Human Nurture

Joe and I had a fabulous time dancing in Ashland again last night! Things went much more smoothly than before, as we worked it on the floor both together and separately.

If I am still going to parallel such experiences with movies about dancing, last night’s events would have comprised the lovely montage midway through where the female lead finally begins to show signs of significant improvement! Joe commented that I was “at least twice as good as last time,” (adding that I seemed to have gotten over my nagging neuroses about the beat) and a stranger walked up and complimented my moves! No matter that at first I thought he was asking me to dance and so responded, “Sure! I’d love . . .” and then, “. . . er, thank you!” So much for suave.

Anyway, what I actually intended to write about was seeing This is It with my pops this evening. After the most glorious of Sundays–packed full of lounging around in front of the fire first with a cup o’ joe (no pun), next a guitar and eventually a blanket as I cat-napped, followed by the most peaceful venture to Shastice park with Savannah–Dad offered to take me out for a brewski and dinner at the Goat and then to see the recent tribute to Michael Jackson.

I’m a little intimidated at the prospect of trying to write sensitively and eloquently about the film. So, I’ll try to settle back to my heart point at Four, where our tragic and remarkable musical hero M.J. almost certainly lived, and just let it flow. . .

Although I was running on very few hours of sleep, I was mesmerized by the movie as Dad (watching for his second time) said I would be. With my current passion for dance, what I found catching my eye consistently were technicalities like Michael’s impeccable turns. The way that man could spin on a dime and come back to the exact same millimeter of space in a second is astounding. I aspire to do the same!

I might say that the breadth of his talent–in addition to its excellence–is what I find most profound about the King of Pop. Watching the movie we get a chance to observe all the other incredibly gifted people who worked alongside him, but their expertise appears limited while Michael’s spreads as wide as the stage he shines on.

Of course, so does the air of tragedy that surrounds him; and an instability I sensed in his character that had nothing to do with the gory details gnashed on by the media. I just felt nervous that Michael might crack each time a request was made of him, despite that he never responded anyway but respectfully.

It all makes me want to hold him, cradle him like the little Earth Girl tenderly does the last flower. I wonder who the last person to do so, to really touch Michael Jackson, could have been? Did the composer of Human Nature ever receive any real human nurture?

My heart also breaks for everyone involved in the production of what would have been a pinnacle tour, for all the performers who opened the film weeping tears of joy for the opportunity to dance with the living legend.

I suppose that is the mess of life that any good Four will tell you is necessary in order to appreciate the beauty.

I appreciate the beauty of all that Michael Jackson created during his time on this earth–even if he did name one of his children Prince Michael II, a.k.a “Blanket!”

In honor of Michael Jackson, God bless you all.

Cradling Frustration

Two concepts have been catching my attention lately that I just saw to link this morning: anger and discipline.

I mentioned in the post Emotional Catharsis something about enjoying and indulging in emotions other than anger–and at this point I should probably use the term “hot” anger and take the time to distinguish it from “cold.”

It’s fairly simple, really. Of course, both will feel different to everyone, but essentially hot anger results in yelling, fighting, and aggressiveness. Outrage is an excellent synonym for this kind of anger. Cold anger, on the other hand, usually manifests as glowering or even being expressionless, and ignoring someone out of anger–giving someone the “cold” shoulder.

I was going to say I could accept cold anger more than hot, but I realize now that I was confusing containing or controlling anger with cold anger. In reality, cold anger can be just as cutting as hot.

Anyway, I saw the detrimental effects of hot–and undisciplined–anger this morning walking the two little dogs I am sitting for. One is part Jack Russel terrier and blatantly aggressive towards other dogs. I was warned of this by his owner, obviously, but I was still shaken when, as we were strolling along peacefully in the autumn a.m., he suddenly howled and leapt all over a gate with a dog behind it. First of all, I’m used to taking care of bigger, better behaved kanines– mostly labradors–and secondly, I was raised in a family where mistakes and punishments were nearly always handled with a calm and somber conversation (“Tessa, we need to have a talk. . .”). Needless to say, angry outbursts of any kind (or any species, apparently) are not anything I’m accustomed to.

Lesson #1 learned, I shortened Teddy’s leash considerably and we walked on. I mulled over the experience and held the lesson begrudgingly in my awareness. I didn’t like this having to be on the constant alert to the behavior of this dog. Although not such a terribly big deal, it became a little bigger when we passed the empty lot across the street from my parents’ house. Our yellow lab, Savannah, was doing her morning exploration of the property with her nose to the ground and her whole backend wagging in delight. It was all I could do not to call “Bonsie!” and watch her do her best impression of a gallop across the grass to greet me. But, knowing I had an unfriendly-to-other-dogs dog in tow, I was forced to let the opportunity quietly pass.

My anti-anger button was pushed again moments later. I was looking forward to taking one of my favorite shortcuts in town down a single car country lane lined with autumn hues, old farmhouses and an exceptional view of the mountain. But as we turned left to take the path, I had a sense that we would be unable to. Sure enough, down at the end of the road I could just make out the wiggling body of another little dog. We detoured instead.

Cradling my own frustration so as not to let it grow out of proportion, I recalled the words of Teddy’s owner. “I could probably train him not to act out this way, but I don’t have the . . . it just hasn’t happened.” Rethinking the conversation helped me realize that we all have a choice to literally train ourselves not to act in certain ways. “Training the mind” is a frequently used phrase in regard to meditation. Thus I made the connection between anger and discipline.

I considered that perhaps it isn’t anger, per se, that I have the problem with, but rather undisciplined anger. Undisciplined sadness, too, which when allowed to spiral out of control can lead to people actually taking their own lives.

Of course, discipline is it’s own double edged sword that I’d like to explore in some depth. Another day.

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Deep breath.

I think everything good starts and ends and exists within a breath.

“As long as you’re breathing, there is more right with you than wrong.”

That’s a quote from the guided meditation c.d. that accompanies The Mindful Way Through Depression: Freeing Yourself from Chronic Unhappiness, a book co-authored by John Kabat Zinn and others.

I found both the book and c.d. hugely helpful last June when I was fresh off of antidepressants and struggling a bit with franticness and fear. Listening to the c.d. is good when all you want to do is lie in the fetal position. You can still breath there, and that’s all we ever absolutely need to do.

Of the two of us, my brother bears the bigger burden of depression. I can pinpoint a few years of my life when I experienced prolonged phases of despair, but it hasn’t been my norm. Ty has had to work a lot harder for happy.

I didn’t expect to write about this today . . . you never know what might come up while you’re breathing . . .

We spoke today and he told me this weekend was one of the hardest he has ever experienced. He’s doing better though, taking good care of himself in every way he knows how.

As for the rest of us, the many, many people who love and have been touched by Tyler. . . I think the best we can do is send an outpouring of love his way and stay attentive to timing. It’s a big temptation to jump right in and try to be Ms. Fixit right away. Especially as an ET2, I often feel like I have the perfect suggestion for anyone hurting. Sometimes I’m on the right track and what I have to say might be of great benefit; but unless the moment is right, I promise you that perfect suggestion will fall on deaf ears.

As Ty told me about all the steps he’s been taking to stay strong–no caffeine, no alcohol, exercise consistently, meditate daily, and others–I did feel compelled to remind him go easy on himself when he skips a morning meditation or misses a dose of fish oil. I wrote a little bit about my experience of overdoing in an early post, Human Doings, inspired by talking with my brother the same day.

The post begins with a poem; the first line of which is, “You don’t have to be good.”

I don’t want you to be good, Ty. I just want you to be.

* * *

One of my favorite feel-better-even-while-you-cry songs came on as I typed this post, right after Billy Joel’s “Sadness and Euphoria” and in time with me typing the words, “you never know what might come up while you’re breathing.” It’s “Heart of Life” by John Mayer and it goes like this (<—–click there to listen, Mom!):

I hate to see you cry,
lying there in that position.
There are things you need to hear,
so turn off your tears and listen:

Pain throws your heart to the ground
Love turns the whole thing around.
No, it won’t all go away, it should.

But I know the heart of life is good.

I dedicate this post to you, brother. And even though John Mayer says, “turn off your tears,” I say, just keep being you, however you may be. We’ll love you no matter what that looks like. Love and hugs, your Seester.

Being My Baby

This afternoon I am having trouble finding my ground.

My morning was delightful. I worked in the Berryvale deli again. I’m learning quickly with the upward arc of the curve and feeling confident and fulfilled in my new position.

When I got home I was welcomed with the unfortunate news that my big and only brother is not doing as well as he could be. For years he has been struggling off and on with a depression that runs in our family; and lately the “noonday demons” have worn him down and run him ragged.

It always stirs up all kinds of thoughts and emotions in me when this happens and I’ve been having a hell of a time trying to write about it. Now finally, after a good hour of killing my babies (relax; it’s a term writers use to describe deleting words and phrases that don’t quite work), I find myself breathing more easily.

I’m a enneatype 2–and I’m choosing to use box this into the enneagram framework because without a container this subject will spread all over the screen. It is my nature to shape-shift and adapt to any situation, or more accurately, to the energy output of anyone else. So when my mother is struggling under the weight of worry and my brother is battling the darkness, it becomes very difficult for me to continue gliding through life as has been my way for these past few weeks. You see, it doesn’t feel right for me to be content on my own when the others around me are not. 2′s bear the dual burdens of guilt and shame; and both rear their ugly heads at rough times like these.

So for the past hour, I’ve been spitting out sentences like “I haven’t always been so happy” and “Last year at this time, I was overwhelmed by anxiety and sadness” in attempt to commiserate, become more relate-able, justify my happiness and still try to help and inspire. Gross. I even began a post where I was going to pluck downer sentences from my old journals so I would sound more “real.”

It is perplexing to think that I would consider such things to be potentially helpful to the situation. Although, to be fair, the frame of mind I have been experiencing lately is new. Feeling like it might actually be my duty to reap the happiness life has sewn for me is . . . different. . .

As I walked along that glorious forest lane yesterday, I had a thought, “Your first priority is to take care of yourself.” This idea in and of itself is something I’ve been toying with a lot over the past year. Especially, again as a 2, because of my compulsive need to give and give and give in attempt to feel worthy of love.

But yesterday the thought went a step further, into the territory where logic actually confirms a more esoteric truth. I thought, If I were a mother with a newborn baby, certainly no one would expect me to take care of anyone or anything before tending to the needs of my child. That would be absurd. And then came this: I am my own newborn babe.

I have struggled in the past, truly. There have been days when I couldn’t stop crying and times when if not for the arms of a friend wrapped around me, I would have broken in two. And even though I’m happy as a lamb most of the time nowadays, the clutches of darkness are only at bay. As easy as it has be to forget, I am not immune to despair.

Yet when my brother is sad, I get confused as to whether I’m supposed to be sad, too. I wonder if I need to be doing something, something important, and doing it NOW to try and make things better.

But what if all I really need to do is to gather the seeds of gladness sprinkled before me and hold them tightly? Because if I don’t have them, I can’t plant them. If I don’t plant them, I can’t reap the fruits they will grow. If I don’t sew, I can’t reap, if I don’t reap, I can’t share . . .