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.
Showing posts with label emotions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label emotions. Show all posts
Monday, September 01, 2014
Thursday, December 05, 2013
#Reverb13: Day 4 -- Grief and do-overs
Today's prompts:
1. What have you lost, what are you grieving?
1. Grief. What a loaded, difficult word to process. What a complicated, frustrating, sad, angry emotion to deal with, and on so many levels too.
1. What have you lost, what are you grieving?
2. 20/20 | Hindsight is the one thing we never benefit from in the present. Is there one moment you wish you could do over?
And here I am running a day behind again. That's okay, however, because it all will eventually get done!
1. Grief. What a loaded, difficult word to process. What a complicated, frustrating, sad, angry emotion to deal with, and on so many levels too.
The primary grief I have felt not just this year but for some time is for my daughter and for the relationship with her that I expected to have. It makes me sad often, it makes me angry sometimes, and I continue to work on accepting and even embracing what is rather than grieving for what is not. Not there yet.
It is not that I had big expectations of what I wanted her to Do, to BE in her life -- that was always simply to be happy and fulfilled. She is neither. She is struggling with some very bad choices on her part along with some health issues both genetic and caused by her own actions, and that is very hard to watch, powerless as I am to fix any of it. So I grieve for the talent and intelligence and promise that she showed as a young woman that has been so buried under the consequences of her choices, for the lost opportunities for a safe and solid home and loving partner for her, for the uncertainty and fear that I know she lives under. I watch friends who have children who are living what appear to be solid, good, loving lives, and I am envious of them. I hope they know how very lucky they are.
And I know God's not finished with her yet. So patience and love and hope are still my constant companions on this journey.
2. Hindsight. Ah. The old Monday morning quarterbacking. I have done a lot of that in years past, but not so this year, actually, at least not much. Maybe that means I am putting the brain in gear before engaging the mouth more often. Maybe that means that I care less about what people think about what I say. Maybe it means that I accept responsibility for my words and actions, finally.
Words spoken in anger and fear and frustration are what I'd most like to take back, and those have been directed at my daughter more than once this year. I want kindness to come out of my mouth, and if I can't be kind, i prefer to be silent. Harsh words do not effect positive change for anybody, including the person who speaks them. I do not want to be a naggy, angry, bitchy old lady, not at anyone. I can speak more with cold silence than with angry words. I can be more effective with gentle tones and neutral words. As Thumper's mom always said, "If you can't say something nice, don't say nothing at all." Yup.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Once in a Blue August Moon -- Day 8: Letting Go
The prompt: What are three things you would like to let go of before the year is
out? See if you can list three physical things and three emotional ones.
For bonus points: conduct a burning ceremony or release your secrets into nature by writing them onto leaves/stones and dropping them into the nearest river/ocean.
Emotional
Frustration, anger, resentment, grief. Tied together in a Gordian Knot-like bundle, these emotions center on my relationship with a loved child who has a mélange of problems, some self-induced, some based (likely) on her heredity, some that began long ago and were inflicted upon her. Whether she is either incapable of or does not choose to address root causes is difficult to determine. There are resources available to help; I see little motivation. There has been a choice to engage in self-destructive behaviors, however, and so much of the story is clouded either by lies or omission that it is difficult to trust what I hear or see. I finally have been able to draw boundaries that work pretty well, but there is still grief for a relationship I'd always expected to be different than it is, and frustration that it is unlikely to change much. This one has taken years to get this far; I don't expect it to be resolved by the end of the year, or perhaps ever, but I am making a reluctant peace with what it is.
Instant judgment. Think Walmart Internet pictures here -- the people in the skimpy, inappropriate, weird, dirty clothing, or wild, sometimes offensive tattoos emblazoned on highly visible body parts, or painstakingly manicured false fingernails on someone who is holding a sign asking for money. Children screaming and running amok in stores and restaurants without any sign that a responsible adult is watching them. I judge. Not positively either. And not every case is quite as extreme as these, but I tend to rush to judgment. I want to practice looking at everyone with kind eyes instead of judgmental ones. I do not know their stories. I do not know how they love, what they do, who loves them. They cannot know mine either, this Amazonian, slightly overweight, grey-haired woman who stands behind them in line. May my eyes and heart soften this year.
Self-criticism. That damned judge who sits in my brain and officiates over his kangaroo court needs to be permanently ousted. No more shoulda-coulda-wouldas in the middle of the night. And he can take his ice weasel deputies with him. I'm pretty good just the way I am, and if I screw up once in a while, I don't have to serve time in the dungeon of despair for it.
Physical
About 20 pounds. Okay, ten pounds. Keep working at controlling portions, at snacking, especially on absolutely not good for me stuff (back, you delinquent Snickers bar, BACK to the shelf, I say!) I will get there.
Fear because of my atrial fibrillation. My regular doctor has referred me to a cardiologist, a mutual decision. His office hasn't called yet. I haven't either. A few tests and a good consultation will either confirm or allay my fears. As it is, when I'm in afib, I am anxious that there is more wrong than a mere sinus node malfunction even though I have no other apparent symptoms of heart disease. Gah.
Not going to the gym/yoga. I feel better when I go. I am stronger, have better balance, and I feel slightly self-righteous about doing good things for my body. I love the meditative movement of yoga (and plan on trying Tai Chi as well). But I am so good at making up excuses not to go 'today' -- too hot (and I DID turn into a mole when our weather was so hot for so long), things to do, going somewhere -- and that needs to stop. I am better when I do this: I need to act on it.
We're spending many days in September beside the ocean. One at a time, each of these will go to Mama Ocean's heart, and I will release the negative energy into her constant vigil, and take in the positive energy to my own soul.
Emotional
Frustration, anger, resentment, grief. Tied together in a Gordian Knot-like bundle, these emotions center on my relationship with a loved child who has a mélange of problems, some self-induced, some based (likely) on her heredity, some that began long ago and were inflicted upon her. Whether she is either incapable of or does not choose to address root causes is difficult to determine. There are resources available to help; I see little motivation. There has been a choice to engage in self-destructive behaviors, however, and so much of the story is clouded either by lies or omission that it is difficult to trust what I hear or see. I finally have been able to draw boundaries that work pretty well, but there is still grief for a relationship I'd always expected to be different than it is, and frustration that it is unlikely to change much. This one has taken years to get this far; I don't expect it to be resolved by the end of the year, or perhaps ever, but I am making a reluctant peace with what it is.
Instant judgment. Think Walmart Internet pictures here -- the people in the skimpy, inappropriate, weird, dirty clothing, or wild, sometimes offensive tattoos emblazoned on highly visible body parts, or painstakingly manicured false fingernails on someone who is holding a sign asking for money. Children screaming and running amok in stores and restaurants without any sign that a responsible adult is watching them. I judge. Not positively either. And not every case is quite as extreme as these, but I tend to rush to judgment. I want to practice looking at everyone with kind eyes instead of judgmental ones. I do not know their stories. I do not know how they love, what they do, who loves them. They cannot know mine either, this Amazonian, slightly overweight, grey-haired woman who stands behind them in line. May my eyes and heart soften this year.
Self-criticism. That damned judge who sits in my brain and officiates over his kangaroo court needs to be permanently ousted. No more shoulda-coulda-wouldas in the middle of the night. And he can take his ice weasel deputies with him. I'm pretty good just the way I am, and if I screw up once in a while, I don't have to serve time in the dungeon of despair for it.
Physical
About 20 pounds. Okay, ten pounds. Keep working at controlling portions, at snacking, especially on absolutely not good for me stuff (back, you delinquent Snickers bar, BACK to the shelf, I say!) I will get there.
Fear because of my atrial fibrillation. My regular doctor has referred me to a cardiologist, a mutual decision. His office hasn't called yet. I haven't either. A few tests and a good consultation will either confirm or allay my fears. As it is, when I'm in afib, I am anxious that there is more wrong than a mere sinus node malfunction even though I have no other apparent symptoms of heart disease. Gah.
Not going to the gym/yoga. I feel better when I go. I am stronger, have better balance, and I feel slightly self-righteous about doing good things for my body. I love the meditative movement of yoga (and plan on trying Tai Chi as well). But I am so good at making up excuses not to go 'today' -- too hot (and I DID turn into a mole when our weather was so hot for so long), things to do, going somewhere -- and that needs to stop. I am better when I do this: I need to act on it.
We're spending many days in September beside the ocean. One at a time, each of these will go to Mama Ocean's heart, and I will release the negative energy into her constant vigil, and take in the positive energy to my own soul.
Friday, March 23, 2012
The Scintilla Project - Day 6
Prompts today -- er -- Tuesday. (I'm behind.) I'm going with #1, more or less.
1. Write the letter to the bully, to the cheater, to the aggressor that you always wanted to but couldn't quite. Now tell them why they can't affect you anymore.
2. Talk about an experience with faith, your own or someone else's.
***********
To someone I used to know, a long, long time ago in another place, another time, another life:
You were my friend.
At least that's what you told me, many times. We spent time together, enjoyed wonderful meals and playing games and watching television and talking, talking. We shared very personal, deep stories and cried together, and you told me you felt like we had a special bond, that we were so alike in many ways. It felt very precious to me, our friendship, and I loved being your friend.
Oh, I knew I wasn't your BFF, and that's okay, because you weren't mine either, but we told each other about those women in our lives, those strong, funny, wonderful women who meant so much to us and with whom we'd shared so many experiences over the years. "You'd love her," we both said. We swapped recipes and told stories about our mothers and our feelings and we laughed, too, a lot.
When some of our friends had a falling out and everybody was all gossipy and snippy and taking sides, you said, "We're not in junior high anymore! Get over it." And I did. I thought you did too.
And then it was over, boom. Like one of us died, or moved suddenly and left no forwarding address. Except that we'd meet occasionally at events or in a store, and sometimes (but not always) exchange empty pleasantries, you smiling with your mouth but never again with your eyes. That stopped too, those occasional meetings, partly because when I would see you in a store or on the street or at an event, I began to go the other way to avoid you. Perhaps you did the same.
I didn't know what happened. And I grieved a long time, wracking my brain to think of what I might have said or done that caused such an abrupt break, painfully going over conversations and events again and again.
It is in my deepest people-pleasing nature to blame myself for such things, for someone deciding to 'break up' with me. I wanted to get over it, I really, really did, and I tried hard to let it go, to think kindly of you and hope that you were all right. But such hurt and rejection don't leave easily or swiftly.
Friendships often are seasonal -- linked to a particular time and place and life situation (like when your kids are little and you're sharing soccer bleachers or Girl Scout troop duties) -- and when the need/situation is no longer there, the connection drifts away, hopefully leaving some pleasant memories.
You chopped our friendship off at the very root of it; there was no withering, no easy drifting away. Time and perspective help heal pain and grief, allow unhealthy memories to fade, and to accept that people and situations change, our needs change. I still wonder what happened, but that's because I am a storyteller and I always want to know all the details, to know the 'rest of the story.'
I used to think the loss was mine, and my fault. But you: you threw away an exceedingly loyal, loving friend in choosing to reject our friendship. I finally understood that the biggest loss was yours.
1. Write the letter to the bully, to the cheater, to the aggressor that you always wanted to but couldn't quite. Now tell them why they can't affect you anymore.
2. Talk about an experience with faith, your own or someone else's.
***********
To someone I used to know, a long, long time ago in another place, another time, another life:
You were my friend.
At least that's what you told me, many times. We spent time together, enjoyed wonderful meals and playing games and watching television and talking, talking. We shared very personal, deep stories and cried together, and you told me you felt like we had a special bond, that we were so alike in many ways. It felt very precious to me, our friendship, and I loved being your friend.
Oh, I knew I wasn't your BFF, and that's okay, because you weren't mine either, but we told each other about those women in our lives, those strong, funny, wonderful women who meant so much to us and with whom we'd shared so many experiences over the years. "You'd love her," we both said. We swapped recipes and told stories about our mothers and our feelings and we laughed, too, a lot.
When some of our friends had a falling out and everybody was all gossipy and snippy and taking sides, you said, "We're not in junior high anymore! Get over it." And I did. I thought you did too.
And then it was over, boom. Like one of us died, or moved suddenly and left no forwarding address. Except that we'd meet occasionally at events or in a store, and sometimes (but not always) exchange empty pleasantries, you smiling with your mouth but never again with your eyes. That stopped too, those occasional meetings, partly because when I would see you in a store or on the street or at an event, I began to go the other way to avoid you. Perhaps you did the same.
I didn't know what happened. And I grieved a long time, wracking my brain to think of what I might have said or done that caused such an abrupt break, painfully going over conversations and events again and again.
It is in my deepest people-pleasing nature to blame myself for such things, for someone deciding to 'break up' with me. I wanted to get over it, I really, really did, and I tried hard to let it go, to think kindly of you and hope that you were all right. But such hurt and rejection don't leave easily or swiftly.
Friendships often are seasonal -- linked to a particular time and place and life situation (like when your kids are little and you're sharing soccer bleachers or Girl Scout troop duties) -- and when the need/situation is no longer there, the connection drifts away, hopefully leaving some pleasant memories.
You chopped our friendship off at the very root of it; there was no withering, no easy drifting away. Time and perspective help heal pain and grief, allow unhealthy memories to fade, and to accept that people and situations change, our needs change. I still wonder what happened, but that's because I am a storyteller and I always want to know all the details, to know the 'rest of the story.'
I used to think the loss was mine, and my fault. But you: you threw away an exceedingly loyal, loving friend in choosing to reject our friendship. I finally understood that the biggest loss was yours.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Reverb 10 - 2010 encapsulated
5 minutes. Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010.
- Broken wrist led to re-evaluation of what I want and don't want to do, how I want to live, realization of how quickly life can change, and what a strong mind-body connection there is in us, especially as we age ...
- I love the ocean. I love the ocean especially when I'm there with my honey. I need the ocean.
- Princess #1 finally has received aid to help with expenses; her illness continues to color our lives...
- Some friendships eroded for unknown reasons; new friendships sprang to life or were rejuvenated; long-time friendships were celebrated and honored. Grateful, so grateful, for friends who are loyal, who are honest, who are THERE through good times and bad, who truly care.
- There was plenty of anxiety, doubt, uncertainty, fear, and frustration; lessons of patience and one day at a time; but also extreme gratitude for each other, for what we have in our home and our community. Grateful, grateful, grateful that we are together.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Five weeks later, another five on Friday!
Yegods. I wrote last on Oct. 1. And while I've been gone, been busy getting ready for and hosting my brother and sister-in-law, going to doctors and meetings and taking kitty boy McMurphy to the vet, my mind hasn't stopped churning -- until this week, anyway, when I just stopped everything. I've been doing stuff, just not on anyone else's timetable. I've loved it.
So let's go back to the Friday Five today, since it's FIVE weeks later and approaching Halloween.
What gives you the heebie-jeebies?
So let's go back to the Friday Five today, since it's FIVE weeks later and approaching Halloween.
What gives you the heebie-jeebies?
Heights, hands-down. I get queasy and light-headed from practically any height and always have. I could never stand on the back row of risers in choir because I'd be too afraid of falling to think about singing. I don't do glass elevators either, unless I'm huddled close to the door and facing it, vast expanse of bottomless pit at my back. I can paint from a stepladder, oddly, but not a tall one.
I'm not fond of snakes, spiders, rodents, etc., but nothing in the animal realm truly makes me shudder with fear just because they are in sight. My daughter V, on the other hand, can't even bear to see PICTURES of snakes because they terrify her so.
And then there are the unseen fears, the mental gymnastics of 'what if' that nearly everyone deals with, usually in the middle of a dark night. Those can truly give me the heebie-jeebies, even when I know there is nothing I can do about whatever situation I'm obsessing over.
When were you most recently in double trouble?
I'm practically perfect in every way, so am never in trouble. Well, rarely. Hardly ever. Really.
What puts you in the mood for some hanky-panky?
Sometimes just snuggling up to my honey in bed will do it because it feels so good to touch him and be so close. Sometimes it's reading (or watching) something particularly romantic or, um, lustful. Sometimes it is just thinking about past hanky-pankys...
What easy-breezy task is still a pain in the neck to accomplish?
Dusting and vacuuming the floors. It's not a hard chore, but I just don't get it done as often as I ought to-need to-want to. I swear we could make a fur coat for another whole cat with the cat hair I vacuum up when I do.
What area in your life seems especially rife with mumbo-jumbo?
Probably the biggest unknown in my life is my daughter's health, especially emotional health. Helping her deal with mumbo-jumbo providers and uncertain financial aid and the issues all of them encompass is akin to winding your way through a dark, vast, and scary maze, and you don't know when it will end nor what will be the reward if you find your way out. And if *I* feel this way, reasonably healthy and sane, I can only guess at how very unsettling and distressful it is for her.
I'm not fond of snakes, spiders, rodents, etc., but nothing in the animal realm truly makes me shudder with fear just because they are in sight. My daughter V, on the other hand, can't even bear to see PICTURES of snakes because they terrify her so.
And then there are the unseen fears, the mental gymnastics of 'what if' that nearly everyone deals with, usually in the middle of a dark night. Those can truly give me the heebie-jeebies, even when I know there is nothing I can do about whatever situation I'm obsessing over.
When were you most recently in double trouble?
I'm practically perfect in every way, so am never in trouble. Well, rarely. Hardly ever. Really.
What puts you in the mood for some hanky-panky?
Sometimes just snuggling up to my honey in bed will do it because it feels so good to touch him and be so close. Sometimes it's reading (or watching) something particularly romantic or, um, lustful. Sometimes it is just thinking about past hanky-pankys...
What easy-breezy task is still a pain in the neck to accomplish?
Dusting and vacuuming the floors. It's not a hard chore, but I just don't get it done as often as I ought to-need to-want to. I swear we could make a fur coat for another whole cat with the cat hair I vacuum up when I do.
What area in your life seems especially rife with mumbo-jumbo?
Probably the biggest unknown in my life is my daughter's health, especially emotional health. Helping her deal with mumbo-jumbo providers and uncertain financial aid and the issues all of them encompass is akin to winding your way through a dark, vast, and scary maze, and you don't know when it will end nor what will be the reward if you find your way out. And if *I* feel this way, reasonably healthy and sane, I can only guess at how very unsettling and distressful it is for her.
Thursday, August 05, 2010
Motherhood, revisited
I'm trying to remember really hard tonight why it is I so desperately wanted to be a mother, why my ex and I went through years of fertility testing, adoption interviews, emotional pain that was devastating to our sex life and self-esteem.
There was a charming, delightful little bundle of baby at the end of all that. She grew up reasonably okay and we had some good times -- or so I thought until the last several years, when I discovered secrets she'd hidden which are now contributing in no small way to mental and health issues which are now front and center in her life, and which have certainly impacted mine, financially and emotionally.
Didn't protect her very well, it seems. Bad mama.
And then when my beloved came along years later with two more daughters, I was delighted to have them. And I fell in love with them. Oh there were issues there too -- but there also were some good times, some real bonding.
One has estranged herself from us for reasons we know not. Poof. Gone. No crystal ball here -- no explanation, no demands, no nothing.
REALLY bad mama.
The other, the one who has called me Mom for several years and who regards my first daughter as her sister, has pretty much said that I'm a crappy person who she has lost both faith in and respect for because I/we didn't leap to bail her out of an admittedly difficult place, and because I sent e-mail links without signing them or even so much as a note. And I didn't call her back when I said I would. (I'm guilty of that, no question. The e-mails were sent on the fly, in haste, not deliberately being 'cold,' and were intended to offer helpful information. I didn't call her back because ... it's complicated. But I should have.) She's saying she doesn't need this kind of 'family.'
Bad, BAD, ROTTEN mama.
So what's the solution since I can't go back to the past and change how I did things then, teach lessons better, act as a better example myself?
Beat myself up some more?
Self-flagellation may be the road to spiritual bliss in some cultures, but I'm not good with pain.
Give them whatever they want/need whenever they ask, regardless of the impact it may have on our own retirement plans or emotional health? Because that's what 'good' parents do -- devote themselves to the well-being of their children even if the children are adults and we have no say in the decisions they're making for themselves?
I don't think so. I don't think the parenting books think that's a good idea either.
Give 'em both one last check and move to outer Mongolia, leaving no forwarding address?
Tempting. Really tempting. Well, maybe not the outer Mongolia part, but certainly the no fowarding address part.
I don't think I'm a cold, unfeeling, uncaring person. Most of my life I've had the opposite problem -- getting too involved in the problems of others (and ignoring the ones of my own, which have a nasty way of eventually demanding attention). I've often trusted too easily, taking people at their word, and have been disappointed time and time again. I don't like to think of people being sick or sad or hungry or depressed or homeless or abused, and I try to help where and when I can.
But I don't know where this ends. I don't know where the boundary is between too much and not enough. I don't know how to say no or enough without it causing high drama and more trauma for all of us. Like most men, my honey is better at separating emotion from action, but he's not a happy camper either. Bad daddy?
(At least we're suited for each other, I guess -- bad mama and bad daddy. )
This is not what I'd pictured all those years ago. This is not how it was in my family nor in his, and not what our children grew up watching.
I'm still working to accept my children as they are, warts and all, and I love them dearly. But I'm not sure that means that I sacrifice who I am, what my dreams and goals and desires are, what we've worked for all these years, to meet their needs and wants now.
Wonder if Mongolia has an ocean? (heading for the atlas...)
There was a charming, delightful little bundle of baby at the end of all that. She grew up reasonably okay and we had some good times -- or so I thought until the last several years, when I discovered secrets she'd hidden which are now contributing in no small way to mental and health issues which are now front and center in her life, and which have certainly impacted mine, financially and emotionally.
Didn't protect her very well, it seems. Bad mama.
And then when my beloved came along years later with two more daughters, I was delighted to have them. And I fell in love with them. Oh there were issues there too -- but there also were some good times, some real bonding.
One has estranged herself from us for reasons we know not. Poof. Gone. No crystal ball here -- no explanation, no demands, no nothing.
REALLY bad mama.
The other, the one who has called me Mom for several years and who regards my first daughter as her sister, has pretty much said that I'm a crappy person who she has lost both faith in and respect for because I/we didn't leap to bail her out of an admittedly difficult place, and because I sent e-mail links without signing them or even so much as a note. And I didn't call her back when I said I would. (I'm guilty of that, no question. The e-mails were sent on the fly, in haste, not deliberately being 'cold,' and were intended to offer helpful information. I didn't call her back because ... it's complicated. But I should have.) She's saying she doesn't need this kind of 'family.'
Bad, BAD, ROTTEN mama.
So what's the solution since I can't go back to the past and change how I did things then, teach lessons better, act as a better example myself?
Beat myself up some more?
Self-flagellation may be the road to spiritual bliss in some cultures, but I'm not good with pain.
Give them whatever they want/need whenever they ask, regardless of the impact it may have on our own retirement plans or emotional health? Because that's what 'good' parents do -- devote themselves to the well-being of their children even if the children are adults and we have no say in the decisions they're making for themselves?
I don't think so. I don't think the parenting books think that's a good idea either.
Give 'em both one last check and move to outer Mongolia, leaving no forwarding address?
Tempting. Really tempting. Well, maybe not the outer Mongolia part, but certainly the no fowarding address part.
I don't think I'm a cold, unfeeling, uncaring person. Most of my life I've had the opposite problem -- getting too involved in the problems of others (and ignoring the ones of my own, which have a nasty way of eventually demanding attention). I've often trusted too easily, taking people at their word, and have been disappointed time and time again. I don't like to think of people being sick or sad or hungry or depressed or homeless or abused, and I try to help where and when I can.
But I don't know where this ends. I don't know where the boundary is between too much and not enough. I don't know how to say no or enough without it causing high drama and more trauma for all of us. Like most men, my honey is better at separating emotion from action, but he's not a happy camper either. Bad daddy?
(At least we're suited for each other, I guess -- bad mama and bad daddy. )
This is not what I'd pictured all those years ago. This is not how it was in my family nor in his, and not what our children grew up watching.
I'm still working to accept my children as they are, warts and all, and I love them dearly. But I'm not sure that means that I sacrifice who I am, what my dreams and goals and desires are, what we've worked for all these years, to meet their needs and wants now.
Wonder if Mongolia has an ocean? (heading for the atlas...)
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
Self-will run riot
One of the blogs I read regularly is written by a young man who has a mental illness and is also an alcoholic. He is very forthcoming about his problems and his relationship with his family, and he writes very well -- you can 'see' the scenes he describes, and 'listen' to the dialogues between him and the few people who populate his world. He could certainly write a book that would be interesting and descriptive.
He's sort of gone off the rails lately and seems to be in a rather manic phase, doing things that are likely to lead to devastation and relapse and perhaps even hospitalization, in my inexpert opinion. His past blog posts pretty much bear that out -- this is not new behavior. He is talking all the right stuff, but I'm very skeptical. Guess that's a problem when you've been around for a while -- not much really is new behavior or situations that can't be seen pretty clearly.
It's a classic example of "self-will run riot" -- a description of an alcoholic who wants to deny that "... he is bodily and mentally different from his fellows. Therefore, it is not surprising that our drinking careers have been characterized by countless vain attempts that somehow, someday we will control and enjoy our drinking is the real obsession of every abnormal drinker. The persistence of this illusion is astonishing."
We've used this phrase for years to describe many situations: our daughters' behaviors, for instance, when they go off to do something that, they explain to us, "is something I just have to do for me." And then we watch when the train derails, or at best, loses a couple of cars as it careens around the twisty, wind-y bends. Or situations at work, or in meetings when self-interest prevails over the goals of the group to the point of being damaging.
But we're not picking up as many pieces as we used to in any of the situations, hard as it has been. It's hard not to leap in and save people from themselves, to throw money at something to ease the pain, to smooth out whatever problems have arisen from the individual's self-will rioting.
We've set boundaries for ourselves: beyond this place be dragons. And we don't go there, at least not often, and not with everything we can muster.
We create our own destiny. Our actions will have re-actions, and when -- despite past history, despite the cautions of those who know and love us, despite (perhaps) that tiny voice deep inside us saying "Danger, danger, Will Robinson!" -- we forge ahead anyway, the resulting issues are ours to deal with.
This phrase applies in so many ways! Right now we are trying hard to curtail portion sizes, to limit foods that we know are not good for us (like anything my seriously bad sweet tooth wants), and to lose weight. We are on the edge of diabetes (both of us have immediate relatives who had it), and the way to forestall it is to lose weight and do some kind of regular exercise.
If we don't do all we can now, it IS going to happen. It WILL shorten our lives and cause us other health issues.
I don't want to get there knowing that I could have done something to prevent -- or at least deterred -- the disease.
So when I'm tempted to pick up a box of candies at the store, I remember "self-will run riot" and put it back down. If it's not in the house, I can't eat it. And I can't afford too many more 'just this once -- I deserve it' excuses. It's too easy to slip back into bad habits.
In my blogger friend's case, he has made a bunch of changes in only a few days -- like getting a job after having been on disability for years, like drinking again, like deciding that he doesn't really have an alcoholic problem but it's the stress of dealing with his anxieties (caused, of course, by the pressure his family has put on him) that made him drink.
And it's not that I think some of his decisions aren't good ones in the long run. But positive change occurs with planning and talking and slowly implementing first one thing, then another, then another, and in concert with your doctor and caregivers. That hasn't happened.
To change everything all at once, to leap without considering the effects of your choices on your finances, your body, your loved ones, and your mental state is a sure-fire way to crash land.
Self-will is what it takes to change, for sure. Disciplined, planned, determined self-will got me to California. It got me into healthier lifestyles in years past. But it was planned, and it was not done without regard to consequences.
I hope my blogger friend will be all right. His parents have, from what he writes, picked him up and rescued him many times over the years, and he is incredibly lucky for that, I suppose. I'm sure they will do the same this time, although I think their doing so continues to set up a pattern that will eventually repeat with the same results.
And when you love someone, especially a child, it's very hard to watch the crash landing and do little or nothing. But sometimes that is the best thing one can do: be compassionate and loving, but acknowledging that the choices and consequences are someone else's to deal with.
All we have control over is ourselves: not others, not our children or our friends or our grandchildren or our relatives. They must take responsibility for their own choices and actions even if those choices impact us and our emotions. By rescuing too often, we try to take their lives into our own hands -- and that is not good for anyone.
He's sort of gone off the rails lately and seems to be in a rather manic phase, doing things that are likely to lead to devastation and relapse and perhaps even hospitalization, in my inexpert opinion. His past blog posts pretty much bear that out -- this is not new behavior. He is talking all the right stuff, but I'm very skeptical. Guess that's a problem when you've been around for a while -- not much really is new behavior or situations that can't be seen pretty clearly.
It's a classic example of "self-will run riot" -- a description of an alcoholic who wants to deny that "... he is bodily and mentally different from his fellows. Therefore, it is not surprising that our drinking careers have been characterized by countless vain attempts that somehow, someday we will control and enjoy our drinking is the real obsession of every abnormal drinker. The persistence of this illusion is astonishing."
We've used this phrase for years to describe many situations: our daughters' behaviors, for instance, when they go off to do something that, they explain to us, "is something I just have to do for me." And then we watch when the train derails, or at best, loses a couple of cars as it careens around the twisty, wind-y bends. Or situations at work, or in meetings when self-interest prevails over the goals of the group to the point of being damaging.
But we're not picking up as many pieces as we used to in any of the situations, hard as it has been. It's hard not to leap in and save people from themselves, to throw money at something to ease the pain, to smooth out whatever problems have arisen from the individual's self-will rioting.
We've set boundaries for ourselves: beyond this place be dragons. And we don't go there, at least not often, and not with everything we can muster.
We create our own destiny. Our actions will have re-actions, and when -- despite past history, despite the cautions of those who know and love us, despite (perhaps) that tiny voice deep inside us saying "Danger, danger, Will Robinson!" -- we forge ahead anyway, the resulting issues are ours to deal with.
This phrase applies in so many ways! Right now we are trying hard to curtail portion sizes, to limit foods that we know are not good for us (like anything my seriously bad sweet tooth wants), and to lose weight. We are on the edge of diabetes (both of us have immediate relatives who had it), and the way to forestall it is to lose weight and do some kind of regular exercise.
If we don't do all we can now, it IS going to happen. It WILL shorten our lives and cause us other health issues.
I don't want to get there knowing that I could have done something to prevent -- or at least deterred -- the disease.
So when I'm tempted to pick up a box of candies at the store, I remember "self-will run riot" and put it back down. If it's not in the house, I can't eat it. And I can't afford too many more 'just this once -- I deserve it' excuses. It's too easy to slip back into bad habits.
In my blogger friend's case, he has made a bunch of changes in only a few days -- like getting a job after having been on disability for years, like drinking again, like deciding that he doesn't really have an alcoholic problem but it's the stress of dealing with his anxieties (caused, of course, by the pressure his family has put on him) that made him drink.
And it's not that I think some of his decisions aren't good ones in the long run. But positive change occurs with planning and talking and slowly implementing first one thing, then another, then another, and in concert with your doctor and caregivers. That hasn't happened.
To change everything all at once, to leap without considering the effects of your choices on your finances, your body, your loved ones, and your mental state is a sure-fire way to crash land.
Self-will is what it takes to change, for sure. Disciplined, planned, determined self-will got me to California. It got me into healthier lifestyles in years past. But it was planned, and it was not done without regard to consequences.
I hope my blogger friend will be all right. His parents have, from what he writes, picked him up and rescued him many times over the years, and he is incredibly lucky for that, I suppose. I'm sure they will do the same this time, although I think their doing so continues to set up a pattern that will eventually repeat with the same results.
And when you love someone, especially a child, it's very hard to watch the crash landing and do little or nothing. But sometimes that is the best thing one can do: be compassionate and loving, but acknowledging that the choices and consequences are someone else's to deal with.
All we have control over is ourselves: not others, not our children or our friends or our grandchildren or our relatives. They must take responsibility for their own choices and actions even if those choices impact us and our emotions. By rescuing too often, we try to take their lives into our own hands -- and that is not good for anyone.
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Smatterings
I can't believe it's been nearly a month since I wrote anything. I've composed posts in my head but they haven't made it to my fingers. Generally this is not like me...
and that's kind of where I am: not like me.
I'm full of oughta-dos, have a list of wanna-dos, and I keep busy, but I don't seem to "do" much of anything. The office is verrrrryyyyy slllooooowwwlllly taking shape, but I've been working on that for months and months. Despite all the reasons why I know I should and the fact that the treadmill is right near the computer, I don't get on it every day or sometimes even in a week. The garden has been stripped out but not tilled, the prayer flags from last year are bleached white and droop, and nothing has yet been planted -- although I will plant eventually. (Honestly, the weather has been almost too cool and windy to do things like tomatoes, although I know people have them out..)
I'm flat: not passionate about anything. Not depressed exactly either. But unmotivated, fairly uninterested (and probably uninteresting). Not struggling, but not moving ahead either.
We're doing a few medical tests to make sure it's not anything systemic and then we'll see.
Last night I lay awake until much too late with monkey mind, full of ideas of what to do, how to get this or that underway -- and that is not especially new. But in the morning, after I'm on the computer, it just sort of fades away and before I know it, it's afternoon and I haven't done a thing, or not much. Certainly nothing that feeds the creative, passionate part of me.
Lots of potential reasons, I think. Free-floating anxiety, ongoing situations that have no foreseeable resolutions, still some recovery from the mental blow and wrist fracture, although the physical part of that is pretty well healed and doing nicely.
One step at a time, I guess, and one thing daily that moves something along. That'll do for now.
And I'm going to be more conscientious about writing here, even if it's to list what I had for breakfast!
...which, this morning, was a breakfast sandwich on those lovely thin 100-calorie whole wheat buns, with egg, part-skim cheese, a bit of bacon. A little fruit. (Strawberries are coming into season: love fresh, right from the field berries.)...
I'll be back.
"Every silver lining's got a touch of grey...I will get by, I will get by, I will get by, I will survive."~~Touch of Grey by The Grateful Dead
and that's kind of where I am: not like me.
I'm full of oughta-dos, have a list of wanna-dos, and I keep busy, but I don't seem to "do" much of anything. The office is verrrrryyyyy slllooooowwwlllly taking shape, but I've been working on that for months and months. Despite all the reasons why I know I should and the fact that the treadmill is right near the computer, I don't get on it every day or sometimes even in a week. The garden has been stripped out but not tilled, the prayer flags from last year are bleached white and droop, and nothing has yet been planted -- although I will plant eventually. (Honestly, the weather has been almost too cool and windy to do things like tomatoes, although I know people have them out..)
I'm flat: not passionate about anything. Not depressed exactly either. But unmotivated, fairly uninterested (and probably uninteresting). Not struggling, but not moving ahead either.
We're doing a few medical tests to make sure it's not anything systemic and then we'll see.
Last night I lay awake until much too late with monkey mind, full of ideas of what to do, how to get this or that underway -- and that is not especially new. But in the morning, after I'm on the computer, it just sort of fades away and before I know it, it's afternoon and I haven't done a thing, or not much. Certainly nothing that feeds the creative, passionate part of me.
Lots of potential reasons, I think. Free-floating anxiety, ongoing situations that have no foreseeable resolutions, still some recovery from the mental blow and wrist fracture, although the physical part of that is pretty well healed and doing nicely.
One step at a time, I guess, and one thing daily that moves something along. That'll do for now.
And I'm going to be more conscientious about writing here, even if it's to list what I had for breakfast!
...which, this morning, was a breakfast sandwich on those lovely thin 100-calorie whole wheat buns, with egg, part-skim cheese, a bit of bacon. A little fruit. (Strawberries are coming into season: love fresh, right from the field berries.)...
I'll be back.
"Every silver lining's got a touch of grey...I will get by, I will get by, I will get by, I will survive."~~Touch of Grey by The Grateful Dead
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Re-evaluating
My right wrist is in a lovely purple cast and there is a plate in my wrist binding the broken bones permanently together. I have become increasingly amidextrous and can type with my left hand and using the right middle finger. I can shower, even put on makeup sorta kinda, but I can't open cans with my manual canopener.
I've had lots of help from my beloved Tony and Princess #1 and from a few friends, though many have offered. I've taken lots of naps. I've watched lots of television. I've read. I'm healing. This will not last forever.
But it's thrown me completely into what lifecoach Martha Beck calls a death-rebirth cycle. I've been reading her Finding Your Own North Star and while I haven't done all the exercises, it has been a revelationary process. I'm taking it all in, sitting and thinking, and just being rather than doing much of anything.
We go through the death-rebirth cycle and the subsequent dreaming, acting, living ones many times in our lives, and I guess this is time for yet another for me.
For one thing, I am not writing/meeting deadlines for anyone right now. I can't take notes, can't type well nor effortlessly (which makes it tedious and tiring), and had been having trouble buckling down to actually do stories anyway. So I asked a friend who is ripe and ready for this kind of challenge if she would like to take it over, and all the editors eagerly embraced the idea. It works for me, for her, and for them. Definitely the right thing to do.
But that leaves me without an identity I've had for some time -- not unwillingly, mind you, but still an adjustment, and with some loss to be dealt with.
I can just hear what Beck calls "everybody' chiming in with "geezeopete, Beth. It's not cancer, it's not a brain tumor, it's not a hip or worse. Get a grip!'
So shut up, critics. I know all this.
But I also think a change has been brewing for a while, and this event pushed me into it. Time to look at where I am now, what's important to me, what I *really* want to do now, how I get there, wherever it is.
This has made me feel my age more than I ever have. I have long known how fragile we are physically; this and a few other, hopefully minor, health issues that I'm getting checked out have made me more aware that we only get so much time here, and how do I want to use that?
One thing I know for sure: my husband is the light of my life and I am soooo grateful to have ther relationship that we do. It is a rare gift. I believe, and we both cherish it -- all the more because we spent a lot of years individually without it, not believing that we would ever be lucky enough to have it. I want time with him, as much as the Universe gives me, and I will do what I must to keep myself (reasonably) healthy and alive in order to have that.
As for the rest -- I'll figure it out eventually. The Universe aklways points me in a direction if I listen and look and stay open. Sometimes it is clear. This time it is not. I'm emotional at anything, I have flashes often of people and events from my life, and I'm trying to understand why and what I need to learn from that. I think of my parents at this age and wonder if they, too, tried to understand where they needed to go next.
Perhaps I'm overthinking -- and I have done that in the past. Perhaps I'm looking for signs that aren't there and won't be.
It is a time for re-evaluating what was and finding the path through what is to what's next.
PS I purchased Beck's book. I have not been paid to recommend it.
I've had lots of help from my beloved Tony and Princess #1 and from a few friends, though many have offered. I've taken lots of naps. I've watched lots of television. I've read. I'm healing. This will not last forever.
But it's thrown me completely into what lifecoach Martha Beck calls a death-rebirth cycle. I've been reading her Finding Your Own North Star and while I haven't done all the exercises, it has been a revelationary process. I'm taking it all in, sitting and thinking, and just being rather than doing much of anything.
We go through the death-rebirth cycle and the subsequent dreaming, acting, living ones many times in our lives, and I guess this is time for yet another for me.
For one thing, I am not writing/meeting deadlines for anyone right now. I can't take notes, can't type well nor effortlessly (which makes it tedious and tiring), and had been having trouble buckling down to actually do stories anyway. So I asked a friend who is ripe and ready for this kind of challenge if she would like to take it over, and all the editors eagerly embraced the idea. It works for me, for her, and for them. Definitely the right thing to do.
But that leaves me without an identity I've had for some time -- not unwillingly, mind you, but still an adjustment, and with some loss to be dealt with.
I can just hear what Beck calls "everybody' chiming in with "geezeopete, Beth. It's not cancer, it's not a brain tumor, it's not a hip or worse. Get a grip!'
So shut up, critics. I know all this.
But I also think a change has been brewing for a while, and this event pushed me into it. Time to look at where I am now, what's important to me, what I *really* want to do now, how I get there, wherever it is.
This has made me feel my age more than I ever have. I have long known how fragile we are physically; this and a few other, hopefully minor, health issues that I'm getting checked out have made me more aware that we only get so much time here, and how do I want to use that?
One thing I know for sure: my husband is the light of my life and I am soooo grateful to have ther relationship that we do. It is a rare gift. I believe, and we both cherish it -- all the more because we spent a lot of years individually without it, not believing that we would ever be lucky enough to have it. I want time with him, as much as the Universe gives me, and I will do what I must to keep myself (reasonably) healthy and alive in order to have that.
As for the rest -- I'll figure it out eventually. The Universe aklways points me in a direction if I listen and look and stay open. Sometimes it is clear. This time it is not. I'm emotional at anything, I have flashes often of people and events from my life, and I'm trying to understand why and what I need to learn from that. I think of my parents at this age and wonder if they, too, tried to understand where they needed to go next.
Perhaps I'm overthinking -- and I have done that in the past. Perhaps I'm looking for signs that aren't there and won't be.
It is a time for re-evaluating what was and finding the path through what is to what's next.
PS I purchased Beck's book. I have not been paid to recommend it.
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
In a mood
Not in THE mood, in A mood.
No real reason, either -- nothing catastrophic has happened, far as I know people are safe and okay, reasonably, and I just got back from our Bunco Christmas party which was a fun night of way too many carbs, interesting gifts, and good women who are compassionate and caring.
But right now I feel like I could just sit here and cry until I'm stuffy-nosed, drained, and exhausted.
Maybe it's just the time of year when memories overtake common sense and flood in. I miss my parents. I got cards from two aunts today, and puddled up thinking about the Dahl sisters and how much fun they had over the years. Three of the four sisters are still here; my mother and her two brothers have all died since 2005. My dad has been gone 10 years.
Maybe it's remembering Christmases when I did a lot of singing and loved it -- I still remember some of the choral arrangements of favorite carols, plus other, more difficult Christmas music that was so fun to sing. Or when R was little and we always had a houseful over Christmas, did soup and sandwich suppers on Christmas Eve with my best friend and her family before we sang at the late church service where candles lighted the sanctuary and illuminated everybody's face into beauty.
Maybe it's sadness over how difficult life is on some days for R, especially, dealing with voices and visions that are unsettling, if not downright scary, and not knowing either cause or cure, or even if there will ever be a life again without them for her. The last two days especially have been hard for her, and I even went with her to the grocery store today because it was just too much for her to handle by herself. Sadness that another daughter simply chooses not to communicate with us for reasons we probably will never know. And while we have a relationship with our youngest child and our only grandchild, it is cautious on both fronts and likely will never be the flat-out love affair that I see some of my friends having with their grandchildren -- for lots of reasons, many of which have been outlined in this blog over the past several years.
Life is not quite a Norman Rockwell painting for us as a family, nor, I suspect, is it for most families. We all have our skeletons hidden in closets, attics, basements, and it seems the holidays are a time when those ghosts loom large. It's shoulda-coulda-wouldas piled on top of a pot full of present-day reality for most people, I think.
And yet we are most fortunate too: we have a wonderful home in a good community, we have many friends and acquaintances, we are as busy as we want to be, we have enough resources to take care of ourselves (at least, god willing, at this point). We have each other and find support and love and acceptance in that every single day -- a HUGE blessing and gift, especially if you've known a past relationship that hasn't been all that great. Far as we know, we are free from life-altering disease or conditions. We are limited more by our own motivation or lack thereof than by exterior issues.
Acknowledging that holidays and events and mood swings sometimes throw us for a loop is a good thing, I think. Dwelling on things I cannot change or over which I have little or no control is not a good thing. Accepting that it is okay to feel sad sometimes, to feel a little cheated in some respects is okay. Remembering and accepting that I am neither perfect nor do I have to appear to be perfect to anyone is especially a good thing.
Susan Elliott, whom I have quoted before in these posts, writes in "Getting Past Your Past,"
"Don’t distort the holidays. It’s approximately 35 days between Thanksgiving and New Years. And there is always a January 2nd. Don’t compare your insides to other people’s outsides. Yes, you need to grieve what was and what will never be, but it’s not quite the giant bundle of greatness that many people are thinking it is. Don’t distort what was."
You can read the whole post here.
It's a good thing to read now. And re-read again. And remember that this, too, shall pass.
Life is short. It is too short to put up with people or things that bring you down. It is too short not to be grateful for it every moment, every day, to be glad for some wee part of your life that is good -- and everyone, EVERYONE, has something.
No real reason, either -- nothing catastrophic has happened, far as I know people are safe and okay, reasonably, and I just got back from our Bunco Christmas party which was a fun night of way too many carbs, interesting gifts, and good women who are compassionate and caring.
But right now I feel like I could just sit here and cry until I'm stuffy-nosed, drained, and exhausted.
Maybe it's just the time of year when memories overtake common sense and flood in. I miss my parents. I got cards from two aunts today, and puddled up thinking about the Dahl sisters and how much fun they had over the years. Three of the four sisters are still here; my mother and her two brothers have all died since 2005. My dad has been gone 10 years.
Maybe it's remembering Christmases when I did a lot of singing and loved it -- I still remember some of the choral arrangements of favorite carols, plus other, more difficult Christmas music that was so fun to sing. Or when R was little and we always had a houseful over Christmas, did soup and sandwich suppers on Christmas Eve with my best friend and her family before we sang at the late church service where candles lighted the sanctuary and illuminated everybody's face into beauty.
Maybe it's sadness over how difficult life is on some days for R, especially, dealing with voices and visions that are unsettling, if not downright scary, and not knowing either cause or cure, or even if there will ever be a life again without them for her. The last two days especially have been hard for her, and I even went with her to the grocery store today because it was just too much for her to handle by herself. Sadness that another daughter simply chooses not to communicate with us for reasons we probably will never know. And while we have a relationship with our youngest child and our only grandchild, it is cautious on both fronts and likely will never be the flat-out love affair that I see some of my friends having with their grandchildren -- for lots of reasons, many of which have been outlined in this blog over the past several years.
Life is not quite a Norman Rockwell painting for us as a family, nor, I suspect, is it for most families. We all have our skeletons hidden in closets, attics, basements, and it seems the holidays are a time when those ghosts loom large. It's shoulda-coulda-wouldas piled on top of a pot full of present-day reality for most people, I think.
And yet we are most fortunate too: we have a wonderful home in a good community, we have many friends and acquaintances, we are as busy as we want to be, we have enough resources to take care of ourselves (at least, god willing, at this point). We have each other and find support and love and acceptance in that every single day -- a HUGE blessing and gift, especially if you've known a past relationship that hasn't been all that great. Far as we know, we are free from life-altering disease or conditions. We are limited more by our own motivation or lack thereof than by exterior issues.
Acknowledging that holidays and events and mood swings sometimes throw us for a loop is a good thing, I think. Dwelling on things I cannot change or over which I have little or no control is not a good thing. Accepting that it is okay to feel sad sometimes, to feel a little cheated in some respects is okay. Remembering and accepting that I am neither perfect nor do I have to appear to be perfect to anyone is especially a good thing.
Susan Elliott, whom I have quoted before in these posts, writes in "Getting Past Your Past,"
"Don’t distort the holidays. It’s approximately 35 days between Thanksgiving and New Years. And there is always a January 2nd. Don’t compare your insides to other people’s outsides. Yes, you need to grieve what was and what will never be, but it’s not quite the giant bundle of greatness that many people are thinking it is. Don’t distort what was."
You can read the whole post here.
It's a good thing to read now. And re-read again. And remember that this, too, shall pass.
Life is short. It is too short to put up with people or things that bring you down. It is too short not to be grateful for it every moment, every day, to be glad for some wee part of your life that is good -- and everyone, EVERYONE, has something.
Monday, October 26, 2009
A trip back in time -- Homecoming in a small Missouri town
It's hard to believe that this week is the last one in October, and that our trip to little Fayette was nearly a month ago already.
As I'd mentioned before, we traveled back to this little central Missouri town, home of Central Methodist University, to attend my 40th year class reunion. Tony had never been there although he's met some of the folks from the college, and has read the Fayette newspapers for years, which my ex owns and edits.
So it was a long trip -- two hours by car to Sacramento, two hours by air to Denver and another two to St. Louis where we rented a car and drove another couple plus to Fayette. And then did it again two days later.
It was interesting to walk the campus and see how things have changed. For one, the old Eyrie (Eagle's Nest) student center that was once a WWII barracks has been demolished and an incredible four-story student center stands in its place, with the cafeteria, study rooms, pool tables, television, and much more. Another big change was in the athletic facility. Not only do they now have the EE Rich Memorial Swimming Pool (for some years now) that prospective students (including me) were promised for years before it was finally built, they officially opened a new athletic training center adjacent to the field house. It has state-of-the-art equipment and is a real boon for the campus.
The trees in Stedman Gulch -- a wide ravine in front of the science building which was almost new when I went there 40 years ago and had had little trees planted then -- have grown up, and the campus is the forest-y, shady, lovely traditional college campus that I remembered. Established in 1856 or so, there are many historic buildings, old traditional stone and turreted classroom buildings that have been renovated, and the improvements continue -- the old Classic Hall where I spent many hours in English, language and speech/drama classes but which has not been in use for some years is undergoing a capital campaign to renovate it into a music center.
The college has long been known for its music program and has turned out some of the finest band directors in Missouri. When you walk on campus in the afternoon, you usually can hear both instrumental and vocal students practicing, their voices and instrument tones floating on the Missouri breezes. Phi Mu Alpha Sinfonia pledges still sing "Hail Sinfonia" as they pass under the old clock tower which dominates the main campus.
So I saw people I hadn't seen in 40 years, most of them gray and with faces full of character (nicer way of saying wrinkles). One woman asked why I'd come all the way from California to attend, and I told her it was important to honor what I was and had become on that campus, and the memory of the excellent teachers (not a lot, but a truly great handful) who taught me. It was such an historic time in our history -- 1965-69! And while our campus, numbering around 1,000 students in my last year there, was fairly isolated from the race riots, the demonstrations and the summer of love mentality (much of that hit in the next several years, after I had graduated), it was still an important factor in shaping who I am.
For one thing, it is a liberal arts college. That means, basically, that I know a little about a lot of things. I had a good grounding in the arts especially, and opportunities that a larger campus would not have given me, although I might have had some coursework that would have helped me more in a larger university. I was involved with the college radio station and learned news writing there -- a skill that I have used throughout my working life. I had the opportunity to know many people from many disciplines rather than only those in my major field.
I also got to see some folks who graduated after I did, but who I knew because my husband and I had moved back there just a year after I graduated (he is five years older than me, also an alumnus) and he began working for the college in public relations. I also worked there eventually and started the seeds for a career development center which now has a featured place in the new student center and lots of programs to help kids decide how to choose a career and how to figure out what they might be happiest doing. But I knew a lot of students in later classes because of that, and also a lot of faculty and staff members, a few of whom I also got to see again this trip.
It stirred up emotions I hadn't been prepared for. I remembered my 17-year-old self as a freshman, the 21-year-old graduate. I remembered some heartbreaking moments as well as some warm fuzzy ones. I missed some of the women, especially, who I knew so well -- at that point, we all lived in the dorm for all four years, although only a few years later, women were allowed to move off campus. I remembered sitting in the library -- a wonderful stone building that has a big four-story addition now in back of it -- when Martin Luther King Jr. was shot. I remembered watching streakers at some of the pep rallies!
At a couple of different receptions and parties, I got to watch professors I knew or had in class talk about the old times, listen to them discuss current books or plays, hear some sad stories about others who have died. I hugged a close friend from 40 years ago and exchanged e-mail addresses with her, although neither of us have written at this point. I listened to the huge pipe organ in the church fill the traditional gothic sanctuary with power and awe as an alumnus practiced for Sunday's church service (which I didn't attend as we were on our way back to the airport -- not that I probably would have anyway).
We enjoyed a hint of fall color as we drove around town, which reminded Tony of the little Tennessee town he grew up in. The traditional courthouse sits in a traditional square, which sadly has many empty storefronts now, but also has a really good restaurant -- Emmet's Kitchen -- along with the Dollar Store and various antique and craft stores, and the old Peacock Beauty Salon where I used to get my hair cut. Sadly, almost none of the long-time stores have survived: the town, like so many, is losing population to larger areas like nearby Columbia or Boonville.
I'll likely not go back until my 50th. The 50th reunion class of 1959 showed up en masse this year, but they were a close-knit group from the beginning. Ours is not that way, but it was still good to see people with whom I shared such a formative time, to honor that time and who we were then, to remember.
The best times of my life were not then. The best time is now. But I'm glad to have had those years there, to be influenced and challenged and encouraged by so many good people and teachers and counselors and peers. It was good to be there.
As I'd mentioned before, we traveled back to this little central Missouri town, home of Central Methodist University, to attend my 40th year class reunion. Tony had never been there although he's met some of the folks from the college, and has read the Fayette newspapers for years, which my ex owns and edits.
So it was a long trip -- two hours by car to Sacramento, two hours by air to Denver and another two to St. Louis where we rented a car and drove another couple plus to Fayette. And then did it again two days later.
It was interesting to walk the campus and see how things have changed. For one, the old Eyrie (Eagle's Nest) student center that was once a WWII barracks has been demolished and an incredible four-story student center stands in its place, with the cafeteria, study rooms, pool tables, television, and much more. Another big change was in the athletic facility. Not only do they now have the EE Rich Memorial Swimming Pool (for some years now) that prospective students (including me) were promised for years before it was finally built, they officially opened a new athletic training center adjacent to the field house. It has state-of-the-art equipment and is a real boon for the campus.
The trees in Stedman Gulch -- a wide ravine in front of the science building which was almost new when I went there 40 years ago and had had little trees planted then -- have grown up, and the campus is the forest-y, shady, lovely traditional college campus that I remembered. Established in 1856 or so, there are many historic buildings, old traditional stone and turreted classroom buildings that have been renovated, and the improvements continue -- the old Classic Hall where I spent many hours in English, language and speech/drama classes but which has not been in use for some years is undergoing a capital campaign to renovate it into a music center.
The college has long been known for its music program and has turned out some of the finest band directors in Missouri. When you walk on campus in the afternoon, you usually can hear both instrumental and vocal students practicing, their voices and instrument tones floating on the Missouri breezes. Phi Mu Alpha Sinfonia pledges still sing "Hail Sinfonia" as they pass under the old clock tower which dominates the main campus.
So I saw people I hadn't seen in 40 years, most of them gray and with faces full of character (nicer way of saying wrinkles). One woman asked why I'd come all the way from California to attend, and I told her it was important to honor what I was and had become on that campus, and the memory of the excellent teachers (not a lot, but a truly great handful) who taught me. It was such an historic time in our history -- 1965-69! And while our campus, numbering around 1,000 students in my last year there, was fairly isolated from the race riots, the demonstrations and the summer of love mentality (much of that hit in the next several years, after I had graduated), it was still an important factor in shaping who I am.
For one thing, it is a liberal arts college. That means, basically, that I know a little about a lot of things. I had a good grounding in the arts especially, and opportunities that a larger campus would not have given me, although I might have had some coursework that would have helped me more in a larger university. I was involved with the college radio station and learned news writing there -- a skill that I have used throughout my working life. I had the opportunity to know many people from many disciplines rather than only those in my major field.
I also got to see some folks who graduated after I did, but who I knew because my husband and I had moved back there just a year after I graduated (he is five years older than me, also an alumnus) and he began working for the college in public relations. I also worked there eventually and started the seeds for a career development center which now has a featured place in the new student center and lots of programs to help kids decide how to choose a career and how to figure out what they might be happiest doing. But I knew a lot of students in later classes because of that, and also a lot of faculty and staff members, a few of whom I also got to see again this trip.
It stirred up emotions I hadn't been prepared for. I remembered my 17-year-old self as a freshman, the 21-year-old graduate. I remembered some heartbreaking moments as well as some warm fuzzy ones. I missed some of the women, especially, who I knew so well -- at that point, we all lived in the dorm for all four years, although only a few years later, women were allowed to move off campus. I remembered sitting in the library -- a wonderful stone building that has a big four-story addition now in back of it -- when Martin Luther King Jr. was shot. I remembered watching streakers at some of the pep rallies!
At a couple of different receptions and parties, I got to watch professors I knew or had in class talk about the old times, listen to them discuss current books or plays, hear some sad stories about others who have died. I hugged a close friend from 40 years ago and exchanged e-mail addresses with her, although neither of us have written at this point. I listened to the huge pipe organ in the church fill the traditional gothic sanctuary with power and awe as an alumnus practiced for Sunday's church service (which I didn't attend as we were on our way back to the airport -- not that I probably would have anyway).
We enjoyed a hint of fall color as we drove around town, which reminded Tony of the little Tennessee town he grew up in. The traditional courthouse sits in a traditional square, which sadly has many empty storefronts now, but also has a really good restaurant -- Emmet's Kitchen -- along with the Dollar Store and various antique and craft stores, and the old Peacock Beauty Salon where I used to get my hair cut. Sadly, almost none of the long-time stores have survived: the town, like so many, is losing population to larger areas like nearby Columbia or Boonville.
I'll likely not go back until my 50th. The 50th reunion class of 1959 showed up en masse this year, but they were a close-knit group from the beginning. Ours is not that way, but it was still good to see people with whom I shared such a formative time, to honor that time and who we were then, to remember.
The best times of my life were not then. The best time is now. But I'm glad to have had those years there, to be influenced and challenged and encouraged by so many good people and teachers and counselors and peers. It was good to be there.
Friday, February 06, 2009
Getting sucked in
I'm tired of reading the many posts on this blog that deal with our daughters and their respective issues. I'm tired of seeing the same behaviors in them over and over and over. I'm tired of seeing the same behaviors in ME, over and over.
I resent that I worry about them, each of them, at different times. That they tell me about issues, either their own or the other's, and then leave it hanging, so that I am fretting over stupidity or health or stability or money.
I want to stop that.
I don't want to get sucked in to their drama anymore.
I'm not quite sure how to accomplish that and make it stick. Ignoring it doesn't make it go away. I love them and don't want them to feel that I'm deserting them, but I'm not sure how to maintain some balance here.
Actually, I've been doing pretty well at doing things I love to do and meeting my commitments, but I worry nonetheless, and I know it isn't good for me.
I guess I just need to remember, yet again, that I am powerless over people, places and things, and that they will do what they will. But....I do believe that my words can make a difference to them....I've seen that happen.
Either that, or they're blowing sunshine at me, and I'm falling for it, yet again...
Eh.
So let me talk about rain. It's not a lot, but it is nice to have gray skies and even occasional raindrops. It's good to have a fire in the woodstove to take off the chill: it is not particularly cold, just chilly. I did see trees in bloom downtown yesterday, though, and that is not good. We have had such unseasonably warm weather that things are waking up, and they need to stay put a little longer.
I'm longing for the ocean these days, to hear that deep, calming heartbeat thrumming through my whole body, to feel the cold sting of the water on my feet, to watch the endless series of waves, and the shorebirds running to meet each new ruffle as it breaks on the beach. To see pelicans swooping and diving in perfect formation. To smell the salt-fresh air and take it deep into my lungs. We need a trip, even a day trip.
I'm reading eclectically: right now it's Broken Open by Elizabeth Lesser, who I saw on Oprah. I'm barely into it, but like what she's saying and agree that in our breaking open our pain and silence that we become who we are, even if we can't even see the possibility of happiness when we're so caught up in the pain of the moment.
But I also have read the latest of Diane Mott Davidson's cooking murder books, Sweet Revenge -- just a fun read, although I get hungry when I read her very rich recipes. I read Anne Rivers Siddons' new one, Off Season, set in Maine of course, and loved it until the ending, which I did not love at all (unusual for her books). I finished the latest Nora Roberts trilogy, truly a beach-read-style book and just plain escape. And I also read one titled I'm Still Your Mother, which was okay, but doesn't really speak to how to parent grown children who have 'issues'.
That's in addition to the various O magazines -- still a great read for the money -- Newsweeks, Business Weeks, various blogs, two daily newspapers, and assorted others that come in here.
It's been good to really read again. I always read something before I turn out the light, but often I have very little time during the day to read. One day over Christmas that was all I did, other than fix a few meals. It was wonderful.
I'm feeling the need to move -- to get some exercise of some kind, just because I'm so aware of diminished strength in my body and legs from doing so much sedentary work! I finally settled on a pair of good athletic shoes and they offer good support, so that excuse is gone. I just wish I liked something physical well enough to want to do it often.
It's already February. I am determined to make the most of every day, every month, and not spend useless time in worry or fear. I can change only one person -- me. And I'm working on that.
I resent that I worry about them, each of them, at different times. That they tell me about issues, either their own or the other's, and then leave it hanging, so that I am fretting over stupidity or health or stability or money.
I want to stop that.
I don't want to get sucked in to their drama anymore.
I'm not quite sure how to accomplish that and make it stick. Ignoring it doesn't make it go away. I love them and don't want them to feel that I'm deserting them, but I'm not sure how to maintain some balance here.
Actually, I've been doing pretty well at doing things I love to do and meeting my commitments, but I worry nonetheless, and I know it isn't good for me.
I guess I just need to remember, yet again, that I am powerless over people, places and things, and that they will do what they will. But....I do believe that my words can make a difference to them....I've seen that happen.
Either that, or they're blowing sunshine at me, and I'm falling for it, yet again...
Eh.
So let me talk about rain. It's not a lot, but it is nice to have gray skies and even occasional raindrops. It's good to have a fire in the woodstove to take off the chill: it is not particularly cold, just chilly. I did see trees in bloom downtown yesterday, though, and that is not good. We have had such unseasonably warm weather that things are waking up, and they need to stay put a little longer.
I'm longing for the ocean these days, to hear that deep, calming heartbeat thrumming through my whole body, to feel the cold sting of the water on my feet, to watch the endless series of waves, and the shorebirds running to meet each new ruffle as it breaks on the beach. To see pelicans swooping and diving in perfect formation. To smell the salt-fresh air and take it deep into my lungs. We need a trip, even a day trip.
I'm reading eclectically: right now it's Broken Open by Elizabeth Lesser, who I saw on Oprah. I'm barely into it, but like what she's saying and agree that in our breaking open our pain and silence that we become who we are, even if we can't even see the possibility of happiness when we're so caught up in the pain of the moment.
But I also have read the latest of Diane Mott Davidson's cooking murder books, Sweet Revenge -- just a fun read, although I get hungry when I read her very rich recipes. I read Anne Rivers Siddons' new one, Off Season, set in Maine of course, and loved it until the ending, which I did not love at all (unusual for her books). I finished the latest Nora Roberts trilogy, truly a beach-read-style book and just plain escape. And I also read one titled I'm Still Your Mother, which was okay, but doesn't really speak to how to parent grown children who have 'issues'.
That's in addition to the various O magazines -- still a great read for the money -- Newsweeks, Business Weeks, various blogs, two daily newspapers, and assorted others that come in here.
It's been good to really read again. I always read something before I turn out the light, but often I have very little time during the day to read. One day over Christmas that was all I did, other than fix a few meals. It was wonderful.
I'm feeling the need to move -- to get some exercise of some kind, just because I'm so aware of diminished strength in my body and legs from doing so much sedentary work! I finally settled on a pair of good athletic shoes and they offer good support, so that excuse is gone. I just wish I liked something physical well enough to want to do it often.
It's already February. I am determined to make the most of every day, every month, and not spend useless time in worry or fear. I can change only one person -- me. And I'm working on that.
Monday, January 26, 2009
I may be dumb...
but I'm not stupid.
But I'm beginning to wonder about our daughters. After about a month living together and trying to pick up some of the pieces of their lives that have been broken and move forward, they're both back in the same ol' same ol' stinking thinking modes.
At least that's what it seems like. Lies, by intentional omission as well as just plain old lying to my face, are thick, fast, and everywhere. (did I mention how much I hate lying? how much I've always hated lying?)
And they must think I'm a real dullard -- i.e., both dumb AND stupid -- because they keep telling me (or not telling me) stories that are so transparent you could read through them. And then are surprised when I call them on it. And they're just not talking to Tony, maybe because they're a little more intimidated by him than by me. (big mistake, girls....)
Geezeohpete.
So we're back to boundaries, I guess, and they aren't gonna like the new ones.
We don't either.
It's tough to watch your children go through hard times. It doesn't get any easier even when they keep making the same mistakes over and over, keep going back into the same situation hoping to see different results.
Albert Einstein apparently had some experience with this kind of behavior. He said, "We can't solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.”
He also is the author of this quote: "Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
And yet another, one I've heard for a long time: "If you do what you've always done, you'll get what you've always gotten."
It's not like the girls haven't heard us say this. Both of them grew up with such tidbits from our respective mouths. Apparently it hasn't sunk in with them. And there are days I despair of it ever doing so with either of them.
Boundaries are hard to draw when you're dealing with someone you love. But folks, this is the only life we get (far as we know anyway). I am not going to spend what I have left of my life allowing someone else to drive what I do because of their actions and dramas.
So I'm saying: I love both girls dearly. I will never stop loving them, no matter what they do. But I will not allow their choices to interfere with how I want to spend the rest of my life. I am not responsible for their choices. I am responsible and accountable for mine.
WE determine our own destiny.
But I'm beginning to wonder about our daughters. After about a month living together and trying to pick up some of the pieces of their lives that have been broken and move forward, they're both back in the same ol' same ol' stinking thinking modes.
At least that's what it seems like. Lies, by intentional omission as well as just plain old lying to my face, are thick, fast, and everywhere. (did I mention how much I hate lying? how much I've always hated lying?)
And they must think I'm a real dullard -- i.e., both dumb AND stupid -- because they keep telling me (or not telling me) stories that are so transparent you could read through them. And then are surprised when I call them on it. And they're just not talking to Tony, maybe because they're a little more intimidated by him than by me. (big mistake, girls....)
Geezeohpete.
So we're back to boundaries, I guess, and they aren't gonna like the new ones.
We don't either.
It's tough to watch your children go through hard times. It doesn't get any easier even when they keep making the same mistakes over and over, keep going back into the same situation hoping to see different results.
Albert Einstein apparently had some experience with this kind of behavior. He said, "We can't solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.”
He also is the author of this quote: "Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
And yet another, one I've heard for a long time: "If you do what you've always done, you'll get what you've always gotten."
It's not like the girls haven't heard us say this. Both of them grew up with such tidbits from our respective mouths. Apparently it hasn't sunk in with them. And there are days I despair of it ever doing so with either of them.
Boundaries are hard to draw when you're dealing with someone you love. But folks, this is the only life we get (far as we know anyway). I am not going to spend what I have left of my life allowing someone else to drive what I do because of their actions and dramas.
So I'm saying: I love both girls dearly. I will never stop loving them, no matter what they do. But I will not allow their choices to interfere with how I want to spend the rest of my life. I am not responsible for their choices. I am responsible and accountable for mine.
WE determine our own destiny.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
New chances, new beginnings
The girls moved out barely an hour after I posted the last entry: R got keys and permission to move early, and they were GONE. I took it very personally, I might add -- that they couldn't WAIT to get out and away from me. I'm over that now. mostly
Antsy McClain was the perfect antidote: funny, fun, rocking, and a packed house. I felt better when we got home....mostly
And life has gone on for us all. We are enjoying very much having our home to ourselves; the kitties are enjoying being just two and without interlopers; I'm writing more and also sleeping much better.
That said, I think we've heard from or seen the girls every day since -- either to get something they left, to do laundry, whatever. It is easier, however, not to live with their drama.
So they have new opportunities, new chances. And so do we.
I'm thinking about what I want from this new year, how I want to grow this year, what I'd like to accomplish.
(Actually, I've spent way too much time in the last couple of days looking at athletic shoes for my poor achy feet. Tried some on, but few stores have sizes that I need, and my feet have changed so much over the past couple of years that I don't know what size to ask for. And every shoe fits differently. I'm probably going to end up ordering several pairs and returning what doesn't work.)
I still feel scattered, not quite settled into the year yet, nor completely back into a routine. Maybe another couple of days will do it. It's not for lack of things to do!
And I'm praying daily for rain: while sun and temps near 70 are nice, we badly need rain. We still have some leaves clinging to our trees, ferpetesake! I want gray skies, lots of steady rain for days on end. Poor Portland and Seattle have been deluged: it needs to come a little further south.
I'm also trying to focus on blessings, on gratitude every day, because I believe that is the cornerstone to joy and a fulfilling life. We're reading little snippets about The Secret every morning along with our vitamins and breakfast, and I've been a little surprised how often I've thought about the day's message over the course of the day.
It's a new year, new beginnings, new possibilities. May it be rewarding for us -- and for you.
Antsy McClain was the perfect antidote: funny, fun, rocking, and a packed house. I felt better when we got home....mostly
And life has gone on for us all. We are enjoying very much having our home to ourselves; the kitties are enjoying being just two and without interlopers; I'm writing more and also sleeping much better.
That said, I think we've heard from or seen the girls every day since -- either to get something they left, to do laundry, whatever. It is easier, however, not to live with their drama.
So they have new opportunities, new chances. And so do we.
I'm thinking about what I want from this new year, how I want to grow this year, what I'd like to accomplish.
(Actually, I've spent way too much time in the last couple of days looking at athletic shoes for my poor achy feet. Tried some on, but few stores have sizes that I need, and my feet have changed so much over the past couple of years that I don't know what size to ask for. And every shoe fits differently. I'm probably going to end up ordering several pairs and returning what doesn't work.)
I still feel scattered, not quite settled into the year yet, nor completely back into a routine. Maybe another couple of days will do it. It's not for lack of things to do!
And I'm praying daily for rain: while sun and temps near 70 are nice, we badly need rain. We still have some leaves clinging to our trees, ferpetesake! I want gray skies, lots of steady rain for days on end. Poor Portland and Seattle have been deluged: it needs to come a little further south.
I'm also trying to focus on blessings, on gratitude every day, because I believe that is the cornerstone to joy and a fulfilling life. We're reading little snippets about The Secret every morning along with our vitamins and breakfast, and I've been a little surprised how often I've thought about the day's message over the course of the day.
It's a new year, new beginnings, new possibilities. May it be rewarding for us -- and for you.
Monday, September 08, 2008
Making choices
I had a conversation today about right choices -- what IS the right choice? What makes a choice right? How do you know the choice you make is the right one for you?
Short answer: Don't know.
What I DO know is that life is full of choices, a whole bunch of them ones that will dramatically alter how your life goes from that point onward, and that you usually don't recognize them as such when you're at that crossroads.
Or at least I didn't for a lot of my own choices. As I've gotten older, I'm much more aware of those converging and diverging paths, and tend to dither a bit more about which one I pick.
But I sure didn't do that when I was younger.
College was a biggie, for instance: I went to Central Methodist College-now-University mostly because I'd attended a United Methodist camp thingy there as a high schooler. My parents liked it because I could get good financial aid. We all liked it because it was fairly small, yet still in Missouri where I grew up, so I could see my folks often enough to satisfy all of us.
In my sophomore year, I was bound and determined to go elsewhere for the last two years, believing then that I was not getting the kind of education I should be (never mind that my grades, while adequate, were hardly stellar, and reflected more my studying habits than my basic intelligence).
Indeed, my English major coursework was largely As -- and I say largely only because there were two classes in which I made a C and was okay with it, one of them at the ungodly (even then) hour of 7:40 a.m. and even the professor had trouble making it (snore). I didn't even read all the books --faked my way through the essay tests, and still came out with a C+/B-. (Learned the fine art of B-S in that class, I did....)
The other one was actually an interesting class but was taught by a Greek prof, gorgeous to look at and listen to, but who reserved his As for those who (a) read the complex five-act English plays on time every time, even when we would meet in the morning to finish one and in the afternoon to begin another (his wacky schedule, not the one according to the registrar), and (b) wrote papers according to some formula or style that I never figured out. The Rat actually gave me a D on a paper -- the one and only D I had EVER received on a paper! And bled all over it with his red pen to boot. While I never made another D from him, I never made an A either, and even my wonderful advisor admitted she was puzzled over his methods.
But anyway.
I vividly recall a conversation with my parents about wanting to go to my then-boyfriend's rather unusual school in North Carolina, and being told in no uncertain terms that it wasn't going to happen. They were okay with me applying to more traditional schools closer to home, which I did during my sophomore year, determined that this podunk town was absolutely no place for progressive, liberal me.
Well, I got talked into staying there by several friends whose opinions I valued, including one guy a couple of years older than me who was known for his cynical attitude even then. What they all said eventually made sense to me, and I decided to stay put. (And then got acceptance letters to two schools, including the Unversity of Kansas, which REALLY would have been a shock.)
And therein changed my destiny.
I met my first husband at CMU the first semester of my senior year, although I'd actually met him during one of the previous years when he came back as an alumnus of the campus radio station in which I worked, and did some guest speaker stuff for the staff. But we began dating that senior year and married the June after I graduated.
Was it the "right" choice for me? I don't know. What I do know is that because of that choice and subsequently others, I am where I am today, and I like who and where I am, thankyouverymuch.
We make choices. Choices have consequences, both good and not so good. You then choose how to handle the choices from those consequences: this job or that, stay or go, make it work or let it go.
Or you can drift along, remembering how good it used to be in the good old days (which it really probably wasn't, but our bodies generate hormones that help us forget the bad stuff and remember the good, or at least the not-bad). You can allow life to happen to you rather than taking control, even as much control as most of us may get, given jobs and spouses and income and locations.
Clearly there are choices we all face along that road that are a little more clearcut -- choices about things illegal, immoral, unethical, harmful to us or our loved ones. "Right" becomes a little more obvious then, although we still have choices to make about how we deal with such problems. I've made a few of those too. Change is always hard; this kind is harder.
And then some situations can sometimes offer either win-win or lose-lose dilemmas, and it's not easy to see what to do.
I remember one of those: I had been offered a new job in a different environment that was likely going to give me management experience and better career potential. The job I was in gave me a lot of autonomy -- I was a one-person department, but it was also grant-funded, and those positions are always politically vulnerable. The pay was the same, exactly.
I dithered for several days. I remember crying over it, making lists of pros and cons, talking with my husband, talking with my friends, even seeking advice from my current boss (a wonderful man and great boss for me). I was going to stay in the same field whichever I chose and would keep the same colleagues and friends, but would work for a different institution (this was during my public sector days).
I finally decided to take the new job. As with most choices, it proved to be a mixed bag. I did get management experience, but I also eventually worked for a boss who had the compassion of a cobra. I learned a lot, and I'm not sorry I chose it. But was it 'right'? Yeah. But it was because I MADE it right.
Eventually that experience helped me get a job in Birmingham for an industry-related company, and that company brought me to California. And in California I met my beloved Tony, and ended up where I am now.
We make our own destiny through the choices we make, and what we do with the choices we make. No single choice is exclusively "right" or "wrong" -- it is a choice. And it is up to us to make it work, or change it, or even to do nothing and let others make the choices for us. Not to decide is to decide.
Short answer: Don't know.
What I DO know is that life is full of choices, a whole bunch of them ones that will dramatically alter how your life goes from that point onward, and that you usually don't recognize them as such when you're at that crossroads.
Or at least I didn't for a lot of my own choices. As I've gotten older, I'm much more aware of those converging and diverging paths, and tend to dither a bit more about which one I pick.
But I sure didn't do that when I was younger.
College was a biggie, for instance: I went to Central Methodist College-now-University mostly because I'd attended a United Methodist camp thingy there as a high schooler. My parents liked it because I could get good financial aid. We all liked it because it was fairly small, yet still in Missouri where I grew up, so I could see my folks often enough to satisfy all of us.
In my sophomore year, I was bound and determined to go elsewhere for the last two years, believing then that I was not getting the kind of education I should be (never mind that my grades, while adequate, were hardly stellar, and reflected more my studying habits than my basic intelligence).
Indeed, my English major coursework was largely As -- and I say largely only because there were two classes in which I made a C and was okay with it, one of them at the ungodly (even then) hour of 7:40 a.m. and even the professor had trouble making it (snore). I didn't even read all the books --faked my way through the essay tests, and still came out with a C+/B-. (Learned the fine art of B-S in that class, I did....)
The other one was actually an interesting class but was taught by a Greek prof, gorgeous to look at and listen to, but who reserved his As for those who (a) read the complex five-act English plays on time every time, even when we would meet in the morning to finish one and in the afternoon to begin another (his wacky schedule, not the one according to the registrar), and (b) wrote papers according to some formula or style that I never figured out. The Rat actually gave me a D on a paper -- the one and only D I had EVER received on a paper! And bled all over it with his red pen to boot. While I never made another D from him, I never made an A either, and even my wonderful advisor admitted she was puzzled over his methods.
But anyway.
I vividly recall a conversation with my parents about wanting to go to my then-boyfriend's rather unusual school in North Carolina, and being told in no uncertain terms that it wasn't going to happen. They were okay with me applying to more traditional schools closer to home, which I did during my sophomore year, determined that this podunk town was absolutely no place for progressive, liberal me.
Well, I got talked into staying there by several friends whose opinions I valued, including one guy a couple of years older than me who was known for his cynical attitude even then. What they all said eventually made sense to me, and I decided to stay put. (And then got acceptance letters to two schools, including the Unversity of Kansas, which REALLY would have been a shock.)
And therein changed my destiny.
I met my first husband at CMU the first semester of my senior year, although I'd actually met him during one of the previous years when he came back as an alumnus of the campus radio station in which I worked, and did some guest speaker stuff for the staff. But we began dating that senior year and married the June after I graduated.
Was it the "right" choice for me? I don't know. What I do know is that because of that choice and subsequently others, I am where I am today, and I like who and where I am, thankyouverymuch.
We make choices. Choices have consequences, both good and not so good. You then choose how to handle the choices from those consequences: this job or that, stay or go, make it work or let it go.
Or you can drift along, remembering how good it used to be in the good old days (which it really probably wasn't, but our bodies generate hormones that help us forget the bad stuff and remember the good, or at least the not-bad). You can allow life to happen to you rather than taking control, even as much control as most of us may get, given jobs and spouses and income and locations.
Clearly there are choices we all face along that road that are a little more clearcut -- choices about things illegal, immoral, unethical, harmful to us or our loved ones. "Right" becomes a little more obvious then, although we still have choices to make about how we deal with such problems. I've made a few of those too. Change is always hard; this kind is harder.
And then some situations can sometimes offer either win-win or lose-lose dilemmas, and it's not easy to see what to do.
I remember one of those: I had been offered a new job in a different environment that was likely going to give me management experience and better career potential. The job I was in gave me a lot of autonomy -- I was a one-person department, but it was also grant-funded, and those positions are always politically vulnerable. The pay was the same, exactly.
I dithered for several days. I remember crying over it, making lists of pros and cons, talking with my husband, talking with my friends, even seeking advice from my current boss (a wonderful man and great boss for me). I was going to stay in the same field whichever I chose and would keep the same colleagues and friends, but would work for a different institution (this was during my public sector days).
I finally decided to take the new job. As with most choices, it proved to be a mixed bag. I did get management experience, but I also eventually worked for a boss who had the compassion of a cobra. I learned a lot, and I'm not sorry I chose it. But was it 'right'? Yeah. But it was because I MADE it right.
Eventually that experience helped me get a job in Birmingham for an industry-related company, and that company brought me to California. And in California I met my beloved Tony, and ended up where I am now.
We make our own destiny through the choices we make, and what we do with the choices we make. No single choice is exclusively "right" or "wrong" -- it is a choice. And it is up to us to make it work, or change it, or even to do nothing and let others make the choices for us. Not to decide is to decide.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Practicing what I preach
It's one thing to philosophize about creating our own destinies....to reiterate that we, only we ourselves, are responsible for how we live our life, that the choices we make will dictate what happens to us and that if we don't like what we're getting, we'd best get off our collective duffs and change things.
It's another to accept it as fact. Especially when you love someone, like your kid, and nasty things are happening to her -- some of which is NOT her fault nor because of any choice she made or didn't make.
And it's even harder to accept that I cannot fix it. Mom the magnificent is powerless over people, places, and things. The ice weasels have been out buying party supplies.
She is not a child..definitely a grown woman, quite capable of making her own decisions (actually, that applies to all of them). They're all where they are because of choices they made on their own -- two of 'em with men who we've tried to accept that they love and see something in that isn't quite apparent to our parental eyes (rather more the opposite, if you wanna know).
And one of them demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt that he has a mean, cruel streak and anger management issues. Fortunately, I guess, the daughter who's with him (it wasn't physical abuse) is seeing things a little more clearly and is talking about finding another roommate. Her illness, however, which is NOT her fault and for which she in treatment, leaves her in a very vulnerable place financially and emotionally.
So I'm trying to suggest possible resources and encouraging her to talk with her doctor. But what I want to do is rush in, get her out, and unleash a mother's fury on the guy.
And I can't. And I won't.
I'm telling her -- just as I have for years, and just as I've told her sister over and over again -- you live one day at a time. You do what you can with what you've got. If you don't like where you are, you find ways to change it. You ask questions of your doctors, your friends, of social agencies, of nonprofits that are there to help. You fill out applications and follow directions. You keep on doing that until you get the answers you need, the help you need. You CAN do it. You ARE strong and resourceful and smart. You can do whatever you decide you need to do.
And I pray that they are all safe, that they are strong enough to handle the grief, the anger, the embarrassment, the endless probing questions, the illness, the fear, the loneliness.
You are NOT alone, I tell them. I am here to make suggestions, to listen, to love you, to give you pep talks, to say 'there there', to cry with you sometimes. I will always be here to do that. I will always want to fix it for you. And I will never be able to do that. But YOU CAN.
That's what I say.
And then the ice weasels turn up the boom box so I can't hear myself say it to myself.
But I know it's true. At my core, I know that only they can make things different. And I just pray for them and hope they are strong enough to get through it.
It's another to accept it as fact. Especially when you love someone, like your kid, and nasty things are happening to her -- some of which is NOT her fault nor because of any choice she made or didn't make.
And it's even harder to accept that I cannot fix it. Mom the magnificent is powerless over people, places, and things. The ice weasels have been out buying party supplies.
She is not a child..definitely a grown woman, quite capable of making her own decisions (actually, that applies to all of them). They're all where they are because of choices they made on their own -- two of 'em with men who we've tried to accept that they love and see something in that isn't quite apparent to our parental eyes (rather more the opposite, if you wanna know).
And one of them demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt that he has a mean, cruel streak and anger management issues. Fortunately, I guess, the daughter who's with him (it wasn't physical abuse) is seeing things a little more clearly and is talking about finding another roommate. Her illness, however, which is NOT her fault and for which she in treatment, leaves her in a very vulnerable place financially and emotionally.
So I'm trying to suggest possible resources and encouraging her to talk with her doctor. But what I want to do is rush in, get her out, and unleash a mother's fury on the guy.
And I can't. And I won't.
I'm telling her -- just as I have for years, and just as I've told her sister over and over again -- you live one day at a time. You do what you can with what you've got. If you don't like where you are, you find ways to change it. You ask questions of your doctors, your friends, of social agencies, of nonprofits that are there to help. You fill out applications and follow directions. You keep on doing that until you get the answers you need, the help you need. You CAN do it. You ARE strong and resourceful and smart. You can do whatever you decide you need to do.
And I pray that they are all safe, that they are strong enough to handle the grief, the anger, the embarrassment, the endless probing questions, the illness, the fear, the loneliness.
You are NOT alone, I tell them. I am here to make suggestions, to listen, to love you, to give you pep talks, to say 'there there', to cry with you sometimes. I will always be here to do that. I will always want to fix it for you. And I will never be able to do that. But YOU CAN.
That's what I say.
And then the ice weasels turn up the boom box so I can't hear myself say it to myself.
But I know it's true. At my core, I know that only they can make things different. And I just pray for them and hope they are strong enough to get through it.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Feeling out of sorts? You're not alone
As I mentioned a few posts ago, things seem very unsettled and uncomfortable in the world now, both in my little personal sphere and the earth as a whole.
I start nearly every time the phone rings, hoping it's not one of the princesses with yet another crisis and health issue. The youngest has not only delivered a baby -- young Gabriel -- in the past three weeks, but also ended up in the hospital with pneumonia last week, exacerbated I'm sure by all the smoke and nasty air that we've had in these parts from the fires. (it's smoky again today)
And the eldest is battling big depression and mental health issues far away from me so that I can't even put my arms around her and just cry with her. So I try to do it via phone. She's talking to me -- a good thing -- and is getting help, but it seems like one big crisis after another, impacting finances as well as job and emotional health.
All of which invite the ice weasels, which so far I've managed to stave off from a full-fledged attack. I can feel them nibbling, though.
And I'm not the only one who is having these feelings. Lunaea posed the question a few days ago and got some good responses. And Joanna offers her own suggestions for dealing with emotional issues today.
There are good ideas here to cope, and I've done most of them at one point or another. For now, I'm trying to stay in the moment and focus on what I need to do here. I'm trying to remember that I am powerless over people, places and things, and that there is really not one thing I can do to fix this for either princess. They must do the work. I am the listener, the comforter, the suggester. I try to make solid suggestions and hope the seeds grow. They each must find their own way through their dark and stormy times, but I hope that while I talk to them that I can be the lighthouse in the darkness.
I am grateful for my lighthouse, my wonderful husband, and for his sane and loving touch. I am grateful for my own sense of self and strength. The ocean renewed some of that for me this weekend. I watch the hummingbirds and water my plants and harvest the good veggies, and am thankful for life and for its constancy. As the old fades, the new takes its place. My daughters have to find their own paths through the darkness, just as I have found mine.
I start nearly every time the phone rings, hoping it's not one of the princesses with yet another crisis and health issue. The youngest has not only delivered a baby -- young Gabriel -- in the past three weeks, but also ended up in the hospital with pneumonia last week, exacerbated I'm sure by all the smoke and nasty air that we've had in these parts from the fires. (it's smoky again today)
And the eldest is battling big depression and mental health issues far away from me so that I can't even put my arms around her and just cry with her. So I try to do it via phone. She's talking to me -- a good thing -- and is getting help, but it seems like one big crisis after another, impacting finances as well as job and emotional health.
All of which invite the ice weasels, which so far I've managed to stave off from a full-fledged attack. I can feel them nibbling, though.
And I'm not the only one who is having these feelings. Lunaea posed the question a few days ago and got some good responses. And Joanna offers her own suggestions for dealing with emotional issues today.
There are good ideas here to cope, and I've done most of them at one point or another. For now, I'm trying to stay in the moment and focus on what I need to do here. I'm trying to remember that I am powerless over people, places and things, and that there is really not one thing I can do to fix this for either princess. They must do the work. I am the listener, the comforter, the suggester. I try to make solid suggestions and hope the seeds grow. They each must find their own way through their dark and stormy times, but I hope that while I talk to them that I can be the lighthouse in the darkness.
I am grateful for my lighthouse, my wonderful husband, and for his sane and loving touch. I am grateful for my own sense of self and strength. The ocean renewed some of that for me this weekend. I watch the hummingbirds and water my plants and harvest the good veggies, and am thankful for life and for its constancy. As the old fades, the new takes its place. My daughters have to find their own paths through the darkness, just as I have found mine.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
The critic in my head is alive and kicking
Dadgummit.
So I'm freelancing, right, in control of my time, my work. Yes, I need to please the clients, but so far everyone has been very happy with my work. *I* am happy -- mostly -- with my work, although sometimes I have to cut a story more than I'd like to meet word requirements, or omit details that I'd like to work in because of said requirements. Or sometimes the story takes a completely different turn than the one I'd envisioned.
I'm feeling good about myself. Today brought a satisfying meeting this morning at which I got good feedback and made good contacts; did a good interview with a resource for an upcoming column.
So why does the inner critic immediately assume something is wrong when a client wants to meet with me?
My reaction: what's wrong?
Answer: absolutely nothing.
I'd like to drown that little devil in my head. No, I'd like to stuff him into a dumpster that is about to be emptied into an enormous landfill far, far away from me. How about the Terminator?
I know why he's there, and I know why he reacts as he does, at least in part. Most of my jobs have been fairly rewarding -- my work has made a difference, it's been well received, and my managers have been happy.
But there was one job -- which shall go unidentified -- that just about did me in physically as well as emotionally. And I think the critic got really, really fat and happy from that one.
One manager there took me to lunch to hand me a plate full of criticism from my peers (two of them, both of them with serious control issues which had been documented in HR). Much of it was unfounded or terribly one-sided, and to top it off, it came only a few months after my father had died unexpectedly, and I was still reeling with grief, although I was showing up and doing my job.
But it hit me out of the blue, it did. I'm not good at hiding emotion, either, so I ended up in tears at the restaurant, thoroughly embarrassing myself. Actually, the manager thought he was softening the approach by taking me to lunch. I don't do well when I'm blindsided, I told him, and to his credit, he never did that again.
But it made me gunshy. It made me paranoid: I saw criticism everywhere from then on -- and even though my peers and I mended fences and worked successfully together on various projects, I never really trusted any of them after that -- nor liked them much, for the most part. But then that trust thing is a whole 'nuther issue, I suppose.
And later, a not-very-well thought-out reorganization gutted my whole department and separated the few remaining creative types into different departments reporting to different managers. Our instructions were to take marketing "to the next level," except that nobody -- including the managers -- seemed to know what that meant. It was awful. It was chaos. There was no way I -- or most of the rest of them -- could please anybody. There was little or no communication about anything: we were just "supposed to know" what to do, I guess. Reviews were a joke: my manager relied on third-party hearsay to let me know what I was doing wrong, and I wrote my own action plan which he approved, but never asked about.
Eventually -- predictably -- there was another reorg and we were all let go (I was THRILLED). Several of the managers caught it in the reorg after that. I don't know what the company is doing nowadays -- probably outsourcing to India.
I am 60 years old. I do not have to please anyone but myself about my work, and I'm my harshest critic anyway -- always have been. I refuse to allow this angry little demon to cause me one more moment of angst about who and what I am, and the quality of work that I do.
I swear it. No more.
So I'm freelancing, right, in control of my time, my work. Yes, I need to please the clients, but so far everyone has been very happy with my work. *I* am happy -- mostly -- with my work, although sometimes I have to cut a story more than I'd like to meet word requirements, or omit details that I'd like to work in because of said requirements. Or sometimes the story takes a completely different turn than the one I'd envisioned.
I'm feeling good about myself. Today brought a satisfying meeting this morning at which I got good feedback and made good contacts; did a good interview with a resource for an upcoming column.
So why does the inner critic immediately assume something is wrong when a client wants to meet with me?
My reaction: what's wrong?
Answer: absolutely nothing.
I'd like to drown that little devil in my head. No, I'd like to stuff him into a dumpster that is about to be emptied into an enormous landfill far, far away from me. How about the Terminator?
I know why he's there, and I know why he reacts as he does, at least in part. Most of my jobs have been fairly rewarding -- my work has made a difference, it's been well received, and my managers have been happy.
But there was one job -- which shall go unidentified -- that just about did me in physically as well as emotionally. And I think the critic got really, really fat and happy from that one.
One manager there took me to lunch to hand me a plate full of criticism from my peers (two of them, both of them with serious control issues which had been documented in HR). Much of it was unfounded or terribly one-sided, and to top it off, it came only a few months after my father had died unexpectedly, and I was still reeling with grief, although I was showing up and doing my job.
But it hit me out of the blue, it did. I'm not good at hiding emotion, either, so I ended up in tears at the restaurant, thoroughly embarrassing myself. Actually, the manager thought he was softening the approach by taking me to lunch. I don't do well when I'm blindsided, I told him, and to his credit, he never did that again.
But it made me gunshy. It made me paranoid: I saw criticism everywhere from then on -- and even though my peers and I mended fences and worked successfully together on various projects, I never really trusted any of them after that -- nor liked them much, for the most part. But then that trust thing is a whole 'nuther issue, I suppose.
And later, a not-very-well thought-out reorganization gutted my whole department and separated the few remaining creative types into different departments reporting to different managers. Our instructions were to take marketing "to the next level," except that nobody -- including the managers -- seemed to know what that meant. It was awful. It was chaos. There was no way I -- or most of the rest of them -- could please anybody. There was little or no communication about anything: we were just "supposed to know" what to do, I guess. Reviews were a joke: my manager relied on third-party hearsay to let me know what I was doing wrong, and I wrote my own action plan which he approved, but never asked about.
Eventually -- predictably -- there was another reorg and we were all let go (I was THRILLED). Several of the managers caught it in the reorg after that. I don't know what the company is doing nowadays -- probably outsourcing to India.
I am 60 years old. I do not have to please anyone but myself about my work, and I'm my harshest critic anyway -- always have been. I refuse to allow this angry little demon to cause me one more moment of angst about who and what I am, and the quality of work that I do.
I swear it. No more.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Words that change lives
Sometimes you know you've made a difference in someone's life. They tell you, or you can see for yourself. (I'm not thinking so much of family here as I am friends and more casual aquaintances, or teachers and students, or co-workers -- those kinds of relationships.)
And sometimes -- probably more often than not -- you don't know. You might hope you have, but you may never know. Or you simply don't realize the impact of your words.
Sometimes it's a positive thing, isn't it -- someone gives you a compliment at a moment when you really need to feel good about yourself or what you're doing. And sometimes it isn't: you're criticized for your faults or actions, perhaps unfairly, perhaps not, but it sticks with you, probably all your life, and rankles, or hurts, or pinches a bit.
My high school English teacher made a huge difference in my life. Mrs. Simmons encouraged my writing and handed me books that were not the sort I usually read (although I always was a voracious reader, which she knew), but books that would challenge my thinking, teach me critical analysis or a style of writing. She was not a teacher you loved, but she was good -- and I didn't appreciate how good until I was in college. When I got into a classroom to teach my own classes, I found myself using so many of her techniques to help my students learn to analyze what they read, to express themselves clearly and accurately.
And I told her so in a letter. She was deeply appreciative -- said she had never received such a nice letter from a former student, and was glad to know she'd made a difference. We corresponded for a year or so, off and on. But I got to say thank you.
I also remember an offhand comment from a high school acquaintance that has never left me. She was one of the cute, short, bouncy girls of the '60s; I was tall and not terribly comfortable in my body, and had to push myself out of self-consciousness. I was highly sensitive to criticism (still am more than I'd like to be, alas). There were several of us talking in the girls' locker room one day, and she turned to me and said, "You are so loud! Your voice carries too much. Everyone can hear you all over."
Of course that made me even more self-conscious and embarrassed, and I tried for years to stifle my laughter, my enthusiasm, and my voice level. Only after I'd done a fair bit of acting did I realize that a voice that carries is a huge asset in theatre, and I learned to control it much better. But it hurt for years, and even now, after -- ooo -- some 45 years, I remember how it stung. And I remember her name.
More than 10 years ago I was active in an Internet chat room -- before I'd ever even contemplated a move to California. There were amazing people there -- funny, very well-read, extremely good writers, imaginative. There were special friendships formed there, and several had met in RT -- real time. At least one couple had married. It was a magical year with that group, and I also got to meet several of them in RT.
I'll never forget an online conversation with a few members of that group while I was out here for the first time. I'd come for a 10-day training session and fell in love with the Bay Area. Nearly as soon as I arrived, I knew that I belonged in California, even though it was going to mean turning my life completely upside down, and I think I knew on some level that I was ripe for that change even before I got on the airplane.
One of those new friends told me as I was waxing on about how right it felt here, how I believed I needed to be here: "Then make it happen, sister. Make it happen."
For the next six months those words were my mantra, and I indeed made it happen by researching, by talking to anyone who could help me realize that goal, and by examining what I truly wanted from life and who I truly was becoming (rather than the person I'd been who often acted in accordance with other people's expectations of me). I left a marriage, I left friends, I left a job (although my company created a new one here for me), and I found my life.
But her words were the catalyst that made me believe that I could really do it.
We never know when a casual comment may make all the difference in another's life, change their perception of themselves, give them hope or courage, devastate them into failure.
Choose your words carefully. Say thank you to someone whose words have deeply and positively affected your life. And don't allow the negative stuff to control one more instant of your precious life.
And sometimes -- probably more often than not -- you don't know. You might hope you have, but you may never know. Or you simply don't realize the impact of your words.
Sometimes it's a positive thing, isn't it -- someone gives you a compliment at a moment when you really need to feel good about yourself or what you're doing. And sometimes it isn't: you're criticized for your faults or actions, perhaps unfairly, perhaps not, but it sticks with you, probably all your life, and rankles, or hurts, or pinches a bit.
My high school English teacher made a huge difference in my life. Mrs. Simmons encouraged my writing and handed me books that were not the sort I usually read (although I always was a voracious reader, which she knew), but books that would challenge my thinking, teach me critical analysis or a style of writing. She was not a teacher you loved, but she was good -- and I didn't appreciate how good until I was in college. When I got into a classroom to teach my own classes, I found myself using so many of her techniques to help my students learn to analyze what they read, to express themselves clearly and accurately.
And I told her so in a letter. She was deeply appreciative -- said she had never received such a nice letter from a former student, and was glad to know she'd made a difference. We corresponded for a year or so, off and on. But I got to say thank you.
I also remember an offhand comment from a high school acquaintance that has never left me. She was one of the cute, short, bouncy girls of the '60s; I was tall and not terribly comfortable in my body, and had to push myself out of self-consciousness. I was highly sensitive to criticism (still am more than I'd like to be, alas). There were several of us talking in the girls' locker room one day, and she turned to me and said, "You are so loud! Your voice carries too much. Everyone can hear you all over."
Of course that made me even more self-conscious and embarrassed, and I tried for years to stifle my laughter, my enthusiasm, and my voice level. Only after I'd done a fair bit of acting did I realize that a voice that carries is a huge asset in theatre, and I learned to control it much better. But it hurt for years, and even now, after -- ooo -- some 45 years, I remember how it stung. And I remember her name.
More than 10 years ago I was active in an Internet chat room -- before I'd ever even contemplated a move to California. There were amazing people there -- funny, very well-read, extremely good writers, imaginative. There were special friendships formed there, and several had met in RT -- real time. At least one couple had married. It was a magical year with that group, and I also got to meet several of them in RT.
I'll never forget an online conversation with a few members of that group while I was out here for the first time. I'd come for a 10-day training session and fell in love with the Bay Area. Nearly as soon as I arrived, I knew that I belonged in California, even though it was going to mean turning my life completely upside down, and I think I knew on some level that I was ripe for that change even before I got on the airplane.
One of those new friends told me as I was waxing on about how right it felt here, how I believed I needed to be here: "Then make it happen, sister. Make it happen."
For the next six months those words were my mantra, and I indeed made it happen by researching, by talking to anyone who could help me realize that goal, and by examining what I truly wanted from life and who I truly was becoming (rather than the person I'd been who often acted in accordance with other people's expectations of me). I left a marriage, I left friends, I left a job (although my company created a new one here for me), and I found my life.
But her words were the catalyst that made me believe that I could really do it.
We never know when a casual comment may make all the difference in another's life, change their perception of themselves, give them hope or courage, devastate them into failure.
Choose your words carefully. Say thank you to someone whose words have deeply and positively affected your life. And don't allow the negative stuff to control one more instant of your precious life.
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