The Snood

    

Photo by Andrik Langfield on Unsplash

 I was a child of the 70s. This doesn't mean too very much to me as I was still quite a young child during the 70s. Sometimes when I filled with a nostalgic longing for a simpler time, I will look for a used women's magazine or book from these times, and imagine living a life of domestic simplicity in the past. But mostly, I don't remember much. Living in St. Louis, I have memories of baseball games, cigarettes everywhere, moonies on street corners, and long summer days that stretched into nights playing on grass, making mud pies, and dealing with the issues that come from living in a neighborhood with other children. I was earnest, temperamental, talked too much, and loved to play school or house or ride my bike like the wind. 

    Once my mom made me a snood. A snood, according to her, was a crocheted square or something that covered my hair once it was put up in a bun. I wasn't too keen on it, but my mom insisted it was stylish and made me wear it to school one day. 

    My instincts regarding the true stylishness of the snood were on point as the other children teased me about the silly thing in my hair. "It's a snood," I told them, pointy little chin held high. Unfortunately, my explanation was not quite enough for the children of Rose Acres Elementary, and the teasing continued. 

    Later, I confessed the story to my mom, and explained that no matter what they didn't get to see me cry. I have vague recollections of my primary teachers having pianos in the classroom. I am not sure WHY I remember this-I can only assume primary teachers at the time did play some simple melodies perhaps.  It makes sense. It didn't all used to be early cramming for reading skills and tests. I slid my little body behind the piano until they tears passed and then, thin lips pressed into a smile, corners forced up, I emerged. No they wouldn't see me cry. 

    I am still her. Forty-six years later and I still feel like that girl hiding behind the piano. I come out, lips pulled up, and tell myself it will be fine. It will be good. Noone will know the shame I feel at being so otherly. So unwelcome and somehow clearly wrong. 

    The only saving grace is 46 years later I am much too busy to dwell too much. I will wipe the tear away and tell myself it is a sign. A sign I must belong somewhere else. A sign I need to move on and keep looking. And I am tired. But I keep my  bag packed and close by, and my fingers and toes are starting to itch. 

    Maybe elsewhere is where I belong. I belong where snoods are okay and noone makes us wear what we don't want to wear anyway, and hearts are open, invitations flow freely, and irreverent comments are seen for what they truly are-anxiety. A place where the silliness and seriousness are embraced. 

    I know this place doesn't exist. 

    But moving is always better than standing still.

    Smile.

And there she is again

 

Tumble-joy reigned

Topsy-turvy 

alone again

voiceless,

fail again

 this place,

 smile.

Ah, yes. 

Home again.

This infp (who believes personality tests are pure crap for the simpleminded (like me), is drowning in the angry feels today:)

Have a good one!

P.s. I am totally being overly dramatic. It makes me happy.

Static

   

Photo by Ben Karpinski on Unsplash

 We strive to be that dynamic, exciting personality who exhibits growth and radiance. We believe we have a purpose and importance. We believe we were put here to DO BIG THINGS. Because all around us this is what the world is telling us. It's a sign on the wall, a scribble from a colleague.

    And then one day, we wake up, nearing the half-century mark, having accomplished little and feeling a bit foolish singing the praises of the palty small accomplishments we have made.  And WHAT exactly distinguishes what IS an accomplishment? Is it business success? A good-looking partner? Money, or a beautiful home? Is it a generous heart that others can rely on? Is it a novel, published? When your words spill reverently out of another's lips?

    Guys, I am going to be 50. It's a word too old to imagine. Too steady and Karenish for this faltering timid soul stumbling around in this body. I feel like I am just beginning to open my eyes and already my life is more than halfway over. Maybe 2/3 over. And I am just learning so much now. And so very disappointed by the lessons.

    It doesn't really seem fair. I used to think the world was wide open. Anyone could do and become anything. I don't anymore. Some people truly have a leg up. Sometimes it is financially. Some people were blessed with beautiful faces. Some have inviting personalities and have been taught or gifted with emotional self-control. 

    I am lucky in many ways. But in many others, I was far behind the starting line. And  I am coming to understand that maybe don't change as much as we thought we could. Maybe our core nature IS static. I will always fight being jealous, petty, insecure. It's so gross. I may never see when someone is using me for their own entertainment-or rather- I do see, but I don't believe it- until after the fact. I may always be naively forgiving of those who maybe don't deserve it. I will NEVER master my surging hormones which leave me reeling periodically. In this case, nature will lose. Just a little more time. 

    I think I  may always be socially insecure. I can use the positive self-talk and see that someone isn't better than me rationally, but the fear of eventual rejection, the fear of my own imperfections, is unshakable. To this day, I reel with shame when I post something and noone responds or likes it. I realize either my thinking is remarkably banal or just so out there and personal, I should be sharing with a therapist rather than with you. 

    Maybe the lesson isn't to learn to overcome the imperfections, but to learn to accept the limitations with grace. 

    Maybe there is beauty in accepting one's own nature, learning to tame the beast, whilst always acknowledging the hungry survivalist waiting beneath the surface. Maybe the lessons become too ingrained, too imprinted on our soul. 

    And so I wonder where to go from here. Where to take this next 25 years. I watch myself fade. I let go of once-dreams one-by-one and wonder what is left when all the built up hopes and dreams and fears  drift away. How deeply can I mesh with the soul of who I truly am and stop looking for the soul of who I hope to be?

Sunday Morning Moments

 Saturday and Sunday mornings are precious times to an introvert. In the old days I would awaken early and enjoy a few quiet hours to myself. Now, however, I have an Alec, who is an early bird, too. I jsut remind myself, that he is always growing and changing, and as a mom of many, I know these moments and years pass quickly. One day I will awaken to a quiet house and long for the sound of someone else's breath and footsteps.

 

I flipped through the Prime channel this morning and everything looked lovely. I finally settled upon The Secret of Roan Inish. I've seen it before, so it can be background, it's more uplifting for the kiddos than scary, bloodsucking vampires, and the music and sea scenes are pretty much where my soul resides.

My wish for vampire diaries is that there had been one more preciously romantic season. But alas, that is probably why so many movies end when they couple ends up together. It is hard to sustain the romantic intensity. Anyway, I think I've had my fill. I will still watch clips on Youtube. I mean...look at this man...And I love this song by Fleurie:

Well, I am a sucker for romance. Hopefully heaven is chockful of yummy romantic experiences. Or at the the opportunity to temporarily experience romantic drunkeness as one wishes. Otherwise-what is the point of all these desires if the aren't to be fulfilled somewhere? I will be quite disappointed, if it is just animal procreation driving it. 

I always start my blog with such a plan-I will have a focus and draw people in, but in the end, I am just a collection of thoughts and feelings.I rebel against the idea that a blog must be a certain way, even if that is the way to pulling people in. People want to know what they are getting into, they want answers, they want guidance. Who am I to guide, when the world is just a giant smorgasbord of that which can be experienced. Everyone with all their grand plans and schemes, and we will all be gone in 130 years. 

A Tale of Loss

From the top of Blarney Castle

 I was looking through my Facebook photos on a whim to have some turned into canvas prints to hang. I stumbled upon my trip to Ireland. And there, on grey-skied days was smiling, mystical feeling me (is there anything like clouds and a silent walk through a crumbling abbey to leave one feeling mystical?) And there in grey and color was Karl. Karl who laughed and spoke in his loud American voice, whilst I cringed. Karl who talked with the locals, whilst I sat quietly. Karl who walked closer to the pub musicians and nodded and yelled  while I drank my cider sitting quietly in my chair. Karl who always made me cringe, but whom everyone seemed to like more. He swore he was an introvert-but I don't think so. Just insecure.

The thing is, things are as they must be. Things are better. The kids don't even seem to miss him. But despite things being better this way. I miss having my friend. I miss the good days and weeks, when I felt I could tell him things. I miss my companion and my helper. I miss the person who helped put the kids in bed and was willing to watch chick flicks with me. 

And it isn't loneliness. I am not really lonely most of the time. At least it isn't something I feel too keenly. But it is just the memory of the good times. It was having someone on my side every once in a while. It was saying, "Hey, the refrigerator is broke," and then sitting back, because I knew it would be taken care of.

And there is this underlying guilt. Did I do everything I could? Did I give up on him? Was there a point, years ago, when I could have watched him take his meds and made sure he was safe. Was there ever a spiteful moment, when I gave safeguarding his health just to not have to stress about it. Where does my responsibility fall? And he is gone. In Springfield, Missouri, California, Illinois, I have no idea. He is just gone. And I see these photos-the good times, and I think of how I thought we would be together for ever-maybe not for love-but for companionship. And it was a comforting thought, warm and cozy and belonging. Until it wasn't. Until it was  fence I couldn't see over or around. Until it was a sentence of responsibility and duty. And I can't help but wonder-who broke first? Was not taking his medicine his way of starting down the path to freedom? Or was my giving up on nagging him my step down the path?

I don't know. 

But now I have to procure my own refrigerator.

It's a New Year!

   

Photo by Moritz Knöringer on Unsplash

  Even though part of me tries to shrug off all the hoopla that comes with the changing of the year, it is impossible not to get a little bit excited about the idea of a fresh start. I think a clean slate which is ready to be written on again, is just something that appeals to us hopeful humans. 

    I have been thinking about the areas of my life that I struggle with, and the areas I want improve upon. These are non-related to work. Of course, I have things I want to improve upon at work, but this isn't the place for that discussion.

    After a lot of thought and soul-searching I can sum up my areas of focus as the following:

• Eating healthy
• Sticking to a budget
• Interpersonal relations
• Keeping up my home

    These are the areas I want to focus my attention on this year. As far as eating healthy goes, I am trying to move towards a more Mediterranean diet. I may or may not lose weight, but there is simply no excuse for the large intake of sugar in my diet.. Well, it's good. I guess that is the excuse. It will be  hard to break away from that easy high of  flavorful food, but I am going to have to find other ways to release some good hormones.

    I am starting off the year by keeping track of my spending in a separate planner. I think I am bleeding a lot of cash to areas which don't really represent my values. This area will be hard, since it is so easy to spend money online and those little trips to Walgreens and Walmart for necessities add up quickly. 

    

    Interpersonal relations! It's a struggle for me. I want to work on this area. This includes improving my interactions with others through better social skills and taking small chances that put me outside of my comfort zone. I have a lot of anxiety in this area. When I felt like someone didn't like and/or was trying to get me emotionally riled up in the recent past, I used my newly found skills to not be paranoid,  told myself it was silly, and got subsequently got burned. I have to learn to balance both my intuition and my trust in others. It won't be easy!

    And keeping up my home is an oldie for. me. Mostly I am referring to keeping it tidy and clean and keeping up with basic repairs. I tend to stress out tremendously over my homemaking skills and the feeling that I am not good enough. So I plan to give myself some grace, meeting myself where I am, and simply improve upon my routines. I am not in competition with YouTube Moms or the stay-at-home mom down the street, or even the working family next door, whose youngest child is 13. I am only trying to better own situation.

    These are my areas of focus for the year. Expect to see detailed blogs regarding how exactly this is affecting my life itself.

    

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Personality Types-Does it Matter?

 I have had an all=encompassing slight obsession with Myers-Briggs testing and similar tests for years. The first test I heard about was an archetypal type with three tiers. Honestly, it was part of a group my first husband found online with bulletin boards or chats or something. This was twenty years ago and all very vague now. It wasn't hard to see which types were considered best and to quickly adjust an answer or to in order to get that result.

Incidently, I just took this test, The Jungian Archetype Test, and both my self and persona results came out as The Hero, which is "Strong and perseverant with boundless ambition." Okie-Dokie!

Anyway, in the early years of testing, I was in college and excited about all the new ideas in the world. Making a difference and using my brain to do something amazing. Learning and big ideas. Back then I usually tested as an INFP or INTP,  with an occasional ENFP. I think most can agree, I am not extraverted. Most people bore me to tears. The right people raise my energy, but not just anyone can do that. I do not say that with an air of superiority. The most fascinating people are people who find the gem within others and find the OTHERS fascinating. I acknowledge other people may bore me because *I* am boring.

I always assumed I could not be the dreaded ISFJ because, well that is the mom of the group-the boring and mundane with a splash of mushy emotion. Also an ISFJ would have a neat and tidy house right? She'd pack amazing lunches and sit and think about what is best for her family all the time. And she wouldn't like impromptu road trips at the last minute. Nope, I am much cooler and spontaneous than that, right?

However, upon further thought, I think I may very well be that dull person. I am obviously introverted. I have been known to go in the other room at my own gatherings, just for some peace. Sensing over intuition is the hard one. Anyone familiar with MBTI knows that intuitives think they are some sort of Gods who have won the game of life and are brimming with extraordinariness. But truthfully- there is a fine line between infp and infj, in that they are both considered "super-feelers." Our first natural reaction is to think about how we feel about the situation unfolding. This leads to problems, especially at work, where thinking about your personal feelings about something can come across as a little immature. Well, thinking about it is fine, I guess. But talking about it and acting on it, not so much. As a sincere personality, however, it can be hard to hide those feelings behind indifference or white lies. Although-I have been known to say stupid lies, like totally opposite of what I wanted when scared and wanting to hide (telling my high school crush I didn't want kids-of course I did, pretending I didn't like history to another guy even though it has always been one of my favorite subjects and I went into MSU AS a history major-I am just really stupid with guys and say dumb things). And finally the P versus J. I always thought I was P and spontaneous. Struggling to keep house is hard for me. However...I think I might be J. I am never late if it is up to me (or if anxiety isn't forcing me to choose to be late-like the saying stupid things, anxiety in a work or social situation can push me into self-destructive behaviors). I WANT a clean house. I would NOT feel the least bit upset if I cleaned for an hour or two a day to get that clean house, however, I can't seem to make myself do that. Whether it is a touch of ADHD or just lack of structured training in how to keep house, I just struggle with it. Well, and the fact that you do something...and have to do it again and again. It makes