Juds' Hundred Days
on January 7th, 2010 at 09:04 AM
Simplify. Minimize. Save, conserve, reduce and reuse. Be self-sufficient. All recent conversations here. In the quest for a book that was mentioned, I wove a wonky little path to an interesting discovery.
It was a site created by people who decided to spend 100 days doing something to make themselves a better person. Reading that simple page I felt that electric boing of recognition, that instant knowing that I had found something that could be useful to me.
No money to spend on supplies or learning or traveling or messing about with some new change-the-entire-planet idea, something likely to garner lots of well-intentioned enthusiasm only to gradually gutter to an unfortunate and guilty stop.
Normally, I do not like this sort of jump-on-the-bandwagon stuff. It seems self-serving under the guise of doing something larger than one's self. Not because all of those things are horrible, not even that they are bad in any way, it is just that they are not the kind of thing I like. But, this one struck some kind of chord in me or knocked me on my ass or something because I like it very much. It is not about changing the whole freaking world or even just a chunk of it.
For me, it is about the tiny changes I can make in my life that might, just might, help me to be a better person, just like the title of the project says.
I like it. I really do, especially since I read some of the things that other people are doing. Yeah, there is some big stuff...big deal...but there are middling to small things that people are doing. Like practicing the guitar for 20 minutes a day. Or exercising or song writing or journaling or reading poetry or saying 'good morning' to her co-workers, or being a good listener and all kinds of heartfelt things like that. One person is going to read to her children every day. Man, that is a gift for all of them. A really, stunningly, ambitious one is to do one thing every single day that she has not done before. Man, I want to read about that journey!
My choices are modest, because I want to be sure to do them every day. I had already decided that this year is going to see me take one object out of this house every day and not bring it back inside. I am already culling my books, so if you want a free book sent to you, just let me know what you like and I probably have something like it. Every day, a book leaves this house, never to return. ****ing yikes!! I started doing this last year, in a more informal way, by lending out books and making the borrower promise to keep them or pass them on or throw them away, anything but bring them back here. I have two friends who are using my library as a back-up in case they run out of things to read. So far, so good, as none of the books have been brought back. I also started taking some of my less gross books to the nursing facility where another friend's mother lives. I also checked some of my older books with ABE and found that some of them are quite rare and whilst I am unsuited to selling them myself, the university system has agreed to look at them in case some of them might be suitable for their collections. Kitchen equipment and tools, things that have not been used for years are also leaving home. My goal there is to have at least half of my cupboards completely empty and for them to stay that way. It helps that I do not have many cupboards or other places for storing stuff, but it means that the huge box of kitchen junk will also be leaving...ta-ta!
Now, in the divesting of things part, I can work ahead, but I cannot fall behind in the one-thing-gone-per-day plan. I am guessing that there is going to be much enthusiasm on my part in the beginning, but that is certain to wane as time goes on. I am hoping that making this commitment will help my resolve. One can always hope. There are going to be many books leaving this house, because there are more of them than anything else.
The other thing that I am doing is even tinier, but I think that it might turn out to be the most significant for me. I am going to think something positive about myself and/or other people every day. At first thought, it seemed like a toss-away kind of thing, but thinking positively every day is going to be a challenge, even though I am a totally glass-full kind of girl. And, each thought has to be genuine, not things like he is wearing a nice shirt or her hair does not look crappy today. It has to be something meaningful, like M was really focused on helping that woman or I tried my best to do (whatever). Ahead of me I have one hundred positive things. I am glad that it is not an entire year. I am going to write them down so that I am not tempted by design or accident to repeat any one thing.
So, anyway, then, this is my first living well thing, and this is where I found it. http://www.hundreddays.net/ I am Judsie there, as well.
This new blogging opportunity is where I will post the things that I get rid of and my positive thoughts, and I am going to do that right now. I actually began this process two days ago, so here are my first two days of divesting and positiveness.
Day 1
Divest: Bel Canto, by Ann Patchett. I thought it best to begin with a medium-sized sacrifice and get rid of a book that I really like.
Positive thought: I am grateful for my husband for paying the bills even when he would rather have done something else with the money.
Day 2
Divest: The Keeper, by Sarah Langan
Positive thought: I admire Jen because she has endured the most extreme loss that a parent can experience and she is the most loving and supportive person that I know.
Day 3
Divested: The Singing Stones, by Phyllis Whitney
Positive thought: I am a good person and the kitties would like me even if I were not the person who feeds them.
Day 4
Divesting:
Chang and Eng, by Darin Strauss, autographed copy
The Night Buffalo, by Guillermo Arriaga
Positive thought:
J is a kind and generous person.
Day 5
Divested:
The Husband, by Dean Koontz
Menopausal Years, by Susun S. Weed
The Cabinet of Curiosities, by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child
Queen of the Oddballs, by Hillary Carlip
Dead Witch Walking, by Kim Harrison
Positive thought:
I have within me the ability to forgive.
Day 6
Divested:
Total well-being, Hamlyn Publisher
Theosophy, Rudolf Steiner
The Muse Asylum, David Czuchlewski
Glendalough, Michael Rodgers & Marcus Losack (who was my guide on that trip)
A Short Guide to a Happy Life, Anna Quindlen
Stirring It Up: How to make money and save the world, Gary Hirshberg
Positive thought:
I am capable of change
Day 7
Divested:
The Wisdom of Healing, David Simon
Shoah, Claude Lanzmann
A Bed By The Window, M. Scott Peck
Timeless Healing, Herbert Benson
The Women's DeCameron, Julia Voznesenskaya
The Emotional Incest Syndrome, Patricia Love (2 copies, what the hell!!)
Garden Spells, Sarah Addison Allen
Bad Luck and Trouble, Lee Child
Reviving Ophelia, Mary Pipher
How to Talk to Girls, Alec Greven
Positive thought:
I am capable of thinking the best of people.
Day 8
Yesterday found me with two copies of the same book. That often happens here because I will pick up an extra copy of something that I really, really like so that I can have one to lend out without getting all angsty about it coming back. I mean, you know how it goes with books. You lend them out and they are kept for a long time and gradually are absorbed into the miasma of the borrower's home. That happened to me as a borrower more than thirty years ago. Someone lent a book to me and I took it, not actually intending to read it anyway because it did not interest me, although he was rabid about the author and insisted that I take the damn thing. Because I was never going to read it, I forgot about it and it disappeared into the bookshelves somewhere. Frankly, I probably lent it out to someone else. He was pissed and I had to pay for the thing. Still corks me.I chose never to allow anyone to push their favourites on me again, and I decided that I would never put that burden on anyone who requested to read one of my books. Before I started buying duplicate copies of my most especially favourite books, I would caution the lendee that I would hound them to get it back, so they should not take offense when that happened. And, it did and I did not like being a nag. Ergo, the duplicate copies. Now that I am letting all of this go, those extra copies are kind of bittersweet. I am pleased that I kept from them (the borrowers) the burden of actually having to remember that they borrowed a book from me, but I also must finally address the fact that I spent twice as much on that title than I needed to do. Ah, such is the life of a book monger.
Anyway, the point, and I do have one, is that when there is a duplication of a title, probably separated by time, it is not because I flaked out and took the book back into my library, but that I came across another damn copy. The crappy part is that this multiple-copy-titles thing is going to be happening a lot. Furthermore, the only reason that I am mentioning this is that I am vacillating about one of today's releases.
Divested:
Hose of Dark Delights, Louisa Burton
The House of Thunder, Dean Koontz
The Brief History of the Dead, Kevin Brockmeier
River Woman, Donna Hemans
A Long Way From Home, Connie Briscoe
Ladder of Years, Anne Tyler
Brimstone, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child
The Preston/Child books are more difficult to give away than I expected. I really love them, so I might reconsider on this title before the books leave the premises on Saturday, but I hope that does not happen because it will be moving in the wrong direction. Still, it contains a most wonderful sentence when Pendergast, kneels down, picks up this little particle, smells it and reaches out to give it to the officer who asks what it is and he replies, "Brimstone, Lieutenant, good Old Testament brimstone."
Positive thought:
Chasing my tail does not make me a kitten, but noticing that I am, does mean that I am paying attention.
Day 9
Only six books today, but three of them are most dear to me. How difficult this is.
Divested:
One Door Away From Heaven, Dean Koontz
The Dogs of Babel, Carolyn Parkhurst
The Mists of Avalon, Marion Zimmer Bradley, First Edition (sob)
Active Wellness, Gayle Reichler
The Best American Erotica 2000, edited by Susie Bright
Positive thought:
I am able to survive whatever my life presents to me, knowing with certainty that is exactly what I need to experience.
Day 10
Divested:
Spock on Spock, Benjamin Spock and Mary Morgan
What the Dogs Have Taught Me, Merrill Markoe
Asking for Trouble, Donald Woods
Makes Me Wanna Holler, Nathan McCall
The Vanishing Hitchhiker, Jan Harold Brunvand
The Mexican Pet, Jan Harold Brunvand
The Choking Doberman, Jan Harold Brunvand
Curses! Broiled Again!, Jan Harold Brunvand
When Did I Stop Being Twenty..., Judith Viorst
I Want to Grow Hair, I Want to Grow Up, I want to Go to Boise, Erma Bombeck
Deep Thoughts, Jack Handey
The Death and Life of Dith Pran, Sydney H. Schanberg
Men Who Hate Themselves...(humour), David A. Rudnitsky
In Praise of Friendship, Smithmark gift book
I Am Rosemarie, Marietta D. Moskin
Memories of Childhood, Barbara Orbach
When Angels Speak, Martha Willaimson
Family-The Ties That Bind...And Gag, Erma Bombeck
Hello, Lord, Gail Cunningham
Positive thought: I am able to accept what I have and release what I only want.
Day 11
Divested:
Fifteen more books gone. I have to stop listing them all. I think that it is interfering with the process. Goodbye Corrie Ten Bloom, farewell Charles Grodin, godspeed Robert Kennedy. Good riddance to the rest of you.
Positive thought:
M listens and supports me even when she does not have a damn clue about my current ravings. Bless her.
Day 12
A large and nearly unmovable suitcase and a bag that I had to drag left the house today, filled to the gills with books. My coffee group had first choice and I dropped the rest off at my vet clinic. I brought smaller bags along with me for everyone to take their new books home and they are all looking forward to next week's haul of crap...errrr...lovely books. I know that they will not be so eager to help me out in the coming weeks, but bless their hearts for talking these now. The vet clinic said that what they do not want they will put in a box in the waiting area with a sign that says "Free to a good home", which is an animal welfare joke as we encourage people to not just give out their unwanted pet willy-nilly.I should probably keep count of how many books are leaving here, but I am not yet able to move beyond the pain of this process. Today, when pulling the books from the bags and seeing them leave, I was struck...boinga...with the thought that even when the books are completely gone, that I am barely making a dent in the weight that I carry in my life. The books are only symbolic of all of the other issues with which I am not dealing. By hoarding these things, by being burdened by them, I can admit that they are a way to avoid facing some pretty ****ing (I apologize for that word, but it is necessary and I know that the filter will take care of it) hard facts about the way I have allowed my life to evolve. That was, and is, a choice. It is an artificial deadline, but there are only 88 days left to complete this. Another choice.We humans naturally move away from pain and towards pleasure. Why do I need all of this crap to prove to myself that I do not deserve some small measure of pleasure, some peace, some something? What is it that prevents me from feeling deserving? I am feeling, what...what do I feel about this? I thought, I really and truly did believe that this process was all and only about having a less cluttered environment. I am not deceiving myself about that; it was my intent. I am trusting this process, honestly trusting that this is occurring now because I am ready to confront and deal with those issues that I never allow myself to think about. I am scared silly, but I must be ready for it to happen or else it would not be happening.
Divested: Half a suitcase of books and a vintage cut-glass compote
Positive thought: It is fine to hold on to some secrets for just a bit longer, baby.
Day 13
Today is the thirteenth of my hundred days. More books are gone, but if I am going to get rid of 1500 books before the end of this exercise, I had better get my very disorganized self going, because that translates to 17.3 books per day. I am already falling behind that number, despite the twenty-books days that I had. I really should have done the math on that when I began. I have to find more places to take the books and tomorrow will find me calling around for agencies willing to take them. As a final option, well, there are two. I am hoping that some of the second-hand books stores will simply take them as a donation. Failing that, some of them will have to be trashed. I am planning on putting a small table at the end of our property and offering them free to anyone who happens to wander by. Anything left will go into the recycle bin.What I do know now is that I can get rid of anything that I want, and it will not kill me. As the days pass, it is getting easier and I found today that I was able to toss out some perfectly good clear glass things and seeing them in the recycle bin is not causing me any distress. I know that all of this stuff should probably be going to the charity stores, but if it is a choice between just getting rid of it now or storing and delivering these things, then they are going to be trashed, because I cannot risk the possibility that they will find their way back into the house. As it is, I have already found several items that have been rescued by another person who lives here. I mean, what the **** is that all about. Really. So, anyway, that part of my life is moving forward. I am planning on there being some incidents of serious and painful regret, but that is too damn bad.An interesting part of this has been my dawning awareness (how stupid, really dumb and clueless am I anyway, for chrissakes?) of how I have been using stuff to shield me from having to deal with other aspects of my life. When this project is completed, am I going to be able to keep moving and address the other things? I have accepted for a long time that all this crap is holding me down, but I have never wanted to acknowledge that I was using it to protect me from those other things. It is almost as though it was a way to, and this seems just so insane, but a way to hurt myself so that I do not have to deal with other hurting. I can be braver. I know that there is the possibility that I can insist on being treated more humanely. If it just were not so scary, all of this thinking that I deserve better. And, I am scared. I wonder what will happen when I begin to stand up for myself. As long as I am compliant, it is bearable, and I wonder what happens when I say 'no more'.
Divested: A bit more than 17.3 books
Positive thought: I believe that there is goodness in you.
Day 14
Today is not a good day, so I am going to get this out of the way as early as possible. I wonder how soon it will be before I have to Google 'positive thoughts' in order to have something nice to say here.
Divested: A ton of books and a box of kitchen stuff that I never use
Positive thought: I am learning more about how to be a good creature on the planet.
Day 15
It has been a long day of meetings and appointments and I am pooped. Totally. I did not get as far in the sorting as I would have liked, but two weeks into this, I am thinking more about my internal process than I am about my physical environment.
Divested:
Box of books
Attachment to a person
Positive thought:
I can say 'no' and the world does not end.
Day 16
Day 16 and a warning that you might not want to read this
on January 20th, 2010 at 09:46 PM (37 Views)
I received an e-mail from the Hundred Days folk today. They will be celebrating the end of this part of their project in March, a month earlier than I will. It is being held in and around London, so I could not go anyway, but it made me think about why I am doing this.
I am going to do my best to be a better person, not only as a part of this process which I think of as a kick-start-in-my-big-fat-ass, but as a continuation of where I want to be in my life. I want to be a better world citizen. I want to be a better steward of my resources. I want to live with fewer encumbrances. I want to feel easy and accepting of the people around me. I want peace. I want it all. Yes, I do. And, I want it in the support of myself and my family and friends and, gosh, just everyone and the whole damn planet. I want it little and I want it even littler and more personal.
I want to manifest my best self in my microcosm. That should be enough and it is.
So, anyway, this is where you should stop reading. Seriously. This is going to get preachy and whilst I am embarrassed and a little ashamed, I am going to write it anyway in an effort to divest myself of these feelings, just release them out into the Universe where they can be transformed into something better.
The first thing that happened was being contacted by a social service organization for which I volunteer. One of their clients requested a service that I provide, one of the non-essential ones, and I arranged to meet with her yesterday afternoon. I have not yet told the client that I am declining to provide the service to her because I want to give myself time to be certain that I am doing what is best for both of us. What she wants is not beyond what I am capable of providing, but she is a lonely and needy person and, in the hour that we spent meeting yesterday, has already urged me to spend time with her and stay at her home. What she is asking is not part of the service and is inappropriate behavior, which is why she is one of the agency's clients. However, at this moment, I am feeling badly because I am not willing to add one more needy person to my life. I am already the occasional caregiver for three other people and I simply cannot handle another one. Basically selfish, but I get to be protective of my time and energy once in a while.
I am feeling a little funny in my tummy right now because of something I read today and it is about how we view ourselves and others in the context of what we believe to be right. This thing, this little thing, is about judging, and, you know, honestly, just being bothered by how others are judged means that I am being judgmental all over the place myself, and it is already on my list of things to stop doing, so I should just stop doing it.
There is not one right way to live. I was not born living simply or with the understanding of how that was possible, and I am guessing that no one else was, either. We are all exactly where we are supposed to be in our journey. We find ourselves precisely in the appropriate place and time and space on that path, just where we are intended to be. We learn and understand and manifest when it is the time for us to do that. And, I am not supporting a fatalist viewpoint here, but only trusting and honoring wherever someone is located on their path, and that means me, too.
I am not perfect, never will be, never want to be. That means that I will not ever be able to measure up to what other people believe to be the right thing to do or think or be. By my flaws and shortcomings I will be judged and that is not a nice feeling. I am judging here, but I do not think that that is nice thing to do. It is not nice when it happens to other people, either.
Divested: Books, books, books and more books and a partridge in a pear tree. Don't ask
Positive thought: I am capable of not judging other people and it is in my own best interest to work much harder at this.
Day 17
Devested: Books
Positive thought: I appreciate being able to accept that not everyone is like me.
Day 18
There is not one right way to live.
Divested: Books
Positive thought: I am so proud of myself for figuring out how to do my business taxes electronically.
Day 19
Spending a day and a half away from my regular life was kind of nice. Being unreachable means that no one can make any demands on your time. Very satisfying.
Divested: Books, baking pans and kitchen utensils
Positive thought: Some family members are wonderful and help to make up for the ones who are not.
Day 20
First milestone of 1/5 of the time has passed
Divested: Books
Positive thought: MJ is a kind and thoughtful friend and I am blessed by her presence in my life and the opportunity to follow her generous example.
Day 21
Divested: Books, magazines, kitchen stuff
Positive thought: I can survive not being liked.
Day 22
Divested: Books, display racks
Positive thought: I am a person who stands up for my beliefs.
Day 23
Divested: Books
Positive thought: I am glad that I chose my current jobs.
Day 24 and 25
Yesterday was a sad day. Not related to getting out from under all my crap, but of a more personal nature. I do not mind working hard or having hard or difficult things in my life. Most of the time those things energize me, get the juices flowing, provide a chance to be creative and solve the unsolvable problems, charge in and set things to rights. Just part of being a grown-up, or at least pretending to be one. It is only that it would be nice to count on some things to be easier, a contrast to the the parts of our lives that require more stamina, you know, like a safe place to which you can retreat when everything else is crazy.
Day 24
Divested: Books, but not as many as I would have liked.
Positive thought: I am capable of a positive thought, I can do this. OK. I can remain calm and centered in the midst of chaos.
Day 25
Divested: Books, clothes. The cherry on top of today's cupcake is that I found another source for boxes, which are incredibly difficult to find. Having boxes may be more work than getting rid of things.
Positive thought: I am a good friend.
Day 26 and Day 27
One quarter of the way down and just not moving as quickly as I would like. With over 300 books gone, I am getting closer to the authors I like best. A dozen Koontz went yesterday as part of the suitcase-to-coffee. With barely half taken by my friends, I visited a few tables at the cafe and invited those people to take what they wanted. I may continue to do that until someone in charge asks me to restrain myself.
Albert Einstein: "Three Rules of Work: Out of clutter find simplicity; From discord find harmony; In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity."
Day 26
Divested: Books, fan, spinning spice rack (nice)
Positive thought: I am able to overcome my shyness.
Day 27
Divested: Books, a ton of art magazines (sob)
Positive thought: I am gaining confidence in my ability to have an unencumbered life.
Day 28
"The ability to simplify means to eliminate the unnecessary so that the necessary may speak." Hans Hoffman
So, I am guessing that, in addition to my stuff, all the noise in my head is coming from the unnecessary bad self-talk and playbacks of what other people said to me. Did you ever think, at least for a moment, that were it not for the voices in your head that you might (just for that moment) be alone in the world?
Talk. Talk. Talk. The chatter is just as encumbering as the clutter.
And, today I realized that even when all of these bookcases are gone, there probably will not be room in my studio for my loom. I think that I need to find a new home for it and just get that heartbreak over as soon as possible.
Divested: Books, a big box of baking pans
Positive thought: I can still do good work whilst moving through this process.
Day 29
"Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful." William Morris
The days that I spend mostly out of the house are the ones where I rush to fill the current box with unwanted stuff. Today was no exception and the rest of the week does not look all that good, either. Tomorrow work, Thursday most of the day with a new social service client and Friday is there, taunting me with nothing on the calendar and I will probably want to take a few naps because Saturday is chock full of boring but necessary errands.
Divested: Box-o-books, a pair of lamps and a pile of board games
Positive thought: I am willing to confront the ultimate death of my old way of being. Frankly, I am scared silly, but do not tell anyone until I get past this.
Day 30
Thirty days. A whole damn month and the process is becoming more interesting (read: weird, annoying, bothersome, frustrating, empowering, hopeful, just all over the damn place) as each day unfolds. Divesting myself of things that I love or have loved or thought to be cool and groovy but no longer need or that serve me in the ways I initially intended is something new for me. Sure, I have a long history of releasing and even abandoning things because they cease to be meaningful to me, but never have I undertaken such a large project of this kind.
There is a beginning a middle and possibly an end to this. I remember thinking that fewer bookcases meant less dusting. A small beginning benefit. I truly believed that releasing all of this stuff was about me and my attachment to things. It is not that alone. It is, true, about my relationship with the things that I have brought into my life to give me pleasure, to inform and educate me; to give me the means, tools and materials to support me financially and intellectually and spiritually. However, I have never lived in isolation, never lived all by myself and that translates into living in concert with not only all my stuff, but with other people.
This process was begun in blissful ignorance of what the consequences were going to be.
I have come to see that there needed to be space for something else and, oh, I not know, not with the expectation that with stuff gone that there would be room for more stuff at some time, but that there would be room for some other 'thing', not sure what that is or could be, but perhaps there always was a little place in me that needed filling. Perhaps all of these books were the substitute for which that emptiness yearned.
Another consequence is that doing this rattled the cages that held all of my relationships. There is not one single person who knows about what I am doing and why I am doing it who does not have some stunningly strong opinions about exactly how I should be doing or not doing this. It really is a hornet's nest of painful change for some of us, well me especially, but I am surprised at how much energy this holds for other people. My mind is boggled.
Some recent circumstances seem to indicate that even if I simply stopped doing this divestment, even if I tried to do it differently, that some of my relationships, the people ones, are changed forever, and not in a good way. It appears that not only have I been carrying my own personal burdens, but that I have inadvertently taken on those of other people. If I thought about it I am certain that I could find the sources of that happening, but, frankly, at least at this point, I am not all that interested in examining that.
I never wanted to hurt anyone, gosh, I never thought that doing this would or could possibly hurt the feelings of a single person, except for my own feelings of loss, or course. Whilst I was prepared, maybe even eager, to deal with my own issues, I was naively uninformed about how far-reaching this would become in terms of other people. I do not know where this is going, the whole process, but it is not the little idea about simply getting rid of a few books with which it began.
Little losses, little leavings, little deaths may not destroy me, but they feel like they might. Who am I going to be when this process is finished?
Divested: Books
Positive thought: It is my most ardent desire that I have what it takes to do what needs doing and to accept what needs accepting.
Day 31
I am of the opinion that the way we choose to live is entirely up to us. Even if the rest of the Universe thinks that we are totally whacked-out and insane for having a particular lifestyle, it simply is not any of their business unless it personally affects their own way of living. Even then, if the effect is minor, some annoying or opposite-of-what-I-believe sort of thing, we have to find a way to get beyond how we feel about that and move on with our own lives. There is not only one way to live and there is simply no getting around that.
If someone has the audacity to tell me that my way of living or manifesting in the world is wrong or weird or crackpot or wasteful or penurious or even icky, not only is it none of their business, it would be nice if they could consider keeping their opinions to themselves, but if I am going to be true to my beliefs that really should not bother me anyway. More importantly, I would not waste a moment caring about what they feel compelled to share, much less take it seriously, or to heart. But, of course those are only my opinions and what someone else may say about me is moot and what I may think about them is, you guessed it, none of my business. Were a friend to say such things to me, I might consider our relationship and perhaps limit our contact or find a new friend.
Sometimes the viewpoint of another person, one that is in opposition to how we are living, can be a call to attention that draws us to examining how and what we are doing, and that is a cool and groovy thing, although often a difficult or heartbreaking process for us. If it holds enough energy for us to think about it and have uncomfortable or defensive feelings, it might be in our own best interest to seriously consider what all of that might mean to the larger context of our life.
With family members or neighbors that is not so easily accomplished. Living with and around people who do not support my life and how I live it is, well, just a part of life and living; no getting around that. And, the energy that I expend giving a rat's fanny about what other people may think about me is energy that I can use more effectively to keep on living the life that annoys or distresses them. Not that I would wish discomfort on another person, but when someone is being so in-your-face about something with me, well, going on and doing what is best for me can be the cherry on the top of that luscious ice cream treat.
There is actually a point to this. Two, in fact.
The first is the issues that everyone in my life, except for my dear and wonderful daughter, are expressing to me all the damn time about getting rid of all the family stuff. They are highly opinionated and are judging me on nearly every part of this process. Instead of responding in kind and telling them to just pissoff, I am doing what I always have done and that is to encourage them to help themselves to whatever they want. Unfortunately, I am passive about this and whilst it has caused me some discomfort over the past several weeks and I found myself feeling a bit of shame about it, I am invested in being kind and supportive to their feelings of attachment to these objects and what they perceive as their connection to the past. This is relevant most especially to the ultimatum I gave this past weekend.
It is important to me to stay balanced and maintain some perspective about this process as it affects other people. I truly believed, when starting this hundred days of change, that it was exclusively about me, but have come to see that my pebble dropped in the smooth waters of my life is rippling out in unintended and completely unexpected ways. In the past several days I have come to accept that this, too, is an essential part of the process that I began a month ago. There are important, perhaps even critical, lessons that I am in the process of learning, and I am certain that there are more to come. Cool. Groovy. Yeah, but painful as well. I remember last year when I donated a ton of books to a charity sale how I found myself weeping when some of those books went into the boxes.
Pain seems to be part of most forward movement in our lives, if not to the self then to someone else. It distills down to the cycle of existence, birth through living through death through rebirth. It happens whether we want it or not, whether we like it or despise it.
The second thing is a book that I recently finished, Radical simplicity: creating an authentic life, by Dan Price. I wanted that book to be better, but it was not because it betrayed one of the exceptions I hold most dear to the practice of living one's life, and that is that if you take on the responsibility for another living thing, be it a lettuce patch or bunny or cat or dog or at the most important end of that spectrum, a child or life partner, then all bets are off and you better get to the business of making certain that you are doing everything possible to foster and support that responsibility. My opinion about this creeps into the realm of judgment, but I make no apologies about that because it is not about judging another person or how they live, it is about doing the right things for the right reasons, even though those are only my interpretation of what is right and what is wrong.
Price yearned, his entire being longed for the ability to live a simple, unencumbered life, as close to our hunter-gatherer heritage as possible, although I do not remember his use of that term. It might be in that slim volume, but I cannot recall it. And, you know, that is fine, to choose to live like that. Even having choosen a partner will not cause you to abandon such life principles as Price holds, but we are privy to only his side of their joint experience.
His chronicles are interesting and compelling, but I was never able to read about his experiences without the sub context of knowing that he helped to create two children. That informed and affected every single word that I read from that point on. I am having these feelings not knowing anything, not a tiny shred, of how it was for those three other people in his life whilst he was out living the natural life on land that he rented for a hundred dollars a year or later simply appropriated for brief periods of time, building shelters in the woods, living in his tipis, growing gardens, hunting down reusable materials or seeking loans from his 'wealthy' friends (his words), riding his bike and publishing his magazines.
I learned a lot from reading that book, but it left me with an ache in my chest that has returned whilst writing this. It is completely and totally and absolutely unfair of me to have this feeling, but I am in a place where I cannot seem to let it go and it is that he followed his bliss, possibly at the expense of the needs of other people, people to whom he had a responsibility at the most basic and elemental level.
So, there may exist a place where whilst there is not only one way to live may dwell in the same Universe as there might also be some not so wonderful ways to live that are subject to valid examination and strongly held opinions.
Divested: Books (big surprise), my antique and collectible baskets
Positive thought: Today is going to a new and fun experience and I am going to enjoy every moment of it.
Day 32
My heart is not in exactly the place I would like it to be today. Part of it is that I created a little, safe space in the world and it seems that I and a tiny cadre of like-minded souls are the only ones interested in it. I am not all gloomy and disheartened or miserable or anything, much less sad about it, well, maybe just a little. All things are and remain dynamic in their time, eventually pass and become something else and perhaps this is the transition time for something that is no longer needed by anyone save me and that tiny cadre of friends. Whatever happens, so be it.
Something interesting happened yesterday and whilst this might not be the right place to write about it, am going to anyway. It was my first, in person, meeting with a new social services client. Her need is not what she originally proposed, but I am satisfied that she used that issue to bring us together. We spent the middle of the day doing that which she really wanted from us and it was, gosh, more than nice, it was wonderful and I look forward to spending more time with her. But, the interesting thing that happened was that when she opened her door to let me into her house, she said something about how beautiful I was. Now. I know what I look like and even though small children or other sensitive creatures to not run away when they see me, I am a very ordinary person in appearance, truthfully, on the lesser side of that. But, I am well-groomed and no one that I know seems to care one way or the other about how any of us look. My friends, and probably some family as well, are of that non-judgmental, loving, accepting and who-gives-a-crap nature. We are able to see past the crusty-dusty exterior into the creamy center of who each of us is and tries to be in how we live our lives. That, I believe, is where true beauty lies, you know, the kind that helps us to be supportive of others no matter how differently they manifest themselves in the world, helps us to make connections and bonds that transcend those differences and celebrate all the similarities we have, particularly those that are not immediately evident. That is just a long and torturous way of saying that I am not beautiful and I know it, but that I hope that I do have some measure of internal beauty and grace and the ability to be just plain nice.
So, anyway, she said that and, much to my surprise, it resonated in me and I felt kind of nice looking. In the support of honesty, I have to admit that I felt pretty. Ten minutes later she was palming the table in her kitchen, moving her hands in a circular motion and I asked her if she was looking for something. She replied that she wanted to find her glasses, that they really did not help her to see very well but that she liked to wear them anyway. For a moment, or two or two hundred, I felt a little crushed and vain and foolish that I had felt so full of myself about my appearance a few minutes before. And so I got over myself. She gathered her things and I carefully, now knowing that she was legally blind, because she also shared that with me, led her out of the house, down the porch steps and around to where my car was parked. And then I felt a lift in my mood again because she did not have super-duper vision and would not be able to see the dust on the dashboard or the Dr. Cracker crumbs on the floor mats or the stain from the double-mocha latte that I bought for my daughter a few weeks ago and that spilled on the seat as I was taking it to her house where I would sit her down to enjoy a moment for herself whilst I had the boys to myself.
Some days, some parts of days, things happen and I lose or misplace my senses of perspective and balance. I do not abandon them, but I sort of forget about them. Or something. Then another thing happens, like yesterday, and I am brought back to myself with another lesson learned about the kind of person I want to be, you know, the image I hold in my heart of how I could be. Then, I do remember what I want, which is to be as aware and observant and connected as is possible to be. I do not require that my life be easy or simple, although that would be nice sometimes, but that I am equal to the challenges, the difficulties, the experiences that help me to move closer to that heart held ideal.
I know that all of the changes are good for me and that it is in my own self-interest to not waste them.
I thought that it would be a little painful to offer this quote and am pleasantly surprised to find that it is not. It is from the near-to-end of Dan Price's book, Radical simplicity: creating an authentic life. I am guessing that I got more out of that book than I thought, or even wanted. Oh, well.
"When you're willing to give something up the rewards you receive are always more interesting than what you had."
So be it.
Divested: Books, more books and two large boxes of saved materials that will never be made into the paper I wanted to make.
Positive thought: I am willing to give up something in order to benefit from interesting rewards.
Day 33
In effect, this is one third of the way through the Hundred Days. I should be sleeping because I have an early meeting with my coffee friends tomorrow morning, well, actually this morning. But, I cannot sleep and was up looking through some photos and sort of grooving on the memories. I needed the respite from trying to enter the modern world and begin doing some things electronically.
Despite knowing a gazillion people who do their banking and shopping and manage all manner of personal business on-line, it is still a weird and confusing place for me. I use computers every single day for work, often doing some computer instruction with some of my clients, but this more intimate use of the technology had my head spinning . I did manage to complete my business taxes on-line just last month. Big whoop for me. But, this evening I spent an hour on-line and on the telephone with three different people before I managed to complete what needed to be done. There were moments when I felt so just plain stupid, not knowing enough to even ask the right questions, and I felt myself close to tears of frustration. I am just a big, old crybaby anyway, but my preference was not to end up weeping instead of being able to listen and possibly learn something useful so that I would not be so uninformed and unprepared the next time.
I do not think that anyone would see me as a modern woman, but it would be nice if I could stop manifesting my inner Luddite.
Anyway, it gave a nice and early start on today's tasks.
Divested: Books, another box of music boxes
Positive thought: I can be as honest with myself as necessary.
Day 34
I am beginning today's divesting from the point of not actually doing it yet. The past few days have been a delicious alchemy of the satisfaction of seeing stuff leave, appreciation for sticking with this plan and process (although it is becoming more like assault than assertion) , and an increasingly uncomfortable awareness of the holes that all these books (and other stuff) were filling so that I did not have to deal with them.
Writing that, delicious might not be the appropriate word for what is happening. Maybe more like stunning or surprising or unsettling. Closer to frightening. Maybe not. I am feeling numb and vulnerable at the same time. I think that I know what this is; it is struggling with oppositional forces, most of which are unnamed. And, all of a sudden I wanted another viewpoint on this aspect and went to my Bartlet's, the big one, (which is not going to be divested) and tried to find something to fit what I am feeling now. The Big B let me down, but I persisted and searched on-line. Well, as is wont to happen, I did not find what I wanted, but instead found what I needed. I love when that happens, but not always, and I suspect that this is one of those times when I wish that I had just left well-enough alone.
"My riches consist, not in the extent of my possessions, but in the fewness of my wants." J. Brotherton
What? Who the heck is that? I found the quote on a gardening web site, of all places. It is, however, close to fitting what I need today, and mostly because in this moment I need to disagree with it. I love when that happens. My disagreement is in the realm of my 'wants'.
Yes, my riches are not about what I own. That means that the word and, more importantly the concept of, poor needs to be gently removed from my lexicon. It does not serve me to make comparisons between what I used to have and what I have now. I remember, during a time when money was tighter than the proverbial drum, that I performed a small ritual to bring abundance into my life. I was thinking of money, but did not want to seem too greedy and actually be honest and ask for it, so I substituted abundance.
This is digressing, but you have to ask for what you want without dithering all over the place. Just ask. If you do not ask, you will virtually eliminate your chances of receiving the thing that you truly want.
So, anyway, I did my little pagan-girl ritual and sat back to wait for the Universe to drop a whole blank-load of money on me. I still joke about that happening because, honestly, who would not appreciate a few extra bucks once in a while. Money will not create happiness, sure, I get that, but I think that it might be easier to live with unhappiness if you did not have to worry about keeping a roof over your head, feeding your family and making certain that everyone was properly clothed. Just saying.
And, I got exactly what I asked for. I got abundance. Well, not anything like new abundance, but the ability to see and appreciate the amazing richness of my life. That, the whole abundance thing, is different for everyone and we all know what that is for us. For me it is the simple awareness and appreciation that I truly have everything I need, a nice and warm rush of emotion that assures me that all is well. My family and friends, meaningful work, living on a nice planet, what more could I want?
I could never face what I wanted and, for whatever reason seemed to be a good idea at the time, I chose stuff. Yep. The holes. I can parry and thrust, fashion and craft psychobabble with the best, but the term holes for those places in ourselves that yearn for so many things is the perfect one. Now, I am emptying them of the books and music boxes and all the rest and wondering what I am going to discover they (the holes) were intended to hold. I need some time to think about this, but I am not going to take it. I am going to plow ahead with my Hundred Days and continue to allow this to happen as it will.
What I do know is that I have wants, and they are definitely not few. They are great in number and they have been waiting a long time to be filled. Some of them no longer serve the person I am now. Everything in its time.
Divested: It will be books, of course, but I think that there will be some illusions, as well.
Positive thought: I am capable of climbing out of holes. Even deep ones.
Day 35
It has been a long day and I am still dedicated to doing nothing useful. My afternoon appointment provided an interesting learning environment and an equally interesting counterpoint to not doing. Sigh.
When warriors from Sparta left for battle, they were given a shield by their mothers or sweethearts. They probably only got the shield the first time they went to war, and I am guessing that they did not call their girlfriends "sweetheart" or "girlfriends" either, for that matter. I do not know what they called them. So, anyway, the shield had the Greek words "With it or on it" engraved on it somewhere. It meant that he should return victorious and carrying the shield, or the shield should return home with an urn on it that contained his cremated remains. The urn with the granulated warrior inside insured that he had not simply lost heart and courage, tossed the shield at his enemies and ran like hell. Like in desertion. And, like they say, the proof is in the pudding, or in this case, the urn. I do not think that this little ritualistic shield thing covered missing body parts, but I have never been able to determine how that was handled. Maybe the newly disabled warrior was placed on the upturned shield and dragged home, like on one of those aluminum sledding saucers. That was probably a really bumpy ride, even more so than the city bus.
I only shared that because, well, even though I kind of like the whole shield concept, I mention it because the words, "With it or on it" is called a laconic phrase, as in meaning a dry wit. Although, I have to say that those Spartans certainly had a way with words and could likely fit right in with contemporary society. Given the right wardrobe, an ancient Spartan could walk down the street and no one would notice, just as that would happen if a Neanderthal did the same thing. And, man, if they met up for lattés at the same Starbucks, I would love to be at the next table and eavesdrop on that conversation.
I like dry and witty. It allows you to be ironical and sardonic, not taking anything too seriously, but still being attentive to the solemn side of whatever. I like laconic. You get to be serious and sincere about something without being all dark or gloomy or heavy-handed. Laconic says, "Hey, I get what this is about, but I can see the bigger picture, too. Maybe I am sounding a bit terse, but my heart is in the right place."
This all does have to do with this afternoon. I think that I have been focusing on shielding myself from some immediate issues at the expense of my own bigger picture. I have also been using humor to manage a difficult relationship. Neither is working very well, which led me to discover something that I already knew, and it is that you cannot ignore what cannot be ignored. If you do, there are consequences, and I must have thought that the laws of nature did not apply to me, believing that I could go back anytime that was convenient for me. And, whatever that deadline for getting back to that was, I missed it. Which means that I do not get a do-over.
Like Alice, I am running as fast as I can and getting no further than she did because I, too, am in a slow sort of country. I need to pick up my shield and use it to carry the old stuff and add in the new stuff that today brought. Sing along now...It ain't heavy, it's my issues. Hah!
Divested: Books
Positive thought: I have nice eyes. Sorry, that is all I got.
Day 36
My intention for today was a critical examination, a hard and serious and honest look at how I am doing all of this divesting. Not so much the interpersonal aspects, but the nuts and bolts of physically moving objects. The physics of divestment. But, that is not to be because there is no randomness in the Universe and a helpful thought from another person leads to me think about something more immediate, and I have Sarah to thank for this. I began to reply to her comment and it grew into what I needed to think about today.
There is no randomness in the Universe. Holy crapoly. (Does that violate the no swearing rule here? I hope not, because I truly am trying to be less vulgar in how I express myself, but, oh, I so love cursing.) There must be legions of us older babes who are redesigning our lives. Reading what Sarah shared with me gave me the serious chillie-willies. That woman is doing much the same process as I am. Now, if she had mentioned books, I might have thought there was an even greater (and spookier) connection, although possessions are likely to be part of releasing her house and the those attachments to things.
I have the inclination and desire to ritualize most liminal experiences and conditions of my life, an example of which is this blog. Working out my issues and aspects through ritual and writing is what I do to support myself in the process of change and, hopefully, forward movement. Cleansing and releasing fire are often a part of what I do. I especially loved how this woman talked about stillness and quiet waiting, patience. I think that it is that soft aspect of awareness that most effectively serves some of us. It is also the most difficult and I believe that there are no wasted parts of the process, that doing things that are not comfortable, perhaps even painful, are essential to the understanding, the self-awareness I need to move where my life intends for me to go.
Some things or people or conditions of being serve us for a time, and they are often the necessary experiences we need to progress to the next thing or person or state of living. It is often torturous to be stuck, as I am right now, with the substances of my own Universe, but I am not giving up and will keep pounding away at this until I am able to reduce it to the particles that led to its creation.
And, I am stuck. I am mired in the examination of my internal process and how it is forcing me to look at how I came to be a person who uses the less-happy and less-fulfilling parts of my life to punish myself. Everyone has sad or unfortunate things happen in their lives. We are thrilled to experience joy and honor that, but when darkness and pain come calling we wail and moan, weep, despair and engage in pointless navel-gazing instead of accepting that it is the counter-point, the balance to the light in our lives. I have to stop doing that. I have to stop dwelling on how I suffer and just get on with it. I must find a way to use all of this to help me not make excuses. Man, I am filled with excuses. It is so painful to admit that, but I am not going to be shamed by it, I am going to use it to cleanse my emotional and spiritual house so that I can get on with the business of living without the artificial support of all of this stuff.
It is just stuff, things, objects. Some useful, but still not necessary. If a bolt of lightening (I like the mythological and spiritual significance of that image, huge surprise) were to strike the house right now and I had to grab only what is important to me I know, instantly, what those things would be. It would be the mister (god help me) and the cats. And, my purse so that we could escape in the car, unless that was struck by another bolt of lightening. However, I would still want my purse because it has a chocolate bar in it right now. With the car ablaze we would just leave and move to a safe distance, hoping that someone called the fire department so that my neighbors would not lose all their crap, too.
I think, in that moment, that I might be sad that my art was being consumed or that our family photos and my daughter's childhood objects were in the process of becoming bits of fluffy ash. Even the loss of my altar would distress me for only the briefest of moments, well, maybe an hour or day or something, but not forever. I really believe that I could stand there and watch that blistering ritual of transformation. I would be able to see it as the release for which I yearn. Unfortunately, it is not lightening season here and I still have to do the actual work of working on this. That so sucks. Perhaps now it will be less torturous, less painful, well, at least a little bit. Last night when I climbed into bed, I saw the two piles of books on the floor next to the two bookcases in my bedroom and I said out loud, "Those have to go. If I am keeping only two hundred books, this is not happening because there are at least that many of you right here."
I feel lighter just writing this. I am feeling less ponderous, less burdened, and, oh goodness, less attached.
Day 36, part two
on February 9th, 2010 at 10:27 AM (In the moment)
I swore that I would never edit any of my posts here and almost did it because I forgot the divesting and thought part of the process. Anyway, here they are.
Divested: Books, a ton of clothing that is not useful for making other things, but will be useful to someone else.
Positive thought: I do not have to be perfect, I just have to be, and I can do that.
Day 37
My Day, by Judsie
It feels like I am back in time, writing a fourth grade essay, you know, the one the teacher makes everyone write on one of the first days back to school after the mid-year break. Only then it was about what you did on your summer vacation. I think that those essays and assignments to share your family experiences might have been the beginning, one of the seeds, of my love of writing, mostly because I had to invent happy family stories to match the tenor of what everyone else was putting into their compositions. I wonder how many other children were also making up stories about the family bliss for which they yearned and never got. So there we all were, good little Catholic children sitting in our little Catholic school classroom, lying our little Catholic asses off. Although I have grown beyond those experiences, I can still recall how it felt when I learned how other people lived and all the rest and that I was not going to have that in my own life.
Then I grew up and believed that I would find whatever I needed to have my own, happily-ever-after future. Life does not work like that. It throws curve balls and gutter balls and whacked-out fast balls just to mess up your heart's desires.
Then I grew up some more and came to know that my happiness and peace of mind, my satisfaction and pride came from doing good works and that only I could determine those things, not anyone or anything, just me.
Tonight I was going through some books and packing them to take to the charity shop and I was watching, sort of, a DVD that I brought home from work today. It was a nicely done romantic comedy, although that is only a guess because I do not watch romantic comedies very often. I am more of a documentary girl, or horror or complicated and gory drama. It was only background noise to keep me company. Until I looked up and saw the look on the face of the male protagonist. I am certain that he, whomever he is, must be a marvelous actor because his face, oh, that look he was giving to the female love-interest was exactly the kind of look that anyone might dream of having someone shine their way.
And,it was more than that look, it was the story. The story. A made-up tale of what some person may have wanted to have as their own essay, the one that was happy and hopeful and had a dreamy ending to mirror the stories they heard from other people. The film is a fiction, an invention. It may or may not have any connection to real life, but who cares? For that moment, it filled someplace in me that needed filling. As I sat in my chair next to the bookcase, partially filled box of books at my feet, I knew what books mean to me, at least some of them. They are an expansion of the stories I made up in the fourth grade, to pretend that I had a nice and fun-filled summer vacation with the nice and happy family that I believed everyone, except for me, had.
In the moments following that realization I thought that this book divesting was going to be a snap. I understood one of the reasons that I have surrounded myself with all of these stories. I hope the easy as pie thing is going to continue to happen. I hope that I will become more comfortable doing this as I get closer to the books that I truly love.
The other side of this, what I believe to be an accurate appraisal of the significance that books and their stories hold for me, is I have to be a stand-up-Juds and wonder if I have allowed my love of stories to influence the standards by which I measure my life. I cannot shy away from this possibility. I am certain that I have to allow for it only because it is holding so much energy for me. It means something.
And to think that all I intended to share was a cool thing that happened at work today. Go figure.
Divested: Books
Positive thought: I am capable of having insights and learning from them.
Day 38
Ahhh...a day blessedly free of drama. No angst. No introspection. No insights. Hour upon hour with absolutely no inner-process work. I stayed as completely out of any kind of 'in' as it is humanely possible. I have been totally out. Out is good. Out works. Out, out, damned books.
Divested: Books, some random kitchen-y things
Positive thought: I am perfectly happy to live with the murmur of guilt that accompanies a day or a dozen of doing nothing active. Good thing, because those days seem to be coming more frequently. I am happy to embrace my sloth spirit.
Day 39
Taking a short break from books, I decided to see what more I could toss out from the kitchen. Some small, assorted stuff went into a charity box earlier this week, but I wanted to clear out a whole bunch of stuff that I never use. And, because I never use it, I had no idea what I would find when I got down on the floor to take a look into the deep and dark cabinets.
Some random plastic pitchers and bottles joined their utensil buddies in the box, but I was surprised at how little was back there. Out went some old food containers and I think that grandma's glassware is going to be on its way out soon, but I will need to ask friends for their old newspapers so that I can wrap all those delicate items and haul them out of here safely. Sunday will be the two week deadline for family members to come and get what they want. I wrote about this on the frugal life forum, but the condensed version is that everyone wanted me to keep on keeping all the stuff they felt needed to be kept but were unwilling to store themselves. So, come Monday morning, the big wheels will turn and then every person who did not want any of this stuff will never forgive me for doing what I said that I would do if it was left here. I am feeling terrible and sick and anxious about this. Too bad.
Since the time that my vision went all wonky, I stopped using the blender and food processor, both of which I cannot decide if I am going to keep or not. I probably should just get rid of them. Aside from the professional baking pans that I used when I was creating wedding cakes and all the things that go with that, there really are not many things that can go. I do know that there are more old family kitchen things in the basement storage area, but I cannot start down there and become all distracted. Those things will wait until it is summer and I can appreciate being down there in the cool and damp air.
Tuesday evening's insight is still resonating for me so that likely means that I am or was on the right track there. It would be so nice if simply figuring out those kinds of things solved the problem, but they do not. Sadly, I still have to do the damn work of handling those things, especially the books, in order to get rid of them. Today someone told me that when she was reading my account of this process that her first thought was that I must be insane to consider removing these books from my life. She is still not certain how sane I am, but she is being supportive and not berating me for the choices I am making.
I wish that I had help doing this. I know that I do not want help, that it is important for me to do this on my own, but there are moments, just tiny pieces of time when I want someone to come in and do this for me. I feel like going away for a while and returning to find every single thing gone. I need a mind-reader to be my organizer so that I do not have to do this anymore. I am feeling weary of this process. I am not quitting, but I am tired of doing this every day. I am behind in how much I thought would be gone by this time, although I am making every effort to not be discouraged.
Day 39 Part 2 follows because the post is too long. Good grief.
I had a dream last night where I woke up in an empty house. I was on the floor, with a thick, cushion-y quilt and pillow and a soft blanket. The cats were there, sharing the quilt with me. I got up and walked to the window. It was open and warm breezes were blowing into the room, lifting and dropping sheer curtains. The house and property were on a high promontory overlooking the ocean, or maybe a large lake. Anyway, I could not see the opposite shoreline, so it was big water. I stood there for a long time, enjoying the warm air flowing over me and the view, clean and spare; the in- and exhalation of the waves on the shore. I felt the rhythm of the tidal forces mirrored in my body and my heartbeat, the movement of blood in my veins.
I turned and walked down the staircase and through room after room. Every window had the same sheer covering as my sleeping room. In the kitchen I found bowls for the cats and their breakfast and I fried an egg and toasted bread for myself. I ate, leaning against the frame of the door because this room, just like every other part of the house did not have any furniture. Warm wooden floors and cream colored walls, but nothing else. I put my plate and fork on the counter and looked back out of the door at the green space and the sandy beach between me and the water. Then I woke up.
Last week, or the week before, I cannot exactly recall, I had another dream that has stayed with me. My daughter came home with a spider that she said was her friend, sort of. But, the spider did not like her. Frankly, it did not like anyone. It was cranky and ill-tempered. It rose on its rear legs and hissed at anyone who came near it. At first I liked it, as I have always enjoyed the appearance and behaviors of spiders.
(Years before my daughter was born, we lived in an apartment where a large, black spider lived in a corner of the kitchen. I am not saying that we ever became friends or anything, but it learned to tolerate me being around and I always found it of some comfort to know that it was up there near the ceiling. When we moved from that apartment, I was concerned because I knew that the new tenants or the landlord or someone would sweep it away and probably kill it in the process. So, I decided that I would take the spider with us to our new apartment. On the day that we moved I took a jar that I had prepared by piercing holes in the lid and putting cotton batting in the bottom and climbed on a chair and scooped it up. When we got to the new place, I set it free in the kitchen and closed the door so that it would not be bothered. I should not have been, but I was surprised when I never saw it again. I still feel badly about probably causing that poor spider's death, but I suppose there is always a chance that it escaped to have a nice spider life on its own.)
Anyway, in the dream, that spider was large, the size of a teacup saucer. It was a pale azure blue with bristly parts and it was slightly glossy. It was as beautiful as it was cantankerous. Everyone hated it and avoided being around it and complained constantly about how mean it was and that I should get rid of it. I could not; I felt that there was something good in it and that it deserved to not only live, but to live with us. So, in addition to hating the spider, all those people were always angry with me.
One day someone was talking about leaving in order to not be around the spider and, as usual, I was defending it. As I was walking past it, it shot something at me, that stuck in my upper arm. It was like a barb and it was attached to the spider by a strand of web silk. It hurt a lot and I yelled for someone to break the silk and someone did that, grabbed it with both hands and ripped it apart. I went to look at the spider and it was laying large, pink egg sacks and I knew that we were in serious danger because they were moving and there was only a short time to do something before all the new spiders attacked everyone. I went and found a large jar and lid and a serving spoon. I put the jar upside down over the spider, trapping it. I then used the spoon to pick up the egg sacks and put them into a plastic bag. I awoke thinking that there was not anything that I could do to stop bad things from happening, that some things were out of my control.
I had put the spider dream aside, recalling it when I woke this morning with the empty house dream in my mind, and knowing that they are connected, those two dreams.
I have a life with aspects, things and people that are not particularly good for me. Even when I am directly affected by whatever that thing is, I resist. Even to the extent of defending the bad thing. Even when someone is brave or caring enough to tell me that the thing is not good for me. Even when the thing is creating problems, erecting barriers between me and other people. Even when those people who care about me threaten to have less to do with me because of the thing.
There are some things over which I do not have control. None at all. But, the majority of my life is in my control. When something is not good for me, I have the power and means to leave that behind. That I never actually do that is besides the point.
But, I could. I could change the whatever it is that needs changing. I am doing that now. I am changing my attachment to the objects that I have used to fill the spaces in my life that were empty and longing for something. I think that I always knew that I was substituting books and art and yarn and fabric for the things that I could not have. I am moving closer to the necessity of dealing with all of that, and I am afraid to give voice to what those things are. It is too scary. I am not yet to the place where I can do that.
The thing is that I started this process not considering where it was leading and what the costs would be. One of the prices of doing this is honestly. I feel close, just not close enough. All of this is what my spider dream is telling me. It informs me that I am paying attention and that I am stuck at the point of wanting to make changes and that I am willing to go to that point and no further.
My empty house dream is telling me two things. The first is that I can envision the release of those interpersonal difficulties with which I have not been dealing. The second is that I am not yet to the place where I am willing to move beyond them. I can see possibility but am unwilling to take the steps. I am letting go of things, but not my fears.
I see the barriers that I am using to avoid forward movement in my life and refuse to move beyond them to a future where I am also unwilling to entertain the possibility of having the things that I need. Lovely. I wonder how many more ways I can phrase this before I take some action.
Divested: Books
Positive thought: I can acknowledge fear without creating additional fear.
Day 40
I was out of the house before seven and just returned home a half-hour ago. That means that no serious work was done here today, nor do I plan to do anything tonight except fill a box with books. Nearly everything that leaves here from now on will be going to support a cathedral in a nearby city. One of its members is part of my Saturday morning coffee gang.
I was telling them this morning about the embarrassing erotic book conversation that took place yesterday at my vet clinic and how I was surprised to find hardly anything in the kitchen cabinets. She mentioned that they will be having a rummage sale in a few months and that she will take all of my boxes of books and random things and store them at her house until they begin organizing the items for the sale. I tried to caution her about how many boxes of books this is going to be, but she continued to tell me that she was willing to do this.
Several weeks ago I went looking for quotes to inspire me in this work. Failing that, I was hoping to find some that would thrill me on a cellular plane. And, since I have not thought much about the process today, nor cleared out the cabinet under the bathroom sink so that I can install - god help me - the new faucet sometime tomorrow, I thought that I would share a couple of the quotes I found that might not be precisely about divesting, but seem to be resonating for me on a more gentle and heartfelt level. An additional thought is that I have not looked at this set of quotes since I found them. They are stunningly supportive of the dreams that I have been having. No randomness in the Universe.
Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you've imagined. As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler; solitude will not be solitude, poverty will not be poverty, nor weakness weakness.
Henry David Thoreau
However mean your life is, meet it and live it: do not shun it and call it hard names. Cultivate poverty like a garden herb, like sage. Do not trouble yourself much to get new things, whether clothes or friends. Things do not change, we change. Sell your clothes and keep your thoughts.
Henry David Thoreau
Nothing is as simple as we hope it will be.
Jim Horning
Most of the critical things in life, which become the starting points for human destiny, are little things.
R. Smith
The little things? The little moments? They aren't little.
John Zabat-Zinn
Divested: Books
Positive thought: I have the courage necessary to face whatever changes the future brings to me.
Day 41
Another early day, this time before six to take a couple of friends to their departure site for a trip that the three of were to take together. You know, life happens and it happened to make it impossible for me to go along.
Today is St. Valentine's Day. Yeah, it's too commercial, and trite and insincere and there is the contingent that asserts the whole "who the hell thinks that they can tell me what day to appreciate the people I love and I do it every day anyway so take your greeting card and chocolate company and flower and teddy bear purveying behinds out of my business." All that.
However, it is a nice reminder that we might not always take time, in the midst of our busy and stressful and work or trying-to-find-work lives, to give a few love-licks to the people we actually care about. And, however you choose to spend the day, or not spend the day, try to not be rear-ended by a truffle.
There is an interesting dynamic going on here today and it is that, beginning with last October, I decided that I was going to stop celebrating holidays, birthdays and anniversaries with someone who expects presents and pampering and special treats but only on the receiving end, not extending his/her energy into doing anything for others. Thanksgiving found that person very reluctantly coming along with me to the place where I was spending the day. That is because, for the first time, I did not prepare a big, traditional dinner. Then, I did not go out and find the perfect gift for that person's birthday in December, nor did I buy anything for St. Nick's Day or Christmas. It was difficult to break those traditions, more so than I thought that it would be, and I am still feeling some regret about ending those things. However, I did all of that, or actually did not do all of that, I guess, for the right reasons and my tradition-focal feelings will just have to get accustomed to it.
So, today dawned with me leaving the house whilst it was still dark and returning home without any display of Valentine goodies, not home-made or store bought. There is not going to be any St. Patrick's Day special foods (this one is going to be bad because this person is from the homeland of the aforementioned saint), Easter basket this year or Memorial Day or Fourth of July cookouts, and so on through the year. I think that my feelings of regret or selfishness or whatever they are, exist because I took on the role of being the special event planner and production company from the earliest days of this relationship. And, even though this began four months before I even thought of doing this divesting, the two circumstances are identical in design and intent.
Another issue, or perhaps a condition of being, has become a possibility from this naive little process of mine. It is too sad to consider, much less worry about, so I will not. Unintended consequences.
I no longer care to do those things that do not serve me. I understand and am sensitive that change is never easy, not even change for the better, like a new and exciting job or a marriage or a new home or the birth of a child. They all contain their own quality, dimension of stress, and even the cool and groovy stress that comes along with wonderful things is still stress and our bodies react the same, regardless of the source. I know all of that. I honor it. That said, I refuse to be on the giving end all of the darn time. I simply have to.
I do not believe that it makes me a selfish person to long for even a small part of that sort of treatment, the surprises or treats or even (gasp!) gifts, sprinkled in my direction once in a while.
So, at 10:30 this morning, with no mouth-watering scents drifting from the kitchen and no plate of homemade chocolates or baked goodies, I am going back to bed to catch up on the sleep I missed by staying late to play with the babies last night and getting up early to see off my beloved friends. I plan to ease into slumber by enjoy a bit more of Widow of the South, the reading of which is coming to an end in the next few days. When I get up I will toss more books in boxes and see what I can trash from under the bathroom sink.
Divested: Books
Positive thought: I am strong enough to consider (maybe not today, but soon) that I may lose more than I intended.
Day 42 You may not want to read this. Fair warning.
Another cool and groovy day in Dysfunctional Divestment Land. Actually, it was not too bad. That is my phrase for the foreseeable future.
So, I had a not too bad day, and I mostly wasted it on the telephone and watching DVDs. Okey-dokey, I did a little work, but not enough. I am tired and I do not feel good and my tummy hurts and I just did not feel like doing much of anything. It was great, but now I am feeling a little guilty about wasting time, which seems to be my more normal state these days. These days I am a sloth. I am hanging out here in the deepest, darkest valley in the rain forest, in my tree that looks, in just the right light, like a chair with wheels. My slothy hair is covered with patches of moss, which helps to protect the tiny creatures that live there.
More boring symbolism, but my sloth nature is the barrier that I am erecting to distance myself from the feelings with which this divesting is pelting me. I am determined to have these books gone, not because I no longer love them, but they have come to stand for the feelings and experiences I am unwilling to face.
Whenever anything goes wrong around here I am blamed for it. When the thirty year old stove finally died eighteen months ago, it was because I did not take good enough care of it. When the shower stopped working near to its fifteenth birthday, I was the one who broke it and kept it a secret. This evening something went all wonky with the plumbing and it was because I do not know how to use something that I never actually ever used. Every creak and groan of this old house, all the missing and misplaced objects, when one of the cats had a problem with one of his teeth, we all know where to come to find the culprit. And, that is why she hides in her forest, barely moving, hoping to be invisible when the next thing goes wrong or breaks or cannot be found.
In the middle of this not too bad day I decided that I had to do something about the next few shelves of books and I grabbed stacks and put them in boxes. When I went to take the next handful, a slim volume about Thomas Aquinas was on the top of the books already in the box. I love that book. So, sloth that I am, I picked it up and opened it. I read a bit, roaming around, paging back and forth and found a line that made me smile. It is "Beware of the person of one book. " Well, that certainly is not me, although he meant that a man who had mastered a single book was probably dangerous because of the dedication to a single viewpoint. I think that the larger meaning is that it is important to have the ability to see, understand and honor more than a single point of view. It was the thirteenth century Dominican version of Quinn's assertion that there is not only one right way to live. I like that. It proves that wisdom is eternal and that it rears its noble head whenever it is needed in the world.
The next line that stopped me was "The things that we love tell us what we are." I wonder about that. It seems indisputable, but kind of heartbreaking at the same time. Have I loved books to the exclusion of having a fully realized life? Do I substitute the anonymous nature of the printed word in order to refuse to pay attention to how I am in relationship? Do I enter those other realms to be safe? A more reasonable thought might be when I am likely to grow a pair and stand up for myself. I have this creepy feeling that I cannot do that until I have consumed the shell of paper, glue and ink that I think of as my protection. Maybe all of these books are simply telling me that I am not capable of having a life outside of them. That would be really crappy, but it might also be true.
I put the book back into the box and took it out to the car. Enough of that.
I have a friend who is enamoured of Hildegard of Bingen. She has read her writings and says that she is the president of Hildie's fan club, and has tried on many occasions to share some of her books on this saint with me. Yes, I do know that she was never actually canonized, by my friend says that is just a formality. Even though she, Hildegard, lived during the Medieval period, she was a truly Renaissance person, doing it all, nursing, writing, creating music and who knows what else. There is much more that she did, but refusing to read about her, I know only what my friend has told me.
One thing that sticks in my mind today is that the reason her parents sent her to live in a convent was because she had visions and it just plain bugged the heck out of everyone because she insisted on sharing their content. I am relating it to my dreams, which are not visions or prophetic or even very interesting, but what they are is disturbing and of great frequency. I am being woken by them nearly every night
For the second time since I began this process, I want to stop. I want to chuck it all and give up. I do not care if I finish this. It is too hard. I am ashamed to admit this, but I can see myself walking away from all of this, the pain of releasing these books, the sadness of feeling alone and, oh, what the hell, who cares. I could do it, you know, disappear. I will not, I will stay and finish this, but it is difficult right this minute.
Divested: Books
Positive thought: I cleaned out the car and it looks nice.
Day 43
I cannot even believe that it is nearly a month and a half since I began this trip to hell. Yeah, I had heard of the place, having been a good, little Catholic school girl at one time, but who knew it was going to be so blazing hot? Kind of like Australia.
So, anyway, I did a lot more work today. A huge box of assorted stuff that someone bought (hmmmm...who could that be) and never used. It is mostly things that I found on sale and thought would be handy to have around in case I needed an emergency gift. They are lovely things, but most never seemed to be perfect for any one person. One of them will help me out for a birthday party on Sunday and whilst there are lots of really cool stuff, they are going, going, gone.
Not only did I underestimate the number of books in this house, I failed to factor in how much some of these old books mean to me. I did some checking, very little, I promise, and found that they are not available at the library and cannot ever be repurchased with ease because they are out of print. So. There are going to be more books staying than I first thought. I am, however, hoping that as the bookcases empty that I will be able to winnow the ones that I am keeping at some later time. For the time being, Lovecraft and Kafka, Peck, Angelou, Estes and the Newbery winners get to stay.
I am taking my first couple of boxes to a used book store on Friday. Or, Monday if I chicken-out. It is not so much that I could use the extra money, which I most certainly can, but the two charity shops that will accept any kind of book (as opposed to the ones who want only mystery, popular fiction, romance and science fiction) have asked me to take a break, as in give them a break so that they do not have to store or trash all the boxes of books that I have already brought to them. Fair enough. I certainly do not want to pass my burden on to anyone else and I am grateful for the honesty.
Finding boxes for the books remains the most annoying part of this.
After yesterday's plumbing tribunal I was expecting more of the same, but it did not happen. Kind of amazing, but I am not complaining. And, I am not indulging in any self-loathing to fill the empty space. So there.
One of the book shelves had several inches of materials from workshops that I attended in 1996. Holy crap. It is difficult to believe that I was even more messed up fifteen years ago, but I was. One folder was all about self-esteem and positive self-talk. How lamely psychobabbled I was then. Frankly, I probably have not made all that much progress and I have to wonder why that is so. I cannot remember the last time that I took a workshop of that kind, has to be ten or eleven years, at least. I think the last one was on making altars. My friend, K, and I still give the occasional weekend writing workshops,but even that has dramatically decreased since both of us retired last year. We have only two or three this year, the next in April. I am looking forward to a nice extra long weekend on the blustery shores of the Little Pond.
Since I began this blogging thing here, I have not gone back to read any of the episodes. I did not plan it that way, but it felt right to simply allow this to flow all stream-of-conscious and free of any intentional control. I want to write without filtering out anything-not a moment of shame or confusion or without reacting to the struggle of doing this. I thought that I would wait until the end and then find a day when I could devote a chunk of time to reading it from the first entry to the last one.
But, something happened yesterday, with the whole plumbing thing, and when I got around to logging onto the computer this morning, I had this itch to read what I wrote yesterday and I finally caved and did it. Doing that was a mixed bag of pain, chagrin, wonder and wondering how I think that allowing all of that to spew out of me is even remotely a responsible thing to do where other people might read it. Frankly, and I hope that the filter filters this out, but it feels indulgent and masturbatory. Sorry if that offends, but I have to consider that being this honest about my feelings might not be good for anyone.
It reminds me of what's-her-name, Lorraine something who created that poster in the mid 1960s, the one that reads "War is not good for children and other living things." I am mostly pleased with how I am managing to divest all of these books, but there are rare moments when this feels like intense conflict. I have tried to think of it as emerging into a new life, one unencumbered by the weight of all of these books that I believed I could not live without. Maybe it is a kind of rebirth. Or something. Birth can be painful, almost always is for at least the mother, and this is painful, and I hope to come out the other side of living this way relatively intact. I would truly like to end up being grateful for having done this and without any regret about even a single book that is no longer here. So, yeah, maybe it is more like birth than war.
It makes me a little curious about other entries, but not enough to go and read them, so I think that I will not do that, like quitting whilst I am ahead of the game. I do not want to cheat in that game, but it would be nice to be on the winning side. Yeah, that would be nice.
Divested: Books, gift bags, a ton of note cards/envelopes and some lovely parting gifts.
Positive thought: I can be indulgent once in a while and it will not kill me.
Day 44
Today was another long one, eleven hours of clients with insurmountable problems. During the sessions I feel particles of me flaking off and drifting over to the person sitting next to me. It the closest that I can professionally, and probably legally, get to just hugging them. These are the times I long for magic to make things better. But, I resist because the line between helping and rescuing is so fine that it is nearly invisible and rescuing someone benefits no one, the the rescuer or the rescued. One of the reference librarians told me, after the second one that I deserve a gold star for being so patient and kind. Frankly, I told her, I would prefer a martini.
Unfortunately, no one serves those kinds of beverages in the middle of the day in the library. Too bad.
My final client, on the other hand, was a dream. Bless her.
I am exhausted and had little energy left for anything, not even whining, so I packed a small (very) box of books and am calling it a day. Thank goodness.
Divested: Books, and little pieces of my heart
Positive thought: I can appreciate the comfort of my sweet, little bed and the restoration of a good night's sleep.
Day 45 The Measure of Friendship
I am sort of over myself today. All that angst is tiring and way too much work for someone as lazy as I am. Truth be told, I would much prefer to settle back and watch my vampire movie, but I have been awash in friend issues and I know that if I do not get this out of my system now, that I will be up late pounding away at this keyboard and I need to be out and about by nine tomorrow morning.
So, anyway, friends.
When I met my husband, I thought that we would just be friends although it was clear that he had other ideas about where our relationship was going. It seemed fine and easy and even kind at the time, but it shames me now that I allowed him to believe that we were going to be more than casual friends. Clearly, after nearly 45 years together, he had a more accurate assessment of our relationship than I did, so I guess it is moot. I hate having to be honest about all of this, so I am going to move on to something else.
Well, it is still friendship, but you know. Thinking that I am a shy person is not part of what people think about me, but it is true. I am your classic painfully shy person. It has kept me from being and doing many things during my life. I missed my best friend's second marriage because I could not make myself, even after getting all gussied up, turn on the car and drive to the wedding location. I have missed every kind of event and party and occasion over the decades because I was too anxious about actually going. There have been a few times when I made it as far as the site of the party or whatever, but ended up turning around and going home. I always thought that time would cure this problem, and whilst it has lessened over time, shreds of it are still with me. The most recent time this happened was New Year's Eve when I called the day of the party and gave my regrets. At least that part, the calling to cancel, is my response now instead of simply not showing up when I was expected somewhere. So, yeah, I have made forward movement with this, but I just could not go to that party where the only people I would have known were the hosts. It shames me to be like this sometimes. If you are a good friend, you do not do this.
I guess the unbelievable part for everyone who knows me is that old friends do not recall how paralyzed I used to be about this, well, except for the wedding I missed, and also because I do not behave that way so that anyone would notice. I give workshops, big and busy, small and personal. I have employment, albeit volunteer, that requires me to be assertive when helping people draw on their inner resources and talents to do the work they need to do right now in their lives. Every week I am able to be the encouraging, bossy, supportive and difficult person that those people need me to be. I am able to do those things because I force myself and work my ass off to see that I do not let them down. All that, and my determination to be a decent friend and not cause problems for the people I claim to love. Or like.
I think that what I like best about being in relationship with other people is that I get to be myself and I get to support them in their quest to just be themselves. Yeah, that is what I like about it. Friendship is a safe place, a sanctuary where you can go when the rest of your crappy life is so difficult or painful or just a little icky and you do not think that you can survive another minute. It is also a less heavy place where you can hang out and have fun and cool conversation, maybe some coffee or scones, sit and gossip and, sometimes, do absolutely nothing.
One of my friends is dying. It sucks, big time, and there is nothing that anyone can do for her because she is not at the place where she even wants to think about it or talk about it, much less make any decisions or choices. More than ten years ago, I was the main caregiver for another friend who was dying from cancer. (Oh, yeah, my friend now has cancer, too. Disgusting little ****er, cancer.) She suspected that she had it prior to her diagnosis and made me do all manner of end of life stuff with her. I never suspected that that was her motivation; I just privately mumbled my complaints whenever she dragged me along to do one dumb thing or another. I very nearly fought with her during a terrible trip that zig-zagged across our state for two weeks. Fortunately, something stopped me from doing that, some kind of divine intervention.
A few days after we both made it home alive (ha!), she asked me to take her somewhere, but would not tell me where it was or what we would be doing. It was in the evening and I thought that she wanted to go shopping and needed me to drive and carry her crap. When I picked her up I asked where she wanted to go and she asked me to take her to a doctor's appointment. She directed me to take her to the emergency room at the hospital, where it became apparent that she did not have any appointment. I knew that this was serious, but she refused to talk to me and we sat in the waiting area whilst a large group of high school students was triaged following a bus accident that happened on their way home from some sporting event.
We waited hours. People came and went. Frantic parents and family members rushed in to find their injured loved one and, despite my worry for my friend, it was fascinating and only so because there were no injuries more serious than minor bumps and bruises to any of them. Finally, it was my friend's turn and I continued to wait for another hour. Then a nurse came and told me that my friend wanted me to wait in the examination room with her until the test results came back.
Test results.
When I got there, I insisted that she tell me what was going on, that I knew this was serious business happening with her and that whatever it was, information from her was critical. She insisted that we wait until the doctor came back. So, we did. Not for long. He came back with a pile of x-rays, two other doctors, and the nurse that had fetched me.
He told her, us, that the x-rays confirmed her suspicions that she had lung cancer and that whilst it was necessary to wait for all of the test results to come back, they were just formalities. Even though all of this only confirmed what she already knew, she was paralyzed and I had to call her husband to come to the hospital to help me take her home. I spent most of the next year watching her make choices that I believe that I would never make, but until it happens to you, it is impossible to know what you might do or how your would behave or manage or just be able to get out of be in the morning, much less drag yourself to treatment. I was alone with her when she died in the hospital.
For a long time, maybe a couple of years, I missed her, desperately, but mostly I felt shame because it seemed that I learned so many things through the process of caring for her, her suffering and her death. All of that learning seemed to have come to me at here expense. It changed me, as it always does for everyone who lives through this. I am not talking about things like survivor guilt, but how the experience informs who you become and how you move through the world. Since then, I consider it a blessing that I have been able to do this two more times, care for someone who was ill. Fortunately, she lived, that two-time-person, so I am able to indulge in far less emotion except for extreme happiness.
It is so clichéd to say this, but I do not care because I am thrilled to have the perspective that eventually accompanies great loss. My preference would always be to never have the experience or the perspective, but I accept it for the amazing gifts that they are.
Today I am all about shame and guilt and perspective, how to be a decent, kind and loving and supportive friend when that person creates barriers to being so; and finding a way to live without the restrictions that my human nature, my core abilities, manifest in my life. However, I am mostly experiencing the feelings of shame and of feeling paralyzed. Sarah shared a story about Buddha with me yesterday about how he responded to a man who railed against him. “Buddha said quietly, "Me? I am going to do nothing. Your anger is yours and what you choose to do with it is entirely up to you."
It is not just anger that belongs to someone else. It is guilt and shame, grief, pain, judgment. Even joy truly belongs only to the other person. If we want to share any of that, we can only if we create it on our own. It is like when toddlers play. They cannot play cooperatively, but only side-by-side, creating their own experience in the presence of the other child.
Shared experiences bring us together, into alignment, but we remain separated. Despite our best efforts, we truly are alone. It is good enough.
Grief is for another day.
Divested: Books
Positive thought: I love watching the birds at the feeding stations.
Day 46
It's wrong to hate, right? I do not have that much experience with it, the whole hating thing, but I am pretty sure that it is not a good thing. I was never what anyone would call a devout and formal church-going person, but I do remember from my Catholic schoolgirl days that there are all manner of cautions in the Bible about not hating, turning the other cheek, being humble in our responses to bad stuff, you know, all that loving your neighbor and doing it in a way that you would like for yourself. All that. I always believed in that. I did. I still do. I try to be a good person. My core beliefs are that we are here to be happy, be of service however and whenever we can and that whatever we do or think or manifest in the world, that as long as it does not hurt any one or any thing, not even ourselves, that we should just go ahead and feel secure in the rightness of living and doing.
More than that, I believe that there are as many ways to live a good life as there are people. So, whilst I have tons of opinions I choose to not judge anyone else or think that I have the right or privilege to criticize when and how they may choose to do things differently from the way that I do things. My way of doing is right for me and I honor that capacity for everyone else. I am not the morality or behavior police and I am content in that. And that contributes to why I am not practiced in the ways of hating.
Well, there are exceptions, guess that is always the case, that we have exceptions to whatever rules or guidelines or precepts by which we choose to live.
I do hate manifestations of disease, hunger, inferior medical and health opportunities, unethical business practices and things like that. Inequality, racism, class designations, cultural bigotry, poverty (both financial and impoverishment of spirit), gender/age/socio-economic and physical and mental health care issues, and all the rest leave me disturbed, in pain and often enraged. Maybe that is why volunteering is so essential to how I move through the world. Maybe not, but I do understand that is a highly motivating force for me.
I hate war. I cannot even begin to express how much I hate war and it is easy for me to be consumed by my feelings about the pointless war mongering that we get to see and hear about every, single, damn day. And, I do not give a flying crap about who is right and who is wrong and who did what to whom or when it was done. Oh. The war thing. It is in my head and heart right now because I went and saw a movie today, something that I rarely do. It is expensive beyond belief, but a friend wanted us to spend the day together. She would like us to do this once a month, but I cannot. She likes movies and lunch and so that is what we did today. The film is not one that I would have chosen to see, but it turned out to be wonderful and it was followed by a nice lunch and lots of cool and groovy conversation, as well as some silliness at the Target store. All in all, a lovely experience. Well, there was an exception, which seems to be the theme for the day. I do not know what going to the movies is like in other places, but here in the USA, the tickets are pricy, the popcorn is good but insanely priced and the first ten to fifteen minutes following the listed show time are filled with previews of other movies, public service announcements and notices that the theatre auditorium is available to rent for your next corporate meeting.
So, we got to the theatre on time, bought our matinee tickets and settled down to chat and watch a film about a country-western singer who would be living his sad songs. The final preview/PSA/rental opportunity was a very long, dramatic, stunningly filmed and beautifully scored piece about one of our military branches. Our military complex people are not stupid. If they were dumb, they would not be so dangerous. That commercial for becoming a member of this branch played on every patriotic and public-service-minded cell that a human being has. And, it was horrible. There was not any spraying blood or eviscerated bodies, no destroyed cities or weeping orphans. I guess that would be too honest a representation. In their places, there were heroic rescuing of incapacitated comrades and service to distressed civilians. It was propaganda at its best.
Perhaps I could have just let it go, not allowed it to affect me, but it reactivated how I began my day, with something happening and becoming lost in a crimson haze of loathing. The particulars are not important, only the feelings that I am having. This hate cannot possibly be good for anything, I mean, it is not useful for clarity or understanding or motivation. I already have those, and I am becoming stronger and more self-protective and supportive all the time.
People treat us only as we allow. We can use any excuse we like to justify why we stay where we are clearly not wanted. I do it all the damn time. There are circumstances that can hold us in place and time, a particular geography, if you will. I am there/here now. I know that it is temporary. I can actually see that future time when I will be gone from where I am. I am not in danger and I can continue to be patient. But, I have to stop this hating. I have to find a way to get rid of this and to not have this feeling again, because hating a social construct or a behavior or the disgusting and harmful treatment of individuals or groups of people is one thing. Hating a single person, for whatever reason, is, well, there is nothing worse. Having these hateful feelings towards a person alarms me. I did not believe that I was capable of this. Ten hours later I am still ablaze with these feelings of hatred. You know, I think that part of this is that I am feeling, well out of control of course, but immature, childish, like all of my life experience just disappeared...poof...there it goes...and that I lack the coping skills to deal with some dumb thing that someone did to me.
Well. Slight interruption. That person just came to me because something was not working. No apology or even reference to what happened this morning. So, I fixed the not-working thing. I must be one, totally messed up person, but helping that creepazoid seems to have decreased this energy in my body. Even my mind is calmer. Maybe that little encounter might look like me trimming myself to suit someone else, but it feels more like a slight trim around my own edges that might be suiting myself. I will never be Saint Juds, or wife of the year or anything like that, but I do admit to feeling a small measure of pride that I can still rise above my pain and use it to facilitate whatever the hell it was that just happened. Live action, real time journaling. This place is just plain nuts. When I do leave (not "if") I wonder what I will have to write about. Holy cripes. If I were talking about this instead of writing it, I would be speechless. Unbelievable.
Divested: Books, and, apparently, a large measure of my ability to sustain rage.
Positive thought: I can surmount my feelings to to the right thing, at least once in a while.
Day 47
I stood up for myself today. It was scary and I did not want to do it, but, I did and there were not, at least as of this writing, any bad side effects. However, the day is not over. No, that is too negative. If something happens I will stand up again. I intend to keep on doing this, at least until hell freezes over.
I wonder if the global warning brigade has information on how soon that is likely to happen.
Divested: Books.
Positive thought: I am still coming up with some lame positive thought or another. This is more difficult than it might seem, and if you think otherwise, then you try it for forty-seven damn days. You can only say that you have nice eyes so many times.
Day 48
There is a birthday party this afternoon, so I am getting this divesting stuff out of the way now. It, the party, is a surprise for our friend who has cancer. She rarely comes to Saturday morning coffee any more because her treatments are so debilitating. It is full afternoon, most days, before she begins to feel less like a crap sandwich.
When together, we never talk about her condition beyond asking how she is doing and offering to help if she feels like having someone help her. When she is not there, we still never really talk about her cancer because, well, I do not know the why for everyone else, but for me it is that I am unwilling to burden anyone with my feelings that hope of a recovery is not a possibility. It is the subject of conversation that is never part of the conversation.
We are giving her gifts that will not further burden her life. Exactly what that means is anyone's guess. My gift to her is a nice tote bag with books in it (some that I never read, but no new purchases...sigh), one of my copper embossments, and a Halloween candy dispenser, you know, kind of like a small gumball machine, but with a clear jack-o-lantern head (I bought a couple last year after they went on sale for a dollar and have actually used them for things like this). I filled it with dark chocolate-covered espresso beans mixed with Ghirardelli's white chocolate chips. That is it. I chose gifts that her husband might like, too. He is kind of goofy, as some husband's are wont to be, but, he is exactly the kind of man that you want around you when the going gets tough. I have always like him, but I never dreamed that I could love him so much. Everyone should be lucky to have someone like him in their life.
I have had significant pockets of grief over the past week or so, and this circumstance with my friend is one of them. It is not possible to talk to her about it, so I am writing my soul out whenever I can find the time. It is mostly the same kinds of things, over and over and over and over. I guess that is because this is from only my side and there is nothing new, no forward movement for me. So, I just keep rehashing everything that I am feeling or whatever random and weird things puddle in my head.
It really does feel stagnant, that puddling. A moderate expanse of still water, sediment always drifting to the bottom, but the upper layers so cloudy with all of those unresolved thoughts, feelings and fears.
One of those fears is that I am inappropriately grieving for her in advance, non-supportive advance, of whatever might be ahead for her. That future could be glorious recovery and many years of a cool and groovy life chock full of everything that she ever wanted or dreamed about. I think that part of my impatience with this is that when I see her she looks amazing. Bright and healthy are how I would describe her physical appearance. It could be artifice, but I believe that my perception is largely how she is feeling, at least in those moments. But, when I am in her presence, there seems to be a darkness around her, occupying the space where I would like to see an aura that indicates health. It is almost physical, a thrumming. I cannot adequate describe it and a part of that might be that I do not want to put what I am feeling into coherent thoughts or words, not even in my head. I think that my heart will not let me.
On occasion I experience an almost frantic need to talk to her about this, like I need to know or reassure her (probably myself even more) or something, make sure that she is doing exactly what she wants to do and in exactly the way that she wants to do it. But, I do not because it is none of my damn business. She is so wise and what she decides to do or not do, how she is living her life and trying to survive those heinous treatments is her business. It is her path, her journey. Not mine. I have to keep reminding myself of that because I love her. Just keep your big, selfish mouth shut, Juds. Keep your own counsel. Take care of your own messed-up life. Leave her alone. Do not burden her with your thoughts and feelings. Just shut the (blank) up. And, keep it shut.
You know, that saying about how every happy family has many similarities, but every unhappy family is unique in its quality keeps boinging into my thought processes lately. I know that one of the reasons my friend's illness holds so much energy for me is because I am going through changes, albeit much less dire, in my own life. I am preparing to grieve large about what I am going to have to do in the near future. That grief is becoming an increasingly greater part of my process here. I am mourning the loss of some truly wonderful things in my life, but more importantly, I am recognizing that it is essential for me to shed more than books or kitchen utensils or candy dispensers. I am making every sincere effort to avoid anticipating what those parts of my life might be, trusting that what happens is precisely what is supposed to happen and that it will happen to the best good for all of us if I just stay out of my own way during this time. I am experiencing faith on an entirely new plane of awareness.
There is no denying that it is grief. There is no denying that I have come to accept that I am holding responsibility for how this affects everyone involved and that I am taking that responsibility, that standard for how I do this, as seriously as I have ever taken anything. I find myself lamenting about how I never intended to hurt anyone with this little project. The only simple aspect of this whole thing is how simple-minded I was about the consequences. Taking an honest look back, I believed that I would get rid of these books (later incorporating other household things) and that I would winnow the eighteen bookcases down to just a few and that my house would look lean and mean and everyone would live happily ever after. Forever. One of those happy endings of which I am so fond.
I am so desperate for that happy ending. I want it more than I have wanted anything in recent memory. Wanting it is not enough to make it happen. A classic happy ending might not be what is appropriate for this time. But, I still want it. I just want it so badly.
Divested: Books, a tote bag and a candy dispenser filled with chocolate and hope
Positive thought: I am beginning to understand that doing the right and proper things for everyone might be harder than it should be and is most certainly harder than I want it to be.
Day 49
Juds: 0
Insurance company: 1
Despite an unhealthy start in life, I have managed to enjoy a very healthy and vigorous life. In my early twenties I developed the arthritis that would become an increasing area of disability for me, but not so bad that I let it interfere with anything that I wanted to do.
Fifteen years later, when my daughter was small we regularly climbed down the cliffs near our house, spent the afternoon exploring miles of rocky beaches and then climbed back up and trudged home, tired and happy, laden with all sorts of treasures. I walked more slowly than the other mothers. I learned to live with the limitations imposed by my deteriorating joints. I managed very well, thank you very much.
At nearly forty-four years of age I developed adult onset asthma and allergies. Inconvenient, but I learned new ways of managing my decreasing mobility and increasing sensitivities.
By my mid-fifties I was using a cane almost daily and, frankly, it is difficult to remember how it was to move through the world without that third leg. However, I always felt healthy and vital and rarely avoided doing anything physical.
I have never let my mobility issues to stop me from having any old good time that I liked, and in retrospect, many that I did not like, truth be told.
I will be sixty-three in a few short weeks and have become a pharmacological nightmare. In less than four months I have been diagnosed with an acceleration out of the pre-diabetes condition that I have been totally managing with a good diet, obstructive sleep apnea, high blood pressure and permanent neuropathy in my right foot. I have self-diagnosed a seriously well-developed and accepting attitude about this mess, which helps, and it also helps that my arthritis seems to be taking a holiday and there has not been any significant increase in that disability. That last one translates into not needing surgery this year.
I really am fostering my good attitudes about this, but they took a hit today when I learned that someone gutted my insurance coverage when he transitioned to medicare last fall at the time that he turned sixty-five. I spent five hours on the telephone with the insurance company, the prescription drug provider, my dentist's and doctor's offices.
The worst part is that I would not even know any of this if I had not finally found a CPAP mask that fits my face and accommodates my deviated septum. It was supposed to be a simple telephone call to find out the procedure for ordering replacement parts, tiny ones, for the mask. The painful and disgusting details are irrelevant. The result is that I, a person with a previously fabulous insurance support system, now have what still considered to still be pretty darn wonderful insurance coverage, but one that does not allow for some basic care because of a dramatically increased deductible and the new circumstance that some categories of medications and support treatments that I currently use will no longer be available to me.
I will survive this shock. I will learn to live well within the parameters I discovered today, even though my SS benefits are not going to go as far as they have been. I will learn to live with the knowledge that this was done without the courtesy of sharing it with me, although I wonder how much of my distress today was due to feeling embarrassed about not knowing any of this. Honestly, too wonky bad, because I will deal with this. I do have to admit to wallowing in self-pity for a few moments. I am better now, but mostly because I am wondering some things. If I have these decent health care resources, what the hell are people and families with much less coverage doing to keep everyone healthy? Now, that is a real nightmare, and one that does not seem to have any chance of being corrected or even improved any time soon. My mind is boggled and I am totally bummed out, but, you know, still coping and keeping that good attitude.
Everything returns to balance though. The past few days of thinking and remembering when my friend was dying from her cancer made me wonder how all of that time that I spent caring for her affected my daughter. I do not remember us talking about it. I wondered (gah...all of this wondering is making my head hurt) if she ever felt even the tiniest bit neglected when I was away so much. So, I called her this afternoon and asked what that time was like for her. She told me that she knew that P was dying and that I was needed there to help, but that she never felt left alone, that I always managed to do whatever needed doing and that I was always there for her, even when I had to be away for a few days at a time. Hearing all of that is very reassuring, and there is the balance. In that time period I was able to stay present and balanced no matter where I was. Nice.
Now, I get to do that again. So, even though I came out in negative numbers in my encounter with the insurance industry today, it is all fine. I learned some things about relationships that are good and enduring and I learned about some aspects of being in relationship that are more painful.
Divested: Books and some more illusions.
Positive thought: I am have new skills where trust is concerned and I will not let them deform me and my beliefs.
Day 50
(Drum roll...) Happy Smack Dab In The Middle Of Divesting!!!
Yes, here I am with a nearly equal number of days, hours and minutes from the beginning of this project and the end.
Fifty days of trying to affect forward movement in my life.
Fifty days of discovering that my intentions when beginning this are not what my life had in mind for me. How much does that suck.
A half-hundred days of believing, then thinking, and finally hoping that this increasingly insane idea would stop being such a big deal.
I was a fool. Truth be told, I am a fool about many things and I have pretty much always known that on some level.
I should be happy, you know, really celebrating the fact that I was able to keep doing this without missing a single day of doing, divesting and writing about it. Actually, the writing was not part of the agreement that I had with myself, and my original idea was to keep a simple list of the crap I was getting out of here. I want to feel joyful about this. I want to feel hopeful and empowered and strong. Maybe, in the occasional moment or time when I am alone and doing this, I do feel those wonderful feelings. I feel great when my daughter and my friends ask me about how I am doing, all of them knowing my intense attachments to these books. Big, wonking, hoo-rah for me. Yeah.
And, really and truly, I am proud of doing this and sticking with it. I have no intention of stopping until this process is completed, which I can already see is going to continue beyond the hundred days. One of the parts of this that will happen during the next few months is that I am beginning to try to sell some of these books, as well as other household things that no longer serve me. That, the selling, is one of the most frequently received pieces of advice. I never wanted to to that because it is a ton of work and I am basically a lazyass person, and I just wanted to breeze through this. Now it looks like I might need that money, so a-selling-I-will-go.
Divested: Books, stationary, yarn, art papers.
Positive thought: Don't worry, be happy.
