There are some days when I just don't know what to do with myself. While the daytime hours may have been productive (or at least bordered on productive - I still can't get to those damn dishes!) as the sun sets and the evening hours come, I would occasionally find myself anxious to last those few hours between dusk and dark. Those precious few hours before sleep.
What will I do, I think. I'd better have something or else I'll start thinking of Mom, or of what I don't have, or of what I do have that I don't want. I can only watch so many hours of Battlestar Galactica, or play so many hours of FATE. I could hit the sack at 5 p.m. or 6 p.m. but after a few days of that, I start to feel like I'm missing life.
Soon you do just have to face yourself. Most times I'm good at that and can be in my own space without a problem. But still, even these 12 years after Mom's death, once in awhile, I do get a little paranoid as I don't want to spend hours hurting or crying or angry in my own home. I don't want that kind of upsetting energy constantly in my space. But I can feel it coming, like watching a storm make its way across the sea. First the clouds arrive to set the mood and then the waves get choppy, lapping hurriedly at the shore. At that point I know I'll be a wreck in no time flat. I won't be able to help myself, so I'd better get out and do something and fast.
And that's exactly what I did a couple weekends ago. I found myself having a fantastic time in the sunlight hours (I even got my motorcycle permit!) but as the day drew on and the sun started to go down, I could feel the anxiety and the sadness bubbling inside. Instead of sitting at home though, I went for a drive. Advice from Blog the Third . I wrote that entry over a year ago and here it is helping me today.
Who knew where I was going at 7:30 at night, but I knew I just had to go. I took my blanket and my iPod, hopped in the car and headed for the PCH. Altadena to Pasadena. Down Arroyo Parkway. Over the Arroyo Seco. To the west and out to the water. I took the PCH passed Santa Monica and Malibu. I went passed Point Dume (my favorite beach) and as I approached Neptune's Net I felt it wasn't time for me to stop going. So I kept driving. 70 miles later I arrive at a place called Point Mugu.
To get to it you have to pass between these two awesome rock formations. They sit on either side of the freeway. Reminded me of something out of "Close Encounters of the Third Kind." Point Mugu is military, so once I passed the Naval base I figured it was time to turn back. Back between the alien stones but I didn't go straight home. Still, I wasn't done yet. Instead, I pulled over to the side of the road, turned off my car and sat in my car window.
It's kind of something you would do at a drive-in I suppose (drive-in, who remembers those!?). I rested my arms atop my car and stared up to the sky, all while listening to the water hit the shore from a pitch black beach. The moon was a clear, bright silver crescent and I got a great dose of stars. The ocean air was sharp and cold - perfect.
No matter how much crying I do on the drive, no matter how much I'm decompressing on these long trips, I always leave it there on the side of the road. I always leave it there at the shore of the beach. I can imagine perhaps that the waves come take it away. Maybe the bad stuff comes with the storm, but I find the bad stuff leaves with it as well.
Don't forget to take time to decompress ladies. Cry it out. Yell it out. Scream, scream, scream. Don't take it out on your families or your friends. Don't take it out at the kid at the check out line or people at work. Find a way to take your long drive. Maybe that's actually driving, maybe it's crochet. Whatever it is, take time to do it. Breathe. Leave it at the shore. Just as the storm did bring it in, let the storm also take it away.
-TL
Monday, April 30, 2007
Friday, March 23, 2007
Quick Post It
Well, it's been another two month haitus. I can't believe how the time gets away from me when life decides to REALLY drive. A lot has happened in such a short time. I even got a promotion at work (which is where most of my time has gone).
As usual there are stories to tell and finally some pictures to share. If you're still even checking in on this, I hope you're all doing well and moving forward.
-TL
As usual there are stories to tell and finally some pictures to share. If you're still even checking in on this, I hope you're all doing well and moving forward.
-TL
Monday, January 22, 2007
Blog the Twenty-Fourth
I found looking for advice in all the wrong places can lead one to become quite confused, and more entangled in trying to decipher all the bad advice, than trying to unravel the challenge at hand.
During my intense research this weekend, while trying to tackle and unravel a challenge of my own, I found a lot of advice out on the Internet... that didn't help me at all. It actually made things worse.
As a Motherless Daughter, we try so hard to find the answers we need out there. It's 2 a.m. and I can't possibly call my best friend to talk. So I pop online hoping to discover the reason, the answers, behind why I act the way I act - why I said what I said - why I feel what I felt, and the worse - if I should do this or that (ugh, I hate when I get into that awful cycle). I want so desperately to be told, that I am okay, that I am not a big freak. And I found online that 50% of the time I'll hear what I want, and 50% of the time I won't.
If you look hard enough, you can find anything online to justify what you need justified. If you look hard enough, you'll also find the exact opposite.
Where did I get the best advice then? From the people who know me. From the folks who've known me a long time and intimately understand where I come from. From those who maybe haven't known we for years but are still caring friends. And I even got some good advice from myself (when I shut up long enough to listen).
And why did it work? Because I am person with a history. I am a person with unique circumstances. Because I am not a nameless, bodiless entity. And a website, especially a commercial one, can't possibly know that.
The next part though, once you know what needs to be done, is actually going about and doing it. And that is where I am right now. Maybe some website can't give me the best advice, but the Classics did. So here, in case you need a little dose of courage (like I do today), is what I did find online.
A few words of wisdom from Virgil:
During my intense research this weekend, while trying to tackle and unravel a challenge of my own, I found a lot of advice out on the Internet... that didn't help me at all. It actually made things worse.
As a Motherless Daughter, we try so hard to find the answers we need out there. It's 2 a.m. and I can't possibly call my best friend to talk. So I pop online hoping to discover the reason, the answers, behind why I act the way I act - why I said what I said - why I feel what I felt, and the worse - if I should do this or that (ugh, I hate when I get into that awful cycle). I want so desperately to be told, that I am okay, that I am not a big freak. And I found online that 50% of the time I'll hear what I want, and 50% of the time I won't.
If you look hard enough, you can find anything online to justify what you need justified. If you look hard enough, you'll also find the exact opposite.
Where did I get the best advice then? From the people who know me. From the folks who've known me a long time and intimately understand where I come from. From those who maybe haven't known we for years but are still caring friends. And I even got some good advice from myself (when I shut up long enough to listen).
And why did it work? Because I am person with a history. I am a person with unique circumstances. Because I am not a nameless, bodiless entity. And a website, especially a commercial one, can't possibly know that.
The next part though, once you know what needs to be done, is actually going about and doing it. And that is where I am right now. Maybe some website can't give me the best advice, but the Classics did. So here, in case you need a little dose of courage (like I do today), is what I did find online.
A few words of wisdom from Virgil:
Fortune favors the brave.
Hope on, and save yourself for prosperous times.
-TL
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Blog the Twenty-Third
Vulnerable: Capable of being physically or emotionally wounded. Open to attack or damage. Liable to succumb, as to persuasion or temptation.
I am a scrapper by nature. A fighter. I'm not particularly calm or patient. To achieve those states I have to be very mindful of where I am, who I'm talking to, what I'm saying - very mindful indeed. I see a situation, figure out what needs to be changed (if anything) and then go change it. No waiting. No coating with sugar. Done.
My years in the martial arts has helped me develop the tools for mindfulness. Being a Motherless Daughter has helped me live and interact with empathy and compassion.
But underneath it all, is the scrapper. Persistent fighter. Never giving up. Vulnerable is not a word in my vocabulary - until I get sick - and then I remember what weakness is.
I HATE getting sick. I remember the first time it happened after Mom passed away. That was a particularly significant moment, because when I was sick, it was Mom who used to take care of me. Rub the Vicks. Turn on the humidifier. Make me stay in bed. Bring the soup and crackers. Feel my head for my temperature. Laugh at me. Give me a kiss. Give me a hug. Tuck me under.
The first time I got sick after she died, I encountered one of those Big Reality Check Moments. Those are moments that come, perhaps well after the initial grief is waning - when you realize all the little things your Mother won't be around for. And most times it's the stupid little things you didn't think of that get you.
Every Motherless Daughter knows that Mom won't be around for weddings, babies or graduations anymore - the big things. But did you think of how it would feel when you recognize she won't be there to help fold the laundry, as she's sticking half way in the dryer searching for that one elusively stupid sock? Or, as in the case of fellow blogger Burfica, when the TV show you watched came on and Mom's no longer there to comment after the credits roll? Her favorite song coming on the radio. Her incessant comments about the most recent color of you hair.
Annoying or not. Irritating or not. These small things are now missing. And you get that gut twisting feeling of realization that she's not here - and she'll never be here to take care of you ever again, to annoy you ever again, to make comments ever again.
When I'm sick, is when I am the most vulnerable. And vulnerability is not a state that I am at all used to. It's then that the loneliness comes and all those thoughts that I usually keep at bay (no lover, no children, no family close) rush in. It makes being sick become more than just snot rags and coughing. When I am sick and feeling vulnerable, it becomes a difficult exercise in reality checks about where I am in life and who is not here. And about the only time one would get me to admit it sometimes sucks being alone.
But here is the saving grace - the flu doesn't last forever (thank goodness!). As long as I stay away from making uber significant decisions when I am at my most vulnerable, after a few days I am okay. And for the first time, as I am sick right now, I am letting myself be okay with my vulnerable feelings. Is it okay to feel sad that there is no one to take care of me but me? Sure is. Is it okay to miss Mom really bad? Yup. Can I watch eight hours of Battlestar Galactica curled up warmly on the couch? Go for it.
And well, maybe it's also time to try something different. While Mom and I had a ritual to do when we were sick, perhaps a new ritual is in order. 'Cause I have to admit, while it was nice having someone bring me soup and crackers, I really really REALLY hated wearing that Vicks!
-TL
I am a scrapper by nature. A fighter. I'm not particularly calm or patient. To achieve those states I have to be very mindful of where I am, who I'm talking to, what I'm saying - very mindful indeed. I see a situation, figure out what needs to be changed (if anything) and then go change it. No waiting. No coating with sugar. Done.
My years in the martial arts has helped me develop the tools for mindfulness. Being a Motherless Daughter has helped me live and interact with empathy and compassion.
But underneath it all, is the scrapper. Persistent fighter. Never giving up. Vulnerable is not a word in my vocabulary - until I get sick - and then I remember what weakness is.
I HATE getting sick. I remember the first time it happened after Mom passed away. That was a particularly significant moment, because when I was sick, it was Mom who used to take care of me. Rub the Vicks. Turn on the humidifier. Make me stay in bed. Bring the soup and crackers. Feel my head for my temperature. Laugh at me. Give me a kiss. Give me a hug. Tuck me under.
The first time I got sick after she died, I encountered one of those Big Reality Check Moments. Those are moments that come, perhaps well after the initial grief is waning - when you realize all the little things your Mother won't be around for. And most times it's the stupid little things you didn't think of that get you.
Every Motherless Daughter knows that Mom won't be around for weddings, babies or graduations anymore - the big things. But did you think of how it would feel when you recognize she won't be there to help fold the laundry, as she's sticking half way in the dryer searching for that one elusively stupid sock? Or, as in the case of fellow blogger Burfica, when the TV show you watched came on and Mom's no longer there to comment after the credits roll? Her favorite song coming on the radio. Her incessant comments about the most recent color of you hair.
Annoying or not. Irritating or not. These small things are now missing. And you get that gut twisting feeling of realization that she's not here - and she'll never be here to take care of you ever again, to annoy you ever again, to make comments ever again.
When I'm sick, is when I am the most vulnerable. And vulnerability is not a state that I am at all used to. It's then that the loneliness comes and all those thoughts that I usually keep at bay (no lover, no children, no family close) rush in. It makes being sick become more than just snot rags and coughing. When I am sick and feeling vulnerable, it becomes a difficult exercise in reality checks about where I am in life and who is not here. And about the only time one would get me to admit it sometimes sucks being alone.
But here is the saving grace - the flu doesn't last forever (thank goodness!). As long as I stay away from making uber significant decisions when I am at my most vulnerable, after a few days I am okay. And for the first time, as I am sick right now, I am letting myself be okay with my vulnerable feelings. Is it okay to feel sad that there is no one to take care of me but me? Sure is. Is it okay to miss Mom really bad? Yup. Can I watch eight hours of Battlestar Galactica curled up warmly on the couch? Go for it.
And well, maybe it's also time to try something different. While Mom and I had a ritual to do when we were sick, perhaps a new ritual is in order. 'Cause I have to admit, while it was nice having someone bring me soup and crackers, I really really REALLY hated wearing that Vicks!
-TL
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