Broken Windows

Posted on by stilllearning2b
Broken windows theory
Broken windows theory (Photo credit: Roel Wijnants)

I need to fix my broken windows.

Not literal windows, luckily, since it’s been snowing for the past two days in Atlanta, but metaphorical windows. The types of fractured panes that, if you subscribe to the broken window theory, will lead to greater calamity if left unrepaired. Unlike the criminological perspective of the original theory, I am not concerned about increased vandalism or an uptick of violent crime in my actual or figurative home, but I am concerned about a cascade effect if I don’t make the minor repairs now.

Brock and I currently reside in a rental home. We selected the home because we love the location and the space and price suits our needs. However, the state of the house is a bit…rough. It’s been a rental for many years with no major updates or repairs. The floors are poorly laid. The nails and screws form connect-the-dots pictures on the walls. None of the interior doors lock and none of the fixtures match and none of them work particularly well, either. Apart from painting a few rooms upon moving in 16 months ago, we have not put much effort into the home, not wanting to waste time or money on a temporary stay. Even with those restrictions, we still settled in to some degree, hung pictures on the walls and curtains on the windows.

We plan to buy a house next winterish (for those of you unfamiliar with the season, it begins in October and continues until the last of the sweaters are put away). I’m ready. I’ve lived in temporary housing for the past 4 years after owning a home for the previous 10. I’m tired of feeling unmoored. I want to put down roots and put down new floors.

In my old life, my physical space was very important to me. My stress levels and ability to relax were directly tied in to my surroundings. My ex was helpful with this. He graciously helped me redo my office between work commitments when I was desperate for a change of scenery after completing my master’s degree. In my new life, I have had to learn to be content despite my surroundings. I’ve lived in a spare bedroom in a home with a young kid and lots of clutter. I moved into Brock’s space for a time and had to carve out my niche in a bachelor’s domain. And now, I am in this rental, with all its marks of tenants past.

It’s been 16 months. A picture has fallen off my office wall. It now sits in a corner awaiting a new nail that I have yet to hammer in. My cork wall tiles have been leaping off like lemmings and, now that I’ve tired of trying to convince them not to jump, rest stacked in a pile on my printer. I have a jacket that lives on the floor of the guest room closet because I never transferred any hangers to that room.

These are details. Unimportant in many ways. But they are also broken windows.

This is my home. It’s not permanent (is anything?) but it is home for now. If I ignore these minor fixes, I am allowing myself to not be present in my current environment. I am making do and making plans, rather than being in my surroundings. If I allow myself to agree that these details don’t matter, what will not matter next?

I’m not going to go Martha Stewart on my house (after all, I do see perfection in my chipped plates!), but I am going to take a few moments over spring break to restore the wall hangings and transfer a few hangers. Although I am looking forward to purchasing a home, I am not going to let myself live in the home of next winterish while I am still in the present season. So I will fix those broken windows and appreciate their view. Even through the torn screens:)

I Did It. I Finally Did It.

Posted on by stilllearning2b
Dumbo Elephant Mural
Dumbo Elephant Mural (Photo credit: sameffron)

It may seem as though I have slain all of the demons from my past. I can look at pictures without tears. I’m no longer fueled by anger. I have let myself find forgiveness. I have learned how to trust again and I have found love.

But there has been one huge elephant of a demon that I’ve been afraid to face. One I have been avoiding, tiptoeing around its bulk so as not to disturb it. I’ve been good about pretending it isn’t there. That it doesn’t matter. And for a time, it didn’t matter. But that time is over.

Last night, I did it. I faced that final demon head on.

And I survived.

It wasn’t as bad as I feared it may be (it never is, is it?) yet facing it didn’t bleed it of all its power. But at least I know now what I am dealing with and I can feel good about not hiding from it.

I did it. I finally did it.

I checked my credit score.

I used to have perfect credit. I was anal about making payments on time. I had large credit limits yet low levels of debt. I found security in my number. Perhaps I even looked at that number as validation. I must be a good person, I can get a good interest rate.

Apparently, that number was too much for my ex to resist. In the last couple (I think?) years of the marriage, he used my credit. He used my honesty to fund his lies.

When all of this came out within days of the text, I felt huge amounts of shame. I was embarrassed that I didn’t know he was embezzling from the marriage (I counted on fraud alert, but it doesn’t protect you from spouses). I was horrified to receive threatening letters from creditors in my name (he was no longer around to intercept the mail). I was furious with him. I felt violated and used. Dirty. I wanted to wash myself of his sins.

I couldn’t face the enormity of it. I had my dad check my credit, looking for what accounts my ex had used in my name. I didn’t want to know numbers, only names.

In the divorce, most of debt was his responsibility, although he never fulfilled his end of the bargain, thus leading to a foreclosure in my name. A parting gift, perhaps? The few accounts in my name where mine to deal with.

For the last almost four years, I have been dealing with them.

Clean Up, Aisle 5

An Open Letter to the IRS

This is a Test of the Emergency Rant System

Practicing What I Preach

I paid the IRS and then received a refund once I was granted innocent spouse relief. I paid off one credit line. And I’m working on the last (the most horrific, both in scale and in emotion, because some of it was used to fund his pre-honeymoon with his other wife).

My cautious nature with money means that bills are again being paid on time. I’ve been able to begin to reestablish myself as a credit worthy individual. But I still couldn’t look at the number.

I saw it like a scarlet mark of shame, quantifying my misplaced trust and stupidity.

It’s also the only factor from my past that doesn’t only exist in the past. It still has the capacity to cause harm, to derail my future as surely as  my marriage.

But now I’ve faced that elephantine demon, sized it up. The starvation diet has been working; I’m sure its bulk has been reduced since it appeared. I now know the demon I am working with and I can move forward with the rest of my life.

I did it. I finally did it.

It’s Not Fraud If You’re Married

Marital Fraud: Questions Answered

Walking a Marriage

Posted on by stilllearning2b

photo-66

Walking Tiger is pure joy. There is an ease in the connection, a trusted bond evident in the matched rhythms of human and dog. The leash is loose in my hand and the worries loose in my mind. We move forward together, sharing the experience in our unique ways (he spends much more time with his nose to the ground and leg to the sky than I do:)!). We walk in parallel, the journey strengthening our connection and our trust.

It wasn’t always this way with Tiger. First, mutual trust had to be established. He needed to know that I was a competent guide and I needed to believe that he wouldn’t snap or bolt when given freedoms. We needed to learn the other’s rhythms and patterns. I’ll admit that Tiger was easier to train than I was – I let my fears have too much power for a time. But with time and practice (and lots of patience on Tiger’s part!), I learned to relax and enjoy the walk.

The skills and strategies I learned at the end of Tiger’s leash have also helped me in my relationship. Through the leash, I learned how to trust myself and another. I trained my mind to relax and my grip to loosen. I learned to enjoy the walk rather than fear what might lay around the next corner.

I learned that when I use too much restraint with Tiger, when I pull back out of fear, my reaction only transfers the negative energy to him and gives it power. Pulling back too tightly only causes him to want to pull against me. On the other hand, if I trust in him, he responds in kind, staying by my side instead of straining to get ahead. When I trust him, he acts trustworthy. The leash now acts as only a reminder of the bond, not as a restraint. Relationships are no different – try too hard to hold someone back and they will fight to be free. Trust them and allow them to choose to be by your side.

When I first started walking Tiger, I tried to avoid other dogs. I knew he was friendly, but I was not confident enough in myself to handle him (he does weigh almost as much as me!). As my confidence grew, I stopped giving passing dogs such a wide berth. Time and time again, Tiger proved himself as he either gave a friendly greeting or ignored the other canines, depending upon the situation and my intent. When I am wary, his body language reflects my distrust and warns the other dog away. Now, even when loose and aggressive dogs follow us, he (and I!) remain calm and confident. The partners in a marriage should not be afraid to encounter others either. If you treat everything as a threat, it will respond in kind.

As I have become more comfortable with Tiger, our world together has expanded and enriched. He would not be the dog he is, nor would we have the bond we do, if he remained locked in the security of the house. By exploring together, we have grown together. Relationships need room to breath, spaces to explore and adventures to look forward to. If they spend every day trapped inside, they will become as lazy as an old dog.

One of my favorite habits that Brock and I established early on was taking frequent walks together, often with Tiger sandwiched between us. Those walks formed the backbone of our relationship as we explored and bonded, talked and listened, building trust and finding connections. This is our time together to take pleasure in the fellowship and enjoy the walk.

I have Tiger to thank for my lessons in walking a dog. And now I am ready to apply them to walking a marriage:)

photo

 

In Life as in Yoga

Posted on by stilllearning2b

present

Pandora’s Envelope

Posted on by stilllearning2b

It looked like nothing special really.  A plain brown 13″ x 9″ envelope.  It sat tucked in a file drawer for two years, its brown frame slightly larger than the file folder which contained it.  Over time, the edges grew a little worn, but the clasp stayed sealed tight.  I didn’t think of it often, but when I would open the drawer, it sat there taunting me.  Haunting me.

It looked like nothing special really.  But it was.  That plain envelope contained a few sample images of my former life, pictures and memories I had not faced in years. I had imbued the images within with power, talismans of a former life. I didn’t know what the consequences would be for breaking that seal.  I feared the pictures would act like horcruxes, their sum total assembling into some great evil.

Last year, I was finally ready to find out what would happen when I broke the seal.

I made the preparations.  Secluded outdoor table at a coffee shop? Check.  Dark sunglasses to hide the tears? Check.  Journal and pen ready?  Check.  Bravery?  Check, I guess. I began to pull the pictures and letters out one at a time, recording my memories and reactions.

My ex’s first car was a ’56 Chevy.  It was a noble, yet fickle beast.  He had to carry entire flats of oil in the trunk so that he could top it off every 100 miles or so.  In this picture, we were redoing the upholstery while parked in my mom’s driveway.  The older man next door always came out when the Chevy was in the driveway and he would share memories of his 20s, when he owned the same car.

This picture was the only one that actually brought tears to my eyes.  This was Max, our Wonderpug.  We got her shortly after we moved in together and she quickly became an integral part of our family.  She was so full of spunk and spirit. We would take her camping, hiking, and swimming, earning her the title, “All Terrain Pug.”

When I found myself suddenly alone and adrift, I was completely unable to care for any my dogs physically, emotionally, or financially.  Friends and family helped to find homes for all three of them.  Giving them away was the most painful part of the entire divorce, but I had to do what was best for them.  Max was the hardest to place, as she was elderly and in failing health.  One of the amazing volunteers at Southeast Pug Rescue personally took her in and gave her a wonderful home in which to spend her remaining years.  Here come the tears again…

A family portrait with an adult Max.

We had an unorthodox wedding.  We were married on the beach in Vero Beach, FL.  The only attendees were the minister (a gay Methodist minister who looked like David Lee Roth and threatened to marry us while wearing a speedo) and the photographer, who actually worked for the newspaper.  We both cried when reciting our vows, trembling with emotion.  As soon as the ceremony was over, we removed our shoes and walked along the beach for miles.

We honeymooned on a Windjammer cruise.  Apparently I though short-alls were the height of Caribbean fashion.

It was strange seeing him in these photos.  His face no longer seemed familiar to me.  What stood out was one picture where you could see a mole on his neck.  That image, not his face, brought memories rushing back: the feel of his hands, the texture of his chin, the smell of his hair.  I examined all his images, looking for emotion.  Looking to see if his love was real.  Comparing the pictures of him then to his more recent mugshot.  It’s not the same man.

Strangely, the wedding pictures did not bring sadness.  Just a disconnected sort of reminiscence.

Not long after we were married, we bought our house.  This began 10 years of remodeling projects as we worked to make it our own.  We always worked so well together.

This was the last picture I pulled from the envelope: my cat looking out my old dining room window at the activity in the garden.  That cat is all that I still have with me from all these pictures.

The past only has power if we allow it to. By keeping those pictures hidden for so long, I built them up in my mind and made them into more than they really are. Now they they have been released from the envelope, I find  that they have also been released from my thoughts.

I only have a few pictures with me.  Most of them, along with other memories, are in a sealed  box in my mother’s attic across the country.  I’m no longer afraid to open this Pandora’s box; I know I can handle what comes out of it.