Never 'less than' anyone -- I am enough

I am finally ready to begin the lovely and introspective writing prompts for August Moon 14, thanks to Kat McNally and her ever-fertile mind and brave writings.I am late to this party since she began emailing the two weeks' worth of prompts Aug. 10. Fortunately, neither she nor I care when they get done: what is important is that I examine where I am.

But first, let me say what is foremost on my mind today, largely because of a dream early this morning and also an innocent question asked about my recent surgical procedure.

I am not 'less than' anyone. I have never been 'less than' anyone. I am fully, wonderfully, bravely flawed and wholly exactly who I am. And that is enough.

The dream was fairly interesting, involved various electronic and film equipment set up in tight quarters perched somehow on the balcony of what appeared to be either an old church or an old school, with trailing wires everywhere. There was a gathering of people who I know, not well, from various parts and times of my life sitting below at tables and chairs, and there had been some interaction with a few of them, not unpleasant but not remarkable either. Somehow one of them was moving a film screen on the balcony, and I grabbed at the end of the bottom roll, telling him I'd help and to be careful, and with that, he pitched completely off the balcony, much to my horror and dismay! I don't believe he was injured, but it was clear the rest of the group was judging me, whispering disapprovingly, as they moved to help the person who had fallen. I was, as I have been many times before in my life, left outside, and feeling very much 'less than,' shamed, worried, and awkward.

I woke abruptly from this, and the thought "I am not 'less than' anyone. I am fully who I am supposed to be. That is enough" was clear and completely formed in my always-fuzzy morning brain.

 This week a lovely friend asked what caused the atrial fibrillation for which I had, exactly a week ago, a radio-frequency catheter ablation. It was an innocent, well-meaning question that anyone unfamiliar with the disease might ask. But it, too, momentarily made me feel 'less than,' as if somehow I had brought on this condition through some action or behavioral folly. As if somehow, if I had taken better care of my body, always maintained a healthy diet and good exercise, lived a blameless, shameless life, done something -- anything -- smarter-better-faster-healthier -- that I would not now be recovering from this procedure, or from any other health issue for that matter.

Oh, I so understand the fallacy in that.

But the feeling of 'less than' is insidious and pervasive. It does not respect celebrity nor money nor career nor lifestyle. It grabs a toehold where it can and hangs on, waiting patiently if need be, to feed. In my case, I know it has been there most of my life.

And I believe that even those we imagine to be 'more than' we ourselves are -- healthier, wealthier, slimmer, prettier, more successful -- suffer from the 'less than' feelings at least sometimes.

The person who makes me feel 'less than' is me. Nobody else has access to my thoughts, to my emotions. That responsibility rests squarely and completely at my own soul's door. 

I am not at fault for anyone's actions but my own. I am not responsible for anyone's thoughts or feelings but my own. Nobody has the power to make me feel 'less than' except me.

And I am declaring that I am enough, just as I am. I am not 'less than' anyone, no matter whether I am fat, skinny, healthy, unhealthy, whether I do yoga every day or once a month, whether I eat kale or candy, whether I am part of the wine-drinking, stylish, party group or prefer to sit watching television in my comfy yoga pants with my husband. What I do with my life is MINE to decide.

My choices are my responsibility too. I get to choose my lifestyle, my health habits, my foods, my friends, what I do in my spare time. Nobody else gets a say in that either.

 I realize that sometimes the shit hits the fan, and we get atrial fibrillation, or cancer, or name-your-disease, or god-help-us-all Lou Gehrig's Disease. It is not our fault. We do not get this because we are 'less than.'

(Okay, I will concede that there are things we can do-- choices we can make -- that lessen our odds of some disease or condition developing, like quitting smoking, not doing drugs or alcohol, exercising regularly, etc. LESSEN, mind you, not prevent. And then again, they are choices we get to make for our own lives -- and having made the choice, it also is wholly ours to accept. We are not victims when we choose our course of action. )

So this is where I am today: I am enough, exactly who I am, flaws and all. How I live going forward is completely up to me.  I will not accept anyone else's judgment of me as 'less than' -- or, for that matter, 'more than.'  It is my own thoughts that are important here, my actions, my choices. I am all that I need to be, right here.

Never, ever give up

Here's a video of a 47-year-old British woman who absolutely wowed the audience on "Britain's Got Talent."

What this says to me is "never give up." As we're fond of saying about our girls, "God's not done with them yet." Same could be said of us.

In one of the blogs I read regularly, Getting Past Your Past, the author has often told her readers "Don't give up the day before the miracle happens."

Some days it is hard to get out of bed, isn't it, much less to continue to shovel sh*t against the tide (one of my ex's favorite sayings). It's hard, sometimes, to just get 'er done, to clean what needs cleaning, to do what needs doing, to keep washing the dishes and the clothes and dusting and picking up and cooking. The routine stuff that keeps things in order, running as they should.

I don't know about you, but I've had months like that, I think, where it's one day, one step at a time, without much break in that grind.

We take a lot for granted -- those of us who have our own homes, with clean water and abundant power and enough to eat, and a warm place to sleep out of the cold and rain, or the heat and bugs. So I try to give thanks for those things, every day, because it is astounding to realize that there are many, many people, even in our own town, who do not have these things on a regular basis.

I consciously try to find the joy in every day, to find gratitude in even the most humble tasks. To live right now, in this moment, instead of waiting for the day when the stars will align and the big break will come and I'll win the lottery and my book will become a best seller. (Nevermind that I haven't written it yet...)

That's the point. That's the lesson in Susan Boyle's performance, I think.

She did not give up before her miracle happened. She took a huge risk to get on this show, to realize her dream. Life will never be the same for her, regardless of where her performance takes her.

So I can start again now to do what needs doing, but also to make time for dreams and work on making them happen. It won't happen at all if I don't keep it always in my sight and do something to move it forward every day, even a little bit. God is not done with me yet.

Eight years of marriage; going on 11 together

We celebrated eight years of being married yesterday; we've been together for 10 and a half.

Tony went to work; so did I -- I spent much of the day in Manton writing about their fledgling bluegrass music program. That story will be in Friday's Record Searchlight. It's quite remarkable, and watching these kids play is just a treat.

But we went to dinner together and talked, shared mushy cards, and told each other how lucky we are to have found each other. Nothing unusual on the actual day, but we have a long weekend getaway to the ocean planned soon.

The ocean is very much a part of our story: we met for the first time at the steps to the beach in Pacifica, and by the time we came back up those steps some five hours later, we knew we'd found something very special. After that day we spent as much time together as we could, eventually moving in together, and then marrying in 2000. It was amazing and wonderful, finding each other like that when it was not even what we thought we were looking for. But it was clearly the universe at work, answering long-ago prayers.

Our wedding was a storybook one: we got married on a yacht in SF Bay with about 50 friends and family enjoying the day with us -- food, drink, sunshine, and the ocean. We wrote our own ceremony, my uncle Tom officiated. It completely reflected who we are and how much we love each other. It was wonderful, and we still think it's the coolest wedding we've ever been to.

And it is amazing to us that the last eight years have flown by. We see a lot of change from our wedding photograph -- my hair is completely different, color and style; I've lost a lot of weight. Tony's beard has turned almost entirely white; his hair is grayer too. And he's lost weight. I think that the happiness in our faces is still there, though, perhaps even more deeply.

There is not a day that goes by without both of us telling each other how we treasure the other, how lucky we are to have found each other, and how grateful we are. This relationship -- this man -- is the one I used to dream about having one day, but never really believed that I would. When I got divorced, I knew I would never "settle" for someone. If it wasn't absolutely right, if I could see only possibilities and things I wanted to change about the person or traits that I could "live with," it might be good for some fun, but never for a long-term relationship.

And that's the way I think it ought to be.

That's not to say that you shouldn't compromise. Life, single or coupled, is compromise in most ways. You give, he takes; you take, he gives.

But I believe that you should be completely, totally smitten with another person and have done your due diligence -- given it time to develop, for the initial tingle to have settled down a bit (although never, ever lost~!), seen each other in crisis mode as well as in fun times, before you take the leap into marriage, or even, really, into a committed relationship.

If there are things that still drive you nuts, that you find hard not to resent or snap at, then reconsider. It won't get better.

We have been amazingly fortunate -- or perhaps it's just that we were 50 years old when we met, and a lot more willing to be flexible -- but our personal habits and styles are so similar that we have never had any conflict over toilet seats, toothpaste caps, clutter, or the like. He eats whatever I fix and always tells me how good it was (even ordinary stuff). What's not to love about someone like that? ***glow***

We don't criticize each other, not ever. It's simply not necessary. We talk about everything, even the ice weasly stuff that tends to wake us in the middle of the night. There is no lying, no withholding of information. If we're worried, we talk about it. Sometimes it takes a while for the ice weasels to release it, but it always comes out. And it makes it easier to bear, even the hard stuff, when someone shares the burden, and it makes the night less dark and scary.

Okay, we both tend to be a little co-dependent with the other. We aren't perfect...

We know how fortunate we are. We treasure and tend this relationship to keep it that way. And we are always, eternally grateful to have found each other.

May you be so blessed. Ask for what you want. Sometimes you get it.

P.S. Happy 29th, Brigitte

In my dreams

I got to hug my parents last night in my dreams, and I can still feel their arms around me and mine around them.

I was going into a place -- like a movie theatre or an auditorium or somewhere -- in the midst of other people. I think I might have been with either my family or others that I knew, but I was pushing through ahead of the crowd. Around a little bend, I saw my parents coming towards me with others who were walking away from the entrance.

They were old -- Daddy's white, fine hair blew a little, and he was slightly bent. Mother was little and clearly fragile, but walking, holding to his arm, her white hair beautifully coiffed just as she liked it. They saw me and beamed; I walked up to them and wrapped my arms around both of them as they did to me, and we just stood there, holding each other, and so happy to see each other. I don't remember speaking.

The sensation of their arms around me has lingered with me all day, and I can feel Daddy's bony shoulder blades under my fingertips and almost smell his scent. Mother's thin little shoulders and arms wrapped around me with more strength than I'd have thought, and I put my cheek on her hair and just savored the feeling again.

It makes me puddle up to remember.

I woke knowing I wanted to remember this dream and to just treasure the feel of them, the look of them together again, the love on their faces on seeing me and the leap of joy in my heart when I realized it was them.

I don't know why I dreamed about them -- I don't remember a dream like that ever, and in fact, have had very few dreams about them since their deaths. Maybe it was worry over my brother, another abrupt reminder that we are mortal and we are fragile: our lives are changeable in an instant. Maybe it was knowing how much my mother would have worried about Jimmy had she known.

I would talk to them every Sunday evening for -- oh -- maybe the last 10 years before Mother died, maybe even longer. Sometimes I'd talk only to Mother; sometimes I'd talk more to Daddy; often I'd talk to both of them at the beginning and then to one later in the conversation. It didn't even matter what they'd talk about after a while: I'd close my eyes and just soak up the sound of their voices, trying to imprint their speech in my brain, knowing the time would come when I couldn't just call them and hear them talk. Their inflections...Daddy's hearty laugh, when I could almost see him squint up his eyes in mirth and see his wide grin. Mother's questions -- nearly always direct and clear and inquisitive -- how like her I am in that way!

The last time I saw Daddy, less than a week before he died although we didn't know it at that time, he held me very tightly for a long time. My arms were wrapped around him, hugging him tight, breathing into his neck and smelling him. His arms were strong and ropey, and we both got a little puddly, and said 'I love you" and 'take care of yourself' and 'call me when you get home' and 'I love you' again.

He hadn't gone in for the angiogram yet, and there was nothing to suspect his impending death, but I think we both felt loss, and love, and gratitude.

With Mother, my brother and I had visited her just three weeks before her death, and had had a lovely time, tempered by the knowledge we all felt that it would not likely be long before we were back for the last time.

The last night of that visit, I got on my knees in front of her chair, and put my head in her lap and wrapped my arms around her waist, and she petted my hair while I just sat there, hearing her frail little heart beat, feeling the ever-present tremors gently shudder through her body, and feeling her love through her fingertips. For that moment again, I was her little girl and she was my mommy. I remember know she smelled -- and feel her close everytime I catch a whiff of the scent even today -- and how she felt.

The night she died, three weeks later, I rubbed that scented lotion into her arms and hands and legs, and sang hymns to her and recited poetry from Eugene Field and Robert Frost, and tried to stroke my love into her with every caress. She knew I was there, but did not talk, although the nurses told me she spoke to them while I was out for a little while, and was glad to hear my brother also was on his way. And then she went back into that twilight state where she remained, although she squeezed our hands in recognition. She died knowing she was surrounded by love, ours, our daddy's, and the cloud of witnesses who I felt in that room all through the vigil. She just crossed over, very quietly, through the door between the worlds.

All of that love and generosity of spirit was in my dreams last night. I am grateful to have felt it again and it lingers still.

I hope they will visit my brother too, in his dreams, and share a hug with him. I think he needs them too.

We will know more about his condition after tomorrow, we hope. For now, he's stable and doing as well as he can, given that both arms are either braced or in a sling. And he is grateful for his life and for the outpouring of love and support for them both from his friends near and far.

That love, my dears, is what matters. The rest of this is merely interesting.