Did I really last write in May?
Oh dear.
Readers, I've been busy. Not "I'm too busy to blog!" but "I'm busy trying to figure out my life, and while I figure it out I have no idea what to say."
Generally, when I'm writing, I'm grounded. You would be accurate to assume that my lack of writing here - and anywhere else - is a sign that I haven't been grounded lately. At all.
I'm okay. Things in my life are humming along, all things considered. I am healthy and strong. My daughter is thriving. I still live in a big old house that, while a bit worn around the edges, is also cozy and filled with comforts. I've spent as many weekends this summer as possible out backpacking, filling my soul with forests and alpine lakes and incredible vistas that nearly make me weep with their beauty (yes, I'm sappy like that).
But some deeper work is going on.
I believe that we keep learning our lessons, over and over, until we get them right. Well, it seems that I have not learned some critical lessons just yet, and it is about time. I've been struggling, and I think that I've been so deep in the struggle I couldn't even analyze it or explain it: it exhausted me past my ability to figure it out.
On the surface, the struggle is about a bad boss. My Executive Director is temperamental, prone to emotional outbursts. He runs a disorganized organization. He manages through fear, control, and ego. He is prone to committing to things, and then changing his mind after the ball is already rolling. He has looked me in the eye and lied to me on multiple occasions. What's worse, we serve an incredibly low income community and he treats our clients disrespectfully and doesn't always operate within their best interests. To say that it is disheartening is an understatement. Over the past year plus, it has worn me down. I have been weary, and felt more and more broken.
There is no question that I'm good at what I do. The results are clear, and the feedback from other staff, others in the field, clients, volunteers, and my peers at other organizations is clear. When my boss allows me to do my job, I get results. I am proud of my work, clearly on the right career path. When asked directly, my boss actually tells me that I'm doing good work, that he's pleased with my results, that hiring me was a great idea.
But I'm locked in a bizarre relationship with this boss, who treats me badly and then praises me. It's nonsensical and confusing.
***
Bryan, too, treated me badly and then told me that all was well. Bryan was temperamental, too; he also made illogical decisions and then expected me to clean up his messes.
Clearly there is a pattern. Over the past few months, I've been struggling not to see the pattern - oh, it's there, clear enough! - but to determine my role in it. Why do I keep attracting these impossible situations for myself? Why don't my friends struggle with this? Why am I locked in this pattern?
***
My father is all about control and "respect." He demands that I adhere to the notion that he is my superior, and that what he says is to be done, without question. I supposed that there are plenty of fathers like that; strict dads aren't that unusual. But the thing with my parents is that one minute they are playful and generous and treat me like I'm interesting and special and that my ideas have value, and the next they are angry and name calling and unkind.
This week, my plans to go backpacking got canceled. This was my "big trip" this year: having limited money (Bryan is again unemployed, and again not paying child support) I had planned a trip into the mountains for four or five nights as my big vacation. However, the weather - hot and sunny all summer! - suddenly shifted to downpours and lightening, so it wasn't safe to go to the woods. I was glum about it: I've been fantasizing about this trip for months, and badly needed to clear my head and get a break. My father called me, concerned about my safety, and kindly asked about my plans. I told him that I just wasn't sure what to do: I needed to stay safe, but I didn't have money in the budget to do hotels and such, so I was feeling sad about it. My father said, "Well, I think you need a vacation. Why don't I give you some money so that you can take a trip? You and Katherine need a break. Where would you like to go? What would you like to do? I can help, just tell me what you need."
I hesitated. I have seen this before, and sometimes it's a trap.
I said, "That is so incredibly kind and generous of you - thank you for offering. Please know that Katherine and I are fine, and though I absolutely love that you offered, I don't want you to feel obligated," and so on. I was determined not to fall into the trap this time.
He said, "No, tell me what you want! I want to help!"
I still hesitated. "Well....I don't want to tell you how much to spend. If you'd like to help out, please tell me what you feel comfortable with, and I will work within that budget..."
He got annoyed with me, said, "Come on! I want to help! Just tell me what you want to do!"
I bit the bullet. "I'd love to go to the San Juans for maybe three nights, stay in a little hotel..."
I hadn't finished the idea when he snorted. "WHAT!? That's ridiculous. The cost of the ferry, and you've got so many other expenses - do you really think you should be spending money on a vacation right now?!"
I was still sucked in, trying to please him. "I'm sorry, I don't understand, Dad. I am not sure what to say, I thought you wanted me to give ideas....?"
My father, loving and kind five minutes before, practically sneered through the phone. "If you want my money," he said, "You're going to have to grovel."
***
I can not, in ten million years, imagine seriously telling Katherine to grovel in order to receive a gift, or imagine begging for her ideas on a vacation and then telling her that her ideas were ridiculous and worthy of scorn. I can not imagine offering her something, and then rescinding it. I can not imagine telling her "Ask for anything!" and then treating her as if she was unreasonable.
I have played this game with my parents my whole life: they offer kindness, gifts, praise....and then switch gears, and I find myself with my head spinning. How can my father go from openly offering a gift - which I did not request or hint at - to treating me as if I'm a foolish spendthrift, and telling me that I need to grovel?
Who the hell tells their kid to grovel to receive gifts?! Never mind that I'm in my mid-forties; this type of language has been around my whole life. My father doesn't just treat me like this, he treats everyone like this, and because he's "the boss" (the patriarch of the family as well as a successful business owner) he gets away with it. Well, except that there are snickers behind his back and I think he knows it....he has his own struggles, and his control issues, his ego issues, likely pain him much more than they pain me.
And here's the lesson I'm trying to learn, deeply and thoroughly: this behavior is not normal or acceptable. It is not a reflection on who I am, or my value. And it is NOT MY JOB TO FIX IT.
***
When Bryan lied to me, I stuck it out for years, and did a lot of self-work to figure out how I was contributing to our marriage problems, and tried to be sexier/more interesting/a better wife. I picked up his slack, over and over, hoping that he'd see that I had worth and value, and the harder I tried, the less he appreciated me. Actually, it was almost an inverse formula: the more I worked at our marriage, the less he did. He was very happy to hand me all of the work....and give me all of the blame.
My parents raised me to be like this, and I'm slow to see it. They switched gears based on their moods or whims, and expected me to respond with gratitude, whether it was to praise or insults (I heard "you can do anything you set your mind to" and "you're a moron!" in equal doses. They raised me to believe that "groveling" was what one does to people in power. I was expected to switch gears when they broke promises, without resentment; *I* was expected to try harder. (The big broken promise was college: in my senior year of high school they told me that they would not pay for my college, after a lifetime of telling me that they would. I managed to put myself through college with only the tiniest bit of help - $100 here and there when I literally could not buy groceries - from my parents. They unabashedly gave my brother a full ride at college, paying for everything, which is more ironic because he dropped out and never graduated, while I managed to get two undergraduate degrees and a masters on my own.)
I have spent the past year groveling to my boss, trying to work around his craziness to make it make sense, to prove that I am worth his praise. In the context of my birth family and my husband, this makes sense. It is pure craziness, and yet in my head I've allowed it to make sense.
***
So what is my lesson? In the midst of all of that craziness, what is it that I am to learn? Saying "Don't sign up for crazy!" is far too simple. What is it that I need to learn?
Here's what I think the lesson is:
Other people's bad behavior is not a reflection of my character, and I don't need to own it in any way. I do not need to prove my worth, to convince them to change, or to accept their behavior. I can say "No" and doing so is a sign of health, self-respect, and integrity. Sticking around to help them to solve their problems - when they don't want to solve their own problems - is not useful or desirable.
When I walked away from my husband, I thought I'd learned that....but I see that it was an incomplete lesson, an important first step, but not my destination.
This week, when my father told me to grovel, I didn't yell at him or accuse him - what would be the point? Instead I just said, "Thanks for your offer but I can manage this." And then I managed it: I did a little road trip, stayed with family in another town, had some adventures. I had a great time, on my own budget, without his help. Most importantly, I didn't grovel, or apologize to him for something I hadn't done, or try to make him feel good about himself. I do not owe him for his offer, and I don't need to wonder what I did wrong that he basically rescinded it, mid-conversation. I did not attempt to convince him of my worth, by groveling or by getting angry.
I think this surprised him, actually.
With my boss, I'm also laying the foundation for walking away. A favorite charity is interviewing me, and I might just get the job. It's a dream job, and I do hope that I get it....but if I don't get this one, I'll get another job, just as good. I've shared my concerns with the board, and they are concerned, also. They see the good work I'm doing, and they are astonished at what I've revealed (especially because it all checks out). In the end, the ED may be fired over this, and the board is begging me to stay. I know that it doesn't feel healthy for me to stay, however, and I am okay walking away. I leave them in better condition than when I found them, and I am ready for my next career step. Their need is not my problem to solve.
***
My worth is not judged by other people's behavior. I do not need to analyze, to convince, to argue, to fight for kind treatment.
I am taking this information with me, into the next phase of my life. In all of my interactions - personal, professional, and everything in between - I am holding fast to this new knowledge.
My worth is not determined by people who are struggling with their own worth.
It is not my responsibility to fix damaged people.
...and, because I am PollyAnna, one more lesson, encapsulated in a Taylor Swift lyric:
"Don't you worry your pretty little mind,
People throw rocks at things that shine..."
Well, I'm shining. With every year, I get a little brighter, learn a little more, make a bit more progress.
Mark my words:
This shiny thing is going to get the next job, and she's going to learn to love herself so deeply and thoroughly that she will attract a man who also knows how to love himself, and together, we will have a love that offers great light into the world. I feel it getting closer, and I know it's true!
***
PS All of this introspection is exhausting. It has taken me months to figure this out, and writing it, my belly has done little flip flops. I am, perhaps, a very slow learner. Better late than never!
Sunday, September 6, 2015
Saturday, May 30, 2015
A filled closet
When Bryan and I were married, we shared a closet. My home, which was ours back then, was built in 1923 when people didn't have as much stuff as we do now, and the closet is only about 7-8 feet long, with a shelf up top and a bar for hangers. He had his half, and I had my half.
Which seems fair, except that I had more clothes than he did (he preferred to cycle through about 10 polo shirts and a couple pairs of jeans and a couple pairs of slacks, whereas I had blouses and skirts and dresses and slacks and jeans and long coats and short coats and so on). My side of the closet was completely crammed, and his had room to spare. Let it be noted that he didn't want more clothes, he was perfectly content with his small wardrobe, because fashion isn't his thing.
One day I noticed that he had lots of space, and that I was crammed, and I put a couple things on his side, past the bracket holding the bar in the middle that marked his vs. mine.
He was livid. He told me that it wasn't fair and that I took more than my share. (Ironic, given spending habits and household work and childcare etc.) He put my things back on my side, pouted, fumed, and stomped his feet. (How sexy, right?)
When he moved out of the bedroom (first to the basement, and then to his own apartment), I took over his side of the closet. My clothes now hung, wrinkle free, with room to breathe. I could feel myself feeling relaxed, even as the clothes relaxed. We were both less confined.
Over time, I've transitioned the plastic hangers to wooden ones, and what's more, I've added to my wardrobe. Now that I'm in charge of my own finances, I've picked up some nicer clothes for myself (again, ironic: our married income was much greater than my single income, but I am so much better off financially without him spending so much on himself) and the closet is once again filled....with my things.
The closet feels symbolic of my own growth, of my own taking care of myself, of my expansion into the world. It's prettier now. It's feminine. It's mine.
And this, perhaps, is a problem.
I'd love to have a partner. I'd love a man who lights up when he sees me. I'd love to fall asleep in someone's arms. I'd love sex (lots and lots and lots of sex). I'd love to share vacations, meals, planning for the future. I'd love to share chores, errands, crises, and joys.
Except that maybe I wouldn't.
I don't want to give up any space in my closet.
I want to share my life with someone, in all of its messy glory, but I don't. I don't want to give up half the closet. I don't want to eat the way someone else wants to eat. I don't want to compromise the way I parent. I don't want to share finances. I don't want to deal with someone else's schedule.
I don't want to be consumed, eaten alive by someone else's desires.
I am terrified of giving my heart to someone ever again, because last time I tried that, I was eaten alive. I lost so much of who I was in my marriage, and I allowed someone to bully me, to blame me, to put his wants and desires in front of mine. I allowed myself to be treated unkindly. I took on too much, I asked for too little, and I turned the other cheek until I felt black and blue (thankfully metaphorically). I lost many of my dreams in the process, and I'm still breathing life back into them, still working on healing them.
I am well aware that in true partnership, there is so much more to be gained than there is to be lost. I am well aware that my marriage was truly and deeply dysfunctional, and that I will never agree to that behavior again. I am well aware that I am operating from a place of fear, and that without opening my heart up, I will not be able to invite another person into my heart.
But I do not trust myself to choose a partner wisely. I do not trust myself to give my heart without giving up my spunk and sass and sass. I have thrown out the baby with the bathwater: I won't let anybody in, because it might not work out, and because I might not know how to manage it.
Well, shit.
I am not a fearful person. I am courageous and strong and brave and I've proved it a hundred times. (Next up: speaking publicly about my breast cancer experience. And after that: topless photos and my story, to be published in a book geared at women newly diagnosed with breast cancer; the first photos - not of me - were recently published in The Huffington Post. These are not for the faint of heart.) I manage my life relatively fearlessly. Last weekend I went backpacking - with a far-too-heavy pack filled with 20 year old equipment - with my daughter, in the wilderness, for two nights. I am not a fearful person.
So I'm going to have to work through these fears, too. I believe that romantic love and companionship is one of the greatest blessings in a life, and I will not exclude myself from that possibility by operating out of fear.
I don't want to give up space in my closet, because I don't want to be small and powerless. I don't want to share, for fear that when I offer the first bite, I will be gobbled up until I'm not even there any more.
I want to find ways to expand my closet so that there's room for two, and expand my soul, so that there is room for two.
I'm not there yet.
Which seems fair, except that I had more clothes than he did (he preferred to cycle through about 10 polo shirts and a couple pairs of jeans and a couple pairs of slacks, whereas I had blouses and skirts and dresses and slacks and jeans and long coats and short coats and so on). My side of the closet was completely crammed, and his had room to spare. Let it be noted that he didn't want more clothes, he was perfectly content with his small wardrobe, because fashion isn't his thing.
One day I noticed that he had lots of space, and that I was crammed, and I put a couple things on his side, past the bracket holding the bar in the middle that marked his vs. mine.
He was livid. He told me that it wasn't fair and that I took more than my share. (Ironic, given spending habits and household work and childcare etc.) He put my things back on my side, pouted, fumed, and stomped his feet. (How sexy, right?)
When he moved out of the bedroom (first to the basement, and then to his own apartment), I took over his side of the closet. My clothes now hung, wrinkle free, with room to breathe. I could feel myself feeling relaxed, even as the clothes relaxed. We were both less confined.
Over time, I've transitioned the plastic hangers to wooden ones, and what's more, I've added to my wardrobe. Now that I'm in charge of my own finances, I've picked up some nicer clothes for myself (again, ironic: our married income was much greater than my single income, but I am so much better off financially without him spending so much on himself) and the closet is once again filled....with my things.
The closet feels symbolic of my own growth, of my own taking care of myself, of my expansion into the world. It's prettier now. It's feminine. It's mine.
And this, perhaps, is a problem.
I'd love to have a partner. I'd love a man who lights up when he sees me. I'd love to fall asleep in someone's arms. I'd love sex (lots and lots and lots of sex). I'd love to share vacations, meals, planning for the future. I'd love to share chores, errands, crises, and joys.
Except that maybe I wouldn't.
I don't want to give up any space in my closet.
I want to share my life with someone, in all of its messy glory, but I don't. I don't want to give up half the closet. I don't want to eat the way someone else wants to eat. I don't want to compromise the way I parent. I don't want to share finances. I don't want to deal with someone else's schedule.
I don't want to be consumed, eaten alive by someone else's desires.
I am terrified of giving my heart to someone ever again, because last time I tried that, I was eaten alive. I lost so much of who I was in my marriage, and I allowed someone to bully me, to blame me, to put his wants and desires in front of mine. I allowed myself to be treated unkindly. I took on too much, I asked for too little, and I turned the other cheek until I felt black and blue (thankfully metaphorically). I lost many of my dreams in the process, and I'm still breathing life back into them, still working on healing them.
I am well aware that in true partnership, there is so much more to be gained than there is to be lost. I am well aware that my marriage was truly and deeply dysfunctional, and that I will never agree to that behavior again. I am well aware that I am operating from a place of fear, and that without opening my heart up, I will not be able to invite another person into my heart.
But I do not trust myself to choose a partner wisely. I do not trust myself to give my heart without giving up my spunk and sass and sass. I have thrown out the baby with the bathwater: I won't let anybody in, because it might not work out, and because I might not know how to manage it.
Well, shit.
I am not a fearful person. I am courageous and strong and brave and I've proved it a hundred times. (Next up: speaking publicly about my breast cancer experience. And after that: topless photos and my story, to be published in a book geared at women newly diagnosed with breast cancer; the first photos - not of me - were recently published in The Huffington Post. These are not for the faint of heart.) I manage my life relatively fearlessly. Last weekend I went backpacking - with a far-too-heavy pack filled with 20 year old equipment - with my daughter, in the wilderness, for two nights. I am not a fearful person.
So I'm going to have to work through these fears, too. I believe that romantic love and companionship is one of the greatest blessings in a life, and I will not exclude myself from that possibility by operating out of fear.
I don't want to give up space in my closet, because I don't want to be small and powerless. I don't want to share, for fear that when I offer the first bite, I will be gobbled up until I'm not even there any more.
I want to find ways to expand my closet so that there's room for two, and expand my soul, so that there is room for two.
I'm not there yet.
Saturday, May 16, 2015
Do overs
I am a huge fan of the do over.
Some are small: a haircut, a new eating routine, painting a room, taking a break. Some are bigger: a new job, a new relationship, starting therapy, a big vacation. Some are enormous: a divorce or a marriage, a new career, a move.
I'm ready for a do over in my life, and I am thinking large scale. I feel so dissatisfied with so many things right now, too many things that make me feel small, and I'm reaching the point of being so dissatisfied that I'm actually going to do something about it.
Some things are easy to define: I am going to look for a new job. Now. I am going to put my heart and soul into the painful work of growing my career. I am going to risk rejection, I am going to balance continuing to work with interviews and mothering, and I'm going to get a better job that will maybe let me get ahead, not just spin my wheels, and that will be in a healthier environment.
Some things are harder to define: right now, I long for the connection of romantic love, and I am completely closed off to it, which means that I'm doomed to dissatisfaction unless I change one of those things. I have seriously considered saying "SCREW IT!" and abandoning my notions of partnership.....and I won't. I am going to embrace the idea of finding love. Somehow. Someday. Doing so makes me feel incredibly vulnerable and it's a painful admission, knowing as I do that there are no guarantees, but I'm going to find a way to stay open.
I'm reading Brene' Brown's latest book, "Daring Greatly," and it's uncomfortable reading. She says that in her search to understand vulnerability, she found that people fell into two categories. The first category of people are perfectionists who measure themselves via their productivity, who subscribe to the temple of busyness, who believe that they are not enough and so they try to be "good" so that people will see their goodness. The second category of people are those who embrace their vulnerability and live wholeheartedly; this second group is often described as being creative.
I long to be a writer. I have written since childhood, I have journals filled with notes, and I have stories that bubble inside me. Lately, the stories are more and more insistent, entering my dreams, popping into my head while I stare at spreadsheets and databases, haunting me when I'm doing other things. I read other people's words, and my stories whisper to me to put them on a page. I keep those stories inside of me, longing for them so much that I can't let them leave me because outside of me, they are not safe. If I let the stories leave me, then they might come under attack and find that people loathe them, pick them apart, can't see their beauty, call them names. Worst, if I let my stories leave me, then they might be met with silence, with nobody who cares about them. They might be ignored.
My stories might be the best part of me; I feel certain that they are. They are me, they are something of my essence. And so having them insulted or ignored feels like an attack on my soul.
So I lock them in a dark room, not daring to put them on paper, because I am the worst offender, and it is I who insult them and ignore them, and I am ashamed of that behavior. I put them in a bubble, safe behind doors, instead. But they wither without sunlight and trees; their muscles shrink without exercise; they long for companionship just as I do.
I want a do over of all of this. It sounds ridiculous to me, even as I type it. If I know what the problem is - and I've known for decades! - then I need to address it. A fat person does not become thin by wishing for thinness; she needs to start by taking walks around the block and skipping the grilled cheese sandwiches in favor of vegetable soup. A person does not become a writer by wishing it: she needs to put it on paper.
***
The timing for this might be perfect.
I am lonely. And feeling disconnected. And my friends are too busy for real connection, leaving us instead with a glass of wine here, a party there, and I want more.
What a perfect time to spend more time writing, to take that solitude and turn it into something.
Maybe my loneliness is a gift. Maybe it's time, and that only with time alone can I create the things that I need to create; maybe the loneliness is a shadow cast by the brighter sun around what I need to do.
***
There's a new TV show starring Lily Tomlin and Jane Fonda called Grace & Frankie. See more here: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt3609352/
The show is surprisingly clever and with a lot more depth than I expected, and you should check it out if you're looking for some entertainment. But that's not why I'm mentioning it. I'm mentioning it here because the two main characters, who have been thrown together in improbable circumstances, are opposites of one another, and I see myself in both of them, even in their opposition. One of the characters is polished, professional, and driven. I long to be like her, and have spent years of my life trying to create a life like that. The other character is wholehearted, unconventional, even strange. I have longed to avoid being weird like that.
But I think I am meant to be weird like that. That being polished and professional and exactly what society wants me to be is exactly what I do not long for. That the split between these two is the source of too much tension in my life.
It's time for me to work on my weird. 45 year old divorced cancer survivor single moms do not become writers in between paying the bills and going to gymnastics competitions.
But I think it's time for me to decide to do just that.
Some are small: a haircut, a new eating routine, painting a room, taking a break. Some are bigger: a new job, a new relationship, starting therapy, a big vacation. Some are enormous: a divorce or a marriage, a new career, a move.
I'm ready for a do over in my life, and I am thinking large scale. I feel so dissatisfied with so many things right now, too many things that make me feel small, and I'm reaching the point of being so dissatisfied that I'm actually going to do something about it.
Some things are easy to define: I am going to look for a new job. Now. I am going to put my heart and soul into the painful work of growing my career. I am going to risk rejection, I am going to balance continuing to work with interviews and mothering, and I'm going to get a better job that will maybe let me get ahead, not just spin my wheels, and that will be in a healthier environment.
Some things are harder to define: right now, I long for the connection of romantic love, and I am completely closed off to it, which means that I'm doomed to dissatisfaction unless I change one of those things. I have seriously considered saying "SCREW IT!" and abandoning my notions of partnership.....and I won't. I am going to embrace the idea of finding love. Somehow. Someday. Doing so makes me feel incredibly vulnerable and it's a painful admission, knowing as I do that there are no guarantees, but I'm going to find a way to stay open.
I'm reading Brene' Brown's latest book, "Daring Greatly," and it's uncomfortable reading. She says that in her search to understand vulnerability, she found that people fell into two categories. The first category of people are perfectionists who measure themselves via their productivity, who subscribe to the temple of busyness, who believe that they are not enough and so they try to be "good" so that people will see their goodness. The second category of people are those who embrace their vulnerability and live wholeheartedly; this second group is often described as being creative.
I long to be a writer. I have written since childhood, I have journals filled with notes, and I have stories that bubble inside me. Lately, the stories are more and more insistent, entering my dreams, popping into my head while I stare at spreadsheets and databases, haunting me when I'm doing other things. I read other people's words, and my stories whisper to me to put them on a page. I keep those stories inside of me, longing for them so much that I can't let them leave me because outside of me, they are not safe. If I let the stories leave me, then they might come under attack and find that people loathe them, pick them apart, can't see their beauty, call them names. Worst, if I let my stories leave me, then they might be met with silence, with nobody who cares about them. They might be ignored.
My stories might be the best part of me; I feel certain that they are. They are me, they are something of my essence. And so having them insulted or ignored feels like an attack on my soul.
So I lock them in a dark room, not daring to put them on paper, because I am the worst offender, and it is I who insult them and ignore them, and I am ashamed of that behavior. I put them in a bubble, safe behind doors, instead. But they wither without sunlight and trees; their muscles shrink without exercise; they long for companionship just as I do.
I want a do over of all of this. It sounds ridiculous to me, even as I type it. If I know what the problem is - and I've known for decades! - then I need to address it. A fat person does not become thin by wishing for thinness; she needs to start by taking walks around the block and skipping the grilled cheese sandwiches in favor of vegetable soup. A person does not become a writer by wishing it: she needs to put it on paper.
***
The timing for this might be perfect.
I am lonely. And feeling disconnected. And my friends are too busy for real connection, leaving us instead with a glass of wine here, a party there, and I want more.
What a perfect time to spend more time writing, to take that solitude and turn it into something.
Maybe my loneliness is a gift. Maybe it's time, and that only with time alone can I create the things that I need to create; maybe the loneliness is a shadow cast by the brighter sun around what I need to do.
***
There's a new TV show starring Lily Tomlin and Jane Fonda called Grace & Frankie. See more here: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt3609352/
The show is surprisingly clever and with a lot more depth than I expected, and you should check it out if you're looking for some entertainment. But that's not why I'm mentioning it. I'm mentioning it here because the two main characters, who have been thrown together in improbable circumstances, are opposites of one another, and I see myself in both of them, even in their opposition. One of the characters is polished, professional, and driven. I long to be like her, and have spent years of my life trying to create a life like that. The other character is wholehearted, unconventional, even strange. I have longed to avoid being weird like that.
But I think I am meant to be weird like that. That being polished and professional and exactly what society wants me to be is exactly what I do not long for. That the split between these two is the source of too much tension in my life.
It's time for me to work on my weird. 45 year old divorced cancer survivor single moms do not become writers in between paying the bills and going to gymnastics competitions.
But I think it's time for me to decide to do just that.
Monday, May 11, 2015
Depth
Dear readers, I'm struggling.
I am so good at being a PollyAnna that sometimes I don't see my feelings following me like a shadow; I'm so good at finding light that when I stumble into darkness it somewhat startles me.
I'm feeling startled.
This has been a particularly rough month: a death in the family that brought up old feelings about a different death in the family (someone that I still deeply miss); Bryan's stroke; my father's eye surgery; Katherine's flu (not a big deal except that she felt horrid and I had to juggle childcare versus work, and it's hard to see her sick like that); and the never ending saga of my dysfunctional work environment and some pressures I feel there and my confusion about what to do next. I've had late nights working, and I feel worn through to the bone.
It should come as no surprise that a list like that would make me feel sad, and it did. I plowed on through. I kept going, keeping all the balls in the air. I keep doing that, actually: spending half the weekend doing fun kid things and half the weekend doing chores.
I reached out to friends a couple of times this month, deeply. I told one friend that I just felt like crying, and she said, "You need down time, a four day weekend...." and then she proceeded to ask for my help with some of her chores (long story involving a mouse that got into a cupboard and her freak out over it that involved throwing away half of her kitchen pantry and cleaning like a madwoman...with my help). I called another friend and said, "I think I'm having a panic attack!" and she said, "Oh no! What can I do to help?" and then we got cut off and she had a meeting and she forgot to call back.
I don't have shitty friends, but this was shitty behavior.
I believe in confronting my issues head on, and whether I want to or not, all of this has me looking hard at my life, trying to figure out what's going on in my head behind the positive attitude.
I'm realizing that, though surrounded by lovely, loving people, I feel isolated and lonely.
Oh, crapcrapcrap. I don't want to feel like that. Surely it's me? Surely there is some attitude adjustment that I can make, some revision of my attitude, some way to shine light on the shadow to MAKE IT GO AWAY? I have many friends: I feel liked, and I get invited to parties and whatnot....
But no, this is real, and ignoring it or pretending it away won't work.
The life of a 45 year old divorced woman who isn't into the party scene and doesn't want to go on dozens of first dates or settle for a "nice" relationship is lonely. I'm lonely.
My friends, while well intentioned, really just don't get it. Their lives are centered around their families, most of which include husbands. At the end of the day, they crawl under the covers and say "Hey could you call the mechanic about the weird sound the car started making?" and "What do you want to do about choosing high schools?" and "Where do you want to go on vacation?" They have double the financial resources, or more, because they weren't stay at home moms who took a decade "off" before going into nonprofit. They have someone to help mow the grass, or they can afford to pay someone else to do it. They have a built in support system, inside their homes. I know that their support system is often imperfect, and that spouses can be selfish or thoughtless or forgetful....but at the end of the day, my friends choose to slide under the sheets next to the warm body of the person that they've chosen to share their lives with.
While I get invited to a lot of parties (usually kid-focused affairs with potlucks), I've noticed that my dinner invitations have dropped off. My married friends invite married friends over; the guys want to talk about the Seahawks or man-stuff (clearly I'm clueless in this regard) and I don't bring a plus-one for them to play with. Same is true of weekends away. Some of this is financial: my friends are, for the great part, far better off than I am at this point, and I simply can't join the girls' weekend in Palm Springs or the ski trip to Sun Valley or rent a cabin in the Methow because I don't have the means.
I know how much I have to be grateful for. I haven't forgotten.
But I'm lonely, and for good reasons.
I told one friend about my feelings about being single in a world designed for couples, and she got super-defensive about it, as if I were accusing her of being a bad person and a bad friend. Dear reader, her reaction made me feel like their were some truth to her response....it wasn't the response of a friend looking out for me, it was the response of someone who wanted to be told that despite her absence in my life, a fifteen minute phone call filled with "You know I love you!" and "I miss you!" and "Don't worry, I trust that you'll get what you need!" would somehow make it okay. It's friendship-light. I don't want shallow, I want deep. I don't want nice words, I want the actions that support those words. Have my friendships become friendship-light? Airy declarations of friendship without substance? A horrid thought, not one I've had before, and it's troubling, and it makes me feel lonelier than ever.
What I want is my plus-one. I'm realizing that friends can't fill that role, and that I am spending far too much time alone. How can I not? I must weed the strawberry beds, go to the grocery store, drive to gymnastics. Every weekend I gather with friends for three or four hours or so out of my long week....and it isn't enough. But I don't want parties with breezy talk and I don't need grand vacations....I want the companionship of a partner with shared goals. I want an adult across the dinner table; I want an arm around my shoulders; I want someone to chat with about the NPR article; I want a hiking companion. I don't want to be surrounded by people, I want the depth of relationship.
I know how to find companionship: it's easy to find activities. I want more than that.
I have more questions than answers, and I'm going to try to unravel these thoughts and figure out how to find peace with them. I know that a work environment with colleagues would be a massive improvement; I know that lifting my financial purgatory (hey, it's better than hell!) will probably lift my mood.
I am not hopeful about finding a life partner, and perhaps it is this realization that has brought this loneliness about.
Life is messy and complicated. I will figure it out, and I will find my joie de vivre again. Somehow.
I am so good at being a PollyAnna that sometimes I don't see my feelings following me like a shadow; I'm so good at finding light that when I stumble into darkness it somewhat startles me.
I'm feeling startled.
This has been a particularly rough month: a death in the family that brought up old feelings about a different death in the family (someone that I still deeply miss); Bryan's stroke; my father's eye surgery; Katherine's flu (not a big deal except that she felt horrid and I had to juggle childcare versus work, and it's hard to see her sick like that); and the never ending saga of my dysfunctional work environment and some pressures I feel there and my confusion about what to do next. I've had late nights working, and I feel worn through to the bone.
It should come as no surprise that a list like that would make me feel sad, and it did. I plowed on through. I kept going, keeping all the balls in the air. I keep doing that, actually: spending half the weekend doing fun kid things and half the weekend doing chores.
I reached out to friends a couple of times this month, deeply. I told one friend that I just felt like crying, and she said, "You need down time, a four day weekend...." and then she proceeded to ask for my help with some of her chores (long story involving a mouse that got into a cupboard and her freak out over it that involved throwing away half of her kitchen pantry and cleaning like a madwoman...with my help). I called another friend and said, "I think I'm having a panic attack!" and she said, "Oh no! What can I do to help?" and then we got cut off and she had a meeting and she forgot to call back.
I don't have shitty friends, but this was shitty behavior.
I believe in confronting my issues head on, and whether I want to or not, all of this has me looking hard at my life, trying to figure out what's going on in my head behind the positive attitude.
I'm realizing that, though surrounded by lovely, loving people, I feel isolated and lonely.
Oh, crapcrapcrap. I don't want to feel like that. Surely it's me? Surely there is some attitude adjustment that I can make, some revision of my attitude, some way to shine light on the shadow to MAKE IT GO AWAY? I have many friends: I feel liked, and I get invited to parties and whatnot....
But no, this is real, and ignoring it or pretending it away won't work.
The life of a 45 year old divorced woman who isn't into the party scene and doesn't want to go on dozens of first dates or settle for a "nice" relationship is lonely. I'm lonely.
My friends, while well intentioned, really just don't get it. Their lives are centered around their families, most of which include husbands. At the end of the day, they crawl under the covers and say "Hey could you call the mechanic about the weird sound the car started making?" and "What do you want to do about choosing high schools?" and "Where do you want to go on vacation?" They have double the financial resources, or more, because they weren't stay at home moms who took a decade "off" before going into nonprofit. They have someone to help mow the grass, or they can afford to pay someone else to do it. They have a built in support system, inside their homes. I know that their support system is often imperfect, and that spouses can be selfish or thoughtless or forgetful....but at the end of the day, my friends choose to slide under the sheets next to the warm body of the person that they've chosen to share their lives with.
While I get invited to a lot of parties (usually kid-focused affairs with potlucks), I've noticed that my dinner invitations have dropped off. My married friends invite married friends over; the guys want to talk about the Seahawks or man-stuff (clearly I'm clueless in this regard) and I don't bring a plus-one for them to play with. Same is true of weekends away. Some of this is financial: my friends are, for the great part, far better off than I am at this point, and I simply can't join the girls' weekend in Palm Springs or the ski trip to Sun Valley or rent a cabin in the Methow because I don't have the means.
I know how much I have to be grateful for. I haven't forgotten.
But I'm lonely, and for good reasons.
I told one friend about my feelings about being single in a world designed for couples, and she got super-defensive about it, as if I were accusing her of being a bad person and a bad friend. Dear reader, her reaction made me feel like their were some truth to her response....it wasn't the response of a friend looking out for me, it was the response of someone who wanted to be told that despite her absence in my life, a fifteen minute phone call filled with "You know I love you!" and "I miss you!" and "Don't worry, I trust that you'll get what you need!" would somehow make it okay. It's friendship-light. I don't want shallow, I want deep. I don't want nice words, I want the actions that support those words. Have my friendships become friendship-light? Airy declarations of friendship without substance? A horrid thought, not one I've had before, and it's troubling, and it makes me feel lonelier than ever.
What I want is my plus-one. I'm realizing that friends can't fill that role, and that I am spending far too much time alone. How can I not? I must weed the strawberry beds, go to the grocery store, drive to gymnastics. Every weekend I gather with friends for three or four hours or so out of my long week....and it isn't enough. But I don't want parties with breezy talk and I don't need grand vacations....I want the companionship of a partner with shared goals. I want an adult across the dinner table; I want an arm around my shoulders; I want someone to chat with about the NPR article; I want a hiking companion. I don't want to be surrounded by people, I want the depth of relationship.
I know how to find companionship: it's easy to find activities. I want more than that.
I have more questions than answers, and I'm going to try to unravel these thoughts and figure out how to find peace with them. I know that a work environment with colleagues would be a massive improvement; I know that lifting my financial purgatory (hey, it's better than hell!) will probably lift my mood.
I am not hopeful about finding a life partner, and perhaps it is this realization that has brought this loneliness about.
Life is messy and complicated. I will figure it out, and I will find my joie de vivre again. Somehow.
Thursday, April 30, 2015
'Til Death Do You Part
I take my promises seriously. I like looking in the mirror and seeing integrity, so I contort myself into ridiculous positions to keep promises. Mostly, I like it that way: it's a choice that helps me to sleep at night, and it's a comforting guideline for my own behavior when I wonder what to do ("Should I....oh, wait, I've already decided....I have to keep my promise even when it's inconvenient").
It seems to me that I am keeping a promise that I made, even after I thought I broke it.
Getting divorced is, at some level, the ultimate breaking of a promise. All of those vows, spoken in sincerity to a beloved, surrounded by family and friends, are broken.
I spoke the traditional vows at my wedding to Bryan. I joked that I had grown up hearing them, and it seemed like we wouldn't 'really' be married unless I heard those familiar words:
I thought, as it seems reasonable, that I had broken every last one of those vows when I uttered the words "We need a divorce."
It turns out that nothing is simple, and this isn't simple.
He's not my husband, and that's pretty clear. Legally, spiritually, in whatever way possible, he is no longer my husband. But after that, it gets pretty tricky, as it turns out. He's not my husband, but he is still mine. Sharing a child keeps us together, and he is "my" ex. It definitely got worse (and worse, and worse), and there was a great deal of sickness and "poorer", and we are still tangled together, divorced though we may be, co-parenting that child of ours.
Love? Believe it or not, I actually work at loving Bryan. Not in a wifely way - the mere idea sends a quiver of fear and something bordering on revulsion through me - no, I do not feel even a drop of romantic love for the man I once shared my body and days with. But I want to feel a sort of Buddhist love for all beings that includes Bryan, and I believe that hate is too hard to live with, so I work on love. I do it imperfectly - my love in this regard is deeply flawed, filled with resentments - but I do work on it. I do it for myself more than I do it for him, because it is who I wish to be, transcending our problems and seeing him as my father's daughter and a human being more than I see him as my issues with him.
I have given up hope of "cherish" though, and of all of the vows we made, that is the one that I most deeply regret having broken. I long to be cherished - I feel it achingly; I feel parched and longing to be cherished. I am not cherished, and I do not cherish.
But that last one? There's the rub.
I thought we had parted - that the divorce papers proved it, that the separate residences were proof of it, that the separate bank accounts were part of it, that the separate vacations, dinner parties, and such were proof. And yet, I can see that this is a vow that I have kept. He will be in my life, at some level, until one of us dies.
Last week, Bryan had a mini stroke. He informed me of it casually when I asked him an unrelated question in idle conversation while we waited for Katherine to gather her things at the child-transfer, as if it was no big deal and I should feel sorry for him all at once. "I can't bike," he said, "because I've had some health issues." "Oh, are you okay?" I asked, thinking he had a cold or something. "I don't know," he replied, "but one morning this week I woke up and I couldn't move one side of my body, and now it is all tingly and numb."
He did not go to the doctor. Instead, he "casually" threw out this information, and it landed like a pile of dog excrement hitting me in the chest.
I fell into over-compensating mode. This is Katherine's father, and I recognized the signs of a stroke as soon as the words were out of his mouth, and all I could think is "Please don't leave our girl. She needs you! She has lost so much already, don't die and leave her to hurt." What I said was "I believe you've had a stroke and you MUST go to the doctor" and so on. He blew me off, of course - who wants to listen to advice from their ex-wife? Not most, and not him.
I persisted. I sent Mayo Clinic and WebMD links about strokes and symptoms of strokes. I told him that I knew that my opinion didn't count, but that he should take care of himself for his own sake, but that if he wouldn't do that, I begged him to do it for Katherine's sake. (Yes, I see the forbidden words. Should? Must? Not appropriate language for ex-wives.)
Eventually, he went to the doctor (a week after the stroke). The doctor confirmed my suspicions. He also confirmed that Bryan's blood pressure is at the "crisis" level, the level at which 911 should be called (even in the absence of other symptoms) and death is a possibility and organ damage is occurring and future heart attacks and strokes are predicted. He was immediately put on meds and has a series of tests and appointments lined up. Bryan sent me an email thanking me for sending him to the doctor: he knows that I have likely saved his life by doing so.
Until death do us part, indeed.
***
This week I've felt incredibly sad, but that sadness is quickly followed by anger. Flashing, bright, burning anger.
I got a divorce in part because I could not bear to be with someone who consistently made horrible life choices that had negative impacts on my life. I could not bear to tie my fate to someone who not only blamed me for his problems, and could or would not support my problems, but who also went against the advice of all advisors (wives, bosses, financial planners, doctors, etc.) and made foolish decisions and then told me that "what's done is done" and left me to clean up the messes. He mismanages his life just as he mismanaged our marriage, and I want no part of it: it is clear that unless he changes dramatically, he will go down in flames, and I choose not to join him in that journey.
And yet it continues to fall on my shoulders to guide him out of disaster, and I can not shake my obligation to protect Katherine from her father's death. I could not face myself if he indicated that he'd had a stroke, and I did not encourage him to go to the doctor or share my suspicions about what had happened to him. Loving humanity means reaching out to someone in great need, and this is sometimes a burden. Right now, it feels like a huge emotional burden with Bryan.
I "let" him do whatever he wants most of the time, refusing to think about it or to interfere, and I've been grateful for that. His unemployment, his parenting - these things I do not touch.
But this is life or death, and there is one thing clear to me: there is no recovery once he's dead. Katherine can manage her flawed parents, and she can see his mistakes for herself, and she can manage the disappointment of a dad who is only partially available to her. But once he's dead? Nothing.
'Til death do us part. Apparently I continue to keep that promise, despite my intention to break it.
It seems to me that I am keeping a promise that I made, even after I thought I broke it.
Getting divorced is, at some level, the ultimate breaking of a promise. All of those vows, spoken in sincerity to a beloved, surrounded by family and friends, are broken.
I spoke the traditional vows at my wedding to Bryan. I joked that I had grown up hearing them, and it seemed like we wouldn't 'really' be married unless I heard those familiar words:
I, PollyAnna, take you Bryan, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.
I thought, as it seems reasonable, that I had broken every last one of those vows when I uttered the words "We need a divorce."
It turns out that nothing is simple, and this isn't simple.
He's not my husband, and that's pretty clear. Legally, spiritually, in whatever way possible, he is no longer my husband. But after that, it gets pretty tricky, as it turns out. He's not my husband, but he is still mine. Sharing a child keeps us together, and he is "my" ex. It definitely got worse (and worse, and worse), and there was a great deal of sickness and "poorer", and we are still tangled together, divorced though we may be, co-parenting that child of ours.
Love? Believe it or not, I actually work at loving Bryan. Not in a wifely way - the mere idea sends a quiver of fear and something bordering on revulsion through me - no, I do not feel even a drop of romantic love for the man I once shared my body and days with. But I want to feel a sort of Buddhist love for all beings that includes Bryan, and I believe that hate is too hard to live with, so I work on love. I do it imperfectly - my love in this regard is deeply flawed, filled with resentments - but I do work on it. I do it for myself more than I do it for him, because it is who I wish to be, transcending our problems and seeing him as my father's daughter and a human being more than I see him as my issues with him.
I have given up hope of "cherish" though, and of all of the vows we made, that is the one that I most deeply regret having broken. I long to be cherished - I feel it achingly; I feel parched and longing to be cherished. I am not cherished, and I do not cherish.
But that last one? There's the rub.
I thought we had parted - that the divorce papers proved it, that the separate residences were proof of it, that the separate bank accounts were part of it, that the separate vacations, dinner parties, and such were proof. And yet, I can see that this is a vow that I have kept. He will be in my life, at some level, until one of us dies.
Last week, Bryan had a mini stroke. He informed me of it casually when I asked him an unrelated question in idle conversation while we waited for Katherine to gather her things at the child-transfer, as if it was no big deal and I should feel sorry for him all at once. "I can't bike," he said, "because I've had some health issues." "Oh, are you okay?" I asked, thinking he had a cold or something. "I don't know," he replied, "but one morning this week I woke up and I couldn't move one side of my body, and now it is all tingly and numb."
He did not go to the doctor. Instead, he "casually" threw out this information, and it landed like a pile of dog excrement hitting me in the chest.
I fell into over-compensating mode. This is Katherine's father, and I recognized the signs of a stroke as soon as the words were out of his mouth, and all I could think is "Please don't leave our girl. She needs you! She has lost so much already, don't die and leave her to hurt." What I said was "I believe you've had a stroke and you MUST go to the doctor" and so on. He blew me off, of course - who wants to listen to advice from their ex-wife? Not most, and not him.
I persisted. I sent Mayo Clinic and WebMD links about strokes and symptoms of strokes. I told him that I knew that my opinion didn't count, but that he should take care of himself for his own sake, but that if he wouldn't do that, I begged him to do it for Katherine's sake. (Yes, I see the forbidden words. Should? Must? Not appropriate language for ex-wives.)
Eventually, he went to the doctor (a week after the stroke). The doctor confirmed my suspicions. He also confirmed that Bryan's blood pressure is at the "crisis" level, the level at which 911 should be called (even in the absence of other symptoms) and death is a possibility and organ damage is occurring and future heart attacks and strokes are predicted. He was immediately put on meds and has a series of tests and appointments lined up. Bryan sent me an email thanking me for sending him to the doctor: he knows that I have likely saved his life by doing so.
Until death do us part, indeed.
***
This week I've felt incredibly sad, but that sadness is quickly followed by anger. Flashing, bright, burning anger.
I got a divorce in part because I could not bear to be with someone who consistently made horrible life choices that had negative impacts on my life. I could not bear to tie my fate to someone who not only blamed me for his problems, and could or would not support my problems, but who also went against the advice of all advisors (wives, bosses, financial planners, doctors, etc.) and made foolish decisions and then told me that "what's done is done" and left me to clean up the messes. He mismanages his life just as he mismanaged our marriage, and I want no part of it: it is clear that unless he changes dramatically, he will go down in flames, and I choose not to join him in that journey.
And yet it continues to fall on my shoulders to guide him out of disaster, and I can not shake my obligation to protect Katherine from her father's death. I could not face myself if he indicated that he'd had a stroke, and I did not encourage him to go to the doctor or share my suspicions about what had happened to him. Loving humanity means reaching out to someone in great need, and this is sometimes a burden. Right now, it feels like a huge emotional burden with Bryan.
I "let" him do whatever he wants most of the time, refusing to think about it or to interfere, and I've been grateful for that. His unemployment, his parenting - these things I do not touch.
But this is life or death, and there is one thing clear to me: there is no recovery once he's dead. Katherine can manage her flawed parents, and she can see his mistakes for herself, and she can manage the disappointment of a dad who is only partially available to her. But once he's dead? Nothing.
'Til death do us part. Apparently I continue to keep that promise, despite my intention to break it.
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
Uncertain
I really, truly, deeply loathe uncertainty.
For me, the hardest part is not actually DOING the hardest part, it's muddling through what ought to be done, not sure of my path. Hearing that I would need a mastectomy and wondering if I'd be able to face all that entailed was actually harder than doing the surgery; when I woke up and faced my own wounds, still in recovery, it was almost a blessed relief: I had done the deed, I had survived it, and I was still me.
But the uncertainty about my ability to manage it, to know what to think, felt deadly.
I am in a time of uncertainty right now, a crossroads of sorts. I did not get the job, and after the initial gulping, gasping sting of that blow to my ego (if not to my career), I am left feeling....unsure. I don't even know what I feel. I am not dead, nor gasping for air. I am not jubilant. I am not angry. But I am confused, uncertain, unsure.
What do I do next?
Going after the job felt certain: I had a plan, and I stuck to it. I did my best. I thought it out. I practically dreamed of it, wondered about it, but felt certain that I was on the right path. Clearly I was wrong, as it was not my path, but being wrong is something I'm used to. I may have been meant to interview, but the job was not meant for me, and I am not bitter about it. There were warning signs - too many interviews/hoops, and a job open for too long, and a process that took months - and perhaps it wasn't as good as I'd hoped. Certainly, I'll never know now, and I have a fair amount of peace about that.
Still, I have no idea what to do in the aftermath. I thought that I should stay at my current job 18 months before moving on (professionally and personally it might be a good idea!), but it feels simultaneously uncomfortably small and frustrating, and like maybe I could accomplish great things there before moving on. Should I re-gather my energy and go after another job, or should I stay where I am?
Staying has advantages. It is TIRING to start a new job at a new company, and I'd have to prove myself all over again, putting in lots of hours and learning new things from scratch. Summer is coming, and with it the summer childcare nightmare, and in my current position I have some flexibility to pick up or drop off Katherine early or late, to work from home. My boss knows that I work hard, has seen the last year's worth of 4:30am emails and late nights, and I have some leeway, well earned. At a new job, there would be no summer vacation, no leeway. Am I ready to take that on....again?
Leaving has its advantages. I am truly underpaid for my industry, and struggling with that. I would make more, significantly more, where I go next. I would seek out, and find, a significantly more functional organization. I'd grow professionally. I'd get a larger group of colleagues, and mentors (something I deeply crave).
Am I ready to leave? Or shall I put in more time? I am uncertain.
This uncertainty is rippling into the rest of my life as well. I have writer's block. I feel anti-social, declining invitations and delaying returning personal emails. I don't know where I want to be in six months, or what I should be doing to get there. It's unlike me - I do my best when I'm busy, on the path, marching along, watching the scenery. But right now, I feel very still, very in place, and it's uncomfortable.
***
I also had a little epiphany about men that has me feeling uncertain. Bryan and I didn't have a spark, certainly not when we first met, nor for several years afterwards, and I've thought that was part of my mistake, and that sparks were part of the future deal I would strike. But something happened that has me questioning that idea, and it's caught me off guard.
I've talked here about Gymnastics Dad. Handsome, "just my type" physically, with a bit of an edge. Very creative, very expressive. Very self involved (when we went for a walk together, he did not notice puddles and step aside for me, nor did he slow down when I had to stop and wait for him to go around them, so I then had to scurry to catch up with him...and scurrying is not romantic or sexy). Maybe a bit of a party boy. A bit moody. Think George Clooney meets James Dean - a bit of a bad boy with charm. I looked up and saw him for the first time, and every hormone in my body sang a little song and perked up, a physical reaction to his sexiness.
But let's face it, he's a bit of a jerk. A charming, boyish, smart, creative, attractive.....jerk. He gave me a tiny casual lie the other day, something small and insignificant, and then, I think fearing that I'd caught him, he love bombed me, and gave me more compliments than expected, and was more charming than usual.
The old me would have been confused - surely such a small lie doesn't matter, or maybe I was wrong and he really did what he said he did? (He did not.) And such nice things to say.....give him a break! But it feels wrong, but I want it to be right....and round and round it goes.
The new me can't smile and back away fast enough. He's charming, and if I did friends with benefits I think I'd sign up. Alas, that is not my way, and so I did not.
And here leads to the funny epiphany.
Yesterday at gymnastics I walked in and literally walked right past one of the other dads, also a divorced dad that I sometimes talk to, without even seeing him. He called out to me and smiled, so I apologized ("Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't see you at first!") and sat down next to him for a chat.
We talked about hiking. Backpacking. Books, fiction and nonfiction. Cooking, and baking. Our kids. (It should be noted that though he is divorced, he often comes to see his daughter when it's not his night "on". I find this incredibly attractive in a person, male or female.) His eyes twinkled, and I noticed for the first time how incredibly smart he is. He spoke kindly of his ex-wife (and Gymnastics Dad says that his ex is horrible, then explains how horrible). I know that he's kind to his ex-wife, actually, because I'm also friends with her through gymnastics (we really do spend a lot of time bringing our kids there), and she speaks well of him. She's going through a hard time, and he had the kids make her a nice meal - he's that kind of ex-husband. (Just like I'm that kind of ex-wife; interesting!)
I saw him as a man for the first time. I noticed that he's tall. That he's got broad shoulders. That he probably works out. That he (ahem) has big feet, and wears nice shoes. That he shaves his head all the way, and carries it off. I noticed that he lights up when he talks about things he cares about. But most of all, I noticed how absolutely steady he seemed. Something in him (and really, I'm pretty good at identifying these things when I am honest with myself) seems rock-solid and believable; I think he's a man of his word, someone you could depend upon. He's not George Clooney, or Brad Pitt. He's attractive in a normal kind of way. But suddenly, I saw him differently, all at once.
It all came to me at once, after 20 conversations with his man prior to yesterday, and I almost started laughing.
I have had a mad crush on Gymnastics Dad, felt irresistibly drawn to him. And I had a crush on the wrong Gymnastics Dad. How is it that I've ignored someone much better suited to me, who has sat ten feet away through many of my conversations with Gymnastics Dad?!
No, I don't know what I am doing. I don't know where I'm going. I'm not dating, so "noticing" a man doesn't mean anything. Except that I'm trying to sit with my own uncertainty about where I am, where I'm going, and what I want.
***
It's new for me. I'm learning to sit with it, wait it out. Who knows what will happen next? Not me! For now, I walk the path of uncertainty about life, career, romance. Time will reveal all.
For me, the hardest part is not actually DOING the hardest part, it's muddling through what ought to be done, not sure of my path. Hearing that I would need a mastectomy and wondering if I'd be able to face all that entailed was actually harder than doing the surgery; when I woke up and faced my own wounds, still in recovery, it was almost a blessed relief: I had done the deed, I had survived it, and I was still me.
But the uncertainty about my ability to manage it, to know what to think, felt deadly.
I am in a time of uncertainty right now, a crossroads of sorts. I did not get the job, and after the initial gulping, gasping sting of that blow to my ego (if not to my career), I am left feeling....unsure. I don't even know what I feel. I am not dead, nor gasping for air. I am not jubilant. I am not angry. But I am confused, uncertain, unsure.
What do I do next?
Going after the job felt certain: I had a plan, and I stuck to it. I did my best. I thought it out. I practically dreamed of it, wondered about it, but felt certain that I was on the right path. Clearly I was wrong, as it was not my path, but being wrong is something I'm used to. I may have been meant to interview, but the job was not meant for me, and I am not bitter about it. There were warning signs - too many interviews/hoops, and a job open for too long, and a process that took months - and perhaps it wasn't as good as I'd hoped. Certainly, I'll never know now, and I have a fair amount of peace about that.
Still, I have no idea what to do in the aftermath. I thought that I should stay at my current job 18 months before moving on (professionally and personally it might be a good idea!), but it feels simultaneously uncomfortably small and frustrating, and like maybe I could accomplish great things there before moving on. Should I re-gather my energy and go after another job, or should I stay where I am?
Staying has advantages. It is TIRING to start a new job at a new company, and I'd have to prove myself all over again, putting in lots of hours and learning new things from scratch. Summer is coming, and with it the summer childcare nightmare, and in my current position I have some flexibility to pick up or drop off Katherine early or late, to work from home. My boss knows that I work hard, has seen the last year's worth of 4:30am emails and late nights, and I have some leeway, well earned. At a new job, there would be no summer vacation, no leeway. Am I ready to take that on....again?
Leaving has its advantages. I am truly underpaid for my industry, and struggling with that. I would make more, significantly more, where I go next. I would seek out, and find, a significantly more functional organization. I'd grow professionally. I'd get a larger group of colleagues, and mentors (something I deeply crave).
Am I ready to leave? Or shall I put in more time? I am uncertain.
This uncertainty is rippling into the rest of my life as well. I have writer's block. I feel anti-social, declining invitations and delaying returning personal emails. I don't know where I want to be in six months, or what I should be doing to get there. It's unlike me - I do my best when I'm busy, on the path, marching along, watching the scenery. But right now, I feel very still, very in place, and it's uncomfortable.
***
I also had a little epiphany about men that has me feeling uncertain. Bryan and I didn't have a spark, certainly not when we first met, nor for several years afterwards, and I've thought that was part of my mistake, and that sparks were part of the future deal I would strike. But something happened that has me questioning that idea, and it's caught me off guard.
I've talked here about Gymnastics Dad. Handsome, "just my type" physically, with a bit of an edge. Very creative, very expressive. Very self involved (when we went for a walk together, he did not notice puddles and step aside for me, nor did he slow down when I had to stop and wait for him to go around them, so I then had to scurry to catch up with him...and scurrying is not romantic or sexy). Maybe a bit of a party boy. A bit moody. Think George Clooney meets James Dean - a bit of a bad boy with charm. I looked up and saw him for the first time, and every hormone in my body sang a little song and perked up, a physical reaction to his sexiness.
But let's face it, he's a bit of a jerk. A charming, boyish, smart, creative, attractive.....jerk. He gave me a tiny casual lie the other day, something small and insignificant, and then, I think fearing that I'd caught him, he love bombed me, and gave me more compliments than expected, and was more charming than usual.
The old me would have been confused - surely such a small lie doesn't matter, or maybe I was wrong and he really did what he said he did? (He did not.) And such nice things to say.....give him a break! But it feels wrong, but I want it to be right....and round and round it goes.
The new me can't smile and back away fast enough. He's charming, and if I did friends with benefits I think I'd sign up. Alas, that is not my way, and so I did not.
And here leads to the funny epiphany.
Yesterday at gymnastics I walked in and literally walked right past one of the other dads, also a divorced dad that I sometimes talk to, without even seeing him. He called out to me and smiled, so I apologized ("Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't see you at first!") and sat down next to him for a chat.
We talked about hiking. Backpacking. Books, fiction and nonfiction. Cooking, and baking. Our kids. (It should be noted that though he is divorced, he often comes to see his daughter when it's not his night "on". I find this incredibly attractive in a person, male or female.) His eyes twinkled, and I noticed for the first time how incredibly smart he is. He spoke kindly of his ex-wife (and Gymnastics Dad says that his ex is horrible, then explains how horrible). I know that he's kind to his ex-wife, actually, because I'm also friends with her through gymnastics (we really do spend a lot of time bringing our kids there), and she speaks well of him. She's going through a hard time, and he had the kids make her a nice meal - he's that kind of ex-husband. (Just like I'm that kind of ex-wife; interesting!)
I saw him as a man for the first time. I noticed that he's tall. That he's got broad shoulders. That he probably works out. That he (ahem) has big feet, and wears nice shoes. That he shaves his head all the way, and carries it off. I noticed that he lights up when he talks about things he cares about. But most of all, I noticed how absolutely steady he seemed. Something in him (and really, I'm pretty good at identifying these things when I am honest with myself) seems rock-solid and believable; I think he's a man of his word, someone you could depend upon. He's not George Clooney, or Brad Pitt. He's attractive in a normal kind of way. But suddenly, I saw him differently, all at once.
It all came to me at once, after 20 conversations with his man prior to yesterday, and I almost started laughing.
I have had a mad crush on Gymnastics Dad, felt irresistibly drawn to him. And I had a crush on the wrong Gymnastics Dad. How is it that I've ignored someone much better suited to me, who has sat ten feet away through many of my conversations with Gymnastics Dad?!
No, I don't know what I am doing. I don't know where I'm going. I'm not dating, so "noticing" a man doesn't mean anything. Except that I'm trying to sit with my own uncertainty about where I am, where I'm going, and what I want.
***
It's new for me. I'm learning to sit with it, wait it out. Who knows what will happen next? Not me! For now, I walk the path of uncertainty about life, career, romance. Time will reveal all.
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
Sugar Crash
I've been in a bit of a fog since I got the news that the dream job is someone else's reality, not mine.
I had a happy little sugar buzz going on for the past few months while I dreamed of what could be, but I feel the crash now. All the sugar of that sweet dream has left my system, and I'm left with.....I don't know what I'm left with. All I know is that it doesn't feel great.
I'm going to lick my wounds this week. Mothering, working, and life in general will not wait while I figure out my next steps, so I keep doing them. The yard must be mowed, the evening meeting awaits, and the endless cycle of dishes and laundry calls. Friends are calling to offer support, and the weekend seems so far away but so tantalizing, and life marches on.
This week, I will sulk quietly, regroup, try to be gentle with myself. I feel exhausted by the process, and I just want to catch my breath.
Next week, I'll implement some new plan. Bigger, better, more.
But today I wish I could stay in my pajamas all day, drinking herbal tea and staring out the window, possibly taking a break to bake. Today, even in the rain, would be good day to hunch over in the garden, pulling weeds mindlessly.
But instead, onward march. One foot in front of the other, not quite sure where I'm going, but pretty sure that I need to keep on moving, and hopeful that every step gets me closer to something I want.
(I hope it's not another Character Building Lesson. All of this character building is tiresome.)
I had a happy little sugar buzz going on for the past few months while I dreamed of what could be, but I feel the crash now. All the sugar of that sweet dream has left my system, and I'm left with.....I don't know what I'm left with. All I know is that it doesn't feel great.
I'm going to lick my wounds this week. Mothering, working, and life in general will not wait while I figure out my next steps, so I keep doing them. The yard must be mowed, the evening meeting awaits, and the endless cycle of dishes and laundry calls. Friends are calling to offer support, and the weekend seems so far away but so tantalizing, and life marches on.
This week, I will sulk quietly, regroup, try to be gentle with myself. I feel exhausted by the process, and I just want to catch my breath.
Next week, I'll implement some new plan. Bigger, better, more.
But today I wish I could stay in my pajamas all day, drinking herbal tea and staring out the window, possibly taking a break to bake. Today, even in the rain, would be good day to hunch over in the garden, pulling weeds mindlessly.
But instead, onward march. One foot in front of the other, not quite sure where I'm going, but pretty sure that I need to keep on moving, and hopeful that every step gets me closer to something I want.
(I hope it's not another Character Building Lesson. All of this character building is tiresome.)
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