Conditioning

I have been with people, friends, family etc, every weekend pretty much continually for the last four or more weekends. It has been wonderful! But there is something negative that I had forgotten about when you are around people so much. You start to feel alone, when you are alone.
I know that sounds redundant. But I prior to this month of visitation I was a girl perfectly happy to go to the movies, dinner, shopping or what have you alone. And now I very nearly needed someone to accompany me on a shopping expedition this last Saturday. It was a close call... and even though I shopped alone, I must confess I met a girlfriend from work for dinner.
But it was Sunday, after church, when I realized that I had almost started to regress to a time when I had first moved to Eagle Lake. I remember that long journey conditioning myself to like the sound of my own silence. In fact before this last month I had come to rather enjoy my own company.
Sundays after church can be one of the lonliest times for a person. It is a time that for me is very connected to family and friends. All of my life you were supposed to be with people on Sundays. And most of the time I am.
But this past Sunday I found the silence of my little house empty. I had just decided to throw a big pity party for myself when I was reminded of something important. Something gounded in a reality I needed to come to grips with. I don't have to be with people to know I am loved. A large part of my new sense of being an adult comes from this realization and this sense of self-value where one can be loved in absentia... "Ahhh, zis is true" says the little German psychologist in my head.
You should know I am fine. Its just so odd, how you can regress so easily to need something that is honestly not even a real need. Just a comfort or conditioned response to being alone. We people, we're a funny lot.

Saturday Jeans

I have these jeans that I love... they have patches and are so fadded the cuffs are mostly white, the denim is soft and worn, the pocket is missing a snap... They are pretty much the perfect jeans. They are straight legged all the way down. We girls know that in the boot-cut, flar leg, stylized jean fashion extravaganza that is offered a good pair of straight-legged jeans are hard to find. They might be considered a little too long, but to me they are perfection... besides, of course, the old appearance. I wear these jeans on Saturdays, my off day. They say to me come on now get comfy, have a weekend. I love my Saturday jeans.

Waiting...

Long story short, I waited in an airport rental car agency for around 5 hours. It was one of those very 'me' situations and a hell of a long day. Early on in the evening I realized I would be stranded well into the night. I sit down to wait and have this overwhelming need to be rescued, immediately. Not rescued in five hours, not in three, but now. This need was so intense that tears welled in my eyes. I urgently wanted someone to save me from this situation. This need went against all my self-imposed constructs, all that I try to maintain.
I don’t ask for help. My reason’s span a spectrum from distrust and fear to basic pride. I cope. It’s what I do and generally, especially in a crisis, I keep a cool head. It’s only after the immediate threat is vanquished that I scream, yell or emote.
I trust my family, if it is within their power to help me they will. I trust God, I ask him for help all the time. God is there. He answers, listens or comes to me. Always, even if I am unaware or don’t ‘feel’ it. I trust in that. With other people, even friends, there is this fear. Fear that the answer to my request for help will be a portal into the way they value me. Am I a priority? Do I count? Would you make time to be there for me? Maybe, maybe not. To protect myself I unconsciously constructed these rules: Go to family first. Weigh all possible outcomes. Don’t ask for help when you aren’t sure of the outcome. Make sure that when you do ask, that the situation doesn’t sound as dire as it is. Don’t ask for help from people you know well. Even then "ASK" has a little red caution sign attached that reads "at your own risk."
When, for various reasons, I couldn’t find anyone to pick me up, my constructs did me no good. They fell away and to my horror I realized that they were actually hiding me not protecting me. I saw that I wanted something very basic. Something, in fact, very cliché. I wanted another person to see me as valuable. And here, in my time of vulnerability, disappointment and strandedness, I wanted that value to outrank obligations, commitments and distance.
Hours later I was picked up by a good friend of mine. The next day I kicked caution to the curb and went on my road trip anyway. On the way I re-examined my waiting experience. I admitted. I want what poets and Kings and farmers and wanderers have wanted for centuries. And it scares the hell out of me to admit it. But it frees me, too.

Hop as light...

Wednesday, April 19, 2006
I was tired tonight. I sat out in the backyard. I saw lightening bugs. I watched them dance in the grass and in low tree limbs. It made me think of A Midsummer Nights Dream...

Through the house give gathering light,
By the dead and drowsy fire:
Every elf and fairy sprite
Hop as light as bird from brier;
And this ditty, after me,
Sing, and dance it trippingly.

There is something quieting, something reassuring, in those dancing lights. They produce a lulling melody without notes.