Friday, January 31, 2014

I Want To See You Be Brave

I spent a lot of time being good - the good girl, the good daughter, the good student. I tried to follow the rules, at least on the outside (but I was standing up on the inside!!). I felt a lot of pressure to be perfect ever since I can remember. I don't know how that started or where it came from, but it was a constant companion, the elevator music in the background for much of my life. It turned into a very delicately balanced house of cards, something that looked ok but was fooling no one - anyone could see that it was just a matter of time before gravity and other principles of physics proved that a house put together with air and leaning doesn't last.

When my house of cards came crashing down, I might have been the most surprised of anyone. I wasn't surprised that there was no substance there - I knew it was all air and leaning. But I thought I had disguised it fairly well. I also thought that it would surprise more people (to date, absolutely no one has been shocked by the way it all turned out. Interesting...). I immediately felt bereft - what did I have left if not the pursuit of perfection?
I've spent some time getting to know me again - not the trying-desperately-to-be-perfect poser, but me. I didn't think there was anything under the polished veneer, actually. I had started to wonder if it was all just smoke and mirrors. My self-confidence, which was never really all that strong to begin with, was completely drained by losing my career and my marriage and all that I thought was as important to my life as oxygen.

Recently a theme has been appearing in my conversations with different people. If it was just one person, I could totally roll my eyes and blow raspberries and generally ignore him or her. But it's people who don't even know each other, all talking to me, telling me that I just need to be more confident, to believe in myself more, to let people see me, that it's ok if people know I'm smart or funny or know what I'm doing at work.  Just tonight a friend asked why I was being so negative about myself - I had been going for the self-deprecating humor approach but apparently the ugly truth showed through the stupid winky emoticon.
I could totally take a Barney Stinson approach and declare myself awesome…but it would be another case of smoke and mirrors (just like his legen-wait for it-dary proclamation). Instead I have moments where I think I might have the potential to allegedly be a little bit awesome. And based on my life experiences, for me, that's huge.

I struggle with even thinking about this because I don't want to be egotistical or self-absorbed or just plain annoying. My heart stutters as I try to say how I feel about things and not what the other person wants/expects me to say. Asking for things that I need - in a friendship, in a relationship, at work - is terrifying. What if the other party isn't willing to acknowledge my request? What if they don't care? What if they decide that my contribution is not worth their accommodation?

Another friend has been helping me realize that it's not all about me (shocker). Sometimes it's about what the other person can or can't or doesn't want to bring to the table themselves. And so I've decided to suck it up, quit whining, and seriously, just be awesome. What do I have to lose? What am I waiting for?


I spent a lot of time being afraid - of the consequences, of hell, of what people would think if they knew what really goes on in my head. I figured that thinking poorly of myself got that out of the way so that when other people inevitably thought poorly of me, it wasn't new information. What a waste of time and energy. I don't know if I have it in me to be brave enough to just be. I hope so.




Memories of Things

It's weird, starting life over from nothing in your mid-30s. At this point you're supposed to know what you want to be and, well, be that. You probably have some stuff (okay, a lot) that's begun to accumulate, especially if there are children involved. There are families and relationships and life that happens, houses or apartments that fill up and fill out, experiences that hunker down in your memories for perusal at a later date. 

I had all of that. And then I didn't. And then I started over with some suitcases and a few boxes and some borrowed furniture. I used to have lots of great kitchen stuff - I spent a lot of time in the kitchen. Now I don't spend nearly as much time as I really ought to, because when I'm there, I get mad. I look for something I just know I have, like a pastry blender or a little strainer, and it's nowhere to be found. I have the memories of all the things that I used to have, things that were mine, that I loved, that I used all the time, and that are no longer within reach. And then I look around at my new life and see memories of all those other things I used to have - and it's frustrating. 

I used to have this anticipation and excitement about the future. There was always a plan or a goal or a cause, and due to the nature of my former life, new places and adventures at more-frequent-than-normal intervals. Now I live here…in Nebraska…where I never really wanted to be in the first place…to which I swore I would not return for keeps if at all possible. 

A couple of weeks ago I had a really great conversation about what makes someplace "home". The question was, if I could live anywhere with no limitations, where would I like to be? Where would I find peace and that "I made it" feeling? If not here, where? And it was fun to talk about the possibilities and the things that would be deal-breakers. And then the conversation turned to the things that tie people to a place, things like jobs, families, familiarity, inertia. And the question then was, what would it take to make "home"? Do you pursue your career and hope it takes you somewhere you like? Do you pick a place you would like to live and find something to do there? So much has to do with attitude, with making a conscious decision to put down roots. Lots of people say they never thought they would end up in a certain place or that they would stay in a certain place…and there are not always formulated explanations for the whys. 


I wonder myself what it would take to find my home. I don't feel at home here. I have a long list of reasons, which most people who talk to me on any sort of regular basis can recite along with me. I have some ideas about where I would rather live. I definitely have ideas about some other jobs I would like to try. But my reality is, I have a job I don't hate that compensates me well enough to provide for my children, I have a place to live that is comfortable and more than adequate, my boys are tired of moving. I am blessed, even if the blessing comes with a lot of corn and snow. To my currently discontented selfish self, that sounds like a lot of settling, a lot of making do, a lot of "ok but not awesome". And I want awesome. I want to love what I do and feel like I'm making a difference, I want a lovely and love-filled roof over my head, and I want my kids to thrive. I want more than memories of things. And I want to have the courage to move towards home. It could end up being right here (I'm not giving up yet on more sand and sun, though)…but it better have a better backstory than "I just ended up here and here I am."