Precipice

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Sleep has been elusive of late. I’ve struggled to fall asleep and then I find myself awake again far too soon. I’ve run my Kindle battery to zero every night for the past couple weeks. I’ve moved from bedroom to couch, either to escape Brock’s movements that seem to amplify when I can’t sleep or to avoid disturbing him with mine. I’ve resorted to Benadryl to try to force my brain to slumber, but my body just laughs it off.

It’s amazing (yet not surprising) how critical sleep is. When I am tired, everything feels insurmountable, from making decisions about the house to trying to compose an essay. My temper is short and my patience shorter.

I. Just. Want. To. Sleep.

When Brock comes in the bedroom to see me still reading or comes to check on me on the couch, he inquires, “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

The short answer? I don’t know. I’ve never been a great sleeper and I’ve gone through periods where I struggled more with it than usual. Apart from the months after the divorce; however, I have not resorted to prescription sleep aids. Usually, it’s a phase. It seems like my body gets into the habit of sleeplessness and, like any habit, it can be hard to break.

The longer answer is that I am standing on the precipice of a time of great change. I know it’s coming, sooner rather than later. I can somewhat prepare but, no matter what, I cannot do enough now to make the near future any smoother.

I am in the last few precious days of my summer break before the whirlwind of the school year starts again. I just received word that Georgia has opted out of the assessment program that we have spent the last two years preparing for and there is talk of yet another curriculum overhaul. This means that the preparations that I did last year for the coming year are now null and void. I don’t know what I’m walking into next week.

We are set to move in the first couple weeks of September. I’m taking advantage of my time now to begin some packing but most of it will have to wait. Which, in a way that’s good as it says that we use most of the stuff that is in our house, but… it also means that the bulk of the packing will have to occur when I’m trying to acclimate to the new school year and Brock is consumed with some martial arts activities. Likewise, the needed purchases and updates can’t occur until after closing.

So, new school year with new assessments, new house and, let’s not forget, a new marriage all in the next couple months. All good things (okay, except maybe the new assessments), yet all change.

I think change can be easier when it comes in the form of a tsunami. You do not have the anxiety of anticipation nor the time to question it as it occurs. It just sweeps you up and carries you along as you struggle to simply keep your head above water.

Planned change can be harder. You have the illusion of control so it can be more difficult to simply let go. You can see it coming and foresee (and fabricate!) troubles that will come with it.

Right now, I feel like I should be taking action. I have time, something I will not have starting next week. However, that anticipation of the precipice is making action impossible since I cannot achieve the required rest.

I am going to do my best over the next few days to turn my back on the precipice, to not worry about what needs to be done or what may come up, and to simply be in my current moment.

Change is coming and maybe the best thing I can do to be prepared to give myself the gift of this moment. The edge will be here soon enough. Hopefully I can sleep without rolling over it.

Serendipity

Posted on by stilllearning2b

1991

Almost 22 years ago, I entered the halls of Clark High School as a new freshman. Like the others, I was excited to leave behind the insular world of middle school. I looked forward to the more challenging and personalized classes. I was thrilled about the additional freedoms. And I was particularly enthusiastic about the boys upperclassman boys.

To that end, one class stood out on my printed schedule, 6th Art I. A class that was not restricted to 9th graders and offered my best chances of meeting some of those older boys I had my eye on (it’s pretty funny, by the end of the year, I dated my way through that class much like I dated my way through the gym after the divorce). As luck would have it, I ended up sitting next to a junior with kid eyes, a quick wit and the cutest dimple. And, most importantly, a car. I was smitten.

Over the next few weeks, we got to know each other over our charcoals and tempera. I loved the particular symmetry of his last name and I frequently wrote it on the back of his paper as we passed them in. I was intrigued by his stories of evenings and weekends out with his friends, drawn to the freedoms that a vehicle provides. Although we flirted in class, I figured that I had no chance. After all, I was barely 14 and he had all the wisdom and opportunities of 16 year old:) I was shocked and thrilled when he asked me out a few weeks into the school year.

I was nervous about asking permission from my mom. Although I dated throughout middle school, this was my first Date where no parental transportation was needed. My mom agreed after she devised a “driving test” for him (he drove her to the repair shop to collect her vehicle) and a “counseling session” where he was drilled in the living room. Luckily, he passed and I got to go on my first “real” date where I learned that short skirts and Texas trucks do not necessarily make a good match (the floorboard of that thing was above my waist! I didn’t realize that jumping hurdles was a prereq for dating in Texas).

We ended up dating through much of the fall. He was a drummer and, along with his friends, introduced me to the music I still today – metal, the heavier, the better. It was the beginning of my enigma-laced persona. I’ll never forget attending a metal show wearing a floral pink shirt, surrounded by tattoos, black and mohawks in the mosh pit. I’ve done away with the pink flowers, but I still carry those contradictions.

We had a good run, but like most things, it came to an end. He some issues with an ex girlfriend and moved to a new school around the same time. I ended up in hospital homebound for a couple months after some complications from surgery. I saw him periodically until I was 16 with a car of my own, but then we drifted apart and he faded into memory.

2013

I have a rule that I only check my personal Facebook page from my phone (this helps me stay focused on work on my computer). As a result, I never see the messages that arrive from people outside my friend network. I had a few minutes yesterday afternoon and I decided to check those messages for the first time on over a year. (Note to self: don’t wait so long next time!). There were several messages from men after seeing me on the Jeff Probst Show, one from an old childhood friend (love this part of social networking!) and one from the boyfriend of the fall of freshman year:

Hi Lisa, I really need to let you know something. First, I am in AA and have been sober for 2 1/2 years. Part of me working through my program of recovery is an amends process. I don’t know if you ever knew, but I grew up in a home where both of my parents were alcoholics and drug addicts. However, that does not give me any excuses for any of my actions in life. I wanted to tell you that how I treated you when we were younger was wrong and I wanted to make amends with you. I am asking nothing of you except one thing; I just need to know what I can do, if anything at all, to make it right? And I am not saying you have to forgive me now or ever. My main objective is to let you know that I know what I did was wrong and I am willing to fix it in any fashion you want. It can be anything from “Don’t ever speak to me again!” or to do something for a charity….etc. The options are endless. Finally, to wrap this up, I had to become very honest with my self and make a decision to go to ANY lengths to remain sober and I am doing that today with the help of God and working this program. If you or someone you know ever has questions about this I will always be willing and ready to help. I hope you have read this and if so thank you very much and I hope to hear from you soon.

There are times when people come into our lives at the right time for the right reason. As some of you on here have gathered, I’ve been at a bit of a crossroads lately. A couple weeks ago, I was ready to throw in the towel and end this site, leaving divorce in my past. I was having trouble figuring out how my past fit into my present and I wasn’t willing to jeopardize my future. A conversation with Brock convinced me to keep writing, but I was still uneasy about my decision. Little did I know that the Facebook message above would lead to some profound understanding about embracing the past and using it as a tool.

I responded to his request,

Oh, wow. It’s great to hear from you and to hear that you are doing well. I’m sorry that it’s taken so long for me to respond – I never check these messages. I knew of your home situation and I’m proud of you for your efforts. I still think of you when I listen to certain songs – I credit you with my to-this-day passion for metal:)

I know how tenuous sobriety can be. I have seen so many people start down that road, only to get lost again along the way. I hoped that I would hear back, if only for confirmation that he was still sober and doing okay.

I had nothing to worry about. He soon responded and we engaged in the usual catching up (he’s married with three cute kiddos and works as an engineer) along with reminiscing about the past. Throughout, he was very forthcoming about his addiction and, even more importantly in my eyes, the emotions associated with it.

Because my ex left with no discussion, I try to gain understanding about him and his possible mindset through conversations with others. I learned after he left that he was struggling with alcohol; I found evidence of hidden drinking and he admitted to a problem in a text conversation with my mom. (Related: The Secret Keepers) I saw an opportunity last night to peek into the mind of an addict to try to understand my ex a little better.

The drug, drink, or action are just symbols of a much more real problem. I always tell people who go to an AA meeting and they know they have to stop using drugs, but they think they can drink. That it never was a problem…I tell them “It’s not the WHAT, it’s the WHY”.

I believe in the thought that my past is not a bad shameful one. I’m not proud of it. It has become my greatest tool and to be of service to others in and out of any program…but sometimes my faith in that belief weakens….then the darkness….so on and so on…but the always I know the big picture is better than that moment.

That line hit me hard. It spoke directly to my recent struggle with trying to figure out where to house the past. Once I explained my recent debate, he responded with an excerpt from the AA book:

If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed before we are half way through. We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness. We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. We will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others. That feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear. We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows. Self-seeking will slip away. Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change. Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.

See your past, is your experience.Your experience helps those suffering relate. And your healing and growth….even for those uncomfortable, will begin to see you are actually a greater person…trust me…that growth and healing is a sufferers hope. I know that feeling and concern…TRUST ME…all the hurt people, my children, my coworkers, I smile and become a living example through my actions. My coworkers like who I have grown to be, and I know and proclaim I am not perfect.

So as fars your ex goes…you have to realize that is he was doing only what he could do with the tools he had.

So, now, you own the past, you can own your feelings

Damn. How did that 16 year old punk get to be so wise? It’s amazing how two very different journeys can share some of the same core ideas, emotions and conclusions.

Last night was serendipity. I now feel more at peace with the place of the past. I am more dedicated than ever to using it to continue to reach out and help others.

HATEBREED says “One Flame can light a million”
You helped me in my recovery today…
And extending a hand to others is what it is all about.
This post was written to the tunes of Dead Horse in honor of my introduction to metal:) If you like thrash with a smile, check them out!

 

Here I Go Again

Posted on by stilllearning2b

photo-288

I guess sometimes the third try is the charm (just, please not for marriages…two is plenty!). After putting in three offers on three different houses, we are finally under contract and set to close just before Labor Day. I’m excited. I’m nervous. I’m so ready to be settled. But I’m also scared of settling in.

This will be my fifth move in four years. I’ve been pretty nomadic since the divorce. I knew that each move had a expiration date, so I have not taken the time or energy to fully nest in a place. It’s freeing in a way, but I’ve also missed that sense of home. That feeling of being in a place that I’ve personalized to my needs and tastes.

I’ve also been living in other people’s spaces. My first home was a spare bedroom in my friend’s house. Since I left everything behind, I used everything from her furniture to her linens. I had no personal stamp at all. My next home was an apartment by myself for a year. I furnished the entire place for $2000 and the help from IKEA (perfect for college students and the recently divorced alike!). Even though it was my space, I still held back since I knew that is was also a temporary resting spot. My next perch was in Brock’s townhome. This time, I brought furniture and other belongings with me, but I was still moving into someone else’s space. The current rental has been an improvement, as we both entered at the same time, but I still have resisted injecting my taste into the temporary home. Even on the house hunting, I have been somewhat distant from the houses, refusing to get emotionally attached (hmmm…kinda like I was when I first started dating).

This is different now.

This is a Home. This is a place where we intend to spend the next 15-20 years. This is a place where I can personalize. This is a place where I can grow roots. This is a place where I can move in without having to set aside the boxes for the inevitable move out. This is a place where the paint that goes on the walls won’t be from the leftovers in the garage. This is a place where things can be fixed instead of endured. This is a place where I can garden again. This is a place where I can grow.

I don’t know why, but the purchase of a house symbolizes more about commitment and moving on than the marriage does. I don’t know why, bu the purchase of a house makes me more nervous than the upcoming nuptials. It’s liked I’m scared to root again because of the fear of the pain of being uprooted.

Stupid fear. Ultimately, it’s just a house. Four walls and a screened in porch. I should not let it symbolize more than it is. After all, I can love and be happy with or without a Home. It’s time to let go of the fear of losing again. It’s time to relax and settle in. Hopefully soon on my new porch:)

Childhood Lessons From Unlikely Teachers

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Childhood is a time where every encounter and every experience contains a lesson. Here are ten of my favorite childhood lessons and the (sometimes shocking) teachers that related them.

Lesson: Acceptance

Teacher: Selling shampoo to naked people

How it went down: I grew up in an environment where nudity was acceptable. From a young age, I learned that the human body, in all its variations, was natural. I was taught that nudity could exist apart from sexuality and that an unclothed body was not a source of shame or embarrassment. I first appreciated this lesson one summer in early high school when I spent a few days selling shampoo to patrons at a nude sauna at the Oregon Country Fair. I was at the height of teenage insecurity about my appearance and my body. Yet, when standing alongside hundreds of other exposed bodies, my anxieties about my own form dissipated. I realized that I had been accepting others yet judging myself. I have generally had a positive relationship with my body and my weight and I believe that it is because of my early experiences with nudity. On a side note, somehow people wearing nothing but socks appear to be even more naked than those entirely in their birthday suits:)

Lesson: Tolerance

Teacher: A variety of churches, synagogues and temples

How it went down: I was raised in a fairly liberal Methodist church yet I had friends from just about every religious background imaginable. I spent many a weekend at their houses and would attend religious services with their families. It was not uncommon for me to attend a youth group activity with my own church on Friday, visit the synagogue on Saturday and end the weekend with a Catholic mass. As a child, I was accepted at each church and my questions were welcomed and answered thoughtfully (I always had plenty to ask!). I was probably one of the only kids to go to catechism and Hebrew classes even though I was not Catholic or Jewish:) Later on, my mom’s experiences led me to be exposed to the wisdom from the East as well as from the Native Americans. I had friends that were Buddhist and friends that were Baptist. I learned to respect the beliefs and I learned something from them all.

Lesson: Patience

Teacher: Two very different parents

How it went down: My parents could not be more different. My father is an introverted engineer and my mother, an extroverted counselor. And me? Somewhere smack dab in the middle. As a kid, it was sometimes difficult trying to be understanding of each of their temperaments when they were so different from each other and from me. I had to learn (yes, kicking and screaming!) that my way was not the only way and that I needed to be patient with each of them. My mom often says that we choose the parents we need. Yeah, I certainly needed lessons in patience and often still do!

Lesson: Curiosity

Teacher: Books

How it went down: I was an only child who didn’t need much sleep. To preserve their sanity, my parents instituted an “off duty at 9:00 pm” rule when I turned three. As a result, I needed to find a way to entertain myself alone in my room before I was ready to go to sleep. After learning that a xylophone is not an appropriate nighttime toy (who knew?), I turned to books. I started out reading along with records (dating myself here!) until I could read independently. I soon discovered that entire worlds were available to me through the pages of books and that I could discover more with every page turned. I also learned that the Pizza Hut reading incentive program could earn me a free pizza a week:) I’m still an avid reader and questioner, always on the lookout to learn something new.

Lesson: Consequences

Teacher: A hippie music festival

How it went down: By the time I was in high school, many of my friends and classmates had begun experimenting with alcohol and drugs, often to tragic ends. I was never tempted because I had seen the reality. For most teenagers, they only see the glamorous side of drinking and drugging – the movies, the ads, the parties. Because of my time spent camping at a hippie music festival every year, I was exposed to the realities from a young age. I saw the fun parties but I also saw the effects the next day. I witnessed lives spin out of control from one summer to next as festival-goers fell to addiction. The lesson went beyond the effects of drugs and alcohol; I learned that there is no such thing as a free lunch and that every choice has a consequence.

Lesson: Goal setting

Teacher: A Cabbage Patch Kid doll

How it went down: Like many children of the 80s, I was enamored with Cabbage Patch Kids. I was given my first as a gift from my mom, but I soon lusted after a second. My mom smartly chose to make me purchase this one on my own. For months, I saved my allowance while visiting the intended purchase on each trip to the store. I would be tempted by cheaper toys that I could purchase with the amount I had saved yet I was encouraged to hold out until I had reached my goal. That lesson has served me well in life. Although now I see that doll as a waste of money, the ability to work towards a goal is priceless.

Lesson: Compassion

Teacher: A young girl with a profound disability

How it went down: I spent two summers in middle school volunteering at my church with a group of preschool-aged children with special needs. One little girl was the most severe. She had PKU, a genetic mutation that prohibits the body from breaking down an amino acid correctly (this is what the doctors are checking for when they do that heel prick at birth). Her abnormality was undetected and, as a result, she had a very high fever that caused extensive brain damage. I spent two years paired with this child. She was difficult to work with. She would screech and kick. She ripped my earring from my ear and left scratches on my arms. She would hit herself repeatedly and fail to make any eye contact. Even through all of this, I connected with her. Over time, she began to show signs of interaction with me and with her environment. To this day, one of my favorite moments is when she gave me a hug on our last together. She taught me to respond with compassion and empathy rather than fear or aversion.

Lesson: Imperfection

Teacher: An art teacher

How it went down: I was always a high-strung student with perfectionistic tendencies. I would cry when I received a 98, berating myself for failing to earn the final two points. I had an art teacher throughout much of high school that had a policy of never giving a grade higher than a 95. His rationale? Art can never be perfect. True. And neither can life. There is a freedom in embracing the imperfect that I first learned in that tempera paint scented classroom. Of course, I would still cry if I didn’t earn a 95:) After all, I’m not perfect…

Lesson: Adaptability

Teacher: My many “adopted family members”

How it went down: After my parent’s divorced, my mom and I were the only blood relations in the entire state of Texas. Instead of bemoaning this fact, we simply made family. We have a friend who joined us for holidays and trips. I would assimilate into other households for other celebrations. Our definition of family was flexible and fluid. I have used that lesson in my own life, not only with family but with adapting to any situation. You can complain or you can change your perspective and your circumstances. The latter seems a lot better to me.

Lesson: Perseverance

Teacher: A bicycle

How it went down: I’ve shared before about my struggles with riding a bike. Even with my father’s expert tutelage (he was like the Lance Armstrong of the neighborhood, only without the performance enhancing drugs), I didn’t learn to ride a bike until I turned 10. Go ahead and laugh, I know you want to:) My parents would not let me weasel out of this task, even though I tried. It took tears, threats and bribes (two banana splits!), but I finally learned how to pedal without falling over. Even more importantly, I learned the value of hard work and determination and that true failure only comes when you do not try.

I am thankful for these childhood lessons and childhood teachers. It’s amazing what we can learn from others even when they may not know that we are studying.

Are You Pot Bound In Your Life?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

When I first started gardening, I was timid with my new plants. I would very gently ease them out of their nursery pots, cutting away at any plastic that was bound too tightly. I would carefully tease apart the roots, unwinding them from their circular pot-shaped path and tenderly place the new acquisition in its meticulously prepared hole. Then I would water and wait, assured that the foliage would soon attain the glorious heights featured in the magazines.

Sometimes I lucked out and the plant survived.

But, more often than not, those early attempts at gardening failed. The plants would appear to thrive for a period of time and then they would begin to wither and die.

I didn’t understand. After all, I had selected the right plants for the conditions. I prepared the soil. I watered judiciously. I babied the plant.

I thought I was doing everything right.

But still they failed to thrive.

Throughout this time, I kept trying. New plants. New locations. And finally, a new nursery. I discovered a discount seller that offered small plants at amazing prices. I made a shopping list, covered the interior of my car in blue tarps and came home with over 100 individual plants. It was impossible to baby them all. There was no way I could gently tease the overgrown roots from the plastic pots without damage. My new strategy was to squeeze or thump the pot to release the soil and then to slide the new plant on its side on the bare soil. Then, instead of carefully unwinding the roots, I would use my trowel to quickly make four clean, vertical cuts along the root ball before placing the plant in its new home. The tender loving care was replaced with a quick message that the plant was no longer bound to its pot. The roots were told to spread. To explore. To anchor and find sustenance from the surrounding soil.

I watered and I waited. And the plants grew. And grew. Not one fell victim to the precedent of early growth followed by slow death. Just to be sure that the results were not due to some factor related to the nursery, I applied that same planting technique to plants acquired from other sources and the results were equally as positive.

I came to realize that my early attempts were misguided; the gentle unwinding of the roots was not a strong enough message to the plant. When I pulled up the struggling foliage, I found that the roots had resumed their former pot bound growth pattern, becoming a congested gnarled cylindrical knot, incapable of providing the plant with the nourishment it needed. The boundary was no longer present, yet the plants acted as though they were still constrained.

Do you ever feel stuck?

Do you feel constrained by perceived boundaries?

Do you ever feel like you’re growing in circles?

Are you pot bound in your own life?

In retrospect, I can see this pattern in my former marriage. My world became too small, too constrained. I was looking for nourishment and support within a small space. The divorce was more battle axe than trowel upon my exposed roots, but it certainly served to send me the message that it was okay to spread. To grow. To leave the perceived security of the known.

We are only pot bound when we believe that we are limited by our perceptions and beliefs. When we are afraid of growing too far and too fast. Sometimes it takes a strong message to release our roots from their accustomed path. Sometimes it takes some injury and pain to shock the system into a new way of being.

Don’t fear the cut of the trowel; it’s just the universe sending you the message that it’s okay to grow.