It's Time

This year has been like being born.

After my ex-husband moved out, my aunt and her children came to spend a week with me, and she compared me in my hurt pain to the new flowers she planted in my garden. "You are new now, like the flowers," she said, "and like them, you are going to require a lot of care and time. You are fragile. Eventually, you will grow strong." I thought she was out of her mind. I was not a flower, I was a sniveling mess, and I hated myself for it, although I did know that her words had a ring of truth. I agreed that in time, I would be fine. At the time, I figured that in two years, I'd be myself again, so the mantra "two years" ran constantly through my head. "In two years, I'll okay. In two years, I won't be panicking anymore. In two years, I'll be myself again."

The reality is that two years later, I was entrenched in a relationship that I may as well call "Marriage, Continued" in that it was as emotionally unfulfilling and eerily similar to my marriage. Though I was involved with a man, he was reminiscent of my ex-husband and therefore familiar to me... totally a lateral move, not a step forward. I was not "better," I was merely "swimming in the river of denial." Even after an additional year, having extricated myself from that post-marital relationship, I was paralyzed about dating, furious at my ex-husband, and emotionally stymied by the future yawning before me -- alone.

Then 2008 hit. I spiraled downward. My close friend's marriage tanked. I spiraled faster. The hurricane. The weird year at work. Getting sick with a lung infection. Flooding. My uncle's death. Myriad car problems. Illnesses of friends of friends... deaths of friends of friends. The depression fell into a controllable situation, but it never departed completely, and honestly, it's still there, waiting for a vulnerable moment to leap out from the bushes and beat me down.

However, in the past few weeks, I've recognized that I really am like those little flowers my aunt planted so long ago. I've grown green little new shoots. I've even grown thorns. I've borne new blossoms. I have skills, defenses, wisdom, and hope -- hope! -- that I didn't used to have or haven't had in a long, long time. I can see, as clearly as with a new pair of glasses, that the world I've been watching all of my life is not the world in which I am living. I don't mean that as I've said it in the past... I never knew a husband could just leave... I never knew people really died... it's not that kind of realization. It's dawned on me, quite literally, that I can be both aware and have hope. Simultaneously.

In the past, hope meant being naive. Hope meant youthful optimism. Hope was something I lost in the divorce, as I lost my chance to grow old in my marriage, and as I lost my chance to marry as a maiden and live forever in the bosom of love.

In the years after the divorce, merely dating wasn't an option, because I knew I was was damaged goods as a divorcee. Rationally, it's just true that people divorce. They make mistakes, and they move on. However, I was damaged goods on two levels: I couldn't imagine the kind of faithful, steadfast, honorable man wanting a woman who'd failed at her marriage already. I saw my divorce as a "black mark" against my name, labeling me as unworthy. Also, I was literally damaged. Broken. Indeed, I was weak, vulnerable, and fragile -- just like those flowers. Instinctively, I knew one man's inadvertent misstep on my feelings or on my heart would crush me, as I wasn't strong enough to bounce back from even the most innocently thoughtless remark.

Safer to stay away.

But those green buds have grown bark on them and have become true branches of a much stronger plant than a mere flower.

I resent having had to grow these muscles, but the resentment doesn't undo that I do, in fact, have them. I am strong. I am a new person than I used to be. While I have so many fears, my friends tease me to no end, I do know that I am stronger than anything that makes me afraid, and with their help, I will stay strong. I have my faith. I have my family. The past is the past, and it has made me a better person than I used to be. Ripped from the cocoon-like womb of retreat, I understand now that how I spend the days is how I spend my life, and I won't spend them hiding from that yawning future. I am emerging from the safety and security into the bright light of the rest of my life. It starts now.

To quote Alice Cullen, "It's time."

Is It All Just Semantics?

I read a lot of advice columns, mostly for their entertainment value. Sometimes, a column seems to apply to something in my own situation, and I read it with a slightly hairy eyeball. I think it's somewhat funny when the columnist airly suggests that her writer break up with a boyfriend of many years' duration... do people just DO that on the whim of a total stranger? I'd never have done that with my own relationships. Actually, I ended most of them, but it wasn't until every single chance was exhausted for us to find peace together.

Anyway, this idea of ending relationships got me thinking about the relationships that are ending around me, and the idea of "choosing to stay in love" to which I alluded in the previous post.

Here are the top ten things I believe about intimate love:

1. Intimate love is inviolate. Nobody may tresspass against it. It is sacrosant. Both people in the relationship must believe this truth with their entire beings.

2. Intimate love is sustainable.

3. For intimate love to sustain, both people must come together in attraction that includes but goes beyond the physical. In other words, the relationship is made of whole cloth, and both partners "keep the cloth clean" by pursuing individual interests and taking care of their bodies and souls. As each person is grateful for the other's love, he or she does what he or she can to stay interesting and attractive out of respect for the other.

4. Intimate love is sacrificing. It prioritizes neither partner, but instead puts the welfare of the couple ahead of either person's individual agenda.

5. Intimate love involves trust that the partners share goals and values. This is a hard one, becuase sometimes people misrepresent their goals and values, or they're quite honestly not sure what their goals and values are. But if two people are throwing in their futures together, it's necessary for their vision of the future be similar, if not the same.

6. Intimate love is forgiving. This means that each person must "assume the best" when the other person does something thoughtless to violate mutual goodwill. The person who offends must be able to see the situation through his or her partner's eyes, own up to it, and ask for forgiveness. To do so indicates trust in the partner. If a partner is constantly offended, however, there may need to be another conversation about values (see number 5). Hopefully, people work that stuff out when they're still dating.

7. Intimate love is REALLY forgiving. While abuse, adultery, and addiction are situations where a person's physical or material safety is comporomised to the point of dissolving the relationship, intimate love strives for understanding and invests the time and work required to recognfigure the status quo so that the couple can emerge stronger than they were previously. This effort may take more strength than either person or the couple together can bear, but when it's possible, it's possible.

8. Intimate love is accepting that there are going to be times when love is the LAST feeling between the two people, but it knows in the background that the love is still there, if on ice.

9. Intimate love is behavior. It's the solicitous protection and support of another person and the right to expect solicitous protection from that person in turn. Each person is steadfastly in the other person's corner.

10. Intimate love is free. It holds no accounts. It allows both people to be who they are, without artifice or based on a desire to please. Thus, when two people come together in love, and they find they fit together being who they really are, it's a joy for them and the others who are around them.

Okay, writing this list nullifies the point I was going to make about my friend who chooses to stay in love with her husband... as I was going to say that can't we choose to love ANYONE?

I don't think we can, no.

Is that all there is?

Too funny. I'm sitting here reading about Kate Walsh's divorce and thinking, "Even she believes nobody gets married to get divorced. But why do people get married?" Then I remember my ex telling me that our marriage wasn't what he expected or wanted, or something like that, and asking him, "What did you expect?" Did he expect some kind of fairy tale that would last forever? Do fairy tales last forever? Do people fall in love and get married, then have a horrifying realization when the "in love" feeling doesn't permeate their every waking moment, but bills, obligations, failures, children, and responsibilities do?

And here I thought marriage was supposed to be a refuge from bitter realities. What happens when the marriage itself is a bitter reality?

When I look at successful relationships that surround me, what I see is commitment. Period. These people want to stay together, so they do what it takes to stay together. Often, it's not fun. Often, it's work... and not the desk-work of most of my middle class friends. It's back-breaking, bone-chilling, frustrating, primal-screaming work, when it comes time to work. I can say, with some authority, that work is Not Fun. Ultimately, the people who don't stay together don't want to stay together, or at least one of them doesn't, and whoever says no wins.

I certainly don't see flower petals tossed into the wind anywhere. I don't hear singing angels. I don't have to swat at a Cupid flying around. Not even in the best relationships.

The best relationship around which I get to dwell periodically is my aunt and uncle's relationship, the couple who live in Dallas. They're pretty heartsy and flowery, but they're definitely not perfect. He wishes she were fitter. She wishes he were more of a go-getter. He wishes she were inherently tidier. She wishes he were less of a dog person. They adore each other -- in between tending their five children, working three jobs between the two of them, managing a house and three cars, and home-schooling.

I think that's one layer of hell, personally.

The next best relationship of which I know is my brother and sister-in-law. They are very similar. They are both very bright people, neat but not fastidiously clean, mathematical, outdoorsy in an indoorsy way, and musical. Also, they as well adore each other. But I don't know if they're as thrilled to bits with life in general as my aunt and uncle. Often, my brother reveals poorly defined dissatisfaction or lack of fulfillment with life in general, indicating an emotional core only those who know him best could recognize. My sister-in-law, whom I admire in many ways, apparently saves her depth and intimacy for my brother, or at least I hope she does; she and I are yet to have a meaningful conversation about anything, and I've known her for fourteen years. I'd shudder to think that's why my brother loves her so much.

The third best relationship I can observe is that of my work friend and her husband, who are a study in contrasts. He is meticulously organized to the point of obsessive compulsive disorder. She is "organic" about such things. He is methodical, predictable, and reliable; she is none of those things, but a free spirit who moves with the winds of her momentary inclinations. They share in common a fundamental commitment to their family, devout faith, and a mutual regard for the responsibility and respect for marriage. She trusts him implicitly and totally. He takes very good care of her and lets her be herself. But she herself said to me, "I can remember the moment I decided to stay in love with him." Interesting comment.

So ultimately, I'm thinking, what I want to do is fall in love and have a dazzlingly stimulating love affair... but marriage, with the heavy lifting, may not be so tempting to me any more. But as my aunt in Dallas would say, I have to take one thing at a time. Marriage isn't in the offing right now... so why not have a date? Why not find a great guy who likes me? Why not try?

Because if he wanted in my house and in my space, I'd have to kill him.

Or at least hurt him real bad.

2009

After several months of hermit time, it occurred to me to fire up the old blog and see what's going on in my head. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I seem to be in the precise same spot where I've found myself for the last three years... single, liking the solitude, and wondering what the future holds. I'm still coasting on letting life happen to me, as opposed to making it happen. Everyone says we need to take the reins of our own lives and make "it" happen, but I've never learned what "it" is, and I'm not sure what I even want to happen, if I really do get to choose.

One change is that I'm no longer in the depths of despair emotionally. Time, meds, counseling, and my own inner strength, as well as the support of my friends, have all worked together to weather that particular storm. I think back to last summer and how depression grabbed me almost literally in its sharp-toothed jaws, and I do recognize that I've evacuated that episode. I'm still taking meds, but I've cut my dosage in half with no ill-effects, and as the number of available pills continues to diminish, I plan to wean myself off of them altogether.

I've also grown in accepting myself better. Rather than feel I'm not good enough because I'm losing my looks, gaining weight, or unable to manage my house or career the way I want to, it's easier lately to think, "My life might not be all I want it to be, but it's all mine, and I'll take it." The idea of dating and feeling judged or evaluated by someone I'm not even sure I even like yet when I'm not confident enough to bear judgement is terrifying. Something's shifted inside of me, though, and the more time I spend on myself and with people I love doing things I love, the less a date's perspective -- good or bad -- seems, at least in the abstract, to matter. I'm growing up. I even like my flaws... after all, they're mine! I just may be able to look a man in the eye and actually mean, "This is who I am, and you can take it or leave it, but get over yourself" instead of thinking I need to tailor myself to his preferences.

I have always wanted to find someone who loves the things about me that I myself love, and whom I can love for the things about himself that he loves. Isn't that in a way the definition of shared values? But the people in my life who've cared about me have always seemed to like something about me that, to me, didn't matter very much. My most recent relationship of any duration was with a man who liked that I was able to leave him alone. My ex-husband liked that I was able to create a home for his own pleasure and to take care of the details of every day life, so he didn't have to. I want someone who actually likes me, who thinks I'm funny, who appreciates my artistic interests and who respects and admires my interest in books and reading. I've never dated a reader. Isn't that odd?

So my dear friend from home asked me if it's time to find another dinner partner. I asked him where I should go to find one. Wal Mart? There are myriad dating service online, and I guess if I bothered to strike up conversations with people at the gym, at work, or even in line at the grocery store, I could broaden my horizons easily enough, but the fact is, I'm just not interested in making an effort yet. I miss the comforts of a relationship... the closeness to another person, the idea of having someone in my corner... but I don't miss the anxiety, the need to compromise, the impact of that other person's proclivities on my life and time, or the responsibilities and accountability that's inherent in a relationship. I'd like to have one, but I don't want to have to do what it takes or sacrifice my freedom to do, for the most part, exactly as I please in my personal life. I don't want to "date." I would like to find a great guy who gets me, and who fits into my life like a well-designed piece of art, without requiring a total redecoration of who I am, what I do, how I do it, and why any of it matters.

Is that possible?

Gray Grief

It's late April 2008. It's a warm and breezy afternoon, with a gray sky and intermittent peeps of sunshine. My carpet is vaccuumed, my dishwasher is loaded, most of my laundry is done, the groceries are purchased, my yard is mowed, and all should be right in the world. But my mind is gray like the sky.

I caught myself just now thinking, "It's such a nice day, I wish I could be happy."

Now, I am not feeling sorry for myself. I'm not unhappy. I'm just not happy. I'm not contented. Waves of angst continually wash over me like the breezes outside. Gas prices are climbing, surpassing what I've ever seen in my life. Our district is laying off teachers; "always" needing qualified teachers has reached its epoch (well, perhaps the district will still need qualified teachers, but the district is at this juncture unable to pay them). Housing has hit critical mass with defaulting mortgages and stalled home values. Prices are climbing for everything, not just gas, and whispers of food shortages and water shortages prey on the minds of those already in the grips of consumer hysteria.

I don't know that I'm hysterical, but certainly, the angst is exhausting.

The bottom line is that the poor people least able to afford these evolutions of the economy... young families, those working for little more than minimum wage, and those on fixed incomes... are not going to be able to survive, let alone make progress, at least for a while. There may be some sacrifice, if not actual suffering, in store for our nation, individually and together, in the coming months.

I could go into a diatribe of everything that's wrong with our country, but perhaps this point in history, we're part of what's really a global situation, not a national one. Pointing fingers is less useful than living conservatively and spending wisely. The truth is that factors beyond our borders play a huge role in our country's economic welfare, and besides, in a situation of this magnitude, it's impossible to blame or credit any one person or faction with responsibility for the problems or solutions.

Yet, as I sit here, I can only wish I could be happy.

Fifty years ago, the national problems were different; our economy was still coasting on a WWII-induced upswing. Who wanted to think of the boom ending or the wonderful national party finally hitting curfew? But it did. In the 1960's, America swapped safe tradition for the charismatic 1960's, and then in the 1970's, the price of gas was surpassed only by the length of lines of cars at the pump. Things changed. Unimaginably. Unpredictably. Yet reliably.

So now is now. And in another year... in another five years... we'll have a methodology in our lifestyles that nobody now can possibly predict or understand, however wise we think we are, however much we're too arrogant to admit it.

While any liberal environmentalist panicmonger can scream about water shortages or carbon emissions, at the same time as he or she screams, everything is changing. Others are designing newer and better ways to build cars, renew resources, and maximize efficiency. The world in which we live is not going to erode steadily in the coming decades, the world in which we live will evolve in coming decades. We must evolve with it.

Perhaps I could exchange the luxury of grief over the uncontrollable elements of daily life for faith in the American spirit. Americans are free. Some people abuse that freedom with sketchy lifestyles. Some abuse our country's goodwill by taking over-advantage of myriad social programs. Some steal from our country by living and working here illegally. Yet, the American entrepreneural spirit is one in which I have some faith. American ingenuity is a beautiful thing. I have enough faith to eschew fear. I must remember that.

Grief is a feeling of loss of something beloved and necessary. But what have I lost that is beloved and necessary? My feelings of safety and security? Feelings are neither beloved or necessary. My hard-earned money? I have enough, and while nobody I know is partying to pay more at the pump, so far nobody's really driving much less, either.

Save the grief for something worth it.

Surprises

I've been surprised to realize lately that not only fear of further suffering is preventing me from wanting to date, but also my own dissatisfaction with myself is a huge stumbling block.

While I myself may like myself better than I did years ago, I fall so far short of my own expectations for myself, it's impossible for me to imagine anyone else finding me acceptable, let alone desirable.

The saddest part is that if someone did indeed "like me anyway," I would neither believe him or have any respect for him. The scariest part of admitting that little tidbit is that I think that's always why I've "aimed low," so to speak, when it comes to men. For example, I've already admitted that I adored my ex-husband because it's how I wanted to feel about my husband. He wasn't worthy of it, but I overlooked it at the time to suit my own need. So, in other words, this self-perception problem is actually not new. It's just new to my enlightened self.

So what do I think is wrong with me that no one worth it could love me?

This is difficult to list.

First, I don't think I'm pretty enough. I don't think I'm fit enough (though I work out all the time), I don't like my complexion, and I'm kind of disheveled most of the time. I admire those feminine, finished looking girls with smooth hair and clothes that fit like they were tailor-made. They're not me, and I don't understand a man who'd prefer me to one of them.

I don't think I'm mature. I'm stubborn, and it's getting worse as I get older. I don't enjoy responsibility. My house is noticably "organic," though it's clean, and it's a heroic effort to stay even minimally organized at work. There's an artlessness about my lifestyle that, if I encountered it in another, would drive me mad. So I'd expect it to drive someone else mad to find it in me.

Then... I find myself unable to accept that "sometimes marriages don't work." In my naive mind, divorce was never an option for me when I married; I assumed that it wasn't for him, and I was wrong. I see as a divorced person how accepting people are... I am grateful for their compassion but at the same time vaguely horrified by it. It's an actual option. Not working out a marriage is an option. Of course I'd never have married someone I thought would leave me. Little did I know that, hey, divorce happens! It's really an option, and anyone can get one, and nobody else can do anything about it. Wow, what an eye opener! It would take an eternity for me to believe that a man wants, really wants, what I want and will do what it takes to have it.

Writing these truths has helped me.

I mean, I think that for myself, I look just fine, but what's actually most important to me is that I am healthy, and I am doing the right things to stay that way. I actually admire myself for working to maintain my God-given health. To me myself, that's more important than how I look. Couldn't it be more important to a man that my health is a priority to me over how I look physically, all on its own?

As for my stubbornness, well, I've lived alone for a long time, and it's only natural I've arranged my lifestyle to suit myself. However, I recognize that I'm perfectly happy to collaborate with people whom I recognize as worthy of my respect and esteem. I do think a man's job is to lead, however traditional that is of me, but the need for him to have my sincere respect (not the pro-forma respect I gave my ex-husband because, well, I wanted to respect my husband; I did it backwards) is paramount. If I found a genuine leader in my life, a person with the vision to take us forward together, I really believe I'd enjoy collaborating with him, even if it means giving up some of my independence.

I never expected to search for a relationship with a man at this stage in my life... I saw all my friends and relatives marry in their youth and then grow up together. My role-modeling doesn't fit my current circumstances. It might be a wise idea for me to search out some second-marriage people and ask for them to share their wisdom. This is a whole new row to hoe.

Tranquility

In my personal life, I have achieved about month 13 of peace and tranquility. A few realities have come to light:

I recognize now that tangibly, I am separate from my marriage and divorce. I see myself as entire person in my own right, now. How can I tell? When I read articles about the aftermath of divorce now, my response is, "This doesn't apply to me." The wound is healed, though perhaps some scars remain. Maybe some always will... maybe not. Regardless, it's all okay.

I recognize now that a year ago, when I wanted a boyfriend and chose to explore online dating, I quite simply wasn't ready, not for the excitement or the anxiety, the risk and the judgement and the rejection... or the flip side of love and support and nurturing. I wasn't strong enough on my own to share me with anyone else. Am I now? Maybe. Maybe not. Regardless, it's all okay.

I recognize now that my individuality is not only acceptable but essential for my adult peace of mind. In recognize that in some ways, I extended my childlike role with my parents into my marriage; I kept my own counsel and never challenged him or stood up for my needs (though the courtship was the place for such testing; had I been stronger during the courtship, I could have spared myself the divorce). That error is my role in my divorce. I forgive myself for it, for being naive, for choosing unwisely, and for making a mistake that offends my moral values. All I can do is improve the next time. If there is one.

I recognize that people are inherently flawed, so expecting them to support me in ways both physical and emotional sets me up for failure. That is, the people do not fail me, it's my misplaced expectations of the people and misuse of our relationship, or needing them beyond their capabilities, that fails me. For this, faith is essential. I am wary of "religion," especially the cult-like attitudes and behaviors I've encountered, but I retain an old-fashioned faith. I am an important part of this burgeoning universe. I have purpose and merit. I am forgiven my transgressions. The love that created me is the only thing that can also sustain me with purpose, strength, and clarity. Perhaps the faithless see this process of faith as "looking within yourself" to find what I need. For that, perhaps it is; faith is not empiricle. At the same time, I know how easy it is to lie to myself. It's harder to lie when God is refereeing.

I realize that my essential unhappiness comes from failing to meet my own expectations for moving into the future. After the divorce, I wanted to "be better" as fast as possible, not endure an extra second of suffering. I figured, "fake it until I make it." But I didn't count on bitterness. I didn't count on a serious hit to my self-esteem. I didn't grasp what had happened to my ability to trust others. Actually, my faith in others, borne of a lifetime of nurturing stability and unselfish love from my family, was such a defining characteristic of my personality that losing it created an enormous psychological wound. A void. While I have begun to fill that void and grow into the person I am as I sit here, this person is not same person, and trusting others is hard now. I realize it, though. Maybe that's good. Regardless, it's all okay.

I am scared a lot still. That's okay too. Feeling scared is just a feeling. So I'll feel it. But I am a heroine. Courage doesn't mean I never feel scared. Courage means persevering in spite of it.

And I give myself bonus points for trying. Always trying! Trying to move forward, even when I go two steps back. Even when I know people want to scream. Even when I want to scream at myself. In the end, it's been an adventure. I've learned a lot, and I'm a better person for it. I like myself better now than I did four years ago, though I'm not happy most of the time. That's ironic. And, it's okay.

Heroism

I have decided to be a heroine.

Fortunately, that's all it takes, to decide. Somehow, that orchestrates all the debris in my head, gives me an orientation, and provides focus on minutiae in life.

I AM a heroine.

So I have stress at work. A hero is stronger than mere stress! A hero sees the difficult people as incidental to the purpose and importance of what he is doing, the mere cost of doing business, so to speak. A hero strives in spite of impediments to do the best job possible at all times. Therefore, no matter what stress I have at work, I can remain, entirely, a heroine.

So I feel lonely without my family. Well, heroes often deal with disadvantageous to downright desperate circumstances, but they realize that it's not something they can control right away. Rather than grieving their situation, they focus on the positives, not on what they don't have, and bide their time until circumstances can change. In other words, a situation doesn't define the hero. The hero manages himself with distinction in the situation.

A hero is not perfect, however. Odysseus found himself waylaid many times on his travels back to Ithaca. Modern heroes like JFK or the Princess of Wales were all too human in their private lives, yet they're largely respected, if not revered. What allows the hero to remain the hero in the face of his human fallibility? Well, the hero is human; he is not going to be perfect. But he is going to maintain his sense of hope. While Odysseus frolicked on his way home to his wife, he never forgot Penelope was waiting for him in Ithaca, and the idea inspired his hope when his energy or conviction flagged. JFK's immoral private life and controversial presidency in no way shaded the light of hope that illuminated his generation. Diana's struggles through the travails of life inspired the rest of us to sustain ourselves through our own hard times.

And the example of Jesus, who never gave up in the face of persecution, torture, and execution reminds us all that that no matter how bad our lives may be or get or seem, it all could be very, very much worse. Yet, we always can maintain our dignity.

Heroes.

In an article by Oliver Stone, he describes his growth in the perspective of heroism. He said when he was small, heroes were public figures like George Washington or Abraham Lincoln, people who symbolized strength and character. But as an adult, he believes that heroes are the regular people who do the right thing in the face of challenge: kids who say no to drugs, parents who instill children with values and morals, people who take on a task and honor it and thereby honor themselves.

The Flight 93 heroes realized their plight, and they made sure the world heard their voices, and they saved hundreds of lives. They rose to an occasion that everyone understood merited fear. They are heroes.

Then, I am a hero. I am a heroine. When the road gets tough is when the heroism can emerge, right? So if the next few months are hard for me, well, that's the price a heroine has to pay. That's all.

Religion, Realization, and Introspction

Rambling Stream of Consciousness Alert!

Having just reread the biography Elizabeth and Philip about two people whom I greatly admire. It's perhaps odd then that what struck me most this time was a note at the end. Introspection is worthless, this person in the book asserted, speaking of how the queen and her consort find the ability to carry on. In a nutshell -- avoid it.

Coincidentally, today I read an online article complaning about people who draw themselves so far inward, they've forgetten how to play well with others and don't even realize what crappy friends they've become to those in outside world. Sounds terrible, doesn't it?

Interesting perspectives. I certainly spend a wealth of time on introspection, and while I hope I've achieved some measure of self-understanding, at the same time, the value of that understanding is moot if I don't play "with the three dimensional people," to quote Phoebe Buffay.

It's exhausting. We may, might, must address multiple responsibilities in a successful day of real life, all the while aspiring, striving, and yearning for more money, security, belonging by way of investing more time, more energy, and more focus on everything from holidays to pseudosocial functions at work. Beyond work, if I want my life to be successful, I have to go, fight, and win endless battles to be better, stronger, braver, a harder worker, and more determined than the people around me to favorably compete. And when I'm home and have no people around me, I'm supposed to fix that, too, if it's not what I want, by dating, mating, and procreating. Therefore, its essential to banish the gray, clear the skin, and dress according to the edicts of What Not to Wear, maximizing my potential.

Now I'm really exhausted. No wonder when I get home every day, all I want to do is sit on the couch.

There is more to life than this.

So I was looking at my pets and thinking about how much more I know about life than they do. I know what will happen to them. I know how long they'll live, all things being equal, and what their eventual health slowdowns will be like. I know they will be afraid as they age and feel pain they don't understand, and I know that however much it hurts me, I will probably have to euthanize them eventually, when they've declined to the point of fearful desperation.

And it connected in my head that God is like that. God knows what we don't know about our own lives the same way I know more about my cats. And beyond knowing, the future IS, which is an idea I've expressed before. God sees time in both directions, the future and the past... and realizing that truth, suddenly, the free will question evaporated from my mind. It's all decided, as far as God goes. What is IS. Always was. God knows if I will repair my Catholicism, God knows if I will find lasting happiness in a relationship with a man, God knows if I will spend the rest of my life sitting on this couch feeling exhausted by myriad hurdles. What's left is for ME to find out. Trite though it may sound, the value really is the journey. It's all about me, or more to the point, it's all about each of us. We have all our blessings. They're there for the taking. We just have to recognize them.

(Most especially, God knows the resolution of the religions and their discord, and he knows the nature of man and the frustrations of humanity... I am not confident enough to espouse a particular religion as the correct one, but I'm able to assert that God, whatever or whoever he or she is, is, in fact... but I can't and shall not misrepresent my belief that the Bible is as fallible as the human people who set it to paper, though it very well may be divinely inspired... but I can and must assert that I do believe that God is, though our human words and descriptions must fall far short of the actual, and I believe in the Bible as a book of how to live well, how to live right, and how to live successfully... however much people find the means to justify mean to terrible to terrifying behavior by way of its pages... it's a life book, and it's a source of answers... it's not a "get out of jail free" card.)

This idea came through poignantly at work today, where a student with more than his fair share of bad luck got even more bad news over the weekend. How much can a kid bear, especially when his family is suffering from past tragedies still and can't lend him the support or help to deal with his own adolescent and actual trials? But the gifts are there for him, if he avails himself to them. The school knows and cares about his welfare. He has love in his life, but he will have to be strong, a lot stronger than perhaps he can be right now. Stronger than he knows he can be, or stronger than he wants to be. But he has to do the heavy lifting in his life.

I've had to do it, too. And I hated it. I still resent it when I let myself think about it.

My neighbor says what I have left to do in my journey to wholly repair myself is find my passion. There's a problem with that. I don't have one, and that's a bit unimaginative of me, so I hate admitting it. I like to write, I love to read, and I've become rabid about exercising, but none of those interests are actual passions within me. Well, perhaps reading is a passion, but I don't recognize it as one because it's like breathing or eating to me, a necessary component of my daily life for survival. Either way, my love of reading isn't a way that I can find and sustain personal bliss, let alone support myself.

However, I know now to start looking outward. Looking inside myself isn't going to result in fulfillment. The blessings are in my life, out in my life, and I have to find them before I can recognize them.

Two Struggles

I am having a really hard time getting past a sense of futility that's flourishing in my head. It's not personal futility, it's sort of societal futility. The quantity of negativity in modern press begs the question, how bad are things really? If they're as bad as they sound, it's hardly even worth fighting to make anything better, because I think there's hardly a chance of improvement.

My preoccupation with the suckage of life in general has graduated to the degree that I've sworn off Foxnews.com entirely (the pervasiveness of perverted stories... people killed in terrible ways, animals tortured, bizarre goings-on with drugs, rapes, and other violent crimes has grown too distressing to see in the headlines there, let alone read in the articles... it makes me physically ill) and read only with great trepidation the rest of the news sites I frequented each day.

I really want to know, are more bad things happening in the modern era, or are we just hearing more about them? Was there really less bad news in days gone by, or did we merely hear about it less, as news traveled slowly and what counted as news didn't involve six hundred pound cows falling on cars or one man's effort to shoot a fifteen year old boy over road range?

Then it gets bigger... the news is bigger. Whether or not I endorse the global warming rationale of the earth's climate change, hearing the predictions of dying wildlife and fossil fuel shortages stress me exponentially. Christians and their warnings of eternal damnation unless I and everyone else accept Christ stress me. My broken fence... how people are paying for Christmas... my skin... Baby Grace... flooding in the yard... fires in California... flying in this terroristic era... finding someone to love... dealing with holidays... spending, gifts, regifting, parties, turkeys, travel... it all just freaking sucks and makes me frustrated, frightened, and furious all in equal measure.

Life happens! Life happens, and yet, we're supposed to fight it! Why can't we just live it?

There was a wonderful article on our hometown paper website not long ago about the migration of the peregrine falcons through the city. The article extolled the power of these predatory birds as they'd dive from the skyscrapers to feast upon pestilence-spreading rats and pigeons, both of which run rampant downtown, with no natural predators. Not a word about the struggle of the peregrine falcon to fight extinction. Not a complaint about the bird decimating the population of some obscure and terribly threatened source of prey. It was an article remarkable for its local relevance and enchanted tone. It's quite a contrast to most of the other articles that comprise modern news.

All these stories about tortured pets and other animals... why doesn't someone write about a wonderful, pampered pet? A story about a pet that lives a good life, and a story that doesn't include the pet's inevitable aging and eventual decline? Why do all of us have to suffer? Are we so lacking in a catharsis?

Some people are happy, I suppose... a couple of my gym friends, a couple of people at work, and a few of my relatives I'd put on that list... but a lot of people in my world seem to be suffering. Two friends are contemplating ending their marriages. Another friend of a friend has already ended hers and is embarking already on her next. Toxic personalities in my radar decry the establishment and maintenance of romantically exclusive relationships as unnatural and artificial. I begin to wonder... everything is so askew as I've seen it lately, well, maybe those people are right. While my upbringing and my nature has always assumed that close and significant relationships contribute to a person's sense of well being and esteem, everybody seems so screwed up. My ex husband. My ex boyfriend. Some of my friends, apparently. I will not find the stability I crave, because I am beginning to think I am my own stability I crave, and I refuse to invite a man in my life if the disease of instability is something he carries with him.

I think everything is just toxic. The society's toxic perspective is infiltrating the passionate natures of people I know, and rather than find strength from one another, they find one another part of the problem.

That brings to mind another issue that has been bothering me. The whole idea that we can't judge one another is bullshit. It's complete and utter bullshit. If I had faced the music when I was dating my ex husband, then I would have judged him and found him wanting. He was not an honorable man. Yet, because "judging people" is so evil or inappropriate according to modern dogma, I avoided holding him at all accountable for the things he did that didn't fit with my own values. These weren't things he hid from me, these were sins, so to speak, in plain sight. Incidents that I explained away by bathing them in the panacea of love. What a fool I was. I cannot, I must not do that again. If someone does something not worthy of my respect or admiration... then he does not merit a place in my life. My job is not to find a way to respect and admire him anyway. My job is to move on.

I've said this before in other posts, but I guess it bears repeating. In the last few days, I've tallied up the events from my relationship with my husband that distressed or provoked me, and it's as clear as anything that I chose to ignore, reframe, or dismiss some terribly telling choices he made. They include:

1. Ignoring the son he fathered by an ex girlfriend before we met. He claimed she was cheating on him, so he wasn't going to believe that child was his without a DNA test. Even when his paternity was a fact, he still ignored the child. I made this okay in my own head by figuring that the girlfriend had a new husband, so the baby had two "parents" in his life that loved him. I ignored the spiritual and character flaw my ex exhibited.

2. Hiding smoking from me... the smoking at all enraged me, and he knew that, so his solution was to hide it, not to stop it, and that enraged me further. My mom's advice was, "Go home to your husband, because you're married, and if he isn't doing this around you, it's not hurting you." She had a point. I was married; we weren't just dating. So I dealt with it.

3. Opening an online account that he kept secret from me. He said he was doing it only for the duration of the free trial, so I overlooked it. I told him I wanted him to close it, and so far as I know, he did.

4. Once when we were out at the rodeo or a concert or somewhere, he bought beers for the underage kids sitting behind us. I was so disgusted with him, I could barely talk.

These are the things that now, I realize were flags. Some happened after the marriage, when I was limited by the vows to influence, but there was no opting out. Short of abuse, addictions, or adultery, I'd never have left or even have threatened to.

Maybe I should just be grateful that he left, but he didn't drive me away by being cruel... bringing home a girlfriend to snort cocaine with him and then to join us in a threesome, smacking me around when I balked.

I'm just tired of negativity. This blog is pretty negative. I want to feel happy, not worried about the end of the world and all that leads to it.

Biblical Tradition

I was talking to a friend last week about homosexuality. She's a Christian woman in the best sense of the word. She's open, she's loving, she's affectionate, and she's both comfortable with and a testament to her faith, approaching it with humility and dedication that I admire. So, as the idea of homosexuality being "wrong" has been lurking in my mind recently, I decided to ask her what she thinks.

Sometimes, I get nervous asking self-professed Christians questions like that, lest they start spouting Biblical rhetoric with which I am unfamiliar or unprepared to analyze in context. Also, I get impatient with Bible-speak, because I want to know what the person thinks, not what the doctrine may or may not say. It unnerves me to suspect a friend has no genuine independent opinion and has become a parrot of an ancient text. But as I said, this wide-hearted woman of faith considers the data and works out her ideas for herself.

"I think it's wrong," she said immediately. "If I were, well, like that, I'd never act on it. I can't imagine violating the law of the Bible by having a sexual relationship with a woman."

This answer interested me, because she applied the rules as she understands them to herself alone. She didn't say homosexuals are wrong. She said, only, that she would not do something she believes is wrong.

I mentioned that the Bible also says things like selling your sister into slavery is okay, so long as it's not a neighboring country to which you sell her. She smiled a little. "The old testament has a lot of contextual situations that don't apply to the modern world," she remarked.

"But the homosexuality rules are part of the old testament," I said, being reasonably sure this was true from my Bible.com research. "What does the new testament say about it?" My friend didn't know, and again, I admired her ability to admit her lack of knowledge on this touchy topic. Most "Christians" I know are more eager to spout their beliefs than to consider the nature of an intelligent discussion on doctrine, at least with me.

Now, I know that in the beliefs of most Christian denominations, though not all, the new testament "trumps" the old. For example, Jews cannot eat pork or shellfish due to kosher laws, but most Christians can. Some don't, like the Adventists, but most believe all food is fine. Their rationale is that Jesus said that food is not what makes a person unclean. "Not what enters into the mouth defiles the man, but what proceeds out of the mouth, this defiles the man . . . Do you not understand that everything that goes into the mouth passes into the stomach, and is eliminated? But the things that proceed out of the mouth come from the heart, and those defile the man" (Matt. 15:11, 17f). So the Christians figure that people can't eat anything that renders them unclean, so eat on. New testament trumping the old.

So logically, whatever the new testament says about homosexuality trumps the old.

Jesus says nothing about it.

Now, I understand the rationale for the proposed Christian view of homosexuality, which is first cousin to its views on extramarital sex and birth control. The prevailing attitude is that sex is akin to life, and life matters. That sex is not just an expression of love or biochemical urge, but a conduit to the creation of life, a gift from God. As such, preserving the opportunity for life is an act with value worth preserving if not outright elevating. It's an act truncated in a homosexual relationship, which includes no opportunity for the creation of life. It's an act curtailed by birth control, by eliminating the opportunity for life. It's an act that invites opportunity for abortion -- the end of life -- or pain and suffering of the partners or their ostensible offspring when it occurs outside of a sanctified relationsip. Christians believe marriage is a sacrament to house the act of sex and the creation of life. Removing the chance for life turns the act of love into a mere act of fornication, an act merely for pleasure and physical gratification without humility, respect, or honor.

However hypocritcally it might seem to those who know me, I believe in that rationale.

At the same time, I believe that people are going to do what they're going to do, and sometimes, well, following doctrine isn't the most important consideration, or at least, it's not the most compelling one in given moment. If those decisions are mistakes and lead to suffering, then to great regret, maybe that person will repent in some cosmic way, finding his or her path to greater oneness with whatever God he or she understands. Will do better next time. All people suffer, but people who find humility in their decisions to elevate themselves and learn, instead of making the same mistakes over and over. I want to be like that.

At the same time, if Jesus didn't condemn the homosexuals, then who am I to do it?

Pushing a Rock Up a Hill

My uncle visited me about eight weeks ago, and we had an interesting conversation that I'm remembering today.

My uncle and my father are precisely the same age, and they have a number of similiarities. They're both Italian. They're health conscious, intelligent, and hard workers. Honorable men. Yet, their differences are more remarkable to me. My mother's side of the family, growing up, was more nurturing and traditional than my father's, so my uncle's foundation of supportive indulgence completely contrasts my father's beginning of deprivation and instability. In their adulthoods, the differences are positively stark. The insecurities of my father's upbringing emerge in his high emotionalism and emphasis on tradition. My uncle, on the other hand, assumes life will hand him lemonade, not lemons, and proceeds accordingly. Whether divorce (two), a fairly estranged child (one), interstate moves (four +), and job changes (too many to count), he is moving this very weekend from Texas to Pennsylvania. He's selling his house and, at the age of 64, beginning anew. Again.

I remember discussing with him the aplomb with which he faces changes like moves and jobs, as opposed to the paucity of change of my father. My dad worked for the same company for 36 years, and his retirement era job in the six years since is administering where he had his second job for many years. He's lived in the same house for 37 years. Except for college, he's lived his entire life within a two mile radius. Obviously, he's confronted challenges; he's sustained a 40+ year marriage to my mother, raised two fairly well-adjusted children, and earned a graduate degree and periodic promotions. But, most of the time, he has dwelled in the comfortable familiarity of the known, choosing his "next" from within the bosom of his family in the cradle of his hometown. Seeking out change is anathema to him, as it's been for most of the rest of my immediate family. Not unless there was a good reason, an abundance of support in the form of his family, and a reasonable return on the investment of effort did he even attempt a change.

But, my uncle is a horse of another color. And I mentioned to him this obvious difference between him and my dad, whom he's known for most of his life. My father ruminates. He (over)thinks. He wonders and worries. My uncle does not. Does my uncle see that? How does he explain it?

I remember we were driving when we discussed it, and I looked at him from my perch in the driver's seat. He glanced back at me, then looked out the windshield. "I took a philosophy class in college," he told me. "I don't remember much about the whole class, but this one conversation we had there changed my life."

I could hear laughing in my head, when I imagined my father's reaction to that initial statement. My father seems almost to resent my uncle as the pampered son of misguided parents who didn't even attempt to veil their preference for sons over my mother and her sister. "Philosophy class?" I could hear my father sneer. "He's in love with the sound of his own voice, isn't he?"

I ignored my father, and I asked what my uncle meant.

"There was this Greek myth we were talking about," he began. "The one with the guy who had to push the rock up the hill. The guy pushed and pushed, and when he'd get to the top, he'd lose control of the rock, and it'd tumble back down to the bottom, where he'd have to start over again."

"The myth of Sisyphus," I said promptly, the English teacher in me emerging.

"Yeah, right," my uncle agreed, though he was placating me; the name didn't matter. "My professor asked the class what we imagined the guy was thinking when he watched the rock roll back down."

My inner-father's daughter emerged next, and I said, "He was probably thinking, 'Dammit, I have to start all over again' and getting pissed," I guessed. I knew that's what my father would have said. I knew that's what my father would have been thinking in Sisyphus' place. He speaks often enough about his disenchantment with life's arduousness.

My uncle smiled a very little smile. "Everybody said that. But my professor said, 'What if he's just glad he has a break from pushing the rock, even if only for a little while?'"

I glanced at him again. "But he's just going to have to start pushing it again. He's got to dread that."

My uncle nodded, Dumbledore-like. "So why wouldn't he feel grateful that in that moment, he has a break? That he can notice something else, even if only for a little while? Why does he have to pollute that small break for happiness with thoughts of the difficulties ahead of him?"

This is a wise idea. Very wise. Sisyphys has a small window where he doesn't push the rock, so why waste it thinking about pushing the rock? Worrying about it? Dreading it? Why not grab that small respite and enjoy it until the pushing begins again? How much of life can a person complicate when, in essence, everything is quite calm in the moment. We live for moments other than the one in which we are living.

My uncle explained that since that class, he made a focused effort not to wonder about pushing a rock in the moments in which he is not, in fact, pushing a rock. He lets everything be fine when it's fine. He plans ahead and does his part, make no mistake, but in his view, why worry about living in Pennsylvania until he is, in fact, living there? Why not enjoy the beautiful day in Texas with his niece, and let the rest of life happen as it is wont to do?

I have found a perfect way to apply this borrowed wisdom in my own life. I get scared to date. Ahead of a date, I worry incessently. Sometimes, I even dread. Why do I dwell on pushing that metaphorical rock up a hill when I'm not even doing it in the moment? Why do I let my fear milk all the pleasure out of my window of respite? Never mind that a date is never so scary once I'm there. It's the idea that scares me, the idea that I allow to punctuate every intervening moment.

As I am remembering forgiveness, I am going to try and remember the Rock of Sisyphys. I am going to try to keep each moment for its purpose, not to let the anticipation or dread of what's to come cast a shadow on my present.

Who We Are

The original germ for this study of "who we are" came from Elizabeth Gilbert's book Eat Pray Love. The second germ for it came from watching the Queen Elizabeth I sequel movie with Cate Blanchett last night. I sat there in the theater and thought about the violence and the rage within people, the jealousy and the frustration, and I saw some joy, peace, and love, too. I thought, "This is who we are."

In her book, Liz Gilbert describes the story of a psychologist friend who helped Asian refugees in America who'd survived terrible trials prior to their arrival. Despite their suffering, the women lamented breakups with their boyfriends, the stress of leaving behind men they'd met during their ordeal, the reality that their boyfriends in the home counry finding new companions in their absence, that their boyfriends still loved them in spite of new relationships or even new families. Liz thought their preoccupation with men was amazing, considering what they'd survived. "This is who we are," her friend told her. This interest is what defines us, humanity. Our connections to others are among our most serious and significant characteristics.

At the movie last night, I realized that just as much, that movie represents who we are, too. Elizabeth the Queen longed for a man to appreciate her for herself, but she couldn't and wouldn't have wanted to separate her femininity from her throne. She couldn't afford to. In the movie, characters wanted power and control. Conviction of rectitude led them to terrible acts, which they justified in the name of everything from God to loyalty to country to desperate emotion. This is Elizabethan England? It looks, sounds, and if I were there, it'd smell an awful lot like modern times.

Sure, there are evil people in the world. There are wars and losses and fears and frustrations and people who serve their own self-interests for power or attention over the basic truths.

I think of Al Gore, a leader who has obtained great power and authority over his interest in "global warming." However, Gore refuses to entertain any debate whatsoever on the issue, declaring it "over," shutting down the voices of legitimate scientists who point out inconsistencies with the relationship between carbon and temperature, as illustrated by Gore. If the debate is indeed over, he must think, then why should he listen to more people, especially if they disagree with him? But then, if he's so sure he's right, what's the danger in entertaining their theories? So much for having a free-thinking country. Entering into a dialogue with those who challenge him is a chance for learning, for the genuine truth to emerge; he has nothing to fear if it's the truth that matters to him. Doesn't it take educated debate, communication, over a long time with lots of tries and lots of tests, to determine truth? But it seems Gore must maintain single-mindedly focused on only his initial agenda, and I become further convinced that the only thing that will emerge is that he's an ass.

In the same way (and lest I be accused of partisianism), I see our President doggedly pursues his own path in our "War on Terror," a path that is generating far more questions than he deigns to answer. How can what's best for the people of America and the Middle East emerge without meaningful dialogue and concerted -- combined -- agreement and effort on action? Why should his path be the only and best way? Why doesn't he want to learn from those who think differently from him? The truth is our friend. But it seems he refuses to acknowledge any other choice but the one he's chosen, and the voices that long to dialogue with him get lost in the middle ground.

But this is who we are. We justify all sorts of questionable behaviors becase we "care so much," are "so sure" we are correct," or "fear so desperately" the time "lost" for true exploration and edification. We stop looking for new answers and become wedded with our original plans. We do it to save face. We do it because, for lack of choosing to learn over the chance to pontificate, we don't know any better.

I did this when my marriage ended. I spent three years insisting that life went on quite merrily, and I made life do that very thing, but was I happy? No. It was only when I began allowing the truth to seep into my consciousness, to emerge from the ashes of my old life, that I began to understand the way things really were and how I want to them to be. It took courage to accept that truth is different than I imagined it was, that my life in the future would be different, too. But to keep my finger on the pulse of this truth is a constant courtship. Truth is truth, but truth is not constant. What's true right now may not remain true in the future. Self-awareness. Self-knowledge. Honesty and little internal polling. That's the way to remain who I am, not what I think I am or wish I were.

I see a lot of moms in my world who do this with their children. Are they raising the children they have or the children they imagine they have? The gap between the two is the space where children can play their parents like violins. Parents can't face the truth. They can't ask the questions. Meaningful dialogue may present them with answers to questions they would rather do anything but ask.

But the truth is the truth is the truth. It's not good or bad, it just IS. Far better to operate off of reality than some imagined, projected, desired, or desperately needed misapprehension. But it's harder. Imagined truths are so much more comforting than genuine ones sometimes, it's no wonder that some people live with them almost exclusively. Too hard to face that one's husband is cheating, one's child is using drugs, one's parents are sliding slowly into dementia. Harder by far to admit that years of "work" in global warming are little more than a thinly veiled attempt to control American spending and free choice. Harder than admitting that the expense of American lives has done little to alter the environment of fanaticism and divine deaths in the middle east.

But this is who we are.

Humanity makes decisions from logic, from heart, and from soul. Logos, pathos, and ethos. They are not the same. When they work in concert, they work quite well. When one emerges over the other, the inbalance can wreak havoc.

Balance in all things. Balance and truth.

Good Things

Many good things are happening right now. I've gone on two "dates" without losing my lunch, and I even liked one of the men at the time. I'm busy at work and apparently doing a job that satisfies those in charge. I'm a bit creatively stunted, but once I get back to writing some more, I think I'll find my stride there, too.

I was rereading a divorce recovery page I found shortly after my ex-husband moved out, and I found a few related links I'd not noticed before. In one of them, the author described her almost 30-year marriage and the steady decline of her then-husband's behavior and treatment of her, culminating in him moving out to spend more time with his girlfriend. She was devastated. She was middle-aged and sure she'd never find happiness or family again (her children had already moved out). A few paragraphs later, outlining her life through the grief, she added that she was actually glad that he left, because her life is so much better now.

She is actually glad he ended it! More than that, she says that the divorce was part of God's plan for her, to give her a way to grow stronger and wiser in preparation for this wonderful life she's now enjoying, complete with a second husband who really does love and value her.

I did feel loved and valued in my marriage, but I wasn't. My feelings didn't matter to my ex-husband; though he professed that they did, he behaved differently, and I was fluent in the writing on the wall. I believed in my head that I mattered, but I knew in my heart that I didn't. When I look back on the marriage now, and even more, when I examine how I expect men to treat me in the present, I am astonished to recognize that I allowed my feelings not to matter in my marriage (but then again, I was already married and trying to make the best of it), and I forget that my feelings are supposed to matter now. That it was wrong before, when ex disregarded them. At the very least he should have listened to me and attempted to achieve some resolution in partnership with me that gave both of us a voice in our allegedly shared life. Instead, he taught me that having feelings is dangerous, because they are merely a way for me to lose bits of my soul as they die for lack of attention. I learned not to have feelings in relationships, not to have needs or expectations or even dreams, because they are alive, and without nurturing, they die, and me along with them. if I have them and the man in my life chooses not to respect him, well, then I have either to put up with that treatment or else jettison the man.

And that's the whole point, isn't it? To find someone who cares about me and my feelings. Jettisoning those who don't is necessary. Important. Logical. Expected. Acceptable.

But in moving forward, I am remembering the forgiveness. I am also going to keep in mind that God needed me to go through what I've undergone, to learn and grow and mature and find some humility, because if I'm open enough to accept it, he has something even better available to me in the future.

It's not only my job, but my destiny, to get beyond the stages of grief to open myself for the stages of joy.

Forgiveness

I haven't forgiven my ex husband.

I like to think I have. I think I've said in my head that I forgive him for his weakness. It's more accurate to say that in my head I forgive him for being a lying and betraying shmuck who got out of my life before he utterly ruined it with his irresponsible behavior and whacked out value structure.

That isn't forgiveness, I don't think. That sounds an awful lot like blame. And I think I have to forgive him. I think I finally see it.

I read the bottom of this article (http://health.msn.com/dietfitness/articlepage.aspx?cp-documentid=100169440), and I realized in all honesty that if I had to say those words of forgiveness to my ex-husband, even in my mind and not to his face, I'd choke on them. I carry my fury like a badge: "I didn't want to get divorced, so let me prove my sincerity by remaining righteously indignant. It's not okay that he up and walked out. It's absolutely unacceptable." After all, doesn't forgiveness mean admitting if tacitly that what he did is all right?

I think that until I'm able to say, and mean, "It's OKAY that this happened, that you did this, and I forgive you," it's not really ever going to be okay. But it's been impossible even to say it, to verbalize it, all these years. Even to say it insincerely. My attempts at forgiveness are, or have been, thinly cloaked accusations to illuminate his failings of character.

But what's the worst that could happen if I said to him in my head, "It's okay, and I forgive you?" Immediately, I think, "He hasn't asked for forgiveness, so he is not remorseful, so he doesn't deserve it." I fold my mental arms and furrow my mental brows, backing up for a tussle. The the more evolved side of my mind would argue that this kind of forgiveness isn't about granting restitution and reparation with him. This forgiveness is about me, about letting go of the anger and its power and control.

It has amazing power over me.

So... can it be "okay" so that I can be okay? Can I still think divorce is wrong, and can I even think that what he did is wrong, but can I grant that forgiveness and let it be okay so that I can move on?

I look at him and say in my mind's eye, and I whisper, "I forgive you for everything painful that's happened to me through you. I grant you complete absolution."

And suddenly... if I think of my anger, I remember the forgiveness.

Try that out for a healthy change of pace.

Baby with a Rattle

A baby with almost no voice,
Whose will's misunderstood to most,
With feelings equally a flush
Of energy and struggling

Does not begin to understand
The gibberish that makes his world.
All the time. Confusion swirls
His little head; it's all a blur.

It makes him scared.

But those around may know him well,
And if they're gentle and are kind
They'll give him love and make him calm.
But they cannot tell him what he needs.

He wants to sleep, he wants to play.
He wants to eat but not eat that.
He wants some peace but not alone.
He wants attention -- not from you.

But.

He has a rattle, small and loud.
It's his wand to rule his sphere.
And when he throws it, he can cry.
And always someone gives it back.

Naturally, he throws again.
He doesn't know what else to do.
Happiness lasts but a glint,
And with a thunk, another howl.

At least with this game he may cry.
Frustration finds an out to vent.
And others notice his control
Can cross from his world into theirs.

He matters, and that much he knows.

And in my mind, my rattle's blue.
I throw it, and sometimes I cry.
While others may not know the game,
Their gentleness can salve my spark.

I want someone to get my needs,
Because like him, I just don't know
What they are; it makes me scared,
Though I am "old enough to know."

I play games like two year olds.

Babes' Mouths

I've been thinking about my last post. The one where I alleged that I've blown it.

And today, I read of all things, a TAKS-essay composition from a grading guide... and you know that old saying, "When the student is ready, the teacher will come?" It's true, but it's not because of the specialness of the teacher. It's true because that readiness is the same as ripeness for truth. Only when an audience is ready can anyone else entertain it, after all.

So this paper explored the value of "new ideas," and this mystery girl from somewhere in the state of Texas expressed her disenchantment, anguish, and eventual acceptance of her parents' divorce and her father's remarriage. I heard that "click" in my head that happens sometimes. Maybe... well, maybe I've gotten some more of my head on straight, because I know better than to allege that I've got it all on straight, you know?

But this girl -- well, her parents, in a form or fashion -- "blew" her chances for a happy and intact childhood family. That's something she isn't ever going to have, you know? I don't have the fairytale anymore, and she doesn't have a childhood dream. But her paper continued that after four years, she's able to be rather friendly with her new stepmother, and she has besotted feelings toward her new baby brother. She concluded by saying that without being open to new ideas, she'd never have found peace about her family being different than she expected.

Is this what I have to do?

Accept it?

It's patently obvious that I don't have peace inside my head, however much I try to believe that. There's peace so long as I don't stir up my emotions by trying to move on, to challenge my comfortable status quo by finding friendship and companionship with men in my personal life. It's obvious, if I admit the truth to myself, that on some level, my quixotic personality continues fighting what's happened to me. I can accept my marriage was largely a facade of my own creation that existed nowhere except in my head. I can accept that my ex-husband as well was a creation of my imagination, a shadow of a real person on whom I projected all sorts of Godly virtues he was ill-equipped to manifest. I can accept that I'm a strong independent woman with imagination and good character, although I'm divorced. But there's a part of me somewhere inside that resents this happenstance. That wishes it would simply not be a fact of my life or part of my history. That wants to deny it altogether. But I can't. And it's not fair.

But that charming writer whose family collapsed around her shrugged her teenaged shoulders and looked forward. No, her family wasn't want she wanted it to be. She hated the woman to whom she referred as "my father's girlfriend" -- because she thought it sounded disgustingly tacky to do so. When her father and his girlfriend announced not only their impending marriage but that they were expecting a baby and moving out of the country positively rocked her young world. She blew like a Roman candle... but then she stopped and thought about what maturity meant. What negative emotions could do to relationships. To what she could control, when there was so much she couldn't. And she decided, quite deliberately, that she could be civil, if not friendly. She could make an effort, at the very least.

Is that enough for me to do? Can I make an effort just to meet a man? Just one meeting? Can I be civil? Can I deal with the step after a single date when, or if, it arises? Do I know myself well enough as a mature and independent woman... my needs, my expectations, my values, my priorities... well enough to remain myself in the face of a potential relationship, I who was always the accessory to the man and his needs?

It's scary, but is that what it all means, what I'm supposed to do now?

Blowing It

Would you expect that on some level, I realize that I think I've blown it?

Blown what, you ask?

Blown it. Blown the chance at the fairy tale. Blown the chance to find genuine happiness from a relationship with a man. I really believe that on some level, I've completely blown it. That I don't have a chance anymore... at least, not in this time and place.

How on earth could you've blown it, you ask with a note of confusion. Just because you had what everyone now realizes was a really ridiculous marriage? Because you had a ridiculous divorce? So what? That doesn't mean you've blown it, you argue. You're the person who says that the only failure is in giving up. Doesn't that apply to relationships, too? So if you can keep trying, then how could you have blown it?

Because the it that I've blown isn't just the idea of relationships. I've blown my chance at the entire fairy tale. You know the story. Everyone does. Boy and girl meet, boy and girl have stars in their eyes, boy and girl believe that every happiness is possible for them, and boy and girl dance off into the sunset of mature love. But now that I've been married, or more properly failed at being married, I lost that chance to do it right for the rest of my life... and that chance mattered to me. I'm never going to grow old with the love of my youth who will adore me forever. I'll never be a genuine starry-eyed bride again, and if I find a great guy who navigates my barriers, who deserves to be my husband in all ways that matter, he won't ever be the husband, not with a living precessor running around who had that place first. So long as my ex is around in the world, there will always be another man walking around who was my husband, the husband. This sounds mighty Catholic of me, doesn't it? But it really is my value, it really is an issue in my mind.

I've blown it.

Okay, I can hear one of my friend's friends yelling that I didn't blow it, that my exhusband blew it, and that I need to get past the idea that it's my fault. Well, yeah. But some of it was my fault. If I'd picked more carefully, maybe I'd never have married him in the first place. But then, I wouldn't be divorced now. I'd have a chance, still.

Three and a half years ago, when my exhusband just left, a friend of mine (also divorced in her thirties but since remarried) told me that she grieved a while after her divorce that she'd lost the chance to do it right the first time. At the moment she told me, I didn't grasp the implications of what she said. I couldn't see past my own immediate crisis. But I've thought of her recently. I've thought of her story. That's how I feel, like I've lost the chance to do it right the first time. I'm leavings now. Although I recognize myself as a rare and special person, somehow at the same time, I wasn't good enough. Maybe I'm still not.

You know?

Winds of Change

It's been a pretty good couple of weeks. I have implemented many planned changes, and I think they are turning out quite well. I began my new position at the high school, which is working out MUCH better than my last foray into high school, and I'm juggling two teams with (so far) little drama. This achievement is an enormous shot for my confidence, and other than sleeping with dubious effectiveness, I'm handling all the changes with aplomb that makes me marvel. I am losing Scrabble game after Scrabble game online, though, and my rank's in the toilet. This losing streak bothers me more than I care to admit -- but it's quite possibly a good thing that the streak's worst thing going for me right now. How bad can life be? But it does indeed bother me.

On the personal life front, I don't think I've gone any farther in resolving what I'm beginning to see is a whole lot of anger about my divorce, relationships in general, and expectations for my future. I realized the anger as such about a week ago, when I was hanging out at my friend's pool with a third friend who was asking me about my counselor and possible available men at my school. My friend's friend is a social worker and adult-education advocate, and she somehow tapped the magma chamber of unresolved feelings inside of me so that they erupted. Anger bubbled to the surface, and I was shocked to find myself raising my voice to express my perspective and make myself understood. Vehemently. Rather than becoming offended at my reaction, this woman further surprised me by praising me, and she reminded me that there is no set schedule for how long these feelings take to achieve resolution. Maybe the full-blown anger stage of grief has ripened... now, three and a half years later.

The gist of my attitude problem was that love relationships are the stupidest thing on which to hinge any part of my future, as those are the one kind of relationships without any settled guarantees. Parents are always parents, even if relationships with their children become strained or estranged. Brothers and sisters are bonded forever, as even if they never see each other, they are always a part of each other, bonded by sharing the same parents. Friends can come and go, because the whole point of friends is having a collection of them, a feathered nest, and when one's time wanes, it's all right, as the ones who mean to last do last. But to find a man, to feel infatuated and excited, and to develop feelings -- feelings! -- for him and then make decisions and investments which affect my entire life, and which are suppose to sustain and maintain for the rest of my life... when I know how people change, how feelings -- feelings! -- are fleeting and change, when I know how people think they know themselves and their needs when they don't, when they mean well and don't have the character or integrity to back up their promises... no way. No freaking way.

My friend's friend accepted this. She just did. And somehow, the accepting of it made me angry. But I think the entire situation made me angry. I wanted her to argue with me, to fuss that I'm wrong, because I was prepared to fight with her that I'm not wrong, no matter what else everybody says. I make a hell of a lot more sense to myself than these starry eyed women who hinge their future happiness to the star of some man who, we all hope, is worthy of the faith she places on him. Double for her if she has children with him. And what if he is miserable, but his code of silence makes him stay?

The chances for finding a real relationship that provides joy and comfort, that fits my kinks as I fit his, where I want to be close and can trust that the person has my best interests at heart... that he knows my best interests and himself well enough for authenticity and honesty to prevail over the mercurial nature of feelings, the bad moods and attitude problems, the ways life can smack people down without warning... I just can't believe they exist. The chances. As such, no guy will prevail against my perspective right now. Chances are so extraordinarily higher that any relationship I attempt will fail to sustain itself, there is no real reason to search for a "right" one. And what the wrong choices I make in relationships will take away from me is considerable enough to entirely nullify the worthiness of even speculating on ever finding a right one.

So I see the anger, and through the red haze of my perspective, I see why my friends who do argue with me choose to argue. I myself would probably tell someone else who said these things, in my position, that she is ridiculous. That great guys would love to get to know her. That great guys have a lot to offer. That great guys could make it all better than it already is.

To myself, I say, "Whatever!"

I don't trust great guys. I don't trust, fundamentally, myself. I don't trust myself to choose better. I don't trust what I've learned since the divorce. I am just not ready.

Sometimes, It's Just a Cigar

I saw my counselor today for visit number two. Her thing is to get me to "experience my feelings," which on some level I find amusing, because I've worked hard to manage my feelings and not have them get in the way of what I mean to do or accomplish. I don't believe I deny them, in other words, I just refuse to give them "rent free" space in my mind to supercede my other priorities and obligations. After all, feelings are fleeting, and catering to something that changes capriciously doesn't make sense to me. Sure, it's fine to have feelings, but the way I see it, it's not so good to let them get the better of me.

The other level on which I find my counselor amusing is that she seems to want to provoke me, or at least to provoke feelings that I put to bed already. For example, she often expresses utter marvel at the idea of my ex-husband's flight of no return and what kind of terrible detrimental effect his choice must have had on me. That's just remarkable that he did that, she'll say, staring into my eyes as if willing me to break down and howl. Instead, I want to laugh at the soulful look on her face. Well, duh, it was remarkable, and it sucked. It was shocking and traitorous that the person who promised to love me forever decided he didn't love me after all and disappeared without backward glance. To have my all-important marriage come crashing down atop of me, crushing my hopes and illusions and leaving me to live amid its broken pieces hurt like hell. I was shattered, of course I was. Is that what she wants me to say? But saying it today doesn't make me cry. It happened three years ago. At the time, it hurt like hell, but that was then, and I'm not sorry if I no longer feel a need to cry about it now. In the end, my ex's seemingly spontaneous and complete departure from our life together was not really spontaneous, and really, in the end we didn't have much of a life together.

Today, I mourn far more for those lost hopes and illusions than I ever mourn for him. I can -- and do -- still hurt for them. For my lost ability to trust easily, to believe in real love, to imagine that someone out there really wants to know me fully, and for me to fully know him, and that in that complete knowledge we can accept each other in joy, not with reservation. I don't know that I believe in this ideal any more... and that, if I think about it enough, can make me cry.

I guess -- I'm used to it. What happened in my marriage is something bad that happened, and then it was done, and now it's over. Yes, understand that at the time he wounded me almost -- but not quite -- to the point of a mortal wound, and I realize I'm scarred now. It's those scars that are causing me some trouble, not the wounds that created them. But it's as if my counselor thinks that poking emotionally at the fact of the divorce will spawn some other reaction from me than disillusioned acceptance... that by rehydrating those feelings of abandonment and betrayal, I'll somehow see them differently or work through them differently. But nobody can reconstitute a mummy, and those feelings are verily mummified within me. They had their time in the sun, and they're reconciled. I can accept them. I can accept the history that unfolded since then. But then, I've had three years to do it.