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Saturday, November 3, 2012
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Comfort and Compatability
Whenever one gets married there are always people who ask beforehand, "Are you nervous? Do you have cold feet?" and so on. Having been through the process twice now, I have to say that although the wedding ceremony has it's merits and value in and of itself, the commitment is experienced and expressed in more unique ways for the individual.
In my case I first felt the angst and ultimate surrender to commitment about six months prior to my wedding. For a variety of reasons including the arduous and lengthy Catholic annulment process and my limited finances at the time, I moved in with then fiancee, now husband. This was a difficult process both physically, trying to cram what was left of my belongings into a house that was already full and had NO storage, as well as emotionally. Giving up my little home meant giving up a great measure of freedom and control, which is why I experienced and expressed my commitment at that time. It was the first of my marital sacrifices and it was very difficult for me. The home that we now live in was once shared by my husband and his ex-wife, they bought it shortly after my step-daughter was born.
Since to this day most of my belongings are in the garage, it is easy for me to feel like a guest in their house. In the process of merging our households my husband did agree to paint and even get rid of a few things to make some room for me. The key item that I really wished to be rid of was his sofa. In my estimation it was an ugly, crusty, worn out piece of motion furniture that I found equally uncomfortable to sit or gaze upon. In his estimation there was nothing wrong with it and that was that. Still, he kindly agreed to sell it at a yard sale and use my sofa.
My sofa wasn't perfect, it was a hand-me-down from a dead woman, but I found it less revolting and ugly and it had no particular ties to his ex-wife (I sleep in the bed he shared with her for goodness sake!!) In the end it turned out that the dead lady sofa was pretty much on it's last leg, even with a slipcover that only I seemed to straighten, it was clearly not going to make it. So we commenced to sofa shopping.
I come from a long line of furniture lovers, my grandfather owned a furniture store and my mother, aunt and cousins rather enjoy owning and shopping for furniture. Little did I know that this process would ever be anything but fun. Thus I naively embarked upon what I thought would be our first purchase for our shared home together. Everything went horribly wrong. We couldn't agree on anything except maybe fabric, we liked leather. The first few shopping trips became a jumble of opposing feature preferences and the longer we looked the further it seemed we got from any sort of common ground. Too soft, too firm, too short, too deep, not tall enough, too tall, too overstuffed, to under stuffed, the unending frustrations went on and on. In time we were able to come to a point where we could define the terms of the conflict, and UN peacekeepers couldn't find a way to end our stalemate.
I like a sofa largely for it's design. I appreciate the art of good furniture design so much that I have a short list of pieces I have always hoped to collect for their sheer beauty as art (ie. Eames chair, Noguchi table and Barcelona couch.) I give little thought to comfort, in fact if it "looks comfortable" odds are I won't like it. Thanks to a quirky lower back issue I'm more comfortable on a kitchen chair than in anything I sink into and thus firm, clean, modern furniture is perfect for me, and is in fact comfortable. That said, I can find plenty of more pedestrian pieces that please me, so long as they don't appear to belong in a frat house or a trailer park. (Although squashing my lifelong dream of fine furniture collecting is as heartbreaking as telling a kindergartner there isn't a Santa.)
As we eventually discovered, my husband likes a sofa largely for it's ability to hold his head up for him when sitting so he doesn't have to utilize those pesky neck muscles. Picture one of those old fashioned wooden dolls made with all the limbs as separate pieces held together by strings rigged to a spring-loaded base. When you depress the base, the doll goes limp, all the parts dangling, head flopping to the side, the creature almost looks dead until you release the base and the parts all go back in place, head erect, doll upright and lively. This is my husband. When you depress his buttocks on a sofa, he is rendered incapable of holding himself together. His muscles fail him, he appears half dead. It is a particularly pathetic sight on the dead lady sofa because he has to slump down so far before landing on something to support his wobbly head.
And so, I want something clean, sleek and minimal, he wants something large, soft and supportive. When it comes to comfort beyond aesthetics, we're still incompatible. The upside is that we are incompatible optimists and so we went to every furniture store and sat on every sofa looking to find one that we both genuinely like without either of us having to settle. This year long process led to arguments in furniture stores, tears, and my actual fear that we simply could not be married because THIS was insurmountable. And in truth, it sort of is. There really is no way to buy a sofa that we both absolutely love. Many experts (well seasoned salespeople, therapists and even a life coach) have confirmed this, what is in order is a compromise. Ah, but how do we arrive at one we could really be at peace with? Well that's the big question with marriage isn't it?
Marriage ultimately requires a partial death to self, a choice to sacrifice some freedom in exchange for intimacy. With that comes some new freedoms that are shared, but others that simply are gone. The delicate balancing act of sorting out the "me" vs. "we" is one of the age old mysteries of marriage, and yet for most of human history we've decided to engage in this complex pursuit. I can't help thinking that our immense emotional investment in this sofa crisis has been a practical way for us to flesh out some of the very real challenges of creating a shared life. I'm happy to report that after a year of blood, sweat and tears we'll have our new sofa tomorrow, we'll save the coffee table dilemma for another day.
In my case I first felt the angst and ultimate surrender to commitment about six months prior to my wedding. For a variety of reasons including the arduous and lengthy Catholic annulment process and my limited finances at the time, I moved in with then fiancee, now husband. This was a difficult process both physically, trying to cram what was left of my belongings into a house that was already full and had NO storage, as well as emotionally. Giving up my little home meant giving up a great measure of freedom and control, which is why I experienced and expressed my commitment at that time. It was the first of my marital sacrifices and it was very difficult for me. The home that we now live in was once shared by my husband and his ex-wife, they bought it shortly after my step-daughter was born.
Since to this day most of my belongings are in the garage, it is easy for me to feel like a guest in their house. In the process of merging our households my husband did agree to paint and even get rid of a few things to make some room for me. The key item that I really wished to be rid of was his sofa. In my estimation it was an ugly, crusty, worn out piece of motion furniture that I found equally uncomfortable to sit or gaze upon. In his estimation there was nothing wrong with it and that was that. Still, he kindly agreed to sell it at a yard sale and use my sofa.
My sofa wasn't perfect, it was a hand-me-down from a dead woman, but I found it less revolting and ugly and it had no particular ties to his ex-wife (I sleep in the bed he shared with her for goodness sake!!) In the end it turned out that the dead lady sofa was pretty much on it's last leg, even with a slipcover that only I seemed to straighten, it was clearly not going to make it. So we commenced to sofa shopping.
I come from a long line of furniture lovers, my grandfather owned a furniture store and my mother, aunt and cousins rather enjoy owning and shopping for furniture. Little did I know that this process would ever be anything but fun. Thus I naively embarked upon what I thought would be our first purchase for our shared home together. Everything went horribly wrong. We couldn't agree on anything except maybe fabric, we liked leather. The first few shopping trips became a jumble of opposing feature preferences and the longer we looked the further it seemed we got from any sort of common ground. Too soft, too firm, too short, too deep, not tall enough, too tall, too overstuffed, to under stuffed, the unending frustrations went on and on. In time we were able to come to a point where we could define the terms of the conflict, and UN peacekeepers couldn't find a way to end our stalemate.
I like a sofa largely for it's design. I appreciate the art of good furniture design so much that I have a short list of pieces I have always hoped to collect for their sheer beauty as art (ie. Eames chair, Noguchi table and Barcelona couch.) I give little thought to comfort, in fact if it "looks comfortable" odds are I won't like it. Thanks to a quirky lower back issue I'm more comfortable on a kitchen chair than in anything I sink into and thus firm, clean, modern furniture is perfect for me, and is in fact comfortable. That said, I can find plenty of more pedestrian pieces that please me, so long as they don't appear to belong in a frat house or a trailer park. (Although squashing my lifelong dream of fine furniture collecting is as heartbreaking as telling a kindergartner there isn't a Santa.)
As we eventually discovered, my husband likes a sofa largely for it's ability to hold his head up for him when sitting so he doesn't have to utilize those pesky neck muscles. Picture one of those old fashioned wooden dolls made with all the limbs as separate pieces held together by strings rigged to a spring-loaded base. When you depress the base, the doll goes limp, all the parts dangling, head flopping to the side, the creature almost looks dead until you release the base and the parts all go back in place, head erect, doll upright and lively. This is my husband. When you depress his buttocks on a sofa, he is rendered incapable of holding himself together. His muscles fail him, he appears half dead. It is a particularly pathetic sight on the dead lady sofa because he has to slump down so far before landing on something to support his wobbly head.
And so, I want something clean, sleek and minimal, he wants something large, soft and supportive. When it comes to comfort beyond aesthetics, we're still incompatible. The upside is that we are incompatible optimists and so we went to every furniture store and sat on every sofa looking to find one that we both genuinely like without either of us having to settle. This year long process led to arguments in furniture stores, tears, and my actual fear that we simply could not be married because THIS was insurmountable. And in truth, it sort of is. There really is no way to buy a sofa that we both absolutely love. Many experts (well seasoned salespeople, therapists and even a life coach) have confirmed this, what is in order is a compromise. Ah, but how do we arrive at one we could really be at peace with? Well that's the big question with marriage isn't it?
Marriage ultimately requires a partial death to self, a choice to sacrifice some freedom in exchange for intimacy. With that comes some new freedoms that are shared, but others that simply are gone. The delicate balancing act of sorting out the "me" vs. "we" is one of the age old mysteries of marriage, and yet for most of human history we've decided to engage in this complex pursuit. I can't help thinking that our immense emotional investment in this sofa crisis has been a practical way for us to flesh out some of the very real challenges of creating a shared life. I'm happy to report that after a year of blood, sweat and tears we'll have our new sofa tomorrow, we'll save the coffee table dilemma for another day.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Purly Girl Gets Married (Again)
I am quite aware (thanks to those of you who've followed my blog in vain) that I have yet to post since my nuptials on New Years Eve. Although it's hard to believe this if you know me at all, but I haven't quite known what to say. Yes, I am in fact married again. There was a lovely wedding and reception that was fantasic and magical and unquestionably FUN, but still I couldn't figure out what I had to say about it.
I've been working a ridiculous amount of hours thanks to progress in my retail career, and that could be an excuse for all manor of things, even legitimately so at times, but that isn't really it. And stories about my surreal new career path aside, the real truth is that I've been at a loss for how to tell the story.
There is the American Hollywood version of the 2nd marriage story. In this version we'd paint the former marriages and spouses as somehow tragic and doomed, mixed with some sordid villainous imagery of the prior partners, whilst new partners rescued us from our pasts bringing new simplicity and joy. Or you could go the French film route and somehow all of it is a loose and ill-defined tragedy at the hands and whims of emotion and fate, yet our current love is the tragedy that binds us (although there are days it feels that way, I don't think that fits either.) Then there is that extreme romantic notion that this person is THE person that you've really been waiting for your whole life and everything before somehow magically led up to it. That one especially doesn't resonate with me.
Here is what I do know. Ten years after marriage no. 1 I'm less principled about some things, and more principled about others. I'm less concerned about what my name is on paper and more concerned about what I've ACTUALLY given up for my partner. I'm less certain about what I either do or do not know or believe about God and religion, and more willing to accept and accommodate my partners beliefs. I am more willing to communicate and less willing to ignore. I realize more every day that love is so much more about what we do and the choices that we make and the feelings grow out of all of that instead of the inverse. At some point I finally let myself consider what it was I really wanted out of life instead of trying to live some sort of imagined life that I should want and then it all shifted.
I'm still not quite sure how it will all come together, but my husband and I are at least on the same page when we are sorting out a shared life. We are best friends who have common interests and a great amount of chemistry. We enjoy our time together, and there is a long list of things we love to do together. Our life is exceedingly complex because we are trying to juggle shared parenting of his daughter and two less than ideal careers in a house we would love nothing more than to unload, in a lackluster town we dislike. At varied moments any one of those elements can become a distraction from the bigger picture of our family life and we are early in our marriage trying to eek out the joys of life from the elements we can control.
I don't know what kind of story that is, it's real, it's messy, and highly stressful and confusing. What I know for sure is that we've decided we're on the same team and we won't settle. We didn't enter this marriage with the luxury of a notion of assumed permanence. We know all too well that marriages do end and we live with the fallout of that every day. We have a very practical understanding of love that we didn't have in our first marriages, and we aren't likely to take that lightly. We love each other and we are less inclined to leave all of that to chance. We will always find a way to live a life less ordinary no matter what the circumstances and a love like that fills my heart with hope and joy.
I've been working a ridiculous amount of hours thanks to progress in my retail career, and that could be an excuse for all manor of things, even legitimately so at times, but that isn't really it. And stories about my surreal new career path aside, the real truth is that I've been at a loss for how to tell the story.
There is the American Hollywood version of the 2nd marriage story. In this version we'd paint the former marriages and spouses as somehow tragic and doomed, mixed with some sordid villainous imagery of the prior partners, whilst new partners rescued us from our pasts bringing new simplicity and joy. Or you could go the French film route and somehow all of it is a loose and ill-defined tragedy at the hands and whims of emotion and fate, yet our current love is the tragedy that binds us (although there are days it feels that way, I don't think that fits either.) Then there is that extreme romantic notion that this person is THE person that you've really been waiting for your whole life and everything before somehow magically led up to it. That one especially doesn't resonate with me.
Here is what I do know. Ten years after marriage no. 1 I'm less principled about some things, and more principled about others. I'm less concerned about what my name is on paper and more concerned about what I've ACTUALLY given up for my partner. I'm less certain about what I either do or do not know or believe about God and religion, and more willing to accept and accommodate my partners beliefs. I am more willing to communicate and less willing to ignore. I realize more every day that love is so much more about what we do and the choices that we make and the feelings grow out of all of that instead of the inverse. At some point I finally let myself consider what it was I really wanted out of life instead of trying to live some sort of imagined life that I should want and then it all shifted.
I'm still not quite sure how it will all come together, but my husband and I are at least on the same page when we are sorting out a shared life. We are best friends who have common interests and a great amount of chemistry. We enjoy our time together, and there is a long list of things we love to do together. Our life is exceedingly complex because we are trying to juggle shared parenting of his daughter and two less than ideal careers in a house we would love nothing more than to unload, in a lackluster town we dislike. At varied moments any one of those elements can become a distraction from the bigger picture of our family life and we are early in our marriage trying to eek out the joys of life from the elements we can control.
I don't know what kind of story that is, it's real, it's messy, and highly stressful and confusing. What I know for sure is that we've decided we're on the same team and we won't settle. We didn't enter this marriage with the luxury of a notion of assumed permanence. We know all too well that marriages do end and we live with the fallout of that every day. We have a very practical understanding of love that we didn't have in our first marriages, and we aren't likely to take that lightly. We love each other and we are less inclined to leave all of that to chance. We will always find a way to live a life less ordinary no matter what the circumstances and a love like that fills my heart with hope and joy.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
21 Days of Love
In the last few weeks I have been stressed out, freaked out and on the edge of causing bodily harm to everyone in my path. There is a whole battery of excuses that I could give for my edgy behavior and a number of apologies that I could, should, and have made (excluding U-Haul, I don't regret anything I said or did there!!) Here are a few standard excuses I like:
--Red Hair (a fun one to cop to whenever squeaky and irrational screaming is involved)
--Being Broke (this is a simple catch-all excuse for any number of things AND is entirely true)
--Moving makes me crazy (also a known fact)
--Being Tired (another handy blanket excuse)
That said, I know as well as everyone that hatred and violence only breed more of the same, and I have crappy health insurance and can't afford the collateral damage. So how does one quell the rage within? Well, love of course. Hmm..........and whom should I love? I could go the Miss America route here and say "everyone" but, that would be lame and difficult to measure, so I'll pick the future Mr. Purlygrl. That has a nice ring to it doesn't it?
According to conventional internet knowledge (I couldn't find a real consensus within the framework of actual psychological research) it takes 21 days to make and/or break a habit. So, with the wisdom of ask.com behind me, I will forge forward with 21 days of love. For the next 21 days I will do something loving for my sweetheart every day. I firmly believe that love is not a feeling (feelings are for sissies), it is an action, a choice, something we live, something we DO.
Thus today was day 1.
--Red Hair (a fun one to cop to whenever squeaky and irrational screaming is involved)
--Being Broke (this is a simple catch-all excuse for any number of things AND is entirely true)
--Moving makes me crazy (also a known fact)
--Being Tired (another handy blanket excuse)
That said, I know as well as everyone that hatred and violence only breed more of the same, and I have crappy health insurance and can't afford the collateral damage. So how does one quell the rage within? Well, love of course. Hmm..........and whom should I love? I could go the Miss America route here and say "everyone" but, that would be lame and difficult to measure, so I'll pick the future Mr. Purlygrl. That has a nice ring to it doesn't it?
According to conventional internet knowledge (I couldn't find a real consensus within the framework of actual psychological research) it takes 21 days to make and/or break a habit. So, with the wisdom of ask.com behind me, I will forge forward with 21 days of love. For the next 21 days I will do something loving for my sweetheart every day. I firmly believe that love is not a feeling (feelings are for sissies), it is an action, a choice, something we live, something we DO.
Thus today was day 1.
Day 1: Woke up early and made breakfast for my sweetie. I'm sure you wonder why this is loving? If you ever lived with me you would understand. Mornings and I have a very tenuous relationship, one largely associated with loathing, grunts and hostility. I simply don't understand morning AT ALL. Why is there morning? Why would anyone wake up before 10? Why do people talk to me before I've had coffee? Why am I expected to be nice before noon? All of these great questions factor into my disinterest in having breakfast with ANYONE at any time prior to 11ish. Still, my love wishes to have breakfast together and has made the request on numerous occasions and so my first act of love was to get up early and make breakfast for him. Funny thing is that it was actually kind of nice (except for the morning part.)
Thursday, August 20, 2009
You Can't Make This Shit Up #5--The Legman
It's almost laughable how many jobs I've worked over the past few years. In fact, half the time it is downright hilarious, the other half............well, that makes for less cheeky blog commentary. I really am not a transient, a hobo or a gypsy. I'm just a highly educated broad trying to eat AND have health insurance........and yeah, I'm crazy enough to dream big and want both of those things at the same time. So, yes, I've made yet another fascinating career change. I now work at a cemetery. What do you do, you may ask? Well, sales of course.
Which is how I met this interesting fellow. Now at first blush, this should be a sad story. A seventy-something man and his wife make an appointment to pre-arrange his funeral because he is dying. We spent hours in our mausoleum discussing the merits of ground burial vs. above ground entombment. Mr. Wentworth needed an oxygen tank to breathe and his wife appeared to be on the edge of tears off and on. There was lengthy discussion about the older unwed sister of his wife and their daughter, whom they may also purchase cemetery property for. It is a belabored and emotional Monday morning that ultimately left the couple exhausted and needing time to talk. We decided to break for lunch, I would call to schedule their next appointment later.
After a couple of days I called to set the next appointment. Mr. Wentworth answered the phone in a belabored and breathy voice, which could have simply been related to the oxygen tank, but in time I grew to re-interpret. (What follows here is and abridged and slightly watered down version of the conversation, the things he actually said would make a sailor blush and I don't care to repeat verbatim.)
Mr. Wentworth: I just have to tell you, you have the most amazing legs I've ever seen.
Purlygrl: Uh......
Mr. Wentworth: It's all I've been able to think about since we left the other day.
Purlygrl: ............Silence
Mr. Wentworth: I've always been a leg man, and I've got to tell you, you just have the sexiest legs I've ever seen. If I were a few years younger you'd be in trouble.
Purlygrl: .....more painful silence.......... (Also important to note that this last comment is VERY wishful thinking on his part.)
Mr. Wentworth: [at this point he continues to digress, we'll move forward]
It's important to note that at this point roughly 28% of me was willing to consider the possibility that Mr. Wentworth was on some sort of heavy opiate painkiller and wasn't fully cognisant of what he was saying. That is until...........
Purlygrl: (awkwardly) Ah, so, the reason I called was to set up that follow up appointment. Would next Monday at the same time be good for you and MRS. WENTWORTH?
Mr. Wentworth: I don't know, my wife isn't home right now. You don't think I'd be talking to you like this if she were home do you?
.....And the morphine explanation goes out the window with Mrs. Wentworth's dignity...........
On a subsequent conversation he detailed his hopes that he might die in his sleep dreaming of me and of course my lovely legs. In the end the Wentworth's bought three mausoleum spaces, and a second right of internment, which resulted in a pretty healthy commission for me.
I'm not so naive or puritanical that I am really all that shocked or horrified by men behaving this way. I really get it, men are pigs. When I was a waitress, a bartender, even a clerk I encountered guys like this, but this one takes the cake. In my wildest dreams it never occurred to me that a dying man would behave this way while buying, of all things, his own crypt. Honestly, you just can't make this shit up.
Which is how I met this interesting fellow. Now at first blush, this should be a sad story. A seventy-something man and his wife make an appointment to pre-arrange his funeral because he is dying. We spent hours in our mausoleum discussing the merits of ground burial vs. above ground entombment. Mr. Wentworth needed an oxygen tank to breathe and his wife appeared to be on the edge of tears off and on. There was lengthy discussion about the older unwed sister of his wife and their daughter, whom they may also purchase cemetery property for. It is a belabored and emotional Monday morning that ultimately left the couple exhausted and needing time to talk. We decided to break for lunch, I would call to schedule their next appointment later.
After a couple of days I called to set the next appointment. Mr. Wentworth answered the phone in a belabored and breathy voice, which could have simply been related to the oxygen tank, but in time I grew to re-interpret. (What follows here is and abridged and slightly watered down version of the conversation, the things he actually said would make a sailor blush and I don't care to repeat verbatim.)
Mr. Wentworth: I just have to tell you, you have the most amazing legs I've ever seen.
Purlygrl: Uh......
Mr. Wentworth: It's all I've been able to think about since we left the other day.
Purlygrl: ............Silence
Mr. Wentworth: I've always been a leg man, and I've got to tell you, you just have the sexiest legs I've ever seen. If I were a few years younger you'd be in trouble.
Purlygrl: .....more painful silence.......... (Also important to note that this last comment is VERY wishful thinking on his part.)
Mr. Wentworth: [at this point he continues to digress, we'll move forward]
It's important to note that at this point roughly 28% of me was willing to consider the possibility that Mr. Wentworth was on some sort of heavy opiate painkiller and wasn't fully cognisant of what he was saying. That is until...........
Purlygrl: (awkwardly) Ah, so, the reason I called was to set up that follow up appointment. Would next Monday at the same time be good for you and MRS. WENTWORTH?
Mr. Wentworth: I don't know, my wife isn't home right now. You don't think I'd be talking to you like this if she were home do you?
.....And the morphine explanation goes out the window with Mrs. Wentworth's dignity...........
On a subsequent conversation he detailed his hopes that he might die in his sleep dreaming of me and of course my lovely legs. In the end the Wentworth's bought three mausoleum spaces, and a second right of internment, which resulted in a pretty healthy commission for me.
I'm not so naive or puritanical that I am really all that shocked or horrified by men behaving this way. I really get it, men are pigs. When I was a waitress, a bartender, even a clerk I encountered guys like this, but this one takes the cake. In my wildest dreams it never occurred to me that a dying man would behave this way while buying, of all things, his own crypt. Honestly, you just can't make this shit up.
Friday, May 29, 2009
You Can't Make This Shit Up #4: Makeup Madness
For almost two years now I've been working in cosmetics doing sales and makeup artistry. I've moved on to another endeavor so now I feel comfortable sharing some of my quirkier stories about my clients. This little gem is nothing short of crazy. In fact, that is what I intend to call her.
So one day a perfectly average housewife walks up to the counter and starts examining the lipsticks. Weirdly, lipstick appears to be the most difficult decision women make. Otherwise intelligent and capable women who make hundreds of critical decisions at work and home each day are utterly flabbergasted by lipstick. As a salesperson this can be a grueling and unfruitful sale that can suck up an hour of your time for a $22.00 sale, resulting in your inevitable frustration and a whopping $.66 commission. Thus, I developed a foolproof system to speed the sale along AND sell them something else.
The first thing you have to do is get the woman away from the display unit filled with over a hundred colors of lipstick in 4 formulas. This is too complicated, too much choice. You have her sit down and ask her questions. What is the lipstick for? What will it be worn with? Where will she wear it? Is this an everyday choice or something for evening? What kinds of colors do you already like and wear? You keep asking questions until you can narrow it down to 3 lipsticks to show her and you choose the appropriate liner, don't even ask about that, it's too complicated. Once she is presented with just three choices the decision is fairly easy and you put the one she likes on her. While she is sitting there you throw on a little blush to match it, maybe touch up her eyeshadow and eyeliner and then have her look in the mirror. Presto! She looks lovely, she buys the lipstick, liner and lip gloss and wow, that blush looks great, she gets that too. This technique works nearly every time and thus it was always my practice to use it.
And so I did, not knowing that this woman was crazy. Having someone validate every one of her bizarre lipstick concerns opened the door for what was tantamount to a therapy session. What she would really like is to be the prettiest woman in the room, but not look like she tried too hard to be that way. She wants the makeup to not be recognizable as makeup and yet significantly alter her appearance. Because certainly I must know how it feels to be a woman, constantly being judged and compared and held to an unreasonable standard. After all when you walk in a room everyone is really staring at you even if they don't appear to be. She then paused to let me know how connected she felt to me. "You must be an angel. I just know it."
She had left home that afternoon in an uproar over some emotional upset that apparently involved all members of her family and somehow I understood her. Of course truth be told the only thing that I did understand about our bizarre encounter was that this woman was incredibly insecure, borderline paranoid and had strange intimacy issues that involved her glomming onto perfect strangers at cosmetics counters. She proceeded to buy a lipstick and liner totaling $43.00, which in her view was some sort of wild rebellion that would teach her husband a lesson. As an added bonus, she became a regular customer and our therapy sessions became a regular part of my routine.
What's funny really is that she is representative of an entire group of strange women. There are all kinds of crazies out there. Needy women who seek the council of a makeup artist instead of their neighborhood bartender as the good lord intended............ honestly, you just can't make this shit up.
So one day a perfectly average housewife walks up to the counter and starts examining the lipsticks. Weirdly, lipstick appears to be the most difficult decision women make. Otherwise intelligent and capable women who make hundreds of critical decisions at work and home each day are utterly flabbergasted by lipstick. As a salesperson this can be a grueling and unfruitful sale that can suck up an hour of your time for a $22.00 sale, resulting in your inevitable frustration and a whopping $.66 commission. Thus, I developed a foolproof system to speed the sale along AND sell them something else.
The first thing you have to do is get the woman away from the display unit filled with over a hundred colors of lipstick in 4 formulas. This is too complicated, too much choice. You have her sit down and ask her questions. What is the lipstick for? What will it be worn with? Where will she wear it? Is this an everyday choice or something for evening? What kinds of colors do you already like and wear? You keep asking questions until you can narrow it down to 3 lipsticks to show her and you choose the appropriate liner, don't even ask about that, it's too complicated. Once she is presented with just three choices the decision is fairly easy and you put the one she likes on her. While she is sitting there you throw on a little blush to match it, maybe touch up her eyeshadow and eyeliner and then have her look in the mirror. Presto! She looks lovely, she buys the lipstick, liner and lip gloss and wow, that blush looks great, she gets that too. This technique works nearly every time and thus it was always my practice to use it.
And so I did, not knowing that this woman was crazy. Having someone validate every one of her bizarre lipstick concerns opened the door for what was tantamount to a therapy session. What she would really like is to be the prettiest woman in the room, but not look like she tried too hard to be that way. She wants the makeup to not be recognizable as makeup and yet significantly alter her appearance. Because certainly I must know how it feels to be a woman, constantly being judged and compared and held to an unreasonable standard. After all when you walk in a room everyone is really staring at you even if they don't appear to be. She then paused to let me know how connected she felt to me. "You must be an angel. I just know it."
She had left home that afternoon in an uproar over some emotional upset that apparently involved all members of her family and somehow I understood her. Of course truth be told the only thing that I did understand about our bizarre encounter was that this woman was incredibly insecure, borderline paranoid and had strange intimacy issues that involved her glomming onto perfect strangers at cosmetics counters. She proceeded to buy a lipstick and liner totaling $43.00, which in her view was some sort of wild rebellion that would teach her husband a lesson. As an added bonus, she became a regular customer and our therapy sessions became a regular part of my routine.
What's funny really is that she is representative of an entire group of strange women. There are all kinds of crazies out there. Needy women who seek the council of a makeup artist instead of their neighborhood bartender as the good lord intended............ honestly, you just can't make this shit up.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Stepmonster
Nobody wakes up one day and says, "You know what would make my life complete? I think I should become a crackhead, a garbage man, a substitute teacher OR a step-parent." I've been a substitute teacher, thank God I haven't been a crackhead or a garbageman and I'm soon to become a step-parent. The question that is surely on every one's mind (including mine) is, "WHY?"
As far as I can tell it is a largely thankless job that includes all the same duties and tasks without the influential decision-making power of a "real" parent. Other added "perks" include your being the scapegoat to blame for the parents not getting back together and the extreme awkwardness of all school plays, soccer games, graduations and weddings. And then there is always the fun of the influence of the "baby mama or baby daddy" on your family. Somehow a person who was once the love of your partner's life magically transforms into a heinous troll whose main goal in life is to make everything complicated and everyone miserable.
That said, at nearly 40% of weddings at least one member of the bridal couple has been married before. Furthermore, 70% of marriages that involve stepchildren fail. So why do we do it? Sentimental saps and wise sages will likely say the same thing.........love, hope and the human tendency toward coupling. We all know from the moment that we engage in any relationship with another human being that there are infinite possible outcomes. A stranger on the street could be a serial killer or a saint, a potential friend or foe. Every interaction shapes who we are and how we behave in our world, and yet most of us are likely to hope that the person has the potential for good. As creatures humans are actually quite hopeful and I find that to be our most fascinating trait.
People aren't numbers or astrological charts or actuary tables, they are complicated, intricate and infinitely variable. Thus, human relationships are difficult to isolate statistically. My ex-husband and I passed all the "tests", we were a statistical marvel. We were spaced appropriately in age, had dated for the optimal amount of time, had compatible personality types, and astrological forecasts, passed premarital counseling with flying colors and we even married under nearly optimal religious and astrological circumstances and our marriage still failed. It just isn't a numbers game. The heart and soul of the whole thing gets lost sometimes in the aftermath once the bomb goes off.
Marriages don't fail because someone was too young, or because it was a "shotgun wedding" or any number of other over-simplified excuses. The truth is that at some point, for whatever combination of what are most likely a series of overlapping and complicated reasons, one or both people give up, check out, quit or run away. It's easy to pass judgement, assign blame and assume the position of martyr, victim, or hero, but at the end of the day, for those of us who've lived it and are honest with ourselves we know it simply isn't that simple. When it comes to divorce everyone loses................and maybe that is part of why we remarry. We all want to win, we all want to love and be loved, and on the whole humans are at best serial monogamists.
I have no data to support my belief that I can be a good step-parent. My parents were married and still are and all of their siblings are the same. There had been no divorce in either side of my family for over 2 generations prior to my divorce, therefore I have no frame of reference for stepparenthood whatsoever. I liken it to moving to a country where I am unfamiliar with the customs. At times I commit serious infractions without ever knowing why or how. I always feel as if I only knew the customs I would have been able to blend in just fine, but sadly now I have just made a mess of things.
My aunt once lived in Indonesia, where it is customary to shake hands using your left hand rather than your right. This doesn't seem like such a complicated thing, but Americans are quite accustomed to our right-handedness with this custom. So what if one forgets and offers the wrong hand? The problem is that manners and customs are usually not without reason. In that country toilet paper is a luxury for affluent families and thus the custom is to wipe oneself in the bathroom with your right hand. Even though the hand is washed, it is understood that the left hand is decidedly cleaner and more appropriate to offer to a friend. Imagine the horror if someone were to offer their right hand! Thus, in the country of Stepmonsterland a simple photo with Santa or a trip to the zoo could be unknowing cause for great horror and offense.
Thus I have decided to accept that I am an immigrant in a foreign land. I will try to learn the customs of the people here, but I also know that I have a contribution to make. I may never be able to join the DAR, but really, what have they done for the common good anyway?
As far as I can tell it is a largely thankless job that includes all the same duties and tasks without the influential decision-making power of a "real" parent. Other added "perks" include your being the scapegoat to blame for the parents not getting back together and the extreme awkwardness of all school plays, soccer games, graduations and weddings. And then there is always the fun of the influence of the "baby mama or baby daddy" on your family. Somehow a person who was once the love of your partner's life magically transforms into a heinous troll whose main goal in life is to make everything complicated and everyone miserable.
That said, at nearly 40% of weddings at least one member of the bridal couple has been married before. Furthermore, 70% of marriages that involve stepchildren fail. So why do we do it? Sentimental saps and wise sages will likely say the same thing.........love, hope and the human tendency toward coupling. We all know from the moment that we engage in any relationship with another human being that there are infinite possible outcomes. A stranger on the street could be a serial killer or a saint, a potential friend or foe. Every interaction shapes who we are and how we behave in our world, and yet most of us are likely to hope that the person has the potential for good. As creatures humans are actually quite hopeful and I find that to be our most fascinating trait.
People aren't numbers or astrological charts or actuary tables, they are complicated, intricate and infinitely variable. Thus, human relationships are difficult to isolate statistically. My ex-husband and I passed all the "tests", we were a statistical marvel. We were spaced appropriately in age, had dated for the optimal amount of time, had compatible personality types, and astrological forecasts, passed premarital counseling with flying colors and we even married under nearly optimal religious and astrological circumstances and our marriage still failed. It just isn't a numbers game. The heart and soul of the whole thing gets lost sometimes in the aftermath once the bomb goes off.
Marriages don't fail because someone was too young, or because it was a "shotgun wedding" or any number of other over-simplified excuses. The truth is that at some point, for whatever combination of what are most likely a series of overlapping and complicated reasons, one or both people give up, check out, quit or run away. It's easy to pass judgement, assign blame and assume the position of martyr, victim, or hero, but at the end of the day, for those of us who've lived it and are honest with ourselves we know it simply isn't that simple. When it comes to divorce everyone loses................and maybe that is part of why we remarry. We all want to win, we all want to love and be loved, and on the whole humans are at best serial monogamists.
I have no data to support my belief that I can be a good step-parent. My parents were married and still are and all of their siblings are the same. There had been no divorce in either side of my family for over 2 generations prior to my divorce, therefore I have no frame of reference for stepparenthood whatsoever. I liken it to moving to a country where I am unfamiliar with the customs. At times I commit serious infractions without ever knowing why or how. I always feel as if I only knew the customs I would have been able to blend in just fine, but sadly now I have just made a mess of things.
My aunt once lived in Indonesia, where it is customary to shake hands using your left hand rather than your right. This doesn't seem like such a complicated thing, but Americans are quite accustomed to our right-handedness with this custom. So what if one forgets and offers the wrong hand? The problem is that manners and customs are usually not without reason. In that country toilet paper is a luxury for affluent families and thus the custom is to wipe oneself in the bathroom with your right hand. Even though the hand is washed, it is understood that the left hand is decidedly cleaner and more appropriate to offer to a friend. Imagine the horror if someone were to offer their right hand! Thus, in the country of Stepmonsterland a simple photo with Santa or a trip to the zoo could be unknowing cause for great horror and offense.
Thus I have decided to accept that I am an immigrant in a foreign land. I will try to learn the customs of the people here, but I also know that I have a contribution to make. I may never be able to join the DAR, but really, what have they done for the common good anyway?
Friday, February 6, 2009
Love on a Bicycle
I've never believed that we only have one love in life. I just don't think it's possible, in part because I don't think love stops when life moves forward. I still love everyone I've ever loved no matter how great or small that love was. The love may have shifted and changed form, but I think love is like matter. It can't really be created or destroyed. I suspect that when we "fall in love" we are just becoming aware of something that has always been and always will be. I've fallen in love in kindergarten, in History class, in marching band, on vacation, at a kitchen table and most recently on a bicycle.
I suppose my first love (if you want to call it that) was in kindergarten. I was so smitten that with some spelling advice from my mother I wrote the poor chap a love letter. Of course I failed to consider that he might not be able to read the note and much to my horror he took the letter to the teacher to read it to him.
In eighth grade there was a boy with unnerving confidence and floppy blond hair who sat near me in history class. I LIVED for history class, I was in awe of everything about him, even though I knew absolutely nothing and as best I can recall never even spoke to him.............
My high school sweetheart was in the marching band with me, and a talented musician and songwriter even at the age of fifteen. He saw (and still sees) the world through different eyes than the rest of us and his creativity and quirky sensibilities were absolutely intoxicating.
I met my ex-husband on a family vacation. He was the first person I'd met outside of art class who had ever heard of the Pieta and actually loved Shakespeare. We were the best of friends and had the most amazing conversations from the moment we met and for 10 years after that.
I never dreamed the story would continue, but divorce has a funny way of opening the heart to new loves and so I fell in love over dirty dishes and half empty bottles of wine sitting at a kitchen table.
Then one day I started biking with a new friend I'd met along the way. We rode 22 miles round trip every Monday for weeks on end and we talked and laughed about everything. Somewhere along the way we fell in love, and my dear friend became so much more to me. We became so close on that bike path, he is the only person I've ever known who I trust enough to share everything without reservation. I can say anything at all and it will be okay. It all sort of snuck up on me and was even a little startling. And then, even more to my surprise, I fell in love again, this time with his daughter. This past Christmas he asked me to be his wife and I said, "Yes."
So, of all the places to fall in love, so far a bicycle has been my favorite :-) And although I believe that we have many loves in our lifetime, I also believe that there can be one who holds the special distinction of being the love of your life. I hope that the new loves in my life will all grow out of this love, and that is what makes this one the love of my life.
I suppose my first love (if you want to call it that) was in kindergarten. I was so smitten that with some spelling advice from my mother I wrote the poor chap a love letter. Of course I failed to consider that he might not be able to read the note and much to my horror he took the letter to the teacher to read it to him.
In eighth grade there was a boy with unnerving confidence and floppy blond hair who sat near me in history class. I LIVED for history class, I was in awe of everything about him, even though I knew absolutely nothing and as best I can recall never even spoke to him.............
My high school sweetheart was in the marching band with me, and a talented musician and songwriter even at the age of fifteen. He saw (and still sees) the world through different eyes than the rest of us and his creativity and quirky sensibilities were absolutely intoxicating.
I met my ex-husband on a family vacation. He was the first person I'd met outside of art class who had ever heard of the Pieta and actually loved Shakespeare. We were the best of friends and had the most amazing conversations from the moment we met and for 10 years after that.
I never dreamed the story would continue, but divorce has a funny way of opening the heart to new loves and so I fell in love over dirty dishes and half empty bottles of wine sitting at a kitchen table.
Then one day I started biking with a new friend I'd met along the way. We rode 22 miles round trip every Monday for weeks on end and we talked and laughed about everything. Somewhere along the way we fell in love, and my dear friend became so much more to me. We became so close on that bike path, he is the only person I've ever known who I trust enough to share everything without reservation. I can say anything at all and it will be okay. It all sort of snuck up on me and was even a little startling. And then, even more to my surprise, I fell in love again, this time with his daughter. This past Christmas he asked me to be his wife and I said, "Yes."
So, of all the places to fall in love, so far a bicycle has been my favorite :-) And although I believe that we have many loves in our lifetime, I also believe that there can be one who holds the special distinction of being the love of your life. I hope that the new loves in my life will all grow out of this love, and that is what makes this one the love of my life.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
20 Things I Believe
1. There are queen bees and worker bees, I am a queen bee and I've made my peace with that.
2. I'm exceedingly laid back about 70% of things, but ridiculously anal about the remaining 30%.
3. In my presence, for your own health and well being, I highly advise you to use a coaster.
4. I can't stand helpless, needy women.
5. I am even more repulsed by helpless, needy men.
6. I believe with all my heart and soul that a high quality free public education is essential to American democracy and in the past has been the foundation upon which our greatness has been built.
7. Knitting is magical.
8. I should do more yoga and drink less coffee.
9. I've learned to never say never. Nearly everything I said I'd never do or experience has happened.
10. There are many things I could give up, but I honestly can't imagine life without cheese.
11. I am convinced that the biological clock is a cruel joke. I never dreamed I'd want kids, or that wanting them could absorb so much of my mental energy.
12. The people in my life are amazingly wonderful and what is even more incredible is that the longer I'm on this planet the more wonderful people enter my life.
13. I can't believe I'm going to be a stepmother and I'm a little overwhelmed because I have NO idea how to do that job well.
14. The best days are the ones I start out grounded in gratitude, the worst are the ones when I'm feeling sorry for myself.
15. I hate winter with a fiery passion that grows stronger every year.
16. I've learned that people always meet my expectations. When I expect someone to let me down, they usually do, and when I expect great things, I usually get great things.
17. I'm glad my mother had the wisdom to turn off the TV and read to me.
18. Creativity is one of the greatest privileges of being human.
19. Laughter, though, must be the single greatest human ability.
20. Love really is the answer.
2. I'm exceedingly laid back about 70% of things, but ridiculously anal about the remaining 30%.
3. In my presence, for your own health and well being, I highly advise you to use a coaster.
4. I can't stand helpless, needy women.
5. I am even more repulsed by helpless, needy men.
6. I believe with all my heart and soul that a high quality free public education is essential to American democracy and in the past has been the foundation upon which our greatness has been built.
7. Knitting is magical.
8. I should do more yoga and drink less coffee.
9. I've learned to never say never. Nearly everything I said I'd never do or experience has happened.
10. There are many things I could give up, but I honestly can't imagine life without cheese.
11. I am convinced that the biological clock is a cruel joke. I never dreamed I'd want kids, or that wanting them could absorb so much of my mental energy.
12. The people in my life are amazingly wonderful and what is even more incredible is that the longer I'm on this planet the more wonderful people enter my life.
13. I can't believe I'm going to be a stepmother and I'm a little overwhelmed because I have NO idea how to do that job well.
14. The best days are the ones I start out grounded in gratitude, the worst are the ones when I'm feeling sorry for myself.
15. I hate winter with a fiery passion that grows stronger every year.
16. I've learned that people always meet my expectations. When I expect someone to let me down, they usually do, and when I expect great things, I usually get great things.
17. I'm glad my mother had the wisdom to turn off the TV and read to me.
18. Creativity is one of the greatest privileges of being human.
19. Laughter, though, must be the single greatest human ability.
20. Love really is the answer.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Christmas Wish
Every Christmas I catch myself reminiscing about the days of my childhood when I would lay awake on Christmas Eve trying desperately to fall asleep so that Santa would come (he won't arrive until you're asleep you know.) Belief is so powerful and wonderful. My own was so strong that I didn't figure out that there wasn't a Santa, rather at the old age of 8 my mother had to sit me down and explain that Santa is simply a story. There once was a real St. Nicholas, but he lived a long time ago and now moms and dads do all of Santa's work. Even after being handed this frightful news, I still said, ".......but there is an Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy, right?"
In time I made peace with a cruel world without Santa and all the other fictional characters that bring magic and wonder into the life of a child. I may have grown too comfortable with it. Like it or not I've grown pretty cynical really. I don't trust strangers, I don't give money to homeless people on the street and I rarely give my phone number or address to anybody. If there were a Santa he'd have a hard time finding me. Is that to say I'm heartless? Not at all. Avoiding eye contact is a useful way to be safe in a city, I happily give granola bars or candy to homeless people and 3% of my income to the salvation army, who can do much more good than I can; and my personal information is best kept with people I know. The truth is that the world children know is largely fiction and that is okay.
Still, even though I know that most of the magic I once believed in is no more than a fantastic story, occasionally I catch myself wishing. When I look at the wide world and the small one that surrounds me I catch myself wishing for things. Little things and big things. Possible and impossible. There is brokenness all around us. Broken hearts, broken homes, broken countries, broken minds, broken souls, broken relationships and broken lives. I find myself wishing I could give a little girl her divorced parents back together and loving each other and her. Or wishing I could give the peace of forgiveness to someone filled with hate and self-loathing. Or wishing I could end wars and send young boys back to their distraught families. I wish no one would go hungry or lose their home or job. I wish everyone were cared for.
My original intent was to make a list of Christmas wishes, but what is interesting is that all of my wishes really have the same root. I really want just one thing. The cynic in me initially scoffed at the idea, but I guess that little girl who believed so fervently in Santa Claus ultimately won out. My wish is simple. I wish for love in every one's hearts. Love really is the answer. If we are really filled with love for ourselves and each other we will only bring love and joy into the lives of those around us. It's when all those other ugly things like selfishness and fear creep in that we begin to do harm and grow to be disrespectful and hateful. So it is simple and yet profound. My Christmas wish is love for all.
What do you wish for this year?
In time I made peace with a cruel world without Santa and all the other fictional characters that bring magic and wonder into the life of a child. I may have grown too comfortable with it. Like it or not I've grown pretty cynical really. I don't trust strangers, I don't give money to homeless people on the street and I rarely give my phone number or address to anybody. If there were a Santa he'd have a hard time finding me. Is that to say I'm heartless? Not at all. Avoiding eye contact is a useful way to be safe in a city, I happily give granola bars or candy to homeless people and 3% of my income to the salvation army, who can do much more good than I can; and my personal information is best kept with people I know. The truth is that the world children know is largely fiction and that is okay.
Still, even though I know that most of the magic I once believed in is no more than a fantastic story, occasionally I catch myself wishing. When I look at the wide world and the small one that surrounds me I catch myself wishing for things. Little things and big things. Possible and impossible. There is brokenness all around us. Broken hearts, broken homes, broken countries, broken minds, broken souls, broken relationships and broken lives. I find myself wishing I could give a little girl her divorced parents back together and loving each other and her. Or wishing I could give the peace of forgiveness to someone filled with hate and self-loathing. Or wishing I could end wars and send young boys back to their distraught families. I wish no one would go hungry or lose their home or job. I wish everyone were cared for.
My original intent was to make a list of Christmas wishes, but what is interesting is that all of my wishes really have the same root. I really want just one thing. The cynic in me initially scoffed at the idea, but I guess that little girl who believed so fervently in Santa Claus ultimately won out. My wish is simple. I wish for love in every one's hearts. Love really is the answer. If we are really filled with love for ourselves and each other we will only bring love and joy into the lives of those around us. It's when all those other ugly things like selfishness and fear creep in that we begin to do harm and grow to be disrespectful and hateful. So it is simple and yet profound. My Christmas wish is love for all.
What do you wish for this year?
Monday, November 24, 2008
Live, Collapse, Smile
Elizabeth Gilbert wrote the only book about the experience of divorce that I read and enjoyed. Most books about a woman surviving divorce are like a bad (as if there were good, but bear with me) Lifetime channel movie. Eat, Pray, Love hit home in ways that I can't even begin to express. This complete stranger is somehow a kindred spirit, we weirdly even share the same birthday. I cried through the first few chapters of the book, not because these were laden with any sort of sentimentality or overt emotional manipulation (as they do on Lifetime), but more because she had somehow managed to have a similar trajectory for her marriage.
Our stories start out similar. She married the person who seemed perfect at the time and eventually ended up with the marriage, home and career that she set out to have and somehow it was completely empty. There she was crying on the bathroom floor because she wasn't pregnant and was relieved, and yet that wasn't how she was supposed to feel. I've been on that bathroom floor, I've cried those tears. And much like her, it wasn't long after that realization that the marriage finally fell apart.
After and during her divorce she almost immediately fell into a passionate and ultimately doomed relationship, one that was intense and hard to shake, even after it was supposed to be over. I had the same experience, but this is where the overlap in our stories ends.
Elizabeth was a successful writer prior to her divorce, and so she managed to get a book deal allowing her to spend a year traveling the globe and writing about her experiences. I simply lost my job and home. Eat, Pray, Love refers to the three parts of her journey. She went to Italy and experienced pleasure to it's fullest through eating and soaking up life, while yet being celibate. Then she traveled to India where she learned spiritual devotion and even experienced some degree of enlightenment. Finally she went to Bali of all places and there she ultimately learned to balance pleasure and spirituality while learning to love again.
My story is less glamorous. My job ended, in part related to my divorce, but largely because I didn't fully appreciate it until it was gone. I didn't get to travel the world while I figured things out, I went to Ohio. So if I were so write the story using Elizabeth Gilbert's format, my story would be titled Live, Collapse, Smile.
After my ex-husband left I soon felt very free. I spent time with my friends, I finally began to feel at home in Detroit. Eventually I fell head over heels for someone in a short period of time. I'd never fallen so hard or so fast, for the first time in years I felt like I was really living my life rather than watching it pass me by. Suddenly I was making choices for myself, rather than doing what I thought I should or felt obligated to. No more resentment, no more feeling trapped, just me and my life. What is interesting is what I learned in that period. After all those years of resisting having children, of wishing I weren't married, and devoting my heart and soul to my career I came to realize that I really wanted everything I'd been fighting. I wanted to be married and have children and my career just didn't matter to me at all anymore. AND the current love of my life, the man I was so crazy about, wasn't the one to give me all of that.
Thus, the Collapse chapter began. I somewhat abruptly broke up with my love and everything fell apart. The full weight of everything crashed in around me and I felt like I was drowning. Everything I knew and understood about my world had changed. I cried without ceasing for over 24 hours, I didn't eat, I didn't sleep. I gave up. In the middle of all this I learned that I was losing my home. I felt such hopelessness and despair. All I wanted to do was sleep until it all stopped hurting. I wanted to just wake up years later when everything was better. Of course this is never an option, we have to live through our pain, and I barely did, but I made it with considerable help from my family and friends. Ultimately I had to let the last remnants of my old life go. My friends and family pulled together to pack up my things and move me to Ohio where they could take care of me while I picked up the pieces.
Ohio has been a string of unfulfilling and menial jobs living in a place that is far from interesting or cultured and somehow in the middle of all of that I found myself. For the first time in my life I'm clear about what I want and where I want to go. I even managed to find a wonderful person and fall in love........(yes again.) As much as it shocks me, what I really want is to take care of him and have a family together. I'm living my life as I want to, not as I perceive I'm supposed to or to please anyone else. Despite my being broke and having no discernible career, I'm happy. I smile and laugh all the time. I had all but forgotten how to do both before my marriage fell apart. I was numb then, and now I'm fully alive. It may not be perfect, it may be messy, but I'm living and smiling about it.
While Elizabeth Gilbert had the privilege of traveling the world to put the pieces of her life back together, I had the privilege of moving to Ohio. I fell in love with a great guy, who ultimately wasn't "the" guy, but helped me to see that I could love again. With him I got out of my dreary home and found the joys of living the way I'd always wanted to. I let go of that relationship and for a little while things seemed bleak, but I learned to let people love me and help me pull myself together. I had to fully collapse before I could find my joy again. My joy is a life quite ordinary in a place far from exceptional, yet spent with someone quite extrodinary. So my story is Live, Collapse, Smile, and I'm all the better for it, even if I didn't get to travel the world while I sorted it all out.
Our stories start out similar. She married the person who seemed perfect at the time and eventually ended up with the marriage, home and career that she set out to have and somehow it was completely empty. There she was crying on the bathroom floor because she wasn't pregnant and was relieved, and yet that wasn't how she was supposed to feel. I've been on that bathroom floor, I've cried those tears. And much like her, it wasn't long after that realization that the marriage finally fell apart.
After and during her divorce she almost immediately fell into a passionate and ultimately doomed relationship, one that was intense and hard to shake, even after it was supposed to be over. I had the same experience, but this is where the overlap in our stories ends.
Elizabeth was a successful writer prior to her divorce, and so she managed to get a book deal allowing her to spend a year traveling the globe and writing about her experiences. I simply lost my job and home. Eat, Pray, Love refers to the three parts of her journey. She went to Italy and experienced pleasure to it's fullest through eating and soaking up life, while yet being celibate. Then she traveled to India where she learned spiritual devotion and even experienced some degree of enlightenment. Finally she went to Bali of all places and there she ultimately learned to balance pleasure and spirituality while learning to love again.
My story is less glamorous. My job ended, in part related to my divorce, but largely because I didn't fully appreciate it until it was gone. I didn't get to travel the world while I figured things out, I went to Ohio. So if I were so write the story using Elizabeth Gilbert's format, my story would be titled Live, Collapse, Smile.
After my ex-husband left I soon felt very free. I spent time with my friends, I finally began to feel at home in Detroit. Eventually I fell head over heels for someone in a short period of time. I'd never fallen so hard or so fast, for the first time in years I felt like I was really living my life rather than watching it pass me by. Suddenly I was making choices for myself, rather than doing what I thought I should or felt obligated to. No more resentment, no more feeling trapped, just me and my life. What is interesting is what I learned in that period. After all those years of resisting having children, of wishing I weren't married, and devoting my heart and soul to my career I came to realize that I really wanted everything I'd been fighting. I wanted to be married and have children and my career just didn't matter to me at all anymore. AND the current love of my life, the man I was so crazy about, wasn't the one to give me all of that.
Thus, the Collapse chapter began. I somewhat abruptly broke up with my love and everything fell apart. The full weight of everything crashed in around me and I felt like I was drowning. Everything I knew and understood about my world had changed. I cried without ceasing for over 24 hours, I didn't eat, I didn't sleep. I gave up. In the middle of all this I learned that I was losing my home. I felt such hopelessness and despair. All I wanted to do was sleep until it all stopped hurting. I wanted to just wake up years later when everything was better. Of course this is never an option, we have to live through our pain, and I barely did, but I made it with considerable help from my family and friends. Ultimately I had to let the last remnants of my old life go. My friends and family pulled together to pack up my things and move me to Ohio where they could take care of me while I picked up the pieces.
Ohio has been a string of unfulfilling and menial jobs living in a place that is far from interesting or cultured and somehow in the middle of all of that I found myself. For the first time in my life I'm clear about what I want and where I want to go. I even managed to find a wonderful person and fall in love........(yes again.) As much as it shocks me, what I really want is to take care of him and have a family together. I'm living my life as I want to, not as I perceive I'm supposed to or to please anyone else. Despite my being broke and having no discernible career, I'm happy. I smile and laugh all the time. I had all but forgotten how to do both before my marriage fell apart. I was numb then, and now I'm fully alive. It may not be perfect, it may be messy, but I'm living and smiling about it.
While Elizabeth Gilbert had the privilege of traveling the world to put the pieces of her life back together, I had the privilege of moving to Ohio. I fell in love with a great guy, who ultimately wasn't "the" guy, but helped me to see that I could love again. With him I got out of my dreary home and found the joys of living the way I'd always wanted to. I let go of that relationship and for a little while things seemed bleak, but I learned to let people love me and help me pull myself together. I had to fully collapse before I could find my joy again. My joy is a life quite ordinary in a place far from exceptional, yet spent with someone quite extrodinary. So my story is Live, Collapse, Smile, and I'm all the better for it, even if I didn't get to travel the world while I sorted it all out.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Why I (sort of) love Anarchists
Sometimes a catchy title is worth a great deal............ But seriously, I have a point here. History and common sense will tell us that anarchy is a fool's errand and communism has proven to be a failed experiment in social engineering. The common Achilles heel for both of these belief systems is the assumption that at their core people are basically good. Systems such as government and capitalism are corrupting powers and somehow in the absence of these people will do right by each other. It all sounds good on paper, but somehow it just doesn't add up. Anthropologists will be the first to tell you that societies that lack formal government and organized economic structures are still far from Utopian. People still do wrong by each other, there is still crime and there is still unhappiness.
So why do I (sort of) love anarchists when clearly they "don't get it"? Well, maybe I have a perpetual fascination with the underdog (which I do), but there really is more to it. I really admire anyone who is capable of believing in the basic goodness of people. As a point of fact I disagree. I'm much more aligned with the Buddhists contrary to my Judeo-Christian upbringing. I just don't think people are at their core good or bad, they just ARE. The good and bad are in the choosing, the living, the doing, their BEING. Still, I have to give points to anyone who really believes in the basic goodness of people. I can't do it.
At heart I value a positive outlook and over time it is more and more clear to me that people who see possibilities where others see problems are the ones that change the world for the better. I suppose that is also where the anarchists and communists get it wrong; for all their belief in the goodness of people they seem to get bogged down in negativity that they attribute to systems without fully comprehending the connectedness of those "good" people to their systems.
As we look at the election we have to remember that to whatever extent our government has benefited or failed us, we play a part. I love the positive concept at the core of these fringe ideas, but we all know they got it all wrong. In the United States we don't exist outside our economy or government, we ARE our economy and government. It is a living and breathing reflection of us. These systems are made of people, and these people always have choices. We have the ability to BE the change we wish to see in the world. So please, whatever you do, just do something to make this world a slightly better place than you found it and who knows, maybe I'll change my mind and decide that after all people are basically good. I wouldn't mind being proven wrong.
So why do I (sort of) love anarchists when clearly they "don't get it"? Well, maybe I have a perpetual fascination with the underdog (which I do), but there really is more to it. I really admire anyone who is capable of believing in the basic goodness of people. As a point of fact I disagree. I'm much more aligned with the Buddhists contrary to my Judeo-Christian upbringing. I just don't think people are at their core good or bad, they just ARE. The good and bad are in the choosing, the living, the doing, their BEING. Still, I have to give points to anyone who really believes in the basic goodness of people. I can't do it.
At heart I value a positive outlook and over time it is more and more clear to me that people who see possibilities where others see problems are the ones that change the world for the better. I suppose that is also where the anarchists and communists get it wrong; for all their belief in the goodness of people they seem to get bogged down in negativity that they attribute to systems without fully comprehending the connectedness of those "good" people to their systems.
As we look at the election we have to remember that to whatever extent our government has benefited or failed us, we play a part. I love the positive concept at the core of these fringe ideas, but we all know they got it all wrong. In the United States we don't exist outside our economy or government, we ARE our economy and government. It is a living and breathing reflection of us. These systems are made of people, and these people always have choices. We have the ability to BE the change we wish to see in the world. So please, whatever you do, just do something to make this world a slightly better place than you found it and who knows, maybe I'll change my mind and decide that after all people are basically good. I wouldn't mind being proven wrong.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Better Off?
I have never bothered with politics on here, and I doubt I'll do or say much more than this little reflection, but this election is too critical. I can't help myself. Over the years politicians and pundits like to point back to Ronald Regan's persuasive question, "Are you better off now than you were four years ago?" So today I ask myself, am I better off than I was eight years ago? Well, that probably depends on how you look at it. I'm older and wiser and on the whole happy, but none of those qualities keep me fed, healthy or free. So here it is:
1. Eight years ago I taught in the lowest-paid inner city school in the county where I lived and I made twice as much annual salary as I do today.
2. I owned my own home and drove a new car; today I rent my home and drive a 10 yr. old used car.
3. My employer paid the majority of my health insurance premium and when I paid a copay the insurance paid the rest; today I pay 50% of the premium for health insurance that seldom pays for any of the services at my doctor and I have thousands of dollars in unpaid medical bills.
4. I was spending more on groceries than gasoline; now I spend more on gas than food.
5. Eight years ago I was living my American dream; now it seems life is more about survival and certainly less about living any sort of dream.
I never could have dreamed that my life could become what it now is. I never would have thought I would actually consider that I might be better off to marry a Canadian so I could be insured. (I actually checked out http://www.hookacanuck.com/ after watching Sicko.) Or that I would have ever had to apply for food stamps. I never thought I'd see my brother sent off to war (thank God he was sent home safely.) Or that I would live on unemployment. Or that I would be homeless. Yet, in the last 8 years I lived all of those things and more. Am I better off? In the ways that I expect governmental impact ABSOLUTELY NOT.
1. Eight years ago I taught in the lowest-paid inner city school in the county where I lived and I made twice as much annual salary as I do today.
2. I owned my own home and drove a new car; today I rent my home and drive a 10 yr. old used car.
3. My employer paid the majority of my health insurance premium and when I paid a copay the insurance paid the rest; today I pay 50% of the premium for health insurance that seldom pays for any of the services at my doctor and I have thousands of dollars in unpaid medical bills.
4. I was spending more on groceries than gasoline; now I spend more on gas than food.
5. Eight years ago I was living my American dream; now it seems life is more about survival and certainly less about living any sort of dream.
I never could have dreamed that my life could become what it now is. I never would have thought I would actually consider that I might be better off to marry a Canadian so I could be insured. (I actually checked out http://www.hookacanuck.com/ after watching Sicko.) Or that I would have ever had to apply for food stamps. I never thought I'd see my brother sent off to war (thank God he was sent home safely.) Or that I would live on unemployment. Or that I would be homeless. Yet, in the last 8 years I lived all of those things and more. Am I better off? In the ways that I expect governmental impact ABSOLUTELY NOT.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Surprise Date
I love surprises, in fact I find people who don't quite suspect. Too much of our everyday lives are mundane and predictable, but a good pleasant surprise can be a real joy. So imagine my excitement a few weeks ago when on Friday morning my boyfriend informed me that we would be going out after work. When I inquired where, so that I would know how to dress etc., he said, "It's a surprise."
A known surprise has a flavor all its own. One can't help but speculate what it might be. The only information he provided was that we would be outside and to dress accordingly. So, in true girly fashion, I packed 2 outfits so I could get input from the girls at work regarding my fashion choices. When I arrived at work the speculation began. One theory was that we would be attending something called "Fire Water" which would be taking place downtown. Apparently there would be floating fires on the river and dancers on the riverfront. Another theory was the possibility of a marriage proposal. I actually was hedging my bets on Shakespeare in the Park.
At the end of my shift the consensus regarding my attire was to wear the white cotton pants and sage green knit top. I changed clothes in the stock room and came out to my department to wait for prince charming to pick me up. I was ready within minutes and waiting. My coworkers kept passing by and commenting that I looked nice and inquiring about my plans. Like a silly teenager I kept replying that my boyfriend was picking me up for a "surprise date." After a while I started to feel foolish, fifteen minutes had passed and still no white knight. I called. "Where are you?" He replied that he was with my dog (who should have been at his house.) Why on earth would he bring the dog? "At home?" Yes, he was still at home, an hour away. So my first surprise of the evening was that my date was not on time to pick me up.
There was an apparent mix-up about my schedule and he thought he had another hour before picking me up. I told him to meet me at a nearby bar, which he did in a little over an hour. There we had a snack of lettuce wraps and the surprise date was finally underway. We hopped in his car and appeared to be heading in the direction of downtown, which is a likely direction for any of the three surprise date hypotheses, however as we passed over the river floating camp fires of some sort came into view and it became apparent that "Fire Water" was at least a part of the plan.
We had to park several blocks away and as we walked out of the parking garage it began to get a little misty. Optimistically, we continued toward the river assuming the best, but the closer we were to the destination the more people seemed to walk in our direction. Eventually we learned that the event had been cancelled due to rain and we turned back. We were still 3 or 4 blocks from the parking garage when the sky opened up and an ocean's worth of water were dumped upon us and soaked us to the bone. Now, how people react to this sort of adventure can tell you a lot about them. If you ever want to really know someone just get caught in the rain, or stranded in an airport, or broken down in a car by the side of the road. At this juncture, surprise number 2 for the night, my boyfriend did not disappoint. We laughed, we hugged, we kissed and we walked back to the car smiling.
We although happy, were now wet and hungry and so we decide to head to the Short North, which is an area, filled with bars, restaurants, galleries and other fun nightlife. Upon arrival at our new and alternate destination my now translucent white pants have turned brown and muddy on the backside due to apparent poor interior car maintenance on the part of said boyfriend. Ah, but this third (or is it the 4th) surprise cannot ruin our night, I packed 2 outfits! So I changed clothes in the parking garage and we were once again on our way.
We decided to head toward a sports bar where boyfriend had remembered eating good food at some time in the past and commenced in the spirit of adventure to order a dish called a gator ball. Now in retrospect the gator ball concept is probably as ill-advised as the southern "delicacy" known as the turduckin, but we were weary, wet and hungry and clearly not thinking at full capacity. A gator ball as described on the menu is a cheese stuffed hot pepper surrounded by chicken and then bacon, which is then fried. It is a well known and often noted characteristic of bars that these establishments are intentionally lit poorly. One could argue that it is for ambience or excitement, but often I've assumed that the reason is to hide an otherwise shabby and poorly cleaned space. I now have an alternate theory. This also disguises flaws in food preparation.
By the time the gator balls arrived I was ready to gnaw my own arm off and I took a hearty bite of this big ball of greasy wonder. Mmm...crunchy bacon and..........what is that? Fat? Chicken isn't that fatty. What could explain the texture in my mouth? I took a second bite before holding the gator ball up to a sliver of light to realize I wasn't chewing on fat at all. RAW CHICKEN! Now that is a surprise you don't get every day. I've always believed that in times of crisis it is wise to call upon experts and so I called the only public health official I know to ask the burning questions on my mind. 1. Should I make myself throw up as a preventative measure? 2. Is there any amount of alcohol that if consumed would counter the effects of salmonella poisoning? According to my well respected expert the answer to both questions was a resounding, "No." Meanwhile boyfriend was conferring with the management of our new favorite restaurant and of course they would be happy to make us something else and of course we didn't owe them a dime, and of course we got the hell out of that festering cesspool of raw meat as fast as our legs would carry us.
With a mixture of horror and humor we left in search of food because, although nauseated we were also hungry. The bouncer at our next stop raved about the food and so we paid our cover, worked through the crowd to get a booth and sat down a little relieved to notice better lighting for starters. Then our waitress approached the table and we learned that the kitchen was closed. Groan........... The surprises just keep on coming. And so we leave requesting a refund from the bouncer and head to what would finally be our last stop.
This place was packed and the kitchen was actually open. We ordered a pizza for $12.95, which upon arrival would have been a disappointment since it was only about 7 inches in diameter, but instead it was like manna from heaven for our weary little tummies. We took a picture with the ole' camera phone to commemorate our adventure and then headed home because we had all the surprises two people can ingest in one evening.
A known surprise has a flavor all its own. One can't help but speculate what it might be. The only information he provided was that we would be outside and to dress accordingly. So, in true girly fashion, I packed 2 outfits so I could get input from the girls at work regarding my fashion choices. When I arrived at work the speculation began. One theory was that we would be attending something called "Fire Water" which would be taking place downtown. Apparently there would be floating fires on the river and dancers on the riverfront. Another theory was the possibility of a marriage proposal. I actually was hedging my bets on Shakespeare in the Park.
At the end of my shift the consensus regarding my attire was to wear the white cotton pants and sage green knit top. I changed clothes in the stock room and came out to my department to wait for prince charming to pick me up. I was ready within minutes and waiting. My coworkers kept passing by and commenting that I looked nice and inquiring about my plans. Like a silly teenager I kept replying that my boyfriend was picking me up for a "surprise date." After a while I started to feel foolish, fifteen minutes had passed and still no white knight. I called. "Where are you?" He replied that he was with my dog (who should have been at his house.) Why on earth would he bring the dog? "At home?" Yes, he was still at home, an hour away. So my first surprise of the evening was that my date was not on time to pick me up.
There was an apparent mix-up about my schedule and he thought he had another hour before picking me up. I told him to meet me at a nearby bar, which he did in a little over an hour. There we had a snack of lettuce wraps and the surprise date was finally underway. We hopped in his car and appeared to be heading in the direction of downtown, which is a likely direction for any of the three surprise date hypotheses, however as we passed over the river floating camp fires of some sort came into view and it became apparent that "Fire Water" was at least a part of the plan.
We had to park several blocks away and as we walked out of the parking garage it began to get a little misty. Optimistically, we continued toward the river assuming the best, but the closer we were to the destination the more people seemed to walk in our direction. Eventually we learned that the event had been cancelled due to rain and we turned back. We were still 3 or 4 blocks from the parking garage when the sky opened up and an ocean's worth of water were dumped upon us and soaked us to the bone. Now, how people react to this sort of adventure can tell you a lot about them. If you ever want to really know someone just get caught in the rain, or stranded in an airport, or broken down in a car by the side of the road. At this juncture, surprise number 2 for the night, my boyfriend did not disappoint. We laughed, we hugged, we kissed and we walked back to the car smiling.
We although happy, were now wet and hungry and so we decide to head to the Short North, which is an area, filled with bars, restaurants, galleries and other fun nightlife. Upon arrival at our new and alternate destination my now translucent white pants have turned brown and muddy on the backside due to apparent poor interior car maintenance on the part of said boyfriend. Ah, but this third (or is it the 4th) surprise cannot ruin our night, I packed 2 outfits! So I changed clothes in the parking garage and we were once again on our way.
We decided to head toward a sports bar where boyfriend had remembered eating good food at some time in the past and commenced in the spirit of adventure to order a dish called a gator ball. Now in retrospect the gator ball concept is probably as ill-advised as the southern "delicacy" known as the turduckin, but we were weary, wet and hungry and clearly not thinking at full capacity. A gator ball as described on the menu is a cheese stuffed hot pepper surrounded by chicken and then bacon, which is then fried. It is a well known and often noted characteristic of bars that these establishments are intentionally lit poorly. One could argue that it is for ambience or excitement, but often I've assumed that the reason is to hide an otherwise shabby and poorly cleaned space. I now have an alternate theory. This also disguises flaws in food preparation.
By the time the gator balls arrived I was ready to gnaw my own arm off and I took a hearty bite of this big ball of greasy wonder. Mmm...crunchy bacon and..........what is that? Fat? Chicken isn't that fatty. What could explain the texture in my mouth? I took a second bite before holding the gator ball up to a sliver of light to realize I wasn't chewing on fat at all. RAW CHICKEN! Now that is a surprise you don't get every day. I've always believed that in times of crisis it is wise to call upon experts and so I called the only public health official I know to ask the burning questions on my mind. 1. Should I make myself throw up as a preventative measure? 2. Is there any amount of alcohol that if consumed would counter the effects of salmonella poisoning? According to my well respected expert the answer to both questions was a resounding, "No." Meanwhile boyfriend was conferring with the management of our new favorite restaurant and of course they would be happy to make us something else and of course we didn't owe them a dime, and of course we got the hell out of that festering cesspool of raw meat as fast as our legs would carry us.
With a mixture of horror and humor we left in search of food because, although nauseated we were also hungry. The bouncer at our next stop raved about the food and so we paid our cover, worked through the crowd to get a booth and sat down a little relieved to notice better lighting for starters. Then our waitress approached the table and we learned that the kitchen was closed. Groan........... The surprises just keep on coming. And so we leave requesting a refund from the bouncer and head to what would finally be our last stop.
This place was packed and the kitchen was actually open. We ordered a pizza for $12.95, which upon arrival would have been a disappointment since it was only about 7 inches in diameter, but instead it was like manna from heaven for our weary little tummies. We took a picture with the ole' camera phone to commemorate our adventure and then headed home because we had all the surprises two people can ingest in one evening.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Lifetime for Men
If you've ever had the misfortune of viewing a movie on the Lifetime channel or reading a book from Oprah's book club you already know that men are jerks who ruin the lives of women and drive them to drinking and all matter of horrible destructive behavior. Now, before I say much more let the record show that I concur that 98% of men are jerks. I've had my fair share of jerk men in my life, I could easily make a dozen Lifetime movies from my own life. Furthermore, I know of much worse from the lives of others. Only problem is that women can be pretty awful too, which left me wondering, why isn't there a lifetime channel for men?
Imagine a plot something like this: A hardworking all-American guy from Detroit meets a sweet young girl from a trailer park and is swept up in a romance of sorts only to discover that early in the relationship she has become pregnant. Having been raised with good "family values" he does the honorable thing and marries her only to discover shortly after the nuptials that she is in fact NOT pregnant at all. Still an honorable guy who believes in love, he sticks with her with the understanding that they'd wait a while to have any children. Yet within a short time she is pregnant, this time in reality, not fantasy. During the pregnancy he cares for her and prepares their home for the baby. At some point she asks to put her name on the deed to the house and of course he agrees. Shortly after the birth of the child and nearly moments after the ink is dry on the deed she leaves, files for divorce, and commences to take the man for all he is worth while denying him access to his only child. The child living in squalor back in the trailer park and developing a hearty smokers cough by the age of 2. All the while the unjust legal system giving the less-than-equipt mother preferential treatment and all of his money.
This little narrative is based largely on events in the life of someone I know and the truth is I could tell stories all day about men who have been largely screwed over by women and a system that doesn't seem to value fathers very much. In fact I think most people could think of stories like these involving people in their own lives. So the question for me is why isn't there a whole industry centered around the poor beaten down guy story? Women's lives as ruined by men is arguably a billion dollar industry, so why not men?
At the end of the day I believe society as a whole is more comfortable with the man as victimizer, woman as victim paradigm. Men certainly don't want to see themselves as victims, and honestly I don't think women want to see them that way either. Conversely we are somehow very comfortable with women as victims, although we always love the happy ending where they stick it to "the man" and get a "liberating" job as a secretary somewhere and pay the rent on their crappy two bedroom apartment all by themselves.
Right or wrong women have managed to get disproportionate rights as a result of this paradigm. On the whole we as women are peripherally aware of it, but since we get so few advantages its always nice to have that ace up our sleeve. Men are reticent to draw attention to the vicimhood for a variety of reasons, largely because in the end the scenario still gets turned back on them. They still end up the jerk.
Imagine this scenario: Parent A & B divorce. At the time of the divorce parent A is staying at home with the only child. The custody arrangement gives parent A 55% of the time with the child and parent B 45% of the time. Parent B is required to pay one third of his/her income to Parent A and to pay for the child's health care expenses. This arrangement doesn't change even if the stay-at-home parent secures employment. Which parent is the mother? Of course the answer is A. The real clincher here is that if the father in this scenario were to fight to pay any less given that mom is now working and not paying for rent he would be a jerk for trying to reduce his child support even though he pays all the child's expenses during the 45% of the time that he has the child.
I suppose the answer is that in a perfect world we would all feel empowered enough that we don't view ourselves or others as victims. Or even better, we learn to value one another and chose to treat each other with love and respect so that fairness might reign supreme. Until then we're stuck with the lifetime channel and some men silently squashed by an unfair system...............
Imagine a plot something like this: A hardworking all-American guy from Detroit meets a sweet young girl from a trailer park and is swept up in a romance of sorts only to discover that early in the relationship she has become pregnant. Having been raised with good "family values" he does the honorable thing and marries her only to discover shortly after the nuptials that she is in fact NOT pregnant at all. Still an honorable guy who believes in love, he sticks with her with the understanding that they'd wait a while to have any children. Yet within a short time she is pregnant, this time in reality, not fantasy. During the pregnancy he cares for her and prepares their home for the baby. At some point she asks to put her name on the deed to the house and of course he agrees. Shortly after the birth of the child and nearly moments after the ink is dry on the deed she leaves, files for divorce, and commences to take the man for all he is worth while denying him access to his only child. The child living in squalor back in the trailer park and developing a hearty smokers cough by the age of 2. All the while the unjust legal system giving the less-than-equipt mother preferential treatment and all of his money.
This little narrative is based largely on events in the life of someone I know and the truth is I could tell stories all day about men who have been largely screwed over by women and a system that doesn't seem to value fathers very much. In fact I think most people could think of stories like these involving people in their own lives. So the question for me is why isn't there a whole industry centered around the poor beaten down guy story? Women's lives as ruined by men is arguably a billion dollar industry, so why not men?
At the end of the day I believe society as a whole is more comfortable with the man as victimizer, woman as victim paradigm. Men certainly don't want to see themselves as victims, and honestly I don't think women want to see them that way either. Conversely we are somehow very comfortable with women as victims, although we always love the happy ending where they stick it to "the man" and get a "liberating" job as a secretary somewhere and pay the rent on their crappy two bedroom apartment all by themselves.
Right or wrong women have managed to get disproportionate rights as a result of this paradigm. On the whole we as women are peripherally aware of it, but since we get so few advantages its always nice to have that ace up our sleeve. Men are reticent to draw attention to the vicimhood for a variety of reasons, largely because in the end the scenario still gets turned back on them. They still end up the jerk.
Imagine this scenario: Parent A & B divorce. At the time of the divorce parent A is staying at home with the only child. The custody arrangement gives parent A 55% of the time with the child and parent B 45% of the time. Parent B is required to pay one third of his/her income to Parent A and to pay for the child's health care expenses. This arrangement doesn't change even if the stay-at-home parent secures employment. Which parent is the mother? Of course the answer is A. The real clincher here is that if the father in this scenario were to fight to pay any less given that mom is now working and not paying for rent he would be a jerk for trying to reduce his child support even though he pays all the child's expenses during the 45% of the time that he has the child.
I suppose the answer is that in a perfect world we would all feel empowered enough that we don't view ourselves or others as victims. Or even better, we learn to value one another and chose to treat each other with love and respect so that fairness might reign supreme. Until then we're stuck with the lifetime channel and some men silently squashed by an unfair system...............
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Someone Else's Path
“If you see your path laid out in front of you -- Step one, Step two, Step three -- you only know one thing... it is not your path. Your path is created in the moment of action. If you can see it laid out in front of you, you can be sure it is someone else's path. That is why you see it so clearly.”
-- Joseph Campbell
I spend a certain amount of time and emotional energy feeling somewhat lost these days. I've re-formatted my entire life around a new set of principals. I've let myself imagine the life I never dared to dream of and am trying to trust that this life will materialize. I'm making all of my decisions within the context of my true passions, but I don't have a rigid structured path to follow. On the one hand this is difficult, yet on the other I'm growing to see the wisdom in it.
In what now seems nearly foreign to me, my former life had a clear and recognizable path. I graduated from high school and went to a nice college. I graduated college and got a good job. I married a good man, we got a good little dog. (I did fail to have the good kids..........) My career progressed to another good job. ...........and yet the whole time I was terribly unhappy. Worst of all I couldn't understand why. I had all the stuff in place that I was supposed to have. I had a nice house, a new car, I was even on the society pages a few times. And it was completely empty. I was never going to find joy along someone else's imaginary path.
At the end of the day I want more. I want to wake up with a lightness of spirit and anticipation of the day ahead. I want dread to become a distant memory. I want to live a joyful life and bring joy into other people's lives. I can't do that unless I'm living the life I truly want to live. The truth is that there is no way that I could possibly plan the next steps conclusively without closing the door inadvertently to the infinite possibilities that exist. There is no clear path because there is but one of me and if I'm ever to sort it all out I'm beginning to realize that when I arrive wherever it is that I am going, I could have never anticipated the path that took me there. As my grandmother Clara used to say, "I've never been lost forever."
-- Joseph Campbell
I spend a certain amount of time and emotional energy feeling somewhat lost these days. I've re-formatted my entire life around a new set of principals. I've let myself imagine the life I never dared to dream of and am trying to trust that this life will materialize. I'm making all of my decisions within the context of my true passions, but I don't have a rigid structured path to follow. On the one hand this is difficult, yet on the other I'm growing to see the wisdom in it.
In what now seems nearly foreign to me, my former life had a clear and recognizable path. I graduated from high school and went to a nice college. I graduated college and got a good job. I married a good man, we got a good little dog. (I did fail to have the good kids..........) My career progressed to another good job. ...........and yet the whole time I was terribly unhappy. Worst of all I couldn't understand why. I had all the stuff in place that I was supposed to have. I had a nice house, a new car, I was even on the society pages a few times. And it was completely empty. I was never going to find joy along someone else's imaginary path.
At the end of the day I want more. I want to wake up with a lightness of spirit and anticipation of the day ahead. I want dread to become a distant memory. I want to live a joyful life and bring joy into other people's lives. I can't do that unless I'm living the life I truly want to live. The truth is that there is no way that I could possibly plan the next steps conclusively without closing the door inadvertently to the infinite possibilities that exist. There is no clear path because there is but one of me and if I'm ever to sort it all out I'm beginning to realize that when I arrive wherever it is that I am going, I could have never anticipated the path that took me there. As my grandmother Clara used to say, "I've never been lost forever."
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Purlygrl and Cy-Boar's Summer of Fun 07
Last summer I had so much fun and was so busy, that I never managed to post my photos and commentary from summer so here goes:
I didn't have the money or where-with-all to travel much last summer so I spent my free time enjoying the fun that Ohio has to offer.
The particular area where Cy-Boar and I reside is about an hour from city life, but what we do have is plenty of gorgeous nature. This comical sign was in front of a gas station near a park where we hike. What could one love more than the freedom of Sunday beer sales and value-priced firewood in one convenient location? Certainly makes me proud to be an American.
One of the popular activities/attractions in smalltown Ohio during the summer is always the county fair. Of course you can enjoy fried foods, livestock auctions, and yes you can also purchase your headstone and visit a wax sculpture of a blue-eyed Jesus. On a more personal note, my peach pie got 2nd place at the Marion County Fair and went for a quite respectable sum at the pie auction.
Since my birthday is in July, birthday celebration is always a part of my summer's activities. And since my 29th birthday was in 2007 it also happened to be the last birthday I plan to ever have. Here Cy-Boar and I enjoyed a lovely Italian dinner and I received a comfy hammock to laze away the days of summer.
If I had my way I'd visit a white sandy beach with crystal clear blue water every summer, but this was not the year for that. Still, believe it or not Ohio does have some sub-par beaches, and where better to spend the afternoon of the day you were fired from a less than inspiring job?
I can't leave out the other men in my life, so here I am at a family wedding with my baby brother, my grandpa and my dad. Of course the best picture from this wedding though is of a group of bikers doing the hokey poky...............
Of course all good things come to an end so the official closure to our summer was Labor Day weekend in Detroit where Cy-Boar and his little one and I spent time with friends and had a nice trip to the zoo.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
On Miracles
"There are only two ways to live your life: One is as though nothing is a miracle, The other is as though everything is a miracle. I believe in the latter."
-- Albert Einstein
In my family I have the privilage/dubious distinction of being the eldest of 10 cousins on my father's side of the family. Thus, I have changed countless diapers as the family babysitter and have fond memories of watching my cousins grow up.
On Friday, which was July 4th, I was reminded of one of my favorite memories of one of my cousins. When a particular little one was just a tot we took him to a baseball game that was followed by fireworks. I'm not sure if he had ever seen fireworks before that evening or not since he had spent the first couple of years of his life in Uganda, Africa, but regardless of the question of novelty, his reaction was priceless. After the first one burst in the air he said, "It's a miricle!" in a wistful and awestruck tone like I have never heard before or since. It was of course adorable at the time, but I suspect it has stuck with me all these years (said child is now in college) because it was so much more poignant than cute.
He really believed it was a miracle. Any of us could have told him what he surely knows now, which is that there is a clear and understandable scientific explanation for what he saw. And I suppose that is the reason that so few of us truly believe in miracles as adults. At some point we learn that the magician isn't magical, its all a clever trick. And of course Santa AND the Easter Bunny turn out to be Mom and Dad. Yet sometimes it saddens me when I remember believing in magic and fairies.
What is interesting is that no one teaches us how to see the miracles that are all around us. The marriages that last, the single parents that raise amazing kids, the people who make the world a better place. The rare people who love each other unconditionally. Those crazy people who belive in peace.............
Our lives are a miracle, I guess sometimes we miss that when our wisdom and experience get in the way.
Monday, June 16, 2008
The Secret
Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past couple of years, at some point you have at least heard of The Secret. This is a new age/ metaphysical/ spiritual/ philosophical phenomenon that has swept the country through books, film and various other media outlets. The concept is simple, and isn’t anything new (nor does it claim to be) it simply packages an existing idea in a well structured way. The “secret” to success in life is entirely rooted in positive thinking. I of course have over simplified it here, but The Secret is well worth looking into and even more worthwhile if you can practice it.
That said, I would like to suggest that there is a second “secret” that is much more challenging, but also equally rooted in a concept we also already know, although often struggle to implement. The secret to happiness in life is self-love. Now, on some level we all know that in order to fully love others and be loved we have to love ourselves, but in reality this is something that we mostly give lip service to when counseling a brokenhearted friend. How many of us truly love ourselves? If someone asked you point blank, “Do you love yourself?” Is the answer yes?
In my own case I’d be lying if I were to say so. There are aspects of myself that I dearly love and am quite proud of, but do I simply love myself unconditionally, wholeheartedly and without judgment? That is what I seem to want from those who love me, but do I really even feel that way about myself? Not really. Better yet, do I know anyone else who does? That is tricky, because it isn’t arrogance or conceit, those are fakes; real self-love is total acceptance and affirmation of who you are, whereas arrogance and conceit are overcompensations for perceived deficits. I can only think of a few people who are really at peace with themselves and simply, confidently love who they are. I want to be one of those people. So if the “secret” is self-love, what is the secret to the secret?
That said, I would like to suggest that there is a second “secret” that is much more challenging, but also equally rooted in a concept we also already know, although often struggle to implement. The secret to happiness in life is self-love. Now, on some level we all know that in order to fully love others and be loved we have to love ourselves, but in reality this is something that we mostly give lip service to when counseling a brokenhearted friend. How many of us truly love ourselves? If someone asked you point blank, “Do you love yourself?” Is the answer yes?
In my own case I’d be lying if I were to say so. There are aspects of myself that I dearly love and am quite proud of, but do I simply love myself unconditionally, wholeheartedly and without judgment? That is what I seem to want from those who love me, but do I really even feel that way about myself? Not really. Better yet, do I know anyone else who does? That is tricky, because it isn’t arrogance or conceit, those are fakes; real self-love is total acceptance and affirmation of who you are, whereas arrogance and conceit are overcompensations for perceived deficits. I can only think of a few people who are really at peace with themselves and simply, confidently love who they are. I want to be one of those people. So if the “secret” is self-love, what is the secret to the secret?
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
New Strategy
Counting my blessings:
-Sounds lame, but I do have a "roof over my head", and it is pretty amazing since I was rendored homeless a little over a year ago.
-Loving and supportive family (they can be crazy, but I can't imagine life without them.)
-A job where I'm successful and appreciated for my efforts (despite the crappy pay, I could work any number of similar jobs and be quite miserable by comparison.)
-The sun is out on a semi-regular basis these days.
-I have an amazing love in my life and he really loves me too.
I'll try to revisit this concept more frequently..............
-Sounds lame, but I do have a "roof over my head", and it is pretty amazing since I was rendored homeless a little over a year ago.
-Loving and supportive family (they can be crazy, but I can't imagine life without them.)
-A job where I'm successful and appreciated for my efforts (despite the crappy pay, I could work any number of similar jobs and be quite miserable by comparison.)
-The sun is out on a semi-regular basis these days.
-I have an amazing love in my life and he really loves me too.
I'll try to revisit this concept more frequently..............
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