The Perfect Poison

Struggling.

That's what I'm doing lately, and it's only myself I have to blame. I have a sense, a frenetic need, to know everything I feel I should know with an impossible immediacy. What I mean is...

I give myself NO learning curve -- None.

I know better. I taught for almost 10 years, and I understand the way the human brain works. And, yet, with myself, I demand my cerebral nature circumvent this rewiring process in order to provide an equilibrium I should not expect. I read once, in light of liberal paraphrasing, that true learning induces an inner dissonance - a deliberate, internal dis-harmony, if you will. All the while, I tell myself there ought to be no ripples on the surface, no ruffled feathers, no outward manifestations of my schema reconstruction.

Not only is this unfair, but it is wholly unrealistic. Who am I that I believe I can rewrite the learning process to protect my vanity? Who am I that I feel I should be protected of these feelings of inadequacy or self-doubt, in order to avoid self-evaluation. This need, this completely ridiculous expectation of Perfection is poisonous to my own development.


When did we become so concerned with appearing as though we have it all figured out? When did we decide the only capable people are those who never "don't know"? When did we determine the need for perfection in a skill or idea which is still only in utero, or at the very least, still in the wet nursery?

I have forced myself to pull back and take stock of the situation in a very brutally honest way. I have no hope of having it all figured out any time soon. I am not going to bed down tonight and wake in the morning a prodigy with complete knowledge of all aspects of this business (or my life, for that matter).

Let go. Control is not believing in this fairy tale of Perfect Understanding right out of the gate. Control is knowing there will be some things which stick, some which don't, and realizing I can come back around again to pick up what I don't get on the first go. In the mean time, this poisoning of self must stop. On days when I feel I know nothing, I'm probably right. Still, I should also write a list of all the things I know today I didn't have an inkling about yesterday.

If I can give the rest of the world permission to declare, "I don't know," then I had certainly better grant myself permission to do the same.

I don't know...and the world will keep turning.

Bent, and Better For It

I'm twisted...

 

as are you, as are we all.
 
I sat on my mother's couch the other morning, chuckling a bit at the hyacinth my kids had given her for Easter. It was growing much larger than it had been; the large head of the plant was dangling drunkenly to the left, lolling on top of a stem gone horribly askew. Even its long leaves were listing to one side. Laughingly, I advised Mom to turn the plant in the other direction. "Why?" she asked me, and I helpfully informed her plants grow toward the light. Presumably this is one of the few tidbits of information my brain felt justified in retaining. Normally, space in my grey matter is reserved for wordy things. Every now and again, a bit of Biology or Algebra will sneak its way in. I can only assume it is somehow presented to me alongside something literary, much like turnip greens require the accompaniment of mashed potatoes if I am to ingest them.
 
For some reason, the image of Mom's tipsy tuber kept coming back to me throughout the day. Later in the afternoon, I was reading (see above statements regarding the sadly lop-sided state of my brain function), and I ran across the term summum bonum: Latin for "supreme or highest good". Intrigued by this phrase, I began to research its meaning and found a blog, right on this very platform, dealing with the idea of summum bonum. It contained a quote attributed to Aristotle which, in light of my liberal paraphrasing, stated everything, all creatures and aspects of the world, are designed to seek out good. The good we seek can be traced back to "the supreme good" from which all good things come.
 
Back to the bulb on Mom's bookshelf-
 
We are all seeking "the highest good". It is within our very natures. We were created and formed for it. Our brains, spirits, bodies, and hearts are hard-wired to search it out. Just as the hyacinth allowed itself to be molded by the very thing which it so earnestly sought, humanity is also altered by that for which we yearn and strive.
 
We can not think to avoid the manipulation of ourselves. We are destined to be changed and twisted by either the light or the dark. We are never allowed the luxury of staying the same. Our choice comes from deciding if we will grow toward the light, stretch toward that which is good and feeds us, or be shriveled and stunted by the dark circumstances of our lives.
 
As the plant was bent and reshaped for its own good, we are, as well, when we allow ourselves to crave, search out, and grow toward summum bonum as it is made manifest in our lives. There is no shame or ill intent in the molding. Remember: all things emitting from the light of "the supreme good" are good of themselves and can only strengthen us from the roots up, throughout our core being.
 
Oh to be warped, bent, and twisted as the earnest, humble blossom-- to be tender and obedient in the light and rays of the Son. Reach for the good; stretch for it. Lean into it. Allow it to change and maneuver what needs redirection.

Twisted and better for it. Grow toward the light.

Big Dreams & Little Hands

I became a mother quickly. I was so young when I had my first daughter; it came as a shock to be thrust into motherhood right on the heels of girlhood. I cannot ever say I regret it or wish it had been different. I am eternally grateful to have had her early, because she kept me grounded, helped me realize what it felt like to unconditionally love someone who is so deeply a part of you, and to motivate me to want better for myself in order to want better for her, as well. She was a miracle with perfect timing and purpose.

My second daughter was another miracle. Complications were supposed to have rendered her existence impossible. I am so glad that, even when we see no way, God makes a way when He chooses to do so. Out of a pain and loss too heavy and unimaginable for words, she was born to bring a love and light I cannot live without.

As I am watching them grow, now, into the young women they will become, I can’t describe the awed wonder and the painful love with which I look at them. It twists my heart and steals my breath each time I see them mature a bit more into the ladies of whom I am so proud.

Out of all the things in this world I would have shape and mold me, it is these: to be a fraction of the mother I had and to be a mother worthy of my children. There is a massive responsibility in helping to shape and mold their lives into the people, and perhaps mothers, they will become. It is through them, also, God has truly taught me the depth and patience of His love for me—for us.

I have not always said and done the things I wish I had. I’ve not always been the person I wish now I would have. But I have always and will ever love my children. To understand that God’s love for us is so much bigger than what I feel, even for my children, is almost incomprehensible. And it leaves me eternally and humbly grateful.

And, so, it is my wish that when I am old, I will look upon my daughters with joy, pride, and thankfulness to God for the women they’ve grown into. It’s my dearest wish for them to know, above all, I have loved them, but God has loved them more.

Of Mice and Men and Me

I like having a plan!

Spontaneity has never been a problem for me. I am more than willing to jump in the car for a last-minute ROOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAADDDDD TRIIIIIIIIIP!!!  I will ride along with no particular destination in mind.

But when it comes to big things in life, I like to know what's coming. I make my little plans. I set my little time lines. I weigh out all my little decisions and ...

Fate laughs.

God keeps showing me, over and over, I only have an illusion of control. Of course, I believe we control our own destinies with the choices we make. However, I also believe God has a purpose for us. Sometimes, most times maybe, what we have in mind is not what He's intended. And so He let's us make our plans, set our time tables, lay out our lives- and then He says, "Now, let me show you what I'm going to do."

There was a time, not too long ago, the thought of letting go and letting it all be completely freaked me out. I had an innate need to feel like I was driving my life. I've come to realize that's all it ever was: a feeling.

Liberation is intoxicating, and there is a definite freedom in allowing life to simply BE, sometimes.

Granted, I still like lists. I still over-analyze. I think it's part of my charm (ha!! I'll work on my self-delusion, next).

But, I get it now. Let life come. The getting there is beautiful in and of itself. The blueprints we lay out for ourselves often have to be scratched and gutted halfway through. Life is a series of instances where we throw away all our intentions somewhere in the middle and start all over.

They often go awry, these best-laid plans of mice & men & me.
I'm learning to appreciate it.

Weeds, Mud, & Love

My heart thinks it's spring.

I have the urge to get out and muck around in the dirt. This is surprising, mostly because I kill any plant I've ever tried to grow. I murdered a cactus, once.

I'm almost positive it has less to do with any green thumb I don't possess, and more to do with the fact I've been pruning my life, lately. I started a new job a few months ago. It's physical; it's exhausting; it's stressful. And so, of course, I love it. It couldn't be more different than teaching. That may be part of the appeal. I've found parts of myself I didn't know were there. I've strengthened pieces of myself that needed to be nurtured. There's a value in it which I appreciate. I take pride in it.

Too often, we tie our sense of self-worth to who we think we are and the jobs we do. I was guilty of this. When I was no longer teaching, I handed away a large portion of my identity and value. I felt I had failed and was stripped of myself, somehow. Over the past few months, something paradoxical has happened. As I've dragged home exhausted from lifting, tugging, sweating in a dusty warehouse, I managed to find more of myself than I ever lost. There's a joy in doing a job well, whatever it may be. There's a satisfaction in knowing the value comes, not necessarily from the function itself, but from the drive to be and do the best you can. The comparison is not to others, but to the inner standards I set. Can I go home at night and look myself in the eye, knowing I did the best I could do? My best. That's where my value lies.

Snip, snip...trim away the illusions I'd carried.

I've also been cutting away the dead growth of my relationships, pruning to open up my time, energy, and affections to those people who can and could mean something to my life...and I to theirs.

There are those people who, in the garden of life, function as weeds. They choke growth. They steal the sunshine from our days. They suck out all the hope and joy and laughter. They're insidious-spreading quickly into our lives and taking root wherever we'll let them. And where they sprouted, I saw myself wither and begin to die. Life has taught me one thing very well in the past few years. Pluck them out quickly. And, so, I have.

Now, after the way has been cleared, it's time to water and feed what's left: the things and people who make me want to be better.

These are the plants entitled to real estate in my heart.

Spring cleaning my head and heart...it sure beats mopping, any day.

Ain't That Swell?

I've been thinking a lot lately about trouble.  Maybe that's because I'm so good at finding it. I've become something of an expert at it. It's not just simple, run-of-the-mill trouble, either. I have perfected the art of perverse catastrophes. I had a friend once tell me, "I'd never believe all the crazy stuff that happens to you if I weren't with you when it happens."  I'm not even sure how to take that!

It's not the random insanity that gets to me. I can roll with my driver's license getting stuck in the pneumatic tube at the bank, lingering forever somewhere under the drive-through lanes. I can shake off, literally, the twenty gallons of milk falling out of a cooler and bursting on me in front of every person in town at Kroger. I can even handle the time my skirt fell off in the daycare parking lot. I mean, those atypical things are so typical for me.

What gets to me are the big things: being out of work for over a year, feeling like a failure in my professional and personal life, struggling to grow in my faith the way I feel I should, feeling torn between this urgency I feel to try something new and terrifying while trying to learn to let go of my familiar safety nets.  These are the storms that rock me.

I find comfort in small things. Usually it's the tiny things in life that speak the loudest to me, when I take the time to listen.

The last time I was visiting friends near Savannah, I headed down to Tybee Island alone for some quiet time before leaving. I walked along the beach, relaxed in a lounge chair, gathered shells. As perfect as it was, I still felt unsettled. Peace was hard to come by.

As I was strolling along, looking out at the waves and the horizon and contemplating the ways of the world, I noticed the gulls along the surf.  I watched them all scurry when the big waves came in. They'd waddle down to the shoreline and scatter the moment the waves broke on the sand.

All except one.

Riding the momentum of the next gigantic swell, he was picked up off the sand and dragged backwards into the sea. I watched, fascinated and a little worried over this crazy bird, as he was tossed and rocked by the water that covered him time and again. Why didn't he fly away? Why didn't he fight the current? What was he thinking? In my mind, this dumb bird automatically assumed a maleness. Yes, yes, I know. I'm a horrible person, but what's the use in lying in my own blog? I was positive this whacked-out sea gull was a boy.

At any rate, I kept watching; just when I was sure he would drown, he rode the tide out past the surf to the place where the sea calms. A little embarrassed by my anxiety, I saw him gently bob further out into the ocean, perfectly content with his circumstances. Maybe this bird was a girl, after all? The gentle swells pulled him along to whereever he was headed. I wasn't sure if he even knew where that was, but it certainly didn't seem to matter. He was fine with it all.

In that moment, I knew I needed to be that bird. Like the seagull had waited out the waves of trouble crashing over him, I needed to wait out my own troubles. Too often when we see things headed our way, we scramble. Just like those waves, our fear and perspective make difficult times appear worse than they really are, and we can wind up making a mess of things. Even if we manage to avoid some really bad choices, we wreck what we're working on in our hurry to get out of the way before we're swamped.

Sometimes, we just need to ride it out. I needed the faith and trust of that bird. Sit in the trouble; let it crash over me; and, after it passes, I'll float out on the swells to the open sea, where I can look at my situation clearly without all the brouhaha of the breaking surf.

So, if you ever look at me and think to yourself, "What's that dumb girl doing? She's going to drown.", just remember -- I'm working on becoming a seagull.

Want My Number?

I am...

a horrible dater.

There, I said it. Confessing ineptitude in dating is unheard of, in most cases. That's sort of like saying I'm a bad driver (equally true), or I don't like chocolate (complete fabrication). I don't know if I could shock people more if I were to utter, "I'm a bed wetter."

I started dating my ex when I was 15. We divorced when I was 30. Now, at 32, I have come to the full realization I have the growth-retarded dating skills of an ungainly adolescent.

One of the first post-divorce dates I ventured out on, after the poor guy had thrown hints for six months, was a disaster. I think this is mainly because I sabotaged it with the viciousness of an assassin. I was a ninja.  It wasn't somewhere I wanted to be -- in his vicinity, not the restaurant. This attitude was wholly unfair to the poor man. He is, overall, a nice guy. He just wasn't my type. The 15 year old  inside me, who could probably count the number of dates she'd had on one hand before tripping and falling into a relationship, had no idea how to graciously decline. I had several ideas: tell him I was in the Witness Protection Program, suddenly and fortuitously develop amnesia....Do I know you???, explain I'd pay for dinner with the proceeds of my latest bank heist, or maybe tell him I'd decided to elope with the mailman.

So, in the style of "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Dates", I set out to murder his interest with a cold-blooded calculation. All through dinner, as he was bragging about his work at the meat-processing plant (How could I not see myself with him forever?!? Mr. and Mrs. Slaughter House) and giving me the most detailed description of the process since Upton Sinclair's "The Jungle", I talked about my best male friend incessantly. I believe, in retrospect, this would've been much more effective had he not joined in with an unforseen enthusiasm to discuss his best female friend in the whole world. Just to show how understanding and empathetic I can be, I began to ask why in the world they weren't dating. She sounds like a swell gal! I'll bet she loves deer meat. Lo and behold, she's even considering moving in with him. This, I thought to myself, will be over before dessert. I was a GENIUS of untold proportions.

The fried green tomatoes & pasta came and went. Still, there he sat, beaming at me and listing every known use for venison. When the server asked if we wanted dessert, I considered all the ways I could murder her with my straw.

In the theater, sitting in the back row, two fetuses on a date of their own were chatting it up and showing off their plumage to one another throughout the previews. Awwwww. And there he sat, loudly proclaiming how RUDE it was to talk during the movie. I decided my best course of action, while regrouping from my failure to cause any dinnertime fall-out, was to keep my mouth full of popcorn at all times and nod vaguely while appearing riveted by every movie trailer and subliminal message to buy Raisinettes that appeared on the screen.

The movie came on and all I could think was, "Thank God! This will be the one bright spot of the night!! It's 3-D, too, so maybe it'll catch his marmoset monkey attention." I was exhausted from being obnoxious; I was looking forward to a break.

Five minutes in, he began to critique every bit of this film as though he were Siskel AND Ebert all wrapped up in one paragon of evaluative skills. He did this in a voice that could've projected the length of a football field, unaided by a megaphone. All the while, he continued to intersperse his monologue with righteous indignation over how rude the teens in front of us were to talk during a movie when he'd paid good money to see it. I'd have paid good money to see it, if only I could get him to hush. So ... I did the unthinkable.

I turned to him with the look I normally reserve for rowdy six year olds in class -- that steady, unnerving teacher glare that lets you know you're busted...

and I shushed him. Twice.

Surely, now, aghast at my own behavior, I believed he would tell me this was not what he'd had in mind -- dinner and detention. Nope. He just kept on chatting. It made me seriously reconsider my classroom management techniques.

After the movie, when he dropped me off on the stoop of my building (we were absolutely NOT walking inside to my door), I told him goodnight. I smiled. I gave him the kiss of death: the sideways, Baptist, three-pat hug. You know exactly what I mean: that hug you use at church for members of the opposite sex -- arm around them from the side, so there's no chest-to-chest contact and pat, pat, pat...release.

He drove off into the night, and I thought surely, surely I'd acccomplished my mission. This dating business wasn't as tricky as I'd thought. I should give date-extraction seminars! I was so proud of myself.

Two days later, he called me.

I've since gotten over the feeling that I'm going on dates in the same way I choke down brussels sprouts. No, wait....I feed those to the dog. Nevermind, you get the idea.  I still feel awkward on a date; I still feel the need to hand him a list of what will and will not happen at the end of the night, with an opt-out clause: feel free to run after appetizers, sir. I'm still never sure what to do those painful moments at my door. There's always this urge to yell, "k, thanks!" and punch him in the shoulder, then slam the door in his face. 

I am a horrible dater. I'm not sure if, statistically, I have to improve at it over time or not. It's sure never worked for my driving. But I do know this --

I'm no ninja.