My Husband Walked Into a Bar

Posted on by stilllearning2b

My husband was out of town for business this past week.

As I’m winding down for the evening, I receive the following text:

Sitting at the bar of the steak house that I am at and there is a woman in her 70s who is cracking me up.

My response?

That’s the kind of woman I want you to pick up in bars:)

He chatted with this lady through the evening, sharing pieces of their conversation with me.

She was in her mid 70s and was recently widowed after being married for 50 years.

50 years.

With the same person.

And then they’re gone.

Wow.

I remember how alien it was to be alone after 16 years.

But that’s a drop in the bucket.

My husband was drawn to this woman’s energy. She had made the decision to fully embrace this next chapter of her life, even though it wasn’t asked for.

She got a tattoo. On her butt.

She dates younger men. Plural. Her pick line? “Do you have life alert? I’ve fallen for you and can’t get up.”

She is going ziplining this week and told stories of her other adventures.

She didn’t use the excuse, “I’m too old.” She didn’t live in the past, although she didn’t forget it either.

She shared a bit of marital advice with my husband.

Write notes. Lots of them.

She went on to talk about how her husband left her notes on an almost daily basis. She laughed about it at the time since their frequency made them not-so-special.

But then he became ill. And he died.

And now she looks back at the notes and smiles, remembering the relationship.

And now she realizes that even if each note may not have seemed special at the time, the accumulation of them is priceless because it speaks of the affection and bond held through the years.

I understand.

Brock and I are note writers. It’s amazing the power of a few simple words or a smily face can have on your mood and outlook. I have a folder filled with the ones I have received from him over the years. I hope I’ll need a box to hold them before the end.

I enjoyed my by proxy evening with the this woman – a reminder that you are never too old, that you can fully embrace life after unwanted change and to never take yourself too seriously.

I think I’ll hold off on that gluteal tattoo, however:)

Pissing Contest of Pain

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Tiger has a funny habit on walks. Whenever we encounter another dog (especially if it is a male, dominant-type animal), he begins to pee on everything around. He reaches his leg high, sometimes almost losing his balance, just to aim the stream as high on the tree or post as possible. It’s as though he wants to send the message that he is the big dog and none can top him.

It’s a humorous habit yet one with deeply ingrained motivations.

We humans don’t tend towards literal pissing contents (well, except for that one epic battle that occurred in the boy’s bathroom in my kindergarten class!) but we are no strangers to the impulse to be the top dog.

Sometimes this competitive drive propels us to reach new heights in business or fitness. Sometimes it can be a powerful motivator to do better. To be better.

Yet we also engage in pissing contests that hold no promise of anything better.

We compete to compete even when doing so holds us back.

We want to be the best even when being the best means that we aim to convince others that our pain is greater. That our suffering cannot be beat. That our torment tops all others.

Pain is such a strange thing – universal and yet personal. Subjective. Well known and yet unknowable.

We have a strange drive to want our pain to be understood.

So we share.

And then others share.

Often times, we empathize, recognizing another in pain and reaching out in solidarity.

But sometimes, especially when the pain is still acute, we respond with defensiveness. Frustration at not being understood. Believing that their pain is but a trickle compared to the torrent surrounding us.

For those who have been betrayed, this need for their betrayer to experience their pain is strong. Powerful. Even all-consuming.

We respond by holding on to our suffering. Claiming it. Owning it.

Adding to it until its edges cannot be seen.

We reach that leg up high, releasing the pain for all to see.

It is ours. And ours alone.

I have become so aware of this pissing contest of pain in the comment section of The Huffington Post. It seems like readers want to top one another with their tales of woe with no intent of letting go.

Some stay there, content to won the pissing contest. Their pain is the worst. Their territory clearly marked by signs of suffering.

Others become aware that it is a winless contest. That everyone’s pain is their own and that no one will be fully able to feel yours and, more importantly, no one else can remove yours. That you are more than the sum of your sufferings and that despair is not the badge you want to wear.

You learn that the true release of pain comes with acceptance, not competition.

Tiger continues to be driven by his instincts long after the well has run dry, holding his leg high for an invisible stream. We have the ability to outsmart our drives, to keep our legs down and to continue to move forward. It’s not a contest. You don’t win by tallying the most pain.

You win by letting go and moving on. Even if someone’s pissing on the post behind you.

Related:

Adhesion

Trigger Points

You Shouldn’t Feel That Way

Are You a Mental Hoarder?

 

 

I Leave You With…

Posted on by stilllearning2b

The wedding is just a few short days away.

We won’t be stopped by the government shutdown (even though we have had to create a backup plan to the original national park location). Nor will tropical storm Karen put a damper on our plans even if she makes us damp (here’s the one time I’m not happy about wedding dresses being white!).

As we all know, those are little things, speed bumps, but not stop signs.

We have been through much more stringent challenges to get here.

And now we’re ready.

I’m ready.

photo-75

I tried on my dress the other night for the first time since I bought it a year ago. The sight made the upcoming marriage feel real. Tangible. I looked at my reflection and reflected on the last time I wore white, 14 years ago. I am no longer that woman. I am more awake, mindful of all that is. I am more aware of both the good and the potential for pain. I am more grateful for everything after losing everything. And, dare I say it, I am more excited. My first marriage felt like the inevitable conclusion to a good relationship. This marriage feels like a hard-won victory after years of facing struggle. The triumph of love over loss. Trust over betrayal. And peace over pain.

And that’s something to celebrate.

And celebrate I shall. I will be taking a hiatus from the blog and its associated platforms for the next week or so. I want to focus on my new husband. My family. And my friends.

And maybe even sneak in a nap:)

I want to spend a week celebrating where I am with no thought as to how I got here.

Even though this is certainly a case where the ends justify the means.

Love Doesn't End

I’m not locking the door of the blog; please feel free to poke around and maybe even stay for awhile. There are well over 600 hundred posts here, so there’s no need to get bored:)

Please keep commenting and sharing. I’ll pick up when I get back.

But I also want to leave you with something.

Hope.

Hope that no matter how bad the pain is now, it can get better.

Hope that no matter how much you have lost, you can regain even more.

Hope that no matter how piercing the betrayal, you can learn how to trust again.

Hope that breaks heal and make you stronger than before.

Hope that you can build a new family and a new life.

Hope that you are not damaged beyond repair and that you can love and be loved.

Hope that you can be happy. Really and truly happy.

your story

Your happy ending may look different than mine.

But picture the happy ending you want. The finish line that says you’ve completed your divorce journey.

And then walk towards it. One step at a time.

See you all soon:)

Lisa

photo-66

Hamstrung

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I have runner’s legs.

That’s not necessarily a good thing.

My hamstrings, hips and IT bands are perpetually tight, pulled taut from a combination of balled muscle and stuck fascia. Not only does it hinder my ability to touch my toes, it also leads to biomechanical issues and pain, especially as I get older.

Prior to this fall and its associated craziness, I was making good progress on my legs. I had committed to 30 minutes or more of yoga daily, with an emphasis on loosening the lower body. I was looser. Freer. My body learned to work together as the binds began to unravel.

And then the move happened.

And yoga didn’t.

So now I have runner’s legs.

And mover’s back.

The tension spread when I wasn’t watching, migrating up from the hips, along the spine to settle between the shoulder blades and around the neck.

It’s all connected. I turn my head to the side and I feel the pull all the way down to my hip.

So back to yoga I go.

Hamstring work has always been a challenge for me. They resist. They struggle. When we engage in a battle of wills, they always win.

The harder I push, the more they grip, the golgi bodies responding out of fear to protect the delicate tendons beneath.

There are tricks in hamstring work, techniques to encourage the muscle to relax and lengthen.

These same tricks work for our minds.

Much like the golgi bodies buried within our muscles send signals to protect the surrounding tissue from overstretching, our minds respond to too much pressure by sending out panic signals that encourage gripping. Holding on to whatever is causing the pain.

Constriction.

Status quo.

We can stay there or we can learn how to outsmart those signals and encourage letting go.

Breathe

Any effective hamstring work has to start with the breath. When your breath is restricted, tight, your body receives a signal to hold on. To everything. When the breath is full and complete, the body and mind relax and feel safe releasing a bit more with each exhale, trusting that the next inhale will come. Everything is connected. You can soften your hamstrings or calm your mind with nothing more than a few moments of mindful breath.

Face, But Don’t Force

When I first started doing yoga, I couldn’t find the right balance to use. I would either back off in difficult poses, afraid of facing the pain or I would meet it head on and engage in a game of chicken.

Neither works.

In order to let go of the pain, you have to face it. Acknowledge it. Greet it. But greet it gently. Just like you don’t respond well to a stranger running up to you, your discomfort won’t like a harsh welcome.

It will hide.

Instead, recognize it. Accept that it is there in whatever form it takes today. And then allow it to soften.

Be Patient

My hamstrings and I have a different perception of time. To me, a few seconds in a forward fold is plenty. To my legs, however, that’s just the first note of an entire concert. I’ve had to learn to operate on their schedule in order to see any progress.

Even when that means holding a single pose for 10+ minutes.

It’s amazing what the mind will kick up when I’m holding a pose.

It throws up excuses.

Reasons to hold onto the pain.

The trick is not to listen.

And breathe.

Releasing mental anguish is no different. We want it to be pulled from our lives in one great swoop, a magician drawing a scarf from a hat.

It takes time. Instead of the magician, picture playing Operation, a steady and careful hand patiently removing each offending piece, careful not to trigger the alarms.

It seems crazy that our minds and bodies want to hold on to what is causing us harm.

But they do.

You see, that’s a known pain. It becomes comfortable.

Whereas letting go risks the unknown.

And that is the scary part.

Consistency

This one hamstrung me this month. I stopped my daily practice and the pain crept back in. It’s subtle, so you don’t notice at first as you acclimate to the ever-increasing amplitude.

Until you do notice.

It’s so easy to think we’re done. Healed. All offending tissues have been softened and all issues resolved. But much as AA teaches that an addict is an addict for life, we are all healers for life.

It’s a daily process to remind ourselves to let go.

That it’s okay to feel suffering and it’s okay to release it.

It’s alright if you forget. Just acknowledge where you are today and breathe.

And begin again.

 

The Bathroom Drawer

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I was giving a tour of the new home.

“And this is Brock’s bathroom.”

“He gets the master bath?” my friend inquired, surprised.

“Yup. In this case, it’s a key to marital bliss. That way my blind self doesn’t trip over his detritus and I don’t wake him up when I get ready at the crack of dawn,” I explained.

She nodded, understanding.

“I am envious of these drawers, though,” my hand already beginning to open one of the six drawers built into the cabinet.

As my arm began to pull, my brain stuttered. I realized that I had no idea at all what was contained within that drawer. I hoped that it was nothing that would be embarrassing to reveal.

Luckily, the drawer only contained the usual bathroom items (along with a couple remnants of the paining work we had done).

But it also contained a lesson for me.

In my old life and my old home, I knew (or, more accurately, thought I knew) what resided behind every closed drawer. I thought I knew everything about my ex husband, that there was no uncharted territory. I believed there were no secrets, even of the unintentional kind.

And so, whenever a drawer (both real and metaphorical) was opened, I saw what I expected to see.

It’s never been that way with Brock. Perhaps because of my background or maybe because we’re coming together in mid-life after living separate lives for many years, he remains at least somewhat mysterious to me. Even though we share stories of our pasts, they are just samples, not the entire spread. Although we share space, we each have out own territory and I don’t feel the need to be an explorer on an expedition to his office.

I don’t think I know what he is going to say.

So I listen.

I don’t have any expectations of what I will see.

So I look.

At first, this felt a bit scary to me. I wondered if I would ever feel like I knew him as well as I knew my ex.

But then I realized, I only thought I knew my ex.

The comfort in that was the wool over my eyes.

I like the dash of mystery.

The reminder that he is Brock before he is my husband.

A reminder to listen. To see.

Rather than assume.

And also a reminder not to open drawers in fron of someone without verifying its contents first:)