Revisiting the Past

I'm just home from 10 days spent with both my family and my in-laws. It was lovely (and no, I'm not just saying that because my family regularly reads this blog!), and in hindsight it taught me something really important, something I'd been missing for a while. Simply put, it taught me that my past is a good thing.

When Ed and I made the choice to move to Virginia, we did so hoping for a fresh start. We were both ready to shed our skins and try out a oh-so-slightly different life. We'd been married a year and both just knew it was time for a change. However, for me change is a tricky thing. I like change, a lot, but it often results in me forgetting the past, who I was and the people/places that I enjoyed. I began to view my life pre-VA as a foggy mess, something that was no longer important. I still loved the bar where Ed and I met, and the people we were friends with, but it almost felt like I had outgrown that life.
Then, on this trip home, a few things happened. I saw one of my best friends from high school and realized how much I really like her - not just because she was my friend, but because she is my friend. Do we talk all the time? No - but she's in my mind often, and seeing how happy she is now in her life made me so, so happy. That friendship, dating back for years and years, still matters to me. I plan on keeping in touch with her in a more consistent way (and she reads this, so now I'm committed!! )

I also got to spend time with my brother, who lives in LA-la land. I usually only get to see him for a day or two each year, but we got a bonus three days together this summer. Watching him with my little guy, goofing around and teaching him about Ewoks was just magic. I realized how he and I are still the same goof balls we were back in childhood, just with a few extras thrown in. I loved him so much as a girl, and was so proud to be his big sister - and it turns out I still feel the same. We're still connected, even if we don't see each other often - family, and our shared past, are still important.

I'm rambling a bit, but the point is that I realized where I came from, and the places and people I loved, can still matter to me, even if I'm not the same person I was when I lived them. And that strengthens me as I look to the future - it's like being armed with a secret weapon.

Thank you to all of you who have armed me so well.

Saving the worst for the best

I've been thinking about something a lot lately. In my head, I sound like Carrie Bradshaw, clicking away in her faboosh NYC apartment - "Do we really save our worst for those we love the best?" C'mon, you can totally hear her saying that, right?? The point is, I've been wondering about this for a while. I'm blessed with an amazing family; my parents and brother have always been good listeners/advice givers and I've married into a family that does the same. But when I'm having a bad day, and things just aren't up to snuff, who do I take it out on? My dear husband (and sometimes, I'm ashamed to say, my dear son). Growing up, my father tells the story that he could tell what kind of day I had by whether or not the dogs ran to his office and hid under his desk when I got home. It appears that a pattern is emerging here - saving my frustration, annoyance and anger for the comfort of home. I believe that I'm not the only person in the world who does this, but does that make it OK? Once something is done often enough, do we forget that it's not alright? I remember hearing the word "bitch" on TV for the first time and freaking out; I don't bat an eye at it anymore. I'm sure sure some people consider this the downfall of our culture; I just think it's being human.

 Seeing his face, with it's dimples and silly fang tooth, are a trigger for my anger. It's not because I'm angry at HIM, it's because he's the person who loves me totally and completely and I know it. I know I can be my worst with him and he'll love me anyway, even if he doesn't like me very much while it's happening!

So is that fair? Is the price of love putting up with your loved ones' bad mood? Of all the people in the world, E deserves my bad mood the least, but feels it the most. I suppose it says something about our relationship that I know I can be that honest with him, and that he'll love me anyway. But I'm just not OK with it..

I've been reading all sorts of people making spring goals, so here's mine:

This week I pledge to not save my worst for the best people in my life.

I am

I am a feeler, not a thinker. Owning this has proven to be quite the challenge. My wonderful husband has had his head removed so many times for daring to suggest this very fact, or for implying that I'm reacting with emotion, not thought. It's made me so, so, so angry to hear this, I think mainly for the fact that it implied to me that I didn't ever think, that that was a function I did not have.

In college I prided myself on being part of an intellectual crowd. I wasn't in the heart of it, but I was someone people came to for help with writing a paper, or to discuss a new text we were reading for class. I liked that role, and enjoyed the creative and stimulating people I chose to make my circle of friends. However, after college, when I truly set out to find myself, as all great American youth do, I stopped thinking. Or at least, I stopped believing that thinking was getting me anywhere. Dateless and desperate were two defining characteristics during my thinking phase, and I didn't want to get anywhere near those two in my search. I found that not thinking, going with the flow and heavy drinking were the keys to my success. The wonderful thing is that those three things got me to a bar in Lancaster, PA where I met Ed. The problem is that, because he's my life partner, I ended up sticking with those things for far too long. The drinking was the first to go, not that I don't still enjoy a tipple, just that I'm a mom now and old and hangovers are hard work! My point is that because my non-thinking ways were in place when I met Ed, I carried them with me, assuming that they were part of my new life - a wonderful life that had love all over it. I think that somewhere, on some level, I believed that thinking again would only spell doom and gloom for my happiness.

Irony is grand and Ed turned out to be a man who enjoys a good time, but enjoys a good conversation/debate more. He likes it when I think, and encourages me to do it often. In fact, he gets really mad when I don't. Which is where the feeler in me gets crazy. See, when I hear anything, I react with my heart, not my head. And that's awesome sometimes, but a real bitch other times. When you feel everything you hear, it can lead to a lot of drama - we're talking Bravo levels of the stuff. So I have to remember to use that thinking part of my self when I'm processing information, be it from a book, a colleague or a conversation. But I must always remember that I feel first and think second...and that's ok.

That was a big chunk of text - thanks to those of you who stuck with it!

Grump

So the thing about reading some of my favorite blogs is that I often feel like a failure. 

Something about the need to document and share everything in our lives spreads the expectation that what we have to share is always amazing. Sometimes it’s not; sometimes the thing I have to document, to share, is that I survived the day, that I didn’t yell at my son, that I made dinner on time. The beauty of what people do with their lives, what they choose to emphasize is often inspiring, but not always. Sometimes it just seems vain and full of an implication of how important the visuals are. We’ve become a society that’s incredibly focused on how things LOOK – is it quirky, funky, retro, modern, pretty, pretty ugly, deconstructed, causal? The town that my husband and I have chosen to live in often seems built on this principle – it’s a southern town based on old money with a prestigious university; people are always watching.

And, listen, it’s not that I don’t believe in beauty, ‘cause I really do. I like applying make-up and wearing a pretty dress with heels. I appreciate the aesthetic side of life; I just don’t like feeling ruled by it. Does any of that make sense? It’s like because I don’t care about how every square inch of my home looks, or spend hours online finding just the right shirt I don’t have value. Some people, either because of finances or their state of mind, can’t be bothered. I’m not talking about apathy, or slovenly-ness. I am addressing the state of living which recognizes the need to be visually approachable without taking it to extremes. We are a vain world and that doesn’t seem to be so bad to anyone anymore.

Then again, maybe I’m just jealous.