It hit her like a brick wall. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. Her gut clenched up like the tightest fist a human being ever swung and she had to fight back the instantaneous need to vomit. Her whole body quivered with the emotions- some sickening combination of anger and fear.
She tried to relax, to breath into all those muscles clenched so tight. But her body didn’t listen to her and she was forced to go along for the ride. She could’ve fought off a rhino if she needed to. But right now this response was working against her.
She knew it wasn’t her, it wasn’t personal. It never was. But that kind of anger is like a bomb- when it goes off you get hit if you’re standing nearby. There was no way to duck and cover. She was picking pieces of shrapnel out all afternoon.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Quitter
“No.”
“Wait- what?”
“I said no.”
“But… but how- I mean… Did you hear me?”
“Yes, I heard you fine, I’m not that old.”
“No, that’s- funny, grandpa. Not what I meant, though. I mean did you-“
“Yes, again- I heard you. You said that you want to go to law school to become a lawyer, that you truly believe that this is what you were always meant to do, that this really is your true passion. I heard you.”
“Ok… so…?”
“And I said no.”
“But- but how could you say no? I mean- you’ve always been saying you want me to be happy and I found this thing that I’m passionate about- really passionate about and that would actually allow me to help people and-“
“James, listen to me for a moment. Look around this office. What do you see?”
“Uh, well- let me think for a moment. Well, on the far wall I see a really beautiful Max Cantor painting which emerges from a swath of organic wheat grass in order to give the illusion of a path opening. This scene is accented by hues of green and blue throughout the asian décor, calling to mind the power of nature and the calm of a meditation temple.”
“Yes, exactly- and wonderfully described. And what do you see over there?”
“Uh… a large pile of wood from where I was going to put the reflection pool?”
“Yes. And why do you see that?”
“Because I changed my mind about-“
“No, try again.”
“Well, because I realized the pool wasn’t terribly functional and-“
“No. Try again.”
“Uh… not really sure what you’re looking for here.”
“Because you quit, James. Because in the middle of the project when I allowed you free reign of my office to demonstrate your abilities and begin your career as a celebrated interior designer you quit. And thus, instead of a completed office demonstrating the abilities of my wonderfully talented grandson I have a hole in the floor and a bill for three thousand dollars for those ridiculously overpriced Koi fish with no where to live.”
“Ok, yes, yes- that’s true, but-“
“And that’s just from this last enterprise of yours. This does not take into account the connections I ruined by pulling all those strings to get you into med school which you quit after a week when you realized you were allergic to latex and argued nothing else would be impermeable enough to protect you from the life threatening germs you would encounter-“
“Ok, but that was like five years ago, shouldn’t you let it go?”
“This also does not take into account the tuition I paid in full for you to be a hair stylist-“
“That’s tonsorial artist-“
“-which you quit because the hair made you sneeze. Or the $5,000 I paid for you to become a professional dog trainer which you quit when you realized that some of the dogs you would be training would be aggressive-“
“Hey- someone in that class nearly got their face ripped off by a pit bull!”
“Or the check that ITT cashed even though you never even attended the first class to become a systems analyst.”
“I had a personal emergency.”
“Or the money I loaned you to invest in stock and become a self-made stock broker.”
“How was I supposed to know the market was going to collapse?”
“My point, dear boy, in all of this is that I have no intention of investing in another career which you will quit in a matter of days.”
“But I’m not going to quit- this is real this time! I mean, I actually have the chance to really make a difference this way. Look at me- where would I be if my public defender hadn’t believed in me?”
“In jail, costing tax payers money instead of me.”
“That’s way harsh, gramps.”
“But true. You have no concept of the value of money. I’ve honestly started to blame myself for this, you never had to work in your life. All of these schemes and passions had no consequences. Which is why I’m prepared to offer you a deal.”
“A deal?”
“Yes. If you really want this- if you genuinely, down to the depth of your soul want this- then you will get the student loans to pay for it yourself.”
“But that’s like- over a hundred grand! I’d never be able to manage that!”
“You will get the loans, you will go to school, you will graduate. You will not have to start paying these loans back until you start working.”
“But I-“
“If you successfully graduate law school and procure a job and stay there for at least one year- I will pay your student loans in full.”
“Really?”
“Yes. But that means staying the course. That means not quitting. It means that if law school is hard- which it will be- you stick it out. You apply yourself. You use your energy to focus rather than jumping from one task to the next like a jackrabbit. And if you are able to do this and graduate and procure employment then you will be relieved of your financial burden.”
“So… this is like a loan?”
“Yes, exactly. And you will pay it back via hard work.”
“… I probably couldn’t get in anyway.”
“Wait- what?”
“I said no.”
“But… but how- I mean… Did you hear me?”
“Yes, I heard you fine, I’m not that old.”
“No, that’s- funny, grandpa. Not what I meant, though. I mean did you-“
“Yes, again- I heard you. You said that you want to go to law school to become a lawyer, that you truly believe that this is what you were always meant to do, that this really is your true passion. I heard you.”
“Ok… so…?”
“And I said no.”
“But- but how could you say no? I mean- you’ve always been saying you want me to be happy and I found this thing that I’m passionate about- really passionate about and that would actually allow me to help people and-“
“James, listen to me for a moment. Look around this office. What do you see?”
“Uh, well- let me think for a moment. Well, on the far wall I see a really beautiful Max Cantor painting which emerges from a swath of organic wheat grass in order to give the illusion of a path opening. This scene is accented by hues of green and blue throughout the asian décor, calling to mind the power of nature and the calm of a meditation temple.”
“Yes, exactly- and wonderfully described. And what do you see over there?”
“Uh… a large pile of wood from where I was going to put the reflection pool?”
“Yes. And why do you see that?”
“Because I changed my mind about-“
“No, try again.”
“Well, because I realized the pool wasn’t terribly functional and-“
“No. Try again.”
“Uh… not really sure what you’re looking for here.”
“Because you quit, James. Because in the middle of the project when I allowed you free reign of my office to demonstrate your abilities and begin your career as a celebrated interior designer you quit. And thus, instead of a completed office demonstrating the abilities of my wonderfully talented grandson I have a hole in the floor and a bill for three thousand dollars for those ridiculously overpriced Koi fish with no where to live.”
“Ok, yes, yes- that’s true, but-“
“And that’s just from this last enterprise of yours. This does not take into account the connections I ruined by pulling all those strings to get you into med school which you quit after a week when you realized you were allergic to latex and argued nothing else would be impermeable enough to protect you from the life threatening germs you would encounter-“
“Ok, but that was like five years ago, shouldn’t you let it go?”
“This also does not take into account the tuition I paid in full for you to be a hair stylist-“
“That’s tonsorial artist-“
“-which you quit because the hair made you sneeze. Or the $5,000 I paid for you to become a professional dog trainer which you quit when you realized that some of the dogs you would be training would be aggressive-“
“Hey- someone in that class nearly got their face ripped off by a pit bull!”
“Or the check that ITT cashed even though you never even attended the first class to become a systems analyst.”
“I had a personal emergency.”
“Or the money I loaned you to invest in stock and become a self-made stock broker.”
“How was I supposed to know the market was going to collapse?”
“My point, dear boy, in all of this is that I have no intention of investing in another career which you will quit in a matter of days.”
“But I’m not going to quit- this is real this time! I mean, I actually have the chance to really make a difference this way. Look at me- where would I be if my public defender hadn’t believed in me?”
“In jail, costing tax payers money instead of me.”
“That’s way harsh, gramps.”
“But true. You have no concept of the value of money. I’ve honestly started to blame myself for this, you never had to work in your life. All of these schemes and passions had no consequences. Which is why I’m prepared to offer you a deal.”
“A deal?”
“Yes. If you really want this- if you genuinely, down to the depth of your soul want this- then you will get the student loans to pay for it yourself.”
“But that’s like- over a hundred grand! I’d never be able to manage that!”
“You will get the loans, you will go to school, you will graduate. You will not have to start paying these loans back until you start working.”
“But I-“
“If you successfully graduate law school and procure a job and stay there for at least one year- I will pay your student loans in full.”
“Really?”
“Yes. But that means staying the course. That means not quitting. It means that if law school is hard- which it will be- you stick it out. You apply yourself. You use your energy to focus rather than jumping from one task to the next like a jackrabbit. And if you are able to do this and graduate and procure employment then you will be relieved of your financial burden.”
“So… this is like a loan?”
“Yes, exactly. And you will pay it back via hard work.”
“… I probably couldn’t get in anyway.”
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Me and My Shadow
Buddy is a very comical looking dog. He’s so tiny that when he starts barking at other dogs or people they can’t help but go “Awww- look at the big, mean doggy!” in a cutesy baby voice. We even bought him a colar with skulls and crossbones on it to drive the point home. We considered naming him Killer, but decided he’s got enough going against him already, being the cutest little thing on the planet.
So with his frightening physical appearance it’s no wonder that he is chicken shit scarred of everything. And I do mean everything. Including himself, as evidenced by the crazy barking fit he had when he first discovered his reflection. Well, the same thing happened when he discovered his shadow.
We were out for a walk at night and I had the flashlight on so I could see where I was going and to enable me to pick up his business when he was done. We’d made our usual loop around the block and gotten back to our house when he stopped. I noticed him pulling on the leash so I stopped to see what he was doing. Rather than sniffing some fascinating scent on the ground as I expected him to be he was in a tensed position, staring out at something. I looked over to the side of our house and there it was- his shadow. because of my flashlight it was, by all rights, a lot bigger than he is. But it was still in his terribly cute shape.
Just as I was about to call him he growled. He put his legs back, leaned forward and growled as loud as he could. At his shadow. I, of course, burst out laughing. And as if this wasn’t funny enough, he ran forward barking at it and then got terribly confused when it got smaller and less threatening. He was fascinated by this shadow dog for a solid ten minutes before his tiny attention span moved on to the next distraction and there was no point in time that he seemed to gain any concept that that shadow dog barking at him was nothing other than him.
Much like his evil twin, I imagine it will be a long rivalry.
So with his frightening physical appearance it’s no wonder that he is chicken shit scarred of everything. And I do mean everything. Including himself, as evidenced by the crazy barking fit he had when he first discovered his reflection. Well, the same thing happened when he discovered his shadow.
We were out for a walk at night and I had the flashlight on so I could see where I was going and to enable me to pick up his business when he was done. We’d made our usual loop around the block and gotten back to our house when he stopped. I noticed him pulling on the leash so I stopped to see what he was doing. Rather than sniffing some fascinating scent on the ground as I expected him to be he was in a tensed position, staring out at something. I looked over to the side of our house and there it was- his shadow. because of my flashlight it was, by all rights, a lot bigger than he is. But it was still in his terribly cute shape.
Just as I was about to call him he growled. He put his legs back, leaned forward and growled as loud as he could. At his shadow. I, of course, burst out laughing. And as if this wasn’t funny enough, he ran forward barking at it and then got terribly confused when it got smaller and less threatening. He was fascinated by this shadow dog for a solid ten minutes before his tiny attention span moved on to the next distraction and there was no point in time that he seemed to gain any concept that that shadow dog barking at him was nothing other than him.
Much like his evil twin, I imagine it will be a long rivalry.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Life, Examined
Finish school. Get a job. Buy a house. Get married. Have kids. Buy a bigger house. Retire. Hang out with your grandkids. Die. This is the basic set-up that was laid out for me, and I think most of us with what would generally qualify as a “normal upbringing.” When you grow up in a house in the suburbs, you tend to be told to follow suit. When you don’t grow up in a house in the suburbs, you tend to want that because you never had it. The American dream, mass marketed.
But what if you don’t follow the “normal” route? What if you decide to live in a commune out in the middle of nowhere where the emphasis is on living off the land the way our primitive ancestors used to? What if you get a job that requires you to travel so frequently that the idea of “settling down” is incredibly foreign and bizarre to you? What if you go to live in a monastery and give up all worldly possessions in order to seek spiritual enlightenment. Or what if you have what looks like a generally normal life, but you can’t follow the map they gave you? What then?
This is not an existential debate about the meaning of human existence. This is simply a question of the general life path that people follow. A question of how you know you’re on “the right path” when you depart from the one that everyone tells you is “the right path”. A question of what happens when your life doesn’t include any of the milestones that it’s “supposed” to. A question of what you do when you don’t do what you’re told.
I’m smart enough to know that no one really has the answers. And I believe that the reason most people follow the script is because they’re just no good at improving. And I’ve seen enough to know that the script- as is, with no variation, does actually work out pretty damned well for a lot of people. Which, I assume, is why so few people deviate from it. So I’m not in any way knocking the traditional lifestyle, the one I was raised to believe in. (I can’t and would never assume to speak for other cultures and other upbringings, this is just my experience.)
But, in my experience, it doesn’t work that way. The older I get the more I see that all of the traditional beliefs I was raised with just don’t match my experience. And the harder I tried to change my life to re-fit it to that outline the more internally tormented I was because it just didn’t fit. So I stopped trying to make it fit.
But the question emerges, from this newfound sense of independence from the norm, of what measurements I can use to know that I’m on the right path for me. When everyone else you know is doing the traditional lifestyle, you can’t look to your peers for validation. And those who live their own lifestyle tend to be very adamant that it is their lifestyle- not one anyone else should necessarily follow. It seems like the only meter I can use to measure my life accurately is an internal one, one based on my own, unique value system. So where’s my meter?
I try, I honestly do try to be at peace with not knowing. To forget about whether or not this is “normal” or if I’m on “the right path” or any of the rest of it. I try to get more knowledge so I can make informed decisions. I try to tell myself that I don’t need to know, that I don’t have to define or judge or validate. But when all the tools we normally use to plan goals revolve around knowing where you’re going it’s tough to let that go. And as those that I’m close to plow full speed ahead into marriage and babies I can’t help but wonder where I’m headed.
A lot of science, particularly physics, is theoretical. They form these incredibly complicated theorems to describe the tendencies of things which way or may not even exist. They calculate mathematical equations and create new technology to measure things that are undetectable. And the only way they know they’re on the right path is when things go differently than they would have if current laws applied. They don't usually go the way they thought, but they don't go the way they should have- so they tweak the model. It’s incredibly creative and amazingly brave so far as scientific endeavors go.
Perhaps my life is an exercise in theoretical living. I know it doesn’t fit the model but I don’t know why and I don’t know what new model it would fit. All I know is that if I keep experimenting and seeing what doesn’t fit I will move forward. Perhaps, and I have good reason to believe this, I’m just going through what so many of my more creative fellows already have and I will eventually come to a place where I don’t have to search for external benchmarks to know. Perhaps, as I learn to trust myself and my own internal voice, I will develop my own measures. I like to think so.
But what if you don’t follow the “normal” route? What if you decide to live in a commune out in the middle of nowhere where the emphasis is on living off the land the way our primitive ancestors used to? What if you get a job that requires you to travel so frequently that the idea of “settling down” is incredibly foreign and bizarre to you? What if you go to live in a monastery and give up all worldly possessions in order to seek spiritual enlightenment. Or what if you have what looks like a generally normal life, but you can’t follow the map they gave you? What then?
This is not an existential debate about the meaning of human existence. This is simply a question of the general life path that people follow. A question of how you know you’re on “the right path” when you depart from the one that everyone tells you is “the right path”. A question of what happens when your life doesn’t include any of the milestones that it’s “supposed” to. A question of what you do when you don’t do what you’re told.
I’m smart enough to know that no one really has the answers. And I believe that the reason most people follow the script is because they’re just no good at improving. And I’ve seen enough to know that the script- as is, with no variation, does actually work out pretty damned well for a lot of people. Which, I assume, is why so few people deviate from it. So I’m not in any way knocking the traditional lifestyle, the one I was raised to believe in. (I can’t and would never assume to speak for other cultures and other upbringings, this is just my experience.)
But, in my experience, it doesn’t work that way. The older I get the more I see that all of the traditional beliefs I was raised with just don’t match my experience. And the harder I tried to change my life to re-fit it to that outline the more internally tormented I was because it just didn’t fit. So I stopped trying to make it fit.
But the question emerges, from this newfound sense of independence from the norm, of what measurements I can use to know that I’m on the right path for me. When everyone else you know is doing the traditional lifestyle, you can’t look to your peers for validation. And those who live their own lifestyle tend to be very adamant that it is their lifestyle- not one anyone else should necessarily follow. It seems like the only meter I can use to measure my life accurately is an internal one, one based on my own, unique value system. So where’s my meter?
I try, I honestly do try to be at peace with not knowing. To forget about whether or not this is “normal” or if I’m on “the right path” or any of the rest of it. I try to get more knowledge so I can make informed decisions. I try to tell myself that I don’t need to know, that I don’t have to define or judge or validate. But when all the tools we normally use to plan goals revolve around knowing where you’re going it’s tough to let that go. And as those that I’m close to plow full speed ahead into marriage and babies I can’t help but wonder where I’m headed.
A lot of science, particularly physics, is theoretical. They form these incredibly complicated theorems to describe the tendencies of things which way or may not even exist. They calculate mathematical equations and create new technology to measure things that are undetectable. And the only way they know they’re on the right path is when things go differently than they would have if current laws applied. They don't usually go the way they thought, but they don't go the way they should have- so they tweak the model. It’s incredibly creative and amazingly brave so far as scientific endeavors go.
Perhaps my life is an exercise in theoretical living. I know it doesn’t fit the model but I don’t know why and I don’t know what new model it would fit. All I know is that if I keep experimenting and seeing what doesn’t fit I will move forward. Perhaps, and I have good reason to believe this, I’m just going through what so many of my more creative fellows already have and I will eventually come to a place where I don’t have to search for external benchmarks to know. Perhaps, as I learn to trust myself and my own internal voice, I will develop my own measures. I like to think so.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Big, Fun and Scary 2011 Update
So, back in 2010 when I was a few hours from ringing in the new year I came up with a list of things to accomplish in 2011. Seeing as it is now the sixth month of 2011 and I will be approaching the half way point of the year at the end of the month, I figured an update was in order.
1) 211 IN 2011! Status Update: Still a long way to go.
I started out doing pretty well on this goal. There were a variety of reasons for that. In January and February I was so disgusted with my job that I honestly didn’t care about getting much work done, so I spent a decent amount of time writing stories for the blog rather than, you know, working. I have to say, reading that last sentence is pretty harsh cause I’m not big on slacking off at work, in general. My work ethic is closer to the strong end of the spectrum than the weak one and I can’t do much non-work related activities at work without feeling guilty. So I still feel pretty guilty for the slacking I did.
Ahem, at any rate, after I left the job from hell I had my epiphany and that brought a new focus to the foreground. That new focus, as you know, is self acceptance. Now, you may wonder why a focus on self acceptance would prevent me from writing rather than encourage me to write. I’ll explain.
Writing, in spite of my grandiose dreams, sometimes half-way decent ideas and incredibly rare successful executions is still, for the most part, an exercise in torture for me. I still agonize over how far the finished product is from what I envisioned it to be. I still beat myself up mercilessly when the story doesn’t flow like I wanted. I still analyze and critique my productions so harshly that I often feel like I’ve been kicked around by Chuck Norris. Needless to say, hating myself for my failings as a writer and loving myself unconditionally are sort-of at odds with each other.
So, rather than allow my normal self destruction to force me to write more I’ve been working on accepting NOT writing. Working on having it be enough to just go to work, do my job, come home and take care of my dog and get to whatever my after work activity is for the day (like karate). Working on not concluding that I am useless if I don’t write something for the day. Working on not panicking, not stressing myself, not feeling crappy all the time (all emotions that tend to accompany writing, for me.) And just working on having it be ok for me to be whatever I am without the pressure of being a writer.
Now, I’m still writing so obviously I haven’t given up on it yet. In fact, I am hopeful that as I get better at this whole self acceptance thing writing will become a less torturous process. Others have suggested that if I get better at being calm, centered and loving of myself I may even unlock a capacity in my brain far greater than what I’ve been able to utilize thus far. That, without the restraints of the static-y, white-noise thoughts that almost constantly clog my usual level of thinking I will be able to unlock an ability for creative thinking that I’ve never experienced thus far.
I find that idea pretty damned exciting. I’m not there yet, obviously. I’m no where even close. But I’d like to think that’s where I’m headed as I get better at quieting my thoughts and listening to ideas that come from an integration of heart and mind.
In the mean time, I will work on writing with as little restraint as I can manage. I will work on accepting ideas and just getting them out rather than shooting them down before they’ve even started to germinate. I will allow myself to write non-fiction without concluding that my opinion is unwanted and unwelcome to anyone who may read it. I will use the word of the day to jot down a mini-story about something if I can’t think of anything better. And I will shut off the damned tv more often so I can better manage my free time and actually create the space in which to write. Stay tuned.
2) I WILL GET A BETTER JOB! Status Update: Big ‘ol checkmark!
I’ve written about my new job before now so you know what a welcome change it was. It is, a month in, lacking the luster it originally had when I first started but still the happiest I’ve been at work in many, many years. The actual work has not renewed a passion for my profession, but I didn’t really allow myself to hope for that. The level of paperwork and rapidity with which it must get done is definitely stressful. There are some days when I have a hard time remaining calm and professional in the face of straightforward craziness from clients.
BUT, I still love my office, I still thoroughly enjoy eating lunch with my coworkers who I still like and respect and I still love the general atmosphere of my company. (They had an employee health fair a couple of weeks ago where I got a free massage, metabolism boosting smoothie and a buttload of free gifts from local vendors. I’ve NEVER worked at a company that cared enough about its employees to do stuff like that. That, in and off itself, makes this the best job I’ve had in my adult life.)
So, although I still feel like long –term I would be better off finding a new profession, I’m not in any rush to jump ship on what is a damned good job, all things considered. And there hasn’t been a single second where I regreted quitting my last one, regardless of how seemingly irresponsible it was to do so at the time.
3) I WILL FINISH MY NOVEL. Status Update: Uh, yeah… No.
Boy, I hate that I have absolutely no progress to report on this one. The guilt and the self hatred and all those other emotions still linger so close to the surface when I’m not consciously working on being grounded and present. BUT, as I said, self acceptance is taking a higher precedence than writing right now, so I refuse to beat myself up for this. It is June, yes. But it is just June- not December. I have time yet. And, I have an idea as to how I might get a jump start on achieving this goal.
NaNoWriMo is hosting a summer-themed “Camp NaNoWriMo” this summer, I believe in August. The website isn’t up yet but they’re currently hosting a fund-raising drive to gather the necessary monetary funds to power the site and once the collections are complete more info is supposed to start hitting my inbox. (BTW, if you want Camp NaNoWriMo to come into existence you can help them towards this goal by going here.)
Now, one of the rules of NaNoWriMo is that you don’t use a novel you’ve already started because it will ruin your ability to write with abandon. They say you’ll be too attached to the characters and too committed to the pre-existing plot outline to have fun throwing caution to the wind and just letting it go. Well, at the risk of being banned from the club of hard-core NaNo enthusiasts I’m going to try it anyway. If it blows up in my face then purists who wouldn’t dare deviate from the rules can laugh at me. But I think it’ll work, or at least give me the best shot I can get, and I’m gonna try it. Stay tuned.
4) I WILL TRAIN, TEST AND BE AWARDED 2nd DAN IN TUNG SOO DO! Status Update: Tick-tock.
My 2nd Dan test is little more than two weeks away. Two weeks!!! And oh, the butterflies that erupt in my stomach when I think about it. Have I been running? Yes, but not nearly as often as I planned to. Have I been training? Yes, and overall I’d say I’ve done pretty well in terms of getting to every class I reasonably could (save for Thursdays). Have I been doing all the exercises I could and should to best prepare myself for this? No, definitely not.
BUT, in spite of my less-than-perfect training schedule to this point I remain confident that I will do well on this test. Why? Because failure simply isn’t an option. In my mind where I’ve been consciously working on controlling my normally out-of-control thoughts I have noticed distinct changes in terms of how I approach karate.
Like when I have two boards in front of me that I must break for the test, and I keep failing to break those boards with my double front and my mind kicks in with those millions of self-hating thoughts about how my lack of ability to do this signifies a failure of monumental proportions in terms of my overall existence. I have, thanks to the work I’ve been doing, been able to shut up that voice, tap into my heart which believes in me, and try again. And if I don’t make it, I nurture the belief that I will be able to if I keep trying. In the past, those self-hating thoughts would dominate, I would freak out, and become so panicked inside that I wouldn’t even be able to take another shot. Now? Now I feel a calm inside, and I hear a voice telling me that I CAN do this. Now I KNOW, deep down in my gut, that I will do well on this test. Cause I believe in myself in a way that I haven’t ever before. Stay tuned.
5) I WILL GROW. Status Update: Yes!!! Yes, I have, and I am and I will most definitely continue to.
Seeing as I’ve already been writing so much on this topic I won’t take up any more of the page going into details I’ve already discussed. But I will say that I feel confident, for the first time in my entire life, that this new path that I’m on can lead me to where I want to be if I continue to work on it. I believe in my core that I WILL become a better person. One who genuinely loves themselves, handles stress and the crap that life throws at us with resolve rather than panic, and who changes in positive ways from this work. And I can honestly say that I’ve already seen more growth in myself, just in these past few months, than I’ve seen in years. So yes, I’m putting a big check-mark on this even though I’m still in the process. Cause, technically, I always will be.
1) 211 IN 2011! Status Update: Still a long way to go.
I started out doing pretty well on this goal. There were a variety of reasons for that. In January and February I was so disgusted with my job that I honestly didn’t care about getting much work done, so I spent a decent amount of time writing stories for the blog rather than, you know, working. I have to say, reading that last sentence is pretty harsh cause I’m not big on slacking off at work, in general. My work ethic is closer to the strong end of the spectrum than the weak one and I can’t do much non-work related activities at work without feeling guilty. So I still feel pretty guilty for the slacking I did.
Ahem, at any rate, after I left the job from hell I had my epiphany and that brought a new focus to the foreground. That new focus, as you know, is self acceptance. Now, you may wonder why a focus on self acceptance would prevent me from writing rather than encourage me to write. I’ll explain.
Writing, in spite of my grandiose dreams, sometimes half-way decent ideas and incredibly rare successful executions is still, for the most part, an exercise in torture for me. I still agonize over how far the finished product is from what I envisioned it to be. I still beat myself up mercilessly when the story doesn’t flow like I wanted. I still analyze and critique my productions so harshly that I often feel like I’ve been kicked around by Chuck Norris. Needless to say, hating myself for my failings as a writer and loving myself unconditionally are sort-of at odds with each other.
So, rather than allow my normal self destruction to force me to write more I’ve been working on accepting NOT writing. Working on having it be enough to just go to work, do my job, come home and take care of my dog and get to whatever my after work activity is for the day (like karate). Working on not concluding that I am useless if I don’t write something for the day. Working on not panicking, not stressing myself, not feeling crappy all the time (all emotions that tend to accompany writing, for me.) And just working on having it be ok for me to be whatever I am without the pressure of being a writer.
Now, I’m still writing so obviously I haven’t given up on it yet. In fact, I am hopeful that as I get better at this whole self acceptance thing writing will become a less torturous process. Others have suggested that if I get better at being calm, centered and loving of myself I may even unlock a capacity in my brain far greater than what I’ve been able to utilize thus far. That, without the restraints of the static-y, white-noise thoughts that almost constantly clog my usual level of thinking I will be able to unlock an ability for creative thinking that I’ve never experienced thus far.
I find that idea pretty damned exciting. I’m not there yet, obviously. I’m no where even close. But I’d like to think that’s where I’m headed as I get better at quieting my thoughts and listening to ideas that come from an integration of heart and mind.
In the mean time, I will work on writing with as little restraint as I can manage. I will work on accepting ideas and just getting them out rather than shooting them down before they’ve even started to germinate. I will allow myself to write non-fiction without concluding that my opinion is unwanted and unwelcome to anyone who may read it. I will use the word of the day to jot down a mini-story about something if I can’t think of anything better. And I will shut off the damned tv more often so I can better manage my free time and actually create the space in which to write. Stay tuned.
2) I WILL GET A BETTER JOB! Status Update: Big ‘ol checkmark!
I’ve written about my new job before now so you know what a welcome change it was. It is, a month in, lacking the luster it originally had when I first started but still the happiest I’ve been at work in many, many years. The actual work has not renewed a passion for my profession, but I didn’t really allow myself to hope for that. The level of paperwork and rapidity with which it must get done is definitely stressful. There are some days when I have a hard time remaining calm and professional in the face of straightforward craziness from clients.
BUT, I still love my office, I still thoroughly enjoy eating lunch with my coworkers who I still like and respect and I still love the general atmosphere of my company. (They had an employee health fair a couple of weeks ago where I got a free massage, metabolism boosting smoothie and a buttload of free gifts from local vendors. I’ve NEVER worked at a company that cared enough about its employees to do stuff like that. That, in and off itself, makes this the best job I’ve had in my adult life.)
So, although I still feel like long –term I would be better off finding a new profession, I’m not in any rush to jump ship on what is a damned good job, all things considered. And there hasn’t been a single second where I regreted quitting my last one, regardless of how seemingly irresponsible it was to do so at the time.
3) I WILL FINISH MY NOVEL. Status Update: Uh, yeah… No.
Boy, I hate that I have absolutely no progress to report on this one. The guilt and the self hatred and all those other emotions still linger so close to the surface when I’m not consciously working on being grounded and present. BUT, as I said, self acceptance is taking a higher precedence than writing right now, so I refuse to beat myself up for this. It is June, yes. But it is just June- not December. I have time yet. And, I have an idea as to how I might get a jump start on achieving this goal.
NaNoWriMo is hosting a summer-themed “Camp NaNoWriMo” this summer, I believe in August. The website isn’t up yet but they’re currently hosting a fund-raising drive to gather the necessary monetary funds to power the site and once the collections are complete more info is supposed to start hitting my inbox. (BTW, if you want Camp NaNoWriMo to come into existence you can help them towards this goal by going here.)
Now, one of the rules of NaNoWriMo is that you don’t use a novel you’ve already started because it will ruin your ability to write with abandon. They say you’ll be too attached to the characters and too committed to the pre-existing plot outline to have fun throwing caution to the wind and just letting it go. Well, at the risk of being banned from the club of hard-core NaNo enthusiasts I’m going to try it anyway. If it blows up in my face then purists who wouldn’t dare deviate from the rules can laugh at me. But I think it’ll work, or at least give me the best shot I can get, and I’m gonna try it. Stay tuned.
4) I WILL TRAIN, TEST AND BE AWARDED 2nd DAN IN TUNG SOO DO! Status Update: Tick-tock.
My 2nd Dan test is little more than two weeks away. Two weeks!!! And oh, the butterflies that erupt in my stomach when I think about it. Have I been running? Yes, but not nearly as often as I planned to. Have I been training? Yes, and overall I’d say I’ve done pretty well in terms of getting to every class I reasonably could (save for Thursdays). Have I been doing all the exercises I could and should to best prepare myself for this? No, definitely not.
BUT, in spite of my less-than-perfect training schedule to this point I remain confident that I will do well on this test. Why? Because failure simply isn’t an option. In my mind where I’ve been consciously working on controlling my normally out-of-control thoughts I have noticed distinct changes in terms of how I approach karate.
Like when I have two boards in front of me that I must break for the test, and I keep failing to break those boards with my double front and my mind kicks in with those millions of self-hating thoughts about how my lack of ability to do this signifies a failure of monumental proportions in terms of my overall existence. I have, thanks to the work I’ve been doing, been able to shut up that voice, tap into my heart which believes in me, and try again. And if I don’t make it, I nurture the belief that I will be able to if I keep trying. In the past, those self-hating thoughts would dominate, I would freak out, and become so panicked inside that I wouldn’t even be able to take another shot. Now? Now I feel a calm inside, and I hear a voice telling me that I CAN do this. Now I KNOW, deep down in my gut, that I will do well on this test. Cause I believe in myself in a way that I haven’t ever before. Stay tuned.
5) I WILL GROW. Status Update: Yes!!! Yes, I have, and I am and I will most definitely continue to.
Seeing as I’ve already been writing so much on this topic I won’t take up any more of the page going into details I’ve already discussed. But I will say that I feel confident, for the first time in my entire life, that this new path that I’m on can lead me to where I want to be if I continue to work on it. I believe in my core that I WILL become a better person. One who genuinely loves themselves, handles stress and the crap that life throws at us with resolve rather than panic, and who changes in positive ways from this work. And I can honestly say that I’ve already seen more growth in myself, just in these past few months, than I’ve seen in years. So yes, I’m putting a big check-mark on this even though I’m still in the process. Cause, technically, I always will be.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
What My Dog Has to Teach Me About Inner Peace
I’m pretty sure my dog has no concept of time. Well, maybe a tiny, tiny concept of time. He doesn’t whimper as if he’ll never see me again when I leave now and he used to. So I think some sort of “She’ll come back” has emerged in his little brain, but that’s about it. For the most part, there is no linear sequence for him as there is for us.
Because of this, he is immune to the number one thing that prevents us humans from being able to live in the moment: the focus on past and future. For him there is no past and there is no future. He doesn’t worry about what happened or what will happen next. He doesn’t fear what’s coming up the pike. He doesn’t sit around thinking about how his life has gone and whether or not that meets his expectations. He doesn’t wonder what he might be like if he were a bulldog rather than a poodle. None of that exists to him.
For him, if something good is going on, it’s the best thing ever! Seriously- ever! And if something bad is going on, again, it’s the worst thing ever. But the up side of that? Guess how long he’s going to be bothered about it? For a few milli seconds.
If he gets reprimanded with a stern “No!” and a return to his pen for tearing something up or making a mess, it is, as I said, the worst thing that has ever happened- for about 2 seconds. Then something smells interesting or he spots the toy sitting over there and goes to play with it or just snuggles up on that smelly t-shirt and all is right with the world again. He doesn’t berate himself for he what he did wrong, he doesn’t conclud that he’s an idiot for making a mistake, he doesn’t even feel guilty- he just moves on with his life, free of any of the negative emotions that tend to plague us humans.
For him all that exists, all the matters, is right now. Every moment is lived to the fullest because that’s all there is. It’s all instinct and natural reactions. He can’t lie, he can’t pretend, he can’t over dramatize. It is what it is, literally.
I’m not saying he has no memory because slowly but surely he’s learning what we’re training him to do. But he certainly has no lingering emotions in reaction to what he does, he’s just not built that way. Life is life- not good or bad or anything other what it is at this particular moment in time. There’s no longing for better days or wondering where he’ll end up, there's just now.
And me, the one who does get lost in the past or future, who worries and frets and fears, who wonders what will be- I am student to this little, fluffy guru. As I sit lost in thought he comes over and reminds me “It’s play time now!” And then I am in his world- there is nothing more than excitement over fetching the ball or chewing on the stick. He reminds it’s a time for a walk and I am outside, listening to the wind in the leaves, feeling the heat of the sun on my back, remembering that the world is so much bigger than the space that I occupy. He snuggles on my lap and that’s all I need. Whatever is wrong with the world, I have my puppy and his happiness is absolute and it fixes my mood, however poor it may be.
From me he gets food and treats and toys. He learns sit and down and stay. He gets snuggles and play time and attention. But from him I get so much more. I get little tiny glimses of life right now, free of all the ways we humans like to ruin that. Dogs are freakin awesome.
Because of this, he is immune to the number one thing that prevents us humans from being able to live in the moment: the focus on past and future. For him there is no past and there is no future. He doesn’t worry about what happened or what will happen next. He doesn’t fear what’s coming up the pike. He doesn’t sit around thinking about how his life has gone and whether or not that meets his expectations. He doesn’t wonder what he might be like if he were a bulldog rather than a poodle. None of that exists to him.
For him, if something good is going on, it’s the best thing ever! Seriously- ever! And if something bad is going on, again, it’s the worst thing ever. But the up side of that? Guess how long he’s going to be bothered about it? For a few milli seconds.
If he gets reprimanded with a stern “No!” and a return to his pen for tearing something up or making a mess, it is, as I said, the worst thing that has ever happened- for about 2 seconds. Then something smells interesting or he spots the toy sitting over there and goes to play with it or just snuggles up on that smelly t-shirt and all is right with the world again. He doesn’t berate himself for he what he did wrong, he doesn’t conclud that he’s an idiot for making a mistake, he doesn’t even feel guilty- he just moves on with his life, free of any of the negative emotions that tend to plague us humans.
For him all that exists, all the matters, is right now. Every moment is lived to the fullest because that’s all there is. It’s all instinct and natural reactions. He can’t lie, he can’t pretend, he can’t over dramatize. It is what it is, literally.
I’m not saying he has no memory because slowly but surely he’s learning what we’re training him to do. But he certainly has no lingering emotions in reaction to what he does, he’s just not built that way. Life is life- not good or bad or anything other what it is at this particular moment in time. There’s no longing for better days or wondering where he’ll end up, there's just now.
And me, the one who does get lost in the past or future, who worries and frets and fears, who wonders what will be- I am student to this little, fluffy guru. As I sit lost in thought he comes over and reminds me “It’s play time now!” And then I am in his world- there is nothing more than excitement over fetching the ball or chewing on the stick. He reminds it’s a time for a walk and I am outside, listening to the wind in the leaves, feeling the heat of the sun on my back, remembering that the world is so much bigger than the space that I occupy. He snuggles on my lap and that’s all I need. Whatever is wrong with the world, I have my puppy and his happiness is absolute and it fixes my mood, however poor it may be.
From me he gets food and treats and toys. He learns sit and down and stay. He gets snuggles and play time and attention. But from him I get so much more. I get little tiny glimses of life right now, free of all the ways we humans like to ruin that. Dogs are freakin awesome.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Buddy in the Park
We took Buddy for a walk in Valley Forge park today. It’s something I’ve wanted to do since long before we got him, having seen countless people happily walking their dogs along the path every time I drive through there.
Buddy, as always, was crazy excited- bouncing around like a wind-up toy and sniffing everything with the fascination of a two year old. He loved the long grasses on the side of the path a little too much and we had to keep reining him in for fear of ticks and whatnot. Needless to say, we didn’t get to cover much distance.
We had just rounded a curve in the path when we heard a very loud, very deliberate screech of brakes on a bike tire- the kind of thing you hear when someone is trying to hurriedly come to a stop to avoid hitting something. We looked up to see what had happened.
A young woman was running- running over to us, removing her bike helmet as she came. She only had eyes for Buddy.
“Oh my god! He is the cutest- what kind of Dog is this? Oh my god!” she said, bent over to look at him.
We rushed to give his usual introduction: “This is Buddy, he’s a toy poodle.”
Buddy gave his usual greeting: bouncing around and making quick, short sounds with his open mouth and wildly flailing tongue- the sound that is not a bark or growl or any other distinguishable noise.
“Hi Buddy!” she cooed at him. “Can I pet him?” she asked without stopping to see if it was ok. We were fine with it anyway, we wanted to test out our training, see if he could behave appropriately when greeted by strangers.
She pet him, cooed at him, marveled at him as he jumped up and down in front of her like a spring. We just stood and watched, amazing at how excited she was. She might have been more excited than he was, actually.
The power of Buddy: stopping people dead in their tracks!
Buddy, as always, was crazy excited- bouncing around like a wind-up toy and sniffing everything with the fascination of a two year old. He loved the long grasses on the side of the path a little too much and we had to keep reining him in for fear of ticks and whatnot. Needless to say, we didn’t get to cover much distance.
We had just rounded a curve in the path when we heard a very loud, very deliberate screech of brakes on a bike tire- the kind of thing you hear when someone is trying to hurriedly come to a stop to avoid hitting something. We looked up to see what had happened.
A young woman was running- running over to us, removing her bike helmet as she came. She only had eyes for Buddy.
“Oh my god! He is the cutest- what kind of Dog is this? Oh my god!” she said, bent over to look at him.
We rushed to give his usual introduction: “This is Buddy, he’s a toy poodle.”
Buddy gave his usual greeting: bouncing around and making quick, short sounds with his open mouth and wildly flailing tongue- the sound that is not a bark or growl or any other distinguishable noise.
“Hi Buddy!” she cooed at him. “Can I pet him?” she asked without stopping to see if it was ok. We were fine with it anyway, we wanted to test out our training, see if he could behave appropriately when greeted by strangers.
She pet him, cooed at him, marveled at him as he jumped up and down in front of her like a spring. We just stood and watched, amazing at how excited she was. She might have been more excited than he was, actually.
The power of Buddy: stopping people dead in their tracks!
Friday, May 27, 2011
Wash it Off
Irked. Irritated. Angry. Sometimes hurt. These are all emotions that tend to rub off on me. I’m not an empath. I don’t pick up and embody every emotion that I come in contact with. But I think it’s literally impossible for any human being not to pick up on these little snippets of emotion that constantly float around the surface of a person like shedding skin cells.
If you’re a barber, you will inevitable find yourself covered with teeny tiny little lengths of hair all over and nothing but a good, thorough shower is going to wash that off. If you’re a nurse and you spend all day cleaning up all manner of bodily fluids you will inevitably be in need of a good scrub when you get home. And when you do what I do it is literally impossible not to find little pieces of someone else’s emotions lurking on the surface of you.
On good days, when you’re focused and grounded you notice the build up. You can actually feel yourself slipping into a state of dudgeon as the little bits and pieces of strong emotion build up. But on bad days, when you’re distracted or tired or just physically feel icky, you tend not to notice until you succumb to a full blown hissy fit.
And then, after the heart has slowed and the breaths deepen and you re-gain your bearings you start to wonder “what was that all about?”. And then you remember- “Oh yeah, these aren’t my emotions.”
If you’re a barber, you will inevitable find yourself covered with teeny tiny little lengths of hair all over and nothing but a good, thorough shower is going to wash that off. If you’re a nurse and you spend all day cleaning up all manner of bodily fluids you will inevitably be in need of a good scrub when you get home. And when you do what I do it is literally impossible not to find little pieces of someone else’s emotions lurking on the surface of you.
On good days, when you’re focused and grounded you notice the build up. You can actually feel yourself slipping into a state of dudgeon as the little bits and pieces of strong emotion build up. But on bad days, when you’re distracted or tired or just physically feel icky, you tend not to notice until you succumb to a full blown hissy fit.
And then, after the heart has slowed and the breaths deepen and you re-gain your bearings you start to wonder “what was that all about?”. And then you remember- “Oh yeah, these aren’t my emotions.”
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Sojourn in the City
You know that feeling that you get when you really, really have to pee and then do but your bladder’s been so full for so long that afterwards you still feel like you have to pee? Well that’s how I felt when I left my ashram.
I’d let go of so much while I was there, done so much personal investigation, released so much anger, shame, remorse and doubt and unloaded so much spiritual crap that even after I was ‘ready’ I still felt like I needed more time. I was advised that this was a common feeling and that the real work, the real change would come day by day as I practiced what I’d learned ‘in real life’. I trusted my teachers and advisors enough not to question this, so I dove back into ‘real life’ with all the trepidation that would come.
I figured I couldn’t get anymore ‘real life’ than New York city. With so many people so involved in their own worlds and so much energy bouncing around I figured it’d be like placing myself in the core of a nuclear reactor and trying to remain still. Best to test my mettle when I was still fresh from the retreat and hone my abilities for real world application. At least, that was my thought.
I did pretty well in the beginning, in spite of everything. I sat in my tiny studio apartment with the sounds of the sirens blaring and the abusive father next door screaming at his kids and the constantly broken radiator clunking away and I focused on controlling my breath and calming my mind.
I sat on the crowded subway being jostled and shoved and stepped on and I imagined waves of loving kindness radiating out from me and touching everyone. I practiced my Metta and imagined myself as the stone that drops in the water that sends the ripples through the surface.
I even walked down the crowded street and practiced my Karuṇā, imagining myself sinking in and becoming one with the flow of the crowd and passing on my state to all those walking the same path. I was the food coloring in the bowl of water that changes the color of the mass and my color was completely free from ill will.
But, the city was strong and I was new at this whole transcendence thing. It was a natural erosion, an inevitable weathering in the storm. And day by day, little by little, I felt my peace wear away.
It was so subtle that, had I not been mediating so much, I wouldn’t have noticed. But it builds gradually- the slight, split-second of annoyance turns into a minute of anger. The weariness of the day turns into exhaustion. The abundant flow of energy begins to run dry.
And so, I made a decision with all the intentions of acceptance I could muster. I bought a pair of ear plugs. And I have to say, although spiritual peace may be nirvana, man-made silence is pretty damned nice, too.
I’d let go of so much while I was there, done so much personal investigation, released so much anger, shame, remorse and doubt and unloaded so much spiritual crap that even after I was ‘ready’ I still felt like I needed more time. I was advised that this was a common feeling and that the real work, the real change would come day by day as I practiced what I’d learned ‘in real life’. I trusted my teachers and advisors enough not to question this, so I dove back into ‘real life’ with all the trepidation that would come.
I figured I couldn’t get anymore ‘real life’ than New York city. With so many people so involved in their own worlds and so much energy bouncing around I figured it’d be like placing myself in the core of a nuclear reactor and trying to remain still. Best to test my mettle when I was still fresh from the retreat and hone my abilities for real world application. At least, that was my thought.
I did pretty well in the beginning, in spite of everything. I sat in my tiny studio apartment with the sounds of the sirens blaring and the abusive father next door screaming at his kids and the constantly broken radiator clunking away and I focused on controlling my breath and calming my mind.
I sat on the crowded subway being jostled and shoved and stepped on and I imagined waves of loving kindness radiating out from me and touching everyone. I practiced my Metta and imagined myself as the stone that drops in the water that sends the ripples through the surface.
I even walked down the crowded street and practiced my Karuṇā, imagining myself sinking in and becoming one with the flow of the crowd and passing on my state to all those walking the same path. I was the food coloring in the bowl of water that changes the color of the mass and my color was completely free from ill will.
But, the city was strong and I was new at this whole transcendence thing. It was a natural erosion, an inevitable weathering in the storm. And day by day, little by little, I felt my peace wear away.
It was so subtle that, had I not been mediating so much, I wouldn’t have noticed. But it builds gradually- the slight, split-second of annoyance turns into a minute of anger. The weariness of the day turns into exhaustion. The abundant flow of energy begins to run dry.
And so, I made a decision with all the intentions of acceptance I could muster. I bought a pair of ear plugs. And I have to say, although spiritual peace may be nirvana, man-made silence is pretty damned nice, too.
Monday, May 23, 2011
The House on Hubert St.
Jacob was pissed. He was beyond pissed. He was so angry that he could have burned down the old brown house with dingy white shutters and perpetually broken gutters on Hubert St. using nothing but the anger in his own mind, except that he wasn’t telepathic. But if he had been, he would have totally done it.
Because then he wouldn’t have to stay there for a week while his mom abandoned him to go nurse his stupid aunt back to health who nearly burned up in the fire she caused by passing out with a lit cigarette in her mouth for the third time in as many years and who was so perpetually helpless that there wasn’t a single week that went by without a panicked phone call about whatever man in her life had screwed her over this time or what mysterious new physical ailment she’d developed because she was forever cursed by the barrage of crap that life insisted upon raining down on her.
Jacob saw the pointlessness of it and he was only 13. Why his mother insisted on continuously running to the rescue of this woman who kept her constantly on edge he couldn’t tell you. And as if inviting him along was any consolation for having to constantly deal with this. Really? Like he would purposely choose to go deal with that?
So he was left to decide his punishment and he had to choose to spend the week at the awful house on Hubert street. The one that smelled like rotten beets and was always stifling hot because its owner didn’t believe in air conditioning. The one with more cobwebs on the high bookshelves and the corners of the walls than any haunted house advertised at Halloween time. The one with so many old newspapers stacked up against the walls that hallways were near impassable in some areas. The one where the only person angrier than him lived.
As he stared out the window at the increasingly rural landscape he found himself sending out waves of hatred to everything. He wasn’t discriminatory in his rage, he hated it all. He hated that broken fence lining the horse farm where he’d never once seen a horse running in the field. He hated the fog sprawling out across the sky and he hated the sky for picking today to start dumping rain on everything in sight. He hated that pothole that made his mom curse every single time she ran over it and which had been there for as many years as he could remember. He hated his mom more for not remembering that it was there.
And when they finally pulled up to the house he hated it more than he’d ever hated it before. He hated the dead brown leaves under the maple tree which were slowly deteriorating into mush. He hated the wheel-less garbage can in the driveway which his mom would make him drag back to its spot next to the garage. He hated the creepy one-eyed cat who looked at him as if it were plotting new and more devious ways to end his life whenever it glanced at him. And he really hated the old man standing in the doorway with bushy sideburns, an abnormally large mustache and spittle perpetually resting in the corners of his mouth.
“Hey dad,” his mom said as she stepped up the creaky wooden steps carrying his bag, “I’m sorry I have to drop him and run but-“
“No, no- I know how it is. Your sister’s in distress, don’t worry about me- it’s not like I’m doing you a favor by feeding and caring for your son. I don’t need you to pretend to visit before you jet off.”
“Dad, I-“
“No- don’t apologize. You have to go, you have to go- I understand. Jacob and I will just sit down and wait for you to return. We’ll sit right here on this porch watching for your car to pull back up like a dog who’s sole purpose in existence is to please his master, that’s what we’ll do.”
Jacob made it a point to roll his eyes using his whole body so as to make the gesture impossible for anyone to miss. His mom just smiled at her father, gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek and whispered something Jacob couldn’t hear in his ear. For his part, grandpa made a gruff “humph” sound with his exhale.
“I will be back as soon as I can,” his mom said, leaning to bestow a kiss on his cheek. Jacob shied away from her, looking out over the porch. She ignored this gesture and grabbed him for a hug. Jacob stood there, arms limp at his sides, body stiff and unrelenting. His mom just squeezed harder, whispered an “I love you” into his ear, pecked him on the cheek and let go, dashing for the car with a wave back at them.
Jacob and his grandfather stood there on the porch, watching her wave as she drove off, looking very much like the dejected dogs his grandfather had compared them to. And mixed in with the hatred Jacob felt a ping of something else, something he wouldn’t understand until much later in life.
“Well, lets not stand here gathering moss,” his grandfather said turning to open the door inside. “Let’s feed you something, you must be starving after the drive. I made you your favorite hot dogs.”
Jacob went in through the proffered opening, mumbling under his breath. His grandfather somehow managed to make the soggiest, most pathetic and grandfatherly hot dogs on the planet but Jacob had given up on telling him this as every time he’d attempted to tell his grandfather that hotdogs hadn’t been his favorite food since he was five the old man’s memory had failed him.
The old man watched his grandson walking down the hallway, shrugging his huge book bag further up on his back and mumbling and smiled.
Because then he wouldn’t have to stay there for a week while his mom abandoned him to go nurse his stupid aunt back to health who nearly burned up in the fire she caused by passing out with a lit cigarette in her mouth for the third time in as many years and who was so perpetually helpless that there wasn’t a single week that went by without a panicked phone call about whatever man in her life had screwed her over this time or what mysterious new physical ailment she’d developed because she was forever cursed by the barrage of crap that life insisted upon raining down on her.
Jacob saw the pointlessness of it and he was only 13. Why his mother insisted on continuously running to the rescue of this woman who kept her constantly on edge he couldn’t tell you. And as if inviting him along was any consolation for having to constantly deal with this. Really? Like he would purposely choose to go deal with that?
So he was left to decide his punishment and he had to choose to spend the week at the awful house on Hubert street. The one that smelled like rotten beets and was always stifling hot because its owner didn’t believe in air conditioning. The one with more cobwebs on the high bookshelves and the corners of the walls than any haunted house advertised at Halloween time. The one with so many old newspapers stacked up against the walls that hallways were near impassable in some areas. The one where the only person angrier than him lived.
As he stared out the window at the increasingly rural landscape he found himself sending out waves of hatred to everything. He wasn’t discriminatory in his rage, he hated it all. He hated that broken fence lining the horse farm where he’d never once seen a horse running in the field. He hated the fog sprawling out across the sky and he hated the sky for picking today to start dumping rain on everything in sight. He hated that pothole that made his mom curse every single time she ran over it and which had been there for as many years as he could remember. He hated his mom more for not remembering that it was there.
And when they finally pulled up to the house he hated it more than he’d ever hated it before. He hated the dead brown leaves under the maple tree which were slowly deteriorating into mush. He hated the wheel-less garbage can in the driveway which his mom would make him drag back to its spot next to the garage. He hated the creepy one-eyed cat who looked at him as if it were plotting new and more devious ways to end his life whenever it glanced at him. And he really hated the old man standing in the doorway with bushy sideburns, an abnormally large mustache and spittle perpetually resting in the corners of his mouth.
“Hey dad,” his mom said as she stepped up the creaky wooden steps carrying his bag, “I’m sorry I have to drop him and run but-“
“No, no- I know how it is. Your sister’s in distress, don’t worry about me- it’s not like I’m doing you a favor by feeding and caring for your son. I don’t need you to pretend to visit before you jet off.”
“Dad, I-“
“No- don’t apologize. You have to go, you have to go- I understand. Jacob and I will just sit down and wait for you to return. We’ll sit right here on this porch watching for your car to pull back up like a dog who’s sole purpose in existence is to please his master, that’s what we’ll do.”
Jacob made it a point to roll his eyes using his whole body so as to make the gesture impossible for anyone to miss. His mom just smiled at her father, gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek and whispered something Jacob couldn’t hear in his ear. For his part, grandpa made a gruff “humph” sound with his exhale.
“I will be back as soon as I can,” his mom said, leaning to bestow a kiss on his cheek. Jacob shied away from her, looking out over the porch. She ignored this gesture and grabbed him for a hug. Jacob stood there, arms limp at his sides, body stiff and unrelenting. His mom just squeezed harder, whispered an “I love you” into his ear, pecked him on the cheek and let go, dashing for the car with a wave back at them.
Jacob and his grandfather stood there on the porch, watching her wave as she drove off, looking very much like the dejected dogs his grandfather had compared them to. And mixed in with the hatred Jacob felt a ping of something else, something he wouldn’t understand until much later in life.
“Well, lets not stand here gathering moss,” his grandfather said turning to open the door inside. “Let’s feed you something, you must be starving after the drive. I made you your favorite hot dogs.”
Jacob went in through the proffered opening, mumbling under his breath. His grandfather somehow managed to make the soggiest, most pathetic and grandfatherly hot dogs on the planet but Jacob had given up on telling him this as every time he’d attempted to tell his grandfather that hotdogs hadn’t been his favorite food since he was five the old man’s memory had failed him.
The old man watched his grandson walking down the hallway, shrugging his huge book bag further up on his back and mumbling and smiled.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Buddy Vs. The Front Step
Buddy is a toy poodle. For those of you who don't know the breed, they are very small. The place you seem most likely to see them nowadays is in the oversized purse of a young fashionista. As I am not aware of fashion I don't carry Buddy around in a purse, I take him for walks.
There is one big obstacle to this: the front step to our house. It’s about- a foot, maybe? Maybe even 14 inches? Not that tall for humans- but very, very tall to tiny little dogs like Buddy. At first he couldn’t even get up on his own- he would sit on the ground and whimper to be lifted up over this giant obstacle. We, being concerned dog parents, eagerly complied.
Over time, however, Buddy has grown. He has gotten bigger, taller, and more capable of getting up this step. So we started to suspect that the whimpering wasn’t so much for assistance as for attention. Not wanting to coddle him more than we already do we didn’t lift him but simply gave him a boost with our foot. Then eventually we didn’t do anything, but simply called him. He would jump, pull himself up, and mount that terribly tall step all by himself.
It took about one repetition of this for Buddy to get confident. Instead of carefully stepping down from or jumping back up the front step he started taking flying leaps off of it and flying leaps up. It’s quite a site to see- Buddy doing a miniature superman pose off the step.
There’s only one problem: Buddy is a giant klutz. The dog can lose his footing hoping over a sock let a lone a 14 inch step. So immediately upon starting the flying leaps, he started the giant crashes. He would get a running start towards the step, jump, and land face first against the step. You know those cartoons where the character will run head-on into a wall and land with their arms and legs splayed out? Yeah, he looks like that.
Just about every day there’s a new scene for us to behold as he makes his leap. He’ll land half way up the step, flail and fall backwards. He’ll land sideways on the step and flop over on his side. The best one I’ve seen yet: he took a running leap off the step, turned in mid air- and landed directly on his back! I have no idea how he managed that particular feat, but I know the laughter nearly killed me.
I know eventually he’ll get over the novelty of the step and just step down like it’s nothing. But for now it’s about the funniest damned thing I’ve ever seen.
There is one big obstacle to this: the front step to our house. It’s about- a foot, maybe? Maybe even 14 inches? Not that tall for humans- but very, very tall to tiny little dogs like Buddy. At first he couldn’t even get up on his own- he would sit on the ground and whimper to be lifted up over this giant obstacle. We, being concerned dog parents, eagerly complied.
Over time, however, Buddy has grown. He has gotten bigger, taller, and more capable of getting up this step. So we started to suspect that the whimpering wasn’t so much for assistance as for attention. Not wanting to coddle him more than we already do we didn’t lift him but simply gave him a boost with our foot. Then eventually we didn’t do anything, but simply called him. He would jump, pull himself up, and mount that terribly tall step all by himself.
It took about one repetition of this for Buddy to get confident. Instead of carefully stepping down from or jumping back up the front step he started taking flying leaps off of it and flying leaps up. It’s quite a site to see- Buddy doing a miniature superman pose off the step.
There’s only one problem: Buddy is a giant klutz. The dog can lose his footing hoping over a sock let a lone a 14 inch step. So immediately upon starting the flying leaps, he started the giant crashes. He would get a running start towards the step, jump, and land face first against the step. You know those cartoons where the character will run head-on into a wall and land with their arms and legs splayed out? Yeah, he looks like that.
Just about every day there’s a new scene for us to behold as he makes his leap. He’ll land half way up the step, flail and fall backwards. He’ll land sideways on the step and flop over on his side. The best one I’ve seen yet: he took a running leap off the step, turned in mid air- and landed directly on his back! I have no idea how he managed that particular feat, but I know the laughter nearly killed me.
I know eventually he’ll get over the novelty of the step and just step down like it’s nothing. But for now it’s about the funniest damned thing I’ve ever seen.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Buddy Goes for a Walk
When buddy first got home he was without any of the defenses one needs in order to go out into the big, bad world. So there were a couple of months where all of our walks were just in our backyard. Needless to say, when his vaccination series was finished and we took him out on his first walk we were pretty excited- but you should have seen him!
Oh the smells, the sights, the other dogs! His world suddenly got a whole a lot bigger. And we got verification that the insanity we’d experienced over just how damned adorable he is was not reserved to us.
We were on the street corner, Buddy sniffing and me standing, when I heard a woman’s voice exclaim “Oh my God!”
I turned to see a middle aged woman in business casual leaning over to the passengers side of her car with the window open. She was sitting with the car in idle, in the middle of the road.
“What kind of dog is that”? she asked excitedly. (This question, by the way, has become the trademark question for Buddy. I guess people need a way to categorize his cuteness.)
“He’s a toy poodle,” I said proudly, walking over so she could get a better look at him.
Buddy, as if on cue, started jumping and barking and going crazy like the attention whore he is. The lady’s jaw dropped open.
“Oh my god! That is- that’s the cutest dog I’ve ever seen!” she said, smiling widely. “What’s his name?”
“Buddy,” I said, feeling a little smug. This was the first time I’d seen anyone outside our little family melt so much over him. It wouldn’t be the last.
“Oh, Buddy!” she cooed. And sat there for a little while longer, the sheer force of Buddy’s adorableness pulling her into him like gravity. And then another car pulled onto the road behind her and stopped, someone stepping out to get his mail.
She didn’t seem to see them, just kept staring at Buddy. I looked over at the car behind her, trying to indicate that she might need to move. She looked back and saw them too, then reluctantly took her foot off the break.
“Oh, well- he is- he is just the cutest!” she said as she started to pull away.
“Say ‘thanks,’ Buddy,” I said, and waved at her.
The power of Buddy: holding up traffic.
Oh the smells, the sights, the other dogs! His world suddenly got a whole a lot bigger. And we got verification that the insanity we’d experienced over just how damned adorable he is was not reserved to us.
We were on the street corner, Buddy sniffing and me standing, when I heard a woman’s voice exclaim “Oh my God!”
I turned to see a middle aged woman in business casual leaning over to the passengers side of her car with the window open. She was sitting with the car in idle, in the middle of the road.
“What kind of dog is that”? she asked excitedly. (This question, by the way, has become the trademark question for Buddy. I guess people need a way to categorize his cuteness.)
“He’s a toy poodle,” I said proudly, walking over so she could get a better look at him.
Buddy, as if on cue, started jumping and barking and going crazy like the attention whore he is. The lady’s jaw dropped open.
“Oh my god! That is- that’s the cutest dog I’ve ever seen!” she said, smiling widely. “What’s his name?”
“Buddy,” I said, feeling a little smug. This was the first time I’d seen anyone outside our little family melt so much over him. It wouldn’t be the last.
“Oh, Buddy!” she cooed. And sat there for a little while longer, the sheer force of Buddy’s adorableness pulling her into him like gravity. And then another car pulled onto the road behind her and stopped, someone stepping out to get his mail.
She didn’t seem to see them, just kept staring at Buddy. I looked over at the car behind her, trying to indicate that she might need to move. She looked back and saw them too, then reluctantly took her foot off the break.
“Oh, well- he is- he is just the cutest!” she said as she started to pull away.
“Say ‘thanks,’ Buddy,” I said, and waved at her.
The power of Buddy: holding up traffic.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Signed
It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. But he couldn't not do it. He just couldn't.
He knew that he could have stayed home, filled everything out, shoved it in the envelope and gone to bed to watch Letterman. Then he would have gotten up the next morning and drove into work as if it had been just another Monday.
But he couldn't not do something. You don't end a chapter of your life that significant without marking the occasion. Even if it is a terrible occasion and you're marking it in a uselessly destructive way.
Perhaps, he thought, if he knew of a better way to handle it wouldn't be happening in the first place. Perhaps if he was smarter he'd still be living in a nice house in the suburbs rather than his crappy apartment where the hallway always reeked of Indian food and the elevator was always broken. Perhaps if he was calmer he’d be able to keep company with more than just his cat who always seemed like he was judging him, though in a decidedly feline way. Perhaps if he’d taken the time to seriously think about it before committing to something legally, rather than trusting his heart and chocking the whole thing up to emotional logic, he’d be a different man now.
But he didn’t and he wasn’t and now he had no choice but to pay the price. Now he would have this mark on his permanent life record, a sign that no matter what else he did, no matter what he might eventually accomplish, he started out with a truly juvenile mistake. Now, right now, he was sitting in this bar, and this Monday night, with this pen in his hand and this paper in front of him. It felt like it whole life had been boiled down to some legal jargon that he couldn’t really understand, although his lawyer had explained it to him.
He looked around the bar, at the other patrons sipping their beer and watching the game. He wondered how many of them had done what he was about to do. He was happy that the Yankees were playing, he could at least pretend that’s why he was there. But he imagined his true reasoning was evident when the rest of the bar jumped up in an excited wave cursing at the pitcher or yelling at the player who got out and he just looked up with a perplexed expression. No, he wasn’t fooling anyone. Then again, no one really cared, anyway.
He looked back down at the paper. It remained as unsigned as it had been for the past hour. He looked at the clock. It was getting late. He should be home by now, asleep with this behind him, consoling himself that life would go on and there’d be chances for new beginnings and growth and all that crap.
But he sat there, pen in hand, paralyzed. It felt like a physical block in his hand as if some insect had crept up on him, quietly and mildly, and injected some neurotoxin into his system. Like this poison had come from some outside source and struck him down in his youth, making him incapable to performing one simple act.
But he knew that wasn’t the case, this was his paralysis, he inflicted it upon himself. He’d jumped in feet first without checking to see if there rocks on the bottom and now he was stuck on the shore with night falling and his ca parked way up the hill. It would be a long climb with broken limbs and that scared him enough that he wasn’t willing to admit that he was there.
He down the last of his beer and slammed the mug down on the table. This was bullshit, he wasn’t this weak. It was just a simple signature, a movement of the hand in an automatic way. It would be done in a split second and he’d walk of the bar and move on with his life.
“Just. Sign. It.” He told himself.
And he moved his hand above the paper, fixed his wrist and touched his pen down. Nothing happened. He took a deep breath, tried again. His hand gripped tighter and the pen slipped right out of his grasp. He bent down under the table to get and banged his head hard on the way back up.
“Damn it!” he cursed. No one bothered to look his way, all busy in their own curses at the outfielder who’d just dropped the ball and fumbled what should have been the last out of the inning.
“This is what happens you feel sorry for yourself, asshole” he chastised himself. He stretched his fingers, straightened his back, and picked the pen back up. “Just sign it.”
He placed the pen on the paper, straightened his wrist, closed his eyes, and moved his hand. And that was it. He opened his eyes and looked down at the paper. It was so simple, so insignificant, just more paperwork to be filed. There was nothing of the life they’d had together, the memories they would never make, the people they’d become now that this was over. It was just another signature on a simple piece of paper. And now he like every other asshole around, was divorced.
He slid the paper into the envelop and sealed it, paid his tab and walked out to his car. He didn’t let himself think anymore, let the automatic pilot take over and steer him home. He sang along to the radio without any connection to the words and thought about what his cat might be doing when he got home. And just for a second, he began to think that it wasn’t so bad. But then he glanced at the envelop on the passengers seat and choked. No, it was going to be a while before he was ok.
He knew that he could have stayed home, filled everything out, shoved it in the envelope and gone to bed to watch Letterman. Then he would have gotten up the next morning and drove into work as if it had been just another Monday.
But he couldn't not do something. You don't end a chapter of your life that significant without marking the occasion. Even if it is a terrible occasion and you're marking it in a uselessly destructive way.
Perhaps, he thought, if he knew of a better way to handle it wouldn't be happening in the first place. Perhaps if he was smarter he'd still be living in a nice house in the suburbs rather than his crappy apartment where the hallway always reeked of Indian food and the elevator was always broken. Perhaps if he was calmer he’d be able to keep company with more than just his cat who always seemed like he was judging him, though in a decidedly feline way. Perhaps if he’d taken the time to seriously think about it before committing to something legally, rather than trusting his heart and chocking the whole thing up to emotional logic, he’d be a different man now.
But he didn’t and he wasn’t and now he had no choice but to pay the price. Now he would have this mark on his permanent life record, a sign that no matter what else he did, no matter what he might eventually accomplish, he started out with a truly juvenile mistake. Now, right now, he was sitting in this bar, and this Monday night, with this pen in his hand and this paper in front of him. It felt like it whole life had been boiled down to some legal jargon that he couldn’t really understand, although his lawyer had explained it to him.
He looked around the bar, at the other patrons sipping their beer and watching the game. He wondered how many of them had done what he was about to do. He was happy that the Yankees were playing, he could at least pretend that’s why he was there. But he imagined his true reasoning was evident when the rest of the bar jumped up in an excited wave cursing at the pitcher or yelling at the player who got out and he just looked up with a perplexed expression. No, he wasn’t fooling anyone. Then again, no one really cared, anyway.
He looked back down at the paper. It remained as unsigned as it had been for the past hour. He looked at the clock. It was getting late. He should be home by now, asleep with this behind him, consoling himself that life would go on and there’d be chances for new beginnings and growth and all that crap.
But he sat there, pen in hand, paralyzed. It felt like a physical block in his hand as if some insect had crept up on him, quietly and mildly, and injected some neurotoxin into his system. Like this poison had come from some outside source and struck him down in his youth, making him incapable to performing one simple act.
But he knew that wasn’t the case, this was his paralysis, he inflicted it upon himself. He’d jumped in feet first without checking to see if there rocks on the bottom and now he was stuck on the shore with night falling and his ca parked way up the hill. It would be a long climb with broken limbs and that scared him enough that he wasn’t willing to admit that he was there.
He down the last of his beer and slammed the mug down on the table. This was bullshit, he wasn’t this weak. It was just a simple signature, a movement of the hand in an automatic way. It would be done in a split second and he’d walk of the bar and move on with his life.
“Just. Sign. It.” He told himself.
And he moved his hand above the paper, fixed his wrist and touched his pen down. Nothing happened. He took a deep breath, tried again. His hand gripped tighter and the pen slipped right out of his grasp. He bent down under the table to get and banged his head hard on the way back up.
“Damn it!” he cursed. No one bothered to look his way, all busy in their own curses at the outfielder who’d just dropped the ball and fumbled what should have been the last out of the inning.
“This is what happens you feel sorry for yourself, asshole” he chastised himself. He stretched his fingers, straightened his back, and picked the pen back up. “Just sign it.”
He placed the pen on the paper, straightened his wrist, closed his eyes, and moved his hand. And that was it. He opened his eyes and looked down at the paper. It was so simple, so insignificant, just more paperwork to be filed. There was nothing of the life they’d had together, the memories they would never make, the people they’d become now that this was over. It was just another signature on a simple piece of paper. And now he like every other asshole around, was divorced.
He slid the paper into the envelop and sealed it, paid his tab and walked out to his car. He didn’t let himself think anymore, let the automatic pilot take over and steer him home. He sang along to the radio without any connection to the words and thought about what his cat might be doing when he got home. And just for a second, he began to think that it wasn’t so bad. But then he glanced at the envelop on the passengers seat and choked. No, it was going to be a while before he was ok.
Monday, May 9, 2011
True Black
Dark shapes swam, spun and swirled through the darkness around the faint light of her candle. She knew what was hunting her without seeing and she knew it was after more than her death. The screams of her companions had died out long before and she felt crushed under the weight of her title: the last one left alive. It wouldn’t be long before her weak flame flickered out and she would be consumed.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
My New Office
It’s amazing how huge of an impact simple, insignificant things can have on you. For example, my new office has a window. Well, it’s not technically a window, it’s one of those glass sliding doors. To “open the window” I slide the door open. I can get a really strong breeze going through here when I open that door.
My last office didn’t have a window. In fact, my last office wasn’t even my office because my desk was crammed in there with two other people. I was almost never alone. The office before that (which seems like longer ago than it was) also did not have a window.
In the past, sans window, I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t a big deal. I’d tell myself “you’ll get more done this way.” I’d think that I really didn’t want a window anyway- afterall, if it was raining I didn’t want to see that. And if it was sunny, I’d be depressed that I was stuck inside. I’d make up reasons as to why it just didn’t matter enough for it to bug me. But underneath that all, it bugged me. And over time, it started to really, really bug me.
My new office, as I said, has a window. A really big one that lets in a lot of air. And right now, sitting here at my desk, I can look outside. I can see the sun shining down on the big, green tree. I can hear the leaves rustling in the wind and birds chirping in the bushes. I can see the sky darken and lighten as clouds pass overhead. I notice the sun changing its position in the sky as the day wears on.
And you know those horrible, buzzing overhead lights? I can leave them off because my window lets in enough light that I don’t need them. It pours in and bounces off the lite yellow walls. I’m normally not a fan of yellow but this color seems like it was specifically designed to reflect the sunlight. Sunlight and wind, pouring into my office, reminding how close the outside world is.
Forget about the actual job and how much more comfortable I am with this work. Forget about my co-workers who are competent, seem to have a good work ethic and (gasp) whom I actually want to eat lunch with. Forget about the software which, unlike my last job, actually works the way it’s supposed to. Forget about the absence of stress, the presence of supervision and training and the ease with which I am figuring out how to perform my job duties. Forget about all the other positive differences there are.
The office- in and of itself- is bringing about such an amazing change of mood that I’m now realizing how deeply it affected me to be stuck where I was before. Thank god for windows.
My last office didn’t have a window. In fact, my last office wasn’t even my office because my desk was crammed in there with two other people. I was almost never alone. The office before that (which seems like longer ago than it was) also did not have a window.
In the past, sans window, I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t a big deal. I’d tell myself “you’ll get more done this way.” I’d think that I really didn’t want a window anyway- afterall, if it was raining I didn’t want to see that. And if it was sunny, I’d be depressed that I was stuck inside. I’d make up reasons as to why it just didn’t matter enough for it to bug me. But underneath that all, it bugged me. And over time, it started to really, really bug me.
My new office, as I said, has a window. A really big one that lets in a lot of air. And right now, sitting here at my desk, I can look outside. I can see the sun shining down on the big, green tree. I can hear the leaves rustling in the wind and birds chirping in the bushes. I can see the sky darken and lighten as clouds pass overhead. I notice the sun changing its position in the sky as the day wears on.
And you know those horrible, buzzing overhead lights? I can leave them off because my window lets in enough light that I don’t need them. It pours in and bounces off the lite yellow walls. I’m normally not a fan of yellow but this color seems like it was specifically designed to reflect the sunlight. Sunlight and wind, pouring into my office, reminding how close the outside world is.
Forget about the actual job and how much more comfortable I am with this work. Forget about my co-workers who are competent, seem to have a good work ethic and (gasp) whom I actually want to eat lunch with. Forget about the software which, unlike my last job, actually works the way it’s supposed to. Forget about the absence of stress, the presence of supervision and training and the ease with which I am figuring out how to perform my job duties. Forget about all the other positive differences there are.
The office- in and of itself- is bringing about such an amazing change of mood that I’m now realizing how deeply it affected me to be stuck where I was before. Thank god for windows.
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