Among her recommendations was this:  Sing “The 59th Street Bridge Song” to myself…really S-L-O-W-L-Y.  (And let’s just skip right over the fact that, yes, I am old enough to know that song, and know it by name, shall we?  Thanks.)

It’s an infectious little song, under two-minutes long when Simon and Garfunkel do it, but an easy one to slow down and add a little funky groove to without losing any of the infectious quality. As soon as she mentioned it, it lodged itself in my brain and has been there ever since.

Last night, I was so exhausted, I went to my room at 8:20pm, intending to relax and catch up on some of the shows I’d recorded, but as soon as I got horizontal, I was OUT. COLD. Dead to the world.

I woke up to my light and TV still on, with cramps so bad, I was sure I was being sawed in half. I went to the bathroom, came back and crawled back in bed after peeking out the window and seeing that it was still dark outside. I tried and tried to go back to sleep, but couldn’t. I was WIDE awake…at 4:39am. UGH.

I gave up and got dressed and wandered out here to my office, railing against the idea of starting client work while it was still dark outside. Then, it occurred to me that I had also promised her that I would take time to think and write about what was going on in my world as a way to process it all. But…I didn’t feel like writing.

The song was STILL playing in my brain, so in a flash of brilliant self-care, I gave myself permission to “play” and create a video using pictures and that song. But first, I had to find a way to slow it down without making Simon and Garfunkel sound ridiculous. I entertained the idea of recording myself singing it…for about 3 seconds…until I remembered the hour and nixed that idea with a quickness. So, to iTunes I went, searched by song title and what to my wondering eyes would appear, but a slow version recorded by Kathy Troccoli on an album called, “Heartsongs”. BINGO!

I spent my early morning creating this little video using pictures of people I love. Now, when I need to soothe myself, I can not only “hear” the song in my head, I can “see” this little video. And, of course, I can play it anytime I want. I’m sure it will mean more to me than anyone else, but you might enjoy it, so I’m including it here.
 

 

Known to those my age and older, détente is an easing of strained relations, for us the Cold War relationship between the US and the former Soviet Union. Forty years later, I am experiencing my own détente, and I have to say, it’s freakin’ me out a little.

When was the last time you suddenly, without warning, got something you’d been wanting for a very long time? Out of the blue, it comes…as if someone or something had been eavesdropping on your thoughts and dreams. It’s quite discombobulating.

Even if it’s only the tiniest piece of what you wanted – a noticeable change in the tone and tenor of a relationship – it has the power to knock you for a loop when you’re not looking.

There was a day that I’d have taken that tiniest piece and – out of fear – puffed it up so big, it became unrecognizable as anything anyone would actually want, thereby killing it, in the process.

But I am not doing that with this.

Like someone telling a crowd of onlookers to back up and give a heart attack victim some breathing room, I am clearing space for this tiny little gift of détente in my life. Because this relationship has literally been to hell and back, and it deserves, for a multitude of reasons, a break.

The most surprising thing so far? How good respect feels.

I’m thinking of becoming a respect addict.

I did it to myself, though. I made a choice. I ended a relationship that had run its course, served its specific purpose. And now there’s this big, gaping hole in the middle of my life…not really, but it feels that way, right now. That’s because it’s only been a few days.

So what’s this got to do with anticipation?

Intellectually, I know that two things cannot hold the same space. So, to make room for more of what I want, I chose to say no (or, “no more”, rather) to something that wasn’t serving me any longer.

And now, the anticipation begins.

We can never know about the days to come
But we think about them anyway
And I wonder if I’m really with you now
Or just chasing after some finer day.
 
Anticipation, Anticipation
Is making me late
Is keeping me waiting
 
And I tell you how easy it is to be with you
And how right your arms feel around me.
But I rehearsed those words just late last night
When I was thinking about how right tonight might be.
 
Anticipation, Anticipation
Is making me late
Is keeping me waiting
 
And tomorrow we might not be together
I’m no prophet, I don’t know nature’s way
So I’ll try to see into your eyes right now
And stay right here, ’cause these are the good old days.
 
~ Carly Simon

She’s right – these really are the good old days.

Surprising to some, I dove into the courage part. It was something to *do*. I hid in action for a long time. Along the way, I got to flex my wisdom muscle on the regular, too, which gave me even more reason to hold my head up. (Back then, I felt I needed a reason. Some justification, in case I was tested.)

I was scared shitless most of the time, but I felt my feelings again. That was a major improvement.

As time marched on, I was less and less scared. Not because I was becoming so wise, mind you, but because I was getting tired. I was kinda worn into acceptance by the overflowing state of my plate.

Whichever way you get to it, though, acceptance of what you can’t change beats every alternative. This life is relatively short, comparatively. Even if you believe – like I do – that our souls will incarnate again and we’ll all be back, the current human lifespan is still pretty short.

As such, I have to recognize that at 47, at best, I’m sitting squarely in the middle of this life…maybe even leaning more toward the second half than the first. When I look back over the 47 to here, I can almost work up a really good *appalled* at how much of that time I spent in needless angst.

Angst is largely a wasted emotion. Think about it – the whole point of being in angst is to be butt-cheeks-clenched about something over which you have little to no control. Colossal waste of time and energy. Plus, angst gives you a headache.

But, I digress…

My point is that if I’d lived my life with the same gusto and fierceness I conjured snatching it back from the abyss, I likely would never have met the abyss. Anyway, acceptance by way of weariness is better than nothing, but it becomes rather wearisome itself, after awhile.

Then along comes acceptance by way of serenity. Taunting me…daring me…

The voice in my head says I can’t do it…that I can’t *choose* to accept something…that some things just yank my chain too damn much to accept as they are.

But my wise self knows that’s a load of shit. It is possible to accept anything because acceptance does not mean approval. It’s possible. Not easy, but possible.

So that’s where I find myself these days…taunted by serenity…searching for this new breed of acceptance.

I’m beginning to understand, though, why serenity is required… Why merely *beaten down* doesn’t cut it for the long haul. The resurgence of indignation that comes with any relief of overwhelm makes acceptance impossible for that moment. I’m learning you truly have to let shit go to find serenity. You have to be willing to put some things down to get through the next door.

And so, too, I understand more and more the reason I have days like today where I’m just pissed off. It’s just a part of the process to get from here to there. They’re feelings…not facts, I keep reminding myself. And many of them have been bottled up for decades, so yeah, no surprise they’d make a little noise on the way out. I can watch them march by like the parade that they are, without thinking I have to act on each and every one of them.

Serenity first. Acceptance second.

I’ve seen said craft room, and she’s right – she’s got a TON of stuff – cool stuff.

Well, anyone who’s seen my office knows that I, too, have a ton of stuff I could unload. Mostly books. And computer stuff.

So, I signed up, and sure enough, I got 400 credits for doing so, an extra 50 credits for hooking it to my Facebook account, and another extra 50 credits for hooking it to my Twitter account. Nice.

Then, I got another 100 credits for listing my first auction (which you can see in the box to the right.) I have no need for this tripod any longer, since my Flip cam grew legs of its own and crawled mysteriously away sometime in the last few months. (I may possibly have left it somewhere in Atlanta last summer, too.)

So, I ask you – don’t you have stuff, perfectly good stuff, that you don’t need or use anymore? Wouldn’t it be grand to give it away to someone who really needs and wants it? There’s good karma in this, folks. Our stuff wants to be where it’s loved and valued, not gathering dust and being ignored.

Go on ahead and get 600 free credits and get started! You know you’ve got stuff to list.

The end of the Mayan calendar has people a bit wigged out and there are a lot of doom-sayers having a field day with that. We’ve got a Presidential election this fall, and that has folks a bit wigged out, too. And, of course, the media is already having a field day with it, labeling their news broadcasts such things as “Decision 2012”. I’m sick of the posturing and pontificating already. Whatever you believe, I think we can probably all agree these are stressful times and our individual and collective faiths are being tested.

No one is feeling it more than a friend of mine whose husband died this week. He was only 43 and had a massive heart attack on New Year’s Day. He leaves behind his wife of 19 years and two kids – none of whom have any understanding of what has happened to them.

Happy Fucking New Year. Lean into it, my ass.

Having had my own scare with Second Son in November (And no, don’t think you missed a post, because you didn’t. I have been too busy dealing with the shit storm that has been my life these last few months to write about it here.) I have only the tiniest inkling of what my friend is going through. How the hell do you lean into pain like that? I don’t know and I don’t want to find out anytime soon.

It’s amazing how things that were such big issues 5 minutes ago become petty and small in the face of this kind of news. I’m sitting here guiltily grateful that it’s not me in that kind of mind-numbing emotional pain, horrified for my friend and the grief she’s feeling, and hurting so much for their kids.

I know we’re all human, and that, to some extent, explains how we get so caught up in the insignificant details of our lives and allow them to take up so much of our bandwidth that the really important things – I love you, you are special, I see you, you make a difference, I believe in you – don’t get said.

Any one of us could be gone in any moment for any reason, but we live – myself included – like there’s always going to be a tomorrow. I don’t want to live in fear of death, but I don’t want to get caught taking life for granted, either. So, for me, I’m going to practice being a little more present everyday. I’m going to say more of the important things, even if they seem out of the blue to those listening. And I’m going to be my real self more. Less conforming to expectations and more genuine expression of who I am and what I’m here to do.

Because, you know my grandkids and great-grandkids need stories of their crazy Grandma who slid into her grave with a big thud, exclaiming, “Whew! Ok! I’m ready. But, I’ll be baaaaaaccckkk!”

So, when Second Son showed signs of following his brother’s footsteps, I decided radical action was in order.  By this time, I was working at home and had more flexibility in my schedule, so I got certified to be a substitute teacher and took assignments at Second Son’s school so I could both see what he was up against and reduce his ability to buffalo me. I told him, “I hate to break it to you son, but the high-school dropout position in our family has been taken. Your job is to graduate high school, go to college and live a productive life as a functioning adult. If you don’t like it, take it up with God, because I can’t help you.” Today, he is a college freshman and I am so proud.

Meanwhile, PDD has navigated her way from kindergarden through elementary school with flying colors. Then came middle school last year. Her grades plummeted and the campaign for me to home school her began.

PDD is the only one of my children who enjoys reading.  She is very artistic, distractible and social – none of which are really valued in the public school setting. She is not one of those “fast” girls you see wearing hoochie-mama clothes and boys are still a little bit gross. So last year when she told me that one of her friends had already been pregnant twice, I don’t know who was more freaked out – me or her. Add to this the 30 minute morning battle to get her out of bed, the crying scenes because of the torment she was enduring from the mean girls clique, and her spiraling grades…well…let’s just say she had my attention.

While I could think of a long list of reasons why home schooling would likely be a better option for her (and me), there was an equally long list of reasons why it wouldn’t.  For the first time in 19 years, the home schooling issue was not cut and dried.

After spring break last year, PDD’s campaign to do school at home began in earnest. She kept saying she hated school and wanted me to home school her. We made it to the end of the school year and she passed 6th grade by the hair of her chinny-chin-chin, and I knew something would have to change for her, but I didn’t know what. I thought maybe the campaign would die out over the summer, but it didn’t.  More interesting was how she spent her summer: self-directed learning online.  She wrote countless reports on dogs, horses, wolves, and giraffes complete with pictures and references.  She and Google became good friends and I couldn’t keep paper or ink in my printers.

Then, at the beginning of August, when the start of school began to loom large, she said the magic words to me: public school online. My beloved Internet:  The very thing which has so drastically empowered my own life by giving me the means to earn a living at home ~ could it hold the same empowerment for my daughter in the form of public school online?

We are in the process of finding out.

In early August, we applied to the Oklahoma Virtual Academy through K12.com. We both were very enthused about the alternative format and the individualized curriculum. For me, the magical factor was that I wouldn’t be the teacher. So, it’s not home schooling in the traditional sense, it’s school at home.  Big difference.

Long story short, Tulsa Public Schools killed our plan by denying PDD’s out-of-district transfer. Why?  Because they have their own virtual school…surprise, surprise.  No mention of it on the district website, I guess we were supposed to intuit its existence. So, she is enrolled in the Tulsa Virtual Academy for now, and we’ll see how it goes. She is enrolled in 4 classes: math, geography, language arts and science.  She has to do 5 hrs a day for a total of 25 hrs a week.  The good news is the week total is the one they really care about, so she can spread it out over all 7 days if she doesn’t want to do 5 hrs a day, or she could do it all in 2 days if she likes. The bad news is the format is not the most interesting and there is limited interaction with teachers, unless you fail a test twice – then you have to go to their location (which, at the moment, is a suite of offices in Promenade Mall) for tutoring.

This is not ideal – for her or for me – but there is enough of what we both wanted out of online school to muscle through it until January when we can reapply to K12.com and TPS won’t be able to block the transfer. She’s an extrovert and I’m an introvert and we’re both suffering the fact that we’re now together 24/7, but we’re both finding ways to get the kind of time we need without driving the other one crazy.

“Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Well, there you have it.

All these years of being misunderstood, and now I know why.  I am great.

I would say, “Well, I could have told you that!” Except, I couldn’t have. Always before, the voice in my head would scream, “LIAR!”

But, I am beginning to “get” it.  I am beginning to accept my fate as a unique, Divine creation, the only one of my kind.

It’s been fascinating to watch the cast of characters in my life shift and change over the years. From each connection, I have learned about myself. Each relationship has had a purpose.

As I understand myself better, as I learn about who I really am, I find I am:

• more confident
• more tolerant
• more joyful
• more connected
• less anxious
• less judgmental

I am still misunderstood, but now I don’t mind.  It’s just because I am great.

It is easy in the world to live after the world’s opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude. – Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance

This is the 3rd #Trust30 prompt, offered by Buster Benson: The world is powered by passionate people, powerful ideas, and fearless action. What’s one strong belief you possess that isn’t shared by your closest friends or family? What inspires this belief, and what have you done to actively live it?

I strongly believe that two people who are opposites in every way imaginable can join forces – be it in a marriage, a friendship, a business partnership, or any kind of relationship – and view their differences as assets, rather than liabilities. I believe that in that together those two people have “more bases covered” than either would on their own, or with someone more like them.

I am blessed with a couple relationships in my life today that are me and someone quite different from me, yet they really work well.  I have had relationships in the past that were with someone quite different from me, and sooner or later, the differences became liabilities instead of valued assets.

I think the big difference between the relationships I have like this today and the ones from the past is – no surprise – trust.  I trust myself much more than I ever have before, and because of that, I am able to trust others better, as well. When real trust is present, differences are assets. When it’s not, well, it’s only a matter of time…

Dating, I’ve decided, is a crash course in personal growth. Not only are you dealing with your own vulnerabilities, insecurities and foibles, but the other person’s, as well.  It’s a mine field, at best – but if you approach it from a “what’s there for me to learn” place, it can be quite entertaining, as well.

Take last night, for example.  This guy had invited me over for dinner – he wanted to cook for me. He’s a nice enough guy, so I agreed.  He gave me his address and we agreed I’d come over at 6.

I arrived and he invited me in.  He was fresh out of the shower, had dinner ready to go on the grill and a bouquet of flowers waiting for me. He offered me a glass of wine and asked if I was hungry. I said I was, so he put the shish-kabobs he’d made on the grill.  I milled around a bit, looking at the pictures of him with the Governor of Oklahoma, another with Bill Clinton, some from his days as an army pilot, others from his travels around the world.  I thought to myself, “This guy’s going to be interesting to talk to, for sure.”

He came in from the patio and began to tell some of the stories behind the pictures.  As he lead me around the living room, he reached out to take my hand. I thought – awww…sweet.  Then he turned and planted a kiss on my lips – mid-sentence, no less.  Taken aback, I finished my sentence and then shut up.  He asked if that was ok and not sure exactly what he meant – was it ok that he kissed me, or did the kiss, itself, pass muster – I mumbled some affirmative.

We sat down at the dining room table with our wine and I thought, “Ok…let the stories begin.”  I asked leading questions, trying to draw him out, but between looking at my boobs and checking on dinner, all he could muster were one-sentence answers to my questions. It was beginning to feel like an inquisition rather than a conversation, when all of  a sudden, he comes back in from the patio and proceeds to try and perform a tonsilectomy with his tongue while boldly copping a feel.

Now I realize there’s a whole other agenda in play here. Dinner is served with impatience and it’s obvious I’m on the menu as dessert.  He attacks his shish-kabob with the vengeance of a man on a mission while I look around, totally expecting to see Ashton Kutcher and the “Punk’d” crew hiding around the corner.

I tried to make light conversation, but he kept eye-balling my boobs while he chewed.  Ewww.  It got so bad that without filtering, I said, “You know – if I could twist them off and give them to you to play with, I would.”  That got his eyes off of them, at least.

Half-way through his meal, he stands up, holds out is hand to me, and when I look up confused, says, “This is me trying to lead you somewhere.”  Still chewing a piece of steak, I stand up and take his hand.  Dumb. Ass. Me.

Next thing I know I find myself on his bed with a mouth full of half-chewed steak and him trying to kiss me.  He is trying desperately to put the moves on me, even manages to finagle his way on top of me, only to have me say, “Uhhh…excuse me?  What exactly are you doing?”

“I just want to hold you,” he says.

“Well, you might want to get off me, then, because the lovely dinner that you couldn’t wait for me to finish is now being pushed back up into my esophagus.”

He gets off me and sits up. I sit up and pat him on his knee and said as light-heartedly as I could muster, “Slow your roll, cowboy. Let’s talk and practice our communication skills some more.”

“Well, if it’s practice you need, maybe you should practice your driving skills and go home.”

Slowly, I turned my head to look him dead in the eye.  “You know what?  Thank you.  Thank you for dinner and thank you for that. Buh-bye now!”  I stood up, slammed the bedroom door behind me and was out of his house before he made it out of the room.

That date lasted an hour and 39 minutes, including drive time.

From the “what can I learn about me” perspective, this date was highly educational.

• I learned that I am over my self-consciousness about how I look and whether a man will find me attractive in all my middle-aged glory.
• I learned that no matter how long I go without getting laid, my libido does not lead the show.
• I learned that I really do want to connect with a man on multiple levels.
• I learned I can trust my intuition.
• And, most importantly, I learned how to disconnect quickly and effectively when I’m sure there is nothing for me there.

All without getting my feelings hurt or thinking there’s something unredeemably wrong with me.

I bet he’s still mad.