Above all, Practice Being Loyal to Your Soul

“Above all, practice being loyal to your soul.” This is a meme that came floating across my Facebook timeline today.  It has a great message, but what if being loyal to your soul is in conflict with someone else being loyal to theirs?  It is not obvious, because there is so much focus in being loyal to one’s own soul and the idea of what is right and perfect in the here and now is subjective and you cannot see where the conflict lies.  But if there is conflict in the relationship, it will not work.  There lies the heaviness.  You get all psyched that this other person might just be “the one,” or at least a good distraction until “the one” shows up. Then as you are listening to your soul, they are listening to theirs and the whole thing comes apart when they reach a different conclusion about the whole thing.

He had said, from the beginning, that he was not ready, so I am not surprised to be disconnected, even after a couple of months of groovy mixed signals and pleasant lunches.  Even though I knew it wouldn’t be what I wanted it to be, I am sure somewhere I hoped some magical process would change it. 

I wish I could be the calm, Zen, be here now, understanding person all the time.  I hate being the emotional, reactionary girl I can be when it comes to matters of the heart.  But after a good cry I have come to the conclusion that he is only being true to his own soul and following up on what he needs to grow and heal.  This is very important and I do not deny it is a good thing.  In being true to his own soul he has ultimately enabled me to be true to my own.  I had spent some time finding ways to justify being physical without exclusivity and commitment.  In some ways I am glad I considered that possibility. It helped me understand how other people work and made physical intimacy less serious, which in turn can only help me make it better, more fun, when I have it.

But here is the end result: I made a new friend, who I think (or at least, hope) will be in my life for some time. Also, while I still don’t get what it is the Universe is telling me, I come to this conclusion: I deserve and need someone who is ok with feeling good when he is with me, wants to be with me, and when he is with me doesn’t want to be anywhere else. That is worth waiting for.

Married Men Need Not Apply

I have never been able to figure guys out.  Whenever I have tried, I have been left frustrated.  So I gave up trying and just try to let them be themselves and be thankful for what good things come of being friends with them. And there are many good things about being friends with men.  I like the camaraderie.  I enjoy technical shoptalk, I enjoy talking about music, I enjoy beer.  I enjoy a lot of things that are stereotypically male-ish. I am not a girly-girl and feel that some of my best friends are men.

However, I seem to have collected a group of married men who think I am the best thing since sliced bread…. besides their wives. I don't understand what brings me that kind of energy. I don't play those games and don't want to be told by a married man that if they could be with me they would.  I want to ask them why they are compelled to share this with me, but I just clam up and shut down. Do they think it will make me feel better about my singleness? Do I look that lonely?

I continue to be friends with these men. I feel we are drawn together for a greater purpose, not related to sexual tension but something else.  Some of these men have been there for me at the times when I was being hardest hit by loss and aguish.  I cannot forget the support they gave me.  I don’t think that my being vulnerable to someone, showing my feelings and hurt, should open up dialogue that could lead to huge mistakes. I have been on the other side. I have been the woman on the other side of a man who is confused about our relationship and is searching for who knows what to distract or relieve.  It’s not a great position to be in. I feel for those wives.  I don’t want to stir up any shit, but I feel for them.

I don't want to give up on these friendships, but when the men made those confessions it made our relationships so much more complicated than they should be or need to be. I get mad and don't want to talk to them. I don't want to laugh with them anymore. Sexual tension, something I could handle and dismiss becomes an emotional tension I just can't handle and don’t want to handle.

Some of these situations have been settled by now.  I have had conversation after conversation. But after a while, I have gotten tired of dealing with it and refuse to talk about it anymore. So, help me out here guys, if you are married, don’t open that door.  DO NOT GO THERE.  If you haven’t heard from me in a while, just think back on our last conversation.  Did you fuck it up? Did you go there?

I don’t understand why I get this attention and I have failed in trying to find meaning in it.  So after long consideration, when it comes to my love life: Married Men Need Not Apply.

Remembering September 11

September 11th always reminds me of my brother.  After realizing what was happening, after calling my mother as I drove home from work to get my TV to bring back to work, after watching the towers fall with my co-workers, I called my brother.  I explained to him how I felt like life was changing in a dramatic way and everything was going to be different.  I told him how nervous I was about that.  He told me that my reaction was normal, but things weren't going to change as much as I thought.  And he was right.  I was envisioning nuclear war and loss of family due to breakdown of communications systems and radiation zones.  I was envisioning a police state.

Even with all the TV and media hype, the revoking of some of our civil rights, the added security at airports and having to learn a new way of traveling, September 11, 2001 has not effected me in any way as much as losing my brother to cancer.

September 11 always brings the beginning of a cycle of remembrance for me.  My Sneetch (feline companion for 12 years) died on September 19, 2005.  Hurricane Wilma, the most intense tropical cyclone to ever be recorded in the Atlantic Basin, rolled through on October24, 2005. (Incidentally, my Father's birthday.) My brother Mike finally went to the doctor for abdominal pain he'd been having for weeks at the beginning of November.  He was in the hospital on November 11, 2005, his 43rd birthday.  He was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma on November 21, 2005.  That was the day that changed my life in a most dramatic way.

While I feel a little guilty not buying into the hype the media has poured onto us for the last week, I do feel compassion for those who lost loved ones on September 11, 2001.  Their loss is no different than mine.  It still leaves a cavity in their hearts as I have in mine.We will all fill the holes with memories and for a while that will make it better.  Then the holes will appear again, we will remember and feel the pain.  Then we will fill the cavities again with love.  My hope is that all of that love will spill over and fill the hearts of those who find it hard to be open minded, and accepting of people's differences.  My hope is that LOVE, a Divine Truth, will win.

 
            Mike with The Sneetch: Two friends in Heaven

Dear Universe, I'm Ready.

Don't let my smiling pictures on facebook fool you, if you are my friend there. I having been chasing my fickle friend Joy for a few months now. I admit there are days when I really feel the Joy bubbling up. But then she just creeps away and hides in the corner, leaving me feeling misused and down in the dumps.

One day in late winter I looked up and noticed someone looking at me. A guy. He was pretty handsome, and was looking at me with interest and curiosity. I can't say how long it's been since I noticed that from anyone. Wow, I thought. That's pretty cool. Maybe it's time I gave myself the opportunity to open up again. I have been so wrapped up in the goings on of taking care of my family and starting this new career that I couldn't really see me meeting anyone, let alone dating. So now, with my nursing practice off the ground, my life in more order than it's been in for years, I think, OK, let's give it a whirl.

The new energy this gave me was great. Joy was abundant, even though there was no dating, and not even a conversation about dating. But I thought there could be. Even with that possibility, I felt better about life and yes, even a little more Joyous.

In other aspects of my life, I felt lighter and more Joyful. The garden was being planned and going in. I had a new dog. The weather was changing and getting warmer. I had lost my nursing school weight and was losing more. I genuinely felt emotionally lighter and happier than I had in years.

Conversation with the guy had begun, sort of. Then all of those things I had forgotten about regarding new found interests and sexual tension came back into my consciousness. Self doubt being rampant, I focused more on other things that were making me happy. I found real meaning in my work and that was very good for me. I had hope for new beginnings.

I quickly became disappointed by the lack of any forward movement with this guy (who incidentally was dating someone), so I turned inward and again to my nursing to find more happiness than I had had in years. I thought I had come to the conclusion that I really didn't need that energy from a potential partner to add to my happiness and Joy. However, I had also realized that after hiding for so long from meeting someone I might be able to share my life with, I now felt I was ready and told the Universe in a prayer that I was ready.

That very next week, I met someone. Now, I thought, "Ask and you shall receive. All right!" Very easy and cool conversations began. I was comfortable and yes, a little more full of my friend Joy. But, of course, when I told the universe I was ready, I never mentioned anything about proximity. Foolish girl, you're supposed to think these things out. Yeah, right. So now I think, here's a really nice guy, similar interests, easy to be around. However, he lives a long way away from Cackalack, which is where I presently live. What the hell is the Universe trying to tell me here?

I like to think both of us felt the same way. Interested, but not interested in the long distance thing, but interested enough to continue the conversation over the miles, for a couple of weeks, that is. But that shit doesn't work for most people. I don't know how my niece and her husband did it. Actually I do, since I lived with Jenna while they were courting. I know they were both very dedicated and determined. And I know it was very hard. But it isn't in the cards for me right now. The timing is fucked up, the distance too great. Again and repeatedly I ask why was this person even brought into my life like this if I can't even give it a try? Who the hell needs that torment? It's not his fault and I still really like him and hope to remain friends with him. It's just a sucky situation.

While that bitch Joy is milling about in other people's hearts, I am trying again to find solace and peace in mine. Work has been a little more stressful lately, so it's been more difficult to find Joy there. I do find glimpses of her and smile when she winks at me.

I deeply believe things happen for a reason. If I didn't, I would have checked myself into the Looney Bin a while ago. I have found meaning in my losses. Now I just have to find meaning in this. For now it eludes me. Joy better get her butt back here. I like her too much. And Universe? I am ready. Really. Just none of that bullshit, ok? Is that asking too much? :)

Am I home?

It's been a long time since I had a sense of being at home. Actually I am not sure have ever felt it absolutely. I am content with where I am, however I seldom feel like I am where I should ultimately be. This leaves me with an almost constant feeling of unease and a longing for that place where I will be HOME.

In 2002 after fulfilling my career goals as a sound designer I openly discussed my leaving Philadelphia with a friend of mine. I had no idea where I was to be going, but I knew I had to leave. As I told my friend my initial plans, I had a inner sense of peace come over me in regards to that decision. This led me to believe that I was on the right track. Since then, each major decision I have made that stirred up my life and made it change course has given me a similar sensation. A knowing. A feeling of rightness, even if the decision was painful or leading to great stress.

Moving back to my home town was a stressful endeavor, however, there was a rightness to it. My mother was going to be needing help, there was a school I could attend, and there were job opportunities when I finished school. I never imagined I would be living in my mother's house after her death. It was an idea that I avoided, that repulsed me to an extent, but here I am in her house, now mine. However, I do not feel at home.

I ran into a former teacher the other night. After telling him I had bought my mother's house he said to me, "Now you are rooted here." That idea scared me. My roots are here. I was born here, and have lived here on and off for many years, but I am bothered by the idea that I may have to stay here. It is not an impossible idea, just not ideal. But then again, I have no idea what is ideal. I just have a strong sense that I will know my next step when I find it.

I know that I have to accomplish many things in this house before I can really begin to search for where I am supposed to be next, but I am eager to find out where my next "place" will be. I know that it is important to have good friends nearby and a secure job. The culture of the city is important too. There are many aspects of my hometown I love, but I do not feel like it is my last town. However, I could have it all wrong. The Universe has a way of showing me that I don't have the plan, that I am just following the map as it unfolds.


http://apod.nasa.gov/apod/astropix.html

Jewels of Light

Many people have asked me over the last six years how I could keep going on with all the pain and loss I have experienced. I could only tell them that there is no other choice but to keep on keeping on. I do what I can, swimming against the relentless tide. As things have settled down, and I have found a place of balance and peace, I look back. I try to see how I did it. How did I manage to get through day after day? It wasn't without tears, frustration, anger or overwhelming sadness. But it was also with many moments of joy, love and light.

When my brother Mike got sick, I knew he was going to be taken from us. I just knew it inside. I cried in the shower so no one would see me. I put on a calm face outwardly and did what needed to be done, what Mike asked me to do. Mike gave me a job, the job of making things happen and bearing witness to his illness. I was the messenger of goings on, and the bearer of bad news. I was the supplicant asking for prayers. I did not think of how I could do it. I just did it. I kept breathing and tried to remain focused on my only prayer which was that he would beat his cancer.

I saw jewels of light within the dark corners of that experience. The friends that Mike didn't know he had rallied by his side. They brought us food, money, cards, and laughter. When Mike finally understood how many friends he had he was overwhelmed. We both saw the sparkle of light in these friendships. Mike had a great view from his hospital room. We watched many sunrises over the Atlantic Ocean and the intra-coastal waterway, holding coffee from Starbucks and french crullers from Dunkin Donuts. Quietly we sang praises for another day.

When my mom was diagnosed with liver cancer three months after Mike died, I was numb. How could this be happening again, I thought. But with a great sigh, I steadied myself for another roll in the surf. My mother's illness was not as acute as Mike's, so there was not the urgency to gather and cling to what we had together. I stayed in Florida while she stayed in Winston-Salem. I asked for more prayers for her and continued to breathe daily and focus on the jewels of light in this situation.

My mother and I grew closer when Mike died. She saw how I took care of him. She saw and felt the unconditional love I found for them both. She once told me she marveled at how she had seen me transform from a selfish young woman to a giving helper and healer. This recognition by my mother was another jewel of light. Even though I did not expect or want praise for taking care of matters, my childish need for a parent's approval was sated. And with this approval and affirmation I began to see the changes within myself.

Continued contact with my niece Jenna kept me going. That she managed to get through school, get married and move on was joyful. I loved watching her find her way to womanhood. She was a jewel of light in my life, and seeing her dance with her new husband was seeing her right where she belonged. My mother's illness had become untreatable by the time my niece was to be married. Mom set a goal to be present at her wedding. She made that goal for sure and was beautiful, another jewel of light.

When I moved to Winston-Salem, under great stress, to continue school, I found opportunities to be with my Mom regularly. We shared stories, mostly hers. I took time to take in her presence, which no doubt was formidable even as she got weaker. Friends gathered to help when she was very sick and on her way. That I could only ask and have people willing to help was beautiful. Dear friends of mine as well as Mom's friends all pitched in to make sure I could stay in school. My class mates helped me even though they barely knew me. These were blessings I did not fully understand until a year later.

Somehow I managed to get through school and pass my boards. Each day I looked for the positive moments that I could carry with me. At home alone, I would sometimes weep for my lost ones and sometimes I would laugh at the absurd memories.

Now, a year after finishing school and becoming a nurse, each day at work is challenging. I learn something new all the time. That is very special. I have found opportunities to share my experiences with my patients and their families. It is a comfort to them that they are not alone. I have found words to help them look for the jewels of light in the dark corners of their experience. When I connect with them I know that all the pain and suffering I have experienced has not been in vain: another jewel of light that fills me with joy. This keeps me going.


A jewel: Some of the cyclists that gathered to raise money for Mike January 29, 2006.

Room to breathe

I have a lot of stuff I have collected through the years. I also have a lot of stuff that has been collected by members of my family through the years. I often complain how I have three people's worth of stuff, yet it seems it is more than that.

I have this collection of maps. Some of the maps are of places I have been to, and will probably go again. Others are those that my mother collected, of far off places she never saw that I will most likely never get to. In this day of electronic mapping, I wonder if I even need to keep these maps. Maps are comfortable, intriguing items to unfold and to look at and imagine the journeys I could embark on. Otherwise they just take up space. Space I need. But I am reluctant to recycle them, to get rid of them. I like that they are there. And I am tortured by them taking up space.

I don't want to take up the space opened up by one thing being thrown out with another thing. I just want the space. I want the breathing room. A long time ago I moved into an apartment by myself with just a few pieces of furniture, my kitchen stuff, my sound studio stuff and my cat. I had room to dance in my apartment and space to look into and to meditate on. I slowly collected things to fill in those spaces along the walls, on the bookshelves, in the closet. I added weight to my life with every addition.

Now I live in the house that was once my mother's house. I am slowly blending her things with mine. My brother's things, being mine now, are also in the mix. And then there are those items that had belonged to my sister. All of us, Mom, Mike and myself, held on to those things that were Kate's. So now I have four people's worth of stuff. All of these items have very little value to me other than they once belonged to someone who was once here and now is gone. They attach little emotional weights on my heart that make it so very hard to look at them as just objects. They seem to say to me, "Keep me. I will remind you of her," as if I am not always reminded of my lost ones.

There is a simple round red tin can with a funny lid that has an attached pry lever to open it. This was brought back from Missouri by my sister Kate. She only willingly showed me what was inside it once. She had collected a bunch of downy feathers from some fowl living on the farm where my Aunt Clare had lived, and put them in the can. I suppose the can was only there to protect the fragile feathers. That trip to Missouri was over 30 years ago. I have that can with its feathers and have brought it with me from place to place. It sits on a shelf with some other stuff. I am hesitant to let go of it. It tells a story of the kind of thing that enticed Kate's imagination and interest. And though Kate has been gone for so long now, 29 years this May, when I open the can there is a fresh memory of her.

There is also the regular stuff people hang on to. A record collection for that day when I get a record player hooked up to my stereo, dishes, books, (oh my, there are a lot of books!), and photographs of four generations of the Connors and Tague families. It is a huge challenge to cull through all of this stuff. To pare it down to bare essentials is a colossal feat that when I begin to think about doing it my brain just stops. I get distracted by the smallest thing, and I try to think of how to just rearrange everything so it fits. But so that it fits with room to breathe.

Ultimately I have to let go of a lot of these things. And though I wish to have more things that once belonged to my father's family, such as his mother's oriental carpets that were once in the house I grew up in and the china cabinet that my Dad moved from Boston to Homestead so that I could have it, I long for a time when I can put all of my stuff in a small storage space and bolt off to some far off place I have only seen on a map in my mother's collection.

Metamorphosis

It is the end of the year again. I should be writing about all that I have experienced in the last year. I have done this a few times in the past and while it is a cleansing of sorts, I am finding it harder to do this year.

The last five years have been filled with such huge changes in focus and energy. It has been easy to put it out there and let them go. This year has been a transformation more than a change for me. Change is often brought about by outside forces, while transformation seems more personal and deliberate.

My symbol for the year, or possibly my spirit guide, has been the Butterfly. The butterfly is a transformational being, having been through metamorphosis from a larva, stuck on the ground and in the weeds to forage and eat, to a freer, flying being, showing off its colors and stretching its wings. I have felt much the same this year. When I started my new job there was a sign up on the unit welcoming me. It had a Butterfly picture on it. My badge holder, which I bought over five years ago has a Butterfly on it. There is a Butterfly mobile hanging in the nurses station. These symbols surround me and seem to remind me that I have been in transformation, but now I may just be learning to really fly.

Events that occurred in 2010:
Graduated from nursing school, with honors, despite the challenges I faced in the previous year.
Studied for and passed the NCLEX.
Took a week off in the Dominican Republic with my family and friend Donna.
Was hired to be a staff nurse at Wake Forest Baptist Medical Center in the Surgical Oncology unit.
Started my training for real.
Had a big party welcoming spring and celebrating our graduation.
Went to Kerrville Folk Festival and realized I really needed to focus on my work for a while. (This made me choose to miss Philadelphia Folk Fest.)
Had the trim and doors on the exterior of the house painted. This gave the house a more vibrant look.
Had the crawlspace under the house lined with vapor barrier, and I re-painted the living room.
Bought the house from Dianne and Jenna, allowing Jenna and her husband to buy a house of their own.
Lost my beautiful big boy Pi to a car on Robinhood Road. Had him cremated.
Celebrated Thanksgiving with the Tribe in Arkansas.
Worked through the Christmas holidays.
Learned more than ever.
Remained calm when patients were having a rough time.
Felt my spirit shine.
Showed off my colors a bit.

Dear Universe: What's the deal?

I am one of those people who will do anything for you. I wasn't always like that, but the universe has changed my ways. I figure I can let go of my old selfish self and embrace the newer healer and helper. That's a magnificent idea. Except today I feel selfish again, and I kind of think the universe owes me a little. I have lost my family, and a few friends. I have given up one career to take up another. I have given up relationships so I can have a career. So now that I am settling into this new life the universe has given me, I feel like I deserve a little personal attention.
I have put my heart on my sleeve in the past, just to have the universe swipe it off like a fly. And today feels no different. Just when I thought the universe was telling me it was safe to get back out there and be vulnerable, a big stop sign shot up in my face. What kind of karma does a girl need to cultivate to have love in her life?

Transition

I took out a dying Rose of Sharon and replaced it with a lovely young "Dura-Heat" Birch. I will be adding flowers to the surrounding soil and to a stretch of soil to the right of the tree. The whole thing amounts to an oval or tear drop shaped island in the front yard.

The Rose of Sharon, with beautiful white double blooms, had been nursed along by my mother for years. Every year more branches would die and have to be cut off. Last year I swore I would cut it down, but did not. I cannot decide if it was because I was too busy to take the time to do it, or if I just did not want to destroy something my mother took great pains to nurture. It bloomed well in spite of the continual rotting of the tree.

This removal and replanting is part of an ongoing project of getting the house in order and preparing it for sale. I am still not sure if I want to stay in it or leave. The original plan with Mom was to sell it right away. But since she died at an inopportune time, now is when I have the time to sort out the details. The house has grown on me, so I don't mind staying for a while. The market is down, so we will not get as much as it is worth if we sell now. But, I would like to live closer to town, closer to places I like to shop and things I like to do.

Whether I stay in the house or not does not really matter in terms of fixing it up now. Things still need to be gone through, given away, thrown away. The weather is getting nicer, so soon I will be sorting out the garage. There are a lot of things in there I do not know what to do with. I am tempted to rent a dumpster.

I am at a time of transition, which is really the only reason I have time to do all of this. I am finished with school, have my nursing license, and am waiting to get hired. My contract with Baptist Hospital requires that the hospital has a certain length of time in which to place me. I have to be patient.

In the meantime, I am taking advantage of the extra time I have. I am cleaning out closets, planting trees and flowers, knitting and reading books that aren't text books. I am also taking the time to grieve the loss of my family, a long overdue process, which is yet another transition.