Archive for Oldie but Goodie
Oldie but Goodie: Why I’m here
Posted by: | CommentsWritten Feb. 4, 2008
I’ve come to believe that part of my life path is to release the habits of perfectionism, hyper-criticism, judgment, pettiness and control–especially of the world and people around me. That behavior is so “last lifetime.” As my friend Rob keeps telling me, it’s time for me to learn to go with the flow, to stop fighting to be right at all costs. I am fully able to admit when I’m wrong and apologize and make amends. I am also fully able to look at my behavior as it is happening and notice its effect on those around me. And I am fully able to figure out what is triggering the behavior if I have enough time and I’m not mired in fury–the coverlet for hurt.
I also know that the work I need to be doing–instead of trying to fix everything around me–is inside of me. I need to create some order inside of myself, trust that other people can take care of themselves and the world will carry on just fine without me hawking over every detail. Part of this is learning to be more present in the moment instead of worrying over (pre-controlling) the future or ruminating the past. First things first is developing some actual compassion for myself, give myself unconditional love and work toward a peaceful me instead of the harsh, critical, tumultuous inner life I now lead.
I find it interesting that this is exactly where my whacky therapist has been taking me for the past six months. He recommended a book, “The Wisdom of No Escape” by Pema Chodron. I haven’t gotten very far, because I keep re-reading the first page.
“There’s a common misunderstanding among all the human beings who have ever been born on the earth that the best way to live is to try to avoid pain and just try to get comfortable … To lead a life that goes beyond pettiness and prejudice and always wanting to make sure that everything turns out on our own terms, to lead a more passionate, full, and delightful life than that, we must realize that we can endure a lot of pain and pleasure for the sake of finding out who we are and what this world is, how we tick and how our world ticks, how the whole thing just is. If we’re committed to comfort at any cost, as soon as we come against the least edge of pain, we’re going to run; we’ll never know what’s beyond that particular barrier or wall or fearful thing.”
That last emphasis is mine. How much of my life has been spent being committed to comfort at any cost? How many situations and things and people have I tried (successfully and unsuccessfully) to control to avoid that least edge of pain? How many miles have I run to get away from that barrier or wall or fearful thing, only to find that my finger is still stuck in the proverbial dike and the thing is still there, I haven’t moved at all, and nothing has changed but wasted time like water under the bridge?
I like this Pema Chodron, who is a Buddhist nun. I have a meditation CD of hers I’m starting to use, and I know that learning to get still will help me. But her way of meditation is not close-your-eyes and block out everything but your breath, as I’ve been taught before. She teaches that you must be aware of your surroundings, and put your mind on an object (the breath), but keep your eyes open so you’re IN the moment, rather than escaping from it into the darkness of your subconscious. And she teaches that you notice only the exhalation, and especially the brief gap of letting go at the end–the moment just before you inhale. In that moment, you must trust that another breath is coming. You have no choice. It’s a lesson, that moment, about all of life.
I grew up with enough stuff. I rarely wanted for a thing–except for the stuff I really wanted. Those things: unconditional love and acceptance. So I learned that controlling situations and people got me some of that. But I believed–and still do–that I do not deserve to be provided for or taken care of. I don’t believe I’m good enough to have the things I want, that someone will ever just give those things to me, so I coerce.
I don’t need to change that behavior. There is nothing wrong with it, and it has served me well. What I can do is begin to be more patient and gentle with myself when I exhibit these behaviors, to be more peaceful with myself. To give myself the unconditional love and acceptance I’ve always craved.
Oldie but Goodie: Reading
Posted by: | CommentsI’ve been blogging on different sites than this one since 2007. I’m bringing some of my old favorites to human, being.
Written Feb. 1, 2007
It usually hits about page 17: that feeling of settling into my favorite comfy chair, my best-worn PJs. The words on the page are so delicious I want to tear them out and eat them. I know that the journey I am about to take will remain an intimate memory when it is finished.
I’ve had relationships such as this with books since I was a young reader. I always read ahead of my age group. When I was in first grade, I had special permission to go into the “big kids” side of the library, and I read all the Little House books, in order, that year. I remember the joy I felt when I cracked open the next book, knowing my friends Laura and Mary and Ma and Pa were back with me. When they were gone, I missed them. A few years ago, I reread all those stories, and it felt like a welcome family reunion.
I remember a rainy vacation when I stumbled on a torn-up copy of Jane Eyre. We were outside of Aspen in a trailer owned by my grandfather’s company. It was one of those Readers Digest anthologies, and I stole it when we left so I could finish. I had so fallen in love with Jane and Mr. Rutherford. I sobbed, I laughed. They were my friends, my lovers, my family.
The Stand. The Poisonwood Bible. Cold Mountain. Memoirs of a Geisha. The Lovely Bones. Little Women. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. So many books have become part of me, have influenced my ability to tell a story, the way I turn a phrase. The way I see the world, really.
When I was growing up, my ever-athletic mother continually chided me, “Get your nose out of that book, and go outside and play!” Sometimes I’d begrudgingly do as I was told, but usually, I took my book with me, sitting on the concrete front step until my tailbone ached. She, too, was a reader, but only at night before bed. Now retired, she sees nothing wrong with sitting in her favorite chair for hours during the day, just reading.
It’s been a while since I’ve read anything that stayed with me. I haven’t had the capacity lately to read more than the entertaining schlock I can pick up at the grocery store. Last night, though, I opened to the first page of Thirteen Moons by Charles Frazier, who also wrote Cold Mountain. My mom gave it to me. And I knew by the end of the first page, that I would be on a new adventure, not a page-turner, but a trip where I wanted to go slowly, to take in the scenery, sit a spell and know the characters. The kind of story I’d be “saving” at the end, reading just a few pages at a time, not wanting the journey to be over. Knowing that I’ll remember the characters as fondly as friends who’ve moved away.
Oldie but goodie: I am not funny. Seriously. Here’s to a lighter 2009
Posted by: | CommentsI’ve been blogging since 2006, but not on human, being. As I take a break from writing new stuff this weekend, I thought I’d post some of my favorite pre-human, being writing.
Written Jan. 1, 2009
In 2009 I want to be funny. I want to be not so damn serious. I need a personality transplant to accomplish this. I wonder if my HMO will cover it.
Sometimes I’m clever. Sometimes I am funny by accident because I misspeak. But me being funny on purpose? It doesn’t happen. Take me, telling a joke, which usually goes like this:
So a priest and a duck walk into a bar. No wait, a priest and a hooker walk into a bar and the duck says… Crap! Wait, a duck and a hooker walk into a bar and sit down next to a priest. And the priest says … oh fuck it. Never mind.
I’m always in a serious frame of mind. The other day, the liquor store clerk was flirting with me and he cracked a joke about the fact that I have the word HOUSE Sharpied across my credit card. It was a lame joke but a joke that went over my head nonetheless, because instead of replying to his, “This isn’t a house, it’s a credit card,” quip with a laugh or even an eye roll, I launched into an explanation of how I have two identical cards from my bank and I once overdrew our joint account at the end of the month by mistakenly using it to pay for … blah blah blah. “I was just joking,” he said. “Get it?” Oh yeah.
I do have a sense of humor, I do. But I think it’s been buried under the angst and stress of 2008. And 2007. Hell, of the past five years. They’ve been the best of times. They’ve been the worst of times. For the past five months, I haven’t laughed much. I also haven’t sung much. I’ve just eaten too much sugar and spent too much money I haven’t earned on things to impress people I don’t really like anyway. (Hands down, the best thing Deepak Chopra has ever said, that last semi-quote.)
So, among my goals for 2009 is to laugh more and restore my sense of humor. To have more fun, more experiences and buy less stuff. To pay off my debt and save some cash. To sing more. To write more and watch less TV. To have more sex and get back to embracing that part of me. To find ways to get the hell out of Dodge more often, even if it means mooching off of friends rather than staying in hotels. Because life may not be all fun and games, but it can be more fun and games than the past few years have indicated.
Here’s to a lighter, leaner, funner 2009.
PS, a year later: I totally FAILED at this. I’m still way too serious, in debt, watch too much TV and sing too little. We did get out of Dodge a few times and certainly had sex. More? Less? I can’t remember.
