"Are you ready?"
"I was born ready."
Yes, I said those words, but on some level I was in hard core "fake it until you make it" mode with my tough talk and pretending I knew what to tell the band to lead them in this song. I was rehearsing for a performance last night when that mini-conversation took place.
The deeply honest truth is that it's very, very hard for me to sing. Physically, I have a lot of allergies and breathing issues, so singing isn't exactly a natural fit, but it is what I love. I love music, and though I play a bunch of instruments poorly, singing is what makes me feel the feeling of making something that can be pretty and moving. I often say that singing is the only thing I do JUST for fun (though at this time of the year this ceases to be true because I'm rehearsing so much). Like, I swim, and I have a good time, but there's a little counter in the back of my head keeping track of how much cardio I got out of it. I am starting to not hate running, but I still do it because it's what I have to do. And I love to cook, but seriously, cooking for myself every week means that there are some times where it's just exhausting and oh-so boring.
I love to sing in a group (and do sing in a choir), and when timing, and phrasing, and harmony all come together in the same moment, it frequently moves me to tears (you know, little ones that I wipe away quickly and blink back so that the people I'm singing with don't think I'm a weirdly over-emotional freak). But singing solo is a little like going out into the world without skin.
I stood up at last spring's performance and talked about the Vocal Performance Class (Henceforth called VPC - a class about learning not just to sing solo but to lead the band) I introduced my journey through the class by saying taking this class felt like naked skydiving. Scary, and vulnerable, and exhilarating but you're sure if you can just open up, and land right, it'll be all fine. And people laughed. And I was hiding behind that joke, so it was ok that they laughed. On the other side of that joke the truth was, I felt adrenaline up there, but real concern about not landing. About just falling and falling. And failing. Most of that class had felt to me like I wasn't quite where I needed to be. Technique is one thing, performing is another. It turns out I'm so not prepared for the later that the former often goes out the window.
It surprises a lot of people that opening up and being emotionally honest was my challenge. That's because there's this thing with me, where people think they know me, but they don't. It's not their fault - it's mine. I was talking about it with a member of the spring class and saying that because I'm open, and very not-interested-in-beating-around-the-bush and will answer just about any question, people assume they are close with me or understand me deeply. My clients see professional me, and my honesty with them, and assume they know who I am. One of them told me, "Well, you really struggle with seeing any grey areas between the black and white requirements." Umm, actually, I was just on the phone that morning arguing why her situation might not fit our current definitions and thus she might need to be exempt from something. No grey my ass.
I have friends who I like, but who never hear my difficult or revealing stories, but because they've heard my honest views on marriage equality, or my story about one of the least honest things I've ever done (it involved a Zamfir, The Pan flute master cd), or my joke about mayonaise (don't ask unless you really want to know) they think they're on the inside. I love all my friends, and I choose them carefully, but the truth is there's people who get into the foyer, people who are in the living room, and people who can come all the way into the kitchen and see the mess, and imperfection, but also the heart and warmth of me. It's much more about my hesitation to trust, my holding back than about any one friend being better suited for kitchen-time than another. I have an amazing friend, who started out as being "just" the partner of my BFF and then grew into a separate friendship. I cherish him. It's been 10 years since we found the speed and rhythm and and feel of our friendship, and along the way we have discovered how much we love each other and how much we have in common. and how fun it is for both of us to know and love my BFF. But even still, it wasn't until this fall that I had the courage to let him all the way in and to messily (with crying and snot, and everything) admit to him some of the deep, dark places my heart has gone. Ten Years! It's not like he hadn't put his time in or shown he was trustworthy or given me love and support and understanding.
I let people in enough so that I can be me, while also holding them back from coming all the way in. how was I supposed to let them all in, all at once, a whole audience full?
And when it came time for my vocal coach to give me feedback last spring, she just kept on saying, "I know you! You're expressive. You're open! You're emotional." And I kept on thinking, "You THINK you know me." Not because she hadn't seen real things about me, not because she was wrong about me being an expressive person, but because she felt like she could say definitively that there was a deeper place inside me that I was covering up. I was guarded, I was defensive, and I did and do struggle to express myself fully when singing solo. She wasn't wrong. But, she kept on naming specific things that were deep inside of me, and I wasn't always sure she was naming things that really resided there or that she could be sure she had seen. She and I had known each other for 2 years then, but only know each other on a more personal level for about 9 months. She was past the foyer, but not in the kitchen.
But, without knowing it, even though she was naming different things than I feel, she was still helping me to describe the place I needed to let everyone into in order to perform with all of me and be fully engaged with the audience. I needed to find the courage to let everyone into the kitchen. Or at least let them see it. And she kept pushing me. At times, she would even say, "Start over. I'm not feeling it." Or "This isn't believable." She didn't say it meanly, but man, it always felt like I was driving somewhere thinking I was on course and then finding out I had driven into a deep forest, off-roading. You know the forest - it's the one in Wizard of Oz where the witch is hiding and the trees throw apples at travelers just for walking there.
I wasn't lost because I hadn't understood what she was asking of me or where she wanted me to go. I literally didn't know how to get there. She kept saying, "you know everyone here. What's the worst that can happen from going there?" But the point for me wasn't whether or not they would judge me, but that there was a lock between me and that room and I didn't have the key.
I focused on technique, and did some planned performance moves in one of my songs and that loosened things up a lot but I knew I wasn't where everyone else was. So, I stood up in front of our audience and made my naked skydiving joke, and did my "fun" song and felt like, "Ok, this could be do-able." I made the audience laugh and get into it. I did! Me and my performance!
Of course, I had a royal freak-out moments before but kept it mostly under wraps (minus the moment that saw me clawing for the paper that had my lyrics on it, looking at it, and then putting it back away . . . after singing the song for 3 months. Yeah. Security blanket anyone?) and it also helped that I took my glasses off and drank a not insignificant amount of vodka with pineapple juice.
But my second song, the song whose lyrics said:
(Gravity, Sara Bareilles)
Set me free, leave me be. I don't want to fall another moment into your gravity.
Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I'm supposed to be.
But you're on to me and all over me.
I live here on my knees as I
Try to make you see that you're
Everything I think I need here on the ground.
But you're neither friend nor foe though I
Can't seem to let you go.
The one thing that I still know is that you're keeping me down
You're keeping me down, yeah, yeah, yeah
You're onto me, onto me and all over
Something always brings me back to you
It never takes too long
Well, it wasn't an option to be funny or stagey. I just had to open up the vault and hope that what came out was something that the audience could bear. And a funny thing happened. Because I was nervous, that feeling sailed me past the wall into other emotions. It melted my skin off, and I was so raw that there was nothing to stop my feelings and the audiences' from osmosing and blending together. It was scary, it was awful, it was painful but doing it made me feel I was giving something, getting something, and strong enough to do it. As I sang I wondered, "Why does the light look wobbly?" and realized it was because I was feeling so much that I had been moved to tears, and not a tiny tear I could blink away like at choir. Where crying or showing that emotion usually makes me feel scared about being so vulnerable, I left the stage shaky, but feeling weirdly strong for all that I also felt spent. It was an amazing experience. There was a rush of energy, and it went by so fast but I felt so amazed by how empowering it was, and how that feeling of toughness was able to join tenderness and mix perfectly. I can't speak for how it was for the audience, but for me, I left the stage having had a moment of knowing exactly how I felt and being able to invite 50 people into that moment with me and be ok with whatever they thought about it. It was that pure, and deep - it was just undeniable so whatever anyone else felt about it was beyond unimportant.
By the way, I am acutely aware of how corny and over the top that sounds. But I can't pull any other words from my brain to describe it.
It's with a lot of trepidation that I approach that moment this time around. I've peeled the skin back even further this fall. I literally feel like my nerves are exposed sometimes when we are rehearsing. I have cried in lessons and gotten shivers and heat flashes in rehearsals with the band. These kind of big, revelatory moments don't happen to someone analytical like me. These stories feel so baring that it's like nakedness would be a step towards protection! What's amazing is that I keep choosing these songs! I choose them. I obviously want this, on some level, but getting there is exhausting.
Right now I'm tired, but anticipating a rush of energy and hoping to share something deep and big and scary and moving with everyone. It is the thing that lets me know there are deeper places in me. Places I can call on when things are sad or hard. There's a part of me that knows that if I could tap into that place more, I could stop needing to look externally for things . . . validation, comfort, you know, those things. I'd like to find those things in places other than my job, my relationships, my dinner. So, I keep doing scary-ass things. Next up, skydiving. But I'll probably try it with my clothes on first.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Good trade?
This is a story you all know.
An addict walks into their 12-step meeting, and while talking about their addiction (coke, meth, alcohol, gambling) they are digging deep into a cup of coffee and something sugary. It's almost expected that when alcoholics start to seek sobreity that they will start smoking, drinking coffee, and seeking sugar. Likewise, the thing people always talk about when they are breaking up with their cigarettes is eating, eating, eating.
Heroine addicts seek chocolate. Smokers seek beer, wine, and food. Drinkers seek coffee and sugar. So I shouldn't be surprised to be reporting this, but I am.
Here it is. Drum roll . . . All of a sudden, in the last month, I am drinking a lot of coffee.
Let me qualify this. Normally, I drink a cup of coffee 1-3 times a month, usually when I'm traveling and am waaaay-haaayyy off my schedule. But you may recall that I traveled a LOT in November. Somewhere between flying to Orlando, driving to Williston, FL, flying back to CO, then jetting off right away to Utah, flying back, having my break-up disrupt my sleep, cooking all night for Thanksgiving, Black Friday the next night it became a LOT of coffee.
Like, a cup every day. Ok, ok, I know that most of my readers (aka EVERY adult I know) drinks 2-4 cups every day, but I don't. Except now I do. I find myself buying coffee, stopping for fat-free lattes, making coffee at home, thinking about coffee and finding ways to work it in almost every. day.
I've given up coffee twice. Once in college, and once in grad school. In college it was because I was disturbed by the reality that I was planning my schedule around free coffee stops at the college's various offices. Like, I would plan my route through campus based on where I could stop for a cup. I wanted to be unshackled from that need. I wanted to not have an addiction driving me around, ironically.
I recognized after a few years that the issue was really that I have an addictive personality. I can get addicted to Cheezits, coffee, popcorn, TV, almost anything. I drank a lot in grad school, and during my second masters, it was a daily activity (and a necessary one to keep me from violently rejecting my circumstances . . . more on that another time), but I actually think alcohol and drugs are among the few things I'd have to work to be addicted to. Because at the end of the day, I really hate not being in control.
With that in mind, I realized that general addictive tendencies were the issue; so, when I had a lovely, wonderful, smart, talented roomate who made me coffee every morning, I thought, "Ok. One cup." And you know what, one cup a day was fine. (It was mighty fine, s'matter o' fact since she would get up and make it! in a french press! ) It didn't go further than that - it was all good.
But, I was addicted to LOST, I went out and drank with friends at least once a week, I smoked socially (I know. So baaaad) , I worked out like a fiend . . . so, you know, my addictive energies went other places. I gave up that one cup because when it became clear that I had insulin and blood sugar issues, I did my research. And I found that lower glycemic foods were a good idea, whole grains, less gluten, and more protein. I also found out that alcohol, and caffeine have been known to affect blood sugar in some ways that are pretty gnarly. I thought, "Ok, if I'm going to really go for this I should take those out of the rotation." So, I gave them both up for 6 months outright. Then I decided I could have them in moderation.
Usually I think the phrase "in moderation" is a bunch of bull. It's a slippery slope that means different things to different people. For someone else, in moderation with sugar means one cube instead of two, but to someone like me it means I have white sugar only on special occasions. But in this case, it worked, for a really long time. I would have my 1-4 cups a month (mostly at airports and conferences) and if I went out I might have one or two drinks.
But, it turns out I'm like every other addict. If you take my substance away, I glom on to something else. So, here I have given up everything. Popcorn, Cheezits, pizza, white flour, chocolate, desserts of all kinds, sandwiches, extra servings of fruit, and eating non-vegetable sources of carbs after 5pm (this is to say, potatoes count as carbs, as do most squashes and I can have those with dinner, but oatmeals, rices, pastas, etc. are a before 5pm thing only). I don't drink, not because I can't handle it, but because alcohol is carbs too. That discipline is hard, hard, hard work. It is made harder by how busy I am, how often I don't get to stop and eat a meal like a real person at a table. And the discipline of working out on top of things is stressful.
So, here are these holes in my life. I don't get enough sleep. I don't get enough support. I don't get enough down-time. I don't get enough results. I definitely don't get enough popcorn, damnit!! So, along comes my new substance: coffee. And man, I gotta say, coffee is good. It's warm, and lovely, and creamy, even when it's skim or 1% milk. It makes it easier to get through the day with my pre-measured portions and not enough sleep. So, is that so bad?
I think I'm going to just have to go with it right now and keep it to once a day.
An addict walks into their 12-step meeting, and while talking about their addiction (coke, meth, alcohol, gambling) they are digging deep into a cup of coffee and something sugary. It's almost expected that when alcoholics start to seek sobreity that they will start smoking, drinking coffee, and seeking sugar. Likewise, the thing people always talk about when they are breaking up with their cigarettes is eating, eating, eating.
Heroine addicts seek chocolate. Smokers seek beer, wine, and food. Drinkers seek coffee and sugar. So I shouldn't be surprised to be reporting this, but I am.
Here it is. Drum roll . . . All of a sudden, in the last month, I am drinking a lot of coffee.
Let me qualify this. Normally, I drink a cup of coffee 1-3 times a month, usually when I'm traveling and am waaaay-haaayyy off my schedule. But you may recall that I traveled a LOT in November. Somewhere between flying to Orlando, driving to Williston, FL, flying back to CO, then jetting off right away to Utah, flying back, having my break-up disrupt my sleep, cooking all night for Thanksgiving, Black Friday the next night it became a LOT of coffee.
Like, a cup every day. Ok, ok, I know that most of my readers (aka EVERY adult I know) drinks 2-4 cups every day, but I don't. Except now I do. I find myself buying coffee, stopping for fat-free lattes, making coffee at home, thinking about coffee and finding ways to work it in almost every. day.
I've given up coffee twice. Once in college, and once in grad school. In college it was because I was disturbed by the reality that I was planning my schedule around free coffee stops at the college's various offices. Like, I would plan my route through campus based on where I could stop for a cup. I wanted to be unshackled from that need. I wanted to not have an addiction driving me around, ironically.
I recognized after a few years that the issue was really that I have an addictive personality. I can get addicted to Cheezits, coffee, popcorn, TV, almost anything. I drank a lot in grad school, and during my second masters, it was a daily activity (and a necessary one to keep me from violently rejecting my circumstances . . . more on that another time), but I actually think alcohol and drugs are among the few things I'd have to work to be addicted to. Because at the end of the day, I really hate not being in control.
With that in mind, I realized that general addictive tendencies were the issue; so, when I had a lovely, wonderful, smart, talented roomate who made me coffee every morning, I thought, "Ok. One cup." And you know what, one cup a day was fine. (It was mighty fine, s'matter o' fact since she would get up and make it! in a french press! ) It didn't go further than that - it was all good.
But, I was addicted to LOST, I went out and drank with friends at least once a week, I smoked socially (I know. So baaaad) , I worked out like a fiend . . . so, you know, my addictive energies went other places. I gave up that one cup because when it became clear that I had insulin and blood sugar issues, I did my research. And I found that lower glycemic foods were a good idea, whole grains, less gluten, and more protein. I also found out that alcohol, and caffeine have been known to affect blood sugar in some ways that are pretty gnarly. I thought, "Ok, if I'm going to really go for this I should take those out of the rotation." So, I gave them both up for 6 months outright. Then I decided I could have them in moderation.
Usually I think the phrase "in moderation" is a bunch of bull. It's a slippery slope that means different things to different people. For someone else, in moderation with sugar means one cube instead of two, but to someone like me it means I have white sugar only on special occasions. But in this case, it worked, for a really long time. I would have my 1-4 cups a month (mostly at airports and conferences) and if I went out I might have one or two drinks.
But, it turns out I'm like every other addict. If you take my substance away, I glom on to something else. So, here I have given up everything. Popcorn, Cheezits, pizza, white flour, chocolate, desserts of all kinds, sandwiches, extra servings of fruit, and eating non-vegetable sources of carbs after 5pm (this is to say, potatoes count as carbs, as do most squashes and I can have those with dinner, but oatmeals, rices, pastas, etc. are a before 5pm thing only). I don't drink, not because I can't handle it, but because alcohol is carbs too. That discipline is hard, hard, hard work. It is made harder by how busy I am, how often I don't get to stop and eat a meal like a real person at a table. And the discipline of working out on top of things is stressful.
So, here are these holes in my life. I don't get enough sleep. I don't get enough support. I don't get enough down-time. I don't get enough results. I definitely don't get enough popcorn, damnit!! So, along comes my new substance: coffee. And man, I gotta say, coffee is good. It's warm, and lovely, and creamy, even when it's skim or 1% milk. It makes it easier to get through the day with my pre-measured portions and not enough sleep. So, is that so bad?
I think I'm going to just have to go with it right now and keep it to once a day.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Patience and Forgiveness, part 1
Here's the thing - a long time ago I asked for feedback on what people would like to hear more about. One friend encouraged me to write about singing, and about my children's book ideas. Another about judgement, patience, and forgiveness. I haven't written either of those posts, but they haven't left my thoughts either. Given my recent religious questioning it's probably not surprising that I'm thinking about judgement, patience, and forgiveness, but the truth is I was thinking about it before, and before my friend brought the idea up.
It has been on my mind since July when I first felt the full weight of my boyfriend's issues and found a broader perspective on them. I saw the lies, the loss of control, the broken promises, the misleading statements and manipulation. And he began to see them. I wanted so badly to forgive him for that, and to put it in the past. Instead, it became part of a larger pattern, and that made it so hard to let it go. Recently I was able to articulate to him that I can forgive him, but it would help enormously if he sincerely apologizes for the things he thinks he did wrong and asks for my forgiveness. But real forgiveness is just given, no asking and begging required - see I'm bad at this. I should give it over and above is breaking up with me, and I should give it freely, not in spite of, that.
Patience and forgiveness are my values, but I often fail at my values and need to be reminded of them and brought back to my center. I have been described as being "black and white." I don't think I am, I actually think I analyze a lot, collect a lot of data on my world and consider a lot of possibilities - black, white, and a lot of shades of grey in between. The thing that people may pick up on is that once I do decide on something, I tend to stick to my guns. To be honest, some of that comes from my tendency to be stubborn. But also, if I've spent a lot of time thinking about something, and collecting information on why that thing is the way it is, and forming my opinion or tracking down the best course of action, when I act, I'm usually pretty committed and convinced of how it should be. Maybe that's hubris, maybe that's being pig-headed, maybe that's being judgmental, maybe it's being black-and-white, but to me it's about dedication and seeing things through and making sure that when I do make a decision its backed up by the best information gathering I can manage.
I also have a very weird blessing/curse - I remember things more accurately and completely than most people do. I also have a nearly perfect audiographic memory which means I tend to remember exactly what people said. It's nice when I want to recall a sequence of events, or think back to what someone said to me. But, on the other hand . . . I can't forget. If someone says something that hurt me, I remember their exact words. I remember how it sounded. If someone did something that hurt me on July 4th, I'll remember it every time I think of July 4th. It makes it hard not to dwell on the things that have hurt me, let me down, or made me angry when I can remember them ALL all the time.
I am able to forgive, but not to forget. It's a complicated issue for me. I am capable of letting something go, but it's rare that not remember it. It's also a complicated issue for the people in my life. Something that is cognitively true is that we ALL more easily recall and recount negative things. It is for this reason that if someone asks you how your most recent performance review at work went, the first thing you think of is the one negative thing your supervisor said, and it takes work to remember the 6 positive things that were mentioned. I'm not making this up out of folk wisdom - I was required to take a class on memory and attention as part of my Ph.D program in Cognitive Psych.
So, when my ex-fiance (yep, the same one who left like three minutes after I moved here, and was all alone dealing with my dad who had just died. We don't use his name anymore) told me that he felt like I only remembered things he did wrong, not things he did right. I tempered that with the fact that while my cognition might mean I remember everything more thoroughly than I really should, his cognition (and everyone's) meant that he was not remembering the times I appreciated him, was grateful for things he did or said, or was positive.
The truth is this is no gift unless I want to recall how-to instructions someone gave me orally or music. It is much more of a curse when it comes to my relationships (romantic or otherwise) because what they experience is me remembering exactly what they did and their words and tone, even when they'd rather gloss over what they said and smooth it into meaning something a little less harsh. I often can't let that slide because the computer in my head spits out, "Ummm, no. that's NOT what you said, so don't tell me I'm wrong in thinking this is what you meant." To be perfectly honest, the most harm this does is to me. I know it troubles other people about me, but the part people don't think about when they are praising or lamenting my freakish memory is that it doesn't just turn on them . . . it turns on me too. I remember all the stupid, embarrassing, mean, cruel, inconsiderate, angry, crazy, wrong, horrible things I have done or said too. And I can't make the computer not spit those things out either.
I can't stop that computer from running. But maybe I can work on being more forgiving, and to act in ways that are more forgiving. First stop, be less judgmental. This doesn't mean not having judgments. I can judge that someone who texts and drives is putting themselves and others in harms way. I can decide that when people park ridiculously badly, they were oblivious and should pay more attention. But I can also work to adopt less of a mentality of judging others and thinking harsh thoughts about them as a whole person.
As I sat at a church service last night, the questions was raised of Can we trust God. And I don't have answers to that, nor the fortitude to go looking for those answers right now. But the conversation and thought process went something like this, "Other people break promises and let me down. Other people point their fingers in my chest and remind me of how many things I screw up. So, how can I count on God not to give up on me, let me down, leave me hanging, and accuse me of being a bad person." And as the service moved forward the pastor admitted something that I had been thinking since he brought up the judgments of others . . . when we think about other people giving us a hard time, judging us, reminding us of how much we fail usually the biggest offender is ourselves. I know that's true for me. I know that I spend most of every day either trying not to think or catching myself thinking really harsh, difficult things about myself. I quit grad school, I made a dill potato salad with dill that had bugs in it because I didn't have money or time to go buy more. I had a really hard year growing up where I lied about everything to my parents, and stole loose change and dollar bills. I promised myself I would reform my eating and then ate an entire frozen pizza. I threw a watermelon on the night my ex-fiance left (ok, to be perfectly honest, there is part of met hat is horribly ashamed I did that, but part of me is proud of that too), I yelled horrible things at my most current boyfriend at one point because I couldn't believe he had spent so much time avoiding me and breaking promises . . . and no, his actions do not justify mine. I once spent an entire work day surfing the web and shopping online, which to me is like stealing from my employer. Once, in grad school (2001), I was so poor that I stole over the counter allergy meds that I badly needed . . . and no, that doesn't make it ok. You'll notice, some of those things are past actions that I worked to reform, but some of those are issues I continue to face now.
I seem really unlikable when I list those things. And this is the short version. I seem really ugly, and small, and like I deserve the finger of accusation in my chest 24/7 when I read just those things here.
So, I need to practice forgiveness with myself. Luckily, it's better for me to practice on me, and possibly fail at it sometimes, than to practice with someone else. But I need to forgive other people too. I need to forgive people who were supposed to love me and protect me and didn't. It would be better for everyone if I could forgive my ex-fiance, because then I wouldn't carry around residual anger about what he did or didn't do. (Left me alone to grieve my father and the ending of our relationship in a place where I knew nobody because I moved here for him. Left me sitting like an idiot in a couples counseling waiting room! Aggghhhh. Just listing it is a demonstration that I'm not there yet. Epic fail.) I need to decide to either forgive myself for the watermelon, or embrace that that was a true moment of standing up for myself and be proud of it. I need to right my wrongs. i need to make ammends where I am able. I need to forgive myself when I slip on the changes I'm trying to make, when I fall off the wagon as it were, because beating myself up about it keeps me from moving forward and trying to be better the next day. I need to stop yelling at myself and move past the conversations where I have yelled at other people. (I don't like yelling. )
But I need to be patient too, and realize that it's not all going to happen right away . . . and patience, I have in abundance except when it comes to myself. Irony. So much irony.
It has been on my mind since July when I first felt the full weight of my boyfriend's issues and found a broader perspective on them. I saw the lies, the loss of control, the broken promises, the misleading statements and manipulation. And he began to see them. I wanted so badly to forgive him for that, and to put it in the past. Instead, it became part of a larger pattern, and that made it so hard to let it go. Recently I was able to articulate to him that I can forgive him, but it would help enormously if he sincerely apologizes for the things he thinks he did wrong and asks for my forgiveness. But real forgiveness is just given, no asking and begging required - see I'm bad at this. I should give it over and above is breaking up with me, and I should give it freely, not in spite of, that.
Patience and forgiveness are my values, but I often fail at my values and need to be reminded of them and brought back to my center. I have been described as being "black and white." I don't think I am, I actually think I analyze a lot, collect a lot of data on my world and consider a lot of possibilities - black, white, and a lot of shades of grey in between. The thing that people may pick up on is that once I do decide on something, I tend to stick to my guns. To be honest, some of that comes from my tendency to be stubborn. But also, if I've spent a lot of time thinking about something, and collecting information on why that thing is the way it is, and forming my opinion or tracking down the best course of action, when I act, I'm usually pretty committed and convinced of how it should be. Maybe that's hubris, maybe that's being pig-headed, maybe that's being judgmental, maybe it's being black-and-white, but to me it's about dedication and seeing things through and making sure that when I do make a decision its backed up by the best information gathering I can manage.
I also have a very weird blessing/curse - I remember things more accurately and completely than most people do. I also have a nearly perfect audiographic memory which means I tend to remember exactly what people said. It's nice when I want to recall a sequence of events, or think back to what someone said to me. But, on the other hand . . . I can't forget. If someone says something that hurt me, I remember their exact words. I remember how it sounded. If someone did something that hurt me on July 4th, I'll remember it every time I think of July 4th. It makes it hard not to dwell on the things that have hurt me, let me down, or made me angry when I can remember them ALL all the time.
I am able to forgive, but not to forget. It's a complicated issue for me. I am capable of letting something go, but it's rare that not remember it. It's also a complicated issue for the people in my life. Something that is cognitively true is that we ALL more easily recall and recount negative things. It is for this reason that if someone asks you how your most recent performance review at work went, the first thing you think of is the one negative thing your supervisor said, and it takes work to remember the 6 positive things that were mentioned. I'm not making this up out of folk wisdom - I was required to take a class on memory and attention as part of my Ph.D program in Cognitive Psych.
So, when my ex-fiance (yep, the same one who left like three minutes after I moved here, and was all alone dealing with my dad who had just died. We don't use his name anymore) told me that he felt like I only remembered things he did wrong, not things he did right. I tempered that with the fact that while my cognition might mean I remember everything more thoroughly than I really should, his cognition (and everyone's) meant that he was not remembering the times I appreciated him, was grateful for things he did or said, or was positive.
The truth is this is no gift unless I want to recall how-to instructions someone gave me orally or music. It is much more of a curse when it comes to my relationships (romantic or otherwise) because what they experience is me remembering exactly what they did and their words and tone, even when they'd rather gloss over what they said and smooth it into meaning something a little less harsh. I often can't let that slide because the computer in my head spits out, "Ummm, no. that's NOT what you said, so don't tell me I'm wrong in thinking this is what you meant." To be perfectly honest, the most harm this does is to me. I know it troubles other people about me, but the part people don't think about when they are praising or lamenting my freakish memory is that it doesn't just turn on them . . . it turns on me too. I remember all the stupid, embarrassing, mean, cruel, inconsiderate, angry, crazy, wrong, horrible things I have done or said too. And I can't make the computer not spit those things out either.
I can't stop that computer from running. But maybe I can work on being more forgiving, and to act in ways that are more forgiving. First stop, be less judgmental. This doesn't mean not having judgments. I can judge that someone who texts and drives is putting themselves and others in harms way. I can decide that when people park ridiculously badly, they were oblivious and should pay more attention. But I can also work to adopt less of a mentality of judging others and thinking harsh thoughts about them as a whole person.
As I sat at a church service last night, the questions was raised of Can we trust God. And I don't have answers to that, nor the fortitude to go looking for those answers right now. But the conversation and thought process went something like this, "Other people break promises and let me down. Other people point their fingers in my chest and remind me of how many things I screw up. So, how can I count on God not to give up on me, let me down, leave me hanging, and accuse me of being a bad person." And as the service moved forward the pastor admitted something that I had been thinking since he brought up the judgments of others . . . when we think about other people giving us a hard time, judging us, reminding us of how much we fail usually the biggest offender is ourselves. I know that's true for me. I know that I spend most of every day either trying not to think or catching myself thinking really harsh, difficult things about myself. I quit grad school, I made a dill potato salad with dill that had bugs in it because I didn't have money or time to go buy more. I had a really hard year growing up where I lied about everything to my parents, and stole loose change and dollar bills. I promised myself I would reform my eating and then ate an entire frozen pizza. I threw a watermelon on the night my ex-fiance left (ok, to be perfectly honest, there is part of met hat is horribly ashamed I did that, but part of me is proud of that too), I yelled horrible things at my most current boyfriend at one point because I couldn't believe he had spent so much time avoiding me and breaking promises . . . and no, his actions do not justify mine. I once spent an entire work day surfing the web and shopping online, which to me is like stealing from my employer. Once, in grad school (2001), I was so poor that I stole over the counter allergy meds that I badly needed . . . and no, that doesn't make it ok. You'll notice, some of those things are past actions that I worked to reform, but some of those are issues I continue to face now.
I seem really unlikable when I list those things. And this is the short version. I seem really ugly, and small, and like I deserve the finger of accusation in my chest 24/7 when I read just those things here.
So, I need to practice forgiveness with myself. Luckily, it's better for me to practice on me, and possibly fail at it sometimes, than to practice with someone else. But I need to forgive other people too. I need to forgive people who were supposed to love me and protect me and didn't. It would be better for everyone if I could forgive my ex-fiance, because then I wouldn't carry around residual anger about what he did or didn't do. (Left me alone to grieve my father and the ending of our relationship in a place where I knew nobody because I moved here for him. Left me sitting like an idiot in a couples counseling waiting room! Aggghhhh. Just listing it is a demonstration that I'm not there yet. Epic fail.) I need to decide to either forgive myself for the watermelon, or embrace that that was a true moment of standing up for myself and be proud of it. I need to right my wrongs. i need to make ammends where I am able. I need to forgive myself when I slip on the changes I'm trying to make, when I fall off the wagon as it were, because beating myself up about it keeps me from moving forward and trying to be better the next day. I need to stop yelling at myself and move past the conversations where I have yelled at other people. (I don't like yelling. )
But I need to be patient too, and realize that it's not all going to happen right away . . . and patience, I have in abundance except when it comes to myself. Irony. So much irony.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Joy cometh in the morning
Every morning I get up and I look at this website. I check to see if the blogs I'm following have new posts, and I check my page views. Wanna hear something funny? The posts y'all like the best are talking about my breakup with the post about my not being sure if my boyfriend and I had had taken a break or had broken up being a close second. Readers like break-ups, apparently, but I must say, I'm going to try really hard not to do it again . . . even if it means 60 page views in 36 hours.
I'm hoping that if you all read my break-ups you guys will also read about a relationship I'm still working on. My relationship with God. (I'm wincing because I sooooo don't want to proselytize. I want to share the conversation I've been having, much like I've shared other things in my life here.)
I've been going to church with a friend this fall, off and on. I go for a couple of reasons. One is that my friend loves, loves, loves her church, and since she is one of the most inside-and-out beautiful people I know (there are days that she glows, for serious) I thought it was worth a try. Describing her is inevitably going to sound cheesy, and that's a shame, because she should be giving motivational talks. She is sincerely inspiring with NO CHEESE involved. It's really an amazing gift she has. She also has shared some really important things in my life, so I wanted to share something important to her. She is the same friend I swim with, and when I first went to church with her, the series of services was all on WATER. It seemed perfect since she and I had been having a lot of deep talks about letting the water hold her up, and learning to trust the water.
I also went because I was curious. Let's face it, going to a church that holds thousands of people is an experience! (Oh, and it WAS! There is a lot of energy, the music is phenomenal, and their main pastor is perhaps the best speaker I've heard live, ever, anywhere.)
But mostly I went because God and I have been fighting for a few years. It wasn't always this way. Sure, I told my mom when I was 13 that if getting confirmed in our Episcopal church meant that I wanted to be part of that community, and liked those people, I would do it. But hey, wait, getting confirmed means something to them that it doesn't mean to me - so it would be wrong, because I don't have the J.C. feeling. But I still believed in something, even then.
I said that then, and I still do, have a lot of doubts about Jesus. Historically, there's not a lot to support it and as much as I'm an emotional person (an ENFJ as a matter of fact, on almost every test) I also analyze and think my way through my world a lot. There's enough to support that he was a man, and that he was here, and sincerely, I think his teachings were pretty radical, and if I'm being honest, I agree with them! I think things would be better if we were all more loving and accepting and unselfish and we took it as our responsibility to take care for one another and to show compassion and support for our neighbors, our brothers, the weak and sick and orphaned among us. Most importantly, if we could all learn to judge others a little less, and to leave that to the side, that would be huge. I have had tiny tastes of discrimination in my life, and the feeling of being judged before I had any time to prove myself, the feeling of being suspected, disliked just for who or what I am is enough for me to be certain that it is one of life's wrongs. Let me be clear, I think it's ok to draw a line and say, "This is not ok." It's not ok for someone to abuse their children. It's not ok for someone to drive drunk. But I know people who have done those things. And guess what? They aren't bad people, just struggling. There are stories about how they got to those points. I don't have to condone their actions (and I don't!), but I can still refrain from judging them head-to-toe. The world would be a better place if we all could stop scrutinizing each other all the time.
So, I'd be lying if I said I didn't think Jesus was right about a LOT. Sure, people use his name for horrible things, but that's kind of like identity theft. I shouldn't take responsibility for someone stealing my credit card and using my name to go to a sleazy strip club, but similarly, we shouldn't saddle J.C. for the wars fought in his name, for the people tortured, killed, or run down. That's us as a species screwing up and hurting each other, not him.
I think the bigger issue for me is that if someone today said "I am without sin, sent here from God to save you all," we would swerve off that sidewalk really quick! We would commit that person! And it's an issue for me that so much of the Christian faith and traditions were adopted from other faiths and traditions in order to try and keep people comfortable as they moved into this new faith. Aaaand, it's a bit difficult for me to swallow that it was the First Council of Nicaea that voted on his divinity. Before they took that vote, he was known as just a man. A man that taught what he taught, thought he was God's son, and a man who got murdered in a particularly politically driven and craven way - but yes, a man. And people get things wrong. The vote could be wrong, the people who thought he was just a man could be wrong but it's impossible to know. So, me and my brain look at Jesus, who had other people write about him and didn't write his own book, and I understand that the key here is to take it on faith. And I have a big heart, and a big brain, but nothing left over to put towards that faith.
And that's been ok for me, because I know I do believe in things. I believe in God and big forces at work. I believe I am loved more by my friends than most people are loved by their families. I believe that there is a pattern and a structure to how things unfold. I believe that things happen for a reason more often than not. I believe that my friends that don't believe in God and work to be good people every day are just as good, maybe even better than my friends that do believe in some kind of God - they're doing it just because it's the right thing to do, not because they are worried about their sin-tally. I believe that love is worth fighting for, and it can change things. I believe that laughter is the best medicine. I believe that our challenges can also be our lessons. I believe that believing in things matters.
But, God and I have been struggling for awhile. Like I said, it wasn't always this way. I rarely felt anything in church growing up, but after we left the church, I continued to reach out for God. I went to other churches, and I read a LOT. I read the Bible, cover to cover. I read the Torah and parts of the Koran. I read about earth based Goddess religions and Norse magic. I read Greek Mythology. I even read Tao of Pooh for good measure. And I didn't find answers, just more questions. And so maybe the key there is again that it's not about getting it intellectually, but I can't stop myself from wanting that!
Still, there was a point at which God and I were ok with each other. I saw God as a big force that brought people together the way that they needed to be, and I was totally, thoroughly, completely fine with that vague picture. I went to Quaker meetings (despite my family poking fun at me by saying they were sure I couldn't sit quietly for an hour). I made the very firm decision to be involved with that group but not to become a "member" because again, it would mean I was saying I believed in J.C. on some level and I wanted to be honest. I sat at my friends' Shabbat table and piece by piece learned the holidays, traditions, beliefs, an questions of an observant Jew. I was re-exposed to the Torah in a way that brought it alive, and I joined in to the discussions and questions of the Talmud. I came to so many holidays that I ended up having specific jobs and contributions for Passover and Sukkout. I took long walks and while formal praying felt weird to me, I sent messages to God. One very hard month I remember asking him every day for strength, patience, and the conviction to do what was right. When that situation passed I wanted to keep talking to God, so I started sharing all the things I was grateful for. I was able to pray at the Shabbat table with an open heart, and to sit at my Quaker meetings and just be and feel God near and feel assured there was a way things were supposed to be, and that if I wasn't ok with everything every day, that was all part of a bigger pattern I was woven into.
Then a lot of things happened. I moved here. I moved here for love, and the bottom dropped out of that. I moved here and found myself so alone that there was no reconciling how I got here. I picked myself up, and I'm glad to be here now, but whatever fragile thread connecting me to an idea that things happen for the good was severed. Right around the time that I found myself wanting to think about maybe picking up my end of that thread again I started dating someone who is blessed with a complete and total faith, and a specific belief in Jesus. Initially, it was a hard subject for us to discuss so I dropped that thread all over again.
But, a funny thing happened. The best way I can describe it was feeling like God or something started to try and track me down. I started finding myself in all kinds of deep conversations with my best, best friend about religion and science and God. Then, I went to an Al-Anon meeting thinking, "I am surrounded by addicts, maybe they have some thoughts I could use." Right on the heels of that I thought, "I really hope they don't spend all of their time talking about the Higher Power. Ugh. I so don't want that right now." And guess what? My first, second, and third meeting were all about the Higher Power, but in a funny twist it was all people sharing their doubts about God and Higher Powers, about how hard it is to trust God with important things, and about how they sometimes have to "fake it" and pretend to hand things over to a Higher Power because otherwise they go crazy trying to solve unsolvable things.
Riiiing, ring! Phone for you Christie.
I was laughing inside as I cried on the outside, took a tissue and said, "I'm mad at God. Because I'm surrounded by people with problems who won't go get help, so I have to come here. And it sucks. Like, why should it be true that I can have two beers and stop, and they can't. Why them and not me. But then, also, why should I have to be the one who deals with it when they won't?" I said other things, but they weren't very nice things, so I'll leave them in that room. You get the idea.
So, when I went to church with my friend and the whole service was about how love can be deep like water, and go on forever like an ocean, and also be like a rolling river of justice and mercy and compassion . . . yup, it caught my attention. The call went out for contributions to a local shelter and because I believe in love and giving back and showing compassion (It physically hurts me to drive by a homeless person with a sign and not give them anything. I know the reasons not to, and I don't always have a dollar or a granola bar on me, but it tugs at me). So, I bought two very full bags worth of stuff and brought it back. I bought one of everything on the list, and more than one of many things. I did it because it felt good to do something concrete to help someone, because at the time, my problems were too big to be solved by a shopping trip to Target but someone elses problems could be ministered to by pasta and peanut butter and baby formula. I was curious to see how everyone else responded . . . well, if you read that entry they responded with 224 THOUSAND POUNDS. It's hard not to be impressed with that.
I took a break then, sat back on my heels thinking, "If this is what a community of church-goers who really believe can do, maybe it's not such a bad thing," but also thinking,"I don't know if I belong there or want to." I love my friend, I love what the power of that group can and did do, and I want to talk to God more, but there is more Jesus-talk there than I knew what to do with . . . see above. But I've found myself presented with messages several times over in the last few weeks that God would really like it if I stayed in touch more, so I'm trying. I'm trying to have a conversation, but it's a hard one. And I'm angry and bitter a lot.
Me: Hey. I know it's been awhile.
God: That's ok, I'm pretty patient
Me: Things have been pretty difficult lately, and I know that's when everyone else asks you for things, but I don't know how to.
God: What stops you?
Me: I think you probably have more important things to do. I mean, I have a roof over my head, a paycheck, an education. I'm probably not at the top of the list right now.
God: I don't play favorites. Prioritizing is a human thing, not a heaven thing.
Me: Yeah, ok, but you also let things happen that suck. Big things. Like the Holocaust and genocide and wars and child abuse. So, it's hard for me to believe that you give a rat's ass about my concerns about all the addicts in my life, about the demons I'm facing down myself, about the addict I love that may never love me more than he loves his drug and may always resent me for trying to help him. Who broke up with me "because he loves me." Yeah, right.
God: It's tough for me to answer that, because that's about your anger and hurt more than it is about anything else.
Me: So, just tell me then why horrible, horrible things happen in the world. Use the Holocaust or Trail of Tears as an example.
God: I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. Literally. Because it will make more sense when you can see the big picture in heaven.
Me: Ok, well that feels worse and more unsatisfying than when Alanis Morissette tweaked the nose of the person asking "Why are we here" in Dogma. Let's say this. Let's say, for the sake of argument, I believe J.C. was your only son. People not only tortured and killed him, they now use his name to justify discrimination, hatred, violence against people who don't share their beliefs, and fundraising for the SAME! And you let it happen.
God: I have to let my children make mistakes in order to learn.
What?!
This is where I get pissed off all over again.
So, when I sat in church last week learning about Psalm 30, I thought, wouldn't it be nice if there was a way for God to actually meet me in my weakness. I edited out the part where the pastor said, "Jesus carries your cry to God and turns it into something holy" and just made it "general God" but I thought . . . wouldn't it be nice.
"I will extol thee, O Lord; for thou hast lifted me up, and hast not made my foes to rejoice over me.
O Lord my God, I cried unto thee, and thou hast healed me.
O Lord, thou hast brought up my soul from the grave: thou hast kept me alive, that I should not go down to the pit.
Sing unto the Lord, O ye saints of his, and give thanks at the remembrance of his holiness.
For his anger endureth but a moment; in his favor is life; weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." Psalm 30
It's been a few mornings, and there hasn't been any joy. Maybe it's metaphorical. Maybe it takes more wholeheartedly praying, and doing it without doubt. Maybe it takes something I lack. Or maybe God and I are still arguing.
I'm hoping that if you all read my break-ups you guys will also read about a relationship I'm still working on. My relationship with God. (I'm wincing because I sooooo don't want to proselytize. I want to share the conversation I've been having, much like I've shared other things in my life here.)
I've been going to church with a friend this fall, off and on. I go for a couple of reasons. One is that my friend loves, loves, loves her church, and since she is one of the most inside-and-out beautiful people I know (there are days that she glows, for serious) I thought it was worth a try. Describing her is inevitably going to sound cheesy, and that's a shame, because she should be giving motivational talks. She is sincerely inspiring with NO CHEESE involved. It's really an amazing gift she has. She also has shared some really important things in my life, so I wanted to share something important to her. She is the same friend I swim with, and when I first went to church with her, the series of services was all on WATER. It seemed perfect since she and I had been having a lot of deep talks about letting the water hold her up, and learning to trust the water.
I also went because I was curious. Let's face it, going to a church that holds thousands of people is an experience! (Oh, and it WAS! There is a lot of energy, the music is phenomenal, and their main pastor is perhaps the best speaker I've heard live, ever, anywhere.)
But mostly I went because God and I have been fighting for a few years. It wasn't always this way. Sure, I told my mom when I was 13 that if getting confirmed in our Episcopal church meant that I wanted to be part of that community, and liked those people, I would do it. But hey, wait, getting confirmed means something to them that it doesn't mean to me - so it would be wrong, because I don't have the J.C. feeling. But I still believed in something, even then.
I said that then, and I still do, have a lot of doubts about Jesus. Historically, there's not a lot to support it and as much as I'm an emotional person (an ENFJ as a matter of fact, on almost every test) I also analyze and think my way through my world a lot. There's enough to support that he was a man, and that he was here, and sincerely, I think his teachings were pretty radical, and if I'm being honest, I agree with them! I think things would be better if we were all more loving and accepting and unselfish and we took it as our responsibility to take care for one another and to show compassion and support for our neighbors, our brothers, the weak and sick and orphaned among us. Most importantly, if we could all learn to judge others a little less, and to leave that to the side, that would be huge. I have had tiny tastes of discrimination in my life, and the feeling of being judged before I had any time to prove myself, the feeling of being suspected, disliked just for who or what I am is enough for me to be certain that it is one of life's wrongs. Let me be clear, I think it's ok to draw a line and say, "This is not ok." It's not ok for someone to abuse their children. It's not ok for someone to drive drunk. But I know people who have done those things. And guess what? They aren't bad people, just struggling. There are stories about how they got to those points. I don't have to condone their actions (and I don't!), but I can still refrain from judging them head-to-toe. The world would be a better place if we all could stop scrutinizing each other all the time.
So, I'd be lying if I said I didn't think Jesus was right about a LOT. Sure, people use his name for horrible things, but that's kind of like identity theft. I shouldn't take responsibility for someone stealing my credit card and using my name to go to a sleazy strip club, but similarly, we shouldn't saddle J.C. for the wars fought in his name, for the people tortured, killed, or run down. That's us as a species screwing up and hurting each other, not him.
I think the bigger issue for me is that if someone today said "I am without sin, sent here from God to save you all," we would swerve off that sidewalk really quick! We would commit that person! And it's an issue for me that so much of the Christian faith and traditions were adopted from other faiths and traditions in order to try and keep people comfortable as they moved into this new faith. Aaaand, it's a bit difficult for me to swallow that it was the First Council of Nicaea that voted on his divinity. Before they took that vote, he was known as just a man. A man that taught what he taught, thought he was God's son, and a man who got murdered in a particularly politically driven and craven way - but yes, a man. And people get things wrong. The vote could be wrong, the people who thought he was just a man could be wrong but it's impossible to know. So, me and my brain look at Jesus, who had other people write about him and didn't write his own book, and I understand that the key here is to take it on faith. And I have a big heart, and a big brain, but nothing left over to put towards that faith.
And that's been ok for me, because I know I do believe in things. I believe in God and big forces at work. I believe I am loved more by my friends than most people are loved by their families. I believe that there is a pattern and a structure to how things unfold. I believe that things happen for a reason more often than not. I believe that my friends that don't believe in God and work to be good people every day are just as good, maybe even better than my friends that do believe in some kind of God - they're doing it just because it's the right thing to do, not because they are worried about their sin-tally. I believe that love is worth fighting for, and it can change things. I believe that laughter is the best medicine. I believe that our challenges can also be our lessons. I believe that believing in things matters.
But, God and I have been struggling for awhile. Like I said, it wasn't always this way. I rarely felt anything in church growing up, but after we left the church, I continued to reach out for God. I went to other churches, and I read a LOT. I read the Bible, cover to cover. I read the Torah and parts of the Koran. I read about earth based Goddess religions and Norse magic. I read Greek Mythology. I even read Tao of Pooh for good measure. And I didn't find answers, just more questions. And so maybe the key there is again that it's not about getting it intellectually, but I can't stop myself from wanting that!
Still, there was a point at which God and I were ok with each other. I saw God as a big force that brought people together the way that they needed to be, and I was totally, thoroughly, completely fine with that vague picture. I went to Quaker meetings (despite my family poking fun at me by saying they were sure I couldn't sit quietly for an hour). I made the very firm decision to be involved with that group but not to become a "member" because again, it would mean I was saying I believed in J.C. on some level and I wanted to be honest. I sat at my friends' Shabbat table and piece by piece learned the holidays, traditions, beliefs, an questions of an observant Jew. I was re-exposed to the Torah in a way that brought it alive, and I joined in to the discussions and questions of the Talmud. I came to so many holidays that I ended up having specific jobs and contributions for Passover and Sukkout. I took long walks and while formal praying felt weird to me, I sent messages to God. One very hard month I remember asking him every day for strength, patience, and the conviction to do what was right. When that situation passed I wanted to keep talking to God, so I started sharing all the things I was grateful for. I was able to pray at the Shabbat table with an open heart, and to sit at my Quaker meetings and just be and feel God near and feel assured there was a way things were supposed to be, and that if I wasn't ok with everything every day, that was all part of a bigger pattern I was woven into.
Then a lot of things happened. I moved here. I moved here for love, and the bottom dropped out of that. I moved here and found myself so alone that there was no reconciling how I got here. I picked myself up, and I'm glad to be here now, but whatever fragile thread connecting me to an idea that things happen for the good was severed. Right around the time that I found myself wanting to think about maybe picking up my end of that thread again I started dating someone who is blessed with a complete and total faith, and a specific belief in Jesus. Initially, it was a hard subject for us to discuss so I dropped that thread all over again.
But, a funny thing happened. The best way I can describe it was feeling like God or something started to try and track me down. I started finding myself in all kinds of deep conversations with my best, best friend about religion and science and God. Then, I went to an Al-Anon meeting thinking, "I am surrounded by addicts, maybe they have some thoughts I could use." Right on the heels of that I thought, "I really hope they don't spend all of their time talking about the Higher Power. Ugh. I so don't want that right now." And guess what? My first, second, and third meeting were all about the Higher Power, but in a funny twist it was all people sharing their doubts about God and Higher Powers, about how hard it is to trust God with important things, and about how they sometimes have to "fake it" and pretend to hand things over to a Higher Power because otherwise they go crazy trying to solve unsolvable things.
Riiiing, ring! Phone for you Christie.
I was laughing inside as I cried on the outside, took a tissue and said, "I'm mad at God. Because I'm surrounded by people with problems who won't go get help, so I have to come here. And it sucks. Like, why should it be true that I can have two beers and stop, and they can't. Why them and not me. But then, also, why should I have to be the one who deals with it when they won't?" I said other things, but they weren't very nice things, so I'll leave them in that room. You get the idea.
So, when I went to church with my friend and the whole service was about how love can be deep like water, and go on forever like an ocean, and also be like a rolling river of justice and mercy and compassion . . . yup, it caught my attention. The call went out for contributions to a local shelter and because I believe in love and giving back and showing compassion (It physically hurts me to drive by a homeless person with a sign and not give them anything. I know the reasons not to, and I don't always have a dollar or a granola bar on me, but it tugs at me). So, I bought two very full bags worth of stuff and brought it back. I bought one of everything on the list, and more than one of many things. I did it because it felt good to do something concrete to help someone, because at the time, my problems were too big to be solved by a shopping trip to Target but someone elses problems could be ministered to by pasta and peanut butter and baby formula. I was curious to see how everyone else responded . . . well, if you read that entry they responded with 224 THOUSAND POUNDS. It's hard not to be impressed with that.
I took a break then, sat back on my heels thinking, "If this is what a community of church-goers who really believe can do, maybe it's not such a bad thing," but also thinking,"I don't know if I belong there or want to." I love my friend, I love what the power of that group can and did do, and I want to talk to God more, but there is more Jesus-talk there than I knew what to do with . . . see above. But I've found myself presented with messages several times over in the last few weeks that God would really like it if I stayed in touch more, so I'm trying. I'm trying to have a conversation, but it's a hard one. And I'm angry and bitter a lot.
Me: Hey. I know it's been awhile.
God: That's ok, I'm pretty patient
Me: Things have been pretty difficult lately, and I know that's when everyone else asks you for things, but I don't know how to.
God: What stops you?
Me: I think you probably have more important things to do. I mean, I have a roof over my head, a paycheck, an education. I'm probably not at the top of the list right now.
God: I don't play favorites. Prioritizing is a human thing, not a heaven thing.
Me: Yeah, ok, but you also let things happen that suck. Big things. Like the Holocaust and genocide and wars and child abuse. So, it's hard for me to believe that you give a rat's ass about my concerns about all the addicts in my life, about the demons I'm facing down myself, about the addict I love that may never love me more than he loves his drug and may always resent me for trying to help him. Who broke up with me "because he loves me." Yeah, right.
God: It's tough for me to answer that, because that's about your anger and hurt more than it is about anything else.
Me: So, just tell me then why horrible, horrible things happen in the world. Use the Holocaust or Trail of Tears as an example.
God: I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. Literally. Because it will make more sense when you can see the big picture in heaven.
Me: Ok, well that feels worse and more unsatisfying than when Alanis Morissette tweaked the nose of the person asking "Why are we here" in Dogma. Let's say this. Let's say, for the sake of argument, I believe J.C. was your only son. People not only tortured and killed him, they now use his name to justify discrimination, hatred, violence against people who don't share their beliefs, and fundraising for the SAME! And you let it happen.
God: I have to let my children make mistakes in order to learn.
What?!
This is where I get pissed off all over again.
So, when I sat in church last week learning about Psalm 30, I thought, wouldn't it be nice if there was a way for God to actually meet me in my weakness. I edited out the part where the pastor said, "Jesus carries your cry to God and turns it into something holy" and just made it "general God" but I thought . . . wouldn't it be nice.
"I will extol thee, O Lord; for thou hast lifted me up, and hast not made my foes to rejoice over me.
O Lord my God, I cried unto thee, and thou hast healed me.
O Lord, thou hast brought up my soul from the grave: thou hast kept me alive, that I should not go down to the pit.
Sing unto the Lord, O ye saints of his, and give thanks at the remembrance of his holiness.
For his anger endureth but a moment; in his favor is life; weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." Psalm 30
It's been a few mornings, and there hasn't been any joy. Maybe it's metaphorical. Maybe it takes more wholeheartedly praying, and doing it without doubt. Maybe it takes something I lack. Or maybe God and I are still arguing.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Broken
Have you ever broken a bone?
I know a couple of people who never have. One of those people is the last man I dated. I think people who have never made a scary trip to the ER or broken a bone have a misunderstanding about how much it hurts. It's not the worst thing to endure, but it's a big deal, and at the moment that it's happening it is the biggest thing in my world. The pain is real. Not insurmountable, but very, very real.
I broke my arm when I was 9 (badly). Bones just all in the wrong places. I've broken toes over a dozen times (once in 5th grade, and several other times as a hazard of being a martial artist), broke my ankle and had a hairline fracture in a vertebrae in my neck due to a car accident when I was 24. Then of course, I have dislocated my knees a lot. While bones aren't broken in that process, the backs of my knee caps do now sport deep grooves in them from running up and over the fibula and tibia (I know, ewwwww). I have had my share of the feeling of being broken. There is pain, the sick feeling after the initial pain subsides, the concern about what will happen next and if everything will heal the same.
So, I say this with real experience to back it up - there is a reason why we call it "breaking" up when a relationship is ending and it's because ending or changing something you thought you had with another person feels broken and jagged and hurty. There is a feeling of being broken, there is a sharp pain, a sick feeling, and a lot of concern about what happens next. Other people might not see your bones poking in the wrong direction, and you may be able to conceal it. There's no trip to the ER but it is a trauma. It's not easy to stop caring about someone (or caring as much about them as you did), and it does require a break from what you thought and knew and believed, and hoped. Breaking things usually means they don't go back together the exact same way. My arm did heal fully and only a good radiologist or medical examiner would be able to tell where the break was, but it took 4 months. My ankle and neck required 6 months of physical therapy. As for the rest, my toes are noticeably crooked, and my knees will probably both need to be replaced by the time I'm 50. They will never be the same.
My break-ups have been similar experiences. Either it takes such an inordinate amount of time to pick up the pieces and try again, or I feel like I'm never quite the same afterwords. After the second time I was engaged, when he left, I was literally left all alone in a state where I didn't know anyone, having moved here for him, and it was about 5 minutes after my dad died. The honest truth is that I was never the same after that. I got over feeling like I was worthless, I got over thinking I must not have meant anything to him for him to walk away so coldly, I stopped crying and eating frozen pizza. I dated, and made a life here. But I don't think I'll ever give up that much for someone again, no matter how much I love them. Maybe that's a good thing, because there are plenty of people who know and love me who would argue I accommodated too much in my relationship with him, but I also feel a little sad that I wasted all that trust and faith on someone so unworthy. I don't miss him but I'm disappointed that I gave so much to him and I miss believing in love and relationships that completely.
So, while I haven't been curled in the fetal position during this break-up, or cried inconsolably (I've cried three times, each time for less than 2 minutes) I wonder what lesson this break-up will teach me. To be friends after? To suck it up and move on? That I deserve more? Or something sadder, like, everyone leaves? It doesn't matter how hard I try, relationships don't work for me? Or, my deepest, darkest fear which if I write here will just sound like I'm begging for someone to refute it. And I'm not . . . I'm just considering it.
For now, I am trying very hard to remember a few things.
- No one can make me do something that's bad for me except me. As such, if I decide to get really drunk, or eat badly, that's on me. The break-up isn't an excuse for that.
- None of my goals should be changed by this. I still want to take better care of myself. I still want a career that better matches a lifestyle that allows for kids. I still want kids.
- I may feel awful, but it is no one's best interest for me to make them feel bad too. No one deserves for me to take this out on them - even him.
- If I find I need to have a real cry sometime, that's ok.
- Drinking a lot will make me feel worse.
- Conversely, working out a lot will make me feel better, even if it doesn't always seem like it.
- When he says he is walking away because he loves me, I am allowed to reject that premise.
- If he talks about getting back together I am allowed to say 'no' and/or to hold him to a higher standard than I did this time.
- It's ok to have the standards that I do for my next relationship, and this break-up shouldn't change them.
- I am free to tell people I don't want to talk about it. Their feelings are not my responsibility, only my feelings are.
- It is completely reasonable that I start dating again ASAP, because I don't need to put more time into waiting for him. But it might not be fair to someone else. Need to think more on that.
- This is what therapists are for.
- This is what friends are for.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Black Friday in review
In order to talk about my Black Friday experience I also have to talk about my Thanksgiving. Of course, I wrote about getting ready for the holiday and I posted recipes, but talking about the day itself means being accountable for for how I celebrated and whether or not I allowed FRED to join in.
I wrote on my food log on Wednesday night that my holiday plan was to have 2-4 drinks, one dessert and ONE plate at dinner, which was at least half veggies. For the most part I succeeded, and FRED was nowhere in sight. (I'm so proud) There was an incident with some M & Ms as we were putting food out but I was able to walk away. I had some butternut squash soup, and then a dinner plate with green beans, cauliflower, brussel sprouts, turkey (my first turkey in 12 years or more), a small dollop of cranberry sauce, and about a cup of mashed potatoes. I turned down stuffing and bread, since I knew there was beer in my future. I had three drinks. And come time for dessert I had a small sliver of pumpkin pie and a small piece of apple cake. Yes, technically, two desserts, but small ones. And then I walked away from the kitchen and made the day about having time with my friends. I made it to the Thanksgiving without having to replace the whipped cream on my way there (this is to say, I kept a can of whipped cream in my house for more than 48 hours!!), and I walked away without it and left it with my hosts. So, not a perfect "on plan" meal, but pretty good by Thanksgiving standards (actually, I weighed myself this morning and I lost weight this weekend . . . ).
On my drive back, I had been given some dessert leftovers, and had some pumpkin bread to give to another friend, so I headed to her house. The dessert feast was still very much in full swing at her house. I had an orange, but was glad to deposit the pumpkin bread I had made for her, as well as my remaining dessert leftovers!
As I left her house at 10 I realized I had had enough to eat during the day, but wasn't uncomfortably full or tired or overwhelmed. Or pissed off at myself, or disappointed, or worried about my jeans. Or, or, or. No ors. If I had gone home, I might've eaten out of boredom. But instead I headed to Target.
Now, I had done some research (looking up some prices on Amazon and preparing an order) and preparation for this trip (packing my coat and a pair of sneakers), but wasn't sure I was actually going to make it. I've never done Black Friday shopping outside of placing an Amazon order because I'm always a plane ride away from home on Thanksgiving, with no good way to get real shopping done and then get it where it needs to go. I wasn't looking to get a gaming system of 40" TV so it didn't feel dire to me to line up and wait, but sleeping isn't something I'm good at when under stress (ahem, like a break up), so I didn't think I would be sleeping soundly that night anyways. And the lure of a few good deals and having this experience was intriguing. There's no way I would have attempted it at 4am (with a line up at 1 or 2am) or in the cold, but Target was opening at midnight and it was about 40 degrees so . . . it seemed like go time.
I had talked this idea down to a few people saying that I might drive by, and if it looked crazy, I would leave. Or even that it was possible I would get in the line and then decide it was overwhelming and cut out. I knew for sure I would be nowhere near a Walmart or Best Buy - I'd heard too many stories of rabid crowds. In my mind I thought, "Target. The place to go for TP and cheap gloves. How much crazy could there be there?"
So, I drove up at about 10pm and saw about 20 people in line, with two more walking towards the doors, and thought Why not? So, I pulled on my coat, my comfy sneakers, and grabbed my book and headed for the door.
Within about 10 minutes of lining up the two people in front of me had me laughing so much that I put my book away. The brother had an awesome "Batman" voice and the sister was hilarious in talking about Best Buy. Soon, a couple lined up behind me, and they joined our conversation too. The five of us began sharing shopping stories, talking about Black Friday and what we were shopping for, sharing stories about shopping, and just generally enjoying each others company. We talked about how cool it would be if the big ticket items were hidden in the store, like a scavenger hunt, and made comparisons with SAW - like what if there was only one TV and two people were handcuffed to it and given saw and a gun. Ha! The brother and sister were in line for two TVs, and the couple for a gaming system. Then of course they asked me what I was there for and I said, "I just want to get god deals and get my shopping done. Plus I feel I need to cross this off my bucket list." They laughed but agreed I would probably get good deals on non-big-ticket items too.
Around this time, a manager came out and gave us all floor maps and Luna bars. The crowd was restless but not mean or pushy. People traveled up and down the line asking,"Are any of you here for the ___ " feeling out their chances for the items they were there for. Food trucks came by, and it was hilarious to me that there's a whole cottage industry for Black Friday shoppers. We all agreed that things were pretty congenial, and that Target was the place to be. We mused that the several hundred people that lined up at Best Buy at 8 and 9pm probably weren't laughing or eating Luna bars.
We did consider that the 100 or so people lined up behind us might think of us as targets and we might be the trample-ees, but we also felt like, "this is Boulder. Land of the rich hippy. People will try hard but it seems unlikely that they'll elbow people out of the way when push comes to shove."
I was impressed with the number of staff we saw get let in the doors. It looked to me like the store was going to be very well staffed, including opening their Starbucks. They lined up carts to prevent people from zigging through the registers going into the stores and forcing everyone down the main hallway. And it became clear to us that they weren't going to open the big sliding doors, but rather planned to take us through the single side door in order to control traffic flow.
Cameras showed up about 30 minutes before the doors opened, and it was around that time that I said, "I kinda wish there was a CU grad student here from sociology studying the crowd mentality." My companions whipped out their floor maps and started seriously considering their strategies of how to get to what they wanted. I suggested a couple of strategies and offered to look for their items. They asked if I was even running when the doors opened and I answered," I want the full experience with the adrenaline rush and running, and I need to burn some calories!"
So, the doors open, we ran, and I helped someone get a TV. I grabbed the one electronics item on my Christmas list and then went back for a cart and did my shopping. And you know what, I did get some really good deals! I can't name what they were in case certain people read my blog, but between my midnight Target shopping and an Amazon order I have only about 4 more things to buy and have saved about $100 - $150 by doing it early.
This doesn't have much to do with my lifestyle changes, except that it frees me up to have a semi-normal life in the next month. It means Christmas doesn't have to derail me from cooking my healthy food and going to the gym. It also, for me, signals that I managed to pull off a mostly healthy Thanksgiving, and not feel so full that I was ill.
Black Friday success and Thanksgiving triumph - Woot!
I wrote on my food log on Wednesday night that my holiday plan was to have 2-4 drinks, one dessert and ONE plate at dinner, which was at least half veggies. For the most part I succeeded, and FRED was nowhere in sight. (I'm so proud) There was an incident with some M & Ms as we were putting food out but I was able to walk away. I had some butternut squash soup, and then a dinner plate with green beans, cauliflower, brussel sprouts, turkey (my first turkey in 12 years or more), a small dollop of cranberry sauce, and about a cup of mashed potatoes. I turned down stuffing and bread, since I knew there was beer in my future. I had three drinks. And come time for dessert I had a small sliver of pumpkin pie and a small piece of apple cake. Yes, technically, two desserts, but small ones. And then I walked away from the kitchen and made the day about having time with my friends. I made it to the Thanksgiving without having to replace the whipped cream on my way there (this is to say, I kept a can of whipped cream in my house for more than 48 hours!!), and I walked away without it and left it with my hosts. So, not a perfect "on plan" meal, but pretty good by Thanksgiving standards (actually, I weighed myself this morning and I lost weight this weekend . . . ).
On my drive back, I had been given some dessert leftovers, and had some pumpkin bread to give to another friend, so I headed to her house. The dessert feast was still very much in full swing at her house. I had an orange, but was glad to deposit the pumpkin bread I had made for her, as well as my remaining dessert leftovers!
As I left her house at 10 I realized I had had enough to eat during the day, but wasn't uncomfortably full or tired or overwhelmed. Or pissed off at myself, or disappointed, or worried about my jeans. Or, or, or. No ors. If I had gone home, I might've eaten out of boredom. But instead I headed to Target.
Now, I had done some research (looking up some prices on Amazon and preparing an order) and preparation for this trip (packing my coat and a pair of sneakers), but wasn't sure I was actually going to make it. I've never done Black Friday shopping outside of placing an Amazon order because I'm always a plane ride away from home on Thanksgiving, with no good way to get real shopping done and then get it where it needs to go. I wasn't looking to get a gaming system of 40" TV so it didn't feel dire to me to line up and wait, but sleeping isn't something I'm good at when under stress (ahem, like a break up), so I didn't think I would be sleeping soundly that night anyways. And the lure of a few good deals and having this experience was intriguing. There's no way I would have attempted it at 4am (with a line up at 1 or 2am) or in the cold, but Target was opening at midnight and it was about 40 degrees so . . . it seemed like go time.
I had talked this idea down to a few people saying that I might drive by, and if it looked crazy, I would leave. Or even that it was possible I would get in the line and then decide it was overwhelming and cut out. I knew for sure I would be nowhere near a Walmart or Best Buy - I'd heard too many stories of rabid crowds. In my mind I thought, "Target. The place to go for TP and cheap gloves. How much crazy could there be there?"
So, I drove up at about 10pm and saw about 20 people in line, with two more walking towards the doors, and thought Why not? So, I pulled on my coat, my comfy sneakers, and grabbed my book and headed for the door.
Within about 10 minutes of lining up the two people in front of me had me laughing so much that I put my book away. The brother had an awesome "Batman" voice and the sister was hilarious in talking about Best Buy. Soon, a couple lined up behind me, and they joined our conversation too. The five of us began sharing shopping stories, talking about Black Friday and what we were shopping for, sharing stories about shopping, and just generally enjoying each others company. We talked about how cool it would be if the big ticket items were hidden in the store, like a scavenger hunt, and made comparisons with SAW - like what if there was only one TV and two people were handcuffed to it and given saw and a gun. Ha! The brother and sister were in line for two TVs, and the couple for a gaming system. Then of course they asked me what I was there for and I said, "I just want to get god deals and get my shopping done. Plus I feel I need to cross this off my bucket list." They laughed but agreed I would probably get good deals on non-big-ticket items too.
Around this time, a manager came out and gave us all floor maps and Luna bars. The crowd was restless but not mean or pushy. People traveled up and down the line asking,"Are any of you here for the ___ " feeling out their chances for the items they were there for. Food trucks came by, and it was hilarious to me that there's a whole cottage industry for Black Friday shoppers. We all agreed that things were pretty congenial, and that Target was the place to be. We mused that the several hundred people that lined up at Best Buy at 8 and 9pm probably weren't laughing or eating Luna bars.
We did consider that the 100 or so people lined up behind us might think of us as targets and we might be the trample-ees, but we also felt like, "this is Boulder. Land of the rich hippy. People will try hard but it seems unlikely that they'll elbow people out of the way when push comes to shove."
I was impressed with the number of staff we saw get let in the doors. It looked to me like the store was going to be very well staffed, including opening their Starbucks. They lined up carts to prevent people from zigging through the registers going into the stores and forcing everyone down the main hallway. And it became clear to us that they weren't going to open the big sliding doors, but rather planned to take us through the single side door in order to control traffic flow.
Cameras showed up about 30 minutes before the doors opened, and it was around that time that I said, "I kinda wish there was a CU grad student here from sociology studying the crowd mentality." My companions whipped out their floor maps and started seriously considering their strategies of how to get to what they wanted. I suggested a couple of strategies and offered to look for their items. They asked if I was even running when the doors opened and I answered," I want the full experience with the adrenaline rush and running, and I need to burn some calories!"
So, the doors open, we ran, and I helped someone get a TV. I grabbed the one electronics item on my Christmas list and then went back for a cart and did my shopping. And you know what, I did get some really good deals! I can't name what they were in case certain people read my blog, but between my midnight Target shopping and an Amazon order I have only about 4 more things to buy and have saved about $100 - $150 by doing it early.
This doesn't have much to do with my lifestyle changes, except that it frees me up to have a semi-normal life in the next month. It means Christmas doesn't have to derail me from cooking my healthy food and going to the gym. It also, for me, signals that I managed to pull off a mostly healthy Thanksgiving, and not feel so full that I was ill.
Black Friday success and Thanksgiving triumph - Woot!
Friday, November 25, 2011
Thanksgiving recipes
As I mentioned a couple of days ago, I am doing some serious cooking for Thanksgiving. I have always helped with this meal, from being a little girl helping to "clean" spoons, to getting a little older and helping to set a table, serve and clear, to becoming a young adult and beginning to contribute first one, and then a couple of dishes at each Thanksgiving meal. This was the first time that I was cooking so heavily for the meal, but I was so excited to dig into most of a Thanksgiving menu . . . you will notice that I had nothing to do with the protein. That is most definitely the way it should be - as someone who recently returned to meat eating after a 12 year absence I am so not worthy when it comes to buying, much less preparing meat! Luckily, I had a good friend who not only made the turkey and stuffing, but invited me over.
Here is what I made, and how people liked it.
Butternut Squash soup
Credit: adapted from www.epicurious.com
Credit: adapted from www.epicurious.com
This was a big hit. I made this mostly because I wanted to do something with a butternut squash, but was surprised that it was yummy and that I wasn't the only one who was really into it!
Ingredients:
- 4 large shallots, chopped
- 1 medium carrot, chopped
- 1 celery rib, chopped - I excluded this since celery isn't my thing
- 1 (15-ounce) can diced tomatoes, drained
- 3 large thyme sprigs
- 1 Turkish or 1/2 California bay leaf
- 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
- 1 1/2 pounds butternut squash, peeled, seeded, and cut into (1-inch) cubes (about 3 1/2 cups)
- 5 cups water - I used three cups of veggie broth and 2 of water
- 1/4 teaspoon grated nutmeg
- 12 bottled cooked chestnuts, chopped (1/2 cup) - I am unsure I'll do this
- I added chopped fresh rosemary
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