What Happens When You Confuse Desire With Belief?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

How long did you believe in Santa? Before you finally accepted the truth, did you have that one year where questions started to arise but you so desperately yearned for the big jolly man to be real that you convinced yourself that he was the one leaving the gifts under the tree?

It’s so difficult for me now to understand how I could have been in the dark about my ex husband’s hidden life. It all seems so obvious to me now, clarity arising from the passage time and the draining of emotion.

But back then? I was in the dark.

Completely and utterly blind.

I remember the fury that would arise in me when others postulated that I must have known something was going on, that I must have had at least some suspicion.

I didn’t blame them for their assumptions (I would have thought the same at that time, had the roles been reversed). Yet their questions angered me beyond my ability to feign politeness. I would retort with a laundry list of the lies he told and the clever acts he committed to hide his deceptions.

But I never told them about me. About my own part in my blindness.

About how I confused desire with belief.

And how wanting something to be true made me convinced that it was.

There are a variety of motivations behind our desperate desires.

That child, grasping onto Santa, is reluctant to release the idea that magic is real and that their parents are not some bastions of truth. That the world is both more and less mysterious than the storybooks would have us believe.

And then that child grows older. Falls in love. Becomes convinced that the emotions must be both stronger and truer than those felt by others. The desire for that love to be true love results in a sloughing off of any niggling doubts, arising both from others and from some protected recesses of their own mind. That dream for perfect love is strong.

Decisions are made. Paths are chosen. Desires are expressed and forgotten as alternate paths fade into the background. A need emerges, rooted in fear, to believe that the chosen path was the right one. Judgement may further obfuscate other options in an attempt to keep questioning at bay.

Desire confused with belief.

A wish mistaken for truth.

That child, upon the realization of santa’s fictional status, may be devastated. There may be anger directed at those that maintained the fantasy. After all, when belief is shattered with truth, there are always cuts. But later, with growth and reflection, that same child may well realize that parents who cared enough to nurture and protect a child’s fantasy are more important than a rotund man with a penchant for red velvet.

The one who loved so deeply, upon experiencing heartbreak for the first time, will learn that love may not be as simple and pure as fiction would have us believe, but that it can be even more powerful. And that love is more about what it asks from us than what it gives to us.

And when one is able to look back at life’s decisions with an open mind, an acceptance of paths chosen while also admitting that they may have been made in error, there is opportunity. A chance for clarity.

Belief recognized as desire.

Like many (if not most) people, I entered into my first marriage with a strong desire to be accepted and protected. I wanted security and I thought that he provided it. I wanted a promise on companionship and I was under the impression that he would furnish it. I wished for a lifetime of marriage and I expected we would have it.

I wanted these things so badly that I believed that I had them. When small questions started to bubble up in my marriage like the first signs of a pancake ready to turn, I quickly popped them and carefully avoided looking underneath. On some level, convinced that if I wanted it badly enough to be true, it would be my reality.

My belief held strong, fortified by fear, until it was torn away in one bloody swipe. My hopes, my dreams shattered.

It was only later, fortified with time and distance, that I realized that those desires posing as belief had held me back. Kept me quiet. Resulted in opportunities lost and risks never taken.

Made me blinded with fear.

And I made a decision to never again close my eyes and make a wish.

But instead to keep my eyes open and never again to confuse desire with belief.

 

Is Love Worth the Risk?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

This piece – Will I Ever Trust Again? – is making the Facebook rounds. The responses to the question? “Nope.” “Never.” “Unfortunately, no.” The comments garnered share a common theme, that the potential benefits of trusting again are not worth the inevitable risk.

And trusting again after betrayal is a risk. Loving again after loss invites insecurity. You can approach it like an actuary, performing calculations of risk assessment to determine the prudent course of action.

I completely understand that urge. In fact, it’s my natural tendency to analyze these things and behave in a way to mitigate risk (case in point – I struggle to even play a nickel slot machine).

But when it comes to trust, to love, I’ve made the decision to approach it in a manner contrary to my inclination.

And it’s all because of watching one woman who loves without limits or qualifiers.

My friend, Sarah, was the one who took me in after my marriage imploded. She and her husband had just brought home an adopted baby – sick and premature – and yet there was no hesitation to let me in.

And I’m watching her in complete admiration now, almost 8 years later, as she navigates the adoption process again.

The baby this time is even more premature than her first, living in a NICU an entire state away. Nothing is certain right now. The adoption process is not finalized and his health, as with most NICU babies, is a rollercoaster of stats and emotions.

But none of that enters into Sarah’s calculations. In the pictures she sends me of this tiny and fragile body nestled against her chest, you can see the unbridled love in her face. This is her child. She is in love. No limits. No walls.

Yes, it’s a risk. Yet in her mind, it’s also not a choice. She understands that love is not something that can be analyzed and controlled. You either submit to it or you don’t experience it.

She didn’t know it, but she was mentor in this that year I lived with her. She had taken a similar risk with her first child, now a happy and healthy 7-year-old. Hell, she took a risk with me, allowing someone in crisis to enter her home and her family and such a critical time.

And during those months, when all I wanted was for the pain to go away and to seal the doors against any possibility of it returning, I watched her. And I began to understand that I had a choice to make.

I could refuse to take that risk. To never again place my faith in someone else. To never again allow someone unfettered access to my heart. It would certainly prevent that pain from ever visiting again.

And then I would see Sarah with her daughter. The rewards that come from taking that risk.

And I knew that I wanted to take that risk again.

I don’t know that I won’t be betrayed again. Gutted again.

But I do know that if I didn’t take the risk, that I would have never felt love again.

And in this case,  I’d rather take a risk than a guarantee.

 

 

 

9 Reasons to Jump Back Into Dating After Divorce (And 9 Reasons to Take it Slow)

Posted on by stilllearning2b

“Are you dating yet? I might know someone…” asks your coworker as you share the elevator on Monday morning.

“You’re dating already! Are you sure you’re ready?” questions your friend after hearing your breathless tale of the other night.

“You know,” announces your mom on your weekly phone call, “It’s not too late for you to find someone new. You’ve got to get back out there.”

“You don’t want to rush into anything,” cautions your therapist when you mention that you signed up for a dating site.

The messages we get about when to start dating again after divorce are confusing and often conflicting. And that friction doesn’t only come from outside voices, it also comes from within as we question ourselves and our motivations.

The decision about when to start dating again is a personal one. You can listen to your coworkers, your friends, your family and your professional support system, but ultimately the choice is yours to make.

Here’s what you need to consider before making that choice.

Why Do We Fall in Love With People That Are Bad For Us?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Have you ever fallen for someone that turned out to be bad for you? Who left you worse off than you were before? Who perhaps used you or abused you?

My hand is sure is sure raised.

And I know I’m not alone in this.

So why is it that we fall so easily for those who treat us badly? And what can we do to keep it from happening again? Learn more here.

Use This Trick to Set Yourself Up For Happiness

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I did it again the other day.

I was a few chapters into a new book when my initial positive feelings about the characters and the story began to wane. Instead of either committing to the story and giving the author the benefit of the doubt or returning the book mostly unread, I searched for the book on Amazon in order to browse the reviews.

It’s a silly habit, really. I’ve already purchased or borrowed the book. At this point, the opinions of others should hold no merit and I should instead focus on my own interest and my view on the merits of the book.

But I often don’t.

And in doing so, I’ve noticed an interesting phenomena.

Sometimes, I gravitate to the one-star reviews and read scathing comments about the error-filled writing, unbelievable characters or pointless story. It comes as no surprise that when I limit myself to the one-star reviews, I heighten my own sensitivity to the downsides of the book, often deciding to skim the remainder or throw in the towel altogther.

Other times, I really want to like the story and so I filter the reviews to only see those that praise the work in an attempt to see the book in a new and rose-colored light. But this often backfires, the compliments ringing hollow and syncophantic, causing me to become more aware of the gulf between those lofty expectations and my reality of the book.

After much trial and error, I’ve finally settled on a strategy that usually leads not only to my finishing the book, but also increases my enjoyment of it: I read only the three-star reviews. Those assessments that acknowledge the book’s strengths while also being realistic about the weaknesses. A balance between anticipation and assumption. An acceptance that nothing is perfect and that it can be appreciated nonetheless.

A recent study explored the idea of high expectations in marriage. It found that high expectations were associated with a happier marriage only when those expectations were realistic. When the marriage was characterized by a lack of relationship skills, lower (and attainable) expectations actually were correlated with an increase in happiness.

It makes sense.

Sometimes we mistakenly believe that happiness is the absence of sorrow. The lack of struggle. That happiness is only found when everything is going great and all five stars are shining.

But like those glowing reviews, that sort of happiness can ring false as it often ignores or suppresses parts of reality.

Happiness is found when faults are acknowledged but not focused upon. When expectations are high and yet attainable. When perfection is not predicted or pretended. When there is a balance between what is enjoyed and what is tolerated. When concerns are contemplated but not ruminated upon. When each good moment is enjoyed for what it is without worry about the moment before or after.

Happiness is found in the three-star reviews.