September 29th, 2014 | 1 Comment »

I’ve written about ripples before, how one thing impacts another and waves move ever outward, the whispering breath of my spirit carried out into the world, brushing gently against all in its path.  A kiss on the horizon that finds its way back to me.

There is a song that moves my heart.  When I hear it, the strains fill me, move me, cover me, and touch my very soul.  Everything about it speaks to me, as though it was written just for me.  Not long ago, I mentioned this song in conversation, and remarked that it’s one of my favorites.  It comes up on my Pandora mix every once in a while, and it almost always makes me cry.  It just takes me to that place.  The other day, a friend shared this very song on Facebook, especially for me.  That ripple had made its way back to me.

Late at night, after the kids had gone to sleep, I sat cradled in the hammock swing on my porch, breathed in the crisp autumn air, and listened.  Over and again, I played that song.  Tears fell.  I went inside the music, and sobbed, from the very core of me, releasing my self from myself.  I thought about my life, and who I am.  I thought about what I want.  I thought about love, what it is, and where it comes from.  I thought about my place in this earth, the mother I am, the life I lead, the responsibilities I shoulder.  All the while, the music played, and tears rolled down my face.

I sobbed my heart out, and decided that it really doesn’t matter if the man who fits ever appears, because I’m beautiful through and through, in my heart of hearts where beauty matters.  In that place, I am pure and innocent, and in that place I am love.  It’s not about all the men who have gone before.  It’s not about anything but me.  In that place, I see my self.  I see someone who is worthy of my love.  I stood naked in front of my mirror, while the music played.  I touched myself.  I moved my hands all over my body, slowly, looking at the curves and the shadows, looking through unveiled eyes at something beautiful, as tears rolled down.

I must have listened to that song thirty times or more.  I cried my heart out, and touched myself, looked at myself with respect and regard, all the while loving myself.  I know who I am.  I saw myself, maybe for the first time, for the beautiful woman that I am.  I saw myself, perhaps, as those who love me see me.

A small spark flickered inside of me; a glimmer of life reborn.  Tears streamed down my face and I knew.

when oceans rise

I am healing.  I can heal.

Lead me where my trust is without borders.

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander.

I will call upon your name.

Keep my eyes above the waves.

My soul will rest in your embrace.

I am yours and you are mine.

When oceans rise, my soul will rest in your embrace.

Fifteen, twenty, twenty five years, or more –scars from so very long ago.  I am healing.  God is speaking to me in ways that most people wouldn’t understand, in ripples and waves that make their way back to me.  I see where I am, and where I am going.  It likely won’t make sense to anybody but me, but it doesn’t have to.  This is my journey.  I am going to walk down this healing path for a while.

I am not afraid.

I am not alone.

June 16th, 2014 | 4 Comments »

I’ve been on a home organization frenzy recently, which includes an attempt to organize my photos.  As I browsed through them, I started to see some of them differently.  Namely, pictures of myself from a year ago.  Was that really me?  Who was that?

I’ve been on a journey to find myself for some time now.  I know I’ve been singing that tune for ages, but it’s different now.  Now I see where I’ve been lying to myself for ever, where I’ve disregarded and dishonored the very essence of my self for the better part of my life.  Not that it’s been wrong to put others first.  I’ve done well for others.  I’ve helped others.  I will still do so.  At my core, I’m a helper.

The thing that I noticed today is that I’m no longer hiding behind denial.  I dishonored myself.  I let myself go.  I loathed myself. I don’t know why.  I can’t say.  I can’t see.  Only that I did it.  And even so, when I buried myself so deeply, wherever it was that I’ve been (buried under a hundred pounds of fat), still, there has always been a part of ME, the real, authentic me, looking for a way out, looking for the light of day.  She wanted to live.  All along, she wanted to break free and see the light of day.  So today, with the recognition and acceptance of what I’ve done to myself, I also give forgiveness.  Because I love myself.  I wasn’t loving myself, but now I see that love and forgiveness go hand in hand.  And just like that, I’ve forgiven myself and discovered that I love myself.  I’m coming home to me.

I want to clarify that this isn’t at all about being obese, or becoming obese.  And it’s not at all about losing weight, either.  It’s not about the age old misconception that, oh, if only I could or would lose the weight, I’d be happy.  Losing some weight has given me the courage to look at myself, and to see myself.  So this is about getting lost.  It’s about fear.  It’s about hiding.  It’s about the emotional, not the physical self.  Only the emotional problems had a very physical manifestation.  As they do.

There aren’t very many people (and by people, I mean dear friends) who knew me before I lost myself.  In fact, I can only think of three —Dindu, Suse, and my sister S.  These people have loved me for most of my life (and I them).  It all happened so long ago.  I don’t even know when.  Or why.  I know of times and events that caused things to escalate, but the beginning?  I don’t know.  My sister thinks it started when I had an abortion.  She could be right (she’s usually right).  She used to say, “Sissy, that’s when you lost your mojo.  Where is my sissy?  I want my sissy back.  I miss her.”   She’s been saying that for years.

So I’m coming home to me.  Those words stir the memory of a song from my youth.  In my heart and in my head, I hear Hosea.  Come back to me with all your heart –don’t let fear keep us apart.  Trees do bend, though straight and tall –so must we to others’ call.  Long have I waited for your coming home to me and living deeply our new life.  The wilderness will lead you to your heart, where I will speak.  Integrity and justice, with tenderness you shall know.

I’m on my way.  Home to me.  My arms are open.  I feel the sunlight on my face.

let the light shine on me

I’m like the very hungry caterpillar.  I’ve eaten my way through the difficult parts of my life, and trapped myself in a nearly impenetrable cocoon.  And now, I’ve started to nibble my way through these walls and I can see the light of day.

Some day soon I’m going to find my smile.  I’m going to become a beautiful butterfly.  And then?  Then I will FLY!

December 12th, 2013 | 1 Comment »

My body is changing.  My physical form is occupying less space in the universe, and with this slow transformation there is a new self-awareness dawning.  How can I explain this?  It’s almost as if, for all the years –so many years!– that I’ve been taking up so much space, there was a gaping chasm separating my self, the real me, from my self, the physical me.  Maybe I wouldn’t, or maybe I couldn’t look at the latter.  Maybe it was just too much.  This is not who I am, I’d say, and I’d turn the other way.  But the problem is –was–, that we live in a physical world, so there is no escaping the physical self.  That is what manifests.  And what of the inner self?  Where did that one go?  That one who might have been beautiful, smart, capable, excellent.  That one is smothered by the shell that is manifested in the physical.  I spent years struggling with self-acceptance.  The dichotomy between who I was and who I appeared to be was too great.  E R R O R.  C A N N O T   C O M P U T E.

It’s so very easy to soothe this unrest, this distress, with all manner of deflections and cover-ups.   Fill one’s every moment with something, anything, so that you don’t have to think about yourself, and the Grand Canyon that separates your self from your self.  Be a super achiever.  Move mountains.  Consume mountains.  At the end of the day, though, there remains a deep and aching sadness, because you can’t really cover up the Grand Canyon.  It’s still there, and no matter how hard you may try to justify or explain or deflect or deny, the truth of the matter is that it is still there.  You can’t escape from yourself.

Grand Canyon

Grand Canyon

What I’m beginning to notice, as I sit for a moment and gaze down at the legs folded beneath me, is that the chasm is closing.  Ever so slowly.  But it’s closing.  Because when I look down at my physical self, I see my physical self.  And I recognize a faint glimmer of my self.  I can look at the legs beneath me and say, “Oh!  That’s me.  I’m sitting here.  Those are my legs.  They are attached to my body.  They are a part of me.”  And that is the beginning of acceptance.

Two things come to mind as I reflect upon these things.  Why does it take a lifetime and a radical change to deem oneself worthy of one’s own acceptance?  And why is there a chasm at all?  It’s clear to see how the chasm has grown, but not so clear to understand where or why it began in the first place.  The whole matter is tragic.  Such a waste of life.  Such a waste of beautiful moments, beautiful thoughts, beautiful breath.  Such a waste.

I don’t know who will emerge once the chasm has healed, but I do know that I will embrace her, because she will be whole.  She is who I am.  She is the real me.  Hello, old friend, I will say, when we meet.  I’ve missed you.

January 30th, 2011 | 3 Comments »

I’ve had an epiphany of sorts.  I’ve decided to have a love affair.

With myself.

I know, it’s been a long time coming, but it was bound to happen, sooner or later.  I have always been my own worst enemy, but it’s beginning to dawn on me that I have also always been my own best friend.

Who has been there every step of the way, for every tear shed, for every laugh bellowed?  Who has been there through every faux pas and every triumph?  Who is that girl with a smile on her face, who only wants peace and goodness for everyone around? Who is there, every morning, ready for the joys of a brand new day?  Who is there, every night, whispering away the cares of the day?

Who’s tripping down the streets of the city, smiling at everybody she sees?  Who’s reaching out to capture a moment?  Everyone knows it’s Sueeeeeeee.  Okay, so I got lost with the Association there for a bit.

It’s interesting, reflecting back on various periods of my life, that I’ve never been more lonely than when I was with somebody.  And that’s a tragic kind of loneliness.  An abyss.  When I’m alone, by myself, I’m not alone.  I’m in good company, with a dear old friend.  The conversation is seldom dull.  I’m with someone who’s got my back.  Someone who will always be there for me.  Someone who may sometimes let me down, but will always make amends.  Someone I admire.  Someone I respect.  Someone responsible, hard working, interesting, creative, smart, witty, kind, playful, loving, generous, conscientious, thoughtful, resourceful, compassionate, genuine, and fun.

Who?

the finest of friends

Yep.  Sueeeus Maximus.  None other.  She is one super fantabulous girl.

I like her.

I like her a lot.

Posted in ego, love, me, mental health
December 14th, 2010 | Comments Off on life is a juggling act

I learned to juggle when I was eight years old.  We lived in Cambridge, England, that year, and some of the other kids would juggle two balls against the wall or in the air during recess.  I was intrigued, and gave it a go.  There’s a certain cadence, rhyme and reason to juggling.  It’s a learned skill, and some are naturally better at it than others.  I was fairly good at the two ball juggle.  I can even do it with one hand.  I’ve tried to add a third ball to the mix, off and on through the years, but never got the hang of it.  Once that ball was introduced, control was quickly lost, and the balls would tumble to the ground.

Sometimes it seems as though my life is like a juggling act.  Working and mothering.  These two things I can manage.  They are sustainable, and I can keep things going, more or less.  It’s not always smooth or with perfect rhythm, but I can generally keep it together.   A pattern seems to be emerging, in which the addition of a relationship is akin to trying to add that third ball.  I haven’t gotten the hang of how to adjust the rhythm, and sooner or later I get stressed out, start to compromise things, my mental and emotional states spin off into the ether, and everything falls apart until I can gather things together and get the rhythm going again.

I admire those kids you see playing that complicated jumping rope game in which two ropes are spun in opposite directions, one clockwise, one counterclockwise, and the kids line up, catch the rhythm, and jump in.  It’s so smooth, so perfect.  They blend, in what looks like effortless motion.  They skip and dance and sing.  It’s a beautiful thing to behold.  I wish relationships could blend so harmoniously, so smoothly.  For me, trying to have a relationship is about as successful as me trying to jump into one of those rope skipping games.  One step and I’m tangled completely, trip, and fall unceremoniously, possibly hurting others in the tumble, after which I have to pull myself together, apologize for the damage I’ve done and the trouble I’ve caused, scrape the dirt from my wounds, and hobble off to some safe place where I can regroup and heal.

March 22nd, 2010 | 1 Comment »
  • Here’s the TMI bit.  Still bleeding.  I guess you can call it spotting, but it’s still annoying.  Thirteen days, but who’s counting.
  • I’m feeling crabby today.  I’ve had three meltdowns in less than one month.  I’m not used to this, and I’ve barely recovered from the last bout.  It’s exhausting, not to mention wholly unpleasant for me and my loved ones, and it just plain sucks.
  • So here goes.  I’m going to proceed with another long discourse that attempts to sort things out.  It helps me, and yes, it’s narcissistic, but that’s the point of my blog.  I blog for me. You know the drill.  Run along now.  (Oh, she IS crabby, isn’t she?!)

I think I may just draw the conclusion before I even go anywhere.  I’m a sore loser.  I don’t handle criticism well, in any form, constructive or destructive.  The inability to handle criticism reflects the following character flaws:  insecurity, inflated ego, pride, self-consciousness, low self-esteem, and inordinate people pleasing (which may be better stated as too much concern or regard for what other people think).

Of course, acknowledging these character flaws only prompts immediate self-flagellation.

Now that’s helpful.

If I could only stop my brain from short circuiting to the least constructive place to be, and take that split second needed to squeeze the question, ‘What does Sueeeus Maximus think of this?” out of my exploding head.  If I’d answer that question for myself, I’d be much more centered and balanced.  I’d see the forest and the trees.

Also, if I could take a moment to recall or realize that any negative emotion I elicit does disservice to me and all I hold dear, maybe, just maybe, I’d not bother wasting any time at all with it.

It’s like exercise, and requires serious training and effort.  Why can’t it just be first-nature, and easy?

~*~*~*~

I can put together a complete string of events that contributed to my funk.  Having already drawn conclusions, this may actually prove constructive.  We shall see.

  • After receiving a good report on my bill of  health STD-wise, I sent a message to Skills’ ex to let her know that I didn’t have the thing she claimed he gave her, and that he wasn’t the carrier.  I also responded to some of the things she’d said about him.  She’d written some things from her perspective, and I replied with my own observations.  I was cordial and not trying to stir anything up.  In retrospect, however, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.  She sent me a curt reply, and left him a voice mail calling me a psycho and telling him to tell me to leave her the hell alone.
  • Gadget said he won’t take the kids for my birthday weekend.  I don’t know why it is, but there is something about birthdays reminding me of a lifetime of disappointments.  Sort of like the holiday blues that people get around Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Day.  All this hype of love and gratitude and joy and life is great and life is beautiful and oh the love, nothing but love, love is all around,  swirling about while inside the reality is there is turmoil and travail, and it’s just such a relief when January 2nd rolls around and all that focus of unfulfilled life and love is behind you.  The thing about birthdays, though, is all this internalization of “why am I here?”, “who is glad that I’m here?”, “who cares that I’m here?”, all compounded with a “don’t look at me!” self-conscious complex.  The battle between wanting attention and not wanting attention.  Maybe psycho was apt.  Because in reality?  I am loved.  Loved by many!  If I stepped outside of my ego for just a moment, I could see that.  “You are loved.  You are loved.  You are loved!”  Loved by my fine and beautiful friends.  Loved by my sisters.  Loved by my children.  Loved by my nieces and nephews.  Loved by my mother.  Loved by my brothers (at least some of them).  Probably even, in some as yet to be comprehended way, by my father.  Loved by my coworkers.  Loved by almost everybody I’ve ever known.  (Probably.  I’m lovable.  What’s not to love?  Apart from the psycho bit.)
    • Loved by Skills.  [pause; she stops, smiles, thanks God for this man]
  • Every time I talk to Gadget, without fail, he cries about money and how he has to make sacrifices to make ends meet.  I’m so tired of hearing it.  I want to scream at him to just man up and shut up.  I don’t know Skills’ financials, and I don’t care, really, but I’m guessing his may be in the same ballpark as Gadget’s.  Yet, in comparison, he supports himself, his two boys, pays child support for his daughter, which is more than Gadget has to pay for his daughter, and doesn’t say a word about “I want, I want, I want”.  I respect that, in Skills.  But I digress.  Gadget has been waiting for an insurance claim check to arrive, and he asked me to open his mail to see if it had.  He went so far as to ask me to deposit it for him.  He has no problem asking me to go out of my way to do something for him, yet turn the tables?…  I told him I wouldn’t forge his name to endorse it, so he said forget it, he’ll come by the house and get it.  When?  Probably Saturday morning.  I mentioned this in my last blog post.
  • The irritations with Gadget mixed with the drama from the STD-ex and a houseful of four children to keep entertained –all this energy being drawn out compels me to want to regenerate, and how do I do that?  Pester Skills for attention.  Now, consider a tired and drained after a long week boyfriend, also subject to the drama of the STD-ex, and now accosted by a needy girlfriend.  He called me selfish.  Said my attitude reminded him of her and the games she used to play.  A night that could have been restful turned toxic, and he had to leave.  So I managed to take a low point and drive it to even deeper depths.  Insane.
  • So I have to run damage control.  Again.  I have to pick myself up from the pit I’ve managed to put myself into, and I have to grovel and redeem myself and somehow explain that no, I’m not playing games, nor do I want to play games, ever, nor do I want to come across as being needy, nor do I want to be needy, ever.  All I want is to love unconditionally and to be loved unconditionally.  Do I know how?  I don’t know.  I’m aspiring.  And at the same time, the prideful part of me who won’t just sit still, rises up with indignation that I would grovel in the first place.  That person will defend me and say, “There there, if he really understood you, he wouldn’t say things like that, that are so hurtful and cut you to your core.”  But that’s pride speaking, and the sore loser speaking, and the one who doesn’t want to take responsibility for not taking that split second necessary to squeeze the question and thought, ‘What does Sueeeus Maximus really think of this? and any negative emotion I elicit does disservice to me and all I hold dear” out of her exploding head.
  • He left, and I didn’t know whether or not he’d read my last blog post, so didn’t know if he knew that there was a possibility that Gadget would show on Saturday morning.  But since he was gone, it seemed moot.  If Gadget showed, he wouldn’t be here anyway.  And Gadget didn’t show.
  • Damage control.  A bit of regrouping.  Some talk.  [The part he keys on]:  You silly girl, why don’t you get it.  I’m here.  I’m not going anywhere.   [The part I hear] If I’m not meeting your needs, we need to nip this relationship in the bud, and not waste our time.   Me [jumping to wrong conclusions]:  I don’t want to end this relationship because of some potholes that I’m not smart enough to avoid before I go crashing through them.  Me [trying to explain myself, not feeling understood]:  So maybe I appear desperate when I’m all whacked like this, but this isn’t the real me.  Please, let’s not jump to conclusions when I’m not in my right mind.
  • There is much to be said about the healing power of sleep.  When he’s rested, and when I’m rested, there is calm and clarity, and the static and craziness of other days is put away.  He’s very good about knowing this about himself.  He can’t process properly when he’s tired.  He knows he needs to be rested and recharged before he can think seriously and clearly about things.  I need to learn from this and follow this more, too.  It would save a lot of grief.  Yet I so stubbornly cling to the words, “Let not the sun go down on your wrath.”  I could follow that scripture by putting away the wrath without resolving it.  It’s a personal choice to hold or release the wrath.  The resolution can come with the dawn.  There.  Thinking outside of the box.  I just gave myself the means to let things rest.  Win win.  Because, with the dawn, there is renewed energy, and things can be seen in clear light, for what they are really worth.  Then we can see if we do or do not have a real issue to contend with.  And if we do, we take it from there.  In truth.  In honesty.  With humility.
  • I feel so much better.  But I’m not done.
  • So we repaired and continued our Saturday.  It was such a special day, because he got to have his daughter again, and this time, for an overnight.  We had her, my two boys, and my niece and nephew.  We went to the park and had a picnic, and lo and behold, one of his sons was there with his friends, so we had even more family together.  We had a football, a soccer ball, and a frisbee to play with.  We walked along the dock and watched people fish.  We enjoyed the fresh air.  (Okay, the kids claimed boredom, but the grown ups had a nice time.)  Later that night we watched movies and had a taco bar dinner.  It was a nice day, a nice evening, and a nice night.  Morning came and I made some quick bread cinnamon rolls and we lounged about.
  • And then Gadget showed up.  With his fiance.  Unannounced.  I assume he came to get the check, but in retrospect, I’m not so sure.  Maybe it was like an ambush.  I definitely could have handled the situation better.  She was fashionably dressed, very tall, wearing high heels.  She has long long dark hair, and is pretty.  She seemed nice enough.  Skills was still in his jammies.  I guess that was awkward.  He wasn’t completely pleased that I hadn’t told him that Gadget might show (scroll up a few bullet points).   We made introductions all around.  I’d just put LB down for his nap, but told Gadget he could go say hi since he was here.  I shouldn’t have let him, though, because then LB didn’t want to go back to bed, and he ended up crying.  And it seemed like Gadget and his fiance were upstairs quite a while, which made me sort of wonder what they were doing.  Was he showing her around at all the things he’d done to improve the house — installing the ceiling fans and changing the light switches — or whatever?  Or snooping in the rooms?  Looking at my rumpled bed?  (Good, I hope it looked like there was all kinds of crazy love and acrobatics going on very recently.)   And of course Gadget made comments about the kids being sick and odds and ends in general that in retrospect are the same old $#!t button presses that I’m not savvy enough to recognize before I say things I shouldn’t say and get myself all upset.  Because I am the one who ends up frustrated and upset.  He’s just pushing buttons because he can.  And I totally let it happen.  Idiot. IDIOT.
  • What does Skills say after they leave?  “It seems like you still have feelings for him.”
  • WTH
  • Seriously, I don’t get that.  Words like that send me straight to defense mode, compounded with frustration and general consternation.  Feelings?  Yes, I have feelings.  Feelings of frustration.  Feelings of anger.  Anger at myself for wasting so much of my life with somebody who is so polar opposite.  Anger at Gadget for being such an ass.  Anger at him for being such a buffoon.  (But really, that’s not warranted.  I can’t hold against him his own mental and intellectual limitations.  That’s on me, for not honoring my own standards.)  Anger at him for not being man enough to end a dead relationship civilly.  I can love Gadget as I can love any other human being on the planet, but no more.  I can have compassion for him as a human, if and when I can see through the prickly crust he lives behind.  But love?  As in, love between a man and a woman?  No.  That love waned long ago.  That love only burned brightly for a very very short time, and then remained as sorry embers that I tried valiantly to tend for far, far too long.  If I were to be brutally honest with myself, I should never have married him.  I should never have taken him in at all.  But I jumped in like a fool, and then, as a more stubborn fool, tried to make it all work.  Square peg, round hole.  Whatever.  Water under the bridge.  It’s over.  OVER.  So yes, I’m still harboring much anger at myself for letting things be what they were, and for so long.  Much self disdain and anger.
  • I think that we, Skills and I, are both somewhat affected by ex-drama, whether we admit it or not.  His ex has tried to plant some seeds of question and doubt, and to generally stir things up.  We’ve both exhibited anger and frustration at our respective situations.  The bottom line?  It’s emotion.  Granted, it’s negative emotion, but any investment of emotion to things past does disservice to things present.  Truly.
  • We are here and now.  We are blessed with this opportunity to be completely free to love and be loved.  We are blessed to be able to laugh and rejoice in the life we are living at this very moment. We need to recognize that, remember that, and not let things past place shadows over our brightly shining present.
  • I am in love with him, this man called Skills.  We have pasts.  We’ve made poor decisions in our lives.  Some of those decisions helped us learn and grow into stronger people.  Nobody is perfect.  I have a hard time stepping up when the finger is pointed at me.  I squirm and feel uncomfortable and defensive, but truly, I accept full responsibility for every mistake I’ve made, and I’ve made plenty.  What can I do about it now?  I can only learn and try very hard not to repeat the same mistakes.  I can try to grow and become stronger and better and just a bit wiser.  In so doing, I honor myself and those whom I love.
  • So.  My goals.
    • Honor myself and those I love by practicing more humility, by taking that moment to remind myself that any negative emotion I elicit does disservice to me and all I hold dear, and dismiss it before it can take hold.
    • Be a better mother — be more attentive to the effect that my actions, words, and emotions have upon my children.  Take the time to steer them in the right direction, to encourage them, to bolster them, to give them what they need to grow up to be fine people.
    • Listen with an open heart and an open mind, rather than react and become defensive or make assumptions of criticism.
January 18th, 2009 | 9 Comments »

At some point early on, the notion formed that I had to do something meaningful in my life, something BIG; I couldn’t just be.  Later, I reformed the notion from having to do something meaningful, to wanting to do something meaningful.  As time progressed, the notion fell further and further behind, buried somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind.

I haven’t given much thought to mortality for quite some time.  In my twenties I had a dream in which I died, and it was all so clear and unterrifying.  From that point on, I no longer feared my own death.  Nor did I think of it (not that I’d given my demise that much thought prior to the awakening).  That is, until I became a mother.

Suddenly, I am keenly aware of my mortality.  I have children to raise, and I want to see them to adulthood.  The recent loss of a dear friend amplifies the awareness further still.  In less than two months, she went from the vibrant friend I’ve known for the past twenty years to a memory.  Cancer exposed its ugly face and devoured her, and just like that, she is gone.

I’m very goal oriented, so I tend to focus on the destination more than the journey.  Even in the most literal sense, as a traveler, I’m the one saying, “Are we there yet?” rather than, “Hey!  Look at that!!”  Thus far, I’m not very good at the journey.  My life has been a series of goals; it’s how I survive.  Get a job, get a home, get a car, get out of debt.  Those are the easy goals.  Those are the goals over which I have control.  Then there are the personal goals.  Find true love.  Build a family.  Live happily ever after.  Find inner peace.  Live a meaningful life.  These are the goals that challenge me, because these goals require me to focus on the journey.  I need to learn to enjoy the journey.  I need to just be (to the best of my ability).  I need to convince myself that it’s okay to just be.  It’s okay.  I don’t need or have to do anything big.

It’s all about the journey.  I already know that’s the answer.  Somebody with far more wisdom than I have already went through the effort to find that.  Live joyfully.  Go thy way, eat thy bread with  joy, and drink thy wine with a merry heart.  Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.

New goal.  In the morning, when I rise, I shall ask myself, “How are you going to love today?” and in the evening before I sleep, I shall ask myself, “What did you love today?” In so doing, I live a meaningful life.

November 13th, 2008 | 3 Comments »

There are two main trains of thought milling about my head right now.  One is that I need to go back to the office.  Need to.  Need some adult interaction, a change of environment, and a better defined routine.  Need it.

The other is that I have a new goal that I need to explore and fully define, but it’s a goal, nonetheless, and it’s important.  I’m sure it’s a repeat goal that I’ve attempted before, and abandoned, but it’s time for a resurrection.

There.  About the office.  I don’t recall feeling this caged the last time I was telecommuting full time.  Maybe it has something to do with the time of year.  BB was born in January, so spring was springing when I was returning to work.  There was more sunshine, there were flowers blooming, there were afternoon walks.  LB was born at the end of August, and we’re fast forwarding past autumn and into winter.  There is rain, and more rain, and wind and more rain.  The sky is darkening by 4 p.m.  Did I mention the rain?  There are no lovely afternoon walks, unless mad dashes through Costco and Fred Meyer count.  I’m only working three days a week, taking Tuesdays and Thursdays as vacation days so I can catch up on the sleep I missed while working Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.  Having over 20 years under my belt has its advantages.  I get 4 weeks of paid vacation a year, and I can roll a full year over, so I’ve banked 8 weeks that I’m using now, and I can spread it out for quite some time.  I think I can work 3 days a week until April, in fact, and still get paid for full time.  Woot!

But something is different and I’m feeling house-bound.  Stir crazy.  I don’t necessarily get more work done at the office, but it sure is nice to see people, and, dare I say it, social anxiety or not, be seen.  I miss my peeps.  Over twenty years with some of these people make them family.  We’ve spent the better part of our lives together.  I miss that.  I miss them.  I actually brought up the mother’s room calendar today, to see how many people were using it, and if I could fit my pumping schedule in.  A couple of the women have dropped out, and there’s a new one, but it looks like there is room for me.  Do I want to drag my pumping gear around with me?

And then there’s the pang, big time, I feel when considering sending LB off to daycare earlier than later.  He’s only a baby for such a short short time, and what kind of a person am I to send him off when I actually could keep him with me for a little while longer.  As long as he’s not interfering with my work, it’s reasonable to allow him to stay, and since he’s still sleeping through most of my working hours, it’s okay.  So if he’s sleeping, does it matter that he sleeps at my house or at the daycare?  I think I’ll consider starting him at daycare in January, after the bustle of the holidays is over.  He’ll be a little over 4 months old.

Sigh.

Did I mention that I Googled child care rates across the country and found that I’m fortunate enough to live in one of the more expensive states?  I wonder if that means our per capita earnings are accordingly higher?  Right.  I doubt it.  Anyhow, I’ll be getting a blazing steal of a bargain at $300/week for the two kids.  It’s way under the average, so I shouldn’t complain.

And now for the other item.  My goal.  I need to get to know myself better, get over myself, and fall in love with myself, if any of that makes sense.  Get over myself, because I get wrapped up in the same patterns and thoughts and depressions and cycles, over and over and over again.  It’s getting old.  I’m getting old.  And fall in love with myself, so that I can honor myself and accept myself and be comfortable with myself, and just cut myself some slack.  Walk the talk, so to speak.  Not have ridiculous expectations that can’t be met.  Relax a little, alright, already.  No conditions.  That’s the goal.  Unconditional love.  For my self.  I have no idea how to get there, but there it is.  That’s my goal.

I think that unconditional love will wash away a lot of stress and anxiety.  And guilt.

January 20th, 2007 | 1 Comment »

acrobat93.jpg

Don’t believe what you hear
Don’t believe what you see
If you just close your eyes
You can feel the enemy
When I first met you girl
You had fire in your soul
What happened your face
Of melting in snow
Now it looks like this

And you can swallow
Or you can spit
You can throw it up
Or choke on it
And you can dream
So dream out loud
You know that your time is coming ’round
So don’t let the bastards grind you down

No, nothing makes sense
Nothing seems to fit
I know you’d hit out
If you only knew who to hit
And I’d join the movement
If there was one I could believe in
Yeah I’d break bread and wine
If there was a church I could receive in
’cause I need it now

To take a cup
To fill it up
To drink it slow
I can’t let you go
I must be an acrobat
To talk like this
And act like that
And you can dream
So dream out loud
And don’t let the bastards grind you down

Oh, it hurts baby
(What are we going to do now it’s all been said)
(No new ideas in the house and every book has been read)

And I must be an acrobat
To talk like this
And act like that
And you can dream
So dream out loud
And you can find
Your own way out
You can build
And I can will
And you can call
I can’t wait until
You can stash
And you can seize
In dreams begin
Responsibilities
And I can love
And I can love
And I know that the tide is turning ’round
So don’t let the bastards grind you down

Acrobat Lyrics
U2, Achtung Baby

Acrobat Painting
Sueeeus, 1993, Acrylic on artboard, 8.5″x11″

Posted in art, ego
January 19th, 2007 | Comments Off on good guys don’t wear black

Here in the wide wild west
The good guys don’t wear black
People give their trust
To those who wear white hats

The masses with canine vision
Find those white capped ones
Placed high on mighty steeds;
And join them as they charge

Caught in panting fervor
They shout with unison
Hysteria in the stampede
They are solaced in the bond

I speak to you, O silent one
For I am silent too
Open your eyes, watch and learn
Never be afraid

Come and see what canine eyes
As yet can not perceive
Carry this brightness which pierces dark
And scatters the light of day

Know the enemy
For it is certain
That he indeed knows you
What tactics has he tried
Look for something new
Seek in the obvious places

They walk among the masses
Watching and learning
Seeming to belong
In all appearance true
What color are their hats
Be not deceived

But play the game
Open your eyes and learn the move
Go where you don’t belong
Hide among the wolves
Don’t let yourself be seen
They devour even their own

Things are not as they seem
I am wearing black
You won’t find me in the masses
I walk in desolate places
Among mottled faces, void of expression
Bobbing on an endless sea
Where the wild things roam

Yeah, our shoulders may even touch
But they will not see me
Nor can they harm me
I venture out into darkness
Following a beacon not discerned

And I, a chameleon in black
Will find my brothers
And clasp their hands as we pass by
Our eyes will meet only briefly
In this most dangerous place
For we must not be seen

But they will know who I am
And when our hands touch
I will give them of my brazen torch
And my chameleon cloak

We will wander the wilderness
Seeking other brethren
As the hidden flame burns brighter
Growing, kindling, strengthening
Waiting until that day
When it will burst forth in a mighty flash
Consuming all the darkness

Then the cloak I wear
Will no longer be shrouded in black
But the colors will shine in brilliance
And then will I don my hat
Ablaze in glorious white

I will raise my arm to my champion
My silent lips will open
And I will shout his victory cry

–sueeeus, 13 Feb 1993