Uncharted

I am planning a summer vacation.

I am also planning to cut my hair.

Those two things are battling for importance on my to-do list.

My mother is turning 90 this year.  There is a party being planned that will coincide with another birthday, and a wedding anniversary thrown in the mix.  It is going to be an event.  Think huge venue.  Think catering deposit.  Think hotels need to be booked for out of area attendees. Think every family member invited.  Think Vienna.

The whole thing is happening in Vienna. Yes, Austria.

My mother grew up in Vienna.  Her family, but for my brother and myself, live in or near Vienna. And by near, I mean that they would need a train or plane ride of less than a few hours.  Me, not so much.  I am looking at 15 plus hours just on the plane, with a couple transfers, and booking a hotel from California.  My mom is traveling, too.  My brother will travel with her, but she could easily, even at 90, do it alone.  They will stay with family, in rooms converted from sitting rooms or hobby rooms to bedrooms for the duration.  I will not.

This is not because I could not get someone to give me a room.  I am sure my uncle or auntie, or one of my dozen or so cousins who own apartments would put me up. They would even be gracious about it. But the truth is, I don't want to. At least I think I don't want to. I am kinda thinking I want to do this alone. But I am not sure.  Stick with me here, I will try to explain.

My last several vacations have been with my ex boyfriend.  We were together for just shy of five years, depending on how you count, and all of our trips, while seemingly collaborative, were really my ideas.  We went to DC for cherry blossoms and the Smithsonian.  We went to New York, via train through Chicago, for a Broadway show and a little romp around the city to iconic movie locations (think Rainbow Room and Serendipity III cafe).  We went to Dallas for Valentine’s, only to get caught in the Snowmageddon. We went to concerts, and Vegas, and Kansas City.  We went to the Liberty Bell and Constitution Hall when he lived in Pennsylvania for a year. We went to baseball games. We drove across the county when he moved back. With the exception of a random weekend the first year we were together, most of the trips were because of conversations that went something like “Hey sweetness, wanna go somewhere? Sure, where? How about (fill in the blank)? Ok.” with a mixture of already thought up desires, and a little bit of online research.  I thought it was a joint effort, but not really. Vacations in my head have always been journeys to see what could happen.  He was about destinations, and for lack of a better way to say it, he was completely unwilling to take the journey. 

Now I am not saying every place we went was perfect.  We literally slept on the floor of the airport in Chicago because our train was so late (like 14 hours late) we needed to cancel our last leg and fly to NY or miss our Broadway ticket. The train was uncomfortable , and the food was only adequate to keep from starving. Kansas City was hot. Vegas was hotter.  It rained to the point of being drenched and flooded in DC. And in Dallas, well, it was just the weirdness of the year, and there was not much to do in deep snow with a high of 9 degrees. The road trip through California gold country had us in motel rooms that were truly sketch, and the best thing we found to do on the coast road trip was skeeball in an arcade that had creepy orange lights with gnats hovering and crashing in large swarms around them, making the shadows seem extra spooky.  But in all that time, I was laughing, and enjoying the company, and taking pictures, and laughing some more.  Memory building, at its finest.

But it had a darker side I never really acknowledged.

I always had to ask permission to do things. There was always something more important he might have to do. Realistically, he never suggested alternatives, but the answers were often “no, I don’t want to do that” without any explanation or options for other things.  I spent hours wandering around casinos by myself, or sleeping alone in a hotel room while he gambled.  I didn’t go to the museums I wanted to in DC or New York because he didn’t like that art, or that history, or those events having never done them. We didn’t get off the train because it was too much of a hassle for only a few minutes at a random stop. We didn’t stay at Coney Island because of a broken phone screen.  We didn’t go on the ferry around the Statue of Liberty because he had seen it and there was water. We didn’t go up into towers because there were stairs, or down into caves because there were ladders, or across bridges because they were too high. We got off at the wrong stops (that he wanted to get off at)  for places because I couldn't possibly have been right about the directions he was sure I had messed up. We left every baseball game early. He had to be the one to drive.  He vetoed off-beat restaurants, and off the beaten path attractions, and unplanned festivals that we came across. There was anger about closed restaurants, and broken room locks, and boats that rocked too much.  There was anger about orders that were wrong, and tired waitstaff, and having to wait. And always there were snarky remarks, and barely veiled insults, and absolutely zero gratitude. I eventually, maybe even naturally, stopped asking, and just gave in to the required compliance.   I stopped making decisions because they would always be wrong anyway, and I was sure to know it with the sulkiness, or the heaviness of just how unhappy he was about absolutely everything. Unhappy and angry and I could do nothing about it if I didn’t want to be the target.  And I was the target often, just subtle enough so it was unnoticed by others, and certain to be denied by him.  That left us doing nothing, because without my planning, without my enthusiasm to experience, he had no ideas of what to do (besides restaurants, because admittedly he was always good at restaurant reservations), and certainly not any ability to convey it even if he had. I had given in to all my codependent past behaviors and hadn’t even noticed.  

Even today (yes, today, about 20 minutes ago), when he texted me, he was completely unwilling to do anything more, be anything more. Everything consistently transactional (I had dropped off his keys and an article of clothing he asked for while I was in SF over the weekend), with him attempting complete control, but still being clueless. It makes writing all this down (since I was in the middle of writing it all down when I received the text) even more important.

But what does all this have to do with planning this summer’s vacation?  Glad you asked.

I don’t want to have anyone else telling me what I need to do while on a trip, but it has been so long since I made any real decisions without deferring to someone else's desires that I am having a hard time deciding about it at all.  Do I stay in Vienna for just the party, or for longer?  Do I stay in a family space, or do I find a hotel?  Do I go over to Portugal? Italy? Germany? France? Spain? Do I go by train? Is it cheaper to decide once I am there? Do I stay in a B&B or a hostel or a posh hotel? Do I bring gobs of checked luggage, or like a pair of jeans and some laundry detergent? Tourists, rental cars, maps, souvenirs?  Fuck me, when did I forget how to do this?  And fuck it if I am going to let anyone else decide this time. Even in my near catatonic reaction to my own vacation plans, I know that much.

So I am stuck.  Grand adventure to a once in a lifetime party, or taking out a tape measure to see if my hair is long enough to donate?

Instead, I will publish this blog. 

And, amazingly, I made one decision.

I have a hair appointment tomorrow.

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.

What does Proverbs 31:26 know?

I hope the decisions I am making stick.

That sounds like I could be flaky.  Maybe, but only to myself really.  I can’t tell you how many “eat healthy” plans I have started, how many resolutions I have made to exercise, how many times I have made plans to clean, purge, organize, only to feel like a failure when not one, but all of them have fallen apart. I have not finished (or even worked on) the novel.  I have not bagged up all those clothes that I hate (they are still on my closet/bedroom floor).  I have not cleaned my garage, or my Tupperware cabinet, or my bathroom cabinet (or floor, really). I own a really good set of hand weights and a treadmill.  I try to dust them periodically.  I think I still own a bike.  Somewhere. Maybe.

But that is such a different thing than what I do for people.  Everyone except me, it seems.

I make it to work every day.  I make sure my children have underwear and lunch.  I have gone on field trips, and baked cookies, and been the taxi for a lot of events. I visit friends who are only in town for the day, or travel to them when they are “close”, having come in from another state or country and really, California is not *that* big, right? I make phone calls to meet time zone requirements, even at the price of sleep.  I listen to heartaches and joys, sometimes when the space between us makes me ache to touch them.  Truly. I love doing it.  My children, my family, my friends. Connection. People are the reason I breathe. 

So why is this the wrong thing to do inside of potentially romantic relationships? Or actual romantic relationships? Or just dating? Or sex hookups?  Why is the connection not allowed?  They are people, right? These men I invite into my head and heart and bed, they *are* actually people, right?

But that doesn’t seem to be the case.

I get really excited meeting new men.  Very much actually.  I figure I have weeded through 10 gazillion profiles, of men who are cheating on their wives (please don’t tell them), who are bi and just want a chick to hang out and watch them while they take it from the guy (maybe my boyfriend, you know, if I could just arrange that for him),  who are only looking for FWB-hookup-bootie-call-wanna-do-it-in-the-park-car-rent-by-the-hour-motel-could-you-pay-cuz-I-am-behind-on-my-child-support. So if I got past all that, to an actual date, I have to be both insane, and stupidly hopeful.  And one date is great.  Two dates is better.  Talking on the phone, texting to say hi, laughing as we get to know each other is perfect.

But maybe not.

Because I have got to date three or four a few times.  I have been hopeful that the guy meant the texts and comments that said they were enjoying themselves, and please could we see each other again.  I have for sure kissed them.  I probably had sex with them.  I have probably contemplated how to have a date that includes my friends (vetting, it is a real thing), and I have probably shared some of my disasters.  We will have laughed, because we are all just people, and people are more than likely similar, and have the same stories in different packages.

So when did it become a terrible thing that I actually WANT to be in contact with someone I am getting to know?  No, I did not invite you to move into my house.  No, I did not ask you to let me move in to yours.  No, I did not ask you to come to my daughter’s debate team luncheon (I barely want to go to these events, I would not torture you with it), or be an umpire at my son’s baseball game, or help me sort books at the Friends of the Library sale.  I didn’t ask you to pay my taxes, or drive three hours for a lunch date, or meet my brother, or even ask you to stop dating other people (yet.  We haven’t had that conversation.)  I didn’t ask you to get a tattoo of our anniversary date, or buy me a ring, or get on one knee.  What I asked for was to say Good Morning back when I texted, maybe just once every couple days.  I asked you to actually call when you said you would. Like at 9 or so, after the game is over, and the kids are in bed, and you are not too drunk to hit redial. I asked you to plan a date you said you wanted when you left on Sunday morning, sometime before I accept another one with someone else because you didn’t make plans. 

I am not clingy or needy or bitchy because I want you to be interested, too.  Get to know me, too. Is it too much to expect you to find out a little bit about why I told you I like the new Maroon 5 CD, or why I am pouring a glass of the new Napa Valley Riesling, or if you had ever seen a particular movie, or if after telling me you were gone hiking without cell coverage on Friday, though the weekend, that you say you made it safely out on maybe Monday or Tuesday?  I am not trying to take over your world.  I am trying to share mine by whatever means we have available to each other in the limited amount of time and space in our very very busy universes.

That said, the fact that you are not coming through says something.  Maybe it is me.

Am I just flaky, or are you expecting me to be because of what society has said to you about the nature of commitment? Should I be a FWB, GGG, DTF, BDSM, 420, BBW, DDF, and HUR? Is that what I need to be to get your attention?  How about instead of all that, I just be myself? 

So this goes back to my original line about hoping my decisions stick.  I have made some of the decisions about relationships, and weight, and exercise, and cleaning before.  Resolutions, promises, plans, blah blah blah.  What I think has been missing is a really true loving kindness to myself.  I am kind to others, why not to myself? Why do I need to be sexy, thin, seductive, demure, readily available yet distant and uninterested, a mom, a cheerleader, super forgiving, never angry, AND have a clean house, no baggage, and the self-esteem of a mosquito to meet another person’s requirement?  And more importantly, do I HAVE TO keep beating myself up about it because I am not perfect?  Of course you didn’t call back, because I know all my flaws and I could not possibly live up to being normal, much less fantasy, material, right?  I know it, because kindness and forgiveness to myself is not really possible in this body, in this house, in this history.  I don’t deserve you.

So the decision is to not feel that way with EVERY.SINGLE.PERSON I meet. It is about finding value in exactly who I am and in the amazing things I offer. While at the same time being kind and willing to see my flaws, embrace them and change the ones I can, without judgement. I seriously wonder what that is gonna look like in practice.  Maybe like a clean kitchen.

*She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.* ~~Proverbs 31:26

 

 

 

 

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

Emotional seaglass

I went for a walk on the beach this afternoon.  Seems like the usual thing to do when you end a relationship, it’s Father’s Day and your dad died 7 weeks ago, it is the Summer Solstice, and, in the absence of any clarity, you just keep moving. 

This is not a bash-my-ex kind of blog, not really.  Anyone that knows me will tell you that I write to release emotions, tell my story so that I can find my own journey and responsibility, learn, in some written flash of brilliant insight, and stop the spinning in my head that keeps me from taking it to the next level.  This should be like that (keeping fingers crossed) because really I am not clear, possibly about anything, and this is how I cope.

So I was walking on the beach at Surf and Tide.  A wonderful beach for families and bbqs and all the kinds of things that you would expect from a summer weekend when the weather is nice.  Low tide meant lots of things to look at, and since I was there to avoid families (feeling a little like I don’t have one now, both by design (the break up) and uncontrollable circumstances (my kids with their dad for the weekend, duh, and my first father’s day without my own dad) I wasn’t really in the mood to people watch.  I was in the mood to find seaglass.  Like a ton of it. Nothing says emotional stability like broken glass, right?  I needed to have something to use to slit my wrists or at least cut my foot.  Pain, I was looking for pain.  Feel anything, Elise, anything at all.  I hadn’t cried about any of it yet, and with my biggest fear always being that I will feel nothing, and no one will come get me because I will be invisible, this was a rather pathetic goal. Wallowing and shallow, and completely twisted in its fucked up kind of misery, but a goal.

So I rolled up my pant legs, took off my shoes, and started walking. No glass.  I kept walking, closer to the shoreline. No glass.  I went into the surf, took off my sunglasses so I could see the reflection of the light.  Still no glass.  Surf and Tide to Wharf #2, almost 2 miles and NO FUCKING GLASS.

What I did get was out of my head.  I couldn’t think my way through this.  I was smack raw in the middle of emotions I had been holding under for a really long time, and now, all I was getting was anger. No glass, and I had been looking.  Trying. Knowing it was out there, I just needed to be smarter about it, more careful about it, more sure about it.  And nothing.  Not one thing.  Empty beach, empty heart, emptiness that truly had been there for months.

On Friday, in an attempt to just be out of my office and away from my boss (a sleazy oily little man with zero integrity) I had attended a workshop billed as an opportunity to learn about entrepreneurship.  Starting business, finding capital, blah blah blah.  If you look up Steve Blank, or Phil Randazzo, you will understand that there were going to be some heavy hitters, and I could learn a lot, if I cared.  I didn’t.  I just wanted an excuse to have my place of duty be somewhere else, and this was perfect. 

I knew I was in a place of transition with my job, my writing, my now-over relationship, but hadn’t any clue how to start the conversations necessary to make the leap to the next level.  How quickly or slowly I made that leap was entirely in my hands.  I was stuck in old patterns of thought, though I didn’t know it yet. Though by noon on Friday, in the middle of a small-business workshop, I had just listened to a speaker who had nothing to do with any business dealing, talking to us about clarity, and moving forward, and finding authenticity, and making decisions about relationships, and not settling.

I had a light bulb moment, with not many skills to act on it.  I had made a decision about my relationship needing to move into something else (I had already defined it as friendship in my head by the end of the talk) and while this was not really going to be a fun conversation, I knew both Jim and I would be happier about it if we could stay talking as openly and honestly as we had for the last nine months, and could become an amazing life long friendship.  I was excited.  Petrified, and confused, but excited.

Oh yeah, I guess I need to say something about my relationship at this point.  I have been in a relationship with what I can only describe as a complex man for the last nine months.  We met online, he asked me out, and we met three days later.  Just breakfast. No real touching, but the conversation and energy (in my heart) had me knowing I was already heading into something deeper than casual dating.  I also knew he was an alcoholic.  He admitted much later, after he had been sober for a few months, that our first few dates he had been pretty much drinking heavily.  I knew that.  It kept me at a distance, and I even wrote a blog about it in a couple months in (if you want to go back and find it, it is in Nov 2014) But he was changing, our conversations were becoming deeper, meaningful.  We stopped being guarded, if we ever actually were.  I was totally present, always authentic.  I never, not even once hid who I am from him.  Our dates became days.  Our days became weekends.  We didn’t do much more than cook or hang out, sometimes going here or there, but always there was conversation. Intimacy that rivaled anything I had ever done, and he said it was new and scary for him too.  The physical was a chore, neither one of us being what had been usual for past relationships, but it was good when it happened, and (again, in my heart) based in love and true affection, the way I had always thought long term relationships ended up with each persons desires ebbing and flowing, and negotiable.  I was liking it a lot, letting the love portion fill me up as the emotional intimacy grew. 

That probably would have been fine, but for the addiction.  Turns out that old relationships can be addictive, too.  Bad ones.  Ones that feel normal because it is all you had ever known.  Ones that you seek when emotional intimacy scares you, and the physical with the other person was the best thing about your world.  That happened in a full blown, and completely caught in lie two months ago.  I should have walked away then, when already I was compromising some my more intellectual desires for travel and adventure, and for shared reading, and for activism.  I had already convinced myself that I could do without those things because the man was kind and open and as we grew we would find out own paths both separately and together and start sharing support and love in whole new ways.  I was sure of it until that moment, the lie, and instead of being a fucking bitch, I listened and kept and open mind and found the time to admit my own struggles and found a level of forgiveness I didn’t even know I had. 

I know this now to be my codependency showing up in this relationship too, and I was determined not to go down that path.  Delusional somewhat, (okay, calling my own BS, completely delusional) but it was okay because I would talk with him, we would work it out because that was what love looked like in our world, and in the world I always thought I wanted to create inside of relationships, different from what I have ever done before.  The real me.  The trusting me.  The authentic me.  And sadly, in the process, I taught him how to treat me.  It became acceptable to lie, and then the lie became inevitable.  No matter what we talked about from that second on, the possibility to lie would always be there. And, because of fear, addiction, not moving forward on his own clarity, I became invisible.

Invisible?  Yeah.  I knew everything about this other woman in his life, and she knew nothing about me.  Well, maybe about my presence, kinda sorta, but nothing what-so-ever about the relationship we had created.  Nothing about the conversations. Nothing about the promises and commitments.  Nothing about plans, though vague, and had each of us committed to staying, to asking to stay, to not leaving out any conversation, about never being afraid, and showing up and making the emotional intimacy the strongest most important thing in our lives.  Creating bonds, that even if not clear, would be strong enough and we would build a friendship that would be able to weather anything just because it could.  I already knew that kind of emotionally intimate bond could happen, because I gratefully have one with someone else (who, when he reads this, and he will, will know how grateful I am).  So I was sure that all my effort, all my staying in truth and love was totally worth it, even if/when our relationship changed. 

That seems to not be that case on his end.  Seems, when it came to conversation he was having with this other woman, I meant nothing.  In the version she got, I was barely a friend.  We had never kissed. We had never touched.  We had never made love. Our conversations were shallow. His attraction to me was nonexistent. His words of commitment and love to me (and my children) had never happened.  I was completely invisible in his life. Unloved, unimportant, and unclaimed.

Whether or not any of that is actually true, I have no way of knowing. But what I do know is that on Friday I knew something had to change.  Something life changing.  Something about me, and I invited him along to join me in this leap forward.  A chance for us to get MORE emotionally entwined, but in a more healthy way, something new for both of us.  Something that gave me my visibility and dignity back, and allowed him to step up his vulnerability and truth, both.  Change. The next level. Clarity. Serenity.

Saturday morning, more of the misnamed entrepreneur seminar continued.  I had invited Jim, signed him up, almost begged him to come.  I knew something amazing was about to happen, and I wanted him to be part of it.  I love(d) him that much that even as I was becoming more clear that our relationship would be changing, I saw it as a positive, where we could both grow and understand and find clarity in our path.  I heard more words of inspiration about keeping yourself in light and honesty. I was sought out by a teacher/coach who listened to me for more than a half hour explain my fears and short comings and taking myself for granted an allowing that from other people.  I was taught words and techniques and feelings about how to improve my life right that minute with a tiny shift of the compass needle (and a little help from Jesus and some black magic) I would move my relationship, my thoughts, my life into a 100% better place, even if the change meant doing things differently.  I was clear for the frist time in months.  I knew.  I could not go back.  I was excited to share this with Jim. To help him grow, too.  To understand there is enough joy and light and happiness in the world for everyone, and we could both have it and still love each other.

As is true in my world for every time I am in transition, that did not happen.  In the course of one evening, one morning, and one short afternoon, both of our lives had changed.  I was moving out of codependency and towards more authenticity, and he had allowed the presence of the other woman to change his path away from his spoken choices. While I was seeking friendship, he was seeking dissolution.  Every conversation about growth together, every commitment we ever made to staying honest with each other, ever scared and unclear step that we had made together, was gone in one very pointed telephone conversation.  I was not given the chance to share everything I had just discovered, because he walked away.  His fear and insecurity and inability to change his past had just evaporated the us we had created.  I had a place of strength.  He had gone back to his past. He did not give me the courtesy I had asked that we talk and share in person.  He emotionally vomited all over me, and did so without any courage, over the phone within earshot of the woman who was now in control of his world.  The selfish alcoholic he had been 6 months ago was back, even if he hadn’t picked up.  I was just one more lie.

So all this came to me as I sat there at the end of the beach, angry, without seaglass or any other implements to commit suicide (ok, I am not suicidal.  This is a blog, and I am a writer who has some emotional license, get real folks).  And as I started to cry, realizing I hadn’t yet, I looked up and saw a single shiny piece of copper amber glass, not two inches from my foot.   I picked it up.  I laughed.   There was my sign, right in the fucking middle of my path, that I was on the right journey.  I got up.  Stopped my head spin right then, and used the gifts I had been given over the previous day to steady me.  Strengthen me. Lift me.  Reframe my way of thinking. 

And I did.  My reframing got me to where my father was not suffering any more and could be, if I was of a heaven and hell kinda nature, be holding my son in some really comfy chair in the pasture of forever.  My reframing got me to where I could see Jim as flawed and worthy, but not someone who could meet my needs, maybe not ever, as long as he keeps himself in darkness, and I don’t have the ability to stay there. I like the light, it is not an illusion.  I know better.  And I could also see how his absence in my path, though heartbreakingly sad in this moment (and it is, I am kinda a mess missing him, if I am honest), just created a space for the next level person to occupy.  I had no ability to invite that into my world with my honesty if I was too busy keeping closed with me moving pieces, that didn’t quite work, around hoping to find the fit.  I will be worth it, and not invisible.

On the walk back to the beginning of the beach, along the same exact path I had come, I found dozens of pieces of glass.  Shiny. Easy to see.  Right there in my path.  I did not even have to look for them.  It was easy. Showing me that I need to remember that even things right in front of you can’t be seen without the right mindset.  And that once I change my game, change what is acceptable, the path becomes inevitable.  A whole collection of seaglass to prove it.

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.