Share My World, Just Not My Heart

“Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can completely turn your world around. You tell them things that you’ve never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you say and actually want to hear more. You share hopes for the future, dreams that will never come true, goals that were never achieved and the many disappointments life has thrown at you. When something wonderful happens, you can’t wait to tell them about it, knowing they will share in your excitement. They are not embarrassed to cry with you when you are hurting or laugh with you when you make a fool of yourself. Never do they hurt your feelings or make you feel like you are not good enough, but rather they build you up and show you the things about yourself that make you special and even beautiful. There is never any pressure, jealousy or competition but only a quiet calmness when they are around. You can be yourself and not worry about what they will think of you because they love you for who you are. The things that seem insignificant to most people such as a note, song or walk become invaluable treasures kept safe in your heart to cherish forever. Memories of your childhood come back and are so clear and vivid it’s like being young again. Colours seem brighter and more brilliant. Laughter seems part of daily life where before it was infrequent or didn’t exist at all. A phone call or two during the day helps to get you through a long day’s work and always brings a smile to your face. In their presence, there’s no need for continuous conversation, but you find you’re quite content in just having them nearby. Things that never interested you before become fascinating because you know they are important to this person who is so special to you. You think of this person on every occasion and in everything you do. Simple things bring them to mind like a pale blue sky, gentle wind or even a storm cloud on the horizon. You open your heart knowing that there’s a chance it may be broken one day and in opening your heart, you experience a love and joy that you never dreamed possible. You find that being vulnerable is the only way to allow your heart to feel true pleasure that’s so real it scares you. You find strength in knowing you have a true friend and possibly a soul mate who will remain loyal to the end. Life seems completely different, exciting and worthwhile. Your only hope and security is in knowing that they are a part of your life.” ~Bob Marley~

Most normal people I know want this. The entire package. The whole she-bang. I had this once. After I was separated from the Dreaded Ex. It was pretty damn wonderful. And then it wasn't...

I know I said I wouldn't post about this subject again, but something that someone that means something to me said to me recently triggered this thought that has been percolating in my brain and made me think about how I was seeing relationships. Everything I see as far as relationships go is black and white. No gray, no permutations about anything. No pixelated colors. And everything is made up of pixelated colors. TONS of varying shades, nuances of color. Not just black, white and gray...but every color imaginable. All hues and tones. What do I mean? Let me tell you a story.

My maternal grandparents were in an arranged marriage. My Gran was 17 and my Poppa was 21 (I think) when they wed. They weren't madly in love. They didn't have romantic designs on one another. My Gran didn't want to marry Poppa. She was actually in love with another...the man she was originally supposed to marry. Yet, my grandparents had ten children together. They built a life together. They worked hard and raised their family together. And love was built. Respect was fostered and grew over time. Trust was created. And these two that were pushed together for whatever reasons, grew to love one another. Truly. How do I know this? I saw evidence of their love with my own eyes when they were visiting my family in Seattle when I was a teenager. My Granny and Poppa were older, I can't remember exactly how old. But it was right before my Gran got diagnosed with cancer about twenty years ago.

My Poppa and Granny hadn't ever been to Washington together. My Gran had come down all by herself before, but my Poppa had always stayed in Alaska. Until this trip. Over half-way into their vacation, we were on a ferry crossing Puget Sound. It was a lovely, sunny summer day, and there was a slight breeze over the water. In addition to the occasional blast from boats passing in the Sound, the cry of seagulls and the wind were the only noises outside. We were out on the observation deck, looking out over the expanse of slate blue water as we glided through the waves at a brisk chop. My siblings and I were pointing at things and watching the other boats or the skyline over the water when I turned to look at my grandparents. They were walking together. 

Poppa was wearing one of his many plaid shirts, and a dark pair of slacks and tennis shoes. His silver shot hair was always cropped short, close to his head. His body was bent and gnarled from many years of backbreaking work, so he had this sort of ambling gait-sometimes limping when his knees or hips gave him trouble. My Gran was always a petite woman. She reminded me of a little bird. Delicate. Tiny. Beautiful. Gran was always a beautiful woman. Even in her age, and through this beginning stage of her sickness that we weren't aware of. She had her slightly-graying, black hair pulled back in hair combs to the side of her head and the long strands woven in a plait down the center of her back. Her clothes were starting to hang on her. The loose fitting button down shirt and slacks made her look even younger, like an old girl trying on her mothers or older sisters clothes.

At any rate, I just happened to catch seeing my grandparents at a time that they didn't know any of us were watching them. Silently, they walked together. All the years of adversity behind them, they were at their leisure having the very first vacation together of their lives. They walked slowly away from us, in comfortable silence, as only those who know one another well can. Just before I happened to turn my head away, I caught movement. My Poppa gently took my Gran's hand in his. They clasped their hands together, and I saw my Poppa give my Gran a small squeeze before they walked hand in hand together.

It was one of the most intimate scenes of my life. I had to look away. It wasn't the wind that made my eyes glassy and tear up, it was seeing pure love. The kind you don't read about in story books. The kind that has survived the death of a child together, heartbreaking loss together, backbreaking work, and every conceivable challenge together. It was intimate because my grandparents weren't affectionate with one another. It was as if I had taken a peek into a realm I never knew existed. They truly loved one another. It shouldn't be a surprise to most people that love exists between two people that spent the majority of their lives together, but I was a little shocked. It is a memory I cherish.

Even at that age, I knew I wanted that someday. That love that grows through anything. The love that is slow, steady and strong. Unexpected love. Today, I look at myself and know that I won't have THAT. Ever. I refuse on moral grounds. Besides, I have realized that I choose men who are unavailable in some way. Emotionally, geographically or physically. I don't know if I will ever get past that. I don't know that I have it in me. And I definitely don't want to love any of them. Not willingly. I keep them close enough to enjoy and push away when it gets too real, past the point when someone stops being fixated what he sees on the outside of my body and starts seeing the mess I have going on inside. Because I'm a mess. Fucked up beyond all reason.

Am I cynical? Definitely. Wouldn't YOU be if you had my experiences? Terrified of ever allowing anyone to see me so vulnerable that they could destroy my world? Absolutely. Hesitant of giving someone my heart with the hopes they won't abuse or crush it? Definitely.

What made me think about all this again? Someone I trust has reminded me that relationships aren't cut and dried or black and white like I see them. There isn't a tried and true recipe for relationships that will allow each one of us to have the twittering birds and sweet flowers. Sometimes relationships aren't like that.

I may not believe in romantic love for me, but I do believe that you can share things with someone that are so intense, so important and life-changing that you can get close as possible. Expand emotion. Push limits of what feels safe to you, knowing they'll be there to catch you when you fall. Communicate fully so that you may understand one another's wants and needs completely. Share in experiences that you don't feel comfortable sharing with anyone else.

I'm at least willing to do that. But, with someone I feel safe with. Someone I know that isn't going to be there all the time, because I don't want to rely on anyone. Someone that can't have me in his every day life, because if he's in mine I might actually miss him. Someone whose role is clearly defined, because I don't like surprises. Someone who is unattainable, because if I could have him, what would I do with him?

Sometimes two broken people can be together and somehow, their brokenness isn't as terrible. They might find pieces of themselves that fit one another well. Sometimes they fit one another perfectly...

So, rather than think of the fairy tale that isn't realistic, I think I'll be able to see the things that matter in relationships. To go along with the other things in my life that I want to experience truly authentically.

Honesty. Respect. Trust. Admiration. Solicitousness. Compassion. Caring. Seeing the other involved in the relationship with all these things. And making the most of the time in the company of said person. Settling? No. Rethinking what I believe about relationships? Yes.

Seeing Me Through My Child's Eyes...

“And when he died, I suddenly realized I wasn’t crying for him at all, but for the things he did. I cried because he would never do them again, he would never carve another piece of wood or help us raise doves and pigeons in the backyard or play the violin the way he did, or tell us jokes the way he did. He was part of us and when he died, all the actions stopped dead and there was no one to do them the way he did. He was individual. He was an important man. I’ve never gotten over his death. Often I think what wonderful carvings never came to birth because he died. How many jokes are missing from the world, and how many homing pigeons untouched by his hands? He shaped the world. He did things to the world. The world was bankrupted of ten million fine actions the night he passed on.” ~Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451~

Occasionally, my children and I have such sublime moments of clarity in how we see each other that it's awe-inspiring. I had such a night tonight.

So, most that know me and my family know that I have a short person in each level in the hierarchy of pre-collegiate educational institutions. I have a teenager in his last semester of high school, a 'tween (soon to be a teen) in her first year of middle school and the shortest person who is in elementary school. They are my tribe, they are whom I do everything for. I give my life to making sure they are taken care of, protected and to feel secure in the knowledge that they are the centers of my world.

The shortest person and I are still the presidents and founders of each other's mutual admiration society. We are the loves of each other's lives, the alpha and the omega, each other's biggest fans. The 'tween and I are at the cusp of occasionally despising one another for brief moments of time with much eye rolling and exasperation on both parts. It goes along with the territory. All that trying boundaries and everything during hormonally charged explosions much like solar flares. The teenager and I...well, let's just say the teenager and I have had more conflict than the Middle East in approximately the past 8 years of his evolution into a human being from puberty to now. He and I tend to be the most alike...thus the constant conflict. He drives me crazy at times!

You see, my mother has this theory...that for a brief number of years from right around the start of puberty until about 19, all persons who are transforming from child to adult, are not human. It's such an apt description of us in adolescence. Anyone that has survived puberty, the teenage years and "early adult-hood" with their children knows what I'm talking about. It's a time when you begin to truly understand why some animals eat their young, and others abandon their young to fend for themselves.

At any rate, having the teenager and tween has made me appreciate having the buffer of the shortest person to remind me that once upon a time, these two "halflings" were cute and loveable. Not that I don't adore all my short people. I really do. Sometimes I just don't like the evolving ones very much.

But, the teenager has become much more human in the past year. So much so that he has made me tear up occasionally when he makes a very astute and heart-warming revelation known to me. It makes me realize that somewhere along the lines of this chaotic "parental experiment" I ventured into almost two decades ago, I might have actually done something right.

Our conversation this evening started with us catching up on his life, his new love, and a myriad of everyday things. We talked about a book I was reading, and how I was going to give it to him to read after I was done with it because he would love it because it was like the science fiction he loved that wasn't so fictitious anymore. We talked about recent changes in government and my recent decision to leave my employer so I could support my family better. I told him how I was a bit nervous about it, but that everyone seemed to have faith I would do a great job-working for me. He told me not to worry about it, because I am such an amazing therapist that I would have no problem succeeding. I asked him how he was so sure about this.

He told me he read a quote by Ray Bradbury the other day that was perfect for my situation.

I stood there, in his doorway, listening to him explain the quote as he remembered it. He said that when he read the quote, he immediately thought of me. 

He said, that when people die it's not the person you miss but what they do, and that's a big part of who they are...because it's the things that people do that they love that we remember when they're gone. He said everything I do, I work hard to do my best and people remember that. I make an impression. I am passionate about my work with almost a religious zeal. He said I was important. 

The teenager went onto say that when he wakes up and his first thought isn't about his work, because...let's face it, there isn't a whole lot to be excited about working in an entry level food service job. The teenager has been taking on more responsibility. He got his first job this past summer. He now understands a few things about the value of an honest wage for honest work, the difficulties adults sometimes have in not being appreciated for what it is we really do and why I strive so hard to do what I do to become a success in my own right. He knows that my work isn't just about making money for me. He knows that my work is my passion, something I believe in, am really great at and am very enthusiastic about.

He sees me day in and day out, waking up and KNOWING that my purpose that day is to do the greatest work I possibly can, and that every single person I touch will remember me because I put my whole heart, my whole being INTO my work. I made a noise of agreement and said people tend to tell me that their greatest complaint is that they can't find someone else who does quite what I do the way I do it.

The teenager said that the reason that my clients will never find another person who can do what I do because I have passion beyond the necessary for my work. He said that my clients, partners, employers, co-workers, friends and family can truly see that I really love what I do. And that's what makes me remarkable above and beyond any skill or knowledge that I have. He said that passion is what he wants to be able to find in his own life's work...whatever that is. Passion like I have for my career.

The teenager actually said he admired me. He also said that not enough people appreciate my dedication, my ability to see connections in how I treat injuries, pain and biomechanical issues. He knows I go above and beyond what anyone would expect in my treatment of my clients. THAT is what he said makes me great. He also said he didn't think I valued myself enough. No one valued me enough for the person I was, for the therapist I was, or for the woman I was.

I stood there, gripping my arms close to my chest, and not saying a thing. I was humbled beyond speech.

When a parent begins to feel that their child is this alien life form, sometimes it's hard to accept that they have become human again...with more compassion and respect than they began with. When your child becomes alien, at times you feel that you will never get the child you so loved back...

I looked into the eyes of this man, this once boy-child who loved me so much at one point (when he was 5) he wanted to grow up to marry me. I looked into his warm eyes and knew that my first love was still there. My little boy who loved his Momma so very, very much. But he saw me through the eyes of a man I had raised. 

It was there in that very second I realized that we have survived his growing up. He has made me a very proud mother. Not because he thinks so highly of me. But because he has evolved to think beyond himself, that he sees his own strengths and failings. And he can empathize with me, see the work that I do, what others do and recognize the value of sacrifice. That he sees the value in other human beings. Their true value. Their spirit. Their heart. Their dedication. Their passion. And that he wants it for himself. 

That he understands me.

I sit here crying in my room, not lamenting the loss of my little boy, but joyful that the world will get to know this remarkable young man. This man that I had a part in helping to become. Great. Loving. Compassionate. Intelligent. Creative. A real human being. 

I hope that we all might look at ourselves through our children's eyes. So that we may understand great love. They see us for who we are. They are the ones who really show us that we shape the world. That everyone around us is touched by our hands, and our hearts. They become who we show them we are, what we value. And sometimes, we don't realize who we are until we can see how those that we fight so hard for, work tirelessly for, and love with no condition placed on them, show us they see all that. And appreciate it.

We are important. We are valued. We cannot give up our passions. We are shaping the world. Decision by decision. Sacrifice by sacrifice. Our children become who they are by seeing us through their eyes. For good or bad. Better or worse. We are part of...everything. The world would never be what it is without us.

Makes one question, what part are you giving to the world?

Chasing Shadows

" “Succeeding,” whatever that might mean to you, is hard, and the need to do so constantly renews itself (success is like a mountain that keeps growing ahead of you as you hike it), and there’s the very real danger that “succeeding” will take up your whole life, while the big questions go untended."

 ~George Saunders~

There was a time when success to me meant making gobs of money. And I did make gobs of money at several points in my life. It was no problem for me to buy what I wanted, do what I wanted and go where I wanted. I didn't realize at the time that money doesn't always last and it doesn't mean as much as the things that have no price. Let's face it, given the choice between working your ass off and barely scraping by, or working steadily and not having to worry about whether or not you are going to make rent next month, I'd take the former over the latter any day.

However, success for me now has no monetary value, no magic number that would make me "comfortable", or no new tax bracket to fit into. Success for me now means something entirely different. 

Success for me now means the freedom to choose what I want to do for a living, the freedom to raise my children by actually being there for them instead of having someone else care for them day in and day out, and to have the security to take time off if I need to. Success for me means that I live life on my terms, doing the things I love with the people who mean the world to me. Success is having to answer only to myself in my performance, my schedule and determining not only who and how long I work for someone, but determining my worth as well.

We all want to achieve success in some measure. For each of us it means attaining or achieving a favorable or desired outcome in something that you do. My desired outcome is to achieve more quality of life. Economy of motion in all my actions. Expedient results. Authenticity in my relationships-both personal and professional. Satisfaction in a job well done. Maintaining a schedule that allows for work that is concentrated in pockets of time during my children's school days, and as little time away from them as possible. A favorable outcome would mean that I would have actual free time...down time...time off. Not having to work every single day of every week. 

For some people, you might wonder...how in the world is it possible to have to work every day of every week? Well, for a woman like me it means that I try to live my life completely self-sufficient of any assistance. I pay my way. I work my ass off to make sure I can care for my children. When my husband and I got divorced, I made a promise to myself that I would depend on no one ever again. Not in any meaningful way. Not for financial security. Not for emotional security. Not for anything.

It's funny. I couldn't get assistance even if I tried anyway. That's the part of life that is ironic. Those of us on the cusp that work harder to feed our families get penalized for working harder by the government or agencies that are there to "help". That's why there are so many of us who are just one paycheck away from homelessness. One paycheck away from hunger. One paycheck away from poverty. We constantly are hustling to make sure we don't get sick, hurt or jobless. For some of us, that means we take any job we can. When we can't take a job that provides basic securities like insurance, retirement funds and the ability to make deposits into savings, it means we are constantly gambling with our safety nets. We have none. 

So, I work every day. Every day of every week. And do so with enthusiasm. Why? If you look in the faces of my children, you see the belief they have in me. That I will take care of them. Support them.

Protect them.

Sometimes, I don't even feel like I can protect myself, let alone three people who believe in my abilities as a parent and a working adult. I look at my children and wonder if their belief in me is deserved. I wonder if they are believing in a lie.

As I told my mother the other day on the phone. There are so many people who believe in my abilities that I feel like I can't give up because I'll let so many people down. Sometimes that is the only thing that is keeping me going. When I look in my pocketbook and realize how little I have to keep me afloat.

School supplies. School clothes and shoes. Rent. Gas. Bills.

Food.

Food.

Food.

I wonder how much longer I will have the will to keep going. Keep moving. Keep hustling.

Yes, success is something that we all chase. For different reasons. For some it's to gain entrance into a golden life. For others, it's just to be able not to worry about having the means to feed our children. 

Success. It's hard. It's like a shadow you chase. It is always around you, but it's not always tangible. When the weather rolls in...and the storm clouds hide the sun, you lose the shadow of success you're chasing. You get drenched. Cold. Lose momentum. But the sun always comes out, right? And you can chase your shadows again.

I plan on becoming like Peter Pan. Maybe someone can sew the shadow of success on my feet so we won't be separated. So I can stand on success. Even on rainy days.

Yes, succeeding is hard. But giving up will be infinitely harder in the long run. It may take me my whole life to achieve it. But chasing the kind of success I long for...to make my life and my children's life better. To attain quality of life. To become more self-sufficient. To never have to depend on another soul for security. It's worth it. Even if the cost is I don't get a chance to answer the big questions. Because life...it's the ultimate big question. And my life is all about my children. So in a sense, I've already achieved my success. I just need to work on the security portion.

Paths, Cheshire Cats and movie montages

“A path is only a path, and there is no affront, to oneself or to others, in dropping it if that is what your heart tells you . . . Look at every path closely and deliberately. Try it as many times as you think necessary. Then ask yourself alone, one question . . . Does this path have a heart? If it does, the path is good; if it doesn't it is of no use.”

~Carlos Castaneda~

Ugh. Most people would be so shocked if they realized how much I wanted to give up on any dreams or aspirations I may have for myself or my family. And how frequently I want that these days. It's not like I'm so depressed that I'm having suicidial ideation or anything, but I'm discouraged beyond belief.

I WISH I could drop what my heart tells me. I'd be out of my place of employment so fast that I'd leave a vapor trail. It's not a good place for me. It's sucking the life out of me, stressing me out and disappointing me. I have been looking for a way out for months...

What do I want to replace it with? Working for myself. Spending more time with my children. Jump out of airplanes. Garden. Read. Work out. Sleep. Have time for dating. Have sex. Bake pies. Write. You know, the good stuff we're not supposed to be taking for granted in life.

It's days like today where I look at my dreams, aspirations and goals and am like...I'll never get this. Why? Because I feel like with every positive step forward I make, I get pushed two places back! I have lost interest in life! In the things that make me happy, in the things I enjoy. In striving to achieve success.  You work so hard, so long...and you'll understand what I mean.

Single moms and dads everywhere understand how I feel. If you're not in the top few percent of those earners in the United States, chances are you understand struggle. Missed or late child support payments. Clothes and shoes that constantly need to be replaced. Glasses. Orthodontia. FOOD! That's a huge expense. Gas. Rent/mortgage. Insurance. School supplies. Childcare. Argh!

I wish it were all just a dream. I'd wake up to find that this struggle filled life isn't really mine, but I'm really a princess. Married to my perfect prince with 2.5 children and a dog and I never have to lift a manicured finger to do anything in my life! 

But my life is more like how Jimmy Stewart felt in It's A Wonderful Life at the very end. He ended up being grateful for everything he had. I am too, but I'm so sick of the struggle. I know me not being around would affect the lives of many, but some days I just want to disappear. Like the Cheshire Cat does...the last thing you see is a smile.

Until then, I've got a client to get to.