Crossroads

The indispensable first step to getting the things you want out of life is this: decide what you want.

It seems that I can't go more than about a block from my house without encountering a crossroad.  Every step, a choice to either continue in the direction I've begun or turn on my heel and head another way.  And to complicate things even more, some crossroads are sneaky little things.  They are the roads so less travelled that they barely appear to be a road at all, more like a path or a jogging trail. 

Over the past three years I've encountered so many crossroads that there have been times I've wished more than anything to find an onramp to a highway that would get me quickly and powerfully in the direction I wish to go without all these confusing twists, turns and decisions.

Very few of the decisions I've made have turned out to be cause for major regret.  With hindsight, I can see some that I might not have chosen if I'd known then what I know now, but that's the nature of hindsight.  We can say, "Aha, so YOU were hidden behind that curtain to the left."

So I've been thinking about my goals and trying to see if there was some way I could navigate from here with a bit more confidence.  And it's when I start penning those goals that I start becoming conflicted.  I have a responsibility to these to boys I'm raising.  They require care, support, parenting, as safe and comfortable a home as I can reasonably provide, educational opportunities, social opportunities, and so much more.  When I think about taking care of their needs I lean toward jobs with high(er) pay and some illusion of security whether those jobs have anything to do with my needs for myself or not. 

Then I think about what I want and what my needs are.  I want to be debt free.  (I'm pretty close to debt free, but I have some outstanding bills yet from some things that I couldn't cover without the credit card.  I have a plan to get that cleared up by summer.)

I want to be in a place where I can make friends and have personal support.  I want to be very clear, I have excellent friends tucked away around the country.  But I lack the kind of immediate support network that can help me in a pinch or step in to care for the kids if I need to go out of town, or even be willing to drive Michael to a speech therapy appointment if I get caught in a tight at work.  I need friends who are here and available for some mutual support.

I need work that I feel good about, that challenges me without overwhelming me, and that pays me living wages.

I need time to write. I have the desire, the plans the outlines and the projects all ready but too many mornings when the alarm goes off at 4, I have not gotten enough rest to be able to get up and do it. 

I know, or at least I hope that these are not all mutually exclusive, but so far I haven't found the balance. 

In the program I've developed we work with clients to discover what their goals are, identify the obstacles preventing them from achieving those goals, and then we bring in resources to help overcome those obstacles.  Surely I can apply that same process to my own life, connect myself with resources somehow and begin to make some progress? 

... I am important.  My life is important to me.  And unless I'm extraordinarily blessed, that life is more than half over. 

Now is the time to be doing not wishing.  Now is the time to be acting not sitting here paralyzed and stuck.  Now is the time I have. 

You Are Designer Panties

You demand the best, from head to toe. And your panties have to be pure couture, for your own luxury. Men feel like you're a worthy challenge, though you can be difficult to catch. You exude a polished, sexy vibe that tends to attract confident men.

The Good Child ...

Every now and then I get mad.  It doesn't happen often.  I'm far more likely to internalize my feelings and clean the house twice than I am to admit that I'm angry with the "Oh, didn't you realize you had been paying an introductory rate?  Now you owe $145" tactic or some other unfairness about which I've seen other people lose their cool

Frankly, I think that the truth is that I don't have much cool to lose, I'm more the geek type. 

And while that's okay, its not as satisfying as I think a nice loud shout of a naughty word might be.  Which reminds me of something, remember in Field of Dreams when the neighborhood uptight judgmental church lady stands up in the community meeting and spells the word S*H*I*T?  I happened to see that film for the first time in the "edited for television" version - and if you're old enough to remember THOSE kinds of films, well, never mind we won't go there.  But the point is that in the edited version she spelled C*R*A*P and that was WAY funnier. 

So I get it that sometimes, and in fact many times the most impactful word might not be the naughtiest of the lot.  I am also lucky to have several friends who can make sailors blush, and in a pinch they can usually provide me with good suggestions for use in response to various provocations but I only laugh.  I don't generally take them up on it.

When a recent situation left me without the appropriate words, I called my sister.  Okay, actually I called both my sisters, but one of them gave me sympathy and understanding and told me that it was okay to feel angry.  The other one told me that I can feel angry but I'm not allowed to do anything about it because I'm "the good child."

o_0

(And that reminds me of something else, apparently the javascript I used to substitute cool emoticons for the lame-oh emoticons isn't working.  And that's an unhappying situation to say the least.)

In fact, Cheryl went on to explain that if I were ever to so forget myself as to actually express anger or "stoop to the level of normal people" the entire order of the universe would be upset.

0_o

Wow.  I'm important.

Remember Where you Came From ...

Do you remember what it was like to be a kid?  Do you remember the things you did that you cringe to think of anyone ever bringing up to you now that you're an adult? 

I remember a few episodes where I got in serious trouble.  I remember the time that I threw rocks at the neighbor's truck.  (Daddy spanked me for that.)  I remember the time in fifth grade that I got caught cheating on a test, which was a really stupid thing to have done because I had all the answers to the questions memorized well in advance.  But I was tired of being teased for being smart and I thought that if the other kids thought I had to cheat they would cut me some slack.  They didn't.  It was a totally humiliating experience. 

And the point of all this? 

I think that if we are so foolish as to try and lock away those things and pretend they never happened, we lose our ability to have compassion and understanding when our own kids do things that make us wonder what demon spawn was switched for our lovely baby because surely no child of OURS would act this way.

So if anyone wants to make a big deal about the fact that Tucker once chose to moon the neighbors, that person had better remember that I was there the day a certain 8-almost-9 year old chose to drop pants and poop behind Grandma's house.  

And just for the record, neither the pooping culprit nor any of the other kids who witnessed that incident have grown up to be psycho killers.  Yet. 

Happy Easter Everybunny

Home Again

I was in Canton, Ohio.  The day before we arrived it was 80 degrees.  The day we arrived it was 27 and yesterday it snowed all day.

We landed in Denver about 11:20 and by the time we got out of the airport and then drove home to Colorado Springs, it was almost 2:00.  I'm a tired puppy.

The business was good.

Hanging out with my boss was good.

(Yes - we went shoe shopping on Wednesday night.  I didn't buy any, but OH it was fun.  And there was this one pair that I'm still feeling emotional about - I wanted them, but I know that wooden soles would have become painfully uncomfortable if I tried to wear them all day, but OH, I wanted them.  Four and a half inch heels with a half inch platform, I'd have been a LOT closer to normal looking height in those sweet shoes.)

 I'm so tired now.  I can't decide whether I'm hungry or just exhausted, but something is causing a headache here.

Oh Hi Oh Hi Oh hiOh

I'm in Ohio tonight. It's my first business trip but I'm feeling pretty good about my travel acumen. We sailed past the long line of people waiting to check in at the Delta counter because I knew to print out our boarding passes last night.

I have to admit that even though I felt confident that my experiences through years of volunteer work, and organizing family business had value in a corporate venue, but it's been difficult to maintain that in the face of interviews and rejections because of my lack of corporate positions. It has been very nice to get affirmation that I wasn't just guilty of a hopeful illusion.

My boss, Denise and I are here to gather information about a program that has us very excited. From everything we know about them so far, they are offering a parallel service to our own, but they've been doing it longer and have worked through many of the issues we are still trying to smooth.

So this could be a very good thing.

I will be back home sometime very eary Friday morning (we expect to get home about 1:00 am) And I will check in as I can. I don't have another poem ready to post, but I have been working one another idea. My muse is just not listening.

Faith Loss?

Judy commented on yesterday's poem that it reads like a loss of faith in men.  I know that's the surface of it.  But I see it more as a loss of faith in roles.  The woman who speaks there, about her several ex-husbands, doesn't speak of any kind of intimacy with these men, or of loving and relating to them, but of behaviors that annoyed her. 

When I meet people who then learn that I'm divorced, they almost invariably offer some comment about how awful men are.  (As though I had nothing to do with the failure of the marriage?!?)  I understand that they think they are offering me sympathy and understanding, I just don't happen to agree with them.

The failure of a marriage with one man, doesn't mean that they are all horrible.  I have given a lot of thought to marriage though and the roles we play.  (Mary loaned me a very interesting book called "The Meaning of Wife" that explores some of these ideas as well.)  And my conclusion is that I and Tim and many people put too much faith in the role as a short cut around marrying your life to another life. 

And this may sound a little judgmental, but I know a lot of people who have a marriage license, but aren't married.  They went through a ceremony, and started doing things that seemed in their mind to fulfill the role they'd taken on, but they haven't joined their lives.  I'm absolutely certain that's part of where Tim and I went wrong.  Even after fifteen years of marriage, we had no better idea of the other's internal landscape, hopes, dreams, fears, or even things like where we wanted to go or live, than we did on the day we were married.

He and I had a conversation last week about this.  I fell in love with New Mexico and to a lesser extent Colorado when I was a child coming out here for visits with family.  I know I talked about that.  When Mary and I reconnected  six years ago and compared lives and hopes and dreams, that's part of what we talked about, she knew within weeks that it was my hope to live in New Mexico.  (And I'm closer, but I know that eventually I will make that move.)   Tim told me that until I moved here after the divorce, he had no idea that this was a place I was interested in even visiting. 

I'm not saying that a successful marriage is a matter of studying the other person.  It's not a list of trivia you can memorize.  But joining your life with another person's life, it's not about the towels on the bathroom floor either.  It's about being heart to heart with another person. 

Maybe, I have an overly idealistic view of what marriage is or should be.  My advice whenever I'm asked (surprisingly often) how you know whether you should marriage some person or another is always, "Don't marry the one you can live with, marry one you can't live without."  Marrying someone you can live with is about joining up roles.  I'll bring home a paycheck, decorate the house, make dinner, mow the lawn and organize investments ... that sort of thing. 

Marriage isn't about the business of operating a household.  Or of the details and habits you develop.  Marriage is about being mentally, physically, and psychologically joined to another person.  Its about intimacy.  I conclude this because in the end, I felt that whatever Tim and I had together, it wasn't a marriage.  And we both deserved better than that. 

He is far happier now with Jennifer than he ever was with me.  And I'm ... well, I haven't lost faith in men.  But I know for certain that there is no way I'll go back to the role "wife" ever again.  I may very well join my life to another life.  But only if the man in question wants ME not because he thinks I'd be a good wife.  (And btw, I think I'm more than capable of doing the role very well.  But I am not the role.)

A Very Special Day

April 2nd is a special day.  It contains seeds of memory and laughter, delight and surprise.  I could tell you why April 2nd is a wonderful day, but then that would spoil it all for everyone.  The best thing about April 2nd is that no one knows until they trip over the gift.  Keep your eyes and ears open today.  Oh, and your heart as well.  It will be a good thing.

Sigh - I have written a second poem.  I know I said that it would only be one a week, but I got thinking ... I could marry this thought to that sentence and the next thing you know ... It's a bad precedent.  I don't have the time or the inclination to write a poem every day.  Do you know how many days there are in April?  No way.  I don't have time.  I really don't.  Stupid muse.  Got me confused with someone else. 

She Speaks

She says, "My third ex-husband" in soft tones,
a little hiccup of laughter to punctuate.
He was the for sure friend
who would help her make it work this time.
It didn't work.
Don't go down to the courthouse, sign papers,
wear the special dress you will never wear again.
Don't try to marry your life.  Just be.
Be a woman apart with your own house and
your own closet.  Don't try to figure out what to
make for dinner because that isn't what they want.
They want to sleep in your bed, fart
in your kitchen, and leave
their towels on the floor of your bathroom.
This is marriage to a man in the new millennium.
Love them like library books.  Read them
cover to cover, devour every scene, and
sigh over all the tender parts.  Then return
them to the airport for the next ex-wife
to pick up where you left off.

Welcome April!

April is here, and along with it a whole new attitude.  For me April means a time of refreshing and joyful energy.  The bursting forth of creativity after the dormancy of winter. 

April is National Poetry Month.  In years past I have attempted a Poem a Day to celebrate.  I'm not quite sure I want to try that commitment this year because I feel completely overwhelmed by the commitments I've made already.  But I can surely at least do a poem a week?

Catching Dreams

Web-like patterns made from twine, string, a bit of stone, and a feather
hang for sale in the tourist shops, Dreamcatcher, genuine Native American
craft of men and women who live in the ochre of the spaghetti
West along with the young Clint on a horse with no name.  From
their protected place in the sand they send out these lines, fishing for dreams.

And the tourist who picks it up, an old man in his old man socks,
with his thin legs supporting a rounded belly and the wisdom
of never eat pizza or ice cream in the evening. His watery eyed
view of my aunt Gladys when she was young, beautiful, and wild,
holds a dream of love that burns a trail through his veins
and the ghost of his long gone hair waves in the afternoon breeze.