sueeeus

lookout

I’m trying to be honest with myself.  It’s so easy to point a finger anywhere but at yourself.  Just because no relationship as yet has ever worked, doesn’t mean that I assign blame to the other party for the ultimate demise thereof.  I know I’m not easy to live with.  I’m strong and independent.  Stubborn.  Set in my ways. And not interested in somebody else dictating how I should be.  And I’m not so arrogant that I don’t acknowledge that the opposite holds true as well.  I have no right or even desire, really, to dictate how another should be.  We are who we are.  We are  how we are.  If there is any change to take place, it’s on an individual basis only, and that is if and only if said individual makes the decision to make some sort of change, to his or her self, for his or her own reasons.

People need to be able to cooperate, in order to live well with one another.   And nobody has a crystal ball.  How can one know if the shoe fits, unless one tries it on?  And what if it feels great at first, but then you develop a blister?  And what if you treat the blister, and keep wearing the shoes, but you develop more blisters, and then you sprain your ankle?  What if you try to stretch that shoe, or stretch your foot, or buy special socks that are just a bit thicker or just a bit thinner, so that you can make that shoe fit?  There comes a point where you have to just take a look at your feet and take a look at those shoes and accept the fact that they just don’t work well together.  It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with the shoes.  It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with your feet.  It just means they don’t fit each other.  So you wistfully set those shoes aside, or give them away in the hopes that they will bless somebody else.  It isn’t failure.  It’s just not a good fit.

I’m not angry with Skills, or even Gadget.  I’m disappointed in the colors that have emerged at various times in this journey, but truly, I don’t and can’t hold it against anybody.  It’s just data.  It’s just another point of information that helps describe that person.  And I can’t be angry with them for not being who I need.  They are who they are.  I am who I am.   We don’t fit.  I’m okay with that.

I can take ownership and apologize for any pain that I inflicted.  I am certain that there is pain.  So I am sorry. Truly, deeply sorry.  And I have to take ownership for the pain that I have experienced, because I am no victim, and I am no martyr.  I am responsible for my own self and my own feelings.  I have, in the past, done discredit to myself by trying to make things fit that simply don’t, can’t and won’t fit.  I thought I was doing the right thing, making every effort to make things work.  But I wasn’t looking at the damage I was doing to myself.  So now I’m trying to look at things in a different light.  To flip the script.  Before, it took me years to stand up and make ways part.  This time, I recognized it much sooner, and took action.  Granted, this time around I have children, so I have to ask myself what is the ultimate impact to them for whatever choices I am making.  And that helps me focus on the bigger picture, which is caring for myself so that I can care for them.

I don’t know what next time will look like, or how long it will last, or what trouble I will make for myself.  I don’t know, absolutely, what I want.  I know some of what I want.  And some of what I don’t want.  I don’t want to be lonely.  But I’ve learned that the loneliness one feels when one is with someone is so much worse than the loneliness that one feels when one is not.  I want someone to talk to, to laugh with, to dine with, to be with.  But not necessarily every day.  And not necessarily to live with.  I don’t know that I know how to live with somebody.  Anybody.

I sure as hell could stand to get laid!  I don’t really mean that, because what I really want is to make love.  Big difference.  In a dreamy ideal world it would happen every day!  But that’s not practical or foreseeable.  I’m serially monogamous and just don’t know how to be casual about that sort of thing.  Too much emotion and stuff between the ears is wrapped up in that, for me.  It’s a good thing that I have woman-kind’s best friend, the most amazing invention of all time –the magic bullet.  And it’s not the mini- food processor of which I speak.  And it’s also not– the– same–.  But if times are tough, it’s there.

I think I’m feeling better.  I don’t feel like the blood in my veins is sludge any more, or at least not today.  I don’t feel like howling or breaking anything.  I don’t feel a deep sorrow.  I don’t feel angry at anyone, or at myself.  I don’t feel frustrated.  I don’t feel wistful.  When I see that I truly accept others for who they are, I am learning that I can just as well accept myself for who I am (indeed, not doing so is hypocritical!).  I don’t need to chastise myself for being who I am.  I am who I am.  And if I don’t like who I am, then I can change myself to become who I want to be.  I have that freedom!  I have that right!  It’s up to me.  I’m the commander of my own ship.

if a picture paints a thousand words

It’s not you, it’s me.  It’s not me, it’s you.  It’s me.  It’s you.  It’s me.  Me, me, me.  Me.

Why did we fail, he wants to know.

Maybe I should go back to Gadget, he suggests.

WTH!

It’s troubling, he says, to see how I used Gadget (to get my babies), and how I used him (as a rebound).  As if it were premeditated.  Sigh.  Oh, how I sigh.  Of course I can say in retrospect that I had an agenda when I married, and that was to have children.  I still went into the relationship with full hope of a bright and fulfilling future.  And I tried to make it work.  Lord, I tried.  But I couldn’t do it, and I sure as hell couldn’t do it alone, so I had to end it.  Likewise, I went headlong into our whirlwind with full hope of a bright and fulfilling future.  I premeditated nothing.  I had no designs.  No agendas.  I just wanted to love and be loved.  To understand and be understood.  I effervesced and thrilled in the beauty of the universe that opened up to me, to us.

The drama began to infiltrate.  I couldn’t make heads or tails of things and blamed it on hormones.  The writing on the wall was there from early on.  If not fully evident, it was written between the lines.

We don’t fit.  For many reasons.  But there was a moment where we did, and that moment was treasure for me.

Am I a user?

If that is how it played out, then that is how it is.

Premeditated?  No.  But guilty, as charged.

...my future's so bright I have to wear shades... ...see how I sparkle!

I’m in a slump!  I’m always tired and feel like the blood in my veins is more like sludge.  I have no energy.  No inspiration.  Nothing.  Zip.  Zilch.  Nada.

Gah!

It doesn’t help much that I sprained my hip.  I have good meds so I am ambulatory, and it’s feeling much better, thank you.

I tidied the boys’ toy room — it’s amazing how they can make any place look like a complete disaster, with almost no effort at all.  They hardly even have any toys remaining, since I’ve confiscated almost everything.  And they STILL manage to spread them out to cover every inch of floor space.  It’s like the way Jesus fed the thousands with only a couple loaves of bread.  That’s what they can do with their toys.  Nothing short of miraculous.  Only it doesn’t do much to benefit humankind.

It’s a cloudy day, but hopefully it will be nice enough to take the boys for a walk, once the little one wakes up from his nap.

I should plan the grocery list for the week, but did I mention that I have no inspiration?

I don’t seem to be following the normal stages of grief and loss.  The first stage is denial.  I’m excellent at that.  But I’ve moved on.  The next stage is fear and anger.  I sort of skipped that stage, I think, and went straight to grief and depression.  But I’m sort of waffling back and forth between depression and anger.  Different thoughts surface now and then, and I find myself irritated, but also thankful, because the mere presence of those thoughts helps cement the reasons for my actions in changing my life path so dramatically.  The final stage is acceptance.  I like to think that I have acceptance, in that I know that moving on was the right thing to do.  However.  Key back to the slump comment.  No energy.  No inspiration.  These are clearly marks of depression.

And I don’t want to be depressed!  I want to be thrilled!  I want to be excited!  I want to laugh!  I want to sparkle!

Gah!

Where’s my fountain of life?!

It’s been written that the sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the sons. I can’t say how many troubled people are the product of a troubled home environment, be it drunkenness, drugs, depression, abuse, and the like, but I can see myself, and my brothers and sisters. I see these people, who I hold most dear, and think of them, who they are, the people they’ve become. I’ve watched them grow up, raise children, marry, divorce, die. I’ve watched their children grow up, raise children, marry, and struggle.

I’ve seen what happens when a troubled person becomes a parent and tries to overcompensate the shortcomings of their youth in order to avoid raising another troubled person. And I’ve seen it backfire with tremendous force. As it would. And I’ve seen us develop those traits that we despise most in our parents. When we promise ourselves while we’re young that we will never, ever be like that. Never. Only it happens. Somehow, it sidles up and slips right in, and the next thing I know, it’s like I’m having an out of body experience in which I look at myself in shock and horror as the voice of my mother or my father is issuing forth from my own mouth.

Man with a capital M

I’m not sure what he thinks of me, at this point.  (Other than that I’m whacked, which I fully admit.)  I hope that in time he will find the warm places in his heart that we shared, and that he will be able to smile and be grateful for having had those experiences and feelings.

I’m grateful.  I’ve recently been contemplating much about the path I’ve walked thus far, and realized that he gave me something that I’d not really experienced before.  Thrill.  He is manly among men.  M.A.N.  He’s confident and carries himself with a swagger.  His arms are gloriously defined and he’s strong as can be.  M.A.N.  When he smiles, he lights up the room.  And he smells good.  He wears a variety of colognes that are completely tasteful and he has the sense to wear them with subtlety, which makes him that much more enticing.  In fact, his personal hygiene is impeccable.  He’s always clean and fresh, and while we were together, I could nibble on him for hours if he’d let me.  I can’t recall any other time in my life where I’ve wanted to do that.  The smooth feel of a freshly shaved face, and the rough feel a few hours later, both equally delicious.  And what woman wouldn’t thrill at the embrace of a strong, manly man?  Somehow, it makes a woman feel more like a woman.

Lying side by side, he would lift me, effortlessly (I could finish the sentence, but I don’t think that part is necessary).  That act, which consumed only one or two seconds in the fabric of time, is imprinted in my mind, hopefully forever.  And with each recollection, I can relive the thrill and feel the butterflies in my stomach and the goosebumps on my arms.

In one sense, it’s kind of tragic to have lived forty five years and experienced so very little intimate thrill, but in another sense, I count myself blessed to have gotten to experience it at all.

I tell him that I love him, but I can’t really explain how and why we don’t fit.  I will always have a warm place of love in my heart for Skills, the beautiful man who woke me up and made me feel alive again.  And somewhere, in his heart of hearts, beneath the oh, so very tough and manly exterior that protects him, the place where we met and stayed for a while, I think he will preserve a little love for me.

I have a fantastic life.  Truly.  I recognize it.  I have a great and stable job during a tough economic climate.  I have two boisterous, happy, healthy boys.  I have a comfortable home.  I have a reliable vehicle.  I have food in the pantry.  I have a closet full of clothes.  I have loving friends.  I have incredible sisters.

And yet.  Something is all knotted up inside of me, and I find it hard to breathe.  It’s not self-pity, as far as I can tell.  I don’t want to wallow in anything.  I’m not feeling down on myself.  I don’t think I’m chastising myself.  I’m acknowledging and taking ownership of my mistakes and shortcomings in managing relationships, but not beating myself up over not being able to fit a square peg in a round hole.  I like myself.  I see good in myself.  I recognize that my existence contributes positively to this world, in that I love and give of myself to others, and I do good work for my employer.  I try not to burden anybody (Gadget, of course, doesn’t share that particular view).

And yet.  Something inside me feels like it needs to howl at the moon or run a marathon or break something big or cry my eyes out (more than I already have).  It’s like I’m stuck in this strange visceral state and I need a kick start to snap me out of it.  Only I don’t know what kind of kick is needed.

On an intellectual level, I know everything is fine.  Gadget can play his silly games, but it’s all smoke and mirrors and won’t amount to anything.  And yes, there has been a great deal of change and stress in my life this year and last, but all of that is past tense, and the here and now is full of goodness.  So why can’t I breathe?

I can’t be broken.  I just wanted to say it, for the record.  I can post a picture of my boobs on the internet, in the interest of self healing and self awareness.  And my deliciously squishy belly, in the interest of self acceptance.  But I can’t be broken.  I know this, because I know from where all my intentions spring, and I mean well to all and for all, regardless of how it may play out.  I know this, as well, because in the face of direct onslaught, I still receive blessings of all forms from all sides.  The sun is shining and all is well.  There may be unpleasantness that I have to walk through, but the sun is still shining on me.  So I will continue holding my head high, and I will keep smiling.

Meanwhile, I may have to lawyer up.  But I can do that, if I have to.

And I won’t let one man’s colossal lack of testicular fortitude keep me from believing in the goodness of people in general and men in particular.

I’m not sure how well I can shield the children from their father’s lack of redeeming qualities.  I want for them to grow up with respect for him, but he leaves very little room for such things to be possible.

these hands

These hands are strong and capable.  They are not afraid to work.   They are eager to help.  These hands are soft and gentle.  They touch the ones I love.

these arms

These arms hold my children.  These arms embrace the ones I love.

these legs

These legs are sturdy and strong.  They reach the ground and take me where I need to go.

these feet

These feet have walked in foreign lands and felt the touch of foreign sands.

this belly

This belly carried my babies and kept them safe until they were ready to face the world.  The marks are a badge of honor, earned while I swelled to accommodate the beautiful babies that grew within me.

these breasts

These breasts brought forth the life-giving sustenance that nourished my babies for two full years.

these eyes

These eyes are the windows to my soul. Wide open, they hide nothing. These eyes have cried an ocean of tears. They’ve sparkled with joy and flashed with ire.

this smile

This smile can light up a room.

this skin

This skin is soft and silky.  Feminine.  It speaks, and what it has to say is “I am woman.”

these lines

These lines have stories to tell.  Each wrinkle unique to me, and only me.

these scars

These scars bear testimony of joy and pain.  Each one carries its own memory and evokes the seasons and the senses.  This one, a burn, came on a hot summer night, in the company of family and loved ones, while the secret sorrow of another lost baby distracted my mind.  I treasure each scar, which represents some chapter in my life.  Each one is a part of the story of who I am and how I came to be the me who is here now.

this mind

This mind is at times sharp and quick. At times misunderstood. At times blocked. At times stubborn. At times witty.  At times at war with itself.  Always hungry for resolution, reason, understanding, wisdom, peace, and harmony.

this face

This face is a fortunate happenstance of genetics.  It wears the years well.  This face says, “This is me, here and now.  I am strong.  I am kind.  I am good.  I mean no harm.  I am trying to do my best and to be my best.  I am alive.  I am real.  I am blessed.  I am not broken.  But I am sometimes sad.”

this heart

This heart is learning to honor the vessel that holds it.  This heart is full of love.

River, river carry me on
Living river carry me on
River, river carry me on
To the place where I come from

So deep, so wide, will you take me on your back for a ride
If I should fall, would you swallow me deep inside

River, show me how to float
I feel like I’m sinking down
Thought that I could get along
But here in this water
My feet won’t touch the ground
I need something to turn myself around

Going away, away towards the sea
River deep, can you lift up and carry me
Oh roll on though the heartland
‘Til the sun has left the sky
River, river carry me high
‘Til the washing of the water make it all alright
Let your waters reach me like she reached me tonight

Letting go, it’s so hard
The way it’s hurting now
To get this love untied
So tough to stay with this thing
‘Cause if I follow through
I face what I denied
I get those hooks out of me
And I take out the hooks that I sunk deep in your side
Kill that fear of emptiness, loneliness I hide

River, oh river, river running deep
Bring me something that will let me get to sleep
In the washing of the water will you take it all away
Bring me something to take this pain away

(Peter Gabriel – Washing of the Water)

I let him go.  Sent him back to the river.  I think he’s hurting.  I’m hurting.  But I didn’t know what else to do.  I don’t know how to balance life any more.  I don’t know up from down or left from right.  I don’t know how to blend lives.

I told him it was beautiful while it was beautiful, and that I’ll forever treasure that.  And I truly mean it.  I hope he knows that.

Maybe I will find myself again.

I want to.

I need to.

I’m beginning to learn that if someone has an issue with something or somebody, it’s not really about that thing or that person, but it’s about them. In life, we truly have control over only one being, and that is our own self. We may try to influence others or mold or shape them into a version of what we think we want, but when it comes down to it, if that is what we are doing, we are missing the point that we need to look in the mirror and find out what it is within our own selves that is at issue.

At first, it’s not an easy thing to look in the mirror. It’s so much easier to try to pin fault on someone or something else, than take responsibility for it yourself. That in itself is the first big swindle. Fault. Why does there have to be fault or blame? What is it about human nature that short-circuits truth and humility for judgment or pride? Judgment and pride assign fault or blame, and these things stem from fear.

The human qualities I want to be known for and remembered by are love, truth, humility, honor, compassion, and integrity. I would like to be able to look in the mirror and see that reflection.

What do I see?

I see a struggle of human frailty. I see my actions fall short of my intentions. My intentions are pure. Truly. From the depth of my heart and soul. But walking the talk, now that is a different story. The words that I find to express my self are not always heard as intended, and the ability to choose the right words is an art that is yet to be mastered. So much vigilance is needed. So much care. There is such a responsibility with words. They carry so much.

I see a person easily disarmed. Disarmed by judgment. Disarmed by pride.

She needs to be so much more vigilant. See the forest and the trees. Evaluate all words, not just hers but those directed at her, for their source. Measure them against the standard of love, truth, humility, honor, compassion, and integrity. Do they hold up? From whence do they spring?

With such a measure, she is armed, not disarmed. And after the measure, what should she do? Do her own words stem from love, truth, humility, honor, compassion and integrity? If not, she can change. She should change. If so, she should stand her ground.

In all fairness to myself, I see strength as well.  Yes, a struggle of human frailty, but also some triumph of human strength.  I may shed tears at inopportune moments, or cry myself to sleep at times.  But I am strong.  Very strong.  Because I am wide open.  Open for love.  Which leaves me vulnerable.  Unprotected.  It takes a certain strength and courage to be so.  I embrace the love, and face the rest.

What do I want?

I want to understand and be understood, to love and be loved, to cherish and be cherished, to hear and be heard, to treasure and be treasured, to delight and be delighted in.

Do I want this for or from one person or all people in my life sphere? Certainly, from me outward, I want this for all. To understand my people, to love my people, to cherish my people, to hear my people, to treasure my people, to delight in my people.

And inward? Who do I want to understand me, love me, cherish me, hear me, treasure me, and delight in me? Well, everyone, of course.  Is that realistic?

All I know is that I can do my part. My part is to love, try to understand, cherish, try to hear, treasure, and delight. I can do my part. It’s fundamental flow. Give and you shall receive. Do unto others as you’d have done unto you.

Do I feel alone? Sometimes. But that means only that I’m not paying close enough attention, and not seeing the forest for the trees.

Is there a difference between men and women? There are differences, yes, but I think these things are about the human heart and transcend gender. I think that if people get back to the basics of humility and love, then anything is possible.