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Sink Or Swim; Nostalgia & a Little Shove

mylifeHolidays tend to make us nostalgic. Thank goodness that they’re officially over for 2015.

I can’t count the number of times that I’ve heard, “2015 was a terrible year“. Wow.

I prefer to frame my year as a deli sandwich. The bread was delicious, but the meat of it was a little sour. In other words, the first and last thirds were great (as in; good enough), but the middle really blew.

How often as children did we say a year was terrible? We didn’t darlings. We just did the 10 second countdown to the new year and moved forward with joyful, curious abandon.

sufferingNow we yearn for the days when life was simple and  we still believed in magic. Friendships and family were taken for granted, and happiness was just on the other side of the screen door.

As adults, we tend to overcomplicate things. ‘Be kind and play fair’, seem to have gotten lost in the big, adult personal ethics playbook. And that just stinks. Because it hurts. Yes, people can be selfish and cruel, but they can also be kind, giving, and lovely to snuggle up with. Naked.

As human beings, we all want to be loved. We all need and want strong friendships, a true love with whom we can  share our most intimate selves , and bourbon. Ok, maybe the last bit is all about me, but whatever.

When we lose ourselves in the fray of losing the one person we fell in love with, we feel broken. I’ve been there. It hurts. It’s scary, and it puts a pretty harsh filter on our vision of the future.

Just this summer, I sat, sobbing on my friend’s front step, while she nursed my broken heart and damaged pride. I felt empty, hopeless, afraid and lost.

We live in a world that prizes the individual and yet makes it impossible to live without the safety net of community, family and friends. Yes, the great Western-way-of-life has unfolded into a wonderful cock-up of psychological dissonance. But what do I know? I’m just a girl after all.

I do know this. The holiday season has seen a lot of falling in and out of love; happy hearts and hearts that have been broken and need time to heal, relationships that are worn thin, or worn out altogether.

The beautifully terrifying part of it all, is that the only way to heal a heart is to live life. The very life that has tossed you like a small boat on a big, angry, ocean, leaving you feeling washed up and broken beyond repair.

Cling to curiosity. Let your friends lead you when you are  blinded by tears. Be wary of the seductive pull of too much sleep, lack of self care, and try to remember how good it feels to laugh after you decide to, ‘fuck it’.

As a quasi-Buddhist-lover-of-Christian-ritual, this speaks to me. You have two choices; get up, dive back into that same unpredictable ocean to wash yourself clean, or wallow in the sand getting burned by the sun and possibly gnawed to death by vicious, exotic fauna.

Sometimes you need a friend to role you back into the ocean. In some cases, you need a friend to drag you, kicking and screaming, back to life. It’s called tough love, and we all need it once in a while.

Nostalgia and wishing for a happily-ever-after is a waste of time.

havetimeYou and I both know that more than anything else, this is true; life is short and precious.

Take the time you need to sit quietly with your broken heart. Don’t run away from it, or deny it what it needs to tell you.  Take your sadness and swaddle it like a helpless infant. As difficult as this may seem, you will see that soon enough, you will be at peace with it.

Weep. Cry. Scream into your pillow…and as you take your last gasp of sobbing breath, get ready for a shove back into the ocean of life.

You’ve always been a beautiful swimmer darling. Always.

 

 

 

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The Cocktail of Life: Make it a Double

Wild Women of the Past (8)Yesterday I was the recipient of two wonderful gestures of friendship; the first a letter from my soul mate in death and parenthood, full of the profanity and absurdity which many others would consider devastating. The second was a wonderful message from a dear friend, “I’m just at a bar having a rum and coke and was thinking of you. Just kidding, I’m having a double rum and coke.”

Both of these things made me laugh, and oh, how I needed those laughs.

When laughter has been hard to come by, these gestures of raw, imperfect, human authenticity are a gift. They are a reminder that life is short, precious and if you have the right attitude, entertaining as hell.

And so it goes, this one wild, crazy, beautifully bittersweet life. These kinds of friends are the ones who are ok to dance with me when the music is strange and I can’t see my feet.

These are the same friends who would have previously received drunken texts or phone calls, with the nitty-gritty details of my deliciously decadent personal proclivities. Before I matured of course. That would never happen now darlings….wait, yes, yes it would, but…

B.U.T.

Big freaking BUT…life gets in the way.

Or does it?

Does it wiggle it’s big ugly knee in the door jamb of our lives and force its way through, or do we swing wide the door ourselves and yell, “Y’all come on in!”

I tend to lean toward the latter. In most cases. Oh, don’t give me any argumentative who-ha here darlings. I’m all for weeping and wailing and nashing of teeth. I’m also all for blowing your nose, scraping yourself together, pouring a gin and tonic and strapping some flip-flops on, metaphorically givng the universe a very detached, “What-everrrr“.

But this comes from a woman who, when being coached through a grueling emotional exercise in counseling palliative patients, chose to give up everything else in life, (i.e. relationships, shelter, nutrition, sight, etc.), and keep her sense of humour.

My sense of humour has ruthlessly pulled me through all kinds of abuse, hard times, depression, financial strain, and the day-to-day struggle to keep on keepin’ on. The junior players were wine, bourbon, gin, younger men and pretty undies.

Despite less-than-perfect-life-circumstance, these pals o’mine manage to keep a keen sense of humour which also involves spewing profanity at the offending irritants and being able to forgive themselves for failing at being present, gentle, or forgetting to take the high road. Sometimes the high road is for folks who care too much what everyone else thinks. Sometimes the world needs a good, old-fashioned bird-flipping and f-bombing to keep it real.

Sometimes, what our adult worlds of children, jobs and spouses needs is a dash of fun and a lot of, ‘Why-not?’s thrown in. Just because you’re grown up and have commitments does not mean you have to act like a Southern Methodist preacher about it.

Sometimes you have to let go of all of the crap we are told we ‘should‘ feel, do and want. Sometimes we just need to be grateful for what we have and enjoy it.