"If a man hasn't discovered something that he will die for, he isn't fit to live. " - Martin Luther King, Jr.
So, last night, through the haze of sleeping pills and total exhaustion, I power out a post about how unfair it is to share your soul with others, as your emotions may impact theirs and perhaps that's not really a fair thing to do to another. I fall asleep thinking of this and make a decision to withhold more information from people, as a favor to them.
And then yesterday, one single event completely changed my perspective.
I'm used to foreshadowing in movies, I'm used to foreshadowing in books, but when it happens in your life, and you actually realize it, it's a very bizarre feeling. As I'm walking in the front door, I see a doctor duck into the hall to make a phone call. I'm quite far away from him, but I hear the conversation vividly: "Honey, it's Dad. There's a bad wreck near our house. I don't think you'll be able to leave the way you normally do, so take an alternate route in, or just wait a while."
Once inside the OR, everyone is talking about this wreck, except me. I've got yet another monster big case with the potential to go really bad. The anesthesiologist and I get the patient in the room to get started. We are wondering where one of the techs is, it's unusual that he's not in the room helping us. Another coworker comes in and asks where he is and we sort of start to make fun of him, joking about how he never misses this sort of thing and how he's usually in our way in a big way, "helping".
My boss begins calling him, leaving horrible messages asking where he is. Then, the pieces begin falling into place. His wife calls looking for him. News reports say that the vehicle in the accident was a rental car, and he was in a rental car. His BMW been broken in to at the hospital a couple days prior, he was in a Cobalt which surely contributed to the accident - you're used to driving a car that handles like a dream, and suddenly find yourself in an unfamiliar rollerskate on wet roads. My other boss decides to drive to the scene to see if it's him. Shortly after, we receive confirmation - our coworker was the only victim in the accident, and it was a brutal and awful accident.
I'm not going to pretend that his death was personally devestating. I barely knew the man. He had only been working with us for a couple of months, and our conversations were still in the realm of the superficial. I had never even asked about his family, his hobbies or his interests. Of course, I feel badly for him and realize that his life was snatched from him very prematurely. I am concerned about the well-being of those that loved him and relied on him - but I don't even know who they are.
What his death does prove to me personally, however, is that I was wrong when I wrote yesterday's post. It is not only acceptable to share your thoughts and feeling with others, it's mandatory.
Yes, your words do have an impact, and yes, your words may alter lives irrevocably. But, as long as it's coming from an honest and true perspective with honest and true intentions, you should share your thoughts with others - because you might not have the opportunity again.
You have to live with intention, you have to define your life for yourself and on your own terms and you have to love with passion - every single day. I don't want to sound all macabre, and I certainly don't feel morose today - I feel renewed and reenergized - but we are only promised the present.
With that, my promise is to be as open and honest with you as I would like you to be with me. Yes, in the past I've felt burdened by the confessions of others and I've worried that my own confessions may cause a similar burden to be felt by others. But that's a mistaken approach and an error in my thinking. We cannot live in fear of our feelings, desires or intentions: it's all we are and all we have.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Blabber
"We assume that we know how someone is going to react to us. We assume that our efforts will or will not be successful. And not only do we believe our assumptions about what other people are thinking, but then we end up taking those assumptions personally and even end up resenting the person. To avoid assumptions, ask questions. It takes courage to trust the present moment, to allow other people to be exactly who they are, and to let life unfold according to its own plan… and it avoids a great deal of suffering." - Don Miguel Ruiz
I'm reserved by nature. I know some of you are laughing about this. No, the things that don't matter I will ramble on and on endlessly about, but the things that do matter - it's fairly safe to assume you have little idea.
I recently asked someone reasonably close to me for some advice and began the story with, "I'm so stressed, I really just need an objective opinion." Before I could even ask the advice, this person, that knows me fairly well said, "What? What do you have to be stressed about?"
I laughed.
"No, really, Amanda. You never appear stressed, what's going on?"
So I rambled the list. When I was done he said, "Shit. I had no idea. Most people would be curled up in the fetal position in the corner of some room in a pysch ward."
Yeah, you think? But I tried to redirect the conversation back to the original question which was far more personal than the things I am comfortable sharing. He had some good opinions, and the conversation forced me to make some uncomfortable declarations along the way.
Later the same day, someone came to my home and made some confessions of their own to me. It left me feeling very burdened and very drained. Some of these things were opinions on me and my life, others were requests of me and still others were his own issues that have no impact on me, but burden me nonetheless.
It got me to thinking: How just is it to make confessions to another? Big or small? How fair is it to reveal your soul to someone having precious little idea how your words will impact them?
One the one hand, I see it as personally liberating; there are plenty of things that I would love to share with others. Perhaps it is my inability to be self-disclosing, perhaps it is just because sometimes people's confessions burden me, but I'm struggling to believe that it is acceptable to share with another in such a way. You might hurt them, even when that was not your intent.
I have always tended to tread lightly with the feelings of others and now I'm struggling with sharing my soul. How do you do that, knowing that mere words may carry the power to alter life - irrevocably?
I'm reserved by nature. I know some of you are laughing about this. No, the things that don't matter I will ramble on and on endlessly about, but the things that do matter - it's fairly safe to assume you have little idea.
I recently asked someone reasonably close to me for some advice and began the story with, "I'm so stressed, I really just need an objective opinion." Before I could even ask the advice, this person, that knows me fairly well said, "What? What do you have to be stressed about?"
I laughed.
"No, really, Amanda. You never appear stressed, what's going on?"
So I rambled the list. When I was done he said, "Shit. I had no idea. Most people would be curled up in the fetal position in the corner of some room in a pysch ward."
Yeah, you think? But I tried to redirect the conversation back to the original question which was far more personal than the things I am comfortable sharing. He had some good opinions, and the conversation forced me to make some uncomfortable declarations along the way.
Later the same day, someone came to my home and made some confessions of their own to me. It left me feeling very burdened and very drained. Some of these things were opinions on me and my life, others were requests of me and still others were his own issues that have no impact on me, but burden me nonetheless.
It got me to thinking: How just is it to make confessions to another? Big or small? How fair is it to reveal your soul to someone having precious little idea how your words will impact them?
One the one hand, I see it as personally liberating; there are plenty of things that I would love to share with others. Perhaps it is my inability to be self-disclosing, perhaps it is just because sometimes people's confessions burden me, but I'm struggling to believe that it is acceptable to share with another in such a way. You might hurt them, even when that was not your intent.
I have always tended to tread lightly with the feelings of others and now I'm struggling with sharing my soul. How do you do that, knowing that mere words may carry the power to alter life - irrevocably?
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Speed
"Driving is a spectacular form of amnesia. Everything is to be discovered, everything to be obliterated." - Jean Baudrillard
I have a lot on my mind. Too much. I'm in this holding pattern that isn't all that great for me. Wait for the house. Wait for the job. Wait and see what's going to happen with X, Y and Z. I'm a doer, not a waiter so this makes me restless and a little bit grumpy. Things are good, things will all work out and the pace is about to increase in a big way...but until then...grrrr.
This morning, both children are crazily asking what the plan for the day is. I mentally run through the possibilities and nothing is appealing to me. It's not apathy - I'm up for something, but everything I can think of is just so...mundane. I tell them that I'm going to take a bath and get dressed and then we'll decide. It's only 8AM, so we've got time.
While I'm in the bath, I realize that what I'd really like would be to be in Myrtle Beach with them. To visit the Aquarium, to walk barefoot in the sand, to have She-Crab Soup and fried shrimp at the Sea Captain's House listening to the waves lap the shore. Then later, curl up in bed and open the windows and let the ocean air lull me to sleep. Alas, that's not possible.
BUT...I can get my toes in some sand. Hell, I can even go to an aquarium. Corpus Christi is only three hours away, and driving is always fun. Why not? No really...why the fuck not? So I ask the kids if they are up for an adventure. I tell them my plan. Bear looks a little apprehensive, but goes into his room to get dressed and comes out in palm tree trunks. Duck chooses a skirt with a little palm tree on it. Yeah, they're onboard.
I had never been to Corpus before, so I was excited. The drive down is a blast. Once we're out of San Antonio, Duckie is asleep and Bear and I are having a fun chat about all sorts of randomness. That part of the drive is completely magical - a flat, two lane divided highway and virtually no traffic. I'm not driving, I'm flying.
I love driving fast. Really fast. It's such a great way to clear my head. When you're in a car traveling at high speeds, nothing else matters. It can't matter. You have to focus on the road and what you're doing and everything else just sort of falls by the wayside. We're listening to reggae, Bear is singing and I'm just driving. Duck wakes up and is thrilled by the sight of palm trees and it all just makes me very, very happy.
Bear says, "Mom, I've got this funny feeling in my tummy. This is exciting. We didn't plan this, we're just doing it."
"Yeah, babe. I know. You know I'm a planner, but sometimes I just need to shake things up a little."
"That's pretty cool, Mom."
Glad you think so. It won't be the last time.
We get to Corpus and find the Aquarium easily enough, so that's our first stop. It's pretty cool with some really nice exhibits, but the highlight was the dolphin show. It's so amazing to watch such beautiful animals sailing through the water, then lifting out of it before crashing down in a way that is impossibly graceful. The children loved it - almost as much as I did. After, we tromped around the USS Lexington because I felt like we should, had an ice cream cone, then took our shoes off and ran through the sand and let the cold waves tickle our toes.
I love watching my children like that - totally and utterly blissed out by something so simple and pure. I took lots of pictures and just let them have some time. It's getting to be fairly late in the afternoon, however, and I'm realizing that we need to find a hotel room. As I look around at the options, I'm a little shocked.
Turns out Corpus is actually kind of ghetto. The crowd is changing by the second. The families are disappearing and a whole bunch of really rough looking people are beginning to emerge from somewhere. I pop into the only hotel that looks like I could manage sleeping in it, and it's questionable at best. While I'm standing at the desk waiting for the receptionist to check availability, masses and masses of scary looking people begin pouring out of the elevator.
A little advanced research and I could have likely found something more suitable, but this wasn't that sort of trip and I didn't really feel like driving aimlessly around the coast trying to decide where to sleep with two kids that had already spent the morning in the car and were hungry and thirsty.
I look at the kids and tell them we need to go have something to eat and we'll talk about our hotel options at dinner. We find a cute little beach restaurant and sit outside eating fried shrimp and crab and watching the pelicans and seagulls fly overhead. It's wonderful. But it's getting cool and it's getting late.
Duckie is beginning to get sleepy - I can see it in her eyes. Bear is just bouncing off the walls from the adventure. I wanted to wake up and play in the sand the next morning, but I realized that I really didn't want to spend the night in Corpus, in a hotel with a bunch of rough looking people who would be very drunk very soon. Then I realized that the kids would fall asleep instantly on the way home and I'd be able to drive very fast on the awesome, sparsely traveled road between Corpus and San Antonio. It was a good idea, in theory.
We leave Corpus and talk about the day. The kids are so excited - telling me everything we just did as if I weren't there and I'm enjoying listening to them talk and I'm driving fast. Very fast. Very, very fast. It's dark at this point - and it's just perfect - not another car in my field of vision, not even the cop that clocked me at 92. In a 65. Oops.
He saunters up to the car - all slovenly and all I can hear in my head is Junior Brown's song "Highway Patrol". I hand him my ID and insurance and he asks me to step out. Bear screams, "Don't arrest my mom. She's a nurse, people need her." And I'm laughing.
The cop points out to me that my speed is not a laughing matter. I acknowledge his righteousness and apologize profusely. I tell him that I didn't realize I was driving that fast, but that I never get the opportunity to drive on straight, flat roads. In an effort to lighten him up, I say, "Honestly, Officer, I'm surprised my Corolla even goes that fast. The speedometer stops at 80 so I really didn't realize." He doesn't laugh.
He says, "Did you realize you weren't signaling lane changes, either?"
Sometimes, I'm just on. "Sir, at those speeds, do you really think it matters?"
Well, it was funny. Shit, dude, my kids have Krispy Kreme donuts...may I interest you? No, I didn't say it. But they did, and it crossed my mind.
He wasn't the asshole he could have been. He only gave me a warning for the failure to signal lane changes. He did write me what I'm sure will be a phenomenally expensive ticket, and he did slow me down for the duration of the drive home.
That was even more excitement for the children, however, and Duck didn't fall asleep until we were close to San Antonio. After she fell asleep, Bear and I had a really great, really important conversation about life and love and happiness. He is such an amazing little boy with a great heart. He fell asleep about 20 minutes from the house, as usual.
I accidentally woke Duck as I was getting her out of the car and she said, "Where are we?"
"Home, sweetie. We're home."
And she says, "Oh, good. The perfect end to a perfect day." Her chubby little arms wrapped tightly around my neck, her sleepy breath warm on my cheek felt wonderful, and I'm glad we had our "adventure" today. We all really needed it and while I won't fall asleep with ocean air filling my lungs tonight, I did walk on sand, and breathe the salty air and I did get away from it all for a bit.
I have a lot on my mind. Too much. I'm in this holding pattern that isn't all that great for me. Wait for the house. Wait for the job. Wait and see what's going to happen with X, Y and Z. I'm a doer, not a waiter so this makes me restless and a little bit grumpy. Things are good, things will all work out and the pace is about to increase in a big way...but until then...grrrr.
This morning, both children are crazily asking what the plan for the day is. I mentally run through the possibilities and nothing is appealing to me. It's not apathy - I'm up for something, but everything I can think of is just so...mundane. I tell them that I'm going to take a bath and get dressed and then we'll decide. It's only 8AM, so we've got time.
While I'm in the bath, I realize that what I'd really like would be to be in Myrtle Beach with them. To visit the Aquarium, to walk barefoot in the sand, to have She-Crab Soup and fried shrimp at the Sea Captain's House listening to the waves lap the shore. Then later, curl up in bed and open the windows and let the ocean air lull me to sleep. Alas, that's not possible.
BUT...I can get my toes in some sand. Hell, I can even go to an aquarium. Corpus Christi is only three hours away, and driving is always fun. Why not? No really...why the fuck not? So I ask the kids if they are up for an adventure. I tell them my plan. Bear looks a little apprehensive, but goes into his room to get dressed and comes out in palm tree trunks. Duck chooses a skirt with a little palm tree on it. Yeah, they're onboard.
I had never been to Corpus before, so I was excited. The drive down is a blast. Once we're out of San Antonio, Duckie is asleep and Bear and I are having a fun chat about all sorts of randomness. That part of the drive is completely magical - a flat, two lane divided highway and virtually no traffic. I'm not driving, I'm flying.
I love driving fast. Really fast. It's such a great way to clear my head. When you're in a car traveling at high speeds, nothing else matters. It can't matter. You have to focus on the road and what you're doing and everything else just sort of falls by the wayside. We're listening to reggae, Bear is singing and I'm just driving. Duck wakes up and is thrilled by the sight of palm trees and it all just makes me very, very happy.
Bear says, "Mom, I've got this funny feeling in my tummy. This is exciting. We didn't plan this, we're just doing it."
"Yeah, babe. I know. You know I'm a planner, but sometimes I just need to shake things up a little."
"That's pretty cool, Mom."
Glad you think so. It won't be the last time.
We get to Corpus and find the Aquarium easily enough, so that's our first stop. It's pretty cool with some really nice exhibits, but the highlight was the dolphin show. It's so amazing to watch such beautiful animals sailing through the water, then lifting out of it before crashing down in a way that is impossibly graceful. The children loved it - almost as much as I did. After, we tromped around the USS Lexington because I felt like we should, had an ice cream cone, then took our shoes off and ran through the sand and let the cold waves tickle our toes.
I love watching my children like that - totally and utterly blissed out by something so simple and pure. I took lots of pictures and just let them have some time. It's getting to be fairly late in the afternoon, however, and I'm realizing that we need to find a hotel room. As I look around at the options, I'm a little shocked.
Turns out Corpus is actually kind of ghetto. The crowd is changing by the second. The families are disappearing and a whole bunch of really rough looking people are beginning to emerge from somewhere. I pop into the only hotel that looks like I could manage sleeping in it, and it's questionable at best. While I'm standing at the desk waiting for the receptionist to check availability, masses and masses of scary looking people begin pouring out of the elevator.
A little advanced research and I could have likely found something more suitable, but this wasn't that sort of trip and I didn't really feel like driving aimlessly around the coast trying to decide where to sleep with two kids that had already spent the morning in the car and were hungry and thirsty.
I look at the kids and tell them we need to go have something to eat and we'll talk about our hotel options at dinner. We find a cute little beach restaurant and sit outside eating fried shrimp and crab and watching the pelicans and seagulls fly overhead. It's wonderful. But it's getting cool and it's getting late.
Duckie is beginning to get sleepy - I can see it in her eyes. Bear is just bouncing off the walls from the adventure. I wanted to wake up and play in the sand the next morning, but I realized that I really didn't want to spend the night in Corpus, in a hotel with a bunch of rough looking people who would be very drunk very soon. Then I realized that the kids would fall asleep instantly on the way home and I'd be able to drive very fast on the awesome, sparsely traveled road between Corpus and San Antonio. It was a good idea, in theory.
We leave Corpus and talk about the day. The kids are so excited - telling me everything we just did as if I weren't there and I'm enjoying listening to them talk and I'm driving fast. Very fast. Very, very fast. It's dark at this point - and it's just perfect - not another car in my field of vision, not even the cop that clocked me at 92. In a 65. Oops.
He saunters up to the car - all slovenly and all I can hear in my head is Junior Brown's song "Highway Patrol". I hand him my ID and insurance and he asks me to step out. Bear screams, "Don't arrest my mom. She's a nurse, people need her." And I'm laughing.
The cop points out to me that my speed is not a laughing matter. I acknowledge his righteousness and apologize profusely. I tell him that I didn't realize I was driving that fast, but that I never get the opportunity to drive on straight, flat roads. In an effort to lighten him up, I say, "Honestly, Officer, I'm surprised my Corolla even goes that fast. The speedometer stops at 80 so I really didn't realize." He doesn't laugh.
He says, "Did you realize you weren't signaling lane changes, either?"
Sometimes, I'm just on. "Sir, at those speeds, do you really think it matters?"
Well, it was funny. Shit, dude, my kids have Krispy Kreme donuts...may I interest you? No, I didn't say it. But they did, and it crossed my mind.
He wasn't the asshole he could have been. He only gave me a warning for the failure to signal lane changes. He did write me what I'm sure will be a phenomenally expensive ticket, and he did slow me down for the duration of the drive home.
That was even more excitement for the children, however, and Duck didn't fall asleep until we were close to San Antonio. After she fell asleep, Bear and I had a really great, really important conversation about life and love and happiness. He is such an amazing little boy with a great heart. He fell asleep about 20 minutes from the house, as usual.
I accidentally woke Duck as I was getting her out of the car and she said, "Where are we?"
"Home, sweetie. We're home."
And she says, "Oh, good. The perfect end to a perfect day." Her chubby little arms wrapped tightly around my neck, her sleepy breath warm on my cheek felt wonderful, and I'm glad we had our "adventure" today. We all really needed it and while I won't fall asleep with ocean air filling my lungs tonight, I did walk on sand, and breathe the salty air and I did get away from it all for a bit.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Bondage
"Whether we know it or not, whether we want to or not, and whether we care or not, we are all programmed to try to win our generation's game of reproduction - we are all programmed to pursue reproductive success." - Robin Baker
I've got a theory. Yup.
I've alluded to it in my most recent post, Chump and I touched on the biological factors in a post from 2008 called Polarity. But it's funny, because this topic keeps coming up over and over again in conversations that I've had with others, so I'm going to make the effort to put in into words, to share my theory with my blog-reading world.
Please do not bother to point out that the theory contains some sweeping generalizations. Of course it does. We all know exceptions to the rule, but my friends, trust that those are exceptions. I actually attempted to google some statistics to help beef up my argument, but the statistics I found are a bit older than I'm comfortable with and don't take in to consideration some of the nuance I'm speaking of. Therefore, fact is null and void and it's me spewing my highly (il)logical argument into the ethernet.
Theory: First marriages are doomed to failure.
(There are a handful for whom lighting strikes once and life is bliss from the walk down the aisle to the pall bearers walk. But, they are the minority, I assure you. JB comes to mind, and I know he's reading this and rolling his eyes at me, but he has two things going for him - 1. He's great. 2. His wife is exceptional.)
Wait, wait...maybe my theory needs some qualifiers. I'm not talking about the first marriage that occurs at age 38 between two people who hold out for the lightning the first time then finally find each other. I'm talking about the other kind; the kind that occurs in your mid-to-late 20's - the kind that most people I know are in or were in.
OK, now we have our frame of reference, right? Good. So, back to the theory. First marriages are almost always doomed to failure. There are many reasons for this, some biological, some generational, some situational and some circumstantial.
When you are in your 20's and you're looking at your life, you have plans - educational goals, career goals and family goals. Through your 20-something glasses, you envision your future.
When I reflect back to where I was when I was 21 (the year I began dating the man that would ultimately become my ex-husband), I was completing a degree in Marketing, planning to sell to the world. I had spent a great deal of time traveling in my life. I came from a crazy family that did their own thing all the time. I desperately wanted to have children, and to give them the things that I felt I had lacked all along - stability, roots.
So, with my mind functioning both consciously and sub-, I chose my husband, the father of my children. I wanted someone stable, first and foremost. I wanted someone outgoing enough to give my children a chance against my reserve. I wanted someone reliable, that didn't challenge my desires or needs, someone kind and nurturing, that would support my goals and help me build a home.
From a subconscious point of view, I wanted someone virile, healthy (genetically) but with a weak enough gene distribution that it wouldn't dampen my own - I wanted to make sure my children would look exactly like me - and I did very well in that regard. (Incidentally, this is something we all want, even if we can't admit it - that's biology at work).
Each of us has our own reasons, our own criteria. But the end result is the same. We seek someone at that point in time for very specific reasons. We're building our careers, we're defining ourselves, we're just beginning our voyage into who it is we are meant to be and we need someone that can support that chapter in our lives.
So we mentally make our list of what we need in another, and then we meet someone that fits that criteria, and we fit whatever criteria they've developed too. We are blown away. We enter into this relationship with nothing but noble intentions. Til death do us part? You bet! I'm onboard. And it's sincere - it is our sincere hope and our sincere desire.
But we made a critical mistake. We never bothered to appreciate how significantly we'd change. And that they would as well. We might have even had the conversation (as my husband and I did) but at the time, we were certain that we'd grow together, because our ultimate goals were the same - we wanted this. No, I mean it...we REALLY WANTED this.
But, ten years pass and in those ten years, we've achieved some of the goals we set out to achieve and some of the goals have changed. We've sacrificed huge parts of ourselves to make it work against our better judgement (because we were sincere and we REALLY WANTED this) and now our careers have gone one way, our lives have gone one way, our psyches have gone one way and our souls are somewhere else.
But, now we're in our mid-thirties, and we know ourselves. It's a true triumph, really. We are at this place in time where we genuinely know exactly who we are and what we want (at least for the time being, we could change again!). Our careers are where we intended them to be. Even if we're not completely happy in our careers, at this point, we've got a 99.9% knowledge of where we'll be at retirement. (And if we don't, that's a whole other ball of wax).
We know clearly who we are now - as defined by our professional life, the friendships that remain and the new ones formed, the children now present and the amazing deep-breath that comes from having accomplished all of that shit in just 10 short years.
And you lay in bed next to this person that your promised forever to, and as their hands clumsily touch your body you wonder how they couldn't have learned the right way to touch you in ten years, and you say something random that is on your mind and they look at you blankly and you stop and think...is this really what I've done? Is this really what I promised forever for? Is this really what I wanted?
No, of course not. Because the person you chose was chosen for what you thought were the right reasons, and in some ways, they were. That's the person you chose to start a family with and to start a life with. In reality, it wasn't the worst thing you could have done. Sometimes, you need the impetus of wrong to learn right.
If you waited, you probably wouldn't have had the reproductive success your biology mandated you to have. Your career may have taken a different turn. You may have ended up being the most selfish human being on the planet. You likely would have found yourself in a string of short-term relationships that left you feeling...nothing. Worse, you may have found yourself so lonely that you ultimately pledged yourself to someone so utterly wrong for you that life was filled with drama. No, you didn't do any of that. You married a good person and started your family - just the way you thought you were supposed to.
The rub is that it wasn't the person you chose for you. It's a no-fault clause. You couldn't have chosen the person that was right for you, because you didn't even know you. You hadn't even become you.
There is a salvation, however. You admit to yourself that it's OK. You admit to yourself that you are worth more. You prioritize yourself (for a fucking change) and realize that you're still only in your 30's. You acknowledge that you made a mistake, and that while you married a very good person, with a good heart and a good soul, you simply need more.
You acknowledge your selfishness. You set out to find to the person that is just for you. And it's OK, because you're only in your 30's. And you've got your entire lifetime ahead of you and then some. And you acknowledge that you'd rather spend that time with the person that is for you. And yes, it's much harder now - because you're talking about the children, you're talking about complicated finances, you're talking about hurting someone you do love, just not in the way you want to love.
But you look forward to the next 30 - with the person that is just for you.
I've got a theory. Yup.
I've alluded to it in my most recent post, Chump and I touched on the biological factors in a post from 2008 called Polarity. But it's funny, because this topic keeps coming up over and over again in conversations that I've had with others, so I'm going to make the effort to put in into words, to share my theory with my blog-reading world.
Please do not bother to point out that the theory contains some sweeping generalizations. Of course it does. We all know exceptions to the rule, but my friends, trust that those are exceptions. I actually attempted to google some statistics to help beef up my argument, but the statistics I found are a bit older than I'm comfortable with and don't take in to consideration some of the nuance I'm speaking of. Therefore, fact is null and void and it's me spewing my highly (il)logical argument into the ethernet.
Theory: First marriages are doomed to failure.
(There are a handful for whom lighting strikes once and life is bliss from the walk down the aisle to the pall bearers walk. But, they are the minority, I assure you. JB comes to mind, and I know he's reading this and rolling his eyes at me, but he has two things going for him - 1. He's great. 2. His wife is exceptional.)
Wait, wait...maybe my theory needs some qualifiers. I'm not talking about the first marriage that occurs at age 38 between two people who hold out for the lightning the first time then finally find each other. I'm talking about the other kind; the kind that occurs in your mid-to-late 20's - the kind that most people I know are in or were in.
OK, now we have our frame of reference, right? Good. So, back to the theory. First marriages are almost always doomed to failure. There are many reasons for this, some biological, some generational, some situational and some circumstantial.
When you are in your 20's and you're looking at your life, you have plans - educational goals, career goals and family goals. Through your 20-something glasses, you envision your future.
When I reflect back to where I was when I was 21 (the year I began dating the man that would ultimately become my ex-husband), I was completing a degree in Marketing, planning to sell to the world. I had spent a great deal of time traveling in my life. I came from a crazy family that did their own thing all the time. I desperately wanted to have children, and to give them the things that I felt I had lacked all along - stability, roots.
So, with my mind functioning both consciously and sub-, I chose my husband, the father of my children. I wanted someone stable, first and foremost. I wanted someone outgoing enough to give my children a chance against my reserve. I wanted someone reliable, that didn't challenge my desires or needs, someone kind and nurturing, that would support my goals and help me build a home.
From a subconscious point of view, I wanted someone virile, healthy (genetically) but with a weak enough gene distribution that it wouldn't dampen my own - I wanted to make sure my children would look exactly like me - and I did very well in that regard. (Incidentally, this is something we all want, even if we can't admit it - that's biology at work).
Each of us has our own reasons, our own criteria. But the end result is the same. We seek someone at that point in time for very specific reasons. We're building our careers, we're defining ourselves, we're just beginning our voyage into who it is we are meant to be and we need someone that can support that chapter in our lives.
So we mentally make our list of what we need in another, and then we meet someone that fits that criteria, and we fit whatever criteria they've developed too. We are blown away. We enter into this relationship with nothing but noble intentions. Til death do us part? You bet! I'm onboard. And it's sincere - it is our sincere hope and our sincere desire.
But we made a critical mistake. We never bothered to appreciate how significantly we'd change. And that they would as well. We might have even had the conversation (as my husband and I did) but at the time, we were certain that we'd grow together, because our ultimate goals were the same - we wanted this. No, I mean it...we REALLY WANTED this.
But, ten years pass and in those ten years, we've achieved some of the goals we set out to achieve and some of the goals have changed. We've sacrificed huge parts of ourselves to make it work against our better judgement (because we were sincere and we REALLY WANTED this) and now our careers have gone one way, our lives have gone one way, our psyches have gone one way and our souls are somewhere else.
But, now we're in our mid-thirties, and we know ourselves. It's a true triumph, really. We are at this place in time where we genuinely know exactly who we are and what we want (at least for the time being, we could change again!). Our careers are where we intended them to be. Even if we're not completely happy in our careers, at this point, we've got a 99.9% knowledge of where we'll be at retirement. (And if we don't, that's a whole other ball of wax).
We know clearly who we are now - as defined by our professional life, the friendships that remain and the new ones formed, the children now present and the amazing deep-breath that comes from having accomplished all of that shit in just 10 short years.
And you lay in bed next to this person that your promised forever to, and as their hands clumsily touch your body you wonder how they couldn't have learned the right way to touch you in ten years, and you say something random that is on your mind and they look at you blankly and you stop and think...is this really what I've done? Is this really what I promised forever for? Is this really what I wanted?
No, of course not. Because the person you chose was chosen for what you thought were the right reasons, and in some ways, they were. That's the person you chose to start a family with and to start a life with. In reality, it wasn't the worst thing you could have done. Sometimes, you need the impetus of wrong to learn right.
If you waited, you probably wouldn't have had the reproductive success your biology mandated you to have. Your career may have taken a different turn. You may have ended up being the most selfish human being on the planet. You likely would have found yourself in a string of short-term relationships that left you feeling...nothing. Worse, you may have found yourself so lonely that you ultimately pledged yourself to someone so utterly wrong for you that life was filled with drama. No, you didn't do any of that. You married a good person and started your family - just the way you thought you were supposed to.
The rub is that it wasn't the person you chose for you. It's a no-fault clause. You couldn't have chosen the person that was right for you, because you didn't even know you. You hadn't even become you.
There is a salvation, however. You admit to yourself that it's OK. You admit to yourself that you are worth more. You prioritize yourself (for a fucking change) and realize that you're still only in your 30's. You acknowledge that you made a mistake, and that while you married a very good person, with a good heart and a good soul, you simply need more.
You acknowledge your selfishness. You set out to find to the person that is just for you. And it's OK, because you're only in your 30's. And you've got your entire lifetime ahead of you and then some. And you acknowledge that you'd rather spend that time with the person that is for you. And yes, it's much harder now - because you're talking about the children, you're talking about complicated finances, you're talking about hurting someone you do love, just not in the way you want to love.
But you look forward to the next 30 - with the person that is just for you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
