When I was a child we moved to Boston, when I was about ten. I often had a recurring dream about someone chasing me through a lumber yard in Los Angeles. Although, I could not see the face, I somehow knew that it was me. I had no idea at that age what the dream meant but on analysis later on with a professional I realized that I had left a huge part of me behind in California.
I often hear that children are resilient, I believe they are. I also know children, being human often retain the memories of childhood experiences that can haunt them through out the lifespan. Proof of this is the fact that it took until I was into my early twenties to stop pining for my early childhood playmates and play experiences in Califiornia.
I'm good now.
But, what I found recently is that I never stopped running from myself. And no matter, where I was raised, that dream probably wood have reared the ugly heads of many key issues that have peppersprayed my life since the day I was born.
Someone once told me that I was my own worst enemy. I wanted to beat them up. Because on the surface, I knew that I was the best thing since Adam and Eve. No way anyone would tear down my self -esteem, by informing me that I was sabotaging my own life. Unbeknownst to me, I didn't really know what self-esteem was and I know now that that was because I had never had any. So, they were right.
I am working now on not speeding past me. I thought I was manic at one point because, I would run around with all this fabricated energy, try to do a million things at once along with conquering the world. then I would crash soon after ( maybe a month or so down the line). I couldn't find anyone to confirm my mania for me. (Which is probably a good thing, since labels are often used to keep people in certain categories, like so many different types of home canned goods). Had I been diagnosed as bipolar, they would have wanted to put me on more medication that I was resistant to taking, I would have been labled non-compliant and blah, blah, blah...
In my opinion, society needs to be on psych meds. But how would you do that.?
This slowing down stuff is not fun. When I speed past myself, I feel important. Like I'm on top of the world that I am trying to save. Yesterday, when I was working, I felt exhilierated. I often feel like this when I work. As work started to wind down, I started to feel sad, and depressed and worried. So, much of my life has been other focused, that it is painful to focus on myself.
Sometimes, I get a business idea or a wriiting idear or something like that and want to rush into action.
I am starting now, to stop myself before I go out and buy 1000 yards of fabric to design curtains so that I can become a decorator...or a movie camera so that I can become a film producer. and a million other projects that I've started and did not finish. Tthey were not feasible, because, they could not hold my attention long enough. Or I thought that they took to much time to come fruition quickly enough. Or I wanted to numb some emotional pain that I was feeling. Or try to make my life easier. Or...for whatever reason.
It's difficult to slow down. When that anxious part of me taps me on the shoulder, I am learning to say hey what do you want. And if she doesn't have a legitimate concern, shut her off. I refuse to live the rest of my life bouncing of the walls, bouncing off of myself, bouncing off of the world. I can't be rationale, every second of the day, but a life of hysteria has been grueling...as if life isn't grueling enough. I've developed enough courage to slow down and allow the vital parts of me to catch up so that we can get to know each other.
This is the mainstay of feeling complete.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Writing Myths
I often write in my morning pages, " I don't feel like writing". I promised (myself) to stop writing that in my journals because it sends bad vibes down my pen onto my paper. I'm dramatizing when I do that. You know...the tortured damsel in distress who doesn't want to talk about it but who is strong and noble enough to talk about, my pain no matter how distressing... and I deserve applause...No? Okay, a blue ribbon... No? Okay...how about a gold star?...No? A check mark...Nope!
What I deserve is to keep writing. While writing this morning, I realized that I didn't want to write. In my journey or efforts to become a writer, many obstacles have crossed my path-most of themself imposed. Although, I could never put my finger on my hesitance to let it all hang out through script, this morning I came face to face with some writing myths that I have harbored since the day (I can't remember twhat day that was though) I realized that I was serious about writing. These are some of the things that serve as obstacles to a fulfilling writing experience.
Number 1: Writing should always be a pleasant experience. I don't know where I got this from except, somehow growing up I also got the message that life is always supposed to be a pleasant experience. If it is not, then you are doing something wrong. So, in my quest for perfection and pleasure, I would stop writing because, I wasn't having fun, couldn't face the pain of the skeletons that were tap-dancing in my face, figured I was wasting my time and was too un-talented to make this activity worthwhile.
What I realized: Writing is worthwhile as long as you have enough confidence to make yourself heard (or read).
Number 2: All writer's lead a tortured, hellish life. And mine was not tortured or hellish enough. Well, I was off base about a couple of things here. Maybe I should have written 2A and 2B..Oh well! Anyher... I have created crisis in my life because, I did not feel comfortable without crisis and I believed also that drama makes good writing. It didn't occur to me that I could just think up drama or look at the newspaper or talk to other people about the crap that they loaded up their existences with. Not only that enough horrors in life happens naturally. Who in their right mind would screw up their life on purpose? (I will refrain from mentioning names here).
What I discovered: All I had to do was write if I wanted to write. That creating drama in my life was something that I seemed to be geared to growing up. The more organized and rationale my life becomes, the easier it is for me to produce script. (I didn't know that I was torturing myself at the time either). Drama , doesn't make good writing,good writing makes for good writing.
Number 3: Writing for a living is only reserved for the priviledged in this society.
Well, it depends on what you mean by privileged. I discovered that as long as I can afford a pen and some paper...I am privileged.
What I know now: Writing for a living is reserved for anyone who wants to work hard enough to do it. With all the complaints that I have about the present USA today. I still believe that we have more freedom in this country than anywhere else. (As, a matter of fact, so much freedom, we don't really know what to do with it). Despite our flaws, this is still the greatest country in the world. Yaaaaaaaaaaay!
Number 4: Fantasizing about writing is enough to motivate me.
Ain't that the craziest thing you ever read? Some people think that thinkin' makes it so. For a while, I deluded myself into believing that it did. As a result, I have no novels written, and a short story and a half and a few lines of a play and a buncha journals.
What I found out: You have to pick up a pen and paper and write on the paper with the pen and write about the princessess and fairy godmothers that you're dreaming about. If all you do is daydream, nothing gets done.
Number 5: You have to have readers, to become a writer. How backwards is that?
Well then you, have to ask yourself, is it the readers that make the writer, or the writer that makes the writer..or both?
That was part of my fantasy thing.
What I ran up on: If you haven't written anything, what the heck are people going to read? Write stuff. Then look for people to read it. Present it, I say!
And last but not least
Number 6: It takes more discipline to write that anything else.
Fear has been the biggest obstacle to my desire to write. Well not to my desire... but to my actually producing writing...fear. Fear is the most destructive 4 letter word that I know of when it comes to doing anything. I had to wade through the fear to get to my pen and paper everymorning. And the more I did that, the easier it became. I'm not totally fearless where writing is concerned, but I have a lot more courage than I did. I've come a long way baby.
Number 7: Published writer's are always the best writer's.
What I have experienced: Sometimes I read a work and wonder why the publisher bothered. Or why I bothered? My personal opinion about all those people on the New York bestsellers list: ( to be honest, I'm just guessing at this, don't quote me, 'cause this could be a "sour grapes" issue) many of them are sellouts with good connections who have the ability to endure writing marathons. The main advangtage that they have over you and me though, is that they finished what they started. Which is enough to make the worst of them, my hero. (I'm not that hard to please).
In my experience: A true writer, is able to complete a work, to become a writer thereby defining his or her self as such...published or not.
What are you?
What I deserve is to keep writing. While writing this morning, I realized that I didn't want to write. In my journey or efforts to become a writer, many obstacles have crossed my path-most of themself imposed. Although, I could never put my finger on my hesitance to let it all hang out through script, this morning I came face to face with some writing myths that I have harbored since the day (I can't remember twhat day that was though) I realized that I was serious about writing. These are some of the things that serve as obstacles to a fulfilling writing experience.
Number 1: Writing should always be a pleasant experience. I don't know where I got this from except, somehow growing up I also got the message that life is always supposed to be a pleasant experience. If it is not, then you are doing something wrong. So, in my quest for perfection and pleasure, I would stop writing because, I wasn't having fun, couldn't face the pain of the skeletons that were tap-dancing in my face, figured I was wasting my time and was too un-talented to make this activity worthwhile.
What I realized: Writing is worthwhile as long as you have enough confidence to make yourself heard (or read).
Number 2: All writer's lead a tortured, hellish life. And mine was not tortured or hellish enough. Well, I was off base about a couple of things here. Maybe I should have written 2A and 2B..Oh well! Anyher... I have created crisis in my life because, I did not feel comfortable without crisis and I believed also that drama makes good writing. It didn't occur to me that I could just think up drama or look at the newspaper or talk to other people about the crap that they loaded up their existences with. Not only that enough horrors in life happens naturally. Who in their right mind would screw up their life on purpose? (I will refrain from mentioning names here).
What I discovered: All I had to do was write if I wanted to write. That creating drama in my life was something that I seemed to be geared to growing up. The more organized and rationale my life becomes, the easier it is for me to produce script. (I didn't know that I was torturing myself at the time either). Drama , doesn't make good writing,good writing makes for good writing.
Number 3: Writing for a living is only reserved for the priviledged in this society.
Well, it depends on what you mean by privileged. I discovered that as long as I can afford a pen and some paper...I am privileged.
What I know now: Writing for a living is reserved for anyone who wants to work hard enough to do it. With all the complaints that I have about the present USA today. I still believe that we have more freedom in this country than anywhere else. (As, a matter of fact, so much freedom, we don't really know what to do with it). Despite our flaws, this is still the greatest country in the world. Yaaaaaaaaaaay!
Number 4: Fantasizing about writing is enough to motivate me.
Ain't that the craziest thing you ever read? Some people think that thinkin' makes it so. For a while, I deluded myself into believing that it did. As a result, I have no novels written, and a short story and a half and a few lines of a play and a buncha journals.
What I found out: You have to pick up a pen and paper and write on the paper with the pen and write about the princessess and fairy godmothers that you're dreaming about. If all you do is daydream, nothing gets done.
Number 5: You have to have readers, to become a writer. How backwards is that?
Well then you, have to ask yourself, is it the readers that make the writer, or the writer that makes the writer..or both?
That was part of my fantasy thing.
What I ran up on: If you haven't written anything, what the heck are people going to read? Write stuff. Then look for people to read it. Present it, I say!
And last but not least
Number 6: It takes more discipline to write that anything else.
Fear has been the biggest obstacle to my desire to write. Well not to my desire... but to my actually producing writing...fear. Fear is the most destructive 4 letter word that I know of when it comes to doing anything. I had to wade through the fear to get to my pen and paper everymorning. And the more I did that, the easier it became. I'm not totally fearless where writing is concerned, but I have a lot more courage than I did. I've come a long way baby.
Number 7: Published writer's are always the best writer's.
What I have experienced: Sometimes I read a work and wonder why the publisher bothered. Or why I bothered? My personal opinion about all those people on the New York bestsellers list: ( to be honest, I'm just guessing at this, don't quote me, 'cause this could be a "sour grapes" issue) many of them are sellouts with good connections who have the ability to endure writing marathons. The main advangtage that they have over you and me though, is that they finished what they started. Which is enough to make the worst of them, my hero. (I'm not that hard to please).
In my experience: A true writer, is able to complete a work, to become a writer thereby defining his or her self as such...published or not.
What are you?
Monday, February 15, 2010
Self- Focus
Focusing on myself, or Self is the hardest thing for me to do. It is so seductive to just mind everyone else's business. But, I need to focus on myself. And what keeps me trying to run away from me? Who knows. I'm just scary inside. That journey inward just seems like a dark cave and who knows what'll come jumping out atcha.
I decided to focus on myself. Force it. I'm focusing on myself because, now, more than ever, ain't nothin outside worth focusing on. And whatever I'm looking for is not out THERE. I don't care what it is... I've discovered and I actually sat down on the edge of my bed this morning and listed with question marks the things that might be worth something outside of me. And after every question mark, was an honest to goodness "no", it's really not.
What is so unattractive about my innerds? Believe it or not, there is a lot of stuff, like skeletons, that I'm not familiar with. And nobody likes skeletons. Even the plastic ones that your teacher has in science class in the 9th grade is kinda creepy. And forget the ones that glow in the dark during Halloween. The creepiest ones of all though are the ones that lurk in the depths of your subconcious...I'm tellin' ya. When I think about 'em they get my knees to knockin' and my teeth chatterin's somethin' terrible.
But, I have to meet them. They are a little different from the monster under the bed. I'll have to examine why. Because at the moment I don't know but I just feel that way. (But I know there is a reason, that I feel that way).
By the way, my manager is not my manager anymore. Either she demoted herself or got demoted. I wish I felt good about that but I don't. Despite what she was doing, a sort of grief exists. Maybe, I'm grieving for having been a victim all of my life... Who knows? (Seems like humans grieve about everything, but that's another subject).
I want to spend more time on this blog so that I can edit it a little better, my punctuation is terrible!
I decided to focus on myself. Force it. I'm focusing on myself because, now, more than ever, ain't nothin outside worth focusing on. And whatever I'm looking for is not out THERE. I don't care what it is... I've discovered and I actually sat down on the edge of my bed this morning and listed with question marks the things that might be worth something outside of me. And after every question mark, was an honest to goodness "no", it's really not.
What is so unattractive about my innerds? Believe it or not, there is a lot of stuff, like skeletons, that I'm not familiar with. And nobody likes skeletons. Even the plastic ones that your teacher has in science class in the 9th grade is kinda creepy. And forget the ones that glow in the dark during Halloween. The creepiest ones of all though are the ones that lurk in the depths of your subconcious...I'm tellin' ya. When I think about 'em they get my knees to knockin' and my teeth chatterin's somethin' terrible.
But, I have to meet them. They are a little different from the monster under the bed. I'll have to examine why. Because at the moment I don't know but I just feel that way. (But I know there is a reason, that I feel that way).
By the way, my manager is not my manager anymore. Either she demoted herself or got demoted. I wish I felt good about that but I don't. Despite what she was doing, a sort of grief exists. Maybe, I'm grieving for having been a victim all of my life... Who knows? (Seems like humans grieve about everything, but that's another subject).
I want to spend more time on this blog so that I can edit it a little better, my punctuation is terrible!
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Routine
I keep trying to get my life on a good routine. I had a good routine around Christmas and then when my manager started bothering me, it kind of fell apart. I can't really blame it all on her, although I 'd like to. I've never been that organized as it is. Don't like routines.
Anyway, I did that super hero thing by writing a letter to my director and then got written up about something else I didn't do, after the weekend was over. So, I thought about it for a couple of days and called HR to report her for harassment. Because, I thought reporting to HR was just routine. I got a call back later in the week but, was busy with something else so, I didn't call HR back . HR didn't call me either so I guess it was just routine, plus I really had to think about it Was she really harassing me? I routinely came to the conclusion that yes, my manager was harassing me. I figured that if I was going to wage war, that I'd better be prepared to win my battles. So, I gave myself the weekend to think about it. By Sunday, I was going to go through with the harassment claim until, I spoke to the weekend manager which is just routine on the weekends.
And then, I changed my mind. I changed my mind after talking to the weekend manager because I realized that I wasn't the only one suffering from the dysfunction in the office. It's routine for heaven sakes!!!! And if I went through with the claim, I wondered what would it accomplish. All I could come up with was...Well, I would have stood up for myself. But, what about everyone else... in the office who is routinly being harrassed and is routinely harassing someone else in one way or another?? Since I'm suffering from not being paid enough right now...would the fallout be worth it? Fallout is routine when you report somebody.
Some things are just routine... like some of the stuff you have to deal with at work That was the routine conclusion that I came up with anyway. Another routine conclusion that I came up with is that if I had a bigger goal to accomplish that I could do it some other way, rather than working for that routine company. And to fight with their routine culture, would be useless, even if I were to win.
I still need plenty of practice standing up for myself, because I'm sure that this won't be the last time that I will have to do that, the world is full of bullies. Bullying is just routine here. To be honest I really do need to develop a more refined, sophisticated, routine manner to stand up for myself. And even at the age of 52, I hopefully have enough routine time to do that.
Anyway, I was trying to figure out ways to empower myself routinely, effortlessly. And there is no routine, effortless way to do that. If you know of one, would you keep me informed so that I can put it into practice? Emotional, pain is just routine when you are trying to change.
Blogging this is experience is, a good, routine way to empower me. It is work, more work than I routinely realized. But anything that is routine, is worth, routinely working at.
Anyway, I did that super hero thing by writing a letter to my director and then got written up about something else I didn't do, after the weekend was over. So, I thought about it for a couple of days and called HR to report her for harassment. Because, I thought reporting to HR was just routine. I got a call back later in the week but, was busy with something else so, I didn't call HR back . HR didn't call me either so I guess it was just routine, plus I really had to think about it Was she really harassing me? I routinely came to the conclusion that yes, my manager was harassing me. I figured that if I was going to wage war, that I'd better be prepared to win my battles. So, I gave myself the weekend to think about it. By Sunday, I was going to go through with the harassment claim until, I spoke to the weekend manager which is just routine on the weekends.
And then, I changed my mind. I changed my mind after talking to the weekend manager because I realized that I wasn't the only one suffering from the dysfunction in the office. It's routine for heaven sakes!!!! And if I went through with the claim, I wondered what would it accomplish. All I could come up with was...Well, I would have stood up for myself. But, what about everyone else... in the office who is routinly being harrassed and is routinely harassing someone else in one way or another?? Since I'm suffering from not being paid enough right now...would the fallout be worth it? Fallout is routine when you report somebody.
Some things are just routine... like some of the stuff you have to deal with at work That was the routine conclusion that I came up with anyway. Another routine conclusion that I came up with is that if I had a bigger goal to accomplish that I could do it some other way, rather than working for that routine company. And to fight with their routine culture, would be useless, even if I were to win.
I still need plenty of practice standing up for myself, because I'm sure that this won't be the last time that I will have to do that, the world is full of bullies. Bullying is just routine here. To be honest I really do need to develop a more refined, sophisticated, routine manner to stand up for myself. And even at the age of 52, I hopefully have enough routine time to do that.
Anyway, I was trying to figure out ways to empower myself routinely, effortlessly. And there is no routine, effortless way to do that. If you know of one, would you keep me informed so that I can put it into practice? Emotional, pain is just routine when you are trying to change.
Blogging this is experience is, a good, routine way to empower me. It is work, more work than I routinely realized. But anything that is routine, is worth, routinely working at.
Monday, February 8, 2010
What Me and Nero Knew
Sometimes when I am journaling in my messy house, I feel like Nero the guy who kept fiddling while the city was burning. The difference between me and Nero though is that he seemed perfectly comfortable with what he was doing. Me, if I take a look at my surroundings long enough, I start to get edgy and squirrly and melancholy. I want to throw my pen down and go to sleep because the magnitude of the disorder is just a bit much for me to bear even though I know I created it.
Or so I thought that it was just the disorder outside, it's also the magnitude of the disorder inside that I can't seem to fiddle through.
I thought getting my manager off my back would make me feel better. It did for a little while. I can say with much confidence, that she was only part of the problem, in that she has difficulty with creating, respecting, maintaining boundaries. I'm happy to say that I'm practicing creating boundaries and happy that I don't have to argue with her overmy life choices. I can't say I feel completely reassured that I will stop being harrassed altogether but that's okay. I'm prepared to do whatever is necessary to ensure my internal peace.
But, still, something just doesn't sit right with me.
And it has nothing to do with my manager.
I'm satisfied with my new found ability to stand up for myself. I needed to do that. But, I am still a malcontent. So, what am I malcontented with. I have a job, I have a place to live, food in my cabinet, clothes on my back, a car to drive...albeit a raggedy one. I am approaching my 52st birthday on Saturday.
I have good children... Happily single
I'm not miserable...but a little muted voice in my head keeps my psyche straining to hear the messages that it's trying to yell out to me. But like Nero, fiddling,--my fiddlin-- keeps drowning it out and I can't hear it clearly.
So, I'm missing something.
I'm not sure how long I can continue to stand by while my inner city burns. But, I know that standing up for myself was only a tiny part of quenching the fires sort of like spitting on a forest fire.
Nero, just didn't give a damn, I guess. I don't think that he was a bad guy... just a crazy one. (Maybe he set the city on fire and was happy to see it go).
I fiddle out of anxiety and a desire to survive. It doesn't work for me anymore..
Or so I thought that it was just the disorder outside, it's also the magnitude of the disorder inside that I can't seem to fiddle through.
I thought getting my manager off my back would make me feel better. It did for a little while. I can say with much confidence, that she was only part of the problem, in that she has difficulty with creating, respecting, maintaining boundaries. I'm happy to say that I'm practicing creating boundaries and happy that I don't have to argue with her overmy life choices. I can't say I feel completely reassured that I will stop being harrassed altogether but that's okay. I'm prepared to do whatever is necessary to ensure my internal peace.
But, still, something just doesn't sit right with me.
And it has nothing to do with my manager.
I'm satisfied with my new found ability to stand up for myself. I needed to do that. But, I am still a malcontent. So, what am I malcontented with. I have a job, I have a place to live, food in my cabinet, clothes on my back, a car to drive...albeit a raggedy one. I am approaching my 52st birthday on Saturday.
I have good children... Happily single
I'm not miserable...but a little muted voice in my head keeps my psyche straining to hear the messages that it's trying to yell out to me. But like Nero, fiddling,--my fiddlin-- keeps drowning it out and I can't hear it clearly.
So, I'm missing something.
I'm not sure how long I can continue to stand by while my inner city burns. But, I know that standing up for myself was only a tiny part of quenching the fires sort of like spitting on a forest fire.
Nero, just didn't give a damn, I guess. I don't think that he was a bad guy... just a crazy one. (Maybe he set the city on fire and was happy to see it go).
I fiddle out of anxiety and a desire to survive. It doesn't work for me anymore..
Monday, February 1, 2010
Love/Hate Relating To?
I discovered that my love for people grew out of my hate for myself. I crucified myself unconsciously everday for years so that everyone else could live a better life. (In my unconscious mind). The ultimate victimization is self abuse, is a perverted form of applying the golden rule to life. It tips the scale of reality so far over that-- without spiritual support, self-knowledge-- the only thing that it can do is come crashing down on you
I thought for the longest that complete self sacrifice was the way to go, that denying yourself anything...even the knowledge of yourself was what love was all about. I've discovered the hard way, that you cannot truly love anyone else unless you love yourself. You can define love through the way that you feel about yourself and it doesn't matter whether the definition is negative or positive--- like beauty, love is in the eye of the beholder. What kind of love are you defining?
Love, the word, the concept, love spans so far and wide, that you could write infinately and never a completely define it. I don't think that anyone ever leaves this would without ever getting a glimpse of it, although we only get a portion of it in our lifetime. I qowonder sometimes though of anyone ever dies without ever recognizing it...at all.
I remember being so repulsed by my existence that I cringed or refused to look in the mirror. I would serve up my energy, my finances, my spirituality, my emotionality on a silver platter to anyone who looked like or hinted that they might need it. Even though I chose to sacrifice myself, I often felt resentful at the seeming ungreatfulness of the recipients of my "generosity" and "kindness". I often depleted every resource that I had, unknowingly.
Although I chose to do those things, I often felt victimized, never realizing that I wasn't helping people that I provided for or myself. I have come a long way since then, but I know that I still have a long way to go. P
Human beings don't understand the importance of caring for one another unless someone else lack of compassion directly affects them.
I thought for the longest that complete self sacrifice was the way to go, that denying yourself anything...even the knowledge of yourself was what love was all about. I've discovered the hard way, that you cannot truly love anyone else unless you love yourself. You can define love through the way that you feel about yourself and it doesn't matter whether the definition is negative or positive--- like beauty, love is in the eye of the beholder. What kind of love are you defining?
Love, the word, the concept, love spans so far and wide, that you could write infinately and never a completely define it. I don't think that anyone ever leaves this would without ever getting a glimpse of it, although we only get a portion of it in our lifetime. I qowonder sometimes though of anyone ever dies without ever recognizing it...at all.
I remember being so repulsed by my existence that I cringed or refused to look in the mirror. I would serve up my energy, my finances, my spirituality, my emotionality on a silver platter to anyone who looked like or hinted that they might need it. Even though I chose to sacrifice myself, I often felt resentful at the seeming ungreatfulness of the recipients of my "generosity" and "kindness". I often depleted every resource that I had, unknowingly.
Although I chose to do those things, I often felt victimized, never realizing that I wasn't helping people that I provided for or myself. I have come a long way since then, but I know that I still have a long way to go. P
Human beings don't understand the importance of caring for one another unless someone else lack of compassion directly affects them.
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