Random Acts of Awesome

A few minutes ago I was attempting to parallel park on a not very busy side street. I knew the spot was big enough, and I’m a decent parallel parker after many years of practice. BUT, I’ve also been having a bit of a streak of bad luck lately with minor fender benders and car dings (although nothing that has actually caused damage, fortunately), but I’ve started to doubt my perception, or my ability to focus or whatever.

So I’m trying to slide into this spot, (its a left hand side spot) and suddenly there are a ton of cars on the street and I become paranoid that if I do gently tap the car behind me, someone will see it and yell at me or something, so I’m inching, inching, inching into this spot. And I have this random thought that “wouldn’t it be nice if one of the people driving by were to tell me if i had space or not.” And I look out the right side of the car toward the street,  and I see a car with these two (adorable) young men in it and when they catch my eye they indicate that I have plenty of room to back up. I smile and back up more quickly and they stay there directing me back into the spot until I’m fully parked and then they smile, give a thumbs up and drive on.

It was such a nice thing to do and totally put a smile on my face.  And I will now be looking for the chance to pay that favor forward.

 

Moving and Moving On, Part 2

Moving on has been a solid theme in my life for the past 6 months or so. As a result, pretty much everything I’ve done has been viewed through that lens.

As I wrote about in Moving and Moving on, Part 1 The Inauguration in January was one such events. And moving into a new apartment in February also became about not just the physical reality of moving, but also the emotional reality of moving and of moving on, specifically from Army Guy. It was emotionally exhausting as well as physically exhausting, and as a result, I managed to end up with the flu for moving week, which just made the already awesome experience of moving in the middle of winter that much better.

Major life changes, (ok, small life changes too) have always been fraught with emotional turmoil, and this was not only no different, but it was emotional turmoil to the 10th degree. I was moving out of a place where I had lived alone, and fairly contentedly, for several years, into a shared living space. As a result I was forced to downsize my possessions by a much larger percentage than  I would have if I were just moving into another apartment. Downsizing is a particularly traumatic experience for me because I am, in every definition of the word, a pack rat. I’ve always known this about myself, and I have generally admitted, accepted and acknowledged it with a mix of acceptance and self conscious humor. But during this move I realized that being a pack rat is about more than just not throwing stuff away. Being a pack rat is a result, and to some degree function of, being someone who assigns emotional significance to basically every object that passes through my life. 

As I picked up each object in my apartment and had to decide “keep or ditch”, I would remember why I had it. Generally, it was because I  had deciding that it would make my life better in some way. That I would entertain more, sleep more, eat better, date more, be warmer, cooler, cozier, funnier, more secure, more adventurous, less busy, more busy, more organized, more relaxed, more social, less social, go out more, stay in more, or in some other way move a step closer to the life I thought I wanted, or should want.

And as I remembered the specific expectations I’d imbued each object with, I would then immediately recognize the ways in which it had facilitated exactly none of those aspirations, and then debate keeping it for hope that it might still. This is not to imply that I was, or am, unhappy with my life. In many ways it is exactly what I want, but not always what I pictured. Which isn’t a big deal on a day to day basis, but can create overwhelming cognitive dissonance and painful moments of self awareness when one is forced to confront that gap approximately 7, 416 times while under a deadline. 

Eventually, as I realized my “keep” pile was far bigger than my “ditch” pile, I started to reevaluate my sorting method. I recognized that in many cases I had achieved some of the goals, but often without the use of the object, and without really even noticing. The “keep” piled thined a bit.

Next I evaluated if the aspirations painted on the object were still something I wanted. Pile thinned a bit more. Could I achieve them in another way? Pile thinned a bit more. But there was still WAY too much stuff left, and I hit a wall of emotional desperation.

Sitting in my living room, most furniture gone, surrounded by piles of “stuff” that for all intents and purposes represented my life, real and imagined, I found myself at a complete loss as to how to go further. I had parted, sometimes painfully, with SO much stuff…how could I possibly survive more loss? “Its inhumane,” I thought as the tears started to fall and heaviness settled in my stomach. “This is my stuff, and its good, useful stuff. Who says I won’t make fajitas with this fajita maker?!” I railed as I wiped the inch of dust off of it. “I could need this smoothie maker some day and I won’t have it, and then where will I be?” I ranted as I searched for the missing piece to the spout.

Eventually I forced myself to recognize that this was not really about the fajita maker, or the smoothy maker, or even, the coco-latte machine. It had even moved on from being about the failed aspirations of those items and their counterparts. It was, or had become, about a fear of what the future held, it was about the recognition that I was being forced to make repeatedly with each item: that things don’t have power to predict, or even facilitate my future, or to protect me from pitfalls and disappointments. I’d lived most of my life  with the sense of security that comes from a belief that things have power. But, I now wondered, did I still need that belief system? Where had it really gotten me anyway?

At that moment my eyes fell on my couch, which in theory I’d always believed was too small, but a mental slide show of nights spent chatting cozily with friends or snuggled up with boyfriends, told me that in practicem had been fine. I remembered the moment I’d started to suspect I was falling in love with Army Guy had been on that couch, when it had felt wonderfully cozy. It was on that same couch that he had sat, miles away from me, and told me he couldn’t see me anymore.   

I acknowledged for the first time that in moving out of the apartment, I was moving away from his ghosts as well, and felt both relief and sadness. Sadness because those ghosts of him were the last pieces I had, and in giving up those ghosts I was also giving up the fantasy I’d been quietly nurturing that one day I would again open my front door and find him standing on my porch. And I knew, finally, that it was time to MOVE ON. With renewed focus I thinned my keep pile to a manageable size. 

On the day I dropped the key off at the old apartment, I took a moment and said goodbye to the apartment, to that life, and a final and offical goodbye to Army Guy.  And for the first time in months had a sense of optimism and enthusiasm for the future, whatever it looked like without piles of random crap.

Too bad ”goodbye” isn’t always goodbye…

 

Simple Pleasures

I’ve been having a full on “monday morning”, and by that mean that I didn’t want to get up this morning, I’m grumpy for no real reason and everything I try to do seems to be, if not actually being, harder than it needs to be. I have a lunch meeting across town, so decided to go over early and spend a couple of hours at one of my favorite coffee shops that I rarely get to visit. The best part about this place is that they make the absolute best raspberry mocha latte on the planet.  Its not technically on their menu – I discovered it one day when it was a special, and I’ve requested it each time I’ve come since, and they have always obliged.

This raspberry mocha latte was my focus and my purpose for moving all morning. Its rainy and cold out, and traffic was worse than expected getting here, and then all the free parking was gone, and I almost gave up, but the thought of that cup of sweet coffee kept me going. I parked in the garage, took the elevator down, stepped in a puddle and finally walked through the doors of the coffee shop, to find that every couch and comfortable chair had someone in it already. If I were in a better mood, I would take an open chair in a grouping of occupied chairs, but I’m feeling extra-unsocial today, so instead I picked a nice table by the window where I can watch the rain and the cars. There was a long line at the counter, so I decided to get my laptop out and get set up before getting my coffee. Internet didn’t work. Or more specifically, my laptop wasn’t connecting, so had to restart. As I’m restarting, I notice the line is gone, so I grab my wallet and blackberry’s and head toward the counter, and promptly drop one of the blackberry’s (the client one), and the back pops off and the battery goes flying and the people at the nearby tables go “oohhh” in a way that I know is meant to be sympathetic, but that I find intrusive.

I get up to the counter, a new girl is there, I order the raspberry mocha latte and she gives me a skeptical look. “Its not on your menu, but I’ve always been able to get one,” I say, smiling my best friendly smile and thinking I may be driven to violence if she won’t give my latte. She enters “flavor coffee” into the computer and I nod. She puts in hazelnut as the flavor b/c they don’t have a button for raspberry, and I nod, b/c this is what they usually do. I also order a muffin (I’m having a bad day, screw the diet), and she gets the muffin and I take it to my table, wait for a few minutes and then head over to the place where they make the coffee to wait.

After a few minutes the barrista says “you had the raspberry vanilla mocha?” and I hesitate and think, “I don’t have the energy to argue this. I’m not meant to have my coffee today.” So I say, “Ok, sure,” thinking that I might discover a new drink today. He looks at the order slip and says “did you order a raspberry with hazelnut?” and I said, “no actually, I ordered raspberry with mocha,” and he says with a smile ”OK. Well this has hazelnut, so I’ll have to make another.” And I say “Sorry,” because Iam sorry -I ordered off menu, and I know that’s just asking for trouble for everyone, and now they’ve wasted a large cup of coffee. But he says “Don’t be sorry. Please! You asked for something, you should get the thing you asked for, not something else.”

I smiled and said “thank you,” and he said “Of course. So how is your monday going?” and in an uncharacteristic burst of sharing I said “Not great. Its been this coffee that’s kept me going to get here,” and he said “Oh really? Having one of those mornings where nothing is working, huh?” and I felt this urge to hug him for understanding.

“Yes,” I said. “That’s exactly the problem.”

He said “You didn’t have to go to work today though?”

I said, “I’m self employed, so actually I am working,” and I gesture toward the table where I set my laptop up. “Or I will be once I get my coffee.”

He then goes on to comment on how nice it must be to be my own boss, and even on a bad day, at least I don’t have to face a boss, and I agree that that is a perk. Then he asks me what I do  and I tell him I’m a non-profit consultant, and he asks what that means, and I start to explain, and find myself enjoying talking about my work, which is rarely the case. He’s not American, although I can’t identify where he is from from his accent,  and he tells me that his  father worked for an NGO “over there.” And as he’s making my perfect raspberry mocha we discuss the differences between working for an NGO in a developing country and working for a non-profit over here, and he decides, as he’s frothing my milk, that the difference is that here it’s about getting the money, and there its about doing the work and making a difference. On a broad sense, I don’t necessarily agree, but I see his point, and I feel the familiar tug of longing to be doing hands on service again…but I quickly put that urge back in its box and accept my cup of coffee and smile, a genuine – reflection-of-happiness smile for the first time all day.

And then I get back to my table, and decide to use blogging as an excuse to avoid work for a while longer, and in checking my new comments, find a second comment from someone named Marty, and as I’m wondering who this person is, I read the comment and find out that its my dad, using an alias, and I laugh, the first genuine – reflection-of- happiness laugh all day. And I think that today might turn out ok afterall.

 

Moving and Moving On, Part 1

Ok, so this blog post was supposed to be put up in like, early February. But things kept changing in my life and I kept delaying committing to this post, until now. And then of course its an insanely long post, so I’ve broken it up into pieces. That’s my favor to you and your productivity. I hope you’ll forgive the delayed coverage of my inaugural experience, but I figure better late than never

When I turned 30 a few years ago, I decided that I was going to face, and accept, certain aspects of my personality that were unlikely to change. One of those things was that I’m kind of an emotion junkie (this was maybe only a revelation to me). I am highly emotional, but I also look for emotional meaning and significance in just about everything. I always look for the bigger meaning, the emotional context or the larger social or personal significance of everything. I have been known to go into drama withdrawal when my life has been (too) stable. Also, I’m a ceremony whore; I’ll get emotional during any ceremony regardless of its personal meaning or significance,  and I will often turn routine events into “ceremonies”. There are, I suppose, advantages to this. Want to be sure someone will cry at your kid’s baptism? Give me a call. Need an excuse for a party on a Tuesday night? I’ll find it and create a ritual to mark it. But there are also many disadvantages, chief among them that its exhausting always needing to find or apply context or meaning. Plus my life is an endless emotional roller coaster, which may in fact be more exhausting for my friends and family than it is for me, (even considering they only see about 75% of what goes on in my head. I’m usually able to filter, supress or talk myself down from the other 25%).  But I’ve accepted that this is me, and it seems that the people who love me have accepted it as well, and I’ve tried to find constructive uses for that emotional energy, primarily writing and storytelling. But sometimes, events in my life and events in the world come together in a way that puts me into ceremonial/emotional overdrive. Like January 2009, for example.

First up we had Barak Obama’sinauguration. No need to look for emotional significance there, it was was obvious and unavoidable. And yet, I still felt a need to bring it down to my level, to find the impact on my individual life.  I was fortunate enough to be able to attend the inauguration, and while it was cold and crowded it was also an amazing experience. Walking down the street with thousands of other people heading toward the Mall, people singing, chanting, wishing each other well, I was overwhelmed with the feeling of being connected to something bigger than myself, to truly being a part of a moment in history.   I distinctly remember thinking that the idea of change could be more than a slogan, it could be a reality. For maybe the first time in my life, I felt like I wasn’t even fully recognizing or intaking the entirety of the moment – there seemed to be layers of meaning and symbolism that I couldn’t get my head or heart fully around. As we continued to make our way to the mall, I allowed myself to be distracted by issues like navigating the crowds and finding the best route to the Mall. But once we found our spot between a jumbo tron and the Washington Momument my mind once again returned to trying to identify the layers of meaning and symbolism of the experience. As the ceremony started I became very aware of the very significant fact that I was witnessing the peaceful transfer of power – something that I think Americans too often take for granted. I was reminded of the emotions that had flooded through me as I cast my vote for Obama back in November. This was more than just a ceremony. This was the physical, philosophical and symbolic representation of the very essence of what makes this country what it is, for better or worse. 

When I decided to attend the inauguration, I’d had high expectations for getting a solid emotional hit from the experience, but I was also realistic that the reality might not meet my expectations, as is often the case. But in this case, the experience was everything I needed or wanted it to be. Right down to the fact that the person I shared it with was one of my oldest and dearest friends. She currently lives in South Carolina, but since high school has lived in MD, MN, AZ and NY but in the 20 years we’ve known each other we’ve managed to share almost every major milestone in each others lives together from crushes, to heartbreaks, from weddings to child birth, from New Year’s Eve to job and educational achievements. And while it just happened to be that she was the one who braved the cold and the crowds with me on that day, looking back I realize it had a beautiful and perfect symbolism to it. She is a part of my past, but also a part of my future, and it was perfect that we experienced this profound shift in the direction of our country together. We were part of history together, and now its a part of our personal history as well.

Just as I was ready to OD on the levels of meaning and symbolism, reality peaked in just a little.

As soon as Obama’s speech was finished, we, and our roughly 2 million new friends, started to make our way off the mall and hit a massive bottle neck almost immediately. As we stood shoulder to shoulder, chest to back, unable to see what was up ahead, what the delay was or how far we were from freedom, the mood in the crowd began to shift. The first indication of the shift was when I heard a man instruct his friend to ”Just start shoving” in reference to getting through the crowd.  A little while later, someone tried to start the “O-BAM-A” chant that had always succeeded in rallying the crowds before the ceremony, but now was met with a “SHUT UP!” Clearly, we had moved on from our feelings of community and hope and were now just ready to be able to move freely. But I loved that too. I loved how realistic that was, I loved how it shook me out of my philosophical emotional high and brought me back to reality. But then I started to see it as almost a metaphor for the sensibility of our country: hope and community spririt are all well and good when things are easy, when we’re walking freely through the streets, but as soon as our individual space  or experience is negatively affected, hope and community be damned, we want resolution. The irony is that when we break down into a million individuals just trying to take care of ourselves alone, nothing is accomplished. But when we recognize that we are interconnected and therefore interdependent and seek to work within those realities, everyone’s experience improves. To wit: someone finally climbed up on the port-a-potties and described the reason for the delay to the crowd (bottle neck through badly set up fencing), and everyone relaxed and the shoving eased. Until we got restless again – I’m not sure I’ll ever forget the experience of the elderly woman who locked her fists together in the center of her chest, looked me straight in the eye and shoved me, with way more force that I would have imagined, into the back of the person infront of me - But then someone else climbed up and gave an updated report, complete with estimated number of yards to the exit point and what to expect once we passed the exit. In total I think it took us more than an hour to move about 10 yards, but we did it without anyone being trampled or too badly bruised, and I definitely consider that a success.

Once released from the mobs of people, we made our way directly West on Constitution toward Virginia and home. As we followed the crowds of people over the Roosevelt Bridge I was struck with a knowledge that I will never be able to see crowds of people walking over a bridge out of city and not have negative associations to the image. We’ve moved on from 9/11 and other international crisis, but some images will be forever imprinted in my brain and will forever have a very specific significance. But then we stopped to rest in the middle of the bridge, and we sat on the lane divider and I took a picture of my friend with DC behind her and I realized that that could become a new way of remembering a bridge filled with pedestrian traffic exiting a city. Layering of meanings. I love it!

We made it to a metro stop in Virginia, dragged ourselves onto a crowded metro and made our way back to the warm house of a good friend who had a huge dinner waiting for us, and we watched the parade on TV, and then the ceremony again on DVR. It was a good day.

For a “meaning junkie” like me, this day was, quiet simply, heaven.  I’ve been in some serious crowds in DC in the past – July 4th, sporting events etc, and never have I seen people as polite and solicitous to each other as they were on Inauguration day.  I really felt the collective and individual commitment to move on.  To move on from fear, and divisiveness, and distrust, and greed, and uncertainty.  Each step we took toward the Mall, each smile exchanged with a stranger, each high five and call and response cheer was a step toward a new future, a return to optimism and a recognition that while it wouldn’t necessarily be easy, or immediate, we were ready to start again, to start a new page in our history.

Or maybe that was just me. Looking back I can see that I had become rather obsessed with the idea of “moving on” and was looking for examples or instructions on how to do it, or even evidence that it was possible…

And as morning dawned on January 21, I realized I had less than a week to move out of my apartment, and while I’d been “pretending” to start packing by giving loads of stuff to charity and friends, there was no discernable difference in my apartment. Have I mentioned that I’m a certified Pack Rat?

To Be Continued…

 

Public vs Private Behavior

I know I haven’t blogged in a while, and have many big things to talk about, like moving and going to Obama’s inauguration. But instead, I’m going to post a blog about this weird guy sitting next to me in the Wegmans Cafe. (the meaningful blog will come soon).

So I’m sitting here in the main level cafe, and its just a bunch of arm chairs in a ring around the outside wall. Its not as intimate as some cafes or coffee shops in the sense that there is a lot of space between us, but we are still in public. This is an important point to note.

About 30 minutes ago, this older man (I’m guessing early 70’s) sat down a few chairs away from me with his coffee and his iPod, and nothing else- no reading material, no laptop. I’m begining to understand this as a warning sign of annoying people. So first he sits down and lets out a big loud grunt/sigh. I’m willing to overlook this because, well, I’m getting older and I know that sometimes when you are old, you make noises like that when you sit down into a low armchair. Then he gets out his iPod and puts in the earphones and picks a playlist and this is all accompanied by his own soundtrack of mutterings and giggles. I kid you not, giggles. These are not the mutterings of a confused old man outdone by technology. These are the muttering, I’m begining to understand, of an old man, perfectly comfortable with technology, and over comfortable with being in public.

After the appropriate play list for sitting in Wegman’s Cafe has been selected, we take a big gulp of our very hot coffee and follow it with a very loud “MMMM, AHHHHH” and some good old lip smacking.

This is when I start to get annoyed and start to contemplate the concept of Public vs Private Behavior.

A few minutes pass in silence and I get some work done (Ok, fine, I spend some time on Facebook, whatever. Point is I’M sitting here quietly).  Suddenly I notice humming. I look over and he’s sitting there in his arm chair, coffee held aloft in his right hand, sunglasses that are too young for him perched on his nose under the brim of the baseball cap covering his shaggy looking gray hair, and he is jammin to the music coming from his earbuds. He’s tapping his foot, he’s humming, he’s mouthing words, he’s bobbing his head, and he clearly has no concept that he’s not in his living room armchair, but instead in a cafe in a grocery store.

The humming stops, which was really the most bothersome aspect of his display because it draws my attention, but now I’m obsessed. I’m obsessed with why he’s sitting here, in Wegmans, for so long, with just a cup of coffee and his iPod. There is a voice in my head that says I should admire his freedom of spirit, his refusal to be hemmed in by notions of Public vs private behavior because, really, WHO decided what those lines where anyway?

But then he starts wistling, and I’m again annoyed. I tell the voice in my head to shut up. I don’t care who decided the line between public and private appropriate behavior, because I AGREE with them.

I like to rock out to my iPod as much as the next person, and I do. Often. IN MY HOME. When I’m at home, I’ll turn up the music and sing loudly, dance wildly even, or just sit and hum or whistle occasionally. But who cares if I do because I do it at home where the only people to be bothered are possibly the neighbors, unsuspecting people passing on the street, or the dog. (Although I suspect the dog enjoys the dancing. Just a theory at this point though).

I wish this guy’s public displays of musical enjoyment didn’t bother me that much. I really do want to be the kind of person who looks at someone acting oustide of social norms, ignoring convention and rules and says “well done, sir! Be free, be unique. Enjoy your life!” But I’m not. I’m just not. Instead I’m annoyed, I’m obsessed with knowing why, knowing what his deal is. I, and all of the other people in this cafe, have the ability (or is it more a question of respect? )  to sit quietly, enjoy the ambiance, the sun, the coffee, whatever sensory stimulation you receive from sitting in the Wegmans cafe, without violating the public vs private boundaries of behavior, and I just don’t understand why that isn’t true for this person.

He’s gone now. He whisteled one last song, packed up his stuff with much ado, and then fairly skipped down the stairs and out the door into the parking garage.  The voice in my head says “Maybe you are jealous of how free and happy he is. He’s clearly retired, and has the luxury of sitting in a cafe doing nothing but drinking coffee and listening to music for 45 minutes on a weekday morning.” And I consider this point and come to the conclusion that its not jealously. I’m happy with my life, and I have time to sit in wegmans for 2 hours on a weekday morning and blog, facebook and even do a little work. I’d rather have my Wegmans experience than his  – I’d rather use my public time for working and my private time for singing loudly instead of whistling and for dancing than tapping my foot.  But that’s just me. Clearly.

 

Out With The Old…In With The New

After I broke up with Army Guy everyone, and I do mean everyone from my closest friends to my accountant, predicted I would hear from him again. Most bets were for 4-6 months. I got an email from him right before Christmas, so everyone lost that bet. But everyone predicted he’d contact me to try to get me back, but in fact he emailed me to see if he’d left something at my apartment.

My initial reaction (aside from almost driving off the road when I saw the email on my blackberry (I didn’t mean to look at my email while driving - I was trying to make a call and it just jumped out at me), and after I pulled over, stopped shaking, started breathing again and got past a brief rush of tears) was that he was shockingly insensative and stupid to email me about something like that. But not trusting my instincts, I took it to a friend, and over tea (the great healer of all things) we decided he was in fact being insensative and stupid and even if he was attempting to reconnect he was doing it badly and so I returned a one line reply that I didn’t have what he was looking for.  

As I told a few people that I had heard from him, and more people voiced their opinion that the email was just a lame cover to reconnect with me, I became obsessed with finding out the truth. I spent many hours playing out the possible outcomes of emailing him and asking him, and decided that the best and easiest response he could give would be to say “no, I was really just looking for that disk.” The answer that would open a can of worms and be messy and hard and scary and agonzing would be “It was a lame excuse to get in touch with you.” So I emailed him and asked him point blank the day before I left on my holiday travels.

I got his response while stopped at a rest stop somewhere in PA, and in typical AG fashion he said “I really was just looking for that disk, but I also used it as an excuse to see how you were doing. Your brief response answered that question, sorry if i caused you any confusion.” What I got from that is that he just wanted to see if i hated him, b/c of his need to always be the good guy. So I just didn’t reply and put it out of my mind.

Then when all of the holiday hoopla settled, I started to obsess on the fact that by not replying it would look like I was disapointed or hurt or whatever. And then I started to wonder why I cared, and on my fourth long car tip in two week, I finally realized that while I’ve moved past the whole romantic hurt/disapointment, but what’s left is a feeling of embarassement born of feeling like I was scammed. For years I managed to see through all those “pleasing your attention Sir/Madam. I have come into large sum of money, but needing your helping for to transfer to USA. Much blessings on you for kindlyness.” And then I got an email with a Nigerian prince with proper grammer and he made a strong case and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t find the catch in his argument. Finally deciding it was true, I gave him my bank account information and BAM! promises broken and identity stolen and I’m just left feeling stupid for having fallen for it. But oh well, I’ll get over it.

OK. That was the old – that’s the last moment I’ll spend looking back on 2008. I mostly wanted to acknowledge that everyone was right, and I did hear from him again, just not in the way everyone thought.

Moving on. Here are my RESOLUTIONS for 2009.

1. Lose  at least 20lbs thereby winning the Friends Biggest Loser Contest and winning $1000.

2. To spend more time looking forward than looking back.

3. To actively explore adjunct teaching positions at area colleges.

4. To build new friendships  and grow exisiting friendships.

5. To laugh or dance (preferably both) at least once every day.

6. To call my grandma more (or at all).

 

My Cup Runneth Over…

In keeping with the theme of the season, I thought i’d do a little year end review of my life. But when I started down that road, I decided that rather than relive all the low points (and whatever high points there were) I would instead do a gratitude list. Because if there is one thing that comes out of a bad year its the thing you have to be thankful for.

1. My family. I am grateful to my big, weird, occasionally frustrating, drama filled, or annoying family. I love how big and unique my family is, but also how similar we are. I know that ultimately I could turn to any member of my family for support and get it unconditionally and immediately and I am extremely grateful for that - I know it is a rare gift. I’m also grateful that I actually like my family members, that they are each funny, intelligent and caring individuals. It makes it so much easier 

2. My friends. I think i’ve always been aware that I have really great friends in my life. Both close friends whom I interact with on a near daily basis and those I interact with on a less frequent basis. But with the challenges and trials I’ve experienced this past year, particularly the past 6 or so months, I’ve learned that I’m far more fortunate that I had even realized, and I have been repeatedly awed and humbled by the consistant flow of advice, inspiration, distraction, entertainment, unconditional support and most of all love. – I feel truly – and I do not usually use this word, but its the only one that comes close to being the right word –  blessed to have so many friends, in so many forms, and with such varied roles in my life. For perhaps the first time in my life, I fully believe and trust that anywhere I turn, in any category of my life or even phsysical location I find myself in, I will have a friend if I need one. My only hope is that I can return the favor by even half to any of them.

3. My Health. I am grateful to be generally healthy and strong. I could go to the gym more, and I could probably eat a little better, but I’m not massively overweight (no matter what Prevention.com and eDiets say), and I have no major or debilitating health problems. And I will be even more grateful for my health when I win the Biggest Loser competition and take my $1K shopping for hot new clothes.

4. My creativity. The sub group on this is a specific acknowledgement of my storytelling friends and mentors. They also fall into the friends category, but need to be specifically acknowledged here because they have given me tools and outlets for the development and nurturing of my creativity and storytelling ability, which has enhanced my life already, and I think will continue to in ways I have yet to realize. I’m also just grateful to have gotten to a place in my life where I feel ready and able to acknowledge whatever talent I may have and to prioritize developing it.

5. My professional associates – this category overlaps a little with the friends category, as some of my work associates have become friends and vice-versa, but as my work has been responsible for a large part of my struggles this year, I need to acknowledge the professional relationships that helped me get through and who made it bearable. The one thing I’ve learned is that I do my job best when I am able to work with the best, and this year any successes I’ve had professionally have been largely due to the people who were helping me.

6. My clients (past, present and future) Even though my clients are the real source of most of my misery this year, and certain clients drove me to the brink of throwing it all away, I still have to acknowledge the important role that they played in my life, and will hopefully play in the future. If not for the professional stress and trauma  this year I would not have learned how awesome my work associates are, I would have had one less opportunity to experience the bounty of support that my social network can provide, and I would not have been able to eat what little I did. I hope that in the coming year, I am able to experience good client relationships and professional growth, in whatever direction that turns out to be.

7. That I live in a free and democratic country. This isn’t something I would ever have put on a gratitude list in the past, but the last year has made me particularly aware of the benefit and tenuous nature of living in a free and democratic country. It is a free and democratic country that pulled together and elected Barak Obama to the presidency. Not just the first African American president, but a revolutionary leader who has reinspired me to believe that change is possible, that inspirational leadership is not dead and there just might be something left to believe in. The end of W’s presidency reminds me of how tenuous a free and democratic country can be. For the last 8 years W has done what he could to restrict freedom and civil rights, to chip away at the constitution and to offend the principals of this country. Perhaps because the end is in site, and its not as scary to think about, but all of a sudden I’m much more aware of how dangerous he was. I am particularly aware of this today as his “acts of consience” bill becomes a law, which allows health care workers the right to indiscriminately refuse to perform procedures or provide services that they feel morally opposed to. Receptionist at the clinic doesn’t believe in birth control? She can refuse to schedule your appointment. Cashier at Wal-mart is a christian scientist? She can refuse to ring you up for your antibiotics. It is turely the most dangerous, conservative, myopic, and prejudicial act by this president yet, and the only thing that lets me sleep at night is the fact that Obama is already trying to figure out how to undo it. Among all of other things W’s done that he as to undo.

I hope everyone is able to have a wonderful holiday season and can take a moment to do their own gratitude list – its a nice exercise for your heart and mind.

 

First Time is the Hardest

The summer when I was 6 years old, I broke my wrist. It was a pretty bad break and it happened while I was playing with some older kids in my neighborhood who I couldn’t keep up with very well. They knew they’d get in trouble if their mom found out I’d gotten hurt, so they convinced me not to make a sound while they walked me home. And I didn’t – I walked with my right hand holding my broken wrist bones of my left hand still and didn’t make a sound for about a block until I saw my older brother and finally burst into tears. From there much drama and excruciating pain ensued as I was whisked to the emergency room and separated from my parents and poked by unfriendly doctors and shoved under scary machines. When I got home, with my full arm cast and my powder blue sling I was in a state of shock and my mom made me a little cocoon on the couch and I stayed there for a couple of days before venturing to a cocoon on my bed.

Looking back on this episode now, I realize that the most traumatic part of it was the shock  of learning that my body could a) break, and b) playing could result in an inconcievable amount of pain and confusion and stress. I stayed in my cocoon on the couch for days because I was averse to any movement. My whole understanding and conception of the world had shifted — it was now a place where playing could result in great calamity and pain. My 6 year old brain could not fully process what my body had been through – I had no context for it.  How was I now supposed to navigate a world in which these things could happen? How could I go back to playing now that my eyes had been opened to the risks? Clearly, staying on the couch was better.

Eventually I ventured forth from the cocoon, but only to play cautiously by myself in the house. Of my entire childhood that’s the only period where I have memories of playing alone – without at least one of my brothers involved. One day I was playing with some toys and I had this little pink rubber dog that I was filling with water – I think it would spit water if you squeeze it or something. I accidentally dribbled a little bit of water on my cast and I went nuts. The doctor had a made a really big deal about the fact that I could never get the cast wet. I start to scream and in my mind’s eye I can clearly see myself holding my cast out in front of me staring at it wide eyed and wondering what the repercussion was going to be now that it had gotten wet, I’m sure on some level I was convinced it would be more awful pain. My older brother came bounding up the stairs followed by my mother to see what I had done to result in my shrieking, and I remember my brother’s relieved face when he realized that nothing that bad had happened. He and my mom explained to me that it wasn’t enough water to do any damage, and when nothing had changed on my cast after a few minutes I reluctantly believed them that I was fine.

I wouldn’t let anyone write or draw on my cast for weeks, afraid that it would unbalance the new relationship I’d come to with my arm – I kept it very still and it didn’t cause me any more pain. When I got the cast off, my arm was all shriveled and gross. I remember coming back from the doctors and my mom demanding that I go outside and find someone to play with  – the time for hiding was done. Time to learn how to use my arm again, and how to trust that I could play, and ride my bike and be with my brothers like I used to without falling apart. I started by enjoying grossing people out with my shriveled little arm, and in no time was back to my normal, pre-broken arm place. Except. Except for my new knowledge of the ways in which my body could betray me – could cause unimaginable pain and debilitation without warning.

For some reason, this story has been on my mind a lot lately, and I couldn’t figure out why until last night.  Last night I hung out with two good friends and then another new friend who is a cute single man. So because  he was a was cute single man, as soon as he left, we started talking about him as prospect for someone I could date. (At this point, I’m interested in getting to know him better, and that’s all I’ll commit to right now). But in the course of the conversation I had to imagine, in more detail than I have so far, dating someone new: Going on dates, going throught the process of letting him get to know me, and having to get ot know him, and all of the pitfalls and summits that come with that processes. And I suddenly felt nauseated in a way I haven’t since that that day I was dumped and spent a week throwing up. And I was surprised, b/c I’ve been dating for a LONG time, and I know the process, and sometimes it sucks and sometimes I have more energy for it than others, but I’ve never wanted to throw up at the idea of a simple date.

And then I realized, up until recently, that’s all been just playing. And then I fell, and I broke something, and I learned how much pain and drama and calamity can result from just playing. And like the experience when I was 6, the most salient point is the shock that that kind of pain can come from inside my body, and the sense that I won’t be able to anticipate or stop it from happening next time.  

Which of course isn’t true. After I got my cast off, I was a little more careful with how I played, and with whom. And I when I got hurt again it didn’t seem as bad, because my baseline had shifted and my context for pain had grown. And I suppose the same will be true for dating now.

But you know what else? I was having a lot of fun right before I fell, both times, and I’ll probably still be seduced by that kind of fun in the future. I just probably won’t be as shocked if calamity follows.

 

Random Thoughts

Its 11pm on a weeknight. Normally at this time of night I’m snug in my bed, having just finished watching Keith Oberman and having seen who the day’s “worst persons” are, am ready to drift off to sleep.  But instead, for the second day in a row I have missed Keith, I don’t know who the “worst persons” are -although I can assume “Billo” is on the list and that makes me feel a little better. Instead of being in bed, I’m eating my dinner of cereal and writing a blog about random things while I wait for my cupcake from Cake Love to get to room temperature so I can eat it. Tonight I had a board meeting and I missed dinner (hence the 11pm cereal/cupcakes) and as my mind wandered to various topics in an attempt to distract myself from my headache, I remembered I had an update on my coffee house stalker. And then decided I was just in the mood to write a blog of random thoughts. Probably not interesting to anyone but me, but that’s ultimately what really matters

So my coffee shop stalker came into the same coffee shop and looked at me, but didn’t acknowledge me in any specific way. But he sat down at a table near me and started to get a lesson in how to go on-line. The way he was sitting I was able to see the screen of the laptop and hear some of what his teacher was saying and he was getting a very basic tutorial in how to check email and surf the web. This is only significant/amusing because the theme of our conversations revolved around his fascination with me using a laptop and assuming I was really smart because I was using a computer.

————
I’ve started having a recurring dream where I’m pouring milk into a bowl of cereal and the milk has gone bad. The dream is in color and I very clearly see the chunks of curdled milk falling into my cereal. And then for unfathomable reasons, I proceed to scoop a spoon full of cereal and curdled milk and prepare to eat it, but I always wake up right before it gets to my mouth. Like the culinary equivalent of the “falling” dream.

———–
I was in a coffee shop in an “emerging neighborhood” this afternoon, and its one of those real trendy, neighborhood coffee shops where everyone talks to each other and you share tables with people you don’t know and its all very friendly and nice. I don’t go there very often. But today I was in this back room that is set up like a living room and has a TV and this young woman walked in and didn’t do the normal hesitation at the door before deciding to share the coach with me (this is perhaps the one area of the coffee shop that is less community oriented b/c it’s couches and chairs and low tables instead of the normal tables and chairs). But so she just walks in with her head down, doesn’t so much as glance up at me as she walks in. It was as if she knew I was in there and had decided to pretend I wasn’t, which is impossible b/c you can’t see who is in this room until you’re inside it. She sits down next to me, and I make a show of cleaning up detritus which has drifted beyond my immediate space. Normal response is to smile acknowledgement, or in this coffee shop to say something like “oh don’t worry about,” or “You’re fine. Really.” From her, nothing. So she gets on her computer and apparently checks her email and the next thing I know she’s on her cell phone. Its a small room. I admit that cell phone/coffee shop etiquette is a little unclear, but generally you don’t get on the phone when you are sitting 2 feet from a stranger. And if you do have to be on the phone, its usually a short, impersonal conversation. Not her. She was calling her mom to tell her that she was just hired to do the illustrations for a dress designer’s book. She’s excited. Really excited. Just so…excited. Really. And she wants mom to tell dad that she CAN make a living as an artist. (Although later in the conversation it comes out that she’s going to make about $8-10/hr, so “making a living” might be overstating it.) I then find out that she doesn’t have a key for her mailbox at her new apartment yet, and they returned her rent check because she paid too early. Also, she was reading a book about how to manifest your dreams (which mom had given her for christmas last year) and she was practicing some of the techniques today and then got the email that she was hired, and so it seems like the book is working. And really,  she’s just so excited they were willing to hire her. At this point I almost feel obligated to congratulate her on the job because I feel very close to her. And her mom. She eventually hangs up, and a few minutes later i see a mouse run across the corner of the room and I jump and look to her to see if she’s seen it, but she hasn’t, and thats when I really start to resent her standoffishness. I debate saying something about the mouse, just for the moral support, but there is a wall up between us now, and I’m a little angry about it. 

Then three women come in and pause in the doorway when they see us (normal reaction), then they back out into the hallway and begin to loudly complain about how there are people in the room where they normally have their bookclub (the room wasn’t reserved). One of the women suggest they go upstairs, and another says “there are a few people up there too.” So then someone suggests they get their coffee and food and wait for the rest of the members and maybe someone will leave and there will be space. Then another says “Or we could do the thing where we just stand where we want to be and be really loud until they leave.” After some laughter, it appears that this is the approach they have adopted, and our little room is their target area. I remember why I hate people, and since I was planning to leave in 10 minutes anyway, decide to pack up and leave right then. I know that they will easily overpower my roommate, but then I wonder if her wall of distance might be able to withstand their book club entitlement. Part of me wants to stay and see. But I don’t.

———————-
I’ve joined a “Biggest Loser Home Version” contest. A group of 20 or so friends and friends of friends compete with each other to see who can lose the most weight between Jan 1 and June 1. Its a $50 buy in, and so the winner could walk away with $1000. Right nowI’m at the lowest weight I’ve been at in at least a year. I still have more weight to lose, but there is still 3 weeks until the contest officially starts and any weight I lose between now and then doesn’t count. And so I feel like its actually a smart move to be eating a Cake Love cupcake at almost midnight because it increase my chances of winning the $1000 on June 1. That’s my theory anyway. By the way, the cupcake is peanut butter on chocolate (PB icing on chocolate cupcake), it’s a new flavor for me, I usually go for raspberry on chocolate. But this is very very good. Just FYI.

—————–
I’m mostly over Army Guy. I’m noticing other guys, (ok, so I never really stopped doing that) but I don’t think I’m ready to try dating anyone in a serious way. Just the thought makes me want to run screaming from all eligible men (the two that I know at the moment). But I think I could handle a friends with benefits arrangement. I actually think it could be therapeutic. I think it could be the final step in my healing. I think sometimes its called a “rebound guy”. Whatever you call it, I think that’s what I want. I had a lovely FwB relationship last year, but he moved out of state. A really good FwB is hard to find. It really does help if there is a real friendship there on some level. Not a super deep socially entwined friendship, but an ability to carry on a conversation and enjoy each other’s company for at least a few hours. Otherwise its just a straight up booty call. Which is fine too, I’m not judging, I’ve had that. But I find that the presence of a genuine affection, or at least enjoyment of the other person, as a person, makes the benefits part better (this is predicated on the idea that the benefits are good. No amount of friendship will carry someone without some skills. That kind of sacrifice should only be made for an actual relationship). So in summary, I’d like to get a new FwB. And I think I’m going to put some energy into setting that up.

—————–
I think its way past my bed time and i’m getting punchy. Kinda punch drunk, if you will. Perhaps too much sugar at such a late hour. I think i will take myself to bed now. Maybe my milk dream will involve cake tonight instead of cereal.

Peace out, yo.

 

A Random Thought About Friendship

I’m reading this book called The Dogs of Babel by Carolyn Parkhurst. Its about a man who looses his wife when she falls out of an apple tree in the backyard while he’s at work and the only witness is their dog. Her death is ruled an accident, not suicide, despite the fact that there is no explanation for why she was in the tree in the first place. Her husband is a linguistics professor named Paul, and he decides that he’s going to teach the dog to talk so that he can find out what actually happened.

Paul takes a leave of absence from his teaching position to focus all of his effort on this project of teaching his dog to talk. All of his colleagues ridicule him with the exception of his closest friend, another linguistics professor, who instead questions his sanity.

I’m a little over half way through the book, and a story is slowly unraveling that reveals his wife to be  dark and emotionally complicated, and Paulto be intensely devoted to her and deeply in love with her. He spends the better part of every day working with the dog to achieve communication, but is making little progress.

At one point his best friend comes over with his wife to do a kind of intervention. The wife cleans the house and opens drapes and puts food in the freezer etc, as the two men talk. The best friend asks Paul what he’s hoping to accomplish with his “research.” Paul eventually confesses to all of these “clues” he’s found since his wife’s death that reveal that all was not as he thought it was in the days/hours leading up to her death. He tells his friend that the dog is the only witness, the only one who can really know what happened on that morning that put his wife into that tree, and so he has to find a way to get the story out of the dog.

In response the friend suggests that Paul seek professional counceling. And this is when I had my random thought about friendship: A true friend would get down on the floor next to Paul and help him try to get the dog to talk.

Obviously the likelyhood that the dog is going to talk is slim, to say the least. But just as obvious is the fact that this is the way that Paul is choosing to process his grief, to understand the sudden loss of his wife. How can his friend, if truly his friend, not understand this and not help? Because that is exactly what I would do, and what I think my best friends would do for me.

(I also feel the need to mention that this is a beautifully written book and I highly recommend it.)