The Trouble With Being Right

This morning, I had the pleasure of attending a brunch at my place of employment.  The discussion topic after we ate was “Religious Experiences,” and one participant was talking about the amount of energy in our lives that is wasted on trying to always be right.  This really struck a chord with me, as it touched on a theme I’ve been working on in my personal life as well.

One of my struggles as an anxious person is the need to be in control.  This, obviously, creates some obstacles in my interpersonal relationships because I cannot always be in control.  I cannot force my son’s other caregivers to follow my rules (though obviously a certain level of stability should be enforced); I cannot steer the car when my husband is behind the wheel; I cannot force my congregation to volunteer when I put out requests; and I cannot make my son put on socks that actually match his other clothing.  All of these ‘cannots’ may seem obvious and even trivial, but they can add up to a whole lot of struggle, hassle, and needless tension.

Yes, it is frustrating when things do not go my way.  Yes, I do have a deep-seated desire to be right and to assert my rightness.  (I’m thinking of a quote from The West Wing here: “Just sit there in your wrongness and be wrong.”)  And yes, I do tend to stress out when I know I have to approach a situation in which I am willingly and knowingly handing over control to someone else.

As such, when my fellow congregant spoke about the energy that “having to be right” requires, my attention was immediately drawn.  If I could learn to let go of the need to be right or the need to control, how much happier would I be?  How much more energy would I have to spend on other, far more important and relevant things?

Needing to be right is exhausting.  Even when one is legitimately, truly in the right… the argument involved in convincing anyone else of that can be so draining that it is hardly worth the trouble of getting there.  It’s hard to feel vindicated when you’re so worn out you just want to take a nap (… in your rightness, and be right).

Not to say there aren’t some things worth that energy expense.  There certainly are.  However, the “right” way to stack dishes, the “right” time to turn on one’s turning signal, and the “right” foods for a child to eat at his or her grandparents’ house are probably not among them.

Making A Comeback

The more time that pases, the harder it is to actually return to blogging. Nearly six months ago when I last posted here, I was still living in FL and was in the middle of a copious amount of stress involving job-hunting and the potential for relocation. It’s a period I don’t want to relive, so let’s just fast forward to today.

I am now employed with a UU church, as has been my goal for a couple of years now. I am living near family, and experiencing 4 seasons once again (sometimes all in one week!). My husband is recently employed as a web designer once again and couldn’t be happier! Next month, if not sooner, the Bug will also be enrolled in a preschool, and he may even be able to begin kindergarten as soon as next year!

The result of all of this is that we are all thriving once again, but my writing has suffered. Perhaps as our new routines stabilize, I will again be able to make room in my week for blogging, among the myriad other pieces.

Mamapalooza*

In Ice Age 3: Dawn of the Dinosaurs, Sid the Sloth “adopts” 3 eggs to care for as his own. As the story goes on, he inevitably refers to himself as their Mommy. Sid is male, and not even of the same species as these babies, yet he applies the label of mother to himself.

To mother is to nurture. It is not dependent upon gender, nor biology. My husband has been as much a “mother” to our son as I have; sometimes he’s done the same for me. I say that I became a mother on April 4, 2007, the day the double line showed up on my home pregnancy test… but in reality, I had been one long before then. In 2001, I became mother to our first cat. My attempts at plant-mothering haven’t been very successful, admittedly, but they’ve existed. I’ve played “mother hen” to pretty much all of my friends at one point or another: “Don’t forget to eat,” “Call your doctor about that,” “Remember your medicines,” etc. At times, I have even been motherly to my own parents.

On the other side of the coin, there are those who have mothered me. Mother’s Day – this year and last – is difficult because I’ve been away from my mom. It reminds me of the geographical distance that lies between us now. But motherhood knows nothing of geography, and I feel her support as keenly today as I always have. Likewise, I feel the bonds of those others who have mothered me over the years. I have a grandmother and aunts who played major roles in my childhood and to whom I have always remained close. Friends – sometimes older, sometimes not – have taken care of me over the years. Teachers, ministers, role models… all deserve some acknowledgement of their nurturing.

And let us not, of course, forget Mother Earth, who nurtures us all by providing us with a home, with food and water, with all of our basic needs. Our Earth suffers from the careless and thoughtless way we treat her. Much like any human mothers does, at one point or another. She knows we do not intend to hurt, to be cruel; she believes we simply don’t know any better. And she loves us, no matter what.

To be a mother is to nurture someone – or something, no matter what.

* Title – as well as some of the major themes of this post – taken from the sermon of the same name, delivered by Rev. Allison Farnum on May 8, 2011 at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Fort Myers

Measure Your Life

Our lives are often measured after we are gone. Obituaries are written, eulogies spoken, and stories shared. Why, though, must we wait until someone has passed to share these stories? Why do we hold our own stories inside throughout our lives until someone else must tell them for us?

Surely, some of it is out of modesty – we live in a society in which it is considered impolite to speak of our own good qualities. That, too, is a bit backward, if you ask me. Let’s leave modesty aside for the moment and really think about ourselves, both as we are and as we long to be.

How do you want others to see you?
What do you want them to say about you?
What values do you hope to display to the outside world?
How do you measure your life?

These questions were posed to the congregation at UUCFM yesterday morning during service, and we were each asked to write down our answers. It brought to mind, for me, the idea of writing a “living obituary,” of sorts – a tool to help us in the quest to be the change we want to see in ourselves. For me, the answers included:

Is devoted to her friends, family and community.
Is working to protect the environment.
Gives freely of herself.

These are not necessarily things that are always true about me, but they are major components of the Me I want to be. They are the yardstick, if you will, against which I can measure the Rightness of my life. Some days – some years even – are better than others. But if I can visualize who it is I want to be (and also recognize that I am only human and will err along the way; sometimes I forget that this is OK), I can live each day one step closer to being that person. Such that when I am gone, these are the stories that will be told about me. I do want my life to be measured in love.

How do you measure your life?

Breaking the Silence

Everyone has heard about the recent LGBTQ youth suicides – far, far too many of late. Everywhere we turn, there is talk of bullying and its harmful effects on our children. As a parent, this terrifies me. As a human being, it disgusts me. I remember what it was like to be bullied and teased, and that was before anyone (myself included) even knew I was bisexual. For me, it was about being lazy, or not conventionally attractive, or fat. But what it comes down to – in my relatively minor case, and in the more extreme cases we’ve been hearing about in the media – is the idea that different is bad. It sickens me that there is this kind of hatred in the world, that people cannot accept someone else’s sexuality (or whatever else makes them “different”) as being simply part of who they are. Instead, we are judged, mocked, threatened, belittled, and sometimes beaten… just for being who we are. I don’t care what your belief system is – what could possibly make anyone think it is acceptable to do this to another human being? There was a song used in a presentation at church this morning, one which has resonated with me since the very first time I heard (and indeed sang) it – “Everything Possible,” written by Fred Small.

“You can be anybody you want to be. You can love whomever you will. You can travel any country where your heart leads, and know I will love you still. You can live by yourself, you can gather friends around. You can choose one special one. And the only measure of your words and your deeds will be the love you leave behind when you’re done. There are girls who grow up strong and bold. There are boys quiet and kind. Some race on ahead, some follow behind, some go in their own way and time. Some women love women, some men love men. Some raise children, some never do. You can dream all the day, never reaching the end of everything possible for you. Don’t be rattled by names, by taunts, by games, but seek out spirits true. If you give your friends the best part of yourself, they will give the same back to you.”

Those are powerful lyrics. My partner* and I strive to raise our child with this sort of support and love, and I can’t imagine it any other way… but the fact of the matter is that it is another way for many LGBTQ youth. That has never been clearer than in recent weeks with the tragedies that have made the news. But how many have gone before these very publicized deaths? How many other lives have been lost before, or since? We can never count them, can never know for certain how many spirits have been broken beyond the point of repair. Today, I am breaking the silence and using my voice to show support. I am stepping up to say, “You can be anybody that you want to be. You can love whomever you will.”

* As urged by my minister, Rev. Allison Farnum in today’s sermon, I am going to start trying to use the word “partner” in place of “husband.”

What’s New?

I haven’t been very good about keeping up with my blogging. (That said, the husband and I have semi-resurrected our former online magazine, The Green Room, recently!) I’ve been too busy living (and restructuring!) my life, to sit down and blog about it.

• After 10 months of unemployment, O started a new job in May! Just over a month into it, he’s still very much enjoying what he’s doing.
• When my temporary assignment with the Census ended, I began taking on new projects, and honing my skills toward what I really want to do with my professional life. This has included volunteering in the office of the local Unitarian Universalist church once a week, editing the monthly and weekly newsletters for the same, and recently starting some work with a local group dedicated to environmentalism and peace.
• L started attending a Montessori preschool, where he spends 5 mornings each week, and he is happy as a clam there!
• We bought a new-to-us car. *
• Next month, we’re headed to NY to unload the storage unit we’ve been renting since August (and of course to visit family and friends up there!), and we’re on the hunt for our next rental home.
• … and I’m going to the gym three times a week.

All together, this whole list means that we’re finally starting to put our lives back together. I spent SO long saying, “I want my life back!” after we moved down here. It feels so good to be moving forward again. We’ll never have the life we left behind, and I’ve accepted that. But now, finally, it feels like we have a reasonable substitute. A new beginning, and a stable foundation upon which to continue to build. I still yearn for more in the way of socialization, but the pieces that were previously scattered or missing are now starting to fall into place.

Life doesn’t feel quite so broken, anymore.

* More on this topic in a future post.

The Season of Hope

For Christians, we are in the midst of Advent. Our Jewish friends just celebrated Hannukah. And the Pagans among us celebrate Yule today. Whatever your beliefs – be it one of those I’ve listed, or something entirely else – there is magic in this time of year. The very air seems to crackle with anticipation, and children everywhere light up with hope.

A Decorated Palm Tree at Fort Myers Beach

This year, the things that usually symbolize the season for me – cold weather and being with my family – are absent from my immediate surroundings. My mother visited last week for my son’s 2nd birthday, though. When she commented how it was “weird” to hear Christmas music when it was 80-something degrees outside, I couldn’t help but agree. Even still, my husband and I have found our own ways to bring the Season into our surroundings. Despite our limited budget, we found ways to do a little bit of shopping – for presents and also for some inexpensive decorations. We also hand-made some decorations, as well. We’ve recorded a bunch of this year’s Christmas specials on TV, and bought ourselves all some seasonally-themed pajamas; we’ll spend Christmas Day lounging around the house in our PJs and watching the shows we’ve recorded (all child-appropriate, of course).

More importantly, though, this year is all about Hope for us. Both my husband and I are still searching for employment. We’re still living, along with our toddler son, in someone else’s home, waiting to get back on our feet. Hoping, in fact, to get back on our feet. In this season of “Holy Longing,” as my minister said in yesterday’s sermon, we are acutely aware of hope and anticipation. We are eagerly awaiting what comes next.

May the close of this year bring us the things we seek. May it bring new beginnings, and all that which we have been working towards and praying for over the past months.

The Fruits of Our Labors

Like many people, I’ve never given a whole lot of thought to what Labor Day actually means. It’s been a day off from school or work, the unofficial end of summer, and sometimes a day for picnics and barbecues with loved ones. But what does it really mean?

This year, though, the true meaning is particularly salient for me. This year, not only are my husband and I each seeking work ourselves, but it seems like the whole country is re-evaluating what it means to be employed. People retire from a life-long career, then end up taking on part- or even full-time work anyway because they can’t afford to make ends meet. Job security in the majority of fields is wavering, with the dark cloud of downsizing always threatening. And people are stuck in dead-end, miserable occupations because they can’t afford to quit.

It sounds bleak, doesn’t it? Not much of a thing to celebrate on this first Monday in September. To be honest, being in a brand new area without friends or family to picnic with, we likely won’t be doing much celebrating, ourselves. But if we were, it would be as a tribute to those who are striving to improve the state of the economy. No one can deny that the country has hit some fairly dire straits in recent years. But we will bounce back. However long it takes, whatever path we follow, things will improve.

Keep that thought in your mind, particularly if you are one of those who is either unemployed or stuck in a job that leaves you feeling unfulfilled. Sit back, crack open a beer, throw some burgers on the grill, and enjoy this break from mundania.

This post was inspired by the sermon at The Unitarian Universalist Church of Ft Myers on Sunday, September 6, 2009.