Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Humming Bird Above my Lawn
I’m here at Starbucks drinking coffee when this dude walks past me with a blue parrot on his shoulder. He has bird shit on the back of his shirt. A woman/girl behind him is just grossing out. She’s got my attention too wearing an aqua marine pull over with brown printed rabbits and her blue sweats with the word “Pink” printed on her bottom. She’s wearing purple Uggs to finish the look.
This is good beginning for a vacation day. After my shower, the 45 minute one way walk to Starbucks was inspired by Larry McMurtrey’s character Duane Moore. He happens to ride his bike everywhere. A babe Annie Cameron finished telling him that he’s weak with women. Not a startling fact when I think about myself in that way. Recently at a Chinese restaurant called “Sam Woo’s” this waitress forgets my order and so I call her on it. In her own inimitable Asian way, she denies everything and blamed me for not ordering. I was immobilized at first and later reflected on how helpless felt even when I knew this restaurant has a reputation for good food and bad waitresses. This woman who doesn’t know me from Adam had just dismissed me and I felt insignificant and I was pissed off.
Nearing the anniversary of my brother’s death has me feeling vulnerable. This event exposed my distorted belief that my mother has her children’s best interest at heart. Bill’s death destroyed that myth. I held her accountable for her efforts in infantilizing her sons. Since then I’ve been outwardly angry at her and other women. It was about this time I started calling women bitches and meaning it. I had an uncontainable anger. It was like an affliction with Tourette syndrome. The underlying anger burst out at unsuspecting women. All I need to do is look back at my blogs. Several women wrote an email telling me to cool my heels.
Man the walk home zoomed. Less than 30 minutes. The time was spent thinking about my yearning for unrequited love and the dying dream that my mother cares for me. It’s a good thing I had new hiking shoes because I left rubber half moon marks on the pavement. I don’t think that path will ever be the same as I hit the ground with major intensity. I know what I yearn for and it is a dream that dies hard. When I hold on to my grievance-this period of righteous self indignation, this justifiable anger, I get the perverse pleasure of punishing women who don’t consider me whether it has anything to do with me or not. It didn’t matter that these women had their own drama and vulnerability to deal with. I have found it difficult in gaining my footing from this diabolical pathology. Sadly, it’s insulated me from connecting with women who want to get to know and love me.
Just out my window, there is a humming bird hovering over my lawn. It's so effortless and graceful. I can't imaging how much work that takes. Though I suspect it's easier than looking at the truth.
This is good beginning for a vacation day. After my shower, the 45 minute one way walk to Starbucks was inspired by Larry McMurtrey’s character Duane Moore. He happens to ride his bike everywhere. A babe Annie Cameron finished telling him that he’s weak with women. Not a startling fact when I think about myself in that way. Recently at a Chinese restaurant called “Sam Woo’s” this waitress forgets my order and so I call her on it. In her own inimitable Asian way, she denies everything and blamed me for not ordering. I was immobilized at first and later reflected on how helpless felt even when I knew this restaurant has a reputation for good food and bad waitresses. This woman who doesn’t know me from Adam had just dismissed me and I felt insignificant and I was pissed off.
Nearing the anniversary of my brother’s death has me feeling vulnerable. This event exposed my distorted belief that my mother has her children’s best interest at heart. Bill’s death destroyed that myth. I held her accountable for her efforts in infantilizing her sons. Since then I’ve been outwardly angry at her and other women. It was about this time I started calling women bitches and meaning it. I had an uncontainable anger. It was like an affliction with Tourette syndrome. The underlying anger burst out at unsuspecting women. All I need to do is look back at my blogs. Several women wrote an email telling me to cool my heels.
Man the walk home zoomed. Less than 30 minutes. The time was spent thinking about my yearning for unrequited love and the dying dream that my mother cares for me. It’s a good thing I had new hiking shoes because I left rubber half moon marks on the pavement. I don’t think that path will ever be the same as I hit the ground with major intensity. I know what I yearn for and it is a dream that dies hard. When I hold on to my grievance-this period of righteous self indignation, this justifiable anger, I get the perverse pleasure of punishing women who don’t consider me whether it has anything to do with me or not. It didn’t matter that these women had their own drama and vulnerability to deal with. I have found it difficult in gaining my footing from this diabolical pathology. Sadly, it’s insulated me from connecting with women who want to get to know and love me.
Just out my window, there is a humming bird hovering over my lawn. It's so effortless and graceful. I can't imaging how much work that takes. Though I suspect it's easier than looking at the truth.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Twice Distracted
Can I see another's woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief,
And not seek for kind relief?
Robert Blake
I know I've been out of blogging commission for awhile. I've been distracted.
First on the professional level being wooed is very intoxicating. It isn't the first time but this time it is serious. I feel like a free agent a mercenary for hire. At the same time, it's caused me to rethink about many things from what I want to where I stand in the market place and yes my working relationships with people I've known for 10 years. It has also given me pause to look at the spectrum of options. Stay tuned for this one.
Second and more important, speaking in front of a group of women, I acknowledge to them how I've painted the face of my mother on the important women in my life. They had different recations: some felt awkward as I shared something deeply personal. Others admired my courage and some didn't care. I'm sure there were some who had an issue with it but they didn't share it. All in all, I was scared at first and settled down as the repercussions I girded myself against, never came.
If I was more religious, I might say God wants me to learn from my suffering. But on the existential plane that I ascribe to, I am responsible for my action. This is one action that I'm not proud of. The women in my life have been manipulated, coerced and ingratiated into a pathological vision of the woman who birthed me. This action has prevented me from seeing the women for whom they are and have had the affect of insulating them from man they see and know and want to connect with. This is tragic and sad as it leveled women who wanted to love me and prevented me from loving them back. Remarkably, sharing this has a calming effect on me and hence has given me hope that I can live with and perhaps appreciate another's humanity as Robert Blake wrote:
Can I see another's woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief,
And not seek for kind relief?
I feel for the first time, I have my arms around this emotionally and the fog is rising and dissipating.
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief,
And not seek for kind relief?
Robert Blake
I know I've been out of blogging commission for awhile. I've been distracted.
First on the professional level being wooed is very intoxicating. It isn't the first time but this time it is serious. I feel like a free agent a mercenary for hire. At the same time, it's caused me to rethink about many things from what I want to where I stand in the market place and yes my working relationships with people I've known for 10 years. It has also given me pause to look at the spectrum of options. Stay tuned for this one.
Second and more important, speaking in front of a group of women, I acknowledge to them how I've painted the face of my mother on the important women in my life. They had different recations: some felt awkward as I shared something deeply personal. Others admired my courage and some didn't care. I'm sure there were some who had an issue with it but they didn't share it. All in all, I was scared at first and settled down as the repercussions I girded myself against, never came.
If I was more religious, I might say God wants me to learn from my suffering. But on the existential plane that I ascribe to, I am responsible for my action. This is one action that I'm not proud of. The women in my life have been manipulated, coerced and ingratiated into a pathological vision of the woman who birthed me. This action has prevented me from seeing the women for whom they are and have had the affect of insulating them from man they see and know and want to connect with. This is tragic and sad as it leveled women who wanted to love me and prevented me from loving them back. Remarkably, sharing this has a calming effect on me and hence has given me hope that I can live with and perhaps appreciate another's humanity as Robert Blake wrote:
Can I see another's woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief,
And not seek for kind relief?
I feel for the first time, I have my arms around this emotionally and the fog is rising and dissipating.
