We spoke again, after the goodbye exchange. She doesn't have the energy to put into returning the love that I have for her. She needs to find her own path, her own joy, for her. She will always love the fact that I will always love her, that I will always be here for her. I helped her to see that she wasn't the cause of the unhappiness in her life, that she is worthy of being loved. It felt alot like the first time that we went through this. And, while I can't say that it made it easier, I felt as though I attained closure. She will never belong to me. The time that we had together was borrowed, and never guaranteed. I can look these facts in the face, and accept them.
I know now, that it wasn't me. There was nothing more that I could have done, nothing that I could have done differently. Thinking of her smile, remembering her voice, while they still hurt, hurt less. The promises, the commitments that both of us made are still bouncing around in my head, and those hurt significantly more. I don't understand it at all, but I've started taking the memories and putting them away, like keepsakes in a box. Through her, I experienced some of the happiest moments of my life, and I will always appreciate that. I found the good man in myself, in part because of her.
For over a month now, I have been growing close to and confiding in a very sweet, very kind, very understanding woman. My family loves her. She takes me to places in the city that I would never have thought of going to on my own, introduces me to culinary experiences that I wouldn't have tried, exposes me to hobbies that I wouldn't have given much thought to in the past. We don't read the same books. We don't listen to the same music (although I've been introducing her to genres that she's never experienced). We don't have a track record of enjoying the same movies (although she's been remarkably patient with my attempts to transform her into a sci-fi geek). We don't have what I would call a traditional "spark".
But she's patient. She's kind. She's sat and listened to me pour out my soul about another woman. She's listened to me profess undying love, devotion, and commitment to someone who has, for all that I know, walked out of my life forever, and she hasn't given up on me. She makes me acknowledge my successes, talks me out of beating myself up over my failures, and puts time and energy into me. She's available to me, knows that she wants to be by my side, and puts herself there. She really has been amazing to me. I don't know what my path forward holds, but I know that she's traveling it with me.
But how, you might ask, can you go from declaring undying love and devotion to someone in one part of your narrative, and then speak of being with someone else in just a few short paragraphs? How can you speak of love as an absolute in the past, assuring us that you don't cut and run, and then just a few weeks later introduce us to a new player in your life as though it were trivial?
Because it's not trivial. Because it took me weeks to acknowledge to myself that it was the right thing to do. Because I gave Jen space, and time, and love, all of me, and she closed the door to her life in my face. Because I deserve to be happy, and because I deserve to know where the person that I love wants to be in my life, where they want me to be in their lives. Because she had no energy left to spare for me, for my happiness, and that's okay. She has to make the choices necessary to make herself happy, and somewhere, somehow, I became a part of the problem, and no longer a part of the solution.
And because I'm not speaking words of love to anyone else right now. And may never, if it means going through this kind of thing again. Right now, I'm spending time with someone who wants to see me happy, and who is willing to put time and energy into bringing me back to that place. I've found in the last week, while beginning the process of letting go, that loving someone with that amount of energy, when it isn't returned with the same amount of energy, is exhausting. I don't know if I can bring myself to ever commit like that again. I don't believe that I will ever find love like that again, and I'm coming to terms with that. Maybe we aren't meant to. Maybe loving like that isn't healthy. Maybe all of my expectations, all of my hopes were unrealistic. Maybe giddy, irrational happiness like that is destined by nature to be short lived. I don't know. I just know that I'm tired, and for the first time in a long time, I have a shoulder to rest my head upon. That might be silly, but it's all that I've wanted for months. I'm finding peace. Finding rest. Finding closure.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Goodbyes
I let go today. I said goodbye. By necessity it was via email. She hasn't had the time to talk to me on the phone in quite a while. I tried to call, but it went to voicemail, as I had expected it to. I had prepared myself for it to be hard, and it was harder than I had imagined that it would be. Love is patient, and I will love her for the rest of my life. I can't, however, keep living a life in which I allow myself to be relegated to the lowest priority in her life. I can't keep living a life in which I have to beg for the least amounts of attention. I won't pretend to be a healthy, whole individual, but even I finally came to the conclusion that it was unhealthy.
I will most likely never hear from her again. I'm not okay with that yet, but she seems to be, I can't tell. She's psyched about the possibility of the Rangers making it to the World Series, according to her last Facebook status. I deactivated my Facebook. I honestly have no desire to be around people for quite some time, and I don't have the ability to maintain what she calls a "Facebook Face".
It will also most likely be some time before I update this record. While I recognize that I truly am a lucky man, I have to take some time to internalize this, and move through it. I had never expected to lose her again. I had never expected, from the conversations that we had, the moments that we shared, that she would walk away. I had believed that we completed each other, and committed myself fully to the promise of a life with her. It was supposed to work this time. I don't understand what I could have done differently.
I will most likely never hear from her again. I'm not okay with that yet, but she seems to be, I can't tell. She's psyched about the possibility of the Rangers making it to the World Series, according to her last Facebook status. I deactivated my Facebook. I honestly have no desire to be around people for quite some time, and I don't have the ability to maintain what she calls a "Facebook Face".
It will also most likely be some time before I update this record. While I recognize that I truly am a lucky man, I have to take some time to internalize this, and move through it. I had never expected to lose her again. I had never expected, from the conversations that we had, the moments that we shared, that she would walk away. I had believed that we completed each other, and committed myself fully to the promise of a life with her. It was supposed to work this time. I don't understand what I could have done differently.
Monday, October 18, 2010
If you love something
In keeping with my recent tendency to examine trite phrases that seem to end up in motivational conversations, I've spent some time thinking about another classic.
If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it was yours. If it doesn't, it never was.
(Okay, so I paraphrased. And inserted things like commas and periods. Google that phrase, and you'll find that it just can't seem to help but come across like it was written by a semi-literate teenage girl.)
Setting something that you love free is incredibly hard. It means letting go. It means understanding that they have their own life to live. Their own choices to make. Their own path to take. Their own challenges. You may be asking too much of them. They may love you, but they just can't be what you want or need them to be. Whatever the case may be, you accept that it's outside of your power to do anything more to change it. In fact, by trying too hard to keep that love in your life, you could suffocate it. In the immortal words of .38 Special, "if you cling too tightly, you're gonna lose control".
If it comes back to you, it doesn't necessarily mean that it was always yours, or that it will stay in your life from that point on. My joy came back to me after 16 years of darkness and loneliness for both of us. And now it's gone. I've found the hard way that things don't happen according to our wishes in life based on the desire that we throw at them. If this were true, we all would have gotten the puppy we wanted for Christmas when we were kids. I've also learned that life isn't anything remotely like a romantic comedy, or a sitcom from the 80's. Telling someone that if they really, really loved you, that they would find a way to be with you doesn't result in a montage of two people crying alone and then inevitably finding their way to each other at the hour of their greatest need. It breaks things.
I am in love, for better or worse, and will be for the rest of my life. At this point, I don't know if I will ever have her in my life again, but I have to let it go. If this love was meant to be, it will. If not, I'm left with memories of the happiest moments in my life, outside of the birth of my children. I was lucky enough to have reached out to the most wonderful woman that I have ever known, to have given her all of the man that I am, and to have been the recipient of her love, for however brief a time. How many people can claim to have been so fortunate? If I should never hear from her again, I was still lucky enough to have had her in my life. Even in this, of all things, I find that I am an incredibly lucky man.
If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it was yours. If it doesn't, it never was.
(Okay, so I paraphrased. And inserted things like commas and periods. Google that phrase, and you'll find that it just can't seem to help but come across like it was written by a semi-literate teenage girl.)
Setting something that you love free is incredibly hard. It means letting go. It means understanding that they have their own life to live. Their own choices to make. Their own path to take. Their own challenges. You may be asking too much of them. They may love you, but they just can't be what you want or need them to be. Whatever the case may be, you accept that it's outside of your power to do anything more to change it. In fact, by trying too hard to keep that love in your life, you could suffocate it. In the immortal words of .38 Special, "if you cling too tightly, you're gonna lose control".
If it comes back to you, it doesn't necessarily mean that it was always yours, or that it will stay in your life from that point on. My joy came back to me after 16 years of darkness and loneliness for both of us. And now it's gone. I've found the hard way that things don't happen according to our wishes in life based on the desire that we throw at them. If this were true, we all would have gotten the puppy we wanted for Christmas when we were kids. I've also learned that life isn't anything remotely like a romantic comedy, or a sitcom from the 80's. Telling someone that if they really, really loved you, that they would find a way to be with you doesn't result in a montage of two people crying alone and then inevitably finding their way to each other at the hour of their greatest need. It breaks things.
I am in love, for better or worse, and will be for the rest of my life. At this point, I don't know if I will ever have her in my life again, but I have to let it go. If this love was meant to be, it will. If not, I'm left with memories of the happiest moments in my life, outside of the birth of my children. I was lucky enough to have reached out to the most wonderful woman that I have ever known, to have given her all of the man that I am, and to have been the recipient of her love, for however brief a time. How many people can claim to have been so fortunate? If I should never hear from her again, I was still lucky enough to have had her in my life. Even in this, of all things, I find that I am an incredibly lucky man.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Serenity
At one point in my life, every time that I heard someone reference or repeat the Serenity Prayer, I would roll my eyes, or at the very least, get that feeling inside that you get when you roll your eyes. I think that we all know it, but just in case we don't, here you go:
There is so much that I want to change, and that I can't. My mind honestly works at the insurmountable things in my life like it's trying to solve a Gordian knot. Accepting that I just can't change them, that there isn't always a bold move to suddenly make them right, is really very hard for me. In my mind, letting go of something is tantamount to admitting that you failed at making it work. It's one of the reasons that my marriage lasted as long as it did. I didn't want to admit that it had failed, even though the evidence was all around me. I need to learn to visualize the weight that I feel from these things as rocks, and to just drop them instead of carrying them with me everywhere I go.
I could be spending as much time battling with these issues as I do because I lack the courage to just change the things that I can, and should. It's easier for me to tell myself that I don't know what to do to fix something than it is to accept the solution that would fix it, because I want a fixed outcome, requiring the serenity to accept that I can't change the outcome. There are times when I will worry at something into weariness, exhausting every possible outcome, just to avoid accepting the fact that I have to make changes, like ending my marriage.
Having the wisdom to know the difference isn't the same thing as the intelligence to recognize the difference. I'm intelligent enough to know, for example, that I can't force some things to happen in my life by my timetable. I can't, for example, force someone to choose a path in their life that leads them to immediately to me simply because it would make me happy. I know that. I'm not, however, wise enough to assimilate that into my day to day hopes and fears. On a certain level, I have this childish need to have my own insecurities and doubts allayed constantly, and I should probably see a therapist about that.
The rest of the 12 Step version is what really drew me in, though. Because I need the patience to realize that not all wonderful things in life germinate, take root, and blossom overnight. Roses may smell sweet when they're budding, but if we pick them too soon, they'll never attain the potential that they could have had if we had left them there until they were ready, yellow, and inviting. I need to learn to appreciate what I have, and not just yearn for what I don't. I need to learn that what I'm going through isn't what everyone else is going through, and that the people around me are struggling with their own problems. I need to learn to forgive myself for the things that I've done and can't change, and to forgive others for things that I'm still angry over.
The loving part I've always been good at. It's one of the reasons that I've learned over the years to be selective about the relationships that I engage in with people. Everyone deserves to be loved, at least a little, but the people in my life that I love, well, I never love in half measures. I do need to learn, though, that the strength to get up again doesn't always have to come from inside of me. I have a hard time reaching out to people when I'm in pain, a hard time admitting that I need help, because it's always seemed like an admission of weakness. When I do reach out, I need to learn when to stop asking for more than someone can give, because the world doesn't revolve around me. Well, except to my babies.
Which brings me back to my need for this whole philosophical lesson in the first place. I'm in a place in life that's unstable. The plans that I had made with the mother of my children about their future have changed a few times. I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was, but I allowed myself to think that it could all work out in the end. My faith was misplaced. I'm still not sure what's going to happen, but I know that I need to take steps to take care of it, so that it doesn't take care of itself without my input. My energy needs to be spent on securing what's best for them.
I feel like a man who's been handed a painting by Monet, while his house is in smoking ruins around him. Before I can figure out where to hang it, I need to, well, rebuild my house. Sure, I could just throw up some joists and sheetrock and then hang it on my impromptu wall, but if I don't have a house built around that wall, it's eventually going to fall. As much as I hate to, I need to stop admiring the beauty of the Monet, put it down, and get to work on rebuilding the house, making it stable and secure, a warm and comforting place for my children to grow up, admiring it's beauty with me. It's not going anywhere. It's still my Monet. Unless the deliveryman comes back and picks it up, because it wasn't supposed to be delivered to me in the first place. See? See how my mind works? This is why I need to work on this whole thing.
Next time we'll talk about the classic proverb that begins with "If you love something, set it free..."
Or maybe we won't, I don't know, I've got to shop for sheetrock and lumber first. Does anyone have nails? And maybe a hammer?
- God, grant me the serenity
- To accept the things I cannot change;
- Courage to change the things I can;
- And wisdom to know the difference.
- God, grant us the...
- Serenity to accept things we cannot change,
- Courage to change the things we can, and the
- Wisdom to know the difference
- Patience for the things that take time
- Appreciation for all that we have, and
- Tolerance for those with different struggles
- Freedom to live beyond the limitations of our past ways, the
- Ability to feel your love for us and our love for each other and the
- Strength to get up and try again even when we feel it is hopeless.
There is so much that I want to change, and that I can't. My mind honestly works at the insurmountable things in my life like it's trying to solve a Gordian knot. Accepting that I just can't change them, that there isn't always a bold move to suddenly make them right, is really very hard for me. In my mind, letting go of something is tantamount to admitting that you failed at making it work. It's one of the reasons that my marriage lasted as long as it did. I didn't want to admit that it had failed, even though the evidence was all around me. I need to learn to visualize the weight that I feel from these things as rocks, and to just drop them instead of carrying them with me everywhere I go.
I could be spending as much time battling with these issues as I do because I lack the courage to just change the things that I can, and should. It's easier for me to tell myself that I don't know what to do to fix something than it is to accept the solution that would fix it, because I want a fixed outcome, requiring the serenity to accept that I can't change the outcome. There are times when I will worry at something into weariness, exhausting every possible outcome, just to avoid accepting the fact that I have to make changes, like ending my marriage.
Having the wisdom to know the difference isn't the same thing as the intelligence to recognize the difference. I'm intelligent enough to know, for example, that I can't force some things to happen in my life by my timetable. I can't, for example, force someone to choose a path in their life that leads them to immediately to me simply because it would make me happy. I know that. I'm not, however, wise enough to assimilate that into my day to day hopes and fears. On a certain level, I have this childish need to have my own insecurities and doubts allayed constantly, and I should probably see a therapist about that.
The rest of the 12 Step version is what really drew me in, though. Because I need the patience to realize that not all wonderful things in life germinate, take root, and blossom overnight. Roses may smell sweet when they're budding, but if we pick them too soon, they'll never attain the potential that they could have had if we had left them there until they were ready, yellow, and inviting. I need to learn to appreciate what I have, and not just yearn for what I don't. I need to learn that what I'm going through isn't what everyone else is going through, and that the people around me are struggling with their own problems. I need to learn to forgive myself for the things that I've done and can't change, and to forgive others for things that I'm still angry over.
The loving part I've always been good at. It's one of the reasons that I've learned over the years to be selective about the relationships that I engage in with people. Everyone deserves to be loved, at least a little, but the people in my life that I love, well, I never love in half measures. I do need to learn, though, that the strength to get up again doesn't always have to come from inside of me. I have a hard time reaching out to people when I'm in pain, a hard time admitting that I need help, because it's always seemed like an admission of weakness. When I do reach out, I need to learn when to stop asking for more than someone can give, because the world doesn't revolve around me. Well, except to my babies.
Which brings me back to my need for this whole philosophical lesson in the first place. I'm in a place in life that's unstable. The plans that I had made with the mother of my children about their future have changed a few times. I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was, but I allowed myself to think that it could all work out in the end. My faith was misplaced. I'm still not sure what's going to happen, but I know that I need to take steps to take care of it, so that it doesn't take care of itself without my input. My energy needs to be spent on securing what's best for them.
I feel like a man who's been handed a painting by Monet, while his house is in smoking ruins around him. Before I can figure out where to hang it, I need to, well, rebuild my house. Sure, I could just throw up some joists and sheetrock and then hang it on my impromptu wall, but if I don't have a house built around that wall, it's eventually going to fall. As much as I hate to, I need to stop admiring the beauty of the Monet, put it down, and get to work on rebuilding the house, making it stable and secure, a warm and comforting place for my children to grow up, admiring it's beauty with me. It's not going anywhere. It's still my Monet. Unless the deliveryman comes back and picks it up, because it wasn't supposed to be delivered to me in the first place. See? See how my mind works? This is why I need to work on this whole thing.
Next time we'll talk about the classic proverb that begins with "If you love something, set it free..."
Or maybe we won't, I don't know, I've got to shop for sheetrock and lumber first. Does anyone have nails? And maybe a hammer?
Sunday, September 26, 2010
On Love, Again
When I was a minister in training, I would almost always emphasize the love of Christ in my sermon studies. Rather than focus on the post-mortem structure of Peter and Paul that give most conservative ministers license to condemn everyone under the sun to Hell, it was important to me that we remember that He socialized with the undesirable, and that He gave love to those who were judged as unlovable by everyone else. One of my favorite passages in the NT was a definition of what love should be.
1 Corinthians 13:4-8
4Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 8Love never fails.
You may have noticed that my last rambling diatribe of a post has been removed. I removed it because, as soon as I posted it, it felt wrong. It felt self serving, and self centered. It felt as though I were putting my love on display for all to see, and saying "Look! Look at what manner of man that I am, giving all and being repaid with sorrow!"
(edit: I have republished that post. Revisionist historians always bothered me.)
At the end of the day, whether I sleep alone or not, whether I weep or laugh, whether I have peace or my mind refuses to allow it, my life, and my love, are the result of choices that I have made. There is no room in agape for "but...". Love is patient. Love is kind. Love doesn't boast, and it isn't proud. It isn't self seeking. It isn't easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. My last post was the reflection of something that was not patient, that was not kind. It was a boast. It was proud, and self seeking. It was angry. It wanted to keep record of wrongs. It was not protective, it had lost trust, and hope. It had failed. This is not how I love.
I try very hard to be honest, and to remember how fortunate I am. I have the love of an incredible woman, who only asks me to give her agape in return. To give her patience. To be kind. This should be easy for me, because this is how I love.
I am not, unfortunately, a strong man. I frequently despair over my weaknesses. I am going through one of the most difficult periods that I have ever experienced in my life, and rather than face it head on, as I should, I whine about going through it alone. There are widows in third world countries trying to find a way to feed their children on less money a month than I make in a day. There are good, hardworking people going through trials in their lives that make mine look like a walk in the park. I should be grateful that I have what I do.
I have four beautiful children who love me more than anyone else on the face of the earth. I am at the center of their universes. I have a family willing to move mountains to help me do what's best for them. I have 6 friends who love and support me, because when I choose friends I choose the right people. I have a great job, and managers who work with me on trying to figure out what it is that I want to be, and how to get me there. I have the freedom and the resources to allow me to plan a trip to see the most amazing woman on the face of the planet, and she makes as much time for me as she can when I do. I have an incredible woman who completes me, and all that she asks me for is time, and patience.
Who am I, to complain? I should be grateful and glad, to have so much. That is how I should love.
1 Corinthians 13:4-8
4Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 8Love never fails.
You may have noticed that my last rambling diatribe of a post has been removed. I removed it because, as soon as I posted it, it felt wrong. It felt self serving, and self centered. It felt as though I were putting my love on display for all to see, and saying "Look! Look at what manner of man that I am, giving all and being repaid with sorrow!"
(edit: I have republished that post. Revisionist historians always bothered me.)
At the end of the day, whether I sleep alone or not, whether I weep or laugh, whether I have peace or my mind refuses to allow it, my life, and my love, are the result of choices that I have made. There is no room in agape for "but...". Love is patient. Love is kind. Love doesn't boast, and it isn't proud. It isn't self seeking. It isn't easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. My last post was the reflection of something that was not patient, that was not kind. It was a boast. It was proud, and self seeking. It was angry. It wanted to keep record of wrongs. It was not protective, it had lost trust, and hope. It had failed. This is not how I love.
I try very hard to be honest, and to remember how fortunate I am. I have the love of an incredible woman, who only asks me to give her agape in return. To give her patience. To be kind. This should be easy for me, because this is how I love.
I am not, unfortunately, a strong man. I frequently despair over my weaknesses. I am going through one of the most difficult periods that I have ever experienced in my life, and rather than face it head on, as I should, I whine about going through it alone. There are widows in third world countries trying to find a way to feed their children on less money a month than I make in a day. There are good, hardworking people going through trials in their lives that make mine look like a walk in the park. I should be grateful that I have what I do.
I have four beautiful children who love me more than anyone else on the face of the earth. I am at the center of their universes. I have a family willing to move mountains to help me do what's best for them. I have 6 friends who love and support me, because when I choose friends I choose the right people. I have a great job, and managers who work with me on trying to figure out what it is that I want to be, and how to get me there. I have the freedom and the resources to allow me to plan a trip to see the most amazing woman on the face of the planet, and she makes as much time for me as she can when I do. I have an incredible woman who completes me, and all that she asks me for is time, and patience.
Who am I, to complain? I should be grateful and glad, to have so much. That is how I should love.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
On Love, and Happiness
In the past, I've been rather coy regarding my happiness, and the cause. Or at least, I thought that I was. In hindsight now, I think that it would be obvious to all who read my previous posts that the happiness that I spoke of was in fact love. While my last post was titled "The Last Post", I have in fact been struggling with the situation since.
I am in love with a woman who is unavailable to me. I first saw her 16 years ago in college, standing alone on the quad, obviously waiting for someone. I tried an unbelievably corny but original pickup line. "You know, if you're waiting for him now, he'll keep you waiting forever." It was the only time that a pickup line has ever worked for me. She was the first woman that I really, truly loved. The first woman that I ever proposed to. My first lesson in what happens when you stop paying attention, and take someone for granted. We lost touch for almost 15 years. When I began my journey back into freedom, I looked for her, because she was the last woman in whose life I felt that I had truly made a positive difference. When I reached out to her, I hoped to hear that she was happy, that I had indeed made a positive difference in her life. Her story is her own to tell, but chance and circumstance conspired to bring us back together at a time when we were both in pain.
The Greeks have several words for love. The two that we most commonly would identify with are agape and philia. Agape is unconditional love, commonly reserved for reference to the love shared between spouses or family members. Philia is brotherly love, commonly used when referring to the affection between friends. I mention this because, when I give someone agape, I love them with all of my being. There are few things that could bring me to break that tie with someone, dishonesty being paramount, and the giving of that love has been very rare for me.
I have loved no one in my life like I love this woman. I can tell you her favorite author. I can tell you her favorite book by that author. I can tell you what her favorite band is, what the side projects of the band members are, and what bands the members came from to form that band. I can tell you who her favorite baseball team is, what her favorite football teams are (pro and college), what her favorite car is, what her favorite comfort food is, what her favorite adult beverage is, what her favorite cologne is, what her favorite candy bar is, and how she likes her tea. I know where she likes to be touched, and how she likes her massages. We've decided what to name our dog, and our child, if we should decide to have one. I will spend over a third of a day driving in order to spend 15 minutes with her, then turn around and drive back. I call her before I get out of bed in the morning, and I listen to audio on my phone of her telling me how much she loves me before I go to sleep. I want to wake up next to her and go to sleep with her every day for the rest of my life. She has been my everything, and I want her to be, because she is amazing.
I would like to say that this love is not unrequited. Because of the nature of the situation that she finds herself in, I'm limited to talking to her while she's at work, when I call, and she has time. I'm limited to hearing from her via email while she's at work, and when she has time. I'm on her mind, though, she tells me, even when she can't communicate with me. She's coming someday, she says. She just needs time, to find the right time to break away from the comfort of everything that she's known for the last 14 years and make an incredible leap of faith. My solace in the off hours is to read her Facebook status updates, and watch her banter with a man who tells her that she's blackhearted and judgmental, and that she ruined his life. It's been 3 days now, since last I've heard from her. It will be at least 5 before I do, and that's if I'm lucky.
I know. I know how it looks. I know how it feels, on the bad days and the good. I've tried to look for someone else to fill the void. At the end of the day, though, no one can take her place. She is my puzzle piece. When I close my eyes, I see the light of love that fills her eyes for me, and I know that I could no more turn my back to her than I could stop breathing. Agape. Unconditional. Even when conditions aren't always what we would like them to be. Because that's the way that I love.
I create those conditions for myself, though. I let them control me. By letting my anxiety, my low self esteem, and my impatience create a feedback loop that pulls me down ever further, I move further and further from the positive place that I should be bringing myself to. I have to learn to recognize that I can do nothing more to have a positive effect on the outcome of the situation that I find myself in. If who I am is enough, and if the situation that she's in hasn't made her leave by now, I can't be "more" of that person and make her decide to come sooner. I can only make it worse by trying, and can produce no positive outcome at all through the sheer amount of worry that I go through over it.
Several of my friends have counseled that I should stop trying to find my happiness through my relationships with others, and instead try to find my happiness within. That until I can find a way to be happy alone, I will never be happy with someone else. I don't know how to do this. My waking thoughts are occupied by what I could be doing differently, what I might have done wrong, how I could make her happier. One of my friends has told me that I need to quiet all of the inner voices and listen for my own, the one giving me the answer. I'm afraid of letting go. Afraid of focusing on myself. Afraid of what the answer might be.
Besides, for now I have plenty of other things to think about. My children, first and foremost. They need me now more than they have ever needed me. They should be my everything. There is a real possibility in the near future that I may need to take them. To find a way to give them a stable, responsible, and orderly home. To shuttle them to school, to find a way to pick them up. To be everything that they need me to be. I only hope that I can be. I only know that I will never give up on trying. Because that's the way that I love.
I am in love with a woman who is unavailable to me. I first saw her 16 years ago in college, standing alone on the quad, obviously waiting for someone. I tried an unbelievably corny but original pickup line. "You know, if you're waiting for him now, he'll keep you waiting forever." It was the only time that a pickup line has ever worked for me. She was the first woman that I really, truly loved. The first woman that I ever proposed to. My first lesson in what happens when you stop paying attention, and take someone for granted. We lost touch for almost 15 years. When I began my journey back into freedom, I looked for her, because she was the last woman in whose life I felt that I had truly made a positive difference. When I reached out to her, I hoped to hear that she was happy, that I had indeed made a positive difference in her life. Her story is her own to tell, but chance and circumstance conspired to bring us back together at a time when we were both in pain.
The Greeks have several words for love. The two that we most commonly would identify with are agape and philia. Agape is unconditional love, commonly reserved for reference to the love shared between spouses or family members. Philia is brotherly love, commonly used when referring to the affection between friends. I mention this because, when I give someone agape, I love them with all of my being. There are few things that could bring me to break that tie with someone, dishonesty being paramount, and the giving of that love has been very rare for me.
I have loved no one in my life like I love this woman. I can tell you her favorite author. I can tell you her favorite book by that author. I can tell you what her favorite band is, what the side projects of the band members are, and what bands the members came from to form that band. I can tell you who her favorite baseball team is, what her favorite football teams are (pro and college), what her favorite car is, what her favorite comfort food is, what her favorite adult beverage is, what her favorite cologne is, what her favorite candy bar is, and how she likes her tea. I know where she likes to be touched, and how she likes her massages. We've decided what to name our dog, and our child, if we should decide to have one. I will spend over a third of a day driving in order to spend 15 minutes with her, then turn around and drive back. I call her before I get out of bed in the morning, and I listen to audio on my phone of her telling me how much she loves me before I go to sleep. I want to wake up next to her and go to sleep with her every day for the rest of my life. She has been my everything, and I want her to be, because she is amazing.
I would like to say that this love is not unrequited. Because of the nature of the situation that she finds herself in, I'm limited to talking to her while she's at work, when I call, and she has time. I'm limited to hearing from her via email while she's at work, and when she has time. I'm on her mind, though, she tells me, even when she can't communicate with me. She's coming someday, she says. She just needs time, to find the right time to break away from the comfort of everything that she's known for the last 14 years and make an incredible leap of faith. My solace in the off hours is to read her Facebook status updates, and watch her banter with a man who tells her that she's blackhearted and judgmental, and that she ruined his life. It's been 3 days now, since last I've heard from her. It will be at least 5 before I do, and that's if I'm lucky.
I know. I know how it looks. I know how it feels, on the bad days and the good. I've tried to look for someone else to fill the void. At the end of the day, though, no one can take her place. She is my puzzle piece. When I close my eyes, I see the light of love that fills her eyes for me, and I know that I could no more turn my back to her than I could stop breathing. Agape. Unconditional. Even when conditions aren't always what we would like them to be. Because that's the way that I love.
I create those conditions for myself, though. I let them control me. By letting my anxiety, my low self esteem, and my impatience create a feedback loop that pulls me down ever further, I move further and further from the positive place that I should be bringing myself to. I have to learn to recognize that I can do nothing more to have a positive effect on the outcome of the situation that I find myself in. If who I am is enough, and if the situation that she's in hasn't made her leave by now, I can't be "more" of that person and make her decide to come sooner. I can only make it worse by trying, and can produce no positive outcome at all through the sheer amount of worry that I go through over it.
Several of my friends have counseled that I should stop trying to find my happiness through my relationships with others, and instead try to find my happiness within. That until I can find a way to be happy alone, I will never be happy with someone else. I don't know how to do this. My waking thoughts are occupied by what I could be doing differently, what I might have done wrong, how I could make her happier. One of my friends has told me that I need to quiet all of the inner voices and listen for my own, the one giving me the answer. I'm afraid of letting go. Afraid of focusing on myself. Afraid of what the answer might be.
Besides, for now I have plenty of other things to think about. My children, first and foremost. They need me now more than they have ever needed me. They should be my everything. There is a real possibility in the near future that I may need to take them. To find a way to give them a stable, responsible, and orderly home. To shuttle them to school, to find a way to pick them up. To be everything that they need me to be. I only hope that I can be. I only know that I will never give up on trying. Because that's the way that I love.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
The Last Post
I started this blog fresh from what I thought were a liberating series of changes in my life that would lead to a brighter, happier future. This may still be true. What I hadn't expected, at the beginning of that road, was just how long that road would feel. I had intended this space to be a place to share my insight into how wonderful life really is. The truth, I've found, is that life is not inherently wonderful. Life is a series of choices that we make, the moments in between echoes of consequence. There are times when those choices are poorly made, and the moments feel heavier than lead between.
I had expected that by leaving the situation that I was in, I was leaving behind my unhappiness. I had thought that I was ready to claim my happiness. Unfortunately, my happiness isn't ready to be claimed, and I continue to carry the source of my unhappiness inside. There are life lessons in this, I know, about attainment, desire and fulfillment, but I'm not ready to learn them. Right now, I feel like a man dying of thirst, carrying a cracked vessel along my journey. The flowers along the side of the road may be beautiful, but I'm too weak to appreciate them.
My journey isn't over, far from it. I just have no more wisdom in me, not that there ever was much that I would claim. I'm feeling more Amadain these days, for so many reasons. This space was meant to be a record of the positive things, of my good fortune. There are positive things in my life, surely, and I'm still fortunate. I'm just too parched to recognize them. May your own journey be full of moments easier to recognize as good, and may you be wise enough to notice and appreciate them. You'll be wiser, and more worthy of them, than I.
I had expected that by leaving the situation that I was in, I was leaving behind my unhappiness. I had thought that I was ready to claim my happiness. Unfortunately, my happiness isn't ready to be claimed, and I continue to carry the source of my unhappiness inside. There are life lessons in this, I know, about attainment, desire and fulfillment, but I'm not ready to learn them. Right now, I feel like a man dying of thirst, carrying a cracked vessel along my journey. The flowers along the side of the road may be beautiful, but I'm too weak to appreciate them.
My journey isn't over, far from it. I just have no more wisdom in me, not that there ever was much that I would claim. I'm feeling more Amadain these days, for so many reasons. This space was meant to be a record of the positive things, of my good fortune. There are positive things in my life, surely, and I'm still fortunate. I'm just too parched to recognize them. May your own journey be full of moments easier to recognize as good, and may you be wise enough to notice and appreciate them. You'll be wiser, and more worthy of them, than I.
Monday, July 12, 2010
On waiting
My life seems to have been placed on pause as I wait for several things to happen. Not a static pause, placed on hold, but a dynamic pause. The distance between one breath and the next, the silence in the tempo of a heartbeat. I wait for one event to occur so that I can begin the next. While that may be true of everyone on a metaphysical level, unfortunately it has tangible meaning for me. I wait for a discharge to my bankruptcy, so that I can begin the process of my divorce. I wait for the divorce, so that hopefully someday I will feel the burden of the change that I've forced my children through lifted. I wait for the day to come when I'm sharing my life with the right woman. I wait, and I bide my time. Not with the grim outlook of the condemned man that I used to be, counting the hours until I could be released from misery, but with the hope and anticipation of a reprieved man, knowing that I have a future, and that joy is in it.
Unfortunately, either habit is unhealthy. Rather than living in the now, and realizing that I have all of the tools, all of the material for happiness and joy in my life, I put my hope for joy in the aftermath of future events. "Someday, I will be happy, but only after this happens, and this happens, and this happens." No, if I take a deep breath and stop looking ahead, and start looking at now, I realize that I am happy now. I have the love of those who are closest to me. I have my health (in large part, discounting my current sinus infection), I have the ability to work, to contribute to society, to enjoy the small moments of my life. I am, indeed, an incredibly lucky man. Life shouldn't be defined in what we anticipate to be our greatest successes, or our worst failures, but rather in the moments that we choose to make memorable. By taking this breath, and typing these words, I create a record of this moment. The music that I write to, the room that I write in, the events of the day, all crystalized in memory because I choose them to be. The littlest of moments, by becoming the memories, alleviate the need to wait. In engaging the now, and letting the past and future sort themselves out according to plan, we may find more pleasure, and less worry.
Unfortunately, either habit is unhealthy. Rather than living in the now, and realizing that I have all of the tools, all of the material for happiness and joy in my life, I put my hope for joy in the aftermath of future events. "Someday, I will be happy, but only after this happens, and this happens, and this happens." No, if I take a deep breath and stop looking ahead, and start looking at now, I realize that I am happy now. I have the love of those who are closest to me. I have my health (in large part, discounting my current sinus infection), I have the ability to work, to contribute to society, to enjoy the small moments of my life. I am, indeed, an incredibly lucky man. Life shouldn't be defined in what we anticipate to be our greatest successes, or our worst failures, but rather in the moments that we choose to make memorable. By taking this breath, and typing these words, I create a record of this moment. The music that I write to, the room that I write in, the events of the day, all crystalized in memory because I choose them to be. The littlest of moments, by becoming the memories, alleviate the need to wait. In engaging the now, and letting the past and future sort themselves out according to plan, we may find more pleasure, and less worry.
Friday, June 25, 2010
On Anger, and Bad Days
"You're afraid of going back to the house, aren't you?"
This question, asked with a giggle by one of my children, was what led to the culmination of a very bad week. The mother of my children had recently begun having her boyfriend over for sleepovers. I had, and still have, no problem with this. She's human, after all, and needs companionship, like we all do. I did, and still do, have a problem with her having the man sleep in her bed while my children are there. Especially, as was the case last weekend, on Fathers Day.
I recognize that I can't control, or dictate morality, to anyone else. They have to make the decisions that they make because they believe that they're the right decision for themselves. As a parent, however, I believe that these decisions must take into consideration the best interest of the child or children in your care. Having someone you've known for less than two months, and that your children have met once or twice, sleep in your bed while your children sleep nearby, seems irresponsible to me. I wouldn't do it, and I asked the mother of my children not to do it, the week before Fathers Day. She agreed.
This is important to me. In a world challenged at every turn by moral dilemmas, I find myself looking for the simplest answers around me. When I ask something of someone, and they agree, I believe that they will honor their terms of the agreement. It seems simple enough to me. "Will you please not let your boyfriend stay the night while the kids are here, at least until the divorce is finalized? It sets a bad example." "Okay, I won't." Simple enough, in my eyes. Imagine the sadness involved on my part, then, when I was told by one of my children that he had spent the night, and woke up in her bed, on Fathers Day. That he had then come back, and spent the night again after I dropped the kids off on Fathers Day. I was hurt beyond words. We had an agreement.
This past Tuesday, I spoke with her again, and she made no effort to apologize for lying to me and breaking our agreement. I let it go, because I recognize that I can't control her morality, can't make her decisions for her. She asked, instead, that I get to know her boyfriend. Give him the chance to win me over, man to man. I've always hoped that whoever she ended up with, I could have some form of friendly relationship with. My early experiences with this man precluded any hope that I had in this case.
Without becoming specific to a degree of personal intrusion, I will say that when I first spoke to him, he threatened me, because I wanted to Google his name for the safety of my children. We spoke again, and while he eventually gave me his name, he also gave me a lengthy discourse on how lucky I was that he wasn't physically near me, because I had angered him so greatly. I listened to a rant about my character, and my inadequate qualities as a provider, and a father. I listened to these things from this man, and I let it go. Afterward, I made a point of avoiding the house when he was there. I had no desire to meet this man. No desire to get to know him. Last week, I asked the mother of my children to at least have him out of the house every other day, so that I could visit at the house with my children. She agreed.
Last night, on a night when I was supposed to have time at the house with the kids, she told me that we would need to go to the park, because he was at the house. Another agreement, broken. We argued for a short period of time about why she couldn't keep up any of our agreements. She had no adequate reasons, and I gave up the argument, in favor of spending time with my kids. My beautiful, precious children, who went on to tell me about how they spend their days with John. How they go to the store with John. How they love John, but not as much as they love me. I was defeated. While I work, to provide for them, to give her money with which to feed my children, and while I pay all of her bills, she and this under employed stranger get to spend their days entertaining my children. I avoided the house while he was there, to avoid confrontation, to avoid an unpleasant encounter, giving him time to steal away my children.
Out of nowhere, near the end of the visit, one of them uttered those words.
"You're afraid of going back to the house, aren't you?"
I asked my child where they had heard this. "John." I asked their mother why she would let this man say such things to my children, without coming to the defense of their father. "Neither of us knows what to think." was her response. Because the event and its repercussions are still too new, I won't go into detail regarding the rest of the evening. I will say though, that my child knows now that I am not afraid of this man. Unfortunately, in the process, I may have ruined what could have been a happy, healthy relationship that my children and their mother had with someone who made them happy. Instead of dealing with this situation in a constructive way, I gave in to my anger and dealt with it in a destructive way. Granted, the man was speaking ill of me to my children, with no defense from their mother, but I'll have to grow to expect that. I'll have to stop looking for cooperation from her, because we're not working toward the same goals. That saddens me, because I realize that it only hurts our children, but I can't make those decisions for her. I can, however, choose not to let the anger control me, and be the man that my children need me to be.
This question, asked with a giggle by one of my children, was what led to the culmination of a very bad week. The mother of my children had recently begun having her boyfriend over for sleepovers. I had, and still have, no problem with this. She's human, after all, and needs companionship, like we all do. I did, and still do, have a problem with her having the man sleep in her bed while my children are there. Especially, as was the case last weekend, on Fathers Day.
I recognize that I can't control, or dictate morality, to anyone else. They have to make the decisions that they make because they believe that they're the right decision for themselves. As a parent, however, I believe that these decisions must take into consideration the best interest of the child or children in your care. Having someone you've known for less than two months, and that your children have met once or twice, sleep in your bed while your children sleep nearby, seems irresponsible to me. I wouldn't do it, and I asked the mother of my children not to do it, the week before Fathers Day. She agreed.
This is important to me. In a world challenged at every turn by moral dilemmas, I find myself looking for the simplest answers around me. When I ask something of someone, and they agree, I believe that they will honor their terms of the agreement. It seems simple enough to me. "Will you please not let your boyfriend stay the night while the kids are here, at least until the divorce is finalized? It sets a bad example." "Okay, I won't." Simple enough, in my eyes. Imagine the sadness involved on my part, then, when I was told by one of my children that he had spent the night, and woke up in her bed, on Fathers Day. That he had then come back, and spent the night again after I dropped the kids off on Fathers Day. I was hurt beyond words. We had an agreement.
This past Tuesday, I spoke with her again, and she made no effort to apologize for lying to me and breaking our agreement. I let it go, because I recognize that I can't control her morality, can't make her decisions for her. She asked, instead, that I get to know her boyfriend. Give him the chance to win me over, man to man. I've always hoped that whoever she ended up with, I could have some form of friendly relationship with. My early experiences with this man precluded any hope that I had in this case.
Without becoming specific to a degree of personal intrusion, I will say that when I first spoke to him, he threatened me, because I wanted to Google his name for the safety of my children. We spoke again, and while he eventually gave me his name, he also gave me a lengthy discourse on how lucky I was that he wasn't physically near me, because I had angered him so greatly. I listened to a rant about my character, and my inadequate qualities as a provider, and a father. I listened to these things from this man, and I let it go. Afterward, I made a point of avoiding the house when he was there. I had no desire to meet this man. No desire to get to know him. Last week, I asked the mother of my children to at least have him out of the house every other day, so that I could visit at the house with my children. She agreed.
Last night, on a night when I was supposed to have time at the house with the kids, she told me that we would need to go to the park, because he was at the house. Another agreement, broken. We argued for a short period of time about why she couldn't keep up any of our agreements. She had no adequate reasons, and I gave up the argument, in favor of spending time with my kids. My beautiful, precious children, who went on to tell me about how they spend their days with John. How they go to the store with John. How they love John, but not as much as they love me. I was defeated. While I work, to provide for them, to give her money with which to feed my children, and while I pay all of her bills, she and this under employed stranger get to spend their days entertaining my children. I avoided the house while he was there, to avoid confrontation, to avoid an unpleasant encounter, giving him time to steal away my children.
Out of nowhere, near the end of the visit, one of them uttered those words.
"You're afraid of going back to the house, aren't you?"
I asked my child where they had heard this. "John." I asked their mother why she would let this man say such things to my children, without coming to the defense of their father. "Neither of us knows what to think." was her response. Because the event and its repercussions are still too new, I won't go into detail regarding the rest of the evening. I will say though, that my child knows now that I am not afraid of this man. Unfortunately, in the process, I may have ruined what could have been a happy, healthy relationship that my children and their mother had with someone who made them happy. Instead of dealing with this situation in a constructive way, I gave in to my anger and dealt with it in a destructive way. Granted, the man was speaking ill of me to my children, with no defense from their mother, but I'll have to grow to expect that. I'll have to stop looking for cooperation from her, because we're not working toward the same goals. That saddens me, because I realize that it only hurts our children, but I can't make those decisions for her. I can, however, choose not to let the anger control me, and be the man that my children need me to be.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
On SSRI's and hard times
Due to my own incompetence, I ran out of my SSRI a week and a half or so ago. Those who have been prescribed SSRI's, like Effexor, know how effective they can be. Those who have come off of that particular form of medication know how difficult that can be. During that period of withdrawal, I found myself drawn into drama over the safety of my children. There are few things in life that I take more seriously than the happiness and security of my children. While I believe the drama to be resolved, I was saddened greatly at the amount of deception involved. While unfortunately I can't say that I was surprised at the fact that it went on, I was surprised at how much I allowed it to hurt me.
I have, through the course of this path that I have put myself on, tried very hard to minimize the amount of pain that the mother of my children went through. She is, after all, half of their world, half of their happiness. Happy parents make happy children. While I will continue to believe in this, I don't believe that I can honestly make myself believe that she plans to extend the same courtesy to me. I accept that. It is, after all, the road that I have put myself on. Even so, I have cried more today than I have in a very long time. I really had hoped that I could keep a friendship with her that would make co-parenting easier.
I took one of the Effexor as soon as I left the pharmacy, and the nausea is already kicking in. I have struggled more with loneliness and with doubt over the last week and a half than I have in months, and it isn't a pleasant place to be. I hate that I have to medicate to get through this, but I've come to realize that if I don't, it will only continue to get worse. I look to a day when I won't need to chemically prop up my happiness, but unfortunately, I haven't reached that leg of my journey yet. For now, I look not to the thunderclouds above my path, but to the flowers beside it, and I try to remind myself of the important things.
I have, through the course of this path that I have put myself on, tried very hard to minimize the amount of pain that the mother of my children went through. She is, after all, half of their world, half of their happiness. Happy parents make happy children. While I will continue to believe in this, I don't believe that I can honestly make myself believe that she plans to extend the same courtesy to me. I accept that. It is, after all, the road that I have put myself on. Even so, I have cried more today than I have in a very long time. I really had hoped that I could keep a friendship with her that would make co-parenting easier.
I took one of the Effexor as soon as I left the pharmacy, and the nausea is already kicking in. I have struggled more with loneliness and with doubt over the last week and a half than I have in months, and it isn't a pleasant place to be. I hate that I have to medicate to get through this, but I've come to realize that if I don't, it will only continue to get worse. I look to a day when I won't need to chemically prop up my happiness, but unfortunately, I haven't reached that leg of my journey yet. For now, I look not to the thunderclouds above my path, but to the flowers beside it, and I try to remind myself of the important things.
Monday, June 7, 2010
On alcohol, loneliness, and acceptance
Several times recently I've found myself drunk. On one of those occasions, very drunk. Never, it should be noted, in the presence of my children. Before the end of my marriage, I drank rarely, always socially, and very, very rarely to excess. When considering my recent experiences, I've found that I set out to seek refuge from loneliness in the alcohol. I had never expected to find myself looking for answers in the bottom of a glass. While it surprises me that at some point I thought that this was an acceptable answer, I probably shouldn't be so surprised.
It's been 4 months now since I stepped away from my marriage, and for a large portion of that time period, I've been alone. These weeks have been the longest periods of solitude that I've experienced in the last 13 years. Granted, I have the love and companionship of my children, and that does go a long way toward making this transition period bearable, but they can only stand to be hugged for so long before they need to wriggle away and expend their youthful energy somewhere else. Funny, how something as simple as a hug from someone that isn't obligated by the bonds of family to give them can be so profoundly missed. I've always been one of those people who puts everything into a hug. My love, my care, my worry, my compassion, all of it flows through the hug, and I try to make them last. These kinds of hugs make some people uncomfortable, but for others the effect is mutually therapeutic. As a physically affectionate person, this has been a hard time for me. I've found that, while the alcohol led to some embarrassing FaceBook posts, and some emotionally charged behavior, it didn't provide the outlet that I had been looking for.
At this point, depending on who you are, and how you feel about the path that I've set myself on, you may be thinking that I have noone to blame for this situation but myself. This is true. I wouldn't dare try to pass the consequences of my decisions off on someone else. You may choose to believe that my suffering is a suitable punishment for what I've done to others. On this, we would agree to disagree. According to the wisdom of the Dalai Lama, pain is inevitable, suffering is optional. In examining my loneliness, and in trying to obtain right understanding, I've found that while acknowledging my pain is healthy, trying to avoid dealing with it through the alcohol only caused suffering. Rather than choose to try to hide from the pain, I've decided to choose to address the source.
While I attribute my pain to loneliness, if I'm being honest with myself, it's really about fear. In stepping away from my marriage, I've stepped away from companionship, intimacy, and affection that I don't know when I'll experience again. When I consider how important these things are to me, I find that they represent validation of my self worth. My fear of being alone is really a fear of being unloved, unlovable. I estimate my value in how much someone else values me. Here, in the heart of this, is a crucial choice to be made. Do I move aimlessly through the rest of my life hoping to find validation in the love of someone else? Or do I choose to find value from within, learning to love the person that I am without requiring the validation of someone else?
I've received praise and kind words of encouragement from friends and loved ones over the past few weeks. One person in particular has gone to great lengths to extend her love and acceptance to me. In the state that I'm still in, I haven't been able to accept that love and devote the attention that I should to returning it to her, or to anyone else in my life. I've always scoffed at the notion that before you can truly love someone else, you have to be able to love yourself. I understand it now, at least a bit better than I did. If I can't recognize and accept my flaws, or the goodness of who I am as a human being, how can I fully understand and accept someone else? If I dwell on what I don't like about who I am, aren't I just training myself to focus on what I don't like about others? Likewise, if I learn to accept and love myself unconditionally, cultivating the joy that comes from that acceptance and love, then I prepare myself to be a vessel for that love, ready to pass it along to others.
There's a great story about a cracked water pot used by Buddhists to emphasize accepting our imperfections. You can google the story to find it in its original form, but the lesson of the story is that while a cracked water pot may not carry as much water to its destination, the water it spills along its journey nourishes flowers on the path. Rather than focus on where I fail, I choose instead to focus on the beauty that the journey of my life sows. In so doing, I hope that I can help others see the beauty that their own journey gives to others.
It's been 4 months now since I stepped away from my marriage, and for a large portion of that time period, I've been alone. These weeks have been the longest periods of solitude that I've experienced in the last 13 years. Granted, I have the love and companionship of my children, and that does go a long way toward making this transition period bearable, but they can only stand to be hugged for so long before they need to wriggle away and expend their youthful energy somewhere else. Funny, how something as simple as a hug from someone that isn't obligated by the bonds of family to give them can be so profoundly missed. I've always been one of those people who puts everything into a hug. My love, my care, my worry, my compassion, all of it flows through the hug, and I try to make them last. These kinds of hugs make some people uncomfortable, but for others the effect is mutually therapeutic. As a physically affectionate person, this has been a hard time for me. I've found that, while the alcohol led to some embarrassing FaceBook posts, and some emotionally charged behavior, it didn't provide the outlet that I had been looking for.
At this point, depending on who you are, and how you feel about the path that I've set myself on, you may be thinking that I have noone to blame for this situation but myself. This is true. I wouldn't dare try to pass the consequences of my decisions off on someone else. You may choose to believe that my suffering is a suitable punishment for what I've done to others. On this, we would agree to disagree. According to the wisdom of the Dalai Lama, pain is inevitable, suffering is optional. In examining my loneliness, and in trying to obtain right understanding, I've found that while acknowledging my pain is healthy, trying to avoid dealing with it through the alcohol only caused suffering. Rather than choose to try to hide from the pain, I've decided to choose to address the source.
While I attribute my pain to loneliness, if I'm being honest with myself, it's really about fear. In stepping away from my marriage, I've stepped away from companionship, intimacy, and affection that I don't know when I'll experience again. When I consider how important these things are to me, I find that they represent validation of my self worth. My fear of being alone is really a fear of being unloved, unlovable. I estimate my value in how much someone else values me. Here, in the heart of this, is a crucial choice to be made. Do I move aimlessly through the rest of my life hoping to find validation in the love of someone else? Or do I choose to find value from within, learning to love the person that I am without requiring the validation of someone else?
I've received praise and kind words of encouragement from friends and loved ones over the past few weeks. One person in particular has gone to great lengths to extend her love and acceptance to me. In the state that I'm still in, I haven't been able to accept that love and devote the attention that I should to returning it to her, or to anyone else in my life. I've always scoffed at the notion that before you can truly love someone else, you have to be able to love yourself. I understand it now, at least a bit better than I did. If I can't recognize and accept my flaws, or the goodness of who I am as a human being, how can I fully understand and accept someone else? If I dwell on what I don't like about who I am, aren't I just training myself to focus on what I don't like about others? Likewise, if I learn to accept and love myself unconditionally, cultivating the joy that comes from that acceptance and love, then I prepare myself to be a vessel for that love, ready to pass it along to others.
There's a great story about a cracked water pot used by Buddhists to emphasize accepting our imperfections. You can google the story to find it in its original form, but the lesson of the story is that while a cracked water pot may not carry as much water to its destination, the water it spills along its journey nourishes flowers on the path. Rather than focus on where I fail, I choose instead to focus on the beauty that the journey of my life sows. In so doing, I hope that I can help others see the beauty that their own journey gives to others.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Memorial Day
All too often, we tend to forget the reason for some of our extended weekends. Having grown complacent, we look forward to leisure, and lose sight of the deeper meaning that these days have been assigned. Today, for example, is Memorial Day. A day to reflect on the terrible price paid by those who have served and died to secure and protect our liberty. When we think of this, many of us think generically of fallen soldiers, and may feel a vague sadness. Unless we have lost loved ones in war, few of us have reason to consider specific soldiers who make up the statistics.
Consider, then, Sullivan Ballou. Born in Rhode Island in 1829, Sullivan spent his years before the war as a public servant. A lawyer, and speaker of the Rhode Island House of Representatives, he was a patriot who enlisted immediately after the Civil War began, a father of 2 young sons, and a husband whose love for his wife should move us all to tears. I've pasted a letter below that he wrote, to his wife Sarah, one of the most famous letters to come from that war.
My very dear Sarah:
The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days—perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more . . .
I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans on the triumph of the Government and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and sufferings of the Revolution. And I am willing—perfectly willing—to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt . . .
Sarah my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me unresistibly on with all these chains to the battle field.
The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them for so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grown up to honorable manhood, around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me—perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar, that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often times been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness . . .
But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights . . . always, always, and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by. Sarah do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again . . .
Sullivan died at the age of 32 a week later, at the first Battle of Bull Run. Remember him, if you have no one else to remember on Memorial Day.
Consider, then, Sullivan Ballou. Born in Rhode Island in 1829, Sullivan spent his years before the war as a public servant. A lawyer, and speaker of the Rhode Island House of Representatives, he was a patriot who enlisted immediately after the Civil War began, a father of 2 young sons, and a husband whose love for his wife should move us all to tears. I've pasted a letter below that he wrote, to his wife Sarah, one of the most famous letters to come from that war.
My very dear Sarah:
The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days—perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more . . .
I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans on the triumph of the Government and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and sufferings of the Revolution. And I am willing—perfectly willing—to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt . . .
Sarah my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me unresistibly on with all these chains to the battle field.
The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them for so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grown up to honorable manhood, around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me—perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar, that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often times been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness . . .
But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights . . . always, always, and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by. Sarah do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again . . .
Sullivan died at the age of 32 a week later, at the first Battle of Bull Run. Remember him, if you have no one else to remember on Memorial Day.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Expectations
Lately, I've had several occasions which have forced me to readjust the expectations that I've set in front of me for what defines my happiness. Well, if I'm honest with myself, that's still a work in progress. Either way, it's obvious that I won't find it as quickly, or as simply, as I had hoped to. I realize that we choose whether or not we're going to be happy, and I still consciously devote myself to that choice. The reality of that choice, and how I bring the result to fruition, have changed.
A month ago, I was propelled by the momentum of newly found personal freedom into believing that, by sheer force of will, I could force every day to be the best day of my life. I believed that, in making the choice, I was creating the result. I've found that this is not completely true. My interpretation of the conscious decision to be happy would lead me to believe that, by doing my laundry and seeing my kids, today was a better day than those on which any of my children were born. A better day than the last day that I kissed someone that I was truly in love with. This cheapens the value of those days which were truly special, and makes the value of my every day life out to be far more than what it really is.
It also falsely elevated the quality of those days which, conscious decision or not, really were days that could have been better. The day that I realized what the reality of my marriage was going to be. The day that I broke my arm as a kid. Any of the days that involved car accidents. Those were not going to be good days, whether I wanted them to or not. At best, they could be seen as days that were the accent to highlight what the truly good days are supposed to be. They were not the best days of my life.
Today was not the best day of my life. And that's okay. Because that day is coming. And that's the lesson that life has been trying to teach me, I think. Rather than trying to focus on forcing every day to be the best day of my life, I should relax, and just let the day be what it is. Instead of wasting my energy in trying to make the day what it wasn't intended to be, I should conserve that energy, and pour it into recognizing the truly special days for what they are. I'll let you all know the next time that a day like that pops up.
A month ago, I was propelled by the momentum of newly found personal freedom into believing that, by sheer force of will, I could force every day to be the best day of my life. I believed that, in making the choice, I was creating the result. I've found that this is not completely true. My interpretation of the conscious decision to be happy would lead me to believe that, by doing my laundry and seeing my kids, today was a better day than those on which any of my children were born. A better day than the last day that I kissed someone that I was truly in love with. This cheapens the value of those days which were truly special, and makes the value of my every day life out to be far more than what it really is.
It also falsely elevated the quality of those days which, conscious decision or not, really were days that could have been better. The day that I realized what the reality of my marriage was going to be. The day that I broke my arm as a kid. Any of the days that involved car accidents. Those were not going to be good days, whether I wanted them to or not. At best, they could be seen as days that were the accent to highlight what the truly good days are supposed to be. They were not the best days of my life.
Today was not the best day of my life. And that's okay. Because that day is coming. And that's the lesson that life has been trying to teach me, I think. Rather than trying to focus on forcing every day to be the best day of my life, I should relax, and just let the day be what it is. Instead of wasting my energy in trying to make the day what it wasn't intended to be, I should conserve that energy, and pour it into recognizing the truly special days for what they are. I'll let you all know the next time that a day like that pops up.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Guilt and the Good Man
I recently read "The Kite Runner", by Khaled Hosseini. It was a wonderfully moving story, in which the main character makes a tragic mistake as a boy, and lives with the guilt his entire life, until given an opportunity to atone for it. Two phrases from that book struck me, and really caused me to examine my relationship with myself. "There is a way to be good again." and "A man who has no conscience, no goodness, does not suffer."
I am currently in a wonderful state of flux. I have never been happier in my life. At the same time, my actions are causing great grief to people who love me dearly. Without retreading ground that has already been churned to mud, I will say that I recently decided to end my 12 year marriage. I believed at the time that I had good reasons, and I still believe that. It's been several months now, and I'm starting to set the legal gears in motion and begin the process. I still see my children just about every day, and most of the weekends. I provide for them. I show them a happier me than they have ever seen. The person hurt the most by all of this is their mother.
I am a deeply empathic person. I feel the hurt of others keenly, as though it were my own. To see someone that I care about in so much pain is difficult, and I try to give her what comfort and assurance I can, but obviously that can only go so far. I am, after all, still leaving her without a husband. I have family who are conservative Christians, who believe that I should go back, and try to work it out. I know that if I were to do that, I would be miserable, because I am the only person responsible for my own happiness, and I refuse to put myself back into that situation. Having been raised by conservative Christians, though, I battle guilt. I was raised to believe that adultery was the only acceptable reason to leave a marriage. This model of matrimony, however, breeds miserable couples who suffer in silence when there is no longer an alternative route to happiness than to leave.
This sense of guilt haunts me. Some part of me insists that I feel bad for being this happy, when it so obviously causes the pain of someone else. I can't give in to that instinct, though. I have to own my own happiness, plot my own course to the life that I want to live. I have to learn to accept the fact that, as much as I would like, I can't make everyone in my life happy. Our life is a short, constant stream of the consequences of our actions. I live today by the result of the choices that I have made. For the first time in my life I'm comfortable with who I am. For the first time in my life I can honestly say that I believe myself to be a good man. For the first time in my life, I feel truly happy. The work will be hard, the road will be long, but it's the right road. I have found the way to be good again.
I am currently in a wonderful state of flux. I have never been happier in my life. At the same time, my actions are causing great grief to people who love me dearly. Without retreading ground that has already been churned to mud, I will say that I recently decided to end my 12 year marriage. I believed at the time that I had good reasons, and I still believe that. It's been several months now, and I'm starting to set the legal gears in motion and begin the process. I still see my children just about every day, and most of the weekends. I provide for them. I show them a happier me than they have ever seen. The person hurt the most by all of this is their mother.
I am a deeply empathic person. I feel the hurt of others keenly, as though it were my own. To see someone that I care about in so much pain is difficult, and I try to give her what comfort and assurance I can, but obviously that can only go so far. I am, after all, still leaving her without a husband. I have family who are conservative Christians, who believe that I should go back, and try to work it out. I know that if I were to do that, I would be miserable, because I am the only person responsible for my own happiness, and I refuse to put myself back into that situation. Having been raised by conservative Christians, though, I battle guilt. I was raised to believe that adultery was the only acceptable reason to leave a marriage. This model of matrimony, however, breeds miserable couples who suffer in silence when there is no longer an alternative route to happiness than to leave.
This sense of guilt haunts me. Some part of me insists that I feel bad for being this happy, when it so obviously causes the pain of someone else. I can't give in to that instinct, though. I have to own my own happiness, plot my own course to the life that I want to live. I have to learn to accept the fact that, as much as I would like, I can't make everyone in my life happy. Our life is a short, constant stream of the consequences of our actions. I live today by the result of the choices that I have made. For the first time in my life I'm comfortable with who I am. For the first time in my life I can honestly say that I believe myself to be a good man. For the first time in my life, I feel truly happy. The work will be hard, the road will be long, but it's the right road. I have found the way to be good again.
Friday, May 7, 2010
On the shore of Watts Bar Lake
Peace. Tranquility. Woodsmoke and water on the breeze. The constant sound of waves lapping at the shore nearby. The quack of a duck. In this moment, I am full, as full as any man deserves to be. I feel the lightness of it, each moment passing effortlessly, marked only by the measure of my breath. This is what each moment in life should be.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
The Lucky Man
In Irish Gaelic, Fear Ámharach means "Lucky Man". For those who followed my previous blog experience, this is a big change from being an Amadáin, or "Fool". I've come to the realization that the human experience is short; too short to be spent in misery. Rather than wallow in self doubt and unhappiness, I've decided to embrace the joy that life has to offer. I've decided that every day that I am gifted with is going to be better than the day before. Every day is going to be the best day of my life. I'm enveloping myself in the love of my children, the love of my family, the love of my friends, and the wonders of the world around me. Appreciating every breath, every breeze, every sunrise and sunset. I'm committing myself to giving the love that I want to get in return, with the knowledge that no energy spent on giving love is wasted energy. I walk from my past a better man, looking to the dreams that I nurture for the life that lays ahead of me. I will continue to try to become the better man; the man that my children deserve, the man that my family knows that I can be, the man that someday my soulmate will find by her side. I wake up each morning with a laugh in my throat and a smile on my lips because I know. I know that I am a lucky man, fortunate indeed.
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