Two weeks ago the sermon was dedicated to Joy, yay. The following week I was in Washington DC, so I missed the sermon on Peace. Though ironically, I found quite a bit of peace surrounded by hundreds of thousands of strangers. This week we explored the next fruit of the spirit, Patience. Ughh.
Patience is a struggle. Before the sermon I would have said I possessed very little patience. Trapped behind a texting teen at a green light. Telling my daughter to put her clothes away so they don't migrate to her floor and back into the laudry basket without ever touching her body. Explaining for the fiftieth time that a student needs to capitalize the personal "I." My prayers being answered with silence. All of these things suck any vestige of patience I thought I may have scraped together. Right now I feel flush with patience, but in an instant impatience can obliterate all of this current peace, or so I thought.
Yet again, a little church has set my mind at ease a bit. Irritation is not the lack of patience. Patience is the ability to endure without retaliating. With all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love. Ephesians 4:2 I may not like certain things that happen in life, but I can endure them all easily when I take heart in them being a part of life because God made them so. Showing self-control in the face of difficulty is patience.
I can forgive as I've been forgiven. There are no circumstances that can't be patiently and joyfully waded through. Nothing anyone has done is any worse than the trespasses I have committed. I have renounced God out of anger and ignorance, and yet he has always lovingly brought me back without prejudice. For the most part, I am able let my irritation ebb from my heart knowing I really have no right to expect perfection from another. Everything that happens (or doesn't happen) can be turned over to God, and therefore be rendered no longer troubling.
The length of our patience is directly tied to the depth of confidence we have in God. I have full confidence in God running the universe because I have already proven that I can't. I don't have to lose my patience over Barbie being absorbed by her phone. I will arrive at my destination when I arrive. If I want to avoid rushing, I can leave earlier. My kiddies not minding doesn't have to lead to me speaking roughly to them. They will have to roll with the calmly-implemented consequences and learn not that they have an angry mom but a patient one. The little i will make just as much sense, and when the student is ready adopt the English standard he will. I can gratefully accept that silence is sometimes the answer to my prayers, if not right away, gradually. Patience always wins out.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Gently down the stream
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.
What a weekend!!! I could write a book on my recent trip to Washington DC to support the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear. Instead, I'm going to save the fragments as fodder for bigger things down the road. For now, I'd like to talk about one irrelevant analogy that came from the hours spent traversing the continent reflecting on some loose material floating around courtesy of Anne Lamott, several friends, and my own inabilities.
I've been living backwards. And not just me, many of my favorite people have been doing the same thing. Life is very much like the plot of a story. Our more productive days often follow a familiar pattern. Setup--buildup--payoff. As formulaic as it sounds, when we mess with this process, progress is stilted and we end up doing rewrites.
The setup is about knowing one's self. It's the phase where we establish who we are, what we're like, the dimension of our past and our dreams for the future. Setup is the part of the process where we define our character and the environment we find ourselves in at any given moment. It's important. Someone without stable setup is begging for trouble.
Those of us who want to run from the unpleasantness of the past, the personality quirks of the present, or the insecurity about the future is operating with only a partial foundation. If we do not truly know, accept, and love all of ourselves and our current states of being, it is very difficult to move forward toward any sort of lasting evolution. Not that this stops us from sweeping much of the setup under the rug. All too often we try to cover up the real with the should. We try to make the "is" something it is not because we want to skip to the good stuff. We want to arrive at the boon without acknowledging the less than ideal state of affairs we are currently in.
"I'm perfect," you may claim. Very well, go catch up on Dancing With the Stars over a pint of ice cream. I'm not talking to you. However, if you're at all like me, you have your work cut out for you. How does one know thy self? Prayer, meditation, journaling, posting random thoughts on an ill-conceived blog for the world to see and comment on--these are all worth a shot. Talking to people who are already a part of the fabric of your being is good, too. Who knows? Laying the ground work for the setup is a work in progress until the one is without a pulse. Until then, I'm open to suggestions on how to form a foundation for which the rest of life can play out.
Buildup is suppose to be the next phase. Buildup is where we interact with other people, places, things, ideas, etc. in order that we can experience change. Buildup is the person who inspires new feelings, the idea that shapes our beliefs, or the challenge that exposes us to our vulnerabilities or strengths previously hidden from the light of awareness. Usually buildup is the fire we walk through in order to be reborn. It's where the magic happens. It's being a parent, finding a job, hurting a friend, falling in love, writing a song. There are endless possibilities what form the buildup may manifest as. It can be big, getting married, or small, making breakfast. Each activity and experience is all at once the metaphor for life and life itself playing out. We, as simultaneous narrators and spectators, make meaning out of life in the arena of buildup. If we try to skip this phase, we are just lying to ourselves. We are saying what we want to be true without putting our new truths to the test. Living is buildup.
Last comes payoff. This is the joy and growing sense of completeness derived from knowing more about one's self and the reality we inhabit. It is the point we feel more connected to God, our fellow man, or maybe some tasty lamb chops. Payoff feeds back into knowing and loving the self more completely, a.k.a. the perpetual setup and buildup.
Easy enough, right? Not so much for me. I like to skip to payoff without so much self awareness, suffering, or patience. Instead of taking the time to understand the characters and the background of the now, I leap to what I want the details to be and try to narrate my payoffs early. Sometimes I focus so intently on the yahoos life gives me (and there are many), the shadows are temporarily hidden. Other times I tell myself the now is something it isn't because I want so desperately to experience a payoff that I'm not as ready for as I'd like to think I am or just plainly doesn't exist. It often goes back to trying to fill an emptiness with something or someone who doesn't fit, but I wish they did.
The way I see this process get flubbed up the most is with "love," the passionate sort, not agape. Instead of building a sturdy framework based on a healthy pre-setup foundation, we tack up some water colored paper mache, jump into to bed for some immediate gratification and call it love. Love takes many forms, fair enough. But this fleeting, often disappointing form is more prevalent amongst single middle-aged people, myself included.
It often goes payoff, setup, buildup, crash. Men and women interchangeably want comfort, orgasms, companionship, support, physical touch, to know and be known in various combinations, usually at an alarmingly fluctuating rates. We want this sort of love, built without the setup of knowing ourselves, the other person, or the working logistics involved in said relationship. We want love without the trial of buildup because we are so focused on the false concepts of what the payoff of love really is.
After the payoff of "closeness," we start trying to establish the setup by getting to know the other person and ourselves with that person. We may be shocked to find that he, she, I, or you aren't the same as the hastily scribbled image. Often we start to make deep compromises in an effort to build upon a relationship that really didn't have a chance to begin with. We ignore red flags and warnings from our contractor friends that see the looming collapse. When the house of sticks finally comes down we want to move on quickly without processing how the event feeds back into our setup, and in so ignoring we are doomed to repeat the cycle again.
Other times people, not so much me on this one, try to start a relationship with buildup. In these cases, buildup resembles manipulation because it is not based on the real setup. The payoff is often empty because one can't differentiate between the manipulations and who each person truly is. A man may tell a woman he loves her, doesn't want to live without her, he's never felt this way before. His desire becomes an irrisitable web. Who doesn't want to be wanted? It may be that he is lying to her, but he could very well be lying to himself as well. Sooner or later, heated passion cools into a growing sense of dread when his cell rings. She wants him to meet her parents? He isn't supposed to chat with other women on-line? This isn't the payoff he was looking for. Fast forward to the inevitable chewing of the arm.
Don't sit there nodding your head ladies, fickle passions are perpetrated by both sexes. As is the following shoddy buildup: There are women (or men) who feign victimhood looking for their psuedo-knight(nurse) to rescue them. Some men find playing the hero irrisistable and come to the fair damsels aid over and over. However, the maiden is never fully saved. Her plights deepen. As her demands increase, so does the day to day drama. The reality that her man can't ever save her begins to seep in and a lot of finger pointing and emasculating ensues. What happens? Eventual demolition after several painful remodeling attempts.
Does this mean we avoid looking for someone to be build a Casa de Amor? No, but perhaps by being more honest and aware, more compassionate and loving, more patient and accepting with ourselves and others we can avoid some of the waste. It all works out in the end despite our flailings. However, paying attention to the phases might help limit the pain. I'm hoping anyway.
What a weekend!!! I could write a book on my recent trip to Washington DC to support the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear. Instead, I'm going to save the fragments as fodder for bigger things down the road. For now, I'd like to talk about one irrelevant analogy that came from the hours spent traversing the continent reflecting on some loose material floating around courtesy of Anne Lamott, several friends, and my own inabilities.
I've been living backwards. And not just me, many of my favorite people have been doing the same thing. Life is very much like the plot of a story. Our more productive days often follow a familiar pattern. Setup--buildup--payoff. As formulaic as it sounds, when we mess with this process, progress is stilted and we end up doing rewrites.
The setup is about knowing one's self. It's the phase where we establish who we are, what we're like, the dimension of our past and our dreams for the future. Setup is the part of the process where we define our character and the environment we find ourselves in at any given moment. It's important. Someone without stable setup is begging for trouble.
Those of us who want to run from the unpleasantness of the past, the personality quirks of the present, or the insecurity about the future is operating with only a partial foundation. If we do not truly know, accept, and love all of ourselves and our current states of being, it is very difficult to move forward toward any sort of lasting evolution. Not that this stops us from sweeping much of the setup under the rug. All too often we try to cover up the real with the should. We try to make the "is" something it is not because we want to skip to the good stuff. We want to arrive at the boon without acknowledging the less than ideal state of affairs we are currently in.
"I'm perfect," you may claim. Very well, go catch up on Dancing With the Stars over a pint of ice cream. I'm not talking to you. However, if you're at all like me, you have your work cut out for you. How does one know thy self? Prayer, meditation, journaling, posting random thoughts on an ill-conceived blog for the world to see and comment on--these are all worth a shot. Talking to people who are already a part of the fabric of your being is good, too. Who knows? Laying the ground work for the setup is a work in progress until the one is without a pulse. Until then, I'm open to suggestions on how to form a foundation for which the rest of life can play out.
Buildup is suppose to be the next phase. Buildup is where we interact with other people, places, things, ideas, etc. in order that we can experience change. Buildup is the person who inspires new feelings, the idea that shapes our beliefs, or the challenge that exposes us to our vulnerabilities or strengths previously hidden from the light of awareness. Usually buildup is the fire we walk through in order to be reborn. It's where the magic happens. It's being a parent, finding a job, hurting a friend, falling in love, writing a song. There are endless possibilities what form the buildup may manifest as. It can be big, getting married, or small, making breakfast. Each activity and experience is all at once the metaphor for life and life itself playing out. We, as simultaneous narrators and spectators, make meaning out of life in the arena of buildup. If we try to skip this phase, we are just lying to ourselves. We are saying what we want to be true without putting our new truths to the test. Living is buildup.
Last comes payoff. This is the joy and growing sense of completeness derived from knowing more about one's self and the reality we inhabit. It is the point we feel more connected to God, our fellow man, or maybe some tasty lamb chops. Payoff feeds back into knowing and loving the self more completely, a.k.a. the perpetual setup and buildup.
Easy enough, right? Not so much for me. I like to skip to payoff without so much self awareness, suffering, or patience. Instead of taking the time to understand the characters and the background of the now, I leap to what I want the details to be and try to narrate my payoffs early. Sometimes I focus so intently on the yahoos life gives me (and there are many), the shadows are temporarily hidden. Other times I tell myself the now is something it isn't because I want so desperately to experience a payoff that I'm not as ready for as I'd like to think I am or just plainly doesn't exist. It often goes back to trying to fill an emptiness with something or someone who doesn't fit, but I wish they did.
The way I see this process get flubbed up the most is with "love," the passionate sort, not agape. Instead of building a sturdy framework based on a healthy pre-setup foundation, we tack up some water colored paper mache, jump into to bed for some immediate gratification and call it love. Love takes many forms, fair enough. But this fleeting, often disappointing form is more prevalent amongst single middle-aged people, myself included.
It often goes payoff, setup, buildup, crash. Men and women interchangeably want comfort, orgasms, companionship, support, physical touch, to know and be known in various combinations, usually at an alarmingly fluctuating rates. We want this sort of love, built without the setup of knowing ourselves, the other person, or the working logistics involved in said relationship. We want love without the trial of buildup because we are so focused on the false concepts of what the payoff of love really is.
After the payoff of "closeness," we start trying to establish the setup by getting to know the other person and ourselves with that person. We may be shocked to find that he, she, I, or you aren't the same as the hastily scribbled image. Often we start to make deep compromises in an effort to build upon a relationship that really didn't have a chance to begin with. We ignore red flags and warnings from our contractor friends that see the looming collapse. When the house of sticks finally comes down we want to move on quickly without processing how the event feeds back into our setup, and in so ignoring we are doomed to repeat the cycle again.
Other times people, not so much me on this one, try to start a relationship with buildup. In these cases, buildup resembles manipulation because it is not based on the real setup. The payoff is often empty because one can't differentiate between the manipulations and who each person truly is. A man may tell a woman he loves her, doesn't want to live without her, he's never felt this way before. His desire becomes an irrisitable web. Who doesn't want to be wanted? It may be that he is lying to her, but he could very well be lying to himself as well. Sooner or later, heated passion cools into a growing sense of dread when his cell rings. She wants him to meet her parents? He isn't supposed to chat with other women on-line? This isn't the payoff he was looking for. Fast forward to the inevitable chewing of the arm.
Don't sit there nodding your head ladies, fickle passions are perpetrated by both sexes. As is the following shoddy buildup: There are women (or men) who feign victimhood looking for their psuedo-knight(nurse) to rescue them. Some men find playing the hero irrisistable and come to the fair damsels aid over and over. However, the maiden is never fully saved. Her plights deepen. As her demands increase, so does the day to day drama. The reality that her man can't ever save her begins to seep in and a lot of finger pointing and emasculating ensues. What happens? Eventual demolition after several painful remodeling attempts.
Does this mean we avoid looking for someone to be build a Casa de Amor? No, but perhaps by being more honest and aware, more compassionate and loving, more patient and accepting with ourselves and others we can avoid some of the waste. It all works out in the end despite our flailings. However, paying attention to the phases might help limit the pain. I'm hoping anyway.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Bloggin' via the cell phone
I am not a fan of texting. As a friend once said, "If there is a hell, texting would be it's only means of communication." I'm in full agreement. It stunts the flow of thought, leads to published errors, and more often than not makes you look douchey being so absorbed by a little plastic gadget while life moves and breathes in the background. What could be so important that I would tune out to post?
Nothing. I'm sitting in the Pasco airport shortly before my plane boards. There are over 100 people milling about, mostly people on business returning home after a week if work in the Tri-Cities. I met a nice gent headed home to San Fran, but my usually chatty nature is still in the sheets. Getting up at 3 inhibits my inner Pollyanna.
...
Nothing. I'm sitting in the Pasco airport shortly before my plane boards. There are over 100 people milling about, mostly people on business returning home after a week if work in the Tri-Cities. I met a nice gent headed home to San Fran, but my usually chatty nature is still in the sheets. Getting up at 3 inhibits my inner Pollyanna.
...
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Joy is my favorite fruit of the Spirit
While talking to my dear friend Karin this morning, I started hopping in place because I felt so full of love and happiness about life in general. She said, "Keep jumping an lots of people will be feeling some joy." She was referring to my jumblies, but nonetheless, my joy was uncontainable. Since I don't have a tail to wag, jumping up and down is sometimes the best way to release pent up joy, right up there with singing off-key and hugging. Joy is one of the most contagious and rewarding emotions. As one exudes it, joy returns multiplied by the sharing, a gift from God that we can give and get inexhaustably.
Now, today at church Pastor Dave talked about a different kind of joy, not in the sense of being happy but in the sense of knowing God is in control of our lives as well as the rest of the universe. He said true joy isn't about smiling and laughing necessarily; it's about trusting that whatever worldy things are going on, God loves and is caring for us. True joy is best measured in times of woe because that gives us the opportunity to count it all joy. I like this--suffering as a doorway to joy. Pastor Dave analogized joy to diamonds. When you put a real diamond underwater it intensifies it's brilliance. Unlike with a fake one, the genuine shines forth.
Even when I'm wrestling with life, the faith that nothing stands against me besides self makes all my worries transient. Fortunately, I don't have a lot of woe in my life. This is probably the most reletively woeless times I've experienced. The only reason I'm able to enjoy this current boon in life is because God delivered me from harder times. I frequently pray for memory so that I will remember these moments when the worm of life inevitably turns. However, he has also turned my suffering into understanding, expanding my capacity for joy. It makes it easy to be thankful hardship in the aftermath. Hopefully, I'll allow the light of joy to light my way throughout the upcoming seasons in life, no matter how dark those times may seem. If you're a friend, you may remind me of this when you catch me whining.
Now, today at church Pastor Dave talked about a different kind of joy, not in the sense of being happy but in the sense of knowing God is in control of our lives as well as the rest of the universe. He said true joy isn't about smiling and laughing necessarily; it's about trusting that whatever worldy things are going on, God loves and is caring for us. True joy is best measured in times of woe because that gives us the opportunity to count it all joy. I like this--suffering as a doorway to joy. Pastor Dave analogized joy to diamonds. When you put a real diamond underwater it intensifies it's brilliance. Unlike with a fake one, the genuine shines forth.
Even when I'm wrestling with life, the faith that nothing stands against me besides self makes all my worries transient. Fortunately, I don't have a lot of woe in my life. This is probably the most reletively woeless times I've experienced. The only reason I'm able to enjoy this current boon in life is because God delivered me from harder times. I frequently pray for memory so that I will remember these moments when the worm of life inevitably turns. However, he has also turned my suffering into understanding, expanding my capacity for joy. It makes it easy to be thankful hardship in the aftermath. Hopefully, I'll allow the light of joy to light my way throughout the upcoming seasons in life, no matter how dark those times may seem. If you're a friend, you may remind me of this when you catch me whining.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Datestravaganza
In the last six weeks, I've been on more dates than the rest of my life combined.
Growing up, I was a late bloomer--no boobies until 19; a social pariah--I was never asked to a school dance, ever; and the owner of a plethora of annoying personality quirks--talking too much, getting overly excited at little things, telling painful truths, and randomly falling down are only the tip of the ice burg. No dating, no surprise. When I joined the Navy a recruiter, PN2 Scott, warned me that they would "be coming out of the woodwork" after me, and I couldn't have been happier.
He was sort of right. Many a ill-intentioned sailor took interest, but very few had much see through. The first three dates I said yes to, I was painfully stood up. Lots of apologies, extenuating circumstances, give me another shot, yada, yada. No thanks, didn't want to get burnt. I was jaded. Dating had become synonymous with rejection and humiliation. Now, this isn't to say I didn't have intimate relationships, but we would usually go from buddies to "buddies" without all the formal games. I don't really care to speculate on how many boyfriends I had between the ages of 18 to 20, but the no dating policy remained firmly in effect until I was getting ready to go overseas.
I had a friend, Jason Kimlinger, who had asked me out at least three hundred times. He would come hang out at my room--like everyone else, "Party in 824"--but he would make up songs about my feet and rub them for hours. Though our friendship was strictly platonic, he'd bring little tokens of affection like hundreds of four-leaf clovers or especially pretty metal shavings from work. Day after day, the answer to his requests remainded no. This was probably because he was always filthy, never shaved, wore the same ripped shorts and dirty t-shirt everyday, and mooched like a pro grifter because all of his dough went into working on his ugly truck. He was an asshole, too. Jason once broke his hand punching my wall because I wouldn't let him beat up my smartass little brother who was begging to get knocked out (a feat Shawn accomplished shortly after). So it was to both of our surprises that I finally said yes to a date two days before transferring overseas.
Jason showed up with a dozen long-stem red roses, a corsage, and a card telling me I looked moovalous with a picture of a fat Holstein on the front. He was wearing a new white button-down shirt, slacks, tie, and dress shoes. He'd even gotten a haircut and a shave. His truck was clean for the first time I'd ever seen, and instead of blaring country, he had it tuned to my favorite oldies station. He hated oldies. We went to a fancy riverboat restaurant and then walked around Seaport Village. Jason had even packed my favorite beer instead of his usual Bud. He didn't try kissing me goodnight, thankfully, but he did rub my feeties until I fell asleep. <--- Right, there. That was fifteen years of positive dating karma in one night. That was the last time I saw or heard from him.
Flash forward to September of 2010, I'd had four more dates. One decent '96, one ok '09, one horrible '09, and one I got married the day after '00. I'd more or less settled back into the thanks, but no thanks mentality. That's when a friend whom I'd met on Plenty of Fish--don't judge me--shared his serial dating experience. He had taken the anxiety out of dating after divorce by just doing it. He went on lots of dates, made lots of friends, and even found a couple of women he was really into, some more than others, pun intended. Sounded like a good idea to me, so I jumped in with both feet. Though I still said no more times than yes, eight dates later I discovered dating isn't that big of a deal. In fact, I think I may have been dating all my life but not categorizing it as such because I was over thinking the whole thing. Also, it wasn't much fun.
I've found that my life is very full with or without dating. More often than not, going to the movie with a friend or the kids is better than with a stranger fellow I want to impress. Wine tasting with my girl friends is way more fun than doing the same with someone I'm on guard against trying to get in my pants. Though I'm thankful for my recent experiences and the friends I've made, I'm putting the breaks on the revolving dating door. I like my time too much to squander it in awkwardness or boredom. BBQ's, the occasional Friday-night karaoke, or a brisk walk are fine, but my online profiles are going bye bye. This doesn't mean I'm embracing spinsterhood just yet, but I am going to start valuing my time a little more preciously.
So, what is a date? <--- Really, I'd like to know what everyone thinks on this one. Please. It's for posterity.
Growing up, I was a late bloomer--no boobies until 19; a social pariah--I was never asked to a school dance, ever; and the owner of a plethora of annoying personality quirks--talking too much, getting overly excited at little things, telling painful truths, and randomly falling down are only the tip of the ice burg. No dating, no surprise. When I joined the Navy a recruiter, PN2 Scott, warned me that they would "be coming out of the woodwork" after me, and I couldn't have been happier.
He was sort of right. Many a ill-intentioned sailor took interest, but very few had much see through. The first three dates I said yes to, I was painfully stood up. Lots of apologies, extenuating circumstances, give me another shot, yada, yada. No thanks, didn't want to get burnt. I was jaded. Dating had become synonymous with rejection and humiliation. Now, this isn't to say I didn't have intimate relationships, but we would usually go from buddies to "buddies" without all the formal games. I don't really care to speculate on how many boyfriends I had between the ages of 18 to 20, but the no dating policy remained firmly in effect until I was getting ready to go overseas.
I had a friend, Jason Kimlinger, who had asked me out at least three hundred times. He would come hang out at my room--like everyone else, "Party in 824"--but he would make up songs about my feet and rub them for hours. Though our friendship was strictly platonic, he'd bring little tokens of affection like hundreds of four-leaf clovers or especially pretty metal shavings from work. Day after day, the answer to his requests remainded no. This was probably because he was always filthy, never shaved, wore the same ripped shorts and dirty t-shirt everyday, and mooched like a pro grifter because all of his dough went into working on his ugly truck. He was an asshole, too. Jason once broke his hand punching my wall because I wouldn't let him beat up my smartass little brother who was begging to get knocked out (a feat Shawn accomplished shortly after). So it was to both of our surprises that I finally said yes to a date two days before transferring overseas.
Jason showed up with a dozen long-stem red roses, a corsage, and a card telling me I looked moovalous with a picture of a fat Holstein on the front. He was wearing a new white button-down shirt, slacks, tie, and dress shoes. He'd even gotten a haircut and a shave. His truck was clean for the first time I'd ever seen, and instead of blaring country, he had it tuned to my favorite oldies station. He hated oldies. We went to a fancy riverboat restaurant and then walked around Seaport Village. Jason had even packed my favorite beer instead of his usual Bud. He didn't try kissing me goodnight, thankfully, but he did rub my feeties until I fell asleep. <--- Right, there. That was fifteen years of positive dating karma in one night. That was the last time I saw or heard from him.
Flash forward to September of 2010, I'd had four more dates. One decent '96, one ok '09, one horrible '09, and one I got married the day after '00. I'd more or less settled back into the thanks, but no thanks mentality. That's when a friend whom I'd met on Plenty of Fish--don't judge me--shared his serial dating experience. He had taken the anxiety out of dating after divorce by just doing it. He went on lots of dates, made lots of friends, and even found a couple of women he was really into, some more than others, pun intended. Sounded like a good idea to me, so I jumped in with both feet. Though I still said no more times than yes, eight dates later I discovered dating isn't that big of a deal. In fact, I think I may have been dating all my life but not categorizing it as such because I was over thinking the whole thing. Also, it wasn't much fun.
I've found that my life is very full with or without dating. More often than not, going to the movie with a friend or the kids is better than with a stranger fellow I want to impress. Wine tasting with my girl friends is way more fun than doing the same with someone I'm on guard against trying to get in my pants. Though I'm thankful for my recent experiences and the friends I've made, I'm putting the breaks on the revolving dating door. I like my time too much to squander it in awkwardness or boredom. BBQ's, the occasional Friday-night karaoke, or a brisk walk are fine, but my online profiles are going bye bye. This doesn't mean I'm embracing spinsterhood just yet, but I am going to start valuing my time a little more preciously.
So, what is a date? <--- Really, I'd like to know what everyone thinks on this one. Please. It's for posterity.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
A distracted mind is a terrible thing to waste
Well, not really. I just spent the last two hours battling writer's dyslexia, pouring out the chaos of the last couple weeks, detailing my hopes and fears, metaphoring my case in as much eloquence as I could muster. When it was finally honed, I pressed post. Blip. All gone. Not posted. The back button swallowed my mental spewed cookies, and nothing is left except the uncluttered mind. Thank you, God. And thank you to the friend that continues to nudge me along my path without judgment or bias.
Tomorrow's blog will be more engaging. Title: Datstravaganza. Time to enjoy six good hours of sleep.
Tomorrow's blog will be more engaging. Title: Datstravaganza. Time to enjoy six good hours of sleep.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Early to bed
I am so glad I got up early enough to edit out the obsenities in last night's posting. Boy, it was rough, the kind of rough that makes you shake your head with a chuckle all day and think, "I said THAT." Very uncharacteristic. There are half a dozen little things that I let play through my mind too much last night.
However, today was a new brighter day.
I am going to go see Jon Stewart in DC, or at least the microdot of him in the distance. Does anyone have any binoculars I can borrow? It sort of sucks that I'm going alone, but remembering what it was like to be half of a couple and jump through four times as many hoops to drag the poor sap along makes it suck a lot less. Want to go? Leaving Friday, coming back Sunday--Halloween. Bwhahaha. Hope my daddy understands me missing his birthday....or goes hunting.
Also, I put in a solid day at work, mowed the lawn, pushed out 4 1/2 miles on the elliptical, got some new library books, cooked, cleaned, read a couple good emails, and shopped for Cassie's birthday. That's a solid sixteen hours, so I'd better go to bed now before I ruin it.
However, today was a new brighter day.
I am going to go see Jon Stewart in DC, or at least the microdot of him in the distance. Does anyone have any binoculars I can borrow? It sort of sucks that I'm going alone, but remembering what it was like to be half of a couple and jump through four times as many hoops to drag the poor sap along makes it suck a lot less. Want to go? Leaving Friday, coming back Sunday--Halloween. Bwhahaha. Hope my daddy understands me missing his birthday....or goes hunting.
Also, I put in a solid day at work, mowed the lawn, pushed out 4 1/2 miles on the elliptical, got some new library books, cooked, cleaned, read a couple good emails, and shopped for Cassie's birthday. That's a solid sixteen hours, so I'd better go to bed now before I ruin it.
Talk to me
I'm in love with Jon Stewart. He's married, and he isn't truly an actual human being in my mind. Neverthless, that is the epitome of hotness. If I could get to D.C. for under $3,000, I would. Not only to be a part of the "Rally to Support Sanity," but also to meet like-minded folk. Though, it would be so depressing to return to EO after talking to people who thought outside of the duck blind.
Nevertheless, nevertheless, we are all in this together. What about you? Who is your hero?
Edited.
Nevertheless, nevertheless, we are all in this together. What about you? Who is your hero?
Edited.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Brush strokes
Good feelings are easy to find; you don't even need a GPS...though sometimes it helps. I'd love to take credit for consciously deciding that everything in my life this weekend was a gift to be appreciated, but really it was just brimming my favorite things: people, new experiences, and God.
Someone asked me what my dreams and fantasies were. I gave some vague answers, but after thinking about it, I'm living my dreams. It takes a little focus to realize it sometimes though. This weekend was full of exchanges and experiences that added details to the work of art called life, becoming ever more clearer as I love and work and play and pray a little every day.
Outstanding brush strokes:
I reconnected with two good friends and a load of family that I'd sort of lost contact with. These are people that I love deeply and periodically mourn because I haven't seen them in a while. The connections hadn't grown stale or awkward in the least. I love people and want to hold on to all of them. Just because direct contact may fade, doesn't mean that the connection is lost. It's just dormant while a different season plays across the canvas.
I also met some new people who unknowingly gave me a more distinct vision of the self being shaped. They were funny, warm, adventurous, and unassumingly poised. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time, but I know that I want to.
The context of adventure is more about opening one's self to positive possibilities than paring down what I want to build the walls of my rut out of. I like singing karaoke, bbqing, and watching movies, but that doesn't mean I don't have room to enjoy geocaching, running from "Big Jim" the barber, or taking a moment just to nap on the swing in the backyard. Good stuff.
Failing is okay as long as I'm failing forward. When I lie, justify, or ignore my tresspasses, the hurt, resentment, anger, fear, and guilt obscure humility, growth, and grace. If there is a part of my life that I haven't surrendered to God, then sooner or later that part spirals downward into suffering. Affording myself the same grace God offers me allows me to learn and grow from my mistakes. Only when the seed dies can the sprout be born. I am thankful for this gradual cycle that brings me more fully into God's light and love.
What a beautiful life I've been given. Yay.
Someone asked me what my dreams and fantasies were. I gave some vague answers, but after thinking about it, I'm living my dreams. It takes a little focus to realize it sometimes though. This weekend was full of exchanges and experiences that added details to the work of art called life, becoming ever more clearer as I love and work and play and pray a little every day.
Outstanding brush strokes:
I reconnected with two good friends and a load of family that I'd sort of lost contact with. These are people that I love deeply and periodically mourn because I haven't seen them in a while. The connections hadn't grown stale or awkward in the least. I love people and want to hold on to all of them. Just because direct contact may fade, doesn't mean that the connection is lost. It's just dormant while a different season plays across the canvas.
I also met some new people who unknowingly gave me a more distinct vision of the self being shaped. They were funny, warm, adventurous, and unassumingly poised. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time, but I know that I want to.
The context of adventure is more about opening one's self to positive possibilities than paring down what I want to build the walls of my rut out of. I like singing karaoke, bbqing, and watching movies, but that doesn't mean I don't have room to enjoy geocaching, running from "Big Jim" the barber, or taking a moment just to nap on the swing in the backyard. Good stuff.
Failing is okay as long as I'm failing forward. When I lie, justify, or ignore my tresspasses, the hurt, resentment, anger, fear, and guilt obscure humility, growth, and grace. If there is a part of my life that I haven't surrendered to God, then sooner or later that part spirals downward into suffering. Affording myself the same grace God offers me allows me to learn and grow from my mistakes. Only when the seed dies can the sprout be born. I am thankful for this gradual cycle that brings me more fully into God's light and love.
What a beautiful life I've been given. Yay.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
"If you don't have something nice to say...
...shut the fuck up." At least, that's what my dad used to say. Somehow I have found a third foot to put in my mouth. Not enough sleep? Miserable from my aching arm? Repressed aggression? Perhaps, by blogging I'm gradually uncapping a voice I've buried for the sake of being a "good" mommy, friend, sister, teacher,etc. I don't know, but I'm feeling a bit guilty for things said and some mercifully unsaid today.
Though I'd much rather be sunshine, rainbows, hope, and happiness all the time, the darkside is never a stone's throw away. She is so much funnier, too. That onery part adds ballast to an imbalanced personality. It's not my intention to be mean, but Pollyanna needs a break sometimes.
I think I need some more regular outlets for being a little nasty. Just a little nasty. None of my old behaviors really appeal though. Drinking my face off leads to hangovers, embarrasment, and/or regret. Besides, moderation is so much more enjoyable. That one night in Vegas doesn't count. Smoking is gross, expensive, and not all that rewarding. At one time, recreational sex might have been a good stress reliever, but promiscuity impedes the process of entering into a loving, long-term relationship, which would be on my to-do list if I had a clue what one of those looked like. Drugs have never interested me; I'm too old and guilt-prone for fighting; and spending gobs of money on toys, clothes, or shoes just seems pointless.
Ok, I know turning things over to God solves everything, but in this case I don't see anything specific to turn over. Life is great...on paper anyway. Hmm, perhaps there is a long meditation in my future to open this up to the only entitiy that can fix me...Chris Martin. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jBEYyHGbwto&feature=related <---- In my top 10 of all-time favorites. I can't listen to it with out imagining what it would be like. This one is good, too, but for opposite reasons: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FdD6RMICpfg
Any suggestions or advice, readers? Or should I say Princess, Deanne, and Mitchell. I'm not saying I'll take it, but I really like input.
Though I'd much rather be sunshine, rainbows, hope, and happiness all the time, the darkside is never a stone's throw away. She is so much funnier, too. That onery part adds ballast to an imbalanced personality. It's not my intention to be mean, but Pollyanna needs a break sometimes.
I think I need some more regular outlets for being a little nasty. Just a little nasty. None of my old behaviors really appeal though. Drinking my face off leads to hangovers, embarrasment, and/or regret. Besides, moderation is so much more enjoyable. That one night in Vegas doesn't count. Smoking is gross, expensive, and not all that rewarding. At one time, recreational sex might have been a good stress reliever, but promiscuity impedes the process of entering into a loving, long-term relationship, which would be on my to-do list if I had a clue what one of those looked like. Drugs have never interested me; I'm too old and guilt-prone for fighting; and spending gobs of money on toys, clothes, or shoes just seems pointless.
Ok, I know turning things over to God solves everything, but in this case I don't see anything specific to turn over. Life is great...on paper anyway. Hmm, perhaps there is a long meditation in my future to open this up to the only entitiy that can fix me...Chris Martin. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jBEYyHGbwto&feature=related <---- In my top 10 of all-time favorites. I can't listen to it with out imagining what it would be like. This one is good, too, but for opposite reasons: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FdD6RMICpfg
Any suggestions or advice, readers? Or should I say Princess, Deanne, and Mitchell. I'm not saying I'll take it, but I really like input.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Both hands on the keyboard
I should have started blogging earlier. It would have helped me keep from wringing Cassie's neck. I'm having a hard time believing we share genetic code. What happened?
After dropping Sonja off at play practice, Cass and I went grocery shopping, mostly for stuff for her to take hunting tomorrow. Things were going well, she'd only ran into me with the cart two or three times and hadn't thrown too big of a fit when I said no to the six hundredth thing she asked for. With arms full off chili and soup cans, I turned around to discover she and the cart were gone. "Cassie? Caaaaassie? Cassandra, dear? CASSIE!!!" After extensive looking, I find her in the greeting card isle looking at birthday cards.
"What are you doing? Where's the cart? My purse was in there."
"Nothing. Looking at cards for me." Her birthday is next Friday, 12 years young. "You know, Mom, you can just buy me a phone or give me a couple hundred dollars." This from the girl who recently asked for an advance on her allowance to buy me a birthday present but then used the money to buy herself a book. It's the thought that counts, and at least it was a book and not heroin, but I can't believe she is completely oblivious to other people's feelings. Except when she isn't.
Miss Cheeks also loves to tell me how much fun drama is. Whenever she can, she likes to tell so and so what so and so said and then gleefully watch them fight. Cass plays the reorganization of trios into diodes game like others play World of Warcraft. "It lets me know who is popular and important." How do I not choke her????
Don't get me started on how boy crazy she is. She averages about three life-crippling crushes a week. When the object of her affections starts to pay attention to her, she switches her focus to one who isn't interested so she can pine.
"What's wrong with me, Mother?" Bod hoo hoo.
"I don't know, Honey. I really don't know." This cannot be the fruit of my womb. Sigh.
Cassie's sense of humor--she tells a confusing story which only she laughs at, then immediately she tells the story of telling the last story and laughing. To this, she laughs even harder and starts in on the third incomprehensible rendition of the same story. To her credit, by the time she is rolling on the floor with tears running out of her eyes, confused bystanders are laughing at her spastic behavior...hmmm, guess we do have a little bit in common.
Her antics wouldn't hurt so much if I didn't love her to pieces. On the one hand I want to stop her from creating situations that cause herself and others to suffer. I want to stop her rapid cycle of snotty pride and crushing self-loathing. I'd like to convince her how valuable her love, forgiveness, and generosity can be. On the other, I know it is her life to live and learn from. While I can dole out circumstances that make certain behaviors unrewarding, I can't actually stop her from doing anything. All I can do is watch and hold out my towel of unconditional love to wrap her in when life soaks her. Momming hurts.
Think about feeling this way for 6,872,245,726 people. Sorry for my own childish antics, God.
After dropping Sonja off at play practice, Cass and I went grocery shopping, mostly for stuff for her to take hunting tomorrow. Things were going well, she'd only ran into me with the cart two or three times and hadn't thrown too big of a fit when I said no to the six hundredth thing she asked for. With arms full off chili and soup cans, I turned around to discover she and the cart were gone. "Cassie? Caaaaassie? Cassandra, dear? CASSIE!!!" After extensive looking, I find her in the greeting card isle looking at birthday cards.
"What are you doing? Where's the cart? My purse was in there."
"Nothing. Looking at cards for me." Her birthday is next Friday, 12 years young. "You know, Mom, you can just buy me a phone or give me a couple hundred dollars." This from the girl who recently asked for an advance on her allowance to buy me a birthday present but then used the money to buy herself a book. It's the thought that counts, and at least it was a book and not heroin, but I can't believe she is completely oblivious to other people's feelings. Except when she isn't.
Miss Cheeks also loves to tell me how much fun drama is. Whenever she can, she likes to tell so and so what so and so said and then gleefully watch them fight. Cass plays the reorganization of trios into diodes game like others play World of Warcraft. "It lets me know who is popular and important." How do I not choke her????
Don't get me started on how boy crazy she is. She averages about three life-crippling crushes a week. When the object of her affections starts to pay attention to her, she switches her focus to one who isn't interested so she can pine.
"What's wrong with me, Mother?" Bod hoo hoo.
"I don't know, Honey. I really don't know." This cannot be the fruit of my womb. Sigh.
Cassie's sense of humor--she tells a confusing story which only she laughs at, then immediately she tells the story of telling the last story and laughing. To this, she laughs even harder and starts in on the third incomprehensible rendition of the same story. To her credit, by the time she is rolling on the floor with tears running out of her eyes, confused bystanders are laughing at her spastic behavior...hmmm, guess we do have a little bit in common.
Her antics wouldn't hurt so much if I didn't love her to pieces. On the one hand I want to stop her from creating situations that cause herself and others to suffer. I want to stop her rapid cycle of snotty pride and crushing self-loathing. I'd like to convince her how valuable her love, forgiveness, and generosity can be. On the other, I know it is her life to live and learn from. While I can dole out circumstances that make certain behaviors unrewarding, I can't actually stop her from doing anything. All I can do is watch and hold out my towel of unconditional love to wrap her in when life soaks her. Momming hurts.
Think about feeling this way for 6,872,245,726 people. Sorry for my own childish antics, God.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
People of heart
The best way to lead is by good example. Big thank you going out to Johnny Stallings for voluntarily driving from Portland to Umatilla once a week to facilitate a dialogue group at TRCI. He just directed sixteen inmates in the best rendition of "A Midsummer Night's Dream" I've seen. Also, thank you to Nancy Scharbach for designing many of the costumes and the Portland Opera house for loaning the rest. It takes a lot of talent to deck out a guy as Titania, Queen of the Fairies, or Tom Snout "The Wall." Their compassion and generosity spread like waves in a pond. The last show is this Saturday. For more information on Mr. Stallings' work on the inside go to http://www.openheartsopenminds.net/ The difference he is making in these men's lives is undeniable.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Sweet Symphonies
"Life has a melody...A rhythm of notes which become your existence once played in harmony with God's plan."
I'm offering dinner to the first person that can tell me where this quote comes from without plugging it into a search engine...and I have my ways of testing your honesty.
Music has been playing through my mind a lot lately, not only as a soundtrack for the day-to-day, but also as a reflection of the spirit. I was allegorizing religion earlier, a hobby, and I thought about this great big symphonic world. God, like music, is everywhere. Cultural bias often dictates the forms that appeal to individuals, but there is no culture that is without some sort of music. Many religions would like to say they have the market cornered on salvation, but it just doesn't make sense that God would provide only one way to sing his song.
Jesus is one instrument, like a piano. If I know how to play the piano, then to me that is music. Buddha is another instrument, like a zheng (that stringed weapon they use to throw punches at the three defenders of the slum in Kung Fu Hustle). Many people can derive music from that instrument. Is one better than the other? The symphony is everywhere, rustling trees, a babbling brook, silence. There is music and God in it all. We just have to listen for it. Telling millions of people that their preference in music is wrong, is just noise that will get them damned to hell, limits our own ability to hear the incomprehensibly infinite variety of song he created. Grace, Jesus, folk, and rock will probably forever top my charts, but I still want to hear and experience as many of the universe's sweet sounds as I can.
As many of you know, I'm not very musically gifted. Though I appreciate melodious sounds, producing them is not my forte. My karaoke support group doesn't need to chime in with, "It's not that bad." Mediocre is bad enough when you sing as much and as loud as I do. A couple of friendly dj's have had to mercifully stop me in midsong. And earlier tonight I had to lock the kitties out of the family room because Billy was attacking my face during the high notes. Everyone is a critic.Whether or not my tune is easy on the ears, I'm going to keep singing it. Singing is a manifestation of the spirit; even when it is an imperfect celebration of whatever I'm feeling.
Currently, I'm trying to master The Beatles "Oh, Darling." I started with "Across the Universe" because the lyrics are so profound (wink), but the rawness of "Oh, Darling" spoke a little louder. As such things go, just when you think you know what you want, something else takes the stage. Life's lullaby is like that.
So, what are you listening to? You. My friend or the stranger reading this, what's your song?
P.S. How many people thought the line "Jai Guru Deva" was "Kangaroo Days" from "Across the Universe." What does it mean? "I give thanks (victory) (salutation) to Guru Dev (or heavenly teacher)." Good stuff.
I'm offering dinner to the first person that can tell me where this quote comes from without plugging it into a search engine...and I have my ways of testing your honesty.
Music has been playing through my mind a lot lately, not only as a soundtrack for the day-to-day, but also as a reflection of the spirit. I was allegorizing religion earlier, a hobby, and I thought about this great big symphonic world. God, like music, is everywhere. Cultural bias often dictates the forms that appeal to individuals, but there is no culture that is without some sort of music. Many religions would like to say they have the market cornered on salvation, but it just doesn't make sense that God would provide only one way to sing his song.
Jesus is one instrument, like a piano. If I know how to play the piano, then to me that is music. Buddha is another instrument, like a zheng (that stringed weapon they use to throw punches at the three defenders of the slum in Kung Fu Hustle). Many people can derive music from that instrument. Is one better than the other? The symphony is everywhere, rustling trees, a babbling brook, silence. There is music and God in it all. We just have to listen for it. Telling millions of people that their preference in music is wrong, is just noise that will get them damned to hell, limits our own ability to hear the incomprehensibly infinite variety of song he created. Grace, Jesus, folk, and rock will probably forever top my charts, but I still want to hear and experience as many of the universe's sweet sounds as I can.
As many of you know, I'm not very musically gifted. Though I appreciate melodious sounds, producing them is not my forte. My karaoke support group doesn't need to chime in with, "It's not that bad." Mediocre is bad enough when you sing as much and as loud as I do. A couple of friendly dj's have had to mercifully stop me in midsong. And earlier tonight I had to lock the kitties out of the family room because Billy was attacking my face during the high notes. Everyone is a critic.Whether or not my tune is easy on the ears, I'm going to keep singing it. Singing is a manifestation of the spirit; even when it is an imperfect celebration of whatever I'm feeling.
Currently, I'm trying to master The Beatles "Oh, Darling." I started with "Across the Universe" because the lyrics are so profound (wink), but the rawness of "Oh, Darling" spoke a little louder. As such things go, just when you think you know what you want, something else takes the stage. Life's lullaby is like that.
So, what are you listening to? You. My friend or the stranger reading this, what's your song?
P.S. How many people thought the line "Jai Guru Deva" was "Kangaroo Days" from "Across the Universe." What does it mean? "I give thanks (victory) (salutation) to Guru Dev (or heavenly teacher)." Good stuff.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Who's afraid of the big bad blog?
Quite frankly, I am. Ridiculous if you know me, right? Most of my friends and family would say I'm strongly opinionated and confident. Those who don't know me may wonder what could be so frightening about some public virtual musings that few in the world will read. Yet, here I am, nervously crunching away on a bowl of radishes because I don't smoke anymore, and drunk blogging sounds like a mistake I'd like to save for later.
I am afraid for many reasons:
Reason one, what if nobody reads it? That would solidify my fear that I am just a ghost, a phantom observer in this world. It's been a life-long theme to be ignored or forgotten. Most likely it started out as a coping mechanism, blending into the background, out of the way of someone else's anger or abuse. But the older I get the less I fear reprisal and the more I fear nobody ever knowing or remembering that I, the real I, ever existed. Since I was a little girl, I'd get left or looked over, as an adult, even more so. My parents would leave me places. School wouldn't count me absent because nobody had noticed I wasn't there. Friends that I cared deeply for would just disappear because something more interesting in life came along. Sometimes I would struggle to keep in touch, feeling hurt as responses grew increasingly spread out and distant. Sometimes I would just mourn the lost connection, accepting that what had been meaningful to me wasn't so much to the other person. God manages the ebb and flow of people throughout our lives, but my fear of being an imaginary person persists.
Reason two, how will people react to me? I'm a faker. It's easy to know what I'm supposed to be in a given situation, around a certain set of people, and it is easier to perform than it is to risk being misunderstood or ridiculed. Most of my bonds are superficial or limited in scope. A lot of my authentic being has or would cause my loved ones discomfort, so in the box it goes. I hurt, it goes in the box. I want, it goes in the box. I fear, it goes in the box. Even amidst my strongest relationships, with my children and my brother, I am only a partial version of myself. The lessons of what happens to those vulnerable parts of myself when I hold them out has taught me that it is not safe to share them with anyone. Sharing them with everyone in this little box, a little scary. Boundaries are not my specialty, so if or when you read something that makes you uncomfortable, I'm sorry, but not that sorry, wuss.
Reason three, my biggest fear, runaway ego is a destructive drug. I worry that people will overly or unduly support these bloggings, and I will take my eyes off of God's purpose for me and seek instead more affirmation by anyone who reads it. There have been times I have recieved kudos, some deserved, "Good job on getting Mr. _______ the help he needed to pass his test" or "Great dinner, thank you." While others are just polite, friendly encouragement, "I love what you've done with your hair," or "You have a lot going on upstairs; you should start a blog." I really don't know the difference. When people start acknowledging me in positive ways, I tend to take it deeply to heart. You know how your pet acts when you first get home from work? That's what goes on in parts of my head when someone is nice to me. It's addictive and overpowering, and so the other parts of my brain gang up and try to counterbalance the praise with ridicule. It's a very unpleasant process. Happy puppy, kick the puppy. Praise is my biggest weakness. Though there is a balance between accepting support or compliments graciously and running away from them, I haven't found it...yet.
So, with all of this fear and doubt why proceed? Faith. I have faith that God wants me to live a life beyond these fears. He has placed people whom I love and respect in my path. They are here to help in life's journey. More than has said I should start writing, and I always discount it. Though I write in my journals to God specifically, it is all unshared because of these fears. That is what all this bloggity, blogging is going to be about, sharing what's in my nugget with anyone who cares to take the time to read it because, as a trusted friend recently pointed out, celebrating the self that God has created honors that creation.
In all actuality, the majority of entries will most likely be much more light-hearted than this one, especially once I get into a groove. If you follow, please participate. It would be great if this were a bit more interactive than the average blog. Pontificating grows tiresome. Comment, ask, argue, post bad poetry that you like--just share your own free samples because I'm hungry, too.
I am afraid for many reasons:
Reason one, what if nobody reads it? That would solidify my fear that I am just a ghost, a phantom observer in this world. It's been a life-long theme to be ignored or forgotten. Most likely it started out as a coping mechanism, blending into the background, out of the way of someone else's anger or abuse. But the older I get the less I fear reprisal and the more I fear nobody ever knowing or remembering that I, the real I, ever existed. Since I was a little girl, I'd get left or looked over, as an adult, even more so. My parents would leave me places. School wouldn't count me absent because nobody had noticed I wasn't there. Friends that I cared deeply for would just disappear because something more interesting in life came along. Sometimes I would struggle to keep in touch, feeling hurt as responses grew increasingly spread out and distant. Sometimes I would just mourn the lost connection, accepting that what had been meaningful to me wasn't so much to the other person. God manages the ebb and flow of people throughout our lives, but my fear of being an imaginary person persists.
Reason two, how will people react to me? I'm a faker. It's easy to know what I'm supposed to be in a given situation, around a certain set of people, and it is easier to perform than it is to risk being misunderstood or ridiculed. Most of my bonds are superficial or limited in scope. A lot of my authentic being has or would cause my loved ones discomfort, so in the box it goes. I hurt, it goes in the box. I want, it goes in the box. I fear, it goes in the box. Even amidst my strongest relationships, with my children and my brother, I am only a partial version of myself. The lessons of what happens to those vulnerable parts of myself when I hold them out has taught me that it is not safe to share them with anyone. Sharing them with everyone in this little box, a little scary. Boundaries are not my specialty, so if or when you read something that makes you uncomfortable, I'm sorry, but not that sorry, wuss.
Reason three, my biggest fear, runaway ego is a destructive drug. I worry that people will overly or unduly support these bloggings, and I will take my eyes off of God's purpose for me and seek instead more affirmation by anyone who reads it. There have been times I have recieved kudos, some deserved, "Good job on getting Mr. _______ the help he needed to pass his test" or "Great dinner, thank you." While others are just polite, friendly encouragement, "I love what you've done with your hair," or "You have a lot going on upstairs; you should start a blog." I really don't know the difference. When people start acknowledging me in positive ways, I tend to take it deeply to heart. You know how your pet acts when you first get home from work? That's what goes on in parts of my head when someone is nice to me. It's addictive and overpowering, and so the other parts of my brain gang up and try to counterbalance the praise with ridicule. It's a very unpleasant process. Happy puppy, kick the puppy. Praise is my biggest weakness. Though there is a balance between accepting support or compliments graciously and running away from them, I haven't found it...yet.
So, with all of this fear and doubt why proceed? Faith. I have faith that God wants me to live a life beyond these fears. He has placed people whom I love and respect in my path. They are here to help in life's journey. More than has said I should start writing, and I always discount it. Though I write in my journals to God specifically, it is all unshared because of these fears. That is what all this bloggity, blogging is going to be about, sharing what's in my nugget with anyone who cares to take the time to read it because, as a trusted friend recently pointed out, celebrating the self that God has created honors that creation.
In all actuality, the majority of entries will most likely be much more light-hearted than this one, especially once I get into a groove. If you follow, please participate. It would be great if this were a bit more interactive than the average blog. Pontificating grows tiresome. Comment, ask, argue, post bad poetry that you like--just share your own free samples because I'm hungry, too.
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