager' helping me, kept a bright expression on his face as we ran through the mind-numbing process of renting a Hyundai Accent. "Will your insurance company be covering this, or someone else's...?" Uh, that would be mine. My garage door, which crushed my SUV's open back hatch as I backed into it, does not have insurance after all. My face was pinched in a grimace, but Mike's? Nope, his smile never wavered.
As he typed away, I noticed he didn't have a wrinkle on his face. No laugh lines. No frown lines. His forehead, under a shock of non-thinning hair, was perfectly smooth. And he was completely unaware. I glanced around the dingy office, noting the stains on the carpet, the desks with scrapes and gouges in their veneered surfaces, and a cheerful poster exclaiming that Enterprise is a proud sponsor of the Professional Bull Riders Association of America.
I wondered if Mike had that same feeling I did when I was 23 - that I wished I could skip all the experience-getting part of being a young adult. You can't really consider yourself an independent grown-up until you have some work and life experience under your belt, and after having slogged through school it occurs to you that you haven't even come close to paying your dues. Reality can be quite disappointing.
So you work thankless jobs for a pittance and hope the promise of advancement and benefits will come to fruition, eventually allowing you to cover rent without roommates, or even to save a little in case your beat-up Toyota Corolla breaks down in the next year. Of course, the budget for beer must be maintained.
Poor Mike.
----
You go through life and become surprised at how you get from point A to point B. At least I am surprised. But then again, most of my waking hours have seemed a blur to me, with a few notable exceptions. Wasn't it just last week that my brother was assuring me I'd be able to afford my first mortgage, with a monthly payment almost twice what I'd been paying in rent? Wasn't it yesterday that I told my boss I was pregnant, and wasn't sure whether I would come back to work after maternity leave (though in my heart I was fairly sure that I would not)? How can it be time to put away the Easter decorations when I feel like last summer wasn't really that long ago?
When I look closely at my life, I see household chores and work and childcare logistics. I see bills and plans for the future and a social calendar that is agreeably bustling and full. I see menu ideas and birthday ideas and running goals. I experience days when I am joy-filled and energy-filled and hopeful. I experience days of crushing sadness and vortexes of negative thoughts when all I want to do is sleep.
But when I look away from my life I realize that I am forty. I see that I have taken deliberate steps in my career and school choices so that I could live a life of challenge and independence. I note that I have let passion guide me and have had the incredible fortune of finding my true soul mate. I can almost forgive myself for my internal struggles, but no amount of focus - indirect or otherwise - can quite get me there.
When I look away I am nervous about the fact that half my life is gone (if I am lucky). When I look away I see that although I have attained all the experiences that make me a bona-fide grown-up (hello layoffs and divorce and home ownership and parenthood!), it's still amazing to me that can get through a day without killing my houseplants. And even though my therapist doesn't believe me, I know I am not alone in feeling this way.
So I will go back to looking straight at my life and living it, but still feeling like I can't quite absorb it for what it is. As long as it continues to involve mysteries and stars and passion, well, I think I'll be able to hang with it just a while longer.
Updated: 4/15 - today is making me feel like I might not make it. Hope I can hold on.
----
Last week I had the misfortune of sitting in an Enterprise storefront. Mike, the 'sales manager' helping me, kept a bright expression on his face as we ran through the mind-numbing process of renting a Hyundai Accent. "Will your insurance company be covering this, or someone else's...?" Uh, that would be mine. My garage door, which crushed my SUV's open back hatch as I backed into it, does not have insurance after all. My face was pinched in a grimace, but Mike's? Nope, his smile never wavered.
As he typed away, I noticed he didn't have a wrinkle on his face. No laugh lines. No frown lines. His forehead, under a shock of non-thinning hair, was perfectly smooth. And he was completely unaware. I glanced around the dingy office, noting the stains on the carpet, the desks with scrapes and gouges in their veneered surfaces, and a cheerful poster exclaiming that Enterprise is a proud sponsor of the Professional Bull Riders Association of America.
I wondered if Mike had that same feeling I did when I was 23 - that I wished I could skip all the experience-getting part of being a young adult. You can't really consider yourself an independent grown-up until you have some work and life experience under your belt, and after having slogged through school it occurs to you that you haven't even come close to paying your dues. Reality can be quite disappointing.
So you work thankless jobs for a pittance and hope the promise of advancement and benefits will come to fruition, eventually allowing you to cover rent without roommates, or even to save a little in case your beat-up Toyota Corolla breaks down in the next year. Of course, the budget for beer must be maintained.
Poor Mike.
----
You go through life and become surprised at how you get from point A to point B. At least I am surprised. But then again, most of my waking hours have seemed a blur to me, with a few notable exceptions. Wasn't it just last week that my brother was assuring me I'd be able to afford my first mortgage, with a monthly payment almost twice what I'd been paying in rent? Wasn't it yesterday that I told my boss I was pregnant, and wasn't sure whether I would come back to work after maternity leave (though in my heart I was fairly sure that I would not)? How can it be time to put away the Easter decorations when I feel like last summer wasn't really that long ago?
When I look closely at my life, I see household chores and work and childcare logistics. I see bills and plans for the future and a social calendar that is agreeably bustling and full. I see menu ideas and birthday ideas and running goals. I experience days when I am joy-filled and energy-filled and hopeful. I experience days of crushing sadness and vortexes of negative thoughts when all I want to do is sleep.
But when I look away from my life I realize that I am forty. I see that I have taken deliberate steps in my career and school choices so that I could live a life of challenge and independence. I note that I have let passion guide me and have had the incredible fortune of finding my true soul mate. I can almost forgive myself for my internal struggles, but no amount of focus - indirect or otherwise - can quite get me there.
When I look away I am nervous about the fact that half my life is gone (if I am lucky). When I look away I see that although I have attained all the experiences that make me a bona-fide grown-up (hello layoffs and divorce and home ownership and parenthood!), it's still amazing to me that can get through a day without killing my houseplants. And even though my therapist doesn't believe me, I know I am not alone in feeling this way.
So I will go back to looking straight at my life and living it, but still feeling like I can't quite absorb it for what it is. As long as it continues to involve mysteries and stars and passion, well, I think I'll be able to hang with it just a while longer.
Updated: 4/15 - today is making me feel like I might not make it. Hope I can hold on.
Try this
Push fear and self-doubt aside. Now. I'm not saying you have to do anything afterwards - you can just sit there and see what it feels like. Pretty good, in a scary 'am-I-doing-this-right' kind of way, isn't it?
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Don't stop
What a week. I got the stomach flu then gave it to J. I was convinced I could complete a crazy running challenge, then had my plans derailed (see above). We all welcomed back unseasonably amazing spring weather. I was an operations manager, I was a mom, I was a lover. And I was hardly down at all (well, other than when I thought I was going to die with The Sick). Best of all, I realized the season has permanently changed. JBL and I had a great conversation. Winter is over, starling.
It is the season of renewal, the season of promise, the season of endless opportunity. It feels like I have broken through a wall, and though I am afraid, I am going to keep pushing forward. It used to be that 'don't stop' meant I didn't have to face the demons. Endless distractions, endless buffers from reality. Don't talk while Mommy is working on this last email. I can't play now because I have to finish my project plan. I can't talk now, I am too tired from my day. Again.
Now 'don't stop' means that I will continue with actions and feelings and thoughts that deliver me from my past, from my shortcomings, and my fears. I will continue moving toward who I can be rather than hiding from (and hating) who I thought I was. I will continue being open and intuitive, rather than reactive. I will continue feeling, even when it is uncomfortable.
But I will stop some things - stop the buzzing, endless mental scrambling. Stop the platitudes and lies.
Running has always helped, but briefly, as I have written in the past. But now the rest of my life can - truly - mirror the effort and joy and flight of the long run. I have wanted it before, but now it is within my grasp. Freedom and happiness are up ahead, at the top of that hill, and if I focus on something at the top everything else (pain, doubt) will fall away. On the run, it may be a tree or a house or street sign. Here, it is an easy smile on my stepdaughter's face, vulnerability and trust in my husband's eyes, relaxed joy in my daughter's spirit.
When I get to the top, I will meet them there, but for now I hear them cheering me on. They see me coming just as when I rounded the final turn before so many finish lines in the past - trail races, city races, the running leg of last year's triathlon. They have always been there like an endless opportunity, like spring, but I never allowed myself to hear them until now. They are yelling, 'DON'T STOP!'. Focus...here I come...
It is the season of renewal, the season of promise, the season of endless opportunity. It feels like I have broken through a wall, and though I am afraid, I am going to keep pushing forward. It used to be that 'don't stop' meant I didn't have to face the demons. Endless distractions, endless buffers from reality. Don't talk while Mommy is working on this last email. I can't play now because I have to finish my project plan. I can't talk now, I am too tired from my day. Again.
Now 'don't stop' means that I will continue with actions and feelings and thoughts that deliver me from my past, from my shortcomings, and my fears. I will continue moving toward who I can be rather than hiding from (and hating) who I thought I was. I will continue being open and intuitive, rather than reactive. I will continue feeling, even when it is uncomfortable.
But I will stop some things - stop the buzzing, endless mental scrambling. Stop the platitudes and lies.
Running has always helped, but briefly, as I have written in the past. But now the rest of my life can - truly - mirror the effort and joy and flight of the long run. I have wanted it before, but now it is within my grasp. Freedom and happiness are up ahead, at the top of that hill, and if I focus on something at the top everything else (pain, doubt) will fall away. On the run, it may be a tree or a house or street sign. Here, it is an easy smile on my stepdaughter's face, vulnerability and trust in my husband's eyes, relaxed joy in my daughter's spirit.
When I get to the top, I will meet them there, but for now I hear them cheering me on. They see me coming just as when I rounded the final turn before so many finish lines in the past - trail races, city races, the running leg of last year's triathlon. They have always been there like an endless opportunity, like spring, but I never allowed myself to hear them until now. They are yelling, 'DON'T STOP!'. Focus...here I come...
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