On Worthiness

I am discovering more and more how unworthy I believe I am of love. I see it in the way I sweeten the package (of myself) to make it more attractive.  It is sneaky,  in the same way as the disease of alcoholism and I am convinced that the codependent is suffering from the exact same disease where self deception and self-hate run the show like the wizard of Oz behind the curtain.

Recently I got to see how when I am attracted to someone I will default into flirtatious mode with innuendo.  I do this because I believe that on my own I am not interesting enough to attract someone or that if they knew who I really was,  they would turn away. 

I got to see how I use sexuality to try to trick someone into loving me.  It's only a matter of time before the sex fizzles though and you find little of substance or compatibility lying beneath it. 

I got to see how I will glob onto any characteristic the other has found attractive and use that to try to bring them closer, to  be ready to spend time with me now,  and not make me have to wait some undefined quantity of time.

I got to see my fear as just that and I get to give to my needy little person what she had sought from others through relationship. 

I am getting to feel her calming, being more at ease.  She is feeling the freedom to skip down the street, abandoning her post on the couch where she had sat turned facing the back looking out the window waiting with vigilance for the return of someone who once left without a word.

Today no one is leaving without a word.   Today someone has simply asked for some time, time she can use to build sand castles.

On pain

During my morning meditation, I kept getting this cramp in the arch of my right foot, a painful cramp which pulled my foot downward in a pointed position. I tried flexing my foot to release the tension and the pain. This provided only moderate relief. I placed pressure to the area where the muscle was contracting with my thumbs.  This too provided only moderate relief.

Then a thought came. It was the same suggestion that my tattoo artist had given me.  "Don't fight it. Go into the pain."  So I did.  I relaxed into it. I accepted it. I observed it. I felt the pain's warmth spreading outward,  moving from a central point upward and downward along the length of the muscle. Soon enough the contraction let up and so did the pain.

I saw this as a metaphor for emotional pain. To what length do we go to relieve emotional discomfort?  We deny it. We avoid looking at it. We avoid feeling it. We try to convince ourselves why we shouldn't feel the way we do. It was a reminder to me that to love and accept myself, I must honor my feelings, my pain, my disappointment, by observing them without judgement, by not trying to change them or fix them or squash them into a box. I honor myself by letting them be what they are. With quiet awareness I give them the space to be what they are, no more and no less and in doing so I am giving them the freedom to pass as they will naturally on their own. 

Emotions are like molecules of gas. By trying to contain them, forcing them into a box to hide away like an unwrapped Christmas present , they become combustible. But when allowed the freedom of space, they will disperse naturally into the ether.

Today I will observe my feelings as they arise and give them the space they need to float away.

On Youthful Friendships

I had the pleasure of kayaking with a new activity buddy yesterday. We rented boats from NWOC on Lake Union. We were soon making our way across the boating lanes, scouting a spot to practice our wet exits. We gave way to the local cruise lines in their various sizes and degrees of luxury, rowed past sailboats anchored off shore and maneuvered around the many paddleboarders.

Finally I spotted calm waters and a hidden bay tucked behind a set of James Bond style house boats with attached personal high-speed watercraft. A teenage boy and girl sat facing one another submerged to their waists a few feet from the shore. I couldn't help but feel that we were breaking up a moment, but I figured that was probably not a bad thing.

After some hemming and hawing about not liking the idea of plunging myself into the feathery plant life that lay below,  I finally rolled my boat upside down.  Disoriented in that position, I managed to exit the cockpit and bob to the surface unaware of the plants around me. After another go of it, it was my partner's turn. I stood by as she situated herself in her boat. "Geesh," she said looking at me. A potent aroma of now legalized marijuana filled my nostrils. I turned my head. Through the wire grated sides of the house boat ramp I saw a cloud of smoke. A set a paddleboards, like lawn furniture, sat clustered beneath it on the water offering support to their riders.  I imagined someone paddling up to them, nodding his head and grinning as he said, "waS'UUUUUP?!"

On Loss

In June the weather became warm enough to open my bedroom windows and to leave them open for sleep. Every morning at 5 a.m. I was awoken by the sound of the birds. They seemed so loud. Some mornings I'd get up and with frustration close the window. Other mornings I'd pull a pillow over my head. After a while I simply grew accustomed to lying in bed for 30 minutes listening to their sounds before drifting back to sleep.

Now it is August. The temperature is warm and the days, though not as long as they were in June, are still long enough but there is something about the daylight that has changed. It is not as brilliant. The Sun no longer passes directly overhead and the landscaping along the back of the house, which just a week ago received full Sun in the late afternoon, now remains in shadow.

Restless,  I turned the other day to look at the clock next to my bed. It was 5am. I wondered where the birds had gone. Before drifting back to sleep my ears focused.  I heard them. The birds had not gone away. I had just stopped hearing them.  A touch of sadness crept in. I missed being awoken by the birds! They were a reminder to me that the good days of summer were beginning and filled me with anticipation of the activities that lay ahead, the hikes I would make, the boats I would row, the tomatoes I would grow.  The birds reminded me that one day soon I would don my bathing suit and sandals again, take my lunch break outside and absorb the warmth of the sun.

That I am no longer awoken by the birds is a sign that the end of summer is approaching. Though it has been fully satisfying, I feel a wave of nostalgia for summer's past. My children are no longer little and the time is past when I could take them to the pool daily. I have come to a period of my life in which I am truly happy but as the summer begins to fade, I feel the loss of all those years while my children were little during which I was incapable of happiness. I wasn't able to experience the joy that I now can at watching them grow. I am sad both for what I could not experience and also for I could not provide.  It is then that I take comfort in knowing that if it weren't for the loss,  I would never have experienced the gratitude for the joy I have found.  

On Aging

I think a bit about aging these days and the things I dreamt of doing someday.  The amount of time I had to experience these dreams stretched out in front of me, the end date not on the horizon.

At 44, the end date is in sight. I'm realizing that many of these dreams will likely not be realized and accepting that this is okay.  What I have and what I will experience is enough. My life has been meaningful just as it is.

I had a visit from my childhood best friend last week, her husband, and her 17 year old son. We sat outside a burger joint, a perfect Seattle summer evening. It was warm enough for shorts, not so hot that it made you sweat and the daylight lasted till 9 p.m..

Like a scene from The Big Chill, we sat reminiscing, sharing stories and laughing like we did as kids, unrestrained and worry free. Her son politely tolerated what I can imagine was boring old people talk. He sat mostly silently looking around at the passerbyes. Eventually he excused himself to browse a record store. In him I felt my own eagerness at his age to break free, to make my mark, to live my own life. I felt the excitement and wonder of what may lie ahead for him, so many possibilities still available.

I wonder, how did it happen this change from youth to middle age? I look at my friend sitting across the table from me. Her hair is now long and silver but I still see her as I did when we were ten. I watch us as her husband tells a story. I see that we are the older people of my youth , having grown up conversations. I am awed and proud of who we have become. We are full people, richened by our life experiences. We are clay which has been molded, painted and put in the kiln. We are pieces of art, valuable, each with its own story worthy of appreciation.

At 17, her son is still softly formed clay. I wonder what he will become, what detailing life will etch into him, and what he will display after being put through the fire. I am content, then, to be where I am in life. I am enjoying my life just as it is and I'm ready to be enjoyed and valued just as I am.

On Satisfaction

I learned a new youngster term this week,  YOLO. My 14 year old son, Ben, kept saying,  "YOLO, Mom.  YOLO!" Then he'd take a running start and go  sliding on one of the mounds of icy snow in our path. 

Ben and I went on a camping trip in Washington's Central Cascades this past week.  The fourth of July crowds were bumper to bumper on Sunday afternoon heading West back into the Seattle area on a meandering two lane highway.  We however,  were heading east,  away from town and away from crowds. It never crossed our minds that soon we'd be standing on snow in our shorts.

As many of you may know,  I'm not big on thrill seeking.  I was the one child at slumber parties who wanted to actually sleep.  I didn't ride a coaster until I was an adult and I don't go down escalators without one hand free to hold onto the rail.  No amount of coaxing with, "You only live once,  Mom!" was going to get me to go sliding out of control down a mound of melting ice even if we weren't three miles from our car on a mountain ridge.  Ben, however, found making fun of my aged sensibilities thoroughly satisfying.

On our descent we came across the last of the snow mounds, not far from the trail head.  Like he'd done so many times before,  he took a running start.  Perhaps the terrain had a greater slope or perhaps the invincibility of the age got the better of him, but this time Ben lost his balance. His arms went windmill style.  A flexed foot lifted off the ground in front of him, his torso leaned sideways and to the rear. Somehow he managed to remain right footed, if not humbled.  I said. "YOLO, Ben. Is this how you want to die? YOLO!"

I guess you could say that the hike was mutually satisfying.

On hubris

It strikes me how nice the younger generation of doctors are that I come into contact with at work. They treat me with respect, as a peer.  That has not historically been the norm in the doctor nurse relationship. Of course still there are outliers, many of which you'll find in cardiology.

This brings to mind an image of an open chest cavity, lights shining down upon it and a gloved hand reaching under the beating heart. I can see how that could lead to hubris. Then again when I imagine that the gloved hand is mine, a sense of my own insignificance, of humility surrounds me.  What an honor to be in that position, to be entrusted with someone's life, to be holding God's handiwork, a miracle of nature, this thing we call the heart.

I guess it makes sense. It makes sense that some people, when faced with their own insignificance, respond with hubris.