They were the loveliest red roses that I had ever seen . I was overwhelmed when they gave them to me because I knew it was a tradition in their family to mark special occasions with roses. But I never expected to receive roses; I was touched deeply.
An ornate jewelry box designed and created by The Artist and a beautiful red necklace and earrings inside the box from his wife, The Piano Teacher. I was speechless. I just shook my head "no" saying, "What generosity, oh my."
A few days after I received the ornate jewelry box and flowers, I told The Artist that I couldn't believe they had given me such lovely gifts. I told him that they had already made me so happy with just the flowers, but when I saw the box that I was overcome and then to find the jewelry simply rendered me speechless. I said to him, "You shouldn't have. It's too much."
"Why?" asked The Artist. " You don't think you're worth it?"
I stammered "Uh uh well, no... I guess I don't?"
"You are." He said and waved me off as I tried to say thank you again. He had stated his truth. There would be no more discussion about the gifts.
The Dancer met me one night at a local studio so we could dance tango uninterrupted for a few hours before he moved away. It was beautiful, lyrical, sensual, joyful and more. I kept thanking him for the generous gift of his time and his dance over and over.
The Dancer tried to thank me back for the dances, but I kept deflecting his thanks because I felt that surely he was only dancing with me as a favor, not because he wanted to as well.
"You don't think you're worth dancing with?"
I stammered, "Um, well no I guess not?"
"You are. You are a lovely follow and very fun to dance with. It was my pleasure too."
I blushed. This was the second time in as many weeks when I admitted that I didn't think I was worthy of the gifts people were giving me.
In the following days, I thought about this difficulty of mine to accept that people would want to do things for me just because I am me. Why was it so hard? Was I always this way? I tried to remember a time in my childhood when I didn't think I deserved any of my birthday or Christmas presents. Fortunately, I could not find one time. As far as I can recall, I deserved them all.
So what happened between then and now? Was it the years of being married to someone who only gave me something when I either asked for it or he wanted something from me? Was it the years of constantly giving to others who just continued to take and take? Was it because after living as a non-significant other, I internalized that I was not worthy of kindness from friends or strangers? Was it a result of being divorced with three children and having to do everything for my family, that made me feel uncomfortable receiving help from others for fear they might judge me? I suspect it is all of these and more.
The Artist, the Piano Teacher and the Dancer – who knew that their gifts would be me?
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
The Reader
She has always been an insightful, compassionate, smart, funny little girl. One night when she was four-years old, she announced to her father and I that we were not living our own lives but the lives in a story. I asked her to explain and she said, matter-of-factly, that someone was reading a book and we were the characters in the book and when we went to sleep at night that was when the reader closed the book. I was amazed at her imagination and couldn't wait to hear what my budding philosopher would think up next.
So, from then on, to get my daughter to bed at a reasonable hour, I would remind her that the reader was getting tired and would close the book soon and she didn't want to fall asleep standing up, now did she? She would shake her head no and scamper off to her bedroom.
And I would look forward to what the reader would read next.
So, from then on, to get my daughter to bed at a reasonable hour, I would remind her that the reader was getting tired and would close the book soon and she didn't want to fall asleep standing up, now did she? She would shake her head no and scamper off to her bedroom.
And I would look forward to what the reader would read next.
When I Grow Up
"You know what I want to be when I grow up?" My youngest asked me while riding in the minivan.
"No I don't, " I responded looking at him in the rearview mirror. " What is it?"
"I think it would be great to be, I don't know what you call it but someone who works where the trash is..." he said. I could see him looking at the bottom of a plastic water bottle searching for the recycling triangle.
"Oh? Really?" I paused at this revelation that my youngest wants to work as a garbage man. "I think that's called a 'Landfill Manager' " At least I could dress it up with my words, I thought. "Why do you want to work with trash?"
"Oh I think it would be cool because then you could see what people had for dinner or lunch and see what they do in their lives from their trash."
'How wise!' I thought and smiled. He wasn't interested in being a garbage man... he wants to be a sociologist studying people's garbage to gain understanding about our society.
And I was afraid he was going to tell me that this way he could find ALL the balloons in the world.
"No I don't, " I responded looking at him in the rearview mirror. " What is it?"
"I think it would be great to be, I don't know what you call it but someone who works where the trash is..." he said. I could see him looking at the bottom of a plastic water bottle searching for the recycling triangle.
"Oh? Really?" I paused at this revelation that my youngest wants to work as a garbage man. "I think that's called a 'Landfill Manager' " At least I could dress it up with my words, I thought. "Why do you want to work with trash?"
"Oh I think it would be cool because then you could see what people had for dinner or lunch and see what they do in their lives from their trash."
'How wise!' I thought and smiled. He wasn't interested in being a garbage man... he wants to be a sociologist studying people's garbage to gain understanding about our society.
And I was afraid he was going to tell me that this way he could find ALL the balloons in the world.
Balloon Quest continues
He keeps looking. Last night the children were able to pick an Easter Egg from the basket as part of the end-of-the year celebration. He was absolutely thrilled with what was in his egg until he saw that the other prize was a balloon. He spent the next 90 minutes searching for an egg with a balloon. Several times he came back to me to complain that he couldn't find one and that he really wanted a balloon. I told him that I understood but that all he could do was look for the eggs with the balloons. He sighed, disappointed I could not help him, and left to continue his search. However, he was not successful last night. And every time one of the 'lucky' kids would pop their balloon, I would see the heartbreak in his eyes. As we walked to the car, he slipped his hand in mine and repeated how much he wished he had a balloon. I told him not to worry that there are many balloons in this world and one of these days, he'd have his own balloon again.
And one day I will have my own balloon too.
And one day I will have my own balloon too.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Running to Stand Still
Sometimes my “ah-ha” moments hit me at the strangest of times. I was jogging in the park when mine smacked me upside the head. When I run, I think. I think about how my day went, my kids, my future, how my legs hurt, why my butt gets tight going up hills and my thighs tense on the way down. I wonder about the idiot that didn’t pick up their dog’s mess on the trail; and agree with myself that U2 is the best band EVER for jogging. Running is my tranquil time. And since I don’t run fast I am able to maximize my peace.
I have been running for a long time. When I was in high school, my dad and I used to go out for jogs through the neighborhood. Since we lived in the desert, our route was not very green, could be quite windy and we always had to contend with a few hills on the course. Dad was always in the lead until the last ¼ mile when I would give a little extra effort and finish first. I loved our runs. I have gone jogging with my own kids a few times; but, I am looking forward to when they are a little bit older and we can run more often together. I know they will finish first, too.
I was in a good groove this particular afternoon. The fresh air filled my lungs; my feet hit the path in a good rhythm, arms swinging along with my beat. I was a fine-oiled 38 year-old machine. I was in a running trance listening to my breath inhale and exhale. Thoughts, observations and questions about my body, my marriage, my relationships, and my future ran through my mind.
Then my brain called out “Abandonment.” My heart said “What?! Hush!” My brain said louder (to be heard above the heavy panting that was my actual breath) “Abandonment. Abandonment. A-ban-don-ment!” I stopped running. There it was, so clear. My fear! All my observations, thoughts and questions about my body, my marriage, my relationships, and my experiences were all part of my subconscious to avoid ‘Abandonment.’
My curvaceousness. My relationships with otherwise “obligated” men. I had devised a pretty successful subconscious mechanism for protecting my soul from feeling the pain of abandonment again. I didn’t want to be rejected for being me so I kept on a few pounds and I chose men who were in no position to reject me because they couldn’t truly have me.
I continued walking on the path. My breathing returned to normal. I began to pick up the pace. I mulled over this revelation. Yes I was afraid of abandonment. I was afraid of feeling that pain again. I had made it very easy to not experience those feelings again. I had managed to build into my life a set of easy, fall-back excuses when things didn’t turn out as hoped or planned.
So why did this revelation come crashing to the surface and demand to be acknowledged? Why? What was I supposed to do with this new-found self knowledge? I was already exercising and watching what I ate, although the weight wasn’t exactly coming off. I was already refusing additional ‘otherwise-obligated’ male companions, although I hadn’t exactly sent the others back to their obligations. I was still only going through the motions of healing from my loss. I wasn’t really getting any closer to being able to be open and vulnerable to another person. And yet, that desire for surrender and intimacy with another person was pushing its way through my shield. It was saying to me “look, until you quit manipulating yourself with mind games, until you quit hiding behind your well-placed, convenient and strategic excuses, until you quit acting like such a scaredy-cat (well it actually used a bit harsher language there, I think you know which one), you will NEVER again experience the love that your soul is craving.”
“Yes, I know.”
Tears streamed down my face. I finished my jog and walked back to the minivan absorbing the fact that I was about to head down an unfamiliar and potentially painful path. But for some reason, I wasn’t nearly as afraid.
I have been running for a long time. When I was in high school, my dad and I used to go out for jogs through the neighborhood. Since we lived in the desert, our route was not very green, could be quite windy and we always had to contend with a few hills on the course. Dad was always in the lead until the last ¼ mile when I would give a little extra effort and finish first. I loved our runs. I have gone jogging with my own kids a few times; but, I am looking forward to when they are a little bit older and we can run more often together. I know they will finish first, too.
I was in a good groove this particular afternoon. The fresh air filled my lungs; my feet hit the path in a good rhythm, arms swinging along with my beat. I was a fine-oiled 38 year-old machine. I was in a running trance listening to my breath inhale and exhale. Thoughts, observations and questions about my body, my marriage, my relationships, and my future ran through my mind.
Then my brain called out “Abandonment.” My heart said “What?! Hush!” My brain said louder (to be heard above the heavy panting that was my actual breath) “Abandonment. Abandonment. A-ban-don-ment!” I stopped running. There it was, so clear. My fear! All my observations, thoughts and questions about my body, my marriage, my relationships, and my experiences were all part of my subconscious to avoid ‘Abandonment.’
My curvaceousness. My relationships with otherwise “obligated” men. I had devised a pretty successful subconscious mechanism for protecting my soul from feeling the pain of abandonment again. I didn’t want to be rejected for being me so I kept on a few pounds and I chose men who were in no position to reject me because they couldn’t truly have me.
I continued walking on the path. My breathing returned to normal. I began to pick up the pace. I mulled over this revelation. Yes I was afraid of abandonment. I was afraid of feeling that pain again. I had made it very easy to not experience those feelings again. I had managed to build into my life a set of easy, fall-back excuses when things didn’t turn out as hoped or planned.
So why did this revelation come crashing to the surface and demand to be acknowledged? Why? What was I supposed to do with this new-found self knowledge? I was already exercising and watching what I ate, although the weight wasn’t exactly coming off. I was already refusing additional ‘otherwise-obligated’ male companions, although I hadn’t exactly sent the others back to their obligations. I was still only going through the motions of healing from my loss. I wasn’t really getting any closer to being able to be open and vulnerable to another person. And yet, that desire for surrender and intimacy with another person was pushing its way through my shield. It was saying to me “look, until you quit manipulating yourself with mind games, until you quit hiding behind your well-placed, convenient and strategic excuses, until you quit acting like such a scaredy-cat (well it actually used a bit harsher language there, I think you know which one), you will NEVER again experience the love that your soul is craving.”
“Yes, I know.”
Tears streamed down my face. I finished my jog and walked back to the minivan absorbing the fact that I was about to head down an unfamiliar and potentially painful path. But for some reason, I wasn’t nearly as afraid.
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