What a difference a day makes... after a chaotic dramatic Sunday, I entered Monday... open to getting the eff out of dodge and driving an unbelievable five hours to facilitate a 1.5 hour Rochester Dharma Punx meeting. I wasn't sure what was going to ensue, what I would offer or what kind of service I could be to anyone else. My head and heart were battered and done in, my emotional equanimity all off quilter. When I'm not really in a good balanced place, I often feel like a bamboozling shamster, like those guys who used to sell the magic elixir tonics at the turn of the century. I know how to fix you, drink this!
I don't think I really evaluated the length of the drive before I planned on making the journey. It was quite the long venture.
Mind you, I actually LOVE being in my car for long periods of time, I talk on the phone, play my music loud and enjoy the people watching and of course, my love of driving fast is affectionately sated on 270 miles of never ending highway. I was looking forward to my drive time, but snags in the drama of the life I can't control through my co-pilot into the mix, Zbot ended up coming along for the ride. My much-anticipated five hours of alone time was now altered to be keeping the kiddo calm time. We argued over the music, had to stop all the times he had to pee, had to get him food at some MacDonald’s at a rest stop. This was not part of the plan. Nothing leading up to my adventure was part of the plan and let me tell you, life through me some wretched dramatic curve balls before I left for my Rot City adventure.
By the time I landed at the White Lotus Tibetan Buddhist center I was so incredulously emotionally and physically exhausted, I had the shakes. I was worried that I'd be that tonic selling con woman, with nothing authentic to offer. I had rehearsed parts of my dharma talk in my head in the car in between Zbot's ramblings and debates over iPod music selection. I felt like a lower percentage of whole myself, about to present the dharma to a group of strangers who most likely had some expectations about me.
Upon arrival in Rochester, we got a quick bite, which I was very excited about. Instead I spent most of the meal begging my son to eat the quesadilla generously given to him, which was draining on my wanting to devote my attention to my hosts. He was defiant, as he is so very good at. I felt last shreds of my spiritual groovy capabilities slipping from me. .... and I HAD TO PEE! The restaurant wouldn't offer me the use of their bathroom, and I seriously felt my teeth floating the entire meal.
It was time to begin the meeting. I had all sorts of things with me, readings, my cushion, my phone that I use as a timer to arrange. Desperately, I really needed to find a bathroom. I felt like I'd never find that settling space I'm so attached to so that I can do my soft shoe. On top of the hustle to be ready for the meeting, I had my son whimpering about the computer not working and not being able to find his favorite game screaming, oh gads SCREAMING from the other room, "mommy ... mommy." Let me tell you, this shit combined with life's laywoman responsibilities is really fricking hard. I did manage to leave him behind with a stern tone, and nestled myself into my cushion hoping to find space from the stress of the journey and the day behind me.
That is when I quietly took a breath, and another one, and another one, I forced a smile upon my face which gradually went from fixed to authentic as I opened myself to the room, the new faces, the energy of the space and the decor and the Buddhas. In the way I instruct so many others, I set an intention to be of service and my intention was to be in service to EVERYONE who was in that room. That is when the release came. I was relieved of my chaos the moment I set an intention to care for others. When I let go of my needs and self-interest, I became abundantly present and even excited for the moments that would follow.
Like magic, my overall well-being shifted when I made the moment about a bunch of somebody else’s and got over the 'Me Me Me'.
The meeting was amazing, for me. I loved being able to share my take on the dharma, my understanding of the story and the history and my passion for practice. I tuned in to each and every person and brought in his or her ideas. I abandoned the talk I rehearsed from days before, to the night before and on my way in the car for hours and hours. The discussion was about what the group chose and I was neutral about changing everything up for the conscious of the group experience. The meeting went an hour longer than usual. People took turns and shared honestly.
What I was reminded was that there is a reason I've been working so hard at this stuff. I do have a purpose in this community, there is sangha for me wherever I go. I do have something beautiful to offer even in my darker times, all I have to do is turn my attention outward toward the betterment of others and the love of people besides myself. All the craving and dissatisfaction I had arrived with had become irrelevant.
I drove home a different person because I've re-focused my effort towards the connection I have with others. My priorities are not on what I'm not getting in my life ... I'm putting my energy towards being in service and sharing what I can to help others combat their suffering. I have two new sponsees in the Buddhist recovery scene as of today. I'm elated to be working one on one with people who want what I have. Wow, what a concept. People actually want what I have? If only they know all the other stuff I endure... hah hah... well, I am only a mere mortal human, just like everyone else.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
rhythm rug pulled out from under me
oftentimes, I relish my space and alone time living upstate. without hesitation, I spend many weekends curled up in pjs reading a book as a choice. no longer fettered to the idea that I must be at 'the party' to be happy, I find solace in my personal time doing things like running, writing, yoga, watching nature go by and meditating. a former and much cooler incarnation of myself would barf at the sight of this new and evolved me. sometimes, I look at my life and think, um really?
but the party girl is far from 'gone', she just prefers to be more selective about her weekends. this weekend, the party girl inside was ready to come out to play.
in this ongoing struggle to walk the middle-way, also known as living a peaceful Life, I've come to a new realization.... ready? here it comes....
Expectations are just delusions. They are NOT reality. The only thing we have is right now in this moment. Everything I plot as a wanted outcome will not happen, because it is an expectations and thus, they are not real. My expectations always cause me suffering because my internal mental planning never pans out the way I think it will go.
oh yes. every expectation I have ever had has lead me down a dark road of craving and attachment to an outcome didn't pan out in reality the way it came to fruition in my monkey mind.
these past few weeks, months.... who am I kidding, my entire lifetime has been filled with communication errors, cluster fucks and breakdowns. I picture in my mind that things will go a certain way, without factoring in the present moment and that maybe, just maybe, the other people involved didn't have the same plan.
looking at life with this new perspective, it is more evident to me now than ever that life was just happening, and the reason it 'appeared' as though things weren't going my was that.... things weren't going along with my EXPECTATIONS. oh hot damn!
I've been putting a lot of energy around this idea of letting go and just BEING Still with what is. my perspective on the work I'm doing around surrendering and accepting has once again shifted.
this past weekend, I had a plot and a plan with an itinerary and schedule essential to maximizing my 48 hour party plan. it was a celebration weekend, the full moon with my Luna family, and celebrating 'three' the magic number (* winking *) and a great party to get my groooooooooOOOoooOOOoooOOOOoooove on. I had it all arranged, pockets of people with assigned events and plans, reservations, locations and such, only to have it all mixed up, moved around and rearranged by outside forces. an earlier incarnation of myself might have curled up and cried at the fact that my carefully organized agenda was falling apart not only at the seams but there where holes, and gaps and well, it was disintegrating right before my eyes. but the me of today had a different point of view.
I've been thinking a lot about the foundations of my dharma practice and the Third Noble Truth. letting go of my attachment to expectations is the key to maintaining my peaceful mind. by surrendering to the plan of the universe, I'm giving myself the gift of FREEDOM from agonizing over my unmet expectations. this practice worked for most of the weekend.
there were the surprises. someone who was a very close friend who had hurt me greatly decided to make an amends to me on Saturday night in the middle of the dance floor. there I was, hot and sweaty, while this person faced me, held me and spoke his truth about how important I am to him. for the first time in months, he was opening his heart to me and apologizing for misusing our friendship. without sharing details, I can tell you that he opened up a can of worms and from that point on, one after the other, the confessions and proclamations of Love and Respect continued to flow from more and more people in the room. this was the theme of my evening, one by one, friends cleaning up our friendships and making things right by either sharing with me old resentments or making amends for stuff that happened between us. some party! so much for losing my mind in the music, I was too busy being present for one person after another. talk about bonding!
on Saturday night I was inundated by love, that was accompanied by many truths. and .... more was revealed, while I surrendered to it and let it happen.
for twenty years, this group of friends have become my family, my home and when they tell me the words, "I Love You." I know that this sentiment is authentic. I have had to walk through much of my life on my own, and yet, when I return to this group of friends, I know that I belong. our years of friendship has transcended trends, openings, closings, my marriage, my dog Scooter Pie and so many phases of my life. these people have supported me emotionally without letting me down or letting go from then to now. these friends are more than a group or a tribe, they are 'my people'. we share a common history. we are bonded for life by a history few can truly understand.
the dichotomy between that life and my life upstate is so pronounced, I can literally feel a tremendous difference walking around NYC vs the ease of my chillage lil cabin life nestled in the styx. both have their advantages, of course, NYC's grimy exoskeleton fits me like a favorite worn out hoodie sweatshirt. up here, there's fresh air, and ease of time, a smiling face and plenty of space. down there, I need to squish up against people to carve out my spot, ingest millions of snippets of dialog, screaming angry, shouting, stench and the thing I adore most... the attitude of so many people (including me) who act like they are entitled to be treated with some sort of special treatment. fortunately, I've learned to let that go too.
I've made many clusters of friends along the way since I moved to this area, and I've shed most of them like a snake sheds skins. my favorite line my friend fab friend Susan Pipperado said to me in regards to my recycling social circles a few years ago is, "they weren't your people." my tribe is in NYC.... but I'm a nomad, a chameleon and open to new connections. the way I feel with my NYC friends can be proprietary to them. I can stay open to new kinds of relationships and find new ways to build support around me, and I have people here to love me and catch me when I fall. I have built up a new community here, my dharma sangha, my neighbors and the special people who accept and are growing to love the quirky wacky girl that is me. I must remind myself to keep giving this portion of my adventure a chance, to stay in it. you know what, it is ok to belong to more than one tribe. my survival depends on it.
headed 'home'. driving north. there is a distinct transition as I drive through the exit 19 toll off the throughway towards the last 20 miles of my trip up 28w. my heart beats change tempo, my foot lifts up off the gas peddle a little, I change the music and crack the windows to invite in the fresh air. it feels so good to pull into my driveway and see my little brown wooden dwelling waiting for me patiently. I may still call NYC Home, but my Heart is still beating in the woods of Willow. and so, the upstate journey continues.
but the party girl is far from 'gone', she just prefers to be more selective about her weekends. this weekend, the party girl inside was ready to come out to play.
in this ongoing struggle to walk the middle-way, also known as living a peaceful Life, I've come to a new realization.... ready? here it comes....
Expectations are just delusions. They are NOT reality. The only thing we have is right now in this moment. Everything I plot as a wanted outcome will not happen, because it is an expectations and thus, they are not real. My expectations always cause me suffering because my internal mental planning never pans out the way I think it will go.
oh yes. every expectation I have ever had has lead me down a dark road of craving and attachment to an outcome didn't pan out in reality the way it came to fruition in my monkey mind.
these past few weeks, months.... who am I kidding, my entire lifetime has been filled with communication errors, cluster fucks and breakdowns. I picture in my mind that things will go a certain way, without factoring in the present moment and that maybe, just maybe, the other people involved didn't have the same plan.
looking at life with this new perspective, it is more evident to me now than ever that life was just happening, and the reason it 'appeared' as though things weren't going my was that.... things weren't going along with my EXPECTATIONS. oh hot damn!
I've been putting a lot of energy around this idea of letting go and just BEING Still with what is. my perspective on the work I'm doing around surrendering and accepting has once again shifted.
this past weekend, I had a plot and a plan with an itinerary and schedule essential to maximizing my 48 hour party plan. it was a celebration weekend, the full moon with my Luna family, and celebrating 'three' the magic number (* winking *) and a great party to get my groooooooooOOOoooOOOoooOOOOoooove on. I had it all arranged, pockets of people with assigned events and plans, reservations, locations and such, only to have it all mixed up, moved around and rearranged by outside forces. an earlier incarnation of myself might have curled up and cried at the fact that my carefully organized agenda was falling apart not only at the seams but there where holes, and gaps and well, it was disintegrating right before my eyes. but the me of today had a different point of view.
I've been thinking a lot about the foundations of my dharma practice and the Third Noble Truth. letting go of my attachment to expectations is the key to maintaining my peaceful mind. by surrendering to the plan of the universe, I'm giving myself the gift of FREEDOM from agonizing over my unmet expectations. this practice worked for most of the weekend.
there were the surprises. someone who was a very close friend who had hurt me greatly decided to make an amends to me on Saturday night in the middle of the dance floor. there I was, hot and sweaty, while this person faced me, held me and spoke his truth about how important I am to him. for the first time in months, he was opening his heart to me and apologizing for misusing our friendship. without sharing details, I can tell you that he opened up a can of worms and from that point on, one after the other, the confessions and proclamations of Love and Respect continued to flow from more and more people in the room. this was the theme of my evening, one by one, friends cleaning up our friendships and making things right by either sharing with me old resentments or making amends for stuff that happened between us. some party! so much for losing my mind in the music, I was too busy being present for one person after another. talk about bonding!
on Saturday night I was inundated by love, that was accompanied by many truths. and .... more was revealed, while I surrendered to it and let it happen.
for twenty years, this group of friends have become my family, my home and when they tell me the words, "I Love You." I know that this sentiment is authentic. I have had to walk through much of my life on my own, and yet, when I return to this group of friends, I know that I belong. our years of friendship has transcended trends, openings, closings, my marriage, my dog Scooter Pie and so many phases of my life. these people have supported me emotionally without letting me down or letting go from then to now. these friends are more than a group or a tribe, they are 'my people'. we share a common history. we are bonded for life by a history few can truly understand.
the dichotomy between that life and my life upstate is so pronounced, I can literally feel a tremendous difference walking around NYC vs the ease of my chillage lil cabin life nestled in the styx. both have their advantages, of course, NYC's grimy exoskeleton fits me like a favorite worn out hoodie sweatshirt. up here, there's fresh air, and ease of time, a smiling face and plenty of space. down there, I need to squish up against people to carve out my spot, ingest millions of snippets of dialog, screaming angry, shouting, stench and the thing I adore most... the attitude of so many people (including me) who act like they are entitled to be treated with some sort of special treatment. fortunately, I've learned to let that go too.
I've made many clusters of friends along the way since I moved to this area, and I've shed most of them like a snake sheds skins. my favorite line my friend fab friend Susan Pipperado said to me in regards to my recycling social circles a few years ago is, "they weren't your people." my tribe is in NYC.... but I'm a nomad, a chameleon and open to new connections. the way I feel with my NYC friends can be proprietary to them. I can stay open to new kinds of relationships and find new ways to build support around me, and I have people here to love me and catch me when I fall. I have built up a new community here, my dharma sangha, my neighbors and the special people who accept and are growing to love the quirky wacky girl that is me. I must remind myself to keep giving this portion of my adventure a chance, to stay in it. you know what, it is ok to belong to more than one tribe. my survival depends on it.
headed 'home'. driving north. there is a distinct transition as I drive through the exit 19 toll off the throughway towards the last 20 miles of my trip up 28w. my heart beats change tempo, my foot lifts up off the gas peddle a little, I change the music and crack the windows to invite in the fresh air. it feels so good to pull into my driveway and see my little brown wooden dwelling waiting for me patiently. I may still call NYC Home, but my Heart is still beating in the woods of Willow. and so, the upstate journey continues.
Friday, October 29, 2010
there is always room for forgiveness, healing and change
ten years ago, I was heading for the zenith of my PR career.
ten years ago, I was engaged and then married.
ten years ago, I was super skinny.
ten years ago, my father and I were estranged for more than a decade.
ten years ago, I found my Dad......
It was March 2000, and there was only a month left until the wedding. I was a pretty chill bridezilla, as a seasoned event planner, I had pulled the details together quickly and seamlessly, the guest list was small (under 70 including dates) the scene was set. Everything with the wedding was 'perfect', and I was pretty excited how well things fell into place.
But there was something missing. There was an empty void inside of me, the pain of feeling like I wasn't worthy ... a disconnect that felt unfixable.
I was missing my Dad. He had been out of my life for over ten years, and the pain of that was devastating. I did all sorts of work around it, from joining Lifespring, therapy, counseling, support groups, heavy drugs, and adopting friends Dad's as father figures. Each of the outlets provided me some comfort, but none of them answered the questions for me that played on a continuous loop in my head that started with the word 'Why'.
I was never Daddy's Girl, that spot was reserved for my sister. But he loved me, and would tell me things you want a Dad to say, like, "you're way prettier than your sister." Ok, not healthy but ... I loved and love that he tells me this. Sick, yes, I am.
The month before the wedding, March 2000, my mother and I were on the phone. She had let me know that she had seen Harvey, an old friend of Dad's, in her neighborhood walking his dogs. She mentioned this to me a few times over a couple of weeks. So one night, I dial 411 and get his number. With my fiancee at my side, I dialed Harvey.
"Hi Harvey, I'm not sure if you remember me, I'm Elissa, Bob's daughter. You haven't seen or heard from me in a long time. My mom had said she had seen you around her neighborhood, and I was hoping you might know where my Dad is."
Harvey responded, "Of course I remember you. Yes, I can put you in touch with your Dad, are you sure you really want to talk with him?"
"Oh yes, if it's not too much trouble, I have a pen and paper, could I get his number," shaking, I'm waiting for the information.
"Elissa, I can put you in touch with him," he repeated, "but, are you sure you want to speak with him?"
"Yes, really, I do," nervous but sure, I responded.
"How about I put him on the phone now," I could hear Harvey smiling through the receiver, "He's sitting right here. I haven't seen him in years, and he's visiting with me right now!"
My father got on the phone and within minutes we had orchestrated a plan to meet downtown at Temple Bar for a martini. Our reunion was six martini's deep, and by the end, I realized that all the therapy, counseling, drugs and support groups were bullshit, I really just needed to see my dad and get that sort of affirmation that only could come from him.
I did ask him the big question, 'Why." His answer was, "I really don't know, but I'm sorry."
In that moment, I surrendered to realizing that was enough, that he was a suffering human being, who made a lot of bad choices. He shared that he thought of calling me, but each time, he felt worse that more time had passed.
From there.... things changed. He was back in my life. He still wasn't invited to the wedding, my mom and sister put the kybosh to that. I wish I had stood my ground, and it saddens me he wasn't there but... clearly, there will be a next one. Well, I can hope.
After 9/11, I convinced my mother and sister to invite him to Thanksgiving, and from that point on, our dysfunctional wacky family was reunited. At that holiday dinner, I refused the champagne, and announced that I was pregnant. He might of missed the wedding, but he hasn't missed a day of my son's life. The first people to meet the Zbot after his Dad, was my mom and MY DAD. In fact, it was my father who handed Zoren to me the first time I finally got to hold him in my arms.
After the torture of the worst divorce in history, my parents made the 'War of the Roses' look like a side show at the Big Apple Circus .... years and years apart, my parents are friends, good friends. Dad has been making amends to each of us. He has taken care of my mom during her stroke, cancer and other emergency visits to the hospital. He visits my sister in Boston. My father is back in my life, and ... we have had some BIG breakthroughs in our relationship, particularly this year. I took a stand and made amends to him for my part in the difficulties of our relationship over matzoh ball soup at Passover dinner at my mom's. And ... most recently, he took a stand and stood up for ME with my family when I needed him to. After years of crying that my Dad doesn't get my back, I got to see that he really does.
Today he turned 68, although, he would prefer if you would just say 59. He just went through a couple of years of pain and surgery and I am seeing the impermanence of life unfolding before me. He's not the tough, heartless, ruthless business man of his past... he too has been broken by his own suffering. Where I once felt disdain and resentment, I feel genuine love and compassion. The night we were reunited at the Temple Bar, I discovered my father was a broken man. I forgave him easily, but it certainly hasn't been easy and smooth between us these past ten years. Both of us have worked on it, and while our relationship may not be the example of ideal, it ain't bad. I have a dad, and my son has a very close relationship with his grandfather.
I'm so grateful to have my Dad in my life. I know that something strange and mysterious was at work the day I found him at Harvey's apartment. In these times where I struggle with a continuous crisis of faith, I have to acknowledge that something must have been at work that I was able to find him in one phone call.
So Dad, Happy Birthday. Thanks for being in my life, and for teaching me that there is always room for forgiveness, healing and change. I love you very much.
ten years ago, I was engaged and then married.
ten years ago, I was super skinny.
ten years ago, my father and I were estranged for more than a decade.
ten years ago, I found my Dad......
It was March 2000, and there was only a month left until the wedding. I was a pretty chill bridezilla, as a seasoned event planner, I had pulled the details together quickly and seamlessly, the guest list was small (under 70 including dates) the scene was set. Everything with the wedding was 'perfect', and I was pretty excited how well things fell into place.
But there was something missing. There was an empty void inside of me, the pain of feeling like I wasn't worthy ... a disconnect that felt unfixable.
I was missing my Dad. He had been out of my life for over ten years, and the pain of that was devastating. I did all sorts of work around it, from joining Lifespring, therapy, counseling, support groups, heavy drugs, and adopting friends Dad's as father figures. Each of the outlets provided me some comfort, but none of them answered the questions for me that played on a continuous loop in my head that started with the word 'Why'.
I was never Daddy's Girl, that spot was reserved for my sister. But he loved me, and would tell me things you want a Dad to say, like, "you're way prettier than your sister." Ok, not healthy but ... I loved and love that he tells me this. Sick, yes, I am.
The month before the wedding, March 2000, my mother and I were on the phone. She had let me know that she had seen Harvey, an old friend of Dad's, in her neighborhood walking his dogs. She mentioned this to me a few times over a couple of weeks. So one night, I dial 411 and get his number. With my fiancee at my side, I dialed Harvey.
"Hi Harvey, I'm not sure if you remember me, I'm Elissa, Bob's daughter. You haven't seen or heard from me in a long time. My mom had said she had seen you around her neighborhood, and I was hoping you might know where my Dad is."
Harvey responded, "Of course I remember you. Yes, I can put you in touch with your Dad, are you sure you really want to talk with him?"
"Oh yes, if it's not too much trouble, I have a pen and paper, could I get his number," shaking, I'm waiting for the information.
"Elissa, I can put you in touch with him," he repeated, "but, are you sure you want to speak with him?"
"Yes, really, I do," nervous but sure, I responded.
"How about I put him on the phone now," I could hear Harvey smiling through the receiver, "He's sitting right here. I haven't seen him in years, and he's visiting with me right now!"
My father got on the phone and within minutes we had orchestrated a plan to meet downtown at Temple Bar for a martini. Our reunion was six martini's deep, and by the end, I realized that all the therapy, counseling, drugs and support groups were bullshit, I really just needed to see my dad and get that sort of affirmation that only could come from him.
I did ask him the big question, 'Why." His answer was, "I really don't know, but I'm sorry."
In that moment, I surrendered to realizing that was enough, that he was a suffering human being, who made a lot of bad choices. He shared that he thought of calling me, but each time, he felt worse that more time had passed.
From there.... things changed. He was back in my life. He still wasn't invited to the wedding, my mom and sister put the kybosh to that. I wish I had stood my ground, and it saddens me he wasn't there but... clearly, there will be a next one. Well, I can hope.
After 9/11, I convinced my mother and sister to invite him to Thanksgiving, and from that point on, our dysfunctional wacky family was reunited. At that holiday dinner, I refused the champagne, and announced that I was pregnant. He might of missed the wedding, but he hasn't missed a day of my son's life. The first people to meet the Zbot after his Dad, was my mom and MY DAD. In fact, it was my father who handed Zoren to me the first time I finally got to hold him in my arms.
After the torture of the worst divorce in history, my parents made the 'War of the Roses' look like a side show at the Big Apple Circus .... years and years apart, my parents are friends, good friends. Dad has been making amends to each of us. He has taken care of my mom during her stroke, cancer and other emergency visits to the hospital. He visits my sister in Boston. My father is back in my life, and ... we have had some BIG breakthroughs in our relationship, particularly this year. I took a stand and made amends to him for my part in the difficulties of our relationship over matzoh ball soup at Passover dinner at my mom's. And ... most recently, he took a stand and stood up for ME with my family when I needed him to. After years of crying that my Dad doesn't get my back, I got to see that he really does.
Today he turned 68, although, he would prefer if you would just say 59. He just went through a couple of years of pain and surgery and I am seeing the impermanence of life unfolding before me. He's not the tough, heartless, ruthless business man of his past... he too has been broken by his own suffering. Where I once felt disdain and resentment, I feel genuine love and compassion. The night we were reunited at the Temple Bar, I discovered my father was a broken man. I forgave him easily, but it certainly hasn't been easy and smooth between us these past ten years. Both of us have worked on it, and while our relationship may not be the example of ideal, it ain't bad. I have a dad, and my son has a very close relationship with his grandfather.
I'm so grateful to have my Dad in my life. I know that something strange and mysterious was at work the day I found him at Harvey's apartment. In these times where I struggle with a continuous crisis of faith, I have to acknowledge that something must have been at work that I was able to find him in one phone call.
So Dad, Happy Birthday. Thanks for being in my life, and for teaching me that there is always room for forgiveness, healing and change. I love you very much.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Dysfunctional Loot Relationship
It's been a while since I felt that desperate, painful, junkie feeling of despair and desperation. It's dismal when there's nothing left to hold onto and the craving to check out is immensely powerful and takes priority over everything else. I can recall the days living in the W. Village in the mid-90s, cranked out and tweaked out, living with a guy on a futon in the living room of a small one bedroom railroad apartment so I could be close to a 'supply' and have a roof with a working air conditioner. In those days, my life was devoid of reality, love or serenity, and I was pretty much broke and very broken.
In those blocked out countless junkie days, my life was constantly spiraling further and further out of control. My only anchor was my ability to hustle. I'm a very good hustler. No matter how devoid of cash I was, I was always able to get just enough to have what I needed to stay up.
In those days, my idea of essentials and needs included cigarettes, a few cool clothes, crank, vinyl, guest list and hustling to make even more money to continue to afford a nighttime clublife lifestyle in a land of fantasy in the underbelly of New York City's downtown. In this world, I was an expert and knew my way around.
My hustling skills continued to improve. I clawed my way up, and starved for more money in the same way I needed a bigger fix of the illicits. Money would line my pockets in fat rolls, organized neatly with all the heads facing up and in numerical bill order.
When I stored thousands of dollars in that Victoria's Secret box hidden in my suitcase, the money was neatly bundled and organized, I knew exactly what I had and how it was stashed. As long as the box was full, I was at ease.
In the years that followed, I hustled my way towards a legitimate life, hustling PR job after PR job, trying to shirk my shady reputation and become 'the best person I can be'. I remember when I was offered a job at a real PR agency for $70K/yr, wow... legally making $70K. I had plans, moving it around, not blowing it on tons of clothing and crap... keeping some in a safety net and with that... I was at ease.
On Sept 10th, 2001 I was making $250K. We had a nice apartment, some new Ikea furniture, money in savings, and I was at ease. On September 11th, that all went away, and I was in panic and distress. This is the feeling I'm speaking of, that fear that I won't have what I need, food, shelter, and that tucked away stash to keep me at ease.
FF..... more than a decade later.
These days, I make less than I made when I first graduated from college. I'm very cool with that. As I've aged, I've come to terms with the fact that the hustle doesn't make me happy anymore, and neither does the large sums that can't buy me what is really important in life.... LOVE.
I've simplified our lives, we live in a little cabin, I don't shop for anything but food, gas, books and toys. Don't have a smart phone or a new iPod. I barely wear make up or worry about appearances in that way I did in my publicity diva days. We need very little to have a lot. We live in the mountains. I spend my money on activities like snowboarding, surfing and travel. And I do it all for not just me but for me and my son. All of the money is not for 'I' but for 'US'.
My fragile financial situation took a serious nosedive last month, I found myself with NO income at all. And I was NOT at ease anymore. Money is an attachment and security blanket I need in order to be equanimous. When I turned my computer on and found that my income was totally halted, my balance shifted. My serenity raped. Flustered I spent days scrambling for work, any work, anything to bring in money to obliterate my panic.
Like the junkie days, I found myself scrambling online to find work, any work. The situation was humbling and humiliating. My survival instincts to make sure we had enough kicked in hard. I was prepared to do just about anything to make sure we were going to have 'enough'.
Fear of Financial Insecurity is my Mara**. When my economic situation wanes, my peaceful serenity is obliterated by my immense fear and panic. It's just like I felt back in the old days tweaking for more junk. I tweak for more money.
The question is, is there any way around it? Can I exist peacefully with nothing to line my pockets? Well, I sure didn't try to this past month. I've been a basket case, emotional disaster, craving a way to check out of my skull and numb myself to the painful cravings to have my accounts be at that 'right' amount so that I am comfortable, and so I feel at ease.
It's all relative, the modicum of money I need to pad our savings these days feels just like the money in the Victoria's Secret shoe box of yesteryear, even though the amounts are drastically different, their significance is still very much the same.
I definitely have a dysfunctional relationship to money. I grew up in home where there was plenty of it, multiple houses, mercedes, club memberships and the best of everything. Then, by the time I was in college, it was all gone and I had to learn to scramble and make it for myself. I have done a lot to shed my need for being financially wealthy. Sure, I envy friends I grew up with who have so much more than me materially.
Tonight... on my drive home, I stopped at the farm stand. In my ragged tank top, short skirt and rain boots. I picked out a few local fruits, veggies and cheeses amongst the NYC Trendoid Weekenders in their Prada Flip Flops making an attempt to look hipster 'country'. I used to be them, craving to get out for a weekend in 'the Country'. I chatted with the cashier, put my things in my reuseable shopping bags, and mindfully walked through the puddles in the parking lot to my car. Inhaling the sticky humid summer air, feeling the light breeze on my cheek, noticing the stars overhead, I took my time to enjoy the experience as a New Yorker escaping the city. But I don't have to escape! I live right here, where they all want to visit.
Enough is such a scary idea, what is enough. For me, enough is more than food, gas and bills. Enough is experience, love and peaceful home. I've worked my ass off to get where I am today. Money is just money, it comes and goes. I give way to much power to something so meaningless.
I have much to explore about needing money to be at ease. I don't think I fully have a solution to this one yet.
** Mara is the demon who bothered the Buddha throughout his life. Like the devil sitting on your shoulder telling you to do bad things.
In those blocked out countless junkie days, my life was constantly spiraling further and further out of control. My only anchor was my ability to hustle. I'm a very good hustler. No matter how devoid of cash I was, I was always able to get just enough to have what I needed to stay up.
In those days, my idea of essentials and needs included cigarettes, a few cool clothes, crank, vinyl, guest list and hustling to make even more money to continue to afford a nighttime clublife lifestyle in a land of fantasy in the underbelly of New York City's downtown. In this world, I was an expert and knew my way around.
My hustling skills continued to improve. I clawed my way up, and starved for more money in the same way I needed a bigger fix of the illicits. Money would line my pockets in fat rolls, organized neatly with all the heads facing up and in numerical bill order.
When I stored thousands of dollars in that Victoria's Secret box hidden in my suitcase, the money was neatly bundled and organized, I knew exactly what I had and how it was stashed. As long as the box was full, I was at ease.
In the years that followed, I hustled my way towards a legitimate life, hustling PR job after PR job, trying to shirk my shady reputation and become 'the best person I can be'. I remember when I was offered a job at a real PR agency for $70K/yr, wow... legally making $70K. I had plans, moving it around, not blowing it on tons of clothing and crap... keeping some in a safety net and with that... I was at ease.
On Sept 10th, 2001 I was making $250K. We had a nice apartment, some new Ikea furniture, money in savings, and I was at ease. On September 11th, that all went away, and I was in panic and distress. This is the feeling I'm speaking of, that fear that I won't have what I need, food, shelter, and that tucked away stash to keep me at ease.
FF..... more than a decade later.
These days, I make less than I made when I first graduated from college. I'm very cool with that. As I've aged, I've come to terms with the fact that the hustle doesn't make me happy anymore, and neither does the large sums that can't buy me what is really important in life.... LOVE.
I've simplified our lives, we live in a little cabin, I don't shop for anything but food, gas, books and toys. Don't have a smart phone or a new iPod. I barely wear make up or worry about appearances in that way I did in my publicity diva days. We need very little to have a lot. We live in the mountains. I spend my money on activities like snowboarding, surfing and travel. And I do it all for not just me but for me and my son. All of the money is not for 'I' but for 'US'.
My fragile financial situation took a serious nosedive last month, I found myself with NO income at all. And I was NOT at ease anymore. Money is an attachment and security blanket I need in order to be equanimous. When I turned my computer on and found that my income was totally halted, my balance shifted. My serenity raped. Flustered I spent days scrambling for work, any work, anything to bring in money to obliterate my panic.
Like the junkie days, I found myself scrambling online to find work, any work. The situation was humbling and humiliating. My survival instincts to make sure we had enough kicked in hard. I was prepared to do just about anything to make sure we were going to have 'enough'.
Fear of Financial Insecurity is my Mara**. When my economic situation wanes, my peaceful serenity is obliterated by my immense fear and panic. It's just like I felt back in the old days tweaking for more junk. I tweak for more money.
The question is, is there any way around it? Can I exist peacefully with nothing to line my pockets? Well, I sure didn't try to this past month. I've been a basket case, emotional disaster, craving a way to check out of my skull and numb myself to the painful cravings to have my accounts be at that 'right' amount so that I am comfortable, and so I feel at ease.
It's all relative, the modicum of money I need to pad our savings these days feels just like the money in the Victoria's Secret shoe box of yesteryear, even though the amounts are drastically different, their significance is still very much the same.
I definitely have a dysfunctional relationship to money. I grew up in home where there was plenty of it, multiple houses, mercedes, club memberships and the best of everything. Then, by the time I was in college, it was all gone and I had to learn to scramble and make it for myself. I have done a lot to shed my need for being financially wealthy. Sure, I envy friends I grew up with who have so much more than me materially.
Tonight... on my drive home, I stopped at the farm stand. In my ragged tank top, short skirt and rain boots. I picked out a few local fruits, veggies and cheeses amongst the NYC Trendoid Weekenders in their Prada Flip Flops making an attempt to look hipster 'country'. I used to be them, craving to get out for a weekend in 'the Country'. I chatted with the cashier, put my things in my reuseable shopping bags, and mindfully walked through the puddles in the parking lot to my car. Inhaling the sticky humid summer air, feeling the light breeze on my cheek, noticing the stars overhead, I took my time to enjoy the experience as a New Yorker escaping the city. But I don't have to escape! I live right here, where they all want to visit.
Enough is such a scary idea, what is enough. For me, enough is more than food, gas and bills. Enough is experience, love and peaceful home. I've worked my ass off to get where I am today. Money is just money, it comes and goes. I give way to much power to something so meaningless.
I have much to explore about needing money to be at ease. I don't think I fully have a solution to this one yet.
** Mara is the demon who bothered the Buddha throughout his life. Like the devil sitting on your shoulder telling you to do bad things.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
The Goats Ate My Mala Beads
I was in Los Angeles, just finishing my fourth weekend of Dharma Punx Facilitator Training. I was on a bit of a high, excited about everything that was to come. The weekend was spiritually fruitful and educationally productive. I learned a great deal from my peers and teacher, and had the connection and feeling that things were really gelling.
When I arrived at the beginning of the weekend, and my fellow trainees asked the proverbial opener, "how are you?" I honestly answered with... "I'm feeling an equanimity I've never quite felt before. Highs and lows, but I'm just rolling with it."
On Monday, June 21st, while sitting in an Internet Cafe in Venice, after being WiFi-less for so many days, I logged in and began my usual work routine, updating, writing, crafting, sending, doing, clearing... preparing for the workload I had on my plate.
But .... things weren't as they seemed moments before. Some bad news, a surprise lost client, some more bad news.... a dark cloud was growing on my computer screen. All this stuff was coming at once. My phone was blowing up, my texts screen bleeping, my emails parading in... all with different shades of bad I had no control over.
I sat there, far from home, very far from home, scrambling while sipping a $4 Organic Hibiscus Mango Ginger Iced Tea I suddenly couldn't afford. How the fuck was I going to get home? And would my EZ Pass go through when I try to get my car out of the JFK Lot. Will I have enough for gas to get home? And when I get home, can we eat?
FRACK!
I scrambled, updating my resume and posting ads on CL for jobs cleaning houses, painting houses, babysitting and spanking men for money. Anything I could think of that I could do, phone sex, laundry, admin assistant. Panicking in this state, trying to be mindful. Over and over I kept saying, "Just for today, you're in an Internet Cafe with an overpriced Iced Tea and you're alive and breathing."
I made it home. My car did start. My car got out of the lot. I got my son. I drove upstate. I didn't pass go or collect $200.
Zman went to school the next morning and I opened up Craigslist Help Wanted Ads... and then I found an ad that surprised me. It was an ad for an Admin Asst at Catskill Animal Sanctuary. I figured, if I did any kind of work for a nice non-profit, I would be blessed, and lucky. Right livelyhood. I looked at the ad, with a feeling like, this would be nice. This would be so much better than doing sales for Cumulus. So, I sent my resume, with a nice note and took a chance.
The next day ... I found out... they wanted me, and the day after that it was for a job they hadn't posted yet. They needed me, and I really really needed them.
I had this feeling, that this was where I needed to go, and where I need to be.
On my second day working on the Farm, I got to meet a herd of 21 newly rescued goats. I'd never met so many goats at once, in fact how many goats have I really met anyway? As we went in, treats in hand, it was fun to feed them and meet them. They were gentle loving and friendly.
One in particular stole my heart. His name is Atlas. He's 'broken', yes, crippled for life due to improper care and neglect. He laid in pain on the ground as two women gently held him and nurtured him. The Vet came to make an effort to relieve him of his pain, and his outlook seemed not very optimistic. The collaborative goal by all was to love him and give him the most comfortable life he can have.
I took photos and shot videos. I was nervous, and shy. Then, in an effort to keep the herd away from Atlas during his doctor visit, I lured the other goats away with some goat food. Now I don't know anything about goats. They have cute floppy ears, seem pretty docile and don't mind when you pet them. As they gathered around me, scarfing up food out of my hands, the biggest greediest fellow Arthur bit and ate the mala beads right off my wrist.
I giggled and laughed, "the Goats ate my Mala Beads!"
To wit, Abbie the Animal Care Director responded, "Yeah, that's Goats for you."
Silly city girl I am, in my skirt and adornments, what was I thinking? That's right, I don't know what I'm doing, and I certainly didn't know anything about what hungry little cuties the goats are.
I guess these newly rescued four-legged friends needed a little enlightenment. My service to them, Naaaaaaaahmaste Goats! (sheepish, I know** thank you Chris Bick for this one)
I visit Atlas in his stall in the barn pretty regularly. The other day, I actually saw Atlas standing, taking steps, and moving around his stall. He smiles when I see him, and nuzzles for love. Yeah, I'm falling for the goats. Who knew that this city chick could feel such affection for a creature who seemed so alien to her 10 days ago. But here I am, falling in love with goats. I'm learning what loving creatures they are, that they have emotions and feelings and like us... even when they are suffering, they can smile when they are loved.
Emotionally, I'm far from out of the woods. I still have a lot of stuff that came up last month to tend to, and fear about being able to tackle it all. I've been humbled by the humans and the animals in my life, big and small, two and four legged. I am experiencing a new growth spurt emotionally, and am afraid and excited to get to go through it at the farm.
The equanimity I was able to live in just a month ago, seems impossible to grasp at again. How was I able to maintain that Buddha like chillness for months and months, and lose it so quickly in an avalanche of new reasons to suffer. My spiritual journey is in its infancy. I must remind myself of this over and over.
Everything is impermanent. EVERYTHING. This knowledge is freeing and crippling. But like Atlas, I too can be open to love, and allow others to help me heal. This new adventure is going to teach me something new, and is demanding that I learn to soften in work in the same way I've learned to be gentle and compassionate in my life. If I am to extend the journey, I will need to be about Metta, and be in a place of love for all living beings and walk the spiritual walk at work. I may not end up perfect, but I can end up in a much better place than where I was before when I began the journey.
When I arrived at the beginning of the weekend, and my fellow trainees asked the proverbial opener, "how are you?" I honestly answered with... "I'm feeling an equanimity I've never quite felt before. Highs and lows, but I'm just rolling with it."
On Monday, June 21st, while sitting in an Internet Cafe in Venice, after being WiFi-less for so many days, I logged in and began my usual work routine, updating, writing, crafting, sending, doing, clearing... preparing for the workload I had on my plate.
But .... things weren't as they seemed moments before. Some bad news, a surprise lost client, some more bad news.... a dark cloud was growing on my computer screen. All this stuff was coming at once. My phone was blowing up, my texts screen bleeping, my emails parading in... all with different shades of bad I had no control over.
I sat there, far from home, very far from home, scrambling while sipping a $4 Organic Hibiscus Mango Ginger Iced Tea I suddenly couldn't afford. How the fuck was I going to get home? And would my EZ Pass go through when I try to get my car out of the JFK Lot. Will I have enough for gas to get home? And when I get home, can we eat?
FRACK!
I scrambled, updating my resume and posting ads on CL for jobs cleaning houses, painting houses, babysitting and spanking men for money. Anything I could think of that I could do, phone sex, laundry, admin assistant. Panicking in this state, trying to be mindful. Over and over I kept saying, "Just for today, you're in an Internet Cafe with an overpriced Iced Tea and you're alive and breathing."
I made it home. My car did start. My car got out of the lot. I got my son. I drove upstate. I didn't pass go or collect $200.
Zman went to school the next morning and I opened up Craigslist Help Wanted Ads... and then I found an ad that surprised me. It was an ad for an Admin Asst at Catskill Animal Sanctuary. I figured, if I did any kind of work for a nice non-profit, I would be blessed, and lucky. Right livelyhood. I looked at the ad, with a feeling like, this would be nice. This would be so much better than doing sales for Cumulus. So, I sent my resume, with a nice note and took a chance.
The next day ... I found out... they wanted me, and the day after that it was for a job they hadn't posted yet. They needed me, and I really really needed them.
I had this feeling, that this was where I needed to go, and where I need to be.
On my second day working on the Farm, I got to meet a herd of 21 newly rescued goats. I'd never met so many goats at once, in fact how many goats have I really met anyway? As we went in, treats in hand, it was fun to feed them and meet them. They were gentle loving and friendly.
One in particular stole my heart. His name is Atlas. He's 'broken', yes, crippled for life due to improper care and neglect. He laid in pain on the ground as two women gently held him and nurtured him. The Vet came to make an effort to relieve him of his pain, and his outlook seemed not very optimistic. The collaborative goal by all was to love him and give him the most comfortable life he can have.
I took photos and shot videos. I was nervous, and shy. Then, in an effort to keep the herd away from Atlas during his doctor visit, I lured the other goats away with some goat food. Now I don't know anything about goats. They have cute floppy ears, seem pretty docile and don't mind when you pet them. As they gathered around me, scarfing up food out of my hands, the biggest greediest fellow Arthur bit and ate the mala beads right off my wrist.
I giggled and laughed, "the Goats ate my Mala Beads!"
To wit, Abbie the Animal Care Director responded, "Yeah, that's Goats for you."
Silly city girl I am, in my skirt and adornments, what was I thinking? That's right, I don't know what I'm doing, and I certainly didn't know anything about what hungry little cuties the goats are.
I guess these newly rescued four-legged friends needed a little enlightenment. My service to them, Naaaaaaaahmaste Goats! (sheepish, I know** thank you Chris Bick for this one)
I visit Atlas in his stall in the barn pretty regularly. The other day, I actually saw Atlas standing, taking steps, and moving around his stall. He smiles when I see him, and nuzzles for love. Yeah, I'm falling for the goats. Who knew that this city chick could feel such affection for a creature who seemed so alien to her 10 days ago. But here I am, falling in love with goats. I'm learning what loving creatures they are, that they have emotions and feelings and like us... even when they are suffering, they can smile when they are loved.
Emotionally, I'm far from out of the woods. I still have a lot of stuff that came up last month to tend to, and fear about being able to tackle it all. I've been humbled by the humans and the animals in my life, big and small, two and four legged. I am experiencing a new growth spurt emotionally, and am afraid and excited to get to go through it at the farm.
The equanimity I was able to live in just a month ago, seems impossible to grasp at again. How was I able to maintain that Buddha like chillness for months and months, and lose it so quickly in an avalanche of new reasons to suffer. My spiritual journey is in its infancy. I must remind myself of this over and over.
Everything is impermanent. EVERYTHING. This knowledge is freeing and crippling. But like Atlas, I too can be open to love, and allow others to help me heal. This new adventure is going to teach me something new, and is demanding that I learn to soften in work in the same way I've learned to be gentle and compassionate in my life. If I am to extend the journey, I will need to be about Metta, and be in a place of love for all living beings and walk the spiritual walk at work. I may not end up perfect, but I can end up in a much better place than where I was before when I began the journey.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
psycho
psycho
nutcase
wackdoodle
batty
freak
crazy
insane
barmy
nuts
out of one’s tree
screwy
unhinged
loony
mental
erratic
cracked
beyond all reason
nonsensical
wild
bats in the belfry
schizo
unglued
nutcase
wackdoodle
batty
freak
crazy
insane
barmy
nuts
out of one’s tree
screwy
unhinged
loony
mental
erratic
cracked
beyond all reason
nonsensical
wild
bats in the belfry
schizo
unglued
etc.....
there are countless adjectives men use to describe women in that frenzied state, when the feel misunderstood. nothing made my blood boil more fervently than when my now ex-husband would call me psycho. he'd do it deliberately in the heat of a disagreement, to rile me more. with the use of this one little word, he would upset the order of my mental state and instantaneously prove he was right.
what is it with us girls? why do we get so bent out of shape in the company of lovers? we are brilliant multi-tasking cool as a cucumber pillars of strength in any other situation.
when the universe is colliding with my dimension and everything seems to be going wrong, a switch goes off inside me and I go into “taking care of business” mode. I go into a calm state of awake. tackling tasks and problem solving become my mode of operandi, as I take care of any business at hand.
in the heat of disaster, I can breathe and manage a myriad of things without a hint of emotion. when my car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, or my son begins freaking out over something that seems gigantic to a seven year old, or a fire breaks out in the kitchen or any other crazy thing happens, I just breathe and deal.
none of it bugs me, it’s all just life.
but as soon as my heart is invested in a man, my sense of cool goes on hiatus. my focus turns, and all the events of the day seem a little less manageable. emotions surge. I feel things. the ice queen melts.
I’d love to try and take credit for being the only Ms. Jeckel and Hyde I know, but sadly, I confess, all the women I know suffer this way. The other night, one of my mentors said, “Love is the Opiate of Women.” perhaps we really all are Love Junkies at heart. when love is new and present, we float in a state of love induced high, impervious to troubles and zoned out in fantasy. At the first signs of rejection, we feel withdrawal, pain, the shakes, the sweats and all of our self-centered fears emerge.
there are many “rules” chicks are taught to follow in order to hide the fact that women are love-crazed lunatics from their men. books and books have been crafted on the subject of how women can quell their inner psycho, to portray a cool calm collected savvy hip chick with nothing better to do than be gorgeous. trust me, this portrayal that woman are like this is false!
I fancy myself the chill, laid back type. and compared to most, I really am. but like every girl out there, I’ve got my triggers… memories of abandonment imprinted from daddy to the men of my present all flood back at the signs of any sort of rejection. hey, this isn’t something unique to me, all girls suffer this torture.
one of the things I absolutely find endearing about my lesbian friends is their ability to hone in and craft entire relationships around this girl obsessed estrogen based brand of love crazy. They feed on each other’s wacky love thing, and parlay it into passion, no we’re just friends, and sex and no we’re just friends and we’re partners and passion and ….. etc….. roller coaster of two women at the controls. Yowwwwwsa. talk about highs and lows and a lust for drama.
I usually end my blog entries with a solution. But unfortunately, until my boobs fall off and I grow a penis, there is no cure.
so the only thing I figure I can do at this juncture is end the seeking and do nothing. not sure how long this stint will last, but if I focus on all the stuff I tackle well, my writing, my profession, my school work, being super mom and my spiritual practice, the other romance stuff can’t cloud my ability to get “life” done.
today I set a new intention to myself. I’m in a relationship with me, at least I know I’m gonna call myself back! and I’m a great listener, good cook and I am really really good in bed, lol.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Zman & Telula
the first time I got called into school to have a chat about my son's naughty behavior was a few years ago. the headmistress of my son's preschool contacted me to alert me to the fact that my 3 year old son was caught in the little tykes clubhouse kissing one of his little girl school mates. it didn't stop there. from then on, I've cought my little player man in action, flirting with my friends, kissing girls while playing Littlest Pet Shop behind the couch, and so on.
like other little boys his age, he's put on a show, pretending to hate girls, when he secretly adores them.
at the grocery check out line, he'll point the latest issue of Cosmo and exclaim, "she's got really nice boobies!"
so, I was sort of surprised the other night, while snuggling up to read our night time story, when Zman asked, "at what age am I ready to have a girlfriend?"
he continues to share with me about his girl troubles. over the past few days, he's been heartbroken that his little friend Telula has been harassing him on the bus. taking his Bakugans and throwing them, hitting him and the other usual tell-tale signs that 2nd grade love is in the air.
"So do you know why Telula is harassing you on the bus? it's because she like likes you," I ask him.
there was a long pause, while he pretended to be grossed out, an incurable smirky smile brewed on his face. his skin turned slightly pink, and his eyebrows raised ever so slightly. had he not realized this? of course not! he's seven.
so I get to the heart of the matter, "do you like like Telula?"
in a grown up and quite matter of factly voice, he responded, "well mommy, she's not really the girl for me, we don't have the same things in common. I need to be with a girl who likes the same things as Me, you know....punk rock music, skateboarding, and cool stuff like that. she doesn't even like Green Day, the best band like ever, so it would't work out."
his superficial quick to judge response made me think a lot about my romantic choices.
as I've matured, suffered the end of a marriage, and conquered a host of baaaaaaaaaaaaaad darkly comical dating experiences over the past few years, I too have become quick to judge what will work or not based on surface commonalities.
with the internet presenting us and our likenesses on dating sites and community sites like Facebook, who needs to dip into the getting to know you process. with a click of a mouse, I can plow through your cultural interests, favorite albums, pictures of you and your friends and determine if you're right for me. am I any different than my son in this regard?
it's easy to look at some pictures online and read well-thought out profile pages and make a judgment call about what I think. perhaps the problem in the online dating thing really begins and ends here.
the few times I've been out with men I've met online, the same thing happens. I project what I think they are like, create personalities, and allow my fantasy to craft the person I'll be meeting before I meet him.
most likely, he has done the same thing.
for example, the last fellow I went out with... I met on a "dating" site, that I actually tried out for a month. he was the Only prospect of interest, and came off weird, cute and creative. just like I like a guy to be. electronically, we were a wonderful match, in person... total disaster. I fantasized him in to this virile man capable of taking charge and enjoying similar creative interests. in reality, he was NONE of the things I projected onto him as being.
Zman sparked a curious point. does it matter that he agrees with me that OK Computer is the pinnacle of musical genius? maybe not.
as I began to describe the beginning of my relationship with my now-ex-husband to Zman, I talked about chemistry, about the sharing and exchanging of interests, that it didn't matter that Daddy loved PJ Harvey and Mommy loved Orbital. looking back to a time when dating was simpler, and when electronic hooking up didn't exist, I realize we've become desensitized to true chemistry and the work involved in making an effort to get to know someone.
I had forgotten all about that in-person chemistry experience. it has been years since I've enjoyed that type of exchange.
so to Zman, I suggest, perhaps it doesn't matter if Telula doesn't like punk rock music, if you enjoy the exchange of punches and laughter on the school bus, that could be the fledgling of true love after all. ask her out on a playdate, she might just surprise you and have something greater to offer than you anticipated.
like other little boys his age, he's put on a show, pretending to hate girls, when he secretly adores them.
at the grocery check out line, he'll point the latest issue of Cosmo and exclaim, "she's got really nice boobies!"
so, I was sort of surprised the other night, while snuggling up to read our night time story, when Zman asked, "at what age am I ready to have a girlfriend?"
he continues to share with me about his girl troubles. over the past few days, he's been heartbroken that his little friend Telula has been harassing him on the bus. taking his Bakugans and throwing them, hitting him and the other usual tell-tale signs that 2nd grade love is in the air.
"So do you know why Telula is harassing you on the bus? it's because she like likes you," I ask him.
there was a long pause, while he pretended to be grossed out, an incurable smirky smile brewed on his face. his skin turned slightly pink, and his eyebrows raised ever so slightly. had he not realized this? of course not! he's seven.
so I get to the heart of the matter, "do you like like Telula?"
in a grown up and quite matter of factly voice, he responded, "well mommy, she's not really the girl for me, we don't have the same things in common. I need to be with a girl who likes the same things as Me, you know....punk rock music, skateboarding, and cool stuff like that. she doesn't even like Green Day, the best band like ever, so it would't work out."
his superficial quick to judge response made me think a lot about my romantic choices.
as I've matured, suffered the end of a marriage, and conquered a host of baaaaaaaaaaaaaad darkly comical dating experiences over the past few years, I too have become quick to judge what will work or not based on surface commonalities.
with the internet presenting us and our likenesses on dating sites and community sites like Facebook, who needs to dip into the getting to know you process. with a click of a mouse, I can plow through your cultural interests, favorite albums, pictures of you and your friends and determine if you're right for me. am I any different than my son in this regard?
it's easy to look at some pictures online and read well-thought out profile pages and make a judgment call about what I think. perhaps the problem in the online dating thing really begins and ends here.
the few times I've been out with men I've met online, the same thing happens. I project what I think they are like, create personalities, and allow my fantasy to craft the person I'll be meeting before I meet him.
most likely, he has done the same thing.
for example, the last fellow I went out with... I met on a "dating" site, that I actually tried out for a month. he was the Only prospect of interest, and came off weird, cute and creative. just like I like a guy to be. electronically, we were a wonderful match, in person... total disaster. I fantasized him in to this virile man capable of taking charge and enjoying similar creative interests. in reality, he was NONE of the things I projected onto him as being.
Zman sparked a curious point. does it matter that he agrees with me that OK Computer is the pinnacle of musical genius? maybe not.
as I began to describe the beginning of my relationship with my now-ex-husband to Zman, I talked about chemistry, about the sharing and exchanging of interests, that it didn't matter that Daddy loved PJ Harvey and Mommy loved Orbital. looking back to a time when dating was simpler, and when electronic hooking up didn't exist, I realize we've become desensitized to true chemistry and the work involved in making an effort to get to know someone.
I had forgotten all about that in-person chemistry experience. it has been years since I've enjoyed that type of exchange.
so to Zman, I suggest, perhaps it doesn't matter if Telula doesn't like punk rock music, if you enjoy the exchange of punches and laughter on the school bus, that could be the fledgling of true love after all. ask her out on a playdate, she might just surprise you and have something greater to offer than you anticipated.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
essay for Bard Application
Stepping Aside by Elissa Jane Mastel
Essay for Bard Returning to College Application
“Me the sequel” is often described as smart, creative, magnetic and has this spark that ignites within him over and over throughout the day, just like me. There is a magic seeing the world through my son’s eyes, it is although I am reliving my life through the experiences of this little person. As I watch him navigate his way, I am amazed at how much the two of us have in common.
He was the easiest baby, never cried, always smiling from the sling. It wasn’t my intention to be one of those attachment parents, but there he was… attached to me. My life from the day of his birth to the present has been about making the best possible life I can just for him. I’ve been entrusted by the universe to make choices for him, and plot out his life in every detail. In the beginning I was his filter, everything he consumed had to pass by me, food, clothes, shelter, friends. In the beginning, I was in absolute control.
No longer the center of my own world, each and every choice I made affected the world of this other person to whom I am forever responsible. This little person did not come with a manual. I don’t have a large family or a bevy of friends with kids to draw my support from. I had to make choices based on instinct and my own life experiences.
Winging it is not really my specialty. My life is plotted and planned out well before I step into it. Each detail of my world is carefully laid out.
While other parents and peers in my son’s community are able to make their child’s education a job unto itself, I have had to choose day care centers and schools that fit in my professional life. As a working single mom, I don’t have time to investigate and interview numerous schools.
I’ve had to carve out my son’s education based on what complimented my work schedule and lifestyle. And, for the past six and a half years, this plan worked without a hitch.
My son excelled in all of his standardized testing, scoring in the top five percent of reading and math in his class. He was a little super star. He had a passion for books and creativity, and loved learning. It was my belief that my child would endure and grow in the normal public school system indefinitely. I reveled in the envy of my peers that we lived in the “good” district by the “great” school. My son was doing very well.
Until, he wasn’t.
My carefully laid out plan fell apart. Bullies were targeting my son, and his self-esteem and love of school fell into the abyss.
How could my brilliant plan to live in this school district and direct my son through this highly touted public school system not be working? After seven meetings in two weeks with his teacher and the principal, and a plea to the PTA it became clear to me that greater adjustments needed to be made. My carefully laid out plan wasn’t working. It was time for a change, we needed to take a different approach.
I had heard about the Sudbury School from other parents and friends. So I investigated a little further. I had gone to Bennington College, a very progressive school, and in that environment I excelled. What if I had the opportunity to go to a school like the Sudbury School when I was younger, what would I be like today? I began to think of what my son’s life would be like if he had the opportunity to have a custom fit solution.
What is the Sudbury School? In short, it’s a Democratic school, where students create their own curriculum, make their own rules and make their own educational choices. It is a community, where peers work together and students become students of life instead of a regimented classroom.
The application process was like no other. There were no grades to ponder or test score to peruse. In fact there were more questions for me. Becoming a part of the Sudbury School community meant that both my son and I had to be very clear that we were making a very radical decision. By enrolling my son into the Sudbury School, I’d be letting go of the control I have over his academic life. Not only would my son have a shift in his education, but I too would have to learn to "live and let live". He could make his own choices about his education. I’d be asked to trust my son to make his own decisions about his studies. I’d be stepping aside.
I stood at the precipice, filled with fear, curiosity and excitement. Looking across where I’d have to make this leap of faith, it felt like I had this dramatic transformation we’d both have to make. I had a new kind of choice. Could I trust my son and this very progressive philosophy? Would his natural curiosity command attention and would he channel that into his desire to learn?
I could fight with the public school system some more, and see if we could find a place for my dynamic son in this cookie cutter environment where everyone has to do, learn and participate in the same activity all day each day. Or, I could surrender, and give my son the opportunity to make up his own mind about what he is going to do with his education. I would give up control and allow him to be an autonomous individual.
I chose to let go. I chose to trust myself and in turn trust my child to make his own decisions about his education. Forking over my control, I am changing as a parent as radically as he growing as a person.
Instead of grappling with the frustration of transitions and changes every forty-five minutes, my son is having unique experiences each day where he is developing as a person in society. He is interacting and developing life skills, most of us have to wait many years to hone in on. There are opportunities for leadership, if he chooses them. No longer confined to color within the lines, he’s been given the opportunity to expand his mind on his own terms. My dynamic kid deserves to have a dynamic educational experience.
My son's new educational path has inspired me to think about my personal goals and desires. He now has the opportunity to expand his mind on a personalized educational path. Why shouldn’t I do the same? His journey has sparked my interest in taking charge of my education and creating a custom plan of my own. As I encourage my son to pursue his aspirations, I’ve found myself taking charge of mine. In this parenting learning experience, I have come to terms with goals I’d like to see to fruition. Completing my undergraduate degree at Bard is my chance to carve out a tailor fit education and get a degree from a school who's philosophy resonates with my own.
There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t question my decision to place my son in the Sudbury School. I’ve made a radical choice to allow my son to take charge of his own life in a very different environment. I believe my questioning my choice is healthy, and keeps me present as I experience this process with my son. I am learning to trust and let go of my need to control.
It has been a gift and a painful letting go watching my little baby boy become his own independent person. He uses his time at school to learn about frogs, create his own line of Ugly Dolls, play capture the flag, skateboard with the teenagers, play on the computer and build robots. He makes his own lunch in the kitchen and determines how he wants to use his allowance. When he gets into trouble, he answers to his peers, not some random authority. Today, he speaks about people's boundaries and understands that he is learning to be a citizen of the world. He plots, plans and socializes. He is morphing into a constructive and productive human being.
As he pulls away from me and becomes his own person, I see that I too have morphed and changed. There have been many challenges and accomplishments presented to me in parenthood. Stepping Aside has been one of them. I encourage my child to chase his passion, and now it is time that I too chase mine. By completing my undergraduate degree in Writing Arts at Bard College, I’d be pursuing the education I’ve dreamed of. Just as I’ve encouraged my son to do for himself at Sudbury School, I am making my own decision about what to do with my education. By Returning to School, I give myself the opportunity to realize ideas, expand my mind and set an example.
My son and I are both growing up together. These days, my son doesn’t need me as much. He is very independent. Every once in a while, he still asks me to kiss a boo-boo or cut up an apple for snack. These little markers remind me that I’m still his mommy, and he can still rely on me to take care of him as he learns to take care of himself.
Essay for Bard Returning to College Application
“Me the sequel” is often described as smart, creative, magnetic and has this spark that ignites within him over and over throughout the day, just like me. There is a magic seeing the world through my son’s eyes, it is although I am reliving my life through the experiences of this little person. As I watch him navigate his way, I am amazed at how much the two of us have in common.
He was the easiest baby, never cried, always smiling from the sling. It wasn’t my intention to be one of those attachment parents, but there he was… attached to me. My life from the day of his birth to the present has been about making the best possible life I can just for him. I’ve been entrusted by the universe to make choices for him, and plot out his life in every detail. In the beginning I was his filter, everything he consumed had to pass by me, food, clothes, shelter, friends. In the beginning, I was in absolute control.
No longer the center of my own world, each and every choice I made affected the world of this other person to whom I am forever responsible. This little person did not come with a manual. I don’t have a large family or a bevy of friends with kids to draw my support from. I had to make choices based on instinct and my own life experiences.
Winging it is not really my specialty. My life is plotted and planned out well before I step into it. Each detail of my world is carefully laid out.
While other parents and peers in my son’s community are able to make their child’s education a job unto itself, I have had to choose day care centers and schools that fit in my professional life. As a working single mom, I don’t have time to investigate and interview numerous schools.
I’ve had to carve out my son’s education based on what complimented my work schedule and lifestyle. And, for the past six and a half years, this plan worked without a hitch.
My son excelled in all of his standardized testing, scoring in the top five percent of reading and math in his class. He was a little super star. He had a passion for books and creativity, and loved learning. It was my belief that my child would endure and grow in the normal public school system indefinitely. I reveled in the envy of my peers that we lived in the “good” district by the “great” school. My son was doing very well.
Until, he wasn’t.
My carefully laid out plan fell apart. Bullies were targeting my son, and his self-esteem and love of school fell into the abyss.
How could my brilliant plan to live in this school district and direct my son through this highly touted public school system not be working? After seven meetings in two weeks with his teacher and the principal, and a plea to the PTA it became clear to me that greater adjustments needed to be made. My carefully laid out plan wasn’t working. It was time for a change, we needed to take a different approach.
I had heard about the Sudbury School from other parents and friends. So I investigated a little further. I had gone to Bennington College, a very progressive school, and in that environment I excelled. What if I had the opportunity to go to a school like the Sudbury School when I was younger, what would I be like today? I began to think of what my son’s life would be like if he had the opportunity to have a custom fit solution.
What is the Sudbury School? In short, it’s a Democratic school, where students create their own curriculum, make their own rules and make their own educational choices. It is a community, where peers work together and students become students of life instead of a regimented classroom.
The application process was like no other. There were no grades to ponder or test score to peruse. In fact there were more questions for me. Becoming a part of the Sudbury School community meant that both my son and I had to be very clear that we were making a very radical decision. By enrolling my son into the Sudbury School, I’d be letting go of the control I have over his academic life. Not only would my son have a shift in his education, but I too would have to learn to "live and let live". He could make his own choices about his education. I’d be asked to trust my son to make his own decisions about his studies. I’d be stepping aside.
I stood at the precipice, filled with fear, curiosity and excitement. Looking across where I’d have to make this leap of faith, it felt like I had this dramatic transformation we’d both have to make. I had a new kind of choice. Could I trust my son and this very progressive philosophy? Would his natural curiosity command attention and would he channel that into his desire to learn?
I could fight with the public school system some more, and see if we could find a place for my dynamic son in this cookie cutter environment where everyone has to do, learn and participate in the same activity all day each day. Or, I could surrender, and give my son the opportunity to make up his own mind about what he is going to do with his education. I would give up control and allow him to be an autonomous individual.
I chose to let go. I chose to trust myself and in turn trust my child to make his own decisions about his education. Forking over my control, I am changing as a parent as radically as he growing as a person.
Instead of grappling with the frustration of transitions and changes every forty-five minutes, my son is having unique experiences each day where he is developing as a person in society. He is interacting and developing life skills, most of us have to wait many years to hone in on. There are opportunities for leadership, if he chooses them. No longer confined to color within the lines, he’s been given the opportunity to expand his mind on his own terms. My dynamic kid deserves to have a dynamic educational experience.
My son's new educational path has inspired me to think about my personal goals and desires. He now has the opportunity to expand his mind on a personalized educational path. Why shouldn’t I do the same? His journey has sparked my interest in taking charge of my education and creating a custom plan of my own. As I encourage my son to pursue his aspirations, I’ve found myself taking charge of mine. In this parenting learning experience, I have come to terms with goals I’d like to see to fruition. Completing my undergraduate degree at Bard is my chance to carve out a tailor fit education and get a degree from a school who's philosophy resonates with my own.
There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t question my decision to place my son in the Sudbury School. I’ve made a radical choice to allow my son to take charge of his own life in a very different environment. I believe my questioning my choice is healthy, and keeps me present as I experience this process with my son. I am learning to trust and let go of my need to control.
It has been a gift and a painful letting go watching my little baby boy become his own independent person. He uses his time at school to learn about frogs, create his own line of Ugly Dolls, play capture the flag, skateboard with the teenagers, play on the computer and build robots. He makes his own lunch in the kitchen and determines how he wants to use his allowance. When he gets into trouble, he answers to his peers, not some random authority. Today, he speaks about people's boundaries and understands that he is learning to be a citizen of the world. He plots, plans and socializes. He is morphing into a constructive and productive human being.
As he pulls away from me and becomes his own person, I see that I too have morphed and changed. There have been many challenges and accomplishments presented to me in parenthood. Stepping Aside has been one of them. I encourage my child to chase his passion, and now it is time that I too chase mine. By completing my undergraduate degree in Writing Arts at Bard College, I’d be pursuing the education I’ve dreamed of. Just as I’ve encouraged my son to do for himself at Sudbury School, I am making my own decision about what to do with my education. By Returning to School, I give myself the opportunity to realize ideas, expand my mind and set an example.
My son and I are both growing up together. These days, my son doesn’t need me as much. He is very independent. Every once in a while, he still asks me to kiss a boo-boo or cut up an apple for snack. These little markers remind me that I’m still his mommy, and he can still rely on me to take care of him as he learns to take care of himself.
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