Making memories is something that all of us desire. We rush around and get anxious in the “now” but will later look at those exact moments in a different light. Time changes the perspective of things. Like a filter, the aged fingers on the clock seem to magically sift or wipe away the things that overwhelm us now. The late appointments, the to-do lists forgotten, the approaching deadline that keeps us up at night will fade into the distance as time wears on.
Out of high school, I found myself swinging by my grandparents’ place on Sunday afternoons. Later, with the family, I continued this tradition. My favorite times were frying a breaded tenderloin or a giant burger or ordering KFC for the family after church. My mouth waters just thinking about the salty greasy chicken with crispy hard fried batter coating the chicken legs. I can visualize the crunch of the sweet coleslaw. The huge container of coleslaw that I would finish or enjoy for second dinner later. Obviously, food was central to this memory, as we came together around the meal. But even more memorable than tongue-tingling hunger-squelching finger lick’n good food, was the pure joy in everyone’s eyes.
Grandma would listen to stories from the kids and ask questions feeding their desire to share their life accomplishments. Stuffed animals would become babies to their parents (the kids). Outside adventures seemed to take hours as they wandered through the woods in a golf cart. Inside, Grandpa would get down on the floor, cross-legged, and make voices or play with the figures, part of whatever story plot was unfolding. I can hear his inquisitive voice making a statement as he tried to fit with whatever the kids were into. Even now, many years later, I remember the warmth. Clear memories of laughs and stories.
Vividly detailed pictures are projected in my mind. The lines on Grandpa’s face from years of health concerns and what some would label “a tough life.” Grandma’s joy at seeing the kids, even during moments when the pain was obvious (only to the adults). What I do not remember is the stress of frantically scrambling out of the church to get to the restaurant to pick up food before someone became hangry. Or coordinating the day so that if anyone needed a nap, they would get it. I do not remember the anxiety that I believe I must have felt. I do not remember the feeling of weighted legs and weary hands from exhaustion. I do not remember the task lists that I was failing to complete or how behind I was on bills. I don’t remember…
The point is simple and has been said way before my reference to it. Paraphrased, it is what we will (and will not) remember on our death-bed. Such as days missed at the office or the extra hours I regret not putting in. The important thing, for me, is that I can take a memory and enjoy it. Even more important is recognizing that I can apply the lesson from the memory now. I need to pause now and enjoy the slow. I need to enjoy the time spent with people and doing things. Stop yielding to the silly coincidences that can be frustrating. The things forgotten and the frazzled feeling of realization. Everything needs to be held up to the filter of time. What will I feel later? What will I likely remember about this moment later? Like a camera filter, click the lens on and view the world of now through the view of a memory. The world is relentless and can be unforgiving in the fast pace of now.
So today, take a moment to think of a memory. Then strain yourself… strain to think about all of the things that were going on that you did not think about (and will likely not again). Now, refocus your today with that filter. Invest in your future.
Some days are just rough. Monday’s seem to be abrupt and cold and … [insert profane thing of your choice here]. The weekend is over and just as you felt settled in, the week slams back in front of you with new demands and piles of to-do lists or tasks. Tuesday’s seem to be a variation of Monday sometimes… Wednesday, although pivotal, comes with the realization that we are halfway done! Or, we are only halfway done. Thursdays are a teaser and Fridays cannot be done soon enough. We cannot do much about this. It’s certain. However, we can change other things. You can make a difference today. For someone.
The challenge today is to pay it forward for someone. Spring for the coffee, tea or snack of the person behind you. Not having a lot of money, myself, I often will just pay for the tea of coffee. To the clerk, “I have their coffee…” It is that simple. You do not have to say anything to the stranger behind you. You could also do a task for someone if money is an obstacle for you. I get it. The simple activity, gesture, can be the turning point for someone.
The idea is not new. Several times, while reaching into my pocket at Starbucks, I found that someone paid for me. A stranger, someone that I do not know, and likely will never see again, treated me. That little task and moment made me glow. The rest of the day then seemed to change from that moment for me. Throughout the day I would find myself reflecting on that single moment of the offering. I also felt more aware of doing “nice” things for people throughout the balance of the day. One time, I inquired to the barista about the “pay it forward” that was happening. She said that it was a frequent occurrence when she is working. The longest-running pay it forward that she was a part of lasted for a couple of hours. Amazing.
Today can be whatever you make it. Let’s finish this day… together.
There are a whole string of posts that have been categorized in my mind with a specific timeframe. Boundaries: When to Say Yes, How to Say No, to Take Control of Your Life, also fits in a time period for me. It’s really one key piece in my self-development. My recent year turn around post contained the lessons from this book. While the book will not be for everyone, I think the concepts should be. Hard lessons that we tend to accept one way or another. We do not do well in gray matters. We pick sides often to our detriment.
What do I mean by sides? Life is full of choices. Questions that people ask or are asked. Will you… can you… I need you to… And if you are anything like me, I say yes way too often, no not enough, and seldom weigh the impacts before I make my decision: yes. I am a guilty people pleaser. Service is most of my love language and also my style of leadership. I want to remove obstacles and get things done for people or at least help them to find the way. Make things better for them, which has a cost. To me. Often hating myself for taking on another thing, because I want to do something for someone. The expense is usually time and sacrifice. Yet, until this past year, I did not balance my yes’s and no’s. While Simon Sinek may say Leaders Eat Last, I would take that literally, and often forget to. (The book is so much more than that exact rundown… you should read it if it is of interest.)
Take a moment and make a list. Perhaps, you have one in front of you or on your phone already. If so, open it. If not, draft one. List the things that you have to do. Beside each of them make a small note. Which ones are for something for you? Which ones are something that you need or want that fills a gap in you? Put an “M” (me) and “O” (other) next to the items. Maybe you are well balanced and will find that you share time between “self” and others. My list would have been mostly “O’s”.
This book is very Christian. That may throw some of the potential readers off (while attracting others). While I am a Christian, I had to stop the book once when I was tired of hearing the Christian undertones. Hey, I am being honest. I assumed partway into the material that this was another shallow book where God is the answer and we do not need to put any work in – just wait on God. And while I believe that God is so many things – I do not believe that we can sit idle and not take responsibility as stewards on this planet. So I sat the book down and moved on. Then somewhere along the way, I decided to reframe the presentation of the material. Listen to what the book could mean, to me. So I did. I loaded it into my phone from Audible and pressed on. Listening to the value.
A couple of the stories in the book remain with me. The easiest one to share happens to be parents with an “out of control” son. They go to the therapist to find help or a solution. They have given the young irresponsible child money, time, things… He was continually bailed out and yet maintained a path of self-destruction/ungratefulness. When they arrived at the author’s office for help, they were exasperated with heavy tolls on each of them. Their marriage carried some of the weight. The author listened to the couple as therapists do. “Uh-huh…yes… uh-huh…” Then it had come time to dispense the powerful wisdom. The payment for the story. The solution. To the shock of the couple, the author told them that they had the problem. Not this child. Not the person who had leeched so many things with disregard. They were appalled.
The point was simple. They enabled the situation. While they felt as if it was an investment, they were simply watering the weeds. They needed to pick the weeds to get the garden. Sometimes we have let the cart go off the road to get where we need to go. It is possible to be supportive and not enabling. The child needed love and a firm hand with the structure that showed him, love, while allowing him to experience the situations made for himself. By enabling – they were taking all of the lessons away from him. He did not see any of the consequences; only the rewards. When in the situations it is hard. When you are dealing with people that you care about or love, it is hard. And it has taken me a lot of experiences and time to realize that. I am not perfect at this skill, but try to pause in most scenarios and think of the third person. Reframe it. What advice would I give someone else in this scenario and then, apply it to me? Did I mention I still have not mastered this?
The second story was about a woman who was dedicated to her church.; to her family and friends. She was a rock to so many people. A stable source of support and service. That amazing friend (or family member) we love so much… The funny thing about being dependable is that people can… depend… on you. This, in a single instance, is not necessarily a bad thing. Yet, when 10 people start to depend on you to meet their needs it can become something else entirely. In the example, her boss would call her with last-minute deadlines which would cost her family time. Her husband and children naturally needed things. The church would call for a last-minute community group fill in… It was overwhelming. The joy of giving became a job. The job became depressing. The depression was crushing her and so on.
The idea of boundaries is simple. Learn to say no. No does not mean you are not supportive or that you shed all care and responsibility. However, if you saying yes – takes another person’s success or failure as your sole responsibility – is it worth it? Let’s be clear. We work in teams. Families. Groups. We help each other in so many ways, as it takes all of us sometimes. But saving someone’s toosh time and time again only enables them to continue a course with no skin in the game. We sometimes have to experience a failure to experience success. Not every time, but in a holistic view, we do. Designate time for yourself. Ensure that in the sum of activities you are bustling about doing, YOU are in there too. Sure, sew little Jenny’s school costume or help little Jimmy with his science board (the hard parts). But little Jenny and little Jimmy can’t use “you didn’t remind me” as the excuse for being late with a project.
I would recommend this book to anyone that needs to hear the ugly truth. We need to be comfortable to let others fail. Yet, support them at the same time. It will be tough at first, and if my experience is like anyone else’s, it still can be. This book gives example after example as to how we can learn to make time for us, but not allowing us to lose sight of us. Our self.
I hope you take a moment today and think about this. Reflect for yourself on yourself. There is no “we” in team, but we can find a me buried within.
Picture perfect. No really… what does that mean to you? The waking, the doing and then the resting followed by the sleep. What does that day entail? Have you stopped to think about that recently? Or are you like me and too busy with the right now. What is on “the list?” I have to get cat food at the store on the way home, need to take my phone charger to work, I have a 9 AM meeting that I can’t be late for, I need to feed the cats before heading to Q’s, I better get cat food… Some variation of that is always on loop so, of course, I won’t forget. Wait, what did I need at the store?
All joking aside, the week has just whooshed by, and I had an escape mindset today. After letting my mind wander, I realized I was able to sum up that I want to be a freelance writer and also work with non-profits providing continuous improvement consulting. With that frame-of-mind, I continued about my day. I watered the thought that was planted and let it grow a bit. I decided to will look at MBA-ish programs that focus more on some improvement models or perhaps the people part of the equation. Not the leadership blah-blah jargon, the real improvements that can be done with people. Arrrgh… besides the point. The point is that it was uplifting to dream a little bit. I remember sitting at the table at my grandma’s house. The table was at my shoulders unless I climbed to my knees. This day that I am remembering, she got mail. A new store catalog. It may have been an Oriental Express magazine or Fingerhut. She would pull out a Bic pen for me and one for her – the caps chewed by a young boy that had to stick the ends in my mouth. It was time to “dream.” We would go through the catalogs and circle all of the things that we wanted or liked. We rarely bought anything in the magazine. I mean, how many Snuggie-like items does one need? The point was that it was so much fun to imagine having things, all of the things. Today, the $$$ stops me before I allow a dream to form and I just say I have a bill to pay instead.
Of course, as an adult, the dream would change slightly. I would tend to care more about moments and less about things. Relationships. The dream would be nearer to a picture-perfect day than gadgets and gizmos. It would go something like this…
***
I stir and wake up early. Warm blankets hug my sides and lay loosely on my shoulders. The cool night air draft across my nose. Yawning, I lift my phone to see it is early and a non-work day, I realize with thoughts increasing. I set the phone back down and look to my left to see my partner still sleeping. Then scoot a little closer to her, sharing the warmth. I close my eyes and feel rested but begin to doze. The sun slowly crests the hills in the distance and crawls through the bedroom window shades. Soft shades and treelines highlighted in pink fading to a greyish blue further away. I feel the cold air on my nose again. Awake this time, I lay motionless for a moment. I can smell the coffee from the automatic grinder I remembered to program the night prior. Doughnut Shop, I think. I wish it was a hand-poured cup but the preparedness is persuading. My partner stirs and I stroke her hair. I burrito her side with blankets as I slide out of bed and place a hoodie on with a stocking cap. My cold feet are on the hardwood and my favorite wool socks call my name. “Pick me – pick me!” You know, the kind that almost feels like slippers. Too thick to wear with any regular sized shoe but so comfortable that practicality is of little concern.
Our tiny yard with a wooden fence is out the kitchen window. Pink still dominates the sky. Bob Ross would only need to add “a happy little tree.” The coffee tastes rich and comforting. I turn on the skillet and sizzle butter, then crack a couple of eggs. Oh the smell of butter lifts to my nose. Sunnyside up for me, and slightly more done for her. The toast is a rich orange and brown and the butter spreads evenly. Garlic toasted hashbrowns cook evenly. Golden all the way around with little crunchy pieces mixed in. The orange juice pours with a tiny layer of pulp. Just the right amount to get some texture but not so much that you have to chew the drink. I carry the food up to the bedroom on a large breakfast-in-bed tray for two. I kiss her forehead and she stirs with eagerness for the day. We both sit up and enjoy a farm-fresh egg breakfast. Oh, and there is bacon… Crunchy pieces and soft pieces to everyone’s liking. We eat and enjoy each other’s company.
It’s a comfy pants and hoodie sort of day. We both pause at the large back porch sliding glass door and she backs into me. The coffee is still hot. The hot that warms you with each sip but doesn’t scald your throat. That drinkable hot where steam carries the beans’ aroma to your nostrils. Our two cats arch their backs and rub against our legs. Tiny cat hairs mark their height like stains from water during a flood. The labradoodle must be in the other room still sleeping, I think, and then hear a tiny collar jingle as she strolls in as if to ask “Hey guys – good morning what are you doing?” The pets get a moment of affection and we kiss each other on the cheek. I exhibit a large and obnoxious restful yawn and feel the tiny rush of adrenaline from the caffeine and blood flow. I step outside and feel the wetness from the dew in the air. The grass smells freshly cut and the coolness lays heavy on the land. I thought I saw my breath – can you see it?
Back inside, I move to the desk which is, of course, by the window. It is oak in color and the real kind of wood. The chair creaks as I seem to wake the timber up, the sound echoing in the still of the house. That real wood sound… and I settle in. Is it breaking? I remind myself of this every time. I open my laptop and the apple illuminates on the black screen. A glow from the desk shines like a beacon in the room. The hot coffee is still steaming while the aroma lingers in the room mixing with antique wood. Then, tiny clicks on the keyboard as the story in my head transforms into black text on the screen. I can hear music in the distance. Q is journaling… or…maybe, knitting. She is playing the playlist. Layers of melody and soothing voices travel throughout the house. There is life again, in the still. The night slowly wanes as the morning clears its throat.
Time passes. Songs change. Letters line up to be words and then words group together to become sentences. Paragraphs mark the time that has passed yet it is a dance and I lose track of it. It does not matter. The coffee has chilled and most of the spoon is visible in the cup now. The chair groans while I scoot back. The move sounds like a tiny horn boldly and assertively announcing my movement. Ping. A text. I feel a vibration in my pocket and know who it is. I casually lift my wrist to read a request for my presence. I mockingly sing lyrics I have paraphrased to one of the songs we both like. Mockingly, I pretend to have a microphone as I bob into the room like I was Sinatra from the Rat Pack. Arms open and fingers pull at the air drawing me in. A hug. The kind where the warmth transfers through the sweatshirts and you can feel the other person’s heartbeat. Strong and lingering.
I stand at the patio door. The sun climbs from behind the horizon and streaks through clouds in the sky. The pink fades into yellowish streams only stopped by dark and ominous clouds. The dew smell fades and the smell of rain appears. The sun slowly disappears with the rolling of a thunderclap. 1, 1000, 2, 1000… Strobe lights fill the sky. The storm dominates the remaining sky and a sharp breeze pulls at the trees. Sounds of pom-poms at a pep rally come from the nodding branches and trees bowing. Spring storms settle in and blanket the grass with heavy beads of water. Instinctively, I extend my arm to the right and pull Q in. We watch the sky dim and dandelion flowering seeds get knocked to the ground. The storm is a symphony of sounds and movement. Each player vigorously playing their part…
She and I move to the couch and open a book. The pages thumbed and the scent of yellowed aged paper layers in the air. Hours pass. Reading. Knitting. Writing. Calendars are away and phones silent. Productivity comes from the words spoken or crafted or the knits and purls on needles. Moments are all we need…
***
So it was a good memory and thought kind of day. There is nothing undoable about it. It isn’t something that we can plan. Something that we can put a pin in, or time block in Outlook. My day doesn’t need tickets to a show or purchases at the store. Most of the things I dream about, I am blessed to already have. The important ones. The beauty is that this picture-perfect day just happened. On its own. What does your day look like? What does your dream look like? Escape the fluorescent lighting, boxed cubicle, monotonous job, tasks, and hectic parental worries. Who and what would fill your day? Don’t place confines on yourself. Take your imaginary paintbrush and whisk away. Make yourself a mental getaway for just a moment. It is beautiful I am sure. I hope by the end, you were able to create your moment. Here’s to that…
In my line of work, I deal with a lot of people. Either teams of people have reported to me, or as a form of consulting, I am around them. There are just over 400 people in the facility that I work at. The prior place of employment had around 8,000 and before that 800. When there are so many people in the workplace there tends to be a lot of stories. A lot of events that happen. Since all of us are living life as human beings, we get to experience all of that, together. With this, comes a lot of weddings. Births. Deaths. The book that I am listening to also talked about life and death. The comment raised in the book discussed “grief zones.” Grief is also different for everyone.
When someone in your family dies, many companies will offer you bereavement pay/days. These are days that you can use to prepare for the funeral, attend the funeral and mourn. Often, the number is three days, for an immediate family member. Distant family usually allows for one day. Of course, there are variations of these, but what I have experienced (and confirmed with some quick research) is one to three days. Other options may include taking a leave of absence, sick time, personal time or vacation. It really varies by company and what type of “time off” is offered by them. It is also my experience that people cannot live long without income, which limits the options. All of this is a benefit offered and is well-intended. What is not, is how it is perceived in our modern society.
We have entered into a compartmental period of time. You get “X” time to grieve, despite the internal needs that you may have. Then we are to resume where we left off. Three days… and then back to the workplace or life as we knew it. We are to get back into our social groups and tend to all of our things. No need to talk about it, everyone wants to move on. It is as if we have already been saturated with love and sympathy. Like empathy has run out and there is no more to give. Sitting on my pedestal, no really I am on a pedestal. Sitting. I think there are people and situations where more is offered. I am not saying every single place is heatless. I am saying that we are in a checkbox world where it does not bode well to linger.
And then there is the sympathy vs. empathy. Or well-intended but hurtful considerations that often occur. You see, I lost several people over the course of 4 years. Probably lent to the year turnaround. In 2014 it was Grandma. 2015, a stillborn. 2016, another stillborn and 2017 Grandpa. When Grandma and Grandpa passed the world seemed like an empty place to me. I did not stop to feel when Grandma passed. I helped with all of the arrangements then went back to work. I took the (3) days bereavement then added a couple of vacation days. There was a lot to do. I was so busy that I never really processed everything. I had to make arrangements, create the memorial video (see it here), and be there for Grandpa, now alone… Then it was time to get back to work and life pressed on. It wasn’t until months later that I broke down. Fell apart to scattered pieces. The world was past it though. It was past the due date and made way for new things. Aside from posts of missing her, hearted-liked-sad-emoticons on FB posts. The same for Grandpa. The receptivity was usually comforting but along the lines of “they were old” or “they led a full life” or “they did have health problems…” Yes. I know this. Yet grieving was delayed for me – and when I was ready, there was no time.
The worst time was after the loss of my two sons. One year apart. They were both second-trimester. Both, from medical complications, after six perfect and beautiful children. The comments from those were so varied and so painful.
At least you have six children, some people cannot have kids
Oh, it was just a miscarriage… I have lost several at 2 weeks.
You can just try again.
They weren’t viable yet, it was a fetus. Not like you went full term.
Yes. People said those things. When we held a funeral for each of them, we had more odd reactions than sympathy or support. Like we were putting a stage with props for no real apparent reason. We were not really expected to mourn as we did. We did not earn some form of “grief zone” in some people’s eyes. People simply did not want to or could not relate.
The thing is that grief has 5 notable stages (7 depending on the site): Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. While there are studies for median times of grief, we have to realize that people are different. Environment, personality, resilience level, support structures, and other medical conditions may apply. Each of these in itself has impacts but when combined with something else such as a death it then compounds things. Listen, what I am proposing is not a new motion. It is simply taking a moment to think about people. People. Respect that each of us may be going through something and we all deal with things differently. We each have different triggers and those triggers need to be dealt with. We need to be able to feel happy or sad or angry or confused… Unfortunately, by doing good for the many, we have to accept that there are the few which will take advantage of “the system.” Show compassion and invest in people. Allow them weeks, or months, to work through things. Stop offering anecdotes that try to force someone past where they are and meet them there. Meet them.
I am not an expert. There are so many people more qualified. Yet, when someone is down and needs to vent, qualifications aren’t as important. Ask them how they are and listen… It’s not a time for solutioning. Where they are is irrelevant, but feel out the situation. Maybe they do need to know about more resources. Maybe not and they are aware. It likely isn’t the time to bombard them with info. I often just need to speak. To be heard. Piece the thoughts and fragments together out loud. And in an effort to not go crazy have an affirmation by someone else. “Yes. You are heard. You matter.” There is therapy is speaking. Empathy and sympathy are very value added – and knowing the difference is of great importance. (See this video by Brene Brown.) Be understanding if they need 5 days. 10 days. Meet them where they are.
Time is a healer of so many things. Fixer of so many that are broken. Get healing over time and growing, even if ever-so-slowly. We can grieve past the hospital or past the funeral home. It may be quick or linger. We may need help from others. Friends to listen or maybe we need a professional to step in. But it isn’t something that we can timebox. Use sympathy, empathy, encouragement, and support. Every person is different and we need to meet them where they are.
“A Coke is a Coke and no amount of money can get you a better Coke than the one the bum on the corner is drinking. All the Cokes are the same and all the Cokes are good.”
Listening to Chasing Slow, the quote sprang out at me. Truth. I mean, it is just a Coke after-all. But there is so much more to it than that. I had to pause and make this draft, stopping what I was doing. Well, I was actually driving at the time, so it was as soon as I stopped. Something about texting and driving and the ice that was coming down led me to believe that it would have to wait. That did not stop the micro-explosion of randomness inside of my mind though.
What did does that mean, exactly? A Coke is just a Coke. It is true. The President of the United States can drink a beverage and that be a can of Coke. Maybe it was procured for him or there was a fancy store that it was purchased at… but the can is the same brown, carbonated, syrupy substance in an aluminum container. It cracks and pops when it is opened. It may fizz a little as the bubbles race throughout as if trying to escape. It pours the same. Perhaps the container is transferred into a golden goblet or expensive crystal glass – but the coke does not change. The homeless person that found change can buy a Coke. From a machine, from the nearest 7-11, or found… The same cracking of the can and bubbles racing to the top.
There are quite a few normal items like that. So many more that are not. Clothes. Where we get them. Homes – what we can afford. Cars… can I just find one that will work for me? A material caste system. We become categorized by the haves and the have-nots. Where do we shop? What do we buy? What do we own? It creates a profile for us. We fit in, in society by these things. Who can be our friends? What neighborhood can we become a part of? What stores can we shop at? The same cliques that we experienced in high school have grown into societal cultures. And it feels that we have moved to haves, have-nots (and have’s with credit cards). The middle class has withered into the upper and lower classes left. Why can’t more things be like a can of Coke? Or are they?
I am not going to belabor the point. In a materialistic world, we still very much live in a caste system. My challenge for you and for me is to pause for a moment. Think about the items that we do have and those that we do not for that matter. What do your belongings say about you? Your style? What do you want them to say? I have lived a minimalist life for about a year. Not extreme – but without a lot of frills. I find myself wanting more at times and can get envy when the new iPhone comes out. Yet, here I am, with my 6S. I did splurge on a new Mac though. Used, two years old and it is more than I need really. You see, since going through a lot of change, I have found myself thinking about everything. Every. Thing. Too much at times. Combined with a strict budget, I have found ways to work within lots of confines. Self-inflicted confines. And each of these is shallow in comparison to those who have not. I am beyond rich, in so many ways. I should not have to remind myself of that. But I do. We do.
I am still happy. Content. The point is this: Celebrate today and enjoy your coke.
The day started out just like any other. *Yawn* Wake up and fumble out of bed… morning routine. I grabbed my coffee and drove to work. I listened to the current book, Bounce Forward, and let my mind wander. Today was just a little bit different. And aside from the dense fog, I did not know why yet. I did not remember what today was. What had happened and came to pass just one year ago.
Or perhaps, I should exclaim “wow a year has gone by!” Unsure. But what I can say is that everything appears impossible… everything appears to be out of reach, when you are at the bottom trying to look up. When you are deep within the hole, quicksand seems to be more likely than a ladder. Over a year ago, I was deep within the hole. And while there I had decided to pour some water in with me. “Since I am here…” might as well wallow in it for awhile. Not a mud bath sort of wallow. I mean cover yourself in sand at the beach sort of wallow. How pig-like could I become? “I will enjoy this” wallowing, so I thought. No end. No problem. Then I was determined to shake it off. Nah – f*@# it, I would wallow some more. I could not fathom that life would be what it is presently.
Even today, in the present, finishing this lingers on a bit. I have spent over a day just thinking about what this will say. Yet, I cannot seem to see the end. I am truly uncertain as to the end result. I am determined ponder. Yet, it claws at me to escape. Light. Day. The air. No particular purpose other than to be outside. Not lingering around in thought patterns or unspoken words. Not intended to be some profound lesson that I have learned and want to share with the world. Alive, to then rest.
December, 2018. I had just relapsed, but January changed everything… After the separation, I met someone on Tinder. Nothing intended beyond companionship. (Yes, not the place to find that… so I have heard.) The holiday seasons were hard at first. Quiet halls, once filled with little laughter turn to echoes like ghosts in an imagined story. The same startle though. The relationship was a friendship at first that had mild intimacy. Being new to the dating world, I had not much experience. 15 years of marriage and nearly a year of some form of isolation left me curious, cautious but open. Thanksgiving came to pass and things were settling so I thought. December 06, 2018, I received a call while at work. I was needed at the courthouse promptly. I was already late.
The day had come, and I was unaware what day it was. I had not read the email. Or seen the text. Or perhaps opened the letter. I cannot tell which for certain. Today was the divorce hearing and I was not aware. My disorganized state at the time started becoming clearer. Though, it would not be crystal until much much later. I reached the courthouse in Madison, WI around 45 minutes late. Scattered more than ever but feeling aware of how unaware I actually was. The proceeding commenced. And after an undeterminable amount of time it was over. The end. I got in my car, picked up my phone and had to talk to someone. I called my girlfriend. Was she that? Girl…friend? The call was short, and by the end of the day, I learned that it was not going to work out between her and me. The condo felt so empty once again. There was nothing to worry about settling.
The month of December is still a blur. I do not remember the relapse, or should I say when it actually started. I do not remember missing a date with my kids only that I did, and made some lame excuse of being sick. Obvious to anyone. I remember opening the letter from the U.S. Gov’t saying that I had back taxes. Child support and alimony kicked in already (which let me be clear – I know goes to a good place). The taxes were being garnished as well. With my first paycheck, with all the deductions, I barely had enough to get a hotel room. I continued to relapse. I hallucinated. I… cannot… remember… details. Only notes that I left myself. The texts made no sense. Who sent those? When-why-how? The notes only made sense in a fictitious story telling mode sort of way. Reality was a moment between swallows. And a voice at the other end of a phone call to get help. After 15 years of marriage she knew me and the spiral was not going to get any better. St. Joseph was where change would happen. She had called and my best friend was willing to help. I managed to send an email to work resigning. December 31, 2018.
I cannot count how many hours were spent behind the N, we know as Netflix. The autoplay feature, while handy, doesn’t really make clean breaks. Entire seasons and titles finished. Yet, considering the state, I have not seen many of them yet. The only reminders were “Watch it again…” No car, I lost the keys. (No real phone, lost that too. I wandered around for miles in the snow once near the end.) So I managed to get a prepaid phone. No job. No money. I continued this cycle for weeks. The world did not exist outside of the condo or a walk to Wal-Mart to restock. The countdown was set into motion and there was nothing that could change that now. The only thoughts that I had surrounded a fridge, how many were left, or wondering when the landlord would force me to vacate. I managed to stay for just long enough though.
January 13th, 2019, a former friend from church arrived to pick me up at the condo I lived in. My ex had purchased a one-way ticket for help; my only outlet that seemed viable to whatever logical mind was left. Moving consisted of 2 packed duffel bags and a carry on. A couple clothing sets, a dress shirt, extra socks and unders, my journals, computer and things I did not think I could go on without. The rest would be left behind. About a jam packed van full of a life, left behind the door and locked to be forgotten. It was cold outside and I realized that I smelled terrible. Looks were not even on the radar. I remember the sounds of the bags slamming on the stairs as I dragged them along side my wobble. I barely had energy to stand. I did not sleep the prior night, having started self detox.
Awkwardly, I got into the car. I cannot remember what music was playing but it was comforting over silence. Several hours into sobering up, I was hungry and two McDonalds breakfast burritos, orange juice and an extra hash brown he did not want were devoured gorging into my gut. The liquid diet with ramen had taken its toll. The new food was nauseatingly nourishing. Small talk was attempted, but what can you say really? What meaningful conversation can be had with someone inside out, and leaving everything behind? We did end up making small talk as we waited in the sub-zero degree weather for the Greyhound. Since we shared similar music interests we found ourselves discussing bands, genres, and lots of “have you heard…” Finally, the bus came. It was time.
Weakly stumbling with the overstuffed bags to the side of the bus, the cold pierced through me. I didn’t realize that I had started to sweat inside the car. One…two… the bags were slammed into the side of the bus. Mixed in with others’ lives. All heading somewhere else. Still not thinking very clearly, I said goodbye, and found a seat on the bus. The bus was not full and I was nervously bobble-heading. Some from the sobering. Mostly from the fact I have never done this before. None of it. I had flown many, many times, so I proceeded in the same way. Once the doors closed and I was sure no one was sitting beside me I placed my leather messenger bag beside me. The tiny duffel bag that I slugged on was tossed to in the seat beside me. I am not sure what drivers of busses check, but it took about as long as an airplane. I sat attentive and listened to the sounds of airbrakes and under-storage bins shifting. The cold outside was fleeting with the cabin body heat. Windows began to blur with condensation and crackles came overhead. The driver sped through a garbled safety message with only fragments understandable. Most passengers appeared to be regulars as well. Just like an airplane, no one else was listening. The message finished with “… Milwaukee.”
Madison to Milwaukee. Though there were several small stops along the way, the route ended there, which is also where I would grab bus number two. We started to move. Goodbye Madison. The trees and building moved along the windows while I observed and watched the driver get on the highway. I loaded the map on my $13 smartphone and prepaid month from Verizon. I was not sure what to do or feel so I just didn’t. I thumbed through my bag. Computer. Books. Kindle. Unknown envelope from my kids. I settled on another Netflix show and sat back for leg one. A couple random texts to people I knew. I had a couple hours to pass and I was not quite ready to ponder…
The ride would continue for the next 26 hours. A play by play would be ridiculously long and probably about as exciting as watching paint dry. The paint was colorful though. I spent lots of time texting, watching Netflix shows, and letting pondering happen from time to time. Sleeping was not an option really. While incredibly tired, my heart would race through detox. The hunger started to kick in and the amazing ham sandwich packed by my kids, go-gurt and raw vegetables only went so far. I drifted off in thought. Moments of giddiness about something new followed by sheer terror and a new depth of depression about what reality was. Texting here and there to verify this was still real life and was really happening. Outside of GPS, I had lost where I was at in the blackness of the winters night.
actual photo of a seat.
I stopped at three different bus stations. Each time, my incredibly weak body lugged hundreds of pounds into the station. Each time I had to find my way. Find the bathroom. The water fountain. A seat. Seats were a surprisingly rare commodity. Finding a seat was worse than finding the only USB plug or power outlet in an airport. When one person moved, there was another ready to collapse into the spot. By the 3rd station I had it figured out. That, of course, was a good thing considering the application that was labeled as seating. Metal grated benches with concrete walls behind were able to be fashioned into recliners. And after many hours of sitting, a coat or bag became delightful cushions. Though they never cut through all of the metal framework hardness.
Since everything I owned was in a bag, I couldn’t leave it while I used the bathroom. So I ended up moving seats every so often. I am sure it would have been fine but was paranoid. With three bags to my name and alone, I could not chance it. Charge the phone. Stare into the general population. Study the curiously strange people that came together in the petri dish of travelers. Repeat. The worst part of the journey was a stay outside of Kansas City. The picture above, was my KC seating arrangement. A 5 hour layover after 20 hours of bumps, jolts, and lights lightly strobing as they passed on the streets. I ended up being so angry yet so anxious. My destination was only an hours drive. Watching the clock. Growls in my stomach. Only a couple mins passed. Then finally it was time to board.
The arrival in St. Joseph, MO took a much longer than the ticket stated. Not by ticks on a clock but the other dimension of time. The white pickup door opened and my best friend got out. Without judgement, he wrapped his arms around me. Offered me a piece of candy and we grabbed a McChicken. I borrowed $10 and also bought the cheapest juice at the vape store. He, despite having so many responsibilities of his own, offered everything in his world to me. So much love and so many lessons that I would not understand until later. The friendship laid the foundations of the life to come and like curing cement, secured a path.
Against his advice, and my better judgement, I swiped through Tinder. No, no, left, left… view… left… view… read… right. There were a couple profiles of interest. And on a whim I drafted a message in the app. The witty words on her profile seemed to shine. And despite what logic stated I received a notification. A reply. The message pinged and eventually we moved to text. A real person on the other end. A person with depth. I shared my story, and I am sure with much caution, she listened. Something was different. And not in a way that we say when we are convincing ourselves despite a different reality. We continued to talk and evolve a curious friendship.
I lived with my friend for several months. Sober. And one day I wasn’t. The new wore off. The friendship was challenged and like all good things, I had to realize the truth. This was not a vacation. This was not a getaway where I met someone casually to talk to with your friend in the other room. Lives were impacted and opened to me, not with endless amounts of freedom. I slept for days and nearly lost the job that I had secured. The livelihood for my children. I was not above a rock bottom. Apparently my head just surfaced above ground for a moment. She did not let go…
I moved out of my best friend’s home shortly thereafter. We established an understanding – and his friendship, while strained, did not waver. I had an apartment. My own place – space – rules. Medicated. I put barriers up so that slipping again would not happen. While I was sure that I was not going to… I had thought that many times before and could not chance it. She, would later be named Q, came into my life over the next several months. And there is so much more to this story. More than either of us, you, the reader, and me, the writer can bear right now. In fact, The Red Book, our adventure journal, or diary if you prefer, documents the tales quite nicely. The next parts happened as life does. Q and I grew closer and due to changes with my employment late spring, I moved to Lawrence, KS. She lives in Lawrence, KS. My new career is in the area. I received a call from my former landlord from Wisconsin telling me almost all of the things I abandoned were saved and after a quick trip there – I am reunited. And life continues. Lessons continue.
Over the last year I have started a new chapter… scratch that. Book. The characters, like in a series, have familiar faces. And the lessons abound… Part of the inspiration for the words put to a white Mac screen. What you have been reading. You see, things are funny like that. I did not and would not have planned this life. The non-traditional family. Far away from loved ones. Losing myself to a bottle. Yet I did. The reality is that I did. And now I have climbed out of the bottom of rocks and walk around on the surface. The valleys are there. The mountains can be seen at times. Appreciation of events can be real. Unconditional love can be had. I wish everyone could learn, not how I did, but what I have.
The world is full of hits. Viral videos and cute puppies and memes full of snarky sarcasm. A posting society living a facebook life (prior blog entry) where things are very one sided. The labor of love should be called the labor of life. Life is not rainbows and unicorns. Dark days still loom and carry a fog afterward. Yet, there is something different. A reframed approach. Hope. This story is not a about painting some picture for sorrow. It was more for me than for you. Therapeutic to lift the veil. To shine light on the shadow… To name, the unnamed. And the post a couple days ago really summed it up. I am not proud of my past. Only that I survived. Proud to be where I am today. None of this was done alone. From the phone calls that were the lifeline I desperately needed, best friend who laid a foundation and to the partner that has stood beside me. For faith, lost and found, but like Footprints from a poem, carried me through.
You have got this. Slay your dragon. I am done chasing mine.
