The times that I am not my best self

I was not my best self tonight. I threw a small fit, realized I was throwing a fit which made me more angry, so I threw a bigger fit, then tapped out. Chagrined, embarrassed, ashamed, and still mad. Mad at him, mad at me, mad at the situation. Mostly mad that I didn't keep my insides on the inside.

There is a part of me that will always be a 5 year old. I like that 5 year old and protect her because she keeps the kid in me alive. The hope, the purity, the joy, the curiosity- all of the things that kids possess, she nurtures. But she also has a temper. I also have a temper.

I am good at my temper. Not so much because I have learned to keep it in check, which I have (yay, rectangular breathing), but more because it's rare that I allow anyone to get under my skin deep enough to make me angry. I cultivate the duck in water kind of zen. Let it all roll off.

I have found that there are a very small subset of people that get under my skin with no effort at all. I don't know why. I don't know if it is a good thing or a bad thing.  But it feels like they find the fissure in the seams of my armor and use their nails to pull it back and slip right inside. That kind of intimacy leaves me feeling naked and vulnerable. Raw. I don't like it.

I was having a conversation with someone who saw me clearly the other day. He called me on some things that no one outside of my blood and adopted family can see. I hated it. At the same time I liked it. It left me questions: Is my mask slipping? Am I losing my walls? Is that a good thing? Why do they see me? What do they want with this information? What am I doing wrong to be seen so clearly? Is my smoke and mirrors act dissipating? Then it left me the usual solution when someone gets too close- run.

So I did, then I didn't. And tonight, ill in-tune with how far their fingers have penetrated my mask, I made a tactical error. I assumed that they had gotten lucky in seeing me and lucky in their wins instead of giving them due credit. In doing so I took an L and threw a fit. First the pleading kind to get my way, then the attitude kind to challenge the ego (also to get my way), then the tap out kind (because it was clear I wasn't going to get my way). I was not my best self. And he knew it.

Why do some people get into you like that? It feels personal. It throws me off my game and causes me to be irrational instead of logical. It frustrates the 5 year old in me. Both because my ugly bits show and because, well because my ugly bits show. I'm not so mad that I lost. I'm mad that I didn't lose well. I'm mad that someone who already sees me so clearly had another authentic glance. The not pretty kind.

I feel like I fell asleep with my blinds open and the lights on while napping nude. Once awakened I realized it was dark outside and that the inside is totally illuminated. The only thing to do is hope no cars drive by during the mad naked rush to close the blinds. Only to realize that the one person you don't want to see you in the buff is watching from the drive way. The cold realization washes with the hot shame and you are caught. A thing done can't be undone. A thing seen can't be unseen. Now all you can do is brazen it out and hope that they afford you your dignity. Hope they are willing to pretend that it didn't happen all the while knowing that that's impossible.

I was seen at not my best self tonight and now I have to look the person in the eye tomorrow (or not) and accept that they have a new knowledge of who I am on the inside. Who I am naked.

I hate it.

Dewb

The Things I Know to be True

Why is it that when I need to write the most I forget that I am a writer? Why is it that I forget that it is my voice that has always been my power? Why is it that I forget that when things get complex I simply need to listen backwards to act forwards? Maybe the other voices are too loud. Maybe I simply forget that it is as simple as creating a word document and that in that white space and 84 keys my life’s fog dissipates.

I am a writer. My blog saves my life by preserving my voice. In here I am the true me. The authentic Amy. Ready to talk, listen, read, and remind.

I want to write about expectations. About how people choose to see you through the lens of what and who they are as opposed to who you actually are. About how if you aren’t careful you will start to believe that who they think you are is what you actually are. About how easy it is to live someone else’s expectations of you and how because they want to be you, they will try to convince you that you are them. And you are not. About how it is a kindness to them to mute yourself but in that muting you can easily forget the sound of your voice. Lose your plan.

I want to write about running shoes. I ran for a long time. I started when my brother left and continued until I had deteriorated the cartilage in my knees. I ran to think. And to breathe. And to find my voice in the rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement. My shoes represented freedom and health and life and discipline. My shoes represented both who I was and who I wanted to be at the same time. They were all I needed when things got rough. They both tied me down and set me free.

I want to write about men. About silly ones and cowardly ones and ones that act like girls and ones that act like men. I want to write about men that surprise me. And men that are exactly what they seem to be. I want to write about how good men go bad and how sometimes moving across the continent is the best way to see that: yes, he was hiding something and it was pretty terrible. Dodged a bullet, again. I want to write about young men that make me question my wings and old men that make me cringe when they touch me.

But I don’t think that I am going to write about any of these things. Not because I don’t have alot to say about any one of them but because I do. I think what I will write instead what I know to be true. In this moment, in this space in time, here is what I know:

God is love.

He loves me.

Love is the most powerful thing in the universe.

Mothers love no matter what.

It’s ok to fly.

It’s ok to fall.

It’s ok to fly again.

In being a part of nothing people will want to make you a part of their everything.

But you can’t do both.

I am a good roommate but a bad boarder. I need my home to be a haven not a hostel.

I have itchy feet that need new adventure to be scratched.

True love happens so frequently it’s ridiculous. But it’s still a miracle.

True love usually happens outside of romantic relationships.

Babies. Babies are true.

Next time I should pick the nice guy.

Be patient and stick to the plan.

When Jehovah says no on a guy, take the no.

Messi is messy. Messes are gross.

There are plenty of guys.

Call your mom.

Call your dad.

The kids will be fine.  

Don’t get into a relationship with a guy that lives with his mother. Mothers and sons have interesting relationships, especially if there are no daughters around. It’s like a queen bee and subjects that you will never shake. No queen bee wants another queen bee around. Especially if they still live at home as adults. Walk away.

Being content is not mutually exclusive to following the bigger plan.

Sometimes you still have to jump.

Love yourself.

This is what I know to be true tonight. That and the fact that I still love the blog. I will walk away tonight a little more (a lot more) centered, reflective, calm and ready to take the next days steps with power and grace. I think I am going to set a quarterly reminder in my phone to blog. Or a note that says, “Don’t forget that you are a writer. Go write.”

Yeah, I’m going to do that now. Well, as soon as I post this.

Dewb

Happy

Sometimes picking up and moving away is the answer. Sometimes you can see more clearly when the minutiae that is day to day life is removed. Sometimes you have to leave the forest to see the trees. Sometimes when you see the trees you realize what you really want to see is the mountains.

Our stories in life are largely unwritten. By which I mean that the story is both writing itself and completing itself as one bobs along. It takes diligent forethought to pause in the midst of chaos and mentally project the anticipated outcomes. Then it takes courage to pick and choose the one that fits the narrative that you want your life to be. So many choices. So many outcomes. So many eventualities. 

I have always wanted to live a life of adventure. I recognize that that word, adventure, means something different to me than it does to others and that life itself is a choose your own adventure book. Specifically to me adventure is always having the ability to have a plan for the the next thing, then the next. I know that some people crave stability and consistency. I am not one of them. I prefer to discover what's around the next river bend. 

What is the point? The point is that I find that the more paths I delve into the wider the options become. That I find myself becoming less and less encumbered by the atypical life. That I really, really like being free. That I have found birds to fly with whose melody compliments my harmony.

I am pretty darn happy. 

Life is good.

A

Reciprocal Music

My daughter told me recently that outside of the natural world, nothing is actually correctly tuned. Orchestras, bands, & singers are all just the same amount of out of tune. I sat listening to a brass ensemble tonight and realized that the same could be said of life. None of us are correctly tuned, we just find humans that are as out of tune as we are and decide to play with them.

All is perfect until someone breaks enough hairs in their inner ear and suddenly what sounded melodious before now grates the ears and nerves. People are like that. We grow out of, into, around, and beyond friendships.

My new favorite word is reciprocity. The dictionary definition of reciprocity is: the practice of exchanging things with others for mutual benefit. The practice of - so something that is an expected norm, something that happens with regularity. Exchanging things with others- there is a tangible give and give; not a give and take wherein one does the giving and someone else does the taking. Both are giving. For mutual benefit- the regular interchange is valuable to both parties. Wow. What a great word.

I am applying it to my life. How many relationships can you, can anyone, say that they have that are reciprocal? Generally relationships are unbalanced. One or both people feeling like they are doing the lion's share of the giving. I think that occurs when the exchange isn't mutually beneficial. Not all love languages are the same, some need translation.

I have been evaluating my relationships through the lens of reciprocity. Granted it may seem like I am making myself to be the standard for reciprocity, I am not, at the same time it is my blog- I get to tell the story the way that makes sense to me. Writer's prerogative that I see my story through my lens. My need for reciprocity is based on what is valuable to me. 

What I realized was that I need time away. I am exhausted from pouring so much into so many. I blame myself, I am writing my story. Probably there was a part of me that liked to be needed. To be the resource. To be the go to. The 30 year old part of me. I'm about to start my 4th decade of life and what I really want is to surround myself with people who hear my tune. Is this what 40 brings? A new understanding of what you will and won't allow in your life? Is this the "midlife crisis" that everyone talks about? The one where to validate yourself you buy a new car? 

Maybe all it really is is people that are tired of being taken from by those who don't give back. I don't know. I obviously don't know much- the older I get the less I am sure of. But I am sure of this- Until the next word, reciprocity is my favorite one. And while that is the case I need to make sure I surround myself with the group that plays to the same tune as mine.

The tune of reciprocity.

A








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Things not broken

It's pink. I was going through a pink phase, therefore it all matches and it's equally aged. Currently the age shows. The edges have faded. There is a threadbare patch where a clasp once was. The elasticity is worn and the stand function no longer functions. The compartments on the inside lost their stitching so that what was once 3 now is just one pocket. But, and it's a big but, it still works.

I went to the phone store the other day to try to replace it and was told that my model was "outdated" therefore replacement cases are not available. I was baffled. My options were to buy a new phone and therefore case or keep what I have.

"But it still works." I said with no small amount of confusion.

The man at the counter shrugged. As confused as I was that I didn't jump at the opportunity to upgrade and get the latest and greatest. I could see him trying to calculate if I simply couldn't afford a new phone. He couldn't decide. I was a mess of contradictions. Falling apart bag that acted as a purse. Expensive leather knee high boots. Unremarkable outfit. Jewelry tasteful enough to be real but large enough that it could be fake. Shiny new car.

"But it works. Look," I opened the case to reveal a never been cracked, looks like new phone thanks to the case that I was looking to replace, "see, it works perfectly well."

"It's old. We don't have any of those anymore." Mentally he checked out, walked away.

I calculated, new phone- port numbers, reinstall apps, adjust settings, at least an hour of my time. Time is valuable. Money I can afford to spend, it's a fake commodity. Time is precious to me. An hour is a significant chunk of time in my world. Could be worse. The new case was pretty. The phone a newer model. BUT IT STILL WORKS my brain shouted, It Still Works. Discussion had I turned and left the store.

As I drove home I thought about why I had such a negative visceral reaction to replacing an inanimate object. As much as I could reason it I stumbled upon 2 truths about myself.

Truth 1- I am not and never will be the kind of person who disregards a thing because the next, greatest, latest comes along. I value loyalty. It seemed unfair to ditch something because it was no longer young and new and pretty. It felt shallow.

Truth 2- See if you can follow this logic; I bought the phone case because my previous phone had had to have the screen replaced about 4 times. I was terrible at dropping that phone. When it could take no more I bought the case instead of the insurance in hopes that the case would do it's job well. And it had. 5 years later the phone looked and acted like new, the case sustaining the damage of the drops that I still do with my phone. As a result the case was a wreck but the phone looks new. It's seemed to me to be terribly unfair to replace a thing that had done it's job by taking the hit for another thing. 'I am getting rid of you because you did it right??'  Couldn't do it.

I thought about my house, I still have a VCR- because it works. I purchased my washer and dryer new before I bought my house over a dozen years ago- refuse to replace, still works. My kitchen appliances- same thing. Nothing in my house is the latest and greatest, and not because I can't afford it, but because I can't see my way around the logic of getting rid of a thing simply because it's old. I guess in my mind it's age makes it more valuable, not less. It was a good investment. I'll ride it until it dies a natural death, then replace it with the newest thing on the market and do the same all over again.

I like to think I apply this principal to the people in my life. I think of myself as loyal. I know it's one of the qualities I require foremost in my relationships. It seems to carry with it the connotation that even when you're broken, I'll still be here for you and I trust you'll still be here for me. We aren't on the upgrade every few years plan. Granted there have been some friendships that have stopped functioning and I've chosen to walk away from. Sometimes loving someone and letting them go are synonymous.

We often hear that we live in a throw away society. I wonder if it starts with little things like this. A phone case that lost it's beauty protecting a phone- might was well replace both effective things, a phone that still works and a case that still protects... ? That makes no sense to me. Is this where our collective lack of appreciation for good craftsmanship springs from? These very nominal things that we have no qualms about getting rid of? At what point does a phone case become a TV become a car become a friend become a spouse? At what point do we understand that having quality means an investment in loyalty? I don't know.

I am sure that there is someone out here in cyberspace that would convince me that the new phone had a better processing system (I was quite entertained as the salesman used very small words to explain to me what that meant, I chose not to tell him I teach coding and my kids build phones. Leave him his dignity.). And my response to that is the same as is now- I can afford a phone, I-Pad, and a laptop. They aren't the same device, therefore, I don't need a phone to be a computer. I have a computer for that. You miss the purpose. You wouldn't make a rack of BBQ ribs and garnish them with donuts just because you have the ability to. Different things, different functions. Duh.

Things not broken don't need to be fixed. Don't need to be replaced. They need to be celebrated for doing their jobs well. Eventually my case will fall apart. Then at some point I'll drop my phone and it'll break. Then I will be glad my contacts are stored on google drive, toss my old phone in the trash and buy new, never looking back. But not before then. Not a second before then.

I liked crystallizing this lesson about myself- that I can afford the new, in all respects: phones, appliances, people; but I value the process of creating history with a thing.

I am glad that it is beyond my scope of comprehension to toss a thing not broken.

A

Hopeful and Thankful

The wall of windows are open. There are no screens here. The sultry ocean air is thinned and circulated by the ceiling fans. The ocean is blanketed in black but I can hear and smell it to my left. From the little pullout bed in the beach studio I have direct line of sight into the windows across the alley. They are all dark. One by one having faded into the peace of the evening. My mind dances. Here I am. A little older, a little wiser but not too much.

I am back in San Juan a little over a year having passed since I was here last. Much has changed- in life, in the world; almost as much as has stayed the same. There was a hurricane here. I came  to the Island much to show support for the island and for the people. I was also curious. The media tells a story that sounds tragic and frightening. I wondered if it was true. Sensationalized I believe is the word. There is evidence of destruction. A change in the attitudes of the people, a bit less carefree a bit more hardened in the eyes, yet stronger. The people have been gracious, happy to see us. They knew that coming required of us a willingness to not shudder and turn away from the scars. But I knew that the best way to show support was to show up. So much of life is about being willing to show up, and in this case, pour tourism dollars back into the economy. We stayed local, ate local, ubered local. Connected on a human level. We wanted to give support, they showed us how to pour love into the thing you love. It is beautiful on both ends.

It occurs to me that this is a metaphor for how my year has gone. I have lost some, I have won more. But mostly I have spent the year learning how to pour love into the things that I love. I have learned that love in it's pure form isn't centered on romance but on sacrifice. Like Jesus. My 2017's goal for the year was to Be More Love. That is amazingly harder than it sounds. But also more rewarding. 

I lay in this bed and I can reflect on all of the people that make my life special. I think of the babies that I have had a share in loving their Moms. I think of the visits to the hospital that meant nothing more than I am here, I love you, I care. I think of the monthly dinners where we bare our souls in order to feel connected in this existence. I think of the camping trips, the Vegas trips, the NASA trips, the NorCo trips- I don't think that I know of anyone but my friends who vacation with their friends as much as we do. We live life and love loud. I think of the friends in different time zones, countries, and contenients. Why did no one tell me sooner that love like this is such a breathtaking thing?

I went to the Bacardi Factory today in an attempt to learn more about how rum is made. I learned that the strongest proof made is 95%. I learned that is is illegal to sell because it is considered dangerous. To bring the proof back down to the legal limit of 40% they add distilled water. That's interesting right? To create the alcohol you need to evaporate the water out of the cane sugar in the form of molasses. In order to sell it you have to add the water back. This also reminded me of relationships. I wonder if it's possible that not everyone can handle 100% proof love. They pretend that they want it, they crave it but they actually are afraid of the impact of something so strong. How many of us distill our love to a tolerable level? How many of us are love lightweights? Am I? Are you?

I think we give and desire distilled love in our most meaningful relationships- marriage mates, siblings, family. These are harder to desire 100 proof because we are afraid that if we get the full effect we will automatically turn into an addict. And what if- ya know? What if you make them mad and they leave? What if they are torn from you by circumstances in or out of their control? Then what? We become lost love junkies in need of a hit of something that will never come back? How much courage does love take? I mean really- when you think about it, to accept love at 100 proof requires courage. A willingness to accept a harrowing loss. I am honest enough to admit that I am not that brave when it comes to romantic relationships. Yet.

2017 taught me how to love at 100%. I am hopeful that in 2018 I will learn to accept love at 100 proof. I am hopeful that I will find that kind of courage. I am also thankful. I am thankful that my family has always loved me- a constant so constant that it's impossible to not take it for granted. Like oxygen and gravity. I am thankful for my friends who are teaching me to accept love in gradually less distilled forms. I think I'm probably up to about 80 proof. Twice the legal limit; not too bad for almost, almost 40.

Here's to holding my liquor. 

Cheers,

Dewberry

Men and not quite men

"I'm hard to love, I'm hard to love. I don't make it easy. I wouldn't do it if I stood where you stood."

Am I hard to love? Some days it seems like that but I am not.  I am fortunate that in these moments I can reflect on Manyo or De or Hodge or  Niume. I am not hard to love, I have plenty of evidence.  I'm easy to love. I'm hard to hang on to. So is that me or is that you?

I read a statement the other day where a man was quoted as saying that he would never propose to a woman.  He would wait for her to bring it up and go with the plan. I was told the other day that a friend's crush wouldn't pursue her because she had physically experienced other men and he would always worry that he couldn't measure up. I have been told that as much as my past makes me interesting it's "too much" to handle. Huh? All of it- huh?

I'm trying not to make generalizations like- men these days are wack.  Maybe just those men are wack. I don't know, I was raised surrounded by men who were not afraid. My white dad married my black mom with 3 kids. I don't understand a man who doesn't have enough love in his heart to love the kids too.  In my estimation that's not a man. My uncles married my aunts. Women strong and full of attitude. They, the uncles, are quiet and laid back. They don't talk purposelessly but when they speak, my aunts shut up. I don't understand a man that couldn't handle a strong independent woman. In my mind that man isn't a man. My cousins can pull women like the masses inhale oxygen but they all eventually end up with one that has the strength to hold them down. To me a man understands the value of one woman vs collecting them by the handful. That's easy. A player isn't a man.

I go into the world with these examples of what a man is and I am disappointed with the ones I observe. I am not hard to love. I'm hard to hold on to. 'Cause I'm going to run and if you can't run faster I will leave you in the dust.  And then be relieved that I dodged the bullet of an unworthy challenger. Or if I'm feeling kind I will point you in the direction of a nice watered down version of me. One that you won't feel intimidated by. One that is easy and won't run. I will smile and be glad I made it out of the foxhole to run another day.

So then what? Well then I change Pandora from the love songs of Chrisette Michele, India Arie and Alicia Keys to Common, Mof Def, Talib Kweli and Pharcyde. Stop my sway, get my boogie on and keep it pushin.

Here's to the chase. To the victor goes the spoils.

Dewb