]]>Now that the annual melancholy that is my birthday has officially passed, I can resume a happier disposition. I caught myself looking particularly pouty last week and I laughed so hard I was breathless. Why? Because the truth of the matter is, life is a comedy of errors, wrong turns, brick walls and pot holes the size of...well, Texas. Sure I've got my share of bumps and bruises, but they aren't the sum total of this life. There is so much more.
It's up to me to choose the perspective and turn the page.
Or...begin an entirely new book.
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When I allow myself the space and time to paint, I always gravitate to mandalas. I have sketchbooks filled with them. This mandala represents family, the strength and durability of a well functioning cohesive unit. Each different, but complementary.
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There is something even more to be said for learning how to ask for help while you're on the learning curve. One of my favorite personality quirks I love to deny is my stubborn defiance to ask for help. People assume it's an ego thing, not wanting to look like I can't do something. Perhaps that is part of it...but the bigger part is wanting to feel the accomplishment of learning what the solution is completely on my own. I've never been one for the short-cut to anything. If I'm to learn something, I want to pick it apart, learn it and piece it back together. I want to learn it inside and out.
Sometimes this leads to...well...let's call them "unconventional" ways of doing things. But sometimes, taking things apart help me figure out the logical solution. And what's logical to me, might be complete gibberish to someone else. The real point is...when you set out to learn something new...if you're picking it apart bit by bit, you learn a series of things. Not just one. Bits of knowledge that serve a purpose somewhere down the line. Still, when the answers aren't coming so easy (or your attempts lead to smoke and sweat and frazzled nerves)...the wisest of us consults those in the know, with "quiet dignity and grace." (See: the Young Frankenstein video below - which would probably be a more accurate assessment of how I respond to hitting the progress wall)
I'll be applying this philosophy to my next learning opportunity: teapots. Ugh. The very bane of my existence. Oh wait...I meant, YAY...an opportunity to expand my skills!
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He's going through a lot. Transitions in his personal life, little ones growing faster than the speed of light, getting a new business off the ground...fighting the good fight as he's always done since we were burying his G.I. Joe's in the joke we thought was a backyard.
He's one of the few people in my life that's really seen me. One of only two people that could pick up precisely when I was hurting from the inside out and could say words that would immediately quiet my mind enough for me to trust that one day, it'll all be alright. He's always been there and I know he always will be. When that is compounded by over 30 years of service, that makes our body of work as friends pretty impressive.
We talk each other off the ledge, without ever crossing the line that turns friends into messy, alternatives. I sometimes forget we're not actually related when I hear his little ones call me "Auntie" with the belief that I am truly their Daddy's only sister.
I sometimes get ovewhelmed by my inability to express what I feel to people who matter most. I am the communication master when all is well and I'm expressing my love. But if I am hurt, or confused or feeling especially exposed, I let drama take the place of restraint making prideful proclamations that my heart could never mean. I pack up my toys and go home, to anguish in the neverending sorrow that comes from never just telling people what I needed and why I feel so denied.
I am terrified to argue, I told him. I always have this deep-set fear that the people I love will no longer love me if I dare to express some disappointment or discontent. *no comment on where that comes from, though he knows, explicitly* Instead, I repress and repress and repress. He's always been frustrated with me on that. Always concerned about what the long-term effects of being so silent will have on my body and mind. He pulls things out of me, to the point where I sometimes run from him, too. He's oblivious to my cloaked moments, prodding at me and threatening to arrive on my doorstep if I don't come out of hiding. He reminds me that he's always going to be here, even when I defiantly express that I can do just fine by myself.
Sometimes I'm really grateful that he knows what a dramatic and insincere proclamation that truly is. Otherwise, I fear the only one looking for me on a downtime Saturday night...would be me and a host of other characters that will never really know what I'm made of.
Off to the studio. I think it's an earbuds in kinda day. Not up for too much social interaction.
]]>If you like to “vent” or complain with friends or family, think again. Asking for advice can be helpful. But angry words about the person you’re having a conflict with (or punching a pillow or kicking something) only feeds the fire. It doesn’t really get it out.
When we use angry, unkind words we not only hurt others, we also hurt ourselves by damaging our relationships with people we love and care about. And the only good thing that might come out of angry words is an apology.
But an apology can’t undo damage, and it can’t change the fact that our words have hurt someone. Accepting our anger, understanding it, and knowing we can make choices that are healthier and more compassionate for ourselves and the people we love is a wonderful step on the road to a happier life.
- how to transform anger into connection: 10 tips for peaceful words, Leah McClellan
]]>Not that it has a thing to do with the track associated with this post...but there's a scene in the movie "The Rose" starring Bette Midler where Rose (Midler) is on her knees in the middle of a deserted parking lot watching her lover ride off after yet another argument. She's completely unraveled. High, sobbing, the kind of human mess most people try to act as if they don't see so they don't have to get involved. She screams out into the night, "where's everybody GOING?!"
I've been pulled, snatched, grabbed and jostled in a bunch of different directions for the past few years. Some as a result of my own poor choices, others because...well, we're all humans which means we're inclined to make huge messes because we don't know any other way.
Now, more than ever before...I am tired. So impossibly tired.Tired of keeping my chin up and being the brave soldier because that's what everyone believes I am. The problem with people thinking of you with great esteem is they sometimes perch you on a shelf and leave you to gather dust because they're so confident in your ability to solve your own mysteries and be a "model character." Meanwhile, what they don't realize is that in a world where so few see you the way you see yourself...they've managed to place you somewhere where you are not touched, you are not tended and it is assumed (falsely) that safety = happiness.
I assume one of the gifts I was granted in this life, was to have a big heart and a measure of emotional wisdom. I want to help. I want to heal. I want the inner light I see in so many people I love to come out and blind the masses with the magic I know is there. I want people to bask in the joy that is their highest good. If I can make you see the magic in you, I guess it helps me see the magic in me. The downside in that, is the process of energy transfer means sometimes you're giving more than you get.
When it's a one off situation, that's fine. I can recharge in my home. Burn some sage. Meditate. Reflect. Breathe. Draw. Create. Balance. Take a walk and a long hot shower. When it comes in waves however, there is no time to rejuvenate. My only moments of peace become those precious few hours when I can settle my spirit enough to sleep. That may be enough for me to fight another day and fortify someone else's defenses...but it's rarely enough for me to feel connected to anything. After days, I am worn. After months, I am angry. After a few months, I'm completely disillusioned.
The strong can be so weak. They just hide it better. I'm working through it. I've bought back some of my peace. I'm getting back into the practices I've used to rebuild the things that occasionally get broken. I'm declaring myself closed for business with the same old characters that still remind me once in awhile just how dangerous they can be when I'm looking the other way. Now, I'm looking in the mirror and I'm seeing that I can get back the blossom I found once upon a time when I believed in dreams.
I hope it's not too late for me. If I was to myself what I have attempted to be for others who have come into and out of my life...I'd probably say that it's never, ever, ever too late. Maybe I can believe for me what I've always believed for them.
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