But why?

I posed a question to myself recently.  Why do we as people, put more faith in the validity of our negative feelings than we do our positive ones?  It is perfectly accepted in society to make a snap judgment about someone, provided it is in a negative light.  No one questions me I when I describe my first impression and the general feeling I get from the Student Support Specialist at my son’s school.  That dude gives me the creeps.  He’s kind of an impish looking man with poor posture and a bad haircut.  He seems to have a very submissive or timid personality as well.  From the moment I met him, I did not like him.  All of my family and friends have been supportive and in agreement about my judgment of this man, yet none have met him.  This isn’t the first time I’ve felt a negative vibe from someone based my opinion of them on the feeling; in fact it’s happened more than I can count.  I tend to be a person guided by emotion more than reason.  However, there have been far fewer instances in my life where I have met someone and felt an overwhelming positive emotion towards them.  But if I were to approach my family or my friends to say I met a person who makes my heart soar and they give me all of those mushy gushy feelings of love and lust and like, I would be met with eye rolls and skepticism.  The validity of my feelings would be doubted, questioned and disregarded.  I would get the “again?”  I would be laughed at, ridiculed and dismissed.  Why?  Why do we trust and accept our negative emotions more than our positive ones?  Why is it perfectly suitable to write someone off as a perverted creep without knowing a damn thing about them but it is not okay to place a person in high regard with no further knowledge of them?  Do we really need extensive time to decide if we have positive feelings, but negative feelings can be instantaneous?  Are positive and negative emotions really all that different?  I don’t think so; there is a very thin line between love and hate.

Then I started to ponder another related question.  If I am arguing that positive emotions can be as instant and valid as negative emotions, then is love at first sight possible?  It’s definitely happened to me where I’ve met someone and within a very short amount of time they have had a greater impact on my life than people I have known and interacted with on a daily basis for years.  But is that love?  Love is a tricky word.  I believe it is one of the most overused words in the English language, but still carries quite a punch.  We love a lot of things.  Obviously we love people, in a variety of ways.  We love our things, our personal possessions.  We love how things are, our environment.  And every time we use the word, it can carry a different connotation.

When I held my son in my arms for the first time, yes, I would absolutely consider that to be love at first sight.  I loved that child with everything I had and everything I was, but was it like the love I fee for him now?  Absolutely not.  I loved him without knowing him then, I loved him because of the impact he just had on my life and the connection I felt with him.  I love him now, for all those reasons and because I know him inside and out.  I know that child and I love the person he is now and he is becoming.  Romantic love is a bit trickier than motherly love, but I think it conceptually works the same way.  Upon meeting someone, there can be a connection that goes beyond lust.  Lust is just a physical attraction, but there can be something else there that draws you to that person.  A lot of times this feeling gets called “love” because we lack another word for it.  Is it in fact love?  I don’t know.  It could be the start of love.  It could be love in its infancy.  Or it could just an unexplained strong emotional attachment.

So, do I believe in love at first sight?  Yes, I think I do.  I believe that there are special people out there with whom we can click so quickly and so powerfully, there just isn’t another word to describe that feeling.  Here’s where I think we as people get confused, though.  We consider “love at first sight” to be synonymous with “happily ever after”, but really they are unrelated.  (Although, how romantic would that be, to get both?  That is the fantasy shoved down our throats by Hollywood; it’s easy to see where we would get confused.)  So, I figured, we don’t need time to determine how we feel towards someone, necessarily, we need time to determine compatibility.  The sad truth is we can love someone with whom we are not compatible, that is a lesson I’ve learned many times over.

Opposites Attract?

I was always under the impression that this saying was true because… well… after all, it is a long accepted cliché.  Who am I to argue?  But is it true?  Do opposites really attract?  And if so, is it wise to appease this attraction?

So I thought about it, in great depth.  I woke up one morning feeling inspired, feeling clarity of mind I hadn’t felt in some time.  All of these thoughts and feelings and ideas came spewing forth as I strained my fingers to keep up with my mind in writing it all down.  And when I was done writing, I was still reflecting.  I saw things previously unseen to me.  I saw similarities where I had only seen differences.  I saw that the answer is complicated in its simplicity.  I reflected on a situation where two people go about things quite opposite from each other but are driven by the same qualities.  They are polar opposites in the expression of their personalities but strikingly similar in their motives.  And yet, they are drawn to each other.  But is it the obvious differences that attract them to each other or is it the underlying similarities?

This has been my experience in my dating/relationship travels.  I am a jock, a homebody, an attention whore introvert (that’s my own personal classification) who is socially inept in group settings.  Many of my partners have been artists, traveling gypsies, social butterflies, and independent.  We’ve possessed extremely opposite qualities.  So what was the connection?  Where was the attraction?  The attraction was in the power.  Powerful people-people with drive, pride, passion, and determination are all attracted to power.  Break it down, strip us of all expressions of personality and look at the personality itself.  Both parties: Determined.  Passionate.  Driven.  Proud.  Strong.

We were the same as much as were different.  Each of us brought an element to the other that broadened our horizons, challenged our comfort zones and allowed us to experience things we normally would not have tried.  We were fundamentally the same and complementary expressively.  The relationships didn’t work out, but I believe it was this dynamic that brought us together in the first place, and kept us together for as long as it lasted.  I was their rock, their grounding force and they broke my out of my shell, set me free.

So do opposites attract?  Maybe.  But I think it’s more the similarities that attract and the complementary opposites that make the relationship, at least for me.  Everything in life is about finding balance between the extremes.  Why would what we look for in a life partner be any different?  We are only one piece of the equation.  Our partner is the other.  For the relationship to work, we must balance each other out.

Adventures in Seniorland

For years now, my mother has been helping the little old lady down the street with odd tasks around the house and trips to town.  Recently, this spitfire elderly woman has realized I’m as much of a sucker as my mother is and now she has the two of us catering to her every whim.  I’m not complaining (too much), I mean she pays well enough.  But sometimes, I think I may be a little too willing to do anything for money.  She challenges my psyche at every turn.

First of all-I don’t like old people.  I’m sorry, that sounds mean but it’s the truth.  They are knocking on death’s doorstep, a living example of what I have to look forward as each year passes.  I grow greatly uncomfortable when faced with my own mortality.  I do NOT want to get old; lose mobility and muscle tone, sagging skin with wrinkles, failing organs and senses.  Ew.  (The discount sounds nice though.)  And I certainly do not want to die.  So just being in her presence makes me anxious.  I suck it up anyway, not only do I have a very hard time telling people “no”  but I desperately need the money she offers.

Trying to ignore her senior shuffle and bad wig (will I lose my hair?) is the least of my worries on this particular day.  You see, I tend to be a bit of a social-phobe.  When I head to a store- I go in, get what exactly what I went for, and leave.  In and out.  One and done.  Not her, we wander and look and analyze and back track.  We have a list, and do manage to get everything on it, but we also find a necessity for just about anything else that catches her eye.  “Oooh kiwi fruit! I love kiwi fruit but only when they have hair on them.  If they don’t have hair on them, the taste makes me want to barf” Repeat six times in two different stores. Speaking of one and done, I also go to one store.  Store hopping is not in my vocabulary.  The more stops on my trip, the more anxious I become.  A little side note to any who plan a road trip with me, this also applies.  I stop for gas and get right back on the road.  I apologize in advance if you’re a smoker or have a small bladder.  Better get a patch and some Depends, it’ll be a long trip for you.  But anyway, because of this little quirk of mine taking my neighbor shopping is intensely stressful for me.  She buys her produce at one store, the bulk of her groceries at another.  Then there’s the wholesale warehouse store stop and off to the liquor store we go too.  Let’s not forget about the bank; one must always stop at the bank, even if one has no business to do there.  All of this takes about three hours.  That’s three solid hours of intentionally causing myself anxiety and stress, just for a few bucks.  About halfway through is when I start to weigh the question “how desperate am I?  Is this really worth it?”   I spend most of the time talking myself out of my tree.

What do you imagine would happen when you spend three hours with a person that doesn’t leave the house or have really any social interaction but for this one weekly trip?  Yeah, she wants to talk.  How lovely for me.  I act more like a sounding board, listening to how drunk and awful her no good son is, or how fat and awful her unmarried daughter is or the latest drama with all those connected to her.   Mind you, I’ve have not met a single one of these people but feel it’s beneficial to me to learn their names and follow along.  She asks questions about my son and my mother, but isn’t terribly interested in the answers.  I suppose I should view this idle conversation as a welcome distraction to my anxieties, but it’s really not.  It is adding to them.  The sound of her granny voice, her thick German accent, the whining and complaining; it all wears on my nerves.  She’s an eighty something year old woman with a life full of regret.  She buried the love of her life years ago, and misses him intensely each and every day.  Her children are ungrateful, selfish users who eat her food and steal her money.  She goes on and on about how much she’s had over the years and how much she’s lost.  I do not want to be this person.  I do not want to look back on my life with such bitterness.  The outlook she paints is grim and depressing.  So when the conversation takes an unexpected turn on the ride home, it was all I could do to bite my tongue.  My nerves are frayed, my patience is shot and she says “Ya know, I’d vote democrat if their President wasn’t black.  So I don’t.  I know I’m prejudice and I shouldn’t be but I just don’t feel the country should have a black president.”  My eyes grow very wide and I hold my breath.  She continues her little rant about Obama as my teeth dig into my poor tongue.  I look up at the passing street sign, “26^th St” and start trying to focus on the simple math that will tell me how many more streets before we arrive at our destination of “57^th St.”  I remind myself that she’s from another era, another country too, but it doesn’t help much.  I have a very hard time excusing stupidity.  After unloading three stores worth of groceries and filling her water softener with salt, I gladly take my well earned money and run.  I’d like to say I wouldn’t do it again, but the answer to my question earlier is yes.  Yes, I am this desperate and yes, I need the money so it’s worth it.  So, I’m taking her to get her lottery tickets on Monday.  What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger, right?

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

Dreams are funny.  They can lift us up, inspire us to new levels.  They can turn us on, stimulate a deep, sexual arousal and they can also weigh us down, leave us feeling desolate.  I had one of those dreams today, while trying to make up for a lack of nighttime sleep.  Every negative emotion I’ve been drowning in lately was present; it was a dream full of panic, struggle, pain, hopelessness and helplessness, lack of control, being utterly lost and even fighting for my life.  I woke feeling extremely disturbed and confused.  As out of ordinary as the dream was in content, ascertaining the meaning was not difficult.  I can make the connections as to why the people involved were there, why it took place where it did and why situations kept recurring that would stimulate these negative feelings.  But understanding why I had such a dream does nothing to alleviate the distress that has now filtered into the rest of my day.  I’m grouchy and I can’t shake it.  I want to be productive today, but I can’t focus.  I have absolutely no motivation to move, to do anything other than just wallow.  The thought of this brings tears to my eyes, how am I here again? What is it I keep doing wrong?

 I want out of this cycle.  I want happiness.  There are glimpses, moments in each day where I can’t wipe a smile off my face to save my life.  In these moments I feel elated, powerful and in charge of my life.  In these moments, I can see the big picture.  I can see my path, my goals and know exactly what to do to achieve all that I want.  And I feel truly confident in my ability to accomplish it all.  But behind these feelings of confidence and elation, are the feelings of despair and in unexpected moments, like nap time, they surge forward to take control. There is a war going on inside my head, a constant battle of positive and negative, of good and evil and I couldn’t tell you what side is winning at this point.  I need to find a way to hold onto those blessed moments, to extend those blissful moments and use the dominance I feel to fend off my demons.  I know they’ll always be there, they are a part of me, but they do not need to have such a starring role in my life.  But how is the operative question.

My Morning Shit Show

7am comes far too early most mornings.  It may have something to do with the fact that I’m not retiring until the wee hours of the morning, but let’s not place blame.  My alarm this morning was greeted with the usual grunt and groan, with wide eyed confusion as I attempt to turn the darn thing off.  You’d think after having this phone for over a year, I’d be adept at maneuvering the different tasks.  This one still throws me for a loop.  Then an interesting thing happened.  For the first time in several weeks, my wonderful little bundle of joy (this is my opinion of him upon first waking, it changes, just wait) wakes on his own, comes strolling into my room with his favorite teddy bear in hand and crawls into bed with me for our morning cuddles.  He decides he does not have enough energy to participate in our morning run.  It’s only a half mile jog, but to him it’s exhausting.  Thinking ahead to the rest of my day, the thought of sneaking in a real run and getting the exercise done and out of the way before 8am sounds super appealing so I suggest we go for a longer run where he can ride his bike.  Sometimes thoughts should remain just that-thoughts.  The next hour proved to be the biggest shit show of the week thus far. 

His response to my suggestion was cute though, I have to admit.  Laying there, still clutching Mama Bear and snuggled into me, he gets his contemplative look as he mulls over what I’ve said.  He nods first, then speaks “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea Mom cuz my legs only use half the amount of energy to ride my bike as they do when I run.  Let’s go!”  He jumps out of bed and runs off to get dressed.  Moments later, as we’re heading out the door, still all excited, he turns to me and says “Since I’m using half the energy to ride my bike I think we should go on a longer route.  Let’s do FIVE MILES!”  His enthusiasm is inspiring but let’s be realistic-I haven’t really run in three months, and usually don’t go further than three miles at a time.  Five is a bit excessive.  We compromise at two.

Running gear on, iPod set to go, I send him off to retrieve his bike and helmet.  I am relieved when he doesn’t argue with me about it not being the “right” helmet.  His is currently MIA so he had to wear his cousins.  Usually, that’s an area of heated discussion.  Thankfully, this morning it was not.  The bike however, having not been used in sometime, is encased in spider webs.  My wonder child, lover of all creatures creepy and crawly, will not touch spider webs.  They freak him out.  He’ll pick up with his bare hands the most disgusting, vile, dangerous looking eight legged monstrosity, but he won’t touch the web.  Mom to the rescue.  I drag the bike out, clean it off and hand it over for inspection.  He approves, hops on and falls off.  The chain had somehow come off and wedged itself in between two parts whose names I won’t even pretend to know.  After some considerable force and four hands on the task, the chain is back on.  Covered in rusty grease, I realize it is sunny out-until now, this fact had escaped my attention.  I want my sunglasses.  No sooner do I make it back into the house, do I hear crying: loud, obnoxious crying.  Turns out, he’s fallen off his bike a second time and we haven’t even left the yard yet.  Forget five miles, even the two we planned seems like a daunting task at this point!

Fast forward: he falls two more times, has a meltdown in some grass because it’s hard to pedal and nearly runs me into an oncoming gigantic SUV because riding in a straight line is apparently a more difficult task than one would think.  He’s frustrated and upset, I’m anxious and irritated and we’ve still got three quarters of a mile to go.  His methods of calming himself irk me, the more I’m irked the less patient I become.  The less patient I am, the more tense our interactions are, and now we’re both ready to scream.  The peaceful bliss with which I welcomed him into my bed and referred to him as a bundle of joy, is far gone.  Now the countdown to bedtime begins!  All before 8am.  Tomorrow, I'll be sure to not have any bright ideas.

Go Into the Light, Carol Anne!

A few years ago, I decided the me I had become was not the me I wanted to be.  I wasn’t happy.  I felt inferior and inadequate. I wasn’t proud of some of my behavior, especially in emotional confrontations.  Well hell, in any confrontation.  To put it bluntly, my coping mechanisms sucked.  I wanted better for myself and for my son.  I realized I was never going to have positive interpersonal relationships if I didn’t develop some emotional maturity.  So that is what I did.  I spent a great deal of time reflecting and analyzing and really asking myself some hard hitting questions.  And answering them too. I spent some time in therapy, on and off.  I removed unhealthy people and situations from my life, including alcohol consumption for quite some time.  Some had thought I had a problem with alcohol but I disagreed.  I felt I had a problem (actually a few in regards to emotional baggage and scars and how they affected me in life) and my inappropriate use of alcohol exacerbated them.  Solve the problem, and alcohol and I can get along just fine.  And we have.  But I digress.  I focused on the timeline of my life and tried to make connections to events that were happening and feelings I was having.  It became apparent to me that my struggles with anxiety and depression are quite cyclical.  I’m really good for a while, then not so great, sometimes even downright bad.  When things were good, I noticed I had a strong routine, a purpose.  When things were bad it seemed I’d lost my purpose.  I added positive activities to my daily schedule that served to reduce stress and lower anxiety.  I took up running and writing, and made reading a habit.  I created a strong routine, built structure into my days. I decided I needed to be more mindful of events that trigger the swing from great to less than great.  There always seems to be an event that changes the course of my current path, which leads to changes in my daily routine, which will, if not resolved quickly, result in sliding down that slippery slope into a pit hopelessness and despair.  Over the years, I’ve spent a great deal of time wallowing in that pit, sliding on the slope and quite frankly, I’m over it.  It’s not fun like sledding or cave exploring.  But just like any “cycle” my time in the pit doesn’t last forever, there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and I climb back out rediscovering my routine, my structure… my purpose.

Yesterday it happened.  I knew it was coming, I could feel it building.  About halfway through the day, my mood swung to the happy side of fantastic.  I felt great.  The fog had lifted, the noise quieted down and I was able to see and think clearly.  I love those moments.  I took full advantage and put some positive thinking and goals into place.  Time to remove negativity from my life, in whatever form it presents itself.  I recognize the event that triggered this relapse of sliding and pit wallowing, and there is still not much I can do to resolve that situation until the job market improves.  But I don’t need a job to have structure in my days.  This is my goal:  Implement structure and routine back into my days.  Run.  Write.  Read.  Surround myself with positive and supportive people who truly understand me, my struggles and can relate.  These are the things that keep me sane and they are the exact things that have been missing from my life recently.  So here I go:  I started this blog, began running with the boy in the mornings again and am on my way to the library to get a library card.  Life is good.  Have a splendid day. J  

A Fantasy Life

I lie down, belly full, feeling completely wiped out.  As I kick off my shoes, I realize I have a little fantasy playing out in my head.  I have this idea of a love being there, taking my shoes off for me and giving my feet a quick rub as she tosses my shoes aside.  Then she crawls up beside me, rubs her hands up my back, fingers through my hair.  The part that really seals the fantasy though, is the feeling of love and completeness.  And then it hits me, I just want to be loved.  My fantasy life isn’t anything crazy or unattainable… or is it?

English?

I was born in the United States of America to a nice lesbian couple.  I know nothing more of my heritage other than my biological parents are white and speak English.  You would think this has worked to my advantage, as English is quite prevalent in the areas of this country that I have lived.  However, I tend to think the version of English I speak only works in school and work settings.  Somehow, family members and romantic partners only hear gibberish coming out of my mouth and communication is never successful.  I hear them speaking what appears to be the only language I know, but for some reason or another, what I’m saying doesn’t compute with them.  It’s quite distressing.  My mother and my son both just look at me like I’m squawking and generally ignore me outright.  I have slightly more success with women, however, what they “hear” isn’t really what I said at all.  It’s like the telephone game, where the message kind of sounds the same but gets lost in the multiple transfers.  Only, there’s just the one transfer, so I’m not really sure wherein the confusion lies.  It is so frustrating.  Heartache always ensues eventually.  Was there a memo about a new second version of English and I missed it?  I mean, I feel I’m speaking clearly and plainly- “Let’s take this slow, date, enjoy each other.  No pressure, no expectations.”  But she hears “I want to marry you, burden you with my baggage and live with you FOREVER!”  Did I miss something?  Does no pressure and no expectations equate to marriage and babies?  I don’t think it does, unless Websters has published a new meanings dictionary of which I am not aware. ...Maybe it was in that memo…