Fear is the mind killer…

‘Tis true. It’s something valuable I picked up from my P-that quote from Mr. Herbert. I think of it often. Specifically just that first phrase is what runs through my mind. Recent events have increased the rate of fear-based thoughts. Odd considering that recent events have been pretty wonderful.

Today when I got home I. Was. Tired. Tired, tired. So, even though I was expecting company in the very near future I laid down, read for a bit, and was passed out (complete with drool) within minutes. When I woke up it was almost 5:30 and I was under the impression that the person I was expecting would have been there almost an hour prior. The MO of my imagination is to always default to the worst possible scenario. The absolute worst (obviously I cause myself a lot of undue stress sometimes). To be fair though, when under the impression that the person you have fallen ridiculously in love with (again, which is its own long story) is an hour late and it’s a guarantee that they would call if they were later than they expected to be in the first place…you tend to worry. Couple that with my default imagination thing and it equals panic.

I know it sounds insane to mentally go from 0 to 60 within a few seconds but trust me, I’m capable of it. The worst part of it really was that split second crazy thought of what if something happened to him and I never see him again. It’s possible that it’s not just my imagination that caused that kind of thought today. There’s a part of my mind that finds things ‘hard to believe’ when it comes to relationships and matters of the heart. Sure, it’s a cliche…the whole ‘waiting for the other shoe to drop’ thing but it applies to me. Thinking that I’ve possibly found that person that I never want to part from is a little hard to swallow for me. Is it really possible? Are they going to change their mind for some reason at some point so that everything that’s been said is all of a sudden non-applicable? Are they going to do something that’s murderously hurtful at some point? Worse yet, am I going to do something to ruin it at some point?

Here’s the thing…when it really comes down to it I have full confidence that he wouldn’t do something to hurt me and that the things that have been said come from an incredibly genuine place. It’s just the nagging ‘old tapes’ that play sometimes still that remind me, you’ve thought similar things before and look where it put you.

Here’s the other thing that has zero to do with any of my weird issues…loving someone that way is exciting, refreshing, and brilliant while at the same time being a little scary. Scary, not necessarily because of what one or the other person might or might not do, but because of what life might do or not do. Thinking about committing to someone the way it’s been talked about recently means taking a lot of chances in general. Hopefully this comes across as a tad bit of realistic thinking (in a blog that’s been taken up with a lot of crazy thinking) rather than demonstrably negative…because really, stuff happens. We can imagine scenarios where dreams come true and all that jazz but sometimes dreams don’t come to fruition precisely the way we wanted them to; sometimes they’re scant ideas of what we wanted or even altered realities of what we wanted. What if I spend my life with someone only to lose them to something that was beyond their control? What if I have kids and something happens to me that’s beyond my control so that I have to leave a family that I’ve created? Sure, this gets all muddied with issues of mortality and all that crud, but it’s reality. I’m probably not even making sense to be quite honest…it makes sense in my head.

Truth be told though, if given these two choices…to either be a part of (uncertainty be damned) or choose not to be a part of something (out of fear) I’d rather be a part of something. God knows that I don’t want to live a life ensconced in fear, afraid to take chances; because if I have even an inkling of a chance to have even more happiness than I’m having now by continuing to write the story regardless of what happens, then I choose to write the story.

Oh…and as it turns out I was incorrect regarding timelines today so no one was late after all-again, I worried for nothing. But at least I got to sort out some thoughts here as a result.

Crisis

There’s one reason that stands out to me as to why I’ve lasted as long as I have with the job that I do. I have what I would consider a somewhat admirable ability to remain relatively okay and keep it mostly together in a serious crisis. Only when it’s serious though. Put me in front of something seemingly small and it’s usually enough to derail me. I’ve done a lot of thinking as to why this is (because really…it’s pretty backwards) and I’m grateful that my P was able to put it in words for me that I agree with. It’s a product of growing up in a household where crisis was sort of routine. You eventually learn to cope with it in somewhat of a stride because if you don’t you end up crashing every single time someone gets hit, or hurt, or abused. Sometimes as a result, it’s the seemingly small stuff that can tend to cause abnormal anxiety and distress (which needless to say, can be incredibly frustrating on a daily basis).

This is not to say that I don’t cry if, for example, a family member ends up in the hospital; but truth be told the malfunction of being used to crisis seems to allow a grace period of getting through it without breaking down. This is good in its own way, but also bad. What it really means is that the breaking down doesn’t come until later…sort of like a rubber band that has been stretched for days and is finally allowed to give way.

I’m still on the fence as to whether this is good in the long run or not. Is it better to just initially break down and get it over with? Or is it better to hold it all together in crisis mode only to end up completely drained and in tears when things calm down?

Down memory lane

I can drive from downtown Seattle to Everett via Aurora (aka hwy 99) and back and it literally is a trip down memory lane. All it takes is that stretch of “highway” (it is still called “highway” even though the city of Shoreline f-ed up their part of Aurora recently with it’s big britches). It’s fascinating to me, and the first time I noticed it was driving with my mom after her hair appt on the last holiday weekend up to Lake Stevens.

I noticed it again today on a trip to Shoreline for some errands, however I noticed it going southbound. The section between about 205th to approximately 85th is representative of high school and a short time after. As I’m driving that way I can think to myself (in no particular street numbered order): that’s the bar that Colin snuck Audrey and I into because he knew the bouncers although it isn’t called by the same name anymore…that’s where my mom began to find her freedom again and I was happy that she was doing so…that’s the Denny’s that we used to hang out in until wee hours of the morning drinking coffee and smoking and enjoying each other’s company because we were teenagers and wanted to feel like we were going out somewhere…that’s where my family and I spent a lot of time dancing and having fun hanging out together…that’s the restaurant that we went to after my high school graduation…that’s the drug motel that I went to after making the poor choice to accompany someone to pick up their strung out friend…that’s the restaurant that we went to for a birthday when my dad dressed up in his fruit o’ the loom grape costume (which at the time sort of embarrassed me because I, and Audrey who accompanied us, were teenagers at the time)…that’s the bar I went to for my 21st birthday after dinner at Red Robin (where I had my first legal drink as an adult with my dad and sisters) and had to be carried out by my ex and his sister because everyone in the bar knew my sister and bought me shots all night and I was dumb enough to drink them…that’s the auto shop that Audrey took her car to one day and it was a good day because I clearly remember singing along to songs in the car with her and having a smashing good time doing something mundane…that’s the place, and that’s the place, and so on.

For me, going anywhere north of 205th usually reminds me of not so good times. That’s the section that leads up to Everett. From 205th on I’m usually thinking things like: that’s the parking lot that I hid out in when trying to drive away and hide from a gruesome fight with G…there’s 112th which is the street that my apts used to be on which just happened to be the same street on the other side of Aurora that G decided to move to one of the times I tried to break up with him…there’s the car dealership parking lot where we had another fight that was horrible…there’s the motel he was staying at where I was stupid enough to be visiting him (foolishly thinking that if it wasn’t my place that we were at I could control whether I left or not when he freaked out a whole lot better than I could control him leaving my place if/when the same happened) where we had a fight a morning before going to work where I saw stars and thought I might pass out because he hit me so hard…there’s the bar that J and I went to the first year that I knew him and it was my birthday…there’s the restaurant J and I went to one random day and had a really nice time…there’s the street that I would take a right on from hwy 99 to get to where I was staying with J for a while…that’s the place, and that’s the place. To be quite honest, sometimes I would rather just not drive on that road at all.

Capitol Hill often reminds me fondly of high school as well even though Minnie’s is not on Broadway anymore (because often in high school we could also be found there; of course we were also there more often than not in our later teen and early twenty’s years as well)…unfortunately Capitol Hill/First Hill is also the birthplace of a more recent unpleasant memory. A memory that for some reason that I still can’t fathom was brought up by a friend in front of mixed company twice last night seemingly out of nowhere. It was seriously like being in the twilight zone and I had zero idea on how to handle it properly.

There’s one thing I do know…there are some things that I am really not handling all that well and I’m sure that most of it has to do with stuff that has been long lived in my life, all tied up in relationships and family and friends. There are tidy terms to sum up the actual behaviors (even though carrying out these behaviors is not all that tidy of an operation; anyone would agree that the feeling of drowning a bit is not very tidy)…ISOLATING is one of them, POOR CHOICES is another, RUMINATING is a creative one that I’m pretty fond of. I figure I might as well provide the words with capitol letters to grammatically reflect the power that they seem to have in real life.

 What it all boils down to is that one of the important TASKS on Monday morning will be to start seeing a counselor again.

Sometimes it’s necessary, and this is one of those times. Thankfully I’m one of those that needs to go through a period of MALFUNCTION and UNHEALTHY BEHAVIOR before I wake up and realize what needs to happen (and of course, I write that with a sarcastic undertone to it).

Where I was (at least part of it)

I don’t think it matters precisely what it is that eventually pulls us to our history or roots although I like to think that at some point most of us do get drawn to it. When I look back at the span of about 12 years of my life it isn’t one certain situation or one certain time period that drew me to it; it’s been a bit of a steady march, if you will. That being said I can recall distinct legs of the march that did have a little more significance in relation to wanting to understand more.

I often have odd dreams (yes, I realize that odd dreams are not unique to just me) which initially are usually dismissed by me as irrelevant to everything. Some of them come back up though and appear to have more relevance as a result of some real life event or situation that happens later. A couple of weeks ago I had a dream in which Jen popped up…smack dab in the middle of accidental dreamy images/events completely unconnected to her. To be quite honest with exception of noticing it when I woke up the next morning, I didn’t give it a ton of thought. However today I once again ran across one of my favorite pictures of us and consequently cried for a while. The immedate connection was obvious to me; clearly it happens to be one of those times when I have some ‘dealing with it’ to do (to be clear I do not think that we ever truly get ‘done’ dealing with the death of a loved one; grief is weird and sometimes it will hide for a while but eventually I think we are reminded of it again and deal with it some more). There was another connection which at first wasn’t as immediately obvious to me.

I think it has been times of strife or sadness which, either purposely or coincidentally, have drawn me a little closer to wanting to ‘get’ part of where I came from. Thinking of both sides is a bit daunting so I started with Native American (there’s still Norwegian to go). In my perception of American culture (which is obviously not necessarily “correct”) when someone dies we usually have a ceremony to remember them right after their passing but don’t necessarily tend to continue to have ceremonies to remember people that aren’t here anymore. Some of us do and I have had personal experience with this but for the most part I don’t see that it’s necessarily an expected part of the culture to do so.

As of late I’ve been chatting more with an Uncle on my Dad’s side which alone is clearly awesome, but even better he has provided me with some starting points online to understanding more about that side of my culture. And I’ve actually been reading about it. For a very simplified narrative on our history courtesy of the ever dubious, Wikipedia:

The Ojibwa (also Ojibway or Ojibwe) or Chippewa (also Chippeway) is the largest group of Native Americans-First Nations north of Mexico, including Métis. They are the third largest in the United States, surpassed only by Cherokee and Navajo^{[citation needed]}. They are equally divided between the United States and Canada. Because they were formerly located mainly around Sault Ste. Marie, (Sault Ste. Marie is where my people hail from!!!) at the outlet of Lake Superior, the French referred to them as Saulteurs. Ojibwa who subsequently moved to the prairie provinces of Canada have retained the name Saulteaux

As a major component group of the Anishinaabe peoples—which includes the Algonquin, Nipissing, Oji-Cree, Odawa and the Potawatomi—the Ojibwe peoples number over 56,440 in the U.S., living in an area stretching across the north from Michigan to Montana. Another 77,940 of main-line Ojibwa, 76,760 Saulteaux and 8,770 Mississaugas, in 125 bands, live in Canada, stretching from western Quebec to eastern British Columbia. They are known for their birch bark canoes, sacred birch bark scrolls, the use of cowrie shells, wild rice, copper points, and for their use of gun technology from the British to defeat and push back the Dakota nation of the Sioux (1745). (bold emphasis is mine)

Which is all fine and dandy but not effectively exciting in my opinion. The enchanting (at least to me) and most relevant (also at least to me) information comes from actual tribal members. According to Fred Harrington jiibaykwe (ghost suppers) are ceremonies that originated from when tribes would move the remains of loved ones from temporary to permanent burial grounds (link: religion, under funerals). On the same website, if you click on the link that says ‘ghost suppers’ more is revealed about the custom. What I took out of what I read is that it is to remember and honor others that have passed regardless of when. Additionally the same link also describes a custom on Halloween to remember those that have passed. In contrast, in American culture the custom on Halloween is to dress up children to go house to house and get candy which in relation seems (at least to me) to lack any spiritual meaning (but that is also my own judgment). If one does not have children and is of the mind to celebrate and intake spirits (or not) one dresses up and attends parties of various kinds. Also, in my own judgment to lack real meaning.

Maybe what I’m selfishly looking for is a means to remember people that I miss and are not here anymore in a way that I can perceive as not so sad (for example, not having to have it smack me in the face all of a sudden and spend a whole afternoon in tears but instead remember and deal with it in a way that honors them more and is less about me). (Is it possible that I have an ulterior motive to learning about my culture and if so is that bad?) But then that also means I’m continuing to attach the ultimate sadness to someone’s death all on my own when I could instead be attaching a different emotion to it. It’s all heady stuff to be quite sure and I’m not even sure I’m getting close to what it all really means.

On a sort of side note, but not really, if you were to check out the website and check under the ‘ethics’ link, specifically under “first philosophy, to women” you would find what (again sort of selfishly) touches my heart most about my culture. Word for word (part of it at least) would say the following:

The cycle of life for the woman is baby, girl, woman, and grandmother. These are the four directions of life. She has been given by natural-laws the ability to reproduce life. The most sacred of all things is life. Therefore, all men should treat her with dignity and respect. Never was it our way to harm her mentally or physically. Indian men were never abusers. We always treated our women with respect and understanding.

Yes, I get that nowadays (and obviously before-adays) this does not always happen. The important part of it is that culturally it was such that women were respected/honored and not abused which is in clear contrast to how ‘American’ culture began and how it sadly, often plays out today. On this note alone, if only we could go back a ways and start over. But at this point, as a woman that is part of this culture I am sort of obligated to go forward facilitating this idea whereas in certain situations before I allowed abuse in various forms. Not that I necessarily needed this information to carry this out in my life having been through it before, but having the knowledge and caring about it just makes it that more important to me.

Thanks Jen, for a lot of things.  

 

 

VD

One of my best friends sent me a text message today that read “happy veeedeee”. It was the funniest thing I’d experienced all day (with exception of a somewhat “politically incorrect” joke my Dad made that I will choose to not repeat). Oh p.s., the text that she sent me was not indicative of anything…just in case it needs to be said.

I’ve never been a raving fan of Valentine’s day. I suppose in grade school it was fun to open up all the Valentine cards that everyone was forced to purchase and give away. In retrospect it seems that filling out approximately 30 of those cards up until the 6th grade was more work than the end result was really worth.

When I was 15 and started dating I recall thinking for a while that certainly with the added bonus of a boyfriend something exceptional and dazzling must happen on this holiday. Eventually I realized that it was pretty much just another day regardless of the relationship I was in. We might exchange small gifts, we would spend time together and do the “I love you’s’ and such but obviously it wasn’t particularly memorable since I am hard pressed to clearly remember any of those days. I do remember one in particular in the last few years that I suppose at the time felt special; looking back now though it was essentially just a day where I received pretty promises that were never fulfilled…completely demonstrative of the entire relationship I might add. The last Valentine’s day that I was in a relationship was pretty bad (coincidentally the same relationship as the pretty promise holiday). I won’t go into the details but it was just…not good.

I have now been essentially single for the past couple of V-days and I’ve been fine with it. I no longer have unrealistic expectations as when I was a teenager and I have no issue with not being in a relationship on the holiday. I don’t cry and lament that I’m single…I don’t insist on going out with my single friends armed with the ulterior motive of wanting to meet someone so that I’m not “alone”. I’m okay with it. Today was surprisingly the best Valentine’s day I’ve had in a long while. I spent it with my entire immediate family and it was fun…especially after the long week I’ve had. We ate dinner, we hung out at my Dad’s house for a while just talking and being together which we don’t do as much as we should. It was good. I could have gone out with my Mom and sister but I was tired and chose to come home to my girls (aka the wacko canines that also reside in my tiny apt).

It was a good week all in all, especially after the tiny epiphany I had the other night. The thing is a few years of not talking to someone can have a side effect of making them look better than when you left them. Sometimes people have the capacity to change at their very core, in how they think, how they behave, how they treat others…I’ve come to think that it’s the exception however. Time can sometimes trick one into seeing that in someone when it’s not really there. I realized something else during the conversation that afforded me the epiphany…I’m single right now because I choose not to settle. I choose not to settle for a relationship that doesn’t entirely fit, I choose not to settle for someone that treats me in a way that I can’t appreciate, I choose not to settle for someone that happens to not have the qualities that I would appreciate in a relationship, I choose not to settle for a lot of things. And that’s entirely okay.

Affirmative…it was a good holiday after a good week.