Do you ever get those dreams that make you wake up with tears in your eyes? I had one this morning. I dreamt that I was vacationing with friends of mine, friends I have known for decades, friends with whom I have all but lost touch. Not for lack of trying on my part.
We were at an airport about to go back home, when I told them how I felt about this distance that is ever-growing between us. They listened and were sympathetic, promising to keep in touch. Our flight was called and we gathered our things to cue up at the gate. As I was following them, I noticed they left some sunglasses behind - three pairs- and when I turned back from getting them, they had all disappeared.
They didn't even wait for me.
The last thought I had was, "It's okay. We're on the same flight."
I guess the symbolic and not so symbolic message of the dream is very clear. This feeling of abandonment the dream engendered is a familiar one, one I have dreamt about and have felt on several occasions; and as I slowly woke up, going through my morning routines, I realized it's time to let go.
No matter how much I try to keep in touch with people who have moved on in their lives, leaving me in their past, it's time to just collect myself and move on with mine. Trying to hold on to the precious memories of a past friendship, memories left behind like sunglasses at an airport diner, is sweet but futile.
Time to gather up myself, and cue up at the gate of new possibilities. And who knows, one day, we might find ourselves on the same flight.
2011-12-12
2011-12-01
A Voice
Sometimes, a voice moves separately from the words. A soft dulcet tone delivering the harshest comment can sweeten it into an endearment. A voice, harsh with anger, turns a simple hello into a curse.
Sometimes, a voice filled with passion, strangled by tears, impregnated by laughter, can evoke the most powerful emotion.
Sometimes, a voice is overcome by the enormity of what it has to deliver; and sometimes, it can break sound barriers, shatter all barriers, to deliver its missile.
Voices can mingle or clash, but sometimes, voices can maim the underlying understanding of voiceless communication.
Sometimes, soft voices can be barely audible in a room full of hotheads, but sometimes soft voices can command the room's attention.
Sometimes, voices can break off into many prisms of uncut crystal clarity.
But never, no never, should voices be silenced.
Sometimes, a voice filled with passion, strangled by tears, impregnated by laughter, can evoke the most powerful emotion.
Sometimes, a voice is overcome by the enormity of what it has to deliver; and sometimes, it can break sound barriers, shatter all barriers, to deliver its missile.
Voices can mingle or clash, but sometimes, voices can maim the underlying understanding of voiceless communication.
Sometimes, soft voices can be barely audible in a room full of hotheads, but sometimes soft voices can command the room's attention.
Sometimes, voices can break off into many prisms of uncut crystal clarity.
But never, no never, should voices be silenced.
2011-11-27
Something Smiles
Creativity. The root of existence.
Existence. An idea within, a breath coming out.
Spark. Electricity.
Syncopated oxygen.
Smothered in the fluid motion of air
spirit
soul.
Relaxation. A tune. In tune.
A one with one. Being just in the moment.
Just so.
So?
Trying to force the air out at first. Force the juices of inspiration.
Like one held in a cave too long. A willing captive of one's own denial of what the moment may bring.
Still.
It is worth the gasping, searing pain of being forced into that moment.
Going through the canal of birth.
Rebirth.
Painful and messy. The first breath painful, but the harbinger of life.
A breath we have taken for granted.
No second thought.
A primal instinct.
A life we live unconsciously from morning waking to evening ritual.
But.
Stop.
Breathe in the moment. Precious breath.
Breeding sparks of truth.
Nurtures the soil of the soul. The soul of the soil.
Spurts forth.
Lush and ripe to be
picked up.
Dusted off.
Starting all over again.
From the dust, something flowers.
From the pain, something smiles.
Empty of expectation.
Not seeking approval
or validation.
Like a parking ticket.
It is here
and here is wonderful.
Existence. An idea within, a breath coming out.
Spark. Electricity.
Syncopated oxygen.
Smothered in the fluid motion of air
spirit
soul.
Relaxation. A tune. In tune.
A one with one. Being just in the moment.
Just so.
So?
Trying to force the air out at first. Force the juices of inspiration.
Like one held in a cave too long. A willing captive of one's own denial of what the moment may bring.
Still.
It is worth the gasping, searing pain of being forced into that moment.
Going through the canal of birth.
Rebirth.
Painful and messy. The first breath painful, but the harbinger of life.
A breath we have taken for granted.
No second thought.
A primal instinct.
A life we live unconsciously from morning waking to evening ritual.
But.
Stop.
Breathe in the moment. Precious breath.
Breeding sparks of truth.
Nurtures the soil of the soul. The soul of the soil.
Spurts forth.
Lush and ripe to be
picked up.
Dusted off.
Starting all over again.
From the dust, something flowers.
From the pain, something smiles.
Empty of expectation.
Not seeking approval
or validation.
Like a parking ticket.
It is here
and here is wonderful.
2011-11-26
Nesting
I have finally done the backyard, living room and bedroom to my liking! I will be adding some of my digital artwork in the living room soon. I have finishing decorative touches to put in the basement; and the next project will be the kitchen to complete renovating my home!
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| I see the remnant of my Vicks hugging cold on the headboard which I will be replacing soon! |
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| I am working on some art for the wall :) |
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| My digital artwork and a mirror will be added to this room. But I love me my new white faux-leather sofas! |
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| Artwork on the wall is by Danette Relic, Rowena Murillo, and Steve Emery |
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| Love my new faux fireplace/entertainment center! |
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| The backyard is dreamy with the lights. |
2011-09-24
2011-09-22
Filling the Un
There are many times, I have had that unsettled feeling that I am not productive enough, not leaving a significant enough mark in the world, not clutching onto that brass ring, not swinging on that star. It hits me once in a while, and I ride the familiar roller coaster of unease. It's more than restlessness and just shy of full-blown panic.
On my desk, there are literally 3 novels in various stages of completion, sitting there. There are countless ideas for novels and books in my head. Yet they gather dust in both places. At my work station, I have boxes of beads and bindings waiting to be turned into jewelry. In my drawers, there are paints and brushes, pens and appliques, paper and pencils waiting to participate in my great art project. On my computer are various images and textures itching to be turned into digital art. On my phone, under To Do, is listed a camera that I want to buy and start taking photographs to use in said digital art.
Let's not even mention the other things on my To Do list that need to be done. One of which is bombing my garden because after all that work and money, it is again overgrown with weeds. So much for low-maintenance garden. Time to install grass and put this albatross on the market. I'm not made for this. Give me a self-contained apartment and I'm good to go.
And as I sit, with this feeling of un-achievement. As I wallow in all the things that I could be doing but don't, I ask myself: What the Eff are you waiting for? What's holding you back? Where has all your mojo gone?
Maybe I simply have given myself too many things to do. It could be possible that I'm suffering from apprentice-at-many-things-but-master-at-none syndrome. Maybe, my focus should be shifted from all the things that are not getting done, created, achieved and focus on what I have accomplished to start with.
After a long struggle, I am solidly on the road to losing weight, having lost 30 lbs or so over the summer. I feel like I am carving myself out of the layer of excess baggage I have been carrying around for most of my life. After all, I have lost a small 5 year old that had been piggy-backing on my body. I feel lighter, more accomplished, prettier and more human. I feel like I will achieve the total weight loss that has been my Nemesis and be the woman I have always been inside, underneath, in my head.
That's huge. That mends my self-esteem and how I move about in the world. It helps my gaze meet that of others instead of looking away in shame because of the way I look. It boosts my confidence and self-assurance that I have a place in the world instead of living in a category of people who are constantly being criticized, made fun of or pitied. I am becoming unchained from the stereotype that fits a body type that fits a mental image this society has about people who have looked like me. That's got to be worth as much as a finished novel?
I have been independent and supporting myself for most of my life. I have gotten very little help along the way in paying for my bills, making the decisions that make a life function smoothly, providing the necessities and some of the luxuries. I have managed to buy, sustain and pay for two houses in succession by myself. That's gotta count for something. At least one line of jewelry can equate to this accomplishment.
I have successfully eased 20 years-worth of students into an understanding of how their brains work, an appreciation of literature and the written word. I have made them think, and laugh and be engaged. And I'm still doing it to this day with equal commitment and passion. I love the essence of my job though I have no interest in the politics and agendas that plague the system that has not succeeded in jading me from the things that I love- imparting the brilliance of literature and the students with which I interact. That's surely on par with a gallery of paintings?
Am I famous? Hell no. Will I ever be? Who the heck knows? That doesn't mean I haven't achieved greatness in some small way (yes, I know it's an oxymoron). It also doesn't mean that the novel I have been sitting on, or the jewelry line that languishes in my head, or the artwork that is awaiting to leave my fingertips will not surface. It means that I need to stop focusing on the unfulfilled and start filling it.. bit by bit.
The feeling between uneasiness and full-blown panic begins to ease. I reach for my phone and put "Save for a Camera" on the top of my to-do list.
On my desk, there are literally 3 novels in various stages of completion, sitting there. There are countless ideas for novels and books in my head. Yet they gather dust in both places. At my work station, I have boxes of beads and bindings waiting to be turned into jewelry. In my drawers, there are paints and brushes, pens and appliques, paper and pencils waiting to participate in my great art project. On my computer are various images and textures itching to be turned into digital art. On my phone, under To Do, is listed a camera that I want to buy and start taking photographs to use in said digital art.
Let's not even mention the other things on my To Do list that need to be done. One of which is bombing my garden because after all that work and money, it is again overgrown with weeds. So much for low-maintenance garden. Time to install grass and put this albatross on the market. I'm not made for this. Give me a self-contained apartment and I'm good to go.
And as I sit, with this feeling of un-achievement. As I wallow in all the things that I could be doing but don't, I ask myself: What the Eff are you waiting for? What's holding you back? Where has all your mojo gone?
Maybe I simply have given myself too many things to do. It could be possible that I'm suffering from apprentice-at-many-things-but-master-at-none syndrome. Maybe, my focus should be shifted from all the things that are not getting done, created, achieved and focus on what I have accomplished to start with.
After a long struggle, I am solidly on the road to losing weight, having lost 30 lbs or so over the summer. I feel like I am carving myself out of the layer of excess baggage I have been carrying around for most of my life. After all, I have lost a small 5 year old that had been piggy-backing on my body. I feel lighter, more accomplished, prettier and more human. I feel like I will achieve the total weight loss that has been my Nemesis and be the woman I have always been inside, underneath, in my head.
That's huge. That mends my self-esteem and how I move about in the world. It helps my gaze meet that of others instead of looking away in shame because of the way I look. It boosts my confidence and self-assurance that I have a place in the world instead of living in a category of people who are constantly being criticized, made fun of or pitied. I am becoming unchained from the stereotype that fits a body type that fits a mental image this society has about people who have looked like me. That's got to be worth as much as a finished novel?
I have been independent and supporting myself for most of my life. I have gotten very little help along the way in paying for my bills, making the decisions that make a life function smoothly, providing the necessities and some of the luxuries. I have managed to buy, sustain and pay for two houses in succession by myself. That's gotta count for something. At least one line of jewelry can equate to this accomplishment.
I have successfully eased 20 years-worth of students into an understanding of how their brains work, an appreciation of literature and the written word. I have made them think, and laugh and be engaged. And I'm still doing it to this day with equal commitment and passion. I love the essence of my job though I have no interest in the politics and agendas that plague the system that has not succeeded in jading me from the things that I love- imparting the brilliance of literature and the students with which I interact. That's surely on par with a gallery of paintings?
Am I famous? Hell no. Will I ever be? Who the heck knows? That doesn't mean I haven't achieved greatness in some small way (yes, I know it's an oxymoron). It also doesn't mean that the novel I have been sitting on, or the jewelry line that languishes in my head, or the artwork that is awaiting to leave my fingertips will not surface. It means that I need to stop focusing on the unfulfilled and start filling it.. bit by bit.
The feeling between uneasiness and full-blown panic begins to ease. I reach for my phone and put "Save for a Camera" on the top of my to-do list.
Filling the Un
There are many times, I have had that unsettled feeling that I am not productive enough, not leaving a significant enough mark in the world, not clutching onto that brass ring, not swinging on that star. It hits me once in a while, and I ride the familiar roller coaster of unease. It's more than restlessness and just shy of full-blown panic.
On my desk, there are literally 3 novels in various stages of completion, sitting there. There are countless ideas for novels and books in my head. Yet they gather dust in both places. At my work station, I have boxes of beads and bindings waiting to be turned into jewelry. In my drawers, there are paints and brushes, pens and appliques, paper and pencils waiting to participate in my great art project. On my computer are various images and textures itching to be turned into digital art. On my phone, under To Do, is listed a camera that I want to buy and start taking photographs to use in said digital art.
Let's not even mention the other things on my To Do list that need to be done. One of which is bombing my garden because after all that work and money, it is again overgrown with weeds. So much for low-maintenance garden. Time to install grass and put this albatross on the market. I'm not made for this. Give me a self-contained apartment and I'm good to go.
And as I sit, with this feeling of un-achievement. As I wallow in all the things that I could be doing but don't, I ask myself: What the Eff are you waiting for? What's holding you back? Where has all your mojo gone?
Maybe I simply have given myself too many things to do. It could be possible that I'm suffering from apprentice-at-many-things-but-master-at-none syndrome. Maybe, my focus should be shifted from all the things that are not getting done, created, achieved and focus on what I have accomplished to start with.
After a long struggle, I am solidly on the road to losing weight, having lost 30 lbs or so over the summer. I feel like I am carving myself out of the layer of excess baggage I have been carrying around for most of my life. After all, I have lost a small 5 year old that had been piggy-backing on my body. I feel lighter, more accomplished, prettier and more human. I feel like I will achieve the total weight loss that has been my Nemesis and be the woman I have always been inside, underneath, in my head.
That's huge. That mends my self-esteem and how I move about in the world. It helps my gaze meet that of others instead of looking away in shame because of the way I look. It boosts my confidence and self-assurance that I have a place in the world instead of living in a category of people who are constantly being criticized, made fun of or pitied. I am becoming unchained from the stereotype that fits a body type that fits a mental image this society has about people who have looked like me. That's got to be worth as much as a finished novel?
I have been independent and supporting myself for most of my life. I have gotten very little help along the way in paying for my bills, making the decisions that make a life function smoothly, providing the necessities and some of the luxuries. I have managed to buy, sustain and pay for two houses in succession by myself. That's gotta count for something. At least one line of jewelry can equate to this accomplishment.
I have successfully eased 20 years-worth of students into an understanding of how their brains work, an appreciation of literature and the written word. I have made them think, and laugh and be engaged. And I'm still doing it to this day with equal commitment and passion. I love the essence of my job though I have no interest in the politics and agendas that plague the system that has not succeeded in jading me from the things that I love- imparting the brilliance of literature and the students with which I interact. That's surely on par with a gallery of paintings?
Am I famous? Hell no. Will I ever be? Who the heck knows? That doesn't mean I haven't achieved greatness in some small way (yes, I know it's an oxymoron). It also doesn't mean that the novel I have been sitting on, or the jewelry line that languishes in my head, or the artwork that is awaiting to leave my fingertips will not surface. It means that I need to stop focusing on the unfulfilled and start filling it.. bit by bit.
The feeling between uneasiness and full-blown panic begins to ease. I reach for my phone and put "Save for a Camera" on the top of my to-do list.
On my desk, there are literally 3 novels in various stages of completion, sitting there. There are countless ideas for novels and books in my head. Yet they gather dust in both places. At my work station, I have boxes of beads and bindings waiting to be turned into jewelry. In my drawers, there are paints and brushes, pens and appliques, paper and pencils waiting to participate in my great art project. On my computer are various images and textures itching to be turned into digital art. On my phone, under To Do, is listed a camera that I want to buy and start taking photographs to use in said digital art.
Let's not even mention the other things on my To Do list that need to be done. One of which is bombing my garden because after all that work and money, it is again overgrown with weeds. So much for low-maintenance garden. Time to install grass and put this albatross on the market. I'm not made for this. Give me a self-contained apartment and I'm good to go.
And as I sit, with this feeling of un-achievement. As I wallow in all the things that I could be doing but don't, I ask myself: What the Eff are you waiting for? What's holding you back? Where has all your mojo gone?
Maybe I simply have given myself too many things to do. It could be possible that I'm suffering from apprentice-at-many-things-but-master-at-none syndrome. Maybe, my focus should be shifted from all the things that are not getting done, created, achieved and focus on what I have accomplished to start with.
After a long struggle, I am solidly on the road to losing weight, having lost 30 lbs or so over the summer. I feel like I am carving myself out of the layer of excess baggage I have been carrying around for most of my life. After all, I have lost a small 5 year old that had been piggy-backing on my body. I feel lighter, more accomplished, prettier and more human. I feel like I will achieve the total weight loss that has been my Nemesis and be the woman I have always been inside, underneath, in my head.
That's huge. That mends my self-esteem and how I move about in the world. It helps my gaze meet that of others instead of looking away in shame because of the way I look. It boosts my confidence and self-assurance that I have a place in the world instead of living in a category of people who are constantly being criticized, made fun of or pitied. I am becoming unchained from the stereotype that fits a body type that fits a mental image this society has about people who have looked like me. That's got to be worth as much as a finished novel?
I have been independent and supporting myself for most of my life. I have gotten very little help along the way in paying for my bills, making the decisions that make a life function smoothly, providing the necessities and some of the luxuries. I have managed to buy, sustain and pay for two houses in succession by myself. That's gotta count for something. At least one line of jewelry can equate to this accomplishment.
I have successfully eased 20 years-worth of students into an understanding of how their brains work, an appreciation of literature and the written word. I have made them think, and laugh and be engaged. And I'm still doing it to this day with equal commitment and passion. I love the essence of my job though I have no interest in the politics and agendas that plague the system that has not succeeded in jading me from the things that I love- imparting the brilliance of literature and the students with which I interact. That's surely on par with a gallery of paintings?
Am I famous? Hell no. Will I ever be? Who the heck knows? That doesn't mean I haven't achieved greatness in some small way (yes, I know it's an oxymoron). It also doesn't mean that the novel I have been sitting on, or the jewelry line that languishes in my head, or the artwork that is awaiting to leave my fingertips will not surface. It means that I need to stop focusing on the unfulfilled and start filling it.. bit by bit.
The feeling between uneasiness and full-blown panic begins to ease. I reach for my phone and put "Save for a Camera" on the top of my to-do list.
2011-09-21
From Reality TV to Reality
Life is but an experience to be savored and reflected upon. Learning from an experience is just as important as being in it. This is what I learned this summer while I was collaborating on a Big Brother blog.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the show, Big Brother is a reality show produced around a group of people who are essentially cut off from the outside world as they compete in and undergo several forms of physical and mental challenges for the chance of winning half a million dollars. The fact that they willingly participate in this emotional soup of human adversity is quite astounding; but the fact that millions of us choose to witness this on a daily basis through the live feeds, is even more so.
This reality show is truly a human experiment; but it is not one only centered around the house participants; it very much so includes all the fans who develop very real attachments to the people in the house. For over two months, we not only witness the extreme highs and lows of human nature in the house, we hop on to that roller coaster ourselves. Fans develop very real attachments to the players; attachments that prompt friendships, online families and fan pages; attachments, that often prompt debates, arguments, even online hate pages.
As a transcriber of the live feeds, a moderator of fan comments, and a participant in online communications centered around the show, I have witnessed moments of incredible humanity and tenderness, as well as those of horrific hatred and cruelty not only in the house, but outside it as well. People can, in one moment, display such joy at someone's success or compassion for someone's loss or misfortune, while in the next moment, voice sentiments of such hatred, that it would make my jaw lock in horror.
What I will take away from this experience, is not only knowledge about people in general, but about myself. With every experience, I learn what I can and will not subject myself to; what I want to have in my life and what I don't. I have made some good friendships with people that I truly care for and will keep in my life; and as the house guests leave the Big Brother house, winners or not, better from the experience or not, having gotten past the pettiness that this experience can engender or not, I exit the summer, knowing that I embrace all the beauty of human nature, while feeling an incredible sadness for its underbelly.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the show, Big Brother is a reality show produced around a group of people who are essentially cut off from the outside world as they compete in and undergo several forms of physical and mental challenges for the chance of winning half a million dollars. The fact that they willingly participate in this emotional soup of human adversity is quite astounding; but the fact that millions of us choose to witness this on a daily basis through the live feeds, is even more so.
This reality show is truly a human experiment; but it is not one only centered around the house participants; it very much so includes all the fans who develop very real attachments to the people in the house. For over two months, we not only witness the extreme highs and lows of human nature in the house, we hop on to that roller coaster ourselves. Fans develop very real attachments to the players; attachments that prompt friendships, online families and fan pages; attachments, that often prompt debates, arguments, even online hate pages.
As a transcriber of the live feeds, a moderator of fan comments, and a participant in online communications centered around the show, I have witnessed moments of incredible humanity and tenderness, as well as those of horrific hatred and cruelty not only in the house, but outside it as well. People can, in one moment, display such joy at someone's success or compassion for someone's loss or misfortune, while in the next moment, voice sentiments of such hatred, that it would make my jaw lock in horror.
What I will take away from this experience, is not only knowledge about people in general, but about myself. With every experience, I learn what I can and will not subject myself to; what I want to have in my life and what I don't. I have made some good friendships with people that I truly care for and will keep in my life; and as the house guests leave the Big Brother house, winners or not, better from the experience or not, having gotten past the pettiness that this experience can engender or not, I exit the summer, knowing that I embrace all the beauty of human nature, while feeling an incredible sadness for its underbelly.
2011-07-04
Renovations Complete!
With the renovations over, I have been trying to clean up, throw away junk, reorganize and decorate the basement since. Furniture still needs to moved downstairs, cable needs to be installed and more finishing touches done before the basement is completely livable but here are some sneak peeks!
These photos are of the former storage room before it became the luxury bathroom it is today!
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And now who could resist spending hours in here? Not I!
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| The separate shower stall is made yummier by the tile pattern I chose myself. |
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| Dontcha LOVE this mirror? I'm not loving my camera though. It doesn't do the colors justice. |
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| Last but not least the inviting, working Jacuzzi that I snagged for $95! The push flow toilet for $75. The pedestal sink for $60! |
Here are some more views of my new, super fun basement entertainment suite!
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| This is the landing covered with slate tile. Yummy! I'm working on an enclosed storage space under the stairs... |
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| This is the living area freshly painted and tiled. Gone are the puke green of the walls, the temporary support and the ugly concrete floor! My wood burning stove is going to get some use this winter! |
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| This is the guest bedroom that still needs many finishing touches. I've added a wardrobe for useful storage! |
I'm super excited and will be posting more pics once the finishing touches are complete using, hopefully, a better camera!
2011-06-07
Yikes!
A stubborn cold + renovations = a long absence.
It's kind of hellish trying to get over a cold amongst banging and sawing and dust. It doesn't help that I seem to have hired The Two Tenors to renovate my basement. I'm not complaining though. The price is right and the basement is coming along swimmingly. O Sole Mio!
The back yard is almost finished.
Let me refresh your memory. This was my garden before....
You can't see the Nova Scotia slate path, but it's there. In the last photo there's a brick wall that enclosed a mound of soil that used to contain Sumacs which grow like weeds. After they were dug out, that garden looked bare and random.
This is what it looks like now...
You can finally see the slate path. The wall was dismantled to make borders around the two flower beds. I still need to get more wood chips, and to string the solar lights and it's done!
The basement is almost finished as well. The tenors were so fast, that I didn't manage to take decent before shots but here was the work in progress.
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| This is the laundry closet. The machines and doors were removed in order to lay down the ceramic tile. The floor was just painted concrete before. |
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| Here is the living area. It looks like a hurricane hit it, and you can't see the wood burning stove amongst the rubble. In the foreground is the jacuzzi tub I bought for $95! Surprisingly, it works! |
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| This was the storage room that now is in the process of becoming a spa bath. I can't wait! |
Very soon, I will have a finished basement and a wonderful garden to entertain in. Since I have moved here, I have not really entertained as the space on the main floor is so chopped up and small. I can't fit more that four people in my "living room".
This project has depleted my finances, however, it's going to significantly improve my social life. What good is money if you're living like a hermit, right?
Stay tuned for photos of the finished basement. Whoop!
2011-05-07
CSI: Genie
Sometimes I get too caught up in my inner space, intent on solving it like a crime scene. I become an investigator, trying to piece together the remnants and fragments of past hurts, trying to find clues that have lead me here. I become a medical examiner, deconstructing the body I carry around, disconnected to who I was and who I am. I become a prosecutor, condemning myself for all my faults and many mistakes. I become a forensic specialist, taking the jack hammer to the hard shell that encases my heart to find what hurt it so.
There is much to investigate, but I'm not a crime scene. I'm a person. Speckled, imperfect and alive. I don't have all the answers, but I am responsible for the life I am leading right now. I can let it slip by while I swim in a murky pool of whys and wherefore. Or. I can get on it.
So that is what I choose to do. Get on with my life. I can't promise myself that every day will be as perfect as today with the sun streaming in through the windows, the smell of Murphy's oil rising from my freshly washed floor, and the smell of mowed grass wafting in from outside; but I can promise myself that today is a new day. A fresh start. A slate of possibilities.
Over the next few weeks I will be chronicling the changes I will be making, and the steps I will be taking in pursuit of a more authentic life. A more productive one. I need to tackle my procrastination and see at least one vision to its fruition. So many started projects have been left by the wayside while I moan about the way things suck in my life. Moaning doesn't get anything accomplished. Action does.
I have been considering deleting all my posts on this blog and starting fresh here too, but that would be as inauthentic as buying a rug to cover the scratched floor. There's no reason to delete anything. This blog chronicles my ups and downs, my joys and losses and it is part of me. Its the forensic evidence of who I am. Speckled, imperfect and real.
There is much to investigate, but I'm not a crime scene. I'm a person. Speckled, imperfect and alive. I don't have all the answers, but I am responsible for the life I am leading right now. I can let it slip by while I swim in a murky pool of whys and wherefore. Or. I can get on it.
So that is what I choose to do. Get on with my life. I can't promise myself that every day will be as perfect as today with the sun streaming in through the windows, the smell of Murphy's oil rising from my freshly washed floor, and the smell of mowed grass wafting in from outside; but I can promise myself that today is a new day. A fresh start. A slate of possibilities.
Over the next few weeks I will be chronicling the changes I will be making, and the steps I will be taking in pursuit of a more authentic life. A more productive one. I need to tackle my procrastination and see at least one vision to its fruition. So many started projects have been left by the wayside while I moan about the way things suck in my life. Moaning doesn't get anything accomplished. Action does.
I have been considering deleting all my posts on this blog and starting fresh here too, but that would be as inauthentic as buying a rug to cover the scratched floor. There's no reason to delete anything. This blog chronicles my ups and downs, my joys and losses and it is part of me. Its the forensic evidence of who I am. Speckled, imperfect and real.
2011-04-17
Requiem for a Stinky Boy
His name was Stinky. Before you judge me, know that he actually chose this. I tried every interesting name I could think of but he wouldn't respond to any of them. Then one day, after he took one of his famous nature breaks, I passed by the litter box and exclaimed, "Oh my GOD! That's so stinky!" He stopped in mid-trot, turning to look at me. "Is that the name you want?" I asked incredulously. I tested it out a little later, calling him by that name, and there he was, trotting toward me from some corner he was exploring. He responded to Stinky for the 18 years he honored me with his company.
He's been with me for every day after that, barring that terrible night he stayed over at the vet's after being neutered. He's curled up next to be and slept, soundly snoring. We've played hide and seek; he's sunk his teeth into me a few times; we stared out the window together, each in our own reveries. He took my papers hostage, terrorized some of my friends, hid all my hair accessories, and faced the many changes in our loves with me.
Two weeks ago, life happened. He had been acting increasingly unsettled and meowing mournfully, so I decided to let him go outside which he'd done only a few times in his life. He was an indoor cat; but he would explore the world close to home, on occasion, and come back a few hours later. He hasn't been home since.
I have been struggling with emotions of guilt and torment, resignation and acceptance. If I had not let him out, he would be still with me. Yet, I did not want to keep him prisoner, since it seemed he longed for freedom. Possibly one last hoorah. I have been praying that he hasn't suffered. That he's found the freedom he sought. That he is where he wants to be and he's happy. Yet, I ache for him, and the pain overtakes me. He was the last of my family, and I have been mourning for his loss.
Today, I celebrate his life. He was a splendid boy. Mischievous, funny, smart and loving. No one could have asked for a better son. And today, I take the time to honor him wherever he roams.
I love you Stinky. Thank you for being in my life.
2011-04-06
Manifesto of Change
Here's the thing. I can write about my problems until my fingers fall off; it's therapeutic. However, I don't want to get stuck chasing my own tail of issues. To the outsider, I might be bitching too much, or focusing on my losses too much, or stuck in a holding pattern of regret.
Regret is a waste of time.
Things change even in infinitesimal amounts. This weekend my almost 20 year old indoor cat decided he had enough, taking off to explore the world as his last hoorah. He's been out before, but never for four days; and I am left to struggle between sadness and hope. Sadness because I didn't get the chance to say goodbye, and hope because I know the courage his little soul has in taking on the world at his age. He has become my new hero who has delivered a powerful message to me. It's time for me to do the same.
I have decided to sell my house.
It's time to acknowledge that the reasons for buying a house have been miscalculated. I felt that in a house I would feel more of a sense of community, but I have not done so in either houses I have owned. Neighbours in reality, I have discovered, bear no resemblance to neighbours in the media. Sure, there are the waves and quick hellos as I walk to my car or water my garden or shovel the insane amounts of snow that fall, but there have been no block parties, or casserole dishes or friendly cups of tea. In a house, as in an apartment, I have been left pretty much to my own devices.
In a big city, everyone tends to their own, and good luck to you if you don't have a family or a group of friends that you've grown up with. You have to struggle to make and keep connections, otherwise you're a floating buoy in a sea of nuclear families and couplings. I thought purchasing a house would have given me a sense of belonging, instead, it's given me bills, and chores and headaches.
So it's time to call it a failed experiment and go back to compartmentalized living. I need an open concept unit with windows, in an area that's mixed residential and commercial. I want to be able to walk around, window shop, go for a coffee, get to know my neighbourhood. I need to be in a environment that's not solely occupied by families, couples and retirees. I'm looking for the right lifestyle, not just a place to live. I'll leave the gardening, snow shoveling and remodeling to those who love it.
It's time.
It's time to focus on the things I love like painting, jewelry-making, writing, dancing and photography. It's time to look forward not backwards. It's time to heal from past wrongs, mistakes and abuses. It's time for my manifesto of change. Rather than go home to read or watch TV or putter around, I am putting together an interesting cocktail of classes for me to take during week nights. It's time to learn more about and participate in the things I have always wanted to do. It's time to act rather than wish things would change in my life. Now that I understand why I'm so screwed up, it's time to get over it, and just live the best life I can in a new environment with renewed interest.
It's time to follow in my beloved cat's footsteps. Meow.
Regret is a waste of time.
Things change even in infinitesimal amounts. This weekend my almost 20 year old indoor cat decided he had enough, taking off to explore the world as his last hoorah. He's been out before, but never for four days; and I am left to struggle between sadness and hope. Sadness because I didn't get the chance to say goodbye, and hope because I know the courage his little soul has in taking on the world at his age. He has become my new hero who has delivered a powerful message to me. It's time for me to do the same.
I have decided to sell my house.
It's time to acknowledge that the reasons for buying a house have been miscalculated. I felt that in a house I would feel more of a sense of community, but I have not done so in either houses I have owned. Neighbours in reality, I have discovered, bear no resemblance to neighbours in the media. Sure, there are the waves and quick hellos as I walk to my car or water my garden or shovel the insane amounts of snow that fall, but there have been no block parties, or casserole dishes or friendly cups of tea. In a house, as in an apartment, I have been left pretty much to my own devices.
In a big city, everyone tends to their own, and good luck to you if you don't have a family or a group of friends that you've grown up with. You have to struggle to make and keep connections, otherwise you're a floating buoy in a sea of nuclear families and couplings. I thought purchasing a house would have given me a sense of belonging, instead, it's given me bills, and chores and headaches.
So it's time to call it a failed experiment and go back to compartmentalized living. I need an open concept unit with windows, in an area that's mixed residential and commercial. I want to be able to walk around, window shop, go for a coffee, get to know my neighbourhood. I need to be in a environment that's not solely occupied by families, couples and retirees. I'm looking for the right lifestyle, not just a place to live. I'll leave the gardening, snow shoveling and remodeling to those who love it.
It's time.
It's time to focus on the things I love like painting, jewelry-making, writing, dancing and photography. It's time to look forward not backwards. It's time to heal from past wrongs, mistakes and abuses. It's time for my manifesto of change. Rather than go home to read or watch TV or putter around, I am putting together an interesting cocktail of classes for me to take during week nights. It's time to learn more about and participate in the things I have always wanted to do. It's time to act rather than wish things would change in my life. Now that I understand why I'm so screwed up, it's time to get over it, and just live the best life I can in a new environment with renewed interest.
It's time to follow in my beloved cat's footsteps. Meow.
~~~~~~~~~~
As I browsed through my favorite bloggers, I found that, yet again, Jamie Ridler has worked her magic.
In her Wishcasting Wednesdays Jamie asks, "What do you wish to transform?"
And there it is, perfectly aligned with my post.
I wish to transform my life.
Please join the Wishcasters as we weave some dreams into reality.
2011-03-28
The Wrong Man
It's as simple as a choice, but any given choice can be monumental, no matter how simple or difficult. We make choices every day sometimes without even thinking about them because they have been so ingrained into our subconscious. They almost seem instinctive, but they're not. They're learned, like deciding which route to take home. What items to order from a take-out menu. Who we're attracted to.
We've all made choices that we question, in hindsight. The "if only I had" is probably one of the most common statements. There are many choices that I've made without knowing that they would turn out to be staggering turning points in my life. I've let opportunities go. I've taken wrong turns. I've chosen questionable paths. But, I can't be too hard on myself because I did the best I could do with the information, the perspective and the maturity I had at the time.
And I chose the wrong men. Almost like clockwork.
It would be easy to become bitter, saying all men are pigs; but that's just ignorant. There are many wonderful, courageous, intelligent, caring, loving, admirable men out there. I just didn't choose them. I fell into a pattern of destructive relationships.
Given that I was emotionally stunted, physically tortured and psychologically impaired early in my childhood, it makes absolute sense. I grew up without the invaluable education of getting to know the opposite sex. So, it's not surprising that mistrust and fear became ingrained in me. Experience became instinct; an instinct that has brought me to where I am today.
At 17, I started with a series of anguished crushes on men who neither had the knowledge nor the capacity to understand someone such as myself. They probably didn't know I existed while I went through into the nightmarish world of unrequited love- the kind of love that not only is the loneliest, but one that leaves the most emotional scars in a person already rife with them.
My first full fledged boyfriend, at the age of 20 seemed to start with promise. I met him at a bar, and fell in love with him because he asked to brush my hair. How was I to know that this unbelievably romantic beginning would end in disaster a year later? It turned out that this sweet gentle man, chosen because he was so unlike the abusive role models I grew up with, would eventually cheat on me, get another woman pregnant and marry her, all while still carrying on a relationship with me.
That was not an auspicious beginning. It was followed by a string of misses until I met the man I was to eventually marry 3 years later. After his divorce at the age of 27, he came to stay with his mom who lived in my apartment building. I noticed him because he would start coming out to the terrace where I hung out with my coffee and crossword puzzles. He was a gentle, funny and loving guy. How was I to know that he also was a dead beat dad with a drug problem? I found that out after we got married.
In the four years we were together, our relationship became a project for me. In the beginning, I got him to pay his ex-wife child support, to go back to school and get a better paying job. I cleaned up his look. I reinvented the man. I was so proud of him, until I noticed he spent hours in the bathroom, could not sustain an erection and was acting very erratically. Three years into our marriage, I stopped sharing his bed, stopped being his partner, and became his therapist. By the fourth year, I gave up trying and got out to save myself.
I was 27, bruised by two shatteringly disappointing relationships, and clueless as to what went wrong. I needed to rally myself and find a way to navigate life and romance. That's when I discovered the treacherous world of online and embarked into an even more destructive set of relationships.
But that's a story for another day.
Today, I'm wiser. I understand what went wrong, but I'm still struggling with the aftereffects. If I'm ever to have a healthy, fulfilling relationship with a man, I need to navigate into safer emotional waters. I need to identify the trigger within myself, all the barriers I have put up, and finally be free.
We've all made choices that we question, in hindsight. The "if only I had" is probably one of the most common statements. There are many choices that I've made without knowing that they would turn out to be staggering turning points in my life. I've let opportunities go. I've taken wrong turns. I've chosen questionable paths. But, I can't be too hard on myself because I did the best I could do with the information, the perspective and the maturity I had at the time.
And I chose the wrong men. Almost like clockwork.
It would be easy to become bitter, saying all men are pigs; but that's just ignorant. There are many wonderful, courageous, intelligent, caring, loving, admirable men out there. I just didn't choose them. I fell into a pattern of destructive relationships.
Given that I was emotionally stunted, physically tortured and psychologically impaired early in my childhood, it makes absolute sense. I grew up without the invaluable education of getting to know the opposite sex. So, it's not surprising that mistrust and fear became ingrained in me. Experience became instinct; an instinct that has brought me to where I am today.
At 17, I started with a series of anguished crushes on men who neither had the knowledge nor the capacity to understand someone such as myself. They probably didn't know I existed while I went through into the nightmarish world of unrequited love- the kind of love that not only is the loneliest, but one that leaves the most emotional scars in a person already rife with them.
My first full fledged boyfriend, at the age of 20 seemed to start with promise. I met him at a bar, and fell in love with him because he asked to brush my hair. How was I to know that this unbelievably romantic beginning would end in disaster a year later? It turned out that this sweet gentle man, chosen because he was so unlike the abusive role models I grew up with, would eventually cheat on me, get another woman pregnant and marry her, all while still carrying on a relationship with me.
That was not an auspicious beginning. It was followed by a string of misses until I met the man I was to eventually marry 3 years later. After his divorce at the age of 27, he came to stay with his mom who lived in my apartment building. I noticed him because he would start coming out to the terrace where I hung out with my coffee and crossword puzzles. He was a gentle, funny and loving guy. How was I to know that he also was a dead beat dad with a drug problem? I found that out after we got married.
In the four years we were together, our relationship became a project for me. In the beginning, I got him to pay his ex-wife child support, to go back to school and get a better paying job. I cleaned up his look. I reinvented the man. I was so proud of him, until I noticed he spent hours in the bathroom, could not sustain an erection and was acting very erratically. Three years into our marriage, I stopped sharing his bed, stopped being his partner, and became his therapist. By the fourth year, I gave up trying and got out to save myself.
I was 27, bruised by two shatteringly disappointing relationships, and clueless as to what went wrong. I needed to rally myself and find a way to navigate life and romance. That's when I discovered the treacherous world of online and embarked into an even more destructive set of relationships.
But that's a story for another day.
Today, I'm wiser. I understand what went wrong, but I'm still struggling with the aftereffects. If I'm ever to have a healthy, fulfilling relationship with a man, I need to navigate into safer emotional waters. I need to identify the trigger within myself, all the barriers I have put up, and finally be free.
2011-03-24
The Factor of Zero
The journey toward change and understanding has two legs: reflection and action. These two must go hand in hand in order to achieve anything successfully. One without the other would cause an imbalance that would topple the blocks and make us start all over again. Without reflection, there's impulsive action; without action, there's endless reflection. As I reflect here, I act out there. My thoughts have become the blueprint of my decision to change my life into something more meaningful, productive and fun.
To that end, I need to make the following disclaimer. This is really a communication with myself, a communication I'm making public in the hopes that it might help anyone else in some small way. It's also a way of keeping myself honest - when I hit "publish", I'm committing to my words. In order to reach this point in my process, I have had to overcome the fear of being scorned, or judged, or pitied because of what I am publishing here. It's of vital importance I do not censor the feelings, thoughts and words that need to come out for fear of public scrutiny. I know it comes with the territory and I'm good with it.
I have noticed what I like to call the factor of zero come into play in my life quite often. It's the nadir to the zenith, the low to the high, the exhale to the inhale. My life all but empties out of people. It's as if it's multiplied by zero; and we know anything that's multiplied by zero equals zero. For whatever reason, whether by decision or circumstance, I lose people. They never call again; they move on with their lives, without me.
I tried to stay in touch often realizing that I'm the only one putting in the effort. One sided relationships never work, so I gave up, doing what I have been trained to do - blame and berate myself. I would ponder, some say obsess, about the reasons why this happened, what I did wrong, why I am so cursed, or boring or unlovable. I felt like a deflated tire tossed in the landfill of life.
How freaking dramatic, right?
On the opposite side of the coin, I have had to make the difficult decision of cutting off some people out of my life. This is no judgement on them; sometimes in relationships there's a chemical imbalance, the explosion of vinegar and baking soda. We're just not good for each other. These decisions have been difficult indeed because they often happen during the zero factor phases in my life. This is made doubly difficult by the looming threat of aloneness. I don't say loneliness because I am comfortable in my own company; and I can amuse myself; but I would be lying if I said I don't need people. Quite the opposite is true. I need a consistent tribe in my life.
The question remains, what factors need to come into play so that I can achieve this? How can I eliminate the factor of zero once and for all? This is where action will come into play.
To that end, I need to make the following disclaimer. This is really a communication with myself, a communication I'm making public in the hopes that it might help anyone else in some small way. It's also a way of keeping myself honest - when I hit "publish", I'm committing to my words. In order to reach this point in my process, I have had to overcome the fear of being scorned, or judged, or pitied because of what I am publishing here. It's of vital importance I do not censor the feelings, thoughts and words that need to come out for fear of public scrutiny. I know it comes with the territory and I'm good with it.
I have noticed what I like to call the factor of zero come into play in my life quite often. It's the nadir to the zenith, the low to the high, the exhale to the inhale. My life all but empties out of people. It's as if it's multiplied by zero; and we know anything that's multiplied by zero equals zero. For whatever reason, whether by decision or circumstance, I lose people. They never call again; they move on with their lives, without me.
I tried to stay in touch often realizing that I'm the only one putting in the effort. One sided relationships never work, so I gave up, doing what I have been trained to do - blame and berate myself. I would ponder, some say obsess, about the reasons why this happened, what I did wrong, why I am so cursed, or boring or unlovable. I felt like a deflated tire tossed in the landfill of life.
How freaking dramatic, right?
On the opposite side of the coin, I have had to make the difficult decision of cutting off some people out of my life. This is no judgement on them; sometimes in relationships there's a chemical imbalance, the explosion of vinegar and baking soda. We're just not good for each other. These decisions have been difficult indeed because they often happen during the zero factor phases in my life. This is made doubly difficult by the looming threat of aloneness. I don't say loneliness because I am comfortable in my own company; and I can amuse myself; but I would be lying if I said I don't need people. Quite the opposite is true. I need a consistent tribe in my life.
The question remains, what factors need to come into play so that I can achieve this? How can I eliminate the factor of zero once and for all? This is where action will come into play.
2011-03-22
Tsunami of Mindless Entertainment
I'm pissed off. I have been torturing myself over the past few days, not wanting to post on my blog about my petty issues and problems because whole nations are under siege by war and poverty and natural disaster. Who am I, to sit here whining about a past I can do nothing about or a few extra pounds that I can't seem to shed? How shallow and self-absorbed am I?
And then I turn on the TV or the computer. Apparently not as much as I thought.
We live in a world where a genuine tragedy is lost in the mania of spotlighting the trivial, the fake celebrity, the latest meltdown. People who are overpaid, pampered and idolized just because someone has decided that they should be promoted into the limelight, lose their shit and we lap. it. up. Maybe they have talent, or charisma, but do they really count more than unknown people who are suffering simply because nature is fighting us back for our moronic notions and self-aggrandizement? Does someone's grief or tragedy only prove worthy if some celebrity in designer jeans and an equally designer dog decides to get on the public relations bandwagon of giving a fuck about the real issues that have torn the very fiber of our existence to promote it?
Do we want to be known by future generations, if there will be any left, as the ones who are fascinated with a bunch of illiterate, morally degenerate, tasteless and classless idiots getting laid, doing laundry and fist pumping? We churn out the minute men and women, boys and girls of celebrity. We line them up in our single-minded obsession with entertainment. Entertainment at someone else's expense.
At work, today, they were gleefully watching the latest YouTube child stars brought to the public by production companies paid by parents to spotlight their kids in sugar-coated meaningless music videos. Students know all the lyrics and happily sing them causing a mind torture like no other to those within earshot. Those same students who cannot read or follow instructions properly or remember how to footnote their sources, or how to put together a cohesive sentence, know. all. the. lyrics.
I don't know where to even begin. My brain hurts.
And then I turn on the TV or the computer. Apparently not as much as I thought.
We live in a world where a genuine tragedy is lost in the mania of spotlighting the trivial, the fake celebrity, the latest meltdown. People who are overpaid, pampered and idolized just because someone has decided that they should be promoted into the limelight, lose their shit and we lap. it. up. Maybe they have talent, or charisma, but do they really count more than unknown people who are suffering simply because nature is fighting us back for our moronic notions and self-aggrandizement? Does someone's grief or tragedy only prove worthy if some celebrity in designer jeans and an equally designer dog decides to get on the public relations bandwagon of giving a fuck about the real issues that have torn the very fiber of our existence to promote it?
Do we want to be known by future generations, if there will be any left, as the ones who are fascinated with a bunch of illiterate, morally degenerate, tasteless and classless idiots getting laid, doing laundry and fist pumping? We churn out the minute men and women, boys and girls of celebrity. We line them up in our single-minded obsession with entertainment. Entertainment at someone else's expense.
At work, today, they were gleefully watching the latest YouTube child stars brought to the public by production companies paid by parents to spotlight their kids in sugar-coated meaningless music videos. Students know all the lyrics and happily sing them causing a mind torture like no other to those within earshot. Those same students who cannot read or follow instructions properly or remember how to footnote their sources, or how to put together a cohesive sentence, know. all. the. lyrics.
I don't know where to even begin. My brain hurts.
2011-03-17
Cave Girl
This morning I woke up looking like a Kiss extra. I really should remember to wash my eye make-up off before bed, but sometimes shit happens. Besides, it was good for a morning laugh. It's funny brushing Tommy Thayer's teeth in the mirror.
Now back as myself, gulping morning coffee and pondering on my plans, I am stuck with how many times I have had to reinvent myself. When I went to Greece at age 16, my life had changed drastically. I left the cloistered environment of my restricted adolescence to enter a world filled with fascinating people from all over the world, rife with ideas and enthusiasm, filled with the pit falls of social interactions.
You would think that I would have fallen flat on my face, given the sorry state of my social prowess, and my zero understanding of the male species, other than men who can take the form of a benevolent dictators or preying abusers. Quite the reverse is true. I thrived. For the first time, I had the freedom to be, even though I did not have the slightest clue as to who I was. The truth is I was 16 frozen at 10. Stuck somewhere between the age I was a relatively normal girl to when the darkness swallowed me.
They call it sunny Greece for a reason. I went from a very proper, slightly robotic life to one bursting with the sticky, sweet juice of living. There was noise everywhere. Everyone talked at the same time, with the the same gusto that they laughed, ate, argued and loved. I felt like the cave girl discovered under layers of ice, perfectly preserved and frozen in time. I thawed a little bit more each day, as I became conscious of the world around me once again. I also became painfully aware of myself and the fact that somehow I was very different from everyone else.
Yet, I was deliriously happy and empowered for the first time in 6 years. This set a pattern for me, a pattern I only just recently realized: I am most happy around creative, thinking individuals. I love the chaos of discovery much more than the stability of knowing. I dive into new ideas as if my soul is parched for them. I swim in pools of color and textures. I don't like to lounge in the sun of complacency. I need movement.
Over the years, I have often felt the need to change things up. to experience a different perspective. If I stay stagnant too long, I start to wither. And this is precisely why I have decided it's time to make another step in my life. I need to be around creative people in environments that breed discussion and ideas not conformity and routine. In other words, it's time to stop living a life I think I should be living while yearning for a life I love, and start living the life I love.
Now back as myself, gulping morning coffee and pondering on my plans, I am stuck with how many times I have had to reinvent myself. When I went to Greece at age 16, my life had changed drastically. I left the cloistered environment of my restricted adolescence to enter a world filled with fascinating people from all over the world, rife with ideas and enthusiasm, filled with the pit falls of social interactions.
You would think that I would have fallen flat on my face, given the sorry state of my social prowess, and my zero understanding of the male species, other than men who can take the form of a benevolent dictators or preying abusers. Quite the reverse is true. I thrived. For the first time, I had the freedom to be, even though I did not have the slightest clue as to who I was. The truth is I was 16 frozen at 10. Stuck somewhere between the age I was a relatively normal girl to when the darkness swallowed me.
They call it sunny Greece for a reason. I went from a very proper, slightly robotic life to one bursting with the sticky, sweet juice of living. There was noise everywhere. Everyone talked at the same time, with the the same gusto that they laughed, ate, argued and loved. I felt like the cave girl discovered under layers of ice, perfectly preserved and frozen in time. I thawed a little bit more each day, as I became conscious of the world around me once again. I also became painfully aware of myself and the fact that somehow I was very different from everyone else.
Yet, I was deliriously happy and empowered for the first time in 6 years. This set a pattern for me, a pattern I only just recently realized: I am most happy around creative, thinking individuals. I love the chaos of discovery much more than the stability of knowing. I dive into new ideas as if my soul is parched for them. I swim in pools of color and textures. I don't like to lounge in the sun of complacency. I need movement.
Over the years, I have often felt the need to change things up. to experience a different perspective. If I stay stagnant too long, I start to wither. And this is precisely why I have decided it's time to make another step in my life. I need to be around creative people in environments that breed discussion and ideas not conformity and routine. In other words, it's time to stop living a life I think I should be living while yearning for a life I love, and start living the life I love.
2011-03-15
Emergence
To the outside observer, my process of healing probably seems like a bipolar ride in a dysfunctional theme park. It ain't no piece of cake being on it either. There are days when I'm coasting high, scattering rose buds on the road toward a brighter future, and others where I feel like I've been fitted with the cement shoes of my past. And I'm sinking in futility.
This is made doubly hard by my propensity to sabotage myself, an activity ingrained in me by years of being constantly and relentlessly criticized. Somewhere inside me, there's a girl cowering in her room praying that her exacting father will finally realize that she isn't perfect. She is fiercely, and often, obnoxiously defended by the warrior woman I've created to shield her from the seemingly endless barrage of fate's stumbling blocks.
Am I just another case of a bipolar in a dissociative state? Or am I just trying to survive the challenges this life has posed me?
As I sit in my fun room, listening to a bird sing through my open window, seeing the first awakening from the thaw, sipping my morning coffee, I make plans in my head. Maybe it's time to stop wishing that things were different, that my life hadn't been hijacked onto this collapsing trajectory, and actually take steps to change things. There's no magic formula to happiness. Happiness is or it isn't.
I have been making visualization sketches about the things that I have the ability to change, like where and how I live my life. Then as my pencil poised for another sketch of my optimal loft space, I started to create this...
I called this sketch "emergence". It wants to evolve into a painting that will serve not only as an inspiration but as a driving force for me to get off the bipolar express, and begin becoming functional again.
2011-03-10
The Food Closet
"Experts" often ask what our relationship with food is. My answer? I don't have a relationship with food. I have relationships with people, some healthy and others not so much. I'm not in love with food. Food is not my comfort. Food is not my joy. I don't live to eat. I'm not using food as a surrogate for love.
But I do enjoy good food. I appreciate an accomplished home-cooked meal preferably shared with others. Sushi makes me drool every time. Fruit is beautiful. Salads (i.e. greens with a vinaigrette) are for the birds unless you add a lot of unsalad things to them like nuts, exotic fruits, cheeses and meats; in which case they stop being salads but garnished meals. A bit of cheese, some warm bread, sliced cucumber and a glass of wine are heavenly.
But...
I don't sit at home downing chocolate bars and tubs of ice cream. I have never eaten a whole cake or a bag of chips at one sitting. I don't eat salads in public and go home to jowl through a pan of lasagna and fritters. I don't lose sleep at night planning what I'm going to have for breakfast. Most of the time I make my own food and choose the healthier option.
I'm not a closet eater. If I feel like a burger, like I did yesterday at lunch, I have one. Yes, with fries. This isn't something I do frequently or even often. I'm not a self-righteous salad eater. I don't play with my food. I eat it. I am not what I eat. I'm me. Not perfect, but not completely flawed.
I refuse to be a closet eater, ridden by guilt with every bite I take. I see the looks of judgment when I choose to eat a burger in public.Those who like to pigeon-hole think they know why I'm fat. They don't know anything. I refuse to feel guilty even though everything in the society I'm living in pushes guilt on me. I'm fat; but I'm not stupid or ugly or lonely or unsuccessful.
Parenthood: (Goofy man to gorgeous woman) "You can't be lonely! Are you around blind people?"
Hellcats: (Vapid cheerleader to equally vapid friend.) "What if this is it? What if this is all I get? What if after this I'm unsuccessful or fat or poor?"
The Talk: (Hostess) "He's a little pudgy, but cute."
That's our uphill battle. We have to overcome the negative stereotypes fostered by all corners of society. We have to look past the appalling judgment perpetrated by the media while trying to feel some sense of empowerment about who we are. We have to overcome the sense that we deserve to be marginalized, ridiculed and judged just because we don't look the way we're "supposed" to.
This is my struggle that isn't made easier with others' judgment or the media's underhanded prejudice.
This struggle won't be won by turning myself into a rabbit. That's not healthy. I must release the guilt and negative feelings that I've ingested throughout my life; and, hopefully, in releasing the anger, hurt, resentment, and self-loathing, I will become lighter. I'm not fat because I eat too much. My body has become the repository of all the toxins I've been force-fed by others. It's time to stuff them into the closet, and seal the door.
But I do enjoy good food. I appreciate an accomplished home-cooked meal preferably shared with others. Sushi makes me drool every time. Fruit is beautiful. Salads (i.e. greens with a vinaigrette) are for the birds unless you add a lot of unsalad things to them like nuts, exotic fruits, cheeses and meats; in which case they stop being salads but garnished meals. A bit of cheese, some warm bread, sliced cucumber and a glass of wine are heavenly.
But...
I don't sit at home downing chocolate bars and tubs of ice cream. I have never eaten a whole cake or a bag of chips at one sitting. I don't eat salads in public and go home to jowl through a pan of lasagna and fritters. I don't lose sleep at night planning what I'm going to have for breakfast. Most of the time I make my own food and choose the healthier option.
I'm not a closet eater. If I feel like a burger, like I did yesterday at lunch, I have one. Yes, with fries. This isn't something I do frequently or even often. I'm not a self-righteous salad eater. I don't play with my food. I eat it. I am not what I eat. I'm me. Not perfect, but not completely flawed.
I refuse to be a closet eater, ridden by guilt with every bite I take. I see the looks of judgment when I choose to eat a burger in public.Those who like to pigeon-hole think they know why I'm fat. They don't know anything. I refuse to feel guilty even though everything in the society I'm living in pushes guilt on me. I'm fat; but I'm not stupid or ugly or lonely or unsuccessful.
Parenthood: (Goofy man to gorgeous woman) "You can't be lonely! Are you around blind people?"
Hellcats: (Vapid cheerleader to equally vapid friend.) "What if this is it? What if this is all I get? What if after this I'm unsuccessful or fat or poor?"
The Talk: (Hostess) "He's a little pudgy, but cute."
Those are the preconceptions that the media filters into our subconscious. It's only sensible that ugly people be lonely, and inconceivable that a hot babe experience loneliness. Being fat is equated with lack of success and poverty. Only skinny people are successful and financially stable. On the plus side (pardon the pun), it's remotely possible for someone to be marginally attractive if they're overweight.
That's our uphill battle. We have to overcome the negative stereotypes fostered by all corners of society. We have to look past the appalling judgment perpetrated by the media while trying to feel some sense of empowerment about who we are. We have to overcome the sense that we deserve to be marginalized, ridiculed and judged just because we don't look the way we're "supposed" to.
This is my struggle that isn't made easier with others' judgment or the media's underhanded prejudice.
This struggle won't be won by turning myself into a rabbit. That's not healthy. I must release the guilt and negative feelings that I've ingested throughout my life; and, hopefully, in releasing the anger, hurt, resentment, and self-loathing, I will become lighter. I'm not fat because I eat too much. My body has become the repository of all the toxins I've been force-fed by others. It's time to stuff them into the closet, and seal the door.
2011-03-05
You Live How You Grow
I have a theory. It's not based on hard evidence or anything like that; and I'm no expert; but over the years I have observed that how one grows up predetermines how they will live life. If someone grows up in a loving, supportive, nurturing environment, they have greater chances of personal fulfillment. Happy, well-balanced childhoods almost invariably lead to happy, well-adjusted adulthoods. No one is really balanced during adolescence, but even in those cases, the teen experience is healthier when childhood is untainted by trauma.
Nobody is perfect. It's rare for people to have had an idyllic childhood; but there are those who have come very close, even taking into account the "outside looking in" factor; if asked, they themselves would agree that their childhoods were mostly wonderful. The one and only factor that can make or break a childhood is physical, emotional and or mental trauma. Poverty, abuse in any of its nasty forms, emotional warfare or blackmail, poor mental health, dangerous or sun-standard living conditions all cause damage to a person, one that lasts beyond childhood even if those conditions are no longer present.
These will impact the way a person perceives and lives life, his relationship with others, how she reacts to situations and how they feel about themselves. There's a reason most therapists and psychological theorists delve into childhood for the source of any problem in adult life. Childhood is the source.
On the spectrum of horror, I suppose my childhood was moderately traumatic. As I stumbled through life trying to find a niche, a place where I didn't feel like a total Losersarus, trying to decode the human language of emotions and reactions, it became clear to me that I was missing valuable skills and tools that others had.
The first and most important tool is unconditional love. When children grow up without strings, without the knowledge that they would have to do something damaging to their psyche to "earn" love, they grow with wings. They grow with confidence not only in the world around them, but in themselves as well. This is bestowed upon them like a fairy godmother's wish; they don't have to fight and claw and suffer to gain it. They know they are loved just because they are; and that feeling is more priceless than a Trump trust fund.
The second crucial tool for life success that a child can be granted is a support system, not only parents and siblings, but an extended family, friends and neighbors that become a source of comfort. Giving a child a large pool of people from which to draw is another most invaluable gift she can be given. That way, when the parents are no longer there to give him unconditional support, there are others who share a history, who share common experiences, who share love, to step in a fill the void.
The third and probably most significant tool is training. Not potty training. Most people get that whether their parents are amazing or horrific. Human training. That's where you learn how to interact with people, what your reactions are, how to compromise, how to grow. This happens in the playground, at school, in the backyard, at the family table, during the first kiss, on the first date, at the first heartbreak, during the first victory, after the first loss. These are all timely experiences that are integral to one's growth emotionally, socially and psychologically. If a person does not experience them or they happen outside the realm of common experience, then it's as if a wrench is thrown into the mechanism. The person malfunctions.
These are some of the reasons I malfunctioned.
I never learned to ride a bike because my father would not let me go outside to play. My mother was not as strict so she would allow me to go to the back courtyard to play with my friends, as long as I got home before my father got home from work. I vividly remember one day my father came home earlier than expected. My mother rushed to the balcony and hissed for me to come upstairs. I was 8 at the time. I think that's when I learned to think on my feet and lie. I ran up the fire escape to the balcony where I grabbed one of the undies my mom had drying on the line. I told my dad who fumingly asked me where I was that one of them fell on the ground and I went downstairs to retrieve it. My friends probably thought I was a freak.
I was not only not allowed to date, but I didn't so much as speak to a boy for most of my adolescence. I didn't go to my own Prom because I was not allowed, but even if I were I wouldn't have gone because I would have gone dateless. I had my first crush at 17 on a boy who died that year from an aneurysm he had while skiing. I was convinced that I was damned. I didn't kiss until I was 19, and didn't have sex until shortly after 20.
I sucked my thumb, or more euphemistically "self-soothed", until I was 16. As soon as I landed in Greece to begin my life of freedom, I stopped sucking my thumb. Instantly. Unfortunately,a few years later when the feeling of promise was in danger, I started to smoke - the unhealthier version of self-soothing.
Childhood is where I learned to punish myself, where shame was grafted unto me, where I learned that the only person I could truly depend on was myself. That's also where I learned strength, creativity and honesty as an antidote to the poison that infused my young life.
I sometimes tease my expecting friends when they go to town on the baby books, reading up on everything child related; and certainly there is such a thing as being over-informed, a condition that might lead to paranoia and hypochondria; but I have to give them props. They are being vigilant, responsible and caring parents. None of them would just watch their kids balloon to triple their size, or totally change personalities within a year, or suck their thumbs until they're 16 without investigating why. They are good parents who will no doubt give their kids all the tools they need for a happy life. The kind of life I have not had.
Nobody is perfect. It's rare for people to have had an idyllic childhood; but there are those who have come very close, even taking into account the "outside looking in" factor; if asked, they themselves would agree that their childhoods were mostly wonderful. The one and only factor that can make or break a childhood is physical, emotional and or mental trauma. Poverty, abuse in any of its nasty forms, emotional warfare or blackmail, poor mental health, dangerous or sun-standard living conditions all cause damage to a person, one that lasts beyond childhood even if those conditions are no longer present.
These will impact the way a person perceives and lives life, his relationship with others, how she reacts to situations and how they feel about themselves. There's a reason most therapists and psychological theorists delve into childhood for the source of any problem in adult life. Childhood is the source.
On the spectrum of horror, I suppose my childhood was moderately traumatic. As I stumbled through life trying to find a niche, a place where I didn't feel like a total Losersarus, trying to decode the human language of emotions and reactions, it became clear to me that I was missing valuable skills and tools that others had.
The first and most important tool is unconditional love. When children grow up without strings, without the knowledge that they would have to do something damaging to their psyche to "earn" love, they grow with wings. They grow with confidence not only in the world around them, but in themselves as well. This is bestowed upon them like a fairy godmother's wish; they don't have to fight and claw and suffer to gain it. They know they are loved just because they are; and that feeling is more priceless than a Trump trust fund.
The second crucial tool for life success that a child can be granted is a support system, not only parents and siblings, but an extended family, friends and neighbors that become a source of comfort. Giving a child a large pool of people from which to draw is another most invaluable gift she can be given. That way, when the parents are no longer there to give him unconditional support, there are others who share a history, who share common experiences, who share love, to step in a fill the void.
The third and probably most significant tool is training. Not potty training. Most people get that whether their parents are amazing or horrific. Human training. That's where you learn how to interact with people, what your reactions are, how to compromise, how to grow. This happens in the playground, at school, in the backyard, at the family table, during the first kiss, on the first date, at the first heartbreak, during the first victory, after the first loss. These are all timely experiences that are integral to one's growth emotionally, socially and psychologically. If a person does not experience them or they happen outside the realm of common experience, then it's as if a wrench is thrown into the mechanism. The person malfunctions.
These are some of the reasons I malfunctioned.
I never learned to ride a bike because my father would not let me go outside to play. My mother was not as strict so she would allow me to go to the back courtyard to play with my friends, as long as I got home before my father got home from work. I vividly remember one day my father came home earlier than expected. My mother rushed to the balcony and hissed for me to come upstairs. I was 8 at the time. I think that's when I learned to think on my feet and lie. I ran up the fire escape to the balcony where I grabbed one of the undies my mom had drying on the line. I told my dad who fumingly asked me where I was that one of them fell on the ground and I went downstairs to retrieve it. My friends probably thought I was a freak.
I was not only not allowed to date, but I didn't so much as speak to a boy for most of my adolescence. I didn't go to my own Prom because I was not allowed, but even if I were I wouldn't have gone because I would have gone dateless. I had my first crush at 17 on a boy who died that year from an aneurysm he had while skiing. I was convinced that I was damned. I didn't kiss until I was 19, and didn't have sex until shortly after 20.
I sucked my thumb, or more euphemistically "self-soothed", until I was 16. As soon as I landed in Greece to begin my life of freedom, I stopped sucking my thumb. Instantly. Unfortunately,a few years later when the feeling of promise was in danger, I started to smoke - the unhealthier version of self-soothing.
Childhood is where I learned to punish myself, where shame was grafted unto me, where I learned that the only person I could truly depend on was myself. That's also where I learned strength, creativity and honesty as an antidote to the poison that infused my young life.
I sometimes tease my expecting friends when they go to town on the baby books, reading up on everything child related; and certainly there is such a thing as being over-informed, a condition that might lead to paranoia and hypochondria; but I have to give them props. They are being vigilant, responsible and caring parents. None of them would just watch their kids balloon to triple their size, or totally change personalities within a year, or suck their thumbs until they're 16 without investigating why. They are good parents who will no doubt give their kids all the tools they need for a happy life. The kind of life I have not had.
2011-02-20
Fat Chance
No one wants to be fat. Not really. Some people have the confidence to own it and still be fabulous, but most of us struggle. How can we not? We are constantly bombarded with the notion that obesity can kill, that being overweight reduces the quality of life, that fat people aren't aesthetically pleasing or sexy. In a world of size 0, size 14 and up have no chance.
It's not just the images that bombard us on magazine covers and television. It's not the fact that a fat person either is the "funny" one or the one who is publicly ridiculed and mocked. It's the fact that any celebrity, usually a woman, who is a size 12 or up, who could be a role model for an alternate body image, who has the ability to create a more balanced aesthetic, has jumped ship. They sponsor a weight loss program and shout to the world how great it is. Let's ignore the fact that they have a team of chefs, personal trainers, and plastic surgeons on staff. Let's ignore that they have the time, money and luxury to reinvent themselves. Just look how fantastic they look now that they're "normal". And the not so sub text? You can be normal too, not a pathetic, unattractive, FAT loser. Cha ching.
Fat is the new leprosy.
I sometimes see that horrified look in people's eyes. "How can you do that to yourself?" their disgusted ogle states. "Stop eating so much. (They haven't seen me put a morsel of food in my mouth.) Did you eat a small starving nation to get like that?"
Fat jokes abound. There are even terms for fat chicks who go out with their better looking (read: thinner) friends. She's called a "grenade". Absolutely lovely. That pretty much ensures that women above a certain weight would need Herculean bravery to go out. They don't want to anyway. No. They want to stay home, alone, eating creme puffs and watching TV. Or. They can always try those big and beautiful sites trolled by men who like big women. Fat has become a fetish.
"So, if you hate it so much;" asks the person who has never struggled with the esteem-destroying condition, "why don't you just lose weight? Stop eating. Get on a treadmill."
The sympathy abounds. People with anorexia get concern. People who are fat get contempt.
Here's the thing, the issue isn't food. Food contributes to the problem, but it's just a symptom. Sure, this can be rectified with a decreased intake of calories and an increased expenditure of the same. It's not rocket science. The problem goes beyond the surface that everyone is so occupied with. It's psychological.
When I lost 100 pounds, I didn't' change my diet at all. My attitude towards food changed. It became a means to an end - satiating hunger - not an end in itself. I enjoyed my meals, just as I enjoy a cool glass of water when I'm thirsty. I also walked about 20 minutes to and from work. That's it. No diet plan. No gym membership. No supplements or teas or other gimmicks. I was living life as unfettered from emotional trauma as I have ever had. It was the first time in my life, I felt like me. And the true me emerged.
What caused me to gain weight again, was new emotional trauma; but I'll get to that in another post.
The vital juncture in one's life to having and maintaining a "healthy body weight" is early on. If a child gains too much weight at a crucial time in her life, during or just before the onset of puberty, that equates to an increase in fat cells. You can reduce the size of fat cells, but you can't get rid of them. So, the struggle to keep those damn, rotund jailers at bay becomes a lifetime struggle.
It's vitally important for parents to make sure that their children and tweens learn a balanced attitude toward food and physical activity. I'm not advocating to go all commando parent and restrict everything. I'm talking about a balance between healthy eating and the occasional treat, a line between sedentary activities and ones that require physical movement.
Teaching a child to love themselves is one of the most important things a parent can give her.
The problem often lies with the fact that the adults in obese children's lives also have an unbalanced attitude toward food. It's highly likely that a child of obese parents will in turn become obese. Once the child becomes obese, even in a nation where obesity is the rule not the exception, the psychological trauma begins. The name calling. The ugly clothing. The being singled out. The false assumptions. If you add any kind of psychological, physical or sexual abuse to the mix, then it becomes a catastrophic condition.
It would be nice if we lived in a world that celebrated all sizes. It would be nice if the medical profession hadn't sold out so completely to the pharmaceutical. It would be great if profits weren't attached to people's physical or psychological well being. It would be nice if everyone had a beautiful home and their needs met. That's a fantasy. The reality of the situation is far from it.
What I would settle for, is maybe being allowed to exist without being judged within an inch of my life as I struggle with the issues that have smothered me in layers. But I know, there's a fat chance of that happening.
It's not just the images that bombard us on magazine covers and television. It's not the fact that a fat person either is the "funny" one or the one who is publicly ridiculed and mocked. It's the fact that any celebrity, usually a woman, who is a size 12 or up, who could be a role model for an alternate body image, who has the ability to create a more balanced aesthetic, has jumped ship. They sponsor a weight loss program and shout to the world how great it is. Let's ignore the fact that they have a team of chefs, personal trainers, and plastic surgeons on staff. Let's ignore that they have the time, money and luxury to reinvent themselves. Just look how fantastic they look now that they're "normal". And the not so sub text? You can be normal too, not a pathetic, unattractive, FAT loser. Cha ching.
Fat is the new leprosy.
I sometimes see that horrified look in people's eyes. "How can you do that to yourself?" their disgusted ogle states. "Stop eating so much. (They haven't seen me put a morsel of food in my mouth.) Did you eat a small starving nation to get like that?"
Fat jokes abound. There are even terms for fat chicks who go out with their better looking (read: thinner) friends. She's called a "grenade". Absolutely lovely. That pretty much ensures that women above a certain weight would need Herculean bravery to go out. They don't want to anyway. No. They want to stay home, alone, eating creme puffs and watching TV. Or. They can always try those big and beautiful sites trolled by men who like big women. Fat has become a fetish.
"So, if you hate it so much;" asks the person who has never struggled with the esteem-destroying condition, "why don't you just lose weight? Stop eating. Get on a treadmill."
The sympathy abounds. People with anorexia get concern. People who are fat get contempt.
Here's the thing, the issue isn't food. Food contributes to the problem, but it's just a symptom. Sure, this can be rectified with a decreased intake of calories and an increased expenditure of the same. It's not rocket science. The problem goes beyond the surface that everyone is so occupied with. It's psychological.
When I lost 100 pounds, I didn't' change my diet at all. My attitude towards food changed. It became a means to an end - satiating hunger - not an end in itself. I enjoyed my meals, just as I enjoy a cool glass of water when I'm thirsty. I also walked about 20 minutes to and from work. That's it. No diet plan. No gym membership. No supplements or teas or other gimmicks. I was living life as unfettered from emotional trauma as I have ever had. It was the first time in my life, I felt like me. And the true me emerged.
What caused me to gain weight again, was new emotional trauma; but I'll get to that in another post.
The vital juncture in one's life to having and maintaining a "healthy body weight" is early on. If a child gains too much weight at a crucial time in her life, during or just before the onset of puberty, that equates to an increase in fat cells. You can reduce the size of fat cells, but you can't get rid of them. So, the struggle to keep those damn, rotund jailers at bay becomes a lifetime struggle.
It's vitally important for parents to make sure that their children and tweens learn a balanced attitude toward food and physical activity. I'm not advocating to go all commando parent and restrict everything. I'm talking about a balance between healthy eating and the occasional treat, a line between sedentary activities and ones that require physical movement.
Teaching a child to love themselves is one of the most important things a parent can give her.
The problem often lies with the fact that the adults in obese children's lives also have an unbalanced attitude toward food. It's highly likely that a child of obese parents will in turn become obese. Once the child becomes obese, even in a nation where obesity is the rule not the exception, the psychological trauma begins. The name calling. The ugly clothing. The being singled out. The false assumptions. If you add any kind of psychological, physical or sexual abuse to the mix, then it becomes a catastrophic condition.
It would be nice if we lived in a world that celebrated all sizes. It would be nice if the medical profession hadn't sold out so completely to the pharmaceutical. It would be great if profits weren't attached to people's physical or psychological well being. It would be nice if everyone had a beautiful home and their needs met. That's a fantasy. The reality of the situation is far from it.
What I would settle for, is maybe being allowed to exist without being judged within an inch of my life as I struggle with the issues that have smothered me in layers. But I know, there's a fat chance of that happening.
2011-02-17
Eternal Spring
A lot of thought goes into understanding what brings happiness and contentment, how to survive depression, what one's place in the grand scheme of things is. If there is such a thing as a grand scheme.
We are constantly bombarded with images of the perfect relationship, the perfect family, the perfect home, the perfect career. The fictional story line has a definite, and often predictable, beginning, middle and end. There's a reason most stories don't narrate long periods of time in front of the TV, or deciding what to make for dinner, or just sitting and staring out the window. Where's the pathos in making a cup of tea and drinking it?
Our story's climax or turning point doesn't come within a two hour allocation. There is no hot soundtrack to accompany our every realization and encounter. And sometimes, when a turning point does come, it can go unnoticed until years later.
So what's the answer? Living life according to some nebulous preconception or coming to terms with a life that can often be riddled with mind-numbing routine and exhaustion? Well, I say there's a third choice. Somewhere in the crawl space between expectation and actuality, there's balance. We need dreams. They serve a very real function. There's nothing wrong with wanting it all and loving exactly what we have. Dreams are the fuel of action. As long as there is action. Sitting in a room dreaming can be fun, but it's not very practical if that's all it is. Idle speculation is a pretty but not very productive pastime.
There are times that I am overwhelmed with the day-to-day. Moments that I feel like I haven't achieved anything; my life hasn't followed the path that I would have liked it to. And in those moments, the bold face of change pops up and beckons me. "It's up to you to make a life that you want. It won't arrive gift wrapped at your door."
I nod at its wisdom, but making changes can be scary. Petrifying in fact.
I admire those who can reinvent themselves and their lives. Is it so difficult to do? After all, I have always been told that where there's a will, there's a way.
I see myself on a beach, healthy and smiling. I see myself spending my days creating in the company of others who love to create, unfettered by institutions, their timetables and agendas. But is this a romantic notion or a real possibility? Can I shed the extreme temperatures of cold and hot, exchanging it for what I know I love best. Temperate weather. Can I live in eternal spring?
We are constantly bombarded with images of the perfect relationship, the perfect family, the perfect home, the perfect career. The fictional story line has a definite, and often predictable, beginning, middle and end. There's a reason most stories don't narrate long periods of time in front of the TV, or deciding what to make for dinner, or just sitting and staring out the window. Where's the pathos in making a cup of tea and drinking it?
Our story's climax or turning point doesn't come within a two hour allocation. There is no hot soundtrack to accompany our every realization and encounter. And sometimes, when a turning point does come, it can go unnoticed until years later.
So what's the answer? Living life according to some nebulous preconception or coming to terms with a life that can often be riddled with mind-numbing routine and exhaustion? Well, I say there's a third choice. Somewhere in the crawl space between expectation and actuality, there's balance. We need dreams. They serve a very real function. There's nothing wrong with wanting it all and loving exactly what we have. Dreams are the fuel of action. As long as there is action. Sitting in a room dreaming can be fun, but it's not very practical if that's all it is. Idle speculation is a pretty but not very productive pastime.
There are times that I am overwhelmed with the day-to-day. Moments that I feel like I haven't achieved anything; my life hasn't followed the path that I would have liked it to. And in those moments, the bold face of change pops up and beckons me. "It's up to you to make a life that you want. It won't arrive gift wrapped at your door."
I nod at its wisdom, but making changes can be scary. Petrifying in fact.
I admire those who can reinvent themselves and their lives. Is it so difficult to do? After all, I have always been told that where there's a will, there's a way.
I see myself on a beach, healthy and smiling. I see myself spending my days creating in the company of others who love to create, unfettered by institutions, their timetables and agendas. But is this a romantic notion or a real possibility? Can I shed the extreme temperatures of cold and hot, exchanging it for what I know I love best. Temperate weather. Can I live in eternal spring?
2011-02-10
The Winter of My Discontent
This winter, I have been transported to a wintry tundra. Outside my windows, I see mounds of hardened snow everywhere. Yards are buried. Houses are cocooned. Cars are perched precariously on floes of snow and ice. People are bundled within an inch of their lives.
And I'm at home thinking. Thinking that I'm done with solitude. Though I enjoy my own company, I would like to live in someone else's. Hermetic life is indeed uncomplicated. I don't have to check with anyone what he wants for dinner or what they want to watch on TV. I can come home, take a shower, get into fresh, cotton jams and do some surfing while eating a bowl of soup, or watch my favorite trash TV and a chow down on a salad. Or, if I feel like it, I can wear something silky, make a nice meal, have a glass of wine and get lost in a good book. Better yet, if the mood strikes me, I can blast some music and bust some dance moves.
It sounds ideal to those who are surrounded by others 24/7, but sometimes, the silence echoes with; "Surely this isn't it? Surely there's more to life than this?" I want to prepare a meal with someone, for someone, and wear something other than pajamas at night. I want to have a conversation about some silliness in the news or the nutty events that happened during the day. I want to hear myself laugh out loud.
Make no mistake, I do socialize with friends, but it's not the same. I can fill my nights with plans no problem, and it will take the edge off the solitude, but it won't change the day to day reality. When I come home, my cat will greet me; and though I love my four legged son, he can't fill the human need for intimate companionship. Holding hands, sharing a smile, discussing politics.
It makes no sense to want one thing and actively do nothing about it. I can't find someone or be found if I' m hiding away... The truth is I'm stumped as to what to do. It's not like you can grab a rod and some bait and find someone. Well, not someone lasting. I've tried online dating, bars, meet up groups, etc. It's resulted in a feeling of deflation. I want to kick whoever came up with the adage: there's someone for everyone. Good luck finding him, should be added to that.
Sometimes I like to watch television as a backdrop to my thoughts. Oddly, on occasion, the characters on a show mirror my thoughts. "You can't make any friends," a TV mother counsels her son, " if you don't go anywhere. You got to get out there and meet people." Wise words, that startle me into thinking she's talking to me. Of course, the problem is that wise words or not, it's a fictional situation. The son doesn't go anywhere but a kid who just moved in to the apartment downstairs pops up on the fire escape and they become friends. Way to contradict yourself person who's writing these things!
So I'm making a Valentine's resolution. I will make red paper hearts, write messages of love on them and scatter them around the city. It's not a practical or efficient way of finding love, but it's a great way of spreading some of it. And who knows, maybe someone great will pop up on my metaphorical fire escape. :)
And I'm at home thinking. Thinking that I'm done with solitude. Though I enjoy my own company, I would like to live in someone else's. Hermetic life is indeed uncomplicated. I don't have to check with anyone what he wants for dinner or what they want to watch on TV. I can come home, take a shower, get into fresh, cotton jams and do some surfing while eating a bowl of soup, or watch my favorite trash TV and a chow down on a salad. Or, if I feel like it, I can wear something silky, make a nice meal, have a glass of wine and get lost in a good book. Better yet, if the mood strikes me, I can blast some music and bust some dance moves.
It sounds ideal to those who are surrounded by others 24/7, but sometimes, the silence echoes with; "Surely this isn't it? Surely there's more to life than this?" I want to prepare a meal with someone, for someone, and wear something other than pajamas at night. I want to have a conversation about some silliness in the news or the nutty events that happened during the day. I want to hear myself laugh out loud.
Make no mistake, I do socialize with friends, but it's not the same. I can fill my nights with plans no problem, and it will take the edge off the solitude, but it won't change the day to day reality. When I come home, my cat will greet me; and though I love my four legged son, he can't fill the human need for intimate companionship. Holding hands, sharing a smile, discussing politics.
It makes no sense to want one thing and actively do nothing about it. I can't find someone or be found if I' m hiding away... The truth is I'm stumped as to what to do. It's not like you can grab a rod and some bait and find someone. Well, not someone lasting. I've tried online dating, bars, meet up groups, etc. It's resulted in a feeling of deflation. I want to kick whoever came up with the adage: there's someone for everyone. Good luck finding him, should be added to that.
Sometimes I like to watch television as a backdrop to my thoughts. Oddly, on occasion, the characters on a show mirror my thoughts. "You can't make any friends," a TV mother counsels her son, " if you don't go anywhere. You got to get out there and meet people." Wise words, that startle me into thinking she's talking to me. Of course, the problem is that wise words or not, it's a fictional situation. The son doesn't go anywhere but a kid who just moved in to the apartment downstairs pops up on the fire escape and they become friends. Way to contradict yourself person who's writing these things!
So I'm making a Valentine's resolution. I will make red paper hearts, write messages of love on them and scatter them around the city. It's not a practical or efficient way of finding love, but it's a great way of spreading some of it. And who knows, maybe someone great will pop up on my metaphorical fire escape. :)
2011-02-04
News Schnews
A while ago, I made the conscious decision to stop watching the news. Between the graphic scenes of post-violence, the sensational commentary, and the induced hypochondria, I had had enough. I can easily stay informed about the sad state of affairs without subjecting myself to that. It's not so much the ostrich effect, because I'm not in denial about the horrific nature of humanity's underbelly. Wars are raging and taking lives; politicians are scrambling to justify their office; harm is being done to young ones; unsuspecting people are gunned down; coffee is bad for you one day and good the other; storms become "stormgates".
Other than trying to spread some hope, donate some money or food, give up some time to help others locally, there is nothing I can do. Putting myself through the distress of watching the news translate misfortune into ratings, isn't helping anyone.
The same goes with the morning programs. I used to watch religiously, until I realized that I really didn't need to know about Deena's shoes or Kevin's bout with the stomach flu or Frankie's wedding to get my day started. What passes as "news" is mostly opinion and triviality. I have enough of that in my real life.
Case in point, the other day, as I was marking papers, I had the TV on as background noise, to help drown out the screaming in my head about what I was reading. I wasn't really paying attention to what was happening, and a promotional news segment reared its ugly head. In the midst of the tormented question why students can't write a simple paragraph, I hear "Insomnia is one of the leading causes of health issues. Not getting enough sleep can irreparably affect your body."
Great! That's exactly the reassurance that any insomniac needs to hear to help him/her get a good night's sleep. There's nothing like the threat of imminent bodily harm to someone who is already struggling to get some shut eye.
First of all, even if there is a study out there, the limitations and validity of which is sketchy at best, that actually proves this as medical fact, how reprehensible and irresponsible is it to broadcast it as a tidbit of information? Insomnia is no laughing matter. It bespeaks issues that one has to manage often with the help of a professional practitioner, not Billy Boob Butthead reading it on a screen.
Second of all, how dare they sneak that information in between a soap commercial and one for diamond rings (Valentine's is coming up)? Ratings and generation of funds to pay the overinflated salaries of television personalities have totally eliminated ethical practices. I get that television's one mandate is to generate capital through commercial placement. I get that the "medical" profession is being taken over by pharmaceutical partisanship. I get all that. What I don't get is why they need to keep the public in a constant state of worry.
I don't get enough sleep, apparently. My sleep cycle is shot all to hell, and that's my problem that I have to work out. The reasons and scope of my disturbed sleep are what I need to deal with. It's hard to function around 2 pm when my body is aching for a nap, and I have to relay the importance of a semi-colon. I know I need help. What won't help me deal with all this is some news producer deciding it's a good idea to throw some hypochondriac panic into the mix.
That'll teach me to turn on the TV for company.
Other than trying to spread some hope, donate some money or food, give up some time to help others locally, there is nothing I can do. Putting myself through the distress of watching the news translate misfortune into ratings, isn't helping anyone.
The same goes with the morning programs. I used to watch religiously, until I realized that I really didn't need to know about Deena's shoes or Kevin's bout with the stomach flu or Frankie's wedding to get my day started. What passes as "news" is mostly opinion and triviality. I have enough of that in my real life.
Case in point, the other day, as I was marking papers, I had the TV on as background noise, to help drown out the screaming in my head about what I was reading. I wasn't really paying attention to what was happening, and a promotional news segment reared its ugly head. In the midst of the tormented question why students can't write a simple paragraph, I hear "Insomnia is one of the leading causes of health issues. Not getting enough sleep can irreparably affect your body."
Great! That's exactly the reassurance that any insomniac needs to hear to help him/her get a good night's sleep. There's nothing like the threat of imminent bodily harm to someone who is already struggling to get some shut eye.
First of all, even if there is a study out there, the limitations and validity of which is sketchy at best, that actually proves this as medical fact, how reprehensible and irresponsible is it to broadcast it as a tidbit of information? Insomnia is no laughing matter. It bespeaks issues that one has to manage often with the help of a professional practitioner, not Billy Boob Butthead reading it on a screen.
Second of all, how dare they sneak that information in between a soap commercial and one for diamond rings (Valentine's is coming up)? Ratings and generation of funds to pay the overinflated salaries of television personalities have totally eliminated ethical practices. I get that television's one mandate is to generate capital through commercial placement. I get that the "medical" profession is being taken over by pharmaceutical partisanship. I get all that. What I don't get is why they need to keep the public in a constant state of worry.
I don't get enough sleep, apparently. My sleep cycle is shot all to hell, and that's my problem that I have to work out. The reasons and scope of my disturbed sleep are what I need to deal with. It's hard to function around 2 pm when my body is aching for a nap, and I have to relay the importance of a semi-colon. I know I need help. What won't help me deal with all this is some news producer deciding it's a good idea to throw some hypochondriac panic into the mix.
That'll teach me to turn on the TV for company.
2011-01-25
I'm not Buddha
Sleep eludes me once again. Thoughts nudge me awake. Stupid thoughts, silly questions, random musings.
Today is garbage day. I have litter to clean. Snow to shovel. Papers to grade. A semester to wind down and another to prepare. A blog to decide on.
I'm wondering if this train has gone so far off the rails, it's driving on concrete and broken glass.
A mind is a terrible thing to waste.
Maybe I should put on some sandals and spread rose pedals on everyone's front yard. Spread some joy. Fake it until I have convinced myself.
Scroll through Facebook and read the joy and disappointment in the updates. Football and boots for sale. People living life online.
I've lived online for many years. Shaped my days and nights, trudging my soul through chat rooms and 3D worlds. Bruised myself trying to reach out to people like me. People who can't sleep. People who need to broadcast and advertise their lives via avatars and profiles. Looking for love in all the wrong places and finding treachery. Social networking.
I realized I've begun to apologize for what I've been posting, thinking, wanting. Not because I'm ashamed of it, but because I'm supposed to be ashamed. I should get with the program. Quit my job and live on dreams.
That ain't happening.
I'm not Buddha. I'm not anyone but me. I don't fall into any social niches. I'm the awkward on the guest list. The one without the plus one or the plus little ones. No one hangs on my every word. I'm a dabbler of all things. A master of none.
I've hosted dinners. Read Tarot cards. Run drum circles. Gone exploring. I've reached out and have had my knuckles rapped. But most importantly I've been scolded that I need to see the ray of sunlight in the endless sky of cloud.
I'm not Buddha. I like coffee and asking why. I swear a lot. Like an apprentice trucker. Why has that profession been trapped in foul mouth stereotyping?
I put people on the spot when they say something disingenuous. I don't believe in flattery as a means to approval. I don't pretend to like someone but I don't maim them with my dislike either.I observe the twitching mouth and subtle look away.
So what?
Shall I update my FB status to say I cannot sleep? Who really gives an F? Or a G? Can I buy a fucking vowel? There's the trucker.
So what if no one hangs from my every word? My word is not law. My word is just that. A word. Or a few of them strung together to jigsaw the pieces of thoughts in my head.
I don't have a recipe to share. I've been making jewelry but can't be bothered to promote it. There are several books unwritten in my head. I'm a poet. Who gives a shit? Really?
I'm not Buddha. I can't inspire to a better life. I can barely get a full night's sleep. I can just be me. Flawed. Questioning. Sometimes sarcastic. Cynical. Labelled by those who are better than me. I'm not happy. I have moments of happiness. The rest of the time, I just am.
I've made visualization boards, and done cleanses. I have tried to be better. But I'm still flawed. Still filled with remnants of my past. I wish I could press a button and eject everything. See the world through the wondering eyes of a child. I'm like a mosaic created from the shards of experiences. And that's okay.
I'm not who I'm not. There's a certain freedom in that.
It would be nice not to care what people think of me, but people who might not be generous with their time or compassion are very generous with their opinions of me. Personally. Don't take this personally. I'm not talking about you, unless you think I'm talking about you in which case you have a post to write yourself don't you?
The truth is, I care and I don't. It depends on the day, what's happened, and my mood. Does that make me evil? According to whom? Who made them the boss of me? Not I! Who puts food on my table? Well, technically, I don't have a table, my house is too small for it. But the answer is me. I do. I don't owe anyone anything. Except the mortgage company.
So. I'm not Buddha. What of it? There was only one of them. I'm Genie. Flawed. Insomniac. Questioning the meaning of all this nonsense in the middle of the night. Saddled with lists of things to do because I don't have the money to pay someone else to do them. And even when I do have money, I can't seem to get someone to do it. Like tile my fucking basement floor.
I happen to be female, independent and childless. Anathema in this society unless you're having sex in the city and broadcasting it. I can't even spell Manolo Blahnik without Googling it. Who put "blah" in sexy shoes? Anyway my feet are too arched and wide, my ankles too tender to wear crazy stilettos. I don't live in New York and I don't want to. Sue me.
My humor has a bite to it, and most don't get it because it isn't literal.
Did I mention I'm not Buddha? And I'm flawed? That doesn't mean I can't point out the flaws. It doesn't mean I don't have the right. This is just my perspective from my fractured lens on my blog that I choose to ramble on.
And just cause I see the fractures in others, doesn't mean I hate them or judge them for it. I like fractures. They make kaleidoscopes and stained glass out of them. Pretty. Lemonade.
Today is garbage day. I have litter to clean. Snow to shovel. Papers to grade. A semester to wind down and another to prepare. A blog to decide on.
I'm wondering if this train has gone so far off the rails, it's driving on concrete and broken glass.
A mind is a terrible thing to waste.
Maybe I should put on some sandals and spread rose pedals on everyone's front yard. Spread some joy. Fake it until I have convinced myself.
Scroll through Facebook and read the joy and disappointment in the updates. Football and boots for sale. People living life online.
I've lived online for many years. Shaped my days and nights, trudging my soul through chat rooms and 3D worlds. Bruised myself trying to reach out to people like me. People who can't sleep. People who need to broadcast and advertise their lives via avatars and profiles. Looking for love in all the wrong places and finding treachery. Social networking.
I realized I've begun to apologize for what I've been posting, thinking, wanting. Not because I'm ashamed of it, but because I'm supposed to be ashamed. I should get with the program. Quit my job and live on dreams.
That ain't happening.
I'm not Buddha. I'm not anyone but me. I don't fall into any social niches. I'm the awkward on the guest list. The one without the plus one or the plus little ones. No one hangs on my every word. I'm a dabbler of all things. A master of none.
I've hosted dinners. Read Tarot cards. Run drum circles. Gone exploring. I've reached out and have had my knuckles rapped. But most importantly I've been scolded that I need to see the ray of sunlight in the endless sky of cloud.
I'm not Buddha. I like coffee and asking why. I swear a lot. Like an apprentice trucker. Why has that profession been trapped in foul mouth stereotyping?
I put people on the spot when they say something disingenuous. I don't believe in flattery as a means to approval. I don't pretend to like someone but I don't maim them with my dislike either.I observe the twitching mouth and subtle look away.
So what?
Shall I update my FB status to say I cannot sleep? Who really gives an F? Or a G? Can I buy a fucking vowel? There's the trucker.
So what if no one hangs from my every word? My word is not law. My word is just that. A word. Or a few of them strung together to jigsaw the pieces of thoughts in my head.
I don't have a recipe to share. I've been making jewelry but can't be bothered to promote it. There are several books unwritten in my head. I'm a poet. Who gives a shit? Really?
I'm not Buddha. I can't inspire to a better life. I can barely get a full night's sleep. I can just be me. Flawed. Questioning. Sometimes sarcastic. Cynical. Labelled by those who are better than me. I'm not happy. I have moments of happiness. The rest of the time, I just am.
I've made visualization boards, and done cleanses. I have tried to be better. But I'm still flawed. Still filled with remnants of my past. I wish I could press a button and eject everything. See the world through the wondering eyes of a child. I'm like a mosaic created from the shards of experiences. And that's okay.
I'm not who I'm not. There's a certain freedom in that.
It would be nice not to care what people think of me, but people who might not be generous with their time or compassion are very generous with their opinions of me. Personally. Don't take this personally. I'm not talking about you, unless you think I'm talking about you in which case you have a post to write yourself don't you?
The truth is, I care and I don't. It depends on the day, what's happened, and my mood. Does that make me evil? According to whom? Who made them the boss of me? Not I! Who puts food on my table? Well, technically, I don't have a table, my house is too small for it. But the answer is me. I do. I don't owe anyone anything. Except the mortgage company.
So. I'm not Buddha. What of it? There was only one of them. I'm Genie. Flawed. Insomniac. Questioning the meaning of all this nonsense in the middle of the night. Saddled with lists of things to do because I don't have the money to pay someone else to do them. And even when I do have money, I can't seem to get someone to do it. Like tile my fucking basement floor.
I happen to be female, independent and childless. Anathema in this society unless you're having sex in the city and broadcasting it. I can't even spell Manolo Blahnik without Googling it. Who put "blah" in sexy shoes? Anyway my feet are too arched and wide, my ankles too tender to wear crazy stilettos. I don't live in New York and I don't want to. Sue me.
My humor has a bite to it, and most don't get it because it isn't literal.
Did I mention I'm not Buddha? And I'm flawed? That doesn't mean I can't point out the flaws. It doesn't mean I don't have the right. This is just my perspective from my fractured lens on my blog that I choose to ramble on.
And just cause I see the fractures in others, doesn't mean I hate them or judge them for it. I like fractures. They make kaleidoscopes and stained glass out of them. Pretty. Lemonade.
2011-01-23
Navigating People
Sometimes human interaction is the most difficult field to navigate especially when it comes to those people with whom you have to interact daily. Although these relationships are forced by a professional environment, they quickly become personal. We are human after all. In reality, there is no such thing as a purely professional relationship unless it's computer to computer. We can try to suppress our animal/human instincts for survival, combat and acceptance, but they're there despite our best efforts.
As I have always been a student of human behavior, and happen to work in education which is rife with human interaction, I have been developing a cheat sheet of character types. In order to survive this treacherous landscape, it's wise to know who your true allies are, and who are just masking themselves as such. This is what I've observed:
The Impersonator: This person says one thing but means another. It's the person being friendly and open when her body language, choice of words, facial expressions and actions actually say the opposite. It's the guy who walks in the room with a bravado in his step, and an impossibly wide smile plastered on his face whose eyes betray an anger that chills the blood. It's the woman who thinks she is so open-minded and accepting but whose lips and fists tighten whenever anyone does not agree with her. You have to become Zen in your dealings with these people and read them like leaves in a tea cup.
The Diplomat: This person cannot commit to having an opinion. It's not that they don't have an opinion; it's that they don't want anyone to know it. They'll speak whole sentences or paragraphs without really saying anything. You're left to dive for the gist of their meaning, trying to glean a pearl of wisdom when in reality all they're saying is, "I'm not taking a stand on anything." Head down. Shoulders to the wheel. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. Away. Best way to deal with them is not ask for their opinion...
The Assassin: This person is prone to sudden, quiet attacks often in the form of passive-aggressive statements whose aim is to paralyze and poison. He won't come right out and say it; he'll ninja-cut you. This leaves most people unable to react. It's hard to counter or confront passive aggression without looking like a bully or a harsh person. Either way they win. You don't say anything, their barb is unchallenged. You say something and you're mean. I've found the best way to deal with them is evasion tactics. Stay the hell away from them.
The Expert: They know everything about everything better, faster and more completely than anyone else. Their mechanic is cheaper and fairer. Their portfolio is more diverse. Their kids are more accomplished. Their sex more acrobatic. Their groceries are cheaper. Their knowledge more omnipotent. You just have to resign yourself to the understanding that compared to them your life sucks, your experience is minimal and you don't look as good doing it. Humming your favorite tune in your head or aloud, if you dare, while they're speaking is the perfect antidote...
The Subversive: This person might say that she has your back but what she means is she will hand your backside to you. This the false ally. The person on whom you might count but when the fecal matter hits the fan, he will support your opponent not you. And it doesn't have to be in overly dramatic ways. It might be an ill-placed nod or silence when you're being given a new rear aperture. Or, it might be a dramatic attempt to play "Devil's Advocate" with closing arguments for the prosecution instead of the defense. I don't know about you, but I don't trust attorneys on the Prince of Darkness' team... Get another lawyer.
The Back Seat Driver: This person knows more about your life than you do, and gets very irritated when you're not steering your decisions based on their infinitely wise navigation skills. It's the person who's ready with advice even though you haven't asked for any. They give you a tissue for your gaping wound. They point out exactly how screwed up you are just at the moment you're most vulnerable and then tell you to "suck it up." You're finding that the shoulder offered to you is made of bedrock and judgement. Tell them to walk.
The Fluffer: This the person who likes to prepare you for the scene of your demise. They pump you up with fake praise that they'll readily offer to anyone at any time. It's their self-ascribed job. But when it's time for them to confirm those words in front of others, they don't put their money where their hands have been. They fade into the background and leave you exposed under the glaring lights. Thank them politely and tell them you've got everything handled. :)
The Demolitionist: This person's sole purpose is to undermine everything you've worked for. They're equipped with an infinite amount of wrenches and explosives that they're more than willing to hurl at any of your projects or plans. Their weapon of choice begins with "yes, but..." There's always some unforeseen problem or issue. They never seem to have a better option or a solution. They just like to dismantle not build. You often find yourself fitting them for concrete boots in your mind. The best thing is to turn the tables on them and ask them for an alternative to the problem. That usually shuts them up!
That's it for now. Next time, I'll be dealing with a whole other slew of characters: the incompetents.
As I have always been a student of human behavior, and happen to work in education which is rife with human interaction, I have been developing a cheat sheet of character types. In order to survive this treacherous landscape, it's wise to know who your true allies are, and who are just masking themselves as such. This is what I've observed:
The Impersonator: This person says one thing but means another. It's the person being friendly and open when her body language, choice of words, facial expressions and actions actually say the opposite. It's the guy who walks in the room with a bravado in his step, and an impossibly wide smile plastered on his face whose eyes betray an anger that chills the blood. It's the woman who thinks she is so open-minded and accepting but whose lips and fists tighten whenever anyone does not agree with her. You have to become Zen in your dealings with these people and read them like leaves in a tea cup.
The Diplomat: This person cannot commit to having an opinion. It's not that they don't have an opinion; it's that they don't want anyone to know it. They'll speak whole sentences or paragraphs without really saying anything. You're left to dive for the gist of their meaning, trying to glean a pearl of wisdom when in reality all they're saying is, "I'm not taking a stand on anything." Head down. Shoulders to the wheel. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. Away. Best way to deal with them is not ask for their opinion...
The Assassin: This person is prone to sudden, quiet attacks often in the form of passive-aggressive statements whose aim is to paralyze and poison. He won't come right out and say it; he'll ninja-cut you. This leaves most people unable to react. It's hard to counter or confront passive aggression without looking like a bully or a harsh person. Either way they win. You don't say anything, their barb is unchallenged. You say something and you're mean. I've found the best way to deal with them is evasion tactics. Stay the hell away from them.
The Expert: They know everything about everything better, faster and more completely than anyone else. Their mechanic is cheaper and fairer. Their portfolio is more diverse. Their kids are more accomplished. Their sex more acrobatic. Their groceries are cheaper. Their knowledge more omnipotent. You just have to resign yourself to the understanding that compared to them your life sucks, your experience is minimal and you don't look as good doing it. Humming your favorite tune in your head or aloud, if you dare, while they're speaking is the perfect antidote...
The Subversive: This person might say that she has your back but what she means is she will hand your backside to you. This the false ally. The person on whom you might count but when the fecal matter hits the fan, he will support your opponent not you. And it doesn't have to be in overly dramatic ways. It might be an ill-placed nod or silence when you're being given a new rear aperture. Or, it might be a dramatic attempt to play "Devil's Advocate" with closing arguments for the prosecution instead of the defense. I don't know about you, but I don't trust attorneys on the Prince of Darkness' team... Get another lawyer.
The Back Seat Driver: This person knows more about your life than you do, and gets very irritated when you're not steering your decisions based on their infinitely wise navigation skills. It's the person who's ready with advice even though you haven't asked for any. They give you a tissue for your gaping wound. They point out exactly how screwed up you are just at the moment you're most vulnerable and then tell you to "suck it up." You're finding that the shoulder offered to you is made of bedrock and judgement. Tell them to walk.
The Fluffer: This the person who likes to prepare you for the scene of your demise. They pump you up with fake praise that they'll readily offer to anyone at any time. It's their self-ascribed job. But when it's time for them to confirm those words in front of others, they don't put their money where their hands have been. They fade into the background and leave you exposed under the glaring lights. Thank them politely and tell them you've got everything handled. :)
The Demolitionist: This person's sole purpose is to undermine everything you've worked for. They're equipped with an infinite amount of wrenches and explosives that they're more than willing to hurl at any of your projects or plans. Their weapon of choice begins with "yes, but..." There's always some unforeseen problem or issue. They never seem to have a better option or a solution. They just like to dismantle not build. You often find yourself fitting them for concrete boots in your mind. The best thing is to turn the tables on them and ask them for an alternative to the problem. That usually shuts them up!
That's it for now. Next time, I'll be dealing with a whole other slew of characters: the incompetents.
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