"Getting over it"

I do not understand what makes one person think they can tell someone else how they should deal with personal grief. Even if the so-called "experts" disagree on how many "stages" of grief there are, or if such stages even exist, none denies that losing a loved one is a traumatic experience. If people just forgot when someone passed away, we would not have any cemeteries. The practice of erecting monuments and shrines in the memory of those who have died is nearly universal. Would you walk in to a cemetery and tell mourners they should just get over it? The idea is obscene.

Now, I realize that I am not always sensitive to what other people are going through. I can be thoughtless and oblivious, but I try extremely hard to avoid consciously hurting someone's feelings. I don't care how unusual or irrational a trigger may seem to *me*, if I care about someone, I tiptoe around their emotional landmines.

In all my life, I have never told someone to "just get over" their sadness. That you would say that to someone you profess to care about is almost beyond my comprehension. So, when a person that you claim to care about tries to explain to you exactly why they are feeling sad about something as "inconsequential" as the upcoming day their child should have turned two, had he lived? That is probably the worse possible time to say "get over it."

If you ever find yourself in this situation and it just bothers you so much, bite your tongue or walk away, or - hell - act like a human and hand over a tissue and *then* walk away. But do not ever presume that you have the right to tell another person to forget.

2012

The onset of December and the holiday season brings with it the inevitable contemplation of  a "New Year's Resolution."

For 2010, my resolution was to go to the gym a set number of times. I made it, but only by going about 10 times in the last month that still qualified.

For 2011, I wrote about The Year of Undoubt. The goal was to trust my instincts more and to quit over analyzing every decision I make. Looking back over the past 11 months, I think I had mixed success. I still second-guess myself...a lot...but once I have made up my mind, I am far less likely to be swayed by outside influences. When I evaluate the mistakes I've made this past year, I am not ashamed of them - each one I made after weighing the pros and cons of a situation and making the best decision for me, based on the information before me.

That brings us to 2012. I intend to build on the past two years. Even if I am not going to the gym, I am going to continue working out at home and making more healthy decisions. (22 lbs down, 15 more to go!) I am going to keep trusting my own judgment and not feel that I have to justify and decision that has no effect on anyone but myself. That whole thing about the older one gets, the less one cares about what other people think? I am WAY on board with that.

But resolutions aren't about maintaining a status quo. They are about moving forward, bettering yourself. I've made plans for 2012 that, by most societal standards, would be taking a step backward. In the short-term, this may be true. But in the meantime, life will get a little easier. And if I make it through to the long-term, I hope the sacrifices are worth the gains.

They say it is easier to keep a resolution if you have something concrete to work toward. Instead of "I am going to lose weight," you should pledge to go to get one more hour of exercise a day, a week, a month...or whatever. I have been more successful when I have that kind of resolution. Thankfully, I have another month to come up with a good plan.

Please stop. Before I have to kill you.

Dear friends, family members and random acquaintances:

Recently, several of you have seen fit to tell me some pretty heavy stuff that is going on in your lives. While I am flattered and grateful that you are able to unburden yourself or vent, I am also very baffled.

Because anyone who knows me will tell you that I CANNOT KEEP A SECRET TO SAVE MY LIFE.

Seriously, I can't even keep my own secrets. I tell people what I am getting them for presents...sometimes months in advance. If something is juicy gossip, I want to be the first to tell everyone. I am not proud of this facet of my personality, but I am very aware of it. If someone asks me if I can keep a secret, I will honestly say, "no, absolutely not." I will attempt to deflect the conversation, maybe by "revealing" something about myself that no person should ever have to hear. This is a sign to you that I cannot be trusted with intimate details!*

I have been trying very hard to change this about myself, and in the past couple years, I have been extraordinarily successful (except for the presents thing). But this would be much, much easier if you all would stop telling me stuff that you shouldn't. In the past year or so, I have become privy to information that I do not want to have rattling around in my head. Since I have cut off my gossip outlet, this stuff is just festering in my brain and one of these days I'm going to blurt out something. It is inevitable. And we're not talking piddly stuff here - you have been telling me things that could land you in jail, or at the very least as a footnote in your divorce decree.

A wise friend of mine says, "two people can keep a secret...so long as one of them is dead." So, seriously, if you want to unburden yourself without the risk of it getting out, write it down and then burn it. Tell your dog. Or better yet, tell someone who can help you work out whatever issue is behind your revelation.

But for the love of god, don't tell me. Because then I will just have to kill one of us, and frankly, my life is starting to look up, so I'm not ready to leave just yet.

*I have never been told that something I said caused anyone a problem, or a job or a relationship. And frankly, if it was told to *me* it was probably because everyone else already knew about it.

Tempus Fugit

"Sometimes I feel that life is passing me by, not slowly either, but with ropes of steam and spark-spattered wheels and a hoarse roar of power or terror.  It's passing, yet I'm the one who's doing all the moving."

 Martin Amis, Money

I am starting to pack for a weekend out in the exurbs. Not just a typical family visit, this. No, it is time for my 20-year high school reunion. I cannot believe that it has been so long, nor can I believe that I am actually looking forward to commemorating it.

High school wasn't full of a lot of angst-y drama, for me. (I got that all out between 5th and 9th grade.) I wasn't popular, I wasn't unpopular. I had decent grades, had some great friends, and while two decades later, I can still name every bully who made me miserable, those bad memories were outweighed by all of the good.


I feel that I've changed a lot since then: my appearance is completely different (both in good and bad ways), I've been married, been divorced, been expecting, gone to law school, moved to the city, been flush, been broke...there's a lot of life experience under my belt.


But underneath, I really am the same dork who desperately wants people to like her, even while hiding her insecurity beneath a veneer of aloof self-reliance.


I have been obsessing about the weight I've gained and what I'm going to wear. I considered asking my mom to lend me her much-nicer car, so that I didn't have to show up in my 14-year-old Dodge Intrepid. I intended to make appointments to get my hair done, get waxed, have a manicure and pedicure. I've had my Romy and Michele dreams.


But ultimately I realized two things. First, in this day and age, everyone who wants to can pretty much know everything about me. No sense in making up a story about inventing something cool, or traveling the world with my fantabulous wealthy husband and three charming offspring. Hell, I have a blog that chronicles the pseudo-tragedy that is my love life, so no one would buy it.


But most importantly, I remembered that I am who I am and that will have to be enough. I was too lazy to start my diet before last week. I was too undisciplined to save money to buy new clothes. Too scatterbrained to make any of those beauty appointments. I decided to spend last night watching the bf play video games than doing laundry and packing.

And I'm betting that at this exact moment, I am just as content with the ups and downs of my life as most of the other people I will be seeing tomorrow night.


Still, I will be keeping track of who got fatter than me, dropped out of school, and is now (or still) living in their parents' basement. I haven't really changed that much, after all.

Slings and Arrows

fIn general, I am happiest when I am alone. There is no one around to criticize my or my decisions, and I don't feel the need to justify myself to anyone.

That is great for maintaining the status quo, but once in a while I venture out and that is where my "reality" comes into conflict with other people and I have to navigate between what the outside world is actually *doing* as opposed to how I am viewing it through my own skewed perspective, and my insecurities come racing to the fore.

I don't doubt for a minute that many of these people have the same misgivings that I do. I know for a fact that a couple of them are just as obsessed with finding the "right" outfit, changing their clothes a few times before finally deciding on the last one.

But it is the end result that intrigues me. They make it seem so effortless. If they are debating between outfits, it is only because (in my mind) they have so many different choices to make themselves look good. (Whereas I am just trying to find the one that doesn't have that one noticeable stain or tear, and that doesn't look like it was stuffed at the bottom of my closet since the last Bush administration.)

Logically, I know that other must feel just as insecure as I do...it is just a matter of how your present yourself, how you manage to come across as confident. The "fake it until you make it" method, if you will.

That is all well and good when it comes to physical appearance, and I have had my share of successes when putting more effort into my looks when I am feeling particularly low. But there isn't always a directonnection between outward appearance and confidence. Often, my insecurity is more internalized.

I've said before that I have a complex when it comes to giving gifts. First off, I love to find the perfect gift for someone, and I usually can't wait to hand it over. The giddiness starts at home, when I think I have the perfect idea - something the recipient would want, but doesn't necessarily know she wants. Or just as good - a gift they would never dreamed they would ever get. It moves on to the actual purchase (I found exactly what I was looking for!) and my anticipation of the recipients delight just gets compounded the closer I get to the turning over of the gift.

As money gets tighter, it is harder and harder to find the right balance between what I want to give and what I can afford to give. And with many people being in the same boat, financially, I am running into the complication of what other people are willing to accept. I can understand that last part, to a certain extent. I would not be comfortable getting a gift from someone who I know couldn't afford it. I am just as hesitant, myself, to accept a gift that I couldn't (within reason) have gotten for myself. I would be very hesitant to accept a big screen TV from someone, regardless of their own personal wealth.

So, when I find the right gift - with the exact degree of cost/need/happiness quotient, I get giddy. And often it turns out that my enthusiasm for giving the gift is not matched by that of the person receiving it. This shouldn't come as a surprise to me, but it usually does.

My father and I have had a rocky relationship, to put it very mildly. So, to me, it was a big deal when, at my wedding, I arranged for a print that I knew he loved to be be framed and presented to him at the reception. The moment was just like I pictured in my head: he cried, the guests were all touched. It was perfect. Until I visited my parents home a couple months later to find that the picture was already taken down, the claim made that the glass had cracked and they'd put it back up when it was replaced.

I regret that I have but one worst gift ever to give on the most important day of my life.

That was in 1998. I have never seen the picture again.

I was rummaging through a folk-art/antique store when I ran across a 1950's map of the world that traced the differences between indigenous races and how they were impacted by colonizing over thousands of years. It was fascinating, to me, and I immediately thought of a friend whose home had many maps and similar art already  displayed. I bought it, paying way more than I probably should have, but anticipating how cool it would be to the other person.

No, it was waaay cooler than this. Like there were country names and everything!

It has laid in a pile on his floor for the past eight months.

Now, this isn't to say there is anything wrong with how the other people acted when they got these gifts. I cannot fault them for their [seemingly] sincere appreciation for the thought that I put in to it. And I am not immune to this phenomenon, myself:

Christmas gift, circa 1992. What were they thinking?!? Was this a free gift with purchase?

Any perception that I am slighted is purely in my head. And then I feel guilty, on top of the hurt, because the idea of giving a gift is to make the *other* person happy, not myself. But how to break out of this? I don't want to just give gift cards or cash (although that is probably my next step).

Fuck it - next year, everyone gets McDonald's gift certificates.

The things I do for science

I am always looking for new ways to justify my inappropriate behavior, so when I stumbled across a link for a pseudo-Jung/Myers-Briggs personality test over at humanmetrics.com, I jumped at the chance to take it.

Now, I have a friend who does this kind of thing for a living (I think. It may be her hobby. Whenever we get together, we polish off lots of alcohol, so I really can't remember exactly what it is she does.) But I hesitate to ask her to analyze me because, (1) I hate when people ask me to work for free, so I try to avoid asking others to do it; and (2) I am afraid that if she agreed to do it, I'd end up losing one of my favorite drinking buddies.

So there I was, staring at an online list of statements to which you are supposed to "agree" or "disagree." Some were very easy: "You are always late for appointments...You know how to put every minute of your time to good purpose...You do your best to complete a task on time."

Once I wiped the tears of laughter from my eyes, I moved on to some harder ones: "You are inclined to rely more on improvisation than on careful planning." Ok, what if I like to plan things out, but nearly always end up changing my mind at the last minute?

As the questions went on, I started to think that the test was deliberately fucking with me, but since this was all In The Name of Science^TM, I soldiered on. "After prolonged socializing you feel you need to get away and be alone." Well, yes, but that's only because I don't like people. "You often contemplate about the complexity of life." Maybe, but I am more likely to contemplate the complexity of dessert options.

I started to feel bad about myself. Who are these higher beings who can honestly answer that they don't mind helping other people while asking for nothing in return for themselves? What freak can easily understand new theoretical principles?!?

Finally it was over. The result? I am an ISTP. Anti-climatic, since I had no idea what that meant. Google is my friend, however, and I picked through the 41 millions results. Ok, that's a lie, I looked at the first four.

The first was clearly wrong. It said that ISTPs "thrive on action" and that "they're usually good athletes and have very good hand-eye coordination. They are good at following through with a project, and tying up loose ends." (Portrait of an ISTP) Disregarding the question of how a personality test can measure fine motor skills, this is complete BS and pretty much the opposite of me. It continued, "An ISTP who is over-stressed may exhibit rash emotional outbursts of anger, or on the other extreme may be overwhelmed by emotions and feelings which they feel compelled to share with people (often inappropriately)."

That one hit uncomfortably close to home. Time to check out some of the other pages. "They lie dormant, saving their energy until a project or an adventure worthy of their time comes along - and then they launch themselves at it." (ISTP Profile). Ah yes, that sounds much better than "sit on their butt until something finally tears their interest away from Glee."

"Communication also tends to be a key issue, since they generally express themselves non-verbally." (WTF, are we a pack of grunters?) "When they do verbalize, ISTPs are masters of the one-liner, often showing flashes of humor in the most tense situations; this can result in their being seen as thick-skinned or tasteless." See! My bad jokes are because I am a non-verbal communicator! (What did the blind, deaf and crippled kid get for Christmas? A puppy! Just kidding, he got cancer.)

I knew that trail of failed relationships and inability to relate to others without alcohol wasn't my fault. Now, every time some refers to me as a cold, lazy bitch, I'll take a line from that last website, "If I want your opinion, I'll beat it out of you."

On getting what you want

I spent a wonderful evening with a friend last weekend, and as the wine flowed and the conversation grew more "profound," she interrupted my litany of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune to ask a simple question:

"What do you want?"

I started in on the standard list of society-approved demands: my own home; a good job; no money worries; companionship.

"No, no, no..." she interrupted me again. "What do you really want?"

And I was stumped, because truth be known, I had already had all those material things. The three bedroom house in the burbs, marriage, money in the bank account and 2 new cars and a boat in the garage. Hell, we even had a cat and a dog.

And I had been miserable. Oh, maybe not on the surface, but I wasn't *fulfilled* or whatever emotion I was supposed to be feeling when I had everything the American Dream mythos touts. I wanted more. And I ended up losing it all in pursuit of the contentment that I felt I was entitled to.

For some reason, I have clung to that version of reality as the ideal. Sometimes when I am feeling particularly stressed, I have a recurring dream about getting back together with my ex. But even in my fantasies, my brain is showing me red flags; we always fight and end up even more bitter and jaded than after our actual divorce. Ok, I get it - the past wasn't as rosy as I remember and I guess I wasn't all that happy back then, after all.

But damn, if that isn't what I'm working for, now, then what is the point? What should be my goal?

Last night, the old dream started like it usually does: I am in some unhappy situation and run into my ex by chance. Only this time, things took a different turn. I ran into my ex and his entire family at the grocery store. Everyone was healthy and happy, and we had a great reunion. I met my ex's new wife, and liked her instantly. There was no resentment, only a sense of peace that I'd never felt before.

When I woke up this morning, I pondered the possible meanings of this alternative ending. Obviously, I am moving past, well...the past. But where do I go from here? I am all for coming to terms with things that happened a decade ago, but what about now? I am realizing how unlikely I am to have those same trappings of stability again. I have given up the hope of having a spouse, a baby, a home with a yard and my own washer and dryer (oh separate laundry room, how I took you for granted!). But practically speaking, those things require another person to obtain - and I am pushing 40. Is my next aspiration to just to settle for what I have? A 14-year-old car, a one-bedroom apartment and a relationship with someone who reminds me that we have an expiration date?

And if so, am I required now to get a cat? Because that is just adding insult to injury.

Life rarely provides easy answers, and this is no exception. To be content with what I have seems to be admitting failure. The status quo is a cop out, and just a temporary one at that. But without knowing what my future goals are, I can't plan a path toward them. What if I had what I really wanted and will never get back to that again? I don't always want to be so intent on looking in the rear view mirror that I forget to see what's coming up ahead.

To get what I want out of life, I have to first determine what the hell that *is*, and damned if I have any idea. I am certainly open to suggestions.

On barricades

Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.

Robert Frost "Mending Wall"

Walls, barricades, fences - they are all around us. Chicago is famous for its wrought-iron fences - nearly every house in my neighborhood has a black 6-foot fence with a small gate. They are a way to separate my space from your space. To create an illusion that one's home is not really only three feet from the next.

When I was a kid in the 1970's, few people had fences other than the occasional split-rail type. We frequently cut through yards on our way from one place to another. I can't remember once getting yelled out for using someone else's yard as a shortcut. In fact, I distinctly remember one older (childless) couple who always kept cookies and lemonade on hand for those of us returning, tired, from our romps.

But at some point, people started building barriers around their property. Some of it was legislated - the city required a tall, impenetrable fence around pools. Dogs were no longer allowed to wander the neighborhoods, as population and traffic increased. Now, instead of someone's mutt accompanying you down to the park to play fetch, they were locked up behind chain link - barking at everyone who passed. Crime increased: people were afraid someone would steal their new TVs, computers, children. More fences went up, this time with alarm systems attached.

If you feel that you have more to lose (or if you have been robbed in the past), you increase that protection.

That last part applies to metaphorical boundaries just as well. I seem to remember being a carefree child, even if I was always a bit too serious. Building an internal "wall" is a lot like developing a callus - it may start out small and the spot may even be a bit sore at first, but it doesn't take long for the skin to thicken. And every additional irritant just serves to add on another layer.

The other day, someone commented that I always have a barrier up. This is certainly not the first time I've been told that. It makes it difficult to get to relate to me and it definitely doesn't help to develop a relationship, but it is a built-in defense mechanism that is difficult to just drop.

The higher and thicker your wall, the fewer and more infrequently bad things can get in. But the internal wall is a lot like those wrought iron fences. They give the illusion of safety, but people can still climb over them...and you can still get hurt. More importantly, the more you stay behind your barrier, the more you miss of the real world going on around you. You miss out on the chance to make a difference in someone's life or to allow them to make a difference in yours...

I am thankful to the friends I have, especially the ones who stuck around when my own wall was at a particularly burdensome thickness. I am lucky to have people in my life who were willing to either chip away at it, attempt to scale it, or who just waited by patiently, and helped me build a door.

Something there is that does not love a wall. Now, to work on bringing it down...

The one where I couldn't think of a title

I hoard my hurts like a dragon hoards jewels. They don't do me a lick of good, and they are uncomfortable to sleep on, but woe to the man who tries to take them from me. And I have an extremely long memory when it comes to grievances. One of my favorite movie quotes is from the Simpson's movie:

Lisa Simpson: But I'm so angry.
Marge Simpson: You're a woman. You can hold on to it forever.

Oh, how true. I can remember the minute details of wrongs from thirty-five years ago. I couldn't have been more than five when the woman cutting my hair told my mother how I'd talked about hating my new dad, leading to a lovely lecture about ingratitude when I got home. (I hope you fell on your scissors)

I remember the third-grade teacher at a new school who laughed at me in front of the entire classroom - she'd just told us the old spelling rule: "'i' before 'e' except after 'c.'" I piped up with "or sounding like 'a' as in 'neighbor' or 'weigh.'" She told everyone I was wrong, because "way" didn't have an 'i' or an 'e' in it. Since I'd only heard the second half of the rule, and had no idea how to spell "weigh," I couldn't call her on it. (To this day, I dream about going back in time and asking the fat cow how much she WEIGHS.)

There was the time in high school when a former friend taped a note on my back that said "I stuff my bra." (Hey, Chris! I'm a natural 36DD and there's a band that thinks my rack is so awesome, they put a picture of me on their drum set - suck it!)

You get the idea.

I have them cataloged in my heart: wrongs by strangers, wrongs by family, and the very worst - wrongs by friends. Every now and then I take them out. Look them over. Polish them off. They are precious to me.

I can point to the chip on my shoulder for each perceived slight, like a badge of honor. Don't they make me pitiful?

And they make for convenient excuses:

Sure, maybe you think you had a tough life, but did your boyfriend ever take you ring shopping, only to give you that diamond as an April Fool's joke?

It's not my fault that I lack tact and am oblivious to the hurt I cause other people - did I ever tell you about the time a friend refused to give me a ride to get a D&C after my miscarriage?

The trust issues, constant need for praise and approval? The incessant desire for reassurance? Hey, I am just a product of my environment, oh and my father abandoned us when my mother was pregnant. (Abandonment and Daddy issues - always a favorite.)

But it doesn't bother me in the slightest if you blow me off when I need you, if you cheat on me, or treat me like dirt, it's no better than I deserve - poor, tragic me. I'll just add another notch on the bed post, do something sick and degrading, and then blame you for it.

So, when you point out the bad things that I do, I can just gather up my hurts around me like coat of armor and say "oh yeah, well at least I never..."

Transition

When I got my first full-time job after high school, I received some conflicting advice.

The first was that I should dress and act like I was my manager, or whatever other position I wanted to ultimately have in the company. The second piece of advice was that if you were hired as a menial worker, that is how the powers-that-be would always see you. Guess which was more accurate for me?

I earned an Associate's Degree, a Bachelor's and a certificate in sign language while I worked for that company and the end result? After five years, I was still a records clerk and I still made less than anyone else there, without ever getting a title change or more than a 3% raise. I got more responsibility, but none of the benefits.

It can be difficult to break out of first impressions, not just with employment, but in social circles, too. If you're known as the party girl, or the funny guy, people almost seem disappointed if you're feeling anti-social or depressed.

So, what do you do to encourage others to see you in a new light?