Entitlement

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Ok…so this one really got away from me 🙂 I would say that I need to put in the ‘Just in case you get hit by a bus and don’t have time to read the whole thing’ cliffs-notes version to most my posts, but this one truly requires more of a ‘cut to the chase with all your rambling bullshit or I might actually die of old age before I finish it’ version. So here goes:

1. My daughter feels entitled to gifts/money/stuff because people have wronged her and she thinks she should get something to make up for it.

2. I looked at, although I don’t agree with the ‘owes’ me concept, I was attached to having someone grow to acknowledge and/or apologize for what ever it was that they did…(which is equally unreasonable, I might add.)

3. I thought about how many people spend forever waiting for someone to have that ‘I’m sorry I hurt you’ realization, or even drowning in the fact that they have been hurt to the point that they never move through it or heal from it…they just identify with being that person who was hurt or wounded in some way.

4. I entertained the realization that the only way through something challenging is to acknowledge it, face the fear, allow the feelings to come up (but also pass by and not become your identity), take responsibility for your part, forgive yourself, and gently accept your whole self.

5. By releasing the expectations you held for others, and staying focused on what you can do, where you can go from here, and what your choices are…You stop giving away your power, become whole, heal, and move forward into infinite opportunity.

Well, that is kind of what follows…ish…with a lot more circular…wordy…roundabout writing 🙂

What if you realized how you feel and the direction of your life was actually only dependent on what you focused on and what choices you make? Would you be afraid or Inspired? Then what...

What if you realized how you feel and the direction of your life, was actually only dependent on what you focused on and what choices you make?
Would you be afraid or Inspired?
Then what…?

 

“He owes me.”         As I pushed the okra and red peppers to one side of my bowl to better access an unadulterated spoonful of cajun sausage and rice, I was struck by her comment. She was referencing the fact that my ex-boyfriend had bought her a pair of yoga pants when they hung out last weekend. (Short recap–He and I dated on-and-off over probably 10ish years?? Never officially living together and him never taking a ‘parental’ role in her life. We haven’t been in touch, but my daughter and him talk intermittently).

“That was nice.” I was more referring to the fact that he had shown up for the lunch in the first place (he has about an 80% no-show rate for following through) than the pants, but she responded instantly,

“He owes me.”

I watched her for a moment as she composed a long list of his wrong doings, his rude and neglectful habits, and his broken promises, as they related to her over the previous years. It hurt me to see how easily they came to her. They weren’t buried behind the layers of excuses or rationalization that I place over most wrong doings that I encounter, they were there…on the surface…worn like a thousand tiny scars on her perfect 20 year-old skin. She had quick, unemotional access to-what she experienced-as his failings as a decent human being, and she read them like a ‘To Do’ list on opposite day (opposite day was something she and I celebrated when she was a kid).  She then followed with how much he ‘owes’ her and how he should be buying her whatever she wants whenever she wants it, but at the very least he owes her some yoga pants.

“He ‘owes’ you an apology.” I don’t know if she was done talking, but it all became very quiet after I spoke. In a few moments she responded and the dinner, and the conversation were over.

“Obviously yoga pants are the best I’m going to get.” She conveniently remembered some other ‘plans’ (i.e. I’m done here) and was gone within a few minutes…but it got me thinking about our expectations of people and our expectations of our life.

What do we owe each other? What does life owe us? I always told my daughter that anything was possible, that people were good, and the world is a beautiful place where magic and opportunity are always abundant (whether she believed me as a broke, struggling, single mother, I’m not sure). I, on the other hand, grew up with a very different mantra about what to expect from life. Mine was more of a, “Nobody owes you anything. Life is hard and if you want something you have to take it.”

I wonder if the whole concept is just flawed? Maybe this is just another one of our misplaced expectations and feeling entitled to some kind of recourse or compensation is just our way of not truly taking responsibility for our own feelings and choices. I guess that sounds harsh, or victim blaming, or whatever…but it isn’t really. I think it is actually empowering to not be waiting on someone or something to make it right again.

The world is a reflection of what you believe. If you look for it, you will find it... be it dark or light. Choose to see beauty and it is all around you.

The world is a reflection of what you believe. If you look for it, you will find it… be it dark or light. Choose to see beauty and it is all around you.

Has anyone ever, in the existence of all humanity, had what we would imaging is a ‘perfect life’? No pain, no disappointment, no death, no grief, no loss, no anger, no frustration, no hate or violence or rage or suffering or shame or isolation or apathy? We act like we are supposed to have these peaceful lives where everything always works out…why do we think that? When has that ever happened?!?!? And why do we act like that is even close to what we would actually want (…bored much???) I’m not say’n be a drama queen, but isn’t ‘perfect’ a little overrated?
It doesn’t leave room for what I think is the very best possible amazing tool in life…perspective (now, don’t get me started on this one, because I will soap-box the hell out of it! :). Point being, shitty awful unspeakable horrors happen everyday…we label them as bad (and that is a whole other rambling post…I’ll spare you and touch on that one another time), and let that color how we experience the situation, and what we feel and do from then on. Face it, we are wounded…we are all wounded on varying levels.  Some are aware of it, others not so much, but the problem is…that we see that as a problem. Every freaken time we curl up in a ball shaking, and hide from life…every time we deny it completely, or (sometimes even worse) revel and constantly embracing the fear/pain/ anger like it is somehow our identity, we re-establish ourselves as a victim, as weak and incapable.
What if fear is just another feeling, just another wave to let crash over us and bathe us in new possibilities?

What if fear is just another feeling, just another wave to let crash over us and bathe us in new possibilities?

He “owes” her? or me? or anyone? No. I think it is time to admit we owe ourselves. We owe ourselves forgiveness.
We owe it to ourselves to feel the experiences that burn, and scar, and brand our soul…feel them and own them…Accept them, acknowledge them, give them a space and a home…and in doing so, dismantle their intense power over us. Allow them to just be feelings…feelings that come, but also go.
Forgive ourselves, so we stop waiting for the one who hurt us to deserve our forgiveness.
We owe it to ourselves to not hide, or pack, or deny away our ugly feelings or our ugliest selves…We owe it to ourselves to acknowledge that they are us, we are whole…no one made us this way, no one controls our feelings, no one can give them to us, and no one else is going to make them better or take them away. We owe it to ourself to see the part we played in the dance of miserable and/or amazing circumstance that we are reeling from. We owe it to ourselves to own our lives. We choose how we see the world right now. The choice of how we feel, what we think, where we go from here…is ours.
What if the only person that owed us anything in life is…us. We owe ourselves an apology for all the mean self-deprecating things we say and believe about ourselves, for the times we knew better and still did it, for the times we accepted, believed, orchestrated, condoned, participated in, or were simply a victim of, all the things that ever hurt us. But most of all we owe ourselves an apology for not forgiving ourselves…every single mistake, perceived mistake, or harsh, hateful, judgmental, or self-loathing thought that has ever existed in our mind.
Just for today. Just this once. Entertain the option that there might be another way. Thinking ‘they’ will ever pay,  or there will ever be an apology, or that they will ever change, or that they will ever deserve forgiveness, or that they owe us anything…is our excuse to stay stuck…to stay angry…to stay broken…
Choose to look through the possibility that there is every potential in the world. That there is something other than what we fear or what has been looming and controlling our thoughts and actions. What would you do if who you are now, in your entirety, with all your experiences, was actually ok? Amazing even?
What if you stopped wondering who would you be had you not been traumatized, shamed, abandoned, molested, raped, beaten, neglected, bullied, embarrassed, dumped, manipulated, deceived, laughed at, tortured, hurt, humiliated, a huge failure, or devastatingly wounded in any of a thousand other ways?
What if you stop wondering what your day would be like if you could be ‘normal’? Seriously?!?
Why would you ever want to be normal?!?! Normal is so incredibly overrated, not to mention nonexistent. What if you stopped expecting the world, or anyone else to make it right…What if it IS right? What if you are exactly where you are meant to be. What if it is all up to you from here?
What if YOU choose exactly who you want to be?
What if you truly, authentically, wholeheartedly believed in yourself

What if you truly, honestly, authentically, whole-heartedly believed in yourself? Then what would you be willing to try?

Be empowered. Be invested. Be scarred. Be experienced. Be understanding. Be empathetic. Be gentle. Be strong. Be fragile. Be silly. Be scared. Be Inspired.
Be whole. Be accountable. Be forgiven. Be beautiful. Be healed.
Be you.

Cognitive Dissonance

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Let me begin this post with the cliffs notes version, because I tend to ramble (as noted in the title 🙂 and most people don’t want to read all that crap.

1. I’m a good person

2. I’m a bad person

3. I’m afraid to do my life’s work because of the bad parts of myself and what people might think.

4. I’m in a constant battle between who I am now (who BTW I think is funny and interesting, and I don’t really want to abandon just to ‘be a good person’ all the time), who I think I should be (authentically kind, consistent, and  unconditionally loving and accepting 100% of the time), and what that means to how I interact in the world and what I do as meaningful work (what it has meant so far is I don’t write or teach or finish what I start).

5. I decided to be brave, come clean, tell the world I’m a bastard AND a good person…and write my truth.

What will you do today to move toward the life you were meant to live?

Now the long rambling version that I wrote last night before the ‘economy of words’ concept occurred to me:

I am a good person…no really, I am. I know that sentence is begging for a sir-mix-a-lot sized ‘BUTT’, but I actually wanted to acknowledge the fact that, most of the time, generally, I am a decent human being. I love humanity, patiently wait in rush hour traffic without losing my shit, and love me some baby seals.

The thing is, that I’m also a Cards Against Humanity RockStar and I’m a freaking horrible human being (on occasion). I identify with every ‘ist’ there is on some level, and find myself making some of the most inappropriate comments (or at least thinking inappropriate thoughts) at the cruelest possible moments. I’ve made racist comments to genocide survivors, sexist jokes to sad and insecure teenage girls, intelligence jokes to busty blondes (my peeps!), every possible racist stereotype, I make light of disease and suffering and death (in fact, remind me to tell you this story about when I joked with an absolute stranger about bringing his dead father on a plane as a carry-on–it was hysterical…well…I guess…I mean you really had to be there), and although almost nothing fazes me when it comes to blood/guts/and violence…the flaky dry puff of airborne skin that falls off old people like ticker tape in a what should be a ‘please bring back Kevorkian’s compassionate end of life’ parade makes me gag. You’re getting the picture?

So all that being said, I have found that this particular cognitive dissonance has prevented me from truly living my best life and doing what I truly and deeply love. Embarrassingly, not for the “right” reasons either. I’d like to say that with all my incredible incessant self work and therapy, I still won’t commit to my truest passion for fear of how it might affect or hurt someone (which is very true on many levels), but I think the real reason I’m afraid to ‘live my passion’ as ‘they’ (i.e. ‘I’) always say, is more because I’m afraid of what people will think of me…yes, let it soak in. I’m 40 years old and still afraid of what people will think of me and my inconsistencies.  How it will look to be someone fiercely promoting love and happiness and living your very best life, while still making rude and hurtful jokes and comments…and worse not even noticing my own impropriety or being ashamed (unless it actually visibly hurts someones feelings and then I feel so incredibly horrible that I can’t breathe). The truth is that I like my personality. I’m funny and self deprecating, and people like me (wow…that didn’t sound desperate or anything *grin*)

I have this thing where I am compelled to try to make the world a better place and inspire people to live their very best life. I truly, sincerely, deeply care about humanity. I believe that we are all connected and this world-and this life-is our responsibility. I spend the majority of my time trying to imagine new ways to help people live their very best life, to make people happy, to make some kind of difference…Giving and helping and writing and teaching are my truest joys and life’s work…The thing is, that I’m also a horrible human being.  The part I can’t wrap my brain around is how could people trust and learn from someone so fundamentally broken and flawed as me?

Well all I know at this moment is that me NOT doing my avocation not only isn’t helping the world, but it is giving me chronic headaches and making me feel meaningless and hollow…and because depression is not sexy by any stretch of the imagination (and I’m still trying to land this amazing hottie I’ve been dating) I’ve decided to suck it up. Reel in this whiny, excuse making, monster of a pity party and do something already.

Today, I choose to be brave. Not brave like jump in front of a bullet for someone or fight for someones honor (those things would make me look cool by society’s standards and thus would probably be easier for an ego maniac such as myself to do), but brave with myself…my whole self…the self I have judged for being cruel, hated for being ugly, loathed for being angry, despised for being weak. I choose to be brave and accept my whole self as…me.  So great big world judge me…the truth is I doubt you could trump the level I judge myself (umm… on second thought…knock on wood, strike that…statement like that never turn out well).

I enjoy writing, but never call myself a writer…I always have the caveat that I’m not a REAL writer for any number of reasons (I can’t spell for shit, have a terrible memory, I’m not constantly profound, and don’t even get me started on my literary failings).  All my infinite faults aside, I am a writer. I am a writer and I will write my truth…

(It really does sound easier than it is *grin* no seriously…I’ve got like hives. Doing what you’re meant to do isn’t always easy. You would think it would be, right?!? Hmmm…not so much in this case. I’ll keep you posted.)

What will you do today to move toward the life you were meant to live?

What if I’m not special?

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Day One—Singapore: Monday, June 17, 2013

I guess the timing is perfect to write it all off as my ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ midlife crisis, and I haven’t really investigated why I am so resistant to that particular label. I don’t feel like I’m in crisis, I don’t feel like I somehow stumbled into midlife while I wasn’t paying attention, and I somehow feel secretly superior to whining, wondering, self indulgent women who feel like every insight they have is profound, and their story would matter to anyone. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I think I am wrong on every single account.

I turn 40 this year (very clearly midlife and crisis material), I woke-up this morning with a combination of defensive ego and obvious defeat about the chapter of parenting that has come to an abrupt end with my daughter flying across the entire country to find the things I couldn’t show her and learn the things that I couldn’t teach, all the while, carrying with her all the scars that I created or couldn’t prevent, AND I lay next to my love and boyfriend of 2 and a half years who (I tell myself daily, if not many times a day) I am fine with never marrying because he ‘doesn’t believe in it’. Even I, an obvious narcissist in radical denial, has to admit that I may have fallen prey to the ever horrifying idea that I am ‘normal’ and all my grandiose ideas of myself are simply more ways to keep me safe, isolated, and not accountable to the inactions of my life…go figure. Average has been the worst kind of four letter word (err…well, it’s not actually four letters is it? maybe ‘simple’, ‘regular’, ’plain’, ‘typical’, ‘common’, ‘normal’?  They all SUCK! Ok, so there is my four letter word! Feeling average Sucks!)

Today I sit alone in a hotel bathroom at 4 am writing this because after almost 40 years of truly knowing my passion and truest meaning in life I still only give myself brief stolen away moments to myself to scribble the words that spill over the edge of my ‘real life’ that keeps me blanketed in the security and praise that are still paramount to the insecure, eager-to-please, terrified of failure child/woman that I still am.  For everyone afraid that they have never found their passion, or have been afraid to look…how incredibly mortifyingly shameful is it to absolutely know, and still be too chicken to try. Well that’s me. Maybe I should just embrace that the “yellow bellied chicken liver” is my totem animal (side note: can a liver constitute an entire animal? Who coined that phrase anyway?), or maybe I should just sack-up and do something (and how many times have I said that?).

Today I wake still shielded in the judgments that I still pretend not to make over all the weak, fragile, self-absorbed, arrogant, broken, narrow-minded, thoughtless, childish, stupid, mean people in the world that are SO different from the strong, empowered, compassionate, fun, forgiving, loving, accepting, vibrant, energetic, generous, happy, playful, appreciative, protective, honest, kind, and soul-searching person that I am.  Right? Or more fittingly, ‘Yeah Right’ (stated dripping with sarcasm) I sit, knowing all along, that I am all of these qualities (and having the sinking feeling that I have an even stronger affinity with the dark manifestations), but somehow I’m even more afraid of being equally both good and evil.  Then I would be, yet again, faced with the horror of being…average.  Equal, normal, usual, regular, fine, common…miserably mundane. The true fear of my over achieving, constantly prevailing, and success driven life is unveiled like the obvious elephant in the room.

What if I am not special?