"At some point, it becomes about the weight. When you can't live the rest of your life with ease, the weight itself needs to be addressed. Not so that you can become super-model thin. Not so that you can look like an image in your mind that has nothing to do with your body, your age, your life. You need to address the weight because without addressing it, you don't actually live. You schlep yourself from place to place, out of breath. Sitting is painful. Flying is torturous. Going to the movies is challenging. You become so burdened with the problems you've created that your life becomes small and your focus becomes narrow. Life becomes about your limitations. How ashamed you are of yourself. You close down your senses, you leave the world of sounds of color, of laughter in favor of a reality you've created yourself. If you keep using food as a drug, if your life becomes about your weight, you miss everything that is not related to your weight problem. You die without ever having lived."
This is the most amazing book I have ever read, with the most incredible insights into what it's really like to be an overeater, and why and how we get there. Thank you, Geneen Roth.
...Bitch.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
That's What You Do
A tough girl in middle school wanted to fight me for the right to accompany my best friend (and wow...both their names escape me, now...) on the Magic Mountain field trip.
I thought Amy (I remembered!) would find this ridiculous and tell me that of course she would go with me. She didn't. Apparently she wanted to be fought over.
My father said to tell the tough girl that "ladies don't settle their arguments rolling around in the dirt." Good one, dad.
We met just inside the school gate, and a crowd gathered. For reasons that don't make sense to me now, we thought we should go outside the fence to fight -- like we'd get in trouble if we fought on school grounds. I just stood there. A crowd gathered. That's all I remember -- the crowd, some of them yelling stuff, and me staring at my shoes and waiting. I waited until the crowd finally left, and then Cindy (I remembered!) finally left, too.
Then I walked home. I thought I'd handled it pretty wisely, but I was devastated. Amy pulled up on her bike, and all she said was, "I thought you were my friend."
Amy and I stayed friends after that. We talked it through and stayed friends, because that's what you do. And that's what I've continued to do. I've only left one relationship and that was my first boyfriend, a really painful situation that I actually left the state to get away from.
The ex and I are Facebook friends, now. Because that's what you do.
I thought Amy (I remembered!) would find this ridiculous and tell me that of course she would go with me. She didn't. Apparently she wanted to be fought over.
My father said to tell the tough girl that "ladies don't settle their arguments rolling around in the dirt." Good one, dad.
We met just inside the school gate, and a crowd gathered. For reasons that don't make sense to me now, we thought we should go outside the fence to fight -- like we'd get in trouble if we fought on school grounds. I just stood there. A crowd gathered. That's all I remember -- the crowd, some of them yelling stuff, and me staring at my shoes and waiting. I waited until the crowd finally left, and then Cindy (I remembered!) finally left, too.
Then I walked home. I thought I'd handled it pretty wisely, but I was devastated. Amy pulled up on her bike, and all she said was, "I thought you were my friend."
Amy and I stayed friends after that. We talked it through and stayed friends, because that's what you do. And that's what I've continued to do. I've only left one relationship and that was my first boyfriend, a really painful situation that I actually left the state to get away from.
The ex and I are Facebook friends, now. Because that's what you do.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Acting, Not Reacting
I just had a "moment" that could have ended very badly.
I'm at the neighborhood coffee shop. Worked late last night, got up late this morning, no time for breakfast. So I grab a coffee just before a stressful meeting with my boss. She leaves, I look around for a place to plug in my laptop and work. Can't find one. I flop into an arm chair and return my mom's call. She does all the mailing for the ministry I work for, and some of letters I sent her last night didn't print correctly. Too many letters to resend them all, and the only way to figure it out is to pay for a car share for a couple of hours, go over there and sort it out. I REALLY can't afford to pay for a car today.
Just as I tell Mom that I'll think about it and call her back, I realize I'm flopped in a very unflattering position, and two girls at the counter (who look like they just came from a yoga class) are giving me the "can-you-believe-how-big-that-woman-is" stank eye.
If you're addicted to anything, you know how I felt at that moment. The swirly, helpless, overwhelmed, grasping, quitting feeling you get just before you reach for whatever's familiar and apparently helped you find your balance at some point in the past, whether it works now or not. Yeah. You know what I'm talking about.
A thought was forming that started with the words, "Oh, I'll just..." I'll just...what? Get the car all day and deal with the cost later? Eat something sugary and get a buzz going? Skip swimming today to deal with the effed up work situation?
Then something different happened. I realized that this was the worst possible time to make a decision. Any decision. I didn't need to do *anything*, at this moment, but deal with this feeling. Then I could make decisions for the rest of the day, or even for the next five minutes.
So I sat up in the arm chair, closed my eyes, said a quick prayer and breathed. I realized that I was hungry and thirsty and needed to take care of myself before I took care of anything else. I pushed the table on which I had put my computer over to another chair (closer to the yoga girls, which took a little courage), and plugged in (using a bit *more* courage to ask the cooler-than-cool guy on the couch to thread the cord behind his legs. I walked to the counter and bought a tofu-scramble whole-wheat breakfast burrito and a banana. Then I went back to my little table and let the yoga girls watch me eat. That's right, yoga girls -- fat chicks eat.
Within ten minutes, I was able to think clearly. Checked email, texted my boss with a great idea I'd forgotten during our meeting, checked into the car share, called Mom back. It will only cost five dollars to extend my car share an hour and go over to her place after my workout this afternoon.
Writing this blog was the next priority -- sharing epiphanies is important, too. Done and done. Time to go swimming, and tonight I'll be at my desk working -- but maybe not so late.
I'm at the neighborhood coffee shop. Worked late last night, got up late this morning, no time for breakfast. So I grab a coffee just before a stressful meeting with my boss. She leaves, I look around for a place to plug in my laptop and work. Can't find one. I flop into an arm chair and return my mom's call. She does all the mailing for the ministry I work for, and some of letters I sent her last night didn't print correctly. Too many letters to resend them all, and the only way to figure it out is to pay for a car share for a couple of hours, go over there and sort it out. I REALLY can't afford to pay for a car today.
Just as I tell Mom that I'll think about it and call her back, I realize I'm flopped in a very unflattering position, and two girls at the counter (who look like they just came from a yoga class) are giving me the "can-you-believe-how-big-that-woman-is" stank eye.
If you're addicted to anything, you know how I felt at that moment. The swirly, helpless, overwhelmed, grasping, quitting feeling you get just before you reach for whatever's familiar and apparently helped you find your balance at some point in the past, whether it works now or not. Yeah. You know what I'm talking about.
A thought was forming that started with the words, "Oh, I'll just..." I'll just...what? Get the car all day and deal with the cost later? Eat something sugary and get a buzz going? Skip swimming today to deal with the effed up work situation?
Then something different happened. I realized that this was the worst possible time to make a decision. Any decision. I didn't need to do *anything*, at this moment, but deal with this feeling. Then I could make decisions for the rest of the day, or even for the next five minutes.
So I sat up in the arm chair, closed my eyes, said a quick prayer and breathed. I realized that I was hungry and thirsty and needed to take care of myself before I took care of anything else. I pushed the table on which I had put my computer over to another chair (closer to the yoga girls, which took a little courage), and plugged in (using a bit *more* courage to ask the cooler-than-cool guy on the couch to thread the cord behind his legs. I walked to the counter and bought a tofu-scramble whole-wheat breakfast burrito and a banana. Then I went back to my little table and let the yoga girls watch me eat. That's right, yoga girls -- fat chicks eat.
Within ten minutes, I was able to think clearly. Checked email, texted my boss with a great idea I'd forgotten during our meeting, checked into the car share, called Mom back. It will only cost five dollars to extend my car share an hour and go over to her place after my workout this afternoon.
Writing this blog was the next priority -- sharing epiphanies is important, too. Done and done. Time to go swimming, and tonight I'll be at my desk working -- but maybe not so late.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Hello, Future Me!
An open email to myself,
five years in the future.
To make sure I get it, I'm also
sending it out at FutureMe.org.
______________________________
Dear Future Me:
I can see you today, when I close my eyes. You're driving a blue pickup truck on an open highway. All I can see is the part that shows through the window, but you have that long braid down your back -- the one I've been trying FOREVER to grow -- your shoulders are narrower, your face more defined and prettier, and there's a lot more room between you and the steering wheel than I have now.
You're on your way to the next city, to set up another After School Club, or maybe a Cottage School, for homeless kids. The first fledgling program, at Joshua Station, starts in a couple of weeks (my time) -- but by the time you read this there may be a dozen or more. When you get to the city, you'll make connections; you'll speak and write and meet and do whatever it takes to gather a community around the cause of education for homeless children. You'll work with those new friends to create something beautiful. Again. And again at the next place. And again and again.
Behind the truck you're towing a tiny house, with a bicycle on the porch. God only knows (and I look forward to finding out) what's inside the house: a guitar, a djembe, a spinning wheel? A telescope, maybe some canvases and paint? It's going to be fun to see what stays, what goes and what is added as I pursue and define the lovely, simple, mobile life I long for.
There will always be resistance, and it may never get easy, but from here your life looks so sweet. Here at the beginning of the story, there's mostly paralyzing fear. Fear of failure, fear of hard work, fear of being alone in the hard work and also failing alone. Fear of the thing I've never been, however beautiful it might claim to be. What if I heard God wrong? Fear that when I get to heaven he'll shake his head and say something like "What were you thinking?"
The smile on your face today says you fought through it. You're doing what you were born to do, and you know it. If it's possible that it works this way (and some of my friends who are WAY into physics think it might be), please pray for me. No one but you and God knows what it's going to take to get from here to there, but it's do-able, and it's worth it. This much even *I* know.
Some "inciting incidents" were put into motion recently, before I even knew what an "inciting incident" was. The Shrink-A-Thon is probably the most obvious, public one -- 400 of my family and friends are watching via Facebook as I lose this weight, and a bunch of them are actually pledging money per pound to benefit the After School Club at Joshua Station. Yikes. At the very least, it's keeping me from quitting on the good food and exercise. And having other people's money flowing toward the education program means that quitting on that isn't an option, either.
Future Lori, if you're still struggling, please don't give up. You do *not* want to end up back where I am now. If you're ever tempted to turn around, think about Griselda's face when she read her first whole sentence, or Marco's laughter when he realized he could actually *do* addition. Or you can think about any of the (hundreds?) of kids you've worked with in the time since I wrote this.
And, dear one, remember Dad's story. There were some great scenes...the children's home, the tutoring, the way he encouraged us to see our lives as blank slates on which anything could be written...but his last chapter was long and boring and all about sickness and death. And his death was long and boring and stupid and tragic. I can say that because I know he's okay now, and if he can see what I'm writing he agrees.
I'm standing at a crossroads, with a choice between your story and Dad's. I choose your story, Future Lori -- I choose Beautiful You.
The doctors all say that my diabetes is reversible, so you probably don't even have it. You're healthy and active and you get down on the floor with the kids. You say "yes" when friends invite you for hikes and on trips, you can go on the rides at amusement parks, and you explore the cities you visit on foot and on your bike. You have time and energy to sew the clothes you've always wanted to wear. You have space on your lap for the children you love.
And there's so much more to come -- eye has not seen.
I'm going to go and copy this off to you at FutureMe, but before I do I want to tell you two more things:
1) I'm sorry it's taken me so long to make the choices that will bring you into being.
2) You're welcome.
-- Lori, 2010
P.S. When we meet, let's write an email to Old Lady Us. You can probably see her a little more clearly than I can. All I can make out is a long, gray braid down her back, her bicycle, and her smile.
_____________________________
Last year Don Miller came through Denver, talking about his book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. He pretty much gave away the store in his talk, inspiring us all to "live a better story," and it hit me hard. I really got it. I thought I probably wouldn't need to read the book.
Since then I've stayed stuck in the same depressing story, so last week I bought the book anyway, and I read it in one sitting. I haven't done that since I was nine years old and the book was Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Here's a hint: if the table of contents makes you cry, you need to read the book. A Million Miles in A Thousand Years provides language to talk about what we all really want to do -- live a GREAT story -- and courage to get up and do it.
In September Don is hosting a conference called "Live A Better Story," and I'm not making the same mistake again -- if there's more to soak up, call me Spongebob. I'm especially interested in taking some focused time to come up with specific action steps.
This post is my entry in a contest to win a trip to Portland for the conference!
Here's a link to information on the conference: Living a Better Story Conference
And here's Don himself to tell you all about it:
five years in the future.
To make sure I get it, I'm also
sending it out at FutureMe.org.
______________________________
Dear Future Me:
I can see you today, when I close my eyes. You're driving a blue pickup truck on an open highway. All I can see is the part that shows through the window, but you have that long braid down your back -- the one I've been trying FOREVER to grow -- your shoulders are narrower, your face more defined and prettier, and there's a lot more room between you and the steering wheel than I have now.
You're on your way to the next city, to set up another After School Club, or maybe a Cottage School, for homeless kids. The first fledgling program, at Joshua Station, starts in a couple of weeks (my time) -- but by the time you read this there may be a dozen or more. When you get to the city, you'll make connections; you'll speak and write and meet and do whatever it takes to gather a community around the cause of education for homeless children. You'll work with those new friends to create something beautiful. Again. And again at the next place. And again and again.
Behind the truck you're towing a tiny house, with a bicycle on the porch. God only knows (and I look forward to finding out) what's inside the house: a guitar, a djembe, a spinning wheel? A telescope, maybe some canvases and paint? It's going to be fun to see what stays, what goes and what is added as I pursue and define the lovely, simple, mobile life I long for.There will always be resistance, and it may never get easy, but from here your life looks so sweet. Here at the beginning of the story, there's mostly paralyzing fear. Fear of failure, fear of hard work, fear of being alone in the hard work and also failing alone. Fear of the thing I've never been, however beautiful it might claim to be. What if I heard God wrong? Fear that when I get to heaven he'll shake his head and say something like "What were you thinking?"
The smile on your face today says you fought through it. You're doing what you were born to do, and you know it. If it's possible that it works this way (and some of my friends who are WAY into physics think it might be), please pray for me. No one but you and God knows what it's going to take to get from here to there, but it's do-able, and it's worth it. This much even *I* know.
Some "inciting incidents" were put into motion recently, before I even knew what an "inciting incident" was. The Shrink-A-Thon is probably the most obvious, public one -- 400 of my family and friends are watching via Facebook as I lose this weight, and a bunch of them are actually pledging money per pound to benefit the After School Club at Joshua Station. Yikes. At the very least, it's keeping me from quitting on the good food and exercise. And having other people's money flowing toward the education program means that quitting on that isn't an option, either.
Future Lori, if you're still struggling, please don't give up. You do *not* want to end up back where I am now. If you're ever tempted to turn around, think about Griselda's face when she read her first whole sentence, or Marco's laughter when he realized he could actually *do* addition. Or you can think about any of the (hundreds?) of kids you've worked with in the time since I wrote this.And, dear one, remember Dad's story. There were some great scenes...the children's home, the tutoring, the way he encouraged us to see our lives as blank slates on which anything could be written...but his last chapter was long and boring and all about sickness and death. And his death was long and boring and stupid and tragic. I can say that because I know he's okay now, and if he can see what I'm writing he agrees.
I'm standing at a crossroads, with a choice between your story and Dad's. I choose your story, Future Lori -- I choose Beautiful You.
The doctors all say that my diabetes is reversible, so you probably don't even have it. You're healthy and active and you get down on the floor with the kids. You say "yes" when friends invite you for hikes and on trips, you can go on the rides at amusement parks, and you explore the cities you visit on foot and on your bike. You have time and energy to sew the clothes you've always wanted to wear. You have space on your lap for the children you love.
And there's so much more to come -- eye has not seen.
I'm going to go and copy this off to you at FutureMe, but before I do I want to tell you two more things:
1) I'm sorry it's taken me so long to make the choices that will bring you into being.
2) You're welcome.
-- Lori, 2010
P.S. When we meet, let's write an email to Old Lady Us. You can probably see her a little more clearly than I can. All I can make out is a long, gray braid down her back, her bicycle, and her smile.
_____________________________
Last year Don Miller came through Denver, talking about his book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. He pretty much gave away the store in his talk, inspiring us all to "live a better story," and it hit me hard. I really got it. I thought I probably wouldn't need to read the book.
Since then I've stayed stuck in the same depressing story, so last week I bought the book anyway, and I read it in one sitting. I haven't done that since I was nine years old and the book was Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Here's a hint: if the table of contents makes you cry, you need to read the book. A Million Miles in A Thousand Years provides language to talk about what we all really want to do -- live a GREAT story -- and courage to get up and do it.
In September Don is hosting a conference called "Live A Better Story," and I'm not making the same mistake again -- if there's more to soak up, call me Spongebob. I'm especially interested in taking some focused time to come up with specific action steps.
This post is my entry in a contest to win a trip to Portland for the conference!
Here's a link to information on the conference: Living a Better Story Conference
And here's Don himself to tell you all about it:
Living a Better Story Seminar from All Things Converge Podcast on Vimeo.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Giving myself the life I dream of
Okay, so I've been writing a little about how it's nice allow myself to withhold myself from others...but now I'm faced with the weird syndrome where, if I'm not required to do anything else, I seem to just disappear. I can spend a whole day, or even a week or more, watching television I don't really enjoy, occasionally eating something, maybe dreaming a little about how I want my life to be -- and doing absolutely nothing else.
Today is one of those days. Yesterday I took a legitimate rest-up day. Slept late, watched a movie or two, called up a friend and went to a movie, came home and napped, and then watched some more TV. I had worked hard all week, and this is what I really needed.
Today is different, though. It's nearly 5:00 pm, and I've been in that "invisible" place. I guess on some level I believe there will be a sudden breakthrough -- an "ahah!" moment when I suddenly "get it" and jump up, full of vision and energy. Not gonna happen.
The only way out this is NOT to think about it. I have to act. Why does that make fear rise up? I don't know -- might be afraid that I'll o the wrong direction, or I'll get tired or halfway through something and unable to finish. I know there are some things from my past that I can trace the fear back to...but none of it matters.
Thinking is not the way out. There is never going to be a breakthrough from thinking. And I don't want to be alive only when other people need me to be. I want to act, to build something beautiful. I want my home and my appearance and my activities (not just my work) to be a beautiful expression of the person God created when he created me.
No more thinking. I know what to do. I've already had all the "ahah!" moments I need to have.
The rest of the day/evening, I'll be creating beauty in my home. It's pretty ugly right now, but definitely not the worst it's ever been. This will be fun.
Ready, get set...go.
Today is one of those days. Yesterday I took a legitimate rest-up day. Slept late, watched a movie or two, called up a friend and went to a movie, came home and napped, and then watched some more TV. I had worked hard all week, and this is what I really needed.
Today is different, though. It's nearly 5:00 pm, and I've been in that "invisible" place. I guess on some level I believe there will be a sudden breakthrough -- an "ahah!" moment when I suddenly "get it" and jump up, full of vision and energy. Not gonna happen.
The only way out this is NOT to think about it. I have to act. Why does that make fear rise up? I don't know -- might be afraid that I'll o the wrong direction, or I'll get tired or halfway through something and unable to finish. I know there are some things from my past that I can trace the fear back to...but none of it matters.
Thinking is not the way out. There is never going to be a breakthrough from thinking. And I don't want to be alive only when other people need me to be. I want to act, to build something beautiful. I want my home and my appearance and my activities (not just my work) to be a beautiful expression of the person God created when he created me.
No more thinking. I know what to do. I've already had all the "ahah!" moments I need to have.
The rest of the day/evening, I'll be creating beauty in my home. It's pretty ugly right now, but definitely not the worst it's ever been. This will be fun.
Ready, get set...go.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Another piece?
Maybe it's not about withholding myself (or not ONLY about that)...because I'm also finding it a relief not to expect anything of others, either.
Maybe it's about finding my center within myself instead of in someone else (or lots of people, or people in general), or even somewhere in between.
I'm looking forward to giving myself away because I *choose* to...
Maybe it's about finding my center within myself instead of in someone else (or lots of people, or people in general), or even somewhere in between.
I'm looking forward to giving myself away because I *choose* to...
Freedom to withhold
Something to think/write about at more length after I've thought about it a little more. As I'm spending time alone lately, and I've told everyone I'm going to be "in my cocoon" for awhile -- I wonder why it feels so right.
Part of it is the ability to focus on what I really want to do. But there's another piece -- the freedom to withhold myself. I need to learn how to say, "You can't have me, on any level, right now. I belong to me, and I'm just not available." I don't know why that feels so important, so central to getting healed up -- but it really does.
Hm.
Part of it is the ability to focus on what I really want to do. But there's another piece -- the freedom to withhold myself. I need to learn how to say, "You can't have me, on any level, right now. I belong to me, and I'm just not available." I don't know why that feels so important, so central to getting healed up -- but it really does.
Hm.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Two lessons
1) Some foods, for me, are drugs -- not food at all. These things include Kentucky Fried Chicken, macaroni and cheese, and a lot of other "comfort" foods, especially those involving white sugar, white flour, dairy (cheese!) and greasy texture.. When I eat these foods, my body does not expect to be energized and satisfied with nutrition. My body expects, when I eat these foods, to be sedated, to be soothed into a "food coma." If I eat just a *little* of these foods, a strong craving kicks in until I *get* to the "food coma" stage. In other words, these foods do not feed and satisfy me -- they cause me to crave and feel DISsatisfied.
2) There has been some kind of payoff to keeping myself fat, and it's pretty complex. Today it seems to be trying to come into focus, so I've been thinking about it. My thoughts:
I have often felt that I could not put in the time and effort to take care of myself, that everyone and everything else comes first, and I put myself last. But -- why would I do that? There's certainly some kind of martyr thinking going on, here -- the very idea makes me sick, but I think it's true.
There's also some definite laziness going on. Often the "other stuff" that I do at the expense of taking care of myself is cerebral, computerized, something I can do from a seated position -- and taking care of myself involves getting up and moving around. It's not clear to me whether I became lazy before or after I got fat. Moving really is hard and painful now, but I'm sure it hasn't always been. It almost doesn't matter -- I'm lazy now, and the only way for things to get easier is to get up and do something.
Here's what's forcing me to make a change (and scaring the crap out of me): all the people who I've thought I had to "do for" are now really invested in me losing weight. Ask any of them, and they would say, "Go and get your exercise! Make good food for yourself! This stuff can wait!" This includes my bosses, my friends, the people I'm in ministry with, everyone at my church, my family...everyone! So -- NOW what's my excuse?
There isn't one. I have two choices: a) get my act together, or b) face the fact that the choice *not* to get it together is entirely *mine*. No more martyrdom. Just the lazyness and the fear. I own it -- I cannot put it off on anyone else.
On the other hand, this represents tremendous freedom! Hallelujah, no more martyrdom! I put it out there to everyone I know, and they not only made it clear that they want me to succeed -- they actually put money on the line!
No more confusion -- the path ahead is clear, and if I don't take that path, I own the fact that I chose to sit here on my ass.
2) There has been some kind of payoff to keeping myself fat, and it's pretty complex. Today it seems to be trying to come into focus, so I've been thinking about it. My thoughts:
I have often felt that I could not put in the time and effort to take care of myself, that everyone and everything else comes first, and I put myself last. But -- why would I do that? There's certainly some kind of martyr thinking going on, here -- the very idea makes me sick, but I think it's true.
There's also some definite laziness going on. Often the "other stuff" that I do at the expense of taking care of myself is cerebral, computerized, something I can do from a seated position -- and taking care of myself involves getting up and moving around. It's not clear to me whether I became lazy before or after I got fat. Moving really is hard and painful now, but I'm sure it hasn't always been. It almost doesn't matter -- I'm lazy now, and the only way for things to get easier is to get up and do something.
Here's what's forcing me to make a change (and scaring the crap out of me): all the people who I've thought I had to "do for" are now really invested in me losing weight. Ask any of them, and they would say, "Go and get your exercise! Make good food for yourself! This stuff can wait!" This includes my bosses, my friends, the people I'm in ministry with, everyone at my church, my family...everyone! So -- NOW what's my excuse?
There isn't one. I have two choices: a) get my act together, or b) face the fact that the choice *not* to get it together is entirely *mine*. No more martyrdom. Just the lazyness and the fear. I own it -- I cannot put it off on anyone else.
On the other hand, this represents tremendous freedom! Hallelujah, no more martyrdom! I put it out there to everyone I know, and they not only made it clear that they want me to succeed -- they actually put money on the line!
No more confusion -- the path ahead is clear, and if I don't take that path, I own the fact that I chose to sit here on my ass.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Learning new tricks
Fell off the wagon today. Big ol' Domino's sandwich and wings for dinner. I was SO hungry -- and that seemed to help it digest quickly, which is good, but it made me realize that these things don't "just happen." I have a lot of new habits to build.
For one thing, evenings need to be relaxed and easy -- not work time, just take-care-of-me time. And the other thing -- I MUST be prepared. I cannot yet "wing" this stuff.
So -- after resting and digesting for an hour or so -- I pulled out the sewing machine and did some mending...on the desk I stayed up late to clean, last night, yeay! Put away the sewing machine as soon as I was done, pulled out the computer and planned my food, starting with lunch out with my friend Suman, tomorrow.
I could already feel the doubt and tension around breakfast and dinner -- would I *really* take time to chop up the apples for the oatmeal at breakfast and cut up the fruit for the smoothie at dinner? I could feel the failure around the edges of the day, trying to get in. I have to get breakfast and dinner right tomorrow, because even the salad I have planned for lunch is 853 calories!
New trick: cut up the apples, put them in the oatmeal pan and added water. Tomorrow morning I'll just have to take the pan out of the fridge, put it on the stove and add oatmeal. Got out the pear, mango and orange for the smoothie, cut them up and put them in a container in the fridge. Whirrr those babies with some water, snag the pecans out of the cupboard, and I'll have a good working dinner tomorrow night.
Tomorrow's new trick? Getting in the exercise! After lunch, Suman's going to drop me at the pool.
And I do have to get in a full six hours of work tomorrow, so I'll have to come home after swimming. I have plans to walk over to Taize worship at St. Paul's tomorrow -- we'll see if that's possible.
For one thing, evenings need to be relaxed and easy -- not work time, just take-care-of-me time. And the other thing -- I MUST be prepared. I cannot yet "wing" this stuff.
So -- after resting and digesting for an hour or so -- I pulled out the sewing machine and did some mending...on the desk I stayed up late to clean, last night, yeay! Put away the sewing machine as soon as I was done, pulled out the computer and planned my food, starting with lunch out with my friend Suman, tomorrow.
I could already feel the doubt and tension around breakfast and dinner -- would I *really* take time to chop up the apples for the oatmeal at breakfast and cut up the fruit for the smoothie at dinner? I could feel the failure around the edges of the day, trying to get in. I have to get breakfast and dinner right tomorrow, because even the salad I have planned for lunch is 853 calories!
New trick: cut up the apples, put them in the oatmeal pan and added water. Tomorrow morning I'll just have to take the pan out of the fridge, put it on the stove and add oatmeal. Got out the pear, mango and orange for the smoothie, cut them up and put them in a container in the fridge. Whirrr those babies with some water, snag the pecans out of the cupboard, and I'll have a good working dinner tomorrow night.
Tomorrow's new trick? Getting in the exercise! After lunch, Suman's going to drop me at the pool.
And I do have to get in a full six hours of work tomorrow, so I'll have to come home after swimming. I have plans to walk over to Taize worship at St. Paul's tomorrow -- we'll see if that's possible.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Making it easy for myself
Another thought -- a little brighter and easier:
The highest priority in my life, right now, is to lose this weight. And the thing that most deters me is when things start to feel hard. And it seems to be a defect of my character that things really easily begin to feel hard. It's the fear -- that's the ultimate enemy, and I've known it for years, really.
For the last few days, I've essentially told myself that I didn't have to do anything but stay under 2000 calories. Nothing else had to happen -- just that. Of course, I can't live that way forever, and that's why I'm feeling paralyzed tonight.
So -- the next priority is this: make things easy on myself. This is my fifth day of "sobriety" (defined as 2000 calories or less). If I want to have a sixth day, and I'm going to get anything else done, I have to fight off the fear. And until I can conquer the fear, I have to make it easy for myself -- so there's nothing to fear.
At this point I'm certain that no one is still reading, so this is just for me: what will it take to make tomorrow easy for myself?
1) Clean clothes.
2) Food planned and prepped.
3) Work week planned, and if I can get the work space organized that would be a bonus.
That means that cleaning the kitchen drops off the priority list, which takes some pressure off.
Also -- this week I need to add exercise. Making that easy tomorrow just means carrying my swim bag with me, and going to Washington Park because I'm used to going there, instead of going to Glenarm, even though it's closer.
Otay. I feel a little better. It will be interesting to read these blog posts later, when I'm a little less psycho.
The highest priority in my life, right now, is to lose this weight. And the thing that most deters me is when things start to feel hard. And it seems to be a defect of my character that things really easily begin to feel hard. It's the fear -- that's the ultimate enemy, and I've known it for years, really.
For the last few days, I've essentially told myself that I didn't have to do anything but stay under 2000 calories. Nothing else had to happen -- just that. Of course, I can't live that way forever, and that's why I'm feeling paralyzed tonight.
So -- the next priority is this: make things easy on myself. This is my fifth day of "sobriety" (defined as 2000 calories or less). If I want to have a sixth day, and I'm going to get anything else done, I have to fight off the fear. And until I can conquer the fear, I have to make it easy for myself -- so there's nothing to fear.
At this point I'm certain that no one is still reading, so this is just for me: what will it take to make tomorrow easy for myself?
1) Clean clothes.
2) Food planned and prepped.
3) Work week planned, and if I can get the work space organized that would be a bonus.
That means that cleaning the kitchen drops off the priority list, which takes some pressure off.
Also -- this week I need to add exercise. Making that easy tomorrow just means carrying my swim bag with me, and going to Washington Park because I'm used to going there, instead of going to Glenarm, even though it's closer.
Otay. I feel a little better. It will be interesting to read these blog posts later, when I'm a little less psycho.
Finding a new way through
I get paralyzed. Not physically...but almost. My brain locks up and moving in any direction becomes absolutely terrifying. I'm there right now, though it's not the worst case I've ever had.
It's all about fear. Fear that I'll fail. Fear that it will hurt. Fear that I won't get everything done that needs to be done, and tomorrow will find things more messed up than ever.
It results in a mess. My home is a mess -- too messy to fix good things for me to eat, and I don't know what I'll wear tomorrow because I have no clean clothes. My work space is a mess -- too messy to get work done as effectively as I'd like, and there's no way I can do the sewing and other crafty stuff I'd like to do. My time is a mess -- I would love to be at church right now, but instead I'm sitting where I've been sitting for the past four hours, still thinking about what the first move should be, when I could have had a bunch of stuff done by now. Someday it would be nice to spend Sunday NOT trying to make myself do essential stuff...maybe doing some of that fun, creative, crafty stuff and then going to church!
I know the answer. Do something. Anything. It *will* hurt. Everything hurts, at this weight. I *will* fail. I will drop things and find it difficult to pick them up . Some of those things might break, and I'll have to sweep them up. I will have to stop frequently because my back hurts. I will even get paralyzed again and have to fight through it again.
BUT -- tomorrow things will NOT be more messed up than ever. They will be better. At least a little better, *if* I do something.
Also: eating does not help. How have I continued to believe that lie for all these years? Every stinkin' time, I really think that it will be better if I eat a big, greasy bowl of popcorn (or a pint of ice cream, or whatever) -- because THAT will make me feel like rolling up my sleeves and getting to work.
IT DOESN'T WORK THAT WAY. SOMETIMES HAS, BUT ALMOST NEVER. All it does is buys me a little time not to think about it.
IT'S NOT THAT BAD. It's some dishes in the sink and a load of laundry. And a messy desk and some shelves that need cleaning up.
SOME OF IT WILL ACTUALLY BE FUN. I've been collecting boxes to organize these shelves. It will be fun to use them!
IT WILL OPEN THE DOOR TO MORE FUN AND ENJOYMENT OF LIFE, when it's done.
Whatever. Just do something. Okay, bye.
It's all about fear. Fear that I'll fail. Fear that it will hurt. Fear that I won't get everything done that needs to be done, and tomorrow will find things more messed up than ever.
It results in a mess. My home is a mess -- too messy to fix good things for me to eat, and I don't know what I'll wear tomorrow because I have no clean clothes. My work space is a mess -- too messy to get work done as effectively as I'd like, and there's no way I can do the sewing and other crafty stuff I'd like to do. My time is a mess -- I would love to be at church right now, but instead I'm sitting where I've been sitting for the past four hours, still thinking about what the first move should be, when I could have had a bunch of stuff done by now. Someday it would be nice to spend Sunday NOT trying to make myself do essential stuff...maybe doing some of that fun, creative, crafty stuff and then going to church!
I know the answer. Do something. Anything. It *will* hurt. Everything hurts, at this weight. I *will* fail. I will drop things and find it difficult to pick them up . Some of those things might break, and I'll have to sweep them up. I will have to stop frequently because my back hurts. I will even get paralyzed again and have to fight through it again.
BUT -- tomorrow things will NOT be more messed up than ever. They will be better. At least a little better, *if* I do something.
Also: eating does not help. How have I continued to believe that lie for all these years? Every stinkin' time, I really think that it will be better if I eat a big, greasy bowl of popcorn (or a pint of ice cream, or whatever) -- because THAT will make me feel like rolling up my sleeves and getting to work.
IT DOESN'T WORK THAT WAY. SOMETIMES HAS, BUT ALMOST NEVER. All it does is buys me a little time not to think about it.
IT'S NOT THAT BAD. It's some dishes in the sink and a load of laundry. And a messy desk and some shelves that need cleaning up.
SOME OF IT WILL ACTUALLY BE FUN. I've been collecting boxes to organize these shelves. It will be fun to use them!
IT WILL OPEN THE DOOR TO MORE FUN AND ENJOYMENT OF LIFE, when it's done.
Whatever. Just do something. Okay, bye.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Last Sabbath in Lent
Look at me, getting all liturgalistic and church-calendary...who knew I had it in me?
I wrote a few weeks ago that I had realized that the season of Lent is roughly one-seventh of the calendar year, so it could be seen as a sort of extended Sabbath season, and that's exactly what it has been for me. Like many of my Sabbath days, it has been "U" shaped, or maybe "J" shaped would be a better way to say it, since it has been more down than up.
I haven't lost any weight, and my apartment isn't very much cleaner. My work life is in better shape, including my volunteer work life (education at Joshua Station). Nothing got all twinkly and sparkly, and I can't find much to brag about, but it all improved.
I have changed some relationships, let go of others, let go of control, let myself dream, and begun to believe that the life I envision is worth working toward, and also worth changing some relationships, letting go of others, letting go of control, and letting myself dream. Maybe an "O" would be a better alphabet analogy?
My test of a "good Sabbath" is whether I have remembered who I am...and that I *can* say about this Lenten season. It has been painful, but I have allowed others' expectations to peel away and I have gotten closer to my core.
I can't say I've liked all of it -- for example, the days when I was completely out of touch with everyone and found that when no one else's voice is in my head...I eat and watch mindless TV. That was a dark time. Then I began to understand that I only do that because I don't know what else to do; when no one is asking anything of me, it's like I switch "off" completely, and that doesn't have to continue.
The past couple of weeks have been times of contemplating what I would do if my voice and the voice of my Creator were louder in my head -- and it has been a time of somewhat cautious dreaming.
I would like, by Easter, to be ready to stop being so cautious.
I wrote a few weeks ago that I had realized that the season of Lent is roughly one-seventh of the calendar year, so it could be seen as a sort of extended Sabbath season, and that's exactly what it has been for me. Like many of my Sabbath days, it has been "U" shaped, or maybe "J" shaped would be a better way to say it, since it has been more down than up.
I haven't lost any weight, and my apartment isn't very much cleaner. My work life is in better shape, including my volunteer work life (education at Joshua Station). Nothing got all twinkly and sparkly, and I can't find much to brag about, but it all improved.
I have changed some relationships, let go of others, let go of control, let myself dream, and begun to believe that the life I envision is worth working toward, and also worth changing some relationships, letting go of others, letting go of control, and letting myself dream. Maybe an "O" would be a better alphabet analogy?
My test of a "good Sabbath" is whether I have remembered who I am...and that I *can* say about this Lenten season. It has been painful, but I have allowed others' expectations to peel away and I have gotten closer to my core.
I can't say I've liked all of it -- for example, the days when I was completely out of touch with everyone and found that when no one else's voice is in my head...I eat and watch mindless TV. That was a dark time. Then I began to understand that I only do that because I don't know what else to do; when no one is asking anything of me, it's like I switch "off" completely, and that doesn't have to continue.
The past couple of weeks have been times of contemplating what I would do if my voice and the voice of my Creator were louder in my head -- and it has been a time of somewhat cautious dreaming.
I would like, by Easter, to be ready to stop being so cautious.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
From my morning reading
"Being part of an order means taking an enhanced view of personal formation. We must not allow ourselves to slide into a daily frenzy of activity that crowds out any thought of future development, or we deny not only ourselves but also our communities. Unless a person keeps an eye to the future, it's easy to stray from the path. Only when we watch the road far ahead can we steer a straight course...maintaining a lifetime perspective and being a lifelong learner arre essential to finishing well." -- John Hayes, sub-merge.
This really confirms the path I've been on during Lent. It has been a little awkward, setting aside seven weeks (roughly a sabbath of a 52-week year, by the way) to go so deeply inward. I have felt a little guilty...but also believed that this could possibly be a "last chance" (? does such a thing exist with God?) to adjust my course before descending quickly into poor health on every level -- physical, mental, emotional and spiritual.
I think I need to read sub-merge a few times through, maybe once a year. And another thought this morning: it's probably time to stop regretting that I didn't learn this stuff in my 20s, and enjoy the view more -- both forward and backward.
This really confirms the path I've been on during Lent. It has been a little awkward, setting aside seven weeks (roughly a sabbath of a 52-week year, by the way) to go so deeply inward. I have felt a little guilty...but also believed that this could possibly be a "last chance" (? does such a thing exist with God?) to adjust my course before descending quickly into poor health on every level -- physical, mental, emotional and spiritual.
I think I need to read sub-merge a few times through, maybe once a year. And another thought this morning: it's probably time to stop regretting that I didn't learn this stuff in my 20s, and enjoy the view more -- both forward and backward.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Fears that sound ridiculous...out loud...
1) There won't be anyone waiting for me at the other end of this journey. The people who know me now won't like the new me, and the reason I got this way in the first place is no one liked me before...how can I know anyone will like me then?
How it feels to start
I want to acknowledge it. As I'm running the hot soapy water in the sink for the dishes, I can actually feel the depression: in my forehead, in my shoulders, in my arms. I believe that if I keep going, it will fall off. I do wonder if there's a spiritual warfare component -- ready for that if there is.
Joy. That's the answer. "Rejoice in the Lord always...again, I say, rejoice." That's a command, if ever I heard one. The chick on The Ellen Show today who got a new car -- she didn't have to be told to rejoice. Apparently, however, we are to rejoice even when it's not automatic.
It makes sense to me, given what I'm struggling through right now. I have a really good life. If I were asked to write out my ideal life I would write out exactly what I have (minus the health problems, the messy apartment, the disorganization). What I don't have is joy.
I can visualize it, I can imagine it, I can dream it, I can plan for it...and when I finally get ready to go, ready to get off the couch and go for it...I meet my first challenge. Getting off the couch. It hurts.
Everything hurts. Everything is uncomfortable. When I start to try to live the life I imagine, it doesn't feel like I'd imagined. It feels like trying to live the life I imagine with 200 pounds packed inside and outside of me.
So I have a choice, here -- I can try anyway, fail some and hurt a lot...or I can quit. Quitting is a real option -- I might even get famous for living naked in my bed for a few years before I die. Even if I don't go out that spectacularly (?) I could probably get by, maybe have some happiness. I think that's what a lot of people in my position end up doing. So it really is an option.
I don't want that option, of course. So I'm going to have to do something else. It is *not* an option to begin right now feeling light and happy and energetic. I'm going to have to find joy *before* I get there.
I'm going to have to find paths to joy that can coexist with the pain and the discomfort. I'm going to have to find joy in small successes, and get my eyes off of all the work that is yet to be done. I think for me that's going to mean doing "small things with great love," which may mean that I look a little silly.
Yesterday I did something that fits this idea -- I opened up a box of decorated mason jars and put away the stuff on my counter, enjoying the feeling of doing it in a beautiful way. It's not the fastest way to get my kitchen counter clean (I could have put the plastic bags into the cabinet), but it made me feel good. It made me feel like I was creating beauty, not just meeting obligation.
So...it's 5:00 pm. I'd like to spend the evening cleaning up my apartment. More specifically, I'd like to have some joy when I wake up in the morning. Yes, that's a better way to say it. The joy of the Lord is my strength.
I'm going to go back to the kitchen, and see if I can find joy in every little patch of counter or floor that's cleared and cleaned. See if I can be doing it because I really want to, because it fits with who I am...not because I'm so full of shame about letting it get dirty.
It makes sense to me, given what I'm struggling through right now. I have a really good life. If I were asked to write out my ideal life I would write out exactly what I have (minus the health problems, the messy apartment, the disorganization). What I don't have is joy.
I can visualize it, I can imagine it, I can dream it, I can plan for it...and when I finally get ready to go, ready to get off the couch and go for it...I meet my first challenge. Getting off the couch. It hurts.
Everything hurts. Everything is uncomfortable. When I start to try to live the life I imagine, it doesn't feel like I'd imagined. It feels like trying to live the life I imagine with 200 pounds packed inside and outside of me.
So I have a choice, here -- I can try anyway, fail some and hurt a lot...or I can quit. Quitting is a real option -- I might even get famous for living naked in my bed for a few years before I die. Even if I don't go out that spectacularly (?) I could probably get by, maybe have some happiness. I think that's what a lot of people in my position end up doing. So it really is an option.
I don't want that option, of course. So I'm going to have to do something else. It is *not* an option to begin right now feeling light and happy and energetic. I'm going to have to find joy *before* I get there.
I'm going to have to find paths to joy that can coexist with the pain and the discomfort. I'm going to have to find joy in small successes, and get my eyes off of all the work that is yet to be done. I think for me that's going to mean doing "small things with great love," which may mean that I look a little silly.
Yesterday I did something that fits this idea -- I opened up a box of decorated mason jars and put away the stuff on my counter, enjoying the feeling of doing it in a beautiful way. It's not the fastest way to get my kitchen counter clean (I could have put the plastic bags into the cabinet), but it made me feel good. It made me feel like I was creating beauty, not just meeting obligation.
So...it's 5:00 pm. I'd like to spend the evening cleaning up my apartment. More specifically, I'd like to have some joy when I wake up in the morning. Yes, that's a better way to say it. The joy of the Lord is my strength.
I'm going to go back to the kitchen, and see if I can find joy in every little patch of counter or floor that's cleared and cleaned. See if I can be doing it because I really want to, because it fits with who I am...not because I'm so full of shame about letting it get dirty.
Here's what I've been thinking since my last post this morning...but it's really hard to explain...
It's about being engaged in life. It's about being joyful, happy to be doing what I'm doing or being what I'm being or whatever.
When I'm teaching, or talking with a donor on the phone, or accomplishing something, I'm engaged...but it's exhausting. It's exhausting partly because I have to get myself into that mode...and it's exhausting because I drag my heavy, awkward body around while I do it.
When I'm *not* doing something like that, or hanging around with people, or whatever, I seem to check out completely. It's like I don't exist at all. I put my brain and my body completely into neutral. I'm not happy about anything. I'm not hopeful about anything. I'm not...anything.
I don't know how or when or why this started, but it's true. The "me" I've been remembering was excited about stuff...looking forward to stuff...but I mostly remember that "me" in situations that didn't end well. A lot of the memories come from the time Tony and I were together, way back when I was 19 years old. I got SEVERELY disappointed in that relationship, and maybe I never really recovered.
I do see my past history as a series of severe disappointments. Maybe at some point it just became easier to not really care -- to do the right thing, to try and make a difference, but to not really throw myself into it completely.
I see that in my time with Terri, in my school, in my work at Joshua Station. I see it in all my relationships. Wherever I am, whatever I'm doing, I'm not completely there. I am always "safe" in my own shell -- the space I create with the space I take up, the chair I have to sit in (never shared with anyone else), the things I can't take part in (it's never me on the zipline with everyone cheering below), the modifications I have to make ("you guys go on dancing, I'll just watch).
It won't work to begin by being engaged with people and things outside of myself. That's sort of the approach I've already taken, and it doesn't work. I show up, but I'm food-hung-over, or dehydrated, or sweaty or unprepared because I wasn't engaged until I forced myself to get engaged five minutes before the activity started.
I'm going to have to find a way to be engaged in life when I'm all alone -- to be excited about what I'm going to do that day when I'm not going to see anyone and no one's going to see what I do. It's going to have to start with me and God and no one else.
I hope I can do that. I need a little time to think about what that would look like.
It's about being engaged in life. It's about being joyful, happy to be doing what I'm doing or being what I'm being or whatever.
When I'm teaching, or talking with a donor on the phone, or accomplishing something, I'm engaged...but it's exhausting. It's exhausting partly because I have to get myself into that mode...and it's exhausting because I drag my heavy, awkward body around while I do it.
When I'm *not* doing something like that, or hanging around with people, or whatever, I seem to check out completely. It's like I don't exist at all. I put my brain and my body completely into neutral. I'm not happy about anything. I'm not hopeful about anything. I'm not...anything.
I don't know how or when or why this started, but it's true. The "me" I've been remembering was excited about stuff...looking forward to stuff...but I mostly remember that "me" in situations that didn't end well. A lot of the memories come from the time Tony and I were together, way back when I was 19 years old. I got SEVERELY disappointed in that relationship, and maybe I never really recovered.
I do see my past history as a series of severe disappointments. Maybe at some point it just became easier to not really care -- to do the right thing, to try and make a difference, but to not really throw myself into it completely.
I see that in my time with Terri, in my school, in my work at Joshua Station. I see it in all my relationships. Wherever I am, whatever I'm doing, I'm not completely there. I am always "safe" in my own shell -- the space I create with the space I take up, the chair I have to sit in (never shared with anyone else), the things I can't take part in (it's never me on the zipline with everyone cheering below), the modifications I have to make ("you guys go on dancing, I'll just watch).
It won't work to begin by being engaged with people and things outside of myself. That's sort of the approach I've already taken, and it doesn't work. I show up, but I'm food-hung-over, or dehydrated, or sweaty or unprepared because I wasn't engaged until I forced myself to get engaged five minutes before the activity started.
I'm going to have to find a way to be engaged in life when I'm all alone -- to be excited about what I'm going to do that day when I'm not going to see anyone and no one's going to see what I do. It's going to have to start with me and God and no one else.
I hope I can do that. I need a little time to think about what that would look like.
The last few days have been so weird. Pretty much motionless, staring at a wall or at the TV...but somehow believing that's what I'm supposed to do.
Little trickles of understanding have been running through me, and I don't know if I would have noticed them, or if they would have trickled at all, if I'd been busier. Stuff I can't really explain, memories of who I used to be (who I really am?), hope for being that person again (or finally).
Every once in awhile, I'll get up and do some dishes, or whatever. That's new. I'm grateful for two more weeks of Lent, hopeful that something will somehow "click" before those two weeks are over...but I don't really have two weeks to stare at a wall. I do have things I have to do.
Still, I'm grateful for this little window. No one really needs me for anything, and I can catch up on my work hours. I'm doing a little work each day, and progress is being made on the web page, which is the highest priority. I think that all is well, for now.
It's noon on Friday, and all I've gotten done is breakfast. I was pretty motionless, and even a little sad. My brother called and said he didn't really want to pick me up for my sister-in-law's birthday party because he wants to spend time with her. I didn't really want to go, either -- not because I don't want to be with them, but because I want this thing that's working out in me to continue. I don't have any clean laundry, and I didn't want to leave my little apartment sanctuary to go downstairs and do laundry. I'm not really ready to be with people, yet.
Then my work phone rang. I hurried to pick it up (I don't need another message to return!), and as I spoke with the sweet woman on the other end I found myself observing myself. Who was this cheerful, capable person?? Was I being fake? Was I putting on an act?
One thought, and I'm not sure about it -- what if I'm *not* being fake or putting on an act when I'm cheerful and capable and helpful around other people. What if that's all real, but I just don't bother to do it for myself? What would it be like to be that person when I'm all alone?
This may be the new direction of the path...I'll be thinking about that today.
Little trickles of understanding have been running through me, and I don't know if I would have noticed them, or if they would have trickled at all, if I'd been busier. Stuff I can't really explain, memories of who I used to be (who I really am?), hope for being that person again (or finally).
Every once in awhile, I'll get up and do some dishes, or whatever. That's new. I'm grateful for two more weeks of Lent, hopeful that something will somehow "click" before those two weeks are over...but I don't really have two weeks to stare at a wall. I do have things I have to do.
Still, I'm grateful for this little window. No one really needs me for anything, and I can catch up on my work hours. I'm doing a little work each day, and progress is being made on the web page, which is the highest priority. I think that all is well, for now.
It's noon on Friday, and all I've gotten done is breakfast. I was pretty motionless, and even a little sad. My brother called and said he didn't really want to pick me up for my sister-in-law's birthday party because he wants to spend time with her. I didn't really want to go, either -- not because I don't want to be with them, but because I want this thing that's working out in me to continue. I don't have any clean laundry, and I didn't want to leave my little apartment sanctuary to go downstairs and do laundry. I'm not really ready to be with people, yet.
Then my work phone rang. I hurried to pick it up (I don't need another message to return!), and as I spoke with the sweet woman on the other end I found myself observing myself. Who was this cheerful, capable person?? Was I being fake? Was I putting on an act?
One thought, and I'm not sure about it -- what if I'm *not* being fake or putting on an act when I'm cheerful and capable and helpful around other people. What if that's all real, but I just don't bother to do it for myself? What would it be like to be that person when I'm all alone?
This may be the new direction of the path...I'll be thinking about that today.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
I'm An Idiot.
Tonight I made a stupid mistake. It wasn't a big mistake, and it wasn't intentional, and it *probably* wasn't selfishly motivated (entirely), but it did hurt someone and I feel terrible about it.
Many questions arise: Why do I feel terrible? Because I got caught being stupid? Yes. Because someone got hurt? Yes. Why am I so scared? Because I'm afraid this incident will create distance between a ministry partner and myself? Yes.
But mostly, I'm scared because I let my guard down, did something without thinking, and opened myself up to complete responsibility and accountability for being really, truly stupid. It can't say good things about me that when I act without thinking, I act like such an idiot.
It seems I've spent a lot of time and energy crafting what people think of me -- the impression I give of my intelligence, my heart and my motives. I'm quite a poet at it, really.
But lately all of my crap hasn't been working, so I'm taking the hint -- God doesn't want me operating that way. Tonight I found out just how thin the shell really is: without it, with only moment-by-moment actions and reactions in my arsenal, I'm an idiot.
I see what's happening here. This is what sorry feels like.
I'm sorry.
Many questions arise: Why do I feel terrible? Because I got caught being stupid? Yes. Because someone got hurt? Yes. Why am I so scared? Because I'm afraid this incident will create distance between a ministry partner and myself? Yes.
But mostly, I'm scared because I let my guard down, did something without thinking, and opened myself up to complete responsibility and accountability for being really, truly stupid. It can't say good things about me that when I act without thinking, I act like such an idiot.
It seems I've spent a lot of time and energy crafting what people think of me -- the impression I give of my intelligence, my heart and my motives. I'm quite a poet at it, really.
But lately all of my crap hasn't been working, so I'm taking the hint -- God doesn't want me operating that way. Tonight I found out just how thin the shell really is: without it, with only moment-by-moment actions and reactions in my arsenal, I'm an idiot.
I see what's happening here. This is what sorry feels like.
I'm sorry.
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