Monday, September 14, 2009
Walking the dog
The other night we were walking the dog, and we'd almost gotten home. Charlie was waggling his little white tail and swerving right to left on the pavement in front of us, strides 20 times shorter and 40 times faster to stay ahead while we trailed slowly and comfortably. I like to watch his little tail when he's walking. His tail is a meter for how much he is enjoying his walk, how satisfied he is. That he's in a good mood. That he walked far enough. That he's content, or even in a hurry, to run along home and lie comfortably in my lap.
It was somewhere between watching Charlie's tail, and squeezing my fiance's hand a little harder in mine, that I suddenly swelled up with happiness, so much that I had to say something. I looked up and said, "You're my best friend," and smiled and hugged him from the side, still walking.
I'm sure he hugged me back sweetly and said "I love you," or "Your my best friend, too," or "Thank you." I can't quite remember. I know we went on to break the silence and talk about something, and joked on back to gate and the sidewalk and back into our new home. I guess I don't remember the words, because they aren't always the most important. Not when you know how you feel. When you can feel it exactly without words, sharing a space together, whether holding hands, or maybe when he's running his fingers through my hair while watching TV, or maybe when I come up behind him in the kitchen and hug him while he's making breakfast.
We walked and talked, while I thought about how I don't have to play the Walter anymore. I can't find the post, but I wrote something about that sometime. It was basically something like always getting picked last on the team, and being that chick who has to sit on the bench. But I was happy for the team that won, anyway, and felt my role cheering from the bench had something to do with it.
It also had something to do with waiting for my turn, which I waited for a long time. I waited for my turn to move away and when I got anxious I jumped the gun and left early. I waited for my turn to graduate, and dropped out of school for a moment, the same time I got impatient. I waited ultimately, for my turn to be happy, still not knowing quite how.
Part of me wishes I hadn't taken a break from writing to experience life daily instead of analyzing everything in the context of one year to the next, one issue or another, one relationship for another. Part of me thinks that if I had kept writing maybe one day I would be able to explain it to someone.
There's nothing wrong with writing. I just am not quite sure how when I'm happy. I'm also too busy when I'm happy. Not busy in the sense of the daily grind -- maybe. More in the sense that sitting down with my doggy sounds more fun right about now.
Even now, as I type this, it's like addressing an age-old impulse because this is something I've always done, and I almost feel like I owe cyberspace an explanation. Or maybe I want to prove to myself that I can come up with a kernel of something, you know, some little nugget that just doesn't come off like rambling, which is what I am doing.
But I can't. And there is no tiny nice little package.
Suffice to say, the only thing that ever gets me down anymore, other than impatience for what's next, since I've always kinda had that, is when I think backwards on how many assholes told me lines that I believed, or when I think about mistakes you can't go back in time and fix, or when I think about how nobody ever seemed to quite tell me what I needed to hear, or when I wonder that maybe they did and then almost hate myself for not listening. But what for? Because I'm happy right now, so happy that it makes me sad I couldn't get here sooner? Because that would just be bloody ridiculous! So, I don't. I refuse to participate in that. Instead, these thoughts are getting smaller and lesser and when they come, I let them go.
It takes practice, but man, it's worth it.
The other night we were walking the dog, and we'd almost gotten home. Charlie was waggling his little white tail and swerving right to left on the pavement in front of us, strides 20 times shorter and 40 times faster to stay ahead while we trailed slowly and comfortably. I like to watch his little tail when he's walking. His tail is a meter for how much he is enjoying his walk, how satisfied he is. That he's in a good mood. That he walked far enough. That he's content, or even in a hurry, to run along home and lie comfortably in my lap.
It was somewhere between watching Charlie's tail, and squeezing my fiance's hand a little harder in mine, that I suddenly swelled up with happiness, so much that I had to say something. I looked up and said, "You're my best friend," and smiled and hugged him from the side, still walking.
I'm sure he hugged me back sweetly and said "I love you," or "Your my best friend, too," or "Thank you." I can't quite remember. I know we went on to break the silence and talk about something, and joked on back to gate and the sidewalk and back into our new home. I guess I don't remember the words, because they aren't always the most important. Not when you know how you feel. When you can feel it exactly without words, sharing a space together, whether holding hands, or maybe when he's running his fingers through my hair while watching TV, or maybe when I come up behind him in the kitchen and hug him while he's making breakfast.
We walked and talked, while I thought about how I don't have to play the Walter anymore. I can't find the post, but I wrote something about that sometime. It was basically something like always getting picked last on the team, and being that chick who has to sit on the bench. But I was happy for the team that won, anyway, and felt my role cheering from the bench had something to do with it.
It also had something to do with waiting for my turn, which I waited for a long time. I waited for my turn to move away and when I got anxious I jumped the gun and left early. I waited for my turn to graduate, and dropped out of school for a moment, the same time I got impatient. I waited ultimately, for my turn to be happy, still not knowing quite how.
Part of me wishes I hadn't taken a break from writing to experience life daily instead of analyzing everything in the context of one year to the next, one issue or another, one relationship for another. Part of me thinks that if I had kept writing maybe one day I would be able to explain it to someone.
There's nothing wrong with writing. I just am not quite sure how when I'm happy. I'm also too busy when I'm happy. Not busy in the sense of the daily grind -- maybe. More in the sense that sitting down with my doggy sounds more fun right about now.
Even now, as I type this, it's like addressing an age-old impulse because this is something I've always done, and I almost feel like I owe cyberspace an explanation. Or maybe I want to prove to myself that I can come up with a kernel of something, you know, some little nugget that just doesn't come off like rambling, which is what I am doing.
But I can't. And there is no tiny nice little package.
Suffice to say, the only thing that ever gets me down anymore, other than impatience for what's next, since I've always kinda had that, is when I think backwards on how many assholes told me lines that I believed, or when I think about mistakes you can't go back in time and fix, or when I think about how nobody ever seemed to quite tell me what I needed to hear, or when I wonder that maybe they did and then almost hate myself for not listening. But what for? Because I'm happy right now, so happy that it makes me sad I couldn't get here sooner? Because that would just be bloody ridiculous! So, I don't. I refuse to participate in that. Instead, these thoughts are getting smaller and lesser and when they come, I let them go.
It takes practice, but man, it's worth it.
Labels: Love, Man's Best Friend, Perspective
Thursday, February 08, 2007
You know what?
Once, several years ago when my life seemed to be spiraling further down than it had ever been, I coined the term, "in the shit." And laughed at god and my circumstances because I felt so whole and strong in spite of it.
I've told so many friends that ever since. "Dude, you're in the shit. But that's all it is, shit! You've gotta step up and say, what's next?! Bring it! You don't think I can fucking take it?!" And be stronger than you've ever known, and let it pass, and work your way through it.
It's funny, though, that I learned that lesson something like three years ago, and never put two and two together, the other being that events do not define you, but you define them. That your personal philosophy affects your everyday decisions and how you react to their consequences.
It took this happening, these things I am dealing with now, but I feel like it was quite necessary.
Because now I'm learning not only the aforementioned, but that it applies to everything, things inside of your control and out.
I once took a giant leap, more than once actually, in some attempt to change my life, to tip the scales toward the better. And even though it wasn't easy, I braved those challenges and stuck it out because I had faith that better times would come.
A few months ago, I was brought once again to another cliff where I could either jump or fly or stay there, scared.
And I looked back, and saw everything I had done that was so good, and almost discounted what I'd learned because it brought me to such a vulnerable, unthinkable place ... the place where you still make mistakes. The place where you realize you are a human being just learning how to live your life like the rest of all the human beings. You are not a martyr. You are not a victim. You are a person. And when I say you, I may just be talking about me.
I am not a consequence. I'm not anything but me. But damnit if lately I haven't realized that and liked it.
And learned to like myself, even the part of me that makes mistakes, even the Holly Golightly parts, and Rob Gordon parts, and Bridget Jones parts and Ben Gibbard parts.
There's definitely a difference between recognizing them and wallowing in them though, in indulging them for what they are, and letting them control the big picture.
That is something I will no longer do.
It's hard work, changing thought patterns, dealing with personal issues like an adult when you sometimes feel like a frightened child, but goddamnit if it isn't worth it.
Because of all things, personal happiness is worth it. Getting rid of self-loathing or perfectionist thinking, breaking yourself down till you are no bigger than a grain of rice. Because that never did anyone any good.
Once, several years ago when my life seemed to be spiraling further down than it had ever been, I coined the term, "in the shit." And laughed at god and my circumstances because I felt so whole and strong in spite of it.
I've told so many friends that ever since. "Dude, you're in the shit. But that's all it is, shit! You've gotta step up and say, what's next?! Bring it! You don't think I can fucking take it?!" And be stronger than you've ever known, and let it pass, and work your way through it.
It's funny, though, that I learned that lesson something like three years ago, and never put two and two together, the other being that events do not define you, but you define them. That your personal philosophy affects your everyday decisions and how you react to their consequences.
It took this happening, these things I am dealing with now, but I feel like it was quite necessary.
Because now I'm learning not only the aforementioned, but that it applies to everything, things inside of your control and out.
I once took a giant leap, more than once actually, in some attempt to change my life, to tip the scales toward the better. And even though it wasn't easy, I braved those challenges and stuck it out because I had faith that better times would come.
A few months ago, I was brought once again to another cliff where I could either jump or fly or stay there, scared.
And I looked back, and saw everything I had done that was so good, and almost discounted what I'd learned because it brought me to such a vulnerable, unthinkable place ... the place where you still make mistakes. The place where you realize you are a human being just learning how to live your life like the rest of all the human beings. You are not a martyr. You are not a victim. You are a person. And when I say you, I may just be talking about me.
I am not a consequence. I'm not anything but me. But damnit if lately I haven't realized that and liked it.
And learned to like myself, even the part of me that makes mistakes, even the Holly Golightly parts, and Rob Gordon parts, and Bridget Jones parts and Ben Gibbard parts.
There's definitely a difference between recognizing them and wallowing in them though, in indulging them for what they are, and letting them control the big picture.
That is something I will no longer do.
It's hard work, changing thought patterns, dealing with personal issues like an adult when you sometimes feel like a frightened child, but goddamnit if it isn't worth it.
Because of all things, personal happiness is worth it. Getting rid of self-loathing or perfectionist thinking, breaking yourself down till you are no bigger than a grain of rice. Because that never did anyone any good.
Labels: Movies, Obstacles, Perspective
