Restore to a Previous Version

My laptop succumbed to a virus this week.  The only way to spare me from wiping the machine clean and reinstalling everything (and running the risk of losing whatever wasn’t successfully backed up on my external drive), was to “restore it to a previous version.”  I was explaining this to my mom: “they just tell the computer to go back to the way it was on X date, and it’s like the virus never happened.”

Wow.  Wouldn’t that be something if we could do that in our lives?  I started thinking about it, because initially it sounded appealing.  I thought about several blissful moments in time to which I’d like to return, prior to what I now know was lurking around the corner, about to wreak havoc on my life.  I thought of happier times with people I believed were good and whom I believed loved me, and how it might be nice to go back to feeling safe and loved by them before they showed another side of themselves, scarring my heart.  I thought about being able to go back to a time when someone was still alive, before they left this earth, and about what I would say or do differently, knowing what I know now.  I thought about going back to joyful moments, such as the births of my children, where I was basking in the glory of participating in a miracle. 

But I guess I can’t say I could ever choose a moment in time to which I’d want to restore my life to its previous version.  Is there a moment I’d like to rewind to, where someone I loved had his arms around me and I believed in our love and in the promise of tomorrow?  Maybe, but I’d miss seeing his true colors come out, so it would still be an inaccurate version of the truth.  Plus I would have missed every good laugh I’ve had since then, every good day, every smile, and every lesson I’ve learned. 

Would I like to go back before someone I loved passed away?  Well yes, I’d like to see several folks again, maybe express things better or differently….but rewinding to that moment would undo a lot of other great moments in my life I’d rather not sacrifice.  For instance, if I could go back to before my grandmother died, I’d have her, but I wouldn’t have my children. 

If I think of the most horrific thing I’ve ever experienced…of course I’d like to undo it.  But I see now how God turned that into a pivotal moment that pointed me towards a path that was suited perfectly for me.  I’m not sure I’d have taken that path if it weren’t for the pain I experienced beforehand. 

I realize this is a moot point, because we can’t restore ourselves to previous versions of our lives.  We are standing right here in this moment.  We are a result of everything we’ve experienced, every choice we’ve made, and every person we’ve encountered.  We’re right where we’re supposed to be, even if it is a moment of pain and uncertainty, of loneliness, confusion, bitterness, betrayal, poverty, or illness.  So rather than thinking of going back to a restore point, I need to think about my next upgrade and what that might look like. 

Dear 2011

Dear 2011,

I’ve hated you, I’ve come to be grateful for you in a twisted way, and I’m eager to leave you behind me without so much as a glance in the rearview mirror.  I’ve got nothing left to give you.  I literally feel like I was lucky to get out alive, with my core being intact. 

I feel as if I’ve been through more than my fair share of tests and trials that have proven and built my strength and perseverance.  Frankly, I’m tired.  And a bit disillusioned.  I have found my safe place and there I will reside until I deem it appropriate and necessary to emerge and subject myself to the winds that seem to howl at my door.  I almost wish to be forgotten, ignored, to bury myself in comfort and familiarity, refusing to leave my protective cocoon. 

So goodbye.  Good riddance.

Empty Stockings

My parents still do stockings for each other, for my brother and I, and for our children and my brother’s wife.  I made a wisecrack the other day that they must have a growing collection of personalized and unused stockings on account of me.  You see, my folks are so loving, generous, and welcoming that they have routinely added stockings for men I’ve had significant relationships with, as well as those men’s children.

I got to thinking about the symbolism here – about what those stockings really meant at the time they were presented.  They meant that the recipient was welcomed and appreciated because of their significance to me.  They were gestures of inclusion, and of generosity.

Now those stockings (if they haven’t been discarded) collect dust and are always empty.  No specially selected gifts debated and purchased for those folks.  No special touch of getting their name in glue and glitter along the cuff, making them feel a part of this very special family.

Come to think of it, I can’t recall anyone I’ve dated whose family has made a stocking for me, never mind my children.  Perhaps that means nothing, but perhaps it’s symbolic of something more.  I have a lot to offer in a relationship, and my family is one small part of that.  I am exceedingly proud of who they are, what they stand for, and how they treat others.  Being a part of this family means reaping the rewards of being around some amazing people.  You get me, you get my family too. 

Maybe someday I will find someone who can offer me the same – my own stocking, my own special place in their world.  I’ve been with men who didn’t have much family, whose family was far away, and whose family viewed me as some kind of threat, a distraction, or an invasion.  It would feel so good to be embraced and accepted and celebrated.  Of course I’m not really concerned with the actual stocking, mind you.  That’s just a silly symbol of something bigger and better.

Hugs

In church this weekend, our pastor mentioned the importance of hugs, and how his wife had suggested that they be more intentional about hugging even their teenage children.  I started thinking about hugs in my home.  My 8 yr old son is very affectionate with me, and quite often initiates hugging with me, which I gladly receive and return.  My 11 yr old daughter is not that way, and I’ve observed it and made it a point to not be so “touchy feely” with her, as this just doesn’t seem to be her thing.

Recently though, she asked me, “Mommy why do you hug Noah all the time and not me?”  Wow.  I felt like a heel.  I explained to her what I explained to you above, and how I thought she didn’t want hugs.  She let me know in a kind way that my assessment was wrong.  Since then, I’ve been more intentional about hugging her, even if she doesn’t seem to be interested in a hug.  I’ve noticed, in turn, that she has become a little more affectionate toward me.

Here I was trying not to “baby” her or smother her out of respect and boundaries, but I ended up neglecting her.  It makes sense though.  We’re not all comfortable asking for what we want, especially if we’re afraid it will make another person uncomfortable, or afraid it will make us look needy.

I’ve worked in the same place for almost 8 years, so we are a pretty close-knit group.  There are times when I walk into certain coworkers’ offices and simply say “Can I have a hug?” and the other person will gladly oblige.  There are also times that others do the same to me, or simply walk in with their arms outstretched, making their way around my desk, and I know what they need and what they are there for. J

When I date a man, I pay attention to whether he hugs his children (if he has any) AND whether he hugs his mother.  I was once dating someone who hadn’t seen his mother in several months.  We traveled to her home, which is several hundred miles away, and I was so stunned that they did not hug upon our arrival, that I could barely focus on meeting her!  Perhaps they hugged “behind closed doors” while we were there, but even when we left, I hugged her and expressed how nice it was to meet her (she was a sweet peach), and he said goodbye and walked away!!  This was a man who was perhaps OVERLY affectionate with me.  I was stunned, and to be honest, I was concerned and a bit turned off.

I read on Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hug) that hugs have been proven to have health benefits, such as increasing oxytocin and lowering blood pressure.  I also read there that some U.S. schools have banned hugs…

So what’s my point?  HUG!  It’s like taking a smile a step further.  You don’t know how long it’s been since someone has been hugged, or how badly they might need that human connection.  Why do you think people hold and pet their pets?  They enjoy that sense of interconnectedness with other living things.  In social media, when a person expresses sadness, people will post "Hugs!!" as a way of letting someone know that, if they were there, they would hug them.  It costs nothing, and to someone, it might mean everything.

A God-shaped Hole

I had a great talk with my pastor the other day.  We got to talking about relationships, and about how we sometimes expect one another, especially our significant others, to fill up all of our empty spaces and to be predominantly responsible for our happiness.  When we find ourselves unhappy, it is easy to blame our partner in life for doing something wrong, doing it too much, or not doing it at all.  Or if we don’t have a partner, we can blame that too.

I’m guilty of it.  Not consciously doing it.  The problem is that, as he put it, we all have a God-shaped hole in our hearts that only God can fill.  And if I try to put something or someone else in that place, it doesn’t fit, and there are “air pockets” and I continue to feel unfulfilled.  I focus my energy and efforts on the things in my life that are in place and I expect more and more of them, but it is all in vain.  Only God can fill up that space perfectly and fulfill me.  If I let Him in. 

It’s easy to make idols of other things and people in our lives: careers, children, partners, belongings, addictions, earnings, hobbies…  But the people who advise that “you can’t make someone else happy until you’re truly happy” have a point.   And yet,  I can’t be your savior any more than you can be mine.  I will inevitably fail you.  When you tell me you’re addicted to me, it’s cute for a milli-second, but then it’s pathetic and concerning. 

I have found myself pushing God aside when something consuming enters my life – whether it is a good or bad "something".  It’s time for me to be more aware of the God-shaped hole in my heart.  It’s time for me to let that hole be filled as it was intended.  Whether that be worshipping (not just at church), studying scripture, dialoguing with others, praying, or just making the conscious effort to leave my heart open to God, it has to be done intentionally and purposefully. 

I don’t think there is anything wrong with wanting, needing, and even relying on other things and people in this world.  I think it’s natural in fact.  To a point.  But I know I must remember their place in the big picture, and set my expectations accordingly.  I am responsible for pursuing, finding, and maintaining my own happiness, regardless of the events, people, and relationships around me.  Easier said than done?  Absolutely.  Possible?  Let’s find out.

How I Wish...

Forgive me, because I've not had much sleep and my thoughts are like a tornado, but they're what woke me up and I need to get them out of me.

My friend killed himself yesterday.  Even typing those words I can't believe it's true.  Keep waiting for him to pop back on FB and say "suckers!"  Not gonna happen.

I scroll back through his page and see days and weeks of pain and heartache, of sad songs and heart-wrenching comments.  I see comments from people saying they wished they'd known how bad it was or that they wished they could have helped more.  My friend and his fiancee had split up.  He was broken-hearted.  I'm coming from the perspective of a person who also split up with their fiancee recently, and who is also broken-hearted. 

At some point, someone told me that a FB "friend" had hidden my posts because she was sick of reading all my whining and crying.  I wear my heart on my sleeve, and I have experienced a lot of pain.  For me, it needs to go somewhere.  Hence this blog.  It's like putting a letter in a bottle and hoping someday someone will find it and just read it.  Just....read it.  Not expecting anyone to solve my problems or say the perfect thing, but just to listen.  Otherwise I would keep these entries saved to my PC and not put them out into the world where I can see people from Russia and Singapore reading them.  But I admit, sometimes it makes me angry to see that 50 people have read a blog post and 1 or 2 have commented on it, especially when that blog is filled with words that relay how lost and hurt I am.  It's like drowning in the ocean, screaming for a life jacket, and all these people just stand on the shore and silently watch you flailing.  The gal who hid my posts is symbolic to me of a serious problem: not wanting to be bothered by another person's pain.  What the hell does that mean?

My friend had no shortage of comments and support on his page, and people trying to reach out and offer their help.  I'm not scolding his friends, I believe we all did what we could and he had a different answer in his mind...another solution to end the crippling pain he was feeling.  My page is similar - an overwhelming documentation of the love and support I have from so many.  Am I trying to say my friends haven't done enough?  No, no way.  I'm saying there are people out there who are so wrapped up in their own busy-ness, their own drama, or their own content lives, that they can't be bothered to really hear or meaningfully respond to the words of another soul who is suffering.  Maybe they don't want to believe it could ever be them.  Maybe they don't know what to say.  How about saying SOMETHING?  Anything.

I see looks of discomfort in certain people when I try to talk to them about the pain I'm feeling over issues relating to my divorce, or issues relating to being a single mom, or issues relating to the wedding I planned this year that never happened.  I'm not talking to people in hopes they will solve my problems or give me brilliant advice.  I'm talking so they will listen.  Are we listening?  Or are we rolling our eyes: "here s/he goes again" and silently wishing the broken person would keep it to themselves?

My friend lost his go-to person.  I lost mine.  People who don't get it...don't get it.  I get it, old friend.  I told you so many times that I got it and could relate, and I tried my damnedest to offer you positive thoughts and encouragement. 

This is what he posted yesterday:

"Prayers please. i have had it tough before. but never like this"

"Still awake ! cannot clear my mind !"

"Crushed. numb"

And then, from what I've been told, very shortly before he ended his life:

"I loved her with all my heart"

"I could never find another"

My last three words to you yesterday were "Decide to persevere."  In response to his Crushed. numb post I wrote:

"take care, friend. You are loved. I know crushed and numb all too well. Decide to persevere."

I'm so sad.  You will be horribly and irretrievably missed.  I'm praying for your boys, your ex-fiancee, your ex-wife, your family, friends, coworkers, and everyone who was blessed enough to see your dazzling smile, laugh at your wit, and have the pleasure of knowing you.  How I wish that you'd had hope.  How I wish that you'd been able to make it through one more day, and then another, and then another, until you found yourself in a more peaceful place.  How I wish you'd been able to embrace the gift of life and find another way to work through the crushing pain of the heart being left lonely, confused, empty, angry, grieving, and numb.  How I wish my words could have helped.  You cried out to God for help this week, and oh how I wish you'd felt his presence, his promise, and his love for you. 

This song is for you.  Probably the saddest song I've ever heard, and I know you loved it:

George Jones' "He Stopped Loving Her Today"

Regret & Remorse

Regret: a sense of loss, disappointment, dissatisfaction, etc.

Remorse: deep and painful regret for wrongdoing; compunction.
             Compunction: a feeling of uneasiness or anxiety of the conscience caused by regret for doing wrong or causing pain; contrition; remorse.


Do you see the distinction in the two definititions above? 

Regret is pretty basic, pretty easy.  You wish you hadn't done that.  Maybe you even regret the consequence of your action and that's what prompts you to feel regret.  The thing you lost makes you feel regret, whereas maybe you don't think your actions were all that bad in the first place, but you realize if you hadn't done them you might not have lost something valuable.  Therefore you regret your action.  For example, I regret spilling that drink.  Why?  Because the tablecloth it spilled on was white.  If the tablecloth had been black, I wouldn't regret spilling.  I regret that I ruined something. 

Remorse has a lot more to do with empathy.  Remorse implies that you feel badly for causing another person pain.  Maybe you used careless words that you had no idea were offensive and hurtful.  You feel like a heel when you realize you hurt someone.  Maybe you acted selfishly or vengefully and though it felt good at the time (and felt justified), you now see the damage you caused.  We're talking about the difference between being sorry you got caught versus being sorry you did it.  

Regret wants (and frankly, expects) a quick fix, a band-aid solution.  It seeks to regain what it lost.  It's willing to make all sorts of claims and promises to restore things.  But there is no fundamental change on the part of the wrongdoer.  There is no true understanding of the pain they've caused another person.  And frankly, there's no desire to. 

If you've ever felt remorse, you can recognize it in another person.  When it looks like someone is half-assed apologizing, it's because they are.  When the wrongdoer's efforts at restitution are slow or shallow or only happen when it's ultra convenient for them, it reveals their superficial regret.  Sure they feel bad, but they're not willing to be inconvenienced, or to sacrifice anything to make things right.  When someone feels true remorse for hurting you, they will move heaven and earth to make it better for you.  Period.

The Jamaican Palm Reader

A few years ago I was in Jamaica on a company incentive reward trip.  After a few Red Stripes, I decided to visit a palm reader named Jana.  I’d seen a palm reader once about a decade prior, and later realized I had been far too open with her, volunteering small bits of info that she picked up on and used.  So I was determined to be as close-lipped as possible, only answering her questions with brevity.

When I first sat down Jana simply took my hand and immediately said, “You a little bit stubborn!”  I laughed, because anyone who knows me knows this to be true.  She asked for my date of birth, the time of day I was born, and my first name.  She told me some amazing things – that I was divorced and had 2 children, for instance.  She touched on some other things that very few people know about me.  She had my attention.

At one point she said, “You a little bit flirt.”  I said, “Maybe, but I’m a harmless flirt.  I’m fiercely loyal.”  She said, “It’s okay.  You not with the right man.  He cannot handle your independence and strength.  You keep flirting.”  She had nailed it.  I was already contemplating ending the relationship I was in, and knew that once I returned to The States, the end would be coming soon.  It was one of the best choices I’ve ever made in my life.

The last thing she told me was that 2011 would be a “big” year for me.  Something life-changing would happen: a marriage, a baby, a move, or a new job.  Since none of the other options seemed likely, I wondered most often about the possibility of marriage.  I found myself in a serious relationship in 2009 and my friends joked that the Jamaican palm reader had missed it by a year or so.  That relationship ended.  Then in December 2010, the man I was dating proposed to me.  We set a date for June 25, 2011.  The Jamaican palm reader had nailed it again.

Tomorrow is November 25, 2011, but it’s not going to be my 5 month wedding anniversary.  We did not marry, and we are no longer together.  It really hasn’t been a good year.  I don’t know that I believe in the power or abilities of palm readers and psychics.  I do find it fascinating and intriguing though.  A few months ago, I did start a new job.  It’s part-time, and in addition to my full-time job, so I didn’t change jobs.  But it is something “big” I did to take control of some things beyond my control that had impacted my finances.  I’m stubborn like that.  I won’t give up, even when the odds are stacked against me and life has dealt me a losing hand.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go flirt.

Blessed Beyond Measure

I've been posting on Facebook all month various things for which I am thankful.  When it comes to my parents, I think the FB character limit is insufficient, so they're just gonna get their own blog.

First of all, I'm blessed to have parents who wanted me and who took parenting seriously.  They made it their mission NOT to make things easy for me, but to teach about the satisfaction that comes with working hard for something and finally attaining it.  They said "no" a lot, which made the "yes" moments that much more meaningful.  When I see all these entitlement-minded people around me, I can't help but wonder if they had parents who said yes to most everything and made them full of expectation and entitlement.

They were strict and old-fashioned.  Sometimes I craved the "cool" parent who let their kid host a party or didn't care how late they were out, etc.  But my parents' approach most certainly spared me from many situations that were loaded to the brim with nothing but trouble.  They also taught me to respect authority and know my place.  They weren't seeking to be my friends.  No, that wasn't their role while they were rearing me.  Now that I am an adult and a parent, NOW they are my friends.

They have sat with me (literally) through some of the most difficult hours of my life - cancelling wedding plans, 30 hours of labor with my first child, obtaining a protection order, going through a divorce, losing a good friend, or sitting at a bank sorting out the financial mess someone created for me, etc.. 

We joke that Dad is there for the practical help and Mom is there for the comforting and listening.  I can remember calling them from grad school, frustrated to the point of tears about my ancient computer that wasn't even capable of doing footnotess, and there I was trying to write a thesis.  After I bemoaned the point to my Dad, he flippantly said, "well, you can cry about it if you want to, but I don't think it's going to do footnotes when you're done either."  My response: "Put MOM on the phone please!" because at that moment I needed what she is best at.  :)

We joke that when Dad passes away, the yard is going to look like shit, and when Mom passes away, there will be nothing but envelopes of money under the Christmas tree.  They each leave their mark on our family in their own ways.

As an adult, I look to them as my relationship compass.  I don't strive to mimic their relationship, because I don't think it would work for me.  But whenever I find myself in a moment of "am I over-exaggerating?"  or "is this acceptable behavior?", I simply ask myself if Dad would ever do that to Mom.  If the answer is no, I know it's not something I have to tolerate for myself.  I know that SOMEONE out there is making it work and is happy - 43 years later. 

They are the most amazing grandparents I ever could have imagined for my children.  I wasn't near my grandparents growing up, so it is the greatest thrill to see them interacting together so frequently.  I incorporate my parents into my kids' lives.  They receive phone calls when grade cards come, when teeth fall out, when the first laugh came, etc.  My dad who has often been called intimidating (just ask anyone who's dated me), melts like warm butter around those kids. 

Perhaps the best thing about them is this: they don't tell me what to do.  Ever.  And they don't judge what I do.  Ever.  I mean not to my face anyways.  They don't play the "I told you so" game.  They just make sure they are there for me when I make one, even if there is nothing that can be done to make it better.  They make it a rule not to interfere in my life.  And while they may not be able to be on board with all my decisions, they make it clear to me that their love for me is unwavering.  Always.  And I'm well aware that not every human being has parents like this.  I wish they did.  I think the world would be a better place.

Click

When you have been living in flux for a period of time, you become bogged down in indecision, mixed emotions, and conflicts of the heart and head.  It's somewhat paralyzing because you don't know if you're taking steps forward or backward.  You're sitting on the fence, rather than standing on the ground and putting down roots. 

But at some point, something will push you in one direction or another.  And when your feet finally hit the ground, you feel...free.

My life has gained so much clarity thanks to those "click" moments.  Well not so much a moment.  More of an extended period of reflection, observation, and analysis.  Clarity comes when it comes.  It can't be forced, rushed, or unduly influenced.  When you know, you know.  Wait for it.  Pray about it.  Surround yourself with uplifting people who have the qualities you admire and strive to have yourself.  Challenge yourself.  Ask the tough questions.  Allow yourself to feel.  Hear the hard truths.

I can pinpoint in mind the conversations, realizations, and observations that brought me to my most recent "click."  This has always been how it works for me.  I can remember debating my post-grad options as I was approaching graduation at Ohio State.  I had my pros and cons list.  I'd been marinating on the ramifications of each possible decision.  And then one day, as I walked across the stadium parking lot on a gorgeous spring day, it came to me.  Perhaps it was God's voice.  I can't be sure.  But I knew where I was going next (to grad school in Cincinnati).  I remember the exact moment I emerged from months of heart-wrenching deliberation and finally decided that divorce was what I wanted and needed.

These moments of clarity are blessings.  All of the ambiguity is gone.  You feel 100% confident and comfortable with your choice.  You feel energy, optimism, and renewal as you look at your future with new eyes. 

to accept the things I cannot change...

We've all heard The Serenity Prayer.  I've never seen the "extended" version, but here it is:

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

--Reinhold Niebuhr

Last night I heard someone in my single moms' group at church say that she was doing better because she had just accepted what her life would and would not be.  Simple, right?  Hardly.  She made it sound so simple.  Like "I know cigarettes are bad for me so I quit smoking."  But I know it's more conceptually simple than practically simple.  In other words, the implementation is the tricky part.

I immediately recalled the many times my Mom has advised me to accept certain things because they are not going to change.  Things that wreak havoc on my life, that tie me up in knots and upset me, that create stress, resentment, and other burdens.  I always hated that advice, because it seems unattainable.  How do I accept something that hurts, that doesn't make sense, that I can't understand?  I'm an analytical creature who has never been content to just know the answer, but instead needs to know how and why the answer is the answer.

In thinking through this, I realize how much time, energy, and emotion I have given to things that are beyond my control.  When considering the actions of others - I cannot control them.  And quite often I can't even understand them.  Because I'm not that person.  I don't think with their mind and their heart.  I don't employ the same logic or morals when making decisions.  So I'm judging them against my standards.

I want to learn to accept the things I cannot change.  Going back to The Serenity Prayer, the word "surrender" jumps out at me.  Giving over control to God is a difficult thing.  Plus, it's so intangible, because it's not as simple as literally letting God drive your car while you sit in the passenger seat.  The word "reasonable" jumps out as well.  Reasonably happy.  Adjusting our expectations and perhaps what we think we deserve in this life.  Realizing there will be disappointments, tragedies, confusion, obstacles, and injustice done to us and to those we love. 

People and circumstances are still going to disappointment me, as long as I have morals, standards, and expectations for humanity.  What I can hope to change is the way I react to these things.  To view things with more neutrality and less emotion perhaps, consenting to coexist with incomprehensible people with no desire to change them or adapt to them, but just to roam this earth in their presence while they do their thing and I do mine.  By the same token, I don't aim to resign myself and tolerate injustice, for instance. I'm not suggesting that we turn our heads or become silent.  I'm suggesting that I stop inviting turmoil into my head and heart by relentlessly trying to understand things that I cannot ever hope to understand.

On a personal level, when I am trying to think through things that others have done to me, I long to reach a level of evolvement where I can simply conclude that they made choices, I'm free to make mine in response, and it can't be undone or erased.  It can only be permitted to float down the stream of life along with every good and wonderful gift I receive.

As the current saying goes, "it is what it is."  Or as one of my favorite bands, Rush, sang in the 90s, 'Why are we here?  Because we're here.  Roll the bones.  Why does it happen?  Because it happens.  Roll the bones."

On Consignment

I signed a contract today, putting my never-worn wedding dress on consignment.  It felt so strange to be in a place where most people are overflowing with joy and anticipation, but instead, I focused on my feet so as not to see all the wedding portraits, bridal magazines, and other wedding artifacts.  It was all a brutal reminder of what did not happen in my life a few months ago. 

I managed to hold in the tears until I exited the establishment, but then they came.  Another surge of grief over the dreams I'd held so close that are not going to come true. 

Consignment.  Handing something over that is precious to me, with no guarantee I'll get anything in return for it.  Hoping that someone else will also see the value in it and compensate accordingly.  Seems ironic to me.  It's kind of what I did when I said yes to that marriage proposal.  I gave someone my heart, access to every dusty corner of my life, every skeleton in my closet, and gave unlimited access to all of the wonderful things I have to offer as a partner in life.  In return, I hoped those treasures would be deemed valuable and would be worth another person's investment. 

How did that turn out?  It depends who you ask I suppose, or which day you ask.  It didn't turn out like I hoped or planned.  At times I think that what I wanted was very simple: to be treated with love and respect.  To me, that covers every dealbreaking behavior I can fathom.  At other times I think I want something that is impossible to find.  But at the end of the day, if a value or offer is made in exchange for what I have on the table, and the two are not similar in value, then someone is losing.

Consignment is a bit of a gamble.  It could be that your valued item is returned to you, that no one wants to pay any price for it, that it is only beautiful to you.  Or maybe someone isn't willing to care for what's been entrusted to them in a way that is fair.  The good news in all of this is that you are free to keep whatever it is you put on the table.  I'd rather keep a beautiful dress in my closet and never wear it, than to be offered rotten worms or pickles or snot-encrusted tissues in return for it.  And as for my heart, I'd rather keep it, know its worth, and share it with those who value it, than to loan it out for a poor return on my investment.

Misguided Hope

I’ve always been a hopeful person.  Hope is mandatory, in my opinion, or life is very grim indeed.  Hope is also painful.  Because when what you wish for doesn’t come to pass, you feel as if you lost something.  The word hope is tattooed on my body.  It’s my daughter’s middle name. 

At the first meeting of the new single moms’ group at my church, we discussed hope tonight – where you should place your hope.  And where you shouldn’t.

I realized I’m guilty of misdirected hope.  I put too much hope into people and things, and not enough hope in God.  People and things inevitably fail you, as the instructor pointed out to us.  I thought of the leap of happiness I feel when something comes into my life that I’ve been hoping for – be it a job, an item, a romance, resources, etc.  I put too much stock in people and in things.  Then when they fall apart, I fall apart too.  I can’t help but wonder if I would operate differently if I put more hope and trust in God.

Don’t get me wrong – all theory and idealism aside, I think it is impossible to not have hope in people and things and to not count on them in some way for our happiness.  Likewise, even the most faithful Christian is going to experience pain when people and things break, for lack of a better word. 

Even though I tend to give lots of chances to people and look past things that bother me, when they disappointment me or harm me, it hurts deeply.  Somehow - despite my experiences, wisdom, luck, and track record – I come to believe deeply in people.  Perhaps too easily. 

I’ve always been cognizant of the fact that if you expect one person to be your everything, you are going to be frustrated and they will feel like a failure.  But now I’m thinking that even if you spread those expectations across many people and many things, we can still wind up frustrated.  And so is God.  Because we aren’t leaning on him or placing our hope in him.

The instructor tonight pointed out that every hurtful thing we’ve heard or thought about ourselves can be found nowhere in the Bible.  Nowhere in the bible does is it say that God thinks I should get over myself or that my stretchmarks are hideous or that I’m stupid or have poodle hair….none of it is in there.  He’s kind of my biggest fan.  J

Getting Over Myself

I was recently told to get over myself.  What exactly does that mean and how do I go about doing that?  UrbanDictionary.com defines this as a "Patronising phrase used to tell someone that you believe they hold too high an opinion of themselves, or are behaving in a conceited or pompous manner" (an alternate definition is "a phrase little pussies use when they can't win an argument with a real counterpoint").  But I digress.

Holding too high an opinion of myself.....well, on a good day, I would say that I'm a strong woman, an ambitious woman, that I'm honest, full of integrity, loyal, thoughtful, generous, loving, and smart.  On a bad day, I might say I'm overly sensitive, too controlling, too much of a perfectionist, and stubborn.  It's like the little homunculus self you'd see in cartoons - the devil on one shoulder, the angel on the other, both campaigning to direct your choices and actions.  One day I might say I give people too many chances and the next I might say my expectations for others are too high.  Both are true somewhere on the continuum. 

My expectations for others are extremely high, but so are my expectations for myself.  Does getting over myself mean lowering my expectations for the principled living I value?  If I expect less of myself I could definitely get away with lots of things I don't try to get away with now.  It would relieve so many of the burdens I place on myself.  But it would also be a less fulfilling and rewarding life. 

Maybe I am getting over myself.  I'm getting over certain images I had of myself.  I'll give you 3 examples: First, the image of me as a wife, as a stepmom, as one half of a partnership.  I had planned to get married earlier this year (I'll refrain from saying I was supposed to get married, because that implies notions of fate and destiny, and I tend to believe now that God got me on the path where he wanted me).  Second, I'm also getting over seeing myself as a 50/50 co-parent, because I'm not.  My kids are with me all but 2 nights a month.  Third, I'm getting over dreams for a certain career, because it's just not possible to be an on-call midwife when you are the only adult at home with your kids, and you've decided that your kids will always come first.

I'll continue to think about getting over myself and whether there is any merit to that suggestion.  And at the same time, others will get over me as well.

She Started It

Humans can almost be counted on - when they feel desperate or hurt - to lash out at other humans, to hit them where it hurts, and to erase bonds of intimacy and trust, often in an instant.  It's not unlike the behavior of young children, really.  One calls another a name, and the other retorts with a worse name.  We try to "one up" each other with the pain we inflict.  And we do it best with those we claim to love.

It's certainly difficult to be mature and respectful when we feel rejected or wounded.  We want others to feel the pain we are feeling I suppose.  But I can't think of a time when inflicting cruelty on another human being has made me feel any better about my own personal pain.  Maybe for a fleeting moment, we bask in the glory of being a pompous jackass, but pretty soon we find no comfort or absolution in the act. 

What's worse, for the recipient of unfair or untrue cruelty, all of the lovely things the speaker has said to us and about us before come into question.  I always go back to that quote from Pretty Woman: "The bad stuff is easier to believe. You ever notice that?"  I've matured to a place where it's not so much that the bad stuff is easier to believe, but its impact can be far greater than the good stuff we hear about ourselves.  I know what I am and what I'm not, and I've grown accustomed to mud-slinging in the arena of human relations.  It still hurts, but I have learned to love myself and accept the fact that some people will say things that simply aren't true just to try to hurt you or manipulate you.  I can't control that.  What I can control is whether I choose to associate with people like that.

As a good friend once suggested to me, "you're free to make your choices, but just remember, I'm free to make mine in turn."  So whether she started or he started it, I can always choose to finish it - whether it be by taking the high road, walking away, or refusing to engage in it.

The Lost Art of Class & Grace

From time to time, I realize that my attitude toward graciousness and courteousness is the exception, not the norm.  When did we all become so self-absorbed and rude that we stopped extending basic gestures of class?  Are there people who actually don’t know what RSVP means?  It means someone needs and wants to know whether you plan to attend an event they are taking the time to orchestrate.  It means it might impact what they how much they are going to spend or how intensively they will prepare for the event.  Quite literally, it’s répondez , s’il vous plait (respond please).  “No” is a completely acceptable response.  But far too often, people either don’t respond at all – not even thanking the inviter for the invitation – or they say they will be present, but fail to show up or even bother to notify the inviter – what with all the available technology – that they will not be attending as planned.

I spoke with someone about this phenomenon today.  It’s all a part of the entitlement mentality I see so often and the self-importance we as a society wear as a skin tight garment.  It disgusts me and I’m so glad my parents raised me better.

What happened to the hand-written thank you note?  I interview people quite often in my position, and am always disappointed and surprised to see how few take the time to follow up with a thank you note for my time and interest.  Am I the only one who makes her kids sit down within a week of receiving a birthday present and write the sender a thank you note?

I will never forget my daughter’s birthday party a few years ago.  I couldn’t afford to do much, but had planned a small party at Jo-Ann Fabrics where she and a few friends could each build a stuffed bear craft, much like a Build-A-Bear.  I could only afford to invite 4 or 5 friends.  Two said they would be there, and the others did not respond at all.   Yes it was a snowy Saturday, but it was my little girl’s birthday.  And when not one single child showed up and no one called to cancel or RSVP no, I cannot impress upon you my sadness, disappointment, and dread for what my daughter was thinking and feeling in the time she spent waiting and hoping that someone would walk through the door for her.

So this is my open letter to the world.  When someone extends an invitation because they are requesting your presence somewhere, take two seconds to let them know if you’re interested or if you plan to attend.  And when you give someone your word, let that mean something.  Sure, things come up and plans change.  Nobody expects you to make a call if you're late on account of getting injured in a car accident.  But folks, it doesn’t take long to extend the courtesy of letting someone know you can’t keep your word.  And by the way, saying no is perfectly acceptable.  Don’t be afraid to do it.  You don’t even have to make up a lie as to why you are saying no.  Just say no and be comfortable with it.   And don’t forget, the day may come when no one bothers to invite you to anything at all.  And I hope you won’t wonder why. 

Wrapped Up in His Love

Times have been tough lately.  Due to a variety of personal developments in my life (or in others' lives, which in turn impacts my life), I'm left with some residual internal discord.  It feels like many days I just manage to make it from start to finish, with not a lot left over at day's end.

Four months ago, I went through a very difficult time that truly taxed (and continues to tax) my soul.  An old friend of mine reached out in a gesture of kindness, support, and generosity.  She sent me a prayer shawl.  It's this rich, cobalt blue color, and it has been draped on a kitchen chair for awhile, as I pondered what exactly to do with it.  Well lately, it seems my sadness is worse at bedtime, so I've been taking it to bed with me.  For one thing, I'm a cold-natured person and it warms me up.  But because it is a prayer shawl, it serves as a reminder to chat with God before I rest my body and mind for as much as the night as I'm able.  What's more, it is a physical reminder and sensation of being wrapped up, protected, even held...  At the risk of sounding kooky, I've been able to achieve more moments of peace as I create this physical experience of being wrapped up, all while I bask in the spiritual feeling of being wrapped up, chosen, protected, defended, and supremely loved. 

Construction Zone

Forgiveness, to me, is a pretty straight forward thing.  It’s a no-brainer, really, especially if you’re a Christian.  But reconciliation is an altogether different creature.  It may be desired, but it doesn’t always come easily or even naturally.

It’s no easy thing to move past your own hurt and decide to take a risk on something that may or may not work out for you.  In some ways, it’s no different than the beginning of a relationship – we all take risks there, not knowing which direction things may lead.  In other ways though, it’s incomparable.  You have a history.  You have memories and reminders of a time when things were better, sunnier, more innocent, more….solid.  It looms over you as both a ghost and a goal, because you want to return to that place.  Problem is, you don’t know whether you ever can. 

Memories come flooding back, often at the most inopportune moments.  And so you ride a roller coaster at times, sometimes feeling open to the possibilities and growth offered to you, and sometimes slamming the door and freezing up, residing in a place of anger and distrust. 

The person on the other end is facing struggles of their own, though no one wants to give them any credit or sympathy.  They are aware they are willingly entering a power differential that cannot be avoided if anyone is acting with an ounce of honesty.  They must be willing to swallow their pride, to accept accountability and blame, and to face the judge and jury who alternatingly accept and commend their efforts - or - lash out at and condemn them, or sometimes refuse to acknowledge them.  All of the negative consequences are a result of the mistakes they made, and so they must accept the obstacles they encounter if they want to make a change and rebuild what was lost.

I’m in the midst of a construction zone of reconciliation right now.  It’s tiresome, dangerous, and the outcome is obviously uncertain.  But isn’t that always the case, whether reconciling or just starting out?  It’s all about taking chances, about experimenting with trust, and about measuring your levels of happiness and distress and figuring out if the return on your investment is worth the risk.  The passersby that glance over at my construction zone sometimes offer a thumbs up, sometimes offer a thumbs down, and sometimes look the other way altogether.  It doesn’t really matter.  I’m one of only two people that can do this work.  I’m learning to plot out and reinforce the boundaries I need in order to focus on the work at hand.  And I'm well aware that the fees are double if I'm caught speeding through this delicate, dangerous stretch of road, so I'm keeping both hands on the wheel and staying in between the lines at a safe pace.



The Labyrinth

I’m one of those who likes to face my difficulties head on, face first.  I do things that some people think are horrific, unthinkable, and audacious in order to deal with and heal from the things that weigh me down.  I’m one of those who will lie down on my grandparents’ grave when I miss them, I will pull out painful pictures rather than avoid them, and so forth.  So today, on the day I had planned my wedding, of course I went down to the gazebo where we’d planned to marry, at the time of the ceremony. 

On the way down, I listened to a CD I made for Bob a month after we met.  Pink’s Glitter in the Air finally brought me tears and I let myself sob while the sun shone through my sunroof and the wind blew through my hair.  I passed so many people in cars or on the street, and it reminded of my pregnancy when I’d want to scream to whomever was next to me in traffic, “I might look like just another driver but I’m pregnant!  Can you believe it?”.  Although this time I wanted to tell them that today was the day I was planning to get married, except now here I was in khaki Capri pants, flip flops, and a brown Harley Davidson racerback tank top. 

I got down to the arboretum and started to take pictures.  I was surprised to see some people in “my” gazebo grilling hot dogs and having a little picnic.  They looked at me as I wandered around snapping pictures, and I was reminded of how little we know about the strangers we pass in our daily lives and what burdens we are carrying (like the teller at the bank who was complaining about the wedding he had to go to today, as I smiled and listened).  It became quickly apparent to me that my plan of sitting in the gazebo and reflecting on my life was not going to happen, so I crossed the street to the more familiar part of the arboretum, where I’d attended many of my Dad’s work picnics as a child.  I’d even tailgated there for OSU games.

I saw The Labyrinth Garden again, and remembered how my Dad had said people would gather there and try to walk the Labyrinth maze….many concentric circles with paths – some of which led to dead ends and some of which led to the center of the maze.  “What the hell?” I thought, “I’ve got nothing better to do” and so I started into the circle to see how tough this could possibly be.  Of course I would always look ahead to see if the path I was on was going to dead end, and if so, I’d turn the other way.  After trying what I felt was every possible turn, I concluded that there was no way to the center.  This pissed me off.  Then I noticed there was a short, direct path leading from the outside of the Labyrinth straight to the center.  Even a baby could see it was a sure thing.  But I didn’t want to take that path.  It didn’t seem like it would be any fun.  No challenge there.  Slowly I began to realize how metaphorical this Labyrinth was.  But then again, I was growing frustrated and wanted to conquer this silly little maze. 

So I decided to outwit the Labyrinth and start from the center and find the path that led to the outside.  After all, I have a master’s degree for chrissake.  Yes, it occurred to me that this is cheating and that we cannot do this in life (start at our destination and backtrack through our journey).  I moved quickly along, hit a couple dead ends, and then realized I was still stuck, unable to find my way out.  At this point, I decided this cute little exercise was over for me, and I decided to leave.  But not without a lot on my mind. 

There are so, so many times in life I think I am on the right path, doing the smart thing, making progress….only to find that I’ve reached a dead end.  Then it is time to back track a bit, regroup, and try again.  That’s assuming you want to make it to the center, the prize, the destination, the end goal.  I couldn’t figure that Labyrinth out today, and perhaps I never will (without taking the easy, obvious path).  But I bet I go back and try again.

Nala Don't Play

My dog Nala is so pretty.  Really, she’s quite beautiful.  And it’s not just me being biased as her owner/master/mother (whatever you want to call me) – I’ve heard it from others many times.  I was thinking today about how when people see Nala, because of her attractiveness and because she is small (Chihuahua), they instantly want to hold her or at least touch her, pet her.  But Nala doesn’t so much care for strangers.  She resents it when strangers take the liberty to touch her without gaining the permission animals require for such intimacy.  Sometimes it is embarrassing.  But sometimes I think it’s really admirable.

Just because she is pretty and easy to physically manipulate doesn’t mean she is okay with people putting their hands on her without first establishing some sort of connection.  And why on earth shouldn’t she be that way?  It’s no different to me than being in a crowded bar and having some jackass saunter over, murmuring “hey sweetheart” or “wow your eyes sure are beautiful” as they take the liberty of putting their hand in my hair, on my shoulder, over my hand, etc.  I don’t know you.  I didn’t invite you into my presence or my conversation.  And I sure as hell didn’t ask that you establish any sort of physical intimacy with me.  I’m not wearing a shirt that says “Cuddle me” or “Hold me”.  Neither is Nala.

Nala doesn’t screw around.  If you try to touch her and she doesn’t want to be touched, she will go ahead and bite you or at least show you her tiny, sharp teeth in an effort to warn you that she’s pissed.  I’ve seen research that says dog imitate their owners, whether it’s in their best interest or not to do so.  This makes me chuckle.  You could approach Nala with a fresh steak and – don’t get me wrong – this greedy overeater will want it real bad and probably find a way to get it, but only on her own terms.  And if it requires crawling into your lap, she ain’t gonna do it.   

So when we were running errands today and someone reached out to pet her and she snarled, I had to scold her, but on the inside I was saying, “Go on with your bad self, girl.  I’d have done the same thing.”

Growing Up in the 80s

I was born at the perfect time for me.  I’m really happy with when my “coming of age” years occurred in the scope of American history and pop culture.  I was a girl who was happy to play outside, catch lightning bugs, wear a string of frog eggs as a necklace, and so forth until Mom called us in to take a bath and watch Bugs Bunny on a Saturday night in the summer.  I filled a Helen Hutchley’s bag with all my little Smurf figurines and could play with them for hours, with no structure but my own.  One of my key summer activities was riding my bike and going to the pool.

The music in the 1980s (when I was 6 – 15 years old) will never seem like “oldies” to me, no matter how old I get.  There will always be something badass about Bon Jovi, something universal about Journey, something risqué about Salt ‘N Pepa, and something disturbing about Robert Palmer.  This was a decade when no one batted an eye at bands with names like Dexy’s Midnight Runners, Men at Work, Kajagoogoo, or Frankie Goes to Hollywood.  I got to see Michael Jackson, Prince, and Madonna debut and rise to the heights of their fame and success.   I had crushes on the likes of John Schneider (Bo Duke from The Dukes of Hazard), John Cougar (before he was John Mellencamp), Michael Jackson, and – regrettably (and much to my parents’ horror) – Axl Rose. I was completely comfortable in fluorescent clothing and acid washed jeans.  I was thoroughly entertained by Family Ties, The Cosby Show, Silver Spoons, Punky Brewster, Golden Girls, The Barbara Mandrell Show, Miami Vice, Who’s the Boss, etc. 

We didn’t have all sorts of amazing technology, and that was fine.  Our cable box had a wire that ran to the TV, so yes it was a remote control, but no, not really.  The phones all had cords and none of them were mobile.  We were lucky enough to have a Colecovision but not an Atari.  The printer that went with our Commodore 64 was dot matrix and had those little perforated sheets along the edges.  My Walkman played cassette tapes and we had an 8-track player in the car.  Never had a TV or phone in my room, never mind a computer.  Internet?  Nope.  Encyclopedias.

I often joke about how if I had been alive 100 or 200 years ago, I’d have been burned at the stake.  Maybe.  Maybe not.  We’ll never know.  I just know I think it’s really cool that God had be show up at the precise time he did.  I remember writing this on the cover a journal when I was 16:

Hold onto sixteen as long as you can

Changes come around real soon – make us women and men

~John Cougar, “Jack & Diane”

 -----------------------------------------

I guess nothing can last forever

…Those were the best days of my life

~Bryan Adams, “Summer of ‘69”

Summer's going fast, nights growing colder
Children growing up, old friends growing older
Freeze this moment a little bit longer
Make each impression a little bit stronger

~Rush, “Time Stand Still”