This morning I took my son to see The Hobbit. He requested that I take him, saying on the way to the theatre that he hoped it wasn't too scary, but I was the one hiding my eyes during the battle scenes. It did have its scary, hard-to-watch moments, but it was breathtakingly beautiful to behold at the same time. Kinda like life, I reckon.
On the way home, my son mentioned how much he liked the music in the movie. He was more likely referring to the instrumental soundtrack that accompanied most of the film, but with few exceptions, I'm a lyrics girl, so I'm choosing the closing song to mark this day:
Far over the Misty Mountains rise
Leave us standing upon the height
What was before, we see once more
Is our kingdom, a distant light
Fiery mountain beneath the moon
The words aren't spoken, we'll be there soon
For home a song that echoes on
And all who find us will know the tune
In addition to moving music, the movie (or perhaps I should say story?) had some pretty damn inspiring things to say about the importance of home, juxtaposed with the most important qualities one needs in a partner when embarking on an adventure.
I've heard a lot about the importance of home from my boyfriend lately, since he's been missing his so much. It's funny, but Madison doesn't really feel like a home to me in the sense that the dwarves talk (and sing) about the Lonely Mountain or the way my boyfriend talks about New Hampshire. Maybe it would if I left it? I don't know. For now, I feel like it's my home because it's where my children are, but I've never really resonated with this geographic location the way I have in places like California and Wyoming.
One of the things I loved about the movie was Bilbo's unlikely (but ultimately beneficial for all) decision to join the adventure of taking back the dwarves' home. It's a good lesson that sometimes the best things happen when we do something other than what we've always thought we would do.
I didn't expect to fall in love with someone whose home is New Hampshire. I didn't expect him to move out here to be with me, either, but I'm sure glad he did. It's given us much more time to gel as a couple and as a family. It's also given us time to wade through more of the old wounds and learn to be driven by what we know is most important: that we love each other in ways that are supportive of each person's highest good. And if my man's highest good can't be found living in Wisconsin all year round for the next 8 1/2 years, well then, I guess this isn't a good place for him to live.
The dwarves say that what's needed in a partner for an adventure are three things:
1) Loyalty
2) Honor
3) A Willing Heart
It's funny. I've always recognized the first two qualities in my boyfriend, and I would say he's got the last one covered too, long before I did, but he's not so sure. And you can't be sure until you're sure.
As for me, I'd say I've always had honor, but loyalty and a willing heart have only really settled into my bones and gotten comfy since I've been on this adventure of loving my lonely-for-the-mountains man...
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Friday, January 4, 2013
Keep on Loving You
Up in the wee hours this morning, a few things are keeping me awake. One of them is the chorus of this song, which is blaring internally:
You should've seen by the look in my eyes, baby
There was somethin missin
You should've known by the tone of my voice, maybe
But you didn't listen
You played dead
But you never bled
Instead you lay still in the grass
All coiled up and hissin
...I would say that I should've known by the look in my love's eyes that there was something missing; I should have known by the tone of his voice maybe, but I didn't listen. Not with my heart open. I was hearing him from an old place of wondering if it was something in me that was missing, or something in him that was missing, and not just something in the situation, which he'd been trying to tell me in big and small ways for at least a year.
About a week ago, I read something that made me realize I needed to listen more with my heart rather than my head, but I was still unable to really do it, even though I did share that with my boyfriend, saying I would really try.
So what's changed since then? A number of things, I reckon. One was reaching a point where I had a very clear message that I couldn't go on as I had been any longer; one was my boyfriend continuing to be brutally honest even when it meant cracking everything open further which I think it is safe to say was scary for both of us; one was my new year's day yoga class which helped open the back of my heart; and one was the movie I saw the night before last that made it crystal clear to me that, like REO:
And I meant every word I said
When I said that I love you I meant
That I love you forever...
And I'm gonna keep on lovin you
Cause it's the only thing I wanna do
I don't wanna sleep
I just wanna keep on lovin you
Now truly, I do want to sleep, and my newfound recognition of what it really means to let love drive instead of fear is only part of the reason I'm awake in the middle of the night. The other is the stress of carrying two mortgages, the buckling of the tile floor in the master bedroom, the lack of some additional money that I should have coming in but hasn't found its way to me yet...
So I thought rather than tossing and turning, I'd get up, send some emails, write this blog, and afterward maybe, if I'm lucky, get a bit more sleep before my alarm clock goes off requesting that I get up for work.
I was talking to a friend last night about our recent discoveries in our respective romantic relationships, both in ourselves and about our loves. And we were talking about whether it was necessary or even possible to find the stability that humans naturally seek in another human being. The buddhist teacher I was listening to the other day, Pema Chodron, would say no. But what my friend and I agreed on, which I had talked to my therapist about previously, is that the stability that is both reassuring and possible in a primary relationship is finding a way to have certainty with your person that you can be heard, and that your partner will do their best to both listen and understand.
And while I wouldn't say I've been like a snake coiled up in the grass playing dead:
You should've seen by the look in my eyes, baby
There was somethin missin
You should've known by the tone of my voice, maybe
But you didn't listen
You played dead
But you never bled
Instead you lay still in the grass
All coiled up and hissin
...I would say that I should've known by the look in my love's eyes that there was something missing; I should have known by the tone of his voice maybe, but I didn't listen. Not with my heart open. I was hearing him from an old place of wondering if it was something in me that was missing, or something in him that was missing, and not just something in the situation, which he'd been trying to tell me in big and small ways for at least a year.
About a week ago, I read something that made me realize I needed to listen more with my heart rather than my head, but I was still unable to really do it, even though I did share that with my boyfriend, saying I would really try.
So what's changed since then? A number of things, I reckon. One was reaching a point where I had a very clear message that I couldn't go on as I had been any longer; one was my boyfriend continuing to be brutally honest even when it meant cracking everything open further which I think it is safe to say was scary for both of us; one was my new year's day yoga class which helped open the back of my heart; and one was the movie I saw the night before last that made it crystal clear to me that, like REO:
And I meant every word I said
When I said that I love you I meant
That I love you forever...
Thursday, January 3, 2013
My Cherie Amour
Last night I went to see Silver Linings Playbook with a friend. What a spectacular movie. Quirky, funny, poignant, well-acted, inspiring... I really loved it.
But watching the movie, I just kept wishing that my boyfriend were there with me. It came to me over and over again throughout the movie: it's him. It's his fascinating thoughts, his laughter, his keen powers of observation, his response to it that I most wanted to hear. At that moment and for as long as I'm on this earth.
As in many movies, there was a love story at the heart of it, and seeing this love story come to fruition on the screen triggered two seemingly disparate feelings in me: a profound sadness and a comforting clarity.
I felt really sad that I wasn't sharing it with him, that we weren't in a place where we could fully embrace our love as the two main characters were at the end of the movie. Walking out of the movie, I had these big, powerful tears that carried a strong message that I could tell had nothing to do with any old wounds, nothing to do with not wanting to be alone, nothing to do with anything other than the same sadness I've been struck with every time I contemplate letting him go.
So I'm not going to do that. He's my sweet love, the one my heart beats for, and that's all that really matters. The rest we can work out. Maybe it won't look like the picture I had in my head, but the prospect of getting to be with him -- his happy self -- his best self -- that's better than any picture I could've come up with in the abstract.
Speaking of sweet loves, this Steve Wonder classic played an important role in the movie -- I won't tell you exactly what role -- go see the flick and find out for yourself:
La la la la la la, La la la la la la
My cherie amour, lovely as a summer day
My cherie amour, distant as the milky way
My cherie amour, pretty little one that I adore
You're the only girl my heart beats for
How I wish that you were mine...
But watching the movie, I just kept wishing that my boyfriend were there with me. It came to me over and over again throughout the movie: it's him. It's his fascinating thoughts, his laughter, his keen powers of observation, his response to it that I most wanted to hear. At that moment and for as long as I'm on this earth.
As in many movies, there was a love story at the heart of it, and seeing this love story come to fruition on the screen triggered two seemingly disparate feelings in me: a profound sadness and a comforting clarity.
I felt really sad that I wasn't sharing it with him, that we weren't in a place where we could fully embrace our love as the two main characters were at the end of the movie. Walking out of the movie, I had these big, powerful tears that carried a strong message that I could tell had nothing to do with any old wounds, nothing to do with not wanting to be alone, nothing to do with anything other than the same sadness I've been struck with every time I contemplate letting him go.
So I'm not going to do that. He's my sweet love, the one my heart beats for, and that's all that really matters. The rest we can work out. Maybe it won't look like the picture I had in my head, but the prospect of getting to be with him -- his happy self -- his best self -- that's better than any picture I could've come up with in the abstract.
Speaking of sweet loves, this Steve Wonder classic played an important role in the movie -- I won't tell you exactly what role -- go see the flick and find out for yourself:
La la la la la la, La la la la la la
My cherie amour, lovely as a summer day
My cherie amour, distant as the milky way
My cherie amour, pretty little one that I adore
You're the only girl my heart beats for
How I wish that you were mine...
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Band on the Run
When I woke up this morning, this song was the one in my head. Lest the selection seem completely random, it was the answer to a Trivial Pursuit question in a game we played with my folks during our Christmas visit.
But as far as I can tell, there's not much significance or relevance to the lyrics, with the possible exception of the line about rodents on the run, because I had a crazy dream last night that my daughter's guinea pig escaped:
Well, the undertaker drew a heavy sigh seeing no one else had come,
And a bell was ringing in the village square for the rabbits on the run.
Band on the run, band on the run.
And the jailer man and sailor sam, were searching every one
In the dream, the guinea pig's fur was all spiked up and she was trying her hardest to get away. I looked helplessly at my boyfriend, hoping he'd have a solution, but he just shrugged his shoulders as the beloved pet cleared the final hurdle to freedom.
Strange. The night before that, I dreamt that all of my son's fish died. They were floating on the bottom of the tank, and when I saw it, knowing how difficult it was going to be for my son, I just cried.
Why the repeated dreams about pets in peril? Not sure, but I'm guessing it reflects the lesser degree of personal safety I feel now that I live in a bigger house. My old house was sort of like a womb for myself and my kids. It held us tightly, and there wasn't much room for anyone else. And I guess there was a certain safety in that. I was a lot less vulnerable than I am right now, emotionally, physically, financially.
It's difficult not to feel sometimes like I just want to be back in that womb, and though I certainly do seek a greater amount of comfort than I feel right now, I know deep down that, despite signs to the contrary (like the tile floor buckling in the master bath, as it did yesterday), it was time for me to move, time to create more space for myself and my family to grow. I don't get to control how or when that growth happens, though, and I suppose that is the part that presents the most difficulty for me.
Last night during an emotional phone conversation with a close friend, I shared many of these feelings, and my friend suggested that I practice loving kindness meditation, invoking these powerful words:
May I be filled with loving kindness
May I be well in body and mind
May I be safe from inner and outer dangers
May I be happy, truly happy, and free
I was too exhausted to take her advice last night, so I'm off to do that now...
But as far as I can tell, there's not much significance or relevance to the lyrics, with the possible exception of the line about rodents on the run, because I had a crazy dream last night that my daughter's guinea pig escaped:
Well, the undertaker drew a heavy sigh seeing no one else had come,
And a bell was ringing in the village square for the rabbits on the run.
Band on the run, band on the run.
And the jailer man and sailor sam, were searching every one
In the dream, the guinea pig's fur was all spiked up and she was trying her hardest to get away. I looked helplessly at my boyfriend, hoping he'd have a solution, but he just shrugged his shoulders as the beloved pet cleared the final hurdle to freedom.
Strange. The night before that, I dreamt that all of my son's fish died. They were floating on the bottom of the tank, and when I saw it, knowing how difficult it was going to be for my son, I just cried.
Why the repeated dreams about pets in peril? Not sure, but I'm guessing it reflects the lesser degree of personal safety I feel now that I live in a bigger house. My old house was sort of like a womb for myself and my kids. It held us tightly, and there wasn't much room for anyone else. And I guess there was a certain safety in that. I was a lot less vulnerable than I am right now, emotionally, physically, financially.
It's difficult not to feel sometimes like I just want to be back in that womb, and though I certainly do seek a greater amount of comfort than I feel right now, I know deep down that, despite signs to the contrary (like the tile floor buckling in the master bath, as it did yesterday), it was time for me to move, time to create more space for myself and my family to grow. I don't get to control how or when that growth happens, though, and I suppose that is the part that presents the most difficulty for me.
Last night during an emotional phone conversation with a close friend, I shared many of these feelings, and my friend suggested that I practice loving kindness meditation, invoking these powerful words:
May I be filled with loving kindness
May I be well in body and mind
May I be safe from inner and outer dangers
May I be happy, truly happy, and free
I was too exhausted to take her advice last night, so I'm off to do that now...
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling
This afternoon I traveled to Blue Mounds, about 30 minutes outside Madison, for a special new year's yoga class. I was feeling pretty vulnerable, and the class, which was focused on opening the back of the heart, forced me to sit with that vulnerability in a way that wasn't comfortable. At the end of the class, we set our intentions for the year, and mine were much the same as last year, only clearer -- it didn't take so long to pull them out of myself and put them on paper:
1) Remain open to love
2) Continue to practice and teach yoga in ways that facilitate myself and others to remaining open to love.
3) Trust that there is enough and continue to follow divine guidance.
After class, I went to Blue Mounds State Park to cross country ski. It was about a year ago that I was there doing the same thing with my boyfriend, when we happened upon that amphitheater in the woods, and I had a vision of our wedding being held there. When I tried to share that vision with him, he bristled, and I felt hung out there, vulnerable, much like I was headed into yoga class this afternoon. Only this time, for the skiing, it was just me, and I intentionally avoided the amphitheater. A reminder that he wasn't hearing any wedding bells was the last thing I needed.
I didn't last long out there. Hungry and cold, I got back in the car and started driving home. Rather than listen to music as I had on the way out there, I decided to simply be with the experience and the feelings I had leaving Blue Mounds.
Even without playing music, I wasn't without a song for long, but I was a little surprised by the selection:
You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips.
And there's no tenderness like before in your fingertips.
You're trying hard not to show it, (baby).
But baby, baby I know it...
You've lost that lovin' feeling,
Whoa, that lovin' feeling,
You've lost that lovin' feeling,
Now it's gone...gone...gone...wooooooh.
I can't really explain what's going on with us, but I can say that we haven't consistently had that loving feeling for at least a couple of months, and I can say that we went through the same thing last winter.
But there are a couple of important ways in which our experience diverges from the song. My boyfriend hasn't been trying hard not to show it. He's been saying, as he did last year, that he just doesn't know if he can live here, and as such, he doesn't feel like it is right, and/or it confuses the issue to allow himself to have that lovin' feeling toward me while he has so much pain in his heart about where he is in his life.
And so, my experience is indeed, at least as far as the romantic connection between us is concerned:
Now there's no welcome look in your eyes
when I reach for you.
And now your're starting to critisize little things I do.
It makes me just feel like crying, (baby).
'Cause baby, something in you is dying.
He says that the thing that is in him that's dying is the part that loves the mountains, loves his home, his people. I get that it is hard, but it doesn't seem to me that any of those parts have to die. I guess this is where, at least for the moment, we diverge.
What's a girl to do? Cry, sleep, do yoga, reach out to friends, get a dog, read more, get back to work and to a regular exercise schedule... oh yeah, and keep my heart open. Because just like I don't believe that any part of his love for mountains or place or people has to die, I don't believe our love has to die, either:
Baby, baby, I get down on my knees for you.
If you would only love me like you used to do, yeah.
We had a love...a love...a love you don't find everyday.
So don't...don't...don't...don't let it slip away.
Baby (baby), baby (baby),
I beg of you please...please,
I need your love (I need your love),
I need your love (I need your love),
So bring it on back (So bring it on back),
Bring it on back (so bring it on back).
Bring back that lovin' feeling,
Whoa, that lovin' feeling
Bring back that lovin' feeling,
'Cause it's gone...gone...gone,
and I can't go on,
noooo...
1) Remain open to love
2) Continue to practice and teach yoga in ways that facilitate myself and others to remaining open to love.
3) Trust that there is enough and continue to follow divine guidance.
After class, I went to Blue Mounds State Park to cross country ski. It was about a year ago that I was there doing the same thing with my boyfriend, when we happened upon that amphitheater in the woods, and I had a vision of our wedding being held there. When I tried to share that vision with him, he bristled, and I felt hung out there, vulnerable, much like I was headed into yoga class this afternoon. Only this time, for the skiing, it was just me, and I intentionally avoided the amphitheater. A reminder that he wasn't hearing any wedding bells was the last thing I needed.
I didn't last long out there. Hungry and cold, I got back in the car and started driving home. Rather than listen to music as I had on the way out there, I decided to simply be with the experience and the feelings I had leaving Blue Mounds.
Even without playing music, I wasn't without a song for long, but I was a little surprised by the selection:
You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips.
And there's no tenderness like before in your fingertips.
You're trying hard not to show it, (baby).
But baby, baby I know it...
You've lost that lovin' feeling,
Whoa, that lovin' feeling,
You've lost that lovin' feeling,
Now it's gone...gone...gone...wooooooh.
I can't really explain what's going on with us, but I can say that we haven't consistently had that loving feeling for at least a couple of months, and I can say that we went through the same thing last winter.
But there are a couple of important ways in which our experience diverges from the song. My boyfriend hasn't been trying hard not to show it. He's been saying, as he did last year, that he just doesn't know if he can live here, and as such, he doesn't feel like it is right, and/or it confuses the issue to allow himself to have that lovin' feeling toward me while he has so much pain in his heart about where he is in his life.
And so, my experience is indeed, at least as far as the romantic connection between us is concerned:
Now there's no welcome look in your eyes
when I reach for you.
And now your're starting to critisize little things I do.
It makes me just feel like crying, (baby).
'Cause baby, something in you is dying.
He says that the thing that is in him that's dying is the part that loves the mountains, loves his home, his people. I get that it is hard, but it doesn't seem to me that any of those parts have to die. I guess this is where, at least for the moment, we diverge.
What's a girl to do? Cry, sleep, do yoga, reach out to friends, get a dog, read more, get back to work and to a regular exercise schedule... oh yeah, and keep my heart open. Because just like I don't believe that any part of his love for mountains or place or people has to die, I don't believe our love has to die, either:
Baby, baby, I get down on my knees for you.
If you would only love me like you used to do, yeah.
We had a love...a love...a love you don't find everyday.
So don't...don't...don't...don't let it slip away.
Baby (baby), baby (baby),
I beg of you please...please,
I need your love (I need your love),
I need your love (I need your love),
So bring it on back (So bring it on back),
Bring it on back (so bring it on back).
Bring back that lovin' feeling,
Whoa, that lovin' feeling
Bring back that lovin' feeling,
'Cause it's gone...gone...gone,
and I can't go on,
noooo...
Monday, December 31, 2012
Miles from Nowhere
Among many other lessons, children are powerful teachers about what it means to be in a relationship with another person. It means that you won't always get your way. It means that sometimes their mood will bring you down, or yours will bring them down; it also means that sometimes their mood will bring you up, or yours will bring them up.
Simply put, it means that sometimes it will make it feel easier to be on this earth, and at other times it will make it feel harder. And this is true with almost all relationships. But one thing that feels different to me about children is that even at its hardest and most uncomfortable, having children always makes life more worthwhile, and this is something to fall back on during the hard times. Having children is the first job I remember wanting as a little girl, and raising them feels like the most important job I'll ever have. I love my children dearly, and feel lucky to be able to enjoy them most of the time, but even when the joy isn't at the surface, I never lose sight of pure goodness of the relationship and its mutual benefit for parent and child.
Not so for me with romantic relationships. In these I find that even in my current relationship, where the goodness and the joy are much closer to the surface, that I go through times of profound doubt about the benefit to myself and to my mate about being in a relationship. I don't feel the certainty I feel in my relationship with my children, though I do seek it in ways that society suggests one can find certainty in a romantic relationship: desire to cohabitate, to marry. Meeting with reluctance on those fronts, especially as deeply into a relationship as I'm in now, makes me feel really uncomfortable and filled with doubt about its "rightness" -- something I never, ever question in my relationship with my kids.
It makes me wonder what would happen if I just chose not to doubt its rightness, rejecting the need for certainty and the fear that arises when it can't be found. I try to do that, but inevitably, when I get too uncomfortable or too scared, I listen to the doubts and they take me further away, to a safer, less vulnerable place. A place without the same lows, yes, but also without the same highs. And I really think that's the primary difference between loving a child and loving someone romantically -- I'm not afraid to love with my whole heart when it comes to my kids. Fear doesn't drive my decisions in that role in the same way that I sometimes allow it to in my lovelife.
I read someplace once that the only people deserving of unconditional love are children. And I get that. If this weren't true, those who were abused by their mates wouldn't have a reason to leave, even in the wake of being mistreated. And so another complicating factor, apart from the guardedness that comes from wanting to protect yourself -- or maybe part and parcel of it -- is ensuring that a relationship with another adult has agreed upon values and expectations that allow for the creation of boundaries within which both partners feel safe and capable of getting their needs met.
Given this, I think these are my quests in the coming year: to choose love -- for myself, for my children, for my partner -- but also to work on coming up with those agreed upon values and expectations and boundaries that will help bring a measure of stability -- and maybe equally importantly -- to continue to work with being ok with the uncertainty and the impermanence of the human condition.
It's unusual, I know, for me to blog on for so long without getting to the song choice, so without further ado...
Soon after my daughter got back in the car after a fun-filled day of downhill skiing with my boyfriend a couple of hours north of Madison, she started to complain about having to ride in the car. Granted, she was more frustrated with this than usual because a broken DVD player meant not being able to watch her beloved Garfield.
Upon seeing a mileage sign on the side of the highway saying 112 miles to Madison, she remarked: "This sucks. We're 112 miles from nowhere and I've got nothing to do."
And the irony of the statement struck me as Cat Stevens voice began to sing inside my head:
Miles from nowhere
I guess I'll take my time
Oh yeah, to reach there
Look up at the mountain
I have to climb
Oh yeah, to reach there
And of course, the thing that is so hard to understand as a child, maybe because it's pretty damn hard for adults to understand it sometimes, too, is that it's not about where you're going. It's about where you are. Right now.
Learning to be ok with that, not attaching too much significance to a particular destination or vessel:
Lord my body has been a good friend
But I won't need it when I reach the end
...that's our challenge as human beings, I reckon:
I creep through the valleys
And I grope through the woods
'cause I know when I find it my honey
It's gonna make me feel good
...to realize that it's not all about feeling good. It's about feeling, and being ok with whatever that feeling is:
I love everything
So don't it make you feel sad
'cause I'll drink to you, my baby
I'll think to that, I'll think to that.
Miles from nowhere
Not a soul in sight
Oh yeah, but it's alright
Here's the part where Cat Stevens is grappling with the values and expectations and boundaries bit that I was discussing above -- only he, at least in these lyrics, is choosing the easier, but less rewarding (in my own humble opinion) path of shutting out others:
I have my freedom
I can make my own rules
Oh yeah, the ones that I choose
As for me, I choose to make some of the rules, and to learn, little by little, step by step, that my ability to make room for others' needs and to live by their rules (at least the rules of theirs that I can accept), is ultimately going to lead to a greater freedom than being alone ever could:
Miles from nowhere
I Guess I'll take my time
Oh yeah, to reach there.
I should know. I am a mother.
Simply put, it means that sometimes it will make it feel easier to be on this earth, and at other times it will make it feel harder. And this is true with almost all relationships. But one thing that feels different to me about children is that even at its hardest and most uncomfortable, having children always makes life more worthwhile, and this is something to fall back on during the hard times. Having children is the first job I remember wanting as a little girl, and raising them feels like the most important job I'll ever have. I love my children dearly, and feel lucky to be able to enjoy them most of the time, but even when the joy isn't at the surface, I never lose sight of pure goodness of the relationship and its mutual benefit for parent and child.
Not so for me with romantic relationships. In these I find that even in my current relationship, where the goodness and the joy are much closer to the surface, that I go through times of profound doubt about the benefit to myself and to my mate about being in a relationship. I don't feel the certainty I feel in my relationship with my children, though I do seek it in ways that society suggests one can find certainty in a romantic relationship: desire to cohabitate, to marry. Meeting with reluctance on those fronts, especially as deeply into a relationship as I'm in now, makes me feel really uncomfortable and filled with doubt about its "rightness" -- something I never, ever question in my relationship with my kids.
It makes me wonder what would happen if I just chose not to doubt its rightness, rejecting the need for certainty and the fear that arises when it can't be found. I try to do that, but inevitably, when I get too uncomfortable or too scared, I listen to the doubts and they take me further away, to a safer, less vulnerable place. A place without the same lows, yes, but also without the same highs. And I really think that's the primary difference between loving a child and loving someone romantically -- I'm not afraid to love with my whole heart when it comes to my kids. Fear doesn't drive my decisions in that role in the same way that I sometimes allow it to in my lovelife.
I read someplace once that the only people deserving of unconditional love are children. And I get that. If this weren't true, those who were abused by their mates wouldn't have a reason to leave, even in the wake of being mistreated. And so another complicating factor, apart from the guardedness that comes from wanting to protect yourself -- or maybe part and parcel of it -- is ensuring that a relationship with another adult has agreed upon values and expectations that allow for the creation of boundaries within which both partners feel safe and capable of getting their needs met.
Given this, I think these are my quests in the coming year: to choose love -- for myself, for my children, for my partner -- but also to work on coming up with those agreed upon values and expectations and boundaries that will help bring a measure of stability -- and maybe equally importantly -- to continue to work with being ok with the uncertainty and the impermanence of the human condition.
It's unusual, I know, for me to blog on for so long without getting to the song choice, so without further ado...
Soon after my daughter got back in the car after a fun-filled day of downhill skiing with my boyfriend a couple of hours north of Madison, she started to complain about having to ride in the car. Granted, she was more frustrated with this than usual because a broken DVD player meant not being able to watch her beloved Garfield.
Upon seeing a mileage sign on the side of the highway saying 112 miles to Madison, she remarked: "This sucks. We're 112 miles from nowhere and I've got nothing to do."
And the irony of the statement struck me as Cat Stevens voice began to sing inside my head:
Miles from nowhere
I guess I'll take my time
Oh yeah, to reach there
Look up at the mountain
I have to climb
Oh yeah, to reach there
And of course, the thing that is so hard to understand as a child, maybe because it's pretty damn hard for adults to understand it sometimes, too, is that it's not about where you're going. It's about where you are. Right now.
Learning to be ok with that, not attaching too much significance to a particular destination or vessel:
Lord my body has been a good friend
But I won't need it when I reach the end
...that's our challenge as human beings, I reckon:
I creep through the valleys
And I grope through the woods
'cause I know when I find it my honey
It's gonna make me feel good
...to realize that it's not all about feeling good. It's about feeling, and being ok with whatever that feeling is:
I love everything
So don't it make you feel sad
'cause I'll drink to you, my baby
I'll think to that, I'll think to that.
Miles from nowhere
Not a soul in sight
Oh yeah, but it's alright
Here's the part where Cat Stevens is grappling with the values and expectations and boundaries bit that I was discussing above -- only he, at least in these lyrics, is choosing the easier, but less rewarding (in my own humble opinion) path of shutting out others:
I have my freedom
I can make my own rules
Oh yeah, the ones that I choose
As for me, I choose to make some of the rules, and to learn, little by little, step by step, that my ability to make room for others' needs and to live by their rules (at least the rules of theirs that I can accept), is ultimately going to lead to a greater freedom than being alone ever could:
Miles from nowhere
I Guess I'll take my time
Oh yeah, to reach there.
I should know. I am a mother.
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Eskimo
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| My new backyard, under 18" of snow! |
It was a gorgeous day -- so sunny -- and the snow glistened as we skied. It was absolutely beautiful, and this song was playing inside my head much of the time:
So I look to my eskimo friend
I look to my eskimo friend
I look to my eskimo friend
Never hotter than when he's out enjoying one of his favorite sports, indeed, I looked to my eskimo friend over and over again during our adventure. And then later that day, when my kids came back, I looked to him in a different way.
A way in which he may be less comfortable, but can also be quite joyful -- as fellow witness to the wonder that is my children...
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