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”

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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”

Please Hold

There are so many things I long to do with my life, so many dreams I can’t shake from my soul.  But those dreams will have to wait because two other dreams that came true are taking all of my resources, both tangible and intangible.  Sometimes it’s hard to wait.  When I gave life to these two dreams, I was under the impression I’d have a life partner I could lean on while pursuing other dreams.  It didn’t work out that way, so I’m feeling like I’m at a bit of a crossroads.  I've been a single mother for six years, and my kids are about halfway to adulthood, so my work is far from done.  But I ache.  I want.  I desire.  Maybe if I just give voice to my dreams and dream them publicly, it may lend me some comfort, some hope?

I want to be a midwife.  I want to go back to school and get a nursing degree and then a master’s degree in midwifery.  I want to catch babies.  I want to advocate for women and make their birthing dreams come true, so that they are in the best care possible, exerting their reproductive rights, and taking pure memories with them for the rest of their lives when they look back on the momentous day that they gave birth.  Depending on where I am living, I'd like to attend home births and help to push legislation through to protect this choice for women in healthy, low-risk pregnancies.

I want to learn karate or taekwondo.  I want to possess the skills required to defend myself, and hope that I never have to use them.  I want to learn more discipline and self control, and strengthen the connection between my mind and body. 

I want to volunteer for a domestic violence shelter – really get in the trenches and make a difference in lives that need compassion…

I want to take violin lessons, using my knowledge of reading music and playing the piano to learn to make beautiful sounds that make my eyes float up in my head, make my shoulders relax, my back arch, and my body to breathe deeply.

I want to see Montana and go to the Grand Tetons and let it all take my breath away.  I want to see Paris.  I want to go back to Jamaica.

I want to go skydiving.  I want to ride in a hot air balloon!

No one is going to pay the mortgage, day care, health insurance, utilities, babysitter, etc., while I invest in school or lessons or travel though, and no one is here to care for them while I pursue education or give time to organizations or explore the world or jump out of planes.  I can’t leave in the middle of the night to be there for a laboring woman – I have to be here with my own miracles.  I’m really not intending to complain.  Sometimes I just feel that my growth is somewhat stunted.  I’m so busy growing these two souls, there isn’t much time or energy or money to invest in myself and the growth that I constantly crave.  It's like I'm trying to place a call to God to ask for the things I want, and an operator answers and simply says, "Please hold."

Living in the Gray

I’ve never been one who is comfortable in the gray areas of life.  I like things to be black and white, well-defined, with boundaries and labels attached.  While I’m capable of being spontaneous, I’m mostly a person who plans and prepares as much as possible.  Wikipedia states that: “Two colors are called complementary colors if grey is produced when they are combined (in the light spectrum, but as in art it produces brown with paints usually). Grey is its own complement. Consequently, grey remains grey when its color spectrum is inverted, and so has no opposite, or alternately is its own opposite.”  Its own complement?  Has no opposite?  Then how is it defined?  I’m one who likes to define things by their opposite.  But opposites involve extremes, and when we are dealing with gray, we are dealing with neutrality and being squarely in the middle.

Sometimes in life, we go through periods where we cannot find answers nor reasons.  Or even in the presence of answer and reason, we remain in a conundrum.   That’s where I reside right now.  It’s uncomfortable and restless and maddening, but I’ve got to find a way to get comfortable here, until I drift closer to one end of the spectrum or the other.  I’m hanging out with myself and letting the thoughts, questions, and feelings come.  I refuse to force myself to make decisions when my head, heart, and gut are not in synergy with one another.  And so I idle.  Not exactly laying any roots down, but sort of wandering about aimlessly, taking comfort where I can, celebrating baby steps forward and tolerating backward slips and slides. 

I am.  I feel.  And I don’t have to finish those sentences.  They’re complete as is, even if not optimal for a black and white labeler and planner like me.