Posts Tagged ‘discomfort’

Sleeping In!

June 28, 2017

An extra fifteen minutes.

Woot.

It’s a party.

Heh.

My boss will be dropping off one of my charges at a summer camp and not back to the house until fifteen minutes after I would normally be starting, so she said, come in fifteen minutes late.

I’ll take it.

I will take any little squeak of time I can get.

I talked about time a lot with my therapist.

How it is a commodity.

How I have often felt that I don’t have enough of it.

(Love)

(Time)

(Money)

All the scarcity that I have dealt with in my life, how embracing abundance can be challenging and sometimes when I have it I want to spend it all, frivolous and mad, just to have it gone again so I can go back to a place of comfortable discomfort.

That didn’t come up so much, but I can see that pattern there in the background looming and lurking there.

I see you, I say to it, it’s ok, it’s going to be alright, you can buy those shoes.

You can book that trip.

You can have a nice cup of coffee.

You can do for you.

Heck.

You can do for others.

The gift of being able to give my friend baby gifts and food, that felt so wonderful, I love gifting things.

The gift of giving my writing, that can be so astounding for me to share.

So vulnerable.

What I was talking to my therapist about was this thing that happens with me in my group supervision and has happened for me on occasion, ok, more than on occasion, in school, is a distaste for people who waste time, who dilly dally, who are not clear, who can’t make discerning conclusions, who have to be led, who haven’t done the work, who are sloppy.

Messy.

Not put together, and not in the way that sounds, I mean, not concise with their language, thoughts, ideas.

Don’t waste my fucking time.

I don’t have enough of it and you’re not getting to the fucking point fast enough.

GET TO THE MOTHERFUCKING POINT.

BITCHES.

I mean.

Please.

My therapist points out, “sounds like judgement.”

Ugh.

Yes.

I know it’s judgement.

But what she then did was spin it so eloquently, so aptly, so delicate and with such a tactful manner that I got it, I got to work right through it and see that when I am in judgement I am defending some part of myself that I am not happy about.

I don’t want to be messy.

I don’t want to be disorganized.

I don’t want to be scattered.

And I never really am.

I am so super on top of shit it’s a little intense.

I do my work.

I do my work.

I do my work.

And then some.

And it can be a control thing, duh.

So much control, so much safety, comfort in the bound parts of me, comfort in the restricting.

I’ve never been messy about my trauma.

Or traumas.

Or the traumatic things in my life.

There’s a list, look them up elsewhere in my blog, this is not about the list, this is about the fact that it was never ok to be messy and upset about it.

Soldier the fuck on.

Chin up kid.

Clear your fucking plate.

Eat your food.

Don’t cry.

And God forbid don’t act like anything is anything but normal.

Normal.

What the fuck is that?

So.

I squashed it down.

I squashed all the messy and teary and hurt and angry and vengeful parts of me down.

I stuffed it down.

I ate too much food.

I escaped into fantasy.

I escaped into taking care of others.

So much easier to focus on another person’s problems rather than my own.

I smoked it down.

I snorted it down.

I drank it down.

And as I was expressing to my therapist, I realize I really just don’t let myself get messy, vulnerable, or dirty.

Except.

Well.

I do.

In one area.

And we talked about that and I cried a bit and I laughed a lot and I outlined the messy and then I outlined the happy and the love and the feelings and the experiences and it was really good to share.

And she reflected back to me and showed me how brave it was to not eat, drink, smoke, or do lines of cocaine to deal with all that hurt and that I have been doing the work and it really does show and that it’s obvious that things are changing in my life because I am being more vulnerable, less guarded, I’m letting things in.

I’m in my voice.

I haven’t lost it.

I am asking for what I want and saying what is in my heart and it’s glorious.

I am seen.

And it feels just fucking smashing.

So.

Um.

Yeah.

I had a good session today.

And then off to work, busy day, full day, lots of juggling baby and siblings and cooking and laundry and lots of sweet snuggles with the oldest boy who read a book with me about stars.

“Are we really made from stars?” He asked me.

“Yes,” I told him, and kissed the top of his head, “you are a multitude of stars, you shine.”

I am always beholden to those that shine.

I feel like I am shining now.

Bright and strong and fierce.

It’s a wonderful place to be.

In my strength.

And.

In my vulnerability.

From where all my strength stems.

When I let it.

When I am not judging.

When I am ok with being.

Well.

Um.

Messy.

 

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Train Time

January 4, 2017

I took a lot of trains today.

Five to be exact.

I don’t mind the trains, but man, the extra time to be in commute.

Ugh.

However.

The weather was not conducive in any way, shape, or form, for me to be on my scooter, no way.

If I’m having a hard time walking in the wind and rain, I cannot imagine what being on my scooter would have been like today.

When I got up this morning I basically threw the cover on my bike and settled into the idea of calling for a car.

Except.

My new employer texted and said, hey we won’t need you for another hour, don’t come in until 11 a.m.

So.

I had plenty of time to take the train.

And it was not as long as I thought it would be.

I had guessed an hour and a half to an hour and 45 minutes.

It was an hour ten minutes.

But still.

Considering that on my scooter it would be about 20-25 minutes, it felt like eternity.

I also brought the kids home from school on the train and then rode the train back from work to doing the deal and after that, finally, home.

I feel a little blown out from all the trains.

Granted.

I got a good idea of what one of my duties was going to be picking up the kids from school and I’m grateful for that experience as I will be out in the world and able to have some time away from the house and were it not raining, a trip to the park, to the library, to Glen Canyon, to all sorts of places.

I may have spent a few moments in the bathroom at work crying today.

I won’t say I didn’t.

But.

I know that once I get used to the job and the commute and the newness of it starts to fade, I am really going to like my job.

I am going to have a lot more autonomy, a lot more freedom and a lot more space than I did in my previous job.

I am super grateful for that.

And I also feel so very welcomed in the family.

The mom gave me a big hug tonight when I left, “I really feel like I want to hug you,” she said with her big, spacious, sincere blue eyes.

We hugged.

It was nice.

It is nice.

It’s still hard.

It’s just day two.

It might be hard for a little while.

It might be weird for a little while.

It might be awkward for a little while.

Might.

Ha.

It will be.

And that is ok.

I can see that it will also become easier, when I get a routine, when the family has a routine, hell, the baby is four days old, there is no routine yet, dad’s home from work, friend from out-of-town is there helping with baby, new nanny, first day back to school today, I’m surprised there wasn’t more crazy than there was.

The crazy was mostly in my head.

The family is super warm and very inviting and caring and lovely.

I mean it.

Really lovely.

We haven’t set up the payroll stuff yet and the mom and I talked about that a little bit today when I first came in.

She wanted me to know that should it fall through the cracks this week that I would just get a check and that it would get set up and that I would be taken care of.

She also said that I would get the hours I needed, that they would pay me for the set amount that we had agreed on, even if I didn’t end up working the full set of hours this week, I would be compensated for them.

I felt really good hearing that.

The dad joked that really it was the family that was on the two-week trial and not me.

“What?! You’re going, but we’re having pizza!” The oldest boy told me.

“Will you be back tomorrow,” he asked me, eyes, big, serious, searching.

“Yes,” I said, “would that be alright with you?”

I got the nod.

We had spent easily an hour sitting at the table over looking an astonishing view of down town San Francisco, playing play doh and rockets and building things and smashing things and telling stories.

“Sometimes I forget to eat my lunch, because, um, I’m chatty,” he told me.

He is and it’s adorable.

He’s got a huge imagination, a great memory, and an amazing vocabulary for a six-year-old.

We talked a lot.

Just back and forth and back and forth and read from a book about rocket ships and yeah, that was the last hour of my day, while the parents dealt with a visiting baby nurse and the house guest played stuffies with the little girl and when I checked in with the dad, “I’m just playing play doh, let me know what I can do to help.”

He looked at me and shook his head, “that is the best help you can give us right now.”

Which is nice.

And I feel trusted and that is really nice.

“You’re going to get lots or down time too,” he told me, “when we all go back to our normal lives and the kids are in school and the baby is napping, we hope you will read and study for school.”

Oh my god.

Such a nice thing to hear.

I mean.

Really so nice.

So despite the discomfort of change, even when change is good for me, it can be so disquieting, I know I am exactly where I am supposed to be for this next phase of my development.

I am excited too when I give myself the space to feel it.

It’s just mostly buried under the newness of it all and finding my feet as I get situated in a new home, with new closets and corners and nooks and crannies and things to learn and re-organize in my mind.

All the stuff.

All the things.

And tomorrow.

More rain.

So I think I’ll splurge on a car.

I had enough of the trains today.

Besides.

I’ll be picking up the kids from school on the MUNI and riding that back and forth all week-long.

It’s a quick commute and a little walk and I’m grateful for that as well, I spent a lot of time indoors at my previous job, very grateful for the opportunity to be back out in the world.

I rather missed it.

So.

Embracing the change.

Even when giving into the change makes me feel out of my comfort zone.

I know I’ll be in the sweet spot soon.

I can already see it coming down the line.

Just like the J-Church turning the corner on Church and 30th.

Or the N-Judah coming out of the tunnel at Cole and Duboce.

It may seem far away.

But it’s really just around the bend.

Thank God.

Easing Back In

February 19, 2016

Not that I want to.

Nope.

Not at all.

I would rather just pretend that this week is pure and free and there’s nothing to do but hang out and walk the beach, drink coffee, write, color, chat with friends, go to cafes, connect with folks.

You know.

However.

I did gear back into the habit and routine of doing some reading for classes.

Of course.

I didn’t even make it through an entire article when I closed my eyes while I was reading on the chaise and I drifted off.

Fuck me.

Two days in a row with a nap.

Who is this person?

Well rested, that’s who.

And nicely set up for the weekend.

I have a yoga class, gulp, I’m taking tomorrow.

I am afraid.

I know that sounds silly.

But.

There it is.

I am afraid to do it wrong.

I am afraid to look stupid.

I am afraid I will love it and become one of those obnoxious yoga people that prance around town obnoxiously glowing and happy.

Wait.

I sort of want that.

Heh.

I remind myself that it is just showing up and that I am just exploring it and I have had two girlfriends in the last six hours offer to go to a class with me.

I am going to be just fine.

Let me just repeat that.

The yoga studio will not eat me alive.

I bet I even enjoy it.

And it’s a block from the house.

I told on myself too.

I knew I was going to back out if I didn’t make myself accountable to some people.

I called three people and told them I was going tomorrow and I still felt myself balking to even say it.

I know there’s something to explore there, when I have this much resistance it’s sort of the dark territory that I need to go into, headlamp on, yoga mat tucked under my arm.

I walked over to the studio today and checked out the facility and the schedule and it really is the best possible solution.

It is on my block.

I keep telling myself that as I spend stupid amounts of time looking for other solutions when it’s right there.

Like the elephant in the room.

I’m using my scooter a lot.

I’m going to need the exercise and the breathing is going to be great and the stretching will help and the sweating is needed and then I’ll be a hop, skip, and a jump away from my house, a shower, and then whatever I need to do.

I have been doing my Applied Spirituality work and instead of doing the yoga so far, I have implemented the physical part of the three pronged approach that I proposed by walking the beach.

I was out there an hour today.

It was glorious.

Mostly because there were so few people there.

It felt like just me, the sea, the sea gulls, ravins, the plovers, and hermit crabs.

I found two whole sand dollars.

I turned my face to the sky and the sun.

I almost got drenched by a wave without realizing it and ran laughing out loud out of the surf.

It was a good connecting.

I felt grounded and in myself.

I did some grocery shopping.

I cooked some food.

I confirmed with my friend coming into the city that we’ll be meeting in the Haight tomorrow.

It’s project rain so I’ll be on MUNI.

We’re going to meet at People’s Cafe, hang out, catch up, maybe do some window shopping, do the deal, grab a bite to eat and oh, that sounds so good.

Solid gold friend time.

And then.

Who knows what the rest of the weekend will bring.

I found out today that I don’t have either of the people I normally meet with on Saturday.

A free and clear Saturday.

No commitments.

I’m not going to make any plans.

Out loud anyway.

My brain will chatter about it all day for the next night and day if I let it.

I prefer not to.

I am just going to stay here, in this moment.

Change is coming.

Suffice to say, as I started this piece, I will be focusing on some homework.

I have to post up pretty soon to Applied Spirituality forum and since I have been doing the deeper work, really it doesn’t feel necessarily “deeper” but I have enjoyed it and noticed a different space in myself, an easiness in my being after I have done the coloring meditation.

Other than that, I will do the readings for classes and depending on how I am feeling work on one of the papers that are due for the next weekend of classes.

I have two this go around.

And lots more on the horizon.

I’m not there yet.

I do actually have wiggle room this week, I could foreseeably do no homework, but I don’t care for the anxiety that produces in me.

There is balance.

I can go about this life with some semblance of equilibrium.

I know I can.

And all these experiences, well, they are gifts, some uncomfortable to hold until I get used to the edges and pushing past those places of resistance.

Hell.

Maybe I just need to go out dancing with some girlfriends too.

I have a tentative offer for this weekend.

Again.

Not pressuring myself.

When I spend too much time focusing on what is not happening for me, what I should be doing, where I should be going, then I just jump right out of the present moment.

The present moment looks like singing along to Mike Doughty’s Stellar Motel, rocking a polka dot frock and a crinoline, third day this week, and loving my sweet self hard as I can.

Sometimes that love is doing the things that I least want to do.

And having compassion for that little begrudging voice to express herself.

“NO!  I don’t want to go!”

Shh.

It will be ok.

I swear.

It’s just yoga.

Seriously.

 

And More Will Be Revealed

May 1, 2015

And it was.

I learned that I could make it much longer than I thought without dinner.

Now.

I know that’s not revolutionary news to many.

But to me.

It’s a big deal.

I didn’t like the prospect of waiting until after I did the deal and covered my commitment at Our Lady of Safeway and then the bicycling home and the not having dinner until after eight this evening.

But as I sat there in that same chair I have been sitting in for years.

I realized something.

I wasn’t hungry.

Oh.

I was a little annoyed.

I like having things my way.

But I learned by doing what I “thought” would be uncomfortable, that I could go through it and be just fine.

Work is work is work.

That’s why they call it work.

And the work that I put into my job is considerable.

However.

I do have breaks and I do have down time and I made myself sit for a nice long leisurely, late lunch.

It was perfect.

I was anxious about what the day would bring.

I always am when it comes to my food stuff.

You can name 1800 different reasons why and none of them would really matter, I have a disease of perception and more is always the answer.

More donuts.

More sex.

More ice cream.

More vodka.

More blow.

More cigarettes.

More attention.

More drama.

Gimme.

More, more, more.

So I don’t have to sit in myself and feel uncomfortable.

Anything to not feel uncomfortable.

Hate to break it to you disease.

Life is uncomfortable.

Oh.

There are times when it is not, but we all have problems, life happens to everyone, it’s not like I’ve been singled out.

Some things in my life have been harder to walk through and some experiences I would not wish on a person I don’t like, but I have gotten through all of them and there is so much that is wonderful and amazing and awesome about my life.

That too can be uncomfortable.

For completely different reasons.

I didn’t have the greatest day at work, I was a bit in dread of the late afternoon family swim, but it actually went off without a hitch.

Of course I also realized some things.

And that is I’m around the parents all the time.

I forget that now and then.

And I don’t have to act different or be different.

I’ll put on a happy face or a bright face and muddle through.

I did put on a bit of a tolerating the entire scene attitude, but it was more of a, I’m being quiet to reserve my energy and see how I cope with another change-up to my schedule.

I’m a creature of comfort and routine.

When my routine gets thrown, so do I.

But it doesn’t mean I need to freak out.

I freaked out a little yesterday and admittedly, I was tired and Wednesday’s well, they can be the hardest day of the week, the weekend in either direction is too far away and I felt dangerously low on my reserves.

A good night of sleep.

A good breakfast.

A lot of coffee.

Sunshine.

Oh so much sunshine.

And I was ok.

Not great.

But ok.

I felt pretty emotionally hung over all day and it did lift, but it took a while and a lot of reaching for tools and taking extra time this morning to get right with God and do all the things.

Of course.

I now have a full tummy and a good dinner under my belt, so I feel expansive and uplifted as well.

Good food will do that.

The other nice thing that I realized.

This has been the only dinner I have had this week where I wasn’t admonishing a child to sit his bottom down and face the front or to not feed the dog, or stop spitting milk at your brother, or how did you get humus on your feet?

The only dinner in a month of Thursdays when I didn’t feel rushed eating my own meal to accommodate the families schedule and the boys bath time.

I usually have a scramble on Thursdays to feed myself, and the boys and there have been too many times where I am sitting next to the bathtub eating an apple that sits resting on the sink top while I help facilitate toothbrushing, hair washing, not throwing the 17 toys out of the bathtub, not telling one boy to stop saying “penis, penis, penis, look at his penis.”

Dude.

It’s the same penis as yesterday’s bath time.

Let’s move on.

No.

Rather I rode my bicycle home, enjoying the late dusk and glow of the sunset, the ocean as I turned onto Lincoln Avenue from Chain of Lakes felt like an Impressionist painting.

It really did, like I was riding right into the heart of one, the light shimmering on the water and the smoked clouds and smudge of the fog out on the horizon.

So beautiful.

When I got home.

I sat down and wrote my rent check for May while my dinner was heating up and popped open some sparkling water and had a really nice, quiet, slow, enjoyable meal.

Flexibility.

That’s what I learned today.

I can be flexible.

I can fall into a rut, get in a certain scheduling groove, finding the comfort of routine, despite knowing that change is always happening, I clutch onto that modicum of comfort and get rattled far too easily when it is shifted.

I can’t say what tomorrow will bring.

It’s tomorrow and I really would rather stay in today.

But.

I don’t believe I will be emotionally hung over.

I dare say I may be quite happy.

It is Friday after all.

Another day.

Where more will be revealed.

I am certain of it.

Nobody Likes Change

April 27, 2014

I told her as we sat up discussing this and that in the Starbucks up in Noe Valley.

Even good change.

Even change that is going to make my life better, is making my life better, even if it’s currently also making my life a bit uncomfortable.

Or a lot uncomfortable.

My Vespa is an incredible opportunity to lean into that and to walk through the discomfort.

I am learning.

It’s not comfortable.

It’s frightening and as it’s happening all I can do is lean in and do it, walk through it, or ride through it.

Or fucking ride up it.

I was not going to take Castro up and over the hill.

I really wasn’t, but I sort of ended up getting funnelled that way on my scooter headed into Noe Valley.

I had thought I would take it from the Mission side and go a little easier on my first big trip on the Vespa to Noe Valley.

But no, there was construction and traffic and it just was easier to go with the flow of traffic and then the flow of traffic was going up Castro and what the hell am I doing, this was not in the plan.

I just breathed and said, “one block at a time, you only have to do it one block at a time and if it gets overwhelming and you have to pull over and stop, then you can and one block at a time I made it up Castro to the top of the hill and started doing the same thing in my head.

One block at a time down the hill.

Jesus.

It’s a big ass hill.

I remembered that first time I went over that hill.

I was visiting a friend from Madison who had made the move to the Bay area before me, he lived in Berkeley with his girlfriend and we were doing daily excursions to the city–China Town, Nob Hill, the Castro, North Beach, we even did the wharf, albeit at night when it was deserted.

The evening I decided to tackle the hill on Castro Street was St. Patrick’s day.

My friend had to bartend in the city at his job on Fillmore and I had caught a ride in with him and I had decided I was going to walk the walk and talk the talk and take myself to Noe Valley and find an old co-worker of mine who was living in Noe.

She did not know I was coming that particular night, I think I might have called and left her a message, but I had her address and determined, I set out.

I walked Fillmore to Divisadero.

Divisadero to Castro.

Castro to 24th Street and I ran into her as she was turning onto her block with a group of friends headed to their place to regroup from the St. Patty’s day melee in Noe Valley.

I hollered her name.

She turned and did a double take.

I could not believe that it really was her and I just happened to be in the neighborhood.

It was Kismet.

Also, it was just damn lucky for my feet as I had made the trek, in yes, flip-flops.

Remember, at the time I was living in Wisconsin and San Francisco was warm in comparison to the frigid snowy tundra I had left.

My co-worker, who was really an employee from the Angelic, agreed to give me a ride back to the Fillmore so that she could also catch up with our mutual friend who was bartending.

Thinking to myself how far I have come in regards to walking that hill.

I have ridden up it once on a bicycle.

I thought I was going to throw up my lungs and it was painful to breathe the rest of the day.

I have ridden up the hill on the 24 line many a time.

I have driven up and over it a few times as well.

And today I took it on my scooter.

My life keeps getting richer and stranger and wilder and weirder.

I should not be on a Vespa, but there it is.

I should not have made it this long in San Francisco.

But there it is too.

I am supposed to be here and I am supposed to continue to change and to grow and to shed old skin like those poor flip-flops that did not last much past that spring break back in 2000.

Fourteen years later I got to tackle that hill again, one block at a time and realize that I will probably always have some sort of hill to go up and over.

The over part was just as terrifying as the up part, in case you were wondering.

Part of this change is to acknowledge that I am doing it.

That I am getting better, my progress seems to be on par with my usage and I have gotten better at riding the scooter every time I have gotten on it.

I am still at under ten rides and I took on Castro from Divisadero to Noe Valley.

That’s a pretty big leap when I see it from that vantage.

I took my bike out today too.

Just to get some exercise and enjoy a ride that was not a commute.

I rode down towards Sloat and then onto Lake Merced.

I did not actually go around the lake, I decided to head back to the house, the wind was blowing pretty fierce this morning, I actually dusted sand from the beach off my face this afternoon when I got back from the ride, but glad I had gone out and moved my knees a bit.

They were a bit stiff from last nights dance party.

That too, a change.

The first time I went to the End Up as compared to last night’s little dance party.

HUGE change.

It’s not comfortable, I repeat, all this change, but damn it is good.

My life, this constant flux.

I could not have predicted that I would be here, having just ridden my Vespa home from a commitment in Noe Valley, at this time last year.

I was days away from leaving Paris and had no clue what was going to happen.

Change happened.

And it was good.

Even when I cried about it.

It was good.

It still is.

If You’re Uncomfortable

February 20, 2014

Then you know you’re doing the right thing.

She told me this earlier this evening as I was gearing up to head out to the Motorcycle Saftey Course on Folsom and 18th at the San Francisco Motorcycle Club.

Discomfort means I am growing, she continued, you’re doing just fine.

Grr.

Well, there’s that then.

I guess that a nicer way to say discomfort is to say growth.

I grew a bit today then.

Actually, over the last week, a lot.

Asking for things that make me uncomfortable, growing toward a richer life, a more abundant and prosperous one in which I take care of myself and do the necessary, uncomfortable, holy shit, actions to do so.

Finding out that I don’t have work on Friday.

Which precipitated me asking to be paid for this week and also outlining that should I be asked to work Friday’s in the future I have to be compensated if I hold them and they are not used.

If I am going to really embrace being a professional, career nanny, if I am going to stop looking for the next wunderkind career that is going to make me (can anyone spell fantasy?) I need to act like a professional.

A therapist will charge for a cancelled appointment, so to a doctor, even restaurants ask for a credit card to hold a reservation.

I need to do the same.

And after some writing.

I did.

It was fine, of course, all the crap, just crap in my head.

Still uncomfortable with having Friday off, as I have been uncomfortable having most of this week off.

Of course, ironic, I am working tomorrow after having a late night out in the city.

“The class will go until 10 p.m. tonight, or there about, depending on how quickly we get through the material,” said the instructor this evening.

Shit.

I was expecting a few hours, but I was not expecting  four hours of class time.

Ugh.

It was all necessary, I can see that, and I learned a lot, I did, I did.

I also learned that I am more nervous about taking the class then I thought I was and that it too will be something to walk through, that is, the actual skills portion.

I know about street awareness from being on my bicycle, but all the other stuff about a motorcycle threw me into a little bit of a panic.

I like the idea of learning it, but I don’t like the idea of failing it.

Then I think.

What if I did?

So what?

I just go get the permit and I take the skills test at the DMV.

Passing the class will insure that I don’t have to take the riding test and completion of it will also allow me to skip getting a permit.

Seven to ten business days after I finish the skill class on Sunday, I will receive my certificate of completion.  At that point then I go to the DMV and take the written test.

I have to also get insurance and then I am on the road.

So, I am still looking at a bit of time on my bicycle.

Which, truth be told, thrilled me with its simplicity tonight.

Granted I was not thrilled to be riding from Folsom and 18th out to 46th and Irving, but I didn’t need to think about shifting and down shifting and clutch and brake and swerving and curves and…

I also realize that I did have to learn a lot of things on my bicycle and those things were not always comfortable to learn.

The first time getting on a bicycle in San Francisco.

The first time I rode clipless on a touring bike.

The first time I rode fixed gear.

I had to learn to get through the discomfort.

I never fell in my clipless, but I had more than a few close calls when I was almost unable to unclip my shoes from my pedals before dismounting.

I never fell from my bike riding in fixed gear, but I felt out of control for a while and I don’t believe I shall ever forget how scared I was the first time I went down a big hill in fixed gear, that was an experience.

But I showed up, walked, or as the case may be, rode, through the experience, learned, grew.

Discomfort=growth.

That is what I have to remind myself of again and again.

If I am uncomfortable I am having a growth spurt.

I will be a little uncomfortable getting up early tomorrow after all the days of sleeping in, but up I shall get, and it will be nice to have a day of work, to know where to show up and how.

I realized today that I really like routine, it makes me feel like I am in control.

But that is a false idea, I am aware more so than, I believe, I ever have been, that though routine provides comfort, in my experience, that comfort can lull me into a false sense of well-being.

I will get used to things being a certain way.

Being single.

Not earning enough to thrive, but just enough to survive.

Over packing my schedule so that I don’t have time to have feelings.

Or isolating through being busy.

If I am busy working I am too busy to see you.

Or you.

Or you.

It’s uncomfortable putting myself out there to date.

It’s uncomfortable asking for what I need.

Shit.

Most times I don’t even allow myself to see what I need, to let myself become aware of my needs as been a journey of discomfort.

See six months in Paris.

I was looking at the photograph of me and the Vespa from yesterday, which has not failed to thrill me every time I view it, and I realized, again, that my life is so much fuller and more realized than when I was in Paris.

That it can and will become even more so here.

I had to go to see what I can become here.

I allow myself to be uncomfortable.

I am teachable.

I am growing.

Thus allowing myself a more fully realized life.

Bringing joy to myself and others.

That’s the whole point of growth anyhow.

Uncomfortable or not.

I have to do it.

ALL THE TIME.

But hey, I’m not complaining.

Just pointing out the obvious need.

For me anyhow.

I don’t speak for anyone else.

I have enough on my plate with myself.

Thanks, I will have the growth with a side of humility, mashed discomfort, and change.

Got that?

Great!

Pass the salt please.

What?

Don’t tell me you didn’t know that?

Discomfort tastes so much better if lightly salted.

Everything does, really.

Bearing the Unbearable

July 27, 2013

The discomfort of being uncomfortable has me wound up.

Until I let go a little steam, or a lot, and the pressure eases off and I go back to being crazy and kookoo and loud and don’t look now, ma, emotionally walled up again.

“Have you written about any of this?” John Ater asked me over dinner tonight.

Which one might have thought I was eating a vale of tears, not shedding them, as I stolidly ate through my brown rice and steamed veggies with shrimp (no sauce) and crumpled my face into my cloth napkin time and time and time again.

“Not really,” I admitted.

I don’t really write like that.

I don’t often take out the pressure valve.

I don’t often let out the steam.

I put on the face and everything, yeah, everything is alright baby.

“I am enamoured of your ability to be emotionally vulnerable,” he said to me tonight as his own face lost the control of being in control, and tears smoked out his words.

I am enamoured of you for saying that, thank you, my heart goes out to you-and-out to you some more (please let me hug you again that was worth the entire evening of tears, that moment, your face buried in my hair) and I am grateful that I could be emotionally out there so someone else felt free enough to go there too.

I showed up tonight and said a lot of shit I just did not feel like saying.

And for the life of me, I don’t remember what I said, but in some unknown, miracle of a way, the unburdening of the burden happened.

Somewhere between Red Jade restaurant, Our Lady of SafeWay and the Church Street Cafe, I lost the burden of the facade and just dropped into myself and who I am and allowing myself to be present.

I pause to look around, a cat meowing in the living room in the house I am staying at this weekend in San Francisco.

A house sitting gig in the city I said yes to and because I said yes to it I also said yes to put me on the guest list for the club tonight, I will show up and dance at your set.

I am not at Public Works.

I am in Cole Valley.

I will stay in Cole Valley.

I don’t want to get on my bicycle again and venture back out into the night.

It is wet out there.

I got doused twice riding my bicycle through the park, the sprinklers are going full blast, once in the face and once on my ass, and now being wet and cold and emotionally emptied, the last thing I want to do is get on my bike and go back to the Mission and got to the dancing at the place.

Although I would and I have debated taking a cab over and back.

Which would completely negate the cover I am not paying by being on guest list times two.

If I had a vehicle other than the bike I might, if I had discretionary money, I might, but the fact is, I am probably going to finish this blog and just drink some hot tea, watch a video and wind it down for the night.

I expended a vast amount of emotional energy tonight.

I believe I left most of it, my emotional baggage, in the crumpled maroon napkin at the restaurant, but just in case there is any wobbling about, the last place I want to be is in a night club tonight.

I don’t care if that makes me old, or un-hip, or whatever, it just is what it is.

There was a time when I was put on the guest list I felt so obligated to go that I would show up no matter what.

I do want to dance, I won’t deny that, but maybe I just want to dance around in the kitchen.

I had a hallucinatory memory or a deja vu or an episode.

A future forecast.

A moment of magic.

An I don’t know what, yesterday in the kitchen of the little girls house where I nanny at in North Oakland, a moment dancing with her in the kitchen of the house with the sun streaming in and for a moment it felt like I had never been happier in my life.

I was having some sort of memory of dancing with someone, someone special, holding me in his arms, in the sun and dancing, then my heart swelled, the music swelled, the little girl lay her head under my chin, I breathed in her warm little scent and I twirled around the room.

I realized after that I could not pin down the memory, or the person, or who was holding me, or what it reminded me of, but I wanted to.

Then I thought, this is a future moment.

This has not happened yet.

But it will.

“Are you saying that you’re broken,” John asked me tonight, an astute eyebrow raised, “because, that’s what I am hearing.”

“Fuck, I don’t know what I am saying, I don’t have any ideas, I can’t stop the loud in my head and, I, listen,” I said changing gears, “I saw this man tonight, barefoot, crazy, walking down the street in a hospital johnny talking loudly to himself.  He walked in front of the eyeglass frame store on the corner of Church & Market and right in front of the sign that said, ‘Summer Madness Sale’.  And I thought, he just went shopping!”

“That’s what this feels like, I bought some madness and I am pissed off and how can I return it?” I finished, sighed, cried some more.

To be honest I am not sure what all the fuss was about.

And it’s always about the same stuff, I am not where I am supposed to be.

What if right here is where I am supposed to be?

What if there was nowhere to go and no one I was supposed to be?

What if I am exactly where I am supposed to be?

Would that be ok?

I think it might.

I think I will let it.

I think I gave up tonight.

I let go.

I went to the summer Madness sale and said, “Yes! Give me some,” but the fact is, my kind of crazy is always for sale, there’s nothing special about it, it’s just a facet of who I am.

I am, however, not who I think, I am how I act.

I am the actions I take.

I am the vulnerability I put out there.

I am love.

Loved.

Lovable.

Worthy of love.

That is bearing the unbearable.

I am uncomfortable with it, but that does not matter, I want the reward.

I will continue to do the work.

 


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