Relationships (both romantic and otherwise) in my younger years consisted mainly of someone approaching me, me accepting their company, them being human, and me at a complete an utter loss for words when I realized that they did not always know entirely how they should treat me/ should act/ should be. It was a real high-temper, low-wisdom situation from where I was sitting. Ironically having said that, I also had incredibly low-standards going in to these relationships, so it could be argued that I still have high-temper, the difference mainly being that I have lived through enough experiences to have learned my truths; to better avoid sticky situations by way of activating a finer filter. By way of deciding to have more consistent, higher standards.
My point (of this specific blog entry) is that as I have aged, I have grown more patient and more understanding. I have gotten much more comfortable with forgiving people and far more uncomfortable with the act of holding a grudge; of refusing to admit that people are people and that - more often than not - there is a psychological reason behind someone acting unfavorably toward me.
Pretty typical, right? Elders in stories and cinema and in the reality it has all been based upon will often bare the gift of patience and wisdom. They have learned to pick their battles. They have undergone hardships. They have surrendered petty insecurities. They have admitted what is truly important to them (if to no one other than themselves). (...Not all of them, of course, there are always those nasty old crones who have grown only more nasty and have so become insufferable. This entry is not about them. Not everything is about them.) These Beautiful Beings; these Outstanding Elders; these Golden Oldies; within the interim of growing more forgiving they have also learned to "take no shit". When something does actually bother them enough to "choose it" as their "battle", they will stand strong even at the risk of it being their last stand. It is what they deem as "worth it". I have also adopted this aspect of the journey.
So here's the question:
What's the difference between being forgiving and being a doormat?
Why is it that we revere those who "stick up for themselves" and do not "settle for less" and do not accept certain behaviors while we chide those who "have their standards too high" and do not allow for mistakes and missteps? We praise those who recognize unfavorable behavior, forgive it, and try to work past it with the other party (who committed the unfavorable acts) while we urge the same people to "get a backbone" and ask them "are you really going to let them get away with that"?
Now, I feel as though it must be said: at the end of the day, you and you alone are left with your choices/ decisions made. Not those other people. And, naturally, this could all be boiled down to the suggestion of balance (are we sick of hearing it yet?), but I just find it terribly interesting. Things that bother other people may not bother you. Does that mean you should pretend as though it does bother you in order to better-preserve yourself from being taken advantage of? To better-initiate those boundaries? Or should you simply coast along (ignoring everything those helpful people who love you are telling you), confident that it will not be long before those things that you do find to be irksome (that others do not) present themselves in human form?
I pride myself on my patience and truly feel the act of grudge-holding is entirely useless. Forgiveness is fine. I suppose the only difference for me is when self-preservation comes into play. Being so forgiving, I can sometimes find it difficult to admit when someone simply will not change.
Sunday, June 21, 2020
Tuesday, June 9, 2020
After-Lunch Sludge (a.k.a.: 2 o'clock)
I used to think my morning coffee was so important. It seemed as though no matter how early I went to bed and how well I slept (and how much I didn't drink) the night before, I just couldn't seem to skip the After-Lunch Sludge. That awful feeling where you helplessly succumb to the oh-so-signature complete and utter lack of productivity that only two o'clock on a week day could deliver. I also noticed this feeling only grew as the week went on until finally - FRIDAY.
Specifically 5:01pm on a FRIDAY.
It's worth mentioning that I would still be absolute molasses at said point on a FRIDAY, but at least my serotonin levels would get a bit of a bump with the promise of impending freedom the drive home would bring.
I love work. I HATE being productive at any less than a "super-human-rate". This sludge feeling? Unacceptable. I had to solve it. Okay. So how do I solve it? My sleep habits are ever-decent, my diet is on the healthier side of things (lots of veggies and whole foods), I only have one cup of coffee in the morning... maybe that was it! I'll just grab another cup of coffee after lunch! Oh no, wait... I've tried that before. Here are my Second-Cup-Study findings:
result #1: It works, I get a jolt to plow through the rest of my day at work and then have even less energy than I typically would by the time I get home and could actually write/cook/do other things that I find enjoyable. Then I keep it up with the two cups for a while. Then I work in an espresso shot in that second cup. And when that doesn't quite do it; ooh, chocolate covered espresso beans? AND they're vegan?? WHERE'D THE BAG GO????
result #2: (And this one is more often than not:) I notice absolutely no jolt or ease into supplimental energy. At best I might get supplimentally shakey hands. (Which are useless in a pandemic. No one wants to get close enough to shake hands with me. HA!)
What I'm trying to get at is that it usually doesn't work. And when it does work? My body gets accustomed to the caffeine so easily and adapts so quickly that I will end up intaking nine espresso shots intravenously to even get out of bed in the morning. I don't want that. Addiction is gross and freedom is super cool. Plus being an opportunist is just the best thing ever and I already have an addiction that throws a wrench in the gears of spontaneity as is, so I would much rather not add to. Also it's nice when you're able to keep the money that you worked and sludged so hard for and not feel as though you have to spend half of it on caffeinated products just to get through to the next pay period.
"So why don't you just quit coffee and your body can acclimate to that and you'll never need caffeine another day in your life?"
And they said there was no such thing as a stupid question.
I kid, of course. That is a fine question and I honestly pondered on it for a bit. The truth is, though, that even if I got to the point where I didn't need coffee to feel productive in a day, I would still want it. I would very much want it. I love the smell. The taste. The ritual of it all. I love feeling super-human, even for a little while, and coffee - I think you'll find - is far cheaper than cocaine and much easier to obtain. So quitting wasn't an option. (I have had sporadic days where I drink absolutely no caffeine without even noticing that I've skipped it, but those days are behind me until the exhaustion of this pandemic is over with.)
With quitting and doubling off the table, it seemed as though I was at a stalemate. I had to drive results without altering my number of coffees drank throughout a day. It wasn't until I made an offhand remark to my sister about it that I even thought it was something I might be able to acheive in my lifetime. She said:
"Try working out more in the morning and saving your coffee drink for later in the day when you would normally need the boost."
Wow.
There it was.
Logic.
Why hadn't I thought of this / why is my sister so terribly brilliant? I had had a similar thought of going for a run in the morning to better jump-start my mornings/days and give me more energy, but then instead of moving my iced americano to later on in the day, I just slugged one back real quick to quench my post-gym thirst. Y'know. Like water could.
I am incredibly happy to say that I have tried my sister's method and so far so good! I can't believe it. This is something that might actually work for me for the forseeable future (say "for" again)! I still have at least the rest of this week to commit to this experiment, but I am staying hopeful. And honestly? At least I'm getting in a somewhat more rigorous activity in the morning as well as having a new project to excite me for the week. And this is one with immediate and possibly long-term health/happiness benefit.
Here's hopin'!
Specifically 5:01pm on a FRIDAY.
It's worth mentioning that I would still be absolute molasses at said point on a FRIDAY, but at least my serotonin levels would get a bit of a bump with the promise of impending freedom the drive home would bring.
I love work. I HATE being productive at any less than a "super-human-rate". This sludge feeling? Unacceptable. I had to solve it. Okay. So how do I solve it? My sleep habits are ever-decent, my diet is on the healthier side of things (lots of veggies and whole foods), I only have one cup of coffee in the morning... maybe that was it! I'll just grab another cup of coffee after lunch! Oh no, wait... I've tried that before. Here are my Second-Cup-Study findings:
result #1: It works, I get a jolt to plow through the rest of my day at work and then have even less energy than I typically would by the time I get home and could actually write/cook/do other things that I find enjoyable. Then I keep it up with the two cups for a while. Then I work in an espresso shot in that second cup. And when that doesn't quite do it; ooh, chocolate covered espresso beans? AND they're vegan?? WHERE'D THE BAG GO????
result #2: (And this one is more often than not:) I notice absolutely no jolt or ease into supplimental energy. At best I might get supplimentally shakey hands. (Which are useless in a pandemic. No one wants to get close enough to shake hands with me. HA!)
What I'm trying to get at is that it usually doesn't work. And when it does work? My body gets accustomed to the caffeine so easily and adapts so quickly that I will end up intaking nine espresso shots intravenously to even get out of bed in the morning. I don't want that. Addiction is gross and freedom is super cool. Plus being an opportunist is just the best thing ever and I already have an addiction that throws a wrench in the gears of spontaneity as is, so I would much rather not add to. Also it's nice when you're able to keep the money that you worked and sludged so hard for and not feel as though you have to spend half of it on caffeinated products just to get through to the next pay period.
"So why don't you just quit coffee and your body can acclimate to that and you'll never need caffeine another day in your life?"
And they said there was no such thing as a stupid question.
I kid, of course. That is a fine question and I honestly pondered on it for a bit. The truth is, though, that even if I got to the point where I didn't need coffee to feel productive in a day, I would still want it. I would very much want it. I love the smell. The taste. The ritual of it all. I love feeling super-human, even for a little while, and coffee - I think you'll find - is far cheaper than cocaine and much easier to obtain. So quitting wasn't an option. (I have had sporadic days where I drink absolutely no caffeine without even noticing that I've skipped it, but those days are behind me until the exhaustion of this pandemic is over with.)
With quitting and doubling off the table, it seemed as though I was at a stalemate. I had to drive results without altering my number of coffees drank throughout a day. It wasn't until I made an offhand remark to my sister about it that I even thought it was something I might be able to acheive in my lifetime. She said:
"Try working out more in the morning and saving your coffee drink for later in the day when you would normally need the boost."
Wow.
There it was.
Logic.
Why hadn't I thought of this / why is my sister so terribly brilliant? I had had a similar thought of going for a run in the morning to better jump-start my mornings/days and give me more energy, but then instead of moving my iced americano to later on in the day, I just slugged one back real quick to quench my post-gym thirst. Y'know. Like water could.
I am incredibly happy to say that I have tried my sister's method and so far so good! I can't believe it. This is something that might actually work for me for the forseeable future (say "for" again)! I still have at least the rest of this week to commit to this experiment, but I am staying hopeful. And honestly? At least I'm getting in a somewhat more rigorous activity in the morning as well as having a new project to excite me for the week. And this is one with immediate and possibly long-term health/happiness benefit.
Here's hopin'!
Tuesday, June 2, 2020
The Past
I've been thinking about the past a lot.
I wonder if that means that I am successfully growing away from it. Of course it could just as easily be that things are quieter now and so my head is filling the new found space with something - anything - else. Like it doesn't have enough input / there is no new information to put in its place, so my mind is simply using what resources it already has (make do and mend!). Like when you're waiting for your online order to come in with that new kitchen table and in the meantime you've filled the space with an empty banana box you found lying around the garage. 'This'll do.'
Another option is that E shared this 30-day-music prompt with me and it's gotten my gears turning in the reminiscent fashion.
Scent is allegedly the strongest sense tied to memory. I reckon Music is somehow its counterpart. Walking alongside Scent in the neighborhood of powerful triggers.
There is a considerable chunk of my past that was not great, in my opinion. Perhaps not obviously nightmarish, but certainly something I'd rather leave behind me, as a whole. There are reasons I have actively made changes and only try to continue to grow. There are reasons why I do not fear getting old and why I am one of the few that I legitimately believe will be one of the last men standing when it comes to actually celebrating my age with each passing birthday. ("What do you want for your birthday?" "It doesn't matter - I'VE GROWN!")
I know my past has been useful and so I do not mourn the lost years, or what-have-you. (I don't even believe in a meaning of life. How silly would that be??) I do, however, often times find that I am in the minority when someone recounts their "good old days" of yesteryear. When they were younger and things were simpler. I feel as though I have touched upon this in a prior blog, and so will not swim to deeply in its ocean. It simply seemed to fit and seemed worth mentioning.
However, I must admit I am often times left wondering:
With the powers combined of human memory capabilities, defense-mechanisms, nostalgia and that thing we do where we allow our emotions to "remember" what happened instead of what actually did (i.e. "you were being mean!" when "you" wasn't being "mean", "you" just ended up saying something nondescript that brought up some insecurities you have and you ended up projecting all over poor "you". And "you" was just trying to have a nice day at the beach. "You" was on vacation!!) ...I wonder how much of our rosy-colored days of yesteryear truly were sweeter?
I mean if there's no harm in remembering something fondly then - by all means, my friend - do so! The world could use more love. More positivity. Even if it is involuntarily manufactured. I just think it begs a second look when this faux-fond remembrance initiates a kind of harm. To you, perhaps (and those around you), by pondering and romanticizing so much on the past that you fully take your present for granted. To others, perhaps, by not recollecting their pain properly. And then proceeding to approach them as if this shared memory were to be celebrated ("I really had a great time at that festival! We should do that again!!" "Are... you kidding? You downed a bunch of drugs, ran off, leaving me completely alone and scared and then I spent the rest of the night crying and nursing you back to health, so...").
...Just some levity.
That never happened.
...To me.
Seems like it could happen to someone, though, eh?
Which also makes me wonder how much of a shared memory truly is shared. Quite possible you're both recalling it inaccurately. Think about that! (Actually don't. It'll drive you mad.) ...(Also there's no way of ever telling what actually happened, so I hardly think it would be worth your time, anyway.)
And so, the moral of this blog is:
My brain is bored and hungry (and I am finding it increasingly challenging to spend time doing "responsible" things while there are so many words to be read and written) and... use nostalgia with caution.
I wonder if that means that I am successfully growing away from it. Of course it could just as easily be that things are quieter now and so my head is filling the new found space with something - anything - else. Like it doesn't have enough input / there is no new information to put in its place, so my mind is simply using what resources it already has (make do and mend!). Like when you're waiting for your online order to come in with that new kitchen table and in the meantime you've filled the space with an empty banana box you found lying around the garage. 'This'll do.'
Another option is that E shared this 30-day-music prompt with me and it's gotten my gears turning in the reminiscent fashion.
Scent is allegedly the strongest sense tied to memory. I reckon Music is somehow its counterpart. Walking alongside Scent in the neighborhood of powerful triggers.
There is a considerable chunk of my past that was not great, in my opinion. Perhaps not obviously nightmarish, but certainly something I'd rather leave behind me, as a whole. There are reasons I have actively made changes and only try to continue to grow. There are reasons why I do not fear getting old and why I am one of the few that I legitimately believe will be one of the last men standing when it comes to actually celebrating my age with each passing birthday. ("What do you want for your birthday?" "It doesn't matter - I'VE GROWN!")
I know my past has been useful and so I do not mourn the lost years, or what-have-you. (I don't even believe in a meaning of life. How silly would that be??) I do, however, often times find that I am in the minority when someone recounts their "good old days" of yesteryear. When they were younger and things were simpler. I feel as though I have touched upon this in a prior blog, and so will not swim to deeply in its ocean. It simply seemed to fit and seemed worth mentioning.
However, I must admit I am often times left wondering:
With the powers combined of human memory capabilities, defense-mechanisms, nostalgia and that thing we do where we allow our emotions to "remember" what happened instead of what actually did (i.e. "you were being mean!" when "you" wasn't being "mean", "you" just ended up saying something nondescript that brought up some insecurities you have and you ended up projecting all over poor "you". And "you" was just trying to have a nice day at the beach. "You" was on vacation!!) ...I wonder how much of our rosy-colored days of yesteryear truly were sweeter?
I mean if there's no harm in remembering something fondly then - by all means, my friend - do so! The world could use more love. More positivity. Even if it is involuntarily manufactured. I just think it begs a second look when this faux-fond remembrance initiates a kind of harm. To you, perhaps (and those around you), by pondering and romanticizing so much on the past that you fully take your present for granted. To others, perhaps, by not recollecting their pain properly. And then proceeding to approach them as if this shared memory were to be celebrated ("I really had a great time at that festival! We should do that again!!" "Are... you kidding? You downed a bunch of drugs, ran off, leaving me completely alone and scared and then I spent the rest of the night crying and nursing you back to health, so...").
...Just some levity.
That never happened.
...To me.
Seems like it could happen to someone, though, eh?
Which also makes me wonder how much of a shared memory truly is shared. Quite possible you're both recalling it inaccurately. Think about that! (Actually don't. It'll drive you mad.) ...(Also there's no way of ever telling what actually happened, so I hardly think it would be worth your time, anyway.)
And so, the moral of this blog is:
My brain is bored and hungry (and I am finding it increasingly challenging to spend time doing "responsible" things while there are so many words to be read and written) and... use nostalgia with caution.
Monday, May 18, 2020
Here We Go Again
The longer I wait, the worse it's going to be, so here we go:
I am so un-practiced, what topic do I even write about? I guess I am unsure, but the weather has never treated me better (in the face of a pandemic) and as such, I feel the need to once more be at the keys. Perhaps that's what I will ponder upon (uponder, if you will); the pandemic.
I would like to skip the fiddly bits about the 'Rona that we have all been made well-aware of. If for no other reason than - believe it or not - I am no scientist.
(WHUUUUATTT???)
I know. Shocking.
I AM, however, a human being (I guess) and as such am more than qualified to discuss my very own personal affliction. So here goes.
At first I was afraid; I was petrified. What the hell was a pandemic? I bounced between noxious anxiety and casual dismissal. Because this was, after all, the unknown (gasp!), however, I know how we human-types get when fancy science terms are thrown around; it couldn't be that bad, right? The worst part of this paragraph is that I still really don't know the answer. Well, that and the fact that I started a sentence with the word "Because".
Somewhere my 3rd grade English teacher is shaking her fist. (Sorry, Ms. Cruz, I never deserved you.)
And to add a much-desired dash of excitement to this, our own Armageddon, I was to move into a new apartment building just as the quarantine was starting to take effect.
FUN!
Once we got over that hump, it became quite clear the joy was to spread. Y'know, like a ...what's the word for something that spreads? Ah, yes; butterknife. The marmalade of change was beginning to make its way to the toast that was my professional life. A couple of us were tagged "Essentials" - a term here meaning "people who know no rest" - and were assured of our place in this world. And that place was at our desks. The rest of us who were sent to be paid to work a quarter at home fretted over this and stressed over that (while the original Essentials fretted and stressed over whatever miniscule things had been taken off of their plate). The stay-at-homes - or "Homies" - were not to be sent to a cozy vacation with their loved ones; they were exiled to a shadowy sentence of despair as they grew resentful of we who held strong to our office key. These "Homies", these poor souls, trapped in the snare of family bonding. Drowning in the envious abyss that consumed them.
Plus: homeschooling. Yikes.
Of course I cannot truly speak on the Homies' collective behalf, but I can say that the situation took some getting used to between the Essentials' four walls. The terrifying feeling of being exposed and exposing others to you. Daily tasks being flipped and flopped. Completing small but time-vacuuming tasks for the majority of the team. Having to leave your bed to get to work on time after a nice long depression nap.
I was eternally grateful (and still am) for the work I was gifted; many people were not as fortunate as we. I was grateful for the normalcy. The perpetual motion. The back-and-forth with the other Essentials. And of course: grateful for this collective body of superheroes who supported me at work. These pros; these kings among men, who showed exponential patience, care and understanding in a new, cold, unsure world. If I needed a day off for mental health? I got it. Leave early for an appointment? Sure, why not. Arrive late to get to the grocery store to better avoid the five o'clock swarm? A girl's gotta eat, right?
I still recognized my active appreciation as I slowly slunk in my desk and unwillingly succumbed to the quiet panic and somber malaise that only a pandemic could bring. What was I feeling so dark and distant for? I still had my best friend and a home to share with them. My car to escape in. My job that I am wild about. I was even doing home-improvement at the new place. I still had my phone with enough data to make Tim Cook blush and yet here I was, feeling...down. I felt as though I didn't have the right.
Then the weather turned.
The Sun and its warmth gave me the courage to sink my teeth back into everything that is inherently me. More than just my cooking, baking, cleaning and unruly drive for organization; I was working out and reading and learning and singing and joking and laughing and - WRITING. Whatever the opposite for being thrown into a rebellious jet turbine engine was, that's what I was feeling.
And that's what I am still feeling. I have actually been left alone with myself for the proper amount of time. I have been granted the patience and gifted the circumstance to finally phoenix my way out of insecurity and frustration. I am mentally stronger and better than I ever have been. I'm the cerebral equivalent of the Six-Million-Dollar-Man. I even feel as though I have come full-circle on some things. But more on that later. I've got work in the morning, you know.
I am so un-practiced, what topic do I even write about? I guess I am unsure, but the weather has never treated me better (in the face of a pandemic) and as such, I feel the need to once more be at the keys. Perhaps that's what I will ponder upon (uponder, if you will); the pandemic.
I would like to skip the fiddly bits about the 'Rona that we have all been made well-aware of. If for no other reason than - believe it or not - I am no scientist.
(WHUUUUATTT???)
I know. Shocking.
I AM, however, a human being (I guess) and as such am more than qualified to discuss my very own personal affliction. So here goes.
At first I was afraid; I was petrified. What the hell was a pandemic? I bounced between noxious anxiety and casual dismissal. Because this was, after all, the unknown (gasp!), however, I know how we human-types get when fancy science terms are thrown around; it couldn't be that bad, right? The worst part of this paragraph is that I still really don't know the answer. Well, that and the fact that I started a sentence with the word "Because".
Somewhere my 3rd grade English teacher is shaking her fist. (Sorry, Ms. Cruz, I never deserved you.)
And to add a much-desired dash of excitement to this, our own Armageddon, I was to move into a new apartment building just as the quarantine was starting to take effect.
FUN!
Once we got over that hump, it became quite clear the joy was to spread. Y'know, like a ...what's the word for something that spreads? Ah, yes; butterknife. The marmalade of change was beginning to make its way to the toast that was my professional life. A couple of us were tagged "Essentials" - a term here meaning "people who know no rest" - and were assured of our place in this world. And that place was at our desks. The rest of us who were sent to be paid to work a quarter at home fretted over this and stressed over that (while the original Essentials fretted and stressed over whatever miniscule things had been taken off of their plate). The stay-at-homes - or "Homies" - were not to be sent to a cozy vacation with their loved ones; they were exiled to a shadowy sentence of despair as they grew resentful of we who held strong to our office key. These "Homies", these poor souls, trapped in the snare of family bonding. Drowning in the envious abyss that consumed them.
Plus: homeschooling. Yikes.
Of course I cannot truly speak on the Homies' collective behalf, but I can say that the situation took some getting used to between the Essentials' four walls. The terrifying feeling of being exposed and exposing others to you. Daily tasks being flipped and flopped. Completing small but time-vacuuming tasks for the majority of the team. Having to leave your bed to get to work on time after a nice long depression nap.
I was eternally grateful (and still am) for the work I was gifted; many people were not as fortunate as we. I was grateful for the normalcy. The perpetual motion. The back-and-forth with the other Essentials. And of course: grateful for this collective body of superheroes who supported me at work. These pros; these kings among men, who showed exponential patience, care and understanding in a new, cold, unsure world. If I needed a day off for mental health? I got it. Leave early for an appointment? Sure, why not. Arrive late to get to the grocery store to better avoid the five o'clock swarm? A girl's gotta eat, right?
I still recognized my active appreciation as I slowly slunk in my desk and unwillingly succumbed to the quiet panic and somber malaise that only a pandemic could bring. What was I feeling so dark and distant for? I still had my best friend and a home to share with them. My car to escape in. My job that I am wild about. I was even doing home-improvement at the new place. I still had my phone with enough data to make Tim Cook blush and yet here I was, feeling...down. I felt as though I didn't have the right.
Then the weather turned.
The Sun and its warmth gave me the courage to sink my teeth back into everything that is inherently me. More than just my cooking, baking, cleaning and unruly drive for organization; I was working out and reading and learning and singing and joking and laughing and - WRITING. Whatever the opposite for being thrown into a rebellious jet turbine engine was, that's what I was feeling.
And that's what I am still feeling. I have actually been left alone with myself for the proper amount of time. I have been granted the patience and gifted the circumstance to finally phoenix my way out of insecurity and frustration. I am mentally stronger and better than I ever have been. I'm the cerebral equivalent of the Six-Million-Dollar-Man. I even feel as though I have come full-circle on some things. But more on that later. I've got work in the morning, you know.
Wednesday, February 19, 2020
Relationships & Guilt
You may be sick of hearing about my affliction with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but here's the hilarious thing:
I can't help but obsess!
*queue laugh track*
Today I would like to touch upon the guilt-factor. More specifically, its effect on my "big life decisions". Let's start with something easy: Love.
Slowly but surely, I have come to realize that I feel as though the opposite sex (the one that I appear to be sexually and romantically attracted to) is much better off without me. Without dating me certainly, and possibly even without knowing me.
To date (harhar) I have not had a romantic relationship last. (The one longest one being a two-year stint wherein - I found - I was being actively cheated on, with my average hovering around a year.) At the end of any of the aforementioned un-lasting relationships, I leave the other party completely down. Which I hate. Because regardless of what they have or have not done, I truly do not harbor any lasting aggression toward them and hope they have lovely days to come. (Of course, I suppose it would be a bit suspect if neither of us felt down about it and treated the break-up more like a business transaction.) I feel as though any time a man spends with me is simply time wasted prior to finding their "forever homes".
Basically, I feel guilty when I am with someone because I cannot help but feel they would truly be better off somewhere else with someone else. The less I can negatively effect another person (anyone!) the better. And if I am with someone, I inevitably effect them negatively. Some people can live with this (healthy people, one might venture), I simply cannot. And it is nearly impossible to convince someone that it is not coming from a place of cynicism when I say:
I honestly do not think that I was made for relationships.
Not romantic ones, anyway. My friendship relationships are solid and I have positively no qualms with any of them. I feel as though I operate best when single. And although you can have as many friends as fate will afford you while keeping your solo status, I have not yet found a way to be both single and taken. Long story short? I hate the guilt, it eats me alive and if the numbers show the unlikelyhood properly; I probably just shouldn't bother.
This sensation can be bridged into other facets of my life, as well. Pets, for example, appear to be lovely and having something to spend your love on is almost always a good idea. However! I cannot help but feel the twinge of guilt if I am ever less than the owner they deserve, and so I do not have a pet. I feel as though - with such heavy commitments - it is better for me to err on the side of caution. Did I ever have a job I felt like leaving in order to travel? Sure, who the hell doesn't. But I am uncertain of the decision and so I stay. Drugs seem like a riot, but there are still days when I am happy that I have never experienced anything too hard because I (for some reason) feel guilty about even wanting them.
It is a strange thing, this guilt. And I am a strange creature. I am logical and forever empathetic. I am at peace and full of anxiety. I make perfect sense you can count on and yet I have these little isms you never saw coming.
Is everyone like this?
I can't help but obsess!
*queue laugh track*
Today I would like to touch upon the guilt-factor. More specifically, its effect on my "big life decisions". Let's start with something easy: Love.
Slowly but surely, I have come to realize that I feel as though the opposite sex (the one that I appear to be sexually and romantically attracted to) is much better off without me. Without dating me certainly, and possibly even without knowing me.
To date (harhar) I have not had a romantic relationship last. (The one longest one being a two-year stint wherein - I found - I was being actively cheated on, with my average hovering around a year.) At the end of any of the aforementioned un-lasting relationships, I leave the other party completely down. Which I hate. Because regardless of what they have or have not done, I truly do not harbor any lasting aggression toward them and hope they have lovely days to come. (Of course, I suppose it would be a bit suspect if neither of us felt down about it and treated the break-up more like a business transaction.) I feel as though any time a man spends with me is simply time wasted prior to finding their "forever homes".
Basically, I feel guilty when I am with someone because I cannot help but feel they would truly be better off somewhere else with someone else. The less I can negatively effect another person (anyone!) the better. And if I am with someone, I inevitably effect them negatively. Some people can live with this (healthy people, one might venture), I simply cannot. And it is nearly impossible to convince someone that it is not coming from a place of cynicism when I say:
I honestly do not think that I was made for relationships.
Not romantic ones, anyway. My friendship relationships are solid and I have positively no qualms with any of them. I feel as though I operate best when single. And although you can have as many friends as fate will afford you while keeping your solo status, I have not yet found a way to be both single and taken. Long story short? I hate the guilt, it eats me alive and if the numbers show the unlikelyhood properly; I probably just shouldn't bother.
This sensation can be bridged into other facets of my life, as well. Pets, for example, appear to be lovely and having something to spend your love on is almost always a good idea. However! I cannot help but feel the twinge of guilt if I am ever less than the owner they deserve, and so I do not have a pet. I feel as though - with such heavy commitments - it is better for me to err on the side of caution. Did I ever have a job I felt like leaving in order to travel? Sure, who the hell doesn't. But I am uncertain of the decision and so I stay. Drugs seem like a riot, but there are still days when I am happy that I have never experienced anything too hard because I (for some reason) feel guilty about even wanting them.
It is a strange thing, this guilt. And I am a strange creature. I am logical and forever empathetic. I am at peace and full of anxiety. I make perfect sense you can count on and yet I have these little isms you never saw coming.
Is everyone like this?
Thursday, February 13, 2020
Fawning
I learned a new term recently!
LET'S BLOG ABOUT IT.
**NOTE: I am not an expert on the topics we are about to cover. As will be glaringly obvious in the near future. The following words are my thoughts, opinions and understandings.**
I have two dear friends who recently unveiled this term to me; "fawning". As I understand it, it is under the same umbrella (of Trauma Response) as fight, flight and freeze. When I was younger, all we were taught about was fight or flight response. Is it a result of dissecting categories too far into a splinter that we have double the terms now? Or perhaps they have always very much existed and we are just newcomers to the land they've claimed in some of our lives? Interesting, perhaps, but another consideration for another time.
Fight: someone calls you a nerd and you punch them. Either with your words or your body parts.
Flight: someone calls you a nerd and you gtfo, hoping beyond all hope you can outrun them.
Freeze: someone calls you a nerd and you cease. To move, possibly to think... on a good day it may come out as an inaudible stutter.
NOW the one we've all assembled to hear about:
FAWN: Someone calls you a nerd and you STRONGLY agree, laugh unthreateningly, smile (but don't show too many teeth!) and somehow end up complimenting them. Cut to the weekend: you've bothered them with no less than sixteen text messages asking them to go out. It's all a blur, really, all you can remember is the word "drinks" and something about "my treat".
...Blast. Not again.
I'm not quite sure where to begin on this, and I already have so many thoughts pouring out of my ears, and so, this may be a two-parter. For now? Let's relate.
I typically feel very uneasy about sharing my similarities with disorders, isms... generally anything that could be misconstrued as an attempt to affirm my "special-ness". My individuality, so true that I really am the only one of my kind. ("I'm sure you wouldn't understand.") I hate that guy. Well, not hate. I am uncertain I truly hate anyone, I just find those people really obnoxious and awful. And since I feel the same way about hypocrites, I shall do my best to refrain from emitting either personality. (Scout's honor.) On the other hand, I just-as-much-ly do not wish to become a bully and/or terrible individual who makes others with certifiable isms and disorders feel less than. Feel as though they are just looking for attention; trying to be special. Or worse - that there's something wrong with them and it's their fault.
Yuck.
Having said that!
I can relate to this, especially in my personal relationships. The general ones (co-workers, people one runs into at the coffee shop, strangers...) not so much. Why? Because these kinds of people very typically do not matter to me, or at least not as much. I still hope they have a lovely day, but will not hesitate to shut them down when I deem necessary.
I believe it started as a need to put everyone (who matters) at ease by way of self deprecation (I was doing it before it was cool!). I would make jokes at my own expense because I knew I could take it, it would disarm the people around me and help them relax by informing them that I do not think I am in any way above them. As well as displaying my sense of humor, which would convey that they could immediately expand the topic of conversation in general. Plus I loved to make people laugh. Tale as old as time.
The trouble is, I had yet to uncover the underlying instinct: that I thought I had to work for compassion/care/love. From anyone. Which sprung from unhealthy patterns with my immediate family, naturally. And when you mix the underlying instinct with the innate ability to put myself down to bring a smile to others' faces, you've got a recipe for disaster (or rather for... dis-order??). It bears mentioning that this "fawning" reaction is separate from the choosing to make the decision to manipulate situations and make people like you. This is not such a general insecurity; fawning is much more instinctual. It really simply springs from this (subconscious?) understanding that if one desires love, one must work for it. It is earned. And it is never to cease being earned.
As mentioned in my previous blog (Family: Security v. Freedom), I do not necessarily have to fret about my fawning instincts with my family; I don't have much of them, and the ones I know I have love me unconditionally. My friends? I have learned to just relax and accept and if they don't love me, well, I suppose that's that. My central downfall is my romantic relationships. I am getting better, but there are still times I cannot seem to shake this guttural drive. This need to bury myself for love. And as it goes, this is to seal my fate: will I never be in an equal relationship because I simply will not trust that someone is simply "giving" me their love? Am I to be perpetually damned to the manipulation of an insecure man who will - either consciously or unconsciously - make me earn it?
(Tune in next time! Same blog time, same blog channel!)
LET'S BLOG ABOUT IT.
**NOTE: I am not an expert on the topics we are about to cover. As will be glaringly obvious in the near future. The following words are my thoughts, opinions and understandings.**
I have two dear friends who recently unveiled this term to me; "fawning". As I understand it, it is under the same umbrella (of Trauma Response) as fight, flight and freeze. When I was younger, all we were taught about was fight or flight response. Is it a result of dissecting categories too far into a splinter that we have double the terms now? Or perhaps they have always very much existed and we are just newcomers to the land they've claimed in some of our lives? Interesting, perhaps, but another consideration for another time.
Fight: someone calls you a nerd and you punch them. Either with your words or your body parts.
Flight: someone calls you a nerd and you gtfo, hoping beyond all hope you can outrun them.
Freeze: someone calls you a nerd and you cease. To move, possibly to think... on a good day it may come out as an inaudible stutter.
NOW the one we've all assembled to hear about:
FAWN: Someone calls you a nerd and you STRONGLY agree, laugh unthreateningly, smile (but don't show too many teeth!) and somehow end up complimenting them. Cut to the weekend: you've bothered them with no less than sixteen text messages asking them to go out. It's all a blur, really, all you can remember is the word "drinks" and something about "my treat".
...Blast. Not again.
I'm not quite sure where to begin on this, and I already have so many thoughts pouring out of my ears, and so, this may be a two-parter. For now? Let's relate.
I typically feel very uneasy about sharing my similarities with disorders, isms... generally anything that could be misconstrued as an attempt to affirm my "special-ness". My individuality, so true that I really am the only one of my kind. ("I'm sure you wouldn't understand.") I hate that guy. Well, not hate. I am uncertain I truly hate anyone, I just find those people really obnoxious and awful. And since I feel the same way about hypocrites, I shall do my best to refrain from emitting either personality. (Scout's honor.) On the other hand, I just-as-much-ly do not wish to become a bully and/or terrible individual who makes others with certifiable isms and disorders feel less than. Feel as though they are just looking for attention; trying to be special. Or worse - that there's something wrong with them and it's their fault.
Yuck.
Having said that!
I can relate to this, especially in my personal relationships. The general ones (co-workers, people one runs into at the coffee shop, strangers...) not so much. Why? Because these kinds of people very typically do not matter to me, or at least not as much. I still hope they have a lovely day, but will not hesitate to shut them down when I deem necessary.
I believe it started as a need to put everyone (who matters) at ease by way of self deprecation (I was doing it before it was cool!). I would make jokes at my own expense because I knew I could take it, it would disarm the people around me and help them relax by informing them that I do not think I am in any way above them. As well as displaying my sense of humor, which would convey that they could immediately expand the topic of conversation in general. Plus I loved to make people laugh. Tale as old as time.
The trouble is, I had yet to uncover the underlying instinct: that I thought I had to work for compassion/care/love. From anyone. Which sprung from unhealthy patterns with my immediate family, naturally. And when you mix the underlying instinct with the innate ability to put myself down to bring a smile to others' faces, you've got a recipe for disaster (or rather for... dis-order??). It bears mentioning that this "fawning" reaction is separate from the choosing to make the decision to manipulate situations and make people like you. This is not such a general insecurity; fawning is much more instinctual. It really simply springs from this (subconscious?) understanding that if one desires love, one must work for it. It is earned. And it is never to cease being earned.
As mentioned in my previous blog (Family: Security v. Freedom), I do not necessarily have to fret about my fawning instincts with my family; I don't have much of them, and the ones I know I have love me unconditionally. My friends? I have learned to just relax and accept and if they don't love me, well, I suppose that's that. My central downfall is my romantic relationships. I am getting better, but there are still times I cannot seem to shake this guttural drive. This need to bury myself for love. And as it goes, this is to seal my fate: will I never be in an equal relationship because I simply will not trust that someone is simply "giving" me their love? Am I to be perpetually damned to the manipulation of an insecure man who will - either consciously or unconsciously - make me earn it?
(Tune in next time! Same blog time, same blog channel!)
Family: Security v. Freedom
I'm not sure how many "traditional families" are really left among us.
By "traditional families" I mean the whole scene where the parents stay together, Junior goes off to college/into the workforce, gets his own place in the city, but still is sure to make time to visit his parents/family for the holidays. A remark about Junior's trophies lining the wall. Dad prompts: "When are you gonna get your old crap outta the basement?" while Mum remarks "You know, you look thin, here's some food to take home. And some money. Don't tell your father." And when something inevitably goes south for Junior out in the "real world" (girlfriend/fiance doesn't work out, apartment doesn't work out, job doesn't work out, medical issues, etc...), he is admittedly "defeated". ...As he packs his bags, knowing - without hesitation - where he is going.
Back "Home".
Back to where his familiar parents are still creating the same dishes, cracking the same lame jokes, producing the same looks, sounds, lifestyle they have for the last few decades. The place even smells the same. Dad gives him a "hard time" about living back at home, but nothing too far to his detriment. Mum's just happy to have someone around who "appreciates her cooking". They will not accept any retribution for this deed. This expected act of humanitarianism. Sure, Junior will eventually fly the coop again, but all three of them keep the same unspoken understanding.
"You will always have a place here."
Now, I get what everyone thinks about their family.
"They're so crazy."
"They're so embarrassing"
"They're not normal".
And statistically, some of us are correct.
However! This idea of family still sticks in our minds. Is it merely a memory we never had for a time we never experienced? Is it simply an assemblage of our favorite films? Or are there some of us out there still requesting time off and marking our calendars for days in December? Where we will fly to a familiar place to reluctantly unpack our overnight/weekend bags in the same room we grew up in.
The reason I propose all of this: my sister and I do not have such a family - no parts of it. And I recently discovered that she - at least sometimes - longs for such a scenario. "I wish we had a normal family", she said. Then something beautiful (that made me very sad) about how nice it would be to just have a nice, clean, cozy place to rest and do your laundry at. She then asked me how I felt on the topic; did I ever wish we had a "normal family"?
I could honestly say "Not really, no", because I like just having her. Sure I used to wish and dream about it when I was younger, but something about this alternative family that I have; this other, affords me freedom, or at the very least, a feeling like it. Which, I guess in a way is selfish, but for what it's worth I would trade it all for my sister to be able to finally achieve the sensation of security she longs for. And on the other hand, it may not be selfish at all and may just be my ability to "pull out the positives". Then again it just may, in fact, be a result of a kind of coping mechanism my body has created for never really having any back up of any kind when I needed it.
For a moment I wondered if it was bitterness propelling my "honest opinion" on the matter, but no. It was merely my natural ability to "face the facts" (I am unsure if I have ever used this many quotations in one blog; forgive me. They just really seem to fit). And the truth is: I like being able to make decisions for myself and spend time (yes, even holiday time) the way I would like to. Spoiled? I am open to the suggestion, although I must say I really think it has less to do with being a princess and more with perpetually being filled with guilt over everything I do. Especially for myself. Even more especially if it means letting down someone who is good and deserves to not be let down (not that anyone does deserve that, in my opinion).
Plus, as far as I am concerned, once you do prevail over the hardships life throws at you in this solo fashion, you can feel even better about it being a self-made victory.
By "traditional families" I mean the whole scene where the parents stay together, Junior goes off to college/into the workforce, gets his own place in the city, but still is sure to make time to visit his parents/family for the holidays. A remark about Junior's trophies lining the wall. Dad prompts: "When are you gonna get your old crap outta the basement?" while Mum remarks "You know, you look thin, here's some food to take home. And some money. Don't tell your father." And when something inevitably goes south for Junior out in the "real world" (girlfriend/fiance doesn't work out, apartment doesn't work out, job doesn't work out, medical issues, etc...), he is admittedly "defeated". ...As he packs his bags, knowing - without hesitation - where he is going.
Back "Home".
Back to where his familiar parents are still creating the same dishes, cracking the same lame jokes, producing the same looks, sounds, lifestyle they have for the last few decades. The place even smells the same. Dad gives him a "hard time" about living back at home, but nothing too far to his detriment. Mum's just happy to have someone around who "appreciates her cooking". They will not accept any retribution for this deed. This expected act of humanitarianism. Sure, Junior will eventually fly the coop again, but all three of them keep the same unspoken understanding.
"You will always have a place here."
Now, I get what everyone thinks about their family.
"They're so crazy."
"They're so embarrassing"
"They're not normal".
And statistically, some of us are correct.
However! This idea of family still sticks in our minds. Is it merely a memory we never had for a time we never experienced? Is it simply an assemblage of our favorite films? Or are there some of us out there still requesting time off and marking our calendars for days in December? Where we will fly to a familiar place to reluctantly unpack our overnight/weekend bags in the same room we grew up in.
The reason I propose all of this: my sister and I do not have such a family - no parts of it. And I recently discovered that she - at least sometimes - longs for such a scenario. "I wish we had a normal family", she said. Then something beautiful (that made me very sad) about how nice it would be to just have a nice, clean, cozy place to rest and do your laundry at. She then asked me how I felt on the topic; did I ever wish we had a "normal family"?
I could honestly say "Not really, no", because I like just having her. Sure I used to wish and dream about it when I was younger, but something about this alternative family that I have; this other, affords me freedom, or at the very least, a feeling like it. Which, I guess in a way is selfish, but for what it's worth I would trade it all for my sister to be able to finally achieve the sensation of security she longs for. And on the other hand, it may not be selfish at all and may just be my ability to "pull out the positives". Then again it just may, in fact, be a result of a kind of coping mechanism my body has created for never really having any back up of any kind when I needed it.
For a moment I wondered if it was bitterness propelling my "honest opinion" on the matter, but no. It was merely my natural ability to "face the facts" (I am unsure if I have ever used this many quotations in one blog; forgive me. They just really seem to fit). And the truth is: I like being able to make decisions for myself and spend time (yes, even holiday time) the way I would like to. Spoiled? I am open to the suggestion, although I must say I really think it has less to do with being a princess and more with perpetually being filled with guilt over everything I do. Especially for myself. Even more especially if it means letting down someone who is good and deserves to not be let down (not that anyone does deserve that, in my opinion).
Plus, as far as I am concerned, once you do prevail over the hardships life throws at you in this solo fashion, you can feel even better about it being a self-made victory.
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