Where Understanding Begins

March 30, 2012 § Leave a comment

My interpreter’s hat has a tendency to fall over an eye or two. Bias is nothing to be ashamed of or conquer. But I want this done by the end of the year, and I don’t have the patience for all the prideful rationale the delusions float on. I have plenty of room for the truth, but the truth doesn’t always have dibs on the space. My truths are shy and non-assertive, as naked as the emperor but fully aware of it. Maybe they don’t mind that much, but I do. They are not embarrassed but embarrassing. Objectivity is still hard to find, but it has never been more visible. The capture is the thing: I know when I’ve caught my prey, but I don’t know how. Consistency is not also ensnared. I catch truths I don’t understand and let them go for now. The rest is meager nourishment, but enough till the next meal. The rules imposed on me over Herself are not metaphorical. They’re real and sometimes hard to take. Accepting them is the only thing I ask of myself. I succeed, I fail. Neither praising nor lamenting either outcome is objectivity, where understanding begins.

Who Do I Think I Am?

March 27, 2012 § Leave a comment

There is a lot to life. I still have dreams, but they aren’t those of my youth, when I wanted to be a cowboy and a fireman and a baseball player. Reality, responsibility, practicality, low self-esteem turned those dreams to smoke. I even thought I would be a writer. But everything’s so hard. My needs seem simpler, but I can’t imagine attaining them. A lifetime of everyday responsibility has not prepared me for attending to my needs, which are not a bill to pay or a job to get to on time. The life prescribed by society is not mine at all. How do I get from it what it seems to have made no provision for? Playing by the sanctioned rules wins only trifles of that game and only amounts to a tease to keep playing. I’ve always hated playing, always knew there was nothing in it for me, no reward worth having, much less keeping; but tired of fighting or trying to play by my own rules, I would fall miserably back in line to give the pretense another go. That’s life–mine anyway: A run at freedom on a tether too short, a glimpse of my true self from too far away, then a return to the herd and my tattered blinders. Who do I think I am?

The Power In Humility

March 23, 2012 § Leave a comment

Principle, right as it might seem or be, can still be shaky ground upon which to take a stand. A right to do something is not a duty to do it. Discretion can be too little considered. Rational rightness makes of itself righteousness with a blindly ironic twist of rationale into morality. Where irony prevails, recognized or not, true rightness is excluded. There I stood, Emperor of Righteous, resplendently naked in my meticulously woven cloak of rightness, proclaiming my “every right” to averted faces. What I say now clothes me in my humility, embarrassed over what I displayed. Whatever of my rights I felt at the time to have been trampled upon in the proceedings against me had been merely superseded by a moral duty I would not acknowledge. The principles I stood upon were kicked out from under me by the truth: the pain I’d inflicted. The resentment of my punishment as disproportionate to my crimes recedes as understanding accedes. Sometimes I resent that, too. I can’t recognize the power in humility.

Not the Compensation I Had Hoped For

March 20, 2012 § Leave a comment

The flowers were to apologize for the email. It was a desperate impulse to which I gave no pause or distraction. The words on the tri-folded, stapled sheet of copier paper with my name handwritten on it revealed how little we understood each other, but Herself got this right: I’d written a “bitter, mean-spirited” email. More words were not going to fix this. I needed a gesture. Flowers would not undo anything, but I had hopes that they would begin a calm dialogue toward reconciliation. She told me otherwise with a face nearly as mean as any words I’d written about her–a haughty chill laughing down at me. The yellow bouquet stood above and behind her shoulder on a raised counter, looking more a prisoner than an ambassador of hope. She appeared to be mocking me. I was confused. I remained confused, then I became angry. She had not read the card or taken the flowers to her desk. Beyond that mocking glare, she did not acknowledge the flowers to me. From confused to angry took less than two hours, when I snatched up the bouquet and stuffed it in the nearest waste basket. I wish now I had made a bigger gesture of it. The screensaver was not the compensation I had hoped for.

The Wisdom to Understand It

March 16, 2012 § 5 Comments

The distance between me and my daughters will grow. I would at least like to think that it is not so broad as it could easily have been by now. Children grow up. They leave to have lives of their own. Yet something else for me to accept. I will, but hardly without envy of boyfriends and husbands. Often, I turn conversations with them to musing on our mutual future: I’m eager for their emancipation into adulthood, if for selfish reasons, such as the freedom to spend more time with me. But they could spend it with others as easily. My fear is of not being the first choice, but certainly I will be that more than once. Abandonment looms threateningly even now, and I’m afraid I’ve conveyed that in our conversations, laid a foundation for guilt to be built upon. I don’t want their pity any more than anyone else’s. I’m preparing myself for being alone, but I don’t intend to press the issue. They will leave for other lives and leave me to a new one of my own. That that new life could be as rewarding without (or with less of) them is hard to believe, but I do believe there’s time to get used to the idea and to grow the wisdom to understand it.

Can I Ever Stop Wanting the Answers?

March 13, 2012 § Leave a comment

Speculation is a vanity of the imagination. There are many questions to ask, but do they need answered? What will be satisfied? Who’s truth will be told? If I were to run into Herself tomorrow I couldn’t ask one of those questions of her. Some things don’t matter if they only matter to you. Then you let go of them. Or you eventually only ask them rhetorically–and not snidely, either. They will always matter, really. I will answer them myself, but not with speculation. I only know my side. My truth will be incomplete. Accepting the impossibility of her corroboration and trusting my own understanding of it will be my letting go. I have to trust even what I’m not sure of–become sure of it–because it’s as sure as I will ever be. How true can that be? Can I ever believe it’s true enough? Can I ever stop wanting the answers?

Who Can Read Them As I Do Now?

March 9, 2012 § Leave a comment

My other blogs don’t embarrass me. I don’t care how they affect my love life. Should I hesitate, in this googlized to give my last name to a prospective mate, knowing what she would find? Whatever labels interpretation applies to me, whether they stick or fall off is my call. I’ve just read the last post of A Bright, Ironic Hell. It astounds me. Yet I remember the day after the evening I published it and the laser glare Herself shot me at work when, from across the room, we first saw each other. What had I done? How had I offended her this time? I can’t wonder that over every word I wrote (or write), for her or anyone else. The blogs were always soliciting something–if not a Personals ad, at least a personal one: I set out not to showcase my outstanding features but to show all of them. I was after empathy. I was looking for someone who understood–a friend. I thought that might be her. Relative to now and the companionship I seek, the blogs stand as a test of compassion and understanding: Who can read them feeling neither piteous nor superior? Who can read them as I do now?

Where Am I?

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