Posts Tagged ‘uncomfortable’

Fingerprints of God

June 8, 2018

If I look closely I can see them.

They are there in the unexpected places, incidents, life re-arrangements.

The “oh my God I feel in love” moment.

“We don’t choose who we fall in love with,” my boss said to me today.

It’s inevitable.

Or.

I think of all the things in my life that seemed inconceivable and then what happened when I walked through them.

I think about my boyfriend of five years when I finally broke up with him and how he hit me and how I ran away into the night.

In January.

In Wisconsin.

In a nightgown.

Without socks on.

I ran to the Sentry Food Store on East Washington and used the payphone outside the grocery store to call the police.

I remember how the sound of his car turning onto East Washington tumbled into my ears as he went out into the night to find me, driving right along the road in front of me but not seeing me squashed into the phone booth.

I remember huddling in that phone booth, panicked and scared and crying on the phone with the operator.

That needed to happen for me to get out of that relationship.

That had the fingerprints of God all over it.

And I’m grateful for it, in my own way, I learned a lot, I learned how resilient I was and I learned how to better take care of myself.

I also learned how I act when I am in fear.

I have made decisions based on self and I have stepped on the toes of others, they have retaliated.

I decided to live where I am now because I thought it was a better fit for me than the other house that was on offer.

Sometimes I wonder how that would have worked out.

I would be living in the Bayview and paying much less rent.

Would I have the same jobs, relationships, friendships, fellowship?

I have no idea.

I made a decision to move here though it was double the rent I would have paid at the place in Bayview because I wanted to live by myself.

And I thought this place was nicer.

I am sure that house is lovely now, but at the time it was under a major reconstruction and I would have been in the middle of it.

Yes.

Paying $500 a month rent, but in the middle of a demolition and rebuild.

So I picked the more expensive and I moved in here.

And here’s where I acted in fear, here’s where I have realized in the last day what is my part.

I made a decision based on fear.

When the landlady didn’t offer me a receipt for the deposit.

I didn’t say anything, but man it felt funny.

But hey, look at my place, it’s great, and it’s all mine.

When the landlady didn’t give me a lease to sign, I didn’t say anything either, though that felt really weird to.

But I stuffed that feeling down.

And every month, every freaking month, I have wondered, is the shoe going to drop, is she going to raise the rent, is she going to do something, am I ok?

And every month she would cash my check and I would feel a little relief for a little while.

I realize, or I have completely admitted to myself and to another, that I have been under this yoke of fear ever since I moved in and there was no lease to sign and there was no receipt made for the deposit.

The only thing that was said, in regards to the deposit, was that it would be put into a bank account where it would accrue interest, which I would get back when I moved out and please give at least 30 days notice when I decided to move.

Sure.

And I didn’t ask for the lease.

I didn’t.

I didn’t want to make waves.

I didn’t want to be pushy.

I should have and now I’m getting to repair that and try to do the right thing now.

Which as uncomfortable as it is, is showing up and walking through the discomfort of the situation.

It’s like walking up a steep hill.

I don’t want to do it, but I bet the view will be amazing when I do the work to get there.

I had some council last night and I found out that I do actually have a lease!

In legal terms it’s called a “de facto contract.”

Which means that every time my landlady cashed one of my checks she was acknowledging that I was paying rent for the in-law.

What a huge relief to hear that.

I got a lot of sound advice and some next directions and I was told, once again, that she doesn’t have just cause to ask me to leave and a verbal notice to vacate is not legal.

I was told to keep paying the rent.

So.

I’m going to keep paying the rent and see what happens next.

I’m sure something will happen.

I was also told to watch for whether or not my checks were getting cashed.

What do you know.

My rent check for June, that I gave to my landlady on May 25th, has not been cashed.

I will most certainly not be foolish enough to touch that money in my account, it stays put and all other monies that would be directed towards rent shall also stay put.

It’s going to be ok.

I tell myself this again and again.

I am being taken care of.

Focus on solution.

I did that today, I went to hang with my fellows after seeing my client tonight instead of coming home, even though I am working early tomorrow.

I have to focus on the solution rather than the problem.

For me that solution is spiritual.

And when I heard that God’s fingerprints are on those big things that happen out of the blue, when you’re least expecting it, well, it fucking resonated.

There is beauty here if I allow myself the discomfort of the unknown.

There is opportunity.

There is growth.

Therefor.

There is gratitude.

So yeah.

My landlady went on my gratitude list this morning.

And she will everyday until this has been resolved.

I am grateful for this opportunity to learn and to grow.

Seriously.

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First Day

June 1, 2018

No tears.

Since Saturday and the bomb drop.

I also took a few actions today that helped with that.

I became a member of the San Francisco Tenant’s Union.

$35 for a year-long membership.

I think it will come quite in handy.

I plan on getting up early and going to do drop in counseling regarding my landlady asking me to move out 90 days from tomorrow on Saturday.

I also placed a phone call with the Union, of course I did not get a live person, but as a member I was allowed to place a call and get a call back, which I think is very cool.  The Union will not take phone calls from non-members.

I left a succinct message regarding the situation, that I was planning on coming in on Saturday, that I had done a good bit of reading of the handbook and that I wanted to know if there was anything that my counselor would need when I came in.

I quickly asserted that I had no lease, that the landlady had given me a verbal notice to quit the in-law, and that I had been living here for five years paying rent on a monthly basis, $1200 a month plus utilities for the first three years and $1250 plus utilities for the last two.

I didn’t get a call back today and from the information on the message I may not get a call back before I head in on Saturday.

But.

It felt good to take a small action.

I also put it in my God box.

I wrote a note, I said some prayers, I asked God to take care of it and show me where I’m supposed to live next.

I also did my morning readings and prayer and that always, I mean always helps.

Especially when one of the readings was talking about principles before personalities and I realized how applicable that was to my situation.

I don’t like my landlady’s personality and I have found myself wanting to ruminate about that when it really has nothing to do with my situation, who she is as a person is none of my business.

How she treats me as a tenant is and I am not in agreement with what she asked of me to do.

I am in fear, I won’t lie, that it’s going to get uncomfortable to live here if I find out that I have rights that are due me and when I request for them to be honored I suspect that there will be push back.

But.

Until that happens I am trying pretty damn hard to stay out of that crazy making in my head.

I have already decided that she will tell me I’m not allowed to use the washer and dryer in the garage and that she’s going to want me to get anything I have in storage in her garage out.

My bicycle, my Burning Man bins, my tents.

I also suspect she will ask me to park my scooter on the street instead of next to the house.

But.

Again.

Those things haven’t happened and are not happening right now.

They may.

And if they do I will handle them at that time, worrying about what happens in the future doesn’t actually prepare me for what’s going to happen and so often my experience has been that much of what I’m afraid of doesn’t come to pass.

Thus attempting to stay present and stay in the moment where there really is nothing wrong.

My rent is paid for this upcoming month and I have time to find out what my options are and I have time to look for a new place to live.

Because no matter what comes of the Tenant Union drop in counseling, moving is on the table, on my plate, is going to happen.

It just is a matter of how it happens and when and if I get any sort of compensation to more.

Even if I find out I don’t have to move and I suspect that may very well be an option, I just feel like the landlady will make it hell to live here and I’m not much interested in that.

I feel like the best case scenario is I get some money to help facilitate the move and I am able to make a jump to a bigger and better place.

I have been seriously considering the option of getting a three bedroom house in the Outer Sunset.

I have been doing some Craigslist research and there are some very doable options out here.

I have seen a few other homes that might work in the Richmond neighborhood and one or two elsewhere, one in the SOMA which is a no go, I don’t want to have to worry about street parking and a few in Portola, one in Glenn Park, some in the Outer Mission/Excelsior.

But the Outer Sunset seems to have the biggest amount of choices and I am really liking the idea of having a house.

Granted I don’t have the furnishings for a house, but I believe they will come.

If I can get another couple of folks together I could easily snag a place that’s big, sunny, has parking, maybe even a garage, washer and dryer on site and/or hookups for them.

A few places also have fireplaces and yards.

I mean.

That sounds fucking terrific to me.

Two of the houses I really liked also have Master bedrooms with their own baths.

I could be the Master tenant, pay a little more, have a big room, my own bathroom and then full access to the rest of the house.

It’s beginning to sound more and more feasible to me.

And exciting.

I’m not exactly looking forward to the uncomfortable conversations I feel are  going to occur, but then again, I am feeling very positive that I am heading into a much better housing situation than I currently have.

And for that.

Well.

I am fucking grateful as hell.

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.

 

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.


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