goodbye: the art of acting crazy

Years ago a friend gave me a book of Hafiz poetry called I Heard God Laughing. When he handed me the book, I noticed a beautiful wooden bookmark neatly tucked inside the first few pages. When I opened the book to retrieve it, it sat atop a poem called "You Don't Have to Act Crazy Anymore."

I looked up at my friend - a person with whom I shared a complex history - and I said: "That was on purpose, wasn't it?" His eyes and whole face smiled as he winked out his reply: "Perhaps."

Tonight as I was counting the ways I have been making things more difficult - more insane - for myself, I recalled this poem. It's hard work to feel as fractured as I do; it takes true effort to be this stressed and overwhelmed (by work, family, friendships, etc). It takes effort to keep it all inside, all the while acting the martyr insteading of either asking for help or giving yourself exactly what you know you need. Time. Relaxation. Care. Quiet. Letting go. (And, okay, maybe a massage.)

Last night I went to the gym after an epic cry session with my therapist. I don't normally allow myself to cry in front of other people - even my damn therapist - so I arrived at the gym in little, vulnerable pieces. I did thirty minutes of cardio, a bit of strength training, and then totally came undone in the sauna. 

Which actually translated to me just letting myself feel what I was feeling - a literal sitting with it. I sat in the sauna for nearly thirty mintues - until my eyelids were sweating and I thought okay, that's probably enough - but I stayed because even though the feelings were rough, ultimately I got to a good place. It was symbolic I know, but also something more basic: letting all the toxins out felt good both emotionally and physically. By the time I got up and left, I was drenched in it. I was also ready to wash it all away and let go. 

I left the gym knowing that all I wanted and needed when I got home were a few nourishing rituals. So I did just that. I slowly ate a beautiful grapefruit, took my vitamins, rubbed good lotion all over my body, and crawled into my bed - freshly washed sheets and all. I fell into a peaceful sleep for the first time in a long time. And today at work, I was in a much calmer place. I worked slowly and deliberately, and told many people No, I can't, I have too much on my plate. The honesty of where I was at lifted the weight right off of me. Funny how that works. 

I don't have to act crazy. I also know the ways to be well. 

---

You Don't Have to Act Crazy Anymore

by Hafiz

You don't have to act crazy anymore -

we all know you were good at that.

Now retire, my dear,

From all that hard work you do

Of bringing pain to your sweet eyes and heart.

Look in a clear mountain mirror -

See the Beautiful Ancient Warrior

And the Divine elements

You always carry inside

That infused this Universe with sacred Life

So long ago

And join you Eternally

With all Existence - with God!

goodbye: plain

When I was in fifth grade, a friend asked a friend who asked a friend who asked a boy I was crushin' on if he liked me. By the time his answer got back to my innocent ears, the message was broken down to its most basic, sans bullshit: No. Why? Because he thinks you're plain.

The fact that he didn't like me was not as alarming to me as his reasoning: my apparent plainness. What did that mean exactly? My imagination went wild. Was it my hairdo? My large, round glasses which - in my defense - were what all kids in the early 90s were sporting? Did I walk funny, or laugh funny, or talk funny, so that he found my overall person to be plain? What made me, this interesting, unique, quirky, chatty, freckled, lively (in my mind) fifth grader, plain??

That assessment of my personhood has undoubtedly haunted me on and off for years. And it's resurfaced at the most random of times, usually when I'm doing something I consider rather bold and NOT plain. I've laughed with glee while repelling off a cliff in Maine: haha, plain, take that! While hitch-hiking in Hawaii in a multicolored dress I've giggled at how opposite of plain this must seem. I've picked outfits, and friendships, and life paths often times to reject the notion that I am, or could ever be, plain. It's taken on a life of its own, a persona, this part of me that could be - but desperately doesn't want to be - plain.

But, like many people who live in the world full of other humans who can choose to judge you or applaud you, I can't help but worry at times about what people really think of me. When I am seen on the street, do people grimace or smile?

So despite my personal rebellion against plainness, I've edited or modified things that I'd really like to do, in order to not stand out too much or risk being mocked for something I did. It's a shame I can't embrace the rebellion more fully, it's a shame I worry and wonder how people see me. But alas, I am human. And a sensitive one at that.

But I've been bored lately. And I have a blog/life project to work on.

So yesterday I went to the hairdresser and said: Do something different. My hairdresser was giddy. She's been wanting me to go beyond the definition of myself I've chosen for the two years I've gone to her and gotten basically the same haircut.

So she gave me a severe bob, and some trendy, severe, "baby bangs." At first I worried I looked like someone from Star Trek or that one stooge. I just looked in the mirror and laughed and laughed and laughed. So much so that others in the salon began to look my way, concerned. I couldn't believe the face I saw in front of me. It was me, but a little more quirky and fun. A little more full of humor and glee. I felt I looked crazy dorky, and I liked it. Honestly, I was somewhere between my four-year-old self, and the grown woman I strive to be. Which is about right.

Then I realized she basically gave me the haircut I've wondered about for years, but been too worried or insecure to try. She made me (more or less) Amelie. 

It's a choice to be the person we want to be. The only way we risk becoming the person we fear, the person we are scared people think we are, is if we resign ourselves to that fate. I'm only as plain as I choose to be. 

goodbye: old love

It's funny, this blog thing. Who do we write it for? It's different than a journal because instead of turning inward, privately, for just ourselves, we open outward, publicly, for a perceived audience, an assumed audience - even if it's never confirmed. Are we writing for ourselves here, or for the other selves we imagine peering into our world? Do we write with the idea of how someone might see us? Does that somehow then make us who we are?

I rushed home from the corner bar just now - literally a block away from my home, but oh rush did I - and I immediately went to the sink and frantically washed dishes and I frantically put on the song that says to me "with every broken heart I become more adventurous" and I scrub away and I hum and then I realize my eyes are filling with tears, and I'm not numb, I am feeling something, I do hurt. So then I came here. Hello computer, hello possible audience, might you want to hear today's goodbye?

Goodbye love. Long-overdue goodbye.

(Disclaimer to the assumed audience of 1+: there might be lots of run-on sentences occurring here. My brain is scrambling to understand itself and I'm trying my hardest to be authentic and real, which sometimes translates to the written version of babble.)

I'm not sure if in my young life I've yet to have good love, love that sustains and nourishes and brings out the part of me that I truly want out, but I have had my run-ins with some types of love. Ranging from the spectrum of really bad and unhealthy to fairly interesting and good at inspiring personal growth.  And recently, I've had a most confused love, a love that tore me in two and that I wasn't brave enough to admit did so.

So, it's held on. For a good year, almost to the date, I've tried to understand my brokenness while simultaneously moving on and forgetting. Those things are hard to do at the same time. I should have just stared my hurt in the eye as long as I needed to and then dealt with the moving on and healing. Ack, live and learn.

Tonight, something brought us together. My own longing for closure? My psychic abilities or sixth sense that something was up? Or my desire to sit together, like we used to do, when it meant nothing, when it was simple?

We sat side-by-side at the bar (because face-to-face was just too much for me) and he told me, after the world's longest pause during which I suddenly knew what was coming next, he told me he and his new love are engaged. (Which I understand seems to imply I am his old love, which is not the case. He is my old love, and I am his....his thing which he has no words for, which he cannot articulate or place in the story of his life.)

The thing that I have been asking myself is: what did I feel in that moment?

I felt something that was enough to shortly afterwards draw tears while washing dishes and listening to cheesy pop music, but that in the moment nailed me to my seat, numbed me to my core. I don't know what I felt because I shut down almost instantly! And that bothers me tremendously.

He rambled on a bit, and in that ramble he brought up "us" (and used the words "us" while also struggling with words a bit, avoiding words like "relationship" and "love" and "intimacy.") And he talked about how this next step with her made him think about a lot of his old relationships, and a lot of the lessons he'd learned. And he tried to talk about our thing, but I was so gone at that point, so shut down. He wanted me to chime in, but I was scared. Scared of opening up that place again and finding that what I thought was dead and done with is actually alive. I was scared of him seeing how much he got to me. How deeply he wounded my most vulnerable core.

And as I sat there longer, I realized that even if the animal is alive in me, it's dead in him. It's so over for one of us, so it has to be so over for both of us. That that is then, and this is now.

Then was laughter and fun and closeness and vulnerability that quickly morphed into ugliness and yelling and distrust and betrayal.

Now is two strangers sitting at a bar, talking around the fact that they inflicted real hurt on each other. Now is one stranger who  still can't "go there" without being deeply inside the hurt, without it feeling present and full-bodied, even if not fully present-tense. Now is the other stranger who can talk about it as a lesson learned, as the past, as over.

Then was learning and hurting and steps forward, steps back, steps forward, steps back, steps back and back and back for what felt like infinity.

Now is two people who can barely look each other in the eyes, and one who is trying so hard to say something he's wanted to say and the other embarrassed by the fact that she's still wishing she had the last word, still wishing she had the perfect thing to say to make him understand, and instead resigns herself to saying nothing - or saying just enough that still amounts to nothing. Now is his release and her sink deeper into the quicksand of her hurt.

Now is seeing the future is never sitting side-by-side at a bar, catching up like old friends do, because now is the real truth that that friendship died the minute one heart broke, and no matter what wounds heal and what apologies are uttered over a 12-year-aged scotch, there is no future for "us." There is only goodbye.

And why write? Why speak in circles about the matters of the heart? Why do this when writing can only uncover a theory and confusion still reigns supreme?

In an attempt to say hello to real love one day. One day. One day...

I'll write until it's real. I'll write until it feels like it could be real.

goodbye: one is the loneliest number

Writer's block has been almighty this week, as I have had plenty worth putting to (virtual) paper, but not quite the words to get it there.

I've been a patron of the arts, with one world-class piece of theater and one brilliant-joyous-laughter-cry-inducing middle school play taken in; I've had delicious food cooked in my kitchen and stranger's kitchens; I've gone for what only can be described as the saddest attempt at a jog on what might have been the most beautiful March Saturday I've ever known; and I've spent ample time with many, many people I care for deeply.

Yet.

Earlier this week, I made dinner with a friend, followed by some wine at a neighborhood cafe. It was a beautiful evening, and while we sipped our flights of wine - mine white, his red - we marveled at the world around us and the friendship that has been developing between us. And I wondered aloud at why, though starkly different people, we remain connected somehow.

He said, "Because we are both lonely."

Oh dear.

Not words I ever hoped to hear.

I think of myself as independent, self-sufficient. I think of myself as quirkyalone, not depressed to be alone. I think of myself as choosing my companions carefully, thoughtfully.

Yes, there are many activities that I partake in that I realize could involve another person. There are hours, full days, entire weekends I enjoy the company of me. It's mostly very pleasant, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that at times my heart hurts because of it. I see something beautiful outside my car window; I read a line in a book that takes my breath away; I overhear a conversation that makes me giggle...and I think how much I would like to share these things with someone.

Does a moment gain meaning by our ability to share it? Further, does it only have meaning when we have another person to validate it?

I don't think so.

I think it's important to find the balance in life, the balance in all things. To find the time to pause just for your own self to breathe in the wonder of the world, as well as to find the time to spread what you are experiencing to the people around you. Of course there can be a disconnect: moments you want so badly to share but don't have anyone to share with. What's to be done in a moment like that? How do we keep the loneliness of that moment from infecting the person we are?

It's that disconnect that I struggle with and that I think my friend sees in me. What he calls lonely, I am only starting to find the words to describe...

Because I don't innately see myself as a "lonely" individual. I am at times alone. I am at times lonely. I can be alone but not lonely. And I can also be lonely when I am not alone. All of these truths create the person, the one, I am.

Imagine it!

goodbye ugly robe

This is my ugly robe. Or rather, this was my ugly robe.

Take a good look:

-It's made to be a look-at-me-I'm-practically-a-towel style of robe. Can you even call that fabric?

-It's a rather unpleasant shade of baby blue.

-It has two gigantic pockets, two gigantic chicken-wing sleeves, and is floor length.

-It has a hood.

-Oh, and the zipper only worked for about a week and then broke, after which is just hung on slightly above my belly button keeping the robe "closed" but only in the most lenient definition of the word "closed."

It was a damn ugly robe.

But as ugly as it was, it was also the inspiration for this online project. You see, the ugly robe came up in conversation with the woman I like to think of as my personal lighthouse in the dark--my beacon when all hope is lost. My life coach of sorts. Ok, my therapist who I pay to listen to me talk and occassionally give me really sage life advice. (If I can't be honest now, at the beginning, how will I ever?)

I told S about my ugly robe. I told her about it in this manner:

[resigned voice] "Well, it's ugly robe season again, so I guess there's that to look forward to."

I think she choked on her herbal tea. While rolling her eyes.

And then she told me something that really hit me at my core, in that part of myself that hears the truth when it most needs to, that internal compass that has no tolerance for bullshit.

She told me--I don't even need to paraphrase here because she was rather succinct--"Well, if you hate it so much, then get rid of it. "

This woman is worth every penny.

Here's the thing, you should probably know before you go on any further, that this project is coming from a place of rather determined intention. It's going to be cheesy at times, and cliche, and probably induce some eye-rolling and uncomfortable laughter (from you and me). Because, honestly, an ugly robe is at the heart of this project, so you know I'm reading into things a little too much. And that I will embrace and continue that trend throughout this process, as I have a rather strong dedication towards "honoring from whence we came."

But S hit on something really true that day. She reminded me that I can't just sit around and wait for my life to happen to me; I need to take an active role in creating the life I want to live. The robe was just a small piece of a larger struggle I was having internally--and that was ripping into my external world--to make ch-ch-changes that I'd deemed necessary long ago, but not found the strength or motivation to make. Simple as that. S hit the nail on the head: quit wallowing and playing the part of victim, throw out your damn ugly robe and beyond that throw out all the other damn ugly robes you are holding onto as well, be they literal or figurative.

The lady really got me thinking. So on not-quite-the-eve (anymore) of the New Year, but close enough to be able to easily visualize myself taking a first step into something unknown but important, I decided to make good on the promises I've made to myself over the years. One of them was writing more, hence putting these thoughts down here. There are plenty more though, and what this goodbye ugly robe project is really about is remembering the life I want to build for just myself--that of course includes other people-- but doesn't start from the assumption that someone else is going to take control of my happiness or dreams or successes or failures. That it is up to me to take the first step forward, even if I stumble a little bit, and see what my life can grow into.

See: cheese has been served already.

Oh, and by the way, there is going to be a new robe. I'm not going to pretend it's sexy-even though the photo would like to imply it is - but it's cozy looking, has a little bit of a ruffled edge around the collar, is a cute flannel pattern, and overall is so much more me. Which is the point. And as S and I discussed, by replacing the zipper with a tie closure, I am asserting the fact that 1) I am not a middle-aged woman with saggy breasts (thank you very much) and 2) I am not resigned to a life in an ugly robe. Read into that if you want to, you probably should.