Things That Make Me Happy: Maintaining Good Relationships

There was a time when I didn’t believe that ex’s could be friends. Actually, there was a time that I didn’t want to be. 

In the last long-term relationship I had, I thought about what would happen if we were to ever split. And the LAST thing I wanted to be was one of THEM. You know, the ex’s that never really go away. They hover and clutter and make things confusing. And while we were together, there were LOTS of them, everywhere we went, out popped yet another ex-girlfriend.

And I hated it. I didn’t hate them. I just hated knowing that there were so many special people in his life before me. It was really silly and insane thinking, but I was jealous of things that happened before I was even in the loop, before I knew there was a loop. And sometimes, it became an issue.

But then we did split up and I did become an ex. But the whole loop had changed and so did my perspective. I understood why there were so many of his ex-girlfriends coming around. They just like one another as people. Makes sense.

And I’m happy that now, even though we are ex-partners and spent 10 years together, that he’s still an important person in my life. We don’t talk very often, and see each other even less. But, he knows me, I know him. We’ve shared something and we continue to be friends, because of that intrinsic bond. I get it now and regret all the hard times I gave him way back when. … I guess it’s just about learning what positive, adult relationships are all about.

I’ve healed a number of relationships with that same outlook in recent years. It’s been a very good thing. There have been so many good people in my life that have played really important roles, taught me very important lessons and they are people I still want to know. 

I like the fact that I can still communicate with my very first love. I like knowing what’s going on in his life and who he’s dating and how work is going. Fact is, he’s really a good guy, always has been. He cheers me up and cheers me on. We’re friends. I’m proud to say that. 

Sure, some people like to meld into obscurity, but I guess I like holding on to the relationships that have depth and meaning and connection. Aren’t those the best kind?

I have come a long way in terms of dealing with my personal issues of jealousy. It used to be such a burden for me. It’s a self-esteem and self-worth thing, you’ve got to feel secure in yourself enough to know that even though there have been others before, the person you’re with now is there because they love you and want to be there.

Jealousy is never a good thing. Not even a little. When it pops up in my mind, I have to stop and think, really look into myself. Because nobody can MAKE me jealous. I just feel that way because there’s something inside me that’s wants to deceive me into thinking I’m not worthy.

And it’s not easy to shake jealousy away, but I must, everyone must. Because it’s a killer of good, gentle, loving, wholesome relationships.

I don’t talk to all of my ex boyfriends, but a lot of them I do. Some more than others, and we all talk about different stuff, the things that are important to us. As we all get older, it’s about family and bills and stress and kids and schedules.  But we’re friends because we can step outside the daily bullshit and talk about ourselves, to someone who understands. I need that, everyone needs that. I’m happy to know that I’ve done a decent job of being myself and letting other people in. I’m happy to know that I can pick up a conversation that hasn’t been touched in years and continue it without a misstep.

I’m happy that I’ve met so many people who I thought were good and was right about them.

Did You Really Just Say That?

I hate being told what to do. There’s no beating around the bush with this pet peeve. I seriously despise someone giving me unsolicited advice, no matter how well-intentioned.

It flips a switch somewhere behind my ears, my entire face gets hot and I can hear my heartbeat in my head. It’s one’s of those things that I know I certainly cannot control: I am going to say something. Something dark and menacing and totally, completely serious. 

Let me illustrate: I’m out playing a game of pool with some friends. Doubles.  I’m carrying the winning team into the second game. It’s been 4 or 5 years since I’ve played a serious game, but I was starting to get my legs back. And then it’s my turn to break. I’ve never been great at breaking, never sucked – but I have a style that I’ve honed over years of growing up in a billiards hall. It’s unique, and it works for me.

But it didn’t work so well for me that night. I didn’t scratch, just a weak, off-putting break. And right then, my counterpart and competition decide it’s time to school me. All shark-like, they got to show the girl how to hold a big ‘ol pool stick. 

I thought my instant look of disinterest and disgust would’ve kept them from going on any further. I can give a really nasty look when I’m unhappy.  But they, being so wrapped up in making sure I knew that they knew more than me, didn’t realize I had absolutely no interest in their lessons. I didn’t ask. I don’t want know. 

And instead of being a major bitch (only a minor one), I took my partner aside and quietly said something to the effect of, “Please don’t ever tell me how to play pool again.”

And HE was offended and told me so over and over again. Did I point out his flaws in the middle of the game, or show him how to properly bank a side shot into the corner? (which he missed consistantly) Did he have any idea of even how to rack the balls properly? No. Did I raise issue? No.  It was a game. A game. I like to win, but more than anything I like to play. By the rules. But we have our own styles – and if we can’t play unimpeded by other peoples perfectionistic ideals, then it just gets boring and tiresome. Fuck that.

That’s what I’m talking about. I have no problem with real authority, in fact, I like it. I’ve always been a fan of teachers and policemen and people in high regard with tough responsibilities.  I like rules, I follow them – red means stop, green means go.

I have a life full of responsibility and sometimes it gets overwhelming. I’m grateful that I have friends and loved ones I can dump on and talk to about my worries with. I just dislike greatly the suggestions. Men tend to do this more so than women – as men always want to “fix”. But I’m not talking or venting so someone can grant me a solution. I’m unloading so I can make space in my own mind to figure it out. That’s what I do. I’m a figure-it-outer.

And I like to think I do a pretty good job. Granted, there are times, lots and lots of them, that I need ideas and help and creative thoughts that I just don’t have. And then, I’ll ask. I’ll inquire as many sources as I can and take in all the information I need and make a decision. But unless I ask. Please, don’t tell me what to do.

My mother, in all her wise and kind ways, has always known this about me. She’s found a very clever way to disarm me when she feels the need to tell me her thoughts on a particular situation. She begins with, “May I make a suggestion?….” and then I have a choice. And I always say yes … well, cause she’s my Mom, and she’s always got really good suggestions.

But that one, simple phrase keeps me from getting offended and gets me informed. Which, is really, the ultimate goal. Even when you’re as stubborn as me.

What does your home say?

I think it’s so interesting to see how other people live.  Whether I go a thousand miles, one hundred or across the street, stepping into someone else’s home can give a clear insight into who they are and what they value.

I wonder what people think when they come into my house? Do they take note of the dozens of candles, well-used and dripping? Do they feel the plush and rather expensive throws and pillows? Do they wonder why I have multiple representations of Buddha in just about every room? What about the stacks of books, the scattered pens, notes and doodles, or my growing collection of wine corks?  Maybe they think I’m strange that I play music that has no words, or that my spice cabinet is better stocked than my fridge. Maybe they don’t like that the air reeks of sandalwood incense or are dizzy from the horizontal vacuum lines in the carpet. 

But that’s the way I like it. 

Other people don’t necessarily care about the asthetic ambiance in a room, or pay attention to details in fabric when illuminated by candlelight. Maybe they’re not interested in how luxurious a blanket it, or how soft a pillow, or how sweet smelling it all is – or could be. 

I do. That’s just me. I like a place to dive into when I come home. I want to be comforted and relaxed and enveloped in luscious peace. 

But some people don’t care, or maybe they find the smell of PineSol just as inviting. It’s all a matter of preference. And some are just too plain sad or depressed or busy with other things to create an environment that nurtures them. Maybe they don’t know they can.

Whatever it is, I don’t mean to seem judgmental, not my intention. I just find it curious how we all survive when we go back to that place called home. 

I’m always grateful for an invitation to a friend’s house, and I’ve been treated with hospitality every time. But it’s just interesting to see that side of someone – go into their domain. 

What does you’re home say about you?

Rebel with a Cause

The daily grind, the stuff we do everyday, the ins and outs of Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday and … yeah. It doesn’t ever end does it?

I do my very best to start each day with a quick, quiet prayer of gratitude. But sometimes, I’m too tired, I’m too sore, too exhausted from the monotony of it all – and I forget. But I don’t forget completely. Sometimes I remember at lunchtime or when I’m laying my head on the pillow again … but I always try to be grateful for all that I have. 

But I do get tired. Work itself is tiring. There’s stress and then there’s STRESS. And I like to keep all mine lowercase. It’s a state of mind, but it too can be hard to keep up. I work, come home, take care of the cat, take care of the house, figure out what’s for dinner (take care of me), and hopefully find some solace in whatever few hours I have before I have to get up and do it again. 

I battle the daily grind, I really do.

I battle the  bills in the mailbox, the personalities and egos that try to bring me down, I fight computer issues and million time-wasting sales calls, I work through creative blocks when I have a deadline, I try to be kind to impatient customers and their screaming, obnoxious children, I have to figure out how to make things work, even when I have no clue. I get to approach and succeed at so many, varied tasks that I become overwhelmed.  And then I get my paycheck – and I try not to cry.  I wonder what I do it all for, all the effort, all the work, all the stress. And then – what I get in return does not settle what I owe. And that is stress.

Perhaps it would’ve been easier if I had settled long ago with a man who would’ve been here to help. Of course, he wouldn’t make me happy or love me the way I need, but I wouldn’t have these concerns.  Doesn’t it make sense to tough it out and be totally myself and expect nothing but what I deserve? But can’t I do that and make a decent, living wage? 

Lord knows, I’m not living the lifestyle of rich and famous. I’ve shut down most unnecessary services, I live on basic staples, I don’t have multiple anything. I haven’t shopped for new clothes in 2 years. And it’s unfortuante being a woman. I stress – I gain weight. And I have no choice but to stuff myself into the size 10’s that just don’t fit anymore. It’s sad. And it looks sad. 

But I’m not sad. I refuse. 

I need to shake things up, but my schedule and pocketbook haven’t really allowed for much frivolity. But I need to go away and see that everything I’m doing and working for is for a reason. 

I may not have much, but I’m working with what I’ve got – and that’s enough for me. I just wish I had a little more help.

Men

Twenty years ago I was 14 years old. I was 3 years along in my womanhood, 2 years away from losing my virginity. and even though I  hadn’t experienced it yet, I yearned to know what love was all about.

Now, 34, and starting to feel a little past my prime, I have many of the same questions.

I know and have known many men in these years. Each has been a unique opportunity for me to expand my understanding of love and relationships. This is an enigma that I can only answer empirically. 

And so I have, and so I do. And when I say the word “men” it sounds so flat. Like I’m talking about charts or graphs. But men are people with feelings and hearts and their own experiences of me.  (and they each have a unique one of those, I’m sure). 

But I love them, these men. Who have shaped me and taught me and broken my heart and cried when I left. I love them for their strength and weakness, for their inane conversation and wildly scientific minds, for their gentle comfort and misguided anger, their jealousy (which I adore and despise) and fits of rage that only the masculine can whole-heartedly embody.

I love a man’s newly shaven face and a scruffy three-day beard. I enjoy the heat and sweat and dirt and beer breath. I envy the fascination with sports and teams and numbers and cards and wish my mind could work that way. I wish I could be content in unwashed sweatpants, to only shake and not wipe, to unabashedly stereotype and simplify.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what men think about, and I’ve come to realize it isn’t much. That’s a generalization – and it’s unfair. I know this. But for the most part, I can honestly say, men don’t think like women do. We’ll all agree to that. And I’m glad we don’t think alike, if we did, I’d have nothing to write about. Ever.

Let me say, I have been lucky enough to know some really great men. Good people with giant hearts, fantastically brilliant minds that inspire me, talented, kind, men who make me think and consider things I’ve never considered before. Generous men who have laid down their coats and their hearts…. But in all of these great men, in all of them – ALL of them, there is only one that I would consider building a life with. 

And it’s horrible. Because he is not here. And I am 14 again, wondering what love is really about and all the mysteries it contains. It is something I cannot experience the way I want, because of circumstance. Circumstances that suck.  Maybe this is what I learned already and didn’t want to remember. Perhaps I would’ve been better off dreaming of horses and rainbows, for they would’ve been easier to catch.

Rising Up, Cleaning House

“…there’s nothing more dangerous than a man with nothing to lose, nothing to live for, nothing to prove.” Brendan Perry

I’ve been wasting time. I hate to say that, but it’s true.  This year is slipping away so quickly and I’ve spent half of it trying to convince myself of the future, instead of living the present.  I have no excuse for this, but better to realize this now than never. Here I am. Right now there is a lot of work to be done.

I’ve been talking about fear these last few months, and I haven’t really given much thought to my own. I’ve allowed my own fears to become covered by circumstances, and ignored them as if they’re not there. Silently hoping that they’d just go away. This is my shit. Everyone has it, including me. And I’ve pushed mine under the carpet to mildew and rot. And it’s stinking. And I won’t have it anymore. It’s time to clean house.

I’m never really happy unless I’m growing – and that means change. But I’ve been dreaming of growing, thinking of changing, but not actually doing it. I am a walking contradiction even as I sit motionless. 

And so, it is time for movement. Fear or not, pain or not, it will happen. Time to open all the doors and windows, take a stiff broom to all the dusty corners and proclaim my independence from all the things I think hold me back. 

This is about making decisions, and taking action. No more excuses, no more pity, no more fear, no more doubt. It’s about realization of all the things I want, all the things I deserve – and only I can do it. 

It’s about time really, I’ve begun to tire of myself. That should’ve been a clue….

If any man will hold a picture in his mind of doing what he wants to do and will sustain that mental picture, the God-Power will develop it and bring it to pass.     Henry Thoreau

God’s Little Helpers

In every person’s life there are people who make a difference. Some are major players, some only have bit parts. More often than not, I find myself repeating the lessons taught to me by people I had only a brief amount of time with. However these people come in and out of my life doesn’t matter. The fact that they were there at all means that I am blessed. 

I could probably name a good dozen or so people here, faces and names I haven’t seen in a long time. People who supported me, though they barely knew me; people who have urged me forward not knowing where I was headed. They had a goodness inside them, a faith that I didn’t have at the time. Their strength carried me through, their help made it possible, words that seem so insignificant at the time, I continue to cling to today.

I remember searching for work many years ago, looking, praying, hoping that I would find something before my unemployment ran out.  Eventually, I did find something – and it was the perfect place for me at the time. I didn’t get paid what I deserved, but it was in my field and it was an opportunity to learn. I felt immediately that I fit in perfectly. It was an exercise more than a job, it was a classroom more than an office. I wasn’t there long. But the time spent was worthwhile because of the people.

It was the people I interacted with daily that made me get out of bed, made me want to begin again. I wasn’t at that job for very long, and when it came time for me to leave, it was under very sad, difficult circumstances. 

I remember going into my boss’ office and telling her my situation. I cried. She cried with me. I didn’t know what to do, where to go, how to do it. And after an hour or so of sobbing and heart-felt communication, she handed me a stack of work to be done and sent me back to my desk. She actually thought up a plan for me, came to me with options that I didn’t even consider. She liked me enough to worry and plan and tried to work out a way to keep me.  Wow.

Even though I decided to go a different path, the very fact that she cared enough to support me through that process blew me away. She wasn’t just my boss, or some person who wrote me a check – she cared for me. And I respected that and needed that so much. She made it easy when it was time to go our different ways. She was one very strong, classy lady – and I took a lot of lessons from her. She was a good friend.

She gave me a much needed push, she gave me confidence and she reminded me that everything is going to be alright.  That entire process could’ve been a lot harder had it not been for her. 

All it takes is for us to look around at the people in our lives who are there for good. People who want nothing from you, only to love. People who want to challenge and inspire – they are all around us. Difficult relationships are perfect examples – what do they have to teach?

So, today I just want to give thanks for the multitudes of kind, loving creatures out there who have jumpstarted my life. They’re there when you need them the most. 

Thanks.

The Heart, The Head

So much changes when you’re an adult. More decisions to make, more responsibility, more challenges, more chances.  No more flying by the seat of your pants, no more carefree summers, no more dreaming just for dreaming sake.

I’ve always been a daydreamer. I’ve had the same visions in my head since I was two. Same voice inside my head too.  I’ve stared out of more windows, drifted off in conversation, lost myself in thought – you may think I’m totally paying attention. It’s a skill I’ve honed over the years. Being in two places at once IS possible. My favorite place to be is in my mind, in my dreams.

I still do this – I let my eyes go fuzzy, I let them get all watery for as long as it takes for all these beautiful thoughts to become all powdery and translucent. I can see what I think. And it’s lovely.

It’s a powerful thing to know that thoughts become things. Superheroes know that with great knowledge comes great responsibility – and I am but a mere mortal. But I try.

For the majority of my life, I’ve been ruled by my heart. I have lived by the code of beats, of emotion, of desire and longing. It’s been an unfaithful friend, my heart. It has led me to despair, to great heights and down again. It is anything but consistent. But I allowed myself this freedom anyway, knowing that I only had myself to lose. 

And now, there is more, much more to lose if I follow that pattern now. My heart screams and my mind screams back; reminding me of what I’ve learned.  Both have a really good argument.

My choice is this: follow my heart  - or follow my head. Only this time: I am not alone in these dreams. And I have much more to lose.

I want to find the balance, to sort it all out, to know the middle ground where both can be happy. I know there is this – I just haven’t found it yet.  And so, I continue to think on and dream and let the world around me go hazy for a bit. I imagine and conjure all the lovely images only we could share. And yet one moment later, I’m met by images of utter failure. Of struggle and remorse. Of pain and anger. These things don’t belong in my daydreams. And yet, they are there.

I feel like I’m on stage, with all the lights shining on me – and I hate being the center of attention (I suck as a Leo, I know). And I feel like it’s up to me, it’s all up to me. And that doesn’t feel fair.  I don’t want to make this choice. I want there to be NO choice. I want it to be obvious. I want someone to stand up and say, “Here! This is what will be done.” And I want to see it be done.

How much of my head is not trusting my heart? How much of my heart distrusts my head? I’ve been told, “If in doubt, don’t.”   

What on earth do I do with that???

All I know is, I used my head to get where I am. My heart took a major back seat. It had to. And now? When My Heart is so invested, so full of everything it should be … how can I possibly let that go? I can’t. I simply cannot.

But to protect everything I’ve built, everything I’ve worked so hard for – what WILL I do? Truth is, all this means NOTHING without my heart.

Wants, Needs and Bootstraps

I’m trying to decipher between “needs” and “wants”. I figure in this economic climate, it just makes sense to be clear. I can barely afford to want the things I need, but yet, I must have them.

I live pretty close to the vest, I don’t overspend nor do I live beyond my means. I don’t go out to eat very often, I don’t spend money on clothes (though I should), I’m not the kind of girl to get manicures every couple of weeks or expensive haircuts.  But I do like groceries. And making sure Echo has her food. And paying the mortgage.

It’s kind of depressing, to spend so much time at work, trying to make money to support a home I barely live in. Is this what they refer to as the “vicious cycle”?

I never wanted to be the kind of person to let money worries keep her up at night, but my dreams have turned dark with looming, shadowy creatures I can only Freudalize as debt. I see the pile of bills on the kitchen counter and I pass by giving a wide berth.  They sit unopened, avoided, but I know what I owe. Opening them seems to final, like now that I’ve seen it, I must pay it. But if there is no money, there can be no checks written. (Well, there COULD be, but that would just get me in a whole other mess.) … like I even have stamps anyway.

But I look at the quickening days passing by on the calendar, how days fly by, due dates become a blur that I long-ago dreamed of meeting. I am not enjoying this struggle. I am not comfortable being behind. 

I suppose everyone experiences this at one point, and I’m sure lots and lots of people are going through this right now. Knowing that makes me feel like less of a failure and more normal (which I hate only a tad bit less). But the reality of situation and how it makes me feel forces me to decide: want or need.

Home – need. Water, electric, gas, power – need. 

Internet, tv – want

Basic food, cat food – need

car insurance, homeowners insurance – need

HOA – hate it, don’t need it – must pay it anyway. (stupid hoa)

I have credit card debt that was once wiped out earlier this year. I actually borrowed money from the government to pay down my debt. And I did. A tax free, interest free loan. Good deal. Got all my balances down to zero. Yeah – that’s when I needed litter and milk and tampons the very week my mortgage was due. Credit cards are evil. I suppose I’ll just cut them up and bleed on a bear skin like they used to do in olden days. (wonder how much they go for on ebay?)

I suppose I’m frustrated. I don’t want to get a second job, but I will if I have to. I was hoping my freelance work would allow for me to make it easier, give me some breathing room, but that has turned into a faint trickle. As my savings are ransacked for bills, I find myself wondering what to do. More than half of my friends are out of work and looking, willing to take anything to pay the bills. And I’m lucky enough to have a steady paycheck coming in, as meager as it is. 

I’m grateful for what I’ve been given, for what I have. I’ve been blessed, but I’ve got to be creative to keep this ship afloat. I suppose this is what it feels like to be afraid, really afraid. I didn’t know this fear before. But at least I have tools and opportunities and a good attitude. I have faith that everything will work out the way it should and I know I’m up to the challenge. Just, sometimes I forget that and I let the fear overwhelm me, not for long… not for long.

As a good friend used to say, “Time to pick yourself up by your bootstraps and get a move on.” Indeed it is. Indeed it is.

Thinking, stories.

He’s a thoughtful little fucker.

He’s in a state of repose, staring ahead into the light. What he’s  looking at I can only wonder. But he’s beautiful when he does this. He looks peaceful, quiet. His dark eyes absorb flickers of the fading sun, of flashing lightening. But I know better, I know his brain is churning away, busy under his relaxed expression.

He has a way of turning a single, fearful thought into a maelstrom of worry. He does this with expertise and skill and practice. His outward peace is broken then, it falls piece by piece into a little pile by his feet. It is when he can’t hold it together that I worry. Perhaps I worry too late.

But even in the middle of a storm, he can conjure great magic. He can tell a hell of a story, draw the characters in color and make them real. I watch his lips as he speaks, full and expressive and saying exactly what needs to be said. I watch his hands, flutter around his face, arms up and down, making the point. He lets his mind go, working on instinct or memory. He doesn’t have to worry about past or future, but creates a present that is real and new and really interesting to listen to. I like his stories.

He thinks too much, just like me. He over does the mental part of simply being. I suppose faith would help in this case, faith can take a whole lot of burden away. Lay aside your fears and worry and future regret. Lay down your doubt. Lay down your apprehension. There is nothing to fear. All is well. All is as it should be.

Overthinking is a fault of mine, so how can I fault someone else for it? But he is kind enough to remind me of when I do it, and I don’t mind tapping him on the shoulder when he does it. We’re good that way.  But being aware of it is not enough. When thoughts stop you from doing what you need or want to do… then something must change. You must change your mind. Change your thoughts.

Action must occur for anything to come to fruition. Thought without action is wasted. What is point of thinking so hard if nothing comes of it? I don’t mind being an overthinker, as long as I DO something. DO SOMETHING. Anything. 

That’s why I like when he sits and thinks, not knowing that I’m watching. Because I think too much…. But I see. And I wait. And I hope. And I pray. That one day he’ll have a singular, positive, active thought. One day he’ll turn his thought into action. One day he’ll stop thinking long enough to actually do what he’s been thinking of…and I’d like to be there to see that.

And that’s a story I don’t want to miss.