The secret to self-perception during the holiday season.
December 21, 2009
“Mistakes are part of being human. Appreciate your mistakes for what they are: precious life lessons that can only be learned the hard way. Unless it’s a fatal mistake, which at least others can learn from.”
- Al Franken, “Oh, the Things I Know”, 2002
***
Okay, let’s get right down to it. God grants us this one life, which we fill with dreams and hopes and expectations.
Sometimes we aim for high goals and reach them.
Sometimes we fall on our knees, feeling a bit stupid for having even tried.
The trick of the matter is that we DID try. That we DID hope. DID dream.
And that we continue to do so.
That’s what makes us human.
Those of you that know me know that I make BIG mistakes.
Never one to do anything small, to keep anything unnoticeable, I make sure that every time I fall I land with a THUMP!
But also, that every time I stand I do so with a creak in the knees and a yelp of success.
Because mistakes are a part of self-discovery.
Every time I fall I learn more about what I can do, what I want to do, and what I will not do again.
I’ve said “I will never” plenty of times in my life only to eat crow later. I still do, and I’m sure there is a healthy helping of crow in my future.
The things that I have done in my life that I have regrets over – they do not DEFINE me.
Instead, they have changed me, made me better, helped me learn about myself and about others, helped me learn to accept myself, helped me grow in my faith and have helped me learn about avoiding judgment calls on other people.
The mistakes I’ve made in my life – and some have been BIG, I tell you – have taught me about life and love.
Because we, as humans, are harder on ourselves than on anyone else, keeping our mistakes in perspective takes a lot of work.
It’s a constant work in progress.
But, I have good news for you.
It’s the season for learning about life and love and forgiveness.
And people should start with forgiving themselves.
I know I’m working on my warts and worries.
Because you see, that’s what it’s all about.
Falling, standing up again, and keeping a more careful eye on where you place your feet from then on.
That’s it.
That’s the secret.
And if someone like me can try it, heck. So can you.
I promise.
More than meets the eye. No. Really.
December 17, 2009
A demise of a relationship always leaves you with something.
Sometimes useless physical things that do nothing but invite reminders of the couple you used to be a part of.
Sometimes more mental things – a distaste for a certain football team, an inability to visit certain places.
Today, I learned of one of my prior relationships’ legacies.
I am unable to buy a cheap Transformers figurine.
My daughter is a huge fan of the new movies and while I am… less than… I have definitely enjoyed the action sequences they have provided.
One of her requests this year is a version of Bumblebee.
Shouldn’t be a problem, right?
Everyone loves the movies and Bumblebee.
Except that it is.
An ex of mine was toy crazy.
And I mean. CRAZY.
Hundreds of metal collectibles – all taking me back to various points in my life and bringing me to a new appreciation level of the delights of collectible-quality Transformers…
Which aren’t cheap.
And tend to be Japanese.
And because the movie version isn’t the Real Version, aren’t easy to find.
The alternative?
To buy the Hasbro version.
To go to Target.
To spend $10 and call myself DONE with that particular chore.
But I can’t.
I can’t.
Have you seen the faces of those toys?
Cheap. Plastic. Icky.
My disdain for them keeps me from fulfilling this small wish.
It provokes a physical reaction in me.
I like to buy quality – I only like to buy an item once.
Not 1232 of the same cheap item.
So.
…
So, I suppose Bumblebee will NOT be under the tree this year – other things will and she’ll live through this disappointment.
And I?
Well. Along with a hatred of Ohio State, have found another legacy of a previous relationship.
An eye for expensive toys.
Marriage at Month Two
December 15, 2009
Magical Swinging Doors
December 15, 2009
One of the things I like most about the field that I work in is that almost all of the mistakes made are fixable.
You can wipe the slate clean as though the mistake never happened.
It’s too bad I can’t leave at the end of the day and accomplish that same miracle outside of these walls.
Quest.
December 14, 2009
It’s that time of year again.
That time that tells us – no – COMMANDS us to step outside of our lives and do something for the good of other people.
Can you honestly say that this time of year doesn’t remind you of how selfish you are? Of how ungrateful you can be for those luxuries that you take for granted?
I’ve spent the past few weekends driving.
Sure, there were purposes for the drives.
A wedding, a funeral, a friend.
Seems like I decided to combine the major events in life in under a month in order to keep my empathy abilities sharp.
I like to listen to audiobooks while I drive now.
I used to just sing – sing the entire way as though it were my own personal concert series of Lish songs.
But Nick was right – I do enjoy listening to the books… it doesn’t impede my imagination.
I only like the light, fluffy ones though – I don’t like reaching my destination and being unable to leave the car because I’m so caught up in my book.
This weekend I finished one and started another.
One that reminds me that I need to do things for other people AND myself… and the things that I do for myself need to mean more than a simple prize or quiet bath.
Nick said this weekend, as we were driving through the memorial park, that we only get one life. He said this in a heavy tone of one who was just discovering this fact, though of course he knows otherwise. Sometimes it just hits you as a revelation.
What we do now has to mean something – we can’t put things off – we don’t have more time.
We don’t have to watch this or that television show – I’ve never understood the people that can’t go a week without missing their favorite show or finishing that video game.
Our lives won’t change if we don’t know the ending! It’ll simply bug us a bit.
But what’s wrong with being bugged a bit?
I know that doing something with my life means something different to me than it does to Nicholas.
I don’t need to be remembered for concrete things the way he does.
I want to be remembered for treating those around me well, for being the best darned mother I could be, for trying to do the right thing – even when it sucks, for playing a darned good Scrabble game, for loving more than makes sense, for giving, for working hard, for being the ear to listen, the shoulder to cry on.
After all, those are the things that matter to me in those around me.
I went into this Christmas season thinking that I was tired of the entitlement that everyone feels.
That I feel. Abbey feels. Nick feels.
I wanted to do something for another family that didn’t have the opportunities I have, that didn’t have the luck that I have.
I didn’t quite make it.
The notions are good, the actions require a bit more soul searching.
I need to find the platform on which my line in the sand will be drawn.
Our Christmas traditions are changing – we’ll need to form our own as a family and even those that are in place will be changing… I’m not sure how I feel about any of that.
Change has always been a four letter word to me.
But I want to STAND for something. And that growing needs rings in my head again and again.
I want to be more than this company around me. A paycheck matters but at what cost?
It was always a means to an end – but something calls to me to aim a bit higher now. Damn it. I always did have awful vision for long distance and this particular target seems to be just hazy enough that I can’t identify it.
What do you do when you find yourself dissatisfied – not so much with yourself as a whole but with the direction your life is going?
How do you even open that up for conversation? This need for change that you can’t even identify?
Or is it egocentric to even believe I SHOULD do more? Perhaps I am simply a worker bee, sent to bring home the bacon and walk barefoot and pregnant while others are the torchbearers.
And. How do you know the difference?
Honor.
December 8, 2009
My husband’s Grampa died last night.
That’s what we called him.
Grampa.
I won’t pretend to have known the man well.
By the time I met him Alzheimers had set in well enough that he was a shadow of the man my husband had grown up with.
My memories of Grampa are of eyes full of mischief, an eye for pretty ladies, a man who was already far enough along in his illness that his schedule was very important to him.
He could talk about the war clearly – a man who had served proudly. He was diabetic but sneaky about sneaking treats. So much so that you couldn’t even see his hands grab one… he was that fast. He liked taking walks outside and even though the man they knew was a memory, the love in his face when he saw the boys or talked to his daughter Mah-rie (Marie, Nick’s mom) was palpable.
I loved him. He was full of mischief and loving. Good manners and a watchful eye.
I know he could no longer understand everything that went on around him, but I could tell that at one time, before the illness had begun to take over, this particular man was as sharp as a tack.
Nick’s memories of Grampa are different, of course.
Nick credits him with helping him grow up, giving him a role model and teaching him about the ways you treat people. To stand tall. To be a man.
Nick’s lucky – his family is such that he can say that about a good many of the men in his family, but his grandfather was special.
Nick says he was so smart, so incredibly smart. He played dominoes with Nicholas even after I’d met him and you could see those sparks of intelligence shine through.
I loved watching the two of them together, the few times I had a chance to, with their heads bent over the dominoes, both concentrating so hard.
Nick wouldn’t give an inch – and his grampa wouldn’t have wanted him to.
I love them.
I loved his Grampa, though I knew him just five short years.
I love his children – my in-laws.
And I love my husband and his siblings.
Marriage changes things. So much. I never realized.
But my heart is their heart and this hurts me for them.
Return of the big Z.
December 4, 2009
Ebb and Flow.
My life has been full of accomplishments lately.
I’ve moved back in with my parents – which would be a sign of failure in most families… or a sign of hard times… or really… technically… a sign of logic.
If they can handle it and your family can handle it, it can really be an awesome solution.
In my case, it’s part of planning for the big picture.
I didn’t want to give up my apartment, but the truth is that my husband and I don’t need two rents when our savings can go towards a down payment on a house.
A buttload of money for a house payment. He’s more comfortable with a buttload down. Thank goodness our salaries support our endeavors.
And so the four of us – my parents, my daughter and me are all squished inside our totally normal-sized house and making the most of our individual need for independence.
I’m lucky that my family is close.
And that I can go to the bathroom and pee in peace if I need a moment’s quiet.
I’ve managed to buy most of my Christmas presents – this won’t seem like much to you guys, but you’re talking to a woman that leaves work at noon on the 24th each year to finish her shopping.
Only having two or three people to shop for is AMAZING for me.
I feel as though I’m Superwoman and I want to brag to everyone I see that I’ve accomplished something this Christmas.
WITH spirit for the season!
An accomplishment that’s much, much bigger than any of the aforementioned accomplishments.
I’m a Grinch.
The Queen of the species, actually and to feel even moments of sparks makes me wonder if part of me is coming back to life after being buried for so long under single parenting responsibilities and multiple jobs and everything else that comes along with adulthood.
And I’m not saying my grinchdom has ever had anything to do with my daughter – if anything, she’s the one that kept me from ditching the holiday completely – her excitement is infectious in all things that affect her.
But.
I find myself, this year for the first time since my own childhood, becoming excited when I’m away from her, when I’m buying for other people, when the songs come on, when I see the decorations.
Perhaps my heart is growing in size, though I really don’t see how it could be any bigger. I’m already the biggest sap I know. Just ask my husband.
If it’s not obvious, I’m back on the meds. The insurance has been straightened out and it’s even better than mine could PRETEND to be, even on the travel program.
Sure, it’ll take a little more work on my end – the waiting and paperwork is a nightmare, but considering the insurance is local in MINNESOTA I guess I can be a little patient.
I feel bad for feeling so steady now.
The lives of those around me aren’t.
Some of them have made their own beds.
Some haven’t.
I’m trying to learn the fine art of shutting up.
Trying being the operative word, but I hope they appreciate my attempts.
Learning that you don’t have the right answer for other people HAS to be one of the most difficult things to learn. Especially for an overprotective mom figure such as myself.
But the need to scream the answers I feel so concretely on the inside is fairly easy to overcome at the moment.
I don’t see the need to alienate the people I love – too many splits recently from ridiculousness.
I’m not going to be the cause of any.
At least not.
Today.
Today I shall just be grateful that I’m feeling better.
Grateful I can hold my tongue.
Grateful that my daughter can still laugh over silly things like a girl, even as she grows into a woman.
Grateful that I have the most wonderful man in the world – and I can call him husband.
Grateful my Christmas tree is up and decorated and I didn’t have to do any of it. (My least favorite part EVER.)
And grateful.
So grateful. Of the hope that is poking its head into my life. Small, beautiful hope. The holder of my prayers and my future.
Blessings. All of it.
A step back into the light.
November 24, 2009
I don’t have any cuticles at the moment.
I’ve yanked them all out.
Not on purpose.
Some people bounce their legs up and down. (I do that too.)
Some people flip their hair.
Some people thrum their fingers.
Some of the younger set pick their nose or suck their thumbs.
I apparently pull my cuticles out.
No.
It’s not quite like it sounds.
Thanks for asking but I’m not a masochist.
I’m just a naturally jittery person.
In a naturally jittery family.
With a naturally stressful lifestyle, as anyone in this industry can tell you.
But I’m feeling much better than I have been.
I stepped up to the plate, put on my big girl pants and embraced some changes that this marital life is bringing me.
And by embraced I mean was dragged kicking and screaming the entire way.
But, the hard part of this particular subject is over.
I found a solution, found the motivation to WORK on the solution and because of this, I’m able to breathe a bit easier today.
The thing about living with anxiety is that it’s not something people CHOOSE to have.
You don’t decide you want to worry about every ridiculous moment and live the rest of your life that way.
It doesn’t just mean you’re worried.
Everyone worries.
But most people don’t worry during EVERY cognitive moment… even regarding things that have no concrete definition or design.
So making sure to monitor your anxiety and being mature and responsible enough to seek help is a good thing.
Because you don’t NEED cuticles.
But you do need sleep. And teeth that aren’t ground down to nubs.
I guess what I’m saying is that this is Lish’s public service announcement to play it smart.
Know your body.
Know your mind.
And for heaven’s sake, don’t be an ignorant dumbass about getting help.
The stress of the skies. An effort in cheesy sayings.
November 23, 2009
Act normal, act normal, act normal…
Just because I don’t feel like laughing doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t anyway.
Even though I couldn’t repeat a word of what you said to me doesn’t mean I didn’t really mean it when I asked about your weekend.
I’m just a little tired right now.
A little stressed.
My smile might not reach my eyes – as stupid as that phrase is – but there is a point somewhere inside where I actually mean it.
I just am having a hard time concentrating on it.
Or anything, really.
Some weekends just aren’t long enough to recuperate completely.
I hate this negativity that has planted itself here.
My daughter came home teary-eyed last night.
Nothing happened, except what has happened to the rest of us.
The cloudy days do their damage like they do every winter.
She wants to see her therapist again. Talks about feeling a gigantic hole in her chest all of the time.
But doesn’t want to see Angie because her dad and stepmom make fun of her.
Ironic.
To credit counseling with a church leader as saving their marriage, but laughing at counseling with a person who holds degrees in the subject – as though God wouldn’t visit you in their office too.
I just tell her how it is for me.
How alike we are.
How it’s okay – normal, even.
And she identifies with what I say, my coping techniques for a problem that I didn’t even realize I had at that age.
She’s lucky.
Feeling this way sucks but realizing you aren’t losing your mind is a gift.
What would happen to her if I weren’t the one in charge right now? If she had to rely on them and their opinions on the subject?
Would she end up as scared and unsure of the implications as my husband is?
Because there are no implications in the reality of it.
There’s simply fact and how to deal with it.
I don’t really want to tangent here.
I do wish I’d remember how to smile without it being a conscious decision.
Re: Constructive Criticism.
November 17, 2009
Bits and pieces of thought for the day from today’s discussion on Carolyn Hax:
“If you take someone else on as a “project” you are essentially rejecting part of who they actually are, and that will generate resentment, too. We need to learn how to live with the person we fell in love with, and we sandpaper each other’s rough edges in the process, but that isn’t criticism. That is adjustment. You shouldn’t mistake the two. You don’t love who a person *might* be, you love who a person *is*. Criticism is not an expression of love, it is an expression of dissatisfaction, and thus it’s a serious problem requiring some serious communication.”
“My personal take is that constant “constructive criticism” can be soul-killing. Treating every person as “work in progress,” in constant need of improvement can be demeaning to that person…At some point, you started to feel that it wasn’t worth trying because no matter how hard you tried, it wasn’t going to be good enough anyway, so why bother?”
“I dated someone who offered a lot of “advice,” always well-meaning of course. Problem was, it was soul killing to hear, day after day, how I just didn’t quite measure up. I told him that it was hurtful and he needed to stop. He “explained” that he couldn’t help it or that he didn’t mean to be hurtful. And then he kept right on doing it, even after I said to him that hurtful intentions or not, he WAS hurting me. So I left him, and never looked back.
To people who do this: If someone makes you that unhappy that you have to improve them, don’t waste your time or theirs. Just end it. And if you truly don’t mean anything mean by it, then shut up. Seriously. How would you like to be picked at all the time? It’s horrible. Stop, or you’ll end up alone.”
“It’s not “help” if he’s taking charge and imposing the improvements on her. It’s “help” if she’s wanting to improve in some area and she appreciates his assistance. “Help” is when you assist someone in a task that they are doing. It’s not “help” if you take charge.”
“I think the reason it is so fraught is that you want your marriage to be a safe place, a kind of sanctuary from the slings and arrows of the outside world, and if your spouse is critical of you, it really undermines that. Before I criticize my husband for anything, I try to ask myself: Is it really important? Does it really matter? Is it just something I disagree with, or is it something that could actually cause harm?”
HMMMmmmm.
If this doesn’t spark a mental reflection of how you communicate with your spouse over disagreements, I don’t know what will.
It certainly did with me.
