Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Living Large
"The odds in favor of your even existing in the vastness of this universe are so infinitesimally small that you won the lottery just by showing up. You came from the fastest and strongest of Daddy's swimmers, which makes you a champion by birth, my friend. Anyone with that kind of birthright ought to be living large." Poppy St. Vincent
"Mame" is one of my all-time favorite musicals. Auntie Mame is a woman who knows how to live large. Her nephew Patrick lost both his parents, and he comes to live with his aunt. She teaches him how to, as songwriter Jerry Herman put it, "live each living day." Great actresses such as Rosalind Russell and Angela Lansbury have portrayed Mame, but I just couldn't resist this clip with Lucille Ball in the title role. Her singing makes it all the more charming to me.
I have been having fun buying my younger son some new clothes for work. His office is fairly conservative, so dress shirts and ties come in handy. He has both the good taste, ability and money to buy his own clothes. I just love doing it. If I want to be sensible and practical, I could wait until Christmas to do this. But I have been sending a few things here and there in little packages. He lives nearby, so I could just hand him the clothes. Don't you think it's wonderful to get a surprise in the mail? He is very appreciative. The last time we talked, he again thanked me and I said, "Oh, you just wait. There's more to come! It's like Christmas in July."
Do you need a little Christmas? There is no need to wait another five months to celebrate life, to show other people how much you love them, to indulge those closest to you. It doesn't even take a lot of money, just some thought and energy, to make each day a little more special for yourself and those around you. Why wait till December to make your famous fudge or send a little card to someone?
Auntie Mame spoke the truth when she said, "Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death." I don't know about you, but I think living large is the only way to go.
Susan
Monday, July 25, 2011
The Pink Knight
Knights were young men in the age of chivalry. In medieval times, they were, above all else, protectors. Ladies trusted them implicitly. From an era long gone, they are the stuff charming stories and colorful movies are made of.
Have you ever felt you've been here before? That feeling of "deja vu?" Do you know a very young child some might refer to as an "old soul?" How about that new friend, the one you connected with immediately as if you'd been friends forever? Some folks believe that we have had past lives, or at the very least that we existed in some other form, perhaps in some other dimension before we were born into this life. That perhaps some people in our lives today were in a past life with us. Neale Donald Walsch suggests we have been here hundreds of times before. Louise L. Hay tells those of us with flawed parents, that our parents are actually the perfect ones for us because we chose them before we were born. These ideas were startling to me at first, but I have discovered many groups have these kinds of beliefs. I don't know what to believe about all of it, but I am entertained just pondering it.
I have a knight. A present-day knight. A girl. The Pink Knight. Now on the surface, she is my seven-year-old granddaughter. She, her older sister and I visited an amusement park and brought home souvenirs. She chose a pink foam shield and matching sword, each decorated with girly swirlies and ruby red jewels. She set out to protect me. Now, on the surface, I am a modern day, independent woman who needs no protection. Apparently the Pink Knight knows something I don't know.
She cleansed my home of spirits. She was quite serious about it, and on the surface it seemed to be an imaginative little girl playing make-believe. What she had no way of knowing (?) was that there were some unhealthy circumstances there recently. I would never tell my little granddaughters about adult problems, because I want to protect them from that. My dear friend/roommate and I handled the situation, the two of us working as a very effective team. Relieved that things were resolved, we had been enjoying the peace and happiness of our home for a few weeks. Apparently the Pink Knight knew something we didn't know. Some of the things she told us as she went about her knight business were nothing short of amazing.
My granddaughters and I had a wonderful time together. I love those little girls, and I would do anything for them. I would protect them with my life if it came down to that, and not even give it a second thought. They are young and innocent and vulnerable and deserve to be protected. That being said, it is abundantly clear now that Grandma needed protection, too. And I do feel safe and cared for and protected. I trust the Pink Knight implicitly, because apparently she knows some things I don't know.
Susan
Have you ever felt you've been here before? That feeling of "deja vu?" Do you know a very young child some might refer to as an "old soul?" How about that new friend, the one you connected with immediately as if you'd been friends forever? Some folks believe that we have had past lives, or at the very least that we existed in some other form, perhaps in some other dimension before we were born into this life. That perhaps some people in our lives today were in a past life with us. Neale Donald Walsch suggests we have been here hundreds of times before. Louise L. Hay tells those of us with flawed parents, that our parents are actually the perfect ones for us because we chose them before we were born. These ideas were startling to me at first, but I have discovered many groups have these kinds of beliefs. I don't know what to believe about all of it, but I am entertained just pondering it.
I have a knight. A present-day knight. A girl. The Pink Knight. Now on the surface, she is my seven-year-old granddaughter. She, her older sister and I visited an amusement park and brought home souvenirs. She chose a pink foam shield and matching sword, each decorated with girly swirlies and ruby red jewels. She set out to protect me. Now, on the surface, I am a modern day, independent woman who needs no protection. Apparently the Pink Knight knows something I don't know.
She cleansed my home of spirits. She was quite serious about it, and on the surface it seemed to be an imaginative little girl playing make-believe. What she had no way of knowing (?) was that there were some unhealthy circumstances there recently. I would never tell my little granddaughters about adult problems, because I want to protect them from that. My dear friend/roommate and I handled the situation, the two of us working as a very effective team. Relieved that things were resolved, we had been enjoying the peace and happiness of our home for a few weeks. Apparently the Pink Knight knew something we didn't know. Some of the things she told us as she went about her knight business were nothing short of amazing.
My granddaughters and I had a wonderful time together. I love those little girls, and I would do anything for them. I would protect them with my life if it came down to that, and not even give it a second thought. They are young and innocent and vulnerable and deserve to be protected. That being said, it is abundantly clear now that Grandma needed protection, too. And I do feel safe and cared for and protected. I trust the Pink Knight implicitly, because apparently she knows some things I don't know.
Susan
Saturday, July 23, 2011
They Want Your Soul
Bob Dylan penned the words, "I gave her my heart, but she wanted my soul." Giving his heart should have been enough, but the theoretical woman in the song had to have more.
There is plenty of love in our hearts to go around. Love for spouses or significant others, family, friends, our fellow human beings. There is no scarcity of it, so there is no need to be stingy with our love. In fact, it seems to me the more love we give away, the more we get.
But those people who cross sacred boundaries and want to steal your soul? Beware of them and guard against them. When you give something, they always need a little more. When you offer something freely, they always want something else. When you are happy, they swoop in with their doom and gloom and try to drag you down. When you are at peace, they swing by with their drama and try to shake you up. When you are positive, they throw their negative catchphrases at you, and you have to expend precious energy counteracting their attacks. When your self-esteem seems stable, they come at you with their questions and innuendos, causing you to question yourself. You love them. You really do, but if you allow it, they will take away your very soul and leave you as a pathetic shell of the person you once were.
Beware the soul robbers. They are easy to spot, really. If you feel you are less yourself whenever you're around someone, chances are good that person wants your soul. Don't let it happen. They're the reason we have to just keep traveling on.
Susan
Self-Respect
"When you are content to be simply yourself and don't compare or compete, everybody will respect you." Lao Tzu
"I have never met anyone like you before," she told me. I get that a lot, and for the most part it is meant as a compliment. She went on to say, "You don't give a s*** what people think about you." I laughed. I do care what people think about me. I like it when people like me. There are some folks whose opinion is quite important to me, but I understand what she meant. I am not a people pleaser.
You have probably known a people pleaser or two in your time. She is never simply herself. In fact, you aren't even sure who she is, other than a pretzel who tries to twist herself around to accomodate everyone else. She is almost desperate in her attempt to please. She rarely expresses an unpopular opinion, and she hates to say "no." If she must say "no," she explains and apologizes and bows and scrapes to the point where you are vaguely embarrassed for her. People may like her, but they don't respect her. And if this people-pleasing behavior is chronic, she gets to where she has no self-respect either. Maybe one follows the other. Why should anyone respect you, when you don't even respect yourself?
Virtues such as kindness, friendliness and courtesy make this world a much more pleasant place. We should try as much as possible to treat others as we would like to be treated. There is nothing gained by being rude and abrasive. But if we are simply who we are, if we have a healthy self-respect, people are not always going to like us. They will not always be pleased. They won't like taking "no" for an answer. But they will respect us, even if it is a kind of grudging respect.
While it is possible to be both liked and respected, sometimes we must make a choice. I don't know about you, but I'll choose respect every time. It means a lot to me to look in the mirror and respect the person I see looking back.
Susan
"I have never met anyone like you before," she told me. I get that a lot, and for the most part it is meant as a compliment. She went on to say, "You don't give a s*** what people think about you." I laughed. I do care what people think about me. I like it when people like me. There are some folks whose opinion is quite important to me, but I understand what she meant. I am not a people pleaser.
You have probably known a people pleaser or two in your time. She is never simply herself. In fact, you aren't even sure who she is, other than a pretzel who tries to twist herself around to accomodate everyone else. She is almost desperate in her attempt to please. She rarely expresses an unpopular opinion, and she hates to say "no." If she must say "no," she explains and apologizes and bows and scrapes to the point where you are vaguely embarrassed for her. People may like her, but they don't respect her. And if this people-pleasing behavior is chronic, she gets to where she has no self-respect either. Maybe one follows the other. Why should anyone respect you, when you don't even respect yourself?
Virtues such as kindness, friendliness and courtesy make this world a much more pleasant place. We should try as much as possible to treat others as we would like to be treated. There is nothing gained by being rude and abrasive. But if we are simply who we are, if we have a healthy self-respect, people are not always going to like us. They will not always be pleased. They won't like taking "no" for an answer. But they will respect us, even if it is a kind of grudging respect.
While it is possible to be both liked and respected, sometimes we must make a choice. I don't know about you, but I'll choose respect every time. It means a lot to me to look in the mirror and respect the person I see looking back.
Susan
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Who Do You Think You Are?
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I, to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be?" Marianne Williamson
Her humor crosses the line from self-deprecating to self-loathing. She defends it by saying that it's her family's humor, and her parents emphasized humility above all things. I think her mom and dad had some very strange kind of dictionary at their house, because hating yourself is not humility. Of course, parents don't want to raise children whose heads are so big they no longer fit in the front door. No one enjoys being around a cocky, arrogant person. We want to strike a balance between a healthy self-concept and bragging.
My brother has told me I should share my writing with a local newspaper. After fellow blogger Loudmouth Birdie read my Betty Ford post from yesterday, she said the same thing. So I quickly went online and found the email address of the editor of a small community newspaper, and sent him a short email with a link to my blog. Unlike a paper envelope that can sit on your counter while you debate whether or not to drop it in the mailbox, an email is instant. I hit the "send" button, and it was out there. No turning back. It was exhiliarating, then I heard a voice inside my head that asked, "Who do you think you are?!" The audacity! The unmitigated gall! It threw me for a loop, mostly because I so rarely hear those little demeaning voices anymore. Once I got my bearings, I remembered that this is who I think I am: I am Susan and I am a writer. My Betty Ford post is some of my best work. When I was done with it, I read it another time and thought, "Oh, I am getting really good at this." Maybe that was bragging, or maybe it was the truth. Actually, that post was so good it kind of scared me. Scary in a good way, like the biggest, baddest roller coaster at the amusement park. Now I wouldn't be scared if I was just a mediocre writer, if my little blog was just a little hobby I shared with family and friends, so they could pat me on my little head and say, "That was nice."
While we are living, we might as well live large, right? Why even have a dream if it is not a huge, colorful, wonderful dream? Why even have talents if you don't use them, if you don't keep developing them until you step back and say to yourself, "Oh, I am getting really good at this."
Now I have a question for you. Who do you think you are?
Susan
Her humor crosses the line from self-deprecating to self-loathing. She defends it by saying that it's her family's humor, and her parents emphasized humility above all things. I think her mom and dad had some very strange kind of dictionary at their house, because hating yourself is not humility. Of course, parents don't want to raise children whose heads are so big they no longer fit in the front door. No one enjoys being around a cocky, arrogant person. We want to strike a balance between a healthy self-concept and bragging.
My brother has told me I should share my writing with a local newspaper. After fellow blogger Loudmouth Birdie read my Betty Ford post from yesterday, she said the same thing. So I quickly went online and found the email address of the editor of a small community newspaper, and sent him a short email with a link to my blog. Unlike a paper envelope that can sit on your counter while you debate whether or not to drop it in the mailbox, an email is instant. I hit the "send" button, and it was out there. No turning back. It was exhiliarating, then I heard a voice inside my head that asked, "Who do you think you are?!" The audacity! The unmitigated gall! It threw me for a loop, mostly because I so rarely hear those little demeaning voices anymore. Once I got my bearings, I remembered that this is who I think I am: I am Susan and I am a writer. My Betty Ford post is some of my best work. When I was done with it, I read it another time and thought, "Oh, I am getting really good at this." Maybe that was bragging, or maybe it was the truth. Actually, that post was so good it kind of scared me. Scary in a good way, like the biggest, baddest roller coaster at the amusement park. Now I wouldn't be scared if I was just a mediocre writer, if my little blog was just a little hobby I shared with family and friends, so they could pat me on my little head and say, "That was nice."
While we are living, we might as well live large, right? Why even have a dream if it is not a huge, colorful, wonderful dream? Why even have talents if you don't use them, if you don't keep developing them until you step back and say to yourself, "Oh, I am getting really good at this."
Now I have a question for you. Who do you think you are?
Susan
Monday, July 18, 2011
Betty Ford
"Power is like being a lady. If you have to tell people you are, you aren't." Margaret Thatcher
We were still raw from the Vietnam War when the Watergate hearings were televised that summer of '74. President Nixon and Vice President Spiro Agnew resigned in disgrace, and Gerald Ford became the 38th President. When he made the immensely unpopular decision to pardon President Nixon, Ford termed the scandal a "national nightmare." Some believe that every cloud has a silver lining. If Watergate was the cloud, First Lady Betty Ford was our silver lining.
She was a divorced ex-dancer and model. I guess she wasn't the conventional prim and proper "lady" that some believed a president's wife should be. She was refreshingly honest and funny. Mrs. Ford's detractors called her "No Lady," but most Americans adored her.
In 1974, our First Lady told us she had breast cancer and went on to explain about her masectomy, at a time in history when such words were foreign to many people, and perhaps vaguely shameful to some. Women sat up and took notice, and today self-exams and early detection are quite routine. In 1978, the Ford family had an intervention for their mother and wife, at a time in history when the average person on the street had no idea what that was. Mrs. Ford was characteristically open when she told us she was addicted to both prescription painkillers and alcohol. This was at a time in history when the media would have looked the other way if she wanted "privacy." Her candor about her problem and her courage to get treatment enboldened countless others to seek help. Suddenly addiction had a face: a woman's face. She died July 8 at the age of 93, but the Betty Ford Center lives on.
Mrs. Ford danced the "Bump" at the White House, adored her husband and loved her children. She left this world a much better place than she found it. No other First Lady has done so much good for so many.
Betty Ford was a real woman who dared to let us see who she was. She taught younger women like me that there is grace and beauty in being honest. I doubt she went around trying to convince people she was a lady. She didn't have to.
Susan
We were still raw from the Vietnam War when the Watergate hearings were televised that summer of '74. President Nixon and Vice President Spiro Agnew resigned in disgrace, and Gerald Ford became the 38th President. When he made the immensely unpopular decision to pardon President Nixon, Ford termed the scandal a "national nightmare." Some believe that every cloud has a silver lining. If Watergate was the cloud, First Lady Betty Ford was our silver lining.
She was a divorced ex-dancer and model. I guess she wasn't the conventional prim and proper "lady" that some believed a president's wife should be. She was refreshingly honest and funny. Mrs. Ford's detractors called her "No Lady," but most Americans adored her.
In 1974, our First Lady told us she had breast cancer and went on to explain about her masectomy, at a time in history when such words were foreign to many people, and perhaps vaguely shameful to some. Women sat up and took notice, and today self-exams and early detection are quite routine. In 1978, the Ford family had an intervention for their mother and wife, at a time in history when the average person on the street had no idea what that was. Mrs. Ford was characteristically open when she told us she was addicted to both prescription painkillers and alcohol. This was at a time in history when the media would have looked the other way if she wanted "privacy." Her candor about her problem and her courage to get treatment enboldened countless others to seek help. Suddenly addiction had a face: a woman's face. She died July 8 at the age of 93, but the Betty Ford Center lives on.
Mrs. Ford danced the "Bump" at the White House, adored her husband and loved her children. She left this world a much better place than she found it. No other First Lady has done so much good for so many.
Betty Ford was a real woman who dared to let us see who she was. She taught younger women like me that there is grace and beauty in being honest. I doubt she went around trying to convince people she was a lady. She didn't have to.
Susan
Saturday, July 16, 2011
And All the Time I Know
I know how to give love, and I know how to receive love. The people I love, without a doubt, know I love them. And the people who love me? Sometimes my heart feels like it is about to burst out of my chest, it is so filled with all the love that others pour into me. Without fail, every time I spend time with one of my sons, I cry afterwards as I think about all that love. My love for them and theirs for me. I am crying as I type this. I am extraordinarily blessed to be able to give love and to receive love. I am both proud and grateful that whatever my mother did to me, she did not rob me of that ability. My life's journey has had some other rough patches in it, but no one has ever taken that away from me. I know that I am lucky because I look around and see people who don't know how to give love or to accept love. They are broken people. For whatever I have been through and whatever I have done in life, I am not broken.
Sometimes I make things too complicated. I think too much and try to figure things out. I try to solve problems. I am an INTJ, after all, and it's what we do best. In the words of Mr. Clapton, I stand there trying to find a sign when all the time I know what to do. Love.
My previous post about loving people without wanting to rescue them started me thinking about this. The roots of my craving to fix damaged people can be found with my parents, two very troubled people. Of course, a little girl can't fix the adults in her life, but as young children we inherently think we can and we try. My mother and my father chose to never get help. I couldn't help them, but I did love them. My mother killed my love early on. Or perhaps it was that she treated me so cruelly I decided not to love her anymore. It doesn't matter which it was. But I loved her when I was small. And I loved my father. So I gave them what I had, my love. It's all I really have to give. And it is enough. I think I knew that all along.
Susan
Lesson Learned
"When the student is ready, the teacher will appear." Buddha
Friends come into our lives. Some stay and others go. Perhaps it's your college roommate. You become close, then after graduation you go on to jobs in separate cities and sort of lose touch. Maybe it's that other mom you serve on the PTA with. Then your kids move on and so do you. My oldest, best friend and I have been at it for thirty-five years now. For the majority of our friendship, we have lived across the country from each other. There have been literally years we haven't seen each other, but we always seem to just pick up where we left off. She is one of the most loyal people I know. If I was in trouble, all I would have to do is tell her and she'd be on the next plane to California. I would do the same for her.
A friend recently taught me one of the most important lessons of my life. My childhood was dysfunctional, and both my parents were messed up people. Like many kids who grow up that way, I developed a pattern of playing those relationships out over and over in life. It's what Freud called "repetition compulsion," a subconscious way of trying to right those wrongs. I am at heart a compassionate person and I enjoy helping other people, but I took it to new heights as I found damaged people and tried to rescue them. My rational mind knew it was hopeless. Of course, those people would have to fix and change themselves. I couldn't do it. But still I tried. I failed and in the process hurt myself, but I tried. Then I got sick of doing it and decided no more. I was going to stop rescuing people. Well, this student must have been ready, because within a few months, the teacher appeared.
My new friend and I hit it off immediately. We laughed and talked and laughed some more. With a couple of other "girls," we had a great trip to Las Vegas. I love her and she loves me. For a long time I didn't connect the dots, but as she told me more and more about herself, I began to guess that it's likely she was hurt very badly as a child. She has bipolar disorder, and when we first met she was taking medication that successfully treated it. Then she made the decision to go off her meds and stay off them. Her health went from okay to bad to worse, and when she hit rock bottom, a third friend got in touch with her family. She is with them now, and it would be wonderful if she would take this opportunity to help herself get better.
One day when she was somewhere between worse and rock bottom, I looked at her and had the most amazing realization. I had no desire to fix her. None at all. My lifelong craving was gone. How did it happen? I really don't know. I imagine it was a progression that as time goes on, I'll begin to see clearly. I don't think it even matters. I had learned to love someone without wanting to fix her. Lesson learned.
I don't know what I was to my friend. I tried as much as possible to make it be positive. But I definitely know what she was to me. I was the student and she my teacher.
Susan
Friends come into our lives. Some stay and others go. Perhaps it's your college roommate. You become close, then after graduation you go on to jobs in separate cities and sort of lose touch. Maybe it's that other mom you serve on the PTA with. Then your kids move on and so do you. My oldest, best friend and I have been at it for thirty-five years now. For the majority of our friendship, we have lived across the country from each other. There have been literally years we haven't seen each other, but we always seem to just pick up where we left off. She is one of the most loyal people I know. If I was in trouble, all I would have to do is tell her and she'd be on the next plane to California. I would do the same for her.
A friend recently taught me one of the most important lessons of my life. My childhood was dysfunctional, and both my parents were messed up people. Like many kids who grow up that way, I developed a pattern of playing those relationships out over and over in life. It's what Freud called "repetition compulsion," a subconscious way of trying to right those wrongs. I am at heart a compassionate person and I enjoy helping other people, but I took it to new heights as I found damaged people and tried to rescue them. My rational mind knew it was hopeless. Of course, those people would have to fix and change themselves. I couldn't do it. But still I tried. I failed and in the process hurt myself, but I tried. Then I got sick of doing it and decided no more. I was going to stop rescuing people. Well, this student must have been ready, because within a few months, the teacher appeared.
My new friend and I hit it off immediately. We laughed and talked and laughed some more. With a couple of other "girls," we had a great trip to Las Vegas. I love her and she loves me. For a long time I didn't connect the dots, but as she told me more and more about herself, I began to guess that it's likely she was hurt very badly as a child. She has bipolar disorder, and when we first met she was taking medication that successfully treated it. Then she made the decision to go off her meds and stay off them. Her health went from okay to bad to worse, and when she hit rock bottom, a third friend got in touch with her family. She is with them now, and it would be wonderful if she would take this opportunity to help herself get better.
One day when she was somewhere between worse and rock bottom, I looked at her and had the most amazing realization. I had no desire to fix her. None at all. My lifelong craving was gone. How did it happen? I really don't know. I imagine it was a progression that as time goes on, I'll begin to see clearly. I don't think it even matters. I had learned to love someone without wanting to fix her. Lesson learned.
I don't know what I was to my friend. I tried as much as possible to make it be positive. But I definitely know what she was to me. I was the student and she my teacher.
Susan
Friday, July 15, 2011
Being Alive
"Life is without meaning. You bring the meaning to it. The meaning of life is whatever you ascribe it to be. Being alive is the meaning." Joseph Campbell
The sages down through the ages have pondered the meaning of life and what its purpose might be. Some people find meaning in religion. They spend time in prayer, they read the sacred writings, they ask their god what his will would be, and they try to carry it out. Others find meaning in philanthropy, or perhaps helping their fellow men through medicine, science, music or art. There are those who chase the American dream, whose success in the business world provides jobs for other people. There are those who wander through life wondering what to do next, why they are here on this earth at this place and time, and what it is they should do. They seek meaning and purpose. They cry out for truth.
I recently read the book, "Conversations with God," by Neale Donald Walsch. I will paraphrase by saying that at one point in the book he says that we used to beg the universe for truth, and now we tell the universe our truth. I mean no disrespect to readers who embrace a more conventional faith. That is not the path that I have chosen, however.
It's my belief that Joseph Campbell nailed it when he said that the only meaning my life has is what I bring to it. I create the kind of life I want. I choose what is meaningful. I bring purpose to my life. An avid reader, I am by nature a thinker and I enjoy gathering different viewpoints, but when it comes down to what am I to do with my life, it's all up to me. I choose what is meaningful. I decide what my purpose is.
What makes you feel alive? What do you find meaningful? What are the things that you do on purpose? What is your truth?
Susan
The sages down through the ages have pondered the meaning of life and what its purpose might be. Some people find meaning in religion. They spend time in prayer, they read the sacred writings, they ask their god what his will would be, and they try to carry it out. Others find meaning in philanthropy, or perhaps helping their fellow men through medicine, science, music or art. There are those who chase the American dream, whose success in the business world provides jobs for other people. There are those who wander through life wondering what to do next, why they are here on this earth at this place and time, and what it is they should do. They seek meaning and purpose. They cry out for truth.
I recently read the book, "Conversations with God," by Neale Donald Walsch. I will paraphrase by saying that at one point in the book he says that we used to beg the universe for truth, and now we tell the universe our truth. I mean no disrespect to readers who embrace a more conventional faith. That is not the path that I have chosen, however.
It's my belief that Joseph Campbell nailed it when he said that the only meaning my life has is what I bring to it. I create the kind of life I want. I choose what is meaningful. I bring purpose to my life. An avid reader, I am by nature a thinker and I enjoy gathering different viewpoints, but when it comes down to what am I to do with my life, it's all up to me. I choose what is meaningful. I decide what my purpose is.
What makes you feel alive? What do you find meaningful? What are the things that you do on purpose? What is your truth?
Susan
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Protect My Child
We were gathered in the conference room for a baby shower after the work day was over. There was pink as far as the eye could see. Pink clothes, pink toys, pink blankets and even pink frosting on the cupcakes. My colleague was about to have her first child, a baby girl she would name Cheyenne. She was excited, but so tired of being pregnant. She patted her belly and said, "I will be so glad when this is over." The mom of a couple of teenagers laughed and said, "Oh, it's just starting."
Parenting is a lifetime gig. It isn't over when your child turns 18 or 21. It isn't over when he graduates from high school or college, or even when he moves out on his own. It isn't over when he has kids of his own. How very thankful I am that it's never over, that being a mom is my forever job. You never do stop wanting to protect them, and that is the biggest challenge of having kids who are technically no longer kids anymore. They are adults, out there living their lives, and not only can you not protect them from the hurts of life, it is completely inappropriate for you to even try to do so. The potential for them being hurt increases exponentially as they get older, too. You have no control over what they do, nor should you. So you learn to trust.
It requires a great deal of trust to be the parent of an adult child. You must trust as you have never trusted before. Trust that your son or daughter is fully capable of living his own life and making his own decisions. Trust that his path is uniquely his own. That you gave the task of raising him your best effort, that the mistakes you made were not fatal, that the times you were not a good example perhaps he still learned from you, as a cautionary tale. You trust that you walked the walk instead of just talking the talk, that he respects you enough to want your opinion on a few things. You trust that if things start to go wrong, you can speak up calmly but clearly, and that the bond you forged so many years ago will give you the influence you need at that moment, and he will hear what you have to say. So you trust him and you trust yourself, not consistently and not perfectly, but it's something you learn to do better every day.
We learn so much from our children, do we not? I believe I have learned so much more about life from my sons than they ever learned from me. It is a wonderful time of life, this time when your children are grown and you get to sit back and just enjoy them. The responsibility for raising them is over, and that is very freeing. But still, every once in a while you might find yourself whispering, in the words of Bob Dylan, "Protect my child."
Susan
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Holding On or Letting Go?
"Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else. You are the one getting burned." Buddha
Anger is a normal emotion, a result of being wronged. It is okay to feel it and perfectly all right to express it. I am beginning to give myself permission to do those things. I was raised by a rageaholic. She controlled her world by throwing fits. She was scary to me, because she was big and I was small. She had all the power and I had none. I have always had a lack of respect for adults who throw temper tantrums. I have no time for people who can't control themselves, and even less patience for people who carefully pick and choose the time to pitch their fits, for optimal results. I see a fully grown person having a tantrum, and to me she is a huge baby wearing a silly bonnet, an old-fashioned cloth diaper with a pin on it, and a pacifier in her mouth. "Waaah! I'm so angry! Waaah!" she screams.
At a very early age, I decided not to become my mother. I have some of her less ugly traits, but for the most part I have been quite successful at that. But it is way past time I move past my childhood and allow myself to feel and express healthy anger. I was given the perfect opportunity to do so very recently. I was angry, on my behalf, and also on behalf of a very innocent party. So I told the person who was in the wrong how it was going to be. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't use profanity. I didn't throw my pacifier out of my mouth and kick and scream. I was actually very kind, much nicer than she deserved. That's because that is who I am. I didn't become petty or catty or hit below the belt. But she understood me, because I made myself clear in no uncertain terms. I didn't hold on to how I felt anymore. I let it go. It's the only reasonable thing to do, right? If you literally pick up a burning hot coal, your hand will drop it immediately because that's your body's response to getting burned. You don't hold on. You let it go.
The result of my feeling my anger and then expressing it in a constructive manner was very positive. I kept my dignity. I was true to who I was. I spoke the truth. The person heard me and took immediate action. It was actually so much easier than I would have expected, so next time I won't hold on that long at all. I'll just let it go.
Susan
Anger is a normal emotion, a result of being wronged. It is okay to feel it and perfectly all right to express it. I am beginning to give myself permission to do those things. I was raised by a rageaholic. She controlled her world by throwing fits. She was scary to me, because she was big and I was small. She had all the power and I had none. I have always had a lack of respect for adults who throw temper tantrums. I have no time for people who can't control themselves, and even less patience for people who carefully pick and choose the time to pitch their fits, for optimal results. I see a fully grown person having a tantrum, and to me she is a huge baby wearing a silly bonnet, an old-fashioned cloth diaper with a pin on it, and a pacifier in her mouth. "Waaah! I'm so angry! Waaah!" she screams.
At a very early age, I decided not to become my mother. I have some of her less ugly traits, but for the most part I have been quite successful at that. But it is way past time I move past my childhood and allow myself to feel and express healthy anger. I was given the perfect opportunity to do so very recently. I was angry, on my behalf, and also on behalf of a very innocent party. So I told the person who was in the wrong how it was going to be. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't use profanity. I didn't throw my pacifier out of my mouth and kick and scream. I was actually very kind, much nicer than she deserved. That's because that is who I am. I didn't become petty or catty or hit below the belt. But she understood me, because I made myself clear in no uncertain terms. I didn't hold on to how I felt anymore. I let it go. It's the only reasonable thing to do, right? If you literally pick up a burning hot coal, your hand will drop it immediately because that's your body's response to getting burned. You don't hold on. You let it go.
The result of my feeling my anger and then expressing it in a constructive manner was very positive. I kept my dignity. I was true to who I was. I spoke the truth. The person heard me and took immediate action. It was actually so much easier than I would have expected, so next time I won't hold on that long at all. I'll just let it go.
Susan
Frankly, My Dear...
As the film opens, we see a beautiful and beautifully dressed young woman, holding court as men fall all over themselves around her. It's that most famous fictional narcissist, Scarlett O'Hara. With all due respect to "Gone With the Wind" author Margaret Mitchell, real life narcissist Sarah Palin is a much better illustration than even Scarlett. I guess truth really is stranger than fiction.
Narcissism has become an over-used term lately, and many folks who are not narcissists are given that label. True narcissism, or narcissistic personality disorder, is a mental illness, with its roots in infancy and toddlerhood. The all-important bonding process that a baby must make with someone, a parent or other caregiver, fails to happen. Many narcissists are victims of other types of child abuse as well. They are among the most intelligent, charming, beautiful and talented people you could ever find. But inside they are empty, devoid of any sort of self-concept and unable to feel empathy. Many books have been written about them, and it has been said they are emotional vampires. They surround themselves with great people, then feed on them until there's nothing left. Then they move on to another victim. Because they can't or won't examine themselves, therapists find narcissists the most difficult people to treat. That is if they ever do get into therapy, because a narcissist even admitting there might be something wrong is a rare occurrence.
Two very important people in my own life were narcissists; one was a man and the other a woman just like Scarlett and Sarah. Things start out wonderfully with a narcissist, then end with you feeling exhausted and spent, as if their bite has sucked your life's blood away. They are, at their core, the most selfish people you will ever find. I am sad for the hurt babies that they used to be, because I understand that even a very poor excuse for a parent can still successfully bond with her child. But I am more than a little tired of people who were once victims becoming perpetrators themselves. No matter what was done to you, you have no right to take it out on everyone else. Those of us who have been fed on do get fed up, eventually. Then the narcissist panics, seeing her supply walking away. She dramatically asks whatever will become of her. Captain Rhett Butler said it perfectly when he told Scarlett, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."
Susan
Narcissism has become an over-used term lately, and many folks who are not narcissists are given that label. True narcissism, or narcissistic personality disorder, is a mental illness, with its roots in infancy and toddlerhood. The all-important bonding process that a baby must make with someone, a parent or other caregiver, fails to happen. Many narcissists are victims of other types of child abuse as well. They are among the most intelligent, charming, beautiful and talented people you could ever find. But inside they are empty, devoid of any sort of self-concept and unable to feel empathy. Many books have been written about them, and it has been said they are emotional vampires. They surround themselves with great people, then feed on them until there's nothing left. Then they move on to another victim. Because they can't or won't examine themselves, therapists find narcissists the most difficult people to treat. That is if they ever do get into therapy, because a narcissist even admitting there might be something wrong is a rare occurrence.
Two very important people in my own life were narcissists; one was a man and the other a woman just like Scarlett and Sarah. Things start out wonderfully with a narcissist, then end with you feeling exhausted and spent, as if their bite has sucked your life's blood away. They are, at their core, the most selfish people you will ever find. I am sad for the hurt babies that they used to be, because I understand that even a very poor excuse for a parent can still successfully bond with her child. But I am more than a little tired of people who were once victims becoming perpetrators themselves. No matter what was done to you, you have no right to take it out on everyone else. Those of us who have been fed on do get fed up, eventually. Then the narcissist panics, seeing her supply walking away. She dramatically asks whatever will become of her. Captain Rhett Butler said it perfectly when he told Scarlett, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."
Susan
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Reverse Snobbery
"Be careful how you interpret the world: it is like that." Erich Heller
We worked at a fast food restaurant in a somewhat upscale community. My supervisor was not what you would call a people person. I believe she failed to make this important connection: you have a job because you have customers. If you have no customers, you have no job. Treat the customers well, they will return and you will have job security. She believed that most of the customers looked down their noses at us, because of what she viewed as a lowly station in life. She often commented that the town was full of snobs. I interacted directly with customers much more often than she did, and that was not at all my experience. The vast majority of our customers were nice, reasonable people. Occasionally there was someone who was less than pleasant, but I didn't take it personally. Maybe they were in a hurry that day, perhaps they had pressures or problems I knew nothing about. Sure; every once in a while someone would patronize me, but I assumed the person's own insecurity caused that behavior.
It might have been what my boss brought to her interactions: that giant chip on her shoulder that she just dared people to knock off. She often had negative interactions with customers, but really she was the one who started it with her bad attitude. She expected our customers to judge her, but in reality she was the one doing the judging. She was the snob, in sort of a reverse fashion. It is just as blatantly unfair to treat someone badly because you envy him, as it is for a successful person to treat someone else as beneath him. My own experience has been that those who are well off financially are normal, down-to-earth people. Those who are pretentious would likely be that way regardless of their bank balance. And of course, not everyone who appears to be wealthy is. It could be they are simply in a great deal of debt.
How we view the world in general and how we view people in particular has a lot to do with whether we are happy or miserable. My former supervisor was a very unhappy person. She disliked her job and it showed. But I learned something useful from her, and here's what it is. Not all wealthy people are snobs, and not all snobs are wealthy.
Susan
We worked at a fast food restaurant in a somewhat upscale community. My supervisor was not what you would call a people person. I believe she failed to make this important connection: you have a job because you have customers. If you have no customers, you have no job. Treat the customers well, they will return and you will have job security. She believed that most of the customers looked down their noses at us, because of what she viewed as a lowly station in life. She often commented that the town was full of snobs. I interacted directly with customers much more often than she did, and that was not at all my experience. The vast majority of our customers were nice, reasonable people. Occasionally there was someone who was less than pleasant, but I didn't take it personally. Maybe they were in a hurry that day, perhaps they had pressures or problems I knew nothing about. Sure; every once in a while someone would patronize me, but I assumed the person's own insecurity caused that behavior.
It might have been what my boss brought to her interactions: that giant chip on her shoulder that she just dared people to knock off. She often had negative interactions with customers, but really she was the one who started it with her bad attitude. She expected our customers to judge her, but in reality she was the one doing the judging. She was the snob, in sort of a reverse fashion. It is just as blatantly unfair to treat someone badly because you envy him, as it is for a successful person to treat someone else as beneath him. My own experience has been that those who are well off financially are normal, down-to-earth people. Those who are pretentious would likely be that way regardless of their bank balance. And of course, not everyone who appears to be wealthy is. It could be they are simply in a great deal of debt.
How we view the world in general and how we view people in particular has a lot to do with whether we are happy or miserable. My former supervisor was a very unhappy person. She disliked her job and it showed. But I learned something useful from her, and here's what it is. Not all wealthy people are snobs, and not all snobs are wealthy.
Susan
Friday, July 8, 2011
I Enjoy Being a Girl
"I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman." Anaïs Nin
She spun a compelling "oh, woe is me" kind of tale. Her husband, it seems, was not meeting her emotional needs. Preoccupied with work, he didn't have the time or inclination to talk incessantly about her feelings and thoughts. I was a little surprised, because from what she has said in the past, he seemed to be a good guy and pretty attentive. Their marital problems are none of my business, but where my ears perked up was when she began to make sweeping generalizations about women. How we live in an emotional world that men can't understand. That we need continual reassurance that we are loved and beautiful. That men are rational and we are not (!)
It is disingenuous to use being a woman as an excuse for laziness, immaturity and a lack of empathy. It is also offensive to us other women who are fully functioning adults to purport that "we" are all like this. Of course, I know that men and woman are different, not just physically. But it gets us no where to perpetuate the tired, worn-out stereotypes.
I love being a woman. Today we have the best of both worlds. We can do anything men can do, but we can also enjoy our femininity. We should embrace it and enjoy it, but never use it as an excuse. Our emotions and feelings should enrich our lives and the lives of those around us, not be used as weapons to make the people who love us feel inadequate. Being sensitive to how others might be feeling, being understanding of the pressures they face, now that would truly be a rich emotional life.
Susan
She spun a compelling "oh, woe is me" kind of tale. Her husband, it seems, was not meeting her emotional needs. Preoccupied with work, he didn't have the time or inclination to talk incessantly about her feelings and thoughts. I was a little surprised, because from what she has said in the past, he seemed to be a good guy and pretty attentive. Their marital problems are none of my business, but where my ears perked up was when she began to make sweeping generalizations about women. How we live in an emotional world that men can't understand. That we need continual reassurance that we are loved and beautiful. That men are rational and we are not (!)
It is disingenuous to use being a woman as an excuse for laziness, immaturity and a lack of empathy. It is also offensive to us other women who are fully functioning adults to purport that "we" are all like this. Of course, I know that men and woman are different, not just physically. But it gets us no where to perpetuate the tired, worn-out stereotypes.
I love being a woman. Today we have the best of both worlds. We can do anything men can do, but we can also enjoy our femininity. We should embrace it and enjoy it, but never use it as an excuse. Our emotions and feelings should enrich our lives and the lives of those around us, not be used as weapons to make the people who love us feel inadequate. Being sensitive to how others might be feeling, being understanding of the pressures they face, now that would truly be a rich emotional life.
Susan
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Getting Used To It
Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you wonder, "How did I get myself into this?" Things have gone from bad to worse to intolerable and you're desperate to get out, to have it all end. It didn't happen overnight and it didn't happen in a vacuum. I think with dysfunctional or unhealthy relationships, there is a four part progression.
Number 1 is, "You've got to be kidding!" This is where you encounter customs or behaviors that seem wrong or at the very least strange. It doesn't feel right; your gut tells you so. The smart thing to do at this point would be to have a long, hard look at reality and be prepared to walk away.
If you choose not to end it at 1, that will lead to number 2. "It will be okay." You can change the dynamic, fix the other person, or it's something you can easily live with it. The good outweighs the bad, right? I mean, they have lots of wonderful qualities and you have to take the bad with the good. After all, nobody's perfect and there is no ideal set of circumstances.
Of course, it doesn't change and you fail at fixing it, but you continue on. Perhaps you're too lazy to end it. Or maybe you feel you have too much time and energy invested. So you move on to number 3. "This is my 'normal.'" At this point there is a resignation to the way things are, a miserable kind of acceptance. You just get through each day doing the best you can. You begin to be part of the problem yourself, going along to get along. Those who know you see a different person, one who has compromised who and what he is.
And finally we have denial and defense in number 4. "What do you mean it's wrong?!" You have so thoroughly assimilated yourself that you truly do not even see how far gone you are. If someone with an objective point of view comments that the emperor has no clothes, you become quite defensive. How dare they! Some live in number 4 forever. Others find themselves in so much pain that they decide to get out, but a lot of damage has already been done.
Getting used to it is not the way to live. Now there are some situations where these coping mechanisms might come in handy. If you find yourself in a concentration camp or you become a prisoner of war, you may feel the need to do whatever it takes to survive until the day you get out of that place. But for the vast majority of situations in life, you do not need to, nor should you ever just resign yourself to the fate at hand. Don't go from 1 to 2 to 3 and then to 4. Decide that you will always live in 1; that you will trust what you know to be truth and live accordingly. Trust yourself enough to know that if something feels bad, it probably is. Respect yourself enough to live life on your terms, to be the kind of person that can look himself in the mirror and like what he sees there.
Susan
Number 1 is, "You've got to be kidding!" This is where you encounter customs or behaviors that seem wrong or at the very least strange. It doesn't feel right; your gut tells you so. The smart thing to do at this point would be to have a long, hard look at reality and be prepared to walk away.
If you choose not to end it at 1, that will lead to number 2. "It will be okay." You can change the dynamic, fix the other person, or it's something you can easily live with it. The good outweighs the bad, right? I mean, they have lots of wonderful qualities and you have to take the bad with the good. After all, nobody's perfect and there is no ideal set of circumstances.
Of course, it doesn't change and you fail at fixing it, but you continue on. Perhaps you're too lazy to end it. Or maybe you feel you have too much time and energy invested. So you move on to number 3. "This is my 'normal.'" At this point there is a resignation to the way things are, a miserable kind of acceptance. You just get through each day doing the best you can. You begin to be part of the problem yourself, going along to get along. Those who know you see a different person, one who has compromised who and what he is.
And finally we have denial and defense in number 4. "What do you mean it's wrong?!" You have so thoroughly assimilated yourself that you truly do not even see how far gone you are. If someone with an objective point of view comments that the emperor has no clothes, you become quite defensive. How dare they! Some live in number 4 forever. Others find themselves in so much pain that they decide to get out, but a lot of damage has already been done.
Getting used to it is not the way to live. Now there are some situations where these coping mechanisms might come in handy. If you find yourself in a concentration camp or you become a prisoner of war, you may feel the need to do whatever it takes to survive until the day you get out of that place. But for the vast majority of situations in life, you do not need to, nor should you ever just resign yourself to the fate at hand. Don't go from 1 to 2 to 3 and then to 4. Decide that you will always live in 1; that you will trust what you know to be truth and live accordingly. Trust yourself enough to know that if something feels bad, it probably is. Respect yourself enough to live life on your terms, to be the kind of person that can look himself in the mirror and like what he sees there.
Susan
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