Regrets...and Healing

I love TED Talks.  They have become my first course of action WHENEVER I need to inspire my mind.  And, today, I came across this one:

Kathryn Schulz: Don't Regret Regret

Throughout most of it, I thought, "I don't have regrets. I literally live life knowing that I made the best choice for myself at that time. I look at every mistake as a lesson learned!"

But....that's a lie.

I've spent the last three weeks working on some self care issues.  It began with a stress-related flu, taking some time on my couch, and then a return to work where I was able to uncover some deep-rooted issues ruminating below my surface. (Where I work now, this is the point of going to work ;-D)  I worked hard on self-analyzing (I know, a sarcastic stretch for the girl with five blogs...) the real cause of a lot of these issues and other things that I was becoming aware of as I became more self aware.

What entailed was some heart-felt discussions with close friends, gossiping about my romantic past and present, standing up for myself, and getting honest with my feelings.  Four days ago, this journey - seeking to open my heart - manifested itself in a chest congestion.  The next day, I lost my voice: my clue to stop talking about this problem and start doing the real internal work to get through it. Then, my nasal passages began to inflame. On the fourth day, I could feel it clearing, but still struggling to get me to deal with these real issues and not continue to live in this tortured reality I had created for myself.

Last night was the worst yet.  I had a cleansing bath. In it, I realized one of my deepest fears - a loss of independence -and it all began to sort itself out. The issue I was having with a romantic friend stemmed from my fear of vulnerability that kept me from admitting I had feelings for him in the first place. The recovery from family affairs stemmed from a desire to be recognized for my differences - a fear of needing to know they would love me regardless of how I am different. The issue with a coworker was based on my fear of not being loved in return if I chose to give love even if I couldn't get it back.

After the bath, I found an inspiring quote, blessed it with my love for everybody I know, and send it out into the world.

Every few hours, I woke up to use the toilet. The second time this happened, I realized how soaked my shirt was.  I was sweating like crazy through my sleep.  This was definitely an amazing cleansing restorative sleep.

But....where does this loss of independence come from?

I have one regret.

It has a name that I can't bare to say aloud.

The thought of the moment fills me with self loathing, disgust, and anger at everybody else involved.

I'm so far past the point of thinking of this regret as a lesson that I can't take ownership of it. I can't admit that I made such a huge, terrible mistake that hurt somebody else...and most of all has scarred me so much that I couldn't even like myself for years after it happened - and I work DAMN HARD at loving myself!

So...what happens next?

I know what event is now keeping me from all the rest of this.  How do I move past it? How do I take ownership of it? How do I forgive myself for hurting myself?

How many more baths before I love that scar too....?

The funny thing is...I've known it's been this moment all along. I've known that this is the "healing" I've needed to do in this last year, referred to absent-mindedly to friends but never really delved into.  I've known that my cures would never work for it...I thought it might never matter if I convinced myself that it didn't hurt me. I thought that being strong would be enough. I thought that not letting them see me cry would make me that stronger person. I thought that love was something I needed to be given rather than something I could give myself. I thought that vulnerability was a weakness, not a universal strength...

The Crisis vs. The Show

One year. 52 weeks. Over 365 days.

My parents think I have anxiety over getting older.

A year ago, I began writing more on this blog than I had the two years previously.

For the last four months, I've been wondering if I am still going through a quarter life crisis:
Is it really a crisis?
Have I moved past it?
Will I only live to 104 if the quarter life is over?
Does every generation go through the same thing? If so, the early nineties twenty-somethings would be immortalised with Reality Bites.  The twenty-somethings of the late nineties found solace in Friends. The quarter-lifers of the 00's had a recession. And I have history...and hipsters...

At any time in life, we will be hit with uncertainty.  Maybe it happens to us when we "enter the real world." Perhaps we continue with certainty for a few years or even decades after entering that "real world" before the uncertainty of life catches up with us...

And, then, almost as suddenly, we discover that things are either more certain...or we're at least more certain of ourselves...and this "crisis" is not as pressing as living life.

That is the moment at which we' ve learned to enjoy the show...

Musing

My life is a joke...I eagerly laugh at not just my own mistakes, but what I consider my "bad luck."

But is it ever really "bad" luck?



As I enter my fourth year of residency here in Edmonton, it becomes more obvious that I may be here for much longer than the originally anticipated six months.  The wanderlust that hit me early on in life fails to escape my life.  This time last year, I realized that it had invaded my work life - either starting a new job or a new position/transfer approximately every six months.  Now that I've managed to surpass that threshold in my previous job, I eagerly look forward to remaining at my current position for much longer than that.  Luckily, I have the opportunity in this position to create the world I want.

And, so, with career figured out (for the time being), I look to the rest of my life.  This summer, it became apparent that close friendships of mine are intense for only about six months before fizzling into mere acquaintances that get picked up exactly when they need to be.  Not that I forget about these people, or that after six months knowing them no longer means as much as when we first met...but, somehow, we both move on with our lives.  It never hurts that after being friends with me for about two-three months, the other person normally meets a wonderful person who becomes the love of their life.  Not to put any pressure on those friends who met their current boy/girlfriend shortly after becoming my dear friend, but none of the relationships I have "mused" into existence have fallen apart as much as our friendships have... This phenomena deserves more unpacking and I wish to do that at a later date.  Perhaps even with a psychologist...

Last winter, I realized my gift as a "muse."  Three weeks into any romantic relationship, I remain excited about the future of everything; whereas the other person has been provided with an opportunity that improves their life greatly, and leaves me deserted and alone.  I am, as I joke, a "lucky love."  Of course, as I joked more about it, the time required for luck to appear became much shorter.  One example was even three days. And, one took over three months of torment, friendship, and figuring everything else out...

The joke is funny at first.  "What a great pick-up line!" I've been told.  The idea is novel.  It's been in movies, mentioned on sitcoms, and discussed at length with my good friends.  We all like to play the victim of bad fate...at least for a little while.  At what point, though, did it make me bitter and jaded?

This phenomena has been un-packed at length already in this blog. I wish to no longer dwell on it.  And, then, I put on an old record, remember my first opportunity to be some one else's muse...

On Loss

I had a dream that morning...about my grandfather.  I never dream about him.  It was odd.


He wasn't himself, though.  He was this great big block of something else. But we all knew it was him.  I felt him in that cinder block.  Suddenly, I felt a gust of wind pull me towards the rock.  I could feel my family nearby - on the periphery, supporting everything I was experiencing.  My father, the solid structure in everything was watching me closely as I slowly pieced together what the wind symbolized.  Suddenly, an arrow of grief shot through my heart as I thought about death.  My thoughts turned to my mother.  No....I thought...it can't be...


I woke up with a blanket of peace covering my body.  Today was IT - the day I had been thinking about and planning for the last two months.  Every musician was booked; volunteers would arrive on time; work would flow as it should immediately following the volunteer hours; my speeches were ready; I'd say perhaps not the perfect thing, but all of the right things. I was loved. I was in the right place. I was going to take the world by storm...

I had a text message.  I shared my positive feelings of love in my response.  It was reciprocated with sadness...

In those few words, I knew.

I called my parents. There was no answer. I texted my mom, seeing if she could chat. The text came in to let me know. My mom called to let me know the details.

After three years of fighting (the ugliest word to ever be used in our culture), my aunt had passed on.

Many people expected me not to carry on with the day's events.  And perhaps I shouldn't have.  I was definitely unable to do the job I wanted to.  My energy levels were extremely low, and my mind continued to race in a foggy cloud as people arrived needing direction.  I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to curl into a ball and be left alone.

Instead, I hid when I could, thanked everyone who was there to help us out, told my friends why I wasn't my smiling self, received hugs from the family of support I had created in my life, and began to fear that I wasn't yet strong enough to support the family I was blessed to have been born into...

Of the five family deaths I have been witness to, this is the third that is a result of a long drawn-out battle.  Only one of those five deaths happened in less than a day of a battle to survive.  I don't know that any of the options are any better or any worse than the other.  After a long battle, though, I know that my aunt did everything she knew how to in order to survive...and then she decided to enjoy what life she had left.

After a battle to survive, death is a relief.  The family has been caring for her, worrying about her health, cherishing each moment, and keeping one another constantly updated about her health.  Everybody has been dealing with the realizations of her health in their own way.  And that is all that can ever be expected, and respected.

My reaction has been to throw myself headlong into not finding a cure to that (ugliest word to ever be used in our culture), but a way of preventing this pain to happen to anybody...

Last October, I first watched Food Matters.  My reaction to it was amazing.  "Let food by thy medicine..." And my explanation of its message does not do it justice.  Instead, I have learned to have other people watch the film.  This week, you can do just that for free on their website: www.foodmatters.tv . David Wolf's presence alone inspired me to carry on with increasing my knowledge about how food can be our medicine, rather than the fuel for our disease.  Two days after watching that movie, I heard that my aunt's cancer had move into her brain.

I remember that moment exactly.  I was picking up my last...never mind, it's over. That world of understanding no longer exists for me.  And rage engulfs my body when I think of the millions of people - especially any more of my loved ones - still existing in that world of understanding.  Where man-made chemicals cure you; the natural world can be controlled; and if there's something wrong, it has to be righted. I wish I could say that life outside that world is better...but it's all still filled with suffering...

As I write this, I am going through the stage of realization that she is actually gone.  As I prepare to see my family (a time I love and have anxiety for at the same time), I keep coming to terms with the fact that my aunt will not be there.  Her smiling face will not greet me at her door.  Her perfume will not engulf me when she gives me the warmest hug I've ever had somebody give to me.  I won't hear her voice quietly commenting on somebody else's story, or sharing it's own (she had one of the quieter voices in her family, and everybody stopped to listen when she began to speak, so that we all heard her fine, calm words).  Although I've been expecting this day for far too long, it is finally here...and she is not...and that is a sad realization to come to.

insomnia

Heavy pillows of blood rest on top of my cheekbones, keeping my eyes closed as I lay where my body was flopped on the bed.  My body drained; my mind racing; sleep would be the best cure, but it won't happen...

Sleeping Beauty (Uncensored)

As another year closes in on me, I find myself nowhere closer to solving the Crisis, but in a much better position to continue life as if it always will be the Crisis.  As such, I am working on an entry to commemorate this section of my journey thus far.  It is a collection, of sorts, of lessons learned this year.

 

Hopefully that post will actually be created!  I find myself entirely scattered right now, and unable to believe that my birthday is but three days away.  At this moment, though, I am inspired to write through a theme that stems from a fundamental lesson I learned about myself this year, specifically as I relate to matters of the heart, the power of our believes to create our reality and my view of life as fate-driven.

 

There are many ways of looking for the meaning of the world. Some look to religion, some look to science, or philosophy. Myself, I look at a myriad of different schools, chose what I like from each (discard the rest) and have created my own meaning for my world. (We all have but one perspective, and each is unique to ourselves.) A major school within my meaning for my world is Astrology. There was a time in my early adult life where I read my horoscope first thing in the morning, took what I found to be true from its fairly generic guidance and enjoyed the rest of my day. After a few weeks of this, I discovered that more and more of my horoscopes were increasing in their accuracy…

 

This year, I have truly come to understand the concept of our ability to create our own reality. Basically, what this means - at the level I implying right now - is that my life began to resemble more and more of the horoscopes because I began to believe that the horoscopes were accurate. I woke up every morning, searching for what the day would bring, read a short blip that could have been applied to anybody's life but that I applied to my own because of the time of year when I was born, and then went through the rest of my day, aware of any situations that would correspond to that blip. Any time I came across a coincidence, my faith in the horoscope grew. I then became more aware of coincidences. I also put myself into more situations that the blips would discuss. My reality is but an interpretation of the life happening in front of me.

 

About two years ago, my mom recommended that I read The Power of Your Subconscious Mind. This year, I have truly come to comprehend its thesis. Of course, you can find similar arguments in other books that began this year in my journey. Louise Hay's You Can Heal Your Life and The Secret are two top ones. Essentially, if you believe strongly enough in something, it is real for you. Hypochondriacs are sick because they focus on a disease that is not there. The argument has several steps between that statement and this, but essentially, your subconscious mind is in control of everything. You are able to communicate to your subconscious mind about a condition within your body (or even your life) and that condition then exists. I do suggest that - if you are lost along this logic – you read The Power of Your Subconscious Mind and then, with a more open mind The Secret. For me, approaching this concept from a drugstore philosophy (The Secret) was not as effective as the powerful arguments laid out in The Power of Your Subconscious Mind.

 

Now that I comprehend this idea, what was happening to me years ago when I read horoscopes does not seem as coincidental. I create my own reality. With that understanding of the world, it is then not a surprise for me to realize that the astrology I read about myself at that time continues to manifest itself in the life of a twenty-something single girl.

 

"While Virgo guy may cling to what vestiges of virginity he might possess, Virgo girl can't seem to give it away. Most men have no inkling that she is actually the Zodiac's most eager beaver. She thus embodies the flip side of virginity: its inherent frustration. She must wait, playing her childish games, until such time as a tall, dark stranger reaches out and grabs, plummeting her into delightful depths of exploring aching, untapped desires. Unaware that true love or lust is best when it finds her, Virgo meanwhile looks for it in all the wrong places. Another seeming contradiction of Virgo, vis-a-vis its Virgin symbol, is the sign's association with midlife, ages 35-42, when a woman is, at once nearing her prime and the end of her fertile years."

 

A Frustrated Virgin at the time of first reading this, I had a much stronger and angrier association with it. Would I be stuck in this sexual purgatory of virginity until 35? The mockery of individuals similar to Steve Carell's character in The Forty-Year-Old Virgin made my anguish that much stronger. In fifteen to twenty years, that would be me! Am I some loser that is unable to interpret social cues and find the utmost joy in life – a relationship, love, and most importantly sex? To this day, I cannot stand any degree of mockery towards socially awkward people or virgins. It is a frustrating position, especially in our sex-obsessed society.

 

My interpretation of the above corresponds well with:

 

"Talk about loaded: Virgo is not only a whole lotta woman physically, she also places tremendous expectations on what another female might simply consider a crush. To most men, she is thus doubly intimidating - especially to the carefree "boys" she seeks to bed, to whom the prospect of a relationship with her is akin to staring into a gaping abyss. First, some of those guys she goes for doubt their ability to sexually satisfy such a zaftig creature. Secondly, because relations seem to be so sacred to her, "entering" a Virgo is like barging into a temple where most men feel unworthy to tread. Of course, being so different, she'd never suspect herself of making others feel insignificant - she'd just read it as rejection and internalize her pain, adding to those churning, burning, yearning feelings deep inside. It mightn't be until years later that Virgo finally appreciates the value of this natural weeding-out process: with lesser men - boys, really - kept at bay, it will be only the most self-assured "grown-up" male who won't be intimidated by this unspeakable force, instead, desiring her for it. Despite Virgo's designation as the Zodiac's empty vessel, she is nonetheless fairly incapable of being objectified by men - she is clearly so much more than a mere trinket. Still, it is particularly difficult for most men to resolve Virgo's double-barrelled aura of saintly sister and sexy mama."

 

Slowly, over the years, I became less frustrated about the entire situation. Using the above passage, I convinced myself that this patience would be worth it. Perhaps, like Sleeping Beauty, I would remain asleep for years until my prince finally arrived to wake me up to the beauty of being in love. Until then, I told myself, being single was not so bad. One night, alone in my room in England, I was able to convince myself that, although only 22, I had had a loving and fulfilled life. If this was all that there was to it, I would be ok as a spinster for the rest of my life.

 

Then, as every love story goes, I met somebody. I fell quite quickly infatuated with him, and he enjoyed my mind, my attention, and my eagerness to accommodate him. Perhaps he fell into infatuation with me as well. Sadly, his infatuation included other women as well and this was not what I could handle at the time. In an attempt to prove my point that this could not work, I ended up injuring myself more than him. Although I pretended that everything was okay, wiped the dirt from skirt, and held my head high as I left that small room, proclaiming once again that the life of a spinster would not be as disastrous as I would have previously thought.

 

Eventually, I healed enough from my injuries to start dating again. This "time away" from further schooling was in fact supposed to be about learning life lessons, not scholarly ones. Dating skills were part of the life lessons. As such, I treated each date as a new lesson learned and gained a wealth of information within the first few months. This portion of my rest for a hundred years (or at least the decade until my sign's turn to shine) would be the playing time. I could go on dates, meet interesting people, and actively observe how people go through these rituals. I was a social scientist, wasn't I?

 

I soon grew bored and starting looking towards school…

 

Then, as every love story goes, I met somebody. He was passionate, and self-made, thought outside of the box, and with one mere question opened up the floodgate to my dreams so that I could begin this last AMAZING year of my journey. For that, I am eternally grateful. He told me to do none of the things I began to do, but merely inspired me to wake up to the life I had wanted to live for the last ten years of my life. In a sense, he could be called my prince. Except that he was not as chivalrous a gentleman that I needed him to be.

 

And so I moved on…eventually. I cut my ties to the emotions he had stirred within me and reaped an immense freedom in sharing that with others. In a sense, he cured me of many of the ailments my initial slumber had only worsened. On the other hand, he brought to the surface the fact that I do possess a "natural weeding-out process." And so, I sit, a Sleeping Beauty hidden in the brambles, awaiting the true knight who will come and rescue me from this life so mundane and love-less.

 

Last weekend, I expressed my utter joy in the prospect of turning older. I believe that I am one of the few, if not the only woman in her twenties that is excited about her thirties. Of course, this doesn't mean that I won't enjoy my youth, pretend to already be older, or even act my real age half of the time. While many of my peers look at 30 as a time for their lives to have already been settled down, careers started and families soon to be had, I don't have many goals that must be completed before I turn the big 3-0. Especially none so dependent on other people, or lucky chances to occur. I look at my 20's as a time to continue to figure out life, gain some experience and meet some great people.

 

"What a great way to age!" most people must think. But that's not really it. I have successfully convinced myself that nothing will actually happen until I have hit "mid-life" (according to my horoscope, but not according to my plans to outlive 100). Until then, I am merely sleeping…and getting better looking every year!

 

 

Hello, my name is Crazy Girl

"Hello. My name is Crazy Girl.  I'd like you to meet my friend, here.  She's really nice.  No...in fact, she's $%#@in' amazing!  You'd be a moron to pass up the opportunity to get to know her.  I know she's not really that appealing in this moment.  That's 'cause she's letting me make all the decisions right now...and, really, who would ever trust somebody called Crazy Girl?

"You see, she's not usually like this.  It's just, that, well, she kinda sorta likes you. A lot. And, although she knows this is the wrong behaviour to do, she's scared of these emotions boiling under the surface. Last time she had them, bad things happened. People said a lot of things they didn't mean just a few weeks later. Words were thrown around too early; words meant a lot to her back then. Now she's kinda scared of those words. And the emotions that come before those words.

"It's alright. She'll recover.  Trust me, I've seen her go through MUCH worse.  You think you're getting it bad? You should have seen the first guy!  I'd be surprised if he ever even talked to another blonde after I was done with him.  I know he didn't say the same words 'cause I ripped out his tongue.  It just wasn't yet time for that special breed of $@#hole.

"Don't worry.  I've become milder with age, too.  I don't think you're all as stupid as you first let on to be.  And some of you actually seem to get hurt when I get the daggers out!?! Who knew you had emotions? I'll try to be gentle with you.  You're a nice one.  An improvement on the last one... I'm obviously doing my job of protecting this little darling from too many douche bags before one of you morons actually wises up enough to convince her it's okay to be herself.  She's ...well, you'll soon learn how special she is and then I'll disappear for a few weeks.  I wish I didn't have to protect her like this. But if you break her heart like the last one, my job just gets easier!

"Oh, one last thing before we let this all come to pass... You're over the last Crazy Girl you dated, right?  'Cause I can hold off a bit on her baggage, but I don't want to have deal with yours, too.  That's what your Stupid Boy is there for.  Let him come out to play for a little bit... I'd like to get acquainted. If this is gonna be a long-term thing, I better get use to seeing him around.  I've learned that she calls on me shortly around the same time that your little friend appears, too. Hey, and unlike her, I'm usually not the one who's late for the party!  Call on him whenever you smell me coming... No offence, but he's probably cuter anyways..."