Weddings are Weird, Part 2: The Debrief

Two weeks ago, I got to marry my best friend. The one person I could easily, without question, imagine spending the rest of my days with… and, in fact, couldn’t imagine my days without. The wedding went off without a hitch (other than, you know, US getting hitched) and I think it went really well. For anyone interested in the ceremony, the readings, the order of events, etc., I’ve put everything (other than our vows, for the time being) here: https://carterandpaigearehome.com/2017/09/17/the-big-day-recap/

I had people tell me to try and stay in the moment, to appreciate it all as best I could or else I’d forget everything, and I think I did that (stay in the moment, I mean). But I also think that when you’re in a whirlwind of activity, when you’re under the stress of standing in front of 75 people being vulnerable, when you’re a born project manager and want to be sure you’ve remembered to manage every last detail, and then when you only have three hours to visit with those 75 people you invited, it’s all going to fly by and get fuzzy no matter how present you are. That’s what photos and video are for! And all the stories people tell  you afterward! It’s a collective memory-making event, and we are really and truly grateful for everyone who was able to attend, who could then share their memories with us afterward.

Part of me really wishes we could have invited twice as many people. There are so many others I wish could have been there, and that’s one of the things about this whole event that was somewhat vexing. When we decided to hold the event at Sinema, we were automatically limited to 80 guests. 100, if we’d crammed people in, but 80 would fit comfortably. Our family made up ~30 of that, which left 50 people we could invite. We could have easily doubled or tripled that with friends we love and care about, and you know what? That’s a wonderful “problem” to have, but it means you just have to get okay with not having everyone there. Yes, it was a financial decision, but it was also a logistical decision, and we (I) finally just had to make peace with trusting that anyone not invited would hopefully understand and, if not, it wasn’t an emotional burden we could – or should – carry. But it’s a weird thing to navigate, and I’m grateful to not have to do it again. Ever. 🙂

Other items of note:

  • The day after Carter proposed was when people started asking when the big day was. As soon as we landed on a date, people wanted to know where we’d be getting married, if I had a dress, etc. As soon as I found someone to make my dress, people kept asking if it was ready, how the fittings were going, if I loved it yet, if I was nervous it wasn’t done… I finally got to the point where I was tired of talking about the wedding; the details were stressing me out so having people ask me about it was just reminding me of the stress, and I was over it. I might have told a few people that we’d called it off, just so they’d stop asking me about it.
  • I’m not a nice person.
  • The big question now seems to be whether or not I’m going to change my last name; the answer is, “No.” Whether or not I take Carter’s name has absolutely no impact on how “married” I feel or how connected we are, and he (thankfully) cares even less about it than I do. It’s not even that it’s an antiquated practice that would mark me as his property or the loss of my own identity; it’s just a logistical pain in the ass, and also, I like my name, I like my signature, and there’s really no reason to change it.
  • The nice thing is, I can change my mind down the road and there’s no time limit on making that decision. Maybe one day it’ll make sense, but right now? Nah.
  • I didn’t get full feeling back in my toes until 3 days after the big day, but I think those shoes were worth it
  • I wish I’d danced more – and that other people had danced. I’m not a dancer, but our DJ played some really wonderful music that was great to shake your booty to
  • No matter how hard I tried, I barely got to eat anything and that makes me sad because their food is SO GOOD
  • Our friends and family filled the void of not having a wedding planner/day of contact, and they all just managed things without being asked, and made sure everything was coordinated and collected at the end of the night; totally invaluable
  • My one nephew, Ryan, escaped without having a “job” in the wedding and I’m not sure if he cared or if he was relieved, but having all the (other) kids participate was one of my very favorite things
  • It doesn’t matter how long or short your first dance song is, anything over 30 seconds feels like an eternity with people watching, which is why I (of course) felt compelled to grab Carter’s butt – for comedic relief, for my sake as much as anyone else’s
  • I wish I’d given the champagne toast to everyone there, because they’ve all played a part in getting us here. But hindsight is 20/20, which leads me to…
  • All the things that didn’t go EXACTLY as planned or hoped don’t matter, because we’re married, and that’s the point of the whole thing!

It took a village to get us there and to get us through, but we are now, officially, husband and wife, and it’s the weirdest, most wonderful thing in the world.

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Deciding what matters, and then choosing it.

Anyone who knows me hopefully also knows that I will fight to the death when it comes to body- or appearance-shaming as a means of character assassination. So, like, judging a person based on what they do? Totally fine. Open season. But judging a person based on how they look? Totally NOT OKAY. Especially equating being overweight to a character flaw or moral judgement. It’s lazy, it’s flawed logic, and it’s unkind… for starters. It’s not even necessary. Chances are, if you’re feeling the need to slam a person using physical traits,  there’s likely something else you could be using instead (example: Chris Christie is a turd, and there’s a whole host of reasons why, but NONE of them have to do with how he looks). A person’s appearance has nothing to do with who they are as human beings, and is not a reflection of character, mind, or heart. It IS, however, a reflection on us as a society, that we use those things to condemn other people.

So, it’s interesting for me to note that I have been beating myself THE HELL UP for not losing weight before the wedding. Like, suddenly I am a failure, a horrible human being, I’m going to hate seeing photos for years to come because it will remind me I suck, and everyone who has ever wished me harm will revel in seeing me be overweight on the most important day of my life… every time I look in the mirror, every time I’m putting on clothes, I’m these saying mean things to myself, I’m flailing on the inside wondering what I can do to lose weight and get in shape in 6… make that 5… and now 4 weeks.

But this post isn’t so much about that, because here’s what I know: C loves me for who I am, not how I look; in 4 weeks, we will be married to each other, just as in love (if not more so) and happy together as we are right now. We’ll be surrounded by loved ones, eating wonderful food and drinking delicious cocktails, and we’ll get to share this most important event with each other and our friends and family. None of that has anything to do with my physical appearance, and EVERYTHING to do with my mind, my spirit, and my heart.

I recognize that a lot of this self-deprecation comes from external programming. Growing up surrounded by messages that enforce the focus on appearance as a measure of worth, it’s hard to overcome that sort of thing, and just as I said about other people judging – that it’s easy, it’s lazy, and it’s unkind – that’s the default setting for my own brain directed toward myself when I’m looking for something to stress about, some sort of outlet for the pent-up stress and frustration I’ve got going on.

I am stressed OUT. About a lot of things. And apparently the first easy target is me, and how I look, because hey… I’m right here, right? So instead of dealing with stress in a healthy way, it just shows up as my own worst critic.

But this isn’t really about that, either. I mean, it’s good insight, and I’m glad to have it, because it’s keeping me from losing my mind and bursting into tears as I head to my next dress fitting.

What I want to know is… how do priorities form? How do you decide what’s important to you? Is it something you’re born with, or do you learn these things because of the world around you? How do some people decide that fitness is important to them, while others decide they’re just not interested?

And, more specifically, how can you be totally overcome with thoughts of, “Oh goodness, I’m getting married in 6 weeks (or a year or three months or whatever), and I would really love to lose about 5 lbs and get my arms in shape before the wedding!” and then not do anything about it? Like, how can you say and feel with every ounce of your being that this is a priority and it’s important to you, but then not actually do anything about it? And not only that, but do things that are diametrically opposed? Eating ice cream and pizza and drinking wine and doing all the things that you enjoy but you know fly directly in the face of what you’ve stated is your desired end result?

How do make a decision on what’s really important, say it out loud over and over, and then actually flip the switch so you’re working toward that goal? Or is it just that my brain is so determined to have an easy enemy that it’s intentionally sabotaging whatever efforts I might have made? Is it that I have so much other stuff going on that I only have so many spoons of discipline, and they’re all used up before I can get around to the food and exercise regimen I know would get me where I want to be?

And in the face of all of this… how do I just be okay with the apparent reality that losing weight and getting in shape just wasn’t really a priority after all? And then be okay with the outcome?

Scattered Wonder-storm Saturday.

As is often the case when I don’t take the time to do daily journaling or writing blog posts, I end up with a random repository of spaghetti (mmm, pasta) thoughts squirming around in my brain and I end up feeling and acting like a squirrel. So here we are, for Brain Dump Saturday. I decided this morning that maybe for the month of June – you know, when I’m knee-deep in wedding planning and starting back to school again – I’d carve out the time to blog every day. No guarantees it’ll be anything worth reading, but it will certainly help clear up some brain space, which is always a good thing.

I also think I’d do well to wrap up whatever I’ve written with a reflection on gratitude, whether it’s related to the writing or something else entirely. End it with, “I’m grateful today for…” – just because I think I need to retrain my focus. More on that later. Without further ado… here’s some things.

 

  • Where is the line between a good person who’s done (or who does) bad things, and just a bad person? Is it a line that moves based on a moral judgement on the part of the observer? Because some of us seem to be okay with certain things while others of us aren’t, right, but where’s the crossover between not letting a person’s mistakes define them, and then absolutely viewing a person based on their actions? Say, for instance, someone uses the “n” word to refer to a person of color. Some might be inclined to forgive it and chalk it up to the person’s upbringing or whatever; others are more likely to view that person as a racist bigot. Or say, for instance, a politician on the eve of the election shoves and assaults a reporter for asking a question. Some might be inclined to overlook that as a one-off event, chalking it up to stress, whereas others would view it as not only part of that politician’s character (if he’s so easily moved to resort to violence), but a bigger indication of white privilege that he could do that and still get elected into such an important office. Does it all come down to the perspective of the person making the judgement?
  • Also, why are we all so forgiving of shitty behavior? I know I have been in the past, and it’s what has led me/allowed me to have some pretty terrible relationships. Like, what is it in us – maybe it’s a woman thing? – that makes room for so many transgressions and microaggressions and just aggressions in general? I made allowances for a LOT of bad behavior. Certainly I’m not above reproach in that regard, and I know that, but when I contemplate the actions of people in the past, I’m blown away by how much I put up with, in the name/for the sake of “love.” Looking for it, hoping for it, trying to force it… I don’t really know. But I DO know I’m at the point now where the pendulum has swung the other way and I’m having to learn how to be a little bit *more* forgiving with people instead of feeling like I need to hold everyone’s feet to the fire. I assume there is a kinder, softer way somewhere in the middle.
  • I keep thinking back to a counselor in my first round of treatment who told me she was concerned about me because I seemed to soak up negativity like a sponge, and I needed to learn to be more resilient to it. She was absolutely right. Lately there’s been a LOT of negativity in the world – stress, anxiety, fear, anger, resentment, divisiveness, upheaval – and I’ve been carrying a lot of it around, whether it directly affects me or not. Doing my best to not contribute any further, but I found (and continue to find) myself pointing a lot of angry, judgey fingers and telling (or wanting to tell) everyone how I think they need to handle things, how they need to behave, etc… and I realized that by allowing all of that negativity to affect me, I was living in/coming from a place of fear and scarcity. Nothing will ever be okay or enough when that’s your baseline.
  • Which leads me to think back on epigenetics (how your genes express themselves). What you’re born with, and the switches you have the ability to flip. If I was born inherently negative, I like to think I have the ability to change that, if I choose to. Or, like with my complete lack of interest in eating healthy or exercising… I can change that (and really, is that genetics or just feeling lazy?). Anyway. I like to think I can exercise a lot more control over feelings and moods and behaviors than maybe is realistic, but maintaining that awareness around my existence and engagement with the world around me certainly can’t hurt.
  • Allowing fear to drive my beliefs and behaviors is probably the main thing I’m working to reverse right now. We’ve had some significant financial stressors this year, and especially in the past month or so (ahem AUDI ahem). Dealing with those on top of planning a wedding on top of managing my existing debt on top of going back to school on top of some other personal considerations I’m having to navigate… it’s a lot. I see it in how I’m responding to the world and life around me. Resentment, fear, anger, judgement… all of it. I keep having knee-jerk reactions to things, and find the “fight or flight” being activated because of it. The reality is, we’ll be okay – MORE than okay – and I know that. But man, is it tempting to look for who and what to blame, and then BLAME THEM. And then try to hold them accountable. It all comes from feeling helpless and powerless, which leads me to worry that it’s all going to fall apart. Everything. And that leads me to worry that the world and the people I value most will view me as a failure. I’ve spent a good part of my life managing everything so that it wouldn’t fall apart and I wouldn’t fail, which is a good chunk of why I can be such a control freak, and I am not great at asking for help. I also loathe being held accountable for the actions or behaviors of others, which is why I am not always the best team player. I’m working on that, too. Trusting that I can let other people in and the world won’t implode because I’m not managing all of it… that sounds pretty nice.

Anyway. Lots to unpack there with all of it, and just by writing it out I can see why my brain feels so busy. I have to wonder if that’s at least part of the reason I’ve had such crazy dreams lately. If I never dream about C projectile-vomiting after eating Domino’s or earthworms coming out of my 3-legged cat’s butt again, it’ll be too soon.

And since I don’t want to end on such a gross note… here’s one of our engagement photos. ❤

Driving it home.

One of my co-workers died of an overdose this past week.

I’m finding that I don’t really know the “right” way or the best way or the most respectful or honoring or correct way to talk about this, or if I should even talk about it at all. But as is often the case in death, we evaluate how we, the living, are impacted. In working for an agency that provides addiction recovery services for women, and in being a woman who battled my own addictions years ago, who spent a lot of time in the rooms with a lot of other fellow battlers, a lot of my own personal connections were made with her loss. A lot of tender spots were troubled.

She was a former client who’d gone through one of our programs and then came to work with/for us. I remember meeting with her on her first day of work, and there were times over her tenure that I helped her with various IT-related things. The last time I saw her was in the lobby of our building; she noticed my back tattoo and came over to pull my shirt back and take a look. She loved it, and said so, and it was a sweet moment quickly interrupted by the usual chaos of the reception desk.

We had an all-staff meeting to talk about her loss, to open up the discussion to everyone struggling, honoring the different ways we all grieve. Grace was asked for and given. It was absolutely the best way to address something like this, considering our line of work, our relationships with her and each other, and knowing how many would be impacted. Having counselors on staff who could address the important parts, and calling in a therapist from our EAP to be available for anyone in need, helped.

But the most touching and important part was when someone relayed a story of the last time she’d seen her. She (the storyteller, who I’ll call G) was at a desk, head down, doing some work. Our co-worker called G’s name, and G acknowledged it without looking up. She called G’s name again, this time prompting her to look up and see tears running down our co-worker’s face. She was struggling, and sad, and asked G for a hug. G took the time to remind her of how loved and important she is, how much she matters to so many people. Our co-worker said something to the effect of, “I wish I could believe it.”

I remember saying, thinking, and feeling that exact same thing the day I walked out of treatment the first time. I’d made up my mind that I wasn’t done yet, that I wasn’t worthy of sobriety, that I wasn’t ready and wasn’t loved and wasn’t meant for anything other than the drugs that were waiting for me on the other side. After a few days with nothing in my system, I was panicking at everything I was thinking and feeling, but at the same time, it was like nothing could penetrate the walls I’d erected. Some of the staff and clients tried to talk me out of leaving, telling me they loved me and wanted me to stay. I remember crying tears of resolution and defeat as I said, “I hear what you’re saying – I just can’t FEEL it.”

I am fortunate to have survived after going back out; not everyone does.

When I learned of her passing this week, I was immediately transported back to the time when I was sober, going to meetings, working the steps, trudging the road to happy destiny with so many other strugglers and survivors. I remember learning that someone from my home group had relapsed; he went out drinking, passed out outside, and he froze to death. I thought of my friend Paul who I met in the 3/4 house I lived in for 15 months after treatment. He was close to a cherished ex back then, and I’d been grateful to reconnect; I was supposed to visit him in NY about five years ago, but when I went to reach out on Facebook to talk about plans, I learned that he’d died two nights earlier. And then all of our conversations prior to that made a lot more sense; the struggle I’d detected underneath the bravado and humor he’d done his best to maintain.

Somewhere along the way, I got used to learning of people dying from their addictions, and I think that’s what hit me the hardest of all. I don’t want to get used to this. I don’t want to be numbed to the fact that this shit is hard, and scary, and real. It may just be one of my own defense mechanisms, to protect me from re-living just how close I’m sure I came to meeting my own demise. And when I think about that time in my life and compare it to the beautiful life I have now… well, I breathe an enormous, anxious, guilty sigh of relief that I’ve managed to overcome.

Not everyone gets there.

Addiction is different for everyone who goes through it. What gets you there, what keeps you there, and what gets you out of it – if you get out of it alive or at all – is unique to every single person who experiences it. I’ve been asked what I think it is that got me through it; I can attribute some of it to having a solid, loving family; some of it to doing all the hard work I’ve done (and continue to do) emotionally and spiritually; some of it to the people I met and loved along the way who showed me how to live; and some of it to pure, dumb-ass luck.

But because it’s unique, there’s no one cause, no one simple fix. And it is horribly unfair, unrealistic, and simplistic to make sweeping generalizations about addiction, or the people who live it. I am able to drink wine these days without fear of falling back into using heroin or cocaine or methamphetamines, but that doesn’t mean I get to rest on my laurels with the emotional work I’m doing, and it doesn’t mean I’m “cured” or that anyone else could or would have my same experience. And because of that, I will absolutely spend my life correcting those faulty assumptions people make about addiction, because those assumptions can be damaging – even deadly.

All of this to say… I could have been her. And to me, the heartbreaking part is she could have been me. It took a really long time, and a lot of devoted, loving friends, family, and now, Carter, to hold presence and remind me how loved and lovable I am. It took years of undoing all the self-loathing and insecurity and fears I’d amassed. There are still moments where I can’t feel it, can’t believe it, and need to be reminded, but those moments are few and far between, and I have the confidence, wisdom, and trust that they’ll pass. They always do. And I think that’s the golden spot we all strive to reach; not perfect confidence that never waivers, but unearthing and amplifying that little voice that tells you to just hold on until the hard parts pass.

Whole30 Observations, Revelations, and Other Stuff.

CW: Some weight, scale, and body image discussion ahead…

I’m writing this tonight, the last night of our Whole30 adventure, for a few reasons. Mostly because I have the time while my sweetheart is on his way back from his 4th work trip in as many weeks. Have I mentioned how impressed I am with his brand of stubborn, sticking with this thing while traveling for work? I mean, if I were in Vegas, I’m not sure I would have been able to resist going ALL THE WAY OFF plan. In fact, while he was gone, I was *this close* to calling it quits (mostly because of the intestinal distress), but I couldn’t justify it when he was having to find a grocery store, rent a refrigerator for his hotel room, and eat the same damn things every day while I could make all kinds of yummy stuff.

Anyway. The other reason I’m writing about it tonight is because I want this to be about everything but the weight I’ve lost. More about that in a bit.

Before we started this thing, we were eating relatively well, but our habits were devolving pretty rapidly. Like, instead of going to Baskin Robbins once in a while, we’d go several nights a week. Anytime he traveled for work, I’d go to Panera for dinner and get the French Onion Soup (with all that cheese and bread) and a large mac & cheese. And then stop for ice cream on the way home. There was always at least one glass of wine with dinner. I’d start foraging for chocolate or candy at work around 2pm. And don’t even get me started on the reduced-fat Cheez-It binges…

Yeah. I mean, it certainly could have been worse; we were having smoothies for breakfast, salads for lunch, and more often than not, a relatively healthy dinner. But those were getting interspersed with taco and margarita nights, Panera nights, eating anywhere but home nights…

So, a few of my favorite things about Whole30 is that it was like hitting the big reset button on my bad food habits. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t had cravings pretty much this entire time, but my behaviors have changed around food. For the most part, we’ve cooked healthy breakfast meals and sat down to enjoy them, instead of running out the door with a smoothie. (I say “for the most part” because today for breakfast I had an apple & almond butter.) Lunches have stayed healthy, either chicken &  broccoli with lemon, or some form of protein and veggies, leftovers, etc. Dinners were the best part, getting creative or not, making good use of the recipes in the book and being blown away by the flavors… and all the while, getting to spend that quality time cooking together.

Real Talk
Yes, there was a lot more planning and prep work involved. No, I didn’t always feel like doing it, especially when he was on the road. Yes, I ate a lot of eggs for breakfast and got tired of them halfway through, but am back to enjoying them again. No, I never did get the “tiger blood” they talk about in the book, but that could be due to any number of extenuating circumstances not related to diet. The bowel movements have been… exciting. I haven’t had the energy or interest in the gym since we started.

Random Observations

  • There is sugar in damn near everything
  • If it’s not sugar, it’s corn or soy. Did you know that most cans of “tuna in water” in the regular grocery stores are actually “tuna in vegetable broth that probably has soy in it”?
  • I’m pretty sure I heard angels sing when I found the sugar-free, nitrite free, whatever whatever free bacon at Whole Paycheck
  • This can get expensive, real quick, if you let it
  • Some of those sauces lasted more than a week, or close to two, and they were worth every ounce of effort
  • I like making our own almond milk, and will probably keep that up

Weights and Measures
My initial inspiration for wanting to do this was, admittedly, weight-related. I could feel my already-upsized clothes getting tighter, I was carrying more fat than I’d ever had on my frame before, and with the wedding coming up, I started to panic a little. Going to the gym and eating relatively healthy wasn’t making a dent, and I could tell the food consumption was going to get worse before it got better, unless we did something “drastic.”

For about 3 of the 4.2 weeks of this program, I obsessed about getting on the scale. Like, I thought about it more than I ever had when I was allowed to weigh myself. As soon as I could tell I’d lost a few pounds, I wanted to know how many, and I wasn’t going to rest or relax until I knew. I managed to overcome those urges, just like the urge to shove a Twix in my face, but man. Those sucked.

They sucked mostly because more than anything I know this: my weight does not equal my value as a human being. My size is not my soul. I would never be as harsh a critic on others as I am on myself when it comes to the condition of my body, and the last 30 days put a huge spotlight on that internalized obsession/unkindness. Yes, I want to be healthy, and yes, I want to feel good about myself, but focusing on the scale is sure as hell not the way to do that.

And that’s where my last post about comparison came in. I compare my body against those of other people, and have allowed that to determine my worth in my own mind. It’s insane, it’s dangerous, and it’s completely unfounded and unnecessary. If I’m going to judge anyone – including and especially myself – may it always and only be on the content of character.

Will I weigh myself tomorrow? Probably. Am I going to allow that obsession to guide my behaviors, moving forward? Not if I can help it. There are much better benchmarks of success, if what I want is to be stronger, healthier, smarter, happier…

So… yeah. That’s my Whole30 experience in a nutshell. I’d absolutely do it again, even after 2+ weeks of a tender butt and near-desperate need for a bathroom every morning. In fact, I intend to eat like this as much as possible, moving forward. If I find that we’re deviating too far from the new norm, we’ll hop back on the wagon for another round.

In the meantime… tomorrow morning, you better believe I am putting some damn coconut palm sugar in my coffee, and there’s a lovely glass of wine out there with my name on it.

The Joy Thief Club

There have been a few “motivational” quotes rolling around in my head lately. I call them that for lack of a better word, but they’re certainly quotes that – fairly succinctly – serve as reminders of the way I like to live life (when I remember).

The first, I’ve written about before: “How we spend our days is, in fact, how we spend our lives.” by Annie Dillard. It reminds me to choose wisely in how I spend my moments, and to evaluate how I’m engaging with the world. When I look back on my life, I don’t ever want to feel as though I wasted precious time.

The second, also one I’ve written about but that keeps cropping up: “Comparison is the thief of joy.” This is attributed to Theodore Roosevelt, but after some googling, it appears there is some disagreement about that. Whatever the case and whatever the source… it couldn’t be more pertinent for me right now.

We think about it a lot in the negative sense… you know, comparing yourself to others and falling short? I compare myself against my siblings sometimes, and can feel like a failure because of it. I don’t make nearly as much money as they do. I haven’t found/chosen a lifelong career and don’t even know that I’ve got much in the way of direction. They’re more mature and… I don’t know, polished? They’re all healthier/thinner than I am (which, that whole “thinner” thing is a crock; your worth has no connection to your size – more to come on that ongoing revelation)… you get the idea. And then there’s the rest of the world. Anywhere you look, it’s possible to compare yourself against others and fall short.

Then there’s the comparison against self piece… like, I get why comparing yourself today against the person you were a month ago might be beneficial if you’re trying to measure progress in something, like health & wellness, fitness, or even educational pursuits. But even that can take a negative turn, if you focus too long on comparing yourself to a previous you, maybe one where you were more successful, in better shape, younger, actually able to conceive/bare children. Or even comparing yourself against a non-existent you, the version of you that you envisioned for yourself, the one that never came to fruition… instead of just being present with (and loving) yourself today, as you are.

And then, there’s the opposite side of the comparison against others coin: being BETTER than. You know, feeling like you’re better than someone else, for whatever reason. You’re smarter, you’re better looking, you’re funnier, you’re more successful, you’re more willing to be part of a team, better at learning things, you work harder than others to open your mind and be a better person…

The funny part is, as I sit here and write this, there’s a voice in the back of my head saying, “Well yeah, but…” and it feels like “not all white people!” when what I should really be doing is listening and learning. Yeah, some people ARE terrible, sure. I could say I’m better than a child abuser because I don’t abuse children, and I think pretty much everyone would agree.  But anytime my brain tries to argue with me and gets defensive, I know I’m striking a chord worth digging into.

My recent struggle with this “better than” comparison is feeling like I’m a better person than someone who, say, supported Donald Trump for president. And what “better” looks like is anything from kinder, to more empathetic, to better educated, to more capable of critical thought, to a better grasp on reality…

It sounds pretty terrible when I say that out loud. But how can we ever change if we aren’t willing to get honest about it? Kind of like white privilege and supremacy; if I’m not willing and able to accept hard truths and own stuff, unpack and inspect my own crap, I’m sure as hell never going to be able or willing to hear anything else, much less effect some change. It’s why I follow a lot of POC on Twitter; so I can learn, and do the work to hear, see, and understand as best I can.

But yeah. As soon as I start thinking I’m better than someone else – for any reason – it puts us on an uneven playing field in my own mind, rendering the possibility for civil discourse highly unlikely. And chances are, that person is going to pick up on the judgement I’ve already conjured, especially since I’m not very good at hiding how I feel (like, I’m REAL terrible with it). That judgement is going to come off as condescension, and I don’t know about you, but if there’s one thing that will shut me down to someone else, it’s them being condescending. (Passive-aggressive is a very close second.)

If there’s someone out there I love who supports Trump and happens to think his being in office is good for the country and everyone in it, me deciding I’m obviously a better human and a more evolved a thinker than they are is not going to solve or change anything. Right?  I don’t pretend to believe for one second that I could change anyone’s mind or force them to believe anything other than whatever conclusions and life views at which they’ve already arrived. But that doesn’t mean I can’t support and participate in the work being done towards what I believe to be right, and just, and true.Or, you know, just work to combat the damage that I believe is being done, without judging the people who are actively supporting it.

So why make that comparison in the first place? Why put yourself up against someone else at all, whether to be better or worse? Why not try to take the judgement and comparison out of all of this, on the off chance it opens up some space for dialogue?

Like, if I remove the self-inflicted comparisons between myself and my siblings, suddenly I have a lot more joy in being who I am, as well as celebrating who they are – their successes, their drive, their lives.

And if I stop comparing myself against who I thought I’d be at this age, or who I was 10, 20, or 30 years ago, or even who I was a month ago, then there’s a lot of room not only for joy, but for acceptance, and growth – inside and out. You limit yourself when you’ve already defined and confined yourself with comparisons.

While I struggle with comparisons of self, and negative comparisons against others, I think it’s the “better than” comparisons I am working to be most wary of. Otherwise it’s a surefire way to thieve the joy right out of life.

Good at goodbyes.

My parents divorced when I was six. I was the youngest of three kids, and at the time, I felt like everyone’s favorite. Certainly my father’s, and I was doted on – as much as one can be – by my older siblings.  When the separation occurred, I was given over to my mother, and my dad took the two older kids with him to another state and then, for a time, another country.

At that young of an age, I had to get good at goodbye. It was too painful, otherwise, and what I learned was to just shut people out so it didn’t hurt as much.

My mom and I moved a lot when I was growing up. I changed schools several times. My siblings came to visit now and then. My dad remarried and had another kid so I was no longer the youngest or the focus. I occasionally went to see them, but the trips were few and far between.

All of these things kept me good at goodbyes. I got good at moving and not getting attached to any one location. At last count, I’ve lived in over 32 homes in 44 years. I can pack like no one’s business. I got good at disconnecting from friendships, or just not having any real close ones to begin with. I went to two elementary schools, one middle, and four high schools (two in GA, two in TN), so I got good at saying goodbye to familiarity, to the potential for building relationships, to stability.

Aside from two notable exceptions in Portland and Minneapolis, I – perhaps subconsciously/intentionally – dated a lot of less than stellar men (UNDERSTATEMENT), because it was easier when it (inevitably) ended, regardless of who did the ending.

As an adult, I continued to move from apartment to apartment, city to city, state to state, because I either didn’t know how to stay put or I didn’t want to, out of fear of getting too close. Easier to just say goodbye and go before the stakes got too high. The vast majority of my closest friends live in other states; it’s not by design, necessarily, but it makes it a whole lot easier to chalk up the lack of close contact to distance, rather than anything I might have going on inside, you know?

Every year or so into a new job, I start getting the itch to move on to something else. A minor frustration, an irritant of some kind, spurring me on til I have myself convinced that there must be better somewhere else, something MORE: more money, more responsibility, more challenge… I don’t ever really know, but it’s always been easy to just pack up and go, because “screw this place anyway.”

All of these things, all of this life, helped make me who I am: someone good at goodbyes.

Until now, that is.

Over the last year and a month, I’ve had to say goodbye (or, “so long for now”) to C. a lot, because he travels for work. At first, it was a bit of a relief, because I’d gotten so damn good at being alone, I wasn’t sure how to handle someone else’s steady presence. But that changed. Somewhere along the way I let him all the way in, and now, when he leaves, I’m a little out of sorts for a time, not really sure what to do, a little awkward in my movements to stay busy and keep living while he’s gone. I think that means I miss him; it’s a new thing, to let myself miss someone and to be affected by their absence. To admit that I miss him and like life a whole lot better when he’s home. All the more reason I’m so excited to call this man my husband, come September.

For the last year and a half, I’ve worked at a place where I’m fully connected to the people with whom I work. They’re good people, doing good work, and it’s a great opportunity to build my own knowledge and experience. I’ve been given a lot of leeway, grace, and room to grow, I basically wrote my own job description, and I get to take that in some pretty great directions. So when presented with a really difficult financial situation, one in which I’ve had to consider finding a different job in the for-profit sector in order to comfortably pay the bills without C. having to stay out on the road… it’s not an easy task. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I don’t actually want to leave. I want to figure out how to make it work so I can stay.

My thoughts keep returning back to friendships, and I have to admit that I’ve just never been very good at them. At least, I don’t feel like I have. A life of goodbyes and disconnections keeping everyone at arm’s length. There’s something inside that gnaws at me, though; some sort of preconceived notion of what friendship is supposed to look like, telling me I fail on the regular. I suck at reaching out, suck at making plans, suck at making myself vulnerable enough to risk… whatever it is I think I risk by reaching out. Sometimes I think I want it too much, and sometimes I think I’m just fine. I sit at home in my pajamas instead of making plans; I keep myself entertained and sure it’s good enough. I think about people a lot and wonder how they are, but then forget to actually ASK them. I’m so happy spending time with C. when he’s home that it’s sometimes a challenge to force myself to reach out and hang with other people… but I’m always really happy when we do. I don’t actually know that I’m as terrible at it as I think I am; certainly, I compare my insides to other peoples’ outsides, and assume they’re all doing things together all the time and I’m not. But it feels like one of the last hurdles of this whole deal, and I guess it’s gonna roll around in my brain a while until I figure out what’s next.

It’s a nice realization, though, that I’m no longer all that good at goodbyes. Connection is a hell of a complicated, important, wonderful thing.