I've written about several different songs that I identify with. From the soaring "Defying Gravity" from Wicked to the hopeful "Heaven When We're Home" by the Wailin' Jennys there are a few songs that I can put on that - when applied en masse - can usually pull me out of a slump.
There are plenty of books that I enjoy escaping into - Outlander by Diana Gabaldon, Bossypants by Tina Fey, Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris, The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. While they range from riotously funny to downright heartwrenching - they don't necessarily lift my spirits.
But there is something that I can count on - no matter how black my mood is, no matter how big a pity party I am throwing, no matter how low I feel - to raise my spirits every time: A little trip to Pawnee, Indiana. There is something about the TV show Parks and Recreation that makes me happy to be alive. It could be the array of eccentric characters who are apologetically themselves.
It could be the snappy writing and the editing that makes you feel like you're hanging out with these characters. But, I actually think it's the unbridled optimism of the main character, Leslie Knope, that I love so much. Leslie is an unabashed overachiever.
She's enthusiastic about her job and her community and her friends.
I just feel such a connection to her.
I too am super chill all the time - just like this.
The fact that she is played hilariously by Amy Poehler is just icing on the cake. The show isn't as densely packed with jokes as my other absolute favorite - 30 Rock - but it has something wide-eyed and hopeful about it that the more snarky 30 Rock doesn't.
So anytime my spirits need a little lift, I just take a little vacation to Pawnee - where the children are morbidly obese, the raccoons run rampant, and the waffles are plentiful!
T.S. Eliot said "April is the cruellest month," but I think that October this year gave it a run for its money. Last month kicked my butt. But, as I said in a Facebook post today... The joke is on October, because it's gone, and I am still here. It's November! Hallelujah!!
I've noticed the past few years that friends have used the month of November to go all sorts of neat things: grow mustaches, write novels. and most importantly, give thanks. When I saw my dear friend SarahWolf post this, I knew I had to jump on board.
I was reading an article recently that suggests that talking about your problems can actually exacerbate them. Instead, it suggested focusing on the good things in your life as an alternative. I happen to think that balance is key, but I've been doing a lot of dwelling lately, so I say: BRING ON THE GRATITUDE!!
Today's prompt is work that gives me purpose.
I've been a teacher for 18 years. There have been many ups and downs in that time. There were days where I felt like the queen of the world, and days when I could barely drag myself home after the last bell. I've seen students accomplishing amazing feats - get scholarships, speak out to change the world, become teachers themselves. I've seen students who left this world far too soon. There were kids who made me smile every single day. There were kids who I still actively avoid if I see them at the mall. I've worked with some of the most unbelievably inspiring professionals. Many of them have become life-long friends. We've labored side by side doing some ridiculous things because we all believe in the importance of the work we do.
Being a teacher - first of students, and now of adults - has given me a very strong sense of purpose. My efforts change lives. And even when the pay is bad, the work load is unbearable, and the level of respect I get from my political leaders is pretty low, I can't imagine doing anything else. I am a teacher - down to my bones. And that gives me purpose.
The cool thing about feeling low is that even a little bit of lightening feels very dramatic. And when the clouds part and you actually start to see the sun peek through... There's nothing quite like it.
I've been carrying around a big heavy bag of marbles for a while now. They were unwieldy and hard to manage, but they were mine. And if there's one thing I've learned in the last year or so, it's to feel what comes as it comes. Good, bad, ugly: it's all part of the growing. It's all important.
Still, it gets old.
One of the things I've discovered that works to help clear the clouds for me is exercise. I run - slowly, and without grace, and not very far - but I do it. I have learned that the act of putting one foot in front of the other does more for my soul than 100 hours of therapy. (And that's saying something, because I LOVE my therapist!)
This morning I had one of those breakthrough moments. I was chugging along, in the last quarter of my route. when a song came up on my playlist. Heaven When We're Home by the Wailin' Jennys. It's a sweet little song, with some beautiful harmonies, but it was the lyrics that washed over me today.
Don't know what time it is, I've been up for way too long
and I'm too tired to sleep
I call my mother on the phone, she wasn't home,
and now I'm wondering the street
I've been a fool, I've been cruel to myself
I've been hanging onto nothing
when nothing could be worse than hanging on
And something tells me there must be
something better than all this.
I've fallen many times in love and every time
it's been with the wrong man
Still I'm out there living one day at a time
and doing the best I can
Cuz we've all made mistakes
that seem to lead us astray
But every time they helped to get us where we are today
And that's a good a place as any
and it's probably where we're best off anyway
It's a long and rugged road
and we don't now where it's headed
But we know it's going to get us where we're going
And when we find what we're looking for
we'll drop these bags and search no more
'Cuz it's going to feel like heaven when we're home
It's going to feel like heaven when we're home
There's no such thing as perfect,
and if there is we'll fnd it when we're good and dead
Trust me I've been looking
bu tonight I think I'll go and take a bath instead
And then maybe I'll walk a while
and feel the earth beneath me
They say if you stop looking
it doesn't matter if you find it
And whose to say that even if I did
it's what I'm really looking for
It's a long and rugged road
and we don't now where it's headed
But we know it's going to get us where we're going
And when we find what we're looking for
we'll drop these bags and search no more
'Cuz it's going to feel like heaven when we're home
It's going to feel like heaven when we're home.
As I rounded the corner to my beautiful home and saw sweet little Mittens the kitty waiting for me on the front stoop, I realized - I'm going to be OK. It's all going to be OK. I can carry marbles if I need to. They are my marbles after all. And each one is a lesson that moves me down that long, rugged road - to a place that I know is going to be exactly where I need to be.
Despair is one of those things that affects everyone a little differently. For some, it's a black cloud dumping rain down on them in a constant, drenching deluge. Some experience it as the complete and total absence of light, hope, or joy.
For me, despair is a heavy load, unwieldy and hard to manage - like trying to carry 75 pounds of marbles in a plastic grocery bag. Each marble is a memory - a piece of evidence in the case I build
against myself. Sometimes, I sit and count them. This one was the time I let down my guard and it came back to bite me. That one is the memory of something that, when it happened, seemed magical, but now cast in the light of reality - is just another example of my foolish naivete. The bag itself is my thin veil of composure - the calm face that the world sees. And there are many moments when I think I have it under control, until I move wrong - maybe too abruptly or with too much ease or worse, someone asks a question and it rips a jagged hole through that bag. It splits, releasing a shower of hundreds of marbles: messy, loud, and public. After a moment of panic at being exposed, I shrug, get another bag, gather up my marbles and keep trudging on.
As unwieldy as they are, they are my marbles. I have earned them.
Yes, despair is a hard thing to get away from.
And logically, I realize that as long as I am carrying that bag, I am weighted down by those marbles. There is no room in my hands for anything else. At some point, I will have to stop counting and recounting them. They will go on the shelf with all the other marbles I have accumulated in my life. But in this moment, the marbles feel like all I have. Everything else is slipping away, but the marbles? The marbles are mine. I cling to them because they are the only thing that makes me feel alive.
I've written a lot on this blog about love of all kinds. I've learned that I believe in a love that's different than the Hollywood, fairy tale version we were sold as children. I've even spent some time working out a rubric for love. I spent a lot of time thinking about the process of learning to love oneself. All the experiences and all of the learning again and again bring me back to that: loving yourself.
Not to brag or anything, but I think I've done a pretty good job of learning self love. I'm much more gentle with myself these days: less critical, less judgmental, more patient, and way more forgiving. And I have seen direct evidence of how that impacts my relationship with others. Being kind and loving to myself has deepened my relationship with family and old friends. It has also, indirectly, brought into my life a whole new circle of friends. Making friends as an adult is a strange and perilous experience. It's hard to do, and when it does happen, it can often be shallow or short lived, based on convenience. But when it works, man, is it awesome.
Except...
What happens when - as you start to love yourself and you become aware of the fact that you are surround by other loving individuals? Nobody told me how hard it can be to just accept the fact that you are loved. Don't get me wrong. The being loved part isn't new; I've been blessed to be surrounded by loving people my whole life. But being aware of it, open to it and accepting of it? That's more foreign to me than Differential Calculus.
I see this as the next phase of growth. I've learned to love myself. I am able to love others. Man, I can dish out the love like nobody's business. But can I take it? Can I sit back and let others love me? It's a challenge, because to let others love you, you have to let others KNOW you.
To let others know you, you have to be willing to be known. To drop the facades, to break down the walls, to show your heart and speak your mind. That's a very vulnerable position to be in. Anything can happen: rejection, withdrawal, ridicule, abandonment. But... if anything can happen, you can also get affirmation, connection, empathy, and acceptance.
Acceptance is a beautiful gift. To have someone say, "I see your flaws and your shortcomings; I see your strengths and your gifts. They are all A-OK with me." That acceptance is a gift that almost seems too grand to accept. But accepting that gift gives others the freedom to accept it as well. And the beautiful thing is that it's contagious. Those who feel loved are better able to give love. Those who give love are better able to accept love. It becomes an upward spiral.
Opening ourselves up: to be vulnerable, to accept love, to be seen and known is scary. But from what I've seen, in most cases, it's a good gamble with a high payoff. And it's certainly more enjoyable than Calculus!
The difficulty in completing this act, I thought, was going to be in the scheduling. Being a single mom with split custody of The Boy and The Girl, I'm almost always on Mom Duty Monday and Tuesday nights. And it seems like every literary open mic in the Triangle takes place on - you guessed it! - Monday or Tuesday night. It took almost 9 months to find a venue, a day, and a time that works. Luckily, I found Lit Up Open Mic! So, on a cool and clear March evening, I made my way to Fortnight Brewing Company in Cary to cross this off my list.
I was fine until I got into the parking lot. I'm used to be in front of a crowd - heck! I've stared down hordes of middle schoolers barely breaking a sweat! I present in front of adults all the time. Turns out, while some of those skills are transferable, it's a lot easier to present academic information than it is to reveal the words of your heart. I'm not gonna lie. I sat in my car for about 15 minutes before making my way inside. Finally, bolstered by a few encouraging messages from my people and the arrival of my friend, Deb, I made it out of the car.
In hindsight, doing this at a brewery is a brilliant idea! There happened to be plenty of liquid courage on hand - though it only took a few sips before I headed over to the table to sign up. Not wanting to go first, I signed up for slot number 3, and went back to the table to wait my turn. The crowd was pretty chill - most folks just hanging out after work to have a beer, catch up with friends, and watch a soccer game on TV. Still, they were a tolerant bunch, and once the readings started, it was all good.
Our hostess, Elizabeth, made her introductions, and we were off. Turns out, there were only three readers signed up. The first person got up to read, and I listened intently while mentally psyching myself up. I figured I'd have about 5-10 minutes to get myself ready. However, the first reader shared... a haiku. 3 lines. And there was no second reader. So... it was all me.
As I stepped up to the mic, I decided that I wasn't going to just read. I was gonna perform. I started with a poem I wrote a few months ago called "Place for Rent." The speaker is a busybody real estate agent, so... I leaned into and got into character.
The audience listened. No one booed. I didn't die. It was all good.
So much so, that after the next reader went, I got up again. And again.
As the night progressed, we heard some pretty amazing stuff... passionate, poignant, lovely. For me the highlight was Deb overcoming her shyness and reading a beautiful poem she wrote. Check her out:
My phone ran out of space, so I didn't get the whole piece, but trust me. It was wonderful!
If you followed any of the links above, you will see that the bulk of what I read was pretty fraught. And that makes sense. Most of what I wrote over the last year was HEAVILY influenced by the ending of a romantic relationship, and the self reflection and processing that experience prompted. During that time, I was a prolific writer... I had so much angst and emotion in me that I had to get it all out - and luckily the paper caught most of it for me. Lately, I've been feeling pretty darned good. While that makes for a lovely life, it doesn't lead to much in the way of good writing. Still the last poem that I read was one that wrote this week. I think is more representative of where I am right now. It's called "Maker."
So that happened. And it was pretty great!
I can say that it's not easy to get up and bare your soul to an audience of strangers. I was so stupid nervous! When I watch these videos, I have to laugh a little at the fake sass I managed to conjure. (Ok, not fake... exaggerated. I'm plenty sassy.) Still, I shared a little piece of myself with that audience, and the world didn't end. In fact, it felt pretty amazing. I highly recommend it! Now go write something. Or draw something. Or sing something. Or make something. Because ultimately, it's not for the audience; it's for you. Thanks for reading.
P.S. If you want to read a whole bunch of angst filled pseudo-poetry, you can check out my other site: Biting Off More Than I Can Chew. That's where I hide all the really embarrassing stuff! -rfk
I've been feeling really off lately. I can't quite put my finger on the cause. All I know is that I've been feeling isolated, lonely, and blue. I think I cope with it pretty well; I'm still doing the things I normally do, see the people I normally see. I'm functional. But everything feels... hollow.
I think part of it is, looking back on where I was a year ago I realize that, while I have grown a tremendous amount and learned SO MUCH, my life still just isn't the way I had hoped it would be. I don't have anything figured out any better than I did last year. In fact, I think I have to honestly say that I'm more tangled up now than I was then.
The thing that scares me is that I'm doing all the healthy, self care things I've learned to do, and the feeling persists. I feel blocked and afraid - so much so, that it has taken me nearly 3 weeks to get these thoughts down in writing!
The worst part is that I can't really put my finger on what's causing this feeling. Last year, my pain had a face and a name. It was logical, explainable, relate-able. This year, it feels like a gross oversimplification to attribute all these feelings to one singular cause. I can't seem to put it into words, and that compounds the issue.
One of the things I have learned to do is to reach out for help when I'm feeling overwhelmed or lonely. But how do you call someone up and say, "Well, I'm not really sure what my deal is or why I feel this way. All I know is I feel really, really, really crappy. Can you fix it?" And when someone asks how I am, the only thing I can think to say is, "I'm mostly OK." Because I am. Mostly.
And how do you put it out into the world that you're struggling without coming across as an overwrought drama queen or an attention-seeking adolescent? Aren't I, as a capable and self-aware adult, supposed to be able to handle my own mess without dragging others into it? And how do you ask for help, when you have no idea what kind of help you need?
The only think I can think to do with all this is to just... own it. This pain and discomfort is mine. This is how I feel. This is what I'm struggling with. Maybe that's the most courageous thing to do. Because just feeling blah doesn't make for a very compelling story.
I know it will get better - that this, too, shall pass. But right now, I just have no idea how.
All I know to do is to acknowledge that right now, in this moment, things do not feel awesome. And I guess that's kind of the point.
