Pleasure Notes

by Pregnancy Education/flickr

Perhaps there is a man out there who will someday sweep me off my feet, or whose feet I will knock out from under him. Perhaps not. The likelihood that, if it happens, it will occur before my uterus retires for this lifetime is slim. I do not have the financial means nor heart’s desire to get pregnant on my own. Therefore, there is an extremely high probability that I will not have children of my own. It’s an incredibly uncomfortable reality to examine. I don’t want any more grief. I’m not sure what my feelings should be about it. I have NO CLUE what they actually are.

I’ve always been clear that I would never want to duplicate the same mistakes my parents made while raising me. There is much about family life, as I’ve perceived it, that isn’t worth repeating or perpetuating. I’m definitely not confident that I would be anything more than a complete, derelict, basket case of a mother. Note: That is not a reflection of my own mother, I swear.

On the other hand, I adore children and they tend to adore me. At least until they hit those terrible twos. Then, they become mean, vindictive little monsters and inflict mortal wounds upon my psyche with alarming accuracy and ease.

I’ve also always thought that the physical and emotional experience of pregnancy is such an integral part of being female that foregoing it makes me something less than a complete woman. I want to know what it feels like to create life. Without the extra hair growth, stretch marks, nausea, increased hormonal imbalance, and potential for torn bits, of course.

Most of my friends have at least one child. My sister-in-law is pregnant with her second. Being of a certain age and not having children makes me OTHER THAN. I’m excluded from the club. And yes, there is a club. Anyone who thinks otherwise is either still so young as to be annoyingly idealistic or so deeply entrenched in parentdom as to be oblivious to the prevalence of a specific social paradigm to which women are supposed to adhere.

I wouldn’t mind this if I overtly wished to make some contrarian statement with my childless or child-free state. I don’t. I tend to like a lot of the folks who are card-carrying members of the Parent Class. Yet somehow I’ve ended up on the wrong side of the tracks.

I know many women who have lost a child, whether by miscarriage or other tragic life events. I simply can’t comprehend such pain. I have absolutely no wish to know it. And how does it compare to that of knowing you’ll never have that which someone else had but then lost? I’m too chicken to want to find out.

If fact, any condition that involves FEELINGS tends to give me the heebie-jeebies. This is somewhat problematic since my emotions have always had more influence on my actions than my mind. In order to survive this conundrum, I dart about the edges of life, rarely engaging completely and shying away from anything or anyone that might potentially carry the scent of COMMITMENT, of any kind.

Parenting is the ultimate commitment.

By exhibiting what some might consider subconscious, passive-aggressive behavior, I’ve steered clear of it. Now I find myself on an entirely different road, with no visible exits. And I’m consumed with thoughts of what the view might be like in that other direction. I feel like someone else took over the controls of my life. I didn’t actively CHOOSE to be where I am.

It’s crazy-making.

Then, of course, there’s the little issue of my secret ponderings. I wonder if maybe it’s not too late. I consider the dangers of relinquishing this amorphous dream, which I’ve never fully embraced, of having a child by someone with whom I want to create and share the magic of life. If I accept it will never materialize, am I killing the possibility that it might?

This, too, is crazy-making.

The only solution I’ve discovered for quieting my brain about this issue while avoiding as many feelings as possible is to create other life questions over which I can go mad…

Why is my left boob sagging to a disproportionately greater degree than my right?

How will I pay my bills in ten years? Should I have walked away from that guy in 1992?

Am I the only person who is intimidated by the Foreman’s Grill?

Why are dust bunnies and mildew trying to take over my home?

Just think, I spend hours caught up with these questions. What if I had A KID in this condition? I just saw you shudder!

Yes, sarcasm and humor make relinquishing a dream slightly more palatable, but it still kinda blows chunks. One more think I don’t think I could handle? A puking kid. But then again, I do clean up after my cat.

So, at the moment, I exist in a bitter-sweet purgatory of inaction. The dream drifts away while I’m still trying to decipher it. Perhaps, I simply need to wake up and focus on the concrete moments of pleasure in my day rather the hanging out with the Oneiroi…

Have you ever relinquished a dream? Have you ever held on to one despite yourself? have you ever felt like an accidental rebel without a cause?

A few years ago, I read Philip Pullman’s phenomenal His Dark Materials trilogy. The idea that we each have a daemon, a companion creature that embodies our innermost character traits yet cannot be entirely contained within us, is not unique to these books, but Pullman’s articulation of the concept has stuck with me. I’ve found myself wondering what type of animal my daemon would be; none of us want to be identified with an ostrich or a Komodo dragon. Or maybe you do? During the past few weeks, I think I’ve discovered my daemon’s current incarnation:

A FERAL CAT.

I’m not talking about a lioness or a sleek black panther.

No.

I’m more of a mangy kitten with unclipped claws, and possibly fleas.

At some point, I might clean up nicely, if handled with care and patience. Recently, however, I’ve been slinking away to hunker down in the back of a dark cave, rejecting all coaxing to venture out into the sunlight, even when bribed with food. I’ve lost any sort of hunting instinct. I mew frequently, and for no apparent reason. I’m distracted by little flying objects. I claim sleep as my favorite, and most successfully accomplished, activity.

I must admit, I’d love to be exuding the personality, ambition and sexiness of a jaguar or cheetah. Even a lynx would be an acceptable representation of my inner self. It is damn disheartening to see oneself as a bug-infested, genetically nebulous, defeated stray.

The situation calls for a MAJOR REBOOT.

How the hell do people change who they are?

Actually, that’s not the right question. No one ever needs to change at his or her core. Don’t we all start out as amazing, beautiful, hopeful, inspired creatures? Just look at any infant for proof.

So the real question is: How does anyone change her or his self-perception and manner of interacting with the world?

via wpix

Debugging. You do not need to join the undead to see yourself, or engage with the world, differently. In fact, it’s a lot easier to combat fear, depression, lethargy, and ennui if one is physically healthy.

• Schedule those annual doctor’s appointments; unlike that Venti Mocha you chugged this morning, the expense is worthwhile – accepting, for the moment, the ridiculous, poverty-inducing, status quo cost of health care as a bitter pill that must be swallowed.
• Take the stairs instead of the elevator, unless you have to ascend more than five – start small - floors.
• Eat those dark green vegetables; there are at least FOUR different kinds of kale.
• Refrain from having peanut butter with every meal.
• Try doing something at least four times a week that increases your heart rate more than when you see that tousle-haired, obscenely attractive Damon Salvatore smirk.

by comsubin/flickr

Unmanging. Every single fashion designer claims to have coined the phrase, “you are what you wear.” Whoever did originate it was, unfortunately, more right than I like to admit. Yoga pants are a brilliant invention. When worn every single day for activities other than yoga, however, they actually induce bad posture and encourage overeating. We’re on a first name basis, so I know of what I speak. And yes, I have just personified yoga pants.

• Dress UP at least twice a week, including the complete “face” and accessories, whether or not you have anyplace to be. Use this as an excuse to find someplace to be. The grocery store does not count.
• Brush your hair at least once a day.
• Brush your teeth more often than you brush your hair. Floss too!
• Shave your legs, even if it’s still below freezing in your neck of the woods and no one is going to see them. Note: Guys, this does not apply to you. Please ignore unless you are a professional cyclist or water polo player. Thank you.

by fpsurgeon/flickr

Reclassifying. This world is a pretty incredible place. Scientists continue to discover new species. Paradigms are in constant flux. If transformation is inherent in nature, why not in us? What would happen if we told ourselves, each day, that EVERYTHING IS POSSIBLE? That question bears repeating!

• Everything is possible. Not anything. Everything. You don’t even have to believe it. Just SAY it. Approach the day as if that was unquestionable truth.
• Here are some other unquestionable truths to toss around, just for the hell of it – and don’t worry, they make me squirm too…

You are physically beautiful, exactly as you are today.

You are accomplished, without need for exaggeration, qualification or justification.

You are going to be just fine, no matter what your familial, financial or physical situation is at this moment. In fact, you will be much better than fine.

Reality is rarely as terrifying or traumatic as our anticipation of it. Assume your reality adheres to this rule.

These are some of the steps I’m taking to shed the current incarnation of my daemon. I intend to uncover a glorious feline at the core of me. I know she’s there.

What is your current daemon? And when you want to change your self-perception or how you interact with the world, what do you do?

2-22-10

It’s the little things that can change your day, for better or worse. Today, make them for the better.

Tibetan Woman

President Obama met with His Holiness, the Dalai Lama, today. As happens whenever our government acknowledges the Tibetan spiritual leader, China is pissed and making lots of noise. And my heart shatters a little, as it always does when confronted with examples of political or social injustice that appear to have no resolution. I am an EMOTIONAL CREATURE, as Eve Ensler would say. I simply do not understand how a country can justify usurping a neighbor, forcing a foreign language on its people, destroying its monuments, and traumatizing its citizens. I simply do not understand how whatever it gains in land or minerals or water is valued more greatly than humanity. I know this lack of comprehension reveals a mind more appropriately matched to a five-year-old in the sandbox, but I’m okay with that. After all, no one has ever explained to me what is WRONG with wanting the world to be fair, expecting people to share and receiving a kiss or lollipop after cleaning up a mess.

Family Walking Along the Cora

I was in Tibet for four days. Seven years ago. A very short visit, a long time ago. I’ve mentioned before that the journey seared my soul. I pity anyone who goes to that place and does not feel the earth and sky dance in sublime harmony for just a moment when graced with a smile from one of its children or upon first glimpsing the prayer flags fluttering to a silent melody. It is a gift to our planet, its people a gift to our species, and it is being treated with the same disregard for its true value as the earth as a whole. You may think my words are just hyperbole. They are not. Go for yourself, and see. Better yet, FEEL.

Street Shopping

On the same visit, I traveled through many parts of China. It is a phenomenal country. It is the only place outside the U.S. where I met individuals as confident, blind and arrogant about their country’s position and dominance on the world stage as are some Americans. I also met people as friendly as many here. But NEVER ONCE did I mistake a Chinese person for a Tibetan. NEVER ONCE, while in Tibet, did I think I was in China. The differences in Tibet are not those blithely attributed to regional variance. To its core, Tibet is a place unto itself. I hope someday the Chinese will accept this, but that day is clearly not today. Today, the Chinese government creates policy after policy, applicable only to Tibet, designed to eradicate as much as possible of its soul.

Children At Play

By meeting with the Dalai Lama today, President Obama took one of the few actions that is available to all of us, one that is infinitely powerful. He LISTENED. We can all listen. We can all SEE. Wherever we are. Whatever our circumstances. And then, perhaps, we can even ACT.

by ecotist/flickr

I’ve just leaped into an e-course, Across Mediums, created by Kate Swoboda to nurture creativity. My registration was a prize granted by the lovely Olive & Hope. I thought it would be a piece of cake. After all, I have a drawer full of art supplies, I’m planning to open an Etsy shop in March and the IRS knows me as a writer. I scream CREATIVE, right? Well, kinda. Upon reflection, I’ve realized my creative nature is frequently on the losing side of a constant battle with the part of me that desperately seeks approval.

The art supplies in that drawer are covered in dust. The amount of procrastination that proceeded my current drive to open an Etsy shop is EPIC. The quantity of files stuffed with story ideas far out numbers that of completed scripts, novels or short stories written.

I yearn to be creative EVERY MINUTE OF THE DAY. And then fly to the kitchen for food, become obsessed with the dust bunnies under the bed, decide the cat looks lonely as she naps, grab the tv remote, or visit my yawning bank account online.

Anything to avoid the very thing I most want to do.

It’s not a pretty picture.

When I was a child, I wrote fairytales. The letters were backwards. Very little was spelled correctly. The stories were simplistic and usually involve unicorns. And I thought they were wonderful. I drew and painted and sculpted just to draw, paint and sculpt. Creating was A PLEASURE.

Because I wanted to EXPRESS. What? I’m not sure I even knew. I’m pretty confident it didn’t really matter. The moment was the reveal.

Then, at some point, everything changed. FEAR entered the picture. The need for approval. The need to not stand out, make waves, or get too noticed. The need to have a REASON for everything. The need to be BETTER THAN everyone else to be worthy at all. Competitiveness. Resentment. Jealousy. Procrastination. Money.

In the same way that dancing in front of the mirror and talking to my reflection while playing make-believe suddenly became an act of vanity, and then later an opportunity to pick myself apart and pinch the proof of my failings, making art transformed from being an act of pure joy to being not so far removed from a sin.

But I’m done. I’m 40 years old. Half my life (if I’m lucky) has passed. I want to be in communion with my true nature, with my creativity.

But the opponents are entrenched.

So, I’m changing tactics.

What is it they say? For every person called a terrorist, someone can be found who will claim her as a freedom fighter. While neatly (for the moment) side-stepping the socio-political implication of that statement, I must embrace its truth in regard to my approach to creativity. I think it’s time I terrorized myself a bit to ultimately gain creative freedom.

Put another way, I’m ready to walk through the fire and feel the pain of confronting fear, guilt, shame, and whatever else rears its ugly head as I commit to FOCUSED CREATIVITY for the next two weeks and beyond. Hell, maybe I’ll even dance to my reflection in front of the mirror.

What are you doing to embrace your true nature? And when was the last time you played with crayons? Up for some scribbling tonight?