On Being Bold

The other day, I told someone they were being a dick. I said it to their face. And I don't regret it. It felt both exhilarating and uncomfortable. I was both pleased with myself for confronting them with my feelings and appalled by my insensitivity. I then proceeded to spend hours questioning whether I did the right thing or something wrong. What I could have done better? Who I should I apologize to? And whether or not I'd do it again because that really determined whether or not I should take the whole thing back.

In the end, I told myself to stop sulking, pick up a book, and get over it. It happened. Although I approached it poorly, I would not be apologizing for WHAT I said. But if it came up I would apologize for doing it in front of others. That was rude of me. But I wasn't going to let their douchebaggery continue in front of me. I just couldn't stand by watching it any longer. I had had enough. And I wasn't going to take that kind of crap in the future either. I demand more respect than that. And I expect more from my friends. And if I didn't consider you a friend, I wouldn't have wasted my time telling you that you were acting like I douche bag--I'd just ignore you till you went away. I don't waste my breath on people I don't deem worth it.

Why am I talking about all this? I grew up around passive aggressive behavior. My household was full of little jabs that aren't outright directed at anyone most of the time, but it made others feel like shit without the outlet to fight back because of the indirect nature of the comments. I picked up this type of behavior too. It's very easy to pick up and almost impossible to get rid of. I've been aware of it for about 10 years now. I'm still trying to learn how to be assertive and lose the snide remarks when I'm grouchy.

Now, swinging the other way is so hard, that we often over shoot our goal with the sheer force we use wrenching ourselves out of the ditch we were trapped in. In this case, I over shot my goal of assertiveness to the point of being confrontational. Definitely not my goal, but I still count it as moving forward. Here's why:

When my husband and I started dating, I told him if had relationships fail due to lack of communication on my part--I tended to want to run and hide instead of talk about my feelings. (I was already doing phenomenal just by telling him this and it was only because I was working on changing this about my personality that I was able to share it.)

So we decided that it would be better to be confrontational with each other--if we could find no other way to express ourselves--than to say nothing and not communicate altogether. It was never our goal, but it was still better to yell at each other once I. A while than to risk losing each other due to never talking about our feelings. (And that happens far more often than you might realize. Whole marriages end because one or more parties chose to stop talking about their problems with each other.)

So it is with this attitude that I now approach any relationship I value. Is this a good plan? Probably not. But I know what it's like to live as a "people pleaser." I know what it's like to be unhappy all the time because I never stood up for myself. And I know what it's like to regret never speaking your mind.

After years of weighing the balance, the scale tips in favor of truthful over like-able every time. I'd rather someone hate me for who I am (someone who is a little abrasive), then like me for someone I'm not. Trying to be like-able to everyone you meet is a losing battle and one that I don't have time for. Life is too damn short.

I guess I'm also saying, if you've ever known me long enough (say maybe a couple of years), you know I step on toes every once in a while. And you know I'm not nice about it. But you know that I love you. Because we wouldn't still be talking and sharing our thoughts together if I was afraid of what you'd think of me. <3

Labor of Love

Last night was both one of the most exciting experiences of my life and one of the most peaceful. I count the birth of my best friend's daughter as the most incredible day of my life since my wedding day and honeymoon.

I was very apprehensive about being there at first. But once I arrived, there was no turning me away unless it was to get her dinner the second her little one was born. (It ended up being breakfast and she had it waiting before the baby was even out.) I was afraid of the whole process before. I don't really know how our bodies work down to the nitty gritty. Sex Ed was so long ago and primarily geared towards teaching you not to get pregnant at an early age or catch HIV. They succeeded in that regard. But I digress.

I was never comfortable with how the female body works. I wanted kids, but would almost prefer to adopt just to avoid the unpleasant business of popping one out down there. The idea of carrying the baby wasn't the problem. It was fear of the unknown.

After this experience, I can honestly say I feel there's nothing to be afraid of anymore. I am not intimidated by it any longer. If my best friend can do it, so can I. Thank you, Marcy, from the bottom of my heart for that experience.

Swimming Upstream Both Ways

I want to write every day, but there are so many other things I want to be doing too. How do we deal with this? How do we progress in our crafts when we have too many crafts or hobbies? I’m still trying to decode the secret. Somewhere in life’s encrypted rules there must be instructions for this, right?

Until we find it [and I expect a prompt message if you already have the answer], let’s look at our options. We can (1) aimlessly wander and hope we end up somewhere decent. We can (2) take aim and plot a destination and try not to get “distracted.” Or we can (3) take aim and plot a course along the way with deadlines and benchmarks leading to our desired destination.

The greater majority of us aimlessly wander around for a while hoping to get somewhere magical. I know I did. I wandered because I didn’t know what I wanted. I spent many years being tossed through the air like a tumble weed, never really getting anywhere. To this day, I only understand pieces of what I want. A home, a family, and to do the things I love. I even spent one summer soul searching what it IS that I LOVE. Imagine how ridiculous that felt; I was almost 25 years old.

In the end, I determined that music and writing were integral parts of who I am. I am not happy without both of these elements in my life. Years later, I still have people trying to get a “which one could you not live without” from me. The answer is neither. I wasn’t kidding when I said, I need them both. To live without music feels like my soul shriveling up and to never write is like losing your voice and your hope.

I use to write poetry. One day, poetry no longer filled the need inside me and I began writing lyrics. None of those lyrics have been put to music, and I sometimes wonder if they’ll be like my poetry—lost in the past. But the past paved our path to where we are now. Those bricks laid in poetry and unsung lyrics mark the direction for my future.

Lately, I hear the little girl inside me rising up and saying, “Write the worlds in your head. I’m tired of this place. I want to go somewhere new. You should come with me.” And I just can’t tell her, “no.”

Thankfully, with age comes some degree of wisdom. I’ll not be tossed about on a ship I cannot steer. I will commandeer this vessel and mark our course. My little one deserves new worlds and unknown adventures and stories never told. I’ll give them to her and to all who wish it. The child within us sees the vast map of stars pinned down to the tabletop, while the rest of us see a schedule and work for the coming year. The journey will be as tedious or as wondrous as we make it. What shores will you find yourself on this New Year?

My First Day of School

I only have one memory of my first day of school. It was the trauma of leaving home. It wasn’t my first look at a classroom. It was a skirt. A long skirt billowing in the wind. The warm afternoon sun on our backs. And the knowledge that the breeze blowing the skirt was warm too. It was the skirt of the first friend I’d ever made on my own. I don’t even know how it happened, how we became friends. I think she’d just introduced herself. Maybe that’s when it happened. But I remember the warm breeze blowing her skirt, the skirt of my best friend—my first friend, while we waited to board the bus to go home. She lived a few streets away from me. And I remember being proud, proud that I had made a friend.

I just came back from visiting with her; we’re both about to turn 30 sometime next year. We’re not close like when we were little. But it’s still good to see her. To laugh together and make jokes. It was wonderful.

Our memories are like webs. Follow a strand far enough and you’ll remember more and more as you come across each intersecting thread. Our minds are incredible like that. If you want to recall more about your past, your childhood, then write it down. Talk about it. Talking today made me remember this. And I’d never realized—it was my only memory of that day. The only piece I kept. And I’ve always thought of it when I thought of her. But I’d never realized how proud I was to have met her. To have her as a friend. That’s what that feeling always was. It wasn’t nostalgia. It was a healthy dose of accomplishment, a piece of my self-esteem that has always bolstered me.

So think on your past. Write it down. You may be surprised on where it may lead.

A Sea of Emotion

Years ago, I described writing poetry to my friend, Hollie, as immersing yourself in a sea of emotion. Once consumed by the undertow of an emotion you can either let it carry you through to the end of the current [hopefully you don’t run out of air] or you can thrash about and drown yourself in it. I could describe my recent emotional panic as the latter. Trying to kill the emotion before it could kill me.

It was a terrifying experience; I don’t recommend it. The sane thing to do would have been to holler for a life preserver; but my pride kept me from going easy on myself. I even cried out to God to rip the emotions out of my chest. And do you know what He did? He showed me what they stemmed from so I could get over myself. Can you believe that? I ask for a life raft and he tells me I can swim if I’d just calm down.

He was right of course, but I didn't have to like it. It took me several days to climb back up into the boat, shaking my head at my own ridiculous reaction to pain and fear (the fear being nothing more than my own creation). How silly we are sometimes. The whole world seems backwards to us, all the while they’re yelling at us, “Just stand up. You’re in two feet of water.” And then we scowl at them later for their willingness to let us drown.

If you’re sinking, try to stand up. If that doesn't work, demand a life preserver. When they deny you that, ask God to fork it over already because no one else is. And if He happens to tell you to swim, you just might find that you’re the only one who’s going to drag your ass out of the swamp. You’ll resent them for a little while. But if you can manage it, you’ll be stronger than an ogre and as free as the eagles.

If you're curious about my recent journey into the depths of my soul, you can read about it here: aseaofemotion.blogspot.com. It's not pretty.

Don't Back Down

A beautiful Thursday morning of only 50 degrees Fahrenheit has me recalculating the plans of the universe. For the first time in years, the stars are aligning and I’m a bit leery to hope too high. I have high expectations for my life and my family’s lives. I make a point to state them often. But my aspirations have been stomped on repeatedly over the past ten years. So, I prepare myself to deflect that feeling of dejected disappointment that stings so deeply when opportunities fall through the sieve like shifting sands.

I plug along, doing what I do. Making plans, moving the pawns and pieces in my life size game of chess. Waiting patiently, with a quiet secret hope that everything will be as I think it should. My determination is the unyielding force driving the events of my life in the direction of my dreams. Faltering only in momentum lost at the setbacks of changing winds and uncharted territories. I will not rescind my demands for a life worth living, filled with hope and joy, love and learning. I will not back down.

Let Writing Sift Your Soul

Why does it seem like this phase last the longest? That in between feeling. In between jobs, in between growing up, in between lives. It’s a dreadful feeling. You’re apprehensive. You’re on edge. You’re terrified of what is to come and yet you urge it on just to get it over with. It’s suspense.

Suspense in the movies and in books enriches the experience. I try to tell myself that. Remind myself that the length of time is just an illusion. It’s much shorter than it feels. Like the seconds ticking by just before school's out or quitting time at work. Time always seems to stand still.

Yet it feels inescapable. How do we deal with it?

As I feel the anxiety rise up in my throat, I take a deep breath. Breathe. Just breathe, I tell myself. It’s not that bad. Only it is. I’m unemployed, my husband’s contract might run out in two weeks, and my mother-in-law (my other housemate) could be fired any day. I’ll have to run away to Tennessee and file bankruptcy, but still be in debt because of student loans. We won’t even be able to support ourselves further south because it’s only a couple hundred dollars cheaper than Connecticut. But those couple hundred dollars are a couple hundred dollars and its cold up here and I’m just terrified that I’ll actually have to do something I love now that I’ve finally taken the leap and jumped off the 9-5 employment bridge.

That about sums it up. I read somewhere that this is one way to get over your fears. To paint the picture of the worst possible scenario. And then look at it and decide if it really is that bad. To be honest, my picture isn’t much different than my life right now. In fact, some of it sounds better.

I did this once when I was thirteen. I was moving across town and felt like I was losing the only friends I had. I was on my bike for the last time, riding a forbidden two streets away down a busy road. The thought of jerking the handle bars out into oncoming traffic crossed my mind. And I wanted to. But something strange happened. The handle bars wouldn’t move. It was as if someone had their hands over mine in a vice grip and wouldn’t let me turn them.

This gave me one more moment to finish the thought before the cars passed by. It wouldn’t kill me. I would end up severely injured instead and in the hospital. My mom would hate me. I’d be grounded. They’d think I did it for attention. I’d never be allowed to ride again. I’d have my freedom taken away. All these thoughts ran through my head at once.

And so I continued on. Instead, I decided a better punishment would be to make myself live through it. Live through the loneliness, the isolation, the fears; and it was terrible. I cried myself to sleep every night. I wrote poetry that sounded like suicide notes. It was a good thing no one ever saw them back then. They wouldn’t have understood the vow I’d made to myself to live through the pain.

Turns out, it was worth it. Life is full of pain and joy. Freedom and cages. It’s our decisions that influence the path of our lives. It’s worth the adventure, the journey. It’s worth it all for one breathe of joy.

So write. Write down your fears, the terrors that plague you. Get them out. Don’t let them eat you up inside. You’re not alone. Let your writing sift your soul. Don't be afraid of what's inside. Because you're not the only one.