I'm home today, sequestered by the first real snow storm of the season, and of the year. We've had other, smaller storms, but this one is for real. Last night was cold and blustery with sideways blowing snow. Today is calm and sunny and sparkling. It's always such an amazing, magical time of the year. Things are quiet and peaceful, and, for me, it's a time of thought and introspection. Just what I need, more introspection.
So, last night I was holed up in my living room, bundled in my Snuggie, cats on my lap, watching TV. An ad came on for Disney World. Parents, a mom and a dad, surprised their kids, a little boy and a little girl, with a Christmas Miracle. We're going to Disney World! Is it horrible of me to hate them? Perfect little kids in their perfect little house with their perfect parents. Hate. Them. I steamed as I watched the kids jump with delight, mom crying tears of joy, dad getting it all on video so they can watch it again and again and again. Yup. Hate. Them.
But why? Why does this commercial make me angry? Because it's not real? Because no one is that perfect? Or, is it because there really are families that are that perfect?
When I was a kid, I was obsessed with reruns of the Brady Bunch. Again, perfect freakin' family. In reality, Dad's gay, Greg is having sex with step-sister Marsha, Cindy's on drugs. But in TV land, life was awesome, and I was so darn jealous!
So, it is jealousy that makes me so angry at those perfect little snotty kids in the Disney commercial? Probably. I'm not jealous from the adult's perspective, though, I'm jealous from the kids' perspective. I want to be that little girl. I want to be the one jumping up and down, mom crying tears of joy, Dad taping... I want to be that family, I want to be that kid. But I'm 44. Now that's just weird. Then it hit me...
Adults are just fucked up kids that got old. We're all bearing our crosses, dragging along our baggage, blaming our parents, resenting our lives. Adults "fix" their own broken childhoods by giving their kids the things they wanted, being the "best" moms and dads, and giving their children the things they wished they'd had. It's like kids are generational duct tape, patching holes, putting broken pieces back together. We fix ourselves by having kids. Now, I know that most people are good parents, they listen to their kids, they pay attention, and, for the most part, they mean well. But I don't have kids, so I can only judge others'. I'm good at judging others.
But, my epiphany last night.... I don't have kids. I'm still broken. I don't have that duct tape that other adults have, so I'm still dragging around that baggage that I've had since my own dysfunctional childhood. I don't have that next generation that I can dote on, that I can take to Disney, in order to fix my own feelings of "my parents never did that..." I don't have nieces or nephews, and my oldest and dearest friends don't have kids either. And Disney won't let me bring my cats. I'm screwed.
I don't regret my decision to not have kids, I like my life. I enjoy other people's kids, and then they go home. I'm living the life of a grandmother! Sour grapes? Perhaps.
I don't know what I'm going to do with this new-found clarity. At 44, I'm certainly not going to be birthing any babies. But, the good news.... There's a gorgeous layer of 10 inches of freshly fallen snow to keep me sequestered for another day or two, so I have plenty of time for introspection.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
And the visions that were planted in my brain, still remain
OK, so I'm the worst blogger ever. EVER! I'm hanging my head in shame. I want to blog, I just feel so overwhelmed lately with all of the little bits and pieces of my life that won't let me sleep, finding the time to sit down and prattle on about nothing has become difficult. I really need to do this more, I owe it to myself. And I owe it to my thousands of adoring fans! You know who you are. :-)
So, I'm crying uncle. I just can't do it all. I thought I was able, and maybe I could if I were younger, but, alas, I'm old. So I'm throwing in the towel. I can't save them all. I need to learn how to say no, and I really need to learn how to put myself first. I'm not Jesus, this ain't no cross... I need to get out of this martyrdom I've knowingly created, most likely due to a lack of self esteem, and I need to...say it with me...put myself first.
I've recently received a crazy gift of strength. I tossed a simple note in the fire asking for it, and, whadya know? Strength. I should have asked for something more simple, like winning the lottery. At least I'd know what to do with that. Maybe I need to toss in another note asking for wisdom, or clarity. (Wo)man can not live by strength alone. Yea, I know, I'm misquoting the Bible, but I've already said I'm not a Christian so stop acting so surprised.
I apologize to those who are reading this. I'm very tired, and no, I'm not inebriated. Although that's not a bad idea. It makes perfect sense to me, and to those who know me and the pains that surround me, you understand too. This world is intense. I'm dealing. I'm a survivor. Now I just need to live for me, and, I'm realizing, it's OK to be selfish. Wow, you have no idea how liberating it is to say that.
So, in honor of my apparent nonsensical ramblings of the evening, I'm including a poem I wrote. Again, nonsensical to the layperson, but I understand every word.
Written October 10, 1993
Such a hard language to decipher
Is that of which I do speak.
For the noises of the drums
That do other noises cover,
Render my shouts silent
And my meanings weak.
And the true intent of those surrounding
Leaves me nothing, other
Than the needing of a
Thought so tender-
In the well is does fall deep.
Sleep tight. Don't let the little bits keep you awake.
So, I'm crying uncle. I just can't do it all. I thought I was able, and maybe I could if I were younger, but, alas, I'm old. So I'm throwing in the towel. I can't save them all. I need to learn how to say no, and I really need to learn how to put myself first. I'm not Jesus, this ain't no cross... I need to get out of this martyrdom I've knowingly created, most likely due to a lack of self esteem, and I need to...say it with me...put myself first.
I've recently received a crazy gift of strength. I tossed a simple note in the fire asking for it, and, whadya know? Strength. I should have asked for something more simple, like winning the lottery. At least I'd know what to do with that. Maybe I need to toss in another note asking for wisdom, or clarity. (Wo)man can not live by strength alone. Yea, I know, I'm misquoting the Bible, but I've already said I'm not a Christian so stop acting so surprised.
I apologize to those who are reading this. I'm very tired, and no, I'm not inebriated. Although that's not a bad idea. It makes perfect sense to me, and to those who know me and the pains that surround me, you understand too. This world is intense. I'm dealing. I'm a survivor. Now I just need to live for me, and, I'm realizing, it's OK to be selfish. Wow, you have no idea how liberating it is to say that.
So, in honor of my apparent nonsensical ramblings of the evening, I'm including a poem I wrote. Again, nonsensical to the layperson, but I understand every word.
Written October 10, 1993
Such a hard language to decipher
Is that of which I do speak.
For the noises of the drums
That do other noises cover,
Render my shouts silent
And my meanings weak.
And the true intent of those surrounding
Leaves me nothing, other
Than the needing of a
Thought so tender-
In the well is does fall deep.
Sleep tight. Don't let the little bits keep you awake.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Today is where your book begins, the rest is still unwritten
I woke up yesterday morning, December 31, 2010, with the words "It was a labor of love" floating through my head. Those words resonated with me throughout the day, attached to fabulous memories that flooded my thoughts. It's always so overwhelming when I have days like that, but I seem to learn a little bit more each time, if I pay attention. Yesterday I was paying attention.
When I was 18, I had bought myself an old Ford Mustang. It was a pile of junk, but I loved it. It was the car I wanted, so I indulged myself and bought it, despite my parents protests. I drove this car for about a year until one day the engine seized. It needed a new engine. So, I gathered some friends, bought a new engine, and we spent a week disassembling the old engine and dropping in the new one. When we were finished and had it running, my friend said to me "It was a labor of love". And it was. I loved that car. In retrospect it was nothing but a money pit, but if I had it to do over...I wouldn't change a thing.
As I was driving home from my horseback riding lesson yesterday I was haunted by those words, "It was a labor of love". I began thinking of my older horse, Hallie, who is soon to be 28 years old. She is another of my many labors of love. When she was 23, she was playing in her field and somehow injured herself. She came in the next morning with a deep laceration to her right hind leg, her tendons were partially severed, her muscle was peeled back exposing the bone. It was bad. Everyone said to put her down. I couldn't. It took over a year, but my little horse recovered. I spent exponentially the dollar value of what she was "worth"...but I labored on. I loved her. When I bought my old girl I made a promise to her, and I had to keep my word. I've been tested several more times since then, she's now arthritic and missing an eye (a blog for another day!), but she's healthy and happy. Owning Hallie has filled this past decade with one labor of love after another, but I wouldn't have done anything differently. I gave her my word.
Driving home yesterday, it occurred to me that never have other words resonated so strongly with me. It was a labor of love. I've spent my life laboring, struggling, fighting, accomplishing....and it has all been a labor of love. A forty four and a half year long labor of love. Everything I've done, regardless of the outcomes, have been labors of love. I've guided my life, or maybe my life has been guided, out of my love, my passions. Not all have been successful, not all have made sense to others, but to me, this is my life. These are my labors that have made me who I am and have guided me to where I am now, and I wouldn't have done anything differently. I pray I can continue this amazing labor of love for a very long time.
My epitaph: "It was a labor of love". It sure was!
When I was 18, I had bought myself an old Ford Mustang. It was a pile of junk, but I loved it. It was the car I wanted, so I indulged myself and bought it, despite my parents protests. I drove this car for about a year until one day the engine seized. It needed a new engine. So, I gathered some friends, bought a new engine, and we spent a week disassembling the old engine and dropping in the new one. When we were finished and had it running, my friend said to me "It was a labor of love". And it was. I loved that car. In retrospect it was nothing but a money pit, but if I had it to do over...I wouldn't change a thing.
As I was driving home from my horseback riding lesson yesterday I was haunted by those words, "It was a labor of love". I began thinking of my older horse, Hallie, who is soon to be 28 years old. She is another of my many labors of love. When she was 23, she was playing in her field and somehow injured herself. She came in the next morning with a deep laceration to her right hind leg, her tendons were partially severed, her muscle was peeled back exposing the bone. It was bad. Everyone said to put her down. I couldn't. It took over a year, but my little horse recovered. I spent exponentially the dollar value of what she was "worth"...but I labored on. I loved her. When I bought my old girl I made a promise to her, and I had to keep my word. I've been tested several more times since then, she's now arthritic and missing an eye (a blog for another day!), but she's healthy and happy. Owning Hallie has filled this past decade with one labor of love after another, but I wouldn't have done anything differently. I gave her my word.
Driving home yesterday, it occurred to me that never have other words resonated so strongly with me. It was a labor of love. I've spent my life laboring, struggling, fighting, accomplishing....and it has all been a labor of love. A forty four and a half year long labor of love. Everything I've done, regardless of the outcomes, have been labors of love. I've guided my life, or maybe my life has been guided, out of my love, my passions. Not all have been successful, not all have made sense to others, but to me, this is my life. These are my labors that have made me who I am and have guided me to where I am now, and I wouldn't have done anything differently. I pray I can continue this amazing labor of love for a very long time.
My epitaph: "It was a labor of love". It sure was!
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