As I was given the gift of time this morning, to catch up with an "old" friend, my day began on a note of renewal and with that, a desire to examine something bigger. As the day progressed, I was surprised by how easily the universe merged events to make that happen. I'm once again struck by the nature of people who have to deal with the unimaginable and I am awestruck by their ability to grieve and even accept what is happening to them, both while it is happening and after the fact. Their strength gives me hope and their hardships, maybe even ironically, give me faith.
I haven't had to suffer hardships. I am the product of middle class parents and I was fortunate enough to grow up in a good neighborhood where it was typical to stay out until "the streetlights" came on and not have to have your parents checking on you to make sure that you weren't kidnapped or that some crazy ass pedophile had dragged you into their basement. My parents paid for me to go to college and I was taken to church, to girl scouts, to grandparents' houses. Incidentally, I still have three grandparents and I'm 41. Unusual to say the least. I grew up with aunts and uncles and cousins around and even today, I run into people all the time who I grew up with or who I played soccer with; hell, the mayor of Torrance was one of my all time favorite AYSO coaches when I was a kid and I am friends with his daughter! Sometimes my upbringing makes me think of that Waltonesque kind of small town existence and although Torrance has certainly changed, it is still not without that small town feel and today was no exception. I am fortunate, I know that and I try very hard to not take things for granted. But, as I was speaking with a woman tonight, who has become a close friend (again, I am lucky), I was reminded that sometimes I have to make a conscious effort to not take those I love for granted and to step back and forgive those who take me for granted. Today and tonight, with two different stories of two completely different people, one who I've met and one who I haven't, I am forced to consider my faith once again; in myself, in people and in God.
Being without hardships growing up does not a better person make, but, if one has perspective or if one gains it as she grows and learns, then I think that she will develop the empathy that could potentially propel her to a level of understanding where her own personal experiences don't matter as much as HOW she reacts to others and the struggles that they are facing. It is a conscious choice that one makes; are you sorry? Or, do you actually feel sorrow; when you walk away after hearing the story, does it make you want to help, does it make you want to care, does it make you wish that you could close your eyes, put your hands together and pray them back to themselves? Maybe it doesn't do any of those things and maybe you just walk away, glad that it isn't you, but still feeling "bad" for what the family is going through. Does that make you a superficial person? Does it make you without empathy? Or, does it just make you human? I'm inclined to believe that it could be all of them.
I was raised a Catholic, which, meaning "universal" doesn't do much for me, just as a definition. I mean, we're all human. Hence, "universal"; doesn't really do anything for me to bind me to the person next door you know? But what my parents gave me and what the church has given me, through Mass and through the Sacraments and through the steadfast hands of teachers, coaches and religious education and, most importantly, through a crisis of faith in my early adult years, I've arrived at a place where I understand how my faith serves me and how it serves those who know me. I used to think that everyone who wasn't a Catholic was taking the express elevator straight to hell. I mean, we are the chosen people, are we not? But, after years of listening and talking and reading and research, I now understand that it isn't the institution, it's the message and, more than that, it's the person sending the message. If you had nuns beating your hands with rulers or priests who were taking you into the rectory without your consent, then the message certainly was something altogether different and, it goes without saying, unspeakable. But, if you had someone who handed you a Bible when you were 7 and who told you that it was okay to question things that you'd read and to ask when something didn't make sense or if you had a priest tell you, when you were 20 and weeping in the confessional about how you were starting to lose your faith and that you didn't know where to turn, that it was good to question your faith, that it would make you stronger in the end, when you needed it the most, because when you accepted it, if you did, that it would then matter. To have people like that to guide you, well, let's just say, faith is renewed in the examples of those people. One of my favorite neighbors, who was my eighth grade CCD teacher, Mr. Ben Aranda who passed away several years ago, gave us report cards. He gave us actual grades for a once a week religion class and he told us to remember why we'd gotten the grade that we had and I learned more from that man about the power of faith, just by his example than anything he ever read from a book. I miss him, as do many of those in my community these days, especially his family and those kids he helped to learn about God.
I remember making a decision to accept that there are many kinds of faith and that it isn't about a building; a synagogue and a church are the same to me. Even, currently the debate over the construction of the Mosque so close to the 9/11 site. Not all is one and one is not all. I guess, because faith is not religion to me, religion does not then define my faith; it is simply a piece of the puzzle that connects me to the God I believe in and to the beliefs that define me. I've been taught many things that I'd like to forget. I've learned how to hate, how to hold a grudge, how to be cruel, spiteful, racist and vain. And while I'm not proud of any of those things, I am proud of the fact that I recognize them as weaknesses and I make a conscious effort to try not to be or to do them. Sometimes I fail and then I pray or I ask for forgiveness or I kiss my children, but I remind myself that to believe in something, is to simply believe that something is possible.
Today, I watched a gathering of people, who were trying to raise money for a boy, now a man, with a family of his own, who suffers needlessly from a disease that will take his life early and, you know, it's unfair. When you hear his story, you immediately want to ask, "Why him?" or you want to say, "God, that poor guy" but then, you read his blog or you meet him or you talk to his friends or family and, it's like an answer has been revealed. Jason will die, just like we all will and he knows from what and maybe even when and yes, he will leave behind his wife and his young son and many, many people who love him. And, it's completely unfair; it just is. But listening to people talk about him today and reading his words as he's chronicled his life with ALS and remembering him as a kid, I'm learning from him, even though I haven't seen him or spoken to him in many years. And through his suffering and through his eventual death, I've learned that some people are chosen because of their abilities to exemplify dignity, decency, promise, hope and, faith. Jason is a man of substance and his struggle binds us all together and makes us realize that life is fleeting and passing by so quickly. And,that maybe, if we just stopped, and looked around, that those days of staying out until dark would somehow bring us back to that place of worship that we all long for; a desire to connect with one another and to be a part of something bigger. Through Jason's journey, he's brought people and lives together that might have never been re-connected and the courage that he has displayed in his physical, emotional and mental struggle is no less than astounding. For me, he both personifies and humanizes faith. He's made me believe that it all counts, every second and there is never a moment when you have to say, "I can't take it back or I don't want to apologize"; you can always take it back, you can always apologize. It's never too late. It means something to me to write it down because he means something to me; his whole family does. I pray for Jason and his family and I pray not that he won't die, but, instead, I pray that he finds some peace knowing that his journey has changed many lives and that his son, through all of the people who know and love his father, will learn what a wonderful human being Jason is... I pray that Jason has faith in the moments when he doubts it the most and I pray that his family does too.
Maybe faith isn't something that comes from what you've learned, but instead from what you haven't. It's like swinging on a vine and then reaching for the next one, knowing it's there, within reach, but then, not really sure if you're going to catch it. By repeating the process, as the vines continue to be there, pretty soon you just swing without looking, that is, until one is missing or broken or isn't where it's supposed to be, maybe shorter or old or longer than it should have been, then your faith is tested once again, hopefully until the day that you reach again and your hand clasps a strong, green, vibrant vine... maybe it really is that simple. But maybe, if it were that simple, then there would be no reason to believe at all. Maybe it has to be difficult and challenging and painful in order for it to have meaning and, really, couldn't we say that about anything worthwhile in life?
Lastly, a friend and I had a conversation about children and love and God today. And, it wasn't a long talk, but listening to her and watching her face as she told me a heart-wrenching story and how very personal it was, I was once again humbled by the strength of people who are thrust into unimaginable situations and who deal with them with the kind of grace and dignity that you wish for, that you pray for when you will need them the most and, in this case, it is my friend who displays these qualities; it is her willingness to help and to give of herself that moves me. The selflessness of people who have to watch their friends suffer and who then, willingly offer their shoulders and their tears as comfort without any knowledge that it will help at all? It is incredible and astounding and it is those moments and those people who define my faith, who make me know, in my heart and in my mind that God exists; that prayers and unity and worship unite us, even those who weren't taught to believe in a "formal" setting. Religion might just be the opiate of the masses, but faith is not. Faith is the rehab that keeps us wanting to try to be better; keeps us coming back, despite it all.
Tonight I will pray for Jason and for a mother who lost a child, but I will also pray for those wonderful people who support them, who love them and who will grieve with them and for them, despite the un-fairness, despite the pain, despite the fear. I pray that when I am faced with a hardship that I will remember what I just wrote and that I will not waver when it matters the most...
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
Vacation
As we were walking back to our car yesterday, a man and his wife smiled at us and then the man said, "Thanks, you guys were the entertainment on board today!" Tim and I laughed, knowing that was exactly the case. Take 3 boys, 13, 10 and 3, add a catamarran, sprinkle in a 2 1/2 hour sail and top with nothing to do but lay in the sun? A disaster cocktail I'm inclined to think and that's not even mentioning the small, purple plastic hippo that flew overboard somewhere on the way back, much to the chagrin of the 3 year old who hysterically screamed "Hippo can't swim, hippo can't swim." We assured him that hippo would make it back to shore just fine. Ah, the lies parents deign to tell. At one point, Jake had Nick pinned down on the deck pillows and Ty was doing some kind of flying kami-kazee jumping thing as Nick screamed and other people laughed. This went on for some time, at least until someone cried and then Tim or I took turns stepping in. Where were we during the melee? You know where we were; standing off to the side of the deck, drinking and pretending that they were someone else's kids.
Family vacations are an absolute rite of passage and, if, you didn't get to take them as a kid, you relish all of the moments that you get to share with your kids; even the ones out in the middle of Lake Tahoe. Tim and I always managed to agree on this very simple axiom: "Family vacations are a necessity." A made up axiom to be sure, but if you really think about what is being said here without actually being said then you'll understand what I'm talking about. There needs to be a weekend or a week or two weeks or however amount of time you can tell your boss that you're "working from home" and then when you can actually get on the freeway or hightail it to the airport and get the hell out of dodge. I digress for a moment here; I'm hoping that I might have a shot of staying out of hell after I pass on, but in the event that I end up there, I'm thinking that it couldn't possibly be worse than driving on the fucking, hair-pulling, crazy ass lane changing, traffic jambed hellish passage that we call the 405 freeway, which, incidentally, just turns into the 5 freeway (all previous adjectives applicable). Driving that piece of shit highway while trying to placate the ten year old, answer the 13 year old's inane questions and, simultaneously, find the Dora the Explorer DVD for the 3 year year old; I tell you, it's Road Rage defined. And that's before I took the wheel and refused to continue to play cat and mouse with the Ford Focus that apparantly thought my 85 mph wasn't enough and who, for about 25 miles or so, continued to pull up next to me and then cut me off, sliding right in front of me as if to dare me to do something. And, quality parenting aside, I did what any road raged, incensed mother of 3 did, I honked my horn at him for about a minute and then I flipped him off, screaming every obscenity I could think of, to the complete amusement of the two older boys who began to whisper and point at me, "Did you hear what mom just said?" "What does that word mean?" mixed in with the 3 year old's screams of "I can't hear Dora! I can't hear it!" In these moments, I usually turn to Tim as a meter of sanity to see just where I read on the gauge at any given moment in our daily lives. I glance over at him and he sighs and says, "Pull over at the next exit. I'm driving." Well, no need to get all upset, I think. Then again, he's used to it.
9 hours, almost two tanks of gas, one meal at IHOP, two rest stops to pee and one drive through a McDonald's for ice cream cones and WE ARE THERE! For those of you who feel compelled to ask that age old question, "Are we there yet?" Fuck you. So, we roll on into the parking lot of the hotel and the 3 year old is beside himself. He LOVES hotowels; everything about them: the elevator, the card key, the beds, the windows, even the bathroom. He turns to me every once in awhile when we are at home and he says, "Mom, I go to the hotowel?" I'm not sure that he's even referring to a particular place so much as a building where someone makes the beds every day and brings fresh towels and where, after you place a phone call, food arrives at your door. Pretty shrewd for a 3 year old... Nonetheless, we've arrived and are unpacked in minutes, as wardrobe is not a major concern of boys. "Let's go, let's go" they start shouting, even though they have no idea where they want to go, but after having been trapped in a car for 9 hours with Mom behind the wheel most of the time, they are ready for something.
It's interesting I think, the dynamic of being on vacation. There really are opportunities for very different types of bonding amongst family members. Normally, siblings who wouldn't give one another the time of day are suddenly BFF's due to the simple fact that there is no one else for them to play with or to talk with. Parents who never seem to have a moment to talk, get the chance to sit and look out at the scenery once the children are engaged or they might even get to hold hands or even kiss, but, of course to the shouts and groans of the two obnoxious boys who are standing on the beach, disgusted by their parents' "improper" behavior in public. But overall, without the daily stresses that exist, the family vacation is an opportunity to get to know your family again and to really listen to one another without a constant stream of interruptions. The fighting goes on and the disagreements and the occasional "I hate you" comes out or the 3 year old becomes a Flying Walenda in the hotel room and lands on the head of one of his brothers, but in general, it's more of a healing process than an injury. Strange that I'd put it that way, considering the fact that it took us 10 hours to get back home. Quirks and all, vacations are filled with moments of pure enthusiasm and joy and the chance to become someone else for a little while; someone who doesn't answer to anyone or anything other than to the people who they love most in the world; floating hippos and all. Good lord, I sound like a fucking Hallmark card.
I will say this one last thing; we've been on many family vacations these past 13 years, visited different places, tried new sports, swam with dolphins, but what I hope that my children remember the most, the one thing that I want them to take with them and to share with their kids is that desire to want to be together; even amidst the chaos. I want them to look forward to the experience and to then later laugh about all of the ridiculous and smile at all of the lovely and maybe even curse at all of the angry things that occurred on said vacation. It's not about the photo ops or the souvenirs or the pricy boat rides; it really is about that moment when you look up and you see your three sons laughing and diving and swimming in the lake while you sit at the water's edge, breathing in the mountain air and wishing that summer would never end...
Family vacations are an absolute rite of passage and, if, you didn't get to take them as a kid, you relish all of the moments that you get to share with your kids; even the ones out in the middle of Lake Tahoe. Tim and I always managed to agree on this very simple axiom: "Family vacations are a necessity." A made up axiom to be sure, but if you really think about what is being said here without actually being said then you'll understand what I'm talking about. There needs to be a weekend or a week or two weeks or however amount of time you can tell your boss that you're "working from home" and then when you can actually get on the freeway or hightail it to the airport and get the hell out of dodge. I digress for a moment here; I'm hoping that I might have a shot of staying out of hell after I pass on, but in the event that I end up there, I'm thinking that it couldn't possibly be worse than driving on the fucking, hair-pulling, crazy ass lane changing, traffic jambed hellish passage that we call the 405 freeway, which, incidentally, just turns into the 5 freeway (all previous adjectives applicable). Driving that piece of shit highway while trying to placate the ten year old, answer the 13 year old's inane questions and, simultaneously, find the Dora the Explorer DVD for the 3 year year old; I tell you, it's Road Rage defined. And that's before I took the wheel and refused to continue to play cat and mouse with the Ford Focus that apparantly thought my 85 mph wasn't enough and who, for about 25 miles or so, continued to pull up next to me and then cut me off, sliding right in front of me as if to dare me to do something. And, quality parenting aside, I did what any road raged, incensed mother of 3 did, I honked my horn at him for about a minute and then I flipped him off, screaming every obscenity I could think of, to the complete amusement of the two older boys who began to whisper and point at me, "Did you hear what mom just said?" "What does that word mean?" mixed in with the 3 year old's screams of "I can't hear Dora! I can't hear it!" In these moments, I usually turn to Tim as a meter of sanity to see just where I read on the gauge at any given moment in our daily lives. I glance over at him and he sighs and says, "Pull over at the next exit. I'm driving." Well, no need to get all upset, I think. Then again, he's used to it.
9 hours, almost two tanks of gas, one meal at IHOP, two rest stops to pee and one drive through a McDonald's for ice cream cones and WE ARE THERE! For those of you who feel compelled to ask that age old question, "Are we there yet?" Fuck you. So, we roll on into the parking lot of the hotel and the 3 year old is beside himself. He LOVES hotowels; everything about them: the elevator, the card key, the beds, the windows, even the bathroom. He turns to me every once in awhile when we are at home and he says, "Mom, I go to the hotowel?" I'm not sure that he's even referring to a particular place so much as a building where someone makes the beds every day and brings fresh towels and where, after you place a phone call, food arrives at your door. Pretty shrewd for a 3 year old... Nonetheless, we've arrived and are unpacked in minutes, as wardrobe is not a major concern of boys. "Let's go, let's go" they start shouting, even though they have no idea where they want to go, but after having been trapped in a car for 9 hours with Mom behind the wheel most of the time, they are ready for something.
It's interesting I think, the dynamic of being on vacation. There really are opportunities for very different types of bonding amongst family members. Normally, siblings who wouldn't give one another the time of day are suddenly BFF's due to the simple fact that there is no one else for them to play with or to talk with. Parents who never seem to have a moment to talk, get the chance to sit and look out at the scenery once the children are engaged or they might even get to hold hands or even kiss, but, of course to the shouts and groans of the two obnoxious boys who are standing on the beach, disgusted by their parents' "improper" behavior in public. But overall, without the daily stresses that exist, the family vacation is an opportunity to get to know your family again and to really listen to one another without a constant stream of interruptions. The fighting goes on and the disagreements and the occasional "I hate you" comes out or the 3 year old becomes a Flying Walenda in the hotel room and lands on the head of one of his brothers, but in general, it's more of a healing process than an injury. Strange that I'd put it that way, considering the fact that it took us 10 hours to get back home. Quirks and all, vacations are filled with moments of pure enthusiasm and joy and the chance to become someone else for a little while; someone who doesn't answer to anyone or anything other than to the people who they love most in the world; floating hippos and all. Good lord, I sound like a fucking Hallmark card.
I will say this one last thing; we've been on many family vacations these past 13 years, visited different places, tried new sports, swam with dolphins, but what I hope that my children remember the most, the one thing that I want them to take with them and to share with their kids is that desire to want to be together; even amidst the chaos. I want them to look forward to the experience and to then later laugh about all of the ridiculous and smile at all of the lovely and maybe even curse at all of the angry things that occurred on said vacation. It's not about the photo ops or the souvenirs or the pricy boat rides; it really is about that moment when you look up and you see your three sons laughing and diving and swimming in the lake while you sit at the water's edge, breathing in the mountain air and wishing that summer would never end...
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Self doubt
Self doubt is like the craving that you have for the substance that you just spent 90 days in rehab trying to forget...she never quite knows when to quit. A fickle mistress I suppose. Having other people share their criticisms and doubts about what you are doing or thinking is bad enough, but when you start or continue to do it to yourself? Might as well call Dr. Drew right now.
I was playing futsol last week (indoor soccer) for the football challenged and I almost got into a fight toward the end of the match. Now, it would seem that I was the instigator because... I was. I shoved one of the girls on the other team and really, I make no excuses for it. It's a rough game and I had gotten knocked around a bit and I was pissed off. Most of the time when this sort of rough play happens, I let it go. But not this time; this time, I was pissed off and it showed in how I responded. Next thing I know, she's all in an uproar, even though the ref had blown his whistle and called a foul. But she was pissed too and I heard her say, "What was that?" and I mouthed under my breath, "Payback." Well, that was probably the wrong thing to say because then "IT WAS ON" and she was coming at me. Of course, I didn't help the situation by flapping my arms and shouting, "Bring it on!" But then, her teammate stepped in front of her and mine in front of me and I thought the whole thing was kind of funny because, what? Was I really going to fight a girl from the opposing team in the futsol league, in front of my children who were watching the game? Of course not, but, I was going to irritate her nonetheless, so I taunted her by smiling and waving at her behind my teammate's back until I just kind of gave up and subbed out for the last couple of minutes of the match. When it was over, we all shook hands, but when I held mine out to her she just looked at it and said, "Yeah right." Understandable I guess, but then again, we're adults and while you can be pissed off on the field, best just to let it go after the game is over. At least that's what I thought. But now, my mistress having had time to consider her next move and to slide into the latent guilt ridden part of my temporal lobe, I am doubting myself and I feel compelled to apologize to her for my actions. I justify this by saying that it is for my children's benefit, but really I know that deep down, it's to quell the rising urge, that feeling that I am to blame - that I did something wrong.
A lot of times when I did something wrong as a kid and then I apologized to my mom, she'd say, "You're not sorry" and while I didn't really understand why she wouldn't accept my apology, I understand it now; in a skewered kind of way. The seeds of self-doubt are planted inside of those who feel or have the need to be accepted or loved by someone else, to the point where said person cares very deeply about what that other person thinks of them. In this example, it is my mother. In the thousands of other examples that come to mind, I can name everyone from the priest who gave me my first Holy Communion to the dog that we had when we were kids. What I've come to learn though, through my trials and in my journey is that the reason why I still feel self doubt sometimes is because I never told myself or gave myself permission to fuck up. Even though I regularly did, I've never allowed myself the freedom to say, "You made a mistake or you did something stupid, now, let it go." Instead, it's some kind of incessant need to hold onto all of the things that I've done where someone else was judging me. I don't like to be judged, clearly and although I am certainly guilty of judging people, I think it also fair to say that I am probably one of the most accepting people that you will ever meet. Don't believe in God? Okay... Republican? Um, okay... Like to have sex with chickens? Hmmm, wear a condom? Anyway, I digress, but the self doubt thing... she's a bitch and I'd like to see her disappear altogether.
When I was in high school, and I use those four years as an example here only because I changed a great deal during that time and right after as well. But, it was in those years that I began to formulate my own ideas about the world and issues that were going to be important to me and which, still are; I made a lot of mistakes. I also made some of my lifelong friends during that period and it has been interesting and hilarious to be a part of their lives as all of ours have changed over the years. Popularity fades as does beauty and even sentimentality for many, but memories, dear God, some of the memories still make me laugh and cry, even to this day. So, from 14-18, I learned about tolerance and freedom and experimentation and politics and allegory and I learned about having doubts. So, I suppose that in this time, a crucial learning time, one would have to fight against the very thing that most teenagers desperately want - acceptance, in order to ward off the vicious bitch known as self doubt. Because the conclusion that I've come to and I'm not sure when it happened, but it did, is that the only way to not doubt yourself is to not give a flying fuck what other people think about you and what you're doing; at least to the point where their opinions and/or criticisms begin to alter your belief system.
Am I a Catholic because I was raised one? Am I a Democrat because I wasn't raised one? Am I a feminist because I didn't want my place to be "just in the kitchen?" Am I a humanist because I'm so tired of all the nonsense that is perpetuated by the ridiculous simpletons who daily claim that they know what's "best" for this country because they belong to "THE" organization whatever the hell that happens to be? Or, am I a humanist because it sickens me to think that there are children dying every single day in the world and yet the rate of obesity in this country alone is so staggering that people are going on television shows to try to "win" the help that they need to manage it? Am I a hypocrite because I believe in God and in Jesus Christ but that I have my doubts about religious institutions?
You know what, I'm going to recant a bit here; maybe it's good to doubt something that in your mind and your heart you have reservations about, but maybe it's not good to doubt your own brain or heart when it comes to passing judgement on why you feel that way. Because sometimes, there is no explanation; sometimes you just do feel that way. I liken it to being a parent. If needed, you would do whatever you had to, to protect or save them from harm or danger and you wouldn't care what anyone thought or said about it, either good or bad. You'd do it because it was the right thing to do, for you, in that moment, with that child. And there it is. Be yourself and make mistakes and sometimes, apologize and sometimes feel bad or guilty or shameful or whatever, but don't doubt yourself because that just leads to late night blogging and everyone knows that no good can come of that...
All I know is that I don't know a whole hell of a lot and it makes for some interesting moments... BRING IT ON!
I was playing futsol last week (indoor soccer) for the football challenged and I almost got into a fight toward the end of the match. Now, it would seem that I was the instigator because... I was. I shoved one of the girls on the other team and really, I make no excuses for it. It's a rough game and I had gotten knocked around a bit and I was pissed off. Most of the time when this sort of rough play happens, I let it go. But not this time; this time, I was pissed off and it showed in how I responded. Next thing I know, she's all in an uproar, even though the ref had blown his whistle and called a foul. But she was pissed too and I heard her say, "What was that?" and I mouthed under my breath, "Payback." Well, that was probably the wrong thing to say because then "IT WAS ON" and she was coming at me. Of course, I didn't help the situation by flapping my arms and shouting, "Bring it on!" But then, her teammate stepped in front of her and mine in front of me and I thought the whole thing was kind of funny because, what? Was I really going to fight a girl from the opposing team in the futsol league, in front of my children who were watching the game? Of course not, but, I was going to irritate her nonetheless, so I taunted her by smiling and waving at her behind my teammate's back until I just kind of gave up and subbed out for the last couple of minutes of the match. When it was over, we all shook hands, but when I held mine out to her she just looked at it and said, "Yeah right." Understandable I guess, but then again, we're adults and while you can be pissed off on the field, best just to let it go after the game is over. At least that's what I thought. But now, my mistress having had time to consider her next move and to slide into the latent guilt ridden part of my temporal lobe, I am doubting myself and I feel compelled to apologize to her for my actions. I justify this by saying that it is for my children's benefit, but really I know that deep down, it's to quell the rising urge, that feeling that I am to blame - that I did something wrong.
A lot of times when I did something wrong as a kid and then I apologized to my mom, she'd say, "You're not sorry" and while I didn't really understand why she wouldn't accept my apology, I understand it now; in a skewered kind of way. The seeds of self-doubt are planted inside of those who feel or have the need to be accepted or loved by someone else, to the point where said person cares very deeply about what that other person thinks of them. In this example, it is my mother. In the thousands of other examples that come to mind, I can name everyone from the priest who gave me my first Holy Communion to the dog that we had when we were kids. What I've come to learn though, through my trials and in my journey is that the reason why I still feel self doubt sometimes is because I never told myself or gave myself permission to fuck up. Even though I regularly did, I've never allowed myself the freedom to say, "You made a mistake or you did something stupid, now, let it go." Instead, it's some kind of incessant need to hold onto all of the things that I've done where someone else was judging me. I don't like to be judged, clearly and although I am certainly guilty of judging people, I think it also fair to say that I am probably one of the most accepting people that you will ever meet. Don't believe in God? Okay... Republican? Um, okay... Like to have sex with chickens? Hmmm, wear a condom? Anyway, I digress, but the self doubt thing... she's a bitch and I'd like to see her disappear altogether.
When I was in high school, and I use those four years as an example here only because I changed a great deal during that time and right after as well. But, it was in those years that I began to formulate my own ideas about the world and issues that were going to be important to me and which, still are; I made a lot of mistakes. I also made some of my lifelong friends during that period and it has been interesting and hilarious to be a part of their lives as all of ours have changed over the years. Popularity fades as does beauty and even sentimentality for many, but memories, dear God, some of the memories still make me laugh and cry, even to this day. So, from 14-18, I learned about tolerance and freedom and experimentation and politics and allegory and I learned about having doubts. So, I suppose that in this time, a crucial learning time, one would have to fight against the very thing that most teenagers desperately want - acceptance, in order to ward off the vicious bitch known as self doubt. Because the conclusion that I've come to and I'm not sure when it happened, but it did, is that the only way to not doubt yourself is to not give a flying fuck what other people think about you and what you're doing; at least to the point where their opinions and/or criticisms begin to alter your belief system.
Am I a Catholic because I was raised one? Am I a Democrat because I wasn't raised one? Am I a feminist because I didn't want my place to be "just in the kitchen?" Am I a humanist because I'm so tired of all the nonsense that is perpetuated by the ridiculous simpletons who daily claim that they know what's "best" for this country because they belong to "THE" organization whatever the hell that happens to be? Or, am I a humanist because it sickens me to think that there are children dying every single day in the world and yet the rate of obesity in this country alone is so staggering that people are going on television shows to try to "win" the help that they need to manage it? Am I a hypocrite because I believe in God and in Jesus Christ but that I have my doubts about religious institutions?
You know what, I'm going to recant a bit here; maybe it's good to doubt something that in your mind and your heart you have reservations about, but maybe it's not good to doubt your own brain or heart when it comes to passing judgement on why you feel that way. Because sometimes, there is no explanation; sometimes you just do feel that way. I liken it to being a parent. If needed, you would do whatever you had to, to protect or save them from harm or danger and you wouldn't care what anyone thought or said about it, either good or bad. You'd do it because it was the right thing to do, for you, in that moment, with that child. And there it is. Be yourself and make mistakes and sometimes, apologize and sometimes feel bad or guilty or shameful or whatever, but don't doubt yourself because that just leads to late night blogging and everyone knows that no good can come of that...
All I know is that I don't know a whole hell of a lot and it makes for some interesting moments... BRING IT ON!
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