Time doesn't remember how to get you here,
Where you were before.
Over and over, the mountain grows back up,
To keep us apart from one another.
Days of trying and trying to find you,
Wishing you would find me again.
Watching the pink petals and open hearts,
Knowing the truth in the celebration.
I knew who I would help you be,
And how I would hope for you.
And now, that is all I do,
Hope against hope against hope.
Time is forgetful in its empty hours of waiting,
Just sitting by, watching itself tick away.
I will run after you like a traveler missing a train,
With a destination that becomes the journey.
I will remember when time forgets.
I will hope, when I have forgotten how to try.
I will wait until there are no more hours.
I will.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Living to do what you love:It's not the product. It's not the profit. It's the process.
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| Soul Seeker Cover art |
I was running along to the playlist I put together when I first started writing the novel I will finally finish editing this month. What resonated with me was how much in love I have become with the process. I don't know what's going to happen when I finally take all the steps I need to in order to self-publish, but in so many respects, I think I'm realizing that's not what writing is all about--it's actually the writing. It's owning the process of creating something that means something to me, and at the end of the day, it's true that maybe no one else will ever care as much as me.
I think people who create probably understand that early on. It's taking me a while.
Today, Charlaine Harris released her thirteenth and final Sookie Stackhouse novel. Sadly, her book was leaked several weeks ago, and fans have already been taking stabs at Harris for how she has chosen to end the series. As I read her statement about the release on Facebook today, I just wanted to support her so much, no matter how she decided to bring Sookie's story to a close. It will probably be a few days before my copy of the book gets here, and because of my own work, I may not get to read it for a little while.
I chose to respond to Harris' Facebook statement and let her know that even though Sookie has been a part of my life for years now, she ultimately belongs to her and she is the only one who could know how Sookie's story ends. There's no way she could get it wrong.
Harris very clearly has achieved a level of success that many of us great American novel writers never will. With a successful HBO series based on her books, and millions of readers, she could have put Sookie in a coffin a long time ago. Without question, she has been a measurable success.
I know that you can't measure things like pride. You can't measure feelings of catharsis and completion. That makes it difficult when it comes to being an unpublished author without an agent and without a publishing company. Achieving blockbuster status without help is a one in a million possibility. So, without that, how do you know if you have succeeded?
I think you know when you feel like you have gotten as close to your vision as you possibly could without compromising quality. That's a pretty esoteric view, but aside from the actual process of creating itself, this feeling can sometimes be your only reward.
My guess is that this view is similar to that of many who choose to create for a living.
Last weekend, we did something we find ourselves doing every first weekend in May. We strolled through the Brookside Art Annual. Many of the exhibitors return year after year. I like some of the returnees very much, but I am always excited to discover someone new who is doing something unique.
As we stroll through, often just window shopping, it occurs to me that these folks are hoping, just like me, to make a living doing something they love. They load up and lug around everything they can in vans and trailers to these events, week after week, hoping to sell a piece or two and pay their bills. I know that this particular art fair is pretty selective. I know there are artists who apply to exhibit their works and are turned away. I often wonder, of the small handful of artists chosen, how many actually sell enough of their work to pay a mortgage and put children through college.
I think it takes a lot of courage--the kind most of us don't have. But I also think that maybe they love being in the process of "doing" so much that the hole in their hearts where fear might normally live, is filled up with getting as close to their vision they possibly can without compromising quality. Maybe that's payment enough.
It's a hard thing to put so much of your soul into what you do with the possibility of never receiving anything for it in return.
Maybe that's why so many of us give up, sometimes before we ever start. The fear of failing by measurable standards is so high that we forget what the actual intangible rewards might be. When I think about those artists selling their work, how do they even begin to decide what this or that piece of their soul is worth as a dollar figure?
And when I wonder about that, I wonder how it is those of us who are moved to create anything can squeeze ourselves into any measurable space at all.
I suppose when I have wondered these things enough, I will finally kick of my shoes and run barefoot through the cool grass of freedom--never worrying about what might happen if I fail.
Can you imagine what that must feel like? If it's what those "creative types" feel everyday, I imagine there must be nothing else like it. I imagine it's priceless.
Supermassive Black Hole--Muse
Saturday, May 4, 2013
It's time to look at being happy as a responsibility.
So, I was talking to my best friend about the responsibility of happiness last week. I don't think that idea is something we often consider. Most of us just think that it would be nice to be happy. It never dawns on us that being happy is a component of being healthy. Oddly, it seems that being part of a relationship often discourages us from pursuing individual happiness, because we don't believe that idea can coexist with supporting our partner's well being.
I have frequently explored the ideas of taking risks and seeking one's own path to happiness. But I've never explored what these things might mean within a relationship. I suppose it's because I always think of these ideals within the context of being an individual. As someone who is part of a relationship, the very idea of throwing caution to the wind feels foolhardy. What I do to advance my own dreams and desires directly impacts my partner. What if I fail? What if I take my partner down with me?
But even though worrying that taking risks will affect my partner is a valid concern, it occurred to me last week that on some level, even within a relationship, we as individuals have a responsibility to each other to be happy. If we aren't, we might even put a great deal at risk. This ideal was reinforced by a conversation I had with my grandma this week.
My grandma doesn't like doctors. She believes the more frequent your visits to doctors, the more things they find wrong with you. She said that her doctor keeps pressing her to get a mammogram, but she doesn't want to do it. I asked her if she just doesn't want to know. And she said 'no, because what good would it do?'
I wasn't really that surprised, because my grandma is a stoic pragmatist, and I don't think she values time and life in the same way that many of us do. She tends to look at the world through hazy gray glasses. You get what you get, and you don't throw a fit. You just accept things. And clearly, she's not a huge believer in modern medicine, or possibly even miracles.
From time to time, I have wished I was more like that. I have considered that I would find it easier to be content if I just didn't care about everything so much. If I believed in the idea that nothing could change, so what's the point--I would be content just to keep on keeping on.
Despite my lack of surprise at my grandma's view, I reminded her that she's not really alone in benefiting from knowing whether or not she has breast cancer. I reminded her that there are a handful of women in her family who also need to know, so they can take steps to assess their own personal risk. She has a responsibility to get that mammogram for the rest of us.
I think that it's much easier to talk about the responsibility of taking care of yourself and trying to maintain your health, because our existence is perhaps the most basic thing we owe to each other within relationships. As spouses, parents and family members, we aren't supposed to live our lives in a dangerous and reckless manner. We all know the dangers of smoking, drinking to excess, texting and driving, and using drugs. We could end up dead before our time.
But when I think about the less obvious responsibility of being happy, it's an ideal that goes kind of fuzzy. It's not that hard to grasp, if you really think about it. Happiness, or minimally contentedness, is a state of well-being. It's a sort of balance at its core.
In the beginning of a relationship, we have a kernel of happiness that bursts open and usually grows into something much larger. We flow through the best of times, and learn to flow through some of the worst. That's what people in strong relationships are meant to do. When we find ourselves flowing through hard times more often than we get to flow through good times, the way we affect each other is enormous.
When you are part of a relationship, you don't 'feel' things in a vacuum. Everything you feel, your partner feels. Everything you're going through, they are going through. If you think about that for just a moment, our potential to impact each other is so profound, that we should consider ourselves duty bound to take every chance we must to find happiness, or at least some kind of contentment and balance.
It's a tough thing to do, and it's one I don't see too many people within relationships doing. It seems to be something that people on their own are less afraid of.
A few years ago, my hairstylist moved to Colorado. She had no job and very little connection to the area. She just knew she wanted to change her life. Another friend of mine is considering a similar move. I envy them both--not because they have no ties and they have the freedom to take these giant risks, but because they look at where they are and know that the only way things will change is if they make it happen. And it's true, maybe their risks won't pay off in the way they hope, but I don't think they'd be better off if they chose not to dream.
In the past, I have thought that only people without ties and commitments can do something so seemingly reckless. But as I look at my early forties, I frequently wonder how anyone can afford not to. I think of how important my friendship with my husband has become, and I think of how I want to protect it and nurture it in the way I did in the beginning--when life was about everything that was possible, and nothing that was impossible. I'm not sure that stability and a lack of self-confidence justify letting that relationship culture we so believed in wilt away.
Among our group of friends, there is one couple especially living their lives in the vision of each others' pursuit of happiness every single day. I know they have fought hard to get to where they are individually, and as a couple. They thrive because they allow each other to do so. I think it's also because they believe that through their individual dreams coming true, their relationship core is all the stronger. I don't like to name names in my blog, because none of my friends ask to be my fodder. But there's a world of epic story telling, music and advocacy that they live in that inspires me to find ways to create a better world of my own. When I see them going after dreams so fiercely, I believe that most of us are doing it wrong. While I believe they would eagerly own up to doing all of these things I accuse them of, I think they would just as quickly remind me that they didn't get there overnight, or without struggle. That makes me respect them and wish I could emulate them all the more.
It's hard to shut down the spinning wheels of life, but if you can't figure out how, you can spin out of control. When things spin out of control, they usually crash. You put all the things you can't bear to lose in jeopardy.
When you have everything in the world to lose, that's exactly the time you have to be willing to put everything on the line. If you aren't willing to take a chance on yourself, no one else will. And eventually, you will either lose or damage every good thing you have.
It's Time--Imagine Dragons
I have frequently explored the ideas of taking risks and seeking one's own path to happiness. But I've never explored what these things might mean within a relationship. I suppose it's because I always think of these ideals within the context of being an individual. As someone who is part of a relationship, the very idea of throwing caution to the wind feels foolhardy. What I do to advance my own dreams and desires directly impacts my partner. What if I fail? What if I take my partner down with me?
But even though worrying that taking risks will affect my partner is a valid concern, it occurred to me last week that on some level, even within a relationship, we as individuals have a responsibility to each other to be happy. If we aren't, we might even put a great deal at risk. This ideal was reinforced by a conversation I had with my grandma this week.
My grandma doesn't like doctors. She believes the more frequent your visits to doctors, the more things they find wrong with you. She said that her doctor keeps pressing her to get a mammogram, but she doesn't want to do it. I asked her if she just doesn't want to know. And she said 'no, because what good would it do?'
I wasn't really that surprised, because my grandma is a stoic pragmatist, and I don't think she values time and life in the same way that many of us do. She tends to look at the world through hazy gray glasses. You get what you get, and you don't throw a fit. You just accept things. And clearly, she's not a huge believer in modern medicine, or possibly even miracles.
From time to time, I have wished I was more like that. I have considered that I would find it easier to be content if I just didn't care about everything so much. If I believed in the idea that nothing could change, so what's the point--I would be content just to keep on keeping on.
Despite my lack of surprise at my grandma's view, I reminded her that she's not really alone in benefiting from knowing whether or not she has breast cancer. I reminded her that there are a handful of women in her family who also need to know, so they can take steps to assess their own personal risk. She has a responsibility to get that mammogram for the rest of us.
I think that it's much easier to talk about the responsibility of taking care of yourself and trying to maintain your health, because our existence is perhaps the most basic thing we owe to each other within relationships. As spouses, parents and family members, we aren't supposed to live our lives in a dangerous and reckless manner. We all know the dangers of smoking, drinking to excess, texting and driving, and using drugs. We could end up dead before our time.
But when I think about the less obvious responsibility of being happy, it's an ideal that goes kind of fuzzy. It's not that hard to grasp, if you really think about it. Happiness, or minimally contentedness, is a state of well-being. It's a sort of balance at its core.
 |
| Remember when everything seemed easy? |
When you are part of a relationship, you don't 'feel' things in a vacuum. Everything you feel, your partner feels. Everything you're going through, they are going through. If you think about that for just a moment, our potential to impact each other is so profound, that we should consider ourselves duty bound to take every chance we must to find happiness, or at least some kind of contentment and balance.
It's a tough thing to do, and it's one I don't see too many people within relationships doing. It seems to be something that people on their own are less afraid of.
A few years ago, my hairstylist moved to Colorado. She had no job and very little connection to the area. She just knew she wanted to change her life. Another friend of mine is considering a similar move. I envy them both--not because they have no ties and they have the freedom to take these giant risks, but because they look at where they are and know that the only way things will change is if they make it happen. And it's true, maybe their risks won't pay off in the way they hope, but I don't think they'd be better off if they chose not to dream.
 |
| It feels like a tough mountain to climb sometimes. |
Among our group of friends, there is one couple especially living their lives in the vision of each others' pursuit of happiness every single day. I know they have fought hard to get to where they are individually, and as a couple. They thrive because they allow each other to do so. I think it's also because they believe that through their individual dreams coming true, their relationship core is all the stronger. I don't like to name names in my blog, because none of my friends ask to be my fodder. But there's a world of epic story telling, music and advocacy that they live in that inspires me to find ways to create a better world of my own. When I see them going after dreams so fiercely, I believe that most of us are doing it wrong. While I believe they would eagerly own up to doing all of these things I accuse them of, I think they would just as quickly remind me that they didn't get there overnight, or without struggle. That makes me respect them and wish I could emulate them all the more.
It's hard to shut down the spinning wheels of life, but if you can't figure out how, you can spin out of control. When things spin out of control, they usually crash. You put all the things you can't bear to lose in jeopardy.
When you have everything in the world to lose, that's exactly the time you have to be willing to put everything on the line. If you aren't willing to take a chance on yourself, no one else will. And eventually, you will either lose or damage every good thing you have.
It's Time--Imagine Dragons
Friday, April 26, 2013
Finding the Path to What We Truly Love
So, at a certain point, I think we all have an opportunity to venture into some self-examination. We have the chance to look at our lives and think about taking stock of everything. Sometimes those opportunities are structured and planned, other times they are the result of major life events we couldn't have anticipated.
I don't think it's fair to think of it as a mid-life crisis, because sometimes, I think it might be a mid-life solution--a correction, if you will, to paths we took that made sense at the time, but haven't served us well.
I believe that a great many of us start out our adult lives with the idea that we are going to find our place and we're going to be doing things that we really love and that somehow make a difference to those around us. It's not always about how much money we're going to make or how closely we're going to follow a timeline.
Little stumbles along the way are sometimes blessings in disguise, other times, they really are just stumbles. If we get up and take off in the wrong direction, out of fear, we sometimes end up leaving a perfectly good path behind in favor of a path that just serves as a distraction from what was meant to be.
In the midst of a lot of soul-searching, I've picked up, in earnest, my former trail. I think it took me a long time to find the bread crumbs, but I'm hoping not too long. As I have been working on picking up this trail, I've wondered what it would be like to walk it all the time. What if I could do what I love everyday?
I can tell you, I wouldn't be making a cent at it. But I can also tell you that I find myself compelled to work at it every free moment I have.
In my case, the path happens to be writing. I know there are many directions that a person can be driven to pursue. I think pursuing a life within the arts is probably one of the more difficult paths on which to make a solid career that provides security, and yet, I recently find myself feeling like the job that pays me money keeps me from doing my real work.
It's actually the first time in my life I have been doing what I love so often that I am able to notice the difference.
My husband and I go to a lot of concerts. It's something we're kind of known for. Some of the bands we see are the big name real deals that are supporting themselves and giant production machines. But many of the bands we see are doing what they do just because they love it, and because they're hoping someday people will hear what they are doing, and they will love it too.
This week, we went to see a band somewhere in the middle, and got to discover an opening act that is just getting its feet wet. This weekend, we will be seeing another band at the stratospheric other end of the spectrum.
Kodaline is a quartet from Dublin. I've joked this week that Mumford and Sons opened the door, and with Kodaline authenticity squeaked through. This is their first trip to America, and they're as green in their stage presence as the country they come from. But that's what makes them all the sweeter. I'm going to be watching for them as they continue across the country in a band. They've challenged themselves to write a new song for every stop along their tour. I can't wait to see what they come up with along the way. It doesn't hurt that they come from my favorite city, and I can imagine them on Grafton Street trying make enough Euros to buy a round of pints.
The Airborne Toxic Event was the band for which Kodaline opened. In between songs, front man Mikel Jollett made mention of the fact that he and his band mates have played 800 hundred shows in the last two years. That means that they have spend most of their time pursuing their path in music--literally. I imagine they're doing all right, but knowing a little bit about music, I also know that no matter how great I believe them to be, they have yet to be discovered by as many people as they so richly deserve. They're working their asses off for a piece of something they love. And how do I know they love it? It's because in the two shows I have seen with TATE, they've ended both with a medley of covers by other quintessential American musicians. They love music, and they want to be a part of what they love.
Sunday night, we will see another band clearly in love with what they do. And their love is obvious, because quite frankly, they are so damned good at it. One day last week as I listened to the song "Little Black Submarines," I started to wonder if it might be sacrilege that I would miss seeing the Black Keys a second time. When Dan Auerbach launched into the driving riffs of this slow burning affair, I knew it would be. I don't really know why I hadn't thought of going until that moment, but something about this one tune reminded me that even though I question the possibility that sound and that voice comes from these two guys, I'm doing myself a huge disservice by not seeing them in person to find out.
A couple years back, I was listening to Dan Auerbach and drummer Patrick Carney talk to Terry Gross on the National Public Radio program "Fresh Air." The two discussed the trials and tribulations of living out of a van while trying to get their music off the ground. Many people would judge The Black Keys for allowing their music to be used commercially in the way it was when they started to get their footing, but those same people who would judge probably never had to live out of a van. I'm sure making enough money for a nice tour bus and a couple houses doesn't make them love what they do any less. It certainly hasn't hurt the quality of their work.
When I think about what all of this means--the chance that a band like Kodaline is taking, the time investment of The Airborne Toxic Event in their craft, and the unfathomable success of the Black Keys--I start to consider that maybe somehow if you do get on the right path--the one where you love what you do--and you stay on it, maybe it all can work out.
Living out of a life that doesn't fulfill you isn't that much different than living out of van. In neither place can you really find yourself feeling at home. The fundamental difference between the two is this--a van has wheels and it can take you where you want to go.
High Hopes--Kodaline
I don't think it's fair to think of it as a mid-life crisis, because sometimes, I think it might be a mid-life solution--a correction, if you will, to paths we took that made sense at the time, but haven't served us well.
I believe that a great many of us start out our adult lives with the idea that we are going to find our place and we're going to be doing things that we really love and that somehow make a difference to those around us. It's not always about how much money we're going to make or how closely we're going to follow a timeline.
Little stumbles along the way are sometimes blessings in disguise, other times, they really are just stumbles. If we get up and take off in the wrong direction, out of fear, we sometimes end up leaving a perfectly good path behind in favor of a path that just serves as a distraction from what was meant to be.
In the midst of a lot of soul-searching, I've picked up, in earnest, my former trail. I think it took me a long time to find the bread crumbs, but I'm hoping not too long. As I have been working on picking up this trail, I've wondered what it would be like to walk it all the time. What if I could do what I love everyday?
I can tell you, I wouldn't be making a cent at it. But I can also tell you that I find myself compelled to work at it every free moment I have.
In my case, the path happens to be writing. I know there are many directions that a person can be driven to pursue. I think pursuing a life within the arts is probably one of the more difficult paths on which to make a solid career that provides security, and yet, I recently find myself feeling like the job that pays me money keeps me from doing my real work.
It's actually the first time in my life I have been doing what I love so often that I am able to notice the difference.
My husband and I go to a lot of concerts. It's something we're kind of known for. Some of the bands we see are the big name real deals that are supporting themselves and giant production machines. But many of the bands we see are doing what they do just because they love it, and because they're hoping someday people will hear what they are doing, and they will love it too.
This week, we went to see a band somewhere in the middle, and got to discover an opening act that is just getting its feet wet. This weekend, we will be seeing another band at the stratospheric other end of the spectrum.
 |
| Kodaline--"High Hopes" for these guys. |
 | |
| Mikel Jollett taking flight. |
Sunday night, we will see another band clearly in love with what they do. And their love is obvious, because quite frankly, they are so damned good at it. One day last week as I listened to the song "Little Black Submarines," I started to wonder if it might be sacrilege that I would miss seeing the Black Keys a second time. When Dan Auerbach launched into the driving riffs of this slow burning affair, I knew it would be. I don't really know why I hadn't thought of going until that moment, but something about this one tune reminded me that even though I question the possibility that sound and that voice comes from these two guys, I'm doing myself a huge disservice by not seeing them in person to find out.
A couple years back, I was listening to Dan Auerbach and drummer Patrick Carney talk to Terry Gross on the National Public Radio program "Fresh Air." The two discussed the trials and tribulations of living out of a van while trying to get their music off the ground. Many people would judge The Black Keys for allowing their music to be used commercially in the way it was when they started to get their footing, but those same people who would judge probably never had to live out of a van. I'm sure making enough money for a nice tour bus and a couple houses doesn't make them love what they do any less. It certainly hasn't hurt the quality of their work.
When I think about what all of this means--the chance that a band like Kodaline is taking, the time investment of The Airborne Toxic Event in their craft, and the unfathomable success of the Black Keys--I start to consider that maybe somehow if you do get on the right path--the one where you love what you do--and you stay on it, maybe it all can work out.
Living out of a life that doesn't fulfill you isn't that much different than living out of van. In neither place can you really find yourself feeling at home. The fundamental difference between the two is this--a van has wheels and it can take you where you want to go.
High Hopes--Kodaline
Friday, April 19, 2013
Love--it really is worth the fall, so take the leap.
So, I seem to have found myself with love on the brain this week. All sorts of it.
It started over the last weekend as my husband prepared for a trip I didn't want him to take. He rarely travels, and over the last 15 years, I had kind of developed that same feeling that many wives do about their husbands going out of town--girl time, down time, my time. I think it came as a shock to both of us how much I didn't want even a few days of separation this time around.
We've been in what some people would think of as a weird place lately. Our marriage, which is typically a pretty well-oiled machine of partnership has become something a little more organic. Right now, it's more like what happens when a couple of trees root very near each other, and gradually start growing together. What happens if you try to split those trees? Nothing good.
It seems to me that we all have a person in our lives, at any given time, that puts down roots with us in some way. It's not always a marriage or even a great love affair. Sometimes, it can even just be a great friendship. That person is the one who makes an effort to pick you up when you don't want to get up. They're your go to when everything else seems to have gotten up and left.
While it may be overstating the obvious about a spouse being "your person," of late, Jeph has become more so than usual, because I've crawled back into a place where I live a lot in my head. He's really the only person I know right now who has a key. There are a small handful of people who knock, but for the most part, no one else even mistakenly pulls into the drive.
For whatever reason during the time apart this week, I have been bombarded by love.
A truly dear friend of mine has been traveling in our shared spiritual home. She invited me to come along, but the timing wasn't right for me. In spite of my inability to make the trip, she has shared every green moment with me, and I have felt very much a part of her journey. Much to both of our surprises, she found someone there who really touched her heart. It's the foundation of a great story, because it's true.
As I have been traveling with her vicariously, I have been editing my own love story. Through the process, I have found myself being very critical about my characters' path. How many pages into a novel is it appropriate for two people to fall in love? In my book, it only takes 21. Does that mean I'm easy? Does that mean there is no depth to my story? I don't know. I just finished the last page--probably not for the last time--and I felt myself wanting to change the ending. I found myself wanting to give them more hope in the face of the horrible fate to which I had sentenced them. Who am I to judge if they should be together forever or not? It's not my eternity. It's theirs.
It has me thinking that there is no right answer about love and when it becomes real. It's different for everyone and for every situation.
For a few weeks last year, I started to fall in love with the future of being a mother, even though nothing in my body was telling me that that future was real yet. In almost a year since then, the pain of losing that love hasn't become any less, just because it lasted for so little time. Being told over and over that it will happen again doesn't give me much comfort. It's still a love lost.
It only takes a moment for the seeds of family to take root.
In a weird twist to this week, I learned of the passing, just a few days ago, of a grandmother whom I barely knew. I can literally count on one hand the number of times I was around her. All of those times were awkward, because my father had chosen not to be a part of my life, and had royally mucked everything up when he changed his mind. In spite of his ineptitude in being real with me and trying to figure things out, his mother always made an effort to let me know that in spite of how I got there, I belonged. No matter how few times I encountered her, I have never forgotten her quiet elegance and composure in every situation, no matter how weird. In a way, I loved her, even though I barely had the chance to know her. She was family, maybe in a greater sense than many relatives who've been around throughout my life. But I think most people would find it ridiculous that there was enough there for me to mourn.
It's easy to pick out the "loves" that seem appropriate to us and to point fingers at the ones that don't. There are many instances in which we have to make choices, and we feel like following our hearts is the wrong decision for whatever reason.
Maybe it's a choice about whether we get on a train heading to Wicklow, or we stay in Ballybunion for another couple of days with someone we just met. Maybe it's whether we welcome someone home from a trip by unleashing our wrath about being left alone too long, or we open our arms. And maybe it's whether 21 pages is too soon for two strangers to be inseparable.
I think the questions are simple.
Would you rather spend two days gazing at a mountain range alone, or two days with someone who might end up meaning everything to you? Would you rather spend four days alone, than spend four more alone with the person you missed in the other room? Would you rather spend 218 pages waiting to see if they're going to fall in love or not, or 197 pages falling in love with them?
These are the questions of the day.
We all have a ticket. There are trains going everywhere. But we won't ever see anything if we don't get on. Love, no matter how we find it, is always worth a risk.
Sometimes it's going to end badly, and leave us in a hovel. Sometimes it's going to be grand and last a lifetime. If you think about it, in a world of so much uncertainty, struggle and strife, how many pages into our own lives can we afford to wait?
Love is Worth the Fall--OAR
It started over the last weekend as my husband prepared for a trip I didn't want him to take. He rarely travels, and over the last 15 years, I had kind of developed that same feeling that many wives do about their husbands going out of town--girl time, down time, my time. I think it came as a shock to both of us how much I didn't want even a few days of separation this time around.
We've been in what some people would think of as a weird place lately. Our marriage, which is typically a pretty well-oiled machine of partnership has become something a little more organic. Right now, it's more like what happens when a couple of trees root very near each other, and gradually start growing together. What happens if you try to split those trees? Nothing good.
It seems to me that we all have a person in our lives, at any given time, that puts down roots with us in some way. It's not always a marriage or even a great love affair. Sometimes, it can even just be a great friendship. That person is the one who makes an effort to pick you up when you don't want to get up. They're your go to when everything else seems to have gotten up and left.
While it may be overstating the obvious about a spouse being "your person," of late, Jeph has become more so than usual, because I've crawled back into a place where I live a lot in my head. He's really the only person I know right now who has a key. There are a small handful of people who knock, but for the most part, no one else even mistakenly pulls into the drive.
For whatever reason during the time apart this week, I have been bombarded by love.
A truly dear friend of mine has been traveling in our shared spiritual home. She invited me to come along, but the timing wasn't right for me. In spite of my inability to make the trip, she has shared every green moment with me, and I have felt very much a part of her journey. Much to both of our surprises, she found someone there who really touched her heart. It's the foundation of a great story, because it's true.
 | |
| Cover art for Soul Seeker. Sorcha coming to life. |
It has me thinking that there is no right answer about love and when it becomes real. It's different for everyone and for every situation.
For a few weeks last year, I started to fall in love with the future of being a mother, even though nothing in my body was telling me that that future was real yet. In almost a year since then, the pain of losing that love hasn't become any less, just because it lasted for so little time. Being told over and over that it will happen again doesn't give me much comfort. It's still a love lost.
It only takes a moment for the seeds of family to take root.
In a weird twist to this week, I learned of the passing, just a few days ago, of a grandmother whom I barely knew. I can literally count on one hand the number of times I was around her. All of those times were awkward, because my father had chosen not to be a part of my life, and had royally mucked everything up when he changed his mind. In spite of his ineptitude in being real with me and trying to figure things out, his mother always made an effort to let me know that in spite of how I got there, I belonged. No matter how few times I encountered her, I have never forgotten her quiet elegance and composure in every situation, no matter how weird. In a way, I loved her, even though I barely had the chance to know her. She was family, maybe in a greater sense than many relatives who've been around throughout my life. But I think most people would find it ridiculous that there was enough there for me to mourn.
It's easy to pick out the "loves" that seem appropriate to us and to point fingers at the ones that don't. There are many instances in which we have to make choices, and we feel like following our hearts is the wrong decision for whatever reason.
Maybe it's a choice about whether we get on a train heading to Wicklow, or we stay in Ballybunion for another couple of days with someone we just met. Maybe it's whether we welcome someone home from a trip by unleashing our wrath about being left alone too long, or we open our arms. And maybe it's whether 21 pages is too soon for two strangers to be inseparable.
I think the questions are simple.
Would you rather spend two days gazing at a mountain range alone, or two days with someone who might end up meaning everything to you? Would you rather spend four days alone, than spend four more alone with the person you missed in the other room? Would you rather spend 218 pages waiting to see if they're going to fall in love or not, or 197 pages falling in love with them?
These are the questions of the day.
We all have a ticket. There are trains going everywhere. But we won't ever see anything if we don't get on. Love, no matter how we find it, is always worth a risk.
Sometimes it's going to end badly, and leave us in a hovel. Sometimes it's going to be grand and last a lifetime. If you think about it, in a world of so much uncertainty, struggle and strife, how many pages into our own lives can we afford to wait?
Love is Worth the Fall--OAR
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Matters of trust: Why we lie, what we gain and who gets hurt
So, here in Kansas City, there's a radio station that does a little bit every Wednesday morning that by design lights the fuse of exploding relationships. In "War of the Roses," a suspicious partner in a relationship has the opportunity to either expose their significant other as a loyal and faithful partner, or a adulterous cad. It's usually a woman trying to expose a man as one or the other. The female DJ poses as a florist offering free roses to be delivered to the person of the suspect's choice. If they choose the person asking for this service, that person's fears are "put to rest;" if they choose someone else, that nagging suspicion is confirmed.
I don't catch this little bit very often, but every time I do, the result is the same--I end up clenching my teeth and wincing with agony over how it usually plays out. And regardless of whether the suspicious partner is right or wrong, the lack of trust displays the cracks in the relationship's foundation, and the likelihood that these folks are in deep trouble whether someone is cheating or not.
Lying and mistrust hurt people. Sometimes the truth is harsh, but at least at its core, it's not multiple layers of pain--it's mostly black and white. Being truthful with someone is a little like peeling off a Band-aid, it definitely doesn't feel good, but if it's done directly enough, everyone can move on.
There are lots of opportunities in life that teach us who to trust, or whether we feel it's safe to trust anyone at all. This is true in our personal and our professional lives. The resulting feelings are the same, no matter where these opportunities play out.
A veterinarian I used to work with always said that I would make an excellent diplomat. Most of the time, I took that as a compliment. Working through problems and complaints can be challenging, and in turn very rewarding. But when I think about some of the times I have smoothed things over with people over the years, I often felt like I was doing some version of a handstand, while trying to eat corn on the cob. You really have to think about what you're doing.
Diplomacy is a careful balance between negotiation and ego stroking. One aspect requires honesty, the other aspect often requires a little "embellishment." I don't want to call it out and out lying, but let's be honest, sometimes, we don't fulfill the expectations we have set with the people we make promises to, and there is no valid reason we can give that the other person will accept.
And so, we work to divert their attention away from their disappointment. We stretch the boundaries of the situation to fit into a reality the other person can better live with. In our personal lives, we do it with family, spouses and friends all the time. We do it with well-meaning intent, most of the time. But the reality is that we also do it to save ourselves grief over situations that we really don't care about in the first place. In our professional lives, we do it to stay in the game and to stay "alive."
In work, we frequently are met with challenges that we are either able to meet, or that we are not. Our success and failure depends on our ability to finesse situations and provide desired outcomes. We have to sometimes mesh with people who seem to be covered in barbed wire, and we have to be able to protect ourselves and each other from damage and financial loss. In some work environments, strategizing is almost militaristic, so it's only natural that one of the methods employed ends up being "diplomacy." Careful, strategic stretching of the truth and circumstances, along with honest negotiation hopefully leads to an outcome that both parties can accept and move on from.
In our personal lives, wouldn't it be nice if we could take a break from the "war?" The constant intense feeling that we need to defend ourselves from the feelings of others is exhausting. The reason we land ourselves in uncomfortable situations with family and friends is because we want to avoid our own discomfort. Whether it comes from proving ourselves to be jerks in the face of others, or whether we just don't want to deal with the fallout of the other person getting upset, it's still our own discomfort we care most about. If we could avoid the entire situation completely, we often would.
That's the problem with lying, or entering into an agreement we don't fully commit to in the first place. As in the radio program "War of the Roses," it may be a blatant lie about why you were coming out of a neighbor lady's house at five o'clock in the morning. But most of the time, it's less so. It's things like letting people think you care about them, their situations, or their requests of you when you really don't. Eventually, no matter how much you try to massage it away, the truth of the situation is going to eventually wake everyone up in the middle of the night like a massive leg cramp. It's going to hurt someone.
Now, obviously, some of those "massages" are more dramatic than others. If you explain to your spouse that you didn't transfer a load of laundry from the washer to the dryer because you forgot, when really you just got distracted by other things you preferred to be doing, they're probably going to be irritated, but they're not likely to feel lied to and hurt about it. Those aren't the breaches in trust I think we need to be concerned about.
We need to choose our battles, and our diplomatic opportunities more wisely and efficiently. When we find out someone we've really cared about doesn't care as much about us, but is just being polite, does the politeness really make us feel any better about the situation? When the truth is revealed about the situation, it calls into question everything else we thought we knew or that we wanted to believe.
Sometimes those revelations are a window into ourselves and our own insecurities, and we need to look at ourselves and ask tough questions. Sometimes we need to understand shared, versus disinterested levels of commitment in relationships and what opportunities that inequity may point us to. Sometimes we choose to believe the lie, even if we suspect something else is true, because we want to believe something better about the person being dishonest with us.
But sometimes these "windows" into what's real are a revelation about the people behind the curtains in our lives. When we care about our own comfort more than we care about the pain we cause when the truth of the matter is revealed, the explosion of emotion is probably greater than if we had just been up front in the first place.
Whenever possible, just rip off the Band-aid. It will save everyone in the end.
Love the Way You Lie--Skylar Grey
I don't catch this little bit very often, but every time I do, the result is the same--I end up clenching my teeth and wincing with agony over how it usually plays out. And regardless of whether the suspicious partner is right or wrong, the lack of trust displays the cracks in the relationship's foundation, and the likelihood that these folks are in deep trouble whether someone is cheating or not.
Lying and mistrust hurt people. Sometimes the truth is harsh, but at least at its core, it's not multiple layers of pain--it's mostly black and white. Being truthful with someone is a little like peeling off a Band-aid, it definitely doesn't feel good, but if it's done directly enough, everyone can move on.
There are lots of opportunities in life that teach us who to trust, or whether we feel it's safe to trust anyone at all. This is true in our personal and our professional lives. The resulting feelings are the same, no matter where these opportunities play out.
A veterinarian I used to work with always said that I would make an excellent diplomat. Most of the time, I took that as a compliment. Working through problems and complaints can be challenging, and in turn very rewarding. But when I think about some of the times I have smoothed things over with people over the years, I often felt like I was doing some version of a handstand, while trying to eat corn on the cob. You really have to think about what you're doing.
Diplomacy is a careful balance between negotiation and ego stroking. One aspect requires honesty, the other aspect often requires a little "embellishment." I don't want to call it out and out lying, but let's be honest, sometimes, we don't fulfill the expectations we have set with the people we make promises to, and there is no valid reason we can give that the other person will accept.
And so, we work to divert their attention away from their disappointment. We stretch the boundaries of the situation to fit into a reality the other person can better live with. In our personal lives, we do it with family, spouses and friends all the time. We do it with well-meaning intent, most of the time. But the reality is that we also do it to save ourselves grief over situations that we really don't care about in the first place. In our professional lives, we do it to stay in the game and to stay "alive."
In work, we frequently are met with challenges that we are either able to meet, or that we are not. Our success and failure depends on our ability to finesse situations and provide desired outcomes. We have to sometimes mesh with people who seem to be covered in barbed wire, and we have to be able to protect ourselves and each other from damage and financial loss. In some work environments, strategizing is almost militaristic, so it's only natural that one of the methods employed ends up being "diplomacy." Careful, strategic stretching of the truth and circumstances, along with honest negotiation hopefully leads to an outcome that both parties can accept and move on from.
 | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| An ornamental structure--not the castle battlement it appears to be. |
That's the problem with lying, or entering into an agreement we don't fully commit to in the first place. As in the radio program "War of the Roses," it may be a blatant lie about why you were coming out of a neighbor lady's house at five o'clock in the morning. But most of the time, it's less so. It's things like letting people think you care about them, their situations, or their requests of you when you really don't. Eventually, no matter how much you try to massage it away, the truth of the situation is going to eventually wake everyone up in the middle of the night like a massive leg cramp. It's going to hurt someone.
Now, obviously, some of those "massages" are more dramatic than others. If you explain to your spouse that you didn't transfer a load of laundry from the washer to the dryer because you forgot, when really you just got distracted by other things you preferred to be doing, they're probably going to be irritated, but they're not likely to feel lied to and hurt about it. Those aren't the breaches in trust I think we need to be concerned about.
We need to choose our battles, and our diplomatic opportunities more wisely and efficiently. When we find out someone we've really cared about doesn't care as much about us, but is just being polite, does the politeness really make us feel any better about the situation? When the truth is revealed about the situation, it calls into question everything else we thought we knew or that we wanted to believe.
Sometimes those revelations are a window into ourselves and our own insecurities, and we need to look at ourselves and ask tough questions. Sometimes we need to understand shared, versus disinterested levels of commitment in relationships and what opportunities that inequity may point us to. Sometimes we choose to believe the lie, even if we suspect something else is true, because we want to believe something better about the person being dishonest with us.
But sometimes these "windows" into what's real are a revelation about the people behind the curtains in our lives. When we care about our own comfort more than we care about the pain we cause when the truth of the matter is revealed, the explosion of emotion is probably greater than if we had just been up front in the first place.
Whenever possible, just rip off the Band-aid. It will save everyone in the end.
Love the Way You Lie--Skylar Grey
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Say yes to yourself!
So, I make no secret that I watch more television than I should, but I like to think that most of the time, I'm not watching the worst of the trash that is available. I'm sure that there are plenty of 16-year-olds who didn't know they were pregnant, and are also mediums, and also housewives that I am totally missing out on, but I gotta draw a line somewhere.
One of my favorite completely mindless shows--the ones I watch when I just need a little background noise--is TLC's "Say Yes to the Dress." I don't know for sure why it sucks me in; perhaps it's that little place in every girl's heart that dreams about her wedding, and imagines the perfect princess gown that she will wear one day. Seventeen years after my own wedding, that place never really shut down.
The premise of the show is pretty obvious--brides agree to have their wedding gown shopping experience filmed, and drama almost always ensues. The bride usually arrives with a group of people--sometimes large, sometimes small--that will help her choose the perfect dress for her perfect day. Sometimes there are individuals in the group who seem dead set on sabotaging the experience, while other times, the bride does a pretty decent job of sabotaging herself.
I watched a few episodes of the Atlanta version yesterday, and it started me thinking that choosing the perfect wedding dress is a pretty good metaphor for life. Amongst the episodes I watched yesterday, three women stood out. They all arrived at Bridals by Lori, all in hopes of finding their perfect gowns. One was a member of a roller derby team, another a reporter, and a third a former pageant contestant.
Each of these women had pretty well defined images, and each brought friends and family who said they wanted to help the brides find that "wow" dress that best fit the image of who they were. And that's where all the drama ensued. As you can imagine, people's images of you can be pretty skewed.
The group with the roller derby bride could only see her as the strong, athletic type, and poo-pooed every dress choice she modeled, including the one she loved. This bride was a bigger girl. I know what it's like to go dress shopping and feel like nothing looks good on me. I know what it's like to see every bump and bulge, and forget that those imperfections are why the entire spandex industry is such an outrageous success. It was quite a feat for her to overcome her own negative self-talk and see herself as a beautiful bride. It was painful to watch her friends, and even her dad give her the thumbs down at every turn. When you're poised to walk down the aisle, the last thing you want is for everyone to be thinking you can't be bridal.
The reporter had a completely bizarre approach to dress shopping--she actually chose not to choose at all. She brought in an entourage of friends and family, and was insistent that they would do a better job of choosing her dress for her. She declared herself "bankrupt of style." Let's be honest, no woman is actually devoid of style. We all choose a style, whether or not it's a successful style is a completely different issue. But as Geddy Lee sings "if you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice." By choosing not to truly participate in the process, this bride ended up leaving the bridal shop feeling even more ambivalent than she had when she walked in. The sad thing is that such a successful individual didn't have enough faith in her own strength of choice to see herself as someone worthy of choosing. You can't choose who you are by consensus, and selecting a wedding dress is very much about deciding who you are--or at least who you want to be for one day.
And that leaves us with our pageant bride. Her mom wasn't able to see her daughter as being beautiful, unless she was wearing a "sparkle baby" gown, but after a childhood of pageantry, the bride wanted to be seen as beautiful without all the flash. At the same time, her "bridesman" wanted to see her in something very "fashion forward." I'm not going to lie, I don't even know what "fashion forward" means. Pageant bride starts out trying to please them both by trying on dresses that fit the image they have of her. But the discomfort of seeing herself in dresses that don't fit the way she sees herself pushes her to find her own voice.
After being brought to tears, or nearly so, by their entourages, derby girl and pageant girl both find their perfect dresses, but only after Lori's associates "jack them up" (add veil and accessories), and the whole picture comes into focus. It feels like a triumph when they choose themselves over the loud, and obnoxious voices of their detractors. And almost magically, when these women let their own voices be heard, everyone else was able to see them more clearly.
I think I watch these shows because I made the mistake that the narrator of this show often talks about--tunnel vision. When I was getting married, I had a very certain dress in mind, and did not even consider the possibility that there might be another dress out there for me. I never had the dress shopping experience. As I think about the entourage of people I might have brought with me, I think maybe I'm better off. I don't even want to fully imagine the drama that might have ensued with my dress-shopping detractors. And as it happens, a certain duchess recently took a page out of my wedding album and wore a dress with quite a few similarities to mine--a tiny royal feather in my DIY veil.
There are plenty of times besides picking out a wedding dress where people try to dress us down--picking at the people we are. Often, we know what is right for ourselves, and we believe we know the right choices to make, and the right actions to take. There are plenty of instances within our jobs where tasks can be done in different ways, and the results are the same. Those are the gray zones. Other times, there really is only one way to choose to do the right thing. Those are the black tie and white gown moments in life. Those are the moments in which our choices really matter, and they define who we are to others, but more importantly to ourselves.
There are days I want to be more than I am, and I forget to embrace my own advice to "ride my own ride." At the end of each day, the choices other people make define them, and I don't have to live with those choices. I do have to live with my own. I'm not "just" anything. No matter what our jobs or positions, no one is "just" anything.
Choosing a wedding dress is a moment, in which we can choose to listen to all the other voices and noise about who people think we are, or a moment in which we can choose to shut out all of that screaming and listen for our own voices. It is true that a few of those voices will be with us for the long term, but just like in life and work, one voice that will be with us forever.
there is only
Firework--Katy Perry
One of my favorite completely mindless shows--the ones I watch when I just need a little background noise--is TLC's "Say Yes to the Dress." I don't know for sure why it sucks me in; perhaps it's that little place in every girl's heart that dreams about her wedding, and imagines the perfect princess gown that she will wear one day. Seventeen years after my own wedding, that place never really shut down.
The premise of the show is pretty obvious--brides agree to have their wedding gown shopping experience filmed, and drama almost always ensues. The bride usually arrives with a group of people--sometimes large, sometimes small--that will help her choose the perfect dress for her perfect day. Sometimes there are individuals in the group who seem dead set on sabotaging the experience, while other times, the bride does a pretty decent job of sabotaging herself.
I watched a few episodes of the Atlanta version yesterday, and it started me thinking that choosing the perfect wedding dress is a pretty good metaphor for life. Amongst the episodes I watched yesterday, three women stood out. They all arrived at Bridals by Lori, all in hopes of finding their perfect gowns. One was a member of a roller derby team, another a reporter, and a third a former pageant contestant.
Each of these women had pretty well defined images, and each brought friends and family who said they wanted to help the brides find that "wow" dress that best fit the image of who they were. And that's where all the drama ensued. As you can imagine, people's images of you can be pretty skewed.
The group with the roller derby bride could only see her as the strong, athletic type, and poo-pooed every dress choice she modeled, including the one she loved. This bride was a bigger girl. I know what it's like to go dress shopping and feel like nothing looks good on me. I know what it's like to see every bump and bulge, and forget that those imperfections are why the entire spandex industry is such an outrageous success. It was quite a feat for her to overcome her own negative self-talk and see herself as a beautiful bride. It was painful to watch her friends, and even her dad give her the thumbs down at every turn. When you're poised to walk down the aisle, the last thing you want is for everyone to be thinking you can't be bridal.
The reporter had a completely bizarre approach to dress shopping--she actually chose not to choose at all. She brought in an entourage of friends and family, and was insistent that they would do a better job of choosing her dress for her. She declared herself "bankrupt of style." Let's be honest, no woman is actually devoid of style. We all choose a style, whether or not it's a successful style is a completely different issue. But as Geddy Lee sings "if you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice." By choosing not to truly participate in the process, this bride ended up leaving the bridal shop feeling even more ambivalent than she had when she walked in. The sad thing is that such a successful individual didn't have enough faith in her own strength of choice to see herself as someone worthy of choosing. You can't choose who you are by consensus, and selecting a wedding dress is very much about deciding who you are--or at least who you want to be for one day.
And that leaves us with our pageant bride. Her mom wasn't able to see her daughter as being beautiful, unless she was wearing a "sparkle baby" gown, but after a childhood of pageantry, the bride wanted to be seen as beautiful without all the flash. At the same time, her "bridesman" wanted to see her in something very "fashion forward." I'm not going to lie, I don't even know what "fashion forward" means. Pageant bride starts out trying to please them both by trying on dresses that fit the image they have of her. But the discomfort of seeing herself in dresses that don't fit the way she sees herself pushes her to find her own voice.
After being brought to tears, or nearly so, by their entourages, derby girl and pageant girl both find their perfect dresses, but only after Lori's associates "jack them up" (add veil and accessories), and the whole picture comes into focus. It feels like a triumph when they choose themselves over the loud, and obnoxious voices of their detractors. And almost magically, when these women let their own voices be heard, everyone else was able to see them more clearly.
 | |
| It's still a pretty good picture. |
There are plenty of times besides picking out a wedding dress where people try to dress us down--picking at the people we are. Often, we know what is right for ourselves, and we believe we know the right choices to make, and the right actions to take. There are plenty of instances within our jobs where tasks can be done in different ways, and the results are the same. Those are the gray zones. Other times, there really is only one way to choose to do the right thing. Those are the black tie and white gown moments in life. Those are the moments in which our choices really matter, and they define who we are to others, but more importantly to ourselves.
There are days I want to be more than I am, and I forget to embrace my own advice to "ride my own ride." At the end of each day, the choices other people make define them, and I don't have to live with those choices. I do have to live with my own. I'm not "just" anything. No matter what our jobs or positions, no one is "just" anything.
Choosing a wedding dress is a moment, in which we can choose to listen to all the other voices and noise about who people think we are, or a moment in which we can choose to shut out all of that screaming and listen for our own voices. It is true that a few of those voices will be with us for the long term, but just like in life and work, one voice that will be with us forever.
there is only
Firework--Katy Perry
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