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sing it, Love

I do not sing. I have tried to play the piano, guitar, and sax. I have watched countless singing shows and I discovered Train before they were popular. However, my musical acumen consists only of turning on and off the stereo. It is simply not my gift. I have tried to steal it from others, or slip in the circus tent pretending I belong with the musical people. It just isn’t a match. music-1

These are the reasons I am uncertain why I have become encumbered with a certain preoccupation. I have often thought life would be much easier if we all had theme songs. Perhaps even songs that played in the background to remind us it is a scary or pivotal time in our lives. IT would be great to hear, “You are my Sunshine,” softly playing in the background when you are with someone that touches your heart and soul. Or the “Jaws” theme when you are in danger of an ass chewing at work.

I have been preoccupied with hearing peoples theme song. I think people’s soul sings a tune. I have met people that seem to exude different songs. The turmoil that comes from a soul belting out grunge music is undeniable.

I’ve always wanted to have the soul of a Jack Johnson song. It would be like someone is just comfortable and grooving. They would be answering questions about life and feeling mellow about the answers. I used to try and have the soul of a hair band. I wanted to be cool and dangerous. My soul chaffed with the leather pants and rejected the mullet hair transplants. Sadly, I was never going to be that cool. It is ok, I couldn’t tear the sleeves off my shirts or cut my jeans anyway. My mom said no.

I fit into the 80’s alternative bands for awhile. I brooded and was mysterious. My soul sang of superficial things in a deep way. It was as if my soul was stoned, thinking it had unbundled deep secrets about the universe only to discover that everyone knew that cookie dough was uncooked cookies. The techno beat clattered on.

I tried to fit into the rap scene, but I have just spent too many years trying to keep my underwear hidden. To this day when my underwear shows, I can hear my childhood friends taunting, “I see London, I see France, I see Theran’s underpants…” The baseball hat with the flat brim would also be difficult. I have spent several hours wetting, shaping, even rubber banding the brim of my hat to be perfectly suited for cool and sun protection for my peripheral vision, lest a marauding gang tries to usurp my turf, dance fighting like a Michael Jackson “Beat it” video. music-2

I decided I wanted to be really cool and decided to treat my soul to blues songs. My soul would wear a fedora, even smoke cigars. Again, my soul seemed to reject this. It got a rash and a nasty smokers cough.

There was a period of time it was the whiny boy music. I lamented all the time. I saw no hope, no future, no love. I have heard the inner music of break-up songs. I have felt alone and isolated. I have felt the insurmountable challenges. I have heard the depressing beats and the dark tunes. I have heard the motivating songs of Survivor, “Eye of the Tiger.” I have surged with power and giggled about irony. I have danced and leapt to the songs that delighted my soul. I have felt the love. I have been touched by the caring and vulnerability. I have communicated and sang the same song as the person next to me. Our souls dancing, our hearts lifted.

Sing a song for me. sing-3

 
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Posted by on January 20, 2017 in journey, life, Uncategorized

 

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rock on, serenity

He sat and stared at the light reflecting off the polished stone. The stone had the word serenity etched into it. He pondered the meaning and the significance of the word as the light danced off the stone. He became absorbed in the dance. The light did a tango as his mind did a retrogressive groove. He recalled past loves and hates, success and disappointments. It wasn’t morbid, but more as an outsider. He felt like Scrooge hanging with Christmas Past. He could watch. He could gain understanding. He could grieve or rejoice. But he couldn’t change it. He couldn’t tell the boy to not smoke the cigarettes, steal the money, or lie. He couldn’t stop the hurt of shame or rejection. He could stop the phone call. He couldn’t stop the escape and fear. He couldn’t explain the cost of choices he would make. He couldn’t feel the victories or the celebrations either. He was inert in his past, ineffectual and a bystander. The remorse wasn’t what had taken place, but that he couldn’t affect it.

The word, “Serenity” bent the light as it slid across the rock. He sat and mused as it seemed to slide off the edge as he rotated the rock. He felt the darkness the rock must feel. He imagines the coldness in the dark as the future began to appear as if real and certain. He knew it was a lie, but he was curious. In the dark and foggy picture, a pit appeared. In it were lanky and malformed creatures, reminiscent of the Lord of the Rings character. There were dozens, making horrendous noises. All clamoring for attention, begging to be chosen. He knew that anyone of the creatures could be his future. He could chose anyone of them. He felt sick that this was the pit of his choice. Not one seemed to be pleasing or satisfactory. He lamented the past anew. His choices had led to the despair he saw before him. The Future was silent and wouldn’t answer the questions he had. The rock slid from his fingers and clattered to the table. The light returned, but to the other side of the rock. The future again appeared. The rock is concave and the light is focused at the base. The future was bright and the glare obscured the faces. The noises were soft and pleasing. The warmth undeniable. He felt the welcoming smiles. He felt the soothing beckoning. He looked at the rock. There was a tiny word on the concave surface. He could almost make it out. “Calamity”.

 
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Posted by on January 16, 2017 in journey, life, Uncategorized

 

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snow angel, my @$$

I spent Christmas with my Dad. We were both going to be alone for the holidays and have our own reasons for not enjoying the holiday season. So, we decided to just hang out together. He is from New Mexico and has occasionally been heard to say that it gets too cold there. I live in Idaho, very close to Canada. And we had a cold snap. And we had snow. Lots of snow. I will never forget the look he gave me after I had to go out and buy a snowblower. It was an interesting combination of pity and disgust. It might have just been he was cold because we had to drive with the hatchback open to get it home. I didn’t ask because I was thinking about how fun power tools are. (It stops being fun after you have to do it three times within 12 hours.)

snow

We had a very mellow good time. We even went grocery shopping. We made meals and watched Sons of Anarchy. We laughed and just enjoyed each other. I was looking in the pantry this morning and I cant find my cereal. There are 2 very large onions, some potatoes, and I think a box of pasta helper I didn’t buy. I also have a new toaster but I am not sure what happened to my frying pan.

He is a little hard of hearing and has a knack for starting conversations as you leave the room. I found myself holding my pee several times while he asked about something or told me a story. I also find myself whispering throughout my day because I find myself talking very loudly whenever I am around him. I slip into interpreting and repeating when we are out at restaurants or in stores. The day after he left I turned on the TV and panicked as the loud explosion on the show reverberated through the house. There was a brief minute, right after I nearly wet my pants, that I forgot that I could turn down the volume. deaf

My Dad has this knack of questioning things he disagrees with. It is very subtle. “So, you like to use crescent wrenches when you put together machinery?” Its not necessarily condemnation, but it is clear that a box wrench or even a gosh darn socket wrench would be better. I have developed two habits when questioned about anything in my life. One is to just say, “Yep.” The other is to have ready a complete explanation and rationale, complete with cited references and quoted statistics as to why the use of a crescent wrench is superior in agility and adjustable functionality.  For the snowblower, I just said, “Yep.”

snowblower

We drive each other absolutely batty sometimes. We are good friends and enjoy each other most of the time. I am baffled by him frequently. I am amused by him as well. There are few people in this world I trust and respect as much as him. Its nice to get to pee when I need, recognize the food in my cabinets, and not feel the need for prepared answers when I use the lazy tool. I can have the TV at a volume that wont frighten airplane pilots.

I miss him.

 
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Posted by on January 9, 2017 in life, Uncategorized

 

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Zelda the psychotherapist

I think I might be Brittny Spears.  Well, at least I am channeling her songs. One in particular, “Oops, I did it again,” rings true. I don’t know if Id go as far as wear the cheerleading outfit she did in the video, but I am certainly humming the verse.

I mentioned that I think my VW bus is magical. I think Zelda is also a psychotherapist. She is more of a sit and listen patiently while you talk yourself into a hole or self revelation.  She seems pleased with either outcome. zelda

I took her on our maiden camping voyage this weekend and felt waves of realization and actualization pound against my brain and heart like a hurricane on a dingy. I discovered and uncovered truth after truth. I was diminished and rebuilt.

I have been reading about how our childhood traumas leave scars on our ability to relate. We never learn or forget how to be flexible with other people and even with ourselves.  I am not laying blame with anyone.  However, at some point in my childhood, I learned to get attention by crying, and to put on a false bravado would protect you from harm.  I carried that on for a long time. The disparity of who I was on outside and who I was on inside was cavernous. I begged to be told I was ok, good, attractive, smart, whatever. I needed it because I had lost my true self.  I had hidden behind my false self.  I think everyone does that to a certain extent. I had just done it completely.  As the cavern grew, so did the pain. I drank it away. I flirted it away. I laughed it away. For awhile.

I thought I had truly met myself and was emerging as my true self over the last 9 years. I reacted differently. I enjoyed life. I tried to be alive. I dug into my heart and soul. I was dumbfounded with my need to escape once again a few years ago. I needed to feel intimacy. The marriage I was in had no real intimacy. We had lost the ability to communicate and also the desire to want to grow together. The need consumed me and my world exploded.

Again, I thought I had worked through that in counseling and self exploration. But, oops, I did it again. I tried to become what I thought someone else wanted me to be. I was afraid of not being good enough. I was afraid of being less than.  Again, I ran and hid. My life changed. I retreated into my soul and mind.

Zelda the Wonderbus allowed me to see that I have been doing it all over again here. I wanted to be respected, but I wasn’t respecting. I wanted to be liked, but I wasn’t liking. I wanted to be accepted, but I wasn’t accepting. I didn’t ing anyone or myself. I was not allowing for Namaste. I wasn’t allowing for the God spark that is in me to shine and frolick with all the other God sparks out there. I didn’t know my spark was just as valuable, just as beautiful, just as worthy as everyone elses. Not knowing kept me in darkness, hidden and afraid.

That Zelda—she is a wonder.

 
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Posted by on August 31, 2015 in journey, life

 

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click three times….

I am the scarecrow.scarecrow2 I walk funny and have very little fashion sense. I also really want to be smarter. I keep getting myself into hurtful situations by not thinking it out. My dad used to say that I was thinking, just with the wrong head. My life in BD (before Dorothy) was not very exciting. I fumbled along looking for a purpose. I analyzed myself and could tell you all my shortcomings and faults. As I wondered around aimlessly, a smart and wholesome woman suggested I would like to be of service in the fields. She described how it would make me a good Christian to protect the food source and be of service. She suggested it was my calling and I could do it for a lifetime. I hoisted myself on the cross and hung there. I beamed at her and she at me. I had found love and a purpose at the same time. The woman grew to resent me. She wanted to control and for me to be in control. She didn’t like taking care of me. I grew to resent the woman. I tried to wiggle out of the victim role, but didn’t know how. I just hung around. The woman left and I stayed on the cross, lamenting. Dorothy came along and invited me to share in the journey. She wasn’t going to do it for me, and made no promises. I fell off the cross and learned to walk all over again, resuming the stumbling journey. I wanted a brain.

I am the tin man.tin-man I have been frozen in time by my ill timed tears. I have felt hollow and empty. I have longed for love and to be loved. I have felt like my heart was taken and destroyed. I have lived a life pretending to feel. I faked not having pain or despair. I have run away in fear from love because I was worried I had nothing to give in return. Dorothy came along and suggested a voyage to my heart. They would love me until I could love myself and then I could love someone else.

I am the lion.The-Wizard-Of-Oz-Cowardly-Lion I put on a brave front. I was a bully and fierce protector. I humiliated others and used my false bravado to intimidate. Inside I quivered. Inside I fled. Inside I screamed. I was afraid of life. I was afraid of risk. I was afraid that if anyone could see my insides, they would reject me. I set out to prove them right and rejected them or made them reject me. I was cowardly. I couldn’t state my needs or wants for fear I didn’t deserve to have them. Dorothy came and rejected only the exterior. She denied the bravado and slapped my nose. She loved my interior. She acknowledged the good in failing and getting up again. She encouraged journey, rather than destination.

I am Toto. Clueless and yappy. I offered little to the story but comedy relief. I existed and wondered, but didn’t really live. Dorothy didn’t help me at all, I got nothing from the Wizard. I didn’t change or adapt to any situation. I refused to grow, and just kept wandering, pointing out the flaws in everyone else’s story of magic.

But of course, Dorothy and the Wiz didn’t really give me anything I didn’t have. I had the brains to know how to survive in a loveless marriage, and the brains to get back on the path when that fell apart. I had the love to love again. I hurt not because I have no heart, but because mine works. I didn’t need a new heart, just to heal my own. I had courage. The courage to protect myself the only way I knew how, and when shown a different way, the courage to change. I had the courage to arise once again. I am not clueless or a clanging cymbal. I have experience, strength, and hope. I also have boundaries. I wont believe something or follow something just because everyone else is. I insist on reality and honesty. I desire relationship with authenticity.

and then I clicked the third time…

 
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Posted by on May 31, 2015 in journey, life

 

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walk about

I have gone walkabout. Yes, I am quoting, “Crocodile Dundy”. I am a product of the 80’s. I ponder the question, “What IS so funny about peace, love, and understanding?” I secretly hope that a mullet will once again be in fashion, and I can break out my white sports jacket and hang out with a guy named, Crockett. I am not embarrassed to say that I have put a message in a bottle. It was only this year that I figured out that Sting might have been a Sage and the message in a bottle is internet dating. Everyone does it, and everyone who still does it is still lonely. I ponder keeping my knit ties, just in case. I think “Every girls crazy about a sharp dressed man,” and wished I wanted to dress nicer.

Back to the topic. I have gone walkabout. I was in a mope. I couldn’t see any of the positive surrounding me. I was melancholy about the past and my obvious failures. I had morphed into becoming the failures rather than having them. It had become apparent to me that I was destined to living life as “The Dude,” and my soul purpose was to have my rug not peed on. Beck sang in my head, “I am a loser, baby, so why don’t you kill me.” I had lost my smile, my joy, my love. I hadn’t lost it, I gave it away.

I had a few experiences, recently, that bitch slapped me awake. I had a patient complaint filed. Sounds odd, but it was sort of a nuisance complaint. Complaining about a doctor giving you medication and when you filled it, took it, and 3 days later had an unrelated side effect, isn’t all that sound. Still it bothered me. I like being a doctor, just not being punished for being a doctor. Our current system punishes medical people for trying to help. Nasty system. Then, I had more than one person tell me to choose my path. I just needed to decide where I wanted to be headed, they proclaimed. Novel concept, choose to be happy or growing. Then finally, my ex girlfriend told me to leave her alone. I miss her and love her, always will. However, her setting a boundary made me aware that I had slipped back into the idea that it is all about me. I could only see my side of things and had gotten so lost in the darkness, I had forgotten to enjoy the light. I had to let it, and her, go.

So I went walkabout. I decided to just disappear for awhile. I got books on tape and got in my little car and headed out. I decided to visit a friend from high school. We were glued to each other for years and years. I drove down from Idaho to California. My overnight stop was going to be Las Vegas. I had visions of the Rat Pack and figured the people would be the same as 25 years ago when I had last been there. They would scream my name, a la Norm from Cheers. I would have some funny quip and then win so big at the 2 dollar black jack table, I would get comped a room. Umm, not so much. I stopped and watched the slobbering drunks try and stay perched on the bar stools, smelt the cigarettes and alcohol, and recoiled. I hopped in the car and head on down the road. I stopped in Baker, California. I was pretty tired and pulled into the first hotel I saw. It seemed safe, and the rooms were cheap. I was handed the key to room #7. Yep, the key. I pulled in and opened the door. I was transported to the Caribbean, and not in a good way. There was a bed, an 80’s TV, with a cable line attached that draped over a bare wall. The tile floor was clean, but dingy. There was a bed and a chair, that in 1983 must have been brand new and very nice. There was that round table that you had in your first apartment next to the bathroom. The bathroom had a bare bulb and pink tile. There was a mirror that I could see my chin in if I stood on tiptoes. It was the lap of luxury. I laid down on the most uncomfortable mattress I have ever been on. I wondered if the bedbugs would carry me off the bed in the night. I giggled for 30 minutes as I fell asleep.

I got up in the morning, luckily unbitten by the bedbugs and rats that haunted my dreams. I headed down the road and stopped at a 50’s diner in the middle of nowhere. It was great. Campy as all get out, but great.

I watched my friend with his new wife and their baby. We hung out and did nothing. We talked. We just were. Today we will go to a beach, strolling around A town in California. I will go and meditate on a beach North of here for a few days tomorrow. I am not bad, or lost, or “less than.” I just am. I am the guy who giggles at cheesy hotels. I am the guy who rejoices in the campy. I am peaceful and loving. I am the guy who grows and learns. I am the guy who can weather the storms. I am me.newport

 
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Posted by on May 24, 2015 in journey, Uncategorized

 

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change, change, change…change of fools

” I AM OK.” I scream at no one in particular. I don’t feel ok, and all I am doing is trying to convince myself. Somedays,  it works for awhile.

I don’t like being this way. I read an article recently that was talking how some people just don’t let themselves be happy. It suggested that they feel unworthy of good things happening and so they sabotage them. Or they dread being happy or content because it means something bad is going to happen. It has been a long time since I felt truly happy for any duration of time. Decades. Am I want of those people? Am I incapable of living in the world letting water flow off my duck like back?3523448240_77823295a9_b I have enjoyed many moments in my life. I have laughed. I have triumphed. I have loved and lost. I have failed and persevered. But, I cant seem to be content.

“I DONT WANT TO BE THIS WAY.” I screamed at no one in particular.

“change,” he whispered back.

“how?” I blubbered.

“Be and Do differently.”

There was a time that I just felt at ease. I drove a school bus for 18 months or so. One morning, the Sun was rising as I checked over the bus. The air was nippy, but not cold. I took a picture and sent it to my girlfriend at the time. It was only a fraction as beautiful as I think she is. I was overwhelmed with a feeling of contentment. I had no money, no real prospects at the time. The love of my life lived 500 miles away. But I was safe, I was warm, I was loved. It lasted all day. I relished the feeling and didn’t want it to ever go away. I held on too tight. It slithered through my fingers like squeezing play doh.squeezing-playdough I didn’t see that I was sabotaging myself and my happiness by being desperate. I lost it.

“It hurts.” I whispered.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

 
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Posted by on May 19, 2015 in journey, life

 

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hmm

“I’m scared.”

“Of What?”

“Everything”

I was pondering this morning on how often I have had this conversation with God and with everyone I have gotten close to or paid to listen to me. I never really thought of myself as a coward, but each time I have that conversation, I flash on all the times I felt fear.  I was 11 or 12. There were a set of twine, boy and girl, that lived down the street. The girl, Carla, pushed my younger sister down and I stood up for her. I pushed Carla. Well, now Andy wanted to fight me. I was not much of a fighter. I was in shape, because round is a shape. I ran in my house and hid. My Dad came home and I explained my plight because he wanted to know why 10 kids were standing outside calling me a chicken and making clucking noises. He told me I don’t have to go out there, but if I did, he would never call me coward again. That sounded good at the time. Years later, I would realize he never called me that and I don’t think I ever heard him use that word before or after. I did fight Andy and both of us would claim victory.

My fears have varied over the years. I have always been afraid of physical confrontation. I quit karate because we were going to have to hit each other. I was 40. I am not weak and could probably do pretty well in a fight. I don’t run and hide, but am adept at defusing a situation now.

I fear rejection. I fear isolation. I fear fear. I fear being lonely. I fear being a failure. I fear not being liked. I fear not being loved or loveable. I fear loss. I fear pain.

Today was a fear laden morning. I feel rejected on many fronts, but most tangible in my consciousness is my ex girlfriend and my daughters. Two very different situations and yet very similar fears. I miss all of them so much. I think I set myself up to feel this pain. I say it that way to make myself feel better. I know I did. I don’t know why except that the fear list paralyzes me. With my kids, I hurt their mother and ended up leaving the home, destroying the dream life and family. They were very confused and angry and decided to stop all communication with me. I failed their expectations as a father. I felt rejected, isolated, unloved and unloveable. I hurt.  I am getting more able to cope with that pain.  The realization that instead of feeling the emotions, I slid into suffering them, helped me dramatically.  Somedays, I do very well. Today is not one of those days.

I am meeting my fear with perseverance. I am learning to trust myself in the face of adversity. I am letting myself be aware of the fears and stepping up to the plate. I am learning to love me first.

 
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Posted by on April 16, 2015 in journey, life

 

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LET GO

“Dating is like crossing the monkey bars, don’t let go of one until you have grasp on another.” I was told this by another prepubescent boy in 5th grade. It made sense to me. I had just been dumped by Sharla and was feeling crushed. We had “gone out” for almost 3 days, a record in my short dating career. We were meant to be forever, or so said the scrawlings on my notebook. And when I tallied the letters in our names as they added up to the letters in True Love, it was supposed to be inevitable we would be together. Now three days later, I was picking up the broken pieces of my heart.

I was never all that good at dating. I was a bit chubby, had low self esteem, and didn’t like all the things the jocks (who seemed to have all the girls attention) liked. I repeated the “Sharla cycle” frequently through my adolescence. I rarely, if ever, dumped someone, I was always the dumpie. That isn’t meant to be a pity thing, looking back, I would have dumped me too. I was needy and fake. I tried to be whatever the girl seemed to want. I was in love instantly. However, I was so worried about being dumped, I couldn’t talk to them. It is tough to “be going out” and never say hello. I had a chance in 6th grade. In a moment of incredible courage, I asked Kristi to the dance. She was new at the school and was (and still is) one of the most beautiful people I knew. We got to the dance and the macho guys met her and I felt about 2 inches tall. I slunk away.

I continued this trend into college. I started to date and hold back my feelings, or decided beer seemed to be the ticket. It seemed to work. I fell in love still. I got hurt. But I just ignored the feeling or drank them away. I didn’t seem to be able to perfect the aloof. I couldn’t be totally detached. I would want to be, even pretend to be, but it still seemed to result in pain. I used to wish I could just be the Fonz, and drift from woman to woman. But I would get over attached and needy. I believed the lie of someone completing me or needing someone else. So, I kept loosing more of myself and feeling more and more empty and panicky with lost loves. My 5th grade playground profit echoed in my head. I started to serial date. It was rare that I was without someone. I never allowed for healing. I never allowed for growth. I didn’t break up with dates, I just sabotaged the relationship or became less attentive until they broke up with me. It allowed me to not have to be honest and to play the victim role and feel sorry for myself. It was the beginning of my self victimization role play.

In medical school, I met a wonderful woman. I still faked who I was and tried to be what she wanted. I changed my religion, I didn’t have sex with her, I drank less, and changed my friends. I even stopped being so judgmental, well I stopped talking about it out loud. I would marry her. A few days before I proposed, I tried to flirt with my resident. I told myself that if she wanted to date me then it was God telling me this wasn’t the right move for me. She didn’t and so I asked to be married. I was still in the mode of not letting go of the cold steel bar and kept flirting with other women. I even asked one to a movie. I was still wearing my wedding ring when we went out. She figured it out and ended the date early. I had a one night stand in our first year of marriage. I told my wife about it, half thinking and hoping she would ask for a divorce. She didn’t and we did counseling once or twice. I recommitted to the relationship and flirted continuously with other women, explaining that I was just outgoing and nice. I see now it was “coat checking” the next Monkey Bar, just in case. I am disappointed that was me at the time. I have forgiven myself for the craving for intimacy. I wanted it, feared it, and didn’t know how to do it or get it.

As the need resurfaced when I stopped hiding behind alcohol, I was more frustrated at not knowing how to do it. I felt desperate and more lonely than I had ever felt before. I felt lonely and isolated in my marriage even when we were right next to each other. I tried to fix it. I remember the day that my ex wife told me that she didn’t feel intimate to me anymore. We had just returned from a marriage retreat weekend. In hindsight, I panicked like I had done as a 5th grader. I went into full “Sharla mode”. She repeated it a few years later and I reacted by trying to find another monkey bar. It was weak and panicky. I know it was dishonest and creepy. I wish I could take it back, but I cant. All I can do is tell that scared, lonely boy, “Thank You for doing the best you could do.” I tell mid-schooler, “You are good enough and thank you for doing the best you could do.” I tell me as a high schooler and a college student, “Thank you for doing the best you could do with the tools and knowledge you had.” I tell myself that I did the best I could do, I made mistakes and caused pain. But I have addressed myself honestly and compassionately. I accept me. I am intimate with myself. I love me right where I am, but too much to leave me here.

I will learn. I will grow. I will accept. I will communicate I will love. I will be accepted.  I will be loved.

 
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Posted by on April 1, 2015 in divorce, journey, life

 

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walk with purpose

Please don’t say another word.

I don’t want to hear it.

I can’t, I won’t, I shant.

Please listen to my heart.

Please see me.

I can’t, He can, I think I will let Him.

Growth. Learning.

Pain. Love. Wrestling with God.

Terror. Bewilderment. Fear. Despair.

Didn’t know how. Didn’t learn fast enough. Hip hurts.

Please let me see me.

Please let me hear my heart.

Learning, Growth. healing.

Trudge on!

Thus begins a long period of reconstruction. Not mine to do, but His. Mine is to take one more step over and over again.

Walk with purpose. The purpose of being the Best Version of Myself and to keep learning, growing to that end, which has no end.

Walk with me, shoulder to shoulder. watch the birds, the sun and moon. Soft kiss, holding hands.

Loving. Growth. healing. Partnering.

 
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Posted by on March 31, 2015 in journey

 

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Because some words are just too tough to say out loud.......

Public Catholic

Catholic in the Public Square