Monday, October 10, 2011
Service Entrance
Monday, March 21, 2011
There's Nothing Wrong With Me, Why Do You Ask?
I started off this morning thinking about why it's so hard for me to accept a compliment, or even to believe it when someone says anything positive that involves me in any way. It's ridiculous that, at nearly 41, I automatically doubt these things when they come from others. So I spent a lot of time today thinking about why that was, and I think I may have a handle on it.
I have spent my entire life being told, directly or indirectly that there is something wrong with me. I have ektrodactyly, which for me translates as four fingers on each hand, three toes on each foot. Thing is, it's not who I am. There are very few things I want to do that I can't do because of it (okay, I can't get safety caps off prescription bottles, fair enough, but now they don't put them on in the first place -- problem solved). I write, I knit, I screw things into walls on occasion, and I do all sorts of other things that I and others manage to enjoy quite a bit. So do a lot of other people. Thing is, when I do these things, it's somehow a major accomplishment in the eyes of some, and that drives me completely insane!
I love my family and friends, truly, but I love some more than others. The ones I love the most are the ones I've never had to forgive even a little bit for treating me differently. The ones who have never used the words "birth defect" or "disability" or "handicap" in reference to me outside of a very specific conversation about my hands. The ones who haven't done a double-take when meeting me for the first time, haven't paused a beat or two before taking my hand when I've offered it to shake, haven't assumed that other, less-enlightened individuals than themselves may have a problem with my hands (though they don't, of course). Yes, I know it's strange (I look at photos of myself and get some sense of how things must look to you), or at least different, but the moment it's pointed out, it's also implicitly made "wrong."
When I am on my own, doing my own thing, I don't feel like there's anything wrong with me. I can do what I need to do. I've figured out how to live my life with what I've got (what other choice is there?), but it doesn't make me noble or special or any more amazing than anyone else. What it makes me is independent and capable in my own right, just like any of you. Telling me you are amazed that I knit doesn't make me feel good, it makes me feel like a specimen.
The fact that I "manage" as well as I do, that I'm not afraid to use my hands in conversation, that I go out in public in sandals in the summer and live the same damned life as anyone else I know should not be a surprise to anyone. If it is, then something is "wrong" with me, and I'm tired of living under the supposition that there's something for which I and everyone else in my life need to be compensating. Because, for once, I'd like to be able to accept a compliment without question. I don't think that's too much to ask, do you?
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Brigid Poetry Festival
Things
The hen flings a single pebble aside
with her yellow reptilian foot.
Never in eternity the same sound --
a small stone falling on a red leaf.
The juncture of twig and branch,
scarred with lichen, is a gate
we might enter, singing.
The mouse pulls batting
from a hundred-year-old quilt.
She chewed a hole in a blue star
to get it, and now she thrives....
Now is her time to thrive.
Things: simply lasting, then
failing to last: water, a blue heron's
eye, and the light passing
between them: into light all things
must fall, glad at last to have fallen.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Cabin Fever
I'm halfway through a program at a local yoga studio and am struggling with that as well. Turns out I don't really like being told what I can and can not do, what I can and can not eat, and when I should be getting up and going to bed. It hasn't been all bad, at all. I'm eating much healthier and have (with one bad day) kept within the dietary guidelines and restrictions, I've lost a few pounds, and I have seen some progress in my yoga practice, though I haven't been practicing as consistently as the program suggests, because old knee issues have resurfaced.
I finally reached out to a former freelance editor, who gave me an assignment, and suddenly I'm paralyzed by the possibility of screwing it up, even though it's a short, simple piece with sources already in place. I'd like to find some well of confidence, but I'm not sure where to look. I'm out of the habit of saying "yes" to opportunities and knowing that I can take them on.
I'm chafing at my full-time job for no good reason besides being restless and bored, though not for lack of things to be done. I want to get out and GO somewhere, but don't feel as though I can take the time to do that right now. I feel locked in place and that makes me anxious.
I'm still going back and forth about being single. Some days I'm fine with it, some days I'm ridiculously needy. I went back to yoga last night for the first time in two weeks, despite my knee, partially because I was pretty sure that at some point someone would touch me. I could probably go back (again again) to my most recent ex-boyfriend without too much persuasion (he keeps popping up to ask what I'm doing or if we can get together), but I have no desire to do that. I want to move forward -- whatever forward looks like -- not backward. Of course, that also means that the volume of email back-and-forth with my ex-husband should also decrease substantially.
I think what I'm missing most is companionship and I'm just not getting that from Facebook and Twitter, no matter how much I post, comment, or reply. I have good friendships that have developed in both places, but it's not the same as sitting and having a conversation with someone face-to-face. I had two nice visits with friends this weekend that brought home just how vital live interaction is to my well-being.
I'm not sure where all of this leaves me. Mid-winter blues, I suppose, on a stormy night in my little house by myself. Things could be far, far worse and there are bits and pieces on the horizon to look forward to, so I'd imagine it'll all work itself out right, and sooner or later the giant piles of snow will melt and the sun will spend more time in the sky and I'll figure out where that well of confidence has been hiding all this time.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Reverb 10 (#1 and #2)
December 1 – One Word. Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you? (Author: Gwen Bell)
The word for 2010 is, without a doubt, "change." Since January of this year I have: started a full-time job at a bank (ugh!), bought a house, moved, ended a relationship, attended the funeral of a college friend, celebrated a milestone birthday, conquered my NYC anxiety, left the bank job for my old art college job, had my freelance outlets die on the vine, returned to meditation (and, to a lesser extent, yoga), and become friends with my ex-husband. Well, those were the major things, anyway. It has been a year during which I have honestly never been quite sure what was waiting around the next corner or at the end of any given day.
The changes have been a blend of good and bad, and most of them have had significant lessons attached to them. I've tried to ride all of them out with as much equanimity as I could muster, but, I have to admit, it hasn't always been easy. It certainly won't be a year I'll forget too quickly.
As for 2011, I'd love for the word this time next year to be "equilibrium." I don't want to be static, by any means, but I want to be at a point at which I feel as though I can handle what is coming at me with grace. I want to not be upended by each new thing, good, bad, or indifferent. I have to believe that this is not too much to ask.
December 2 – Writing. What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it? (Author: Leo Babauta)
Most of what I do each day doesn't contribute to my writing. I find practically any excuse to put it off, or to shelve it altogether, because part of me is convinced that it doesn't have enough value to bother doing. I know that's not true, and if I would work consistently at writing, rather than frittering my time away with things that have even less value, I would see the truth of it more clearly and devote more time and energy to producing work and putting it out for more than just my own eyes.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
What I Noticed on My Walk Home
Here are the few things that stood out for me today:
1. I forgot to roll the cuffs of my pants up when I changed shoes. The pants I wore today were a bit long for the flat sandals I wear to walk to and from. I didn't notice that they weren't cuffed until I was out of the building, so I was definitely more careful in the way I walked, to avoid stepping on -- or getting caught up in -- my pant legs. I also avoided walking down the middle of Grant Street past Central Market, since the pavers are loose and apt to squirt stale water when stepped on.
2. A woman coming out of Carmen & David's with a tiny tasting cone of something undoubtably delicious. I've seen this same woman order one of these before. The cone is only an inch or two tall, with a little, proportional scoop on top. It would be a good way to rationalize having ice cream more than once a week, but there's something about my Saturday ice cream ritual, and the regular small cone that lasts almost all the way home that I cherish.
3. The lush, overflowing planters lining the stoops and windows along Gallery Row. Round, square and rectangular planters overflowing with green, red, and variegated leafy plants, and tons of blooms, mostly red. I'm terrible at identifying plants, though I think I saw a geranium in one of them. They are maintained very well and looked so lush and healthy even in the heat and humidity of late afternoon.
4. A stylish woman waiting in very high heels. I only saw her in profile, and I'm guessing she was waiting for a car, rather than a bus, because of where she was standing. She was impeccably dressed and didn't look bothered by the heat, and carried off the tall, narrow heels with grace, something I have never managed to do.
5. The fact that I can't write while walking. As I crossed the first of three parking lots, I took my little notebook and a pen out of my bag to jot some of these things down, because sometimes things just don't lodge firmly in my memory. As soon as I opened the notebook and thought about uncapping the pen, I realized that I wouldn't be able to write and walk at the same time. It does seem odd that I can knit and walk but not write and walk, but I think it is because the activities of the two hands would be so different when writing than they are when knitting. I just carried the pen and notebook in my left hand the rest of the way home.
6. Half a dozen (give or take) little brown birds pecking under, then flying from, the hedges between Water Street and Kelly Michener. I'm guessing they were sparrows, pecking and scratching in the dust beneath the hedges until I got close, then wheeling up as a group to perch in the tree branches overhead while I passed.
7. A fresh drift of auto glass in the Kelly Michener lot. It seems like there is a fresh one every couple of weeks, which then gets dispersed by car tires into the surface cracks in the asphalt across the surface of the lot. Remind me never to park there, or to contemplate walking it barefoot -- there are also frequently shards of broken beer bottles scattered around.
8. An adjustable lamp in the window of Odyssey Salon. Nothing terribly special about it, just brushed aluminum with a swing arm, but it was on, or just below, the windowsill and caught my eye as I passed on my way through parking lot #3.
9. Small, bright sunflowers leaning toward the parking lot just off Mulberry street. These were at the far end of lot #3, and were very cheery and bright and leaning away from the fence they were planted against and into the parking lot, as if to say, "Hi! Notice us!"
10. Mostly clear sidewalk washing water running down the gutter along Mulberry Street. Apparently the sidewalk (between two houses) wasn't very dirty, because the water seemed awfully clear. I'd expected it to be from a car being washed (except for the lack of suds), because that happens frequently at roughly the same spot.
11. Around the corner/down the street neighbors waving from their front porch. I don't even know their names, but they were regulars at Dosie Dough, and I see them frequently on my walks through the neighborhood and we always say hello or wave (I was across the street today).
12. The insistent din of cicadas in the trees on my block. I didn't hear them at all until I got under the trees on the other side of the alley which bisects our side of the block, then, wham, all at once. I can hear them outside my window now, over the drone of the fan.
Wow, a lot more than I would have guessed, somehow, though probably not much for a 20 - 25 minute walk. Glad I carried out the exercise, though.