Transplantation

We bid a fond farewell today to our dear friend the narcissus plant. It taught me many valuable lessons, but as its little red pot proved insufficient for long-term growth, its flowers faded. I considered finding a place to transplant it outside but could never locate a prime spot. Plus, I’m not a big fan of dirt in general. Mud in between my toes—yes. Dirt in the typical gardening sense—no.

Part of the joy was seeing it every day, thriving in my apartment, in its bed of rocks. Therefore, I am now considering creating a larger rock garden. If I can avoid the nuisance of soil, I can do it. But we shall see.

The narcissus plant simply got too big for its container. It was time to move on, and that’s exactly the way I feel personally. There are patterns of behavior I’ve been involved with for a while that I no longer find attractive. I’m ready to let go and allow myself to experience fullness and rest while also going out a little more than I have been. I’m moving on. I don’t have to force it. It’s just time, and I will do the little things I can to live differently each day. Time for me to find a bigger container for all the lessons I’ve been learning.

The big life. It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. Every time I think I’ve reached it, I discover that I can go somewhere even more expansive.

Right now, though, I will confess some anxiety over my financial situation and my physical situation. It’s time to get enough food and rest but also make sure ends meet. I’m handing this over to a higher power for now, trusting that everything is okay right now, I’m doing the best I can to ensure relative stability, and the future will be okay, too.

I know that many of you are also feeling the crunch of tough economic times, and I want you to know that I’m with you. Others are in the midst of eating disorders and addictions with no out in sight. Believe me, I have come face-to-face with the reality of how much I still struggle with food, exercise, and body size. These things need to be dealt with, no matter how strongly I feel I should have said goodbye to them long ago.

Don’t let pride stop you from asking for help in areas where you may need it. Areas I like to think I can totally control are the most difficult to expose. I hope that if I need assistance, I will be able to admit it. For me, just writing that I have fears in the financial and eating disorder areas counts as a major step.

Like I said, I’m moving on to a bigger container, one that can hold my anxiety, my basic eating disorder-related fears, all that I am learning, and all the new experiences and relationships that lie ahead. I may be frightened now, but part of me is also courageous and ready for anything. Life has always worked out in the past, and it will work out now—better than I could dream. That’s true for you, too!

Worth a Look - at the Houston Center for Photography

I visited the Houston Center for Photography today and saw a thought-provoking exhibit that hit home for me. Beauty Knows No Pain features images by O. Rufus Lovett and Leah DeVun that examine the expression and perception of femininity in contemporary American culture. Lovett’s work follows the Kilgore Rangerettes, a well-known drill team that dresses in boots, hats, and cowgirl-style skirt sets typical of Texas cheer or drill teams. DeVun has photographed young girls dressed up in Hannah Montana gear, complete with the blond wigs, flashy jewelry, and black leggings girls beg their parents to buy them at Wal-mart.

I first made my way through the Rangerette photos, a group of images dating from 1989 to today, and the smile would not leave my face. The joy in those girls’ expressions combined with the unbelievable contortions some were performing reminded me of the strength within all of us. Although some might say that the short skirts and even the entire idea behind drill teams in general pigeon-hole women into a negative female stereotype, I found the images satisfyingly wholesome. I could tell these girls worked hard and did their best to put on an amazing show.

I also connected with what I imagined might lie behind those pasted-on smiles. It was obvious that the girls loved what they were doing. Nonetheless, what they do is ultimately a show, and the performers have real lives beyond the kick-up-yer-heels routines. In those photos, I saw real girls demonstrating their strength, teamwork, and beauty in a forum acceptable to our society.

I have little doubt that eventually drill teams like the Rangerettes will be phased out as old-fashioned. But places where women can work together as a team and show their strength while being appreciated for their beauty will always exist. These elements are critical to almost every woman’s maturation. Entities like the Rangerettes provide a place for women to express their femininity, and they serve as one portrayal of femininity in our culture.

Is this portrayal positive or negative? Probably a little of both. The main thing is not to see it as a whole. The Rangerettes and the images of them represent one version of femininity (although that version may be multi-layered and different for every girl depicted in the photos and every person who sees them). Viewing possibilities for women through a narrow scope limits everyone in our culture. There are many more ways to be a woman.

Speaking of those many different ways, I moved on to DeVun’s portion. I expected my smile to continue. I usually adore seeing happy little girls playing dress up. Instead, I walked through with a slightly troubled feeling in my stomach. The girls didn’t seem happy, and they didn’t seem like they had chosen their outfits to dress up in. Society had chosen their outfits. Their very self-expression had arrived pre-packaged in a cardboard box labeled “Hannah Montana.” No doubt these girls are finding their way through girlhood in America, doing the best they can to express themselves with the tools given, but in their wigs and bangles, they seem prematurely adolescent. Seven year olds draped in scarves and already projecting the slightly bored expression worn by too many fashion models makes even a cynic long to gift these girls with a childhood—a childhood not branded with Disney.

Granted, I have a slight resentment against Disney. After I worked for them, the Walt Disney synergy so overwhelmingly diffused throughout American (and global) culture became too downright creepy to enjoy anymore. I still haven’t completely rid myself of that “ick” in my belly.

More than that, though, the juxtaposition of these two ways of expressing femininity (the Rangerettes and Hannah Montana) made me consider all the other ways women are portrayed and how I want to portray myself. What tools are given to me for the purpose of self-expression? Do I use those tools? Do the portrayals society gives me affect or distort how I view myself as a woman? Have these images limited me? Did they at one time? How can I transcend popular representations of women and assert my true self, loving every bit of it? Can I dissect those popular representations and determine the truths they hold from the lies?

In any case, the exhibit is certainly worthwhile. And at the astoundingly reasonable price of FREE, Beauty Knows No Pain serves as yet another example of why the Houston Center for Photography is one of my favorite places to go.

In this same vein, photographer Shelley Calton will be giving an artist talk at the Houston Center for Photography on March 25th at 7pm. She’ll also be signing copies of her new book Hard Knocks: Rolling with the Derby Girls. This collection and her last one, Invisible Thread, offer more images that remind viewers of feminine strength and the things that tie us all together as women. She’s worth checking out.

Best wishes, love, and strength to you all! Men and women alike.

Who Else Needs a Vacation?

I’m having a difficult time getting out of my routine. For a long time, I walked according to my “live differently” philosophy, which suggests doing something different or differently every day. Usually, this was easy, and I accomplished it without thinking. Nowadays, I wonder how often I really get out and do something out of the ordinary.

I get so tied up in my routine, thinking that it keeps me safe or in control, when, in fact, it does none of that. I can do everything to the best of my ability, making sure I accomplish every piddling task I can think of, and things can still go wrong. I cannot singlehandedly control the weather or the economy or even my moods sometimes! Although my schedule makes me feel safe, it’s an illusion. And getting out of it is often the only way to remember the safety and beauty beyond the boundaries I have constructed.

The "live differently" philosophy never stipulates that the “different” thing has to be anything grandiose or exciting. It can be driving to work a new way or visiting a restaurant I’ve never been to. It could be doing laundry in the morning instead of the evening or wearing an outfit I might never have picked out for myself.

At this point, however, I question whether I even want to put out the effort to do something new. For today, I am challenging myself to make small talk with anyone who crosses my path. It’s been a rather interesting endeavor and has provided an outlet in an otherwise solitary day. I wonder if it’s really satisfying this urge for newness, though.

I’m busy at work and am doing quite well at it if I do say so myself. However, something in me longs to get COMPLETELY out of my routine and away from work, too. Doing just one thing differently per day would be nice, but I desire a true getaway. I’ve never taken a vacation for myself purely in the name of relaxation. My excursions have always been to visit someone or see some new site or perform a specific task—never a complete pampering.

The few roadtrips I’ve taken have been fun, but they weren’t exactly relaxing. Things are always a bit harried on the road, and you never know what could happen. Still, I’d take a road trip with a couple of friends. I’ve always wanted to head up the west coast, from San Diego, through San Francisco, through Oregon (where I’d see some family), and up into Canada. It’s not well-thought-out, but these are the sorts of travel dreams I have. That… and Italy ;)

For about a year now, I’ve been trying to pick a place to go on vacation, but I come up empty and can’t seem to make a definite decision. This shouldn’t surprise me; I tend toward decidophobia. Still, everyone needs a vacation now and then, even if it’s just a vacation from the ordinary. Getting out of one’s routine can drop a person back off in her life with renewed creativity to live life the way that is best for her, not strictly according to pattern.

That’s what I want: a shot of the different. A one week escape from all things usual, just to remind myself that things can be wonderful without the steady flow I’ve set up for myself. That steady flow is nice…but can also bore me to tears.

Anyway, I suppose this is simply a plea to get out and get back to living differently. For today, I’m content with making conversation with strangers, but I will put forth effort and visualization towards an escape in the near future. It’s about time…

Still Growing

To expand upon my previous post and the numerous metaphors that can be drawn from my experience with the narcissus plant, I would like to draw your attention to the rocks. You can plant narcissus bulbs in a garden or in your lawn, and they spring as daffodils or one of their many varieties (mine are paperwhites). But they can and will grow in ROCKS.

So – no matter if it looks like circumstances would make it impossible for you to grow or succeed, you can. You can grow in the rocks. Beauty can spring up from the hard places, and that beauty is no less valuable than the kind that grows in perfectly manicured gardens. Let some miracles happen today!

Grow, Plant, Grow!

A few weeks ago, some lovely friends gave me a narcissus bulb. I smiled and accepted my parting gift, feeling a combination of uncertainty, burden, and dread. Did I want to attempt to grow this plant? Never before had I tried to grow a living thing within my own home. I’d cared for cut flowers and watered roommates’ and employers’ ferns and ivy, but I had never in my adult life planted a flower and seen if it would grow. For whatever reason, I always had a sneaking suspicion that plants and Michelle did not make for a pleasant combination. “Surely nothing in my care could grow and flourish!” I thought.

Well, I kept the bulb in its paper sack on my kitchen counter for a while, eventually taking the little strip of growing instructions out and reading them. Hmmm, I’d need a pot, some rocks/pebbles, and some water. No pot, no pebbles, but water I had… Considering that this job would not require anything as messy as soil, I began opening up to the idea of nurturing this thing to life.

Then, one night at the store, I opted to go by the gardening section, where I picked out a smart red pot. For a few days, this sat beside the bulb on the kitchen counter. Eventually, the bulb made it into the pot along with some water. (I started worrying that the bulb would die if I didn’t do SOMETHING with it.) And I stared at it, wondering if I really wanted to do this thing.

That weekend, I ventured into a flower shop where I bought, yes with money, a bag of rocks. To my surprise, at this point, regular rocks I could find just wouldn’t do. I wanted smooth, round, multi-colored stone for my dear narcissus bulb. I had grown attached to the idea of this plant and the possibility that it could be something other than the brown, onion-like creature languishing on my countertop. Perhaps it wouldn’t rot from too much water and lack of early care if it liked its surroundings.

That very day, I arranged the rocks, bulb, and water in the pot as instructed, feeling doubtful that the bulb would still be in the mood to take root and grow after having been put off for so long. And it seemed highly unlikely that anything could grow with nothing more than a small pot and some pebbles. I mean, I don’t know many things that grow in rocks except for moss and other, less appealing creepy crawlies.

Despite my misgivings, a few days later, I walked past the bulb, and it was opening. A funny, little sprout poked through the top of the shell. I was shocked. Completely shocked. I don’t know how long I examined that first hint of life or how many other times I revisited the plant that day, but I was obsessed with the fact that something could grow with the relatively minimal effort I put into it.

As the days have passed, I confess that it is the delight of my day to pass by that plant in the morning and evening. Every time I see it, I marvel at how tall and elegant it is becoming. It seems to shoot up another two inches or sprout another bunch of leaves every twelve hours. I am mesmerized.

I ask myself, “How am I growing this?” And suddenly, a surprising answer returns. I’m not growing anything. I helped. I did a couple of things that were within my power to do; I bought a pot and some rocks and put it all together. Sure, I talk to the plant and change its water, but I’m not growing it. Growing is just what it does.

And so it is with me. Growing and maturing is just what I do. I go through life; I do things and don’t do things. I make choices and may even do a few self-help-type activities along the way. But I’m not making myself grow. I’m not making myself age or acquire knowledge. It’s just what I do.

That’s a load off. I can relax and enjoy life a little more, knowing that somehow, I am like my gorgeous narcissus plant. I am taller and more vibrant than anyone could imagine. The universe looks at me and marvels at my progress and the beauty that I am. And the universe understands that that’s just what I do, like every other person, equally engaging, equally surprising, ever-evolving, and growing into creations nothing could have imagined before now.

It also comforts me to know that all the things I think I need to work so hard to preserve can be left alone for a time. They will grow or decrease and change on their own. I can rest, knowing that I can contribute and take credit for giving of myself to things, but it’s a stretch to say that I alone made something evolve into whatever it has become.

Bottom line, we are all powerful beings, so powerful that by merely existing, we create and are miracles. Take the effort to put some rocks and water together, and you might experience more than you could ever have dreamed.

A Dozen Roses

I think many of us have pondered the notion of flowers as gifts. On some level, giving a flower says, “Here is a beautiful object. Now, you have to take care of it, but even if you do, it will still shrivel up and die. Oh, here’s a tiny packet of magic powder that will make it last a couple more days at least!” If this is a metaphor for love, who wants it?

Well, I’ve decided that maybe I do. Sure, eternal love is a nice thought, but until I reach that level with someone, I’m okay with a flower-like love—beautiful, fragrant, gentle, and when it fades, it fades. Put some effort and sparkle into it, and it might last a little longer.

I mean, I almost feel like a fraud telling someone I’ll love him or her forever. Is that possible? Can I really say that? The cynic in me emerges when I hear other couples exchange vows of unending love and rapture. It’s not that I don’t believe that they currently feel that way. I simple know the truth of what I’ve observed. Forever love is possible, but it’s certainly not the norm.

Throughout all aspects my life, the temporary nature of most things comforts me. In the midst of my eating disorder especially, every decision seemed so weighty, every feeling so insurmountable, every challenge so unending. Nowadays, I can face feelings and know that they will end. I may feel sad now, but I may not tomorrow—or even in as little as an hour. Feelings are fleeting.

Situations are temporary, too. A heinous roommate, a broken-down car, an electrical outage—they are all situations that can be moved out of or changed. Most illnesses even fall into this category. Most of the time, we just need to keep taking steps, any steps, and we will get out of the muck much faster than if we lay down and cry because our options appear nonexistent. (Of course, lying down and doing nothing can be entirely appropriate, but doing nothing can be considered a step in itself. Life is contradiction. Deal with it.)

Knowing that things will change and move with or without my effort takes a weight off of my shoulders. If I don’t like the bouquet life has given me, it will die pretty soon anyway. I can even throw it away before it dies if I want to! Sometimes, I have to wait for things to change on their own; other times, I can help speed the process. The bottom line is, I’m never stuck. Things are always moving, and there’s always an opportunity for growth and a place for newness to slip in.

Now that I’ve defended a cynical disbelief in eternal love, I’ll turn to the small percent of love that verges on deserving the adjective “forever.” It seems to me that the love that lasts a lifetime is really a series of different loves strung together and evolving in and out of one another. Other languages have dozens of words for love, an idea for which the English language is sadly lacking. Those other languages explicitly recognize what we all know: There are many different kinds of love.

And I need different kinds of love. I don’t always need the kind of love that gives me things all the time. Sometimes, I need a love that shows me how to deal with not having what I want. Sometimes, I need admirers; other times, I need peers or even pity. Sometimes, a mother love is best, then a father love, then a friend love, then a romantic love.

Of course, emotional love is important, but so is love that takes action and does things that say, “I love you.” Some kinds of love are less actionable but no less deep. Some loves baby us, and other loves tell us to buck up and move on. Some love accepts us exactly as we are, and another love might encourage us to change. All of these kinds of love, and more, cycle in upon each other and take turns.

There may be times in a relationship when two people treat each other more as friends, then more as lovers, then more as colleagues. The pros at this learn to integrate all kinds of love. They appreciate the diverse methods of love-showing instead of getting stuck in a single idea of love. And most importantly, I think, forever lovers remain open to the idea that love could change, and they embrace that change and love in whatever way they are capable of at the time.

No love is perfect, or maybe that means it’s all perfect.

Anyway, my final conclusion is that flowers are, in fact, an entirely appropriate representation of love. As if it even needed to be said…

Just As I Am

As I sit down to write this entry about the importance of being okay with where I am right now, the only sentence that flies to my mind is: Am I okay with where I am?

I don’t think that I am completely okay with me. I feel perpetually in-between. I’m never perfect but never in the gutter. I’m doing some of the things I want to do and not others. I want to be doing better than I am.

This reflects my consistent inability to stay in the moment. I’m always a few steps ahead, to the career, the love, the vacation, the success, the serenity, or the wisdom I will have “one day.” Shortly after I picture that imaginary future, all the things I have to do to get there pop into my head. The moment is interrupted by a barrage of things I need to do. I’ll have to write this many songs and meet this many people and go to this many places and wear these sorts of things and look this sort of way and learn these types of things and become, become, become…until I can’t remember who I am right now.

Am I okay right now? Is it okay to accept myself, even though I don’t measure up to so many standards I created along the way? Can I erase the potential futures from my mind and enjoy what I do have and, most importantly, who I am.

If I stop fixating on images of the person I foresee myself being, I may discover that I am not the sort of woman who really wants to match those images—or who even could match them if she tried. I may grow in a different direction. By accepting myself now, as I am, I open up the possibility that I could be completely successful in this very moment. Instead of dictating to myself who I should be and laying out maps to where I will go, I can discover who I actually am and let my feet do the walking.

It troubles me that I dislike so many of my behaviors. I like myself, but I don’t always understand the things I do. I seem so strange at times, so contradictory. When my behavior doesn’t synch with who I am, maybe instead of focusing on the behavior, I can focus on looking into myself. Maybe I have misconceived of myself somehow. I’m not saying that I’m not who I think I am, but there may be an additional part of myself in conflict with my current self-image. There may be something in me I have not explored.

I’m sure there are vast regions of yourself that you may have neglected, intentionally or not. I hope we all slow down and make it into a conversation with the people we really are, so that those selves can come out and live life. I bet that reality is far better than the ideals we strive so hard to attain.

Come on, Beautiful People!

Jumping off of last week’s entry, I want to comment on another great, and very prevalent, tragedy.

When people do not believe they are beautiful, I feel sad. Sure, there are people who we consider more attractive than others, but the scale of attractiveness we use is only relative at best. Ugliness in some cultures is beauty in others.

To be honest, I have never met someone I thought was hideously ugly. Even when introduced to people who do not strike me as immediately attractive, I can think of a few simple things they could do that would increase their appeal. Yes, this is judging. I judge. I try not to, but it’s often instantaneous. Nonetheless, I’m being honest. The basic truth is that I cannot think of anyone who I would say lacks the potential for physical appeal. Of course, even the things I might propose to enhance their appearance might be completely unnecessary for another individual who thinks that the “unattractive” person is just fine without any changes at all. Beauty is relative.

Moving on, people can feel ugly for numerous reasons, but such feelings usually seem to be the result of a fixation on a particular imperfection, whether that “fault” currently exists or not. For example, adults who had severe acne as teenagers often still feel insecure about their skin. It’s only natural, especially if they were ridiculed or shunned in any way for it. I’ve known people who thought they had big noses or disgusting thighs, and they couldn’t see past that one element. That single hang-up blocked the image of the gorgeous person they truly were, regardless of whether that one flaw was real or imagined.

Most of us know how painful—and even boring—it is to hear a perfectly handsome individual tear him or herself down. We see the truth. We know the person is beautiful, but when they don’t see it, it’s tragic.

However, do we consider the way we speak to ourselves? Do I? Really?

Do I give myself the same benefit of the doubt as I give to others? Do I truly recognize that whatever weight I am, whatever acne may have erupted overnight, whatever the state of my hair, I can still look attractive? Maybe not everyone would think I was gorgeous, but no matter how my outward body may be behaving, I can maintain cleanliness, wear flattering clothes, and smile. Simply walking around confident that I am strong and beautiful, pulling out the joy within, can make a world of difference. Ultimately, the inner radiance is what sticks with people anyway.

Do I really believe this? I hope to get there. I hope to be even more fully accepting of myself, not just as I am now, but as I could be at any other time. I can get wrapped up in thinking that I must do everything possible not to let go of the beauty I have today, thinking, “I look fabulous today, but what about two weeks from now? What can I do to keep this good thing going?”

It’s a ridiculous cycle in which, although I embrace myself for who I am today, I weigh myself down with the burden of “keeping it up,” as if outward appearance were the most important thing. Many things go into how a person appears, and my sad, tired expression after trying to maintain too-strenuous workouts or too-restrictive eating patterns decrease my beauty far more than a few pounds would.

Anyway, I’d like to refer you to the following blog entry that caught my eye:
http://digestiondujour.blogspot.com/2009/01/kate-says-that-shes-fat-and-i-believe.html

She’s a fellow Houstonian and one of my favorite bloggers. Her post echoes many of my sentiments on this subject in a more pointed way. She refers to an article by another writer, Kate Harding, that I also encourage you to read:
http://www.salon.com/mwt/excerpt/2009/01/24/kate_harding/index.html

Kate Harding’s site is also worth a look. Three writers dish on fat acceptance and all the nuances therein:
Shapely Prose: http://kateharding.net/

In any case, I hope you all love yourselves a bit more today than yesterday and that you look for the light in others, beyond appearance, knowing that life is so much more than we see. Our appearance can change drastically from day to day and year to year. What really counts are our personal journeys. The outer ultimately has little meaning. Most of us would agree with that statement, but do we believe it… down to our beautiful bones?

We All Have It

“Every man has his own courage, but is betrayed because he seeks in himself the courage of other persons.”
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

This quote struck me today. We are all more courageous than we think. And we all contain much more of many other things than we think. What I have is not what you have. What you have does not belong to me. Each person is gifted with a unique blend of talents, propensities, and traits. In each person, the combination is perfectly balanced to complement the best life he or she could lead. We struggle many times because we refuse to believe that what we have is perfect, oftentimes looking at the tiny bit we see in others and believing that we fall short.

Number one, no one has it all together. We are all doing this life thing, figuring it out piece by piece. When someone sells him/herself short, it saddens me. None of us is doing all that much better than the next person. We see so little of other people, in fact, from the outside.

Number two, each of our unique make-ups work exactly as they should. If we don’t think we’re working correctly, perhaps we need to more closely examine who we are. We so often cover our true selves up with images of what we think we should be or what we think other people want. With the barrage of images and social connections available to us these days, it’s so easy to bury ourselves in stimuli. We then start replacing the reality of who we are with that stimuli, as if the doings and representations of our life reflect our essence.

Essence has little to nothing to do with our actions. Behaviors reflect inner goings-on, but they don’t spell out who we are. We may behave in ways contrary to our natural beings because another part of us is denying the true self.

~

At this point, I want to dig myself out of this all too heady blog. It’s a brain-full. Let’s return to the quote.

First, I want to believe in my own courage. I demonstrate it every day and want to hold on to the strength that is within me. Second, comparing myself to others never does a lick of good. Comparison is a slippery slope.

Please don’t compare yourself to me. People only see a tiny bit of me. They don’t know the truth of my struggles and triumphs. When I appear to be having a hard time, there are usually many great things also happening in my life. When I look like I’m on top of the world, don’t doubt for a moment that I’m battling something in my quiet hours or that I cry most nights of the week. That’s my life, a life of both.

I can hold both—sadness and happiness, hope and discouragement, love and hate, fear and courage—at the same time. As a human, I can. And I do it in my own special way.

I hope that you, too, can recognize the unique wonder you carry, the special balance that makes you who you are. I have yet to meet someone who I didn’t think had numerous treasures to give the world. The saddest thing for me is when someone does not believe he or she has those treasures. When someone says, “I’m a terrible person,” I never know how to respond. I simply get a terrible feeling. I know that the statement isn’t true, but by asserting that there isn’t anything good inside to share, that person blocks the potential outward transmission of the goodness that does exist within him/her. It’s sad. And I always know I’m missing out on something when a person makes a comment like that.

So, own your courage. Own who you are! Believe in your own potential. The rest of us believe in it. I guarantee you. Just because who you are doesn’t look like the success story down the street doesn’t mean you aren’t equally successful.

For today, I am confident in who I am, no matter what I think of it, and I seek to help others strip away whatever hides who they are. I’m anxious to see people throw away caution and speak from their hearts.

Give What You Want to Get

A short reminder for everyone: Give what you want to get. It works!

I often feel that I work so hard to reach out to people and stay connected only to receive nothing in return. Sometimes it seems as if I give and give and am still left with days devoid of anyone reaching out to me. I want to feel connected with people, but I even more deeply desire for that connection to be initiated by someone else. I don’t want to have to call or go visit. I want to be invited.

Well, such is not life most of the time, at least for me. I have to reach out first, and then, more often than not, I receive a flood of phone calls and maybe a couple of invitations, reminding me that I am reached out to when I take that first, difficult step of getting outside my own head and calling out into the world. Usually, a simple phone call to a person I think will appreciate it starts the ball rolling.

Perhaps the human life is, ultimately, a lonely one. Mine certainly feels that way much of the time. But that loneliness can spur us on to give to others and seek connection. I seem to prefer alone time more than most people, but I do not want to wither away without deeply knowing other people or being equally known by others. This longing draws me out, even when I think, “I’ve certainly made enough effort in the last two weeks to invite people places, call them, or give them things. Why does no one call me on the spur of the moment? I’m going to wait it out until someone calls.” Eventually, I realize that I have, in fact, received many a spur-of-the-moment call. I am invited a great many places, although oftentimes, they are not invitations I feel inclined to accept.

The fact is, I already have the love I seek within me. When I call someone, even when I think I’ve already made plenty of gestures that should warrant some incoming affection, I undoubtedly experience a shift in thinking. When the other person answers and starts telling me about his or her life, the world opens up. Suddenly, there is more to life than me; other people are having fun and struggling in different ways than I am.

And strangely, after hanging up after what is usually a most satisfying conversation (if it’s not, I typically call someone else), I’ll start getting those invitations and phone calls I craved. It may not be until the next day, but I take note of the influx of communication that appears to result from a small release on my part.

To many of you, this is probably obvious, but I seem to be a bit of a dunce with social things sometimes. Making phone calls can be difficult. Nowadays, it’s easier and easier, and I love the people around me more and more. But I can still get down and start feeling that everyone gets much more attention than me or that no one ever thinks of me like I think of them. Because of the newfound connectedness in my life (and a few enlightening pearls of wisdom from my mother), I now see that everyone feels that way at times.

So, when I started feeling less loved than everyone else in the world this weekend, I reminded myself that there are probably other people in my life feeling unloved now, too. So I called one. Who knows if she was feeling unloved at the time, but she definitely wanted to talk. And I am incredibly grateful for that. We ended up going out and having a good time. And today, well, let’s just say I’m feeling the love—and also feeling incredibly productive. I have accomplished a lot today!

Turns out, I already had the love I wanted, but it took giving some away to see it. Plus, I gained even more. Hooray for the principle of giving what you want to get.

Happy giving!

Note: This idea apparently applies to almost everything else, too. If you want respect, give it. If you want time, give it. If you want enthusiasm, give it. If you want dedication, loyalty, structure, cleanliness, hugs, or support, give some away. All you need is already yours. Now, we get to the work of truly believing that…

Help? How Dare You!?

I get angry when people offer me help. I can cry all day long for someone to come help me, but that doesn’t stop me from instinctively shoving the help away when it finally comes. This pattern has truly been a conundrum for me throughout the past few years. I’ll take a look at it, work on it a bit, get distracted, and then be reminded of it much later. Well, a few recent instances have alerted me to how my natural tendency to push help away has inhibited me in many aspects of life.

To fully uproot this issue, I will need to look into family of origin issues and many things from my past, but here, I would like to discuss a few possible reasons for my seemingly insane reaction to the kindness of others.

Number one, I perceive an offering of help as an implication of my own inadequacy. The questions that flood my mind go something like this: “Why would I need help with this? Why do you think I need help? Do you think I’m not capable or responsible?”

Most of the time, I do actually need help. Yes, many tasks would be easier if I would allow someone to assist me. However, something in me never wants to be weak. I want to prove to the world that I can make it on my own when, in reality, no one makes it alone.

Secondly, if someone offers help, I think, “Does he believe he is better than me? Does she think I’m stupid? I need to prove everyone wrong. I can do this! How dare you insinuate otherwise?”

Obviously, some people know more about certain things than others. Many tasks simply require more than one person to accomplish them, and observant people recognize this and are willing to help. It’s pretty arrogant of me to assert that I can accomplish the impossible alone.

Other times, when people come and offer help, I wonder if I have accidentally revealed my vulnerability. I panic and try to figure out how a person was able to see that I was struggling or needed help. I like to think I’m good at putting on masks and pretending everything is fine. When I am proven that my façade is not quite as opaque as I’d hoped, I feel I’ve failed and immediately try to assert that I don't need a thing. I desperately want whoever has seen through me to go away. "Don't remind me of my weakness!" I cry.

I would like to change my thinking. It’s okay to fail at pretending to be strong. It’s okay for people to see through my veneer. The true me is strong but also needs help.

A final issue I have with the helpers of the world: I don’t want to be told that something is wrong with me. Something in me believes that if I need help, there must be something off, something that needs fixing, about me. I want to be accepted and loved just as I am, and if someone offers help, I construe that to mean that they don’t love me as I am. And all I really want is to be loved exactly as I am. If I think that someone does not accept me, I determine to drive them away.

In recent years, I have discovered that peace is not a static place; it’s an ever-shifting journey. Extremes naturally pull at each other and create tension inside. This is the universal process of homeostasis. I am always SEEKING it. The work is never done; I will never reach a completely blank place. Peace is feeling the tension and knowing that it is okay. Therefore, I am learning to accept all sides of me – light and dark, confused and focused, kind and malicious, trusting and skeptical, happy and sad.

Not everyone understands that both parts can exist simultaneously. When those people offer advice, they are trying to fix something that does not need to be fixed. I loathe it when I admit to feeling sad, and listeners insist on providing dozens of ways to be happy (as if I haven't already thought of them) rather than just allowing me to be sad and feeling that sadness with me.

Regardless of the less emotionally intelligent among us, some people are honestly trying to help, not fix me. Those individuals love me and just want to make life a little easier. What’s so bad about that? I regret that I have rejected such offerings. Does every moment have to be hard to have meaning? No. Life is meant to be lived in community, however much or little of it I need at any given time. I enjoy helping others. Why balk when the same outpouring of love is offered to me?

In any case, these notions have yet to be fully explored. A lot of ideas live within this single issue. For now, though, I’m recognizing that I don’t want to be told that I’m “messed up” and need fixing. Because of that deeply entrenched desire, I need to take a little time to pause when people offer assistance so that I can appreciate moments when I do need help and fully love those souls who want to give it.

Despite my continual prayers for superpowers, I am not Superwoman. I’m still holding out hope for the power of flight, though…

The Joy of Replacing Bingeing

May I say how good it feels simply to come home and NOT BINGE? Sometimes, I have to be reminded of this simple joy. Note that I did not say “come home, exercise, and not binge” or “come home, accomplish a dozen things, and not binge.” I forget that I can choose not to binge and then waste my time in some more (or less) creative fashion. No need to work out every second of the day or complete a single goal I’ve set. I don’t have to jump through hoops in order to ensure sane eating.

The sun is shining, and I feel good. I don’t have to exercise compulsively, I don’t have to binge, and, moreover, I don’t have to do a single thing. Of course, there are certain things it would behoove me to do, but no one will force me to pay my rent or clean my bathroom. I choose to do those things because they benefit my life. In the same way, I can choose to do nothing or even to do things that impact my life negatively. The main thing is that there are a million different ways of doing things, and most, if not all, of them are not “wrong.”

I want to try these different ways of living. I have reckoned a slower, softer side of me these past few days, reminding myself that I can take it slow and still get hungry. I can still accomplish important things, too, and stay in touch with people I love. The main thing preventing me from allowing a slower drift through life is mistrust in myself. I imagine that if I don’t do everything NOW, I may not do it all. But really, I have proven my responsibility, creativity, and capability time after time. Now is the moment to trust the universe and me.

I’ve seen remarkable things happen in the last couple of days. I have taken pleasure in the ways lives of people I know have intersected. They see miracles in their life, and it’s nice to talk about it with them. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m the only one who appreciates such little miracles. But other people do see it and love it as much as I do. And wonderfully, simply by observing or listening to the occurrences in their lives and then discussing them, I become a part of that miracle. It can extend to me, and I can connect with others, even help them.

Observation. It’s an important element of my non-binge time. I can sit and simply observe the world. That action never seems to have much worth until I look back at the convergence of all the things I’ve learned by observing alongside my association with others and things I read. Serendipity is everywhere. Every piece of living is worthwhile.

Anyhow, I mostly just wanted to share the simple joy of a gal in recovery, something I somehow stopped believing at some point during my disorder: I can eat a healthful amount (i.e., not binge and not restrict), abstain from exercise, and still get hungry later. My body really does take care of things! Added bonus: I experience more of life.

Sure, there are many things about food I want to explore and lots of ways I want to push my body in an energetic way. So many desserts, vegetables, mountains, and roads! But how much more is there if I will simply slow down…

The No-Routine Blues

It’s official: Music seems to be the only productive thing I can safely assume I can do, no matter what mood or “place” I am in. Music is there. Even if I feel no motivation, somehow, I can squeak out a few notes or something. It’s solid.

And it’s all I can do today. I have dallied too long outside the routine of work, and I’m starting to lose my sanity. Although I’ve made sure to get out and do something social (no matter how tiny) each day, I’m faltering today. At least I return to the office tomorrow!

I have not been able to get out and do ANYTHING today. Luckily, I purchased a new keyboard yesterday and have been playing with it a bit. I cleaned some and worked on a freelance editing job I have. Okay, so not a fruitless day. But I still feel myself losing a firm grasp on my mind. ‘Tis my way…

These feelings are temporary. For now, I’ll sit back, amused at them, and hopefully, they won’t overwhelm me by the evening. I’m still truly grateful for this New Year and the fun I’ve already had in it. Things are shaping up nicely.

This year, I will give myself the gift of making decisions (refer to this earlier post for why simply making a decision is more important for me than making the "best one"). I will tell other people my dreams. I will be open to working with others to create the kind of world we want to live in. Of course, these are simply focal points. I’m not so big on resolutions. I can make those any old day! And discard them the next ~~

In any case, here’s a video of me messing with my new toy:

Simple and Sweet

I recently wrote a simple, happy song called “Colors of You.” Something in me loves a simple, breezy song. I admire its sweetness because so few of my songs have that quality. I tend toward the intense ballad, which I enjoy equally, but those few lighthearted pieces are treasures in my heart.

This extends to life. I am attracted to high-drama, bold color, and intensity. I try to create these things and live within them. But when I happen upon a simple moment with just the right feeling and all the right colors, I smile and relax. I am relaxing right now, as the sun shines through my window and I have no pressing business to attend to until I return to work next Monday. Glorious.

This life is beautiful and precious. I don’t think any gems are wasted, even if I’m the only one here experiencing them. Perhaps someone else out there is experiencing a charmed moment, too, and in a way, we share it together. That makes my heart smile.

See, I’m as cheesy as it gets… and I’m owning it now. For years, I dismissed the lighter part of me ‑ the delicate, girly, Disney-feature-film (if you will) part of me. Now, I like and appreciate her. Cynicism gets you places, but not everywhere. The same can be said for the more rainbow-esque part of me. I’m glad to embrace both elements now.

Anyway, I wish you all 365 more jewel-like days in 2009. Hopefully, it will be the best year yet! For my part, I’m certain it will be. Sure, parts will smell like the used Trans Am of a 16-year-old boy without enough money or sense to purchase deodorant. But other parts will be fresh as a daisy! Hope it’s filled with whatever makes you happy (and if that’s stinky teenage boys, more power to you, as long as we’re in legal territory…).

Happy New Year!

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Oh, and it has come to my attention that more than one reader out there is restraining him/herself from commenting or emailing me after digesting my posts. Just wanted to say, feel free to comment or contact at any time! If people don’t comment because no one else does, then the ball never starts rolling. And even if it never starts rolling, I enjoy the few comments I do get, whether online or in person. Thanks to everyone! I appreciate you all more than you can know :)