There is a moment in Augusten Burroughs' Running with Scissors which has stayed with me ever since I read it. Burroughs talks about returning back to his "normal" life after a stint in rehab. A therapist had warned him that after rehab, he may find that the people in his life didn't fit anymore. The therapist described people as puzzle pieces who fit into their world in a particular way. When people go to rehab or have significant experiences, they come back to their life in a different shape. People around them either reshape themselves to fit again into the puzzle of this person's life --- or they don't, and eventually find that no amount of pushing will make them part of the whole again.
I am a reshaped puzzle piece. I know this feeling from many things. For the past few days, it has been an insistent pressure, right in the center of my chest where I can't ignore it. My shape changed, and now I'm chafing up against the people and things in my life trying to find the new place where they fit -- if they fit at all.
In quiet moments (in my car, sitting here at night after I've done all the chores I can stand and it's still too early for bed) I feel myself adjusting to my new shape. I feel like my sternum is folding into a prow-like shape, ready to cut through whatever water is coming my way. And the water comes. Some days it's tears I' can't control, some days it's choking on air like it was water in my lungs, and some days it's needing to sit because someone replaced the bones of my legs with fluid. Both my internal and external environments are changing.
Until I understand this new shape, I am wary of people who used to fit so well with me. Alone I am reaching further into doubts and fears I never faced. At some point, this will all have to be integrated into my new shape. For now, though, raw and watery as I am, I am not yet ready to lean into everyone to see if I can make their shapes fit into mine. Some of them I can see will not fit -- everyone else will have to wait.
Friday, March 27, 2015
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
100 Days
Today is a day of celebration. I am choosing to celebrate as I choose to do most things -- quietly. Because I am celebrating not only accomplishments, but also clarity. The accomplishments bring me great satisfaction, and the clarity comes tinged with sadness.
But first, the celebration: thanks to my ever-supportive powerhouse of a friend, I just finished 100 days of dancing. Every day for 100 days I danced, videoed the dance and took the time to reflect on the good, the bad and the growth. I got to share those reflections on our Facebook group, on what quickly became known as the "Wall of Positivity." Even through travel, exhaustion and difficult career decisions, I danced, videoed and wrote about it every day. This is what happens when resolve, love, and community support come together.
And because things come together like that -- today I also found out that I passed the testing for the Initiation Phase of Rachel Brice's 8 Elements training. Resolve, love, community, studying, and delicious Portland coffee. I am growing into this new community of beautiful artists -- and though I am not yet comfortable calling myself an "artist," I am comfortable calling these wonderful women my dance sisters.
So now, as I am succeeding at these challenges, and accepting new ones, comes the clarity. There is much in my world that is unnecessary and unfulfilling -- habits, objects, obligations, and, most difficult of all, people. I have shed my interior skin, and now the exterior is shedding. Piles of stuff are all around me, ready to be carted to thrift stores tomorrow. Obligations I kept around for fear of their absence are being collapsed and soon gently let go. And the people. One by one, I am removing myself from the people. People I hid behind, or used like some people use video games -- to distract myself. People whose support was really a way of draining time energy and attention I should have used on something else.
Like dancing. Because look what happens when you accept a challenge. Time to face my fear of the next one, shed more layers, and do it.
But first, the celebration: thanks to my ever-supportive powerhouse of a friend, I just finished 100 days of dancing. Every day for 100 days I danced, videoed the dance and took the time to reflect on the good, the bad and the growth. I got to share those reflections on our Facebook group, on what quickly became known as the "Wall of Positivity." Even through travel, exhaustion and difficult career decisions, I danced, videoed and wrote about it every day. This is what happens when resolve, love, and community support come together.
And because things come together like that -- today I also found out that I passed the testing for the Initiation Phase of Rachel Brice's 8 Elements training. Resolve, love, community, studying, and delicious Portland coffee. I am growing into this new community of beautiful artists -- and though I am not yet comfortable calling myself an "artist," I am comfortable calling these wonderful women my dance sisters.
So now, as I am succeeding at these challenges, and accepting new ones, comes the clarity. There is much in my world that is unnecessary and unfulfilling -- habits, objects, obligations, and, most difficult of all, people. I have shed my interior skin, and now the exterior is shedding. Piles of stuff are all around me, ready to be carted to thrift stores tomorrow. Obligations I kept around for fear of their absence are being collapsed and soon gently let go. And the people. One by one, I am removing myself from the people. People I hid behind, or used like some people use video games -- to distract myself. People whose support was really a way of draining time energy and attention I should have used on something else.
Like dancing. Because look what happens when you accept a challenge. Time to face my fear of the next one, shed more layers, and do it.
Thursday, March 12, 2015
Trampoline Life
I am at an airport again, phone off, headphones on, thinking of sweet things to pick up for dear friends. It feels good -- this feeling of being zippered out of my life for a while, but keeping the zipper attached so I can fit myself back in. Maybe.
It is more accurate, I think, to say I am starting to feel like a trampoline gymnast. I do touch down, land, and land, and land again -- because gravity needs me to. But the real work, the real beauty and flight happens between the landings. The sins and flips, the turns, the mesmerizing views of a body spinning in space. This arc up and then down -- that is where the real life is happening. the landings are points to regroup, gather strength and pull on what I learned in my last flight before I launch myself again.
This. This is the life I want. A trampoline life. And if someday I can do it all while holding the hand of someone who loves to fly almost as much as he loves me -- all the better.
But right now, this moment-- I am breathing into this moment and the freedom of being so much on my own. No plans but those I make. No need to answer to anyone unless I choose to. It is the up side of loneliness -- this freedom. I am arcing down from my latest flight, having changed and expanded while I was in the in air, glancing down I see my base gently moving towards me. I will sink into it with gratitude and collect all my energy until I am ready for the next jump.
It is more accurate, I think, to say I am starting to feel like a trampoline gymnast. I do touch down, land, and land, and land again -- because gravity needs me to. But the real work, the real beauty and flight happens between the landings. The sins and flips, the turns, the mesmerizing views of a body spinning in space. This arc up and then down -- that is where the real life is happening. the landings are points to regroup, gather strength and pull on what I learned in my last flight before I launch myself again.
This. This is the life I want. A trampoline life. And if someday I can do it all while holding the hand of someone who loves to fly almost as much as he loves me -- all the better.
But right now, this moment-- I am breathing into this moment and the freedom of being so much on my own. No plans but those I make. No need to answer to anyone unless I choose to. It is the up side of loneliness -- this freedom. I am arcing down from my latest flight, having changed and expanded while I was in the in air, glancing down I see my base gently moving towards me. I will sink into it with gratitude and collect all my energy until I am ready for the next jump.
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