Just a Foot Away

 Herself speaks.

I tried to get back in the saddle of writing again, but Mom Duty became paramount:  Offspring the Third, in the course of conducting an act of service (always a Good Egg, he is), sprained his foot quite badly. Immediate Facilitate-His-Life Mode activated accordingly. We've gone to the ER, to the Primary Care Doctor, to the foot specialist; ensured his abode is set up for mobility with crutches and/or rolling about on his desk chair; groceries; anything else concrete he might have needed. Moral support for feeling incapacitated. It was a lot for him, to be in pain, to have mobility issues, to not be able to do much, and I was glad to be able to be there. Everyone should have company when things are a bit Terrible.

He's doing better now: he can walk in The Boot (we all know The Boot that comes with a foot/ankle injury), is feeling much less pain, can sleep better, get things done. Progress!

So -- I'm diving back in. Again. Wheeee!

The Ant Wife

 In Aesop's fable of the Grasshopper and the Ant, the Grasshopper enjoys the summer sun, singing merrily without a care in the world, while the Ant toils, taking care of today's work and putting away food stores for the winter. And at the end of the fable, when the cold weather begins, Ant is well-prepared, while Grasshopper suffers. (Most re-tellings have Ant closing the door in Grasshopper's face after scolding Grasshopper for not preparing adequately. It is a bit cruel. But most fables and fairy-tales of old are.) Moral as old as time: work hard and plan for eventualities and possibilities. Don't put off what should be done; take care of business before pleasure. 

This has been my modus operandi for as long as I can remember. Do the Things. Take care of Stuff. Business before Pleasure. Always -- as a student, as an employee, and in relationships, too. 

I am an Ant Wife. 

I have always done what is best for the Family. I am the Wife that the Offspring need as a mother. I am the Wife that changed careers entirely (including The Task) for the benefit of the family unit. I am the Wife that maintains the household, pays the bills, buys the groceries, takes the pets to the vet, tends to all the 100 little tasks of every day life, so that my little Family can live their best possible lives with as few worries as possible. 

I am not a Grasshopper Wife who can travel easily or set aside all of my Ant Wife obligations quickly to go out without a bit of planning (this was especially true when the Offspring were younger and still at home). Nevertheless, the good news is, with a bit of foresight and assistance, all the Ant Tasks can be addressed so that it is possible to take an Ant Wife on Grasshopper experiences.  (And I can say, an Ant Wife does enjoy a Grasshopper Moment, especially with the knowledge that all the Ant Tasks are momentarily not her obligation.)

On the other hand, the converse cannot be said of Grasshoppers; they cannot be easily trained to function as Ants. To be an Ant requires perseverance, patience, commitment -- not qualities that Grasshoppers have in abundance. Hard to wait and tend to mundane aspects of life when you are a Grasshopper springing without forethought from moment to moment.

So, let us raise a toast to the Ant Wives. Forever in the background, making sure that the world runs smoothly for the people we love, so that they can have their Grasshopper Moments. And, hopefully, teaching them quietly the ways of being an Ant, too, so that they will be well prepared for their lives ahead. 

Protecting the Innocent

 Herself speaks.

One of the reasons that posts have been a bit sparse here, is because some of my writings of late, are not for public consumption.

I write in order to process. And, in fact, I can only fully process through writing. Verbal processing -- through conversation with another person -- is insufficient, and is, in fact, not fully reliable. It is far too prone to misunderstanding, interruption, gaslighting and historical rewriting, especially when there is an additional second person in a conversation who might perhaps like to reframe themselves in a better light or might import their own history or judgment into the mix. Foibles of human nature: we cannot, in fact, understand what is happening inside someone else's head -- and sometimes, we misinterpret.  

(I do realize that solitary writing is also subject to some of these deficiencies: we all, after all, want to portray ourselves in the best light, and it is hard to look at our own failings objectively. Nevertheless, it is easier when only one person's feelings at a time are subjected to scrutiny, in the form of the written word.)

There is an added consideration, too: the protection of other people. 

If I have a bone to pick with someone, that is between me and the other person. Or perhaps, even, in my head alone. It's not for public consumption.

Furthermore, sometimes calling another person's attention to what I perceive as their failing, would serve no useful purpose. I disagree with them: so what? Their knowledge of that fact would do naught but hurt them. I'm not in the business of hurting others, specially when I know that no good change can come from their knowledge of my sentiments. They do not need to see everything in print, out in the world. 

An additional goal: protecting the innocent. There is no reason for me to tarnish a good person in someone else's eyes just because I have a grievance. We don't tell our dentist that their favorite movie star doesn't floss -- the dentist would only be disillusioned, and it doesn't matter, really. Let people have their favorable opinions of other people. Life is short and full of disappointments already; we don't need to add more. 

The world needs more kindness. And sometimes, that means: the world does not need to see in writing, all the words that are bumping around inside of my head. 

Sometimes, It Can Be About You

This is a companion piece to yesterday's post, It's Not Always About You.

 -----

I wrote a long time ago about my grandmother's plush goose. As mentioned previously, as a small girl I tried to deploy the presence of the goose as an outward sign that I had emotions that might need tending. While I was unsuccessful in implementing this strategy for making the invisible, visible, I think it was nevertheless a very solid idea: imagine how much simpler life would be if people had a visible indication of the presence of an emotional need.

Unfortunately, people do not, so we are left to guess when others might need supportive care of their feelings. I'm not particularly adept at determining what feelings other people are experiencing, as we know -- but regardless of whether I can tell what's happening, I take emotions very seriously. It's extremely important to me that when other people are speaking to me about their Feelings, or visibly having Feelings in my presence, that I acknowledge them and respect them. Your Feelings are valid. And you are valid. 

This is one of the reasons why I absolutely loathe practical jokes: making someone else feel foolish or embarrassed, making them believe something that isn't true to trick them, or scaring them so that other people may laugh, is reprehensible to me.  No. We don't do that. Ever. No.

There is a kind of Prime Directive, in my world: respect the Feelings of others. 

If someone shares Feelings with me in confidence, I will protect those Feelings forever. Showing a moment of vulnerability? I'll safeguard that moment with my life; no one else will ever see it, unless you choose to share it with them. Need to unburden a secret? I'll carry it with you, whenever you need. You are safe with me. Your Feelings are safe with me. 

I am not here to judge you for what emotions you are experiencing. I'm here in the hopes that you may feel understood. And, if you need, to experience those emotions with you. Because sometimes it's only safe to have Feelings, when someone is there, too. 

Goose, now on a shelf along with koalas, puppet pigs, 

a wombat, a fuzzy green dragonfly, and at last,

all of Grandma's chickens. 

It's Not Always About You

 Because I am the way that I am*, oftentimes my very first reaction to a situation involving another person who is angry/short-tempered/impatient/silent, or who otherwise responds in a way that I do not expect, is: they must hate me/not care about me/OH GOD I'VE DONE SOMETHING WRONG. It's a knee-jerk response over which I have no control -- that cold-water sensation of embarrassment, followed by a protective withdrawing into myself. Run. Hide. If left unchecked, the feeling quickly devolves into self-critical analysis: I'm so needy/awkward/STUPID/much. That's just one stop away from self-loathing. And I don't want to go there, because that's a rabbit-hole from which it's hard to escape. 

Plus, I'm not THAT terrible. I don't think. 

I have spent a fair amount of time over the past few years making an effort to be cognizant of that first reaction, and when I spot it, to deliberately step back and think more carefully about the situations. Is it really about me?

And I've come to the determination that most of the time, it's not about me at all. 

-----

My default setting is an assumption that people will say what they mean and mean what they say. That's an erroneous assumption on my part, however, and one that I would do well to let go. People are just not that clear. 

Why are people unclear? Because I cannot see their whole picture. 

Everyone comes into every small moment bearing not only their current state of mind, but also all of their history, both large and small. All kinds of Life going on. And only a tiny fraction of anyone's previous stories includes anything having to do with me. Yet I find it very hard to put myself in someone else's shoes -- it does not come naturally to me to imagine someone's current mood/projects/situations, plus to bear in mind their history, when trying to comprehend what they are saying or doing. 

So the important thing to remember: I'm only a main character in my own life. I'm a peripheral character, at best, in most other people's lives. I probably don't even have a name in the vast majority of others' metaphorical movies. And so I don't need to take things personally, because things are just plain not about me. 

If people are abrupt at work, they are probably stressed by deadlines and projects and want to impart information quickly and efficiently. They are probably not thinking, you are so stupid. 

If they don't want to have a meal with me? Probably busy thinking about all the 8,000 tasks that they hope to accomplish that day. Probably not thinking with you? Ew, no. 

If they don't answer a call/text/email? Probably in the midst of Stuff. Probably not rolling their eyes and thinking ugh, she is so needy, IGNORE. 

Repeat the mantra: it's not about me.

-----

Perhaps I should go back to my assumption that people will say what they mean and mean what they say, and try to make that work. It may require my asking additional, occasionally uncomfortable questions: did you mean, X? Are you OK? Is Y a problem? What is going on, really?

That strategy might backfire, though. If someone is in a hurry or bent out of shape for miscellaneous reasons or otherwise preoccupied, more questions won't be particularly helpful. I don't want to make anyone's life harder, or to occupy mental space they don't have at the moment. 

Perhaps I'll just resort to wordlessly offering Grace: an assumption that my exuding kindness, patience, and most of all, not-about-me-ness, is what people need most. And I can return the favor if I am ill-tempered or crabby, by letting other people know: I'm just having a moment. it's not about you. Perhaps that will make everyone's life a little easier. 

Let's see what we can do. 

-----

* The way that I am: anxiously attached (whether anxious-ambivalent or anxious-avoidant, may vary from day to day). 

Rut

Herself speaks.

You may have noticed an abundance of pet photos of late. Though I've had a few solid topics about which I felt compelled to write, I've otherwise been struggling with identifying motivational subject matter. In some ways, I still feel tired from the Summer of Many Travels and Other Draining Things. I have not had sufficient contemplative time, but have had an abundance of migraines. Alas.

I shall try harder. I am contemplating employing a Weekly Theme; that might help narrow my focus sufficiently to find an interesting writing tidbit. Or perhaps I shall have a Daily Topic for each day of the week. Or a combination thereof. I've hand-written a short list of potential themes/ideas. We shall see.

I appreciate your patience, my stalwart Readers. Thank you for bearing with me. Together, we shall get to a better writing place.

I found this photo in my phone. I don't know what it is. 

It sums up the contents of my brain at the moment, though. 

Words

Herself speaks.

I find myself struggling with writer's block. I think that perhaps I used up too many words elsewhere this past week.

Sometimes when attempting to explain things close to one's heart, it is quite difficult to find the right words. Perhaps such thoughts cannot be put adequately into words; or perhaps, to see or hear them actually put into words is to realize that they are too transparent, too revealing. The desire to self-protect is strong; what should one do when that desire is in contradiction with a burning need for comfort, for reassurance? Oh, the terror of appearing needy, emotional, inadequate. Weak. Thoroughly imperfect.

Love me when I least deserve it, because that's when I really need it. - Swedish proverb

If I had the time, right now I would go for a walk in the forest somewhere. The trees listen understand the wordless whisperings of our hearts, and provide consolation.

    

Coming to a Close

Herself speaks.

I am nearing the end of The Project.  It has been a tremendous endeavor, requiring more than a few late nights of toil, perhaps even with the occasional tear shed; at the same time, it has been both a learning process and a creative work, and has been very enjoyable for those aspects.  I am sad about this ending. And I am not sure what I will do with myself afterward -- except perhaps go to bed early for several nights in a row.

I stepped out of my comfort zone and found something that I truly enjoyed doing. I did the very best I could. Hopefully, it was enough.

I hope I will be able to do The Project again sometime in the future. We shall see.

This is a part of The Project. 

I shall keep this part for the next Project.

Immortality

It might be time to write some more letters. (In my free time.)

I do like to write. Especially letters.

A letter always seemed to me like immortality because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend. ― Emily Dickinson

Consolations

I am reading Consolations: The Solace, Nourishment, and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words, by David Whyte. Although the title itself is a wee bit... wordy, the work is an excellent collection of brief essays on particular words. The prose is reminiscent of John O'Donohue's Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom (an especially lovely work, close to my heart, as you well know from my mentionings of it here) -- in fact, I selected Consolations because Amazon.com suggested it when I recently purchased several other books by John O'Donohue. Well done, Amazon.

I have decided that rather than read straight through from beginning to end, I'll select the words individually each evening when I read before bedtime. In due course I shall bring my thoughts on those words here as well.

What a wonderful book.

Imperfect

Herself speaks.

Today's entry is an offshoot of yesterday's ruminations on what it means to be Alone. The issues herein are different from those of yesterday, and were not raised by my lovely friend who first provided the kernel of "Alone." Nevertheless, this is a companion contemplation, as it relates to "The One" -- the mythical One who will banish Alone-ness.

-----

Sometimes, we seek to find our own value outside ourselves: if I make that much money, if I receive that award, then I will clearly be successful. Or if I have that house, that car, that job. Or, most of all, if I have that One.  We all know the paragon of the One from books and movies and television:  the person who cares for us, who would do anything for us, who arrives in our darkest moments to save us, making us feel valuable and treasured and loved. The thought is this (either directly, or subconsciously):

If -- and only if -- I have such a One, do I have any worth.

Here is what I wish for you to know:

There is no One. Your value depends on no One, and on no Others. 

The presence (or absence) of Others -- a friend, a lover, a spouse, an anam cara -- in one's life, is not determinative of one's worth.

Even when there are such Others, there will be times when you are tremendously aware that you are very much Alone. Each Other, like you, inhabits a unique world that revolves around that person alone. Your Others may not recognize when you are pining, or may not realize that you need succor, laughter, help. Your Others may not understand why that news article burns your heart or why a particular memory occasionally surfaces, painfully, in your soul. Your fears may make no sense to Others. Your desires may make even less sense. Others may sometimes be spiteful or selfish. Self-centered. Unkind. Even occasionally cruel. For they are human, just as you are, and they are imperfect.

You must remember: even without Others, you are magnificent. You have the power to explore, to create, to forgive. To be kind. And to love.

You can love your Others, even when they have made you aware of your Alone-ness. You can provide for Others, even when they do not provide for you. And you can -- and must -- love and provide for yourself. Your soul is deserving. Treat it so.

You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection. - Unknown

You are worthy, purely because you are you. You are a mystery and a joy. You are no One -- you are your own One. 

And in all your imperfect glory, you are Enough. 

Found here. 

Be Your Own Tree

Herself speaks.

I correspond with a lovely, smart, warm-hearted woman with whom I attended high school.  We had lost touch over the years, but thanks to the miracles of social media, have now reconnected. I am glad. We write about serious matters, and lighthearted matters, and things in between, too.

This lovely woman wrote briefly to me recently about what she termed her worst fear -- to "end up alone."  Oh, my friend. What can I say to ease your fear?

Let's talk about being Alone.

What does Alone truly mean? Who is Alone? If one has friends, is one Alone? What about a spouse? Children? Coworkers, or co-volunteers? Fellow churchgoers, book club members, neighbors with whom one chats while out walking the dog? What if you have all of these Others? And what if there are none of these Others?

This is what I believe:  regardless of how many Others with whom we surround ourselves, we are, nevertheless, each and every one:  all Alone.

We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and—in spite of True Romance magazines—we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely—at least, not all the time—but essentially, and finally, alone. ― Hunter S. Thompson,

Even a spouse -- often held up by our society as the be-all-and-end-all of relationship goals -- does not change the fact that each half of a married couple is in fact a single, solitary person.  And it is best that way.

But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
.....
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
.....
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

- Kahlil Gibran, "On Marriage," from The Prophet

I say again:

We are all Alone.

This is a wondrous thing, indeed.  

We cannot fear what already is. 

Knowing that Alone is the perennial state of each an every human being, we can give up the search for The One who will banish Alone-ness for us, for such another does not exist. What we can do instead is to reach out and find those with whom we are comfortable and in whom we find comfort. Those with whom we can laugh, and cry, and just Sit And Be. Those from whom we are apart, and yet with whom we can be Together.

Blessed are we when we find such Others -- a friend, a lover, a spouse, an anam cara, whose Alone-ness intersects with ours. Through them, our journey on this small blue planet is brighter. And in our solitude, the memories, thoughts, and companionship of such Others can carry us through as we move on the path, Alone and together.  

I do not know if this is at all a comfort.  Know, though, my friend, that I am here, and Alone, together with you.

Anhedonia

A nebulous heartache, wrought by the pecking of the thousand ducks. Despondency that is consoled neither by company nor by solitude. Melancholy that sends us searching, fruitlessly, to find a quotation that captures the inertia, malaise, and restlessness of the moment's sorrow. 

Writer's block:  such an ungraceful phrase.  Perhaps that's what makes it so apt.

And I watch my words from a long way off.
They are more yours than mine.
They climb on my old suffering like ivy. 
― Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair

Picture copyright 2014, 2015, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

Unscriven

There are times when writing is an agony:  drawing forth each word is akin to drawing a splinter from where it has lodged deep under the skin, or drawing the body forward one more step in the last miles of a marathon. Millions and millions of phrases are at one's fingertips, yet no combination is remotely sufficient to convey the depth and breadth of the tumult within the soul. How to describe the pathos, the rapture, the fire that forms the core of our humanity?  All we can do is lay bare our inadequacy, and hope that the things that remain unspoken, are nevertheless understood.

Picture copyright 2014, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

Love Letters

I think it might be time to work more on writing my letters.

A real love letter is made of insight, understanding, and compassion. Otherwise it's not a love letter. A true love letter can produce a transformation in the other person, and therefore in the world. But before it produces a transformation in the other person, it has to produce a transformation within us. Some letters may take the whole of our lifetime to write.

― Thích Nhất Hạnh, Your True Home: The Everyday Wisdom of Thich Nhat Hanh: 365 days of practical, powerful teachings from the beloved Zen teacher

Behold, the letter touted as the "oldest love letter in history," found here:

 http://blog.myheritage.com/2011/02/oldest-love-letter-in-history/

Words

The struggle of literature is in fact a struggle to escape from the confines of language; it stretches out from the utmost limits of what can be said; what stirs literature is the call and attraction of what is not in the dictionary. ― Italo Calvino

Herself is trying to write Things.  It is difficult.  There are too many, and yet not enough, words.  It's a struggle.  Yet, a worthwhile one.

We shall keep you posted on progress.

Fish Wishes

If wishes were fishes
I'd learn how to swim
Below all the seaweed
In salt and in dim

I'd search all the hiding spots
Beneath the docks
I'd follow the current
Past sand and past rocks

But beware the octopus
Under the sea -
He might catch the fish that 
Would bring you to me

If that were to happen
('Tis likely, you know)
I'd give up my quest
For more fishes below

Instead I would rise
And take wing to the sky -
For sometimes, the fishes
They learn how to fly. 

This lovely flying fish was found here, 

at http://ocean.nationalgeographic.com/wallpaper/ocean/photos/unique-sea-creatures/unique08-flyingfish/

Wanted

We saw an interesting quote the other day, attributed to the television program Sons of Anarchy:

Only men need to be loved, women need to feel wanted.

Without delving into what men need (for about that, she has very little clue), Herself points out that there is a grain of truth to the statement - Women need to feel wanted.

What does it mean to be wanted?  It's easier to explain it in relation to other things. Let us compare being needed with being wanted. 

For people who enjoy being helpful to others (such as Herself), being needed is a gratifying, empowering and motivating experience. There's a great deal of satisfaction in tending to another person. 

(I will note that every now and then, being needed can be exhausting or oppressive, especially when the needed person neglects her own needs in favor of those of another.)

More particularly, though, being needed is not exclusive:  needs can be met by a wide variety of individuals. Almost anyone can cook a meal or do the laundry or run an errand. Being needed is not personal. 

Being wanted, on the other hand, is personal. And that is what a woman needs -- to feel as though it is she, specifically, for whom another person yearns. She needs to know not that she is indispensable, but rather, that she is desired. That is what sets her apart from the many others who could satisfy someone's needs. 

Desire me.  

Want me. 

That is a bit of what women need. 

Picture copyright 2014, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

Introspective Ruminations

Five years ago was our first post.

The blog, so simple at first, has evolved organically over time. It has become a haven for all kinds of thoughts -- both tiny and gigantic -- among which pictures (some trivial, some beautiful) have taken up residence. It has grown ever so slowly into an ecosystem unto itself   it is a garden of words, and I, timid yet hopeful gardener, have tended it with wonder and love. It has been balm for my soul when I have needed it most.

I am humbled and grateful for your presence, my treasured readers. You motivate me to write, and the act of writing -- although yielding frequently wordy and sometimes incomprehensible results -- has brought me a bit of understanding, acceptance of things past, and encouragement for what lies ahead. It is good.

I hope you will continue to walk this path with me, my readers. My step is lighter and more sure when you are here.  And when darkness occasionally descends on this garden of mine, you help me to see the stars.

Thank you.

Keeping a journal has taught me that there is not so much new in your life as you sometimes think. When you re-read your journal you find out that your latest discovery is something you already found out five years ago. Still, it is true that one penetrates deeper and deeper into the same ideas and the same experiences. ― Thomas Merton, The Sign of Jonas 

The Big Dipper, the evening of May 23, 2014, in Tombstone, AZ.  

Picture copyright 2014, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

Midlife

Herself speaks.

I can no longer
Define myself by my job,
My Offspring, my looks.

Question: who am I?
A round, middle-aged woman
Searching for meaning.

Not sure what comes next
Not at all sure where to look
Not sure what I'll find

Step by step, I go
Hoping the path becomes clear -
Join me, on my way?