Ok, so, in hindsight, clearly not the most righteous stance I've ever taken. But I still don't think I did anything wrong. And I just can't help but bristle at the idea that my attempt to view an explicit media with clear artistic merit has caused me to get lumped into the same group as the guy who spends his lunch hour spanking it in his office. And it really bothers me that, because of this, I now have to fear for my job. That just seems wrong to me, but I'll drop the subject now, I swear.
In other news, I think I'm going to go back to a SMART meeting tonight, if I can get home in time. (Yesterday's Inauguration has snarled traffic all through the surrounding area.) I haven't been to a SMART meeting in months. It got to the point where they became more of a hassle then they were worth. I never got very much out of the meetings, and I often felt worse afterwards, which struck me as rather counter-productive. And having to give up every Tuesday night (and Tuesday morning for that matter, as I had to get to work early to make sure I could leave early so that I could get to the meetings on time) became rather tiresome. I wanted to make sure I attended enough meetings on a regular basis to establish myself in the group, and to be sure to give them a fair chance (and not make any decisions based on first impressions), and get a sense of what I could expect from SMART in general, and from this group in particular. And I accomplished that. And if I'd felt as if I was having trouble maintaining my sobriety, or that attending these meetings would help me maintain my sobriety in any way, then I would've continued to attend. But, as neither of those were the case, I decided to take my Tuesday nights back, knowing that this group was always there, should I ever need help again.
And now, I think I do. I had always assumed that, in regards to my sobriety, the only person's reaction I needed to be concerned about, was my own. It never occurred to me that other people that I care about might have as difficult a time dealing with my sobriety as I did. I've known that my wife has been missing her "drinking buddy" since I sobered up; we established that early on, in just the first couple of months. But, honestly, I didn't really think much of it; it just didn't seem that important. She didn't seem all that upset about it, and my focus, frankly, especially in those early months, had to be on maintaining my sobriety, and not on whether or not She had someone to get drunk with on Friday nights. I don't think either of us realized just how important it really was to Her, or that it was actually about much more than just missing Her "drinking buddy" - it was about my entire personality changing, again, and for the first time, changing in respect to the ways that I treat Her. And as the months have dragged on and on, and the situation has remained unchanged, Her feelings about it have apparently grown worse and worse, until we are at the point now where it has become a painful and difficult problem in our marriage.
And I don't know what to do about it. I thought things had unarguably changed for the better. I'm much more even-keeled now than I ever have been before. Yes, I still have my ups and downs, but everyone does. But whereas before every emotion was turned up to eleven, now I never get much higher than a four or five. I used to be full volume every minute of every day. Every high was the highest high possible, and every low was the lowest I could get. And in terms of how I treated Her, that meant that when I was happy with Her, she was the Sun, Moon, and Stars to me, and I loved her more than Romeo ever loved Juliet; my entire world revolved around her. (Which sounds beautifully romantic at first, but try living up to such ridiculous and fantastical standards for ten years. It can't be done. And I did a lot of damage to our relationship trying to keep her up on that pedestal for so many years.) But it also means that when I wasn't happy with her, I hated her, because she was completely ruining my entire fucking life.
Now, my feelings never get that ridiculously, over-the-top intense. I still love her, and I still sometimes get angry with her, but I don't treat her like the be-all-end-all of my existence, nor do I treat her like the worst thing that ever happened to me. All of my feelings for her, both good and bad, are much softer and quieter, much more reasonable and responsible, much more practical; and so completely fucking boring. Because while both of us are clearly glad that I no longer feel such intense anger at her every time she makes me feel anything bad, from her point of view, my world used to revolve around Her. And now it doesn't. And that hurts her. It hurts in a way she has a very difficult time understanding, or articulating. And it's very confusing. Because while she's certainly glad that I don't yell at her anymore, and while she is definitely very proud of me for all that I've accomplished these past eight months, she's also really hurt and upset; she feels rejected, because, from her point of view, I don't seem to love her as much as I used to. Which isn't true at all; I still love her just as much as I used to, I just don't express it as intensely. But how can she be expected to know what I'm really feeling, if I've completely changed the way that I express those feelings?
And then, on top of all of the hurt and rejection she's already feeling, she ends up feeling very guilty, too. She feels guilty because she understands that my sobriety is clearly a good thing for me, and she wants to be able to support me in that and feel proud of me. And by feeling hurt and upset in response to my sobriety, regardless of how else she feels about it, she feels like she is doing something wrong, and hurting me, and undermining my sobriety. Which, unfortunately, I have to agree with, in a sense. It definitely hurts me to know that I'm hurting her. And it definitely makes me want to drink, because I feel like that would make her happy (and I'm kind of hard-wired to want to make her happy). But I don't think she's doing anything wrong; on that point we disagree. I can't blame her for how she feels, at all. I would almost certainly feel the same thing in her place. And I think it can be said that, almost certainly, she has been the one the most hurt, she has been the one who has lost the most, she has been the one who has sacrificed the most, for my sobriety. And I could never expect her to just be a hundred percent happy about that. I feel horribly naive for not anticipating it ahead of time.
But now, what do I do? How am I supposed to respond to this? How should we deal with it? What can we do about it? In the addiction/recovery cycle, most people end up feeling like they lost their loved ones to the addiction side of things, when the addict reaches the point where the only thing they are capable of caring about anymore is using. We're really fortunate that we've never had to face that problem. But I've never heard of anyone feeling like they lost their loved one to sobriety. In all of my experience with addiction and recovery, I've never heard anyone say, "Now that you're sober, you don't love me the way that you used to." And now that we're unfortunate enough to be faced with that problem, I have no idea how to deal with it. I have no experience to draw on.
And, so, back to SMART. I'm hoping someone there has some experience with this, or has at least heard of it before. At the very least, I'm hoping to come away with some perspective.
Will me luck.
Showing posts with label success. Show all posts
Showing posts with label success. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Stark Words...
Stressed.
Again.
As always.
Too much work to do, and more coming in all the time; before I can finish one thing, three more have landed on my desk.
And it's the same at home. I feel over-whelmed and under-supported. I get a little less sleep every night. Feel a little more tired every morning. Each day harder than the one before it.
And it's Repellation Day.
And I would love a drink.
We have some apple moonshine at home right now that I would absolutely fucking murder.
We always have a drink on Repellation Day. (Of course, until this year, we always had a drink on Thursday, as well, so take that with a pinch of salt. And a lime wedge.) And there's something about drinking moonshine on Repellation Day that just feels poetically justified.
Of course, I won't.
I'm going to go home, and do my bills, and stress, and not get enough sleep, the way I'm supposed to. I'll be a good little monkey.
Because I decided to do this, and I hate giving up, especially at something I know I can do. I decided to do this, and no matter how miserable I feel, I will only feel worse if I let myself fail. I won't quit. And I won't fail.
I won't quit, even though three words keep echoing in my mind, filling me with a hollow dread:
Winter is coming.
Again.
As always.
Too much work to do, and more coming in all the time; before I can finish one thing, three more have landed on my desk.
And it's the same at home. I feel over-whelmed and under-supported. I get a little less sleep every night. Feel a little more tired every morning. Each day harder than the one before it.
And it's Repellation Day.
And I would love a drink.
We have some apple moonshine at home right now that I would absolutely fucking murder.
We always have a drink on Repellation Day. (Of course, until this year, we always had a drink on Thursday, as well, so take that with a pinch of salt. And a lime wedge.) And there's something about drinking moonshine on Repellation Day that just feels poetically justified.
Of course, I won't.
I'm going to go home, and do my bills, and stress, and not get enough sleep, the way I'm supposed to. I'll be a good little monkey.
Because I decided to do this, and I hate giving up, especially at something I know I can do. I decided to do this, and no matter how miserable I feel, I will only feel worse if I let myself fail. I won't quit. And I won't fail.
I won't quit, even though three words keep echoing in my mind, filling me with a hollow dread:
Winter is coming.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
The Lost Sharing...
I had to skip SMART again this week. But I wrote to the facilitator, to let him know I'd be out and so he'd know I hadn't fallen off the wagon or whatever; and also to let him know what I would've shared, if I'd been able to make it.
I thought it would be worth sharing here, too:
On Friday, my wife and I went out to our local for dinner and drinks (I had O'Douls). I mentioned to her that I had recently realized that I could not remember the last time we'd had a fight, or even any sort of minor emotional dust-up, and asked her if she could remember. She realized she couldn't remember, either. Things have been really good for us lately; for a good, long while now, in fact. I hypothesized that this was probably a result of two recent changes in my life.
One of them is a bit involved to try and explain; it involves changes to the way I perceive and interact with her, and to the way I think about Love in general, and so it would require a good bit of backstory that I don't really have time to get into right now in order for you to really be able to understand it. Suffice it to say that the end result was that I'm no longer as emotionally fragile with her as I used to be, and that these changes began happening quite literally at the same time as I began to get sober.
And the other change that I think has contributed to our recent run of marital harmony and happiness is obviously just that: my sobriety. Drinking and taking drugs by definition alter your mood, and your feelings. They lift them up when you take them, and then they fall down when it runs out. And even if you're not taking them right at that moment, if you're doing it regularly enough, then the effect persists, and your emotions continue to go up and down, up and down, even when you're sober. And so one of the results of this extended period of sobriety, is that I'm finding that I'm less emotionally volatile than I used to be; I'm much more even-keeled now that I'm not playing chemical yo-yo with my feelings.
This prompted my wife to tell me again, as we were sitting at the bar, how proud she was of me for being able to stay sober for so long. And she added how proud she was of me, in particular, for being able to come out drinking with her and still remain sober. And, I replied back to her that, as always, I found it difficult to accept that praise. Because I didn't feel like I was doing anything. It wasn't as if being at the bar made me want a drink, and I was having to spend the entire time resisting this overwhelming urge. If that were the case, if I was struggling with urges, and then successfully overcoming them, then I would feel as if I had done something worthy of praise. But as it was, being at the bar didn't make me want to drink anymore than at any other point in my day. I just don't want to drink right now. I'm very much enjoying not drinking.
The other half of that coin is that I am very much looking forward to drinking again, later. We saw a bottle behind the bar that night, of Fireball whiskey; a cinnamon-flavored whiskey that we only just discovered last year, a few months before I sobered up. And with the seasons turning right now, and the crisp scent of Autumn in the air, I had the thought, "Oh, a shot of that would be delightful for Fall. That will be really nice to have again. Maybe next year?" I realize it isn't typical, but I'm lucky enough that I haven't yet had to say to myself, "I can never drink again." I didn't fall that far. I just didn't pay attention to what I was doing, and then realized that I was drinking too much, and that it had gotten a little scary, and so decided that I needed to stop for a while; for some unspecified period of time of at least one year. And so I've never had to confront that issue, or deal with all the grief and loss of "I can never drink again." I'm fortunate enough that I've been able to say just, "Not now, maybe later." And this is just so much easier to handle on an emotional level. And that makes it easier to stay sober. Because I can kick that can of "later" down the road indefinitely.
And that's where I'm at right now, and where I've been for a while: I don't want to drink right now, and I'm looking forward to drinking again, later. Whether that "later" will ever actually come is a mystery to me. I honestly don't know. I imagine it will again, but no one knows what the future holds. I don't know who I'll be after spending my first year sober as an adult, and I don't want to project who I want that person to be. I want to find out myself along the way. And I remember that when I quit smoking pot for a year (that time I had planned from the beginning to do it for exactly one year, and then smoke again, and see how it affected me - I designed the whole experience as a personal experiment conducted on my own brain chemistry), at the end of that year, I found it really difficult to smoke again. I had built up so much momentum towards staying sober over the course of that year, that it was really hard to make myself suddenly switch directions and do the exact opposite. Yes, I did want to smoke again, but a huge part of me did not want to, as well. And in the end, what finally helped push me over the edge was that I had set out from the get-go to do it for exactly one year, and then do it again and see what happened, and I wanted to fulfill that original intent.
I don't have any set time-period of sobriety like that this time around. I don't have any line of demarcation that I'm going to cross at some point in the future that will tell me that it's time to stop being sober. (And that was intentional, based on the lessons learned in the experience I just mentioned above.) So, who knows how long this will last? Who knows when that "later" will come? Who knows if that "later" will ever actually come, at all?
And more to the point, whether it does or not is completely irrelevant. Because thinking about that ephemeral "later" - enjoying the idea of it, looking forward to it - helps me to remain sober now. And even better, it grants me the ability to do things like go out to bars with my wife, and actually be able to enjoy the experience, without struggling against my desires. It allows me to accept my desires, and still keep moving forward, comfortably, without having to indulge them.
And to my mind, that's gold. That's pure magick.
I thought it would be worth sharing here, too:
On Friday, my wife and I went out to our local for dinner and drinks (I had O'Douls). I mentioned to her that I had recently realized that I could not remember the last time we'd had a fight, or even any sort of minor emotional dust-up, and asked her if she could remember. She realized she couldn't remember, either. Things have been really good for us lately; for a good, long while now, in fact. I hypothesized that this was probably a result of two recent changes in my life.
One of them is a bit involved to try and explain; it involves changes to the way I perceive and interact with her, and to the way I think about Love in general, and so it would require a good bit of backstory that I don't really have time to get into right now in order for you to really be able to understand it. Suffice it to say that the end result was that I'm no longer as emotionally fragile with her as I used to be, and that these changes began happening quite literally at the same time as I began to get sober.
And the other change that I think has contributed to our recent run of marital harmony and happiness is obviously just that: my sobriety. Drinking and taking drugs by definition alter your mood, and your feelings. They lift them up when you take them, and then they fall down when it runs out. And even if you're not taking them right at that moment, if you're doing it regularly enough, then the effect persists, and your emotions continue to go up and down, up and down, even when you're sober. And so one of the results of this extended period of sobriety, is that I'm finding that I'm less emotionally volatile than I used to be; I'm much more even-keeled now that I'm not playing chemical yo-yo with my feelings.
This prompted my wife to tell me again, as we were sitting at the bar, how proud she was of me for being able to stay sober for so long. And she added how proud she was of me, in particular, for being able to come out drinking with her and still remain sober. And, I replied back to her that, as always, I found it difficult to accept that praise. Because I didn't feel like I was doing anything. It wasn't as if being at the bar made me want a drink, and I was having to spend the entire time resisting this overwhelming urge. If that were the case, if I was struggling with urges, and then successfully overcoming them, then I would feel as if I had done something worthy of praise. But as it was, being at the bar didn't make me want to drink anymore than at any other point in my day. I just don't want to drink right now. I'm very much enjoying not drinking.
The other half of that coin is that I am very much looking forward to drinking again, later. We saw a bottle behind the bar that night, of Fireball whiskey; a cinnamon-flavored whiskey that we only just discovered last year, a few months before I sobered up. And with the seasons turning right now, and the crisp scent of Autumn in the air, I had the thought, "Oh, a shot of that would be delightful for Fall. That will be really nice to have again. Maybe next year?" I realize it isn't typical, but I'm lucky enough that I haven't yet had to say to myself, "I can never drink again." I didn't fall that far. I just didn't pay attention to what I was doing, and then realized that I was drinking too much, and that it had gotten a little scary, and so decided that I needed to stop for a while; for some unspecified period of time of at least one year. And so I've never had to confront that issue, or deal with all the grief and loss of "I can never drink again." I'm fortunate enough that I've been able to say just, "Not now, maybe later." And this is just so much easier to handle on an emotional level. And that makes it easier to stay sober. Because I can kick that can of "later" down the road indefinitely.
And that's where I'm at right now, and where I've been for a while: I don't want to drink right now, and I'm looking forward to drinking again, later. Whether that "later" will ever actually come is a mystery to me. I honestly don't know. I imagine it will again, but no one knows what the future holds. I don't know who I'll be after spending my first year sober as an adult, and I don't want to project who I want that person to be. I want to find out myself along the way. And I remember that when I quit smoking pot for a year (that time I had planned from the beginning to do it for exactly one year, and then smoke again, and see how it affected me - I designed the whole experience as a personal experiment conducted on my own brain chemistry), at the end of that year, I found it really difficult to smoke again. I had built up so much momentum towards staying sober over the course of that year, that it was really hard to make myself suddenly switch directions and do the exact opposite. Yes, I did want to smoke again, but a huge part of me did not want to, as well. And in the end, what finally helped push me over the edge was that I had set out from the get-go to do it for exactly one year, and then do it again and see what happened, and I wanted to fulfill that original intent.
I don't have any set time-period of sobriety like that this time around. I don't have any line of demarcation that I'm going to cross at some point in the future that will tell me that it's time to stop being sober. (And that was intentional, based on the lessons learned in the experience I just mentioned above.) So, who knows how long this will last? Who knows when that "later" will come? Who knows if that "later" will ever actually come, at all?
And more to the point, whether it does or not is completely irrelevant. Because thinking about that ephemeral "later" - enjoying the idea of it, looking forward to it - helps me to remain sober now. And even better, it grants me the ability to do things like go out to bars with my wife, and actually be able to enjoy the experience, without struggling against my desires. It allows me to accept my desires, and still keep moving forward, comfortably, without having to indulge them.
And to my mind, that's gold. That's pure magick.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
The Biomathematical Quotient Of One Apple...
Yesterday, I said, "It's amazing how quickly you can fall back out of shape." And today I have to say, what a difference a day makes.
Did the same routine this morning as yesterday. Yesterday I was legitimately concerned that I might die, and today there was no problem at all. My heart-rate stayed right smack in the middle of my butter-zone the entire time (the monitor was actually working today), and I never felt like I was pushing myself excessively. Just felt like a really good workout.
I even went the full twenty minutes this time.
Did the same routine this morning as yesterday. Yesterday I was legitimately concerned that I might die, and today there was no problem at all. My heart-rate stayed right smack in the middle of my butter-zone the entire time (the monitor was actually working today), and I never felt like I was pushing myself excessively. Just felt like a really good workout.
I even went the full twenty minutes this time.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Elephant Blurble...
Still way too much to do and nowhere near enough time to do it. (When I finished that section of code from the other instrument, they gave me another one! When, exactly, am I supposed to work on my own code before this ridiculous Friday deadline, huh?)
Have a SMART meeting tonight, so for now I'll just quickly report that, yes, I did make it through the entire AGM sober. And, more importantly, staying sober wasn't difficult at all, and didn't interfere with my ability to enjoy or participate in the event in the slightest. (My sinus infection took care of that part.) So, as I suspected (or finally managed to figure out) during the final week preceding the event, I was, indeed, over-reacting to the whole thing. I really didn't have anything to worry about.
Again, a lot more to say on the subject, but I wanted to at least address the elephant in the room before the meeting tonight.
Have a SMART meeting tonight, so for now I'll just quickly report that, yes, I did make it through the entire AGM sober. And, more importantly, staying sober wasn't difficult at all, and didn't interfere with my ability to enjoy or participate in the event in the slightest. (My sinus infection took care of that part.) So, as I suspected (or finally managed to figure out) during the final week preceding the event, I was, indeed, over-reacting to the whole thing. I really didn't have anything to worry about.
Again, a lot more to say on the subject, but I wanted to at least address the elephant in the room before the meeting tonight.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
What I Should Have Said...
I realize now that I failed at SMART last night.
Because it was my last meeting before the AGM, I felt like I should continue talking about my concerns about that (which unfortunately I can't discuss here - erg). But, since my meeting with my old Temple the weekend before last, and my reflections on that meeting over the last week, I largely don't have any more concerns about the AGM left to discuss. I feel pretty confident and excited about it right now. So, I mentioned that. And talked a little about how tired I was because of work lately. And that was about it for my sharing.
But now I know that what I should have talked about, was the fact that throughout the entire meeting, I couldn't stop thinking about how badly I wanted to get the Tuesday night ribs 'n' wings dinner special at the bbq place around the corner as soon as the meeting was over.
I have a serious love/hate relationship with this bbq place. They are Satanic. Even their name sounds sinister: Black Hog. Their bbq is so good and it is so not what I should be eating right now. I live very nearby the place, and it seems as if they've intentionally timed their cooking to coincide with my commute, because every night when I get home from work, the first thing I notice is the smell of woodsmoke and charred meat. Fucking bastards. Here I am, trying to eat right and get in shape, and every night they viciously assault me with their deliciousness. It's cruel.
And last night was no different. As soon as I got out of my car - BAM - like a smack across the face, there came that intoxicating aroma of flame-scorched flesh. And what's worse, I had a pretty shitty day yesterday, and by that point I was tired and wasn't in a very good mood. And all I had to look forward to for the rest of the night, was a SMART meeting that I really didn't feel like going to, and a pre-packaged, frozen dinner afterwards. And that made bbq seem like an even better idea. A little treat, just to pick myself up. I deserved it, didn't I?
But that's exactly the problem, and exactly why I couldn't stop thinking about it all through the meeting. I wasn't really hungry, and I wasn't really craving bbq. I was trying to make myself feel better. I was trying to elevate my mood. And I've found that now that I'm no longer using mood-elevating substances like drugs and booze, I'm more and more lately turning to food to achieve the same results. It's just another example of my inability to endure any unhappiness at all, and my compulsive use of external influences (or substances) that I know are not good for me in the long run, just to make myself feel better right now.
And it's really pissing me off.
I'm working really hard to try and get in shape right now, and every time I give in to my need to make myself feel better by eating some totally-delicious-and-totally-bad-for-me food, I feel as if I'm un-doing all of that hard work, and making all of that pain and sacrifice worth nothing. And more and more I'm feeling like a failure whenever I do this, for once again failing to endure even the most minor of emotional discomfort, and for sacrificing my health and shooting myself in the foot just because I cannot abide any unhappiness. And those feelings of guilt and failure end up tainting my experience of the meal, so in the end, I don't end up feeling better anyways. It's the exact same cycle I'm experiencing in my recovery from drug and alcohol abuse.
So, I sat there throughout the meeting, dreaming of ways to get out of there early and sneak off to get high on bbq, and knowing full-well that I shouldn't. But I managed to stay until the end. And then the whole walk home I wrestled with it. I wanted so badly to keep walking and round the corner and pick up a bag of ribs and wings and bring them back home and devour them.
But I was too aware of the problem. Too aware of what I was really doing, and what it really meant. In the end, I couldn't bring myself to do it, in the exact same way that I can't seem to bring myself to take a drink, even when I really want to: it would cost me so much self-esteem and self-respect to do it - to fail at this task and take that drink, or eat that nasty-delicious food - that it's just not worth doing anymore.
So, instead of making myself feel better with food, I tried to make myself feel better by focusing on the positive aspects of my decision. I tried to feel good about the fact that I was saving money by not eating out, again. (We eat out every week, sometimes two or three times. There are a dozen great restaurants within a two block radius of us, and it is so hard to make ourselves eat our crappy grocery-store dinners when we have money in our pockets and stupid-delicious food all around us.) I tried to feel good about the fact that I wasn't undoing all my pain and effort from my workouts. I tried to feel good about the fact that I was making progress, and actually succeeding in my efforts to endure unhappiness for a change, rather than immediately balming it away by any means necessary. And I did feel good about those things. But none of them helped to improve my mood the way I wanted, and I was still feeling like a grumpy old shit when I went to bed last night.
But today?
Today I feel good.
Today, I'm proud of myself for what I accomplished last night.
And just like with my working-out, I feel stronger today for the pain I forced myself to endure yesterday.
Because it was my last meeting before the AGM, I felt like I should continue talking about my concerns about that (which unfortunately I can't discuss here - erg). But, since my meeting with my old Temple the weekend before last, and my reflections on that meeting over the last week, I largely don't have any more concerns about the AGM left to discuss. I feel pretty confident and excited about it right now. So, I mentioned that. And talked a little about how tired I was because of work lately. And that was about it for my sharing.
But now I know that what I should have talked about, was the fact that throughout the entire meeting, I couldn't stop thinking about how badly I wanted to get the Tuesday night ribs 'n' wings dinner special at the bbq place around the corner as soon as the meeting was over.
I have a serious love/hate relationship with this bbq place. They are Satanic. Even their name sounds sinister: Black Hog. Their bbq is so good and it is so not what I should be eating right now. I live very nearby the place, and it seems as if they've intentionally timed their cooking to coincide with my commute, because every night when I get home from work, the first thing I notice is the smell of woodsmoke and charred meat. Fucking bastards. Here I am, trying to eat right and get in shape, and every night they viciously assault me with their deliciousness. It's cruel.
And last night was no different. As soon as I got out of my car - BAM - like a smack across the face, there came that intoxicating aroma of flame-scorched flesh. And what's worse, I had a pretty shitty day yesterday, and by that point I was tired and wasn't in a very good mood. And all I had to look forward to for the rest of the night, was a SMART meeting that I really didn't feel like going to, and a pre-packaged, frozen dinner afterwards. And that made bbq seem like an even better idea. A little treat, just to pick myself up. I deserved it, didn't I?
But that's exactly the problem, and exactly why I couldn't stop thinking about it all through the meeting. I wasn't really hungry, and I wasn't really craving bbq. I was trying to make myself feel better. I was trying to elevate my mood. And I've found that now that I'm no longer using mood-elevating substances like drugs and booze, I'm more and more lately turning to food to achieve the same results. It's just another example of my inability to endure any unhappiness at all, and my compulsive use of external influences (or substances) that I know are not good for me in the long run, just to make myself feel better right now.
And it's really pissing me off.
I'm working really hard to try and get in shape right now, and every time I give in to my need to make myself feel better by eating some totally-delicious-and-totally-bad-for-me food, I feel as if I'm un-doing all of that hard work, and making all of that pain and sacrifice worth nothing. And more and more I'm feeling like a failure whenever I do this, for once again failing to endure even the most minor of emotional discomfort, and for sacrificing my health and shooting myself in the foot just because I cannot abide any unhappiness. And those feelings of guilt and failure end up tainting my experience of the meal, so in the end, I don't end up feeling better anyways. It's the exact same cycle I'm experiencing in my recovery from drug and alcohol abuse.
So, I sat there throughout the meeting, dreaming of ways to get out of there early and sneak off to get high on bbq, and knowing full-well that I shouldn't. But I managed to stay until the end. And then the whole walk home I wrestled with it. I wanted so badly to keep walking and round the corner and pick up a bag of ribs and wings and bring them back home and devour them.
But I was too aware of the problem. Too aware of what I was really doing, and what it really meant. In the end, I couldn't bring myself to do it, in the exact same way that I can't seem to bring myself to take a drink, even when I really want to: it would cost me so much self-esteem and self-respect to do it - to fail at this task and take that drink, or eat that nasty-delicious food - that it's just not worth doing anymore.
So, instead of making myself feel better with food, I tried to make myself feel better by focusing on the positive aspects of my decision. I tried to feel good about the fact that I was saving money by not eating out, again. (We eat out every week, sometimes two or three times. There are a dozen great restaurants within a two block radius of us, and it is so hard to make ourselves eat our crappy grocery-store dinners when we have money in our pockets and stupid-delicious food all around us.) I tried to feel good about the fact that I wasn't undoing all my pain and effort from my workouts. I tried to feel good about the fact that I was making progress, and actually succeeding in my efforts to endure unhappiness for a change, rather than immediately balming it away by any means necessary. And I did feel good about those things. But none of them helped to improve my mood the way I wanted, and I was still feeling like a grumpy old shit when I went to bed last night.
But today?
Today I feel good.
Today, I'm proud of myself for what I accomplished last night.
And just like with my working-out, I feel stronger today for the pain I forced myself to endure yesterday.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
The Thirtieth Olympiad Of The Modern Era...
I know the Olympics are cheesy. I know this. But I can't help it. I love them.
I love everything about them. The spectacle, the melodrama, the simple poetry of humans from all over the world gathering together for the sole purpose of doing amazing things. I spend every fourth year looking forward to them. And when they finally start, it's like two weeks of Christmas in July.
It started when I was a kid. The '92 Summer Olympics in Barcelona. The summer in between my sophomore and junior years of high school. The two weeks of our vacation at the beach happened to coincide that year with the two weeks of the Olympics. As a teenager, I was living a nocturnal existence; staying up all night doing nothing, and then sleeping all day in order to rest up for another night of doing nothing the next evening. There's nothing to do in the middle of the night in the small beach town where we stayed, and the TV in the cottage we were living in only got about six channels. And, of course, the only thing on was the Olympics. They played Olympic coverage almost all night. (And all day, but who was awake to see that??) I literally had nothing better to do, and a night full of hours to kill, so I started watching.
Late-night coverage of the Olympic Games at the time tended to favor the less-popular sports, giving recaps of the events of the day that hadn't made it into the daytime and primetime broadcasts. Handball. Water Polo. Badminton. Archery. Women's Volleyball. Sports that you'd never see on television back then. And I found myself, quite despite my desire to be an apathetic misanthrope, getting really, really into it. I fell in love with the stories of the athletes, and I cheered their amazing accomplishments. And I felt a sense of pride in my country (a completely foreign and somewhat nauseating experience for me at the time, I assure you) whenever Team USA triumphed. It didn't matter if it was a sport that I would never have cared about in a million years if I'd had anything better to do. It was about being fortunate enough to witness humanity's best, doing their best - pushing themselves as hard as they could, striving to be the very best in the whole world - and having the results of all their efforts and hard work displayed on the single greatest stage we have ever constructed, for all the world to see, whether they fell short, or were victorious. I was hooked from that moment on.
I've always been a drama-queen, and never more so than when I was a teenager. And, as cheesy as it was, and is, it was also, undeniably, the greatest drama I had ever seen. Have ever seen. And that is in no small part due to the fact that it is not a story, crafted artfully from a fertile imagination. Better than that, this drama is real.
Men and women from all over the world pushing themselves as hard as they can every single day for four years with the single-minded purpose of being the very best in the entire world at what they do. And every four years the entire world gathers to watch these people, the best in the world, compete and crown their champions. The best in the world. None faster. None stronger. No one.
What a great fucking story!
And that amazing story is made up of countless other single, just-as-amazing individual stories. Kerri Strug sticking her landing on a sprained ankle to win gold at the '96 Atlanta games. The '04 games returning to Athens. Michael Phelps at the '08 Beijing games winning eight gold medals, more than any other person has ever done before or since, and breaking his own World Record by more than two seconds! (He set new World Records in six out of the eight events he swam in!) And Usain Bolt in the same games, setting new World Records in both the 100m and 200m. (Whenever I remember that, I can't help but think of one of my favorite scenes from the pilot episode of Sports Night. As a runner half-a-world away is setting a new world record, Casey McCall, an anchor for a late-night Sportscenter-like TV show, calls his young son, waking him up in the middle of the night, and instructs him to hurry up and turn on Daddy's channel. Then he says, "I'll call you tomorrow and tell you all about it. But for now, you just watch him run. He's not doing much. He's just running faster than any man's ever run before.")
And those are my absolute favorite Olympics moments - when I see that "WR" flash up on an athlete's results, and I realize that I've just seen a human being expand the boundaries of what is possible, and push themselves to do something that no other human being has ever been able to do before. It is literally awe-inspiring, and I absolutely love it.
And I don't care if that makes me a cheeseball.
I love everything about them. The spectacle, the melodrama, the simple poetry of humans from all over the world gathering together for the sole purpose of doing amazing things. I spend every fourth year looking forward to them. And when they finally start, it's like two weeks of Christmas in July.
It started when I was a kid. The '92 Summer Olympics in Barcelona. The summer in between my sophomore and junior years of high school. The two weeks of our vacation at the beach happened to coincide that year with the two weeks of the Olympics. As a teenager, I was living a nocturnal existence; staying up all night doing nothing, and then sleeping all day in order to rest up for another night of doing nothing the next evening. There's nothing to do in the middle of the night in the small beach town where we stayed, and the TV in the cottage we were living in only got about six channels. And, of course, the only thing on was the Olympics. They played Olympic coverage almost all night. (And all day, but who was awake to see that??) I literally had nothing better to do, and a night full of hours to kill, so I started watching.
Late-night coverage of the Olympic Games at the time tended to favor the less-popular sports, giving recaps of the events of the day that hadn't made it into the daytime and primetime broadcasts. Handball. Water Polo. Badminton. Archery. Women's Volleyball. Sports that you'd never see on television back then. And I found myself, quite despite my desire to be an apathetic misanthrope, getting really, really into it. I fell in love with the stories of the athletes, and I cheered their amazing accomplishments. And I felt a sense of pride in my country (a completely foreign and somewhat nauseating experience for me at the time, I assure you) whenever Team USA triumphed. It didn't matter if it was a sport that I would never have cared about in a million years if I'd had anything better to do. It was about being fortunate enough to witness humanity's best, doing their best - pushing themselves as hard as they could, striving to be the very best in the whole world - and having the results of all their efforts and hard work displayed on the single greatest stage we have ever constructed, for all the world to see, whether they fell short, or were victorious. I was hooked from that moment on.
I've always been a drama-queen, and never more so than when I was a teenager. And, as cheesy as it was, and is, it was also, undeniably, the greatest drama I had ever seen. Have ever seen. And that is in no small part due to the fact that it is not a story, crafted artfully from a fertile imagination. Better than that, this drama is real.
Men and women from all over the world pushing themselves as hard as they can every single day for four years with the single-minded purpose of being the very best in the entire world at what they do. And every four years the entire world gathers to watch these people, the best in the world, compete and crown their champions. The best in the world. None faster. None stronger. No one.
What a great fucking story!
And that amazing story is made up of countless other single, just-as-amazing individual stories. Kerri Strug sticking her landing on a sprained ankle to win gold at the '96 Atlanta games. The '04 games returning to Athens. Michael Phelps at the '08 Beijing games winning eight gold medals, more than any other person has ever done before or since, and breaking his own World Record by more than two seconds! (He set new World Records in six out of the eight events he swam in!) And Usain Bolt in the same games, setting new World Records in both the 100m and 200m. (Whenever I remember that, I can't help but think of one of my favorite scenes from the pilot episode of Sports Night. As a runner half-a-world away is setting a new world record, Casey McCall, an anchor for a late-night Sportscenter-like TV show, calls his young son, waking him up in the middle of the night, and instructs him to hurry up and turn on Daddy's channel. Then he says, "I'll call you tomorrow and tell you all about it. But for now, you just watch him run. He's not doing much. He's just running faster than any man's ever run before.")
And those are my absolute favorite Olympics moments - when I see that "WR" flash up on an athlete's results, and I realize that I've just seen a human being expand the boundaries of what is possible, and push themselves to do something that no other human being has ever been able to do before. It is literally awe-inspiring, and I absolutely love it.
And I don't care if that makes me a cheeseball.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Pleasuring Myself...
How's that for a provocative title, huh?
But, seriously, I've been realizing lately that I'm still exhibiting the same pattern of behavior that I'm currently trying to break out of. I'm still spending the vast majority of my time every day pleasuring myself. The only difference is that now I'm pleasuring myself in ways that are generally more beneficial.
I'm eating good and good-for-me food instead of fried, microwaved, and/or bar food. But not because I've made some self-sacrificing commitment to eat better. I'm doing it because I'm craving fruits and vegetables and yogurts and other nutritious food, and because eating the heavy, calorie- and fat-laden foods I used to love now makes me ill. So, I'm still doing exactly what I want; it's just that what I want has changed. So, am I really doing anything differently?
I'm still pleasuring myself all the time. But instead of doing it physically or chemically with sex and drugs, I'm doing it mentally, emotionally, and creatively by studying subjects that interest me, reading books that move and/or stimulate me, and by writing whatever I feel like at the time here on a regular basis. (And I guess physically, as well, by eating healthy foods.) But again, it's not because I've made some difficult life-decision to try to become a better person. It's just that this is what I want to do now. I'm still doing exactly what I want. I wanted to get high and get off before, so that's what I did; and now I want to study mathematics and meditate, so that's what I'm doing.
I have not yet even made an attempt to resist my desires.
So, the question is, have I really changed at all?
And if I'm being healthy and productive, then does it even matter?
I guess we'll find out soon enough.
But, seriously, I've been realizing lately that I'm still exhibiting the same pattern of behavior that I'm currently trying to break out of. I'm still spending the vast majority of my time every day pleasuring myself. The only difference is that now I'm pleasuring myself in ways that are generally more beneficial.
I'm eating good and good-for-me food instead of fried, microwaved, and/or bar food. But not because I've made some self-sacrificing commitment to eat better. I'm doing it because I'm craving fruits and vegetables and yogurts and other nutritious food, and because eating the heavy, calorie- and fat-laden foods I used to love now makes me ill. So, I'm still doing exactly what I want; it's just that what I want has changed. So, am I really doing anything differently?
I'm still pleasuring myself all the time. But instead of doing it physically or chemically with sex and drugs, I'm doing it mentally, emotionally, and creatively by studying subjects that interest me, reading books that move and/or stimulate me, and by writing whatever I feel like at the time here on a regular basis. (And I guess physically, as well, by eating healthy foods.) But again, it's not because I've made some difficult life-decision to try to become a better person. It's just that this is what I want to do now. I'm still doing exactly what I want. I wanted to get high and get off before, so that's what I did; and now I want to study mathematics and meditate, so that's what I'm doing.
I have not yet even made an attempt to resist my desires.
So, the question is, have I really changed at all?
And if I'm being healthy and productive, then does it even matter?
I guess we'll find out soon enough.
Monday, April 16, 2012
A Big, Fat Case of the Mondays...
Today was one of those mornings where everything seems to go wrong.
I got up at 5:30 to try to get back to the gym before work. (Finally! I need it!) As I was getting ready, I was hit with a sudden attack of a severely upset stomach, and so by the time I managed to take care of that I was very late. Still, I wasn't down about it.
On my new, beauteous back road commute, I almost immediately found myself about 15th in line behind a very, very slow-moving dump truck. We're talking an average of 20 mph below the speed-limit here. The guy in the Subaru Imprezza behind him was riding his tail viciously, but for some reason, he wouldn't pass the truck. There were plenty of opportunities. And I know an Imprezza can outrun me, so I know it can pass a freaking dump truck. And the guy was obviously pissed off at going so slow, judging by his tailgating. So why wouldn't he pass the truck?? And, of course, being 15th in line, several people up front were going to need to pass before I was going to have any chance of making it myself. So, if they didn't pass, I couldn't pass. The truck didn't turn off the road until about two miles from my work. It was frustrating, but still, I didn't let it get to me.
Got to the office/gym late, but still with enough time to get in a workout. Got down to the gym, grabbed a locker, suited up, put everything else in the locker, clicked the lock closed... and realized that I no longer remembered the combination. I tried several combos that I thought might be it, but no dice. Ok, no problem - I've got the combo recorded on my computer upstairs in my office. ...But my office is locked, and the key is now locked in my gym locker. Damn. I spent the next fifteen minutes trying various combos I thought might be the one, but I couldn't find it. So, ok, that's pretty damn frustrating, and I feel like an idiot now, but still, nothing to get upset about really; just a minor glitch. Might as well get a workout in anyways. I'm all suited up for it, and I've got nothing else to do right now.
I haven't worked out in several months. In fact, I've gained back all of the weight I lost last Summer, plus a few pounds. And I haven't exactly been what you'd call "active" in the meantime. So, just fifteen minutes into my workout, I start to feel a tightening in my chest, and my left arm and shoulder start to hurt. Doesn't take a cardiologist to figure out what that means. So, ok, that's pretty scary, and a little daunting, but what's the sense in getting upset about it? I just stopped what I was doing and went into my cool-down a little early. No point in over-doing it. Gotta crawl before you can walk. Tomorrow, or someday soon, I'll be able to do twenty minutes, and then thirty, and that's how you get stronger.
So then my workout was over, and it was time to try and figure out what to do about my locker situation. By this point in the morning, our secretary is supposed to be in, and she has a skeleton key. So, I figured that I could just get her to let me into my office, get my combo, and then head back down to the gym to open up my locker and proceed with my post-workout clean-up. So I exit the gym and head up the stairs towards my office... until I get to the first locked door. My key card for opening our electronic security doors is on the same key ring as my office key, which previously mentioned is now locked in my gym locker. And I can't get back into the gym, because that door is electronically locked, as well. So, now I'm locked in a stairwell. Ok, so, clearly, this is not my day. But, it's early in the morning, someone is sure to be by soon. I'll just have to wait here for a little bit, that's all. I decided to take the opportunity to rest against a wall and have a morning meditation.
A note about my appearance: I honestly don't care what I look like while I work out. I don't bother to do my hair before my workout, because I'm just going to shower afterwards and have to do it again. So, I had wet, sweaty bedhead. And my workout clothes serve exactly one purpose: to keep me as cool and comfortable as possible while I'm working out. They are not meant to look attractive. My running shirt is thin and sleeveless, and you can clearly see my man-tits outlined against the... whatever the hell fabric that shirt is made of. And my shorts are, well, shorts; they do an excellent job of showing off my pasty-white, nearly hairless, and overly large legs.
Now, this is all fine, when I'm down in the gym and everyone else around me is also all sweaty and not-looking-their-best, but now I had to leave that specialized attire area, and venture out into the rest of the office. I felt a bit conspicuous, to say the least. After a few minutes, someone came along and let me in, and in short order I managed to get the skeleton key from our secretary, unlock my office, and retrieve the combo from my computer. (My earlier guesses hadn't even been close, by the way.) But now I had to get that knowledge back through all the electronically-locked security doors, and into the gym locker room.
I made my way down the back stairway and out into the parking garage, and around to the front door of the gym. I took this route specifically to avoid the more direct route, which would lead me straight through the crowded cafeteria where so many of my co-workers would be having breakfast right about now. But unbeknownst to me (because I always enter the gym through the back way), the main entrance into the gym lobby is also sealed with an electronic lock. And unlike the stairwell I was trapped in earlier, I can't expect someone to be coming by this way very soon. Almost everyone uses the back entrance, because it's attached to the office, the parking deck and the cafeteria; the front entrance is attached to the visitor parking lot. So, I'm going to need a new way in.
At this point, standing in my gym clothes on the front lawn, facing yet another locked door, the absurdity of the situation is beginning to sink in. I decide to see if the receptionist in the office building's main lobby (the one and only area of the our building that one can enter without a key card) would be able to let me into the gym. When she tells me she can't do that, I actually start to laugh. And not in a if-you-don't-laugh-you'll-cry kind of way, either. I was genuinely amused. I mean, how is this not funny at this point?
What the receptionist can do, she tells me, is to let me into the building so that I can go up through the cafeteria and down into the gym lobby that I was locked out of; then I should be able to knock on the door of the gym's workout area and get someone's attention to let me back in. She lets me into the building and I bypass the elevators and head up the stairwell, just like I normally do, thinking about the fact that I will now have to go through the cafeteria in my sweaty workout clothes, just as I'd been trying to avoid. Unfortunately, because I was thinking about that little unpleasantness, I failed to realize that I would, of course, need a key card in order to exit the stairwell and therefore enter the cafeteria. I did realize this as soon as I walked the three flights of stairs to the locked door, however.
So, I had to find my way out of the stairwell and into the parking garage, again, walk down the parking garage and out to the front of the building, again, and get the receptionist to let me into the lobby, again. I was actually enjoying myself by this point! As soon as I walked into the main lobby, the receptionist reminded me that I would need to take the elevators in order to reach the cafeteria without a key card, and I thanked her for delivering that information that would have been so useful five minutes earlier. But, after passing through the cafeteria, and enduring some disgusted stares, I finally made it back into the gym, and managed to open my locker. I almost danced the Dance of Joy on the spot.
But after my shower, as I was getting dressed, I realized something important. After that whole ridiculous comedy of errors that was my Monday morning, I felt great. I was happy. I wasn't frustrated or upset or irritated or anxious or any of the things I would've predicted I'd have felt after going through all of this. Throughout the entire ordeal, I naturally responded in a completely different way than I normally would have, without trying to. I had Brightsided my way through a rather hellish Monday morning and into a fabulous mood, without having to think about it once.
And here I thought this day couldn't get any better.
I got up at 5:30 to try to get back to the gym before work. (Finally! I need it!) As I was getting ready, I was hit with a sudden attack of a severely upset stomach, and so by the time I managed to take care of that I was very late. Still, I wasn't down about it.
On my new, beauteous back road commute, I almost immediately found myself about 15th in line behind a very, very slow-moving dump truck. We're talking an average of 20 mph below the speed-limit here. The guy in the Subaru Imprezza behind him was riding his tail viciously, but for some reason, he wouldn't pass the truck. There were plenty of opportunities. And I know an Imprezza can outrun me, so I know it can pass a freaking dump truck. And the guy was obviously pissed off at going so slow, judging by his tailgating. So why wouldn't he pass the truck?? And, of course, being 15th in line, several people up front were going to need to pass before I was going to have any chance of making it myself. So, if they didn't pass, I couldn't pass. The truck didn't turn off the road until about two miles from my work. It was frustrating, but still, I didn't let it get to me.
Got to the office/gym late, but still with enough time to get in a workout. Got down to the gym, grabbed a locker, suited up, put everything else in the locker, clicked the lock closed... and realized that I no longer remembered the combination. I tried several combos that I thought might be it, but no dice. Ok, no problem - I've got the combo recorded on my computer upstairs in my office. ...But my office is locked, and the key is now locked in my gym locker. Damn. I spent the next fifteen minutes trying various combos I thought might be the one, but I couldn't find it. So, ok, that's pretty damn frustrating, and I feel like an idiot now, but still, nothing to get upset about really; just a minor glitch. Might as well get a workout in anyways. I'm all suited up for it, and I've got nothing else to do right now.
I haven't worked out in several months. In fact, I've gained back all of the weight I lost last Summer, plus a few pounds. And I haven't exactly been what you'd call "active" in the meantime. So, just fifteen minutes into my workout, I start to feel a tightening in my chest, and my left arm and shoulder start to hurt. Doesn't take a cardiologist to figure out what that means. So, ok, that's pretty scary, and a little daunting, but what's the sense in getting upset about it? I just stopped what I was doing and went into my cool-down a little early. No point in over-doing it. Gotta crawl before you can walk. Tomorrow, or someday soon, I'll be able to do twenty minutes, and then thirty, and that's how you get stronger.
So then my workout was over, and it was time to try and figure out what to do about my locker situation. By this point in the morning, our secretary is supposed to be in, and she has a skeleton key. So, I figured that I could just get her to let me into my office, get my combo, and then head back down to the gym to open up my locker and proceed with my post-workout clean-up. So I exit the gym and head up the stairs towards my office... until I get to the first locked door. My key card for opening our electronic security doors is on the same key ring as my office key, which previously mentioned is now locked in my gym locker. And I can't get back into the gym, because that door is electronically locked, as well. So, now I'm locked in a stairwell. Ok, so, clearly, this is not my day. But, it's early in the morning, someone is sure to be by soon. I'll just have to wait here for a little bit, that's all. I decided to take the opportunity to rest against a wall and have a morning meditation.
A note about my appearance: I honestly don't care what I look like while I work out. I don't bother to do my hair before my workout, because I'm just going to shower afterwards and have to do it again. So, I had wet, sweaty bedhead. And my workout clothes serve exactly one purpose: to keep me as cool and comfortable as possible while I'm working out. They are not meant to look attractive. My running shirt is thin and sleeveless, and you can clearly see my man-tits outlined against the... whatever the hell fabric that shirt is made of. And my shorts are, well, shorts; they do an excellent job of showing off my pasty-white, nearly hairless, and overly large legs.
Now, this is all fine, when I'm down in the gym and everyone else around me is also all sweaty and not-looking-their-best, but now I had to leave that specialized attire area, and venture out into the rest of the office. I felt a bit conspicuous, to say the least. After a few minutes, someone came along and let me in, and in short order I managed to get the skeleton key from our secretary, unlock my office, and retrieve the combo from my computer. (My earlier guesses hadn't even been close, by the way.) But now I had to get that knowledge back through all the electronically-locked security doors, and into the gym locker room.
I made my way down the back stairway and out into the parking garage, and around to the front door of the gym. I took this route specifically to avoid the more direct route, which would lead me straight through the crowded cafeteria where so many of my co-workers would be having breakfast right about now. But unbeknownst to me (because I always enter the gym through the back way), the main entrance into the gym lobby is also sealed with an electronic lock. And unlike the stairwell I was trapped in earlier, I can't expect someone to be coming by this way very soon. Almost everyone uses the back entrance, because it's attached to the office, the parking deck and the cafeteria; the front entrance is attached to the visitor parking lot. So, I'm going to need a new way in.
At this point, standing in my gym clothes on the front lawn, facing yet another locked door, the absurdity of the situation is beginning to sink in. I decide to see if the receptionist in the office building's main lobby (the one and only area of the our building that one can enter without a key card) would be able to let me into the gym. When she tells me she can't do that, I actually start to laugh. And not in a if-you-don't-laugh-you'll-cry kind of way, either. I was genuinely amused. I mean, how is this not funny at this point?
What the receptionist can do, she tells me, is to let me into the building so that I can go up through the cafeteria and down into the gym lobby that I was locked out of; then I should be able to knock on the door of the gym's workout area and get someone's attention to let me back in. She lets me into the building and I bypass the elevators and head up the stairwell, just like I normally do, thinking about the fact that I will now have to go through the cafeteria in my sweaty workout clothes, just as I'd been trying to avoid. Unfortunately, because I was thinking about that little unpleasantness, I failed to realize that I would, of course, need a key card in order to exit the stairwell and therefore enter the cafeteria. I did realize this as soon as I walked the three flights of stairs to the locked door, however.
So, I had to find my way out of the stairwell and into the parking garage, again, walk down the parking garage and out to the front of the building, again, and get the receptionist to let me into the lobby, again. I was actually enjoying myself by this point! As soon as I walked into the main lobby, the receptionist reminded me that I would need to take the elevators in order to reach the cafeteria without a key card, and I thanked her for delivering that information that would have been so useful five minutes earlier. But, after passing through the cafeteria, and enduring some disgusted stares, I finally made it back into the gym, and managed to open my locker. I almost danced the Dance of Joy on the spot.
But after my shower, as I was getting dressed, I realized something important. After that whole ridiculous comedy of errors that was my Monday morning, I felt great. I was happy. I wasn't frustrated or upset or irritated or anxious or any of the things I would've predicted I'd have felt after going through all of this. Throughout the entire ordeal, I naturally responded in a completely different way than I normally would have, without trying to. I had Brightsided my way through a rather hellish Monday morning and into a fabulous mood, without having to think about it once.
And here I thought this day couldn't get any better.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Access...
I really enjoyed writing code today.
I get to do a lot of different kinds of programming for my job. That's one of the things I like about it, actually - the variety keeps me interested. But there are definitely some jobs that I like better than others, and today was one of those lucky days where I get to just pour myself into one of those jobs I really enjoy.
I have a love/hate relationship with Microsoft Access. I hate it, because it is buggy as all fuck. But I also love it, because I know it. I'm intimately familiar with all of its quirks and eccentricities (READ: bugs), and I know how to program an Access database/application system better than I can do just about any other kind of coding. There's also just something satisfying about it. I build the database from the ground up, one-step-at-a-time, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other, and by the end I have an application that works, that does what the client wants and that anyone can use, and it's streamlined, and it even looks good. It's a creative process. I get the same sense of satisfaction and accomplishment from building a really good database application as I do from writing something that I enjoy and think I did a good job on. More, actually. Because coding a good app takes more time and effort for me than it does to write something. And also, I'm better at it.
So today I got to work on one of my old database apps, adding in some new features that the client was asking for. The features they were asking for were not things I'd ever done before, so I got to learn something new, which is always a plus, and happens less and less with Access lately. And, of course, Access threw me a series of its usual curveballs, giving me several WTF-is-going-on??-problems to try and work out. Which is another one of the things I enjoy about Access, actually. I never know what to expect (except the unexpected), and anytime I work on an app, I get to spend a significant amount of time just sitting, pondering some completely impossible error, trying to solve this unsolvable puzzle. And when I finally figure it out, when I have that Eureka!-moment - ooh, baby! - that's what I live for. Those moments are why I can still enjoy my job.
I realize this was a ridiculously nerdy post, but it's what I was inspired by today. It can't all be deep-spiritual-exploration all the time.
Sometimes, it's just gotta be about, "Today, I really enjoyed my job."
I get to do a lot of different kinds of programming for my job. That's one of the things I like about it, actually - the variety keeps me interested. But there are definitely some jobs that I like better than others, and today was one of those lucky days where I get to just pour myself into one of those jobs I really enjoy.
I have a love/hate relationship with Microsoft Access. I hate it, because it is buggy as all fuck. But I also love it, because I know it. I'm intimately familiar with all of its quirks and eccentricities (READ: bugs), and I know how to program an Access database/application system better than I can do just about any other kind of coding. There's also just something satisfying about it. I build the database from the ground up, one-step-at-a-time, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other, and by the end I have an application that works, that does what the client wants and that anyone can use, and it's streamlined, and it even looks good. It's a creative process. I get the same sense of satisfaction and accomplishment from building a really good database application as I do from writing something that I enjoy and think I did a good job on. More, actually. Because coding a good app takes more time and effort for me than it does to write something. And also, I'm better at it.
So today I got to work on one of my old database apps, adding in some new features that the client was asking for. The features they were asking for were not things I'd ever done before, so I got to learn something new, which is always a plus, and happens less and less with Access lately. And, of course, Access threw me a series of its usual curveballs, giving me several WTF-is-going-on??-problems to try and work out. Which is another one of the things I enjoy about Access, actually. I never know what to expect (except the unexpected), and anytime I work on an app, I get to spend a significant amount of time just sitting, pondering some completely impossible error, trying to solve this unsolvable puzzle. And when I finally figure it out, when I have that Eureka!-moment - ooh, baby! - that's what I live for. Those moments are why I can still enjoy my job.
I realize this was a ridiculously nerdy post, but it's what I was inspired by today. It can't all be deep-spiritual-exploration all the time.
Sometimes, it's just gotta be about, "Today, I really enjoyed my job."
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Hurt...
I faced a big test today. And I failed it.
I started a fight with Her. I had a pretty good idea how she'd respond, and I had a pretty good idea that I wouldn't like it, but I set her up, anyways. I served her the line, and she hit it back to me in the exact way I knew she would, and then I got mad at her for it. Her response was hurtful, true, but I shouldn't have gotten angry with her for it. And I definitely shouldn't have yelled at her for it. Especially since I saw it coming from a mile away. I knew it was coming, so I had every opportunity to prepare myself to respond appropriately. But I didn't.
Instead, I yelled at her, and hurt her back. I failed. I failed Her, and I failed myself.
When someone I care about hurts me (which is redundant - I can't be hurt by someone I don't already care about first), I don't actually feel hurt. Because feeling hurt is a vulnerable feeling; a weak feeling. Instead, I skip straight over "hurt" and go right to "angry." Because "angry" is a strong feeling - a powerful feeling. When someone hurts me, I feel attacked by them. And so I respond by attacking them right back. I stand up for myself. I defend myself. The last thing I'm going to do in that situation is roll over and expose my belly and take it, suck it up, allow them to continue hurting me. This behavior was ingrained in me by years of childhood abuse, at the hands of people I cared about - my mother, especially, but also the childhood bullies, who were invariably the "cool kids" that I wanted so much to like me. But that's an explanation, not an excuse. Knowing why I do it doesn't make it okay.
Because this behavior hurts the people I care about. And there's just no reason for it. I'm hurt and I'm scared. I'm hurt by what you did, and I'm scared that you can hurt me. What's wrong with that? Why can't I just say that? Why can't I just feel that? Why do I have to jump straight to this macho "You can't hurt me!" place, like you're some asshole bully trying to make me feel like I'm nothing - like I'm completely powerless - as though you weren't, in reality, someone I care very deeply for, who means a great deal to me, and who simply made a mistake?
I'm trying. That's all I can do. I'm trying. I really am.
I didn't recognize what I was doing in the moment, and in that I failed. I allowed myself to fall back into old, destructive habits, and in that I failed. I hurt Her, and in that I failed. But as soon as it was over - as soon as we walked away - I looked back at everything I had said and done, and it all became clear to me. And I immediately apologized for it. Before now, I would've held onto that anger, allowed it to fuel my sense of self-righteousness. But today, almost the instant it began to wane, I let it all go. And I allowed myself to feel, simply, hurt. It's far from perfect, but it's still an undeniable improvement.
I'm not giving myself any credit for this here. I still failed, and I still have a lot of work to do. I'm just trying to take an honest assessment of myself. Nothing is entirely good, and nothing is entirely bad. Everything is both good and bad. I failed, but I learned. I hurt her, but I quickly realized my mistake and stopped doing it. And next time, I will try to do better.
That's all I can do.
I started a fight with Her. I had a pretty good idea how she'd respond, and I had a pretty good idea that I wouldn't like it, but I set her up, anyways. I served her the line, and she hit it back to me in the exact way I knew she would, and then I got mad at her for it. Her response was hurtful, true, but I shouldn't have gotten angry with her for it. And I definitely shouldn't have yelled at her for it. Especially since I saw it coming from a mile away. I knew it was coming, so I had every opportunity to prepare myself to respond appropriately. But I didn't.
Instead, I yelled at her, and hurt her back. I failed. I failed Her, and I failed myself.
When someone I care about hurts me (which is redundant - I can't be hurt by someone I don't already care about first), I don't actually feel hurt. Because feeling hurt is a vulnerable feeling; a weak feeling. Instead, I skip straight over "hurt" and go right to "angry." Because "angry" is a strong feeling - a powerful feeling. When someone hurts me, I feel attacked by them. And so I respond by attacking them right back. I stand up for myself. I defend myself. The last thing I'm going to do in that situation is roll over and expose my belly and take it, suck it up, allow them to continue hurting me. This behavior was ingrained in me by years of childhood abuse, at the hands of people I cared about - my mother, especially, but also the childhood bullies, who were invariably the "cool kids" that I wanted so much to like me. But that's an explanation, not an excuse. Knowing why I do it doesn't make it okay.
Because this behavior hurts the people I care about. And there's just no reason for it. I'm hurt and I'm scared. I'm hurt by what you did, and I'm scared that you can hurt me. What's wrong with that? Why can't I just say that? Why can't I just feel that? Why do I have to jump straight to this macho "You can't hurt me!" place, like you're some asshole bully trying to make me feel like I'm nothing - like I'm completely powerless - as though you weren't, in reality, someone I care very deeply for, who means a great deal to me, and who simply made a mistake?
I'm trying. That's all I can do. I'm trying. I really am.
I didn't recognize what I was doing in the moment, and in that I failed. I allowed myself to fall back into old, destructive habits, and in that I failed. I hurt Her, and in that I failed. But as soon as it was over - as soon as we walked away - I looked back at everything I had said and done, and it all became clear to me. And I immediately apologized for it. Before now, I would've held onto that anger, allowed it to fuel my sense of self-righteousness. But today, almost the instant it began to wane, I let it all go. And I allowed myself to feel, simply, hurt. It's far from perfect, but it's still an undeniable improvement.
I'm not giving myself any credit for this here. I still failed, and I still have a lot of work to do. I'm just trying to take an honest assessment of myself. Nothing is entirely good, and nothing is entirely bad. Everything is both good and bad. I failed, but I learned. I hurt her, but I quickly realized my mistake and stopped doing it. And next time, I will try to do better.
That's all I can do.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
My Precious...
I keep forgetting that this all started with Her.
Amid all the psychodrama and melodramatic, existential bullshit at my latest rock bottom, I keep losing sight of how I ended up there in the first place. Of the reason why I started running head-long toward the dark at the end of the tunnel at all. And equally, in the effervescence of all of my recently re-discovered joys, in the heady excitement of my bright, shiny new serenity, I also keep losing sight of the fact that, that reason is now gone. That I got what I wanted all along.
That I'm so in love with Her.
Yes, it's Spring, and that certainly has to be factored into the equation. But that doesn't make anything I'm feeling less relevant, or any less real. For months, and maybe longer, I felt like I'd lost her. (I realize now, I'd actually lost myself.) I couldn't find any reason to be with her, except momentum. I couldn't find any joy in her company, in her touch, or in her place in my life. I realize now that I couldn't find any joy in anything in my life just then, but at the time I was completely focused on her. I thought that We were the problem, that something was wrong with Us that needed to be fixed. That if she could only change, or if I could only learn to be happy without the things I felt I needed from her, then everything would be better. But it never was. It was never good enough. Nothing was ever good enough. And I only ended up more unhappy, and more lost.
I believe my biggest flaw (and I have so many), is how I respond in these situations. When I cannot find joy in my life, when I feel lost and alone, when I begin to struggle to find a reason to keep going, I force-feed myself artificial pleasure in the form of deadly poisons. Now, to be fair, most of the time it's not like that. In fact, I'd say 99% of the time it's just a little here, a little there - just having a good time and blowing off a little steam. And nothing that's even really dangerous, let alone deadly. Under any other circumstance, it's all innocent and under control. No, not "under control," because the truth is that for most of the time, there's nothing there that even needs to be controlled in the first place. But then there's that fatal 1% of the time, when I feel like I have nothing. And believing I have nothing, and feeling that it's all downhill from there anyways, then I might as well enjoy the ride. And that's when I push the plunger on my self-destruct button.
And that's exactly what I did here. I'd made her my entire life, in about the most self-destructive, co-dependent manner imaginable. And so when I felt like I'd lost her, I felt like I'd lost everything. I hadn't, but I couldn't see that from the bottom of the hole I had dug myself into. And when I finally hit bottom, I wasn't even thinking of saving myself from myself. I still hadn't even realized that I was the problem. I thought I was trying to save my marriage. I thought I was trying to find a way to live with her. But I was just trying to find a way to live.
And now I'm so happy, and so overjoyed with every second of every day, blah blah blah. The high of the near-death experience. And it's all such a big distraction, so constantly overwhelming, that I keep forgetting to pay attention specifically to all that I've re-gained with her.
My heart beats faster when I think of her now. It actually skips when she kisses me. Can you fucking believe that? I didn't think that was possible anymore! Everything she does makes me happy right now. Even the things I used to think I couldn't stand. I don't know how I ever felt any other way than I do right now. I'm so grateful for the gift of her life, and the fact that she actually, improbably, inexplicably, wants to share it with me. I look forward to seeing her every day in a way I only distantly remember feeling, long ago. I ache softly inside when I have to leave her. When I make her laugh, I own the fucking world. And when my hands are on her hips, and I pull her to me, and feel every curve of her pressed against my body, I am lost again. But no longer in darkness. Lost in the cloudy depths of her palest-blue eyes. Lost in the scent of her skin. Lost in my lust to reunite with the other half of me. Lost in the warm, comfortable weight of the life we've made, wrapped around us, holding us tightly together. Lost in my joy of Her.
I hold no delusions that this will last forever. Rule #1: everything, everyone, everywhere, ends. But because I know that right now, I am more grateful than I ever thought possible, for every single second I get to be with her. And I remember now, what I had so tragically forgotten:
That She is the single greatest thing that has ever happened to me.
And that no matter whatever else I may be in my life, the one and only thing I will always be, forever, is Her's.
Amid all the psychodrama and melodramatic, existential bullshit at my latest rock bottom, I keep losing sight of how I ended up there in the first place. Of the reason why I started running head-long toward the dark at the end of the tunnel at all. And equally, in the effervescence of all of my recently re-discovered joys, in the heady excitement of my bright, shiny new serenity, I also keep losing sight of the fact that, that reason is now gone. That I got what I wanted all along.
That I'm so in love with Her.
Yes, it's Spring, and that certainly has to be factored into the equation. But that doesn't make anything I'm feeling less relevant, or any less real. For months, and maybe longer, I felt like I'd lost her. (I realize now, I'd actually lost myself.) I couldn't find any reason to be with her, except momentum. I couldn't find any joy in her company, in her touch, or in her place in my life. I realize now that I couldn't find any joy in anything in my life just then, but at the time I was completely focused on her. I thought that We were the problem, that something was wrong with Us that needed to be fixed. That if she could only change, or if I could only learn to be happy without the things I felt I needed from her, then everything would be better. But it never was. It was never good enough. Nothing was ever good enough. And I only ended up more unhappy, and more lost.
I believe my biggest flaw (and I have so many), is how I respond in these situations. When I cannot find joy in my life, when I feel lost and alone, when I begin to struggle to find a reason to keep going, I force-feed myself artificial pleasure in the form of deadly poisons. Now, to be fair, most of the time it's not like that. In fact, I'd say 99% of the time it's just a little here, a little there - just having a good time and blowing off a little steam. And nothing that's even really dangerous, let alone deadly. Under any other circumstance, it's all innocent and under control. No, not "under control," because the truth is that for most of the time, there's nothing there that even needs to be controlled in the first place. But then there's that fatal 1% of the time, when I feel like I have nothing. And believing I have nothing, and feeling that it's all downhill from there anyways, then I might as well enjoy the ride. And that's when I push the plunger on my self-destruct button.
And that's exactly what I did here. I'd made her my entire life, in about the most self-destructive, co-dependent manner imaginable. And so when I felt like I'd lost her, I felt like I'd lost everything. I hadn't, but I couldn't see that from the bottom of the hole I had dug myself into. And when I finally hit bottom, I wasn't even thinking of saving myself from myself. I still hadn't even realized that I was the problem. I thought I was trying to save my marriage. I thought I was trying to find a way to live with her. But I was just trying to find a way to live.
And now I'm so happy, and so overjoyed with every second of every day, blah blah blah. The high of the near-death experience. And it's all such a big distraction, so constantly overwhelming, that I keep forgetting to pay attention specifically to all that I've re-gained with her.
My heart beats faster when I think of her now. It actually skips when she kisses me. Can you fucking believe that? I didn't think that was possible anymore! Everything she does makes me happy right now. Even the things I used to think I couldn't stand. I don't know how I ever felt any other way than I do right now. I'm so grateful for the gift of her life, and the fact that she actually, improbably, inexplicably, wants to share it with me. I look forward to seeing her every day in a way I only distantly remember feeling, long ago. I ache softly inside when I have to leave her. When I make her laugh, I own the fucking world. And when my hands are on her hips, and I pull her to me, and feel every curve of her pressed against my body, I am lost again. But no longer in darkness. Lost in the cloudy depths of her palest-blue eyes. Lost in the scent of her skin. Lost in my lust to reunite with the other half of me. Lost in the warm, comfortable weight of the life we've made, wrapped around us, holding us tightly together. Lost in my joy of Her.
I hold no delusions that this will last forever. Rule #1: everything, everyone, everywhere, ends. But because I know that right now, I am more grateful than I ever thought possible, for every single second I get to be with her. And I remember now, what I had so tragically forgotten:
That She is the single greatest thing that has ever happened to me.
And that no matter whatever else I may be in my life, the one and only thing I will always be, forever, is Her's.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
The Tao of Yin Becoming Yang...
Yesterday was a really, really bad day, and not just because of Mr. Squirrel. That was, unfortunately, only the beginning. In fact, yesterday was a continuing escalation of a bad day that had really started the day before.
My computer crashed yesterday morning. Again. And crashed, and crashed, and crashed all day, and nothing I did helped at all. In fact, every single one of my personal computing devices has died in the last week. My smartphone died on Friday, and I'm still trying to find the time to get back to the store before they close in the evening to pick up a new one. On Sunday, my internet at home crapped out, and didn't come back up again until Tuesday evening, after I reset and reconfigured every single part of it. And for the last couple of days, my work machine has been dying a slow, painful death, as well. I feel like I've spent my entire week just trying to get my computers, which I rely on so much for the functioning of my everyday life, to simply fucking work.
I ended up spending almost my entire day yesterday trying to fix my work computer. Of course, I couldn't get any of my work done while I was doing this. But that doesn't magickally push any of my deadlines back, either. So every hour I spent trying to fix my machine was an hour that I no longer had to get any of my work done, and I was very aware of this in the moment. And every time I tried to fix the problem, and failed, my frustration, aggravation, and stress levels rose.
I tried to find the Joy in my situation, but I just couldn't overcome the negative things I was feeling. Even the fact that in trying to fix my problem I was learning all sorts of new things (normally an almost sensual pleasure for me) about the coding and configuration behind-the-scenes of my web browser wasn't enough to make me feel better in the face of ACH! FUCK! WHY WON'T MY COMPUTER WORK?!
I felt like a failure. I'd barely made it a week, and here I was, losing my sense of Joy already. I knew it wouldn't last forever, but I honestly thought I could make it last longer than that. And then I realized that feeling like a failure for not living up to the spirit of UT #3, was also contradictory to the spirit of ManniMoonYin's Universal Tautology #2, "You cannot be good. You cannot be bad. You can only be." Which, ironically, only made me feel like more of a failure.
But this morning was the beginning of a new day. And I awoke with a fresh perspective.
What I realize as I observe all of this, is the Tao of Yin Becoming Yang.
You can't be happy constantly, all the time. It's not that it is impossible to accomplish, but rather that if you're happy all the time, then eventually it ceases to be "happy" and becomes simply "normal." Yin and Yang combining to form the Tao symbolizes that we live in a world of duality. Or, rather, that our perception of the world is a dual one. We can only distinguish something in terms of its opposite. We only know what "happiness" is, because of "unhappiness," and vice versa. Without "happiness" there is no "unhappiness," and vice versa. So, in order to maintain happiness, it must occasionally be tempered with some unhappiness. I realize now that the goal of UT #3 is not to be happy all the time, forever. It is simply to be as happy as possible, as much of the time as possible, and to learn to let the unhappiness come and go when it must, without attachment, and to recognize it as essential to continued happiness.
In that sense, yesterday was actually a success for me. Not because I got upset. But because when I was upset, and when it became clear to me that I was not going to be able to Brightside my way out of these feelings, I responded by trying to let them go and not hang on to them, and by trying to remain calm and simply deal with the problem at hand without letting myself get all worked up about it. I reminded myself that, "Yes, this sucks, but it's not the end of the world. And sometimes things suck, and that is just a fact of living. So, there's nothing to do but try to let it go, and focus on the problem at hand." And I remembered UT #1, the "Primary Directive" (I totally just thought that up - no, really): "All things that Are, are Change." In other words, "This too, shall pass."
And it did.
My computer crashed yesterday morning. Again. And crashed, and crashed, and crashed all day, and nothing I did helped at all. In fact, every single one of my personal computing devices has died in the last week. My smartphone died on Friday, and I'm still trying to find the time to get back to the store before they close in the evening to pick up a new one. On Sunday, my internet at home crapped out, and didn't come back up again until Tuesday evening, after I reset and reconfigured every single part of it. And for the last couple of days, my work machine has been dying a slow, painful death, as well. I feel like I've spent my entire week just trying to get my computers, which I rely on so much for the functioning of my everyday life, to simply fucking work.
I ended up spending almost my entire day yesterday trying to fix my work computer. Of course, I couldn't get any of my work done while I was doing this. But that doesn't magickally push any of my deadlines back, either. So every hour I spent trying to fix my machine was an hour that I no longer had to get any of my work done, and I was very aware of this in the moment. And every time I tried to fix the problem, and failed, my frustration, aggravation, and stress levels rose.
I tried to find the Joy in my situation, but I just couldn't overcome the negative things I was feeling. Even the fact that in trying to fix my problem I was learning all sorts of new things (normally an almost sensual pleasure for me) about the coding and configuration behind-the-scenes of my web browser wasn't enough to make me feel better in the face of ACH! FUCK! WHY WON'T MY COMPUTER WORK?!
I felt like a failure. I'd barely made it a week, and here I was, losing my sense of Joy already. I knew it wouldn't last forever, but I honestly thought I could make it last longer than that. And then I realized that feeling like a failure for not living up to the spirit of UT #3, was also contradictory to the spirit of ManniMoonYin's Universal Tautology #2, "You cannot be good. You cannot be bad. You can only be." Which, ironically, only made me feel like more of a failure.
But this morning was the beginning of a new day. And I awoke with a fresh perspective.
What I realize as I observe all of this, is the Tao of Yin Becoming Yang.
You can't be happy constantly, all the time. It's not that it is impossible to accomplish, but rather that if you're happy all the time, then eventually it ceases to be "happy" and becomes simply "normal." Yin and Yang combining to form the Tao symbolizes that we live in a world of duality. Or, rather, that our perception of the world is a dual one. We can only distinguish something in terms of its opposite. We only know what "happiness" is, because of "unhappiness," and vice versa. Without "happiness" there is no "unhappiness," and vice versa. So, in order to maintain happiness, it must occasionally be tempered with some unhappiness. I realize now that the goal of UT #3 is not to be happy all the time, forever. It is simply to be as happy as possible, as much of the time as possible, and to learn to let the unhappiness come and go when it must, without attachment, and to recognize it as essential to continued happiness.
In that sense, yesterday was actually a success for me. Not because I got upset. But because when I was upset, and when it became clear to me that I was not going to be able to Brightside my way out of these feelings, I responded by trying to let them go and not hang on to them, and by trying to remain calm and simply deal with the problem at hand without letting myself get all worked up about it. I reminded myself that, "Yes, this sucks, but it's not the end of the world. And sometimes things suck, and that is just a fact of living. So, there's nothing to do but try to let it go, and focus on the problem at hand." And I remembered UT #1, the "Primary Directive" (I totally just thought that up - no, really): "All things that Are, are Change." In other words, "This too, shall pass."
And it did.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Emptying, to Form...
Where am I going with this?
What am I doing?
What's wrong with me? Why am I so unhappy?
What do I want?
Do I love you, completely?
Do I love you, at all?
Or do I just need to feel loved by someone?
...
No. No, that's not the right question. I do love you. We've been through way too much together for way too long, have too much history, for me to not love you. There's a part of me that will always love you, in some way.
The question is, do I love you the way that I'm supposed to? Do I love you the way that a husband should love his wife? Or do I just love you as the one person I've been closer to in my life, and shared more of myself with, than any other?
And is there a difference?
Questions, questions, questions! Everywhere I look it's more fucking questions! WHERE ARE THE FUCKING ANSWERS?!!
...
I've moved out, temporarily. Checked myself into a hotel for the week.
Why? What do I hope to gain from that? Am I just trying to "shake things up" - just introduce a little anarchy into my life to see what happens? Am I just trying to force a random change? Or am I trying to step out of my life, to gain some perspective? Or am I just hiding? Just running away?
I don't know. I don't know if I ever knew.
I'm grasping at straws here. Suddenly, every single little thing is pregnant with meaning. Is this The Answer? Is this what I need? Will this make me better? Will this solve my problems?
How can I get better when I don't even know what's wrong? How can I find The Answer when I don't even know The Question??
Am I looking for fulfillment? Or do I just want a happy, satisfying marriage? Are they mutually exclusive? Or are they one and the same?
...
I keep coming back to this one thought. That I need to clean up my act. That everything will be better, and I will be happy and content, if I just give up the drink and all the rest, start working out and losing weight and eating right, start meditating again and studying the Tao, etc., etc.
But then I also can't shake the feeling that all of that is just a bunch of middle-aged, white, American, liberal, hipster bullshit.
But I'm following my gut, aren't I? That's what I'm doing right now. I'm following my gut instincts, blindly, in a desperate attempt to get away from wherever the fuck I am right now, to someplace, anyplace else.
And it's my gut that's telling me to follow that path. That salad yesterday (my first in I-can't-remember-when; it's been all pot pies and beer lately) was the best thing I've tasted in a long, long time. It's was, literally, unbelievably, shockingly delicious. And there was absolutely nothing special about it - just greens, some veggies, and oil & vinegar. I keep thinking about how wonderful it would be to just spend some time sitting still and being quiet. I keep dreaming of my gomden the way I've so often dreamed of the pipe. That stupid little weekly email quote from Pema Chodron felt like the Universe speaking directly to ME.
And it's my head that's telling me it's all a load of crap.
That means something.
Doesn't it?
But what if all of that only feels right because it's my safety net; because it's safe and familiar because that's what I do when I get lost in these existential crises? ("Existential Crisis" - jesus, talk about a first-world fucking problem. How spoiled of a brat do I have to be to even be taking any of this seriously? But, what, am I supposed to pretend I have the experience of a migrant worker in Guatemala or some shit?? I DON'T. I can only be who I am. And I am a white, middle-aged American liberal, who is fortunate enough to have the luxury of being able to engage in this kind of introspective panic.)
But what if that's what I do when I get in these situations because that's what I'm supposed to do in these situations because that is The Answer to these problems?!
Ugh, this is making me dizzy.
...
And way, way back in the deep down of me, I feel this fear. This fear that I'm going to die here. That I'm never going to get out of this maze of questions alive. That any reprieve is only temporary, and that I will always end up right back here.
That they're going to find me, cold and still on a hotel bed, the same way they found my mother.
I'm scared of the way that feels like Destiny.
...
And She says, "I'm sure it hurts! I can't imagine caring so much about so many things. It must be exhausting! Maybe you should get back into the Tao so you can let things go and ease your pain..."
And I can't help but laugh! She has no idea I've been thinking that, or writing this here, at the exact same time. Out of the mouths of babes...
Is it another sign? Or am I just connecting dots to find the pattern in the chaos that I want to see?
...
Is all of this just because I don't like myself? Is that why I feel compelled to do all of those self-improvements? Because I feel like I would like myself better?
...
When I'm drifting like this, grasping at straws, lost and desperate in this vague and undefined way, I find that I start to obsess about strange things. A lot of the time it starts as ordinary, banal escapism. But sometimes it leads me to the Way Out. The most famous example of this in my life so far, was reading Wild Cards in the bath way back when. In about the strangest way possible, it was those baths that led me directly to my first direct experience of the Tao. Changed my life forever.
Right now, it's The Moth.
I can't stop listening to it. Every story just makes me feel, so much, and so powerfully. And so I guess there must be something about that feel-ing that I need right now, just like I needed to disappear into the warm water back then. I would assume then, that also like the baths, I probably will only be able to explain this obsession in hindsight.
Follow Your Instincts.
It's the only thing I feel like I can do right now. When all else fails (and, let's be honest, all else really has failed here), then Follow Your Instincts.
It's the only thing I feel like I know, for certain.
...
Yesterday, the quote on Zen Pencils reminded me of Bill Hicks' "It's just a ride..." quote. I got a strong urge to submit that quote to the author/webmaster. In doing that, I had to find it in my PDA so I could copy and paste it into the email.
Just now, I needed to go into the same section of my PDA that holds all my little notes and stuff, to look up something else. It was still on the same page with the Bill Hicks' quote. That page is titled "Philosophies."
I have a collection of notes on my Philosophies of Life that I've collected over the years, stored in my PDA - and I had completely forgotten about it!
And there it was, right in the middle of the list: The Tao of ManniMoonYin that had come to me so many years ago under such similar circumstances - the Tao that I had been led to from my bath.
How can it be?? It seems that I've forgotten my Tao:
"All things that are, are change."
("All things that are, are fire." The only constant is change. Nothing lasts forever. EVERYTHING is mutable.)
"You cannot be good. You cannot be bad. You can only be."
(You cannot be "good," and you cannot be "bad." These are entirely relative judgements - what is "good" for one will be "bad" for another, and vice versa. The only thing you can "be," is Michael.)
"Look on the bright side." "Make the most of it."
(This is the only life you get. There's nothing good nor bad but thinking makes it so - so find the good in *everything* - even your mother's suicide was a good thing when you figured out how to look at it right. Choose joy, and you will be joyous.)
"You are amazing. And so is everyone else."
(Glass houses; no one is fit to judge anyone else. Judgement only leads to division, separation, and loneliness. We are all One.)
...
That's 3 coincidences now today, all pointing to the same thing. And today is my 3rd day of this desperate searching.
Even if I'm just connecting the dots in the chaos to find the pattern I want to see, that pattern is obviously deeply meaningful to me in some way. My path clearly leads in that direction. And if I am to follow my instincts, then how can I ignore the pattern I see in the noise, like meaning in an inkblot?
It seems that I have found My Answer.
...
What am I doing?
What's wrong with me? Why am I so unhappy?
What do I want?
Do I love you, completely?
Do I love you, at all?
Or do I just need to feel loved by someone?
...
No. No, that's not the right question. I do love you. We've been through way too much together for way too long, have too much history, for me to not love you. There's a part of me that will always love you, in some way.
The question is, do I love you the way that I'm supposed to? Do I love you the way that a husband should love his wife? Or do I just love you as the one person I've been closer to in my life, and shared more of myself with, than any other?
And is there a difference?
Questions, questions, questions! Everywhere I look it's more fucking questions! WHERE ARE THE FUCKING ANSWERS?!!
...
I've moved out, temporarily. Checked myself into a hotel for the week.
Why? What do I hope to gain from that? Am I just trying to "shake things up" - just introduce a little anarchy into my life to see what happens? Am I just trying to force a random change? Or am I trying to step out of my life, to gain some perspective? Or am I just hiding? Just running away?
I don't know. I don't know if I ever knew.
I'm grasping at straws here. Suddenly, every single little thing is pregnant with meaning. Is this The Answer? Is this what I need? Will this make me better? Will this solve my problems?
How can I get better when I don't even know what's wrong? How can I find The Answer when I don't even know The Question??
Am I looking for fulfillment? Or do I just want a happy, satisfying marriage? Are they mutually exclusive? Or are they one and the same?
...
I keep coming back to this one thought. That I need to clean up my act. That everything will be better, and I will be happy and content, if I just give up the drink and all the rest, start working out and losing weight and eating right, start meditating again and studying the Tao, etc., etc.
But then I also can't shake the feeling that all of that is just a bunch of middle-aged, white, American, liberal, hipster bullshit.
But I'm following my gut, aren't I? That's what I'm doing right now. I'm following my gut instincts, blindly, in a desperate attempt to get away from wherever the fuck I am right now, to someplace, anyplace else.
And it's my gut that's telling me to follow that path. That salad yesterday (my first in I-can't-remember-when; it's been all pot pies and beer lately) was the best thing I've tasted in a long, long time. It's was, literally, unbelievably, shockingly delicious. And there was absolutely nothing special about it - just greens, some veggies, and oil & vinegar. I keep thinking about how wonderful it would be to just spend some time sitting still and being quiet. I keep dreaming of my gomden the way I've so often dreamed of the pipe. That stupid little weekly email quote from Pema Chodron felt like the Universe speaking directly to ME.
And it's my head that's telling me it's all a load of crap.
That means something.
Doesn't it?
But what if all of that only feels right because it's my safety net; because it's safe and familiar because that's what I do when I get lost in these existential crises? ("Existential Crisis" - jesus, talk about a first-world fucking problem. How spoiled of a brat do I have to be to even be taking any of this seriously? But, what, am I supposed to pretend I have the experience of a migrant worker in Guatemala or some shit?? I DON'T. I can only be who I am. And I am a white, middle-aged American liberal, who is fortunate enough to have the luxury of being able to engage in this kind of introspective panic.)
But what if that's what I do when I get in these situations because that's what I'm supposed to do in these situations because that is The Answer to these problems?!
Ugh, this is making me dizzy.
...
And way, way back in the deep down of me, I feel this fear. This fear that I'm going to die here. That I'm never going to get out of this maze of questions alive. That any reprieve is only temporary, and that I will always end up right back here.
That they're going to find me, cold and still on a hotel bed, the same way they found my mother.
I'm scared of the way that feels like Destiny.
...
And She says, "I'm sure it hurts! I can't imagine caring so much about so many things. It must be exhausting! Maybe you should get back into the Tao so you can let things go and ease your pain..."
And I can't help but laugh! She has no idea I've been thinking that, or writing this here, at the exact same time. Out of the mouths of babes...
Is it another sign? Or am I just connecting dots to find the pattern in the chaos that I want to see?
...
Is all of this just because I don't like myself? Is that why I feel compelled to do all of those self-improvements? Because I feel like I would like myself better?
...
When I'm drifting like this, grasping at straws, lost and desperate in this vague and undefined way, I find that I start to obsess about strange things. A lot of the time it starts as ordinary, banal escapism. But sometimes it leads me to the Way Out. The most famous example of this in my life so far, was reading Wild Cards in the bath way back when. In about the strangest way possible, it was those baths that led me directly to my first direct experience of the Tao. Changed my life forever.
Right now, it's The Moth.
I can't stop listening to it. Every story just makes me feel, so much, and so powerfully. And so I guess there must be something about that feel-ing that I need right now, just like I needed to disappear into the warm water back then. I would assume then, that also like the baths, I probably will only be able to explain this obsession in hindsight.
Follow Your Instincts.
It's the only thing I feel like I can do right now. When all else fails (and, let's be honest, all else really has failed here), then Follow Your Instincts.
It's the only thing I feel like I know, for certain.
...
Yesterday, the quote on Zen Pencils reminded me of Bill Hicks' "It's just a ride..." quote. I got a strong urge to submit that quote to the author/webmaster. In doing that, I had to find it in my PDA so I could copy and paste it into the email.
Just now, I needed to go into the same section of my PDA that holds all my little notes and stuff, to look up something else. It was still on the same page with the Bill Hicks' quote. That page is titled "Philosophies."
I have a collection of notes on my Philosophies of Life that I've collected over the years, stored in my PDA - and I had completely forgotten about it!
And there it was, right in the middle of the list: The Tao of ManniMoonYin that had come to me so many years ago under such similar circumstances - the Tao that I had been led to from my bath.
How can it be?? It seems that I've forgotten my Tao:
"All things that are, are change."
("All things that are, are fire." The only constant is change. Nothing lasts forever. EVERYTHING is mutable.)
"You cannot be good. You cannot be bad. You can only be."
(You cannot be "good," and you cannot be "bad." These are entirely relative judgements - what is "good" for one will be "bad" for another, and vice versa. The only thing you can "be," is Michael.)
"Look on the bright side." "Make the most of it."
(This is the only life you get. There's nothing good nor bad but thinking makes it so - so find the good in *everything* - even your mother's suicide was a good thing when you figured out how to look at it right. Choose joy, and you will be joyous.)
"You are amazing. And so is everyone else."
(Glass houses; no one is fit to judge anyone else. Judgement only leads to division, separation, and loneliness. We are all One.)
...
That's 3 coincidences now today, all pointing to the same thing. And today is my 3rd day of this desperate searching.
Even if I'm just connecting the dots in the chaos to find the pattern I want to see, that pattern is obviously deeply meaningful to me in some way. My path clearly leads in that direction. And if I am to follow my instincts, then how can I ignore the pattern I see in the noise, like meaning in an inkblot?
It seems that I have found My Answer.
...
Friday, May 21, 2010
May Day Dawn Hippie Magick...
I've always had a fascination with the ocean. And for me, the sight of the Sun rising out of the ocean at dawn is one of the most beautiful and magickal experiences a person can have. Every vacation as a kid, I would try to get up early enough (or stay up late enough) on at least one day just so I could see it. It's simply amazing. Witnessing that majestic sight, it's easy to understand how we came up with an idea like "god."
This year, my Temple was lucky enough to be able to host the IOT's North American section's annual national meeting at the beach. As soon as I found that out, I knew I had to present a Sun-rising-from-the-ocean ritual of some kind. When I found out that the meeting would fall during the Walpurgisnacht (MayEve)/May Day holiday, I had my idea.
Solar rituals are, kind of by definition, pretty hippie-dippie. And so's the beach; just something about being at the beach makes you want to light a campfire, grab a drum, and pass a doobie. So, almost by necessity, the ritual I wrote was pretty hippie-dippie, too. But I really, really fucking enjoyed it. Not all sorcery is about black robes, midnight, and demons, and it's good for us to remember that from time-to-time.
Normally, I'm not very happy with the rituals I bring to the national meetings, but this time I was so pleased with it, I felt I needed to share it with my you, my readers. Both of you. ;-)
I hope you enjoy reading it even 1/10th as much as I enjoyed performing it.
May Day Dawn Ritual. (Google Docs)
This year, my Temple was lucky enough to be able to host the IOT's North American section's annual national meeting at the beach. As soon as I found that out, I knew I had to present a Sun-rising-from-the-ocean ritual of some kind. When I found out that the meeting would fall during the Walpurgisnacht (MayEve)/May Day holiday, I had my idea.
Solar rituals are, kind of by definition, pretty hippie-dippie. And so's the beach; just something about being at the beach makes you want to light a campfire, grab a drum, and pass a doobie. So, almost by necessity, the ritual I wrote was pretty hippie-dippie, too. But I really, really fucking enjoyed it. Not all sorcery is about black robes, midnight, and demons, and it's good for us to remember that from time-to-time.
Normally, I'm not very happy with the rituals I bring to the national meetings, but this time I was so pleased with it, I felt I needed to share it with my you, my readers. Both of you. ;-)
I hope you enjoy reading it even 1/10th as much as I enjoyed performing it.
May Day Dawn Ritual. (Google Docs)
Friday, April 16, 2010
"Sicilians are great liars..."
Oddly enough, "Drug addict" and "President of the United States" share one thing in common. Both titles, once earned, are yours forever, and can never be disowned.
I am a drug addict. Whether I use or not, I will always be a drug addict. The only difference between me and the sad sacks you see on shows like Intervention, is that I'm good at it. I am a smart, and successful drug addict. Those unfortunate people are ignorant, and weak, and they just seem to run headlong off the deep-end as quickly as possible. They don't have the knowledge or the will to keep from being completely consumed by their addiction, so they just go straight up in flames. It's not their fault (usually); it's just how things turned out for them. But I'm smart, and strong. And I have the intuitive understanding of addiction that can only come from being raised by a family of drug addicts. I am a GREAT fucking drug addict.
I'm still killing myself. Obviously. No different from those pathetic zombies on the TV; not in the end. But see, I know what I'm doing. I know how to make it laaaast. I know how to keep it from killing me too quickly, so that I can continue to use. Make it take as long as possible so that I can suck every single molecule of meaningless, masturbatory bio-pharmacological bliss out of it before it inevitably kills me.
THAT is the mark of a great addict. Exerting only just enough control to keep it going, to make it last, but not enough to stop. "We called him 'Mother Superior' on account of the length of his habit." Too much control and you quit, and the fun's over, and you live a long, boring life of wishing you could get high; too little, and you end up dying of the DT's in the gutter before you ever even get to live.
I want to live as long as possible. But I also want to feel good as much of that life as I possibly can. I know, in the end, that I'll die screaming. But will I regret the choices that brought me there? I mean, honestly - doesn't everyone scream when they die? Still, the greatest addict who ever lived, was still just a fucking junkie when you get right down to it. How am I any different?
We're defined by how we live, not how we die. (Unless you end up winning a Darwin award.) I never felt a need to be great. Never had any desire to change the world, or "leave my mark" for future generations. I just want to live my life with as little pain, and as much pleasure, as I possibly can. And so, every day, I get up and walk that line between living well and dying young.
I'm not sure where it's leading me, but the view is breath-taking. On both sides.
I am a drug addict. Whether I use or not, I will always be a drug addict. The only difference between me and the sad sacks you see on shows like Intervention, is that I'm good at it. I am a smart, and successful drug addict. Those unfortunate people are ignorant, and weak, and they just seem to run headlong off the deep-end as quickly as possible. They don't have the knowledge or the will to keep from being completely consumed by their addiction, so they just go straight up in flames. It's not their fault (usually); it's just how things turned out for them. But I'm smart, and strong. And I have the intuitive understanding of addiction that can only come from being raised by a family of drug addicts. I am a GREAT fucking drug addict.
I'm still killing myself. Obviously. No different from those pathetic zombies on the TV; not in the end. But see, I know what I'm doing. I know how to make it laaaast. I know how to keep it from killing me too quickly, so that I can continue to use. Make it take as long as possible so that I can suck every single molecule of meaningless, masturbatory bio-pharmacological bliss out of it before it inevitably kills me.
THAT is the mark of a great addict. Exerting only just enough control to keep it going, to make it last, but not enough to stop. "We called him 'Mother Superior' on account of the length of his habit." Too much control and you quit, and the fun's over, and you live a long, boring life of wishing you could get high; too little, and you end up dying of the DT's in the gutter before you ever even get to live.
I want to live as long as possible. But I also want to feel good as much of that life as I possibly can. I know, in the end, that I'll die screaming. But will I regret the choices that brought me there? I mean, honestly - doesn't everyone scream when they die? Still, the greatest addict who ever lived, was still just a fucking junkie when you get right down to it. How am I any different?
We're defined by how we live, not how we die. (Unless you end up winning a Darwin award.) I never felt a need to be great. Never had any desire to change the world, or "leave my mark" for future generations. I just want to live my life with as little pain, and as much pleasure, as I possibly can. And so, every day, I get up and walk that line between living well and dying young.
I'm not sure where it's leading me, but the view is breath-taking. On both sides.
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