Pretty much since The Boy could walk I’ve struggled with the question of toys. He is all boy when it comes to his choice of play things. He’s been able to pick out and identify a huge range of superheroes from the time he could speak. He’s adored Star Wars since he was old enough to not put the action figures directly into his mouth. He gravitates towards swords and guns and other weapons of violence. He’s a rough and tumble, get down and dirty kind of boy (although he does play kitchen, mommy and daddy and dress up with his sister in a really sweet way). I’ve often wondered if we should have only let him play with all wooden toys designed to engage his creativity instead of battery needing plastic play for him sorts of toys.
Here’s where my main struggle comes in. The Boy really wants to play with G.I. Joes. Which I had always planned on shutting down immediately as I was not at all keen on the idea of him playing with toys whose entire purpose was to fight. We live in a neighborhood where almost all of The Boy’s friends’ fathers are in the military. His first best friend was our neighbor B who was in the army and lost his life in Iraq. Several of his school friends have family members in the military. His Papa Tractor is a retired Marine and his Uncle is in the Navy. So now I don’t think I can just put my foot down with a resounding (but unexplained) no without feeling like an absolute hypocrite.
I have a deep respect for the people who choose to be soldiers. In fact because of B, every time I see a soldier in uniform I have to use all of my willpower not to just hug them. So when The Boy says to me “I want to be a soldier when I grow up because I want to help people” it makes me cry and it makes me want to support him in whatever way I can. Because what mother doesn’t want their son to grow up with the sole intention of helping people?
Showing posts with label choice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label choice. Show all posts
11/8/09
9/9/09
Wordsmithing
I was sitting at a local bar/brewery with my dearest friend E this evening, celebrating her good ultrasound news and just enjoying one of my most favorite woman friends and our conversation turned to family and childhood. She comes from a very large, very involved family and as you all know by now, I am an only child. She is the second oldest of five and her family was relatively traditional (at least compared to mine I think).
E has always been a bit shocked by the words that come out of my mouth. I think she thinks I’m a wee bit brash, maybe even a little crass. My own personal vernacular is so far outside of her day to day rhythm of speech and until tonight I think maybe she thought it was intended purely for the shock value. That perhaps I chose my words with the sole purpose of dropping verbal bombshells for fun.
But honestly, I drop the f-bomb just as often as just about any other adjective (although I have consciously tried to not use it as often in this blog thinking maybe I was inadvertently offending people new to me and my writing, but the reader count has pretty much stayed the same so I may be reintroducing it in the near future). Cuss words really are just like additional adjectives in my vocabulary. Any additional weight they may carry for some who don’t use them very often is lost for me by sheer familiarity of use.
As a writer and overall lover of words, I’m always on the lookout for new ways of expressing myself. So in that way I wish that particular set still held the vehemence and awe that they do for most. They would give me yet another set of screwdrivers in my tool box. But in my historical choice of words those specifically are center stage on the same level as all of my other favorite words.
Favorite words like livid and lovely, genau and gorgeous, demand and despise, strumpet and harlot, kerfuffle and wonky, wander and focus, fantasy and flaky, blessing and belated, dearest and daughter, saunter and son and so many, many more.
E has always been a bit shocked by the words that come out of my mouth. I think she thinks I’m a wee bit brash, maybe even a little crass. My own personal vernacular is so far outside of her day to day rhythm of speech and until tonight I think maybe she thought it was intended purely for the shock value. That perhaps I chose my words with the sole purpose of dropping verbal bombshells for fun.
But honestly, I drop the f-bomb just as often as just about any other adjective (although I have consciously tried to not use it as often in this blog thinking maybe I was inadvertently offending people new to me and my writing, but the reader count has pretty much stayed the same so I may be reintroducing it in the near future). Cuss words really are just like additional adjectives in my vocabulary. Any additional weight they may carry for some who don’t use them very often is lost for me by sheer familiarity of use.
As a writer and overall lover of words, I’m always on the lookout for new ways of expressing myself. So in that way I wish that particular set still held the vehemence and awe that they do for most. They would give me yet another set of screwdrivers in my tool box. But in my historical choice of words those specifically are center stage on the same level as all of my other favorite words.
Favorite words like livid and lovely, genau and gorgeous, demand and despise, strumpet and harlot, kerfuffle and wonky, wander and focus, fantasy and flaky, blessing and belated, dearest and daughter, saunter and son and so many, many more.
8/26/09
Unbecoming the Fixer
“If you can’t fix it, Jack, you gotta stand it….For as long as we can ride it. There ain’t no reins on this one.” – Ennis Del Mar, Brokeback Mountain
I’ve always been a fixer. I am the queen of research. Whenever I encounter a problem, big or small, I research it. I find out everything I can about it and then I put together a plan to fix it. It’s what I do. And unlike a lot of people who mostly just want people to listen while they vent, I would be more than happy if after I’m done venting someone would step in and just fix whatever it is that I’m railing about. I like quick fixes. It speaks to the instant gratification part of me. I like certain fixes; the ability to know something inside and out and then make it work for you. So much of everyday life exists in hues of gray that I deeply appreciate those times when things are black and white enough to be able to fix them.
But for the majority of life, there are no reins, no fixes. You just have to hold on and ride it out, for as long as you can stand it. And that’s the part that I’ve always had trouble with.
I think though that I’m learning how to appreciate those times where the issue at hand cannot be fixed and must only be stood. I’m learning how to use those times to my advantage. Because even if it can’t be fixed, the opportunity to thoroughly learn it still exists. The moment of being can so easily be transformed into the chance to become.
And I think that it’s taken me so long to learn this because I was so utterly attached to the action; the choice to make each moment into something other than what it already is. But this newfound faith is allowing me to see that each moment stands on its own, regardless of my action within it. It simply is, with or without my choice to act. Once I’m able to let go of the need to act, I can then know each moment in its entirety.
I’ve always been a fixer. I am the queen of research. Whenever I encounter a problem, big or small, I research it. I find out everything I can about it and then I put together a plan to fix it. It’s what I do. And unlike a lot of people who mostly just want people to listen while they vent, I would be more than happy if after I’m done venting someone would step in and just fix whatever it is that I’m railing about. I like quick fixes. It speaks to the instant gratification part of me. I like certain fixes; the ability to know something inside and out and then make it work for you. So much of everyday life exists in hues of gray that I deeply appreciate those times when things are black and white enough to be able to fix them.
But for the majority of life, there are no reins, no fixes. You just have to hold on and ride it out, for as long as you can stand it. And that’s the part that I’ve always had trouble with.
I think though that I’m learning how to appreciate those times where the issue at hand cannot be fixed and must only be stood. I’m learning how to use those times to my advantage. Because even if it can’t be fixed, the opportunity to thoroughly learn it still exists. The moment of being can so easily be transformed into the chance to become.
And I think that it’s taken me so long to learn this because I was so utterly attached to the action; the choice to make each moment into something other than what it already is. But this newfound faith is allowing me to see that each moment stands on its own, regardless of my action within it. It simply is, with or without my choice to act. Once I’m able to let go of the need to act, I can then know each moment in its entirety.
8/20/09
Double Gemini
I’ve always tried not to put too much stock in astrology, because well, let’s face it, it’s a wee bit woo-woo for me. But there are certain aspects that just really make sense. Like what it means to be a Gemini. My mom had my astrological chart done once and I remember her saying that Gemini was also my rising sign; making me a double Gemini. And if I weren’t the stinking poster child for what it means to be a Gemini, I probably would have dismissed it.
I most certainly have this duality. Ever present, always squabbling away in the back (or front) of my mind. Which is why I can write yesterday that I have an unfailing faith that everything will work out, and today (as the creditors have started calling) I can be freaking out and not know what the hell I was talking about. Why I can be 33 years old and still love having blue hair and wanting a new tattoo. Why I can at the same time be so afraid of getting in trouble for sending in bills late.
I have this part of me that is desperate to follow all the rules while the other side is constantly giving the middle finger to every and all form of authority.
What I think I’m trying to learn this year is balance. Because I have very marked periods in my life that were ruled by one side or the other and I’ve just never managed to see any kind of real success when I make choices without balance. I’ve been working diligently on bringing more of my life into balance. Taking it easier on myself when the scales shift a bit and then gently setting them straight. And this has been one o f the hardest years of my life. So I guess there is still a large part of me far, far away from any kind of transcendence because man am I bitter that I’m working so hard and still having it be so hard.
So perhaps my goal is balance and acceptance. Being willing to accept the fruits of my labor regardless of how unpleasant they may be.
I most certainly have this duality. Ever present, always squabbling away in the back (or front) of my mind. Which is why I can write yesterday that I have an unfailing faith that everything will work out, and today (as the creditors have started calling) I can be freaking out and not know what the hell I was talking about. Why I can be 33 years old and still love having blue hair and wanting a new tattoo. Why I can at the same time be so afraid of getting in trouble for sending in bills late.
I have this part of me that is desperate to follow all the rules while the other side is constantly giving the middle finger to every and all form of authority.
What I think I’m trying to learn this year is balance. Because I have very marked periods in my life that were ruled by one side or the other and I’ve just never managed to see any kind of real success when I make choices without balance. I’ve been working diligently on bringing more of my life into balance. Taking it easier on myself when the scales shift a bit and then gently setting them straight. And this has been one o f the hardest years of my life. So I guess there is still a large part of me far, far away from any kind of transcendence because man am I bitter that I’m working so hard and still having it be so hard.
So perhaps my goal is balance and acceptance. Being willing to accept the fruits of my labor regardless of how unpleasant they may be.
8/19/09
Teetering
Life just keeps piling things on. We’re 99% sure that The Girl has asthma. And she has started having abdominal migraines on top of the regular kind. Granted, if asthma and migraines are the only things she has to deal with on a long-term basis, I’ll count my blessings, but still. No three year old should have to deal with this crap.
And we discovered last night that our refrigerator sprung a leak at some point and got to the point where it had seeped through the floor into the threshold above the door to our laundry room. Who knows what the drywall/floorboard damage will be when it dries out.
The medical bills just keep rolling in from The Girl’s hospitalization and now The Boy’s concussion.
And I can feel myself teetering on the edge of a full blown pity party. I can feel myself being on the verge of tears pretty much all the time the last few days. I can feel myself being drug down by the sheer weight of it all. Even though drywall just isn’t that heavy. And it just sucks. I know that I’m stronger than all of this. I know that we are indeed being taken care of and that everything will work out one way or another. I know that I am exactly where I should be. And where I am needed. But it still sucks. And I’m tired.
There is a bit of a battle raging in me at the moment. There is the part of me that utterly and completely (maybe for the first time in my life) trusts that the universe is preparing something amazing and wonderful for me and my family. And there is the part of me that is ready to give up from absolute fatigue. It’s been a long year.
So I am trying to just listen to my heart. I’m trying to figure out how to call to me the love and support I know is there. I’m trying to just be in every moment, present and authentic. I’m trying to figure out how and what to ask for, because I’m never going to get something I don’t ask for.
And we discovered last night that our refrigerator sprung a leak at some point and got to the point where it had seeped through the floor into the threshold above the door to our laundry room. Who knows what the drywall/floorboard damage will be when it dries out.
The medical bills just keep rolling in from The Girl’s hospitalization and now The Boy’s concussion.
And I can feel myself teetering on the edge of a full blown pity party. I can feel myself being on the verge of tears pretty much all the time the last few days. I can feel myself being drug down by the sheer weight of it all. Even though drywall just isn’t that heavy. And it just sucks. I know that I’m stronger than all of this. I know that we are indeed being taken care of and that everything will work out one way or another. I know that I am exactly where I should be. And where I am needed. But it still sucks. And I’m tired.
There is a bit of a battle raging in me at the moment. There is the part of me that utterly and completely (maybe for the first time in my life) trusts that the universe is preparing something amazing and wonderful for me and my family. And there is the part of me that is ready to give up from absolute fatigue. It’s been a long year.
So I am trying to just listen to my heart. I’m trying to figure out how to call to me the love and support I know is there. I’m trying to just be in every moment, present and authentic. I’m trying to figure out how and what to ask for, because I’m never going to get something I don’t ask for.
8/14/09
Lazy Day
There is something to be said for lazy days. I mean one of my most favorite things in the world is making a to-do list and methodically checking off every last item. There is a tremendous sense of accomplishment in that, even if only in the most trivial of senses.
But every once in a while I just really like to have days where I hang out and do whatever moves me through the day. Putting on clean workout clothes and then not working out. Playing on the computer. Building Lego’s and playing board games with The Girl. Telling her how pretty she is when she gets all gussied up in her finest of princess/fairy dress up clothes and dons her fanciest tiara. It is a lovely thing to just be able to play and lounge and be without agenda. Even when I have more items than I would like to admit on my to-do list.
The Girl and I had just one of these days today and it was lovely. She curled up on the couch and slipped into sleep while watching a movie and I let her sleep while I took the opportunity to jump in the shower solo for a change. After reluctantly waking her (an easy bedtime is vastly more important than a few quiet moments in the afternoon) we spent the rest of the hour or so before The Boy and my husband got home cuddling without guilt.
Watching The Boy start school and remembering how fast time goes (and it only seems to be picking up speed) I have just been really trying to slow down and enjoy the time I have with my children as they are in every moment. And granted, some of those moments are filled with nothing more than my want to punt them for mouthing off or not listening, but mostly I am just rediscovering their joy. Focusing on the playtime instead of just what has to be done next. Recommitting, in a way, to being present and authentic in every possible way.
And trying not to count the days since my interview. Definitely not counting down the days until I might hear back.
But every once in a while I just really like to have days where I hang out and do whatever moves me through the day. Putting on clean workout clothes and then not working out. Playing on the computer. Building Lego’s and playing board games with The Girl. Telling her how pretty she is when she gets all gussied up in her finest of princess/fairy dress up clothes and dons her fanciest tiara. It is a lovely thing to just be able to play and lounge and be without agenda. Even when I have more items than I would like to admit on my to-do list.
The Girl and I had just one of these days today and it was lovely. She curled up on the couch and slipped into sleep while watching a movie and I let her sleep while I took the opportunity to jump in the shower solo for a change. After reluctantly waking her (an easy bedtime is vastly more important than a few quiet moments in the afternoon) we spent the rest of the hour or so before The Boy and my husband got home cuddling without guilt.
Watching The Boy start school and remembering how fast time goes (and it only seems to be picking up speed) I have just been really trying to slow down and enjoy the time I have with my children as they are in every moment. And granted, some of those moments are filled with nothing more than my want to punt them for mouthing off or not listening, but mostly I am just rediscovering their joy. Focusing on the playtime instead of just what has to be done next. Recommitting, in a way, to being present and authentic in every possible way.
And trying not to count the days since my interview. Definitely not counting down the days until I might hear back.
6/24/09
6/23/09 - H Day 3
Days in hospital: 2. Nights of sleep: -2. Definitive answers: many.
Mom had an angiogram at 6:30am this morning. They found one 90% blockage in one of her arteries and several other 10-20% blockages. They did an angioplasty on the 90%-er and placed a medicated stent to keep the artery open. She did fine through the surgery, which is a great sign, although her blood pressure is staying pretty low and her oxygen is a little unstable. But otherwise, as long as she follows through on the medication regimen they’ve prescribed, she should be ok. But if she doesn’t, the stent will collapse and she will have another heart attack. Mostly it’s time to just flip into major prevention mode to make sure the smaller blockages don’t grow. The official diagnosis is coronary artery disease. The unofficial diagnosis is “she has plaque all over the place!”
My mom has by and large chosen a western medicine intervention-free life. Finding herself in the grips of western medicine fingers has been a tough pill for her to swallow (pun fully intended). She doesn’t understand why this happened. She does yoga every day. Her diet is healthy and clean. No smoking, no drugs, very little drinking, no red meat. This just doesn’t make any sense to her whatsoever. Which I think is at the core of her reticence to just take orders. For most anyone it’s hard to just take what someone gives you when it doesn’t jive with anything else in your life.
And I get it. Really I do. But I also know that if she doesn’t jump through some of these hoops that her dying because of it will make even less sense. So I have already been dubbed Nurse Ratchett. And I’m really fine with that.
Which is why when they discharge her today, the doc will be talking to me as much as to mom. And she’ll be staying with us for a couple of weeks until I can go back down to NM with her. And I’m taking her blood pressure twice a day and making sure she takes her meds. Whether it makes sense or not, it just is right now.
Mom had an angiogram at 6:30am this morning. They found one 90% blockage in one of her arteries and several other 10-20% blockages. They did an angioplasty on the 90%-er and placed a medicated stent to keep the artery open. She did fine through the surgery, which is a great sign, although her blood pressure is staying pretty low and her oxygen is a little unstable. But otherwise, as long as she follows through on the medication regimen they’ve prescribed, she should be ok. But if she doesn’t, the stent will collapse and she will have another heart attack. Mostly it’s time to just flip into major prevention mode to make sure the smaller blockages don’t grow. The official diagnosis is coronary artery disease. The unofficial diagnosis is “she has plaque all over the place!”
My mom has by and large chosen a western medicine intervention-free life. Finding herself in the grips of western medicine fingers has been a tough pill for her to swallow (pun fully intended). She doesn’t understand why this happened. She does yoga every day. Her diet is healthy and clean. No smoking, no drugs, very little drinking, no red meat. This just doesn’t make any sense to her whatsoever. Which I think is at the core of her reticence to just take orders. For most anyone it’s hard to just take what someone gives you when it doesn’t jive with anything else in your life.
And I get it. Really I do. But I also know that if she doesn’t jump through some of these hoops that her dying because of it will make even less sense. So I have already been dubbed Nurse Ratchett. And I’m really fine with that.
Which is why when they discharge her today, the doc will be talking to me as much as to mom. And she’ll be staying with us for a couple of weeks until I can go back down to NM with her. And I’m taking her blood pressure twice a day and making sure she takes her meds. Whether it makes sense or not, it just is right now.
6/10/09
Choose your Choice
There’s a woman on TV right now whose name is Kiki. And I wonder if that’s her real name. I mean did her parents actually find that name in a book or conversation or movie and think “Oh! I love that name! We should name our daughter that!” Is that how those names happen?
And now there is a man throwing away a garbage bag full of money. And I know it’s supposed to be a funny and poignant comment on how quickly we all throw away our money on overpriced cell phone services or cars or whatever. But mostly I just think it’s silly. There was a room full of people who were paid large sums of money to come up with that ad campaign which is actually trite and anything but poignant. It’s a commercial for Christ’s sake. Is that what we’re supposed to take as truth now?
There are middle-aged moderately handsome men telling me that pills can improve my husband’s sex life. That simply by taking this little blue pill he can suddenly meet all of my unspoken needs and his own. It has nothing to do with me of course, I don’t have to do anything but lie there afterwards and relish in the aftereffects.
I’m frustrated and angry today. By the attachment to convention that this world seems to demand. By the people who squint their eyes good naturedly and cock their heads to one side whenever I get on one of my tangents about romance or hope or fairytales. By the fact that I am one of those people.
I watched Revolutionary Road today and I think it’s a very brave movie with a character that has tremendous courage. Some say she was a coward. That her choices were cop outs and that she selfishly ignored her responsibilities in some foolish quest to be happy.
And every moment of every day is all about choice. The choice to embrace or embellish or face with disdain. The choice to put on a brave face or refuse to suck it up any longer. The choice to be or become.
What will my choice be today or tomorrow or right now?
And now there is a man throwing away a garbage bag full of money. And I know it’s supposed to be a funny and poignant comment on how quickly we all throw away our money on overpriced cell phone services or cars or whatever. But mostly I just think it’s silly. There was a room full of people who were paid large sums of money to come up with that ad campaign which is actually trite and anything but poignant. It’s a commercial for Christ’s sake. Is that what we’re supposed to take as truth now?
There are middle-aged moderately handsome men telling me that pills can improve my husband’s sex life. That simply by taking this little blue pill he can suddenly meet all of my unspoken needs and his own. It has nothing to do with me of course, I don’t have to do anything but lie there afterwards and relish in the aftereffects.
I’m frustrated and angry today. By the attachment to convention that this world seems to demand. By the people who squint their eyes good naturedly and cock their heads to one side whenever I get on one of my tangents about romance or hope or fairytales. By the fact that I am one of those people.
I watched Revolutionary Road today and I think it’s a very brave movie with a character that has tremendous courage. Some say she was a coward. That her choices were cop outs and that she selfishly ignored her responsibilities in some foolish quest to be happy.
And every moment of every day is all about choice. The choice to embrace or embellish or face with disdain. The choice to put on a brave face or refuse to suck it up any longer. The choice to be or become.
What will my choice be today or tomorrow or right now?
5/27/09
Impulse vs. Presence
Here’s a question that popped into my head today – where is the line between being present in every moment and being impulsive?
I’ve spent the last year really focusing on learning how to be present in every moment and then to summon the courage to be authentic in that moment, for better or worse. And I’ve gotten pretty good at it. I am really present in just about every moment, and I’ve been able to raise my awareness enough that even when my head wanders out of the present moment, I can recognize it and reel it back in. I can catch myself when I’m dipping my toes into the past or future when the fear or anger descends with no other provocation other than my brain getting away with itself.
But yesterday and today I’ve been wondering about how and if that presence of mind could easily translate into impulsive acts. Like today when I nonchalantly handed over my credit card for Webkinz for the kids and bras for me. Or several sake bombs and enough sushi to gorge a very, very large cat. Or shoes (I’m still searching for sassy sandals, please let me know if you find any).
To be fair, I almost never spend money on myself. I’ll spend money on the kids or other people in a heartbeat. But hardly ever on myself. The kids are gone and I got a wild hair up my ass and decided to go shopping. And I’m pretty sure I spent entirely too much money on things I didn’t necessarily need (although, also to be fair? I only have the one bra, so it’s not too much of a splurge to have a rotation of three).
So I guess the answer to my question is that if I were to chalk up the impulse shopping to being in the moment and following my whimsy regardless of right or wrong, that’s pretty much bullshit. But knowing that I made the choice to splurge and buy myself something pretty the day before the biggest interview of my life and then to roll with the consequences is the kind of being in the moment I’m proud of.
I’ve spent the last year really focusing on learning how to be present in every moment and then to summon the courage to be authentic in that moment, for better or worse. And I’ve gotten pretty good at it. I am really present in just about every moment, and I’ve been able to raise my awareness enough that even when my head wanders out of the present moment, I can recognize it and reel it back in. I can catch myself when I’m dipping my toes into the past or future when the fear or anger descends with no other provocation other than my brain getting away with itself.
But yesterday and today I’ve been wondering about how and if that presence of mind could easily translate into impulsive acts. Like today when I nonchalantly handed over my credit card for Webkinz for the kids and bras for me. Or several sake bombs and enough sushi to gorge a very, very large cat. Or shoes (I’m still searching for sassy sandals, please let me know if you find any).
To be fair, I almost never spend money on myself. I’ll spend money on the kids or other people in a heartbeat. But hardly ever on myself. The kids are gone and I got a wild hair up my ass and decided to go shopping. And I’m pretty sure I spent entirely too much money on things I didn’t necessarily need (although, also to be fair? I only have the one bra, so it’s not too much of a splurge to have a rotation of three).
So I guess the answer to my question is that if I were to chalk up the impulse shopping to being in the moment and following my whimsy regardless of right or wrong, that’s pretty much bullshit. But knowing that I made the choice to splurge and buy myself something pretty the day before the biggest interview of my life and then to roll with the consequences is the kind of being in the moment I’m proud of.
2/8/09
Choice
Things have been shifting in me pretty rapidly as of late. I’ve had my ass kicked a couple of times lately by some old friends. And even though I was grateful for the effort they put into it, I wasn’t really expecting the effects to last more than a couple of days. I expected the doubt and uncertainty to start creeping in. The fear to set up camp and light a fire.
But there’s no sign of those unwelcome guests at the moment. They’ve not sent postcards signaling their imminent arrival. They’ve not called right in the middle of dinner. There is simply no sign of them.
And that’s got me a bit disconcerted. Part of me is waiting anxiously for them to show up carrying a picnic of self loathing and distraction. But part of me is just done. In a fuck it, let’s do this thing sort of way. I think maybe during one of my much needed and much deserved ass whoopings, that I made a decision.
I think I made a decision to stop screwing around and just get to work. And keep working, regardless of whether my own personal sky was black with rain or full of sunshine.
That maybe I just decided to start believing everything that those who love me have been trying to tell me for years. That I deserve to be happy. That I am worth the love that has been given to me so freely. That I am beautiful and talented and capable. And mostly, that I am strong. Really, really strong. That I can make it through anything. I just had to make the choice.
And made it I have. Right now my life, my mind, my heart are full of huge things. Gigantic ideas and feelings spanning time and definition. I know that eventually, as I get good at this, that the day to day will carry with it as much joy as the big stuff does now. That I will once again embrace meal planning as much as I do life planning.
My feet will come back to earth as the rest of me stays flying. It’s all about the balance baby.
But there’s no sign of those unwelcome guests at the moment. They’ve not sent postcards signaling their imminent arrival. They’ve not called right in the middle of dinner. There is simply no sign of them.
And that’s got me a bit disconcerted. Part of me is waiting anxiously for them to show up carrying a picnic of self loathing and distraction. But part of me is just done. In a fuck it, let’s do this thing sort of way. I think maybe during one of my much needed and much deserved ass whoopings, that I made a decision.
I think I made a decision to stop screwing around and just get to work. And keep working, regardless of whether my own personal sky was black with rain or full of sunshine.
That maybe I just decided to start believing everything that those who love me have been trying to tell me for years. That I deserve to be happy. That I am worth the love that has been given to me so freely. That I am beautiful and talented and capable. And mostly, that I am strong. Really, really strong. That I can make it through anything. I just had to make the choice.
And made it I have. Right now my life, my mind, my heart are full of huge things. Gigantic ideas and feelings spanning time and definition. I know that eventually, as I get good at this, that the day to day will carry with it as much joy as the big stuff does now. That I will once again embrace meal planning as much as I do life planning.
My feet will come back to earth as the rest of me stays flying. It’s all about the balance baby.
1/10/09
Vice
I’ve always been a big believer in vices. I know, that sounds bad. But it’s true. I’ve honestly always believed that everyone’s gotta have a vice or two. Keeps us sane. Gives us permission to indulge in guilty pleasures without taking it to excess.
You name it and I’ve claimed it at some time. Everything from drugs and sex to sweets and movies. I love to smoke, drink martinis, stay up too late and dance until dawn. I’d see five movies a day if I could or spend the day in bed.
Here’s the thing though, I guess they’re called vices for a reason. To give you something to hide behind, to beg you to take them to excess. And I almost always did. Take them to excess.
It’s kind of a twofold pleasure I guess. There’s the pleasure that comes from the actual indulgence and then there is the absolute joy that comes in knowing that I’m doing something that I maybe shouldn’t. Probably shouldn’t. Definitely shouldn’t. But I do it anyway, because I like to indulge, I like to obscure reality a bit and I love to do what I’m not supposed to.
It’s not even just that I like to break the rules, although I do. It’s more that I like to do things my way. Even when it doesn’t work, which happens more than I’d like to admit. I’m really not a big fan of being told what to do. Shocking I know.
And I find myself wholly unrepentant. Except for the morning after. I usually wake up the next morning filled with a crushing wave of guilt. And questions. What did I say? Did I do anything stupid? Was this latest burst of rebellion really all that necessary? Or just a self indulgent act of adolescence?
It’s a fine line to walk. Balancing between the potential for self-destruction and the quest for liberation from convention. It’s the human condition to some extent I suppose. Attempting to find your place in the world, based on your own personal rules while still keeping in mind responsibilities and obligations. The philosophical argument of a lifetime.
Or maybe that’s all bullshit. Vices. Are. Bad. ?
You name it and I’ve claimed it at some time. Everything from drugs and sex to sweets and movies. I love to smoke, drink martinis, stay up too late and dance until dawn. I’d see five movies a day if I could or spend the day in bed.
Here’s the thing though, I guess they’re called vices for a reason. To give you something to hide behind, to beg you to take them to excess. And I almost always did. Take them to excess.
It’s kind of a twofold pleasure I guess. There’s the pleasure that comes from the actual indulgence and then there is the absolute joy that comes in knowing that I’m doing something that I maybe shouldn’t. Probably shouldn’t. Definitely shouldn’t. But I do it anyway, because I like to indulge, I like to obscure reality a bit and I love to do what I’m not supposed to.
It’s not even just that I like to break the rules, although I do. It’s more that I like to do things my way. Even when it doesn’t work, which happens more than I’d like to admit. I’m really not a big fan of being told what to do. Shocking I know.
And I find myself wholly unrepentant. Except for the morning after. I usually wake up the next morning filled with a crushing wave of guilt. And questions. What did I say? Did I do anything stupid? Was this latest burst of rebellion really all that necessary? Or just a self indulgent act of adolescence?
It’s a fine line to walk. Balancing between the potential for self-destruction and the quest for liberation from convention. It’s the human condition to some extent I suppose. Attempting to find your place in the world, based on your own personal rules while still keeping in mind responsibilities and obligations. The philosophical argument of a lifetime.
Or maybe that’s all bullshit. Vices. Are. Bad. ?