Abandonment of Wonderment

Have you ever walked into a room and been immediately drawn to a person?  I’m not just talking about being physically attracted to another person, but attracted to the person’s energy, ease of laughter, attentiveness, genuineness, caring, intelligence, etc.

I was drawn to such a person the other day.  His energy, enthusiasm, passion, openness, genuineness — all of him — filled me up. 

Although I didn’t have a chance to talk with him because he was working, he affected me, intimately, in the way he approached his “duties.”  

I’ve watched and listened to hundreds of men before him — all going through the same routines and rituals that he was performing — but those others didn’t have the same intensity as this fellow did.

He approached each activity with such focused attention… such conviction… such wonderment and awe. 

He reminded me of the innocence that tickles children’s cheeks as they wake up on Christmas morning — and the abandonment in which they rush to the Christmas tree, gasp at all the gifts, and realize — with no doubt in their hearts or minds — that they are loved, they are special, and they are never alone.  Santa does exist. 

That was the vision that this man conjured up.  It was breathtaking and over all too soon.  I wished I could have stayed with him longer and drink in his energy… but alas, I couldn’t.

Besides, he’s forbidden fruit. He’s a newly ordained priest — ordained a handful of years ago — who is currently stationed at a local church I visited the other day. 

Still, this constraint doesn’t prevent me from admiring his essence and the way he approaches life.   It’s a good reminder, too.

Most of the time, we’re weighed down by the stark reality of our day-to-day routines and obligations — so much so that we begin to feel like an old tube of toothpaste.  Our energy is squeezed out of us — used, abused, spit out, and splattered all over the bathroom sink…

It’s during these times that we need to brush off the caked-on paste, put ourselves to bed, and wake up like a child on Christmas morning… filled with limitless energy, wonderment, and awe over the enchanted life we hold within us…

And if we’ve forgotten how, there are people around us who will show us…

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But Where’s My Piece of Cake?!

Yes, I enjoyed the women’s retreat.  I really did, but do you remember that little carrot — no, that piece of chocolate cake — that Katherine dangled in front of me to get me there?

We were supposed to have time together to work on our book.  We were supposed to finish the new section that Katherine wanted added.  This weekend was supposed to move us leaps and bounds ahead on this project.

Well, as you may have guessed, that didn’t quite happen. 

So, everything is postponed for a bit longer…

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Lost Myself for a Moment

As you can imagine, anxiety plagued me the entire week before the women’s retreat.  As the days and hours ticked closer to the start of it, I grew more and more pensive and uncomfortable — but I had agreed to go… and go I shall. 

Once we got to the campsite, I started mentally checking off items on my ever-growing anxiety list.  The more I was able to check things off, the more comfortable I became.

• Indeed, I was free to come and go as I pleased.  There were no locked gates or barriers that prevented me from leaving.
• The site was an opened campground, with an outside kitchen, a covered meeting area, and a mobile unit that was used as a community center meeting room.  If the nights were too cold for camping out in tents, we could sleep on the floor of the mobile unit.  There were also outside showers and bathrooms. 
• Trees and foliage created small, intimate areas throughout the property.  These peaceful coves created natural, private havens for people to set up their tents — as well as provided shared common areas where groups could freely gather.
• Although participants were encouraged to spend the nights there, we were free to leave and return in the morning if we preferred.  I chose to do the latter, although most everyone else stayed the nights.
• Instead of being blindly led from one activity to another, we were given a flexible agenda, so we would know what was planned for the weekend — with the understanding that things could change along the way.
• I didn’t have time to feel out of place because as soon as we stepped onto the property, the spiritual leader put us to work — setting things up for the night’s festivities.  [Hint:  This is one of the fastest ways to make members feel part of a group — having them work together on a common task or goal.] 

Even with all our prep-work, as the weekend progressed, the differences between the group and me became glaringly apparent.  There was no preventing it… no hiding it.  I was, indeed, labeled “vanilla” — as we had predicted. 

At first, this unnerved me.  I wanted to fit in; I wanted to be liked; I wanted to be accepted… and when I was labeled “vanilla,” I felt as if I had failed. 

Katherine took me aside and reminded me that I needn’t force anything.  All I needed to be was myself and I will fit in.  Simply be.

  

Simply be. 

To “simply be” meant to acknowledge the truth of the situation.  I am different from the group; there’s no denying it, no hiding it, and no changing that fact…

Once I became grounded in that simple truth, another truth surfaced.  This group of women didn’t care that I wasn’t like them.  They were confident women who weren’t concerned about our differences.  They didn’t use every moment to work on me — to conform my thoughts and beliefs to theirs.  They didn’t spend their weekend trying to change me.

They were warm and welcoming.  They were giving of themselves without taking anything from me.  They managed to create an encouraging, open, and protective place where we could share our experiences and dreams without fear of ridicule or rejection.

They were very comfortable with themselves, which allowed me to be comfortable with myself — probably for the first time since my last women’s retreat (20+ years ago).  They accepted me for who I was at that moment… appreciated where I was in my journey… and invited me back to join them for future gatherings.

Yeah, the weekend went far better than I could have imagined, and I am very glad I took the risk. 

Yeah.  It is good for me to get out of my comfort zone and expand my experiences.

Don’t let Katherine know I said this… but she was right, damn it! 

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Retreating from Retreats

The women’s retreat that Katherine tricked me — I mean, invited me — to attend was this past weekend. 

I know, for most people, retreats are seen as good things.  These gatherings allow us to withdraw from our ordinary activities for several days, so we can refocus and rejuvenate. 

Spiritual retreats — which I would categorize this one to be — give the participants time to reflect and reconnect to their source of strength and inner “selves.”  They give us the opportunity to meet and commune with people of similar thoughts and beliefs. 

I know it sounds great on paper — and even as persuasive as Katherine was — nothing could prevent my insecurities from resurfacing.  Fears of rejection and not fitting in saturated my soul.  Memories of my first — which was to be my last — women’s retreat came flooding back.

That retreat was meant to be a spiritual retreat as well — one based on the religion in which I practiced.  Ironically, my choir director “back then” was the one who invited and sponsored me — just like Katherine (my current choir director) is sponsoring me, in this one…

In that past retreat, I had to surrender all control and freedoms.  That choir director and “sponsor” simply dropped me off at the retreat site and left me there.  I was not told what to expect (“Don’t anticipate.”).  I was not given an agenda or schedule.  I was not allowed to wear a watch or know what time it was.  I was placed in the hands of complete strangers with no way to escape.

We (the participants) were shuttled from one meeting room to another like sheep.  We were assigned bunk beds in a condemned building that had no air conditioning, minimal lights, and sparse toiletries.   [This retreat occurred during the muggy and steamy month of August in Florida.]

Discussion leaders were those who had participated in the last retreat.  It’s during their sessions that they shared their life stories — one miserable event after another and another and another.  Loneliness and abandonment resonated in every tale of woe. 

By the end of each meeting, I was convinced that God was trying to prepare me for some horrible event that was going to happen to me.  I was convinced that the wonderful life I had — up to this point — was going to be taken from me.  Why else was I dumped here, surrounded by such tales of misery and woe?!

Putting my paranoia aside, it was apparent that these gatherings were meaningful, supportive, and helpful to those who experienced similar misfortunes.  They, definitely, found what they were longing for in the arms of this structured and controlled environment that they created.  

I was happy for them, but I was not one of them — nor did I long to become one of them.  I wanted to “retreat” from this women’s retreat as quickly as I could, but I couldn’t.  I had no form of transportation to get away.  I was stuck for the entire 80-hour experience.

And they used every moment to work on me — to conform my thoughts and beliefs to theirs. 

Yep.  I was identified, quickly, as an outliner — someone in need of being saved.  It was their mission to transform me into someone who was as miserable, unhappy, and unworthy as they were… someone... more acceptable in their eyes.

It’s been 20+ years since that experience, yet all of it came flooding back to me once I agreed to attend this spiritual retreat with Katherine.  Ironically, I will be labeled as an outliner with this group as well — and for similar reasons as before.  I don’t conform to this group’s practices or beliefs, either. 

This group supports a very liberal and free-spirited lifestyle; I, on the other hand, live a quiet existence, void of excitement.  I am vanilla in their eyes — ordinary, bland, plain, dull… 

So, yeah…  I will be seen as an outliner in this group as well.  Katherine knows this, too — so, we came up with some escape routes for me.

First, I will have my own car, so I can leave whenever I wanted.

Second, Katherine will be attending.  Even though she knows that I will be fine — that I’ll fit in, that I will be welcomed into the group, and that I will not be forced to transform into someone I am not — she reassures me that she will act as my “protector.”  I can turn to her when I’m feeling overwhelmed or stressed… much like the parent who is there to fight off the unseen monsters under a frightened child’s bed.

So…. with this plan in hand, I agreed to go… and go I shall.

(to be continued…)

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She’s a Sly One, She is!

I’m still going over it in my head.  I’m not really sure exactly how she managed it…

We were sitting at Applebee’s, discussing the book.  I was telling her that I wasn’t prepared to wait another two months to get this new section — that she wanted— added into the book.

She agreed, but she didn’t have any free time for another couple of weeks, unless…

Katherine:  “Unless you come to the women’s retreat this weekend with me.  Then we can work on the section during the lunch break on Saturday… and again at the dinner break…”


Me:    “but…”


Katherine:  “OH!!! and if we can get a group of women to go through the book with us, and get their feedback and…  OH!! This would be wonderful.  Just think of it!!! I’m so excited about this idea!!!  I’ll bring the laptop and, this time, I’ll remember the manuscript with my notes…and…”

She went on and on… so excited that she was jumping up and down in her chair with every new thought she uttered. 

I met her excitement with growing dread.  I sat there shaking my head and pressing my lips closed tightly.  

She’s been inviting me to these weekend gatherings for a month now, and I haven’t had a weekend free to attend any of them. 

Truthfully, I’m not much into large gatherings, retreats, etc.  They aren’t in my comfort zone.  I enjoy small, intimate gatherings with one or two people. 

Katherine knows that about me, and feels that interacting with larger groups would be good for me.  It will get me out of my comfort zone and expand my experiences.

I know she’s right, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m uncomfortable with the thought of it.

It’s like telling me that I should eat more broccoli and spinach because they're good for my health.  Intellectually, I know that to be true, but it doesn’t stop me from going for the chocolate cake, instead.

So, the more she chats about the weekend, the more I dread my fate... because I know — in the end — I will surrender. 

Me:    “Katherine, you know what you’re doing?  Suggesting that we work on the book at the retreat is like dangling a carrot — no, dangling a piece of chocolate cake — in front of me.  You’re using the one thing that I can’t say “no” to…”


Katherine:  “I’m only doing it to you because I think it really will be good for you.  You’ll gain something from the retreat that you never knew you were missing.  Trust me…"


Me:    “And I’ll have my car, so I can leave anytime I want, if it becomes too much for me…”


Katherine:  “Yes, you will have your car and will be free to leave anytime you want… but you’ll enjoy the retreat… you’ll see!  It starts on Friday 3:00 and if you can get the day off, then we can…”

I sat there, just shaking my head…

Yes.  She’s a sly one, she is!

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What Have I Gotten Myself Into?!

 

I ask myself this question almost daily now…  

What have I gotten myself into?!

Katherine and I made lunch plans to work on — what I had hoped would be — the finishing touches of the final version of our book. 

Yes, I’m still trying to encourage Katherine — short of chaining her to a chair — to sit still long enough for us to put this first project to bed.  She still needs to read the book through — cover to cover — and give the OK for us to move on.  We can’t move forward until she does that.

You see, Katherine — lovely person that she is — suffers from two common, modern-day diseases. 

#1:    She’s a master “multitasker” — She doesn’t focus on one thing for any length of time.  She’s involved in three or four things at a time.  She’s late for most things because she over-commits.  She tends to cancel things at the last minute... because she over-promises from the start… 

#2:    She’s also a perfectionist — She’s never satisfied with what she has accomplished.  She always wants more… always striving for more.  Projects are never “completed” because they can always be better.

How does all this affect the progress of our book?  Well, the fact that she can’t devote 30 minutes at a time, to sit down and read the book, makes it difficult for her to get through the entire book…

And when she does sit down for a couple of minutes at a time, she thinks of all the things we don’t have in the book, instead of focusing on what we have tackled in the book.  I swear that she wants this first book to capture all the answers to every question uttered by every man and woman who lived on Planet Earth… starting with Adam and Eve.

Now, mix in my impatience with her tendencies toward multitasking and perfectionism — well, let’s just say that we’re getting nowhere fast on completing the final draft of our book together.

I was really hoping that our lunch meeting would move us leaps and bounds ahead; and I was encouraged when she pulled out her laptop and started booting it up. 

But those hopes were squashed when she mentioned that, in her haste to meet me, she forgot to bring the printed manuscript that contained all her notes.  Without that printed manuscript, we couldn’t discuss her changes…but she knew she wanted to add yet another section to the book, so it would encompass even more….

As I choked down my disappointment, I agreed to work on a new section with her, because it would add to the book… but she had to promise me that this was going to be the last time!!  This adding more and more stuff had to stop at some point!!  We can’t publish the book if we never finish writing it!!

Yes, yes… she agreed.

I asked when we could get together again to pull together that new section.

Katherine:  “Well, let me think.  It’ll have to wait for a couple of weeks, because I’ve got all this other stuff to do...”


Me:  “Katherine, I don’t want another two months to go by…”


Katherine:  “I know, I know… but… I don’t have any free time…. unless…OH!  unless…”

When she outlined her plan to me, all I could think of was….

Now what have I gotten myself into?!

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Row Your Own Boat…

Years and years ago, I ran across a PBS special with Dr. Wayne Dyer, an internationally best-selling author of more than 30 motivational books.  Something he said struck home with me, and it’s become my mantra of sorts.

He gave an interesting interpretation of the common poem, Row, Row, Row Your Boat.

Now, whenever I’m stressing out, upset about someone telling me what I should be doing or what I’m doing wrong — or frustrated because others aren’t doing what I think they should be doing — I chant that poem to myself:

Row, row, row your boat — [Control your own actions instead of trying to control others]

Gently down the stream — [Take things as they come and don’t fret about what lies ahead]

Merrily, merrily, merrily — [Be happy with what you have]

Life is but a dream — [Life is too short; enjoy it while it lasts]

These lines have helped me through many frustrating encounters with family and friends alike.  I know they all mean well, and they want the best for me.  The problem lies in the fact that they really don’t know what’s best for me.  They only know what they would want, if they were in my situation. 

Repeating the poem to myself helps me acknowledge the simple fact that the only person I can control is myself and no one else.

And over the years, I’ve learned that that’s the toughest concept for most of us to accept and practice — to row our own boats.

For example, it’s so easy for us to see what’s going wrong in others' boats.  We’ll even yell across the stream, just to point out what’s wrong with the way others are rowing their boats — i.e., living their lives. 

In the meantime, we’re overlooking what’s happening in our own boats (i.e., lives).   There’s water splashing in as we fight the currents and waves from other boats; we lose track of our oars (e.g., obligations, promises, and commitments to others), because we’re not paying attention to what we’re doing; we’ve forgotten to bring along our life jackets (e.g., family and friends who support us emotionally), because we were too much in a hurry to chase after some stranger downstream.

So, yeah… we’re a bit of a mess… but that doesn’t stop us from telling others what they’re doing wrong…

I should know better!  Really, I should!

There are so many people in my life already telling me what to do, how I should do it, what I’ve been doing wrong, and what I will be doing wrong in the future… and I really don’t like it — not at all. 

So, why do I think it’s acceptable for me to do it to others?

If I want the freedom to row my own boat, gently down the stream, merrily — without confrontation, criticism, or obstruction — I should accept and defend others’ rights to do the same with their own lives.

Row, row, row your boat
Gently down the stream
Merrily, merrily, merrily
Life is but a dream 

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You Win Some, You Lose Some

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Do (or did) you have parents who chant(ed) Vince Lombardi's sayings to you?

“Winners never quit, and quitters never win.”


“If you can accept losing, you can't win.”


“Show me a good loser, and I'll show you a loser.”

I guess I should be embarrassed to admit that I’m a pretty good loser.  I’m a quitter, too — and… you know what?  I can live with these things about me.  I’m OK with the facts that:

• I’m bowing out of the hypocrisy that runs rampage at my office.  Let those who enjoy winning that game play to their hearts content.
• I’ve accepted the fact that I’m going to make mistakes in front of groups of people, which will reveal to them that I’m not perfect.
• I openly admit my faults and apologize when I make a mistake and cause harm.
• I’m a gracious loser when interacting with others, so they can enjoy their well-earned victories.
• I’m trying to quit obsessing over things that I have no control to change.

It’s OK to let things go sometimes.  By releasing some things, I’m working on strengthening my center and core — so I can keep myself grounded and well-balanced. 

After all, you’ve got to choose your battles wisely, because…

“You win some, you lose some.”

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Time to Move On

I took off work early to go to the dentist.

What’s eventful about this dentist visit is that it would be my last visit with Dr. Bodo.  He’s an 80-year-old man with a gentle touch, kind soul, and patient temperament — and he’ll be retiring from the profession in a couple of months. 

I know it’s time for him to move on — but I don’t like it! 

He’s been in practice for 56 years — longer than I’ve been alive.  My mother first took me to him when I was too young to climb into his chair.  As the years have gone by, I’m the one, now, taking my mother, and she’s having difficulty climbing into his chair…

It takes us more than an hour to drive to his office, and in all these years, we’ve never considered finding another dentist closer to home.  Now, we’re forced to…

Yes, this is hard for us.  It’s hard for him, too.

He tells me that he is sad to have to close up his practice.  He’s not just closing a business; he’s saying goodbye to a part of himself.  Many of his patients have been with him for so long that they have become like family to him.   

  

But he has family of his own.  He has kids and grandkids all over the country; so I was imagining his retirement would give his wife and him the freedom to visit family and friends… but this isn’t the case.

Instead, he’s retiring to take care of his ailing wife and disabled son.

There’s no time for traveling.  There’s no time to enjoy the fruits of his labor.  There’s no time to relax.

As I grab for the door for this last time, I’m struck with the realization that I will never, again, hear his warning to drive safely home, and see his warm smile, waving me on my way…

Yes, it’s very hard for me to say goodbye to this 80-year-old man with the gentle touch, kind soul, and patient temperament… knowing that I’m not going to be coming back... to him.

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Never Saw That Coming

Gosh!  I can never guess what message will be received when I post these pieces.  All that is certain is that the comments rarely go in the direction that I expect.

I posted the last journal entry to another social network website and got an interesting response from a gentleman.

His suggested solutions to elderly abuse was taxation on corporate temples and other religious organizations, recruiting and creating a TV ad campaign with AARP to run a "psych pathology" series for the elderly… and his “ending” comment was to wait or “encourage” the elderly to die off…


Wow!  Honestly, I never saw that one coming!


I wasn't aware that I was talking about elderly abuse in the last piece, BUT... if we want to talk about abuse — whether it be elderly, child, wife, husband, workplace, etc.— I don’t see how more laws, taxation, dogma declarations, promotions, advertising, etc. will stop this.   These things will only add to the judgment, self-righteousness, self-interest, and abuse that already exist.

My belief is that abuse will only stop when individuals stop asserting their needs or wants over others.

Abusive patterns will only end when we truly respect and honor each other as human beings.

There seems to be this drive and hunger in us to assert ourselves over everything around us, including people. There is this ingrained survival-of-the-fittest mentality in the human psyche that is carried over from our cave-dwelling days. Our culture still thrives on this facet of our humanness.

Ironically, in preserving the human race in this manner, we lose what makes us human. The very trait that has preserved our species has destroyed our humanity. In whatever form it takes, this survival-of-the-fittest theme prevents — if not totally destroys — the emotional survival of humanity.

It hinders the possibility of experiencing and cultivating quality relationships with friends and couples and within families and social groups. It stands in the way of the most fundamental and vital element of a relationship. It stands in the way of trust.

Simple put: How can we trust each other, if, as a society, we reward “the fittest” who steps over — or on — those who are seen as weak and vulnerable?

No, delegating the responsibility of curtailing abuse to a society that takes advantage of the vulnerable just doesn’t seem to be the answer.  It’s as if I’m giving the self-righteous thief (in my dream) a key to our homes.

So, who’s left? 

I’m back to my original thought:  Abuse will only end when we truly respect and honor each other as human beings — no matter their age, their looks, their gender, their size, their nationality, their religion, etc.


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The Self-Righteous Thief

I had one of my funny little dreams…

The dream begins with two detectives searching through my house.  I’m explaining to them that my cash, credit cards, identification, and jewelry have been stolen from me. 

They ask me a series of questions and I answer them the best I can…

• No, I wasn’t home at the time.  Whoever broke in must have known there was plenty of time.

• No.  I have no idea why the thief would spread religious prayer cards and pamphlets all around my place.

• No.  That’s not my bible.  Mine is on the bookshelf.  The thief must have left that one, along with all the other religious paraphernalia.

• No.  I have no idea why the thief would paint religious symbols all over the outdoor screens, windows, and glass door.

Shaking their heads in disbelief, the detectives bag all the prayer cards and bible as evidence — highly doubting that they will find fingerprints on the items.

They continue to take photos of the thief’s religious artwork, especially of the cross painted right next to the screen that was slashed open and the door that was busted in. 

One of the detectives points to the gaping hole in the screen and informs me that they believe that must be how the thief got in.  [Yes, Mr. Detective, I would have to agree…]

And that’s when I woke up.

**** 

It is easy to figure out from where the “inspiration” for this dream comes. 

 

It comes from a conversation I just had with my 86-year-old mother.  I called to see how she was doing and found her very upset.

She had just been visited by two of her sister-in-laws. 

I am sure that these two women meant well and were full of good intentions, but in their religious zealousness, they destroyed my mother’s self-worth, while heightening her guilt and anxieties.

Pray tell, how did they steal these precious things from her?

Ah… They did it by bringing over a number of prayer cards and pamphlets for my mother to read, digest, and recite now that she’s homebound.  

"After all," they inform my mother, "there is no greater service to mankind than to pray for the salvation of the world; and the elderly and homebound are the ones who have the time to do it."

When she’s assaulted in this manner, Mom tries to push back as much as she can but the guilt that fuels such pious rhetoric is difficult to fend off. 

How does one go about explaining that you don’t want to spend your days chanting prayers that hold no meaning to you?  How do you go about explaining that you’re not motivated by words that create only guilt and unworthiness within you? 

How do you explain these things to those who only hear their own self-righteous voice?

I consoled Mom the best I could by telling her that her sister-in-laws mean well, but they don’t realize that their way is not right for her.  If chanting prayers all day gives them purpose and a reason to get up each morning, then that is great for them — but that doesn’t give them the right to inflict their beliefs on her.  Just because they do those things do not make them “holier than thou.”

Mom:  Yes it does!


Me: No, it doesn’t.  They are only “holier than thou” because they are telling you that they are holier than you — and for no other reason than that. 


Mom:  Well, Beatrice goes to Daily Mass.


Me:  And Beatrice is a very social person.  With her husband passing away and her eight children being grown and out of the house, she finds going to Daily Mass a nice way of getting out, meeting her friends, and feeling useful.


Mom:    Well, I guess so… but she sits under a tree with a rosary and prays a special pray for each of the 50 states… and…


Me:  Mom, if those things give her purpose and meaning to her life, that great!  I’m happy for her, but that doesn’t give her the right to force her beliefs and routines on you or anyone else.  That doesn’t give her the right to judge you — or anyone else.

I thought I was making some headway, until Mom broke down in tears.  After the tears started flowing, there was no stopping them.

So, that’s how my aunts were able to take my mother’s self-worth, while heightening her guilt and anxieties — with religious prayer cards, pamphlets, and painting pictures of the religious devotion and piety… 

         … much like the self-righteous thief in my dream.

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Submit vs. Surrender — The Difference is Intent

I ran into an acquaintance that I haven’t seen for about five years.  I asked how she’s been doing and asked about her three daughters and her mom.  Everyone was doing fine.  The youngest is a senior; the other two were in college — one going abroad, etc.

I, then, complimented her on her short haircut — telling her that I really liked that cut on her.  It looked very care-free and youthful on her.

She ran her hand over her hair, smiled, and nodded as she said, “Thanks!  I got it cut when I separated from my husband.  He wouldn’t let me cut my hair.”

Now, I know that most men like longer hair on women, but her choice of words was interesting. 

She didn’t say, “I kept my hair longer for him, because he liked it longer.”

No, she said, “He wouldn’t let me cut my hair.”


“He wouldn’t let me” gives the impression of submitting to another's control — as if your will is being taken from you.


On the other hand, when you keep your hair long because your partner likes it long, it’s your choice to keep it long.  You’re doing it because you like pleasing your partner.  You’re surrendering your preference to his… but it’s still your choice.  You’re giving to him.  He’s not taking anything away from you.


The result is the same — longer hair — but the intent behind the gesture is completely different.  It's the difference between feeling controlled by someone and caring for someone.

Not surprisingly, she kept smiling when she told me that things are better for her and for the girls — now that her husband and she are separated.  


Yeah.  The freedom behind that short haircut did wonders for her. 


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I’m Numb

I’m numb. 

For the past couple of years, I’ve been trying to contact a friend of mine.  We were really close years and years ago, but she moved out of state, and we've lost touch.

Over the years, I’ve called her; but after another move, the phone number I had for her no longer worked. 

Emailing her wasn’t an option, since she wasn’t comfortable with the computer and didn’t have an email address. 

The letters and cards I sent in the later years started to come back with no forwarding address. 

Knowing my friend’s hectic, constantly moving, and crazy life, I just assumed that she was happily busy with her family — and I, mentally, wished her well.

She’s such a beautiful person that I couldn’t wish her anything less.  She’s another exceptional person I’ve had the privilege to know.  Her loving spirit shines through every piece of her and brightens everyone and everything around her.  She is totally devoted to her family and “her family” includes everyone she meets.  Her presence makes such a difference to those she touches. 

So, I can understand how we fell out of touch, and I am so grateful that our paths crossed for as long as it did.

Two years ago, some internal need made me resurrect my search for her again.  I knew my friend wasn’t comfortable on the computer, but I thought, maybe, time had changed that and searching on Facebook was worth a shot.  It would be one way that she can keep in contact with her family — and I thought, maybe, her daughters would have set up an account for her. 

So, I took a shot.  Unfortunately, my friend’s name is pretty common, and I had to develop a hit-and-miss strategy to my Facebook search.  I thought I had found her and sent her a friend’s request… but got no response.

That didn’t stop me, though.  Each time her birthday rolled around, I would reach out again and again… with no response.

This year, when her birthday came around, I reached out again…

Then it struck me.  Her youngest daughter would be in her twenties now — and part of this Facebook generation.  If I can find her, I can ask her to wish her mom a happy birthday for me.  And that’s what I did.

Yesterday, the daughter messaged me back. 

Her mom — my friend — was killed in a car accident, by a drunk driver… two years ago.

I'm numb.

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When Being Right Isn't Nearly Enough

There is no other way to put it.  I hate going to work these days.

Everyone’s stressed because of the resident bully in the office.  He’s free to run havoc in the division, making everyone miserable — but no one has the desire to change things.  He’s been doing it for years and years, so everyone accepts it as “just the way things are.”  Those tired of the treatment simply leave the company.

I go to my supervisor to complain about the situations the bully creates.  She agrees with everything I say.  She keeps telling me that I am right.  I am right that it shouldn’t be this way.  I am right that things should be different — but she tells me that nothing will change.

I take my complaints to my supervisor’s supervisor — the Vice President of the company.  He also tells me that he agrees with me.  He keeps telling me that I am right.  He wishes things can be different, but there’s nothing he can do about the bully.  He has no power to change things.  And with that, he sends me out of his office.

Everywhere I turn, people are telling me that I’m right, but that’s not enough for me — not nearly enough.

Whenever the bully interacts with me, I push back.  At once, he backs down and immediately runs to my supervisor.  He tells her that he will no longer work with me because of my attitude.  He will only deal with her.

Oh, dear!  I’m so deeply wounded by this declaration of his!  Instead of addressing me directly, he will use my supervisor as the go-between, forcing her to deal with the bully, instead of me.  How can I live with such an arrangement?

Actually, this heavenly situation only lasts a couple of weeks at a time, and then he comes after me again.  I push back, and the cycle repeats itself… over and over again.

Because the supervisor doesn’t like dealing with the fallouts of these encounters, I am told that, although I am right, it’s best not to confront the bully head on.  She — and everyone else — makes excuses for the bully, allowing him to continue his reign of terror. 

Because I am not moved to change my position, I am told that it’s best not to rock the boat.  The bully can make things harder for me…

I’m confused.  Exactly how can he make things harder for me?  It’s not he who is allowing this to continue.  He has no authority over me.  He doesn’t evaluate me, doesn’t discipline me, and can’t fire me. 

The only power he holds is the power others give him.  If people would stand up together and say, “Enough is enough!” then the bully would lose his ability to intimidate the office.

But no one is willing to stand up.   Management would rather support the negative environment, allow good employees to be harassed and disrespected, and force good employees to leave their employ… instead of taking positive steps to deal with the issue.

Yeah, everyone’s telling me that I’m right, but that’s not enough — not nearly enough…

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Sleepless Nights

I’m in one of my introspective moods, tonight — and I’m very tired. 

I’ve been having a series of dreams these last couple of days, which have left me troubled.  The dreams deal with feelings of loss and brokenness.

One was about a chef preparing a fabulous meal for us.  It was delicious to those she served it to, but it wasn’t to her liking.  Because of that, she became upset and angry.  During her tantrum, she threw away all her pots and pans and gave up cooking.  She gave up her life-long pursuit, because that one meal wasn’t perfect… in her eyes. 

Another one dealt with me breaking my eye glasses — at the bridge of the nose.  I tried fixing the bridge with superglue, but I just managed to super-glue my fingers together instead, and the glue on the bridge of the nose irritated my eyes to tears…

The dream that started all this dealt with a friend with whom I’ve lost touch.  She’s as creative, intelligent, and confident as she is volatile — and her life has been very difficult because of these traits.  She cannot cultivate close friendships because of her strong and erratic mood swings. When she's in those moods, she simply pushes everyone away.

It’s been about six years, now, since she’s cut off contact with me.  I’ve tried calling her and have sent letters, emails, birthday wishes, and Facebook invitations to reconnect, but she hasn’t wanted to reconnect—and I have to respect her wishes.

This is one of the most difficult aspects of caring for others — respecting their freedom and independence, while dealing with the emotional connection that draws you into their pain.

I have to admit, my life has been more stable without her in it.  I’m not looking to opening myself up to the hurt that comes along with her friendship, and I wish I could leave well enough alone. 

And I would, if it wasn’t for these dreams…

The dream that started it all was about her.  In the dream, she was at some social event.  Something disturbed her, and she became very upset and angry.  She started throwing things and yelling.  No one could reach her to calm her down, so she continued to spiral out of control.  She threw things and disrupted the whole evening for everyone.

I know it sounds weird to most people, but the last time I ignored something like this, I learned later that the person I was thinking about had committed suicide.  No one could reach her, either…

I don’t want that to happen again.  I don’t want to learn later that I should have reached out when I had the chance. 

So, the dilemma — how do I not intrude, if all is fine with her and she doesn’t want to reconnect with me — but still be able to sleep at night, without the fear that I didn’t reach out when I should have?

How do I mend the bridge without getting stuck — like in the dream about my broken glasses and the superglue? 

After a couple of sleepless nights, I’ve decided to send a simple “thinking of you” note to her mother — figuring that reaching out to the family, as a whole, would be a safer way of connecting… while respecting my friend’s wishes.

At this point, I think that is all I can do and hope that it’s enough.

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