Planes and People

This morning I boarded a plane as I've only done a handful of times in my life. On the way to the airport, it struck me that the first time I ever travelled by airplane was from this same airport in this same city. It's odd and fascinating how life experiences overlap. I was travelling through Amarillo then; I live there now.

I was a 20 year old, sophomore college student flying to Dallas to surprise the boyfriend who would become the husband who would become the ex-husband. Shortly after that flight, I transferred from OPSU in Goodwell, Oklahoma to TAMUC in Commerce, Texas. I changed the course of my life, and I did it in part, if not largely, for that man.

Today I am a 30 year old college graduate flying to Los Angeles to visit the "special friend" who will become only God knows what. I certainly don't know, but nevertheless, here I am. I boarded this plane.

For some of you this will translate into "She is afraid to go into the world her own." To that I only have this to offer. I have an assortment of wonderful people in my life. I have a huge family and amazing friends. If I never boarded another plane to see "what if" with another man, I'd board them for my family and with my friends. I would board them with, by, and for myself. This isn't misplaced wanderlust.

For some of you this will translate into "She is searching for love." To this I say, "Quite the contrary." I am keenly aware that I am loved and cherished by many people. It would be self-deception of the greatest proportion for me to purport that I am unloved. My friends love me. My family loves me. My mother, father, and brothers loves me. My Grandma loves me. And, I have been loved, deeply, by more than one man. I know I am currently loved by more than one man. This isn't a romantic quest to find "true love." 

For some of you this will translate into "She is manifesting her unhealed traumas. She hasn't heal." I'll level with you. I've considered this. To us, both you and I, I have this to offer. I've gone to therapy. I've discussed my history and hurts. I've been provided tools. I believe in those tools. I've applied many of them. I know and believe that I can change my life in any way I want. I know I am not required to live in dysfunction and chaos. I know that I, like all of God's beings, deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. I know that I, like all of God's beings, have intrinsic, unchanging worth. I know that professional help is available to me anytime I need for my $30 copay.  

Simply put. This is about curiosity. 

Inside of me there is a fury of emotion, energy, love, and passion, and I want to channel of all of that in the direction of one person or as many people as necessary to feel and experience it all fully. This is not "please pick me and love me " This is "please brace yourself for the impact of me." I want to unleash myself on a capable other, and I want to experience his or her unleashing. I want to be wild.

I have a pretty solid idea of what would of happened if I stayed home. I have no idea what will happen because I boarded this plane. Maybe it changes nothing. Maybe it shifts everything. Only God knows. 

I know with certainty that every time I've boarded a plane for another person, I have gained and lost. I explored. I discovered. I felt fear and thrill and uncertainty and excitement. My life is an experiment, and I'm the mad, brave, battered, and beautiful scientist. My life is a plane to any and everywhere I want to explore, and I'm just mad enough to board again and again.

See you when I land. 🖤

Wayward Conviction

If the effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much, should the wayward woman bother to send prayers up? Will her sincerity carry juxtapose to her sins? Does her petitions reach Heaven or dwindle in the wind? Like gifts without love, are prayers without piety clanging gongs and clashing cymbals? Tell me is there a hierarchy system based on conversion? Can she pray without ceasing and remain firm in her perversions? Is that grace, hypocrisy, or reprobation? She withdraws these questions from your consideration. For she is persuaded that if the metric is righteousness or wickedness, her prayers cannot be weighted. 

Ignite it.

Even if it is unhealthy,

With great risks too,

I still want it.

Let me be consumed by you.

Let's set me ablaze.

Watch my walls burn down.

Let's open me up.

Please stake whatever's found.

Enter my world;

Change it for good.

Make your presence felt

Like no one before you could.

I'll adore your every impression

On my mind,

Heart,

Being.

I will barter dependence

For the liberty of needing

You.

Mom & Me & Mom I

Last night, my mom and I had a disagreement that turned into a fiery argument. While we used to bump heads in this way frequently, it hasn't happened in a long time. Last night, my mom took some time, called me back, apologized, and validated my experience. I woke up this morning thinking about my Mom and reflecting on our contrasting perspectives and needs.

In order for my Mom to not have bitterness, resentment, and anger, she doesn't sit with or in hurt feelings. She acknowledges the hurtful nature of ______, and she resolves to let it go. l sit with and in hurt feelings. When I don't, I confuse hurt with anger, and I become bitter and resentful. I acknowledge the hurtful nature of ______, and I permit myself to hold on.

Yesterday I called my mom incensed about ______. My feelings were hurt; I wanted to vent. I felt that she did not understand and judged my emotional reaction to the situation. We then began to debate our responses to hurt feelings. She provided one of her life experiences and her response to that experience, and I said, That's not normal. That is not a normal response, Mama.

I said it in exasperation, but I've thought it for years. In fact, my dad and I often charge my Mom with being "love-suffering," and we don't mean it as a compliment. We sort of roll our eyes and take long, deep exhales. This morning, I woke up thinking long-suffering is not the right word. My mom is radical in forgiveness, and it bugs the shit out of me. "Look at her. She should be pissed at ______ for ______. I know I would. I would NEVER..."

It occurs to me only now that my Mom, with her exact life experiences and challenges, would be a different person if she did not protect her heart, kindness, and ability to be gentle with forgiveness and release. It also occurred to me that my Mom is exactly the kind of woman who intimately understands what it means to need mercy, and she is one of the most merciful people I know.

These qualities that I witnessed and judged her for sharing with others allowed me to bring her a plethora of experiences, intimacies, and secrets that I would have never shared if I didn't understand her deep capacity for mercy and forgiveness. I knew she would neither write me off nor devalue me. She'll love me rather I become "a hoe or housewife." 

My Mom is the most faith affirming person in my life, and it has little to do with what she believes or preaches. Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.  Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God. I experience the love, grace, and mercy I've read about in the Bible in my relationship with her. 

Who am I, comfortably distant from the life experiences and traumas my Mom has experienced, to say "Your choice to let go; refusal to sit with that pain; decision to forgive and show grace and mercy is not normal?" Maybe her capacity to forgive is directly related to her depth of pain, and I don't understand because I don't know. 

You never really understand a person until you consider things from her point of view . . . until you climb into his skin and walk around in it. I owe my Mom an apology. Yesterday, when she called me back, she held space for me. Today, I will hold space for her. 

Quick Note: I also realize that both of our methods (holding on too long or letting go too quickly) have dangers that we must be quick to recognize and careful to avoid.   

His mind won't roam.

His mind won't roam from his future wife

to that once upon a time in life

when he knew a girl like me.

No, his mind won't roam.

He will judge the details

too provocative to expose.

He will not recount my ecstasies and woes.

No, his mind won't roam.

My hope is that he won't remember me at all

and I'll be a "What's her name?"

he is never able to recall.

So...

“Honorable Human Relationships" - Adrienne Rich

An honorable human relationship—that is, one in which two people have the right to use the word “love”—is a process, delicate, violent, often terrifying to both persons involved, a process of refining the truths they can tell each other. 

It is important to do this because it breaks down human self-delusion and isolation. 

It is important to do this because in doing so we do justice to our own complexity.

It is important to do this because we can count on so few people to go that hard way with us.

Individual Pain & Collective Healing

I've hurt. Everyone has. We have all experienced some degree of physical pain.

I once subjected myself to an experience meant to cause physical pain. My legs shook. My face tingled. I felt hot all over. I neither cried nor howled; I did not lose conciousness. I just felt that voluntary pain for a prescribed moment in time. Then it was over. It was passing.

Beyond that one experience, to date, thank goodness, I have never experienced a physical pain powerful enough to provoke an extreme reaction. I may hurt for a particular moment in time to a finite degree. Then it's over. It is always passing.

My experience with emotional pain is so incredibly different that it's almost amusing. I have felt emotional pain that left me reeling for days, weeks, months on end. I know it when it's sharp, chronic, and exacerbated. I have experienced emotional pain that took the sun out of the sky, did away with the stars and moon, and made hope and better seem like fairy-tale intangibles. Recovery was make-believe.

Yes, I know emotional pain provocative enough to cause wailing. I cried myself to sleep. I sobbed while bargaining with God. "Can this be over? I don't want to feel again." I cursed morning when it came. I cursed the chemical composition of my brain. I mourned life and breath. In the darkest hours, I contemplated the relief of death; on more than one occasion I became a threat to myself. 

I've hurt enough to know that pain is subjective. It's not easily measured and varies based on perspectives. Yes, we all know what it's like to experience pain, but no two experiences are the same. Maybe generosity includes offerings of acknowledgement and compassion for the singularity of every experience, each other's unique and valuable feelings. Maybe this is integral to our collective healing.