1) Aggressive.. but NOT an Asshole: This is a very fine line, usually having to do with the level of ego involved.
2) Sense of Humor: Must not be bothered by a girlfriend who sometimes displays a mouth like a sailor. Some might describe this particular sense as "twisted." Best case scenario - not easily offended, can keep up with the speed of wit in the room, and never misses an opportunity to laugh... but NEVER meanly; at anyone else's expense.
3) Smart: The right mix of "book" and "street." Provoking thought and inspiration are big pluses. Not intimidated easily, and doesn't need to feel like - or display that he is, even if he is - the smartest person in the room. See #1, comment on ego.
4) Playful: Can switch easily between "serious" and "not-so-serious." See #2.
5) Trusting: Doesn't worry about where the girlfriend is and what she's doing when not in sight. Confident in the girlfriend's expressed level of love and commitment. Understands that there are many different types of people - male and female - and many different levels of interaction involved, and a well-balanced female in touch with who she is understands the value of a multitude of interpersonal relationships.
6) Independent: Having mutual interests is a given; must also have outside interests. Too much togetherness - unless mutually desired - is too stifling. Girlfriend - who is also very independent - has no wish to be smothered.
7) Expression of Emotion: Whatever strategy is employed in the "woo-ing" phase, continue this strategy through the actual "dating" phase. Don't be cool, then all of a sudden start spouting sonnets of undying love. See #6, comment on smothering.
8) Authenticity: Be real. Be yourself. Don't be distracted by any physical/outward attributes, natural or superficial. This one is subject to the "gut" test... and the gut is always right.
Final Notes: There is no "type." There is no "empty slot" to be filled. The point is to create YOUR own space. The girl is not "looking" for a mate; but she will make room for you in her life if you inspire her to do so.
She isn't like the others, know that going in. Are you ready?
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
More Or Less
At a recent social function, I struck up a conversation with this elderly gentleman... we had something in common: he lost his beloved wife to cancer approximately a two years ago.
It was great to listen to the man's stories of his family, his life - he has four grown children (three daughters and one son), nine grandchildren, and a wide spectrum of friends and other relationships he had accumulated over his sixty-four years. He and his wife met when they were both teenagers, and because it was pretty much "love at first sight" they ended up getting married right away - and the rest is history, as they say.
He confided in me how his life had completely turned on its ear at the death of his wife. It was a fairly quick illness - I gathered that she had not been feeling well, but being a typical woman and mother, hid her pain from her family most of the time - so when the cancer was diagnosed, it was pretty much a done deal. I could hear the anguish and loss in his voice as he spoke of it, and it resonated in my own battered soul. I listened, and then I told the gentleman that I knew exactly how he felt.
This comment of mine stopped the man short. His reaction to me was that "I couldn't possibly know how he felt" because I was only married to my husband for five years whereas he and his wife were together over fifty... He wasn't attacking me; merely sympathetic - I felt like a snot-nosed kid being patted on the head, given a cookie and sent on her way. Our situations were COMPLETELY different, from his perspective.
Later on, I reflected on what the gentleman had told me. How is it that the number of years has any relevence to the depth of one's loss of love? Does that mean that people who are maybe engaged and never actually are able to get married (and somebody dies) don't really feel the same things I feel? That this man clearly feels?
Those are just circumstances... each person's circumstances are different, of course, but I don't think I could have felt any more devastated if the Bunny and I were together fifty years instead of just five. If anything, I feel cheated because I don't have a lifetime of memories. I don't have my husband's children and grandchildren for me to look at and interact with every day. I don't see anything in our life together that - given enough time - isn't going to disappear completely from MY life. One day I will wake up, and all outward traces of the Bunny will be eliminated - except for my feelings. Except for my love... and my sadness. And every so often I will relive a memory or hear a song on the radio or hear the Bunny's voice in my head and it will put me back in touch with that love and sadness. And maybe I'll shed a few tears, and the next day I will feel better.
Those are MY circumstances. But the love in question - regardless of the shelf life - is universally the same.
It was great to listen to the man's stories of his family, his life - he has four grown children (three daughters and one son), nine grandchildren, and a wide spectrum of friends and other relationships he had accumulated over his sixty-four years. He and his wife met when they were both teenagers, and because it was pretty much "love at first sight" they ended up getting married right away - and the rest is history, as they say.
He confided in me how his life had completely turned on its ear at the death of his wife. It was a fairly quick illness - I gathered that she had not been feeling well, but being a typical woman and mother, hid her pain from her family most of the time - so when the cancer was diagnosed, it was pretty much a done deal. I could hear the anguish and loss in his voice as he spoke of it, and it resonated in my own battered soul. I listened, and then I told the gentleman that I knew exactly how he felt.
This comment of mine stopped the man short. His reaction to me was that "I couldn't possibly know how he felt" because I was only married to my husband for five years whereas he and his wife were together over fifty... He wasn't attacking me; merely sympathetic - I felt like a snot-nosed kid being patted on the head, given a cookie and sent on her way. Our situations were COMPLETELY different, from his perspective.
Later on, I reflected on what the gentleman had told me. How is it that the number of years has any relevence to the depth of one's loss of love? Does that mean that people who are maybe engaged and never actually are able to get married (and somebody dies) don't really feel the same things I feel? That this man clearly feels?
Those are just circumstances... each person's circumstances are different, of course, but I don't think I could have felt any more devastated if the Bunny and I were together fifty years instead of just five. If anything, I feel cheated because I don't have a lifetime of memories. I don't have my husband's children and grandchildren for me to look at and interact with every day. I don't see anything in our life together that - given enough time - isn't going to disappear completely from MY life. One day I will wake up, and all outward traces of the Bunny will be eliminated - except for my feelings. Except for my love... and my sadness. And every so often I will relive a memory or hear a song on the radio or hear the Bunny's voice in my head and it will put me back in touch with that love and sadness. And maybe I'll shed a few tears, and the next day I will feel better.
Those are MY circumstances. But the love in question - regardless of the shelf life - is universally the same.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Evolution of Emotion
Lately I've been thinking quite a bit about what it means to be loved by and in love with another person. I remember that I really felt like the Bunny loved me - maybe not by the universal standards of the word, but in all of the ways that were important to me; from my own personal perspective. I had this connection with him... but it wasn't one-sided. What I mean by this statement is I sense that when I interact with the people in my world, they definately feel my spirit; I get that. But it isn't often that I feel other people really "get" me. The Bunny made me believe that he really got me. He could see through the external: through all of my fears and frustrations, through all of my demons - and to him I was just a girl. Flawed. Fragile. Unsure. The Bunny became the compass in my world. Once I was pointed in the right direction, he let me take the wheel. He never tried to control my life... and in giving me this freedom, he captured my heart forever.
I don't recall ever experiencing this type of relationship before - neither one I observed as an outsider nor one I was involved in. For some reason I came to believe it was a rarity. Maybe I just wasn't able to see it. It's kind of like when you buy a new car, and all of a sudden you see that same make and model of car every time you drive down the road. You've driven that same road hundreds of times before, but that car never jumped out to catch your attention before. And all the same good feelings you felt to make you want that car in the first place are brought up again when you see other people driving it down the road - and you have to smile, because you imagine what those people are feeling when they drive THEIR car.
I'm feeling a little like that right now. Since the Bunny opened up my world, I observe my surroundings a bit differently. I can see the things people do with each other in their relationships - those little actions and behaviors that usually go unnoticed in daily life - that broadcast how they feel about each other. I see those things, and it hits me: he REALLY loves her... she ADORES him. The rest of the world might miss it - and I think that's what typically happens, because of the well-used phrases: "I have no idea what he sees in her" or "they seem so mismatched." I am convinced that when people love each other - really love each other - it's like they have created their own personal crayon in the box. It belongs only to them - a color no one has ever used before - no one else's eyes can even recognize the shade. It just doesn't compute in their brains. And for those two people, that unique color dominates the landscape of their world; defying explanation to others, strangers and intimates alike.
I have been imagining that future point in my life when I will launch into the next intimate relationship... I know it will happen. But the idea - as inevitable as it may be - fills me with fear. I'm not sure what I'm afraid of... I'm a mother, for Christsake. No starry-eyed virgin. I just don't want to get into anything I can't see all the way through - and I'm afraid what I will find out is life becomes this soul-sucking, obligatory ordeal that I can't escape. And it's this "not knowing how it's all gonna turn out" that makes me unwilling to risk my heart. Because when it comes down to it, it's me who has the issues. And if I crash and burn I have no one to blame but myself. I refuse to take anyone else down with me... especially somebody I care about.
I'm trapped in a world dominated by a shade - my and the Bunny's unique color - that my eyes are no longer able to see... but I'm not quite ready to leave it yet.
I don't recall ever experiencing this type of relationship before - neither one I observed as an outsider nor one I was involved in. For some reason I came to believe it was a rarity. Maybe I just wasn't able to see it. It's kind of like when you buy a new car, and all of a sudden you see that same make and model of car every time you drive down the road. You've driven that same road hundreds of times before, but that car never jumped out to catch your attention before. And all the same good feelings you felt to make you want that car in the first place are brought up again when you see other people driving it down the road - and you have to smile, because you imagine what those people are feeling when they drive THEIR car.
I'm feeling a little like that right now. Since the Bunny opened up my world, I observe my surroundings a bit differently. I can see the things people do with each other in their relationships - those little actions and behaviors that usually go unnoticed in daily life - that broadcast how they feel about each other. I see those things, and it hits me: he REALLY loves her... she ADORES him. The rest of the world might miss it - and I think that's what typically happens, because of the well-used phrases: "I have no idea what he sees in her" or "they seem so mismatched." I am convinced that when people love each other - really love each other - it's like they have created their own personal crayon in the box. It belongs only to them - a color no one has ever used before - no one else's eyes can even recognize the shade. It just doesn't compute in their brains. And for those two people, that unique color dominates the landscape of their world; defying explanation to others, strangers and intimates alike.
I have been imagining that future point in my life when I will launch into the next intimate relationship... I know it will happen. But the idea - as inevitable as it may be - fills me with fear. I'm not sure what I'm afraid of... I'm a mother, for Christsake. No starry-eyed virgin. I just don't want to get into anything I can't see all the way through - and I'm afraid what I will find out is life becomes this soul-sucking, obligatory ordeal that I can't escape. And it's this "not knowing how it's all gonna turn out" that makes me unwilling to risk my heart. Because when it comes down to it, it's me who has the issues. And if I crash and burn I have no one to blame but myself. I refuse to take anyone else down with me... especially somebody I care about.
I'm trapped in a world dominated by a shade - my and the Bunny's unique color - that my eyes are no longer able to see... but I'm not quite ready to leave it yet.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Tree In A Trash Can
What I SHOULD be doing right now is writing a paper for my Communication Law class, but of course I couldn't concentrate - too much on my mind; thus, this post. I am anxious for school to be done. I like learning, but I can see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, and it's starting to make me a bit antsy. Four more classes and I will be the proud owner of a Bachelor's of Science degree in Communications. It's a pivotal accomplishment in my life, but right now the only way I can frame it is "one more thing off the To-Do list..."
I woke up early this morning - when I procrastinate doing homework till the very last minute I find that my brain processes better (by "early" I mean 5 o'clock in the morning). Someone told me recently that it's because you are less likely to be weighed down by the stresses of the day, distractions, etc. I guess that makes sense. I DO seem to get more done; the house is quiet, the dogs - after some intial excitement - have gone back to bed, my son hasn't yet woken up for school, my phone's not ringing... yes, I can see why I can get things done, now that I think about it.
My house remodel is almost completed, speaking of things off the To-Do list. Not that I am directly involved in the actual "doing" of it, mind you, but it is an emotional consideration which uses up some of my energy. I am one bathroom away from having a 'new' home. I can already see it taking shape around me - it's beautiful, and much different than what it used to look like - although I am not quite settled in it yet. It's like my new life - I feel uneasy, unsettled. Early on in the remodel (when we were still in the demolition stage) it was necessary to dig up one of the palm trees in my backyard. The footprint of one of the rooms that was being rebuilt would now cover the space where the tree was... so in the process this tree was dug up out of the ground and temporarily placed in a rubber trash can, where it awaits its new location in my backyard. I have the perfect spot in mind: the far corner of my formerly-brick-patio-now-garden. (An aside: the former occupant of the house - a friend of mine - laid out a literal ton of bricks to create this patio area; I removed some of the bricks to create an interesting design, exposing the dirt underneath so I can now plant tomatoes, herbs, whatever strikes my fancy.)
Back to my tree. The tree itself is fairly young, though stands maybe ten feet tall. When the tree was put in that trash can it was green; its palm fronds spread out like a long-lost relative, extending her arms to give you a big hug. Four months later, the tree is still green in spots, but the majority of it is more on the brown and crunchy side. I feel guilty when I go out in the backyard and it catches my eye; it's up to me to replant it so it can continue on with its life - instead, I hear it screaming in my head. It's dying... but very, very slowly. I don't know if the tree realizes it, but that's what I think about every time I see it. Another deadline I am procrastinating... there's just so much to do! The tree can wait, right? It's just a TREE after all... then why do I feel so goddamned depressed about it?
Before you think I am the most horrible and lazy person in the world, I think it's important to note that the corner of my future garden - the spot for which the tree is intended - has about two feet of subterraneous concrete in it that has to be broken up and removed before the tree can be put there. Talk about challenges. My contractor lent me the concrete-busting tool for the weekend, and Friday afternoon I spent two solid hours bent over the hole, pulling out concrete chunks, all the while re-thinking my tree-planting strategy. But now, it's a mission. The tree MUST go in that spot. I don't care how hard it is, or how many hours it takes, or how many blisters I get. Because if I can't put the tree in THAT spot, then whether the tree lives or dies is meaningless to me. I realize that even if I successfully replant the tree it might still die from the shock of being transplanted. But that's a chance I am willing to take.
I can see it in my head: a future where my tree is back in the ground, once again green and spreading its arms out to welcome me. I just hope I can get it out of my head and create that future for real. The tree hopes that as well.
I woke up early this morning - when I procrastinate doing homework till the very last minute I find that my brain processes better (by "early" I mean 5 o'clock in the morning). Someone told me recently that it's because you are less likely to be weighed down by the stresses of the day, distractions, etc. I guess that makes sense. I DO seem to get more done; the house is quiet, the dogs - after some intial excitement - have gone back to bed, my son hasn't yet woken up for school, my phone's not ringing... yes, I can see why I can get things done, now that I think about it.
My house remodel is almost completed, speaking of things off the To-Do list. Not that I am directly involved in the actual "doing" of it, mind you, but it is an emotional consideration which uses up some of my energy. I am one bathroom away from having a 'new' home. I can already see it taking shape around me - it's beautiful, and much different than what it used to look like - although I am not quite settled in it yet. It's like my new life - I feel uneasy, unsettled. Early on in the remodel (when we were still in the demolition stage) it was necessary to dig up one of the palm trees in my backyard. The footprint of one of the rooms that was being rebuilt would now cover the space where the tree was... so in the process this tree was dug up out of the ground and temporarily placed in a rubber trash can, where it awaits its new location in my backyard. I have the perfect spot in mind: the far corner of my formerly-brick-patio-now-garden. (An aside: the former occupant of the house - a friend of mine - laid out a literal ton of bricks to create this patio area; I removed some of the bricks to create an interesting design, exposing the dirt underneath so I can now plant tomatoes, herbs, whatever strikes my fancy.)
Back to my tree. The tree itself is fairly young, though stands maybe ten feet tall. When the tree was put in that trash can it was green; its palm fronds spread out like a long-lost relative, extending her arms to give you a big hug. Four months later, the tree is still green in spots, but the majority of it is more on the brown and crunchy side. I feel guilty when I go out in the backyard and it catches my eye; it's up to me to replant it so it can continue on with its life - instead, I hear it screaming in my head. It's dying... but very, very slowly. I don't know if the tree realizes it, but that's what I think about every time I see it. Another deadline I am procrastinating... there's just so much to do! The tree can wait, right? It's just a TREE after all... then why do I feel so goddamned depressed about it?
Before you think I am the most horrible and lazy person in the world, I think it's important to note that the corner of my future garden - the spot for which the tree is intended - has about two feet of subterraneous concrete in it that has to be broken up and removed before the tree can be put there. Talk about challenges. My contractor lent me the concrete-busting tool for the weekend, and Friday afternoon I spent two solid hours bent over the hole, pulling out concrete chunks, all the while re-thinking my tree-planting strategy. But now, it's a mission. The tree MUST go in that spot. I don't care how hard it is, or how many hours it takes, or how many blisters I get. Because if I can't put the tree in THAT spot, then whether the tree lives or dies is meaningless to me. I realize that even if I successfully replant the tree it might still die from the shock of being transplanted. But that's a chance I am willing to take.
I can see it in my head: a future where my tree is back in the ground, once again green and spreading its arms out to welcome me. I just hope I can get it out of my head and create that future for real. The tree hopes that as well.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
My Salvation
Sometimes I get so weird
I even freak myself out
I laugh myself to sleep... it's my lullaby
Sometimes I drive so fast
Just to feel the danger
I want to scream... it makes me feel alive
Is it enough to love?
Is it enough to breathe?
Somebody rip my heart out
And leave me here to bleed
Is it enough to die?
Somebody...
save
my
life
I'd rather be anything but ordinary
please...
Is it enough?
Is it enough?
Anything
To make me feel...
alive
- Excerpted from "Anything But Ordinary", Avril Lavigne
I even freak myself out
I laugh myself to sleep... it's my lullaby
Sometimes I drive so fast
Just to feel the danger
I want to scream... it makes me feel alive
Is it enough to love?
Is it enough to breathe?
Somebody rip my heart out
And leave me here to bleed
Is it enough to die?
Somebody...
save
my
life
I'd rather be anything but ordinary
please...
Is it enough?
Is it enough?
Anything
To make me feel...
alive
- Excerpted from "Anything But Ordinary", Avril Lavigne
Monday, April 5, 2010
Mobile
Yesterday was Easter Sunday, and I was sitting in church, listening to the priest give his homily - the part where he talks to the congregation about the message in the Gospel and readings and stuff, so the people can take it and then apply it to their own lives, hopefully for the betterment of themselves and society.
What caught my attention was the part in the story where Jesus has just been crucified on the cross, and all of the apostles are sitting around, probably in shock, wondering what to do now... one of the questions the priest posed to the audience was: "How long do you think it took for the apostles to recover (i.e. get over the shock that Jesus, their compadre, Master, leader) from the horrific recent events of Jesus being tortured and crucified - killed in a painful and barbaric way right in front of their eyes?"
I thought about that for a moment, and I decided it would have definately taken more than the few days it takes to get from Good Friday to Easter Sunday.
I next considered the part of my Catholic faith that says Jesus "rose from the dead" which of course, was in line with what had been prophesized. Now, the way MY mind works is this: people who die DON'T come back. However, prophesies must come to fruition for faith to take root; for people to believe. It is highly conceivable that anyone living during Jesus' time who had a vested interest in making that prophesy "true" could have broke into that tomb and taken Jesus' body out. Poof! A religion is born.
Life is such a funny thing; I have been going to church for years and have listened to these stories over and over during that time - but what's different for me now? I have the new perspective of having someone I loved - a lot - die on me, so yeah, I can completely relate to how those apostles must have felt. People are still people after all, no matter what historical period they lived in. I also questioned for a moment any priest's ability to really relate to the people in their flock - do priests ever get the experience of working a regular job to support a family, only to then lose that job? Do they understand the pain of planning out your whole life with your partner, to have him or her die and leave you completely and utterly lost and alone? It's not called "interpersonal relationship" for nothing - there must be some relating going on. Some sharing of common experiences. Some empathy - which makes two people equal - not just sympathy, which makes one beholden to the other.
The Bunny wasn't tortured... I was. I still am, because every day I question my reason for being here, where my life is going, what am I supposed to do with my time and my talent when it's so hard to even drag myself out of bed every day. As the days go by, there are more and more things to do - like I am on rollerskates, holding onto a rope behind a speeding car - unable to hold on or let go. I'm just... stuck. Completely and utterly lost and alone.
He's the one that's dead, and I'm the one that's dying.
What caught my attention was the part in the story where Jesus has just been crucified on the cross, and all of the apostles are sitting around, probably in shock, wondering what to do now... one of the questions the priest posed to the audience was: "How long do you think it took for the apostles to recover (i.e. get over the shock that Jesus, their compadre, Master, leader) from the horrific recent events of Jesus being tortured and crucified - killed in a painful and barbaric way right in front of their eyes?"
I thought about that for a moment, and I decided it would have definately taken more than the few days it takes to get from Good Friday to Easter Sunday.
I next considered the part of my Catholic faith that says Jesus "rose from the dead" which of course, was in line with what had been prophesized. Now, the way MY mind works is this: people who die DON'T come back. However, prophesies must come to fruition for faith to take root; for people to believe. It is highly conceivable that anyone living during Jesus' time who had a vested interest in making that prophesy "true" could have broke into that tomb and taken Jesus' body out. Poof! A religion is born.
Life is such a funny thing; I have been going to church for years and have listened to these stories over and over during that time - but what's different for me now? I have the new perspective of having someone I loved - a lot - die on me, so yeah, I can completely relate to how those apostles must have felt. People are still people after all, no matter what historical period they lived in. I also questioned for a moment any priest's ability to really relate to the people in their flock - do priests ever get the experience of working a regular job to support a family, only to then lose that job? Do they understand the pain of planning out your whole life with your partner, to have him or her die and leave you completely and utterly lost and alone? It's not called "interpersonal relationship" for nothing - there must be some relating going on. Some sharing of common experiences. Some empathy - which makes two people equal - not just sympathy, which makes one beholden to the other.
The Bunny wasn't tortured... I was. I still am, because every day I question my reason for being here, where my life is going, what am I supposed to do with my time and my talent when it's so hard to even drag myself out of bed every day. As the days go by, there are more and more things to do - like I am on rollerskates, holding onto a rope behind a speeding car - unable to hold on or let go. I'm just... stuck. Completely and utterly lost and alone.
He's the one that's dead, and I'm the one that's dying.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Homicidal Tendencies
So, I had a dream last night. My mom was in it. Normally, dreams involving my mom are frightening episodes - revolving around her trying to kill me (literally). I've had these kinds of dreams from time to time over the last 39 years of my life, and what I have noticed is that usually this kind of dream is a notification of sorts... something in my real life is going to change. And not slight change - significant change.
This dream corresponds with my mood lately - I've been a bit unsettled. Now, more than any other time before - since the Bunny's death - do I have a sense of "This is my life. How do I want to live it? What do I want to create for myself?"
Speaking of creating, a good friend of mine turned me on to a book she thought I would get something out of: The Van Gogh Blues - The Creative Person's Path through Depression, by Eric Maisel, PhD. A primary theme in the book is how critical it is for a creative person (such as myself) to be engaged in "meaningful work" - work that matters. This echoes one of my own personal themes in life... I get a lot out of doing things that I believe have an impact on the people around me; my world.
There are two ideas I read in the book so far that sum up my current real life dilemma:
1. "You must find a way to survive, one that doesn't kill your soul or drain every ounce of energy from your body."
2. "A creator must stop pestering himself with the unanswerable questions that plague him - the need to know why he is alive, who or what made the universe, who can tell him about the meaning of life, what are the first or final causes - and accept as his mantra, 'I am alive.'"
Dr. Maisel acknowledges that being true to oneself, following one's passions, trying to find meaning inside life and living - it all takes a huge amount of courage. But have I not been told over and over how "strong" I am? I believe that I am; I try to live up to that reputation when I have my emotional lows... and fortunately I have enough support that when those lows appear, I am able to work through them fairly quickly. I am able to "bounce back."
I am strategizing about changes in my life; in the work that I do, in the activities that give me happiness and fulfill me. Changes I am thinking about now are more life-changing than when the Bunny was with me. I would have been content in my life then. Now the challenge is to construct a different picture - a life that I will be content in WITHOUT the Bunny. God, it frightens me a little to write that, and as I sit here typing those words, I am getting a little teary-eyed. That is the hurt that strikes at my very core... so I try not to indulge in thinking about it too often - just push forward, doing things, relating to people, and one day I will wake up and realize "You know what? I'm... happy. I am content. I am at peace."
And knowing that my husband would have wanted it like that will give me the strength to keep on that path.
This dream corresponds with my mood lately - I've been a bit unsettled. Now, more than any other time before - since the Bunny's death - do I have a sense of "This is my life. How do I want to live it? What do I want to create for myself?"
Speaking of creating, a good friend of mine turned me on to a book she thought I would get something out of: The Van Gogh Blues - The Creative Person's Path through Depression, by Eric Maisel, PhD. A primary theme in the book is how critical it is for a creative person (such as myself) to be engaged in "meaningful work" - work that matters. This echoes one of my own personal themes in life... I get a lot out of doing things that I believe have an impact on the people around me; my world.
There are two ideas I read in the book so far that sum up my current real life dilemma:
1. "You must find a way to survive, one that doesn't kill your soul or drain every ounce of energy from your body."
2. "A creator must stop pestering himself with the unanswerable questions that plague him - the need to know why he is alive, who or what made the universe, who can tell him about the meaning of life, what are the first or final causes - and accept as his mantra, 'I am alive.'"
Dr. Maisel acknowledges that being true to oneself, following one's passions, trying to find meaning inside life and living - it all takes a huge amount of courage. But have I not been told over and over how "strong" I am? I believe that I am; I try to live up to that reputation when I have my emotional lows... and fortunately I have enough support that when those lows appear, I am able to work through them fairly quickly. I am able to "bounce back."
I am strategizing about changes in my life; in the work that I do, in the activities that give me happiness and fulfill me. Changes I am thinking about now are more life-changing than when the Bunny was with me. I would have been content in my life then. Now the challenge is to construct a different picture - a life that I will be content in WITHOUT the Bunny. God, it frightens me a little to write that, and as I sit here typing those words, I am getting a little teary-eyed. That is the hurt that strikes at my very core... so I try not to indulge in thinking about it too often - just push forward, doing things, relating to people, and one day I will wake up and realize "You know what? I'm... happy. I am content. I am at peace."
And knowing that my husband would have wanted it like that will give me the strength to keep on that path.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
