Pink spring

Pink spring.
I can smell it--
earth and honey.

I open my windows,
let the world in,
unwrap this heart,
from its woolen blanket.

Turn my face
to feel the sun.

100 haiku challenge, 62

Neighbor's christmas lights
still twinkle on in late March.
Leave them up all year!

New habits?

Again, I have some work to do tonight, but I'm blogging first.

What I posted yesterday has continued on like a conversation in my mind. I wrote,

Asking for help, admitting things are not alright invites others in. You reveal your vulnerability. And with that, you release your control. When you ask for change, it may not be exactly the change you are looking for--there are two people involved in the outcome now.

So I'm trying to figure out how to reframe it. When I'm feeling abandoned, should I think differently about it so that I can keep my independence but not feel miserable? Or should I just ask for help, and let go?

But I realized I was not acknowledging one of the big components in this swirl. Fear.

Asking for helps from others is scary. You need to let go, not just of your independence and your control of the situation and outcome, but you need to trust as well. When you ask for help, you open up the possibility that the other person will disappoint you.

But what's the alternative? A never ending cycle of feeling abandoned, then shutting people out.

So I think my task is to reframe things this way--when I'm feeling abandoned and needing help, I need to make the goal to connect with others, rather than getting the help to achieve a certain outcome. Focus on connecting, and the help will come.

Old habits

Today, I'm blogging BEFORE I do some work, rather than the other way around, which is what I usually do. But then, by the time I'm done working for the evening, I'm too tired to blog, or it's too late. This time, the work can wait.

Yesterday I had this revelation that I was re-living a childhood trauma. Am I saying that right? What I mean is, repeating bad ju-ju from my past.

Lately at work, I've been feeling pretty beat up. I won't go into the details (you already know one reason why: I'm working too much). Everyone in a position to help seems too distracted to really notice. My manager has cancelled or missed our one-on-one meetings for six weeks in a row. Quite honestly, I was feeling a little abandoned.

But that's when I remembered  what I was like as a teenager. My mom was newly divorced, working and going to school, trying to keep us clothed and fed. She was pretty distracted. I know I felt abandoned at the time.

And my reaction? No matter how bad I was feeling, I pretended everything was OK. I guess I didn't want to add to her burden. She had so many other things to worry about. I didn't want her to worry about me.

That's exactly what I've been doing at work. Just soldiering on, acting like I can handle it. Like I'm just fine amidst the chaos.

But here's the thing: back when I was young, I'm not sure I would have wanted my mom to pay attention. I gained a lot of freedom out of her distraction. If I had said something, things would have changed. She'd have been all up in my shit, and that would have killed my free-ranging abilities.

Which is where I get stuck. Asking for help, admitting things are not alright invites others in. You reveal your vulnerability. And with that, you release your control. When you ask for change, it may not be exactly the change you are looking for--there are two people involved in the outcome now.

So I'm trying to figure out how to reframe it. When I'm feeling abandoned, should I think differently about it so that I can keep my independence but not feel miserable? Or should I just ask for help, and let go?

Worth reading

When Paul Graham says it's worth reading, it usually is.

Burning woman

So I said I'd be fearless. Here's something I was too afraid to post when I first wrote it. It's sat in my drafts folder ever since. Why was I so scared? I don't know--maybe I thought she'd read it. Maybe I wasn't sure I was being honest with myself.

Interestingly, there are new developments on this front. I might write about them a little more this weekend.
_____________________________________

This Lionheart leadership thing--it's burning through me. I feel like a raw nerve right now. Boy, does telling the truth and following your heart lead to so difficult and interesting places.

So here's where it may have led me: to the end of a very long friendship. I don't really know if that's the case, but right now, it's a possibility. I may have just lost one of my oldest friends.

The Lionheart assignment was this: remove an obstacle in one of your relationships. When I heard that, the first thing that flashed in my head was that I needed to talk to E. I'd been doing this thing for more than a year, where I'd wait to see how long it would take for her to call me, or reach out to me, and then when months would go by and still no call, I'd finally break down and call her. It's sounds stupid, I know. But every time, I'd think "Man, why doesn't she ever call? Why is this so hard? Why do I feel like I'm always making the effort?"

So I called E and told her what was on my mind. At the very worst time possible. She was back East, dealing with a very ill family member. But at the time, she listened, and it didn't feel totally resolved, but it was an okay conversation. We agreed that I'd come up with the ideas for what to do together, and she'd make more of an effort.

Then, flash forward a month later--I know she's back, I know she's been through a lot, I don't hear from her, so I call. I leave a voicemail, "Just wanted to see how you're doing..." Nothing. The next weekend, I invite her to go to a holiday craft bazaar. She texts back, "Thanks for the invite, I can't go." I feel like it's all kind of chilly, but I'm trying to just be understanding of what she's been through. I text back, "OK. I miss you. Hope we can get together soon. Hope you are doing ok," and leave it at that. But it's bugging me.

Then last night, she calls. She tells me that our conversation has been on her mind and bothering her. She feels I'm judging and measuring her. She'd heard things like this from me before (true, I have tried to have this kind of conversation with her in the past) and she never gets this from any of her other friends. She is who she is, and that I shouldn't expect her to change. She doesn't want to hear this kind of thing from me again. That I told her this at a time when she needed to focus on her family, and I made the conversation about me.

And what did I say? Yep. I've got some lousy timing. I didn't mean to cause her an extra pain when she was already going though so much. And that my intention wasn't to make her feel judged, but tell her I value our friendship, I miss her, and that I want to feel valued too.

And then we hung up the phone and cried.

So there you have it.

So I don't know where I'll be tomorrow. But right now, I think I'm done. I opened up what was in my heart, and asked for a deeper connection, to be more involved in her life, and to have a better relationship, and I was told in effect, "take it or leave it."

So I guess I have to. It is what it is. I can't change that.

I actually imagined trying to talk to her again. Perhaps this time, telling her about what my vision is for what the friendship would look like. And I thought--well, there's a chance she's say "That's not my vision, and not something I want." So more rejection. But what if she says "Ok." Then I have to follow through on that vision. And that feels like it would be a pain in the butt. And I realized right then that I cared more about making her see my point of view, and feeling right, than I did about the friendship.

Ultimately, I think my focus on the friendship and how I'm dissatisfied, or what I can do to make it better, and am I being the better person, or doing the right thing, blah blah blah, has just been a distraction. And it has held me back. I need to focus my energy and time on people and projects that boost me. My family. My creative work. Friends that make time for me. Who don't fall back on "I'm too busy." And now that I'd thought of it that way--that's I'm not losing something--I'm potentially gaining something, I don't feel so bad about it.

I'm not pretending that..

1. People don't disappoint me.
2. Pictures of food are interesting.(Fucking stop posting them!)
3. I like board games.
4. I don't talk to myself. Especially when alone in the car.

The gift of fearlessness

I committed Facebook suicide this week. Totally pulled the plug. It's likely why you're getting a blog post from me today!

I used to blog a lot more. When I signed up for Facebook more than four years ago, that all ended. The time I used to spend here, or in my journal, or just in my head--pondering--dissipated. Instead I was spending my time on Facebook.

I came to realize it was not just effecting (goddam it! affecting?) my creative life, but my social life too. Instead of calling a friend, I lurked on Facebook. It was too easy. Too addictive.

How many hours did I spend scrolling through status updates, instead of playing with my son?

So I ended it this week. I couldn't think too hard about the consequences. I just had to do it. Thinking about who I'd lose touch with, or what I'd miss out on just paralyzed me. I got up early one morning, and in that hazy mind-space time when you don't really think about anything, I logged on and deleted my account.

Yay!

So now I have some time to do what I've been meaning to do for awhile. Write here. Back in January, as my birthday was approaching, I was thinking about giving myself a gift. The gift of fearlessness. I thought about the power of just posting whatever was on my mind--which I often don't do because I wonder what you all will think of me. (Ha! All three of you reading this blog.) Maybe if I write about what I really think, and really feel, you'll think I'm terrible, unworthy of friendship, a totally negative bitch.

Well, maybe you will. But I'm going to risk it. Because the consequence of not writing what's on my mind is...nothing. Nothing happens.

There is a saying: "The universe asks you to go first."

Here I go.