The most important thing in life is to learn how to give out love, and to let it come in.
Morrie Schwartz
Posts Tagged: life
28
Feb 10
Let Me In
These prints belong to Nina, the world’s most patient cat. She left them on the front step while she patiently waited for one of us to remember to let her in.
I hope this last day of February finds you happy and healthy.
I hope you have let in those you love, and that those you love have let you in, too.
26
Feb 10
Narcissism Sucks
A wise woman once said, “narcissists suck.” I’ve spent some time on her blog. It’s a deep, dark, cavernous hole of information. I would caution you to be careful before spending much time there. You may learn more than you really want to know.
Tonight I am really thinking that narcissists suck. I have a little girl who hasn’t been feeling well. She will be fine. But for right now, she is depleted. She wants to cry and she can’t. She actually told me that she, “wants to let the tears out, but she can’t.” When I ask her why she can’t cry, she explains that she’s been practicing not crying in front of her dad. She doesn’t want to cry in front of him because he treats her like a baby. So now she thinks she’s forgotten how to cry.
In the meantime, Mark has not come by to check on Jenny. You see, he skied on Wednesday and Friday. And he’s leaving town after work tomorrow for a convention in the sunny Napa Valley. He can’t afford to come by and check on his daughter because he doesn’t have time, and because he wouldn’t want to risk catching her bug before he leaves town. (So how about calling to check on her?)
Narcissists suck.
——————- Continue reading →
24
Feb 10
The Search
I know well what I am fleeing from but not what I am in search of.
Michel de Montaigne
24
Feb 10
Who Are You?
There is still snow on the ground, but the days are getting longer. Will just informed me that Spring will arrive in 28 days. The angle of the sun makes things melt like crazy, even if the temperature doesn’t warrant it. And while eating lunch today, we marveled at the icicles and how they go from dripping slowly to dripping continuously, and then back to a slow drip. You can hear the birds chirping and almost smell the wet soil, where the sun has melted the snow and warmed the earth a bit.
Gardening season will soon be upon us. Okay, it’s not going to be here that soon, but it’s fun to plan. Last year, about this time, I was making plans for our little garden and flower beds. I always draw the garden out on paper so that I remember to rotate plants. That way I won’t keep planting things in the same place each year. I was sketching out where to put the Early Girls, the Sweet 100s and the Norland Reds, when it hit me. I don’t like potatoes. Baby reds are nice once in awhile, but I don’t like them enough to devote all that space in my tiny garden to just potatoes. I had been living in my own house, and I was still planting what Mark liked. It took me about three years to figure out that I didn’t have to plant potatoes anymore.
Just when I think I’m making all this progress, figuring out how to make my way after this bizarre relationship, I realize I’m still clinging to aspects of my old life. When I first moved into this little house, I remember walking around with nails between my teeth, a hammer in one hand, and ‘Frieda’s Dream’, by Monte Dolack under my arm. I was trying to figure out where it would look best. As I’m walking through the house, mumbling to myself, I caught myself thinking, “I wonder if Mark would like it there?” In the next instant, I realized I didn’t have to take Mark into consideration when decorating my own house. That realization was as sweet as the waking from a bad dream, when you realize it’s all just a bad dream, and that sense of relief washes over you.
There were a lot of delicious thoughts running through my head when we first moved to this address. “I get the remote. I’m going to watch Food Network, HGTV, Lifetime movies and whatever I darn well please. No one is going to make fun of me for reading Martha Stewart Living. I don’t have to eat waffles on Sunday mornings anymore. I can have a glass of wine (or two) while cooking dinner, and I’m not going to feel guilty.” Now that we’ve been living here for over three years, it’s interesting to see how things are shaking out. I haven’t picked up a Martha Stewart Living Magazine in probably five years. I have probably checked out the Food Channel a handful of times. Each time I watch, I think to myself, “Why was I desperate to watch this? It’s not like they are gonna do a whole show on the glories of peanut butter and jelly.” Lifetime Movies make me cry, so there’s no point in that. I haven’t had a waffle in almost four years. Yes! And I do enjoy a glass of wine while making those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. (That I also serve at dinner, not just lunch. Just so you know I’m not also sipping the vino at noon.)
But all this got me thinking about what it is I like and don’t like. What are my preferences? I thought I knew what my preferences were when I still lived with Mark. I seemed to want to steer toward the things that he didn’t like. Maybe I was trying to make a statement. It’s a lot like the child that is denied candy and cookies. They want those treats all the more when they are told they can’t have them. When there aren’t any limits put on the sweets, the child may or may not be interested. But they certainly aren’t feeling desperate to have the Tootsie Rolls. When my world was so limited, I found myself clinging to stuff that had been off-limits. Now there are no limits, the world is wide open, and I’m not obsessed with HGTV or romance movies. But I could watch, “You’ve Got Mail” every week. And now I can, if I want to. Continue reading →
22
Feb 10
Choosing A New Tree
This post is from Pat, who sent a beautiful comment yesterday. If you caught the comment, you know how insightful it is. And it is definitely worth reading again.
A man was resting under his favorite tree. As he rested and daydreamed, he felt a wet, sloppy splooge land on his head. Taking out his handkerchief to wipe off the mess, he looked up and saw a large, green, crested bird with red and yellow speckles on its tail on the branch above him. The bird cocked its head and smiled at him. The man understood the bird was just doing what birds do, but he hated what the bird had done to him. His handkerchief wasn’t large enough to clean off all of what had landed on his head, so he went home to wash his hair and finish the job.
Sometime later, the man rested again under his favorite tree. Presently, he felt a large plop on his head. It stunk. It was repulsive. It ran down his neck. Incredibly, it was from the same large, green, crested bird with the red and yellow speckles on its tail. As he stared in amazement at the bird, the bird cocked his head, returned his stare, and smiled. The man was tolerant of the bird, which had only done what birds do. But he HATED what the bird had done to him. His handkerchief was no larger than the last time. He went home to take a shower and change his clothes.
When next the man felt the need to rest, he hiked again to his favorite tree. He hoped the bird would not be there. Settling under the tree, the view of the countryside filled him with a sleepy kind of peace. He raised his arms to cushion his head on his hands against the tree, and closed his eyes. Unfortunately, the large, green, crested bird with the red and yellow speckles on its tail once again interrupted his pleasure. Incredulous, he glared up at the bird. The bird cocked its head, gazed at the man, and smiled. What fell from the bird this time was by far greater in volume than any time before. It reeked. It was foul and disgusting. It ENRAGED the man. This time, the awful, slimy filth had not only covered his head and run down his neck, but had landed on his hands and run down inside his sleeves. Though he had come with towels, just in case the bird was there, he still was not prepared with enough towels to clean up what was on his clothes and in his clothes. He wondered if he would ever be clean again, even after a long, hot shower.
There came a time when, after a long day’s work, the man needed a rest. Tramping through the countryside toward his favorite tree, he walked more and more slowly. He thought about his tree and about the bird that had come to inhabit it. He loved his tree; he wanted to rest under his tree. But he did not want to have his restful time ruined by the large, green, crested bird with the red and yellow speckles on its tail. He remembered what the bird had done to him, and he remembered how it made him feel each time he rested under that tree. Maybe he should find another tree. It would make him sad not to be able to enjoy his favorite tree, but he definitely didn’t like what happened there anymore. Yes, he told himself, a different tree would be better. He told himself he might even come to love resting under this new tree. It would become his new favorite tree. Continue reading →
19
Feb 10
Narcissists and Rules
Don’t touch a cowboy’s hat or a lady’s hair-do.- Don’t ask anyone how many acres they have, how many head of cattle they own, or how much money they have in the bank.
- Do not ask a lady how much she weighs or how old she is.
- Never ask a big lady when her baby is due.
- Don’t tell anyone your social security number, your pin number or your locker combination.
- If you eat the whole bag of Fritos, keep it a secret.
These are social norms or rules. They aren’t laws, but they are so ingrained that they might as well be laws. Some are as old as dirt, and some are relatively new. The Frito rule might be specific to my little family. There are a lot of rules that kids need to learn, and a lot of them can sound kind of silly. Now that Will is older, he understands the one about a cowboy’s hat. He still doesn’t get the one about a lady’s hair-do. Maybe that’s because I don’t really have any sort of hair-do, and I don’t personally adhere to that rule about my own hair. Will is a literal fellow, and I can remember that it took a lot of explainin’ to get across the point about not asking how many cows someone has, or how much money they have. If he was quick to tell someone how many pennies he had in his piggy bank, why wouldn’t they say how many dollars they had?
Last night Mark was over. The visit included the usual high-pitched, sing-song voice, the faked appreciation of the kids’ artwork, and tediously exaggerated tales of his grandeur. When Mark left, Will told me, “Dad gave Bob our locker combination so Bob could wax my skis.” I have met Bob only one time.
The kids and I have been invited to share a locker with some other family members. (These family members are extended family, and they are not part of Mark’s extended family.) The locker is not ours. The locker combination is not ours. Perhaps you may even be able to hear my fingers slamming the keys of my keyboard at this point? At the beginning of the season, Will had gone skiing with Mark. When Will couldn’t get the locker open, he shared the combination with his dad, hoping his dad would be able to get the lock to cooperate. That was an innocent move that any child would make — even a child who is beginning to grasp the rule about not sharing your locker combination, pin number, or social security number.
Over the course of my ‘relationship’ with Mark, I have seen many instances where Mark has not followed rules. It wasn’t so much that he fudged a little, or that he was in a hurry, or that he figured he could bend a rule just this one time, he firmly believes that rules don’t apply to him. Just because a sign says “No Parking”, that doesn’t mean he can’t park there. You would think there would even be some fine print on the bottom of the sign that read, “But it’s okay for you, Mark.” Continue reading →
17
Feb 10
Love Is A Gift
Love is always bestowed as a gift — freely, willingly, and without expectation. We don’t love to be loved; we love to love.
Leo F. Buscaglia
17
Feb 10
Love Notes and the Narcissist
I stepped out of the shower this morning, head full of what to make for dinner; are they on track for home schooling; did I figure the taxes correctly; gotta order some firewood …. And I found this on the bathroom floor — a love note from Jenny. Sweet words sung to the tune of ‘Clementine’. It doesn’t get much better than that.
Mark used to write me notes. He wrote a lot of letters to me. For obvious reasons, I can’t bring myself to look at them now. But I remember they were quite wordy, windy, and showy. I hadn’t ever received love letters before. What did I know? There’s the classic examples of love letters that you can find in literature. To me, that’s a lot like the Latin Lover with the rose clenched between his teeth. No thanks. When I think back on Mark’s letters, I remember thinking that there was a lot of stuff about Mark in them. It wasn’t so much about how fabulous I was, it was about how fabulous he was. Maybe he saw the necessity, even then, in trying to convince me.
And he kept track of my responses to his letters. He wouldn’t write to me, until he’d received a response to his most recent letter. He was definitely keeping score. At the time, I thought that there must be some sort of protocol for love-letter writing. I know, now, that love isn’t about keeping score, it’s about giving freely with heartfelt intentions. A genuine expression of love ought to be as innocent as a note from a child. When Jenny penned that little note this morning, I’m positive she wasn’t thinking, “Okay, I’ll write this to mommy, but I sure hope she writes one back to me.” That was not her motivation for writing the note. She loves me, and wanted to tell me. There’s no agenda.
But love is also about some measure of reciprocity. It’s also about loving yourself, and realizing that you deserve love. It’s not stomping your foot, demanding acknowledgment or recognition. It is giving freely without expectation of return. And love is also about respecting yourself enough to move on to something healthier when you keep giving, and getting nothing back.
When was the last time you wrote someone a love note? Write a note to someone — maybe even to yourself. It’s not as silly as it sounds. It’s sending good words out there, that you deserve. You can make it flowery, if you like that sorta thing. Or make it straightforward and to-the-point. Just don’t sit around waiting for a response. That ruins the genuine intent of the whole thing. And if your choice comes down to writing to yourself, or the narcissist in your life, please write to yourself.
16
Feb 10
Life Moves Fast
Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop to look around once in awhile you could miss it.
Matthew Broderick as Ferris Buller
16
Feb 10
More On Distractions…
I got distracted by these plump little fairy godmothers. Jenny set them up for Rita, and I fell in love with their sweetness.
If I hadn’t managed to get a bunch of stuff crossed off the list, I’d have walked by these little sweeties, without a second glance. Because I got some things done, my brain was clear, and open to seeing new things. I’m always telling the kids that they will more enjoy a good time, if they get the chores out of the way, first. (Plus, if they get the jobs done, they won’t have to listen to me harping at them.)
And then I was thinking about getting ‘chores’ done on a larger scale. If we attempt to really deal with the big uncomfortable stuff, the good stuff won’t be over-shadowed. We can continue to go through life, avoiding the major problems, and missing the magical little details; or we can try to deal with those issues, and free ourselves up for more of life’s sweetness. It’s one thing to be bothered by a clogged sink drain, it’s another to be weighed down by the major problems in a relationship. Can we afford to ignore those problems? How much sweetness are we missing out on, when we walk around carrying the weight of a failed relationship?
16
Feb 10
Distraction as a Means of Survival
We are not going anywhere tonight. No one is coming over. I’m going to cook a simple dinner. We have planned not to make plans.
Isn’t that how it is?
You plan not to do something so as to focus on what is at hand. Then, life gets in the way, and once again, you are afforded the opportunity to avoid what really needs to be addressed. And you are so thankful for that bump in the schedule, because you would give anything to keep from handling the real life stuff.
I see it all the time with my kids.
The light is blinking on the answering machine. In fact the light blinks on the four phones around the house. Uniden, the company that made our cordless phone, probably thought that was a great feature — a selling point. “Our phone will conveniently remind you when you have an urgent message that needs to be answered.” It’s enough to pretend that Mark didn’t call. We don’t need the phone to continually blink its little red light to nag us about calling him back. Continue reading →
14
Feb 10
Be Your Own Valentine
I was going to work on my taxes today. I was going to try to unclog my bathroom sink. I played all day yesterday, so I’m feeling like I’m supposed to be productive and accomplish something today. (As if spending a wonderful day enjoying the company of my kids isn’t productive.)
Then I remembered, “It’s Valentine’s Day!!”
*sigh*
I don’t have anything insightful to say about Valentine’s Day. If you’d like a chuckle to go with your obligatory box of chocolates, then check out a previous post on narcissism and gift-giving.
Enjoy this quote on love, or this one, too. Continue reading →
13
Feb 10
Relaxation
Tension is who you think you should be. Relaxation is who you are.
Chinese proverb (via Amy Oscar)
