The second lesson is another one which I mistakenly (and arrogantly) thought I had learned without doing any real work - the importance of self-love. This one I have been kicked with a few times - I have to learn it in stages. The first error was thinking that since I was happy, and everything seemed to be going my way, that I must have learned to love myself. Wrong! When I met S., I was riding a wave of mania: my reserves of self-esteem seemed boundless, my insecurities completely inevident. I felt neither lonely nor desperate, and as a result I did not notice when I committed to an inappropriate relationship with someone who was so obviously selfish and dysfunctional. My need for external validation trumped my instincts which told me that her love for me was disingenuous. I ignored the warning signs, even when others pointed them out to me, and I clearly still did not like myself enough at the time to permit myself to let that train go past and wait for the next one. The results were disastrous: a slow, steady, relentless, unwavering, inexorable and unarrestable descent back into self-loathing and depression, from which there was no escape for either of us other than painful separation.
But even after all that, when I first broke up with S., I was going around telling people that I felt like I finally understood the importance of loving oneself and the danger of looking outside oneself for the solution to loneliness -- but I still did not actually get it!
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Lesson 1: Boundaries
My first important lesson in the immediate aftermath of my breakup with S. was the importance of establishing and maintaining interpersonal boundaries between myself and those around me. I learned and understood right away the boundaries I needed to start enforcing to keep me from owning part of her dysfunction -- in fact that was really a prerequisite for breaking up in the first place. Without that framework to lean on, I could not have carried through with it as I did during the crucial initial days.
The biggest surprise for me though was not learning the utility of a well-situated boundary with S., but realising how universally applicable the concept of personal boundaries was, and that more of my current boundaries were either grossly misplaced or glaringly absent. I was a bit stunned to discover that despite my having cut contact with S., my father was not only in touch with her, but visiting her regularly, driving her places, and even babysitting V. for her. I made an interesting decision in how I chose to respond to that: rather than angrily lecturing him about loyalty or the inappropriateness of his behaviour, I calmly told him about the boundary I had established between me and S., explained to him my determination not to violate it, and suggested to him that he therefore be deliberate in deciding which side of that boundary he chose to spend his time on.
As difficult as maintaining such separation is, it is at least a simple and elegant script to follow, and I did an excellent job of it at first. But after she moved out -- around the corner -- I perhaps became a bit cocky or complacent. As I sifted through the shards of my half of our broken life together, I incautiously dabbled in a sort of casual contact regimen with my now-neighbour S.: offering to return things of hers I had discovered, answering her calls, texts and emails, installing, replacing and then removing a sign on her house for the federal election, going out of my way to bike or drive past her house to get to mine, even accepting and eating food (a well-chosen favourite selection from her enviable repertoire) which she made for and offered to me one day. Boundary breaches can go either way, and one can invite the other: I allowed her in, but I also failed to prevent myself from crossing the line as I reached out. She very quickly managed to sneak back underneath my skin: just an inch or two, but far enough to undo a lot of work which had only recently been done. She is a resourceful woman and has a tremendous ability to effect a remarkable amount of emotional leverage with even the tiniest purchase.
I was much better at maintaining an appropriate boundary with my father, although that was quite painful for him at first, and there is a real risk of more pain for both of us down the road. And my boundary with S. is more or less back in place: I have been very disciplined about not letting her in, but boundaries work both ways, and the part I still struggle with is preventing myself from straying out across the line -- I still catch myself walking down to the corner hoping to see her, or reaching for the phone to call and hear her voice. Clearly some of the damage that was done turned out to be far more difficult to repair after the breach than it had been to establish in the first place.
The biggest surprise for me though was not learning the utility of a well-situated boundary with S., but realising how universally applicable the concept of personal boundaries was, and that more of my current boundaries were either grossly misplaced or glaringly absent. I was a bit stunned to discover that despite my having cut contact with S., my father was not only in touch with her, but visiting her regularly, driving her places, and even babysitting V. for her. I made an interesting decision in how I chose to respond to that: rather than angrily lecturing him about loyalty or the inappropriateness of his behaviour, I calmly told him about the boundary I had established between me and S., explained to him my determination not to violate it, and suggested to him that he therefore be deliberate in deciding which side of that boundary he chose to spend his time on.
As difficult as maintaining such separation is, it is at least a simple and elegant script to follow, and I did an excellent job of it at first. But after she moved out -- around the corner -- I perhaps became a bit cocky or complacent. As I sifted through the shards of my half of our broken life together, I incautiously dabbled in a sort of casual contact regimen with my now-neighbour S.: offering to return things of hers I had discovered, answering her calls, texts and emails, installing, replacing and then removing a sign on her house for the federal election, going out of my way to bike or drive past her house to get to mine, even accepting and eating food (a well-chosen favourite selection from her enviable repertoire) which she made for and offered to me one day. Boundary breaches can go either way, and one can invite the other: I allowed her in, but I also failed to prevent myself from crossing the line as I reached out. She very quickly managed to sneak back underneath my skin: just an inch or two, but far enough to undo a lot of work which had only recently been done. She is a resourceful woman and has a tremendous ability to effect a remarkable amount of emotional leverage with even the tiniest purchase.
I was much better at maintaining an appropriate boundary with my father, although that was quite painful for him at first, and there is a real risk of more pain for both of us down the road. And my boundary with S. is more or less back in place: I have been very disciplined about not letting her in, but boundaries work both ways, and the part I still struggle with is preventing myself from straying out across the line -- I still catch myself walking down to the corner hoping to see her, or reaching for the phone to call and hear her voice. Clearly some of the damage that was done turned out to be far more difficult to repair after the breach than it had been to establish in the first place.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Father's Day (S., part II)
After what I wrote earlier about looking forward and not backward, it makes very little sense for me to be writing once more about S., but bear with me.
Last Sunday -- father's day -- I went to my sister K.'s for a barbecue with my stepdaughter J. Remarkably it was the first time I had introduced J. to K., which is kind of strange considering what focal points the two of them have been in my life. It was a nondescript dinner with her family but it was still like some kind of big step as it felt like I was introducing a new girlfriend or something but even more important than that as J. has really become like a daughter and not a transient part of my life. Girlfriends come and go, unfortunately, but J. is family and our relationship feels somehow permanent, even more so than that I share with some of my actual family.
I dropped J. off at her place and came home and as I was getting out of the truck I bumped into my neighbour LD. and her fiancé. LD is someone I have such a tremendous amount of respect and affection for, she is one of the kindest and most generous people I have ever met. She invited me to join them on the patio at the end of my street for a "father's day" dinner which for them would have been a bit of a break considering they have six children between them. I actually turned them down initially and said something like "if I get lonely I might join you" which of course is exactly what happened the second I stepped in the house and in fact I was so quick to change my mind that when I got there I could not find them as they had not even settled in to the pub yet, with he going home for a sweater and she down the street for some money or something.
We were joined by another neighbour, and we talked about all kinds of stuff, we talked about a lot but of course we talked about S., and then suddenly there she was, with V., walking along the sidewalk beside the patio. And then V. said hello to me, and I said hello back, and just when we all thought the awkward moment had passed, she appeared, at our table, asking me why I had not returned her call from that morning, and when I planned on doing so. I was a bit stunned and unable to respond coherently at first and I think she sensed my discomfort and kept pushing me for an answer, which she never got. She was quite aggressive, quite rude and quite possibly drunk, and I was quite shaken. And of course I am quite curious about what she wants to talk about, but so far have resisted the temptation to find out.
Last Sunday -- father's day -- I went to my sister K.'s for a barbecue with my stepdaughter J. Remarkably it was the first time I had introduced J. to K., which is kind of strange considering what focal points the two of them have been in my life. It was a nondescript dinner with her family but it was still like some kind of big step as it felt like I was introducing a new girlfriend or something but even more important than that as J. has really become like a daughter and not a transient part of my life. Girlfriends come and go, unfortunately, but J. is family and our relationship feels somehow permanent, even more so than that I share with some of my actual family.
I dropped J. off at her place and came home and as I was getting out of the truck I bumped into my neighbour LD. and her fiancé. LD is someone I have such a tremendous amount of respect and affection for, she is one of the kindest and most generous people I have ever met. She invited me to join them on the patio at the end of my street for a "father's day" dinner which for them would have been a bit of a break considering they have six children between them. I actually turned them down initially and said something like "if I get lonely I might join you" which of course is exactly what happened the second I stepped in the house and in fact I was so quick to change my mind that when I got there I could not find them as they had not even settled in to the pub yet, with he going home for a sweater and she down the street for some money or something.
We were joined by another neighbour, and we talked about all kinds of stuff, we talked about a lot but of course we talked about S., and then suddenly there she was, with V., walking along the sidewalk beside the patio. And then V. said hello to me, and I said hello back, and just when we all thought the awkward moment had passed, she appeared, at our table, asking me why I had not returned her call from that morning, and when I planned on doing so. I was a bit stunned and unable to respond coherently at first and I think she sensed my discomfort and kept pushing me for an answer, which she never got. She was quite aggressive, quite rude and quite possibly drunk, and I was quite shaken. And of course I am quite curious about what she wants to talk about, but so far have resisted the temptation to find out.
Squishing Thoughts Like Bugs
I read on site somewhere about a cognitive technique where the guy said he dealt with bad thoughts by squishing them like bugs, grabbing them right out of the air like flies and crushing them in his hands or even hurling them to the ground and stomping on them. This has probably been the most effective technique for me of the ones I have tried through the course of my recent slump. The problems are all upstairs, in your own head, and if the thought is distorted, it can be dangerous and should be stopped in its tracks. What have I gained from years of wallowing in pain? Nothing. Worse than nothing, I have made it a habit, with a perverse reward structure of some kind, like the almost-good part of the ache from listening to nostalgic music. Remember kids, the "alg" part of that word is the word for pain in Greek.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Full Houses
One piece of advice I keep hearing from various quarters, but especially and particularly from my sister K., is that I am always trying to hard, and thinking, analysing and worrying too much. Relax, she says, keep doing the things you like to do, focus on things you can control and the things you do well, and things will fall into place. Her favourite way of illustrating this phenomenon is a phrase she picked up from her husband while playing poker: "Full houses just happen". Stay in the game and eventually you are going to be dealt a winning hand.
It follows from this that one should avoid worrying about the poor hands one gets along the way. It is easy to get distracted, to lose perspective and dedicate an inordinate amount of time and energy to causes which demonstrably do not merit the effort. One must recognise the futility in such a course and also the dangers of becoming thus sidetracked: the time it consumes takes one away from the table and out of the game for longer than it is worth. And the resultant frustration from the inevitable failure saps ones confidence precisely when it is most needed, as it is the essential ingredient to success.
This approach dovetails with another ubiquitous nugget of wisdom: the path to happiness and the solution to loneliness lie within oneself and cannot, no matter what, be achieved through others. Stated another way: you cannot love another until you truly love yourself.
Solution? Work on yourself, make yourself the best person you can be, and your ship (i.e. full house) will come in.
It follows from this that one should avoid worrying about the poor hands one gets along the way. It is easy to get distracted, to lose perspective and dedicate an inordinate amount of time and energy to causes which demonstrably do not merit the effort. One must recognise the futility in such a course and also the dangers of becoming thus sidetracked: the time it consumes takes one away from the table and out of the game for longer than it is worth. And the resultant frustration from the inevitable failure saps ones confidence precisely when it is most needed, as it is the essential ingredient to success.
This approach dovetails with another ubiquitous nugget of wisdom: the path to happiness and the solution to loneliness lie within oneself and cannot, no matter what, be achieved through others. Stated another way: you cannot love another until you truly love yourself.
Solution? Work on yourself, make yourself the best person you can be, and your ship (i.e. full house) will come in.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Fellow Travellers
I went to the nation's capital this past weekend to attend a national political convention. I am a member of the executive on the board of my local riding association, a position which really sounds more prestigious than it is -- while our party is competitive nationally, we have very little support in my riding and our group is very small.
I started to get involved in politics a couple of years ago as part of an ongoing effort to meet new and perhaps more like-minded people after realising that I found myself increasingly ideologically at odds with most of the people I identified as my friends, colleagues and acquaintances.
I was quite excited in the months leading up to the convention, especially after we won an election a month beforehand, meaning we would be gathering not only as comrades but as celebrants of a great victory. And as I said, the local pool where I am from is very small, so there I would have the opportunity to meet and share my enthusiasm with hundreds of fellow party members from across the country. I made the weekend a focal point of my entire spring: I put myself on the wagon and on a diet for the entire month of May, I had my friend P. take me shopping and choose an entire wardrobe for the trip, I booked a room in a beautiful, old, railway-built hotel.
As it turned out, I enjoyed myself at the convention and managed to avoid succumbing to any acute attacks of loners and/or sadders. Despite meeting lots of people and having a great night hopping from party to party in my new suit on Friday night, I was still somewhat disappointed that I did not make any solid connections and had to content myself with what was otherwise a very satisfying, outgoing experience. My confidence was not bulletproof, but it was nonetheless pretty solid, and thankfully I held it pretty level for most of the trip.
The next night I was unexpectedly back home and was thus able to attend a birthday party for my friend N.'s brother. He was turning 30, and N., who is the girlfriend of a good friend of mine closer to my age, is even younger than that, as are most of her friends. I still had some shiny new clothes left over from my shopping spree with P., and I showed up in good spirits and looking sharp. I have long teased N. that she really should make more of an effort to set me up with one of her many friends, and she has long responded back that for the most part her friends find me to be creepy. But a funny thing happened that night: I managed to make a whole new impression on several of N.'s friends who had been repeatedly put off by me in the past, to the point where more than one of them made a point of telling her the next day how surprised and impressed they were with me that night. And all I did was take a minute to refine my grooming, stay reasonably sober, and maintain that confidence, with a dash perhaps of nonchalance to remind myself not to take myself so seriously and just enjoy the ride.
I started to get involved in politics a couple of years ago as part of an ongoing effort to meet new and perhaps more like-minded people after realising that I found myself increasingly ideologically at odds with most of the people I identified as my friends, colleagues and acquaintances.
I was quite excited in the months leading up to the convention, especially after we won an election a month beforehand, meaning we would be gathering not only as comrades but as celebrants of a great victory. And as I said, the local pool where I am from is very small, so there I would have the opportunity to meet and share my enthusiasm with hundreds of fellow party members from across the country. I made the weekend a focal point of my entire spring: I put myself on the wagon and on a diet for the entire month of May, I had my friend P. take me shopping and choose an entire wardrobe for the trip, I booked a room in a beautiful, old, railway-built hotel.
As it turned out, I enjoyed myself at the convention and managed to avoid succumbing to any acute attacks of loners and/or sadders. Despite meeting lots of people and having a great night hopping from party to party in my new suit on Friday night, I was still somewhat disappointed that I did not make any solid connections and had to content myself with what was otherwise a very satisfying, outgoing experience. My confidence was not bulletproof, but it was nonetheless pretty solid, and thankfully I held it pretty level for most of the trip.
The next night I was unexpectedly back home and was thus able to attend a birthday party for my friend N.'s brother. He was turning 30, and N., who is the girlfriend of a good friend of mine closer to my age, is even younger than that, as are most of her friends. I still had some shiny new clothes left over from my shopping spree with P., and I showed up in good spirits and looking sharp. I have long teased N. that she really should make more of an effort to set me up with one of her many friends, and she has long responded back that for the most part her friends find me to be creepy. But a funny thing happened that night: I managed to make a whole new impression on several of N.'s friends who had been repeatedly put off by me in the past, to the point where more than one of them made a point of telling her the next day how surprised and impressed they were with me that night. And all I did was take a minute to refine my grooming, stay reasonably sober, and maintain that confidence, with a dash perhaps of nonchalance to remind myself not to take myself so seriously and just enjoy the ride.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Dizzying Heights & the Midas Touch
While the dizzying heights I reached during the months following the breakup were exhilarating, they were also, naturally, dizzying, and it was thus perhaps inevitable that I would find myself stalling and falling back to earth. The big danger is of course a total crash, and while I seem frequently to have come frighteningly close to one of those, I have thankfully always managed to avoid it. I read something recently - I think it was in a New Yorker story - where the person remarks how easy it is when one is finally happy after a long period of sadness to fall into the trap of thinking that one has found the answer and that one will never be sad again. Well I fell for it, again. I tell myself that each time I am better equipped at dealing with the darkness, but I am never sure about that really, and in any case it is too early too tell - the proof is in the pudding, and right now it is more like morass than dessert.
Focus on the future and going forward, and do not dwell on the past.
I undertook to consciously rebuild myself in preparation for the new life - the purposeful life. I made an appointment with my GP, thinking a physical would be a sensible component of a fresh start. I readily agreed to the request to wait a few weeks rather than be squeezed in as I felt no rush. Of course by the time I got in to see him on Wednesday, I had started to wobble and in the end our meeting was devoted almost exclusively to discussing my psychological health. This was not extraordinary as he has always functioned as my first line mental health care worker, meeting with me before recommending some of the other people and places I have visited on my bumpy road. He now had the added insight of having S. and V. as patients, not to mention having the file his partner kept for the handful of couples counselling sessions S. and I had attended when I still hoped to find a "together" solution to our pain.
I told Dr. R. about how I had soared so high like an eagle in the initial days and weeks, how I felt like I had the Midas Touch, and how somehow I had slipped and how suddenly everything seemed to be turning to lead instead of gold. I explained that I was feeling more comfortable with and even confident in using cognitive techniques à la Dr. Burns, such as identifying cognitive distortions in my thinking. He was very positive and made me feel like I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, that I might have finally lassoed the black dogs and all that was left to do was learn the final delicate tricks of keeping them thus at bay.
Focus on the future and going forward, and do not dwell on the past.
I undertook to consciously rebuild myself in preparation for the new life - the purposeful life. I made an appointment with my GP, thinking a physical would be a sensible component of a fresh start. I readily agreed to the request to wait a few weeks rather than be squeezed in as I felt no rush. Of course by the time I got in to see him on Wednesday, I had started to wobble and in the end our meeting was devoted almost exclusively to discussing my psychological health. This was not extraordinary as he has always functioned as my first line mental health care worker, meeting with me before recommending some of the other people and places I have visited on my bumpy road. He now had the added insight of having S. and V. as patients, not to mention having the file his partner kept for the handful of couples counselling sessions S. and I had attended when I still hoped to find a "together" solution to our pain.
I told Dr. R. about how I had soared so high like an eagle in the initial days and weeks, how I felt like I had the Midas Touch, and how somehow I had slipped and how suddenly everything seemed to be turning to lead instead of gold. I explained that I was feeling more comfortable with and even confident in using cognitive techniques à la Dr. Burns, such as identifying cognitive distortions in my thinking. He was very positive and made me feel like I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, that I might have finally lassoed the black dogs and all that was left to do was learn the final delicate tricks of keeping them thus at bay.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Back to Earth
So I hired LB to stage the house. She brought in a contractor to do the serious preparation required to get the skeleton in good enough shape to hang her baubles on. It took a good month and during that time I shuffled from one bedroom to another and back, watched as all my crap was packed up and shipped to my sister K.'s garage, and tried to stay out of the way of the ever-present contractors who miraculously transformed my whimsical and amateurish renovation into one with broad appeal and a professional finish, without tossing all the character out the window. By most measures the project was a great success: the house was sold for an astonishing price, and I was roundly congratulated for making a good decision and following it up with decisive action and resolution. Unfortunately, somewhere in the middle of the transformation of the house, I lost the wind which had propelled me for the first few months post-S., and I stalled and fell very heavily and very quickly back to earth.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Repopulating vs. Unencumbering
My house was in some ways an experiment which was past its wind-down time. It was a serious fix-er-uppper when I bought it, and I had done most of the renovation myself, with little experience at either the planning or the execution of the work. Before S. moved in, it was partitioned into two units and I lived downstairs and rented the upstairs out to a series of tenants. When she first moved in, we were initially still just downstairs but when we decided to retrieve her son from her mother and bring him back to live with us, I evicted the tenant and demolished the upstairs kitchen, turning it into a bedroom for V. Not long after we got back with him, we got S.'s furniture out of storage and moved it into the house, displacing most of what passed for furniture of mine. And the next year, her ex decided that he did not want to keep paying to store what had been his half of their stuff, so we returned to the same storage place and loaded up all his things and brought them back as well. The house was not big enough to accommodate all of it, so much of it went to the building where S. worked, which was to be demolished to make way for a condo tower. At that point, most of what little remained in the house of mine did not make the grade and was disposed of as well.
The result of this was that when I kicked her out, she took almost all of the furniture, leaving me with nothing but the voluminous clutter I had accumulated during the seven plus years I had been in the house. The idea of starting again to repopulate that house, first with furniture and then with a family, seemed quite infeasible. With that persuasive thought in hand, it was easy enough to go hunting for additional ammunition to back my decision. For one thing, I feel like I have never really been a good fit in my neighbourhood, which of course is only partially truth and partially cognitive distortion.
Back in March I wrote about talking with LB, and how remarkable it was that she seemed to read me and my situation so accurately and effortlessly. LB has a couple of interesting businesses she works in, including the one which she had been starting up when I met her, which was a house staging thing. I had been thinking about it and decided for a number of reasons that it was an appropriate time to move on from my house, so I engaged her to take on the project of buffing my dusty mess into something I could put on the market.
The result of this was that when I kicked her out, she took almost all of the furniture, leaving me with nothing but the voluminous clutter I had accumulated during the seven plus years I had been in the house. The idea of starting again to repopulate that house, first with furniture and then with a family, seemed quite infeasible. With that persuasive thought in hand, it was easy enough to go hunting for additional ammunition to back my decision. For one thing, I feel like I have never really been a good fit in my neighbourhood, which of course is only partially truth and partially cognitive distortion.
Back in March I wrote about talking with LB, and how remarkable it was that she seemed to read me and my situation so accurately and effortlessly. LB has a couple of interesting businesses she works in, including the one which she had been starting up when I met her, which was a house staging thing. I had been thinking about it and decided for a number of reasons that it was an appropriate time to move on from my house, so I engaged her to take on the project of buffing my dusty mess into something I could put on the market.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Making things worse by helping (S.)
S. was (and is) a very troubled and selfish person, and I was a very lonesome fool trapped in an unhealthy dependancy cycle. By some miracle of effort I wrenched myself out of it and one Saturday morning after dropping her son off at school I came home, sat down opposite her on the couch and told her she had to leave. I had tried this once before the previous summer, at which time I even itemised my grievances which I only realised later meant I was inviting a discussion about our relationship rather than ending it. I remember when I went to umpire school in junior high the instructor taught us when you called a pitch a ball not to add "low" or "inside" or whatever, as it was extra information which only invited argument about what is fundamentally an arbitrary decision. She did not and likely still does not understand what happened and why, and it was of course difficult for me to resist the temptation to try to explain it to her, especially seeing her in such pain as I did during the ensuing weeks it took for her to get organised and get out. It was a startling and humbling revelation for me to realise that my trying to help someone, which I had been doing for years, was not only not helping, but making it worse.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Loneliness, within and without
I had a chat today with G. about loneliness. I should say I was talking and he was mostly just nodding. He was needling me about sitting in one of the customer chairs at his coffee shop without having actually bought a coffee, and I was defending myself as a regular customer who ought to be entitled to squatter's rights or something considering how often I am there. He said I must have been lonely, which prompted me to explain my recent learning about how the solution to loneliness is within, not without. G. just nodded, patiently, as I spelled out how it took me 40 years to learn that lesson. He reminded me that I need to be patient, not to try to find someone but to let someone find me. He is right.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Family, part III: neighbour's kitten (prospective) - narcissism and hyperextended adolescence
I had arranged to attend the Sunday morning service with my friend S. at his Evangelical Church. I have probably sat through no more than a dozen or two church services in my life, and almost exclusively for either a marriage ceremony or a funeral service. In fact when S. asked me when was the last time I attended one without pretence, I realised after reflection that I probably never had done so. And I had never been to an Evangelical church for any reason before.
I was impressed with the stripped-down parsimony of the service and of the message, and how much simpler it was to comprehend compared to that with which I am much more familiar such as the Catholic service and its elaborate, inscrutable ceremony and symbolism. The worship parts were focussed on a few songs, with simple, familiar arrangements, presented by a three piece band (drums, bass and guitar) with a male and two female singers, and simple, straightforward, modern lyrics projected onto a screen above the performers suggesting the audience to sing along, which they did. And between songs the main performer expressed his thanks and love to the divine with a refreshing and unambiguous candour. No obtuse or obscure hymns in 15th-century English, no lofty organ or rehearsed choir, more like families with parents and children sitting around the campfire.
I had a lot of work I wanted to get done that afternoon so I got myself set up at my desk and went out to get a coffee at the neighbourhood coffee shop around the corner from my house. It was very busy and although I had planned to hole up at my desk for the day, it was turning out to be a very nice day and I was feeling a bit cut off, so I decided to hang around there for at least a little while and work on the Saturday cryptic crossword puzzle. As I looked around the shop I thought again of the crowd at the hockey game the night before, and the crowd at the church that morning, and then the crowd in the coffee shop. The people there were all "grown up", that is more or less my age: late 20s, 30s and 40s, single, and in pairs and threes and fours, but not a single child, no parents, no grandparents, no husbands, no wives. A whole crowded coffee shop on a Sunday afternoon in a trendy "up-and-coming" neighbourhood in a large city, and all of us living these sort of detached, urbane, sophisticated yet leisurely, empty lives. At the table next to me I overhead an obviously gay man telling his female interlocutor "Oh, let me show you this kitten I am thinking of getting", before showing her a series of photos on his iPhone. He went on to describe long lists of pros and cons he had already mapped out before soliciting his companion's opinion of the would-be adoptee. I felt that the inordinate importance that this man put on such a trivial decision as adopting a kitten somehow represented the narcissism of my entire hyperextended adolescence, my entire generation, my entire neighbourhood, my entire city and most of my acquaintances in it.
I was impressed with the stripped-down parsimony of the service and of the message, and how much simpler it was to comprehend compared to that with which I am much more familiar such as the Catholic service and its elaborate, inscrutable ceremony and symbolism. The worship parts were focussed on a few songs, with simple, familiar arrangements, presented by a three piece band (drums, bass and guitar) with a male and two female singers, and simple, straightforward, modern lyrics projected onto a screen above the performers suggesting the audience to sing along, which they did. And between songs the main performer expressed his thanks and love to the divine with a refreshing and unambiguous candour. No obtuse or obscure hymns in 15th-century English, no lofty organ or rehearsed choir, more like families with parents and children sitting around the campfire.
I had a lot of work I wanted to get done that afternoon so I got myself set up at my desk and went out to get a coffee at the neighbourhood coffee shop around the corner from my house. It was very busy and although I had planned to hole up at my desk for the day, it was turning out to be a very nice day and I was feeling a bit cut off, so I decided to hang around there for at least a little while and work on the Saturday cryptic crossword puzzle. As I looked around the shop I thought again of the crowd at the hockey game the night before, and the crowd at the church that morning, and then the crowd in the coffee shop. The people there were all "grown up", that is more or less my age: late 20s, 30s and 40s, single, and in pairs and threes and fours, but not a single child, no parents, no grandparents, no husbands, no wives. A whole crowded coffee shop on a Sunday afternoon in a trendy "up-and-coming" neighbourhood in a large city, and all of us living these sort of detached, urbane, sophisticated yet leisurely, empty lives. At the table next to me I overhead an obviously gay man telling his female interlocutor "Oh, let me show you this kitten I am thinking of getting", before showing her a series of photos on his iPhone. He went on to describe long lists of pros and cons he had already mapped out before soliciting his companion's opinion of the would-be adoptee. I felt that the inordinate importance that this man put on such a trivial decision as adopting a kitten somehow represented the narcissism of my entire hyperextended adolescence, my entire generation, my entire neighbourhood, my entire city and most of my acquaintances in it.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Family, part II: sister and weaving the strands of the family tapestry
On Saturday I went, with my mother, to my sister K.'s place in a nearby town to see her 13-year-old son (i.e. my nephew) play game four in his team's best-of-five Tri-county hockey finals. It was an exciting game, and my nephew C. scored the final two goals for his team, who won 4-3 to tie the series at 2 games apiece (they won game five yesterday to take the championship!).
K. lives in a smaller city/town about 40 kilometres west of my city, but the scene at the hockey rink might as well have been a different country from where I live. There was a big crowd of parents, grandparents, siblings and friends, all enthusiastic and out to cheer on the home team. My sister knew a lot of the other moms and dads and there was a real sense of community and family to the whole place. And over on the other side was the whole thing repeated for the visiting team, who were themselves from another town about 40 kilometres to the south.
I was struck by the vivid contrast between the scene before me and not only the scene I live in, but also the scene in which I myself grew up. There was a closeness and togetherness, within the families themselves and between the families, a wide, intergenerational community united with a common purpose and celebrating achievement. I longed to trade my solitary existence for such a sense of belonging.
I remember when I was an adolescent how completely disconnected I felt from my family, and how any sense of community I felt was with other dysfunctional teenagers. I recognised that not only did I as a teenager understandably fail to recognise the gravity of the antisocial behaviour choices I made at the time, but so did the rest of what little structure I had of my family, school, community and whatever other feeble forces were or ought to have been acting on me at the time. I played hockey but there was nothing there to weave it into part of the life of our family. There was nothing to weave at all really, just a few ambitious strings here and there, stretching out all alone from a single point to other tiny islands. No fabric. No tapestry.
K. lives in a smaller city/town about 40 kilometres west of my city, but the scene at the hockey rink might as well have been a different country from where I live. There was a big crowd of parents, grandparents, siblings and friends, all enthusiastic and out to cheer on the home team. My sister knew a lot of the other moms and dads and there was a real sense of community and family to the whole place. And over on the other side was the whole thing repeated for the visiting team, who were themselves from another town about 40 kilometres to the south.
I was struck by the vivid contrast between the scene before me and not only the scene I live in, but also the scene in which I myself grew up. There was a closeness and togetherness, within the families themselves and between the families, a wide, intergenerational community united with a common purpose and celebrating achievement. I longed to trade my solitary existence for such a sense of belonging.
I remember when I was an adolescent how completely disconnected I felt from my family, and how any sense of community I felt was with other dysfunctional teenagers. I recognised that not only did I as a teenager understandably fail to recognise the gravity of the antisocial behaviour choices I made at the time, but so did the rest of what little structure I had of my family, school, community and whatever other feeble forces were or ought to have been acting on me at the time. I played hockey but there was nothing there to weave it into part of the life of our family. There was nothing to weave at all really, just a few ambitious strings here and there, stretching out all alone from a single point to other tiny islands. No fabric. No tapestry.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Family: goddaughter and unconditional love
I had dinner tonight with J., my goddaughter, who got married two weeks ago. A few years ago we got in the habit of going out for dinner once a week, a habit which unfortunately did not survive very long into the S. zone. It looks like we might resume it, even with her now being married and all! I was at the wedding, in fact I walked the bride down the aisle and gave her away - a very proud moment for me. A few years before, J. came to me when she was struggling and needed help, with few places to turn. At the time I was no longer seeing her mother and was not really in touch with either of them, but nonetheless I stepped up and supported her with whatever naïve support skills I had at the time. Little did I know at the time not only how much I would come to cherish that girl, but how much she would come to support me when it was my turn to struggle. Little did I know that it was from this adopted family member that I would finally learn about unconditional love.
She has grown into such a fabulous, caring and insightful woman, while still maintaining the zaniness which makes her unique. I love you J.!
She has grown into such a fabulous, caring and insightful woman, while still maintaining the zaniness which makes her unique. I love you J.!
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
I remember
I remember the first time I felt this inspired was when I first started working at a successful but somewhat dysfunctional restaurant chain in 2005 and I suddenly felt like I understood shit and that with this understanding I could really contribute to turning around an organization which was otherwise very troubled and really could have used (and still could use) some serious, steady outside help.
I met a couple of people there, including L. (whom I had actually met before and who was to become a very close friend), whom I felt recognised the value of a fresh perspective, and hopes were raised, but not much came of it and within months they were both gone from the company, I had lost my inspiration and next thing I knew I had my head right back up my ass where it had been so comfortable for so long. And where it stayed for quite some time.
The next time I remember almost resurfacing was in late summer 2008 when I got a bunch of my ducks lined up and again felt like I got it. I hosted my usual summer BBQ and booked it around when L. could come from Calgary, which she did. Notwithstanding whatever forgettable things happened that night, firmly planted in my memory is a walk we took the next day on the beach. I am not even sure how to characterize that conversation but it was kind of like me telling L. that I felt like it was time to grow up now, and L. agreeing, encouraging and approving.
And it went very well for a while, I did a very good job of focussing on grownup things and I was just together enough for couple months and then I met S. I thought I had it figured out but the thing was, I was missing some crucial understanding and that doomed the whole thing to the disaster that it turned out to be.
But without that disaster where would I be?
Part three is now, when I have the mature perspective, and the mature reaction formations.
I met a couple of people there, including L. (whom I had actually met before and who was to become a very close friend), whom I felt recognised the value of a fresh perspective, and hopes were raised, but not much came of it and within months they were both gone from the company, I had lost my inspiration and next thing I knew I had my head right back up my ass where it had been so comfortable for so long. And where it stayed for quite some time.
The next time I remember almost resurfacing was in late summer 2008 when I got a bunch of my ducks lined up and again felt like I got it. I hosted my usual summer BBQ and booked it around when L. could come from Calgary, which she did. Notwithstanding whatever forgettable things happened that night, firmly planted in my memory is a walk we took the next day on the beach. I am not even sure how to characterize that conversation but it was kind of like me telling L. that I felt like it was time to grow up now, and L. agreeing, encouraging and approving.
And it went very well for a while, I did a very good job of focussing on grownup things and I was just together enough for couple months and then I met S. I thought I had it figured out but the thing was, I was missing some crucial understanding and that doomed the whole thing to the disaster that it turned out to be.
But without that disaster where would I be?
Part three is now, when I have the mature perspective, and the mature reaction formations.
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