There must be a reason, right?

 Writers block, writers block, writers blocks.

That is all I have to blame this three and a half year absence on. Probably that.  Maybe that. Could be that.  Or maybe it is just some laziness, or some huge fucking self doubt that anything I wrote will have a readership.  Do I need a readership?  Apparently, yes.

I had already decided not to enter the contest.  Because it both bores me and frightens me every single year.  How hard is it really to write a complete story in 101 words or less?  Really fucking hard if truth be told.  And yet I write them easily as soon as I sit down, popping out at least three of them without much effort, and knowing that if I enter them, at least one will be published.  Sad, but true, that I can now pick the one that will get to the final printing without any effort here either.  Because, honestly, they are good.  Well, at least one of them is always good. One is usually okay.  One is almost always crap, but finished just the same, so entered, along with the rest. One is all I need.

And one is what I got this year. Again. Another one published.  That makes at least one published every year I remembered to enter. I think the blahness of it, broke my desire to write at all. All the excitement I could muster amounted to shrugged shoulders.  The word meh completely defined.

I found out yesterday that one of the stories was published.  I opened the online edition and found the pages for the contest results, and poof, there it was. Black and white.  Proof that I am either a good writer, or a small crap writer with a good formula.  Still not sure which.

To that end, I am starting the blog again.  I need to write things longer than 101 words, and write them more frequently than once a year.  It has been a while since I sat down to type, and just let the words come, and have them mean something, or nothing, and not be worried about any potential audience.  The blog seems the best place. Especially as the new year is about to start, and instead of feeling thrilled about being published (again), I am disappointed that it is the only thing I did. Legit. Nothing else.  Not on my blog.  Not in word doc.  Not in my really beautiful journal. Zilch. Nada. Zero.

This is it.  Day one.  Writing so that I can say that I did.  Maybe work on my craft more than what I did for 99.99% of 2021. 

And maybe do some work on why I haven't bothered in 41 months.  I know there is a reason.  No idea what it is yet.

I don't even need a band-aid.

I thought I lost a friend this week. 

Turns out I didn’t “lose” anything.  I know right where he is.  And though it is a claim that he was walking away, and that I was going to be no longer allowed in his heart and life, truth is, he hasn’t been going anywhere but in circles under a wandering star for a long, long time, and I had been making steady progress on my journey of self-reliance and solid values, and he had not come along at all. And when it got hard, and required actual putting foundation into practice, test the stability he so desperately needs, he bailed.  

I thought I would be hurt.  Truly, I love him.  But what I feel more is relief.

In the past few years, I have had things happen.  If you have read this blog at all, you will understand the road, and know that getting myself out of an almost debilitating depression and codependency has been a tortured path.  I was not always successful, and had lots of times when I stood still, or took steps backwards.  This often happened when I was hit with a 2x4 to the back of the head, bleeding and damaged, and some ugly monster came out and tried to pull me back under. 

It was, and is always, a fight. It is not pretty. I can get moody.  And by moody, I mean fucked up neurotic.  I am selfish, and distant.  I get quiet, then unpredictably angry.  I forget things. I cry. I am not particularly helpful and have a hard time understanding your world while I am caught up in mine.  But, to my defense, while this used to be my norm, it is now my exception.

Let me say that again.  It is my exception.

Recently, I had one of the exception times show up full force.  My ex (you can read about him all you want in other blogs, and it will give you some insight into who he was/is and how I got out) decided to drag me back into court. The reason and justification for why is not even the issue, because honestly, he and I will not be happily co-parenting, ever, and this is just one more way I have to deal with him.  It was a 2x4, for sure. It put me on the floor, the way it does for most people when they are smack in the middle of their old lives without much choice but to get through it with some semblance of grace.  I was not succeeding in the grace department, but was blessed with knowing I would get out of it. I had before, I would again. I just needed the reminder.

The reminder came in the form of being held while I cried.  It came in the form of long conversations with my children.  It came in fun activities. And movies. And good sex. And a truly deep happiness that I would try to suppress, because, well, I am stupid about my own happiness sometimes. And stability. And being still.  It did not need to pursue anything else.  I already had the tools and the gifts. 

What is did not look like was the constant instability this friend lived in.  It did not look like pretty words without a lot of follow through.  It did not look like a list of desires without any work towards them. Or blame when personal actions caused the instability. Or like excuses for others who did not move forward together.  It did not look like having to find myself in a different place because I could not face any of the mess. 

On the literal contrary, it looked like actually being in the mess daily.  There was no avoidance on my part.  I was blunt, maybe to the point of shock.  I was non-accepting of people who were also a mess and doing nothing about it but felt empowered to try to drag me there, too.  There was no more desire for connection to people who did not meet the rules of the Yes List, or who were flat-out on the No List.  I would not develop relationships with rude alcoholics making noise in the middle of the night.  I would not wait for yet another phone call from a manipulative suicidal narcissist whose needs were so heavy that it stopped all progress toward other goals.  I would not try to get to know temporary romances from 1200 miles away that barely sparked of passion and could only be had in 48 hour blocks of time once every 6 weeks or so.  I was in no position to create yet another black hole emotion vacuum just for the sake of the newness, when I wasn’t making the stuff I already had my sights set on, work.  I was staying put.  Roots. Fight. Stability. Grounded.

This is not where this friend is. At least not with me. I had picked moving towards strengthening MY emotions with the people in my life who said they would stay. I had to trust them. I had said that I thought I didn’t have a tribe, but what I really found out was that I do have a tribe, just, sadly, one that did not include him.  I thought maybe I had just been too raw with someone else who was also too raw and that maybe we could not support each other.  But that wasn’t true.  I might have pushed hard, and been distant, but I never walked away, never said encouraging connected words only to not mean them, and I never used the excuse that there were others that thought I should eliminate people from my life and then actually listened. I have come to trust myself, my core of knowing where I came from, how it plays in my life, and what I am both willing and unwilling to do to keep it that way. My core about it is totally defined, and not at all by others, even when I listen to their counsel.

Nope, I take full responsibility for my own choices, supported or not, because that is part of my journey as well.  I am no longer interested in how things can’t be fixed.  I want to stomp and whine about them, and then put in the real work, even when it is hard.  Even when it looks like I am alone.  Then I want the people who say that they will stick by it to actually do that. If you can’t? Well, you can go.  I will not be examining it further except to realize I want the stability I have created.  My job that pays my bills.  My lack of bills to begin with. My house. My running car.  My amazing children and the learning they are doing, even with the bumps, and my role in that.  My belief in parenthood and everything I have done to make that as my first priority, regardless of the boulders that sometimes seem to block my path. My desire for communication inside my partnership, and having that get stronger every single day.  Love on a much deeper level.  One that knows that in order to actually have all the good stuff, you have to get through the bad stuff. And that even when it looks uneven, it all comes around to settled when it is working.  No books, no meetings, no unprecedented clarity. Just everyday ordinary heartbreak and redemption.  I take it. Life, with all of its compromise and thorns, and joy and forgiveness, and ache and laughter.  I get to have this. I get to stay.

So yeah, I thought I lost a friend. Turns out I didn’t lose anything.  He is right there, still spinning in his universe wondering what happened to get him to where he is at, and how he believes he will have to change his life and start all over. Again.  I am grateful for getting to stand perfectly still this time and just kinda wave as he floats away on yet another star. I am not going anywhere, and for that hard won stability, I am grateful.

Single-hood-ness-ish-like

I have had a lot of folks around me in the last several weeks talking about their current relationships. 

Some of the relationships are ending.  Some are leaving marriages (or have been left).  Some are dumping boyfriends or girlfriends.  Some are even mutually agreeing to go their separate ways.   These always have reasons.  Reasons for some of them seem obscure and out of left field, and I am sad to see these end because in the world-that-I-spin-in-my-head these are the relationships I had pinned my hopes to, the ones that offered the best glimpse of connections that are working.  I feel shocked when I hear the stories, always from the side of the person I am closest to at the time of the split, because who are we kidding, none of us are really gracious enough to stay truly neutral to friends who were “couple friends” once they aren’t a couple any more.  I can say, at least for myself, that I have very few couple friends even among the friends who are still in relationships.  I wonder if they ever really were “couples”, and that was how I always saw them, or if I really ever only wanted to be friends with one of the two, and the other person was just part of the package deal. A two-fer that I didn’t mind, but would not have picked. So hearing that person’s side sorta divides the camp anyway, but there is still a person missing at the end.  I wonder who I miss.

And there is always some terrible story.  Dishonesty in heart and body; addiction and selfish behavior; finances lost; lack of sex and affection; complete and total loss of love.  It breaks my heart.  I so want them to work, right up until I don’t, and then I have an opinion and can’t go back even if I wanted to.  I get it that I will support the friend that is left, and help them through whatever emotional disconnect they reign upon themselves, even if they are (in my opinion) stupid for trying to get back together.  I mean, didn’t I just hear their entire story of adultery and betrayal.  Didn’t I just hear about the gambling, and the drinking, and the never bathing, and how he or she wouldn’t change a diaper, but had no problems hoarding the remote?  Wasn’t I supposed to form an opinion?

But those who eventually recognize all the misery they are leaving, even if it was by mutual decision, are not the ones who worry me.  They will be fine.  They found love, found their limits, let love go, and moved on.  There is an adjustment time, depending on the severity and reasons for the split, but eventually, they do okay.  Time will heal them, and, given the right amount of friends who landed on their side of the line and a good vintage on a few bottles of wine, they won’t regret it.

The ones I worry about are the ones who jump out of one relationship they have labeled as “bad” back into another one.  It is my friends who have just been cheated on and so the relationship ended, who started dating someone who is still married.  It is my friends who left a relationship because there was never any money who hook up with someone who is unemployed.  It is my friends who have been fighting with their children’s other parent about lack of child support coming on time and missed visitation who get involved with someone who hasn’t seen their own child in months, and can’t remember the last time they wrote a check or called on a birthday. I want to shake them and yell “What the fuck are you doing?”  What makes that guy who is still married and cheating so great?  Why is the chick who ran up $70,000 in credit card debt and asks you for grocery and cigarette money so hot?  Since when is the dude with his drug dealer on speed dial and a history of having domestic calls to his apartment all that?  Misunderstood? Doing his best? Really a great guy? Emotionally mature but just fearful of commitment?  Who are these losers, and why are you even speaking to them? 

Maybe my friends are just living the life I would live too if my head was wrapped a different way.  I used to think I needed to have someone (anyone?) in my life who would have me just to keep from feeling alone, being alone.  Yes, it is crazy making to be raising two kids on my own, and a little adult help would be awesome.  Yes, an adult beverage in the form of happy hour after work with someone of equal desire for a laughs would be so welcome.  Yes, sex on a regular basis with someone who has a toothbrush in the cupholder on the sink would be great. But what of myself do I have to give up (again?) this time to have that?

I have been legit single from my marriage for about 6 years.  I have been single from a boyfriend of 9 months for about a year.  I have dated several people for a couple months at a time, and also not dated at all.  I have had both the excitement and tingliness of new people, and the boredom of it when they are not the right one and I stay anyway.  I have both turned into a mushy little cupcake of wanting to please the person by becoming what they want most (I am actually really good at being a codependent little flake), and being exactly the opposite of what they desire on purpose so they can just go away.

What this says about me, mostly, is that I am no longer accepting of behaviors that don’t move me, my likes, my life, and my love forward.  It says that I actually kinda like my life, flaws and all, as something I want to not compromise.  That really strong feeling that I am happy, all by myself, and that if I am blessed enough to meet someone who can move me to believe I want to change that, I will be open and willing.  Whoo hoo, a whole person I do not have to fix, who’s best quality is going to be his love, and life, and authenticity as it melds in my world, as much as I meld in his.

Back to the relationships of others for a second.  Trust me when I say there is no judgement in my desire for my friend’s happiness, I mean it.  I want them to feel whole all by themselves, and feel valued and loved in healthy, happy ways.  I also want them all to find the line that makes another mistake minimized.  Not to cut off love before it starts, but to cut off heartache.  Is that really too much to ask?  Too much to model?  Too much to work every day for?  I don’t think so.  But then again, I am single, in a really amazing relationship with myself.  I will (continue) to let you know how that is working out. Maybe over coffee (or wine) and we can share some of it together.  Build a good relationship that lasts.  I’m in.

 

 

After the pennant

There are tons of anniversaries that are all about celebrating.

Today is not one of them.

One year ago today my father died.  Daddy.  

That pretty much covers the entire feeling of today.  Everyone knows exactly, or can imagine, what that feels like.  I miss him. 

That’s not really fair though, is it.? I have adjusted to life without him, and, to truly be honest, have to tell you that I had missed him for a long time.  He had been sick for so long.  The end of his 85 year long life had been capped with not being able to walk without pain, not being able to breathe without feeling like there was a brick on his chest, not being able to sleep, not being independent, and not having many friends left to commiserate with.  My mom would disagree with me. But my dad loved her so much that he stayed because of her.  He stayed because she needed him to. It was a gift.

Today I will find a way to connect with my mom, to acknowledge her hurt.  I will suck at it, because I am not sad the way she is.  I am much more like my dad that way, not afraid of carrying on, and not afraid of dying.  He wasn’t afraid of it for himself.  Maybe a little, like the rest of us, but he never showed it.  He was ready, in a way that was both resigned and graceful. I hope I can be that kind of cool.

So, to remember him, I invite you to read the blog I wrote about him last year, right before he died.  I loved him then.  I love him now. 

Top of the first, bases loaded:

http://wishesinthesand.blogspot.com/2015/04/top-of-first-bases-loaded.html

Just a beginning list.

Gratitude. A not complete list. Just a list for today. A small micro-shift in my outlook.

1) Coffee.  Not having an allergy to coffee. The social aspect of coffee.  Having coffee made for me.  Having the coffee made for me brought to me.  Having my own travel mug for the coffee made for me.

2) A job. Accrued time to take off from the job.  The paycheck that the job provides.  The money from that paycheck that lets me pay for my life. A boss who gets that I have a life.

3) My ex-husband’s claim of sobriety.  My ability to see how his lack of sobriety affects me.  My ownership of how toxic our relationship was. My ability to see my role in our toxic behavior.  My belief that genuine sobriety exists and that he can have it.  My self-trust that I can see myself clearly with or without his sobriety.

4) My children. Everything about their amazingness in this world.  The knowledge that we can fight and still be amazing.  Faith that they know I am doing my best.  My best being good enough. Their best being good enough.

5) Chocolate.

6) This quote: “The light at the end of the tunnel is not an illusion.  The tunnel is.”

7) Email.  Spell check. Keyboards with backspace keys. Not immediately hitting the send button.

8) Willingness. Openness. Honesty. Mistakes. Forgiveness. Ownership. Freedom to take another path.

9) People. People in my world who keep showing up even when their path is hard, too.  People who love me. People who see me.  People who talk.  People, who, when they talk, talk with me and not to me.  People who are flawed.  People who are human.  People I have the grace and good fortune to be allowed to love.  People who let me in.  People who hold my hand.  People who kiss my tears. People I trust.  People who trust me. People, who, when they read this, if they read this, know who they are.

10) Journeys. Growth. Change. Progress. Backsliding. Learning. Sharing. Giving and receiving support.  Letting go and holding on. Knowing when each is important. Knowing how.  Failing at knowing how. Starting again.  Trusting that I am on the path I am supposed to be on.  Hope, that when I am not on the right journey, something with guide my path.  Never giving up. Acknowledgement that if I can change, I can hope for it and see it in someone else.  Holding hands while on the journey so as not to get in each others way.

11) Emotions. Every single one.  No hiding. No Fear. I get them all.  That any single emotion is not all-consuming.  That the strongest emotion is love.  That love really does work.  That I can love without apology and without regret.  That I can be all in and not lose any part of myself to it when I remember to do it from a place of love.  That the people in #9 get them, too. Humility to understand that I cannot control someone elses emotions, nor have any right to.  The wisdom not to try.

12) Happiness.  Not as an emotion, but as a state of being. Knowing I can claim it and not take anything away from anyone else. Grace to not flaunt it. Happiness where happiness is.

13) The amazing power of truth.

No kleenex in this pocket.

I hate funerals.  I actually don’t hate just the funeral part, I hate everything about them.  I hate the flowers.  I hate the required attire.  I hate the music. I hate the tissues, and the dim lights, and the satin pillows. And the cold. The lack of life.

My dad died 13 days ago.  His funeral was 5 days ago.  I haven’t cried yet. My blog today is all about wanting something else. Choosing. Balance.

In the pocket of my jeans, or sometimes in the side pocket of the purse I am carrying on any given day, I carry two different items.

The first is one of about 10 different “tokens” I have had for years.  I own a pocket angel, a rock, a couple metal stones with sayings on them, and a rather smooth amethyst worry stone.  These rotate through my pocket depending on my mood, and right now, the one I have been carrying most is a token that says “balance”.

The second is a coin.  It doesn’t technically belong to me.  The man who actually owns the coin is currently carrying the coin I usually carry.  It was potentially a selfish trade right at the time I requested the swap.  A little bit of commitment and possession, wrapped up in a tiny piece of plastic, in the middle of not having any idea if I have any claim to the feelings at all. I am grateful.

I have been holding on very tight to these two items (actually to the point of having a crease on my left hand) for the last four days.  I wake up with them in my hands in the morning.  They are currently right on my laptop as I type.

I was gifted with a total moment of perfect clarity on Sunday morning, with the tokens cutting into my hand all night.  I had slept nine hours straight after having not slept more than 2 or 3 hours a night in the last week, and everything else has been pretty much a blurry nightmare.

The clarity came in the form of understanding that the coins I have been carrying are attached to feelings and actions I have zero control over right now, and even less insight into where they are going. The clarity came from understanding my own fears and insecurities being really unmanageable.  The clarity came from knowing I had just walked myself into something with my eyes wide open, and lost myself anyway.  I knew I had been put in a box of accommodation to lots and lots of other people, and it had left the authentic me raw, vulnerable, and frankly a kind of fucked up emotional mess with absolutely zero soft place to fall.

This has me scared in a really awful way. I am currently risking losing all my emotions at all.  That sounds dramatic, I know.  Like I should I be concentrating on the really good stuff.  I am pretty good at making other people know they are loved, and wanted, and real in my world.  I have been a friend, a lover, a confidant.  I have been understanding and willing in the face of unnecessary dishonesty.  I have been a dutiful daughter, a balanced sister, a frustrated but present mother.  All those roles, all that responsibility, and all that strength made it so I have shut off. I don’t want to shut off.  What I want is balance. Equity. Ownership.

The kind of grip I have had on the pocket tokens is essentially the same reason I  hate funerals.  I get no say, none at all, in some of the things around me.  I get to comply. Because even though I may looking at the same thing, there is a view that is uniquely my own and no one can see it but me. 

I want flowers now, not in some wreath with fancy ribbons left on a grave to blow over in the wind.  I want to see people I never see NOW, before the only time we hold each other close is in pain instead of in joy.  I want adventures, and love, and commitment, and friendship, and support, and happiness, and I want to know that the people around me want it, too.  We all get to have it.  The good stuff doesn’t run out.  Until it does.  And then the funeral is all that is left.  Funerals sometime feel like a way to kick us in the head and remind us that we don’t have time to waste, life is short.  What are we waiting for? Can I hope to find some balance, so that at the end of everything, the people I have invited in won’t sit at my funeral, in dim light, with boxes of tissues, grieving never having enjoyed my life.  Balance. Tradeoffs.  Living outside of boxes, and in perfect clarity. Willingness to live. No regrets.

Maybe I won’t have to cry, not really.  Maybe when I do I will find someplace soft to be because I will have built it, created it, celebrating the amazing life I am lucky to hold, and the places of love that expand as I hold on to little tiny tokens. I get to choose. Funerals aren’t like that, but love is.

Do you have a token to share? I would like that.  Invite it even.  I am all in.