A few years ago, a friend of mine and I were discussing the difficulties of this time of the year with the shortness of daylight and the drab, dark days of winter upon us. It’s easy to succumb to the adverse effects of darkness as it descends upon us earlier and earlier each day at this time of the year. A lot of it of course is related to Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) which is a depression related to the change in seasons. The decrease in the amount of sunlight and an increase in the colder temperatures can bring about irritability, difficulty sleeping, and a lack of interest in activities and relationships to name just a few.
For me, the increased darkness presents a greater tendency to feel isolated. That’s often the effect that darkness has on me, especially when I’m in situations in which there is a feeling of the absence of everyone else. I say, “in which there is a feeling” because intellectually, I realize that in the situations when I experience this, there is no true and utter absence of others. Oddly (or perhaps not so oddly), there are two settings when I experience these feeling the most.
The first is when I am driving at night on a fairly isolated stretch of highway. Although I’m trying to improve my observance of work-life balance, I still occasionally find myself staying over at work in an attempt to complete one project or another. And during the evenings when darkness falls at 5:00 in the evening, the ride home tends to bring the feelings of isolation upon me. The later it is, the more likely I am to feel this. The thought that “everyone else is at home where they should be” and “I am alone” on a stretch of more or less unpopulated highway brings upon me a feeling of frightful seclusion. Of course, it doesn’t last long and the spell can be broken with as little as the site of another car with another "isolated soul" trekking homeward.
The second scenario can be a bit more intense and is probably much more relatable. In fact, it would surprise me if some of you reading this have not experienced this at some point. This is the middle of the night wake up referred to as “middle insomnia.” This phenomenon happens when you go to sleep easily at a normal time but then wake up in the early hours of the morning and cannot go back to sleep. There are many suggestions on how to handle this when it happens and some very interesting articles on segmented sleep but I won’t go into that today. Instead, I want to talk about the feeling of overwhelming isolation that sometimes comes to me at these times. I’m really not sure how common this is but I wonder if perhaps it is felt more deeply by a Highly Sensitive Person like myself. If you don’t know what an HSP is, you can find out here: The Highly Sensitive Person. And if you wonder if you might be an HSP, there is even a short self-test there you can take.
So, here is what happens (in fact, has been happening to me lately), I wake up at 4:00 am and the darkness pervades my mind bringing with it a feeling of intense isolation and alienation. Unless you have felt this, it is difficult to understand and cannot be described adequately in words. It is a feeling that you are all alone, different and separated from the rest of the human race. It is a hopeless feeling that threatens to completely overtake you even though intellectually, you know that the feeling of separation is not reality. For some, it probably does take over. And, because dark invites dark, it drives your mind to explore all of those shadow areas of grief, anger, doubt and despair. Fortunately for me, I am able to allow the feeling to happen (embracing it in a sense) with the knowledge that it will not last and that I have been through it before and the morning light always shows itself eventually. Along with that, the realization that there are others who experience this, also helps to fight through.
In a recently released song by U2, Bono sings the following lines:
“Sometimes I wake at four in the morning
Where all the darkness is swarming
And it covers me in fear
Sometimes I'm full of anger and grieving
So far away from believing
That any song will reappear”
Yup. That's what waking up in the darkness can do to some of us. It’s comforting to know that even rock stars experience these types of things at times although most aren’t likely to be open about it in a song. (Let’s face it, Bono is special - please don’t argue with me on this one). This is one more thing that helps me during those 4:00 am wake up panics. It's that most important reminder in life: I'm not the only one. I'm not alone in this." And just in case there are others who experience this, I want you to remember that you are not alone either. No, we're not the only ones harrowed by the darkness and longing for the morning light. And the light will come to our rescue.
We humans have an uncanny way of getting ourselves stuck in places. Sometimes it's our fault. We make impetuous decisions with limited or no information. Or worse yet, we make decisions supported only by anxieties and/or feelings of the moment. But sometimes it's not our fault. Life tends to thrust situations upon us that seem designed to ensnare us and even in hindsight, we can fathom no alternate path that we could have traveled under the circumstances. Often though, the life prisons that we find ourselves in are a nebulous combinations of both helplessness and carelessness. A mishmash of life's fault and our fault. Life's dictated experiences and our less than perfect choices.
It would be nice to think of these life prisons as rare among people but my heart to heart interactions with others assures me that they are not. I will write sometime soon of my many faceted "policy of truth" (as a friend calls it) which has both worked for and against me when interfacing with others. One of the "working for me" facets has been that my own openness gives others the freedom to open up to me about deep life issues and therefore I am enormously aware of a truth that many are reluctant to entertain: We all have issues that imprison us to one degree or another for periods of time throughout our lives... and we like to pretend (even to ourselves) like we don't.
I am certainly not immune. I've endured my fair share of periods of incarceration.
These times of imprisonment are messy and complicated and if I tried to turn out every dark corner in writing here, this blog would be many pages long and would probably still not expose them all. For this post, I just want to speak of one of my own time's of imprisonment. As with most, it falls into the nebulous combinations of helplessness and carelessness. I don't really want to share all of the details of how I got to that place but I spent over two and a half years there. And the worst part is that I knew I was there. Early on in my time of imprisonment, I came across a song by Bob Dylan called "Mississippi" and I thought, "that's a reflection of me right now and how I'm stuck. The song evokes for me all of life's inspirations, failures, longings, broken relationships, regrets, etc. and how easy it is to get mired down in a place of dwelling on all of that. Back in May of 2015 I actually spoke of this song on another blog and my intentions to write about it on DD. Of course, I never did write about it because although I was stuck and knew it, KNEW that I was staying in "Mississippi" too long, and KNEW that I had to move on, I didn't. Instead, I set up camp to dwell there for a while. I guess part of it was because there were some things that made me feel good about being there and I stubbornly rebelled against the more important reasons to leave. It's not bad to visit "Mississippi" because it's a place of grieving and we sometimes need to grieve. But staying there too long makes grief the only thing that your life is about which in turn, embitters you and prompts you to put on the jade-colored glasses that I spoke of in a previous post.
It took me a long time to venture out of "Mississippi". In my case, certain things needed to happen within me and without me and thankfully they finally did. As I said, I am blessed to have many people open up to me and so I know that some of you have been, are, or will be spending some time confined in your own "Mississippi". I hope that your time is short there and that you not only have the strength to recognize where you are but also the will to break free from the false, yet deceitfully alluring entanglements and move on when it's time. Also, I wish for you to have people around you to help encourage you to be on your way. It's a difficult responsibility for the people around us to be honest yet supportive and I pray that you have some people who are up to the task in your life as I do.
There are still some days I hear the call of Mississippi and I'm tempted to travel there again. To dip my toes in the warm waters of the melancholic swamp. To let the mid-summer torrential rains of despondency wash over me. To slog along beside the black dog, throwing cares and worries for it to fetch and return. To become comfortable with the mind numbing yet ultimately embittering confinement of the ancient swampland of regret. And it's not so bad to visit sometimes I suppose. In fact, visits are sometimes needed. Yes, I suppose visits to "Mississippi" are part and parcel to life. But when those times come, I hope that this post and this song will come to mind and maybe my stay there will be a little more brief. Only as long as is necessary to heal, after which I'll be able to go along my way with renewed hope and perhaps some new experience I can share with others who have had their own visits to "Mississippi".
"Well my ship's been split to splinters and it's sinking fast
I'm drownin' in the poison, got no future, got no past
But my heart is not weary, it's light and it's free
I've got nothin' but affection for all those who've sailed with me...
Well, the emptiness is endless, cold as the clay
You can always come back, but you can't come back all the way
Only one thing I did wrong
Stayed in Mississippi a day too long
There are several versions of "Mississippi" but this stripped back version is the one that speaks to me the most. Listen if you have time while thinking about what I've shared here.
Wow. How do I even begin this post? My thoughts and emotions are rushing.
Recently, I feel that God has intensified efforts to reach out to me and brought me to a watershed moment yesterday morning.
What I am choosing to accept as intensified efforts began a couple of weeks ago when God (I'm choosing to believe it was God) "reached out to me" and said, "It's time to to clean up this mess inside of you. I'll start by removing the shackles that have kept you from moving freely for the last few years." And just like that it began. And I was shackled. Emotionally. Mentally. Even physically. I was fighting fiercely. I was moving. But with great difficulty and much pain. And I certainly couldn't get very far.
I don't know if any of you have ever experienced this but I was in that odd place where I knew I was shackled but was powerless to free myself. I knew that I was seeing many things through jade-colored glasses. Many things refracted through a lens of bitterness. I knew it was happening. I knew that it was not who I really am. I tried to convince myself that I was fine all the while, knowing I was far from it.
Last Sunday, I went to church which had become an extremely painful place for me to be. I had come to feel like I did not belong, was not part of the community that I had once so cherished and that I should not be there. Because of this, every time I would go to church for the last few years, I would instinctively put on the jade-colored glasses. Last Sunday was no different and on they went. But as I pulled into the parking space, I remembered the way God had reached out to me and for the first time in a long time, I thought, "Maybe there is a place for me here. Maybe I belong." And so, I took the glasses off but kept them close. In the parking lot, I fell in step with an acquaintance-friend from the arts team who expressed that he hadn't seen me in a while and that he was glad to see me. He further expressed that he missed me being in dramas. Then, seeing my countenance, he asked me if everything was all right. Never one for shallow fakery, I replied that things had been better. He asked if there was anything he could do and I gave him the standard reply that I have given as of late which is, "No, there is nothing anyone can do." He told me, "Well, I will pray for you and I hope things get better." And I could tell that it wasn't just lip service. He meant it and that, in turn, meant something to me.
Sunday night, I prayed to God for the first time in over a year. I prayed for relief from all of the burdens I have been carrying.
Monday night, because of concerns for the safety of one of our daughters, she slept in our bedroom with Joy and I slept on the sofa in our great room. My son sleeps on the floor there and as we turned out the lights and prepared for sleep, he told me that he hoped it didn't bother me but that he had been praying out loud every night. He asked me if I had any prayer request. I couldn't help myself. I told him that I had just been so burdened. I just really needed relief from feeling so burdened. And he prayed for that.
I could feel my heart beginning to crack open.
There have been a number of other very significant ways that I feel God reached out to me this week. Some I choose to keep "treasured up... pondering them in my heart."
Others I feel the need and desire to share.
One of the things I have been thinking of this week is how I have always had a heart for people who feel or see themselves as broken, persecuted, downtrodden, damaged, defective and less than. Part of it is just wired into my personality but a significant part came from my childhood. And I've always been fascinated with the idea that when it comes to experience, very good can come from very bad and that experiencing what I did when I was growing up, though very dark on many days, was a big part of shaping me as a person who cares deeply for those who are hurting.
So, on my way home from work on Friday, as I was contemplating these things, I was listening to music and a song by U2 came on called Cedarwood Road. And the lyrics to the last lines of that song are, "And a heart that is broken Is a heart that is open. Open, open."
I started to think about all of the songs I love that have very similar lines. Those are the songs that I love the most and that I feel the most affinity for. My thoughts led me to another song by The Violet Burning called "Lights Out" which has the line,
"The sheltering sky And my heart is caving in All broke inside It's how the light gets in."
and continues,
"With our lights out. This is the way home."
I was again reminded (by God?) that this has always been a core belief for me. The only way to be open to the need for the love of God and fellow humans is the understanding of brokenness. It's a gift really to understand brokenness and you can't understand it unless you experience it. Experiencing dark and broken times creates a merciful, understanding and open heart. The kind of heart I desire to have. And making it through those times, gives a hope that can be shared with others who may need it so desperately. So, yes, a core belief for me has always been that as bad as brokenness and darkness is, it can be a gift and so much good can come from it. Unfortunately, the shackles and jade-colored glasses I had been wearing had caused me to drop this core belief by the wayside. I reminded myself that I had thought a number of times over the years of posting a blog related to this whole concept. Perhaps it was time. I made a mental note and filed it away.
Yesterday morning, a Saturday morning no less, I awoke at 5:00 and was unable to sleep. I tossed and turned for a bit and then decided that I might as well finish up a book of fiction I had been reading entitled, The Unremembered Girl. It is a story filled with heartache and although there was some hope shining through at the close, it would certainly be difficult to call it a "happy ending."
As the epilogue came to a close, the following line appeared before my eyes,
"You'll never appreciate the day-light till you've walked on the dark side of the night, without even the stars to show you the way."
In light of all of my thoughts, my very specific thoughts, related to darkness and brokenness and the good that can come from experiencing those, it struck me that I should come across this line which laid out the exact same concept that my thoughts had been thoroughly occupied with since the previous evening. Some would chalk it up to coincidence. Perhaps. But I couldn't help but think that God was speaking to me. Somehow tying together seemingly random and trivial events like me beginning to read this book a few weeks ago for no other reason than that it was a free book that came with my Amazon prime membership. Could God be reaching out to me? Could miracles, which I had ceased to believe in, actually still happen? And could they actually happen to me?
I finished the book and eagerly opened up another book that I was very much looking forward to reading called, All is Grace: A Ragamuffin Memoir by Brennan Manning. Two of the other ideas I had been thinking about this week were grace and mercy. I had been turning over in my mind that although there is some distinction between grace and mercy, they often dance together, sometimes so closely they overlap, briefly becoming one in form and purpose.
So I began this book and of course I read the forward because I am one of those people (book nerds) who always reads those. The forward was written by Phillip Yancey and he concludes the forward with a line from a poem (song) by Leonard Cohen. (Someone I have loved the writings of since I first heard his song Everybody Knows back in 1990). So I got excited when I saw that he was being quoted but my excitement turned to astonishment when I read the quote:
"Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in."
This is actually from a song I knew but had forgotten about called "Anthem" which I actually own on a Leonard Cohen essential collection CD.
I will not lie. I cried.
You can call it coincidence and many would. All of the seemingly unrelated people, prayers, events and circumstances that have somehow collaborated to bring me to this moment. But I cannot ignore the relentless message that is being sent to me. I believe that it is being sent by God as if to say, "Remember your heart for others that developed out of the dark and broken times you have experienced throughout your life. This is a gift. You must remember. You need to remember now more than ever. And I will keep telling you over and over, relentlessly reminding you, until you embrace it once again."
And so with this, the watershed moment has arrived. The haze has been lifted. Though broken, I'm unshackled. Though I have spent time in the darkness, the light is pouring in. And it's brighter now than it was before.
Hey Deep Diggers!
If you happen to come across this page over the interwebs, please feel free to follow my Facebook page at Digging Deeper.
I wanted to take a moment to thank each of you who show up to take a ride on this blog journey with me.
I’m the first to admit that this blog is an odd little place. A little like that box of chocolates that Forrest Gump compared life to: When you show up on this page, you never know what you’re going to get. To me, variety is indeed the spice of life. Sometimes this serves me well and other not so much. It’s the reason, I have several different blogs. I just can’t fathom pinning myself to one genre of writing. At the same time, it’s difficult for me to throw them all together, hence the various blog pages.
Still, if you’ve visited Digging Deeper much, you have observed that even though I try to stay on topics of philosophy, the content is still varied and it will stay that way. It’s much more interesting to me to tune in, not knowing exactly what to expect and I kind of think that’s true for others as well. And this is, after all, my place.
This being my place, be aware that there will be things here that you will like. Things you will not like. Things that strike a sentimental or happy chord. Things that make you angry. Things that inspire you. Things that grate against what you believe with your entire being. This is my place and I welcome you here but, quite frankly, sometimes my writing is intended to benefit or move others and sometimes it is solely for my own catharsis. This is the place that I have built and you don’t have to enter but be aware that if you do, it may not always feel welcoming. I encourage you to look past the feeling and go deeper.
Having said all of this, I hope to continue with some Childhood Stories. Some of you have read the few I’ve posted and look forward to more. They are coming.
I will also be posting some related to Christianity, religion and beliefs in general. I will say things that many of you will disagree with. However, I invite you to read and reflect. If nothing else, I am always and ever evaluating all sides of issues of significance and I invite you to do the same.
Thanks for being here and being a part of my life, even if it’s only a digital part.
I was about three miles into a run a couple of weeks ago when I started to feel a sharp pain on the right side of my foot. It felt like there was a little piece of wood or rock jabbing into my foot with every step. I've been running long enough to know that although it felt like something sharp or jagged was sticking into my foot, it most probably was just rubbing friction from my sock or shoe causing a blister to form on the side of my foot. A mile or so later, I began to feel a similar twinge of pain on the other foot and knew that the pair of socks I had chosen to wear were causing the problem.
As I continued to run, the pain became more intense with each step but, as runners do, I continued on. And soon, something interesting happened. I began to notice the pain less. Pain that had caused me to silently curse under my breath with each step, eventually subsided to a mild background discomfort. I began to think back on all of the times I had experienced pain in the middle of a long run but had kept going through it only to find that the pain had eventually dulled to the point that I was no longer even aware of it.
I was intrigued at how the human body is able to adapt to discomfort and pain. Pain is a function of the brain and thus the central nervous system has the ability to alter sensitivity to pain. I see this as a fascinatingly positive reaction of the human mind to be able to persevere through pain. At the same time, I could see the disadvantage of the brain's ability to make this adjustment. Pain is the result of harmful or unpleasant stimuli that is conveyed along neural pathways to the brain through the peripheral and central nervous systems. This means that the brain can mistakenly cause you not to feel pain when there is actual damage to your body taking place. Sometimes this can have disastrous consequences. Certainly much worse than a profusely blistered foot. Sometimes, aches and pains, ignored and grown accustomed to, continue to cause severe damage to the physical body.
But wait. What about the mental and emotional aspect. This is often overlooked. While we are so in tune with pain that we experience physically and generally so responsive to it, when we experience emotional and mental pain, we tend to minimize, ignore and bury it. While it's totally acceptable to be direct and open about physical pain, there is a bit of a stigma attached to being open about mental and emotional pain. Society tends to deem mental and emotional pain as weak, self-indulgent and dramatic.
And so, we continue on with this intangible pain taking root and we become acclimated to it. Soon, we no longer have any realization of its presence or the damage it is doing to our psyche and it becomes a guiding force in our lives. Other people may see it manifested in our opinions, attitudes and vices but it's difficult to see it ourselves because we can no longer feel the pain and therefore think there is nothing there to see.
Most of us have spent time in this place to one extent or another.
My hope is that each of us can be self reflective and aware that pain left unaddressed, becomes our master. A master that is bent on destroying us. In addition, I hope that each of us has people in our lives who will reach out and let us know when they see the symptoms of buried pain and that we will take whatever steps are needed to deal with and be free of whatever is causing the pain.
In turn, may we be mindful that others may be going through this and when we see indications, reach out and just ask, "Hey, is everything OK?" That's often enough for someone to open up and begin to address some of the painful issues they are dealing with. And sometimes, just talking to a friend about it is enough to begin the healing.
Anyway, just thoughts I have.
Carry on my Fellow Earth Babies and Dig Deep and Love!
We've all seen it. Okay, most of us have seen it, been part of it. Cyber-lived it. What I'm taking about here is The Facebook Friend Purge.
You know, that thing that some people do when they have "too" many Facebook friends and so decide to cull the herd because experiencing the weight of that list of friends every time they log onto Facebook is just too suffocating?
Well, just in case you're not familiar with the process, it goes something like this:
Someone comes to the conclusion that they have way too many Facebook "friends" and then proceeds to unfriend a large group of folks. The decision of who to keep or remove is based on a number of factors including, but not limited to, friendship level classification, origin of friendship, geographical location, congruity of beliefs and presence value added. Once the person has completed the thinning process, there is usually a post about how much better the purger feels to have uncluttered their cyber-social life. (Translation as perceived by others: "I'm so popular that everyone wants to be my friend and my own celebrity is just so overwhelming to me that I can't handle the stifling blanket of friends that surrounds me"). The post is then reacted to and commented on by those who remain on the friends list with the a vast array of celebratory remarks one of which is always, "Glad I made the cut!"
Sound familiar to any of you?
Well, this post is meant to bring about a couple of things: Education and Absolution.
Let's begin with the education, because quite frankly, some of you need it.
This is for the folks who have performed or will be performing the above described Facebook friend purge.
First of all, there is nothing wrong with deciding to remove people from your friends list on Facebook. In fact, there are many legitimate and healthy reasons to remove someone. There are the extremes like when a person's presence (even in digital form) is toxic to your well being or to the well being of someone you care about. Then there are the situations in which the individual people themselves are benign, but the overall situation of being friends with so many people is overwhelming. Trust me, as someone who gets overwhelmed by large crowds of people, a vast amount of clutter, etc., I get this. Then there are the situations where people have realized that they don't want so many of the intimate details of their lives available to so many people, some of which are virtual strangers. These are all valid reasons to remove some people from your friend's list.
I strongly advise that you take some time to evaluate the reasons why you feel compelled to unfriend one or more folks on Facebook and the effect that your actions will have on those unfriended. Once you have done this and feel that action is definitely necessary, I have the following suggestions for you.
Before you unfriend, determine if the desired effect can be achieved by unfollowing rather than unfriending. For example, if someone on your friend's list constantly posts political statements or memes that are divisive and cause you continual angst, perhaps you can unfollow that person so you don't have to be subjected to those posts thus giving you some relief. Unfollowing can be particularly useful when dealing with family members.
If you determine that unfollowing isn't sufficient (and sometimes it just isn't), remember that people are all different and so view friendships differently, even on Facebook. This specifically relates to people you are Facebook friends with who you view as extraneous to your life. Be aware that they may consider you of significantly more importance than you them. Whether it is based in reality or not, it happens. We are all different and someone may see value in you without even knowing you very well and so may consider you an important part of their life no matter how tangential the relationship. So, be aware that just because it's no big deal to you, doesn't mean that there won't be hurt feelings on the other end of the unfriending.
Once you have completed the purge, KEEP IT TO YOURSELF. Try to refrain from making a post on your Facebook page explaining how much better you feel after having removed a bunch of insignificant people from your friend's list. It seems that no matter how this is worded, it tends to come across as arrogant and condescending and is clearly an attempt to validate your decision and assuage any guilt you may feel. It's best just to move along and enjoy the friends you have chosen to retain without broadcasting an explanation. And speaking of broadcasting, if you just can't help yourself and feel compelled to post afterwards, at least set your Facebook page to private. It is no fun (and a bit perplexing) to surprisingly find yourself on the wrong end of a Facebook friend purge only to go to the person's page that is set to public, read about how the person "cleaned up" their friends list and realize that you were part of the "dirt."
Finally, if you end up with a significant number of Facebook friends that you feel no connection to, it would probably be a good idea to reassess the criteria you use when adding friends in the first place. There is a good chance that you should be a bit more selective when adding friends or accepting friend requests. Realize that, although it may seem so, it is not necessarily a slight to ignore a Facebook friend request. In reality, it's somewhat less of a slight than to put yourself in the situation of having to unfriend someone at a later date.
By the way, there is at least one other way to address the dilemma of too many Facebook friends in a direct and open manner. If you find yourself in this situation, it is possible to create a post explaining your perspective, validating the value of all of your Facebook friends and honestly but caringly communicate that you will be removing some friends from your list and why. I believe that this will be received much better by all than just unfriending a bunch of people with no explanation.
A couple of month ago, Megan Phelps (yeah, the Megan Phelps previously associated with the infamous Westboro Baptist Church) masterfully created just such a post and the response to her post was overwhelmingly positive. Yup, people actually understood where she was coming from and were totally ok with being unfriended in light of her post. Here it is:
And here are just a couple of many positive responses to her post (including my own).
This all goes to show, that the Facebook friend purge can be done successfully in a positive manner.
And now for the absolution which brings us to the crux of this post.
I first began to contemplate writing this post a couple of years ago as I was reflecting a bit on the enigma that is Facebook. At the time, I was beginning to realize that people see Facebook in many different ways and along with that, there are many different motives for adding friends on Facebook. Some folks just want a high friend number count regardless of the nature of the relationship. These folks add and accept friends on Facebook more or less indiscriminately. Others desire a fairly low friend count. These folks add and accept only those whom they already have established real life friendships with. And, of course, there are many combinations in between these two extremes. It isn't my desire in this post to evaluate the validity of either extreme or any of the in-between scenarios.
Instead, I want to address a phenomenon that often occurs in relation to Facebook friends. Nearly everyone has friends on their friend list whom they either accepted a friend request from or remain friends with out of guilt. In some cases, a friend request comes through and you don't want to hurt the other person's feelings. Maybe the person is a friend of a friend, someone who you will encounter face to face on a fairly regular basis or maybe there is some other reason that makes you feel obligated to accept the friendship. In other cases, you may have either added or accepted a friend only later to realize that you don't consider this person a friend (or possibly even an acquaintance) and really aren't comfortable with any connection whatsoever to the person, even digitally. Whatever the reason, once you are connected as Facebook friends, it's easy to feel trapped by your desire not to be perceived as a jerk by unfriending the person.
Well, I don't want any of the folks I'm connected with on Facebook to feel trapped, so I'm here to offer a gift: The Reverse Facebook Friend Purge. Unlike the usual Facebook friend purging, this is where I reverse the process and invite any of my Facebook friends who wish to unfriend me, to do so with the understanding that I absolve the person from any responsibility or guilt. I will not consider anyone unfriendly or a jerk for unfriending me and I will not hold it against anyone. I simply want everyone to be content with their Facebook connections and I want my friends list to be comprised of just that: people who truly want to be friends. Please understand that I only add people as friends on Facebook with whom I feel some level of kinship or in whom I see friendship potential. And, admittedly, I desire to be friends with almost everyone I meet. However, I understand that the kinship I feel is not always mutual and it's quite obvious to me that there are some folks who remain friends with me on Facebook out of a sense of politeness. There are even some who never interact with me and don't even speak to me when I encounter them in real life. I can't think of any other reason for these people to remain connected with me on Facebook other than not wanting to hurt my feelings or to be perceived as an unfriendly person. I actually crossed paths with one of these people today at church. A Facebook friend who won't even acknowledge my presence and avoids interacting with me when we cross paths and so clearly doesn't want to be friends in any sense of the word. To these people and anyone else who for any reason does not want to be my Facebook friend, I absolve you. I accept your friend resignation and I wish you well. I want peace for you and peace doesn't include feeling trapped in a social media friendship that you don't want to be in. Even if it hurts, I promise not to hate you for it and I wish you the best in building and maintaining genuine friendships.
In my last Childhood Stories post, I wrote of Rachel, a kindred spirit who my mom babysat during my early childhood. If you have not yet read that post, you can find it here: Childhood Stories: Rachel
Now, on with the post.
As I mentioned in my last post, one of the ways that my mother earned extra income for years was by watching other people's children during work days. By the time I came around, my mother's childcare activities were beginning to wind down but there are two children I can remember my mother watching during my childhood. One was, of course, the aforementioned Rachel whom I have vivid and fond memories of. The other is Chad who occupies the opposite place in my memory.
If I clear my mind, relax and then bring Chad to mind, an image of a little boy with light brown hair, tiny bottom teeth and a mischievous smile flashes into my mind's eye. But as quickly as it appears, it is gone.
As much as Rachel and I hit it off, Chad and I did not. It's not like we hated each other. But at best, we were indifferent to one another and at worst, there existed for him a competitive machismo. Looking back, I think this may have been the first inkling I had, though I was only 4 years old at the time, that I relate much more to females than I do to males. (But that's a topic for a future post).
There is only one specific memory I have of Chad, a memory that I am reminded of on a somewhat regular basis.
One day Chad and I were both playing with hot wheels cars and race tracks. Although we were playing with the same toys, we were on opposite sides of our living room playing separately. Of all the hot wheels cars in our home at the time, there was a favorite among us all: A hot wheels version of the The Munsters' Koach.
The Munster Koach
If you are unfamiliar with The Munster's, it was an odd little sitcom that ran for only 3 seasons (from 1964-1966) but has lived on in television syndication ever since. I'm not sure why we were all so enchanted with this car, other than our love for the show and the fact that this was car was such a far cry from most of the other hot wheels available at the time.
I don't remember the circumstances that led to Chad's actions that day but my feeling is that he was irritated with me for some reason, possibly because it had been determined by an adult presence that it was my turn to play with the Munsters' Koach. Whatever the reason, Chad impulsively and recklessly threw the Koach at me and it hit me in the head. Almost any other car would most likely have left me with only a nasty goose egg. However, The Munster Koach, as can be seen in the photo above, has a number of sharp, pointy edges and Chad hurled it with such velocity that it instantly created a deep gash in my forehead. The next memory I have is of being at the emergency room and getting stitches. I don't remember any pain while getting the stitches but I am sure that was because I was given local anesthetic even though I don't remember them giving me one. What I do remember is several weeks later when I had the stitches removed. The doctor told me I wouldn't feel much but it hurt terribly. I can only surmise that when I was stitched up that day, a nerve was hit because I still feel the pain sometimes even to this day. If I touch the particular spot where the stitches were, I feel a weird, unsettling, sharp pain and sometimes I even feel a dull odd pain when the spot is not being touched.
That's really all I remember about Chad. I don't think my mother watched him for along. Maybe a year. Maybe a bit longer or shorter. All I know is that I have no other memories of him.
Because of my lasting wound (I don't know what else to call it), Chad and that little Munster Koach do still enter my mind and I find it odd. From the throwing of the car and the gashing of the forehead to the trip to the emergency room was probably no more than 15 minutes of the 22.6 million minutes that have transpired since. That's roughly 0.00007% of my life and yet, I still remember that car and I remember the smirk on Chad's face after he threw it.
But it doesn't stop with the memory. Every time that spot on my forehead aches, it's a reminder that our brief and seemingly minor interactions with others can sometime impact a person for the rest of their lives. So, I have a level of thankfulness for this lasting wound (as I am thankful for other wounds I have) because it makes me reflect a bit more when interacting with others. So, I guess this is the story of how a boy I barely knew and did not connect with, intentionally gave me a wound whilte unintentionally giving me a gift that has impacted me for the better.
As some of you know, I've had an extremely rough time over the past several years for a number of reasons. But all of the shittiness (is that a word?) seems to have reached it's crescendo in the lovely year that was 2016. There were times last year during which I wondered if I could take the next mental or emotional hit that was coming my way. I wondered if I could stand. I spent months waiting for the other shoe to drop and experiencing almost no enjoyment in life while anticipating the next traumatic event that I could just sense was heading my way.
Why was 2016 so rough? Well, there were a few main reasons and I started to list them out right here but as I was typing, it seemed that maybe it would be better for me to separate them out into different posts to help me process more completely and to avoid a huge, rambling post that nobody wants to slog through. :)
The first and most impactful reason is all of the struggles of those in my immediate family. Particularly in regard to mental health.
Over the past several years, I have watched nearly every member of my family struggle with mental health on a somewhat continual basis. Throughout this time, I have felt like I needed to be the rock, the steady, the fixer. One of the "positive" qualities I have is that I always seek to make other people feel more comfortable. Unfortunately, this can be a not-so-good quality when it comes to fatherhood and spousal support. Trying to walk the fine line between encouragement and accountability is extremely difficult for someone like me, especially when dealing with those who are drifting and trying to set a course for freedom in the uncharted waters of mental illness.
The pressures of dealing with all of this culminated at some point during 2016 and the result was a sort of mental unravelling for me. Imagine that, being surrounded by people you love who are struggling with mental issues can cause you to experience your own mental health issues. There is indeed a contagious aspect to mental struggles that often goes unrecognized.
This unravelling did not result in an outward mental breakdown for me which would have been easily discernible to others but instead, an inward foggy, pessimistic separation of myself from reality. In particular, an absence of the ability to derive any sort of pleasure in life. I felt like there was a shadow hanging over every minute of my day, whether asleep or awake, that could (and would) fall upon one or more of my family members and any given time. And each time the shadow would fall, each time some traumatic and dramatic event would unfold in our lives, my senses would become a little more dull and my outlook a little more bleak. I'm not sure if any of you have been in that place before but it is a desolate place. There is no laughter, joy or peace. There is only a pit in the stomach. An ominous foreboding permeating all of one's existence.
Probably not many of you know, but have always been the consummate optimist. I readily admit to situations that are not ideal or even good but have always held out hope for them to get better. My outlook has always been that there is a way forward. The sun will come out tomorrow. etc. The past two years, broke me of this optimism and as I broke, I did not like the unattached hopelessness that filled the void that optimism once occupied.
I'm fortunate in that I realized that these changes had taken place, that they weren't good for me or anyone else and that I had to find a way to regain hope in life. I was also fortunate in that I had a couple of good friends to whom I could express my concerns about where I was and my dire need to not remain in that place. I'm still not sure what the turning point was. Perhaps it was reaching a point where I gave up trying to force myself to be hopeful that I began to let go of the framework I had always used to determine what a hopeful life looks like. That probably sounds very heady and nebulous. I'm sorry if it does but it feels like the best way to express it.
Sometime during the last few months of 2016, I began to envision and internalize a way forward to regain my optimism and am now working to externalize that way forward.
A lot of it has to do with acknowledging my limitations regarding being able to "fix" other people or even to "fix" their circumstances. This is still a struggle for me but the work I've done inside and outside myself has me in a much better place.
As far as the mental struggles of my various family members are concerned, I have relinquished the role of rock and fixer and have assumed the role of encourager and mentor, offering what I feel is valuable and allowing others to own the responsibility to forge their own paths in life.
In light of my newly assumed role, and specifically in regard to my three daughters who have struggled mightily throughout their teenage years, I offer the following advice. Just be still. Practice the art of "Being in the Now" This is important for all of us but can be particularly helpful for the young ladies of this generation who are subjected to an ever growing social media network of accusers, bullies and the ever ironic female misogynists that seem to have become a staple of today's online interactions.
There are many online articles on the value of "being present" or "being in the now" so I won't attempt to expound on that now. I will, however, leave you with a song that I discovered a couple of years ago that always makes me think of what I would like to say to my girls (and possibly to myself), each time hopelessness and defeatism raise their ugly heads.
Be Still.
Life is short.
Long may your innocence reign.
When they drag you through the mud.
When you're in too deep.
When they knock you down.
Don't break character.
Rise up like the sun.
Labor till the work is done.
A while back, I decided that I wanted to share some stories from my childhood. If you miss that first post, you can find it here: Childhood Stories: A Blunt Knife
Now, on with this post.
Rachel
When I was young, my mom did this thing that was fairly common at the time among lower to middle income families with a lot of children: She babysat other children to earn extra money for our family. At the time, these children who needed watching during the daytime work hours consisted mainly of children from single parent or divorced families in which the custodial parent had no choice but to work outside the home.
This is how I met Rachel.
Rachel was the only daughter of a young nurse named Karen who my mother worked with at Children's Mercy Hospital.
I've been trying to put together just how long my mom babysat Rachel based only on 40-year-old memories and the few factual dates that I can find. I know that Rachel was born in October of 1971 and so was almost exactly two years younger than I. In addition, I seem to remember her being at our home prior to me starting kindergarten at the age of 4. My mom didn't stop watching Rachel until I was approximately 9 years old and in the 4th grade. Putting this all together, it seems to be a span of around 5 years that Rachel and I's lives intersected.
During these years together, Rachel and I were constant playmates and became fast friends. We spent hours upon hours playing together. Just the two of us, sharing imagination and dreaming. We were kindred spirits, cut from the same cloth: Both creative, sensitive and shy yet optimistic and in awe of life.
I have many fond memories of Rachel. We used to lay on our backs on the next door neighbor's front terrace and stare up at the clouds in wonder, occasionally pointing out the likeness of one to an elephant, giraffe or whatever other exotic animal we saw manifested. We used to pretend to drive a huge city bus using an old discarded bicycle wheel as a steering wheel. We used to pick and eat delicious mulberries off of the tree in our backyard. We did that thing that kids do where we shared stories with each other of encounters with witches, ghosts, tornadoes, etc all the while knowing that the reality of each tale existed only in our imaginations and never calling the other person out for such obvious yarns.
I also remember a day when we adventured into the old detached garage behind our house. A place we were specifically forbidden to explore due to the abundance of perilous rummage amassed there. Of course, it was my idea and Rachel was reluctant to break the rules but I coaxed her into entering with the promise of a wondrous treasure of odds and ends. And so, in we went. I don't remember if our explorations were the cause or if there was another, but there were some pieces of broken glass scattered on the floor. For some reason, broken glass is a wonder to children. Perhaps because it is a surrealistic manifestation of things as they should not be. A glimpse outside the sanitized childhood created by adults and into the truth of entropial reality. At any rate, due to the aforementioned wonder, and to achieve the fullest experience thereof, I picked up a piece of the glass and ran my fingers along the smooth portion just letting the tip of my fingers skirt the jagged edge. With the power of the glass to pierce delicate skin mere micrometers away, my fascination reached its zenith and I encouraged Rachel to pick up a piece so that she could also experience this fascination. Rachel, perhaps being younger, clumsier or maybe merely not having as much exposure to broken glass as I, instantly ran her finger along the harsh broken edge and blood immediately began to flow. I tried to comfort her. Tried to tell her that it was just a small cut. Tried to convince her that we didn't need to involve the adults. But only for a moment because I saw that she was bleeding profusely and it would take more than the a mere bandaid to stanch the flow.
Rachel ended up going to the emergency room and receiving stitches that evening while I remained at home, crying in my sister's arms, overwhelmed with remorse due to the role I had played in sending her there.
The intersection of Rachel and I's worlds came to an end sometime in early 1979. The details are a bit fuzzy. As I mentioned above, the memories are nearly 40 years old and were processed and stored through the senses of a 9-year-old child. That said, the following are the events as I remember them.
Rachel's mother dropped her off at our home one cold morning in January of 1979, drove herself to the hospital that she and my mother worked at and shot herself in the head, dying instantly. I don't think that I ever saw Rachel again after that day. At least I don't remember seeing her again. I do know that after that day, she went to live with her father and stepmother in Warrensburg, MO which is about an hour away from the Kansas City, MO area.
It's interesting what childhood events do to you. Try as I might, I cannot pull a clear image of Rachel's face into my mind. I can pull vague images, kind of like if you were looking at someone out of the corner of your eye who is standing just behind you. I can remember mannerisms. I can remember characteristics. I can sometimes remember her voice. But I cannot lock into a clear memory of her face and I wish that I could. The interesting part is that I have a clear memory of her mother's face. A clear memory of her whole person actually. Standing in our doorway in a while nurse's uniform with a slight smile on her face. Saying goodbye to her daughter for the day. This is odd because the interactions I had with her mother were few and were brief. I can only surmise that due to the tragic way that she left this world, my 9-year-old brain chose to forever imprint a picture of her onto my grey matter.
Over the years, I would sometimes think or Rachel and so through the resourcefulness of the information super highway, I sought to reconnect with her using only her first and last name (which I wasn't even sure of the correct spelling of at the time).
Unfortunately, it didn't take me long to find out that I was too late.
Rachel Joan Rothove Rodriguez passed away suddenly on Friday, December 2, 2005. She was only 34 years old.
I was able to track down her stepmother and correspond briefly with her by email and take solace from a blog post she made a couple of weeks after Rachel's death.
Here is an excerpt:
"For now I am wondering, "How do I live the rest of my life without my daughter?" She died suddenly Dec. 2, 2005. We were very close despite the 1000 miles that could have kept us apart. We talked daily, often more than once. I have always been grateful for our relationship, and it has been wonderful for some years now. But now I dread answering the phone. Kind of like becoming sensitive to the traffic behind you after a rear-end accident.
The last two weeks have shown me how she had accomplished...all her high school dreams and more. A loving husband, beautiful children(3), a big home, and a successful career as an entrepeneur. Regardless of her young age of 35 Rachel had lived several lifetimes. She had become my best friend, sometimes my only friend. We have talked each other through so many life experiences. We had great laughs and great arguments. I am lost without her.
Her last interest was in the work and life of Frida Kahlo, a painter. My daughter related to the hardship. It is a long story. The end has arrived. I will see my work differently. I have to relocate the joy, maybe filter Rachel's sense of humor and tastes in a body of work."
This post along with the description of Rachel in her obituary are a perfect reflection of the Rachel I knew and I am happy for that. Her obit speaks of her enjoying singing, dancing, reading and writing poetry and collective thoughts. She was a truly creative soul.
And so, I can't help but wonder. Why? Are some people just cursed? It seems that from the moment of her birth, Rachel's life was meant for ultimate demise. Does life just home in on certain people and destin them for tragedy and hardship? We all know of people who seem to be followed by trials. Modern day Jobs if you will. There have been two such people in my life thus far. One is Rachel and the other is my sister Mary. I won't speak of Mary in this post but her story is equally as tragic as Rachel's if not more so. Why do some people appear to be earmarked for disaster?
I guess none of us can really know.
For me, I will keep wondering and questioning while I cherish the impact that Rachel had in my life during my own troubled childhood years. She helped me survive in her own way and I will be forever grateful and inspired by her life to seek to do the same for others.
