Yesterday was one of those perfect Fall days -- bright blue sky, sunshine, trees beginning to turn, warm but also cool at the same time. When I got home from the trip up north, I was feeling like I needed to move more -- so I went to yoga, and then I decided to throw my mountain bike on the bike rack and drive out to Quarry Ridge to do a little riding.
I'd thought of doing this at a couple of other points in the summer, but I just couldn't face it -- it was one of the places where I knew the presence of my ex would be looming large. And I wasn't wrong about that.
But that's not all that was out there for me to experience. After I arrived, I was getting my stuff together when I realized that I'd forgotten my shoes. I was wearing flip-flops -- not ideal footwear for this activity. A fellow mountain biker pulled into the parking spot next to me, and I told him about my predicament. "Oh shit," he said with lots of knowing sympathy. "What size shoe do you wear?"
And then, this perfect stranger offered me his tennis shoes. I didn't accept the offer -- after all, my feet are far too dainty to fit in a man's shoes (and I'm far too concerned with appearances to wear a big old pair of men's running shoes even if they would've protected my feet). But just the fact that he offered spoke to part of the reason I'd driven out there: not only is mountain biking a great workout and a way to have fun in the woods, but its people are generally lovely human beings who look out for their kind.
After I refused the shoes, my new friend decided he'd at least stay with me to make sure I got up the worst part of it without hurting myself, and I was glad to have the company. After it became clear that I was going to do ok despite my ill-advised footwear, he said: "Ok -- I think I'm going to go ahead and push it a little more -- have fun!" and then rode on ahead.
Alone in the quarry, tears burst out of me like a pipe that had been temporarily plugged and then blown wide open. I tried to just be with it, but I wished like hell I could just be done with this heartbreak already, and as I rode, I heard the words to this song:
As we start our travels, things they will unravel.
"Que sera sera", for this unit is like gravel.
Won't be gone for long, listen to the song.
If you can't pull it, all ya gotta do is
Push it along, push it along.
Push it along, yeah, push it along
Yep, Tribe, I reckon you're right. There doesn't seem to be any pulling this grief out of me. All I can do, and all I did do as I continued to cry and climb, was:
Push it along, push it along.
Push it along, yeah, push it along
And even that I can only really seem to do by showing up to the pain rather than trying to escape it -- I can't push it along any faster than it is willing or able to go...
Monday, September 30, 2013
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Royals
It seems this is my month to discover amazing new female vocalists -- and this one's not just new to me -- she was new on the scene this summer when she released this hit. I liked this song the first time I heard it and have been hearing it for a while now, but I've only just learned who sings it:
I've never seen a diamond in the flesh
I cut my teeth on wedding rings in the movies
And I'm not proud of my address,
In a torn-up town, no post code envy
But every song's like gold teeth, grey goose, trippin' in the bathroom
Blood stains, ball gowns, trashin' the hotel room,
We don't care, we're driving Cadillacs in our dreams.
But everybody's like Cristal, Maybach, diamonds on your time piece.
Jet planes, islands, tigers on a gold leash.
We don't care, we aren't caught up in your love affair.
I went up north this weekend with a friend to her family's cabin. It's a cozy one-room with a loft kind of cabin, with no running water and an outhouse. I decided to leave my phone at home and use it as an opportunity to unplug, which felt really strange, especially for the first few hours. It also means I didn't have a camera, and I wish I had: I wanted to capture the beauty of the apple trees set against the autumnal color on their property.
My friend's family doesn't have a lot of money, but they are extremely resourceful. Her brother and her Dad built the cabin, and her Dad has added features over the years: a loft, a foyer, a solar panel to provide electricity. So it seemed fitting that this song came on as we were preparing dinner:
And we'll never be royals (royals).
It don't run in our blood,
That kind of luxe just ain't for us.
We crave a different kind of buzz.
Let me be your ruler (ruler),
You can call me queen Bee
And baby I'll rule, I'll rule, I'll rule, I'll rule.
Let me live that fantasy.
This is one of the things I learned in my last relationship: that feeling like royalty has nothing to do with money and everything to do with love.
Now that my own crown has fallen -- our love didn't turn out to be the dynasty I'd hoped it would be -- I'm left feeling pretty disillusioned. But even so, this knowledge gives me hope for humanity...
I've never seen a diamond in the flesh
I cut my teeth on wedding rings in the movies
And I'm not proud of my address,
In a torn-up town, no post code envy
But every song's like gold teeth, grey goose, trippin' in the bathroom
Blood stains, ball gowns, trashin' the hotel room,
We don't care, we're driving Cadillacs in our dreams.
But everybody's like Cristal, Maybach, diamonds on your time piece.
Jet planes, islands, tigers on a gold leash.
We don't care, we aren't caught up in your love affair.
I went up north this weekend with a friend to her family's cabin. It's a cozy one-room with a loft kind of cabin, with no running water and an outhouse. I decided to leave my phone at home and use it as an opportunity to unplug, which felt really strange, especially for the first few hours. It also means I didn't have a camera, and I wish I had: I wanted to capture the beauty of the apple trees set against the autumnal color on their property.
My friend's family doesn't have a lot of money, but they are extremely resourceful. Her brother and her Dad built the cabin, and her Dad has added features over the years: a loft, a foyer, a solar panel to provide electricity. So it seemed fitting that this song came on as we were preparing dinner:
And we'll never be royals (royals).
It don't run in our blood,
That kind of luxe just ain't for us.
We crave a different kind of buzz.
Let me be your ruler (ruler),
You can call me queen Bee
And baby I'll rule, I'll rule, I'll rule, I'll rule.
Let me live that fantasy.
This is one of the things I learned in my last relationship: that feeling like royalty has nothing to do with money and everything to do with love.
Now that my own crown has fallen -- our love didn't turn out to be the dynasty I'd hoped it would be -- I'm left feeling pretty disillusioned. But even so, this knowledge gives me hope for humanity...
Thursday, September 26, 2013
If I Die Young
This song has been weaving its way in and out of my consciousness for the last week and change -- ever since one of my coworkers took his own life last week:
If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
He was 33 years old, and the father of three young boys, ages 2, 4, and 6. He was a veteran of two wars -- Iraq and Afghanistan -- and, as is likely obvious from his cause of death, he'd long battled depression.
He was also funny and friendly and full of life, so it was a real shock to all of us having him at work one day, dead the next:
Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother
She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors
Oh, and life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no
Ain't even gray, but she buries her baby
The sharp knife of a short life
Well, I've had just enough time
I wasn't able to attend his funeral, but my coworkers said it was especially emotional when his children were each presented with a set of dog tags. When I heard that, it did seem fitting -- as with so many other soldiers, leaving the war-torn country doesn't necessarily mean finding peace within.
I saw my acupuncturist today, a woman who participates a free acupuncture clinic for veterans for just that reason. We were talking about the tragedy of all this, and I told her that though I hadn't struggled with suicidal thoughts, at the lowest point in my postpartum depression, I longed for non-existence -- for myself, for my kids. Thankfully I wasn't sick enough that I tried to harm myself or my children, but just having the feeling that I didn't have in me what it took to live my life was one of the most frightening experiences I've had.
Luckily, I knew on a deep level, even in the grip of those dire feelings, that that wasn't really me. I knew that the best part of me loved my kids more than anything else in the world, and wanted nothing more than to be well enough to fully embrace my life with them. So I reached out, and I got help. "You knew," my acupuncturist said. "People don't always know, and it really raises the stakes for those of us who do."
I'll say. I don't know exactly how yet, but this death motivates me even more to try to use my experiences to help others who find themselves in a similar position...
If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
He was 33 years old, and the father of three young boys, ages 2, 4, and 6. He was a veteran of two wars -- Iraq and Afghanistan -- and, as is likely obvious from his cause of death, he'd long battled depression.
He was also funny and friendly and full of life, so it was a real shock to all of us having him at work one day, dead the next:
Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother
She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors
Oh, and life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no
Ain't even gray, but she buries her baby
The sharp knife of a short life
Well, I've had just enough time
I wasn't able to attend his funeral, but my coworkers said it was especially emotional when his children were each presented with a set of dog tags. When I heard that, it did seem fitting -- as with so many other soldiers, leaving the war-torn country doesn't necessarily mean finding peace within.
I saw my acupuncturist today, a woman who participates a free acupuncture clinic for veterans for just that reason. We were talking about the tragedy of all this, and I told her that though I hadn't struggled with suicidal thoughts, at the lowest point in my postpartum depression, I longed for non-existence -- for myself, for my kids. Thankfully I wasn't sick enough that I tried to harm myself or my children, but just having the feeling that I didn't have in me what it took to live my life was one of the most frightening experiences I've had.
Luckily, I knew on a deep level, even in the grip of those dire feelings, that that wasn't really me. I knew that the best part of me loved my kids more than anything else in the world, and wanted nothing more than to be well enough to fully embrace my life with them. So I reached out, and I got help. "You knew," my acupuncturist said. "People don't always know, and it really raises the stakes for those of us who do."
I'll say. I don't know exactly how yet, but this death motivates me even more to try to use my experiences to help others who find themselves in a similar position...
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Breathe Me
This month, I've begun practicing Ashtanga yoga the way it is intended to be practiced: six days per week. As the month got started, I wasn't sure I was capable of maintaining that kind of discipline, either in general or about this practice. In the past, my efforts to implement this kind of discipline have quickly burned out. When this has happened, I've always found explanations (or excuses) for why this may be the case, e.g. I'm too busy, I'm not a morning person, going to classes is too expensive, I have kids, I don't have space to practice, I'd rather be in bed with my man, etc.
What I've never considered before is what I'm giving up by giving in to any one of those excuses. It's difficult, I think, to understand what you're giving up if you've never really experienced it, but this month, I'm beginning to learn what is gained through this kind of discipline: dedication to the self.
In terms of my yoga practice, this can be broken down into the requisite parts of what I gain from the practice, which includes but is not limited to greater strength, focus, clarity, flexibility, and release. These are important benefits to be sure, but they aren't nearly as powerful as the simple act of showing up for oneself even when you don't want to, of being in a space with yourself even when it's uncomfortable, of working through the self-talk that comes out when you are challenged, of being with the emotions that arise in a way that facilitates staying on the mat above all else, and, no matter what the experience is like today, coming back tomorrow unless it happens to be the one day per week of rest.
It's a phenomenal, fundamental change. The other day during a particularly hard practice, I realized I'd never loved myself like this -- and I'm talking about the kind of love that includes a commitment to hang in there even when things are really, really tough and I might not want to be there. In those moments, in the past, I've so often walked away from myself, seeking refuge in sleep, sex, food, drink, tv, and obsessive thoughts.
This vicious cycle is one with which we humans are oh so familiar, and we so often fail to recognize, as these lyrics from the lovely song to mark this day articulate, that we have only ourselves to blame for it:
Help, I have done it again
I have been here many times before
Hurt myself again today
And the worst part is there's no one else to blame
Rather than looking at ourselves, because that's so painful and hard, we tend to look outside for someone else to fix us, save us, make us feel better:
Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small and needy
Warm me up
And breathe me
Which only leads to a greater separation from the self:
Ouch I have lost myself again
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,
Yeah I think that I might break
I've lost myself again and I feel unsafe
The radical difference that I'm exploring this month is what happens when we show up for ourselves, be our own best friend, hold ourselves, unfold ourselves, warm ourselves, and breathe ourselves, rather than asking someone else to do it for us, or doing it for someone else:
Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small and needy
Warm me up
And breathe me
What happens when we do this, I am finding, is that we no longer feel small and needy. We instead feel powerful and strong and capable of taking on whatever comes into our path...
What I've never considered before is what I'm giving up by giving in to any one of those excuses. It's difficult, I think, to understand what you're giving up if you've never really experienced it, but this month, I'm beginning to learn what is gained through this kind of discipline: dedication to the self.
In terms of my yoga practice, this can be broken down into the requisite parts of what I gain from the practice, which includes but is not limited to greater strength, focus, clarity, flexibility, and release. These are important benefits to be sure, but they aren't nearly as powerful as the simple act of showing up for oneself even when you don't want to, of being in a space with yourself even when it's uncomfortable, of working through the self-talk that comes out when you are challenged, of being with the emotions that arise in a way that facilitates staying on the mat above all else, and, no matter what the experience is like today, coming back tomorrow unless it happens to be the one day per week of rest.
It's a phenomenal, fundamental change. The other day during a particularly hard practice, I realized I'd never loved myself like this -- and I'm talking about the kind of love that includes a commitment to hang in there even when things are really, really tough and I might not want to be there. In those moments, in the past, I've so often walked away from myself, seeking refuge in sleep, sex, food, drink, tv, and obsessive thoughts.
This vicious cycle is one with which we humans are oh so familiar, and we so often fail to recognize, as these lyrics from the lovely song to mark this day articulate, that we have only ourselves to blame for it:
Help, I have done it again
I have been here many times before
Hurt myself again today
And the worst part is there's no one else to blame
Rather than looking at ourselves, because that's so painful and hard, we tend to look outside for someone else to fix us, save us, make us feel better:
Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small and needy
Warm me up
And breathe me
Which only leads to a greater separation from the self:
Ouch I have lost myself again
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,
Yeah I think that I might break
I've lost myself again and I feel unsafe
The radical difference that I'm exploring this month is what happens when we show up for ourselves, be our own best friend, hold ourselves, unfold ourselves, warm ourselves, and breathe ourselves, rather than asking someone else to do it for us, or doing it for someone else:
Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small and needy
Warm me up
And breathe me
What happens when we do this, I am finding, is that we no longer feel small and needy. We instead feel powerful and strong and capable of taking on whatever comes into our path...
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Avalanches
I just discovered this woman's radiant voice a few days ago. I don't know how I've missed her being on the scene, but I'm sure glad to have found her. I'm saving the song she initially wowed me with for a time when it feels more appropriate, but I found this lovely number to mark today:
Well, don’t be scared of avalanches
Tucked up in my snowy branches
I will
Oh I will
Oh I will
I will keep you safe
Oh, how I tried to keep him safe. And oh, how I would still like to keep him safe.
In therapy yesterday, my therapist brought up the fact that when an airplane is losing pressure, they tell you to put your own mask on first before assisting others. I was familiar with this metaphor for self care: I heard it many times around Alanon tables.
And yet, in my attempts to keep my last love safe, I forgot about my own mask. And now, here I am, cracked open with the grief of losing him. Sure, it's painful, but it's also an amazing opportunity to put my own mask on. To look at myself, at what I need to fully heal, so that I can be clear in myself about the difference between a healthy desire for love to help heal (God knows it helped me heal while we were together) and the desperate desire to fix someone so that things can work out like I want them to work out:
Don't be scared of avalanches
Tucked up in my snowy branches, I will
And look how well the gray wolf dances
You bring light and second chances
He sure did bring both of those, but it looks like I'm gonna need a third chance too. Third time's a charm, as they say, and maybe it will be. I know only this: I'll be in a better position to take my desire to keep my love safe:
I will
Oh I will
Oh oh I will
Oh oh I will
Oh oh I will
Yes, I will
I will
I will
Keep you safe
...and turn it over to someone or something with much more power than I to do the protecting!
Well, don’t be scared of avalanches
Tucked up in my snowy branches
I will
Oh I will
Oh I will
I will keep you safe
Oh, how I tried to keep him safe. And oh, how I would still like to keep him safe.
In therapy yesterday, my therapist brought up the fact that when an airplane is losing pressure, they tell you to put your own mask on first before assisting others. I was familiar with this metaphor for self care: I heard it many times around Alanon tables.
And yet, in my attempts to keep my last love safe, I forgot about my own mask. And now, here I am, cracked open with the grief of losing him. Sure, it's painful, but it's also an amazing opportunity to put my own mask on. To look at myself, at what I need to fully heal, so that I can be clear in myself about the difference between a healthy desire for love to help heal (God knows it helped me heal while we were together) and the desperate desire to fix someone so that things can work out like I want them to work out:
Don't be scared of avalanches
Tucked up in my snowy branches, I will
And look how well the gray wolf dances
You bring light and second chances
He sure did bring both of those, but it looks like I'm gonna need a third chance too. Third time's a charm, as they say, and maybe it will be. I know only this: I'll be in a better position to take my desire to keep my love safe:
I will
Oh I will
Oh oh I will
Oh oh I will
Oh oh I will
Yes, I will
I will
I will
Keep you safe
...and turn it over to someone or something with much more power than I to do the protecting!
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Blame it on the Boogie
The trip to Milwaukee yesterday was largely to attend the ribbon cutting of a charter school on the South side of the city. The school is authorized by the City but the facility was financed in part by Andre Agassi. Turns out he started a charter school in 2001 in his hometown of Las Vegas, and wanted to find a way to take helping poor kids get a better education to scale. So he found a partner and started a firm to help finance charter school facilities, which is one of the most difficult aspects of starting this kind of school. How cool is that?
Of course, it was a bigger deal for people my age that Andre Agassi was there than it was for the kids, who are called Rocketeers after the technology-driven educational model on which the school is based: Rocketship.
But the biggest deal of all is that these kids have the opportunity to go to a great school in a brand new building -- and as they sang and danced to this Jackson classic -- you could see and feel their excitement:
Don't blame it on the sunshine
Don't blame it on the moonlight
Don't blame it on the good times
Blame it on the boogie
I just can't, I just can't
I just can't control my feet
I just can't, I just can't (Yeah)
I just can't (Woo) control my feet
I love that Andre Agassi uses his fame and fortune to help poor kids have better opportunities in life. It'll be exciting to monitor their success at their new school, and I plan to keep doing whatever I can to help facilitate educational opportunity for all kids.
Of course, it was a bigger deal for people my age that Andre Agassi was there than it was for the kids, who are called Rocketeers after the technology-driven educational model on which the school is based: Rocketship.
But the biggest deal of all is that these kids have the opportunity to go to a great school in a brand new building -- and as they sang and danced to this Jackson classic -- you could see and feel their excitement:
Don't blame it on the sunshine
Don't blame it on the moonlight
Don't blame it on the good times
Blame it on the boogie
I just can't, I just can't
I just can't control my feet
I just can't, I just can't (Yeah)
I just can't (Woo) control my feet
I love that Andre Agassi uses his fame and fortune to help poor kids have better opportunities in life. It'll be exciting to monitor their success at their new school, and I plan to keep doing whatever I can to help facilitate educational opportunity for all kids.
Monday, September 16, 2013
I am the Highway
 |
| I-94 between Milwaukee & Madison |
I kinda think I am:
I am not your rolling wheels – I am the highway.
I am not your carpet ride – I am the sky.
I sure felt one with it this morning, driving to Milwaukee under an absolutely gorgeous sky:
Friends and liars don't wait for me,
'Cause I'll get on all by myself.
I put millions of miles under my heels;
And still too close to you, I feel.
That's an interesting line - or last couple of lines -- that seems to speak a bit to my situation. Only it's hard to feel too close to someone you love, even after you break up, I think. A friend was trying to advise me about contact with him, and she asked how I feel after talking to him. Generally, I feel better than before the conversation, but I admit that hearing his voice does perhaps make me miss him more again. But then, that's what's real, and it's ok to feel what's real, right? I remember I made a promise to myself about not making any more arbitrary rules, so I'm not. It's a little tricky, but I think it's a do the best you can until it gets easier kind of situation. I can talk about it now without crying, as I did today when I met my friend for happy hour at a cool Milwaukee spot. And that seems like progress:
I am not your blowing wind – I am the lightning.
I am not your autumn moon – I am the night… the night:
 |
| Yep, that's me too -- on the drive home |
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Reason to Believe
Woke up this morning after a long, dream-filled sleep with a realization. Something that I've probably known for quite a while, but not really fully admitted: that I lied to myself during my last relationship. Not just about trivial things, but about things that are important to the core of my being.
Pondering this, the song that came to me was this one, made famous by the one and only Rod Stewart:
If I listened long enough to you
I'd find a way to believe that it's all true
Knowing that you lied straight-faced while I cried
Still I look to find a reason to believe
Not because he ever really lied to me. I don't think he did. I think he honestly didn't know whether he'd be able to embrace living in the Midwest and get excited about getting married again so soon after he'd signed the papers finalizing his divorce. I don't think he knew whether having kids was something that would pull him out of what had been an almost entirely self-focused existence and take him somewhere he wanted to be, with demands on his time and attention other than his own needs.
That the end result was that none of those questions were answered in the affirmative is precisely why his departure has been so tough on all of us. That, even when I knew that was the case, I embraced him every last chance I had (as did my kids) before he left has everything to do with what Rod is singing about:
Someone like you makes it hard to live without
somebody else
Someone like you makes it easy to give
never think about myself
If I gave you time to change my mind
I'd find a way just to leave the past behind
Knowing that you lied straight-faced while I cried
Still I look to find a reason to believe
I didn't have to look hard to find a reason to believe. It was more like I had to look pretty hard to find a reason not to believe, and I wasn't inclined to look at that. I loved being in his orbit, as did my kids. I loved being the one who went to bed with him, and woke up next to him, and talked to him after his work or play day. I wanted so badly to stay in that orbit, I denied that there were things about my own that I was neglecting. Things like dreams, and shared values about what makes for a life well-lived.
We talked on the phone this morning, and as usual, he provided both an ear and wisdom about my kids that I don't get from anyone else:
If I listened long enough to you
I'd find a way to believe that it's all true
Knowing that you lied straight-faced while I cried
Still I look to find a reason to believe
But he also said how glad he was that he didn't have to be the one to deal directly with some of the challenges that parenting inevitably brings. And, no longer looking for a reason to believe otherwise, I heard that. It's hard, facing up to the fact that this person of whom we're all so fond is making choices about his life that don't include us, but it is so we might as well get used to it.
Someone like you makes it hard to live without
somebody else
Someone like you makes it easy to give
never think about myself
That's what it feels like my home life, especially my without-kids home life, is about right now. I feel like I'm out of the stage where the bulk of my time is directly devoted to grieving, but I'm not on to the next step either. I'm in between.
And I reckon I'll be here until I get to the point where I'm ready to fall in love again, this time with someone with the desire and ability to give more, on a daily basis, both to me and to my kids...
Pondering this, the song that came to me was this one, made famous by the one and only Rod Stewart:
If I listened long enough to you
I'd find a way to believe that it's all true
Knowing that you lied straight-faced while I cried
Still I look to find a reason to believe
Not because he ever really lied to me. I don't think he did. I think he honestly didn't know whether he'd be able to embrace living in the Midwest and get excited about getting married again so soon after he'd signed the papers finalizing his divorce. I don't think he knew whether having kids was something that would pull him out of what had been an almost entirely self-focused existence and take him somewhere he wanted to be, with demands on his time and attention other than his own needs.
That the end result was that none of those questions were answered in the affirmative is precisely why his departure has been so tough on all of us. That, even when I knew that was the case, I embraced him every last chance I had (as did my kids) before he left has everything to do with what Rod is singing about:
Someone like you makes it hard to live without
somebody else
Someone like you makes it easy to give
never think about myself
If I gave you time to change my mind
I'd find a way just to leave the past behind
Knowing that you lied straight-faced while I cried
Still I look to find a reason to believe
I didn't have to look hard to find a reason to believe. It was more like I had to look pretty hard to find a reason not to believe, and I wasn't inclined to look at that. I loved being in his orbit, as did my kids. I loved being the one who went to bed with him, and woke up next to him, and talked to him after his work or play day. I wanted so badly to stay in that orbit, I denied that there were things about my own that I was neglecting. Things like dreams, and shared values about what makes for a life well-lived.
We talked on the phone this morning, and as usual, he provided both an ear and wisdom about my kids that I don't get from anyone else:
If I listened long enough to you
I'd find a way to believe that it's all true
Knowing that you lied straight-faced while I cried
Still I look to find a reason to believe
But he also said how glad he was that he didn't have to be the one to deal directly with some of the challenges that parenting inevitably brings. And, no longer looking for a reason to believe otherwise, I heard that. It's hard, facing up to the fact that this person of whom we're all so fond is making choices about his life that don't include us, but it is so we might as well get used to it.
Someone like you makes it hard to live without
somebody else
Someone like you makes it easy to give
never think about myself
That's what it feels like my home life, especially my without-kids home life, is about right now. I feel like I'm out of the stage where the bulk of my time is directly devoted to grieving, but I'm not on to the next step either. I'm in between.
And I reckon I'll be here until I get to the point where I'm ready to fall in love again, this time with someone with the desire and ability to give more, on a daily basis, both to me and to my kids...
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Beat City
As I think I mentioned last weekend, being able to watch PG-13 movies has opened up a new world for us, but watching PG-13 movies that I originally saw when I was 13 is another new world altogether. Seeing this movie from the perspective of a parent did change it a little bit, but it didn't detract from the pure pleasure of it, and I "got" Cameron's character more as an adult than I did as a child.
Then this morning, my son and I climbed on our bikes and rode downtown via the lakeshore path. We parked at the union, walked up to the Capitol, got some food, went to the Farmer's Market, and walked over to Monona Terrace to check out one of Madison's lovely lakes on a beautiful late summer morning.
We weren't cruising in a convertible Ferrari, and our city's not Chicago, which was so beautifully depicted in the video accompanying this song, but we decided it's a pretty good place to grow up:
Beat city now now,
Beat beat,
Beat city now now,
Woo-oo-oo,
Beat city now now,
Beat beat,
Beat beat,
Beat city,
I watch you tumble down.
Roll into America,
Roll your hands in policies,
I love it when you smile,
I love it when you
Sing, sing, sing, sing, sing, sing.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Love the Same
I've been sleeping better than I was for a while there, thank goodness. I love me a good night's sleep, and it's pretty much a prerequisite for me to face the world with the outlook I want to bring each day. But this morning, sleep seems to be eluding me, which feels unfortunate, especially given the long work day ahead of me.
Kinda hard to go back to sleep after the bad dream I had that woke me up about 4:30am, though. I dreamt that I gave birth to a baby boy -- so premature -- so teeny tiny that he easily fit into the palm of my hand. I went to a party to celebrate his birth -- and two of the people who were there were my daughter's preschool teachers, which is noteworthy, since we haven't seen them in about five years. Anyway, whenever I'd turn my attention away from my baby, he'd start to shrivel up and get even smaller. I'd panic, and try to breastfeed him, and whenever I got him to drink, he'd start to come back to life, growing larger again, and I'd be super relieved. But it kept happening. Over and over again, until I woke up. Yuck. I've had dreams before about my kids being lost in enormous mazes, dreams about them falling from great heights, and once I had a dream about giving birth to a stillborn baby. This felt like a mix of those. With my daughter's preschool teachers there, it felt like the intense anxiety I felt was about her, but this tiny premature infant was the form that she -- my child -- the one I'm supposed to feed and protect -- took in the dream. Or more accurately, nightmare.
I know that I'm going to have to get better about detachment when it comes to my own kids, and in particular at the moment, my daughter. I want so badly to make everything all better. Yesterday I dedicated my morning yoga practice to her, and initially when I picked her up, I felt open and loving. But it didn't take much of me sensing something was wrong, and her being unwilling to share it, before I started to feel angry, on edge. And before I know it I'm saying things I know don't help the situation, but I can't help myself. It's like someone else takes over. I guess it's what Eckhardt Tolle calls the pain body -- the conglomeration of all of our past hurt that sometimes overtakes us.
And I get it. I get why this is happening now. I spent many, many years repressing the bad things that happened to me when I was a little girl, and now I'm finally feeling ready to face up to those memories and all the awful, humiliating, scary, yucky feelings they bring with them.
I've committed to this 90 day yoga intensive, and already, 11 days and 8 intense practices into it, my body's changing, beginning to let some things go, becoming more aware where other things are stuck. It's hard and it's scary but I know it's what I have to do if I ever want to really, truly, get to the other side of it.
The song I have for today is a real beauty. I can't get enough of it. I love Damien Jurado's voice, and his lyrics are lovely (if a bit heartbreaking) too:
You don't love me that way
The words that you say
Make it obvious now
Why try pretending you care
When feelings aren't there
Just be honest with me
It's not getting easier
With the two of us just standing here
Knowing we don't love the same
When I initially heard it, it didn't feel like it really fit my recent heartbreak. And it may not fit perfectly, but it nails the feeling I have, early in the morning after a bad dream. It's the same feeling I have, not being able to talk to a partner about what I'm going through with my past or my present:
I said, "Don't feel ashamed
Feelings just change
It's so clear to me now.
Don't cry you can't deny
Both of us tried for each other."
I feel for people who go through what he's singing about here, I really do, because that sucks. With my recent partner and I though, we did love the same, we just wound up
(or maybe we always did we just weren't really honest with ourselves about it or didn't really know we did until we were already in it pretty deep) having very different priorities about what matters most in life, different priorities about what role our love had in the course of our lives:
It's not getting easier
With the two of us just standing here
Knowing we don't love the same
And that's ok. It wasn't getting any easier with that gulf between us while we were still trying to make it work, and it is getting easier now that we're not pretending we want the same things. Easier. But not easy.
Maybe I need to be alone to do the work I'm embarking on now, I don't know. I do know that before my last relationship, I wasn't anywhere near ready to face it, so I'm grateful, once again, for all that growth and healing that our love provided...
Kinda hard to go back to sleep after the bad dream I had that woke me up about 4:30am, though. I dreamt that I gave birth to a baby boy -- so premature -- so teeny tiny that he easily fit into the palm of my hand. I went to a party to celebrate his birth -- and two of the people who were there were my daughter's preschool teachers, which is noteworthy, since we haven't seen them in about five years. Anyway, whenever I'd turn my attention away from my baby, he'd start to shrivel up and get even smaller. I'd panic, and try to breastfeed him, and whenever I got him to drink, he'd start to come back to life, growing larger again, and I'd be super relieved. But it kept happening. Over and over again, until I woke up. Yuck. I've had dreams before about my kids being lost in enormous mazes, dreams about them falling from great heights, and once I had a dream about giving birth to a stillborn baby. This felt like a mix of those. With my daughter's preschool teachers there, it felt like the intense anxiety I felt was about her, but this tiny premature infant was the form that she -- my child -- the one I'm supposed to feed and protect -- took in the dream. Or more accurately, nightmare.
I know that I'm going to have to get better about detachment when it comes to my own kids, and in particular at the moment, my daughter. I want so badly to make everything all better. Yesterday I dedicated my morning yoga practice to her, and initially when I picked her up, I felt open and loving. But it didn't take much of me sensing something was wrong, and her being unwilling to share it, before I started to feel angry, on edge. And before I know it I'm saying things I know don't help the situation, but I can't help myself. It's like someone else takes over. I guess it's what Eckhardt Tolle calls the pain body -- the conglomeration of all of our past hurt that sometimes overtakes us.
And I get it. I get why this is happening now. I spent many, many years repressing the bad things that happened to me when I was a little girl, and now I'm finally feeling ready to face up to those memories and all the awful, humiliating, scary, yucky feelings they bring with them.
I've committed to this 90 day yoga intensive, and already, 11 days and 8 intense practices into it, my body's changing, beginning to let some things go, becoming more aware where other things are stuck. It's hard and it's scary but I know it's what I have to do if I ever want to really, truly, get to the other side of it.
The song I have for today is a real beauty. I can't get enough of it. I love Damien Jurado's voice, and his lyrics are lovely (if a bit heartbreaking) too:
You don't love me that way
The words that you say
Make it obvious now
Why try pretending you care
When feelings aren't there
Just be honest with me
It's not getting easier
With the two of us just standing here
Knowing we don't love the same
When I initially heard it, it didn't feel like it really fit my recent heartbreak. And it may not fit perfectly, but it nails the feeling I have, early in the morning after a bad dream. It's the same feeling I have, not being able to talk to a partner about what I'm going through with my past or my present:
I said, "Don't feel ashamed
Feelings just change
It's so clear to me now.
Don't cry you can't deny
Both of us tried for each other."
I feel for people who go through what he's singing about here, I really do, because that sucks. With my recent partner and I though, we did love the same, we just wound up
(or maybe we always did we just weren't really honest with ourselves about it or didn't really know we did until we were already in it pretty deep) having very different priorities about what matters most in life, different priorities about what role our love had in the course of our lives:
It's not getting easier
With the two of us just standing here
Knowing we don't love the same
And that's ok. It wasn't getting any easier with that gulf between us while we were still trying to make it work, and it is getting easier now that we're not pretending we want the same things. Easier. But not easy.
Maybe I need to be alone to do the work I'm embarking on now, I don't know. I do know that before my last relationship, I wasn't anywhere near ready to face it, so I'm grateful, once again, for all that growth and healing that our love provided...
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Drive By
This morning I was woken, not by an external alarm, but by my internal clock radio, which was playing this song to rouse me from my slumber:
On the other side of a street I knew
Stood a girl that looked like you
I guess thats deja vu
But I thought this can't be true
Cause you moved to west L.A or New York or Santa Fe
Or wherever to get away from me
Oh but that one night
Was more than just right
I didn't leave you cause I was all through
Oh I was overwhelmed, and frankly scared as hell
Because I really fell for you
Oh I swear to you
I'll be there for you
This is not a drive by
Just a shy guy looking for a two ply
Hefty bag to hold my love
When you move me everything is groovy
They don't like it sue me
Mm the way you do me
Oh I swear to you
I'll be there for you
This is not a drive by
On the upside of a downward spiral
My love for you went viral
And I loved you every mile you drove away
But now here you are again
So let's skip the "how you been"And
get down to the "more than friends" at last
Oh but that one night
Is still the highlight
I didn't need you until I came to
and I was overwhelmed, and frankly scared as hell
Because I really fell for you
Oh I swear to you
I'll be there for you
This is not a drive by
Just a shy guy looking for a two ply
Hefty bag to hold my love
When you move me everything is groovy
They don't like it sue me
Mm the way you do me
Oh I swear to you
I'll be there for you
This is not a drive by
Please believe that when I leave
There's nothing up my sleeve but love for you
And a little time to get my head together too...
I'm not sure exactly what it's about, except to say that I've landed in a place where I'm not about drive-bys anymore. Even in between relationships, as I am now, I'm just not interested in something less than what I want and need. So maybe this is about affirming that next time, it won't be a drive by...
On the other side of a street I knew
Stood a girl that looked like you
I guess thats deja vu
But I thought this can't be true
Cause you moved to west L.A or New York or Santa Fe
Or wherever to get away from me
Oh but that one night
Was more than just right
I didn't leave you cause I was all through
Oh I was overwhelmed, and frankly scared as hell
Because I really fell for you
Oh I swear to you
I'll be there for you
This is not a drive by
Just a shy guy looking for a two ply
Hefty bag to hold my love
When you move me everything is groovy
They don't like it sue me
Mm the way you do me
Oh I swear to you
I'll be there for you
This is not a drive by
On the upside of a downward spiral
My love for you went viral
And I loved you every mile you drove away
But now here you are again
So let's skip the "how you been"And
get down to the "more than friends" at last
Oh but that one night
Is still the highlight
I didn't need you until I came to
and I was overwhelmed, and frankly scared as hell
Because I really fell for you
Oh I swear to you
I'll be there for you
This is not a drive by
Just a shy guy looking for a two ply
Hefty bag to hold my love
When you move me everything is groovy
They don't like it sue me
Mm the way you do me
Oh I swear to you
I'll be there for you
This is not a drive by
Please believe that when I leave
There's nothing up my sleeve but love for you
And a little time to get my head together too...
I'm not sure exactly what it's about, except to say that I've landed in a place where I'm not about drive-bys anymore. Even in between relationships, as I am now, I'm just not interested in something less than what I want and need. So maybe this is about affirming that next time, it won't be a drive by...
Monday, September 9, 2013
Float On
Monday again already -- that's how my kids and I all felt this morning when the alarm rudely awakened us. I normally wake up before my alarm goes off, but today it started beeping when I was in the middle of a big old dream during some hard core REM sleep, making Monday morning wake up even more painful than usual.
My work day felt long but not too painful, and after work I went for the first time to an open practice (meaning teacher present but not leading) at the yoga studio where I'm doing the 90 day intensive. It was a cool experience -- I didn't remember every bit of the primary series perfectly -- but I did sweat my ass off and I did get a lot of personal attention from the teacher that was helpful.
After class I came home and settled into the couch for a beer, some chips and hummus and salsa, and The Wire, which is my latest Netflix disc. It's kinda making me think I missed my calling, because the detectives get to drop the F-bomb and all kinds of other creative swear words and no one even bats an eyelash -- sometimes I feel like that kind of freedom of expression would be nice. Then again, how would I manage to clean it up for my kids if I let it rip all day? See? That's a problem I don't have.
Anyway, as I was contemplating the day, this song floated into my head, and I reckon it's as good as any to mark this day:
Alright, already and we'll all float on
Alright, already we'll all float on
Alright, don't worry even if things end up a bit too heavy
We'll all float on, alright
Already we'll all float on
Alright, already we'll all float on
Okay, don't worry, we'll all float on
Even if things get heavy, we'll all float on
Alright, already we'll all float on
Alright, no don't you worry, we'll all float on
Alright, all float on
Yep, that's how I'm feeling now, and that's a change from when my heart was so heavy I didn't think floating on was a possibility, let alone a sure thing. I'm grateful to all that has supported me in my healing process, including this blog and its readers!
My work day felt long but not too painful, and after work I went for the first time to an open practice (meaning teacher present but not leading) at the yoga studio where I'm doing the 90 day intensive. It was a cool experience -- I didn't remember every bit of the primary series perfectly -- but I did sweat my ass off and I did get a lot of personal attention from the teacher that was helpful.
After class I came home and settled into the couch for a beer, some chips and hummus and salsa, and The Wire, which is my latest Netflix disc. It's kinda making me think I missed my calling, because the detectives get to drop the F-bomb and all kinds of other creative swear words and no one even bats an eyelash -- sometimes I feel like that kind of freedom of expression would be nice. Then again, how would I manage to clean it up for my kids if I let it rip all day? See? That's a problem I don't have.
Anyway, as I was contemplating the day, this song floated into my head, and I reckon it's as good as any to mark this day:
Alright, already and we'll all float on
Alright, already we'll all float on
Alright, don't worry even if things end up a bit too heavy
We'll all float on, alright
Already we'll all float on
Alright, already we'll all float on
Okay, don't worry, we'll all float on
Even if things get heavy, we'll all float on
Alright, already we'll all float on
Alright, no don't you worry, we'll all float on
Alright, all float on
Yep, that's how I'm feeling now, and that's a change from when my heart was so heavy I didn't think floating on was a possibility, let alone a sure thing. I'm grateful to all that has supported me in my healing process, including this blog and its readers!
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Gone Daddy Gone
My daughter asked the other night if I was happy with my weight. I'm not today, I said, but I was a couple of days ago. "No, I said your WEIGHT." I'm guessing she clarified because my answer didn't make any sense to her -- how could I not be happy with something today that I was happy about two days ago, especially something as unlikely to change that quickly as weight? Good question! I explained to her that it had more to do with how I feel about life in general than it does about my actual body weight, and I hadn't had a good day.
Yesiree, this is yet another example of the fact that I am motivated to be a happier, more consistently ok-with-myself person for my daughter's sake. I want to teach her that these fluctuations are normal, but they indicate, more than anything else, a separation from one's spirit. They're feelings, and feelings aren't facts.
These icky feelings can be brought about in all kinds of ways, including old trauma resurfacing. I can tell when this happens, because it's not just a disliking of my visage in that moment based on fleeting things like hair or clothing (or even an extra pound here or there), it's an all out rejection of the reflection. A rejection of myself, or a part of myself, based on the misunderstanding that getting away from that trauma -- otherwise known as healing -- is about getting rid of it.
Over the last few years, through my healing process, I've learned that it is actually the opposite. Healing is all about bringing it in, getting to know it, accepting that the part of you that went through something ugly is part of you in exactly the same way as the parts that have been witness to the beautiful things in life.
Through a lot of hard work, I've come to understand that the undesirableness I see in the mirror in moments like that is an invitation to work toward greater integration and wholeness -- not by rejecting that part of me -- but by loving it extra. I wish I'd known more of this when I was struggling mightily with these concepts as a young girl and young woman.
Pondering all this, my inner jukebox called up an old fave with something to say about beauty:
Beautiful girl, lovely dress
High school smiles, oh yes
Beautiful girl, lovely dress
Where she is now, I can only guess
'Cause it's gone daddy, gone
The love is gone
Yes, gone daddy, gone
The love is gone
Yes, gone daddy, gone
The love is gone
Yes, gone daddy, gone
The love is gone away
When I see you
Eyes will turn blue
When I see you
Thousand eyes turnin' blue
'Cause it's gone daddy, gone
The love is gone
Yes, gone daddy, gone
The love is gone
Yes, gone daddy, gone
The love is gone
Yes, gone daddy, gone
The love is gone away
Tell by the way that you switch and walk
I can see by the way that you baby talk
I can know by the way that you treat your man
I can love you baby till it's a cryin'
What exactly it's saying, I don't really know. But I can tell you that what I thought it was saying -- what was so satisfying about this song during my teenage and twentysomething angst -- is that love is dependent on beauty.
It's not. My fortysomething self is here to say that it's quite the opposite -- beauty is dependent on love.
I know my daughter will have to find her own way through this maze that can be particularly challenging for American girls, but I'll be here to help, willing to share what I've learned, and more often than not, happy with the reflection looking back at me in the mirror...
Yesiree, this is yet another example of the fact that I am motivated to be a happier, more consistently ok-with-myself person for my daughter's sake. I want to teach her that these fluctuations are normal, but they indicate, more than anything else, a separation from one's spirit. They're feelings, and feelings aren't facts.
These icky feelings can be brought about in all kinds of ways, including old trauma resurfacing. I can tell when this happens, because it's not just a disliking of my visage in that moment based on fleeting things like hair or clothing (or even an extra pound here or there), it's an all out rejection of the reflection. A rejection of myself, or a part of myself, based on the misunderstanding that getting away from that trauma -- otherwise known as healing -- is about getting rid of it.
Over the last few years, through my healing process, I've learned that it is actually the opposite. Healing is all about bringing it in, getting to know it, accepting that the part of you that went through something ugly is part of you in exactly the same way as the parts that have been witness to the beautiful things in life.
Through a lot of hard work, I've come to understand that the undesirableness I see in the mirror in moments like that is an invitation to work toward greater integration and wholeness -- not by rejecting that part of me -- but by loving it extra. I wish I'd known more of this when I was struggling mightily with these concepts as a young girl and young woman.
Pondering all this, my inner jukebox called up an old fave with something to say about beauty:
Beautiful girl, lovely dress
High school smiles, oh yes
Beautiful girl, lovely dress
Where she is now, I can only guess
'Cause it's gone daddy, gone
The love is gone
Yes, gone daddy, gone
The love is gone
Yes, gone daddy, gone
The love is gone
Yes, gone daddy, gone
The love is gone away
When I see you
Eyes will turn blue
When I see you
Thousand eyes turnin' blue
'Cause it's gone daddy, gone
The love is gone
Yes, gone daddy, gone
The love is gone
Yes, gone daddy, gone
The love is gone
Yes, gone daddy, gone
The love is gone away
Tell by the way that you switch and walk
I can see by the way that you baby talk
I can know by the way that you treat your man
I can love you baby till it's a cryin'
What exactly it's saying, I don't really know. But I can tell you that what I thought it was saying -- what was so satisfying about this song during my teenage and twentysomething angst -- is that love is dependent on beauty.
It's not. My fortysomething self is here to say that it's quite the opposite -- beauty is dependent on love.
I know my daughter will have to find her own way through this maze that can be particularly challenging for American girls, but I'll be here to help, willing to share what I've learned, and more often than not, happy with the reflection looking back at me in the mirror...
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Baby That's Not All
While doing chores this evening, the ipod dialed up this Josh Ritter number:
Fold yourself against
Me like a paper bird
Tonight we'll fly awhile
Just give me the word
And hold onto me
Like I hold onto you
A steeple holds a bell
The night sky holds the moon
Melting flakes of snow
Will catch you when you fall
Baby that's not all
Then like falling stars
Back down to sleep will go
Into our waiting arms
In orbits round the glow
Cover lets and down
Will catch you when you fall
Baby that's not all
And I let it's melody carry me off, agreeing wholeheartedly that there's much more out there for me than what I've been given thus far, baby...
Fold yourself against
Me like a paper bird
Tonight we'll fly awhile
Just give me the word
And hold onto me
Like I hold onto you
A steeple holds a bell
The night sky holds the moon
Melting flakes of snow
Will catch you when you fall
Baby that's not all
Then like falling stars
Back down to sleep will go
Into our waiting arms
In orbits round the glow
Cover lets and down
Will catch you when you fall
Baby that's not all
And I let it's melody carry me off, agreeing wholeheartedly that there's much more out there for me than what I've been given thus far, baby...
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Little Sparrow
The inspiration for today's selection came from last week's Modern Love column, which I read this afternoon. It was a touching tale of a woman who'd fostered a teenager, singing this lovely tune to her every night before bed:
Little sparrow, little sparrow
Precious fragile little thing
Little sparrow, little sparrow
Flies so high and feels no pain
All ye maidens heed my warning
Never trust the hearts of men
They will crush you like a sparrow
Leaving you to never mend
They will vow to always love you
Swear no love but yours will do
Then they'll leave you for another
Break your little heart in two
Isn't Dolly sweet? The Modern Love column was too -- right down to the teenager growing up to get a little sparrow tattoo as a tribute. I have a tattoo of a swallow -- you can see a picture of it here -- and I feel a kinship with all bird tattoo people.
My own little sparrow is having a bit of a rough go with the new school year, and hard as I try not to, I get all wigged out when she's upset:
Isn't Dolly sweet? The Modern Love column was too -- right down to the teenager growing up to get a little sparrow tattoo as a tribute. I have a tattoo of a swallow -- you can see a picture of it here -- and I feel a kinship with all bird tattoo people.
My own little sparrow is having a bit of a rough go with the new school year, and hard as I try not to, I get all wigged out when she's upset:
Little sparrow, little sparrow
Precious fragile little thing
Little sparrow, little sparrow
Flies so high and feels no pain
Because she is precious, and she can be fragile, but unfortunately, she can't fly and must feel pain. And I know she'll get through it. I do my best to help her -- though she's dubious that I can -- and doesn't agree or know at the moment that often it's just listening -- being heard and understood -- that helps the most when we're going through painful times.
I hope that's what she'll learn from me about the painful time I've been through recently -- because I sure wouldn't want the takeaway to be anything like the one in this verse:
Because she is precious, and she can be fragile, but unfortunately, she can't fly and must feel pain. And I know she'll get through it. I do my best to help her -- though she's dubious that I can -- and doesn't agree or know at the moment that often it's just listening -- being heard and understood -- that helps the most when we're going through painful times.
I hope that's what she'll learn from me about the painful time I've been through recently -- because I sure wouldn't want the takeaway to be anything like the one in this verse:
All ye maidens fair and tender
Never trust the hearts of men
They will crush you like a sparrow
Leaving you to never mend
Little sparrow, little sparrow
Oh the sorrow never ends
I disagree. The sorrow ends, and then it comes back around again, but in the meantime, there's room for joy. And I don't care how sweetly Dolly sings the words -- I gotta take issue with her advice on not trusting the hearts of men.
Because you see, my little sparrow, our hearts are made of something so vital, so strong, that though they may be crushed, they can always be mended. At least, that's what your mama believes...
Because you see, my little sparrow, our hearts are made of something so vital, so strong, that though they may be crushed, they can always be mended. At least, that's what your mama believes...
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
How Soon Is Now
It's a Smiths' kind of day today, sayeth the inner jukebox, and this is the particular number it selected:
You shut your mouth
how can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
just like everybody else does
Uh-huh. And I think the combo of being away and alone this weekend, not seeing my kids for five days, and missing their first days of school is really exacerbating the Smithsness I've been dealing with in general lately:
There's a club if you'd like to go
you could meet somebody who really loves you
so you go, and you stand on your own
and you leave on your own
and you go home, and you cry
and you want to die
Ok so it's not that bad, but it sure would be nice to be excited about living again. I've been thinking that I need to do some volunteering so I can get some perspective, but I'm not sure where exactly to focus my energy. One of my former yoga students sent me a FB message a couple of days ago saying she'd remembered me saying I'd like to teach yoga in a mental health setting and was I still thinking about doing that and if so, she'd love to help. So that could turn into something cool -- something that adds a dimension of rightness and goodness to my life -- because I'm sick of feeling sorry for myself or feeling so low or however you want to describe the current state of affairs:
When you say it's gonna happen "now"
well, when exactly do you mean?
see I've already waited too long
and all my hope is gone
Ok, not all my hope is gone, just a big chunk of it. See that? Got a little perspective just by blogging about a Smiths' song!
You shut your mouth
how can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
just like everybody else does
Yes I do. And I am. I was. I will be.
Now will be just as soon as it needs to be, even if it isn't as soon as I'd like it to be...
You shut your mouth
how can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
just like everybody else does
Uh-huh. And I think the combo of being away and alone this weekend, not seeing my kids for five days, and missing their first days of school is really exacerbating the Smithsness I've been dealing with in general lately:
There's a club if you'd like to go
you could meet somebody who really loves you
so you go, and you stand on your own
and you leave on your own
and you go home, and you cry
and you want to die
Ok so it's not that bad, but it sure would be nice to be excited about living again. I've been thinking that I need to do some volunteering so I can get some perspective, but I'm not sure where exactly to focus my energy. One of my former yoga students sent me a FB message a couple of days ago saying she'd remembered me saying I'd like to teach yoga in a mental health setting and was I still thinking about doing that and if so, she'd love to help. So that could turn into something cool -- something that adds a dimension of rightness and goodness to my life -- because I'm sick of feeling sorry for myself or feeling so low or however you want to describe the current state of affairs:
When you say it's gonna happen "now"
well, when exactly do you mean?
see I've already waited too long
and all my hope is gone
Ok, not all my hope is gone, just a big chunk of it. See that? Got a little perspective just by blogging about a Smiths' song!
You shut your mouth
how can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
just like everybody else does
Yes I do. And I am. I was. I will be.
Now will be just as soon as it needs to be, even if it isn't as soon as I'd like it to be...
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Human
This song is working for me today on so many levels. First you have my internal ipod, which dialed up this song especially for these lyrics (which I reprint now even though they're not the beginning of the song):
I forgive you, now I ask the same of you
Why, you ask? Because the book I mentioned yesterday, "How to Survive the Loss of a Love" has a section on forgiveness. Now I'm no stranger to forgiveness. I work hard at it. I regularly do the forgiveness guided meditation with Jack Kornfield. But this book added a new dimension that was really helpful to me. It said that not only do you need to forgive for whatever transgression your loved one has committed, but you need to forgive yourself for your judgement of it, because, the book says, that's where you do yourself harm. Fascinating! And I had to admit, I did judge him for leaving me, which is what I deemed the transgression. Why? Because it hurt, because it wasn't what I wanted, because it didn't feel right. Those seem like pretty good reasons, and they may be perfectly good reasons why I didn't like it, but they aren't reasons to judge. Nothing gives us that right.
But it's ok that I did, because:
I'm only human
Of flesh and blood I'm made
Human
Born to make mistakes
It's also working for me because I've really begun to realize the universality of the loss I'm experiencing. So many people love and lose. It's true that some never love in the all-out vulnerable way that I did, and it's true that others do and don't have to confront losing it in the same way I am. But many more people do. And there's a certain comfort in that. It's a human experience.
As I opened a bottle of Chianti tonight, thinking how much less sweet that is without my beloved by my side, I thought of all the people around the world experiencing something similar, and that made it hurt a little less.
That, and through all of it, I can still very strongly feel my beloved's humanity. I can imagine him singing right along with The Human League to this verse:
Come on baby, dry your eyes
Wipe your tears
Never like to see you cry
Won't you please forgive me
And that helps a little bit too. I know eventually, I'll need to replace the feeling I have waking up in the morning, the memories of him being there with me:
So many nights I longed to hold you
So many times I looked and saw your face
Nothing could change the way I feel
No one else could ever take your place
But they are taking their sweet time leaving, and I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in that, either:
(Human
Human)
I'm only human
Of flesh and blood I'm made
(I am just a man)
Human
Born to make mistakes
(Human
Human).
I forgive you, now I ask the same of you
Why, you ask? Because the book I mentioned yesterday, "How to Survive the Loss of a Love" has a section on forgiveness. Now I'm no stranger to forgiveness. I work hard at it. I regularly do the forgiveness guided meditation with Jack Kornfield. But this book added a new dimension that was really helpful to me. It said that not only do you need to forgive for whatever transgression your loved one has committed, but you need to forgive yourself for your judgement of it, because, the book says, that's where you do yourself harm. Fascinating! And I had to admit, I did judge him for leaving me, which is what I deemed the transgression. Why? Because it hurt, because it wasn't what I wanted, because it didn't feel right. Those seem like pretty good reasons, and they may be perfectly good reasons why I didn't like it, but they aren't reasons to judge. Nothing gives us that right.
But it's ok that I did, because:
I'm only human
Of flesh and blood I'm made
Human
Born to make mistakes
It's also working for me because I've really begun to realize the universality of the loss I'm experiencing. So many people love and lose. It's true that some never love in the all-out vulnerable way that I did, and it's true that others do and don't have to confront losing it in the same way I am. But many more people do. And there's a certain comfort in that. It's a human experience.
As I opened a bottle of Chianti tonight, thinking how much less sweet that is without my beloved by my side, I thought of all the people around the world experiencing something similar, and that made it hurt a little less.
That, and through all of it, I can still very strongly feel my beloved's humanity. I can imagine him singing right along with The Human League to this verse:
Come on baby, dry your eyes
Wipe your tears
Never like to see you cry
Won't you please forgive me
And that helps a little bit too. I know eventually, I'll need to replace the feeling I have waking up in the morning, the memories of him being there with me:
So many nights I longed to hold you
So many times I looked and saw your face
Nothing could change the way I feel
No one else could ever take your place
But they are taking their sweet time leaving, and I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in that, either:
(Human
Human)
I'm only human
Of flesh and blood I'm made
(I am just a man)
Human
Born to make mistakes
(Human
Human).
Monday, September 2, 2013
Give You My Lovin
It was nice being away, but not quite what I expected. Not a definitive end to this period of my life, as I'd hoped. Not a new beginning. Just me, experiencing some moments of calm, some moments of exhilaration, and some (ok, a lot of) moments of grief. I'm reading a book called "How to Survive the Loss of a Love" and one of the things it says is that often one loss causes a person to have to deal with other, ungrieved losses, and I think that's true for me. Lots of old stuff is coming up, as I alluded to yesterday.
I'm trying, in the midst of all of this, to be gentle with myself. I'm trying not to spend too much time wondering whether or why I "stayed overlong" -- beyond the point where a person who was realistically looking at the evidence would have concluded that my needs weren't going to be met in that relationship. When I look at it like a learning experience, I try to think about how I'll (try to) behave differently next time.
I slept late today, my body sore and tired from my running and biking this weekend. After I woke, I stayed in bed listening to Pandora for a while, and this song came on:
Give you my lovin seven days a week
I'll be your honey if you'll be sweet
I know I'm the only one for you
I know that you think this is not true
Man says it's rainin', rainin' outside
I'll be out there in a little while
Cause you see, rain reminds me of you
And everything has turned to you
See you in places, I'm followin' you
You'll be upstairs, and I'll be there too
Everywhere you go I will follow
I know it won't be the same tomorrow
People give me warnings, Stay away from you
They say you'll hurt me, I don't think that's true
Discomfort arouses when I speak of you
As if you been sayin' somethin' bad about me
When I see you I wanna kiss you
But I know that ain't right so I'd ask if I can hold you
Oh babe, I need you so bad
Oh babe, I only wanna make you glad
And it wasn't really that every single lyric fit my situation -- more that the feeling of the song did -- and that what I felt like it was expressing overall cuts to the heart of what I felt and potentially learned from my last relationship.
I wanted nothing more than to give him my lovin seven days a week, and it was the first time I'd ever really felt that way about anyone, partly because he was so awesome and partly because it was the first time I had so much of myself to give. So I reveled in the giving, not paying too much attention to how much of himself he had to give to me, except at the moments when it was glaringly obvious that he didn't have as much as he or I would have liked.
I guess it's even possible that I chose him for that reason -- because I still wasn't ready to be as vulnerable as one needs to be to fully receive the seven days a week lovin Mazzy describes. I don't think I was ready, at the beginning of our relationship, but I got there, during it, and I kept thinking he'd get there too.
Who knows? Maybe someday he will. But he didn't get there while we were together, and that's what I'm continuing to grieve....
I'm trying, in the midst of all of this, to be gentle with myself. I'm trying not to spend too much time wondering whether or why I "stayed overlong" -- beyond the point where a person who was realistically looking at the evidence would have concluded that my needs weren't going to be met in that relationship. When I look at it like a learning experience, I try to think about how I'll (try to) behave differently next time.
I slept late today, my body sore and tired from my running and biking this weekend. After I woke, I stayed in bed listening to Pandora for a while, and this song came on:
Give you my lovin seven days a week
I'll be your honey if you'll be sweet
I know I'm the only one for you
I know that you think this is not true
Man says it's rainin', rainin' outside
I'll be out there in a little while
Cause you see, rain reminds me of you
And everything has turned to you
See you in places, I'm followin' you
You'll be upstairs, and I'll be there too
Everywhere you go I will follow
I know it won't be the same tomorrow
People give me warnings, Stay away from you
They say you'll hurt me, I don't think that's true
Discomfort arouses when I speak of you
As if you been sayin' somethin' bad about me
When I see you I wanna kiss you
But I know that ain't right so I'd ask if I can hold you
Oh babe, I need you so bad
Oh babe, I only wanna make you glad
And it wasn't really that every single lyric fit my situation -- more that the feeling of the song did -- and that what I felt like it was expressing overall cuts to the heart of what I felt and potentially learned from my last relationship.
I wanted nothing more than to give him my lovin seven days a week, and it was the first time I'd ever really felt that way about anyone, partly because he was so awesome and partly because it was the first time I had so much of myself to give. So I reveled in the giving, not paying too much attention to how much of himself he had to give to me, except at the moments when it was glaringly obvious that he didn't have as much as he or I would have liked.
I guess it's even possible that I chose him for that reason -- because I still wasn't ready to be as vulnerable as one needs to be to fully receive the seven days a week lovin Mazzy describes. I don't think I was ready, at the beginning of our relationship, but I got there, during it, and I kept thinking he'd get there too.
Who knows? Maybe someday he will. But he didn't get there while we were together, and that's what I'm continuing to grieve....
Sunday, September 1, 2013
I'm a Woman
 |
| The view from my mountain bike this morning in Marquette. |
I ended up going alone, so I thought maybe I was going to meet a man, but I didn't. Instead, I met or encountered a bunch of cool women, including this one, with an absolutely incredible voice, who happened to be playing at one of the three awesome brew pubs I visited on Saturday night.
Though I didn't hear her play this song -- it seems a fitting tribute to my weekend:
I'm a woman.
I'm a woman.
I'm a woman.
Yeah, I'm a woman.
Kinda obvious but also pretty damn profound, especially since leading up to the race I was dealing with all kinds of injuries on my left (feminine) side, and during the race I felt and released a bunch of painful things related to being a woman.
I felt as if they were all running with me: the little girl who tried so hard to get her father's attention; the teenager obsessed with boys she didn't and wouldn't let herself know; the in-tears bride who felt so many things that were not unadulterated joy on her wedding day; the woman who gave birth to two children for whom she is profoundly grateful; the woman who would like to have another baby; the woman who finally managed to love with her whole fabulous self only to lose him in the end; and the woman who was brave enough to make the long trip to the U.P. solo, running her own race this time -- not against her 23-year old self as she did in Chicago -- but the one she wanted to, felt like, and was capable of running on August 31, 2013.
In the end, I guess the trip was about healing. About being where I am, which is uncoupled. Not just without a partner -- this doesn't feel so tragic because I know I will have another partner when I'm really ready -- but without the wonderful man who gave me back so much of myself.
It's both a heart-wrenching loss and a gift for which I am grateful.
Every single day.
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