We've all had friends like this, friends who don't seem to understand how not to be selfish. They are the people who know how to take, but not how to give. We all know these people and probably have a few in our lives. In the age of technology, the use of cell phones and the proper etiquette is going to come into question. There is no book, no magical recipe for when it is appropriate but rather the importance of establishing a guideline in terms of politeness and perhaps a general rule of consideration that should apply.
It should be common knowledge that one shouldn't use their cell phone during a movie, but clearly there are people that do not have that level of consideration as the movie industry still has to put up a message to remind people to silence their cell phones.
Should you really have to remind someone to silence their cell phone when you're in a social situation or when you're engaged in a conversation with someone? How disconcerting is it to be speaking to someone only to have them interrupt you by picking up their cell phone to reply to someone else or to answer their phone?
Ultimately, it not only becomes a matter of being impolite, but also defines the level of respect in the friendship. For example, I have a friend who constantly seeks advice about matters he feels are of great importance in his life. Truly, what happens in his life only matters to me in that I am his friend. I listen out of respect and consideration because his friendship is important to me. I offer advice whenever possible and patiently try to help him work through his own self doubt. However, where is the reciprocation?
The balance of friendship is not in my favor, because when I try to talk about something in my own life, he conveniently picks up his cell phone and responds to a text or answers the cell phone. That immediately tells me just exactly how important I am to him: so unimportant that a random text message at that very moment is more important than whatever it is I might have to say.
Most of the time,, I choose not to say anything. But ultimately, my constantly giving in this "friendship" and not getting much in return ultimately bothers me. I politely try to piont it out when we are all together in a social situation; his other friends have also noticed and tried to point it out.
"Do you want my attention?" His voice is dry and almost sarcastic. That statement stood out to me, bothered me a little, because a part of it is true--but not for the reason he almost seemed to imply. Yes, when listening to him, he expects--wants--my attention. Is it not fair to expect the same thing in return from him?
The saddest part about it is that he has barely a clue as to what is going on in my life; I don't ever get the dance to even talk about it as I'm constantly interrupted by his problems or his cell phone. Are you starting to see a tred? Sometimes I wonder if it's always going to be about him. I don't even know if he considers me a friend or just someone who is a convenient sounding board for his problems and issues. Yes, in some ways it's about wanting his attention, but it's also about wanting my half of the friendship too.
Friendship, like any relationship, is a two way street. It sometimes means taking, but it's also about giving. I don't mind listening to his problems and I'm happy to do it--but I think I deserve the same level of respect and attention that I am giving to him. I asked myself when was the last time he actually asked me (or even seemed to care) how I was really doing? Did he even give a thought to all the stuff I've been going through lately? He probably had no idea all the turmoil I had been going through... because he is so self-absorved. I realized he rarely takes the time to ask me or really listen. It's hard to tell someone anything about yourself, or get your half of the friendship, when you are constantly interrupted by the BING! of yet another text message.
To be fair, I too have been guilty of this offense. Until one day, one of my friends had the courage to point it out to me. She sat me down and told me how much it bothered her when I did that. I realized how selfish I had been and remembered that the whole point of my friendship with her was to enjoy each other, not always focus on myself. When I realized that, I put the cell phone down, left it down, and became a better friend in the process.
I end with this: we all have cell phones and we are all busy and important people. But in the end, is that text message or phone call more important than the friend you have sitting in front of you? If it is, then you don't deserve the friendship. The balance of friendship is more than just about you--it's like the scales of justice-meant to be balanced.
A friendship is about more than just getting someone to listen to you, having a good friend means a responsibility to be one too.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Reality Hits Home ...
I had written the most beautiful post, and it’s all gone—yet another hour of wasted thoughts lost to the oblivion of the internet. Well, I guess I shall try it again---no promises that it will be as good the second time around.
This blog is currently untitled because I don’t know how to put a title on it. I guess I don’t know how to feel. It has taken some weeks to put this into words—to put it all down on paper—and my head is swimming with emotions.
Before I get ahead of myself, I need to go back a few months.
It might have been the end of July that I first noticed that J started to come to my office more. It seemed odd somehow, and he almost reminded me of how things used to be between us—before there were so many things left unsaid. There was a sort of lightness in the air, but a sadness too—one I couldn’t place.
At some point, he asked me to go to a movie with him—it had really been the third time we really talked about it. But I blew him off, because he often says things and doesn’t follow through on them or doesn’t mean them (this is ironically going to come into play later).
I didn’t take the “offer” seriously for a couple of reasons. The first one being the fact that the entire ugly scene played itself in my mind—would we go to the movie alone? What would his girlfriend have to say about that? ( I knew she didn’t like me probably for completely irrational reasons ). What if she accompanied him? Would we exchange awkward and meaningless pleasantries and then sit in uncomfortable silence throughout the movie and then go on our own way? And why did I get the feeling that he wanted something from me?
The other reason I didn’t really want to go is because I knew it wasn’t fair to A (the guy I was currently dating). He had no idea of the turmoil of emotions that were playing themselves in my heart. The truth was, he was about to move in. I can’t believe I’m admitting this. He was about to move in and I’m not sure I was ready for that yet. How many times has someone moved in with me only to have it end miserably when the time came for me to walk away? I’ve gotten so tired of breaking so many hearts … one thing I knew about him, was that he deserved better. His last girlfriend cheated on him right under his nose and yet … I think in the back of my heart, I was still hoping that J would come back to me.
I finally gave in and agreed to see a movie with him and agreed to meet him at his house—he moved back to the place he and I had shared a few years ago. My anxiety mounted when he didn’t mention his girlfriend or whether or not she would be joining us. My plan was to make the best of it. So I approached his door and waited for her to answer—but she didn’t. And when I saw the house mysteriously quiet and dark behind him, I admit I was relieved. There were signs of his daughter everywhere-scribbled chalk on the pavement and toys left abandoned on the front patio.
He closed the door quickly behind him, and I was left to wonder about the whereabouts of his girlfriend and baby.
We made small, uncomfortable small talk as we approached the theater. Why was I so guarded around him? Then again, didn’t I have the right to be? I wanted to ask about his girlfriend, but I was still taking it all in and—I guess a part of me didn’t want to ask about her either. Why pretend to care about someone who disliked me? No need to be fake…
When we got to the theater, he made some comment about “visiting” with his daughter, and when I turned to him with a look of surprise, he told me that he and his girlfriend had broken up and had been separated for a few months.
Wow! I think that was my exact response to him. Perhaps that explained the sadness? We watched the movie and I sat silently in shock. The thing I had asked for, prayed for, finally was happening. The movie ended and I drove him home; he invited me inside.
Signs of his daughter were everywhere—a little chair, toys strewn on the couch, random colorful stickers stuck to the coffee table. There was a picture too, a picture of the three of them, on the mantle of the open kitchen. It almost felt like I was trespassing in a world that didn’t belong to me anymore, in a life that wasn’t mine. Suddenly, it felt like the world was closing in on me—the room felt suffocating. This was not exactly how I pictured it would be.
As I looked at J, I could see the beginnings of gray starting to form on his perfectly beautiful dark black hair; the signs of age creeping up on him. I suddenly wondered where the years had gone and how, just for a moment, I could have pretended that things weren’t the way they were?
He seemed to be the same person I remembered, and yet much different—gray was not the only sign that he was getting older. There was a sadness in his eyes as he described how he had no plans to return to his girlfriend after the things she had said to him. He refused to tell me what those things were, but I didn’t press for details. Did I want to know? Yes. Would it hurt me or suck me back in? Yes. I was determined to stay neutral, to see if this was real or just a dream.
I kept questioning him about whether he was going back, and he said he would never go back after the things that were said, supposedly getting “ugly” in Court over the custody rights of their daughter. I couldn’t figure it out. Why would a girl with no real future or means of having a future leave her paycheck? I knew she didn’t have a job and while I don’t mean to speak badly of her, I’m sure she’s very bright, I doubted that she would get a decent job anytime soon given the state of the economy and her lack of education. So then why would she, as he had said, abandon such a good life? Oh sure, J didn’t make the money he appeared to make—he probably appeared to her to have it made with his previously large house. But I knew the truth, knew that he probably over-extended himself to maintain appearances. But I didn’t care—I didn’t want him for his money. I loved who he was. Apparently, she did not feel the same.
Once we got to his house, it was as if he didn’t know what to do with me, and I quickly left. But through several more conversations, I definitely got the feeling that he wanted something from me. Did he want to regain old times? Be my friend? Did he even realize what such a friendship would cost? Would she be pissed if she knew we were friends again? Or was there more on his mind than friendship? One thing that stuck in my head was how many times he assured me he wasn’t going back to her—how he almost became angry with me at one point telling me that it was over and how he’d missed our friendship.
I wasn’t the only one who had noticed his more frequent visits to the office. Several of our “mutual” friends noticed also—and questioned me about it almost to the point of annoyance. One person in particular noted the smile on my face when they brought up his name. Yes, I wanted to believe the things he said … but then there were my other friends talking as well as the voice of reason in my head.
Some friends suggested we should try to make things work this time—try to see where things went after the dust of his custody battle settled. See how it went. I wanted to be guarded so that he didn’t see my thinly veiled hopefulness and my faith in him.
But all that came with a price—because A had moved in and I couldn’t very well have J over during the small amount of time that A would be living with me (we had agreed he would stay with me a couple of months until he got on his feet again).
There was only one RIGHT thing to do—and it was difficult. I told A the truth and I told him everything; I didn’t want to hurt him, but at the same time, I needed him to understand how difficult this was for me. It was as if, I don’t know, maybe I was getting a second chance.
But other friends discouraged it-were vehemently against the idea. They told me that even thinking about it was a bad idea because exes are always exes for a reason. If they haven’t “fixed” whatever made them an ex in the first place, then nothing will change. My friend reminded me that he probably hadn’t changed, and the reality was, I wanted children and he had carefully built up his life to avoid them. He even talked about how he felt he was “too old” for children. He even felt the need to resort to being condescending to me, telling me “You don’t know what it’s like because you don’t have children.” While that may be true, that does not stop my wanting to have a child. I realize the heartache, the work, the struggle, the everything, and giving J a second chance probably meant abandoning my hope of raising one (or two?) of my own.
All of these things and more ran through my head. I wasn’t the only one who was guarded; he invited me to his place once, then pretended to be tired so that I would leave just a little over an hour and a half of getting there. He tells me how he’s exhausted and plans to go straight to bed. I go home, frankly surprised, that he would have me drive half and hour to see him only to be too “tired” to hang out with me. When I get home, I discover he is online, playing a game. When I catch him at it, he makes some excuse to me. How old is he that he feels the need to continue to lie to me after all this time? He wasn’t man enough to tell me that he wanted to do other things, he would rather lie than be honest. Was this a sign of the man he’d become or the man he always was and I just never saw it before?
Meanwhile, there was A, as wonderful as ever. Trying to make me dinner and failing miserably at it, encouraging me to foster a good friendship with J. What in the world was I doing?
Perhaps the best thing for me would be to develop a friendship with J again and see how it all played out. So I did what was best for me, I backed away. I’m 31 years old and I am tired of playing games; I don’t need to be lied to.
So fast forward a few weeks and Christmas is coming up. I make J some fudge and we chat in my office at some point about random things. There is no mention of anything serious—until a few days before Christmas. He ends up telling me that he and his girlfriend have gotten back together again and she is going to be moving back in.
Wait… what? Did I miss something? Didn’t he just tell me that he was done? Didn’t he just spend hours convincing me that he was never going back? And now he’s changed his mind?
The incredulousness of this and it hit me all at once and I found myself for the LAST time stunned. In essence, he lied to me. What would have happened if I had let him back into my good graces? Would he have gotten back together with her anyway? And would he have been honest with me about it?
Suddenly, I could look at the situation with perfect clarity and realized that he’s a liar and that’s the plain and simple –and ironic truth. He lies to me, he lies to his friends and family, and worse, he lies to himself.
I sneakingly suspect that he’s only getting back with her for convenience, to have a warm body for the holidays, to make it easier on the pocketbook, or whatever reason he’s invented in his head. Perhaps being a single dad-the harsh reality of parenthood too much responsibility for him to handle alone.
I found myself shocked, possibly because I actually believed his lies yet again. I believe that he is like two people—one conflicted with his real life, and one that lives in the other world—the one he wants. But until the two worlds come together, I don’t feel he’ll ever be truly happy. I guess if I had been with him, I would have been happy for a while—until he lied to me, or until something else happened to shatter my hopefulness.
Meanwhile, this has taught me a valuable lesson about life and about how sometimes it takes trying something new to realize what you do and don’t want.
I want to be the girl who raises a family and takes care of my husband. I don’t mind being the girl who goes to soccer practice or baseball games or anything because it will put a smile on my child’s face. I will fight the sleep off my face to comfort a crying baby. I will fight to be a good and strong parent who loves and encourages my children.
But I can’t live in a world where I am lied to, or a world where having someone to love means sacrificing myself for their needs and wants just so that I can be a “servant girl” to make their life easier. I don’t mind doing the work if I get rewarded in some way. I realized that J would never put in the work it takes for a successful and lasting relationship. My love for him would not be enough to carry us through all of the tough times we’d face or the challenges and obstacles that life would bring us.
As I mentioned, I realized that he’s not what I want anymore. A takes care of me, and is willing to go to the store for me even at 10:00 at night when he’s in his “comfy pants” because I am sick and need medicine. I have to beg him not to go. He proudly shows me pictures of his nephews and how he can’t wait to have children of his own. He did the dishes while I lay on the couch feeling miserable. That’s the kind of person I want, and that’s the kind of person I am not sure I deserve-but have waited my whole life to find.
He may not understand me on an intrinsic instinctive level, but we are going in the same direction, and our mutual respect and adoration for one another will help us make it through.
Meanwhile, I can’t help but feel betrayed a little. Should I even bother to work on a friendship with J? Will it be based on lies? Ironically, when he told me they had gotten back together, I questioned him and he told me that “she was all right with [our friendship].” Really? Truly? Had he asked her? Would it still be the same way or would it be as I had originally pictured it, an uncomfortable silence? I decided then, that my hope in him had been shattered—even for a basic friendship, I would hope he had the strength to be honest with me.
For now, nothing is solved and thankfully, so many questions have been answered in my heart. Am I going in the right direction? At long last, I can proceed without someone holding a secret grip on my heart …
This blog is currently untitled because I don’t know how to put a title on it. I guess I don’t know how to feel. It has taken some weeks to put this into words—to put it all down on paper—and my head is swimming with emotions.
Before I get ahead of myself, I need to go back a few months.
It might have been the end of July that I first noticed that J started to come to my office more. It seemed odd somehow, and he almost reminded me of how things used to be between us—before there were so many things left unsaid. There was a sort of lightness in the air, but a sadness too—one I couldn’t place.
At some point, he asked me to go to a movie with him—it had really been the third time we really talked about it. But I blew him off, because he often says things and doesn’t follow through on them or doesn’t mean them (this is ironically going to come into play later).
I didn’t take the “offer” seriously for a couple of reasons. The first one being the fact that the entire ugly scene played itself in my mind—would we go to the movie alone? What would his girlfriend have to say about that? ( I knew she didn’t like me probably for completely irrational reasons ). What if she accompanied him? Would we exchange awkward and meaningless pleasantries and then sit in uncomfortable silence throughout the movie and then go on our own way? And why did I get the feeling that he wanted something from me?
The other reason I didn’t really want to go is because I knew it wasn’t fair to A (the guy I was currently dating). He had no idea of the turmoil of emotions that were playing themselves in my heart. The truth was, he was about to move in. I can’t believe I’m admitting this. He was about to move in and I’m not sure I was ready for that yet. How many times has someone moved in with me only to have it end miserably when the time came for me to walk away? I’ve gotten so tired of breaking so many hearts … one thing I knew about him, was that he deserved better. His last girlfriend cheated on him right under his nose and yet … I think in the back of my heart, I was still hoping that J would come back to me.
I finally gave in and agreed to see a movie with him and agreed to meet him at his house—he moved back to the place he and I had shared a few years ago. My anxiety mounted when he didn’t mention his girlfriend or whether or not she would be joining us. My plan was to make the best of it. So I approached his door and waited for her to answer—but she didn’t. And when I saw the house mysteriously quiet and dark behind him, I admit I was relieved. There were signs of his daughter everywhere-scribbled chalk on the pavement and toys left abandoned on the front patio.
He closed the door quickly behind him, and I was left to wonder about the whereabouts of his girlfriend and baby.
We made small, uncomfortable small talk as we approached the theater. Why was I so guarded around him? Then again, didn’t I have the right to be? I wanted to ask about his girlfriend, but I was still taking it all in and—I guess a part of me didn’t want to ask about her either. Why pretend to care about someone who disliked me? No need to be fake…
When we got to the theater, he made some comment about “visiting” with his daughter, and when I turned to him with a look of surprise, he told me that he and his girlfriend had broken up and had been separated for a few months.
Wow! I think that was my exact response to him. Perhaps that explained the sadness? We watched the movie and I sat silently in shock. The thing I had asked for, prayed for, finally was happening. The movie ended and I drove him home; he invited me inside.
Signs of his daughter were everywhere—a little chair, toys strewn on the couch, random colorful stickers stuck to the coffee table. There was a picture too, a picture of the three of them, on the mantle of the open kitchen. It almost felt like I was trespassing in a world that didn’t belong to me anymore, in a life that wasn’t mine. Suddenly, it felt like the world was closing in on me—the room felt suffocating. This was not exactly how I pictured it would be.
As I looked at J, I could see the beginnings of gray starting to form on his perfectly beautiful dark black hair; the signs of age creeping up on him. I suddenly wondered where the years had gone and how, just for a moment, I could have pretended that things weren’t the way they were?
He seemed to be the same person I remembered, and yet much different—gray was not the only sign that he was getting older. There was a sadness in his eyes as he described how he had no plans to return to his girlfriend after the things she had said to him. He refused to tell me what those things were, but I didn’t press for details. Did I want to know? Yes. Would it hurt me or suck me back in? Yes. I was determined to stay neutral, to see if this was real or just a dream.
I kept questioning him about whether he was going back, and he said he would never go back after the things that were said, supposedly getting “ugly” in Court over the custody rights of their daughter. I couldn’t figure it out. Why would a girl with no real future or means of having a future leave her paycheck? I knew she didn’t have a job and while I don’t mean to speak badly of her, I’m sure she’s very bright, I doubted that she would get a decent job anytime soon given the state of the economy and her lack of education. So then why would she, as he had said, abandon such a good life? Oh sure, J didn’t make the money he appeared to make—he probably appeared to her to have it made with his previously large house. But I knew the truth, knew that he probably over-extended himself to maintain appearances. But I didn’t care—I didn’t want him for his money. I loved who he was. Apparently, she did not feel the same.
Once we got to his house, it was as if he didn’t know what to do with me, and I quickly left. But through several more conversations, I definitely got the feeling that he wanted something from me. Did he want to regain old times? Be my friend? Did he even realize what such a friendship would cost? Would she be pissed if she knew we were friends again? Or was there more on his mind than friendship? One thing that stuck in my head was how many times he assured me he wasn’t going back to her—how he almost became angry with me at one point telling me that it was over and how he’d missed our friendship.
I wasn’t the only one who had noticed his more frequent visits to the office. Several of our “mutual” friends noticed also—and questioned me about it almost to the point of annoyance. One person in particular noted the smile on my face when they brought up his name. Yes, I wanted to believe the things he said … but then there were my other friends talking as well as the voice of reason in my head.
Some friends suggested we should try to make things work this time—try to see where things went after the dust of his custody battle settled. See how it went. I wanted to be guarded so that he didn’t see my thinly veiled hopefulness and my faith in him.
But all that came with a price—because A had moved in and I couldn’t very well have J over during the small amount of time that A would be living with me (we had agreed he would stay with me a couple of months until he got on his feet again).
There was only one RIGHT thing to do—and it was difficult. I told A the truth and I told him everything; I didn’t want to hurt him, but at the same time, I needed him to understand how difficult this was for me. It was as if, I don’t know, maybe I was getting a second chance.
But other friends discouraged it-were vehemently against the idea. They told me that even thinking about it was a bad idea because exes are always exes for a reason. If they haven’t “fixed” whatever made them an ex in the first place, then nothing will change. My friend reminded me that he probably hadn’t changed, and the reality was, I wanted children and he had carefully built up his life to avoid them. He even talked about how he felt he was “too old” for children. He even felt the need to resort to being condescending to me, telling me “You don’t know what it’s like because you don’t have children.” While that may be true, that does not stop my wanting to have a child. I realize the heartache, the work, the struggle, the everything, and giving J a second chance probably meant abandoning my hope of raising one (or two?) of my own.
All of these things and more ran through my head. I wasn’t the only one who was guarded; he invited me to his place once, then pretended to be tired so that I would leave just a little over an hour and a half of getting there. He tells me how he’s exhausted and plans to go straight to bed. I go home, frankly surprised, that he would have me drive half and hour to see him only to be too “tired” to hang out with me. When I get home, I discover he is online, playing a game. When I catch him at it, he makes some excuse to me. How old is he that he feels the need to continue to lie to me after all this time? He wasn’t man enough to tell me that he wanted to do other things, he would rather lie than be honest. Was this a sign of the man he’d become or the man he always was and I just never saw it before?
Meanwhile, there was A, as wonderful as ever. Trying to make me dinner and failing miserably at it, encouraging me to foster a good friendship with J. What in the world was I doing?
Perhaps the best thing for me would be to develop a friendship with J again and see how it all played out. So I did what was best for me, I backed away. I’m 31 years old and I am tired of playing games; I don’t need to be lied to.
So fast forward a few weeks and Christmas is coming up. I make J some fudge and we chat in my office at some point about random things. There is no mention of anything serious—until a few days before Christmas. He ends up telling me that he and his girlfriend have gotten back together again and she is going to be moving back in.
Wait… what? Did I miss something? Didn’t he just tell me that he was done? Didn’t he just spend hours convincing me that he was never going back? And now he’s changed his mind?
The incredulousness of this and it hit me all at once and I found myself for the LAST time stunned. In essence, he lied to me. What would have happened if I had let him back into my good graces? Would he have gotten back together with her anyway? And would he have been honest with me about it?
Suddenly, I could look at the situation with perfect clarity and realized that he’s a liar and that’s the plain and simple –and ironic truth. He lies to me, he lies to his friends and family, and worse, he lies to himself.
I sneakingly suspect that he’s only getting back with her for convenience, to have a warm body for the holidays, to make it easier on the pocketbook, or whatever reason he’s invented in his head. Perhaps being a single dad-the harsh reality of parenthood too much responsibility for him to handle alone.
I found myself shocked, possibly because I actually believed his lies yet again. I believe that he is like two people—one conflicted with his real life, and one that lives in the other world—the one he wants. But until the two worlds come together, I don’t feel he’ll ever be truly happy. I guess if I had been with him, I would have been happy for a while—until he lied to me, or until something else happened to shatter my hopefulness.
Meanwhile, this has taught me a valuable lesson about life and about how sometimes it takes trying something new to realize what you do and don’t want.
I want to be the girl who raises a family and takes care of my husband. I don’t mind being the girl who goes to soccer practice or baseball games or anything because it will put a smile on my child’s face. I will fight the sleep off my face to comfort a crying baby. I will fight to be a good and strong parent who loves and encourages my children.
But I can’t live in a world where I am lied to, or a world where having someone to love means sacrificing myself for their needs and wants just so that I can be a “servant girl” to make their life easier. I don’t mind doing the work if I get rewarded in some way. I realized that J would never put in the work it takes for a successful and lasting relationship. My love for him would not be enough to carry us through all of the tough times we’d face or the challenges and obstacles that life would bring us.
As I mentioned, I realized that he’s not what I want anymore. A takes care of me, and is willing to go to the store for me even at 10:00 at night when he’s in his “comfy pants” because I am sick and need medicine. I have to beg him not to go. He proudly shows me pictures of his nephews and how he can’t wait to have children of his own. He did the dishes while I lay on the couch feeling miserable. That’s the kind of person I want, and that’s the kind of person I am not sure I deserve-but have waited my whole life to find.
He may not understand me on an intrinsic instinctive level, but we are going in the same direction, and our mutual respect and adoration for one another will help us make it through.
Meanwhile, I can’t help but feel betrayed a little. Should I even bother to work on a friendship with J? Will it be based on lies? Ironically, when he told me they had gotten back together, I questioned him and he told me that “she was all right with [our friendship].” Really? Truly? Had he asked her? Would it still be the same way or would it be as I had originally pictured it, an uncomfortable silence? I decided then, that my hope in him had been shattered—even for a basic friendship, I would hope he had the strength to be honest with me.
For now, nothing is solved and thankfully, so many questions have been answered in my heart. Am I going in the right direction? At long last, I can proceed without someone holding a secret grip on my heart …
Sunday, December 13, 2009
As My Dad Used To Say ....
Well I wrote this entire blog, and thanks to technology, it's all gone. That sucks.
What I was going to say is that when I was younger, my dad had some really good wisdom that he applied to raising me that ultimately had a positive effect on how I have come to think about the importance of being patient and waiting for things.
The store is a magical place full of winderful things in the eyes of a child. The store was a place full of things I saw and wanted RIGHT NOW! I'd look at whatever it was--a toy or whatever--and rush over to my dad begging him to buy it for me.
He'd look at me and say, "I tell you what pumpkin, if you still want it the next time we come back, I'll get it for you."
Well that was certainly not what I wanted, I wanted it NOW! But he had no idea how the act of making me wait for something would become life changing. The truth was, I always remembered the things I really wanted, and forgot the things that were the items of "right now." It comes down to a matter of quality versus quantity. Sure, I would have had more things had my dad bought me everything I wanted, but you can bet that by him making me wait, I appreciated those things I did have, and appreciated those those things I really wanted.
This is perfect wisdom to apply to life in a hurry. Sometimes it's best to walk away from that thing you "really want" and come back for it later. If you really want it, if it is really important to you, you will get it later.
The wisdom, then, comes in the patience of waiting for the things that are most important--and disregarding the things that aren't.
What I was going to say is that when I was younger, my dad had some really good wisdom that he applied to raising me that ultimately had a positive effect on how I have come to think about the importance of being patient and waiting for things.
The store is a magical place full of winderful things in the eyes of a child. The store was a place full of things I saw and wanted RIGHT NOW! I'd look at whatever it was--a toy or whatever--and rush over to my dad begging him to buy it for me.
He'd look at me and say, "I tell you what pumpkin, if you still want it the next time we come back, I'll get it for you."
Well that was certainly not what I wanted, I wanted it NOW! But he had no idea how the act of making me wait for something would become life changing. The truth was, I always remembered the things I really wanted, and forgot the things that were the items of "right now." It comes down to a matter of quality versus quantity. Sure, I would have had more things had my dad bought me everything I wanted, but you can bet that by him making me wait, I appreciated those things I did have, and appreciated those those things I really wanted.
This is perfect wisdom to apply to life in a hurry. Sometimes it's best to walk away from that thing you "really want" and come back for it later. If you really want it, if it is really important to you, you will get it later.
The wisdom, then, comes in the patience of waiting for the things that are most important--and disregarding the things that aren't.
Wait For It... Wait For It ...
It has been a long time since I've written. I've been absorbed with the mundane everyday tasks of living and I've scarely had time to think let alone write. But so much stuff has happened recently, I cannot stop my head from spinning at the reality, the totality, of it all.
There are so many times in this life when we settle for something that's "just good enough" for right now. We really want that amazing technological gadget, but we end up settling for one without all the bells and whistles because, in the end, we just can't justify the cost of the other one.
Yet, once we buy that item, I think we're left with a sort of mild disappointment--disappointment that we didn't get what we really wanted. We're not unhappy with what we bought, but the truth is, I don't think we're every fully satisfied. It's almost as if there's this nagging feeling in the back of our heads that longs for something more--wondering if we shouldn't have just spent the money on the other thing instead. But our impatience got the better of us.
That's sorta what life is about: impatience. We're always in a hurry--and this is proven time and time again from the deadlines in our jobs to our competitiveness in sports (why some people take steroids so they can bulk up fast vs. doing in the natural--but slow way), etc. We are a society in a rush.
Part of encouragement in being in a hurry, is that we are often rewarded for thinking that way. For example, if you are in a hurry to get somewhere, you get there faster--thus encouraging you to repeat the same behavior the next time. If you get a good deal because you're there the fastest, it might convince you to get there in a hurry the next time too.
When it comes to matters of the heart, we try to apply this same thinking, and we end up lost and confused, because that's not the way our heart works. When we are rewarded with the latest technology, and we "settle" for the thing that's "almost as good" the reality is, we'll be replacing it in a few years if not sooner, with something probably better and more advanced.
But in relationships, we are not encouraged to do that. We are encouraged to find one person and settle down with them. But finding that person is incredibly, if not impossibly difficult, when we apply the hurried thinking to the situation. For example, if we are in a hurry to get married, the likelihood of a successful marriage is going to be a lot smallter than someone who say, did their research and "shopped around."
People aren't like technology: you can't just throw the relationship away because something "better" comes along. The reality is, the relationship you had might be just as good--but the new thing only appears better. So the question is, how do you tell what is better? How can you pick one thing and stick with that thing for life? Or is that impossible? Is sticking with something (or someone) for life impossible because of our way of thinking? Let's take a closer look.
Have you ever took a look at two vehicles, relatively similar in outward design, but their interior and price were completely different? For example, one had leather and had a cd changer and excellent speakers, and the other one cloth seating and the "basic" package. There is also a difference in price... How do you determine which one to go for? If you're like most people, you have an idea in your head of what you're looking for and what you're not.
In terms of a car, you wouldn't spend 100k on items in car that you didn't need just because it looked better or because everyone else was buying one.
Ultimately, you'd get the car you want, and hopefully wouldn't settle for what is just "good enough" for now.
So now, doing that in relationships poses a challenge. What do you choose to settle for?
I often give my friends advice when there are TWO pieces of technology (or more) they can't decide between. I always tell them the same thing: don't buy either. That's right--don't buy either item. Why? Because if you buy one, you'll always wonder about the other. The secret, then, is to figure out what you want the MOST and go get that. Have you ever noticed that when you do that, you end up buying something and not regretting it later?
Yes, sometimes waiting MAY mean you don't have ANY technology (or relationship, or whatever), but when you DO finally pick something, it will be the something that you really wanted.
Whenever I see people caught up between choices, it's usually because they are too close, too emotionally attached, to make a logical (and rational) decision one way or another.
So then, it comes down to waiting for it--waiting for the right one--waiting for the one that you really want--even if it means being alone--even if it means you don't have the exact same things as everyone else.
Stop thinking in terms of what you "have to have" and start thinking long term--what do you NEED and what are you prepared to wait for? You don't pull a pie out of the oven early and expect it to taste good. You have to... get ready for this wisdom---wait for it.
Perhaps we need to start teaching about the importance of patience, of being okay with going without, in this society always in a hurry. Perhaps if we slowed down a bit, we just might take the time to look around us and see things a bit differently.
Life is out there. Get what you want, just don't be afraid to wait for it.
There are so many times in this life when we settle for something that's "just good enough" for right now. We really want that amazing technological gadget, but we end up settling for one without all the bells and whistles because, in the end, we just can't justify the cost of the other one.
Yet, once we buy that item, I think we're left with a sort of mild disappointment--disappointment that we didn't get what we really wanted. We're not unhappy with what we bought, but the truth is, I don't think we're every fully satisfied. It's almost as if there's this nagging feeling in the back of our heads that longs for something more--wondering if we shouldn't have just spent the money on the other thing instead. But our impatience got the better of us.
That's sorta what life is about: impatience. We're always in a hurry--and this is proven time and time again from the deadlines in our jobs to our competitiveness in sports (why some people take steroids so they can bulk up fast vs. doing in the natural--but slow way), etc. We are a society in a rush.
Part of encouragement in being in a hurry, is that we are often rewarded for thinking that way. For example, if you are in a hurry to get somewhere, you get there faster--thus encouraging you to repeat the same behavior the next time. If you get a good deal because you're there the fastest, it might convince you to get there in a hurry the next time too.
When it comes to matters of the heart, we try to apply this same thinking, and we end up lost and confused, because that's not the way our heart works. When we are rewarded with the latest technology, and we "settle" for the thing that's "almost as good" the reality is, we'll be replacing it in a few years if not sooner, with something probably better and more advanced.
But in relationships, we are not encouraged to do that. We are encouraged to find one person and settle down with them. But finding that person is incredibly, if not impossibly difficult, when we apply the hurried thinking to the situation. For example, if we are in a hurry to get married, the likelihood of a successful marriage is going to be a lot smallter than someone who say, did their research and "shopped around."
People aren't like technology: you can't just throw the relationship away because something "better" comes along. The reality is, the relationship you had might be just as good--but the new thing only appears better. So the question is, how do you tell what is better? How can you pick one thing and stick with that thing for life? Or is that impossible? Is sticking with something (or someone) for life impossible because of our way of thinking? Let's take a closer look.
Have you ever took a look at two vehicles, relatively similar in outward design, but their interior and price were completely different? For example, one had leather and had a cd changer and excellent speakers, and the other one cloth seating and the "basic" package. There is also a difference in price... How do you determine which one to go for? If you're like most people, you have an idea in your head of what you're looking for and what you're not.
In terms of a car, you wouldn't spend 100k on items in car that you didn't need just because it looked better or because everyone else was buying one.
Ultimately, you'd get the car you want, and hopefully wouldn't settle for what is just "good enough" for now.
So now, doing that in relationships poses a challenge. What do you choose to settle for?
I often give my friends advice when there are TWO pieces of technology (or more) they can't decide between. I always tell them the same thing: don't buy either. That's right--don't buy either item. Why? Because if you buy one, you'll always wonder about the other. The secret, then, is to figure out what you want the MOST and go get that. Have you ever noticed that when you do that, you end up buying something and not regretting it later?
Yes, sometimes waiting MAY mean you don't have ANY technology (or relationship, or whatever), but when you DO finally pick something, it will be the something that you really wanted.
Whenever I see people caught up between choices, it's usually because they are too close, too emotionally attached, to make a logical (and rational) decision one way or another.
So then, it comes down to waiting for it--waiting for the right one--waiting for the one that you really want--even if it means being alone--even if it means you don't have the exact same things as everyone else.
Stop thinking in terms of what you "have to have" and start thinking long term--what do you NEED and what are you prepared to wait for? You don't pull a pie out of the oven early and expect it to taste good. You have to... get ready for this wisdom---wait for it.
Perhaps we need to start teaching about the importance of patience, of being okay with going without, in this society always in a hurry. Perhaps if we slowed down a bit, we just might take the time to look around us and see things a bit differently.
Life is out there. Get what you want, just don't be afraid to wait for it.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Finding Yourself
Many people have heard about my past and have judged me negatively because of it. Most of the time, I choose not to reveal my past to anyone for that very reason. Some might claim that I am a closed person who doesn't delve too much into personal history and while that is true, I think I do it mostly to protect myself. But the main question most people ask when they find out is, "How did you come out so normal?"
The answer to that question is a difficult one, but I think the secret lies in a basic fundamental idea, the idea of finding yourself.
The truth is, when I was younger, even though I had two brothers and two sisters, I didn't really have anyone to play with. But even thought no one was around, no one told me what choices I had to make, no one ever told me WHO I had to be.
We conform because society tells us to, because we want--and often need-the acceptance of others. So we often form our likes and dislikes based on what others like and don't like. It's this idea of "modeling" that we learn from a very young age. You often see toddlers imitating the actions or vocalizations of those around them-thus form the basic foundations for speech and this behavior of copying others' actions allows children to learn faster.
Eventually, however, the child develops a sense of "autonomy" (independence or freedom, as of the will or one's actions) and eventually will discern one item over another--a blue crayon over a purple crayon and thus will begin the pattern of preference and like versus dislike. Perhaps they form a negative association after eating badly cooked broccoli and thus decide that they'd rather eat another green vegetable.
Ultimately, the search for self goes deeper than that. It's about knowing who you are and liking that person. It's not being afraid to have an opinion even if you know it differs from others, it's accepting where you come from, your past (such as the case may be) whether or not those around you can accept and or appreciate it.
I think that one of the biggest challenge of the teenage years is the transition between being a child and being an adult--and part of that is about finding onself--figuring out where one wants to go in life--figuring out what direction to take, what path to go down. When you're a child, you think that there are limitless possibilites--but as you progress through your teenage years, you begin to see that you have to make a decision, several in fact, about where to go after college, what to do with your life, who you want to be "when you grow up." Suddenly the future of limitless possibilities is limited by all of your previous choices and previous progress including grades, social standing, etc.
The issue always becomes how do people miss that point in their lives when the start discerning what they like versus what they dislike and making that transition to discovering themselves. Some people figure out who they are earlier than others: they dream of being an astronaut at age five and grow up to be just that. Others, figure out after going through high school and picking a path in college. However, there are millions of countless others who wander aimlessly through life waiting for that strike of lightning, that stroke of inspiration, to tell them who they are.
Who are you? How do you find yourself? As an adult, figuring out who you are is impossible if you're not ready to understand and grasp a basic fundamental acceptance of what you're not. If you can accept what you're not, if you can decide what you *don't* like, then finding out what you do like is part of the joy of living.
Let me give an example. Let's pretend that you have three kinds of lunch meat in front of you: salami, bologne, and turkey. You know for a fact that you don't like bologne, so you won't ever eat it. But turkey isn't available, so you choose salami. You like salami, it tastes good, but you prefer turkey. But you don't have turkey so you accept the salami and forget about how you previously thought that salami was only okay. But what would happen if all of a sudden someone introduced you to ham? Suddenly it becomes your favorite lunch meat. Now the question is, would you be influenced by your friends who all seem to prefer turkey? Or would you stand firm in your knowledge that you like ham? Would you question yourself as to what you really like?
In finding yourself, you know what meat you like and you don't care what others like. You take their interests into consideration, but ultimately, you settle on ham because it's what YOU like. There's nothing wrong with salami, bologne, or any of the others. But you like ham. That's what knowing yourself is all about.
For me, the secret to my growing up and becoming "normal" is because I refused to accept that I was a victim. I refused to play that part, and blame issues on my past and therefore refuse to work on them. But ultimately, I became who I was supposed to be because I found myself and discovered that I am in a race with myself and whether or not anyone else understands or appreciates that, it has transformed me into the person I am today.
When you find yourself, you are happy, no matter what is going on around you; you find happiness in even the smallest of things. True happiness starts within yourself. When that happens, you stop letting people walk all over you, you take control of your own life. You know in your heart what you want, and you're not afraid to get it. You set standards for yourself and you keep them. Other people's opinions of you only act as a guidebook for improvement, but don't dictate the direction you are going.
This is in finding yourself. Those who are lost aimlessly wander about, flounder in the water and waffle in their decisions, but they forget the ultimate secret is that the truth of who they are lies within themselves.
They only need to listen to their hearts and let go of what others think and what they think others want.
Knowing yourself isn't being selfish, it's about figuring out your own likes and dislikes. If you don't know yourself, how can you share yourself with another? If you don't know who you are, how can you expect another to know the answer to that question?
Find yourself, so that you can open yourself up and share yourself with another. You will never be able to give 100% if you don't know yourself 100%.
The answer to that question is a difficult one, but I think the secret lies in a basic fundamental idea, the idea of finding yourself.
The truth is, when I was younger, even though I had two brothers and two sisters, I didn't really have anyone to play with. But even thought no one was around, no one told me what choices I had to make, no one ever told me WHO I had to be.
We conform because society tells us to, because we want--and often need-the acceptance of others. So we often form our likes and dislikes based on what others like and don't like. It's this idea of "modeling" that we learn from a very young age. You often see toddlers imitating the actions or vocalizations of those around them-thus form the basic foundations for speech and this behavior of copying others' actions allows children to learn faster.
Eventually, however, the child develops a sense of "autonomy" (independence or freedom, as of the will or one's actions) and eventually will discern one item over another--a blue crayon over a purple crayon and thus will begin the pattern of preference and like versus dislike. Perhaps they form a negative association after eating badly cooked broccoli and thus decide that they'd rather eat another green vegetable.
Ultimately, the search for self goes deeper than that. It's about knowing who you are and liking that person. It's not being afraid to have an opinion even if you know it differs from others, it's accepting where you come from, your past (such as the case may be) whether or not those around you can accept and or appreciate it.
I think that one of the biggest challenge of the teenage years is the transition between being a child and being an adult--and part of that is about finding onself--figuring out where one wants to go in life--figuring out what direction to take, what path to go down. When you're a child, you think that there are limitless possibilites--but as you progress through your teenage years, you begin to see that you have to make a decision, several in fact, about where to go after college, what to do with your life, who you want to be "when you grow up." Suddenly the future of limitless possibilities is limited by all of your previous choices and previous progress including grades, social standing, etc.
The issue always becomes how do people miss that point in their lives when the start discerning what they like versus what they dislike and making that transition to discovering themselves. Some people figure out who they are earlier than others: they dream of being an astronaut at age five and grow up to be just that. Others, figure out after going through high school and picking a path in college. However, there are millions of countless others who wander aimlessly through life waiting for that strike of lightning, that stroke of inspiration, to tell them who they are.
Who are you? How do you find yourself? As an adult, figuring out who you are is impossible if you're not ready to understand and grasp a basic fundamental acceptance of what you're not. If you can accept what you're not, if you can decide what you *don't* like, then finding out what you do like is part of the joy of living.
Let me give an example. Let's pretend that you have three kinds of lunch meat in front of you: salami, bologne, and turkey. You know for a fact that you don't like bologne, so you won't ever eat it. But turkey isn't available, so you choose salami. You like salami, it tastes good, but you prefer turkey. But you don't have turkey so you accept the salami and forget about how you previously thought that salami was only okay. But what would happen if all of a sudden someone introduced you to ham? Suddenly it becomes your favorite lunch meat. Now the question is, would you be influenced by your friends who all seem to prefer turkey? Or would you stand firm in your knowledge that you like ham? Would you question yourself as to what you really like?
In finding yourself, you know what meat you like and you don't care what others like. You take their interests into consideration, but ultimately, you settle on ham because it's what YOU like. There's nothing wrong with salami, bologne, or any of the others. But you like ham. That's what knowing yourself is all about.
For me, the secret to my growing up and becoming "normal" is because I refused to accept that I was a victim. I refused to play that part, and blame issues on my past and therefore refuse to work on them. But ultimately, I became who I was supposed to be because I found myself and discovered that I am in a race with myself and whether or not anyone else understands or appreciates that, it has transformed me into the person I am today.
When you find yourself, you are happy, no matter what is going on around you; you find happiness in even the smallest of things. True happiness starts within yourself. When that happens, you stop letting people walk all over you, you take control of your own life. You know in your heart what you want, and you're not afraid to get it. You set standards for yourself and you keep them. Other people's opinions of you only act as a guidebook for improvement, but don't dictate the direction you are going.
This is in finding yourself. Those who are lost aimlessly wander about, flounder in the water and waffle in their decisions, but they forget the ultimate secret is that the truth of who they are lies within themselves.
They only need to listen to their hearts and let go of what others think and what they think others want.
Knowing yourself isn't being selfish, it's about figuring out your own likes and dislikes. If you don't know yourself, how can you share yourself with another? If you don't know who you are, how can you expect another to know the answer to that question?
Find yourself, so that you can open yourself up and share yourself with another. You will never be able to give 100% if you don't know yourself 100%.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Friendship On Fire
So what does it feel like when you're in love? How can you possibly put to words a feeling that comes from your heart?
This is for my friend--he knows who he is--who struggles, like many of us do, to find our place, where we belong, and to determine whether or not real love is even possible. Do we settle for what's comfortable, safe? Or do we take a risk, put ourselves out there, risk getting hurt, for the chance at love?
What does being in love even feel like? Is it worth it?
My best way to describe truly being in love is ... better to talk about how it happened... and how it made me feel.
I didn't want to fall in love; I wasn't expecting to fall in love--it just sort of hit me one day. I worked full time and went to college full time--and at the end of the day, I was completely exhausted. The only thing I could think of was getting something to eat and going to bed. I checked my voicemail in between classes-he had left me a message telling me to come to his place after I was done with school. I show up at his house, exhausted beyond belief, and he's got a cup of hot chocolate and a sandwich waiting for me. "How was your day?" he asks me.
Who would have thought that, in that moment, NOTHING in the world could not take the place of the warmest gesture of that darn sandwhich and a stupid cup of hot chocolate... and his simple kindness in asking me about my day...
One day, I woke up to find him kissing me lightly on the cheek---just because he saw me sleeping (I worked graveyard) and felt like he wanted to. He didn't even know it woke me.
Another day, I woke up and I noticed that he was ironing like crazy. "What are you doing?" I asked in bewilderment. "Ironing." He grinned at me with the sort of mischievous grin that just makes you sort of smile, and I noticed that he's ironing MY clothes. "I'm almost done!" he said proudly... Done? Done with what? While I was asleep, he knew how busy I was, so he had taken my ENTIRE closet and ironed all of my clothes... he was hoping to do it before I woke up.
Being in love is like ... spending 5 hours with someone and it feels like minutes. You can do the most MUNDANE errands, and it's exciting. We had fun doing the silliest things--Costco trips became fun--our weekly trips to Home Depot became another chance to talk about our plans for our "future house."
Everything you do with them is exciting. Laying in their arms feels like euphoria. The world suddenly begins to make sense again, it has purpose, your life has meaning.
I would give my whole world to have that again. To find someone who knows how to love me without being told. They speak to your heart ... in ways that you don't quite understand. They "get" you and understand you. You can talk about ANYTHING and it's okay ... you can tell them the truth and they don't judge you.
Love isn't just about the actions, it's the feelings you get from being around them. It's how they make you feel about yourself. That seems to be the secret. Oh and what's funny is, you find yourself doing things you'd never normally d0--you WANT to do things for them, little things, just to make them happy, just to see them smile.
In the end, it's difficult to describe that feeling--but you know--oh you always know--when you don't have it--and you can see that feeling when others do.
As I've talked to many of my friends, real LOVE, is like a "Friendship On Fire" (the theme of a friend's wedding)... It's friendship transcended, friendship divine--and is it worth waiting for? Is it worth taking risks for?
There's always the possibility of being alone, of being rejected, of hurting yourself and others. But what if you realized how SHORT life really is and you didn't waste another moment with someone who will never understand who you really are? When we die, all we leave behind, are memories of ourselves and the legacy of ourselves. Who will remember your legacy? Who do you want to share yourself with? Who will remember you?
Life is short, you've heard it said a thousand times. Only you can decide if love is worth taking that risk for--you may end up alone, but maybe, just maybe, if you open up your heart, you just might find what you're looking for--and find yourself in the process.
Tomorrow, perhaps, I'll talk more about this subject of finding yourself. How do you do it? Where do you start? :P I've covered this before, but perhaps it needs a revisit. What are your thoughts?
This is for my friend--he knows who he is--who struggles, like many of us do, to find our place, where we belong, and to determine whether or not real love is even possible. Do we settle for what's comfortable, safe? Or do we take a risk, put ourselves out there, risk getting hurt, for the chance at love?
What does being in love even feel like? Is it worth it?
My best way to describe truly being in love is ... better to talk about how it happened... and how it made me feel.
I didn't want to fall in love; I wasn't expecting to fall in love--it just sort of hit me one day. I worked full time and went to college full time--and at the end of the day, I was completely exhausted. The only thing I could think of was getting something to eat and going to bed. I checked my voicemail in between classes-he had left me a message telling me to come to his place after I was done with school. I show up at his house, exhausted beyond belief, and he's got a cup of hot chocolate and a sandwich waiting for me. "How was your day?" he asks me.
Who would have thought that, in that moment, NOTHING in the world could not take the place of the warmest gesture of that darn sandwhich and a stupid cup of hot chocolate... and his simple kindness in asking me about my day...
One day, I woke up to find him kissing me lightly on the cheek---just because he saw me sleeping (I worked graveyard) and felt like he wanted to. He didn't even know it woke me.
Another day, I woke up and I noticed that he was ironing like crazy. "What are you doing?" I asked in bewilderment. "Ironing." He grinned at me with the sort of mischievous grin that just makes you sort of smile, and I noticed that he's ironing MY clothes. "I'm almost done!" he said proudly... Done? Done with what? While I was asleep, he knew how busy I was, so he had taken my ENTIRE closet and ironed all of my clothes... he was hoping to do it before I woke up.
Being in love is like ... spending 5 hours with someone and it feels like minutes. You can do the most MUNDANE errands, and it's exciting. We had fun doing the silliest things--Costco trips became fun--our weekly trips to Home Depot became another chance to talk about our plans for our "future house."
Everything you do with them is exciting. Laying in their arms feels like euphoria. The world suddenly begins to make sense again, it has purpose, your life has meaning.
I would give my whole world to have that again. To find someone who knows how to love me without being told. They speak to your heart ... in ways that you don't quite understand. They "get" you and understand you. You can talk about ANYTHING and it's okay ... you can tell them the truth and they don't judge you.
Love isn't just about the actions, it's the feelings you get from being around them. It's how they make you feel about yourself. That seems to be the secret. Oh and what's funny is, you find yourself doing things you'd never normally d0--you WANT to do things for them, little things, just to make them happy, just to see them smile.
In the end, it's difficult to describe that feeling--but you know--oh you always know--when you don't have it--and you can see that feeling when others do.
As I've talked to many of my friends, real LOVE, is like a "Friendship On Fire" (the theme of a friend's wedding)... It's friendship transcended, friendship divine--and is it worth waiting for? Is it worth taking risks for?
There's always the possibility of being alone, of being rejected, of hurting yourself and others. But what if you realized how SHORT life really is and you didn't waste another moment with someone who will never understand who you really are? When we die, all we leave behind, are memories of ourselves and the legacy of ourselves. Who will remember your legacy? Who do you want to share yourself with? Who will remember you?
Life is short, you've heard it said a thousand times. Only you can decide if love is worth taking that risk for--you may end up alone, but maybe, just maybe, if you open up your heart, you just might find what you're looking for--and find yourself in the process.
Tomorrow, perhaps, I'll talk more about this subject of finding yourself. How do you do it? Where do you start? :P I've covered this before, but perhaps it needs a revisit. What are your thoughts?
Saturday, September 12, 2009
A Project
So I guess I am going to start taking all my blogs from Myspace and moving them over here, not only because Myspace is sort of dying (and I don't even go there anymore) but also because it's time to put all my thoughts and information in one place.
Hopefully all my fans and people who read my thoughts will come here and subscribe ...
So tonight I start the project of transferring all my stuff over.
Before I leave, I just wanted to leave you all with a tidbit. I ran across my ex-boyfriend's website again--and I say again, because I knew it was there all along. I'd recently heard that he is now pursuing his dream of being a professional photographer. His work has come a long way and I hope he finds what he is looking for--even if he could look through all the lenses in the world and yet never saw me for me.
Hopefully all my fans and people who read my thoughts will come here and subscribe ...
So tonight I start the project of transferring all my stuff over.
Before I leave, I just wanted to leave you all with a tidbit. I ran across my ex-boyfriend's website again--and I say again, because I knew it was there all along. I'd recently heard that he is now pursuing his dream of being a professional photographer. His work has come a long way and I hope he finds what he is looking for--even if he could look through all the lenses in the world and yet never saw me for me.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
The Emotional Rollercoaster
I thought we had a good conversation tonight; she's taking her meds again. Well, actually, she said she's got meds that are actually working for her for the first time in several years. The meds always work at first, until she drinks.
That's probably what happened tonight. I'm so glad I didn't have to hear the sound of the ice cubes in her glass. Would I have said the same things? Should I have picked up the phone when she called me back merely a couple of hours later? Am I in for another sleepless night? …
I realize that I am going to sound like a bad person when I say that … I will never be comfortable around her. Because I never know when she's going to snap. That being said, tonight was another classic example. I am the one who's not healing here. I can never truly heal or move beyond the past as long as I have to worry about the kind of relationship we have. Because the problem is, when she's nice, when she tells me that she's different, I want to believe her. I slowly get used to the idea of her being different; I soak it up because a part of me really does believe it's possible.
So I gradually start to think that it's true. I start to invest more of my time and my heart into helping her be that different person she is so desperate to be. But then, she suddenly reverts back to the same old routine and I'm left regretting even talking to her.
She called me to ask my advice on something and I wish she hadn't. I've been her personal counselor for my whole life. She's taught me more things about myself than I've ever probably helped her discover about herself. She's never really treated me like a daughter, more like the person who's around for her own person amusement and to make herself feel better when she messes up. She always makes it mostly about herself.
I gave her my advice—leave it alone—especially with a person with whom she's already got a strained relationship. Leave it alone. Be the bigger person and just walk away. Don't respond to someone's outburst of anger. Just let it go. We talked for over two hours about life, past issues, and depression. Her self-actualized statements almost had me fooled into believing that this medicine was getting her somewhere. She agreed that being the bigger, better person, and ending what really could be considered a lame petty disagreement, was the best option.
We talked and laughed and joked about things that happened in my past and I really got to confront her with some of the behavior I'm glad she's changed-at least on the surface. But underneath, she is still just as fragile and unpredictable as she ever was.
After hanging up the phone with her, I felt pretty good. We had an awesome conversation that lasted over two hours. It was the first time in probably … well over 10 months where I didn't end the conversation frustrated or upset let alone spent so much time on the phone.
I felt good. Now THIS was a person I wanted to believe in. This was the person I wanted to call my Mom. This was the person I was proud of, the one who took a disease and flipped it upside down.
So she called me back just as I was about to slip into bed tonight, hoping to catch up on my sleep. When I heard her voice, I knew something was wrong. Had she been crying? Or was it merely that her words were slurring together? I used to be so good at telling the difference …
She had e-mailed the person and put a whole bunch of unknowing (or uncaring?) accusatory statements all pointing to a past she can't let go of. She didn't walk away, she escalated the problem and I could foresee it blowing up in her face. Where was the person I'd talked to earlier? The one who agreed to just walk away, to leave things alone, to write a letter and then WAIT before she sent it just in case of this very scenario?
"Please tell me you didn't send that …" I could only choke out halfway through. She had. Well, she asked my opinion right? What had happened in two hours? Had the drink gotten to her sensibility?
All of a sudden, our difference in opinion, suddenly became out me. Suddenly, I'm not supportive enough of her, I'm not giving her what she wants. But the thing is, I'm not her peer; I'm not her counselor; I'm not her mother. I'm her daughter. But she wants me to be her friend. She wants more than that. She wants me to support her in any endeavor, even if I disagree. But we are different people, and this is a game I don't want to play.
But it's too late to get off the roller coaster. She starts raising her voice and yelling at me in that all too-familiar tone, reminiscent of nights during her depression-induced rants. Here were are, over ten years later, doing the same dance. Hasn't she changed? Maybe not.
We have to end the conversation with me hanging up. Like a kid throwing a temper tantrum, I have to resort to such … pathetic means of telling her I'm done. She talked about killing herself … again, so I picked up the phone and called her right back. All she needed was a break in the conversation to calm her down a bit. That's when she started using things I told her when I believed her "changed" against me. Persona things I had told her were now suddenly being thrown in my face.
Suddenly, I was on the roller coaster again, and there was only one way to get off. I hung up again. I waited a few minutes, took a few deep breaths, and then called her back. "Don't EVER do that to me again." I tell her in a voice she knows not to mess with. Wow, where's that voice during other times when I need it? "You will not speak to me that way." I insist. Clearly, she has crossed the invisible boundaries I have had to put on our relationship.
The conversation proceeds and I know she feels guilty. That's why she is telling me nice things now like "I'm so sorry." And "You're really wonderful …" and blah blah blah. I've heard it all before. I want to believe she's really sorry, but I've been burnt too many times and now all the "I'm sorry's" don't really affect me anymore.
I get off the phone, following her insistence that I try and give her a hug over the phone (she needs the hug?) and was finally able to let her go. She had calmed down. Good. Maybe she won't kill herself tonight. Finally I can get off this roller coaster ride because I'm starting to feel sick. Sick in my heart extending to my soul.
But I wonder where that person went? Was it my imagination or was she ever there to begin with? In order to reach out to someone, to get close to them, you have to reveal things about yourself, open yourself up and be real, and risk getting hurt. It's the same with a mom who can't control herself. But the truth is, I think a part of me dies every time this happens. I am afraid for the day when it won't hurt me anymore because then I may hang up on her, walk away, and never look back.
That's probably what happened tonight. I'm so glad I didn't have to hear the sound of the ice cubes in her glass. Would I have said the same things? Should I have picked up the phone when she called me back merely a couple of hours later? Am I in for another sleepless night? …
I realize that I am going to sound like a bad person when I say that … I will never be comfortable around her. Because I never know when she's going to snap. That being said, tonight was another classic example. I am the one who's not healing here. I can never truly heal or move beyond the past as long as I have to worry about the kind of relationship we have. Because the problem is, when she's nice, when she tells me that she's different, I want to believe her. I slowly get used to the idea of her being different; I soak it up because a part of me really does believe it's possible.
So I gradually start to think that it's true. I start to invest more of my time and my heart into helping her be that different person she is so desperate to be. But then, she suddenly reverts back to the same old routine and I'm left regretting even talking to her.
She called me to ask my advice on something and I wish she hadn't. I've been her personal counselor for my whole life. She's taught me more things about myself than I've ever probably helped her discover about herself. She's never really treated me like a daughter, more like the person who's around for her own person amusement and to make herself feel better when she messes up. She always makes it mostly about herself.
I gave her my advice—leave it alone—especially with a person with whom she's already got a strained relationship. Leave it alone. Be the bigger person and just walk away. Don't respond to someone's outburst of anger. Just let it go. We talked for over two hours about life, past issues, and depression. Her self-actualized statements almost had me fooled into believing that this medicine was getting her somewhere. She agreed that being the bigger, better person, and ending what really could be considered a lame petty disagreement, was the best option.
We talked and laughed and joked about things that happened in my past and I really got to confront her with some of the behavior I'm glad she's changed-at least on the surface. But underneath, she is still just as fragile and unpredictable as she ever was.
After hanging up the phone with her, I felt pretty good. We had an awesome conversation that lasted over two hours. It was the first time in probably … well over 10 months where I didn't end the conversation frustrated or upset let alone spent so much time on the phone.
I felt good. Now THIS was a person I wanted to believe in. This was the person I wanted to call my Mom. This was the person I was proud of, the one who took a disease and flipped it upside down.
So she called me back just as I was about to slip into bed tonight, hoping to catch up on my sleep. When I heard her voice, I knew something was wrong. Had she been crying? Or was it merely that her words were slurring together? I used to be so good at telling the difference …
She had e-mailed the person and put a whole bunch of unknowing (or uncaring?) accusatory statements all pointing to a past she can't let go of. She didn't walk away, she escalated the problem and I could foresee it blowing up in her face. Where was the person I'd talked to earlier? The one who agreed to just walk away, to leave things alone, to write a letter and then WAIT before she sent it just in case of this very scenario?
"Please tell me you didn't send that …" I could only choke out halfway through. She had. Well, she asked my opinion right? What had happened in two hours? Had the drink gotten to her sensibility?
All of a sudden, our difference in opinion, suddenly became out me. Suddenly, I'm not supportive enough of her, I'm not giving her what she wants. But the thing is, I'm not her peer; I'm not her counselor; I'm not her mother. I'm her daughter. But she wants me to be her friend. She wants more than that. She wants me to support her in any endeavor, even if I disagree. But we are different people, and this is a game I don't want to play.
But it's too late to get off the roller coaster. She starts raising her voice and yelling at me in that all too-familiar tone, reminiscent of nights during her depression-induced rants. Here were are, over ten years later, doing the same dance. Hasn't she changed? Maybe not.
We have to end the conversation with me hanging up. Like a kid throwing a temper tantrum, I have to resort to such … pathetic means of telling her I'm done. She talked about killing herself … again, so I picked up the phone and called her right back. All she needed was a break in the conversation to calm her down a bit. That's when she started using things I told her when I believed her "changed" against me. Persona things I had told her were now suddenly being thrown in my face.
Suddenly, I was on the roller coaster again, and there was only one way to get off. I hung up again. I waited a few minutes, took a few deep breaths, and then called her back. "Don't EVER do that to me again." I tell her in a voice she knows not to mess with. Wow, where's that voice during other times when I need it? "You will not speak to me that way." I insist. Clearly, she has crossed the invisible boundaries I have had to put on our relationship.
The conversation proceeds and I know she feels guilty. That's why she is telling me nice things now like "I'm so sorry." And "You're really wonderful …" and blah blah blah. I've heard it all before. I want to believe she's really sorry, but I've been burnt too many times and now all the "I'm sorry's" don't really affect me anymore.
I get off the phone, following her insistence that I try and give her a hug over the phone (she needs the hug?) and was finally able to let her go. She had calmed down. Good. Maybe she won't kill herself tonight. Finally I can get off this roller coaster ride because I'm starting to feel sick. Sick in my heart extending to my soul.
But I wonder where that person went? Was it my imagination or was she ever there to begin with? In order to reach out to someone, to get close to them, you have to reveal things about yourself, open yourself up and be real, and risk getting hurt. It's the same with a mom who can't control herself. But the truth is, I think a part of me dies every time this happens. I am afraid for the day when it won't hurt me anymore because then I may hang up on her, walk away, and never look back.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Left Behind (A Recurrent Theme)
Back in college, I took some of my favorite classes which included the ever dreaded by so many, English. Even when my mind and my major weren't even close to English, words, brilliant, wonderful, inspiring words were always at the back of my mind, ever beckoning me to write.
One thing we often did in our English classes was to make connections to the real world, make connections to our own lives somehow, and then write about it. The closer, more real the connection we were able to make, the better our paper, the higher the grade. Of course, it was also in a college that valued intelligent thought over scantrons and fill in the bubble sort of answers that often pigeon-hole potential and real intelligence.
I was always taught to make connections in my own life and really, while I could spend months over-analyzing myself, I have unfortunately discovered one common theme in my life.
It seems that no matter what I do I cannot escape from this and I'm not sure if it's something I'm lacking in because of my past or something that I must accept as a part of who I am.
I had an insightful conversation today with someone whom I really respect. In ten minutes of talking, she managed to teach me a new way of looking at an old situation that I had never really considered before. My hope is that by writing down how I am feeling, perhaps I will discover the root of my problem and somehow be able to solve it. Often, talking out problems makes them easier to deal with and identify.
Let me start with a movie. The Last King of Scotland was really about General Idi Amin the leader who proclaimed himself (you guessed it) the "Last King of Scotland" and ended up murdering thousands of Ugandans (Africa) and was—well by all accounts—absolutely crazy.
If you have seen the film, you know what I'm talking about. It basically fictionalizes a story about a young man (played by my favorite actor) who is a doctor from Scotland who ends up as Idi Amin's personal physician. I won't give anything away, if you haven't seen it (go rent it now…it's brilliant). He is in many ways an idealistic impressionable person. I won't exactly talk about his morals. But he's human. Anyways, this isn't what the film was about, but merely want to bring up an undertone that I feel parallels my own life.
The good doctor becomes Amin's physician because, I think he believed in Amin. At first, he gives all appearances of a good man, someone fighting to provide freedom and independence to a struggling people who were desperate for and needed a hero to rescue them from tyranny. But they ended up with someone even worse. Anyways, the doctor helps Amin and even defends him not realizing why people are so upset with a person who appears to be good.
The undercurrent here is clearly about believing in a cause that we think is just, but it's the wrong cause; worse, it's a dangerous cause. It's about believing in something or someone more than yourself, but that faith and confidence being misplaced. It results, inevitably, in disaster.
I don't want to be the person who believes in an unjust cause or place my faith in something that I shouldn't. The only way I know is the one I was taught and everything else, I've learned along the way. Sometimes, I regret not knowing things I feel I should or in being more naive than someone else my age might be. But in truth, I worry that my lack of understanding or my inability to grasp the bigger picture might be holding me back from something great.
Back to the common theme in my life: being left behind. I don't want to sound as if I'm playing the victim role, because I'm not. I'm simply pointing out a common theme I don't understand.
I feel as though everyone I've ever really cared about ends up leaving me behind. I'm not one of those people who's had friends from the 2nd grade and have stayed close with them. My family barely talks to one another-and when we do, our conversations are often filled with hurtful angst and the void left behind with so much left unsaid.
With my relationships, it's much of the same. The person I loved ended up cheating on me with someone else and left. He didn't appreciate what he had (me) until after his new girlfriend was already pregnant and he was forced to "do the right thing." But in the end, that realization on his behalf, his apologies, his "I realize you were wonderful, blah blah blah," was merely a bittersweet victory because it still meant that I ended up alone.
I play by the rules probably because it's the only thing I know how to do. I don't play mind games, I certainly would never get pregnant on purpose, and for all that I am, it does me little good if the person recognizes their mistakes too late.
But that's what's so strange. How is it that I'm constantly left behind, taken for granted, whatever, and then all of a sudden, the dawning of realization happens and by then it's too late to do anything about it?
What is the point in doing things right, in following the rules, if I am going to be left behind no matter what? It doesn't seem like it matter how wonderful I am or how smart or how well I treat the person, because they end up leaving me anyway! In so many ways, it's not fair to hear that they regret leaving me. Because the point is, they did!
The real question is, how do I stop that locomotive before it leaves the station? How can being me be enough? How is it that these girls who treat their guys like crap (oh my god I've seen it happen) seem to get the guy and I get stuck being alone? Do I have to be bitchy because people assume bitchy is normal? Is that what I have to be?
I'm sure you over-analyzers out there will probably like to relate this back to my childhood when my dad left. But really, it's kinda the same thing and yet completely different. I couldn't stop him from leaving either. Though I don't hold it against him really, after fourteen years of marriage to a complete psycho, I would have left too. I watched him pack his truck and drive away, and I didn't run after him. I hoped, I really hoped, that he would change his mind and come home. But in my heart, I knew he wouldn't. He had left before, and there was just something different about this time. There was something different in his tone, something different in the way he hugged me goodbye. I didn't go chasing after his truck as he sped away. I could only stand in the driveway and cry.
But somehow, this feels different. I didn't have control over my childhood or the actions of my parents. Clearly, there was nothing I could have done even as a child of 9, that would have stopped that from happening.
But I want to figure out why leaving seems to be a consistent theme in my life that I can't seem to escape from. Doesn't anybody stay anymore?
People I've dated (years ago) have said, "I wish I would have stayed with you." But the point is, they didn't. All that regret does is sit on my heart and remind me that we broke up (for whatever reason) and was left behind! You can't take it back and you can't change things that happened. So why then, the sudden realization afterward? Are they merely telling me these things but in their heart glad it didn't work out?
I think the most difficult part is watching them end up with someone terrible that makes them miserable and watching as they do nothing about it! I watch as they stay with people who treat them like complete crap and walk all over them or abuse them or treat them in a way I would never even dream of doing. And yet somehow, they stay! So why is it then, that someone like me, who treats them great, was something they were so eager to leave but are okay staying with someone who treats them like crap? I don't get it. I just don't get it.
It would be one thing if it only happened once or twice, but it's constantly happening. Worse, these guys come to me for my "advice" on their situation and it's difficult to relate. How can tell them to leave when they have already made the decision in their heart to stay? What makes them motivated to stay for the crazy psycho, but not motivated to stay for me? Am I not enough? Is being normal boring? Lame? Dull?
I dunno. I can't answer this question and I feel like until I do, I'm afraid to find someone because I fear that the moment I start loving them, they will leave. What's funny about all this is, if I could stop my heart from loving them, they might just stick around. The last one stuck around for 7 years and probably would have married me. But dumb me, I wanted the real thing; I wanted someone to be crazy about me. How selfish.
Anyways, these are just thoughts. In the end of The King of Scotland, the good doctor, idealistic though he was, pays an incredible price for his idealism and his failure to see the bigger picture. I don't want to pay the price and have a life of loneliness all because I am believing in the wrong thing or have faith in something I shouldn't. I don't want to believe that real love is possible or real friendships or real anything if it's really not.
My sense of idealism in the ways of close friendships and relationships is definitely being challenged and real life is confronting me with an alternative reality and I'm not sure what to believe anymore.
What are your thoughts?
One thing we often did in our English classes was to make connections to the real world, make connections to our own lives somehow, and then write about it. The closer, more real the connection we were able to make, the better our paper, the higher the grade. Of course, it was also in a college that valued intelligent thought over scantrons and fill in the bubble sort of answers that often pigeon-hole potential and real intelligence.
I was always taught to make connections in my own life and really, while I could spend months over-analyzing myself, I have unfortunately discovered one common theme in my life.
It seems that no matter what I do I cannot escape from this and I'm not sure if it's something I'm lacking in because of my past or something that I must accept as a part of who I am.
I had an insightful conversation today with someone whom I really respect. In ten minutes of talking, she managed to teach me a new way of looking at an old situation that I had never really considered before. My hope is that by writing down how I am feeling, perhaps I will discover the root of my problem and somehow be able to solve it. Often, talking out problems makes them easier to deal with and identify.
Let me start with a movie. The Last King of Scotland was really about General Idi Amin the leader who proclaimed himself (you guessed it) the "Last King of Scotland" and ended up murdering thousands of Ugandans (Africa) and was—well by all accounts—absolutely crazy.
If you have seen the film, you know what I'm talking about. It basically fictionalizes a story about a young man (played by my favorite actor) who is a doctor from Scotland who ends up as Idi Amin's personal physician. I won't give anything away, if you haven't seen it (go rent it now…it's brilliant). He is in many ways an idealistic impressionable person. I won't exactly talk about his morals. But he's human. Anyways, this isn't what the film was about, but merely want to bring up an undertone that I feel parallels my own life.
The good doctor becomes Amin's physician because, I think he believed in Amin. At first, he gives all appearances of a good man, someone fighting to provide freedom and independence to a struggling people who were desperate for and needed a hero to rescue them from tyranny. But they ended up with someone even worse. Anyways, the doctor helps Amin and even defends him not realizing why people are so upset with a person who appears to be good.
The undercurrent here is clearly about believing in a cause that we think is just, but it's the wrong cause; worse, it's a dangerous cause. It's about believing in something or someone more than yourself, but that faith and confidence being misplaced. It results, inevitably, in disaster.
I don't want to be the person who believes in an unjust cause or place my faith in something that I shouldn't. The only way I know is the one I was taught and everything else, I've learned along the way. Sometimes, I regret not knowing things I feel I should or in being more naive than someone else my age might be. But in truth, I worry that my lack of understanding or my inability to grasp the bigger picture might be holding me back from something great.
Back to the common theme in my life: being left behind. I don't want to sound as if I'm playing the victim role, because I'm not. I'm simply pointing out a common theme I don't understand.
I feel as though everyone I've ever really cared about ends up leaving me behind. I'm not one of those people who's had friends from the 2nd grade and have stayed close with them. My family barely talks to one another-and when we do, our conversations are often filled with hurtful angst and the void left behind with so much left unsaid.
With my relationships, it's much of the same. The person I loved ended up cheating on me with someone else and left. He didn't appreciate what he had (me) until after his new girlfriend was already pregnant and he was forced to "do the right thing." But in the end, that realization on his behalf, his apologies, his "I realize you were wonderful, blah blah blah," was merely a bittersweet victory because it still meant that I ended up alone.
I play by the rules probably because it's the only thing I know how to do. I don't play mind games, I certainly would never get pregnant on purpose, and for all that I am, it does me little good if the person recognizes their mistakes too late.
But that's what's so strange. How is it that I'm constantly left behind, taken for granted, whatever, and then all of a sudden, the dawning of realization happens and by then it's too late to do anything about it?
What is the point in doing things right, in following the rules, if I am going to be left behind no matter what? It doesn't seem like it matter how wonderful I am or how smart or how well I treat the person, because they end up leaving me anyway! In so many ways, it's not fair to hear that they regret leaving me. Because the point is, they did!
The real question is, how do I stop that locomotive before it leaves the station? How can being me be enough? How is it that these girls who treat their guys like crap (oh my god I've seen it happen) seem to get the guy and I get stuck being alone? Do I have to be bitchy because people assume bitchy is normal? Is that what I have to be?
I'm sure you over-analyzers out there will probably like to relate this back to my childhood when my dad left. But really, it's kinda the same thing and yet completely different. I couldn't stop him from leaving either. Though I don't hold it against him really, after fourteen years of marriage to a complete psycho, I would have left too. I watched him pack his truck and drive away, and I didn't run after him. I hoped, I really hoped, that he would change his mind and come home. But in my heart, I knew he wouldn't. He had left before, and there was just something different about this time. There was something different in his tone, something different in the way he hugged me goodbye. I didn't go chasing after his truck as he sped away. I could only stand in the driveway and cry.
But somehow, this feels different. I didn't have control over my childhood or the actions of my parents. Clearly, there was nothing I could have done even as a child of 9, that would have stopped that from happening.
But I want to figure out why leaving seems to be a consistent theme in my life that I can't seem to escape from. Doesn't anybody stay anymore?
People I've dated (years ago) have said, "I wish I would have stayed with you." But the point is, they didn't. All that regret does is sit on my heart and remind me that we broke up (for whatever reason) and was left behind! You can't take it back and you can't change things that happened. So why then, the sudden realization afterward? Are they merely telling me these things but in their heart glad it didn't work out?
I think the most difficult part is watching them end up with someone terrible that makes them miserable and watching as they do nothing about it! I watch as they stay with people who treat them like complete crap and walk all over them or abuse them or treat them in a way I would never even dream of doing. And yet somehow, they stay! So why is it then, that someone like me, who treats them great, was something they were so eager to leave but are okay staying with someone who treats them like crap? I don't get it. I just don't get it.
It would be one thing if it only happened once or twice, but it's constantly happening. Worse, these guys come to me for my "advice" on their situation and it's difficult to relate. How can tell them to leave when they have already made the decision in their heart to stay? What makes them motivated to stay for the crazy psycho, but not motivated to stay for me? Am I not enough? Is being normal boring? Lame? Dull?
I dunno. I can't answer this question and I feel like until I do, I'm afraid to find someone because I fear that the moment I start loving them, they will leave. What's funny about all this is, if I could stop my heart from loving them, they might just stick around. The last one stuck around for 7 years and probably would have married me. But dumb me, I wanted the real thing; I wanted someone to be crazy about me. How selfish.
Anyways, these are just thoughts. In the end of The King of Scotland, the good doctor, idealistic though he was, pays an incredible price for his idealism and his failure to see the bigger picture. I don't want to pay the price and have a life of loneliness all because I am believing in the wrong thing or have faith in something I shouldn't. I don't want to believe that real love is possible or real friendships or real anything if it's really not.
My sense of idealism in the ways of close friendships and relationships is definitely being challenged and real life is confronting me with an alternative reality and I'm not sure what to believe anymore.
What are your thoughts?
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Snippet of my novel ...
Hey everyone!Here's the deal: I am still writing. I guess I am uninspired. I feel unloved--not by friends, but missing out on that companionship I've been craving. It has made me lathargic and unwilling (and perhaps unable?) to write for a while.
But the other reason I don't post things on here is because ... this is really raw stuff. The stuff you're about to read below are things that ... I don't really talk about. I don't talk about them because ... I don't know how to explain it but, it's like it happened to me in a different life, in a different time. I feel so different now than I did then. But when I look back, I am forced to remember... and in that rememberance is a different girl, one scared, alone, ashamed, and suffering from a personal nightmare. Sometimes, when I put myself back there, I actually become scared and forget that I got out. I am saved! I am okay. I have to keep reminding myself that.
So please forgive this blog. If you do read further, know only that this may be one of the most telling blogs I've ever written. I am ashamed to admit that these things happened to me, because even writing them now, I still feel helpless. But the truth is, I am writing this all for (hopefully) a bigger purpose--to help someone else out before it is too late. Help them get away, just like I did. Help them to understand the reason is just as important as the action. So here you go.
It's a fun game that my brothers are playing; at least, I think so. They are both taking turns jumping up and down on my bed. Determined not to be left out, I anxiously get up to join them. After all, it is my bed. As they jump, the mattress makes a loud zoinnng sound and they spring up together, in the air. I get up to join them and go to jump and the first few times, they are pushing me, telling me to get down. There's not room enough for three they are telling me. But I'm having too much fun to listen. I make a zoinnng sound of my own as I jump up and down while they are trying to push me off the bed. At some point, they jump up as I am coming down and I realize my mistake. I should have waited or gotten down. But then I am springing forward toward the wooden edge of my headboard and landing and feeling the pain wracking feeling as my head connects with the board and the resounding smack as my face makes contact with the sharpened edge of the wood. It hurts so much, I can't breathe, and all at once I'm screaming and yelling and crying. I don't remember much happening after that until I see them putting a large bag of ice on my face. It hurts too much to talk, and tears are streaming down my unwilling face.
When I realize that my mother is talking to me, I try to focus on what she is saying, try to forget about the pain.
"Shame on you. You should listen to your brothers next time." She rants. "What were you thinking, jumping up and down on your bed? Why did you do that?" She puts on her shoes and someone helps me put on mine.
We drive to the doctor, a little office in town that provides the only medical services for at least fifty miles. There are maybe two doctors, one of which is always on call for cases like this.
He takes a look at my face but I can't tell exactly because by this point, both my eyes are practically swollen shut. He tells me not to worry, my nose isn't broken, but I learn later that he's lying to me to make me feel better. He takes notes on his clipboard and tells my mom that I need to rest. "Lots of rest." He tells me.
She tells him I was being naughty. She seems to use that word a lot when she talks about me. I am too confused to ask why Jake and Justin aren't in as much trouble. But I don't say anything. I'm only five years old, and no one really listens to me anyway. I'm too busy focusing on the pain. So I zone in and out of listening to what the doctor is telling my mom about what to do for my care.
"It's going to leave a nasty scar on the bridge of her nose." The doctor says. I can hear this and put the bag of ice down to feel my nose. At the top, I can feel a large indentation, almost as if my nose has been disconnected and then reattached to my head. It feels so puffy, I almost feel like I'm touching someone else's face instead of mine.
"And how did you say she did this?" He is asking her now, a clear hint of concern in his voice. He's always so nice to me. He's the one who always offers me candy whenever I come here; I like him.
"She was jumping up and down on the bed. I guess at some point, she jumped wrong and hit her head."
"That seems strange." He is saying now. "Because to have this type of injury, it looks as though someone would have had to have pushed her into the bed frame. I'm not convinced that she did this by herself."
I can feel Mom staring at me. My eyes are swollen, but I can feel her gaze because a feeling of dread washes through me in a way that I can't explain let alone understand.
"Tell Mr. Johnston what happened."
"Well …" I begin. Do I tell the truth? The answer comes out in a rush of words and funny sounding sentences. I sound funny because my lip is also swollen.
"Jabe and Jubin were jumbing," I manage, "And I wanna jumb too so I jumb. But then I jumb up and they jumb down and I hit my face."
"That's not what your brothers told me." She sounds angry now. "Is that really what happened sweetie?"
"Yes."
I can hear the doctor scribbling something down on his clipboard and at some point, we are out of the doctor's office and on our way home. My care is simple: lots of rest, ice for the swelling, and Tyelenol for the pain.
Mom doesn't want me to go to school, because they other kids are going to see how I look. But I don't care; I want to go to school. I'd rather be in school learning new things, than anywhere else in the world. If I stay home, I am going to have to cook and clean and do all the chores around the house. The doctor prescribes rest, but that only means a sentence of work if I stay home.
I end up going to school and my teacher is so horrified, she immediately phones both my parents and the other school administrators to take a look at me. Everyone asks me what happened, so I have to repeat the story about a million times. I don't know until later that there is a reason everyone keeps asking me … but I like the attention, and tell them as many times as they want to hear it.
Weeks later, something else happens that only adds to the precarious situation.
I help Annie make dinner, at least, I am supposed to; I try to. I help her by getting out the silverware and placing the napkins and doing whatever else she wants me to do. Mostly, she says I get in her way. But I want to be with her, near her. Finally, dinner is ready and we call Mom. Dad is at work, like always, and won't be home until about two in the morning. I call upstairs to Justin and Jake, but there is no answer. I run upstairs and their room is messy as always, smells of urine, and they are not there.
Annie tells me to call for them outside. I walk out the front door and realize they are just a few yards away, staring at something. I call for them to come in for dinner, but they don't seem to hear me. I walk a little closer, I'm not wearing shoes, and tell them again. But they still don't seem to hear me. When I come even closer, I realize that they are playing a funny game.
Both have matches in their hands. They take turns lighting the match and throwing it, both watching to see where it lands. I am fascinated because I have no idea what they are doing. What's the point? But I just keep staring and watching as the wind carries the little matches into the air. At one point, Justin lights his match and throws it. The wind is gusting just then and the match instantly burns out and falls to the ground.
"Ha ha!" Jake grins. "I'm going to beat that easy."
He lights his match and throws it, and suddenly, it disappears. He is looking around and can't find it. I step a little closer, determined to find it for them. A few seconds go by and it looks as though it's gone. Good. Their game is over.
"Dinner is ready." I tell them. All of a sudden, Jake looks at me as if noticing me for the first time, and screams.
"Stop drop and roll!" he screams. I realize where the match has gone. It didn't disappear after all. The wind has blown the match into my hair and I am on fire. All of a sudden, I feel someone push me to the ground, and then I am rolling, rolling, rolling as they are screaming at me.
All I keep thinking is, why do they have to play these stupid games? Why are they playing with matches? How come they never pay attention to me? All of these thoughts and a million others flash through my head. It feels like forever that I am rolling on the ground. Rolling. I just wanted to be noticed. Rolling. I just want them to love me. Rolling again. At some point, I can't remember what happens next, because I pass out.
I am awake now, but it doesn't make much sense. I am in a big bed, I think at the hospital. My head is bandaged up all over. The doctor is talking again and my ears are practically covered. But the strange thing is, I can't feel any pain.
I know the doctor is saying something important, but I don't understand what it means. "… First, second, and third degree burns to her head…" he is saying. "Needs to be bandaged for at least a month …" "Hair has been practically burned off… We put some cream on the wound …"
I don't know what they are talking about. All I know is that I have to wear these stupid bandages for a month! And my beautiful blonde hair is all gone. Later, I begin to feel the pain. Worse, I am hoping that she'll hug me, just lean over and be kind to me. But she's angry with me again. Justin and Jake have told her that I was playing with matches outside, and she believes them. She always believes them. I don't even know how to light matches, or even where they are in the house, but she doesn't seem to care. She just seems glad to get me out of the hospital and for a few hours, she is a little nice. It's Dad that really takes care of me. He brings me ice cream (a treat I never get to have), gum from the store, and my favorite thing in the whole world, a coloring book and crayons. He even got me a paper doll book so I can punch out clothing and put it on the dolls however I want. I'm so excited.
She asks me why I was playing with matches, demands to know the answer, promises me that she'll hurt me if I don't say. But I don't know what to say because I didn't do it. Doesn't she always tell me to tell the truth? But the truth means that I didn't do anything wrong. The truth means that I get my brothers in trouble? The truth means her not believing me? I choose the truth. I tell her everything about the match game but leave out the part where I was fascinated by the fire. She questions Jake and Justin and Annie tells me that the matches are kept above the wood stove, and there's no way I am tall enough to reach the wood stove. Mom has to believe me. It seems like she does, and so I am spared any punishment, and I am grateful.
Even though my head is in bandages, I beg to go to school. I've already missed a lot of school this year, what with my face, and all the other times Mom keeps me out of school after she's punished me. But I beg and plead and at some point, they give in—probably, I find out later, because they are contacted by the school about my missing it so much. Why does a girl who loves school so much seem to never attend? But no one wants to tell them I've had yet another "accident."
So I go to school, bandages and all. My teacher pulls me out of class and demands to know what my parents have done to me. That's funny because this is the one time, well, the second time, that they haven't done anything at all. It's all the times they don't see … but I don't tell them about that. Something about the way they are talking to me and about my parents makes me want to protect them somehow. They are blaming my family for my condition and it makes me upset. I start to cry and they are bringing me chocolate milk and crackers and comforting me.
But the other reason I don't post things on here is because ... this is really raw stuff. The stuff you're about to read below are things that ... I don't really talk about. I don't talk about them because ... I don't know how to explain it but, it's like it happened to me in a different life, in a different time. I feel so different now than I did then. But when I look back, I am forced to remember... and in that rememberance is a different girl, one scared, alone, ashamed, and suffering from a personal nightmare. Sometimes, when I put myself back there, I actually become scared and forget that I got out. I am saved! I am okay. I have to keep reminding myself that.
So please forgive this blog. If you do read further, know only that this may be one of the most telling blogs I've ever written. I am ashamed to admit that these things happened to me, because even writing them now, I still feel helpless. But the truth is, I am writing this all for (hopefully) a bigger purpose--to help someone else out before it is too late. Help them get away, just like I did. Help them to understand the reason is just as important as the action. So here you go.
It's a fun game that my brothers are playing; at least, I think so. They are both taking turns jumping up and down on my bed. Determined not to be left out, I anxiously get up to join them. After all, it is my bed. As they jump, the mattress makes a loud zoinnng sound and they spring up together, in the air. I get up to join them and go to jump and the first few times, they are pushing me, telling me to get down. There's not room enough for three they are telling me. But I'm having too much fun to listen. I make a zoinnng sound of my own as I jump up and down while they are trying to push me off the bed. At some point, they jump up as I am coming down and I realize my mistake. I should have waited or gotten down. But then I am springing forward toward the wooden edge of my headboard and landing and feeling the pain wracking feeling as my head connects with the board and the resounding smack as my face makes contact with the sharpened edge of the wood. It hurts so much, I can't breathe, and all at once I'm screaming and yelling and crying. I don't remember much happening after that until I see them putting a large bag of ice on my face. It hurts too much to talk, and tears are streaming down my unwilling face.
When I realize that my mother is talking to me, I try to focus on what she is saying, try to forget about the pain.
"Shame on you. You should listen to your brothers next time." She rants. "What were you thinking, jumping up and down on your bed? Why did you do that?" She puts on her shoes and someone helps me put on mine.
We drive to the doctor, a little office in town that provides the only medical services for at least fifty miles. There are maybe two doctors, one of which is always on call for cases like this.
He takes a look at my face but I can't tell exactly because by this point, both my eyes are practically swollen shut. He tells me not to worry, my nose isn't broken, but I learn later that he's lying to me to make me feel better. He takes notes on his clipboard and tells my mom that I need to rest. "Lots of rest." He tells me.
She tells him I was being naughty. She seems to use that word a lot when she talks about me. I am too confused to ask why Jake and Justin aren't in as much trouble. But I don't say anything. I'm only five years old, and no one really listens to me anyway. I'm too busy focusing on the pain. So I zone in and out of listening to what the doctor is telling my mom about what to do for my care.
"It's going to leave a nasty scar on the bridge of her nose." The doctor says. I can hear this and put the bag of ice down to feel my nose. At the top, I can feel a large indentation, almost as if my nose has been disconnected and then reattached to my head. It feels so puffy, I almost feel like I'm touching someone else's face instead of mine.
"And how did you say she did this?" He is asking her now, a clear hint of concern in his voice. He's always so nice to me. He's the one who always offers me candy whenever I come here; I like him.
"She was jumping up and down on the bed. I guess at some point, she jumped wrong and hit her head."
"That seems strange." He is saying now. "Because to have this type of injury, it looks as though someone would have had to have pushed her into the bed frame. I'm not convinced that she did this by herself."
I can feel Mom staring at me. My eyes are swollen, but I can feel her gaze because a feeling of dread washes through me in a way that I can't explain let alone understand.
"Tell Mr. Johnston what happened."
"Well …" I begin. Do I tell the truth? The answer comes out in a rush of words and funny sounding sentences. I sound funny because my lip is also swollen.
"Jabe and Jubin were jumbing," I manage, "And I wanna jumb too so I jumb. But then I jumb up and they jumb down and I hit my face."
"That's not what your brothers told me." She sounds angry now. "Is that really what happened sweetie?"
"Yes."
I can hear the doctor scribbling something down on his clipboard and at some point, we are out of the doctor's office and on our way home. My care is simple: lots of rest, ice for the swelling, and Tyelenol for the pain.
Mom doesn't want me to go to school, because they other kids are going to see how I look. But I don't care; I want to go to school. I'd rather be in school learning new things, than anywhere else in the world. If I stay home, I am going to have to cook and clean and do all the chores around the house. The doctor prescribes rest, but that only means a sentence of work if I stay home.
I end up going to school and my teacher is so horrified, she immediately phones both my parents and the other school administrators to take a look at me. Everyone asks me what happened, so I have to repeat the story about a million times. I don't know until later that there is a reason everyone keeps asking me … but I like the attention, and tell them as many times as they want to hear it.
Weeks later, something else happens that only adds to the precarious situation.
I help Annie make dinner, at least, I am supposed to; I try to. I help her by getting out the silverware and placing the napkins and doing whatever else she wants me to do. Mostly, she says I get in her way. But I want to be with her, near her. Finally, dinner is ready and we call Mom. Dad is at work, like always, and won't be home until about two in the morning. I call upstairs to Justin and Jake, but there is no answer. I run upstairs and their room is messy as always, smells of urine, and they are not there.
Annie tells me to call for them outside. I walk out the front door and realize they are just a few yards away, staring at something. I call for them to come in for dinner, but they don't seem to hear me. I walk a little closer, I'm not wearing shoes, and tell them again. But they still don't seem to hear me. When I come even closer, I realize that they are playing a funny game.
Both have matches in their hands. They take turns lighting the match and throwing it, both watching to see where it lands. I am fascinated because I have no idea what they are doing. What's the point? But I just keep staring and watching as the wind carries the little matches into the air. At one point, Justin lights his match and throws it. The wind is gusting just then and the match instantly burns out and falls to the ground.
"Ha ha!" Jake grins. "I'm going to beat that easy."
He lights his match and throws it, and suddenly, it disappears. He is looking around and can't find it. I step a little closer, determined to find it for them. A few seconds go by and it looks as though it's gone. Good. Their game is over.
"Dinner is ready." I tell them. All of a sudden, Jake looks at me as if noticing me for the first time, and screams.
"Stop drop and roll!" he screams. I realize where the match has gone. It didn't disappear after all. The wind has blown the match into my hair and I am on fire. All of a sudden, I feel someone push me to the ground, and then I am rolling, rolling, rolling as they are screaming at me.
All I keep thinking is, why do they have to play these stupid games? Why are they playing with matches? How come they never pay attention to me? All of these thoughts and a million others flash through my head. It feels like forever that I am rolling on the ground. Rolling. I just wanted to be noticed. Rolling. I just want them to love me. Rolling again. At some point, I can't remember what happens next, because I pass out.
I am awake now, but it doesn't make much sense. I am in a big bed, I think at the hospital. My head is bandaged up all over. The doctor is talking again and my ears are practically covered. But the strange thing is, I can't feel any pain.
I know the doctor is saying something important, but I don't understand what it means. "… First, second, and third degree burns to her head…" he is saying. "Needs to be bandaged for at least a month …" "Hair has been practically burned off… We put some cream on the wound …"
I don't know what they are talking about. All I know is that I have to wear these stupid bandages for a month! And my beautiful blonde hair is all gone. Later, I begin to feel the pain. Worse, I am hoping that she'll hug me, just lean over and be kind to me. But she's angry with me again. Justin and Jake have told her that I was playing with matches outside, and she believes them. She always believes them. I don't even know how to light matches, or even where they are in the house, but she doesn't seem to care. She just seems glad to get me out of the hospital and for a few hours, she is a little nice. It's Dad that really takes care of me. He brings me ice cream (a treat I never get to have), gum from the store, and my favorite thing in the whole world, a coloring book and crayons. He even got me a paper doll book so I can punch out clothing and put it on the dolls however I want. I'm so excited.
She asks me why I was playing with matches, demands to know the answer, promises me that she'll hurt me if I don't say. But I don't know what to say because I didn't do it. Doesn't she always tell me to tell the truth? But the truth means that I didn't do anything wrong. The truth means that I get my brothers in trouble? The truth means her not believing me? I choose the truth. I tell her everything about the match game but leave out the part where I was fascinated by the fire. She questions Jake and Justin and Annie tells me that the matches are kept above the wood stove, and there's no way I am tall enough to reach the wood stove. Mom has to believe me. It seems like she does, and so I am spared any punishment, and I am grateful.
Even though my head is in bandages, I beg to go to school. I've already missed a lot of school this year, what with my face, and all the other times Mom keeps me out of school after she's punished me. But I beg and plead and at some point, they give in—probably, I find out later, because they are contacted by the school about my missing it so much. Why does a girl who loves school so much seem to never attend? But no one wants to tell them I've had yet another "accident."
So I go to school, bandages and all. My teacher pulls me out of class and demands to know what my parents have done to me. That's funny because this is the one time, well, the second time, that they haven't done anything at all. It's all the times they don't see … but I don't tell them about that. Something about the way they are talking to me and about my parents makes me want to protect them somehow. They are blaming my family for my condition and it makes me upset. I start to cry and they are bringing me chocolate milk and crackers and comforting me.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Novel
Just wanted to throw some stuff on here today that I'm working on right now. Just a side note about writing something especially difficult... it's hard for me because I have to place myself back there again, in that place where I was constantly afraid, where I was constantly hurt.
For anyone that has ever been through a similar situation, you know what I am talking about. The same feelings of helplessness, anxiety, and that ever present feeling that I cannot breathe begins to return.
Anyways, the writing is slow-going at this point... but I wanted to include a few little bits in here... bits of a life from long ago. Pieces of me.
**NAMES have been changed**
All of my life, I have wanted to be a part of something, bigger than myself. I watch all the popular kids talking about sports at school-who is going to play varsity volleyball this year and who got injured and whose serve can't be beat. There is an excited tone in their voice, and I listen in .. ..
I don't know anything about volleyball-except that you're supposed to hit the ball. When it comes roaring at you, you grasp your hands together, evenly, pushing upward as the ball comes downward at just the right angle, not too much, to send the ball forward-not straight up, and definitely not behind you. A volleyball always wants to move forward. At least, that's what it looks like to me. There's something about the whoosh it makes as it sails through the air and the resounding smack as it makes contact with eager hands who want to send it to the other side of the net.....
.. ..
There's something else about watching volleyball that makes me anxious. It's about more than the excitement rising like a heat wave through the crowd, more than about the popularity it seems to bring those that play. There's something about the way I see all the parents showing up to watch their kids play that makes me sad. The way the parents seem to dote on their children, cheer them on from the stands, give them hugs and tell them how proud they are. It's more than that, and I know it. Volleyball represents yet another thing that I cannot do.....
.. ..
Perhaps that is the reason that I find myself eager to try and play every chance I get. I try and tell myself, as the ball sails over my head, or I miss my shot, that I'm not on the team, I don't have to care if I mess it all up; but all the same, I do.....
.. ..
Perhaps I'm not as good as I'd like to be. Sometimes I get picked last for the team when we play during school hours for PE. But I don't care, at least I'm getting to play. ....
.. ..
It's not just the fact that I'm bad at volleyball, I could probably get better, but the fact that I'm not allowed to play. I'm not allowed to participate in any sports at all. She makes up all kinds of reasons. On the right day it's because she can't afford it, or so she says as she pours herself another drink. On the wrong day, it's because I've done something wrong again. I don't deserve to play sports. I don't deserve to have friends. I don't deserve to live. ....
.. ..
I come home every day from school on time, anticipating her daily call home. If I am not there to answer the phone, she will call again and again, and grow angrier with each unanswered ring. Today, I manage to get home on time to answer her call.....
"What are you doing?""I just got home from school.""Where's Sandy?"....
"I don't know. Walking home with Amanda I think."....
"Why didn't you wait for her."....
"We get out of school at different times."....
"You need to wait for her tomorrow. I don't want her to walk alone."....
"She's walking with Amanda."....
"Well don't forget to do your chores. I have to get back to work right now. I might stop at the bar after work tonight. So make sure you do all the chores before I get home and fix yourself and Shauna some dinner."....
"But there's nothing in the fridge."....
"Isn't there some hamburger?"....
"We used that up a few days ago."....
"Well there's lots of food in the cupboard. You're not helpless. Figure it out." The frustration in her tone is showing. I can't let this get out of control, can't let her think that anything is wrong or we'll pay for it when she gets home. I have homework to do and I'm glad she said she was going to the bar tonight. I need a night of peace."Okay Mom." I choose today not to argue with her.....
.. ..
.. ..
There's nothing in the fridge, but I don't tell her that. Sandy and I ate pickle sandwiches last night, made a game of it. We carefully sliced dill pickles into four long strips, piled the slices on the stale left-over wheat bread we had thawed from the freezer, and carefully and gently placed our pickle slices on the bread, added some ketchup, mustard, mayo, and that was our dinner.....
.. ..
For anyone that has ever been through a similar situation, you know what I am talking about. The same feelings of helplessness, anxiety, and that ever present feeling that I cannot breathe begins to return.
Anyways, the writing is slow-going at this point... but I wanted to include a few little bits in here... bits of a life from long ago. Pieces of me.
**NAMES have been changed**
All of my life, I have wanted to be a part of something, bigger than myself. I watch all the popular kids talking about sports at school-who is going to play varsity volleyball this year and who got injured and whose serve can't be beat. There is an excited tone in their voice, and I listen in .. ..
I don't know anything about volleyball-except that you're supposed to hit the ball. When it comes roaring at you, you grasp your hands together, evenly, pushing upward as the ball comes downward at just the right angle, not too much, to send the ball forward-not straight up, and definitely not behind you. A volleyball always wants to move forward. At least, that's what it looks like to me. There's something about the whoosh it makes as it sails through the air and the resounding smack as it makes contact with eager hands who want to send it to the other side of the net.....
.. ..
There's something else about watching volleyball that makes me anxious. It's about more than the excitement rising like a heat wave through the crowd, more than about the popularity it seems to bring those that play. There's something about the way I see all the parents showing up to watch their kids play that makes me sad. The way the parents seem to dote on their children, cheer them on from the stands, give them hugs and tell them how proud they are. It's more than that, and I know it. Volleyball represents yet another thing that I cannot do.....
.. ..
Perhaps that is the reason that I find myself eager to try and play every chance I get. I try and tell myself, as the ball sails over my head, or I miss my shot, that I'm not on the team, I don't have to care if I mess it all up; but all the same, I do.....
.. ..
Perhaps I'm not as good as I'd like to be. Sometimes I get picked last for the team when we play during school hours for PE. But I don't care, at least I'm getting to play. ....
.. ..
It's not just the fact that I'm bad at volleyball, I could probably get better, but the fact that I'm not allowed to play. I'm not allowed to participate in any sports at all. She makes up all kinds of reasons. On the right day it's because she can't afford it, or so she says as she pours herself another drink. On the wrong day, it's because I've done something wrong again. I don't deserve to play sports. I don't deserve to have friends. I don't deserve to live. ....
.. ..
I come home every day from school on time, anticipating her daily call home. If I am not there to answer the phone, she will call again and again, and grow angrier with each unanswered ring. Today, I manage to get home on time to answer her call.....
"What are you doing?""I just got home from school.""Where's Sandy?"....
"I don't know. Walking home with Amanda I think."....
"Why didn't you wait for her."....
"We get out of school at different times."....
"You need to wait for her tomorrow. I don't want her to walk alone."....
"She's walking with Amanda."....
"Well don't forget to do your chores. I have to get back to work right now. I might stop at the bar after work tonight. So make sure you do all the chores before I get home and fix yourself and Shauna some dinner."....
"But there's nothing in the fridge."....
"Isn't there some hamburger?"....
"We used that up a few days ago."....
"Well there's lots of food in the cupboard. You're not helpless. Figure it out." The frustration in her tone is showing. I can't let this get out of control, can't let her think that anything is wrong or we'll pay for it when she gets home. I have homework to do and I'm glad she said she was going to the bar tonight. I need a night of peace."Okay Mom." I choose today not to argue with her.....
.. ..
.. ..
There's nothing in the fridge, but I don't tell her that. Sandy and I ate pickle sandwiches last night, made a game of it. We carefully sliced dill pickles into four long strips, piled the slices on the stale left-over wheat bread we had thawed from the freezer, and carefully and gently placed our pickle slices on the bread, added some ketchup, mustard, mayo, and that was our dinner.....
.. ..
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Modern Day Miracles--Are They Possible?
I do not know how long my internet will last (I am "sharing" with a neighbor) but I wanted to take a moment to write down a couple of things that happened in the process of this move that ... I don't know, shocked me. If there was a message to be told, I think it came across loud and clear.
A few roommates ago (one of the "bad ones") I remember we discussed the idea of God. I am constantly struggling with the strength of my faith. I have beliefs that are constantly tested and challenged by the day to day of real life and the painfulness of reality.
I remember my roommate said something thar really stuck with me. He said he didn't believe in God because he'd never witnessed a miracle. It was the tone in his voice that caught my attention. It wasn't the sort of smug self-important tone he usually had, but one of genuine longing and disappointment. I got the distinct feeling that perhaps he might change his mind if ever he had the chance to see a true miracle.But what is a miracle? Is it as the Bible would have you believe, those who can't see suddenly regain their sight? A person who cannot stand or walk can suddenly dance out of their chair, forever healed by the power of God? Or are miracles something that, if you look closely enough, you see every day?
It's difficult for me to think that we are somehow all connected or that everything means something. It's difficult because I don't understand why in all the universe, I have yet to find someone who is willing to go the distance with me, someone who wants real love and a lifetime to explore it in. It's difficult for me to imagine that all those times I was beaten as a child, and lay awake in fear and silent resentment, that there was a bigger purpose for it all, a deeper meaning that only God himself understands or plans for us.
What if we do witness miracles every day but don't notice them when they happen? What if we were cognicent, even for just a moment, of the bigger picture?
I say all this not to confuse the issue or pontificate on the idea of God's bigger plan or even to be so bold as to say that I myself understand the purposes we serve here on this planet. But I do know, that for some reason, I have been allowed to see a few things lately that gladden my soul.
After leasing my apartment, I had to get renter's insurance-yet another hidden cost to renting I'd forgotten all about. I'd never gotten insurance before and didn't know the first thing about it. I said a few quick prayers and made my way to the local AAA office to inquire about it.
It wasn't a busy day and I went in the middle of the week. I sat on a chair and waited, almost as if one would wait for an interview, until I was greeted by the agent who was planning to sell me the insurance.
I was expecting the usual sales pitch and customary attempt to sell me more than I needed. I hoped that I could wade through the BS and walk away with the cheapest plan possible. But in the end, I got more than I bargained for ...
Long story short, at some point, as is usual, he had to ask me what I did for a living. We started talking about my job and I hadn't even gotten to the part where I was going to tell him that I worked with juveniles. But we fell into this sort of easy conversation that I felt was necessary on a level I didn't understand. My feeling of this was confirmed a few minutes later when, after a few questions from me, he told me that he and his wife had considered becoming foster parents but weren't sure they should do it. Having come from a similar background, I found the voice inside of me rise up and tell him that not every foster care comes out of the system broken. Some of us make something of ourselves. I encouraged him that it was a good thing to do ... and at the end of our conversation, he only sold me the insurance I needed, and told me the complete truth about what I needed and what I didn't. In exchange, I think I managed to encourage him that being a foster parent was a rewarding experience and it is my belief that he and his wife would make wonderful surrogate parents to those unfortunate enough to find themselves in less than ideal houses where abuse and mental illness can sometimes capsize a family.
As I left the building, I was overcome with a sense of pride and joy. For the first time in a really long time, I felt as though I had done a truly good deed. It was as if I was supposed to be there that day to answer his questions and alieve his fears ...
Could that not be called a miracle? The child he takes in and saves today is the person who saves your life tomorrow. The heart that's rescued at its most vulnerable moment is the soul that breathes love into relationships in the future.
But that is not the only miracle that I have may had inadvertently been a part of.
It also has to do with leasing this apartment itself and the guy who showed it to me. He showed me the apartment and, I don't know how to explain this but, there was a sort of energy between us (not a romantic one---I later found out he had a girlfriend anyway) but a sort of energy that tells me that something else is yet to come. It's as if we have known each other before, without a formal introduction. I found myself asking him questions I would never have the couarage to ask someone, let alone someone I just barely met-questions about his life and how he came to be living in California. I should mention that I detected his slight accent and somehow we just fell into easy conversation.
Anyways, after I leased my place, part of the requirements was for me to tell him what I did for a living. I didn't actually write it down, but rather faxed over my pay stubs as was required.
When I came in to see him, to sign the paperwork, there was a knowing gleam in his eye. "I really want to talk to you." he said to me. Well, it turns out that he has wanted to get a job like mine for years. He has wanted to make a diffierence in people's lives and has never had anyone tell him how to do it or encourage him to go for it. He got stuck in the leasing business because he feels he's a good salesman, but something else has been tugging at his heart ...
We are supposed to go to coffee on Friday and I find myself so excited. Rarely do you get the opportunity to tell someone (knock on wood) what a great job you have and how much it means to you to be a part of something bigger than yourself.
Even if we don't end up meeting, it's as if a giant seed was planted there in his heart-a seed that has encouraged him to grow and perhaps seek out that job where he is helping people. Perhaps it will be where I work, and perhaps it will be somewhere else. But it was like watching the sun as it lights up the darkness. It was like watching that moment when the genius discovers some universal secret they have forever been trying to grasp.
Anyways, I am not sure if these things I have witnessed count as miracles. Perhaps they are nothing more than my being in the right place at the right time. But seeds have been sown and thoughts taking root within open hearts and that is something that will have a positive impact on another human being for years to come.
It was almost as if I was supposed to move so that I could run into these people so I could help plant these seeds so that they could go on to fulfill whatever plan God has for them. Wow. I don't know if it's even as grandiose as that, or even if it's as meaningful as I seem to make it. I don't know if that was part of God's master plan or I don't even know ...
All I know is that, if you asked me, I would tell you that miracles are possible. We just have to open our hearts to their endless posibilities and wait for that magical moment when they appear and change not just someone else's life, but our own lives as well.
I don't know what the master plan is and I do admit I continue to struggle with faith and loneliness and a million other things ... but these miracles, even in their smallest measure, convince me that there has to be something out there in the cosmos even if we don't always see it for ourselves.
Perhaps we don't just walk the path to witness a miracle, perhaps in many ways, we are the miracle.
A few roommates ago (one of the "bad ones") I remember we discussed the idea of God. I am constantly struggling with the strength of my faith. I have beliefs that are constantly tested and challenged by the day to day of real life and the painfulness of reality.
I remember my roommate said something thar really stuck with me. He said he didn't believe in God because he'd never witnessed a miracle. It was the tone in his voice that caught my attention. It wasn't the sort of smug self-important tone he usually had, but one of genuine longing and disappointment. I got the distinct feeling that perhaps he might change his mind if ever he had the chance to see a true miracle.But what is a miracle? Is it as the Bible would have you believe, those who can't see suddenly regain their sight? A person who cannot stand or walk can suddenly dance out of their chair, forever healed by the power of God? Or are miracles something that, if you look closely enough, you see every day?
It's difficult for me to think that we are somehow all connected or that everything means something. It's difficult because I don't understand why in all the universe, I have yet to find someone who is willing to go the distance with me, someone who wants real love and a lifetime to explore it in. It's difficult for me to imagine that all those times I was beaten as a child, and lay awake in fear and silent resentment, that there was a bigger purpose for it all, a deeper meaning that only God himself understands or plans for us.
What if we do witness miracles every day but don't notice them when they happen? What if we were cognicent, even for just a moment, of the bigger picture?
I say all this not to confuse the issue or pontificate on the idea of God's bigger plan or even to be so bold as to say that I myself understand the purposes we serve here on this planet. But I do know, that for some reason, I have been allowed to see a few things lately that gladden my soul.
After leasing my apartment, I had to get renter's insurance-yet another hidden cost to renting I'd forgotten all about. I'd never gotten insurance before and didn't know the first thing about it. I said a few quick prayers and made my way to the local AAA office to inquire about it.
It wasn't a busy day and I went in the middle of the week. I sat on a chair and waited, almost as if one would wait for an interview, until I was greeted by the agent who was planning to sell me the insurance.
I was expecting the usual sales pitch and customary attempt to sell me more than I needed. I hoped that I could wade through the BS and walk away with the cheapest plan possible. But in the end, I got more than I bargained for ...
Long story short, at some point, as is usual, he had to ask me what I did for a living. We started talking about my job and I hadn't even gotten to the part where I was going to tell him that I worked with juveniles. But we fell into this sort of easy conversation that I felt was necessary on a level I didn't understand. My feeling of this was confirmed a few minutes later when, after a few questions from me, he told me that he and his wife had considered becoming foster parents but weren't sure they should do it. Having come from a similar background, I found the voice inside of me rise up and tell him that not every foster care comes out of the system broken. Some of us make something of ourselves. I encouraged him that it was a good thing to do ... and at the end of our conversation, he only sold me the insurance I needed, and told me the complete truth about what I needed and what I didn't. In exchange, I think I managed to encourage him that being a foster parent was a rewarding experience and it is my belief that he and his wife would make wonderful surrogate parents to those unfortunate enough to find themselves in less than ideal houses where abuse and mental illness can sometimes capsize a family.
As I left the building, I was overcome with a sense of pride and joy. For the first time in a really long time, I felt as though I had done a truly good deed. It was as if I was supposed to be there that day to answer his questions and alieve his fears ...
Could that not be called a miracle? The child he takes in and saves today is the person who saves your life tomorrow. The heart that's rescued at its most vulnerable moment is the soul that breathes love into relationships in the future.
But that is not the only miracle that I have may had inadvertently been a part of.
It also has to do with leasing this apartment itself and the guy who showed it to me. He showed me the apartment and, I don't know how to explain this but, there was a sort of energy between us (not a romantic one---I later found out he had a girlfriend anyway) but a sort of energy that tells me that something else is yet to come. It's as if we have known each other before, without a formal introduction. I found myself asking him questions I would never have the couarage to ask someone, let alone someone I just barely met-questions about his life and how he came to be living in California. I should mention that I detected his slight accent and somehow we just fell into easy conversation.
Anyways, after I leased my place, part of the requirements was for me to tell him what I did for a living. I didn't actually write it down, but rather faxed over my pay stubs as was required.
When I came in to see him, to sign the paperwork, there was a knowing gleam in his eye. "I really want to talk to you." he said to me. Well, it turns out that he has wanted to get a job like mine for years. He has wanted to make a diffierence in people's lives and has never had anyone tell him how to do it or encourage him to go for it. He got stuck in the leasing business because he feels he's a good salesman, but something else has been tugging at his heart ...
We are supposed to go to coffee on Friday and I find myself so excited. Rarely do you get the opportunity to tell someone (knock on wood) what a great job you have and how much it means to you to be a part of something bigger than yourself.
Even if we don't end up meeting, it's as if a giant seed was planted there in his heart-a seed that has encouraged him to grow and perhaps seek out that job where he is helping people. Perhaps it will be where I work, and perhaps it will be somewhere else. But it was like watching the sun as it lights up the darkness. It was like watching that moment when the genius discovers some universal secret they have forever been trying to grasp.
Anyways, I am not sure if these things I have witnessed count as miracles. Perhaps they are nothing more than my being in the right place at the right time. But seeds have been sown and thoughts taking root within open hearts and that is something that will have a positive impact on another human being for years to come.
It was almost as if I was supposed to move so that I could run into these people so I could help plant these seeds so that they could go on to fulfill whatever plan God has for them. Wow. I don't know if it's even as grandiose as that, or even if it's as meaningful as I seem to make it. I don't know if that was part of God's master plan or I don't even know ...
All I know is that, if you asked me, I would tell you that miracles are possible. We just have to open our hearts to their endless posibilities and wait for that magical moment when they appear and change not just someone else's life, but our own lives as well.
I don't know what the master plan is and I do admit I continue to struggle with faith and loneliness and a million other things ... but these miracles, even in their smallest measure, convince me that there has to be something out there in the cosmos even if we don't always see it for ourselves.
Perhaps we don't just walk the path to witness a miracle, perhaps in many ways, we are the miracle.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Real Friends
I moved again this weekend. You'd think that it would be like a mantra I'd get tired of chanting. It's true, it feels like I move almost every other year. Perhaps this time, things will be different. Perhaps in striking out on my own, making my own path, I will be delighted to discover my own sense of freedom, revel in my own realizations of independence and the ability to stay in one place for as long as I like-and as long as I can afford the rent.
Truly, I learned who my real friends were. Some of my friends traveled well over an hour to make it to my house. They didn't complain about high gas prices or even the distance, but came with a smile and willing hands to help me load up the moving truck.
I'll refer to everyone by the first letter of their name-to protect their identity. R and his son Z showed up... Z had been at grad night all night long and hadn't gotten even an hour of sleep. R had stayed up with his sick wife (cancer) and had very little sleep of his own ... A had gone on an all-night fishing trip that ended at 4 in the morning, and here she was, just a few short hours later, grinning as she loaded a coffee table and two end-tables into her car. S had stayed up talking to a friend in need until 3:00 a.m.... these are just a few of the stories I heard that day. Despite the fact that they were exhausted, they came anyway.
I don't blame those who flaked out or came up with some lame excuse or another (it's too far or it takes too much time or blah blah blah) but I found myself disappointed for several reasons. The people who upset me the most were the ones who promised to be there, and then came up with some excuse as to why they couldn't make it--at the last minute of course. What happened to the integrity (remind me to write a future blog about this) of doing what you say? The worst quality to have, in my opinion, is flakiness. Because when you tell someone you'll do something, you're only as good as your word.
I also know to invest less energy and time into their friendship in the future. After all, a wise person once told me that the true test of a friendship is the test of need. When you need something, who is there to help you out? Who makes excuses and runs away?
I realized that when a friend is in need, no distance is too great, no task too large, no need too great.
These people are my heroes. They worked their butts off in 100+ degree weather, staying until every last box and piece of furniture was safely in my house. That's after loading it up in the heat, and treking up and down two flights of stairs just to get it to me. Now that, I feel, is true heroism.
Now that the dust has settled (and the unpacking begins) I am looking over that day with a mix of relief and astoundment at the generosity of these people. I hope that the time arises when I can help them out the way they have helped me.
To my friends, my real friends, I thank you. :)
Truly, I learned who my real friends were. Some of my friends traveled well over an hour to make it to my house. They didn't complain about high gas prices or even the distance, but came with a smile and willing hands to help me load up the moving truck.
I'll refer to everyone by the first letter of their name-to protect their identity. R and his son Z showed up... Z had been at grad night all night long and hadn't gotten even an hour of sleep. R had stayed up with his sick wife (cancer) and had very little sleep of his own ... A had gone on an all-night fishing trip that ended at 4 in the morning, and here she was, just a few short hours later, grinning as she loaded a coffee table and two end-tables into her car. S had stayed up talking to a friend in need until 3:00 a.m.... these are just a few of the stories I heard that day. Despite the fact that they were exhausted, they came anyway.
I don't blame those who flaked out or came up with some lame excuse or another (it's too far or it takes too much time or blah blah blah) but I found myself disappointed for several reasons. The people who upset me the most were the ones who promised to be there, and then came up with some excuse as to why they couldn't make it--at the last minute of course. What happened to the integrity (remind me to write a future blog about this) of doing what you say? The worst quality to have, in my opinion, is flakiness. Because when you tell someone you'll do something, you're only as good as your word.
I also know to invest less energy and time into their friendship in the future. After all, a wise person once told me that the true test of a friendship is the test of need. When you need something, who is there to help you out? Who makes excuses and runs away?
I realized that when a friend is in need, no distance is too great, no task too large, no need too great.
These people are my heroes. They worked their butts off in 100+ degree weather, staying until every last box and piece of furniture was safely in my house. That's after loading it up in the heat, and treking up and down two flights of stairs just to get it to me. Now that, I feel, is true heroism.
Now that the dust has settled (and the unpacking begins) I am looking over that day with a mix of relief and astoundment at the generosity of these people. I hope that the time arises when I can help them out the way they have helped me.
To my friends, my real friends, I thank you. :)
Saturday, June 14, 2008
A Puzzle
So I can't think of a title to this blog. But have you ever had one of those days where you make all kinds of mistakes and you look back over your day and were like, "Oh my goodness, did I actually do that?"
This was one of those embarassing days where I want to run and hide in my cave and not come out for a really long time.
It was a friend's birthday last week, and today was his birthday party. I was a little nervous going to this since I probably would be one of the only single people there and always have a difficult time talking to strangers. It used to be so simple when I was with S or J. S would go with me and mope about until we left (he hated parties and groups of people) and J would make up some reason not to go. So it was always easier for me to make excuses for coming by myself. "S wasn't feeling well." or "J couldn't make it." Both of those sound better than showing up alone especially when children of all ages are clinging to their parents and they are all exchanging funny tidbits about their children while I can only smile and nod at what they are saying.
My friend Denise ended up rescuing me, and doing a fantastic job of it. Her quick wit and easy-going personality is always a welcome addition to what might have otherwise been a disaster for me going alone. Of course we were met with the usual "couple" jokes, but in the end, it proved better than me showing up by myself.
But here's where I got stupid. First of all, I'd been packing all morning, then ran to Ikea (a cool place to get home decorating ideas) and my wardrobe is lacking at the moment because practically all of my clothes are packed tightly into boxes stacked in the living room.
Anyways, I didn't really have anything decent to wear, didn't really have a chance to put makeup on or look cute, and my hair--well let's just say that it looked like I walked through a wind tunnel. That's what happens to curly hair when you try to straighten it without an actual straightener. Trust me on this.
So I'm sitting across the table from a co-worker whom I actually respect and think is cool, and he brought his girlfriend. She seemed as shy as he was and didn't even seem to acknowledge my existence. Of course she didn't introduce herself so I guess I shouldn't feel too terribly bad (but I do) because I didn't even say a word to her ...
Okay, so a little history here ... normally speaking, this guy and I work together. He's a great, intelligent, nice guy. But the thing is, it seems as though we can barely come up with two words to say to one another and I can't figure out why! When we're in a group, it doesn't seem to be a problem. But when we're alone, it's like there's this strange awkwardness and I am not sure what it is. We have a ton of things in common, so you'd think that it would be easy to communicate... as easy as talking about the things we're both interested in technology, computers, whatever. But it wasn't until today that I realized what element was completely missing from our little ... "friendship."
So we're sitting there, and he starts talking to me about "work" stuff... and is asking me questions and for the first time ... EVER, I didn't want to answer him. Actually, I didn't want to talk about work at all. Work was the last thing I wanted to think about let alone talk about. I wanted to talk to him about life, ask him questions about what his plans were for Father's day, whatever--anything--but all I could do was choke out some lame reply back to him and then we sat there in silence. When I leave work, I try to literally leave it at work. So when I'm home, or when I'm in a social situation, it's strange to then talk about work again. Yeah, it's fun to relive stuff and reminisce on funny stories, but at that exact moment, I drew a complete blank. I'm sure I sounded like a dumbass. Why didn't I introduce myself to his girlfriend and ask her questions about her?
Anyways, so I've spent weeks (months actually) trying to be friendly to this person because I don't want to feel awkward when we meet one another. I don't know why it feels that way. I get the feeling that I'm the last person he wants to talk to and yet ... we have so much in common it doesn't make sense. I put myself on a one person mission to befriend him and convince him that I wasn't too scary to talk to ... I was hoping that strangeness that seems to prevent us from having a normal comfortable conversation would just melt away and the barrier would be broken.
But I figured out today that ... despite all of this time I have been trying to befriend him, it hasn't worked. He's kept me at a clear distance and perhaps I should chalk it up to the fact that maybe he just doesn't like me. But what does it hurt to be personable?
That's when I figured it out! I share personal details with him (I'm moving, I'm doing this, I feel that--blah blah blah) in the hopes that he would open up and give me SOMETHING I could talk to him about. Something I could relate to and could ask him about. There's only so much work stuff you can talk about and beyond that, it comes down to what makes up who you are. At least his partner will tell me things about his family, his friends, projects he's doing, etc. and it gives me something to ask him about later, "How are you projects going?" "How's baseball?" "How are the kids?"
But if I don't know anything personal about the other person, I am only able to have a superficial and therefore superficial relationship with that person. So in the end, it's no wonder that we stare at each other when we're alone. He won't let me in, for whatever reason. What's strange is, I have worked with him for ... almost a year now and he knows plenty of things about me. I would hope that in knowing things about me, he would understand me better, and therefore wouldn't be hesitant to talk to me or ask me things. But in the end, there's this strangeness there and it still isn't going away ...
I guess this is one of those situations where I'm not going to win. I'm going to walk away from this one and throw in the towel and admit defeat. I feel like I really tried; then again, I wish I wasn't so shy in large groups. Perhaps I could have gotten to know his girlfriend a little bit and so then I could have at least asked him about her and how she's doing.
So anyways, the whole situation is a puzzle to me. I'm not sure I should blame myself and my lack of social etiquette today or just realize that it's clear he doesn't want anything to do with me and leave it alone ...
But that's the funny thing too-we seem to communicate through e-mail just fine. But I still never learn anything new about him. It's like he just answers my questions and that's it. Nothing personal, nothing real. Nothing real. Interesting... Anyways, so it's all a mystery.
I feel bad because I am finding myself starting to purposely avoid him or actually slightly relieved when he doesn't come along to certain events. But at the same time, I am bummed when he's not there. Since we do have so much in common, there's so much stuff I want to talk to him about. But I'm just not sure how to bring it up, if that makes any sense.
Well, I guess it doesn't matter. It's just strange and I've never encountered a situation like this before. What do you think? Am I doing something wrong?
This was one of those embarassing days where I want to run and hide in my cave and not come out for a really long time.
It was a friend's birthday last week, and today was his birthday party. I was a little nervous going to this since I probably would be one of the only single people there and always have a difficult time talking to strangers. It used to be so simple when I was with S or J. S would go with me and mope about until we left (he hated parties and groups of people) and J would make up some reason not to go. So it was always easier for me to make excuses for coming by myself. "S wasn't feeling well." or "J couldn't make it." Both of those sound better than showing up alone especially when children of all ages are clinging to their parents and they are all exchanging funny tidbits about their children while I can only smile and nod at what they are saying.
My friend Denise ended up rescuing me, and doing a fantastic job of it. Her quick wit and easy-going personality is always a welcome addition to what might have otherwise been a disaster for me going alone. Of course we were met with the usual "couple" jokes, but in the end, it proved better than me showing up by myself.
But here's where I got stupid. First of all, I'd been packing all morning, then ran to Ikea (a cool place to get home decorating ideas) and my wardrobe is lacking at the moment because practically all of my clothes are packed tightly into boxes stacked in the living room.
Anyways, I didn't really have anything decent to wear, didn't really have a chance to put makeup on or look cute, and my hair--well let's just say that it looked like I walked through a wind tunnel. That's what happens to curly hair when you try to straighten it without an actual straightener. Trust me on this.
So I'm sitting across the table from a co-worker whom I actually respect and think is cool, and he brought his girlfriend. She seemed as shy as he was and didn't even seem to acknowledge my existence. Of course she didn't introduce herself so I guess I shouldn't feel too terribly bad (but I do) because I didn't even say a word to her ...
Okay, so a little history here ... normally speaking, this guy and I work together. He's a great, intelligent, nice guy. But the thing is, it seems as though we can barely come up with two words to say to one another and I can't figure out why! When we're in a group, it doesn't seem to be a problem. But when we're alone, it's like there's this strange awkwardness and I am not sure what it is. We have a ton of things in common, so you'd think that it would be easy to communicate... as easy as talking about the things we're both interested in technology, computers, whatever. But it wasn't until today that I realized what element was completely missing from our little ... "friendship."
So we're sitting there, and he starts talking to me about "work" stuff... and is asking me questions and for the first time ... EVER, I didn't want to answer him. Actually, I didn't want to talk about work at all. Work was the last thing I wanted to think about let alone talk about. I wanted to talk to him about life, ask him questions about what his plans were for Father's day, whatever--anything--but all I could do was choke out some lame reply back to him and then we sat there in silence. When I leave work, I try to literally leave it at work. So when I'm home, or when I'm in a social situation, it's strange to then talk about work again. Yeah, it's fun to relive stuff and reminisce on funny stories, but at that exact moment, I drew a complete blank. I'm sure I sounded like a dumbass. Why didn't I introduce myself to his girlfriend and ask her questions about her?
Anyways, so I've spent weeks (months actually) trying to be friendly to this person because I don't want to feel awkward when we meet one another. I don't know why it feels that way. I get the feeling that I'm the last person he wants to talk to and yet ... we have so much in common it doesn't make sense. I put myself on a one person mission to befriend him and convince him that I wasn't too scary to talk to ... I was hoping that strangeness that seems to prevent us from having a normal comfortable conversation would just melt away and the barrier would be broken.
But I figured out today that ... despite all of this time I have been trying to befriend him, it hasn't worked. He's kept me at a clear distance and perhaps I should chalk it up to the fact that maybe he just doesn't like me. But what does it hurt to be personable?
That's when I figured it out! I share personal details with him (I'm moving, I'm doing this, I feel that--blah blah blah) in the hopes that he would open up and give me SOMETHING I could talk to him about. Something I could relate to and could ask him about. There's only so much work stuff you can talk about and beyond that, it comes down to what makes up who you are. At least his partner will tell me things about his family, his friends, projects he's doing, etc. and it gives me something to ask him about later, "How are you projects going?" "How's baseball?" "How are the kids?"
But if I don't know anything personal about the other person, I am only able to have a superficial and therefore superficial relationship with that person. So in the end, it's no wonder that we stare at each other when we're alone. He won't let me in, for whatever reason. What's strange is, I have worked with him for ... almost a year now and he knows plenty of things about me. I would hope that in knowing things about me, he would understand me better, and therefore wouldn't be hesitant to talk to me or ask me things. But in the end, there's this strangeness there and it still isn't going away ...
I guess this is one of those situations where I'm not going to win. I'm going to walk away from this one and throw in the towel and admit defeat. I feel like I really tried; then again, I wish I wasn't so shy in large groups. Perhaps I could have gotten to know his girlfriend a little bit and so then I could have at least asked him about her and how she's doing.
So anyways, the whole situation is a puzzle to me. I'm not sure I should blame myself and my lack of social etiquette today or just realize that it's clear he doesn't want anything to do with me and leave it alone ...
But that's the funny thing too-we seem to communicate through e-mail just fine. But I still never learn anything new about him. It's like he just answers my questions and that's it. Nothing personal, nothing real. Nothing real. Interesting... Anyways, so it's all a mystery.
I feel bad because I am finding myself starting to purposely avoid him or actually slightly relieved when he doesn't come along to certain events. But at the same time, I am bummed when he's not there. Since we do have so much in common, there's so much stuff I want to talk to him about. But I'm just not sure how to bring it up, if that makes any sense.
Well, I guess it doesn't matter. It's just strange and I've never encountered a situation like this before. What do you think? Am I doing something wrong?
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Thoughts
Packing things when it's time to move always presents several challenges. For those of you blessed to have only moved a couple of times, you're lucky. For me, I have always felt as though I have always been at the mercy of the winds-always waiting for another to tell me where and when to go.
Anyways, as I was packing up my things, I was forced to go through all the old things that I stowed away-some needlessly, and some with good reason. Among other things, I found a letter I had written to J. It was a letter I never had the courage to give him, words that have been left unspoken for years, merely thoughts on paper. I should have just put it back in the box I got it and turned away. Or perhaps I shouldn't keep these things that haunt me and should throw them away altogether, but something prevents me from doing so.
When the other boxes were packed, I picked up those pages I had set aside and began to read it. It was a beautiful letter, and memories of our time together flooded back into my heart, memories I have long since wanted to forget.
It's a funny thing-I always tell people not to live in the past; it's not healthy for you. If you're always thinking about the past, you'll never live in the present, never look forward to the future. Yet there's something about everything that happened that I just can't seem to let go.
I think I know what it is, and I am hoping that talking about it will allow me to make sense of it all, to gather the courage to move forward and pray that true love is again possible.
Although I've spoken about this before, I want to give you a little picture of something. Have you ever truly loved someone? Truly? It's a feeling that poems and sonnets and cheesy songs and the romantic movie empire have all attempted to capture. Love is like the adrenaline rush after finishing first in a race or climbing the tallest mountain in the world. Actually, it makes you feel as though you could do anything-even climb that impossible mountain. You'd do it too; you'd brave every single step even if it meant loss of life and limb just to hold that person in your arms one more time or be held, or feel the gentle brush of their lips as they meet yours. That's love.
I cannot even do it justice, or try to describe what so many who have come before me have done ever so gracefully. All I can say is that, for a brief moment in time, it truly was like a dream. It was like everything I always imagined love can be. Nothing before and nothing since has even managed to touch it even for a moment.
As I go out on dates these days, and listen to the guys drone on and on about themselves, I want to laugh because all I can think about is the guy who asked me how I felt, what I liked, who I was.
I can still remember the soft touch of his hand as he touched my shoulder to ask me something. When I touch someone else on the shoulder, with not even so half a similar feeling or meaning, the guy shrinks away, or leans in closer because he thinks it means I want to sleep with him. It has no longer become a gesture of acceptance and notice.
People confuse my open, genuine nature with desperation. But I wouldn't settle for them; they wouldn't even come close to the love I've known especially as they criticize me or cut me off mid-sentence to talk about themselves some more.
Reading that letter today, I was reminded of the person he was, and
the person I was when I was with him. When things were good, they were really good. People who know him don't understand, but always remarked on our closeness, even after we were no longer together.
There was just something there and always will be.
I sit and ponder these things these days because I am only left with those lingering feelings of the past inside my heart. I am torn between letting those feelings go and keeping them safe in my heart, where no one will ever be able to touch them.
The only problem is, I can't seem to find anyone who touches my heart in the same place or even come close. I don't want to have to compare; I want the guy to blow my idea of something great out of the water, but it never happens. I guess in writing this, every guy who likes me and has access to this blog may be discouraged (and I realize this) … but the truth is, we should all want a love that is going to last. We should all want that bond that holds us together. We should all strive to love someone the way J and I did, even if it was just for a moment.
When I hear of people in real life (every day!) who are with people they don't love, or people they've settled for, or people they're unhappy with, I get really upset. I get upset because I know what real love is and I know that every person who's with the wrong person, is just making it more difficult for someone like me to find the right person.
Maybe my person is in a dead-end relationship and won't admit it to themselves. Perhaps they don't have the courage to get out of it or perhaps they won't ever have the courage to give me a try. Perhaps my person lives in another country or perhaps is married to the wrong person, constantly convincing themselves to give it "another try." Perhaps he has just been burned one too many times and is unwilling to take a chance … but perhaps when the time is right, he'll give me a chance to change his world forever.
I also want to admit something I've never told anyone before. People often ask me what initially attracted me to J. He's got an ego the size of NYC and though he is universally handsome, he continues to hold himself as his 1 priority. Well, the truth is, we had so much in common … he would read what I was thinking without me having to say anything. It's such a rare thing when you are truly understood. It was almost as if he'd finish my sentences for me because he knew what I was going to say. Even more importantly, he'd remember little things that I'd say months later. Even S, whom I lived with, didn't seem to remember the things I said or even what was important to me. But somehow, J did.
The thing I was going to admit is that … I remember him talking about his last girlfriend whom I actually knew pretty well. She was high maintenance and came from money, if you know what I mean. Our worlds couldn't have been more different. When he talked about their relationship, or talked about the things he wanted out of life, he had the saddest look of wistful longing on his face. Just as he'd understood me, I understood him. I understood that look. I could see the sadness in his eyes, even when he didn't say anything; he didn't need to. I always thought, in the back of my mind, that I wished for just a moment he would notice me (this was before we got together of course) because I wished that I could show him what he was missing out on in a relationship.
Of course, I ended up getting to do that, since we later got together. I was convinced that I could change J's life … and I think I did. Just as he changed mine…
Honestly, I'm glad that J and I didn't work out. I didn't really know who he was before I fell in love with him. Of course I probably wouldn't have fallen in love with him had I known. But it was a great experience because I learned so much from him. I feel as though we had our moment, and we taught each other the things we needed to. I taught him how to love another person, and opened the way for his new life now. He taught me how to appreciate myself and what to look for in another person, and to wait, even if it takes a lifetime, to find it again.
Ultimately, I don't know where my person is. I want to believe that he's out there, and his heart will be as loving as a deep and endless ocean. He'll wrap his arms around me, and on those moments when I am unsure what direction to go next or what decision to make, he'll pull me closer and tell me, "everything is going to be all right."
Anyways, as I was packing up my things, I was forced to go through all the old things that I stowed away-some needlessly, and some with good reason. Among other things, I found a letter I had written to J. It was a letter I never had the courage to give him, words that have been left unspoken for years, merely thoughts on paper. I should have just put it back in the box I got it and turned away. Or perhaps I shouldn't keep these things that haunt me and should throw them away altogether, but something prevents me from doing so.
When the other boxes were packed, I picked up those pages I had set aside and began to read it. It was a beautiful letter, and memories of our time together flooded back into my heart, memories I have long since wanted to forget.
It's a funny thing-I always tell people not to live in the past; it's not healthy for you. If you're always thinking about the past, you'll never live in the present, never look forward to the future. Yet there's something about everything that happened that I just can't seem to let go.
I think I know what it is, and I am hoping that talking about it will allow me to make sense of it all, to gather the courage to move forward and pray that true love is again possible.
Although I've spoken about this before, I want to give you a little picture of something. Have you ever truly loved someone? Truly? It's a feeling that poems and sonnets and cheesy songs and the romantic movie empire have all attempted to capture. Love is like the adrenaline rush after finishing first in a race or climbing the tallest mountain in the world. Actually, it makes you feel as though you could do anything-even climb that impossible mountain. You'd do it too; you'd brave every single step even if it meant loss of life and limb just to hold that person in your arms one more time or be held, or feel the gentle brush of their lips as they meet yours. That's love.
I cannot even do it justice, or try to describe what so many who have come before me have done ever so gracefully. All I can say is that, for a brief moment in time, it truly was like a dream. It was like everything I always imagined love can be. Nothing before and nothing since has even managed to touch it even for a moment.
As I go out on dates these days, and listen to the guys drone on and on about themselves, I want to laugh because all I can think about is the guy who asked me how I felt, what I liked, who I was.
I can still remember the soft touch of his hand as he touched my shoulder to ask me something. When I touch someone else on the shoulder, with not even so half a similar feeling or meaning, the guy shrinks away, or leans in closer because he thinks it means I want to sleep with him. It has no longer become a gesture of acceptance and notice.
People confuse my open, genuine nature with desperation. But I wouldn't settle for them; they wouldn't even come close to the love I've known especially as they criticize me or cut me off mid-sentence to talk about themselves some more.
Reading that letter today, I was reminded of the person he was, and
the person I was when I was with him. When things were good, they were really good. People who know him don't understand, but always remarked on our closeness, even after we were no longer together.
There was just something there and always will be.
I sit and ponder these things these days because I am only left with those lingering feelings of the past inside my heart. I am torn between letting those feelings go and keeping them safe in my heart, where no one will ever be able to touch them.
The only problem is, I can't seem to find anyone who touches my heart in the same place or even come close. I don't want to have to compare; I want the guy to blow my idea of something great out of the water, but it never happens. I guess in writing this, every guy who likes me and has access to this blog may be discouraged (and I realize this) … but the truth is, we should all want a love that is going to last. We should all want that bond that holds us together. We should all strive to love someone the way J and I did, even if it was just for a moment.
When I hear of people in real life (every day!) who are with people they don't love, or people they've settled for, or people they're unhappy with, I get really upset. I get upset because I know what real love is and I know that every person who's with the wrong person, is just making it more difficult for someone like me to find the right person.
Maybe my person is in a dead-end relationship and won't admit it to themselves. Perhaps they don't have the courage to get out of it or perhaps they won't ever have the courage to give me a try. Perhaps my person lives in another country or perhaps is married to the wrong person, constantly convincing themselves to give it "another try." Perhaps he has just been burned one too many times and is unwilling to take a chance … but perhaps when the time is right, he'll give me a chance to change his world forever.
I also want to admit something I've never told anyone before. People often ask me what initially attracted me to J. He's got an ego the size of NYC and though he is universally handsome, he continues to hold himself as his 1 priority. Well, the truth is, we had so much in common … he would read what I was thinking without me having to say anything. It's such a rare thing when you are truly understood. It was almost as if he'd finish my sentences for me because he knew what I was going to say. Even more importantly, he'd remember little things that I'd say months later. Even S, whom I lived with, didn't seem to remember the things I said or even what was important to me. But somehow, J did.
The thing I was going to admit is that … I remember him talking about his last girlfriend whom I actually knew pretty well. She was high maintenance and came from money, if you know what I mean. Our worlds couldn't have been more different. When he talked about their relationship, or talked about the things he wanted out of life, he had the saddest look of wistful longing on his face. Just as he'd understood me, I understood him. I understood that look. I could see the sadness in his eyes, even when he didn't say anything; he didn't need to. I always thought, in the back of my mind, that I wished for just a moment he would notice me (this was before we got together of course) because I wished that I could show him what he was missing out on in a relationship.
Of course, I ended up getting to do that, since we later got together. I was convinced that I could change J's life … and I think I did. Just as he changed mine…
Honestly, I'm glad that J and I didn't work out. I didn't really know who he was before I fell in love with him. Of course I probably wouldn't have fallen in love with him had I known. But it was a great experience because I learned so much from him. I feel as though we had our moment, and we taught each other the things we needed to. I taught him how to love another person, and opened the way for his new life now. He taught me how to appreciate myself and what to look for in another person, and to wait, even if it takes a lifetime, to find it again.
Ultimately, I don't know where my person is. I want to believe that he's out there, and his heart will be as loving as a deep and endless ocean. He'll wrap his arms around me, and on those moments when I am unsure what direction to go next or what decision to make, he'll pull me closer and tell me, "everything is going to be all right."
Monday, May 26, 2008
An Interesting Thought
Hello everyone! I've been meaning to update you for a while now about Hawaii, and I will get to that, but I just had this interesting thought and ... for some reason, I want to bring it up.
Remember when you were a kid and before you knew how the world really worked, and before your parents became real people (you know, when you suddenly see them as flawed souls), you probably thought that certain things were important.
When you're a kid, you don't care how much work your father does-but you notice every minute that he is late to your baseball game. You don't care that there are bills to be paid and that work has kept your mom away from home a little later, all you are hoping for is another hour of her time--waiting for the next time she will play with you.
These moments, precious though they are, are the moments that bring families together. We like to convince ourselves that our lives are balanced while we work three jobs to pay the bills (and keep up with the Jones's) and yet it is often our children who suffer.
But what if, for just a moment, we as a society could start placing emphasis on those things we found important as children? Family together time ... moments spent with one another. What if we started working less and giving more? How might this world be different?Anyways, just a thought. I still remember what it felt like to be a child. I still remember the joy and excitement I felt when my mother took time out of her day to play with me or my father would teach me things. As I've grown, that joy and excitement has dwindled as I've become more aware of the real world. But sometimes, it is good to take a step back and remember those things that are truly important.
Remember when you were a kid and before you knew how the world really worked, and before your parents became real people (you know, when you suddenly see them as flawed souls), you probably thought that certain things were important.
When you're a kid, you don't care how much work your father does-but you notice every minute that he is late to your baseball game. You don't care that there are bills to be paid and that work has kept your mom away from home a little later, all you are hoping for is another hour of her time--waiting for the next time she will play with you.
These moments, precious though they are, are the moments that bring families together. We like to convince ourselves that our lives are balanced while we work three jobs to pay the bills (and keep up with the Jones's) and yet it is often our children who suffer.
But what if, for just a moment, we as a society could start placing emphasis on those things we found important as children? Family together time ... moments spent with one another. What if we started working less and giving more? How might this world be different?Anyways, just a thought. I still remember what it felt like to be a child. I still remember the joy and excitement I felt when my mother took time out of her day to play with me or my father would teach me things. As I've grown, that joy and excitement has dwindled as I've become more aware of the real world. But sometimes, it is good to take a step back and remember those things that are truly important.
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