Lessons, Episode #3

1.  You are never, ever too old to learn something new.  Or relearn something old.  Or change directions.  Or start over.  Or respond differently.

2.  Some people will never enjoy drinking wine.  I used to think that I would develop a taste for wine as I got older but that theory has failed me miserably.  Same thing with acorn squash:  I just can't do it.

3.  Flexibility is the key to staying sane.  And I mean more than just the ability to touch your toes.

4.  The universe has a funny way of surprising you.  Be open to all of it.
 
5.  Nothing in life, and I do mean absolutely nothing, is linear.  At least not for very long.

6.  A night's sleep (not necessarily a good night either) is the best way to gain clarity.

7.  Don't live a sloppy life.  Live with intention and thoughtfulness.  Apply that idea to your words, your activities, and all the choices you might encounter.

8.  Remember that your perspective isn't always correct.

9.  Realize that life won't always be kind to you and you won't always be happy and fulfilled.  Do the next thing anyway and try not to think too much.

10.  Don't.  Think.  So.  Much.
       *just live*

My Race

I went for a run tonight.  First time in almost 5 weeks.  I'm sure I've written about running here before so going for a run isn't a new or particularly exciting topic.  But it's been a rocky few weeks leading up to this evening's run.

Back story:  I've always run.  So the idea of running in the annual Hood to Coast relay was not a stretch for me.  In fact, it was something I'd wanted to do since I was about 20.  But then I was pregnant or nursing for about 15 years and I moved out of state for a while, and well, it just never happened.  Last fall, however, I signed up with a group of friends and started training.  Nice and steady miles, increasing over the course of many months.  I was ready.  I was golden.  Yeah, but then one week before the race I ended up with a wicked case of bronchitis that morphed into pneumonia and the accompaniments of such disease.  I was a coughing, feverish, wheezing mess.  I had to tap out of the race only two days before the start.  Two rounds of antibiotics, several refilled prescriptions of Teslon pearls, inhaled steroids, regular steroids, and God knows what else medicine, and I'm finally on the mend.

And so tonight I ran.

This ended up more than a physical run though.  I cried as I ran.  I think the whole thing was representative of something else.  I think, actually I'm sure, that this run was what I needed to put necessary distance between one life and a new life.  Oh, I know what you're thinking now after reading that.  It might just seem that I'm trying to outrun reality. No such chance of that, I'm afraid.  Reality and I are well acquainted.  Reality meets me everyday when I get up for work. Or when I run kids hither and yon.  Or when I pay the bills.  Or when I risk stagnant security for happiness.  Yes, reality and I know each other well.

This was a strange summer for me.  Probably the strangest, most amazing, most enlightening, most magical (and I don't use that word flippantly either) season that I've ever experienced.  Really.  It was painful and raw and sweet and hilarious all at the same time.  I came face to face with many things that I needed to get resolved.  Things that needed to be let go of.  Things that needed to be recognized.  Things that needed to be fixed.  It was almost as if I could stand back and look at my life from another person's perspective and see things more clearly than I think I ever had.  It was a scary and cathartic experience, for sure. I wouldn't change one minute of it either.

Now I see which direction I'm running, and that direction is towards the future.  Away from what's in the past.  I will undoubtedly trip or get lost or even hurt myself while I run.  But I've trained smart and I'll just keep on heading in that direction.  Nothing is chasing me so I don't have to run hard or fast to get away.  I just need to keep my feet moving forward and looking at what's in front of me.  And I love the view.

Telephone

There's this game we used to play in Girl Scouts when I was, well, a girl.  It was called Telephone.  Everyone sat in a circle and one person started the game by whispering a short sentence to the person sitting beside them.  Then that person whispered what they had heard to the person sitting next to them.  And around and around the circle went the whispered sentence until the very last person was expected to repeat, out loud, what had been whispered in their ear.  Usually, the end result was so far from the original words that everyone had a good laugh at how the sentence had completely morphed into something new and entirely different.

It was a fun game.

I think we still play this game as adults.  But now the end results are not nearly as funny, probably due to the fact that it's not a game anymore.  Seems like we just repeat things without actually hearing what's being said.

So much of the time we tend to interject our own take on a story, despite not knowing the real truth.  We might also put a little personal spin on the details, because let's face it, sometimes it's a better story with a little extra embellishment.  Am I right?  Other times we like to contribute our own opinion on what's been said because our opinions are important.  At least we like to think so.

Yeah, I think we definitely still play this game.  Just seems like no one's laughing at the end now.

Time

This seems like an appropriate night to write about time.  Time passing.  Time going too ssllloowwwwllyyy.  Wasting time.  Patience.

You get my drift.

I think my perception of time has changed so much in the past few years.  Partially because of the transitions in my life, you know, like kids growing up and the changes that come with simply getting older.  But my perception has shifted mostly because of death.  Obviously Bill's death.  Friend's and family's deaths as well.  Too many deaths.

And it's made me think.  Or actually it's made me quit thinking and start feeling.  Kind of this strange intuitive feeling that I can't define very well.

I just can't follow conventional thinking anymore when it comes to time.  Societal or cultural time frames don't feel authentic to me.  They feel contrived and forced.  Seriously, who can really tell me when I should start or finish or wait or get over anything?  That's my choice and it's dictated only by me.

In the past few years I have also learned that I am so very gullible.  I take on too much.  I get my feelings hurt easily.  I often have undefined boundaries.  And I have absolutely NO patience.  (now stop that snickering, my dear friends who pointed this out to me!)  Because of these characteristics, time is not my friend.  Usually.

But I'm starting to learn.  Slowly.

 I think I'm also realizing that I've been a little too precious in my adult life.  Bill took awful good care of me and I don't think there were many times I didn't get what I wanted, when I wanted it.  Or if I didn't get my way, he was awful good at convincing me why I shouldn't.  And then I tried to accept that something didn't go my way.  Within the life we so carefully created I was able to manipulate time to best fit me and what I wanted.  This contrived control made me have the most unrealistic idea of what was considered a normal time frame for just about everything.  I think that's where most of my impatience comes from.

What the heck is considered normal when dealing with time anyway?

It's a struggle for me, this patience thing.  I'm a doer by nature, a fixer, and an extraordinarily impatient waiter.  When I make up my mind about something I'm all in.  Right now.  Waiting is painful and feels like failure to me. I'll say it again:  when I make up my mind about something I do not wait.  Ugh.  Not the greatest attribute.

Yeah, I'm a jumper for sure.  

But I've come to realize that there is a world outside of my old world and there are, gasp, other people who I must defer to.  And the deference includes sometimes accepting a different time frame than my own.  And that's not a bad thing.

Patience is my goal.  Nothing more.  I told a friend one time that he must "trust the process of life and not rush trying to live."  Maybe I need to take my own advice.

Lessons, Episode #2:

Do not feel obligated to explain yourself to another person.  Ever.  If you have to explain yourself it's likely due to the fact that the other party is hell-bent on misunderstanding you anyway.  Stay silent and let the irrational exist with the irrational.

Which leads me to the second part.....

Don't misinterpret silence as guilt.  Or weakness.  Or ignorance.  Silence can also mean that a person has met their bullshit limit and has chosen to gracefully turn and walk away.  Self respect?  Maybe.  Self preservation?  Most definitely.

And then part three....

Do not let another person's emotional catastrophe make you feel responsible.  Read that again.  You are NOT responsible for anyone's mess.  Only your own.

Bad Music and Memories

I like music.  I can appreciate pretty much any kind.  My play lists are ever-changing and diverse.  There might be some 90's rap alongside John Denver and then Erasure.  I like to think my taste is rather eclectic.  More than once I've had someone remark on the variety of these play lists.

The other day I was listening to Seals and Croft.  Yeah, I know....  But  hearing Seals and Croft (or Peter, Paul, and Mary or Gordon Lightfoot or The Doobie Brothers) reminds me of my childhood.  You see, my folks were music people too.  My Dad, especially, had an appreciation for good music.  His record collection was epic and diverse and his stereo equipment was always state of the art.  At least for the era.  (Sometime ask me about why we had a Beta VCR instead of the usual VHS variety.)  I remember him laying on the floor of our family room, HUGE headphones on his head, eyes closed, listening to his records.  Looking back, he was probably trying to drown out the sounds of us kids!

So yesterday as I was standing at my kitchen sink washing the breakfast dishes and listening to Seals and Croft's Greatest Hits I was instantly transported back to the family room in my childhood home.  I could see the rough plank cedar walls, the Hot Diamond wood stove, the orange sofas.  I remember dancing, twirling, singing in this room to so much good music.  I was a kid.  I was safe.  Everyone in my family was somewhere in that house.  We were a family.  It was a rather idyllic childhood, I suppose.

Then I was struck with how unable I was to duplicate that type of life for my kids.

Damn.

When Bill was here we had impromptu concerts nearly every night while we cleaned up the kitchen after dinner.  I'm sure the kids will remember that.

But it's not the same anymore.  Which then starts me down that slippery path of self-doubt.  What else can't I give them now?  Just how messed up are they going to be because of my inability to be both Mom and Dad?  Will they feel that same safety and security that I did as a child?  When they look back on their childhood what will they feel?  Happy?  Or sad and abandoned?  And while we're on it, are they even eating enough vegetables?  Do they know the stuff that's important?  Gosh, do I even know what's important?!  Yeah, once the loop starts playing in my mind I have a hard time stopping it.

I actually have a record player.  Bill bought it for me as a present one Christmas.  I have lots of records too.  There's something comforting and nostalgic about hearing the scratchy sounds of the needle at the beginning of a record.  And I keep both a dime and a penny near the turntable because you never know when you'll find a skip and need to weigh the needle down a bit in order to listen without interruptions.  My kids know where my records are and they know how to use the record player.  Maybe that's one of the important things they need to know about?  Maybe they will look back and remember their Mom dancing wildly around the living room, singing Duran Duran songs slightly off key (I never said I was a good singer).  And maybe they will have that safe feeling too.

Lessons Episode #1

Never trust anyone who purchases a pot/container/basket of flowers and allows them to die from neglect.

Trust even less if person allows the dead pot/container/basket to be displayed for weeks and/or months after the flowers die.