Resistance is Futile

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Resistance is futile.

So why do I grip in my hamstrings as I bend to touch my toes?

Resistance is futile.

So why do I kick up excuses at well-aimed suggestions?

Resistance is futile.

So why do I struggle against change?

 

Perhaps because resistance is human.

 

We assume that everything will be a struggle and so we prepare to fight.

We want to maintain the status quo rather than face the fear of the unknown so we put up opposition.

We strive to hold on to what we have even when we would better to let go.

 

Resistance may be futile, but we have raised that futility to an art form.

 

And recently, I’ve deserved gallery space to highlight my performance art of resistance.

Rather than accept the nature of a middle school preparing for the spring testing season, I’ve been struggling against it. Wasting energy wishing it was different and bemoaning the state it’s in. The reality is that it is not going to change. I can look back at my March posts from the previous two years and see the same struggle. Yet, if I choose not to resist, if I go with the flow of March and April, May will come at the same pace as it would if I railed against the reality. And I would probably be in a better place to greet it.

Rather than accept the overwhelming nature of learning a new career (the one I just passed a test and obtained licensure for), I’ve been struggling against the natural learning curve. I’m dependent upon others for training and I’m letting myself grow frustrated when it can’t happen on my timeline. But that frustration doesn’t change anything other than my attitude.

But wait, it gets better.

Rather than accept the weather of the day, I’ve been resisting the remnants of winter and exiting my hibernation prematurely. I’ve been spotted wearing open toed shoes and sleeveless tops. While silently complaining about the weather.

Rather than allowing myself my much-needed cognitive cool-down in the evenings, I’ve been working up until I head to bed. The result? My body tries to sleep while my brain resists, generating ideas and solving problems that interrupt my sleep.

Rather than recognizing my computer’s slowing as a sign to restart, I soldier on while pages take eons to load and applications crash.

 

Wow. It all seems so silly when I write it down. I’ve basically been shadow boxing. Against myself. Resisting for the sake of resistance.

But resistance is futile.

Even if I put down my gloves, May will come, I will learn my new trade and the weather will warm.

Last night, I gave myself the gift of a rebooted computer (who is now loading happily) and an evening without thought of work or writing.

And I feel much better after giving up the struggle.

 

There are certainly times in life where you have to fight. But those are fewer and farther between than we usually realize. Take the time to look at the struggle in your life and eliminate the battles that are against yourself. Save your energy for the real fights.

 

Mystery

Posted on by stilllearning2b

The story of this missing plane just keeps getting stranger. It’s interesting to me to watch how surprised people are that we do not yet have answers. How shocked people are that it remains a mystery even in the face of technology and manpower. We like to read mysteries, not live them. We crave the information that can fit the pieces of the puzzle.

I caught part of an interview yesterday with the wife of one of the passengers. I ached for her. She is caught in limbo, understanding that most likely, she will never see her husband again yet also lacking the concrete information that lets her begin to grieve.The questions, the mystery keep her anchored in maybe. And that’s a horrible place to live.

I know. I lived there myself for a few days. Yes, I had a text and a typed letter when my ex left, but I no information. What he left was worthless, gave no real answers. All I knew was that one moment, I had a husband who said he loved me and couldn’t wait for me to get home and the next, I had a brief electronic communication saying he was gone. Disappeared.

For the first twenty-four hours, I had no information. I didn’t know if he was alive or if the letter was really a suicide note. My mind raced, trying on different scenarios for fit. In some, in walked back in the door and explained it was all a mistake. In others, his body was found in a motel. I couldn’t rest. I needed to know.

As with most mysteries, information dribbled in. I learned that all the money was gone. I found proof of another woman. Then, I figured out what state he was in. That was the point where I first filed for divorce (less than a week after the text). The first go-round, the plan was to file by publication because his true location was still unknown.

And I was still restless. I knew some things, but I still didn’t understand why. And then I learned about Uganda and found some more answers. And then the bigamy, which answered some things and raised more. I was dogged. Determined. I needed to know. I searched for information with the same desperate urge as preteen reading the battle scene in the final Harry Potter. I could not stop turning pages even knowing that I may not like what I would learn.

In the end, that search provided the pieces that I fit into the puzzle years later. I still don’t know if I built it correctly. And I never really will. That search cost me, in terms of additional money spent for the divorce and in time spent playing Sherlock Holmes.

But, when I saw the face of that poor woman on TV last night, it’s a cost I’m glad I spent.

If  it was still a mystery, I would always be wondering.

At least now I know. And I can lay it to rest.

I hope that the families of the passengers on the missing place find answers soon so that then they can work on finding peace.

 

Four Years Ago Today

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Four years ago today, I awoke afraid of seeing the man who had abandoned me eight months before. And when he passed me in the courthouse hall, I didn’t even recognize him.

Four years ago today, I was ready for the divorce I never wanted from the man I thought I knew.

Four years ago today, I sat in a courtroom with the man I had spent half of my life with. A man I once considered my best friend. We never made eye contact.

Four years ago today, I looked at his face for any sign of the man I had loved.  I saw none. After sixteen years, he was truly a stranger to me.

Four years ago today, I sat alone in a hallway waiting for the attorneys to decide his fate and mine. Hoping that the judge saw through his lies and would not fall sway to him charms. She didn’t, even asking my husband’s attorney if he was “psycho.” The lawyer could only shrug.

Four years ago today, I cried and shook with the realization that it was all over. It was a relief and yet the finality was jarring.

Four years ago today, I felt a heaviness lift as I cut the dead weight of him from my burden. I believed I couldn’t begin to heal until his malignancy had been removed.

Four years ago today, I laughed when I learned he hadn’t paid his attorney. I had warned the man my husband was a con. Maybe he believed me now.

Four years ago today, I held tightly to that decree, still believing that its declarations had power. I felt relief that he would have to pay back some of what he stole from the marriage. The relief was short lived.

Four years ago today, I took my first steps as a single woman. Steps I never expected to take. The first few were shaky. But I soon started to find my stride.

Four years ago today, I sat around a restaurant table with friends and my mother. A table that had held my husband and I countless times over our marriage. We celebrated the end of the marriage that night. I had celebrated my anniversary there the year before.

Four years ago today, I read my husband’s other wife’s blog for the last time, curious if she would mention anything about the court date. She did not. I erased the URL from my history. It no longer mattered.

Four years ago today, I sealed the piles of paperwork from the divorce and the criminal proceedings into a large plastic tub. As the lid clicked in place, I felt like I was securing all of that anguish in my past.

Four years ago today, I started to wean myself off of the medication that allowed me to sleep and eat through the ordeal. I was thankful it had been there, but I no longer wanted the help.

Four years ago today, I fell asleep dreaming of hope for the future rather than experiencing nightmares of the past.

And now, four years on, I could not be happier with where I am.

Not because of the divorce.

But because losing everything made me thankful for everything.

Because being blind made me learn how to see.

Because being vulnerable created new friendships and bonds.

Because being destroyed made me defiantly want to succeed.

And because losing love made me determined to find it again.

I am happier than I’ve ever been.

And I could not be where I am without four years ago today.

Significance

Posted on by stilllearning2b

It’s amazing the significance that can be found in the smallest of things. I found it this past weekend in a can of stain.

In my former life, my husband and I had an amazing deck built about 15 months before he left. This deck had been a dream of ours since we purchased the house nine years prior. I loved that space and spent every available moment on it. When the deck’s one year anniversary came around, we made plans to stain it, as advised. We researched products and purchased a five gallon bucket of stain.

A bucket of stain that still stood unopened in the basement on the day he left.

During those months between the deck’s birthdate and his life’s death date, he made excuses not to undertake the project. He was too busy to pressure wash (his domain) or was worried about the pollen. Or the weather. Or his blood pressure. Or even the cost of tea in China. He always had a reason.

But the real reason was that there was no need to stain a deck to ensure its longevity when your life is on its last breaths.

A few years later, and my new husband and I purchased a house with a new deck. The planks one-year anniversary was this spring and we celebrated by coating it with stain over the weekend. He pressure washed and covered the large expanses of deck while I tackled the nooks and crannies of the railings and steps. It was a simple process yet suffused with meaning.

This deck, this marriage and life are coated to last.

Strength

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Several years ago, I taught eighth grade in the gifted program at a school with a population that qualified our suburban location as “inner city.” I had this one little British boy that year that stood out. John couldn’t have been more than four feet tall, the stack of books in his arms frequently bypassing his eyebrows. He was very quiet and gentle and spoke with coolest accent as he shared his brilliant insights. He was safe on our gifted team; we had many kids who fell outside the norm and this group was very accepting of differences.

But that wasn’t necessarily the case with the rest of the school. I worried for my kids when they were in the halls and the lunchroom with the greater population. I feared they would fall sway to bullies or worse.

But John taught me not to worry.

One day, another student was put in John’s science class for the day as a form of consequence. This student was built like an NFL linebacker and had the temper of a taunted cobra. The science teacher, who had a nature even more gentle than John, sat the punished student at a table in the back of the room.

But the table was already occupied.

A large glass aquarium filled all but a thin, four inch strip of the table. A strip where this student would be completing his work. Inside the aquarium was a large tarantula, that just happened to be crawling on the front wall of the aquarium when the student sat down.

Panicked, he turned to the kid who was closest to him. John.

“Is this thing safe? I hate spiders, man,” his eyes belying the terror just beneath the surface.

“You see those fangs,” said John in a British-tinged whisper, “They use them to pump venom into your body that liquefies your flesh and then they suck out the juices.” This was illustrated with his fingers, just in case the other boy didn’t quite get the picture.

“But don’t worry,” said John with a small smile, “I think the lid will hold.”

And with those words, our little David defeated that Goliath.

For the rest of that year, I saw the bigger boy act in deference to little John in the hallways and in the cafeteria. I’m sure the other students and teachers looked on quizzically, wondering how this diminutive child defeated one of the tougher kids in the school.

What they failed to realize is that strength is not always visible on the surface. That true toughness comes from an ability to reason, use what you have at your disposal and a determination to see the challenge through to the end. And that is something we can all do, even if we can’t see over the load we carry.