Not right up there with Buddah's Enlightenment, or anything like that, just a little notch in my Liviing a More Sensible Life belt.
I decided to walk away--from my Atlas of World History.
I bought it on our New Year's Day shopping trip, a couple of years ago. I meant to read a little bit of it every day. We'll call it a "refresher course," even though I've forgotten so much that it would be more properly called an "introductory course." I tried that year, and lasted, if my marginal notes can be trusted, for about a month.
This year, I started again. I hate the book. I hate it because once it gets past the very beginnings, it focuses on one continent at a time. I was looking for a more coordinated approach, a sort of "World News Tonight" that would give me a picture of all of the continents at a given period. I forged ahead. I got as far as China, and last night, I just couldn't take it anymore.
I vented on the page. I read the first paragraph. I closed the book. I went to Amazon.
My new book should be here in a week or so. Meantime, I have the Kindle version of a historical timeline that is mostly bullet points. (Turns out the flute, which I am trying to learn, was one of the earliest instruments, and pottery, one of the earliest crafts.) I'm getting back to the basics, so to speak.
I'm not sure I have ever before consiously given up on a book. (Well, "given up" may be too strong a phrase. I did put it back on the shelf.) Once I start, I finish, as though there will be some sort of prize at the end (sometimes there is) or some sort of penalty for not. (I guess I'll find out.)
I felt strong, as though I had somehow found the courage to do what I knew was sensible, to make a choice that was right for me.
Finishing what you start --- not always --- the best thing. I know that. I just don't typically live it.
Baby steps.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Girl Journal, March 3, 2013
Turns out, a review of 2012 isn't going to be a January thing. Or a February thing. Based on that, and on our longstanding tradition of discussion of our ah-ha moments, and growth marker points and considerations, I give you this, which of necessity includes a fair amount of old-story.
I've been resentful, you know. Bitter, a little.
My world, while not exactly to my liking, was good. To say that I revolved around my family would be to understate the situation. They were the axis. They were gravity. They were air. All choices, large and small, were reviewed for impact on my relationships with the members of my family.
Family was also, as you and I have already discussed, my security. My theoretical safe place. And then they fought the big fight and became not my safe place, but a place fraught with heartache and fear. My distrust of the security of my relationships with each of them (for what could I possibly know now?) swept all of life into a one-step-at-a time chasm.
I discovered the saving power of letting each day stand on its own.
I drew sublime comfort from the easy, and dependable, rhythm of the rising sun.
I put a little spin on "It is a marvelous thing to know that no one else can mess with the inside of your head," and chose to believe what I needed to believe, instead of the dire possibilities that seemed probable. Either had a chance of coming true.
There has been a re-approachment. A beginning of forging new, hopefully healthier, connections. A wary awareness that I need to be different from what I was. And a deep feeling that I am broken. A sulkiness waiting for the chance to say, "You broke me." "I am changed forever." A clinging to the belief that I do not know what they might do next, and cannot trust them, and a resentment for that loss.
But here's the thing, based on my morning's reading of "The Spirituality of Imperfection," : Shifting from "family" with an eye out for something that I can control, somewhere else where I can be secure, is a mistake.
"Nor does spirituality's wariness of attachment imply rejection of human relationships. .... The first and essential detachment must be from the attempt and the claim to control others."
"What blocks release more than anything else is the refusal to let go that comes for the demand for security, for certainty, for assured results. Release, like spirituality itself, requires risk."
And so what I'm thinking this morning is that the resentment is misplaced. That the petulant words that have been waiting backstage all this time should be fired. That the lesson to be drawn from the Big Fight isn't that "your rotten children can't be trusted," but that a demand for security is a set up.
When I was deeply involved in church, it was easy enough. I just punted, in the "Let go and let God," sense. I didn't need to worry about being in control, because I believed that God was. While both of those things might very well be valid, for those with deep insecurities, and/or a deep need to control outcomes, it can also be sleight of hand. A wink/wink as in "I'll do the things God tells me to do, and I'll pray, and thereby still have a grand measure of control."
What I am thinking this morning is that sometimes the shit just hits the fan.
Or, as it struck me on my way home from the Antique Gallery, "I'm thinking that a lot of people just aren't as uptight as I am."
Big loves,
Vickie
I've been resentful, you know. Bitter, a little.
My world, while not exactly to my liking, was good. To say that I revolved around my family would be to understate the situation. They were the axis. They were gravity. They were air. All choices, large and small, were reviewed for impact on my relationships with the members of my family.
Family was also, as you and I have already discussed, my security. My theoretical safe place. And then they fought the big fight and became not my safe place, but a place fraught with heartache and fear. My distrust of the security of my relationships with each of them (for what could I possibly know now?) swept all of life into a one-step-at-a time chasm.
I discovered the saving power of letting each day stand on its own.
I drew sublime comfort from the easy, and dependable, rhythm of the rising sun.
I put a little spin on "It is a marvelous thing to know that no one else can mess with the inside of your head," and chose to believe what I needed to believe, instead of the dire possibilities that seemed probable. Either had a chance of coming true.
There has been a re-approachment. A beginning of forging new, hopefully healthier, connections. A wary awareness that I need to be different from what I was. And a deep feeling that I am broken. A sulkiness waiting for the chance to say, "You broke me." "I am changed forever." A clinging to the belief that I do not know what they might do next, and cannot trust them, and a resentment for that loss.
But here's the thing, based on my morning's reading of "The Spirituality of Imperfection," : Shifting from "family" with an eye out for something that I can control, somewhere else where I can be secure, is a mistake.
"Nor does spirituality's wariness of attachment imply rejection of human relationships. .... The first and essential detachment must be from the attempt and the claim to control others."
"What blocks release more than anything else is the refusal to let go that comes for the demand for security, for certainty, for assured results. Release, like spirituality itself, requires risk."
And so what I'm thinking this morning is that the resentment is misplaced. That the petulant words that have been waiting backstage all this time should be fired. That the lesson to be drawn from the Big Fight isn't that "your rotten children can't be trusted," but that a demand for security is a set up.
When I was deeply involved in church, it was easy enough. I just punted, in the "Let go and let God," sense. I didn't need to worry about being in control, because I believed that God was. While both of those things might very well be valid, for those with deep insecurities, and/or a deep need to control outcomes, it can also be sleight of hand. A wink/wink as in "I'll do the things God tells me to do, and I'll pray, and thereby still have a grand measure of control."
What I am thinking this morning is that sometimes the shit just hits the fan.
Or, as it struck me on my way home from the Antique Gallery, "I'm thinking that a lot of people just aren't as uptight as I am."
Big loves,
Vickie
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