I'll Never..........Give Up!

I’m in a mood this morning.

It’s my own self-generated mood.  I feed the mood spoonful by spoonful.  I’ve kept it stoked on medium-fire for a few morning hours.  When I let myself wallow in self-pity or plain old sadness I find it easier, in the long run, to move through it and move on.

If I don’t think it through and repress all the garbage that goes with a mood, I eventually have to take the time to unravel the facts from my own made-up stories to move on anyway.  I might as well do the work while the stories I spin are fresh off the press.

I’ve been dating a man for a relatively short time, on and off.  I’ve been somewhat like a roller coaster with him.  I want to get to know him, I don’t want to get to know him.  I like him, but I don’t want to like him.  I say I’m not ready and then I change my mind and I want to see him and spend time with him.  

Honestly, I like him.  I’m attracted to him. 

We had a date planned for yesterday morning.  I was all pumped to see him.  Cleaned myself up, planned on skipping my swim at the YMCA and distracted myself until he was to arrive.   I planned on taking him to one of my favorite restaurants for lunch so I could to get to know him better.  

He didn’t arrive.  He didn’t call, text or anything.  I think that’s called being stood up.  I’m pretty sure I’ve been snubbed.  

Verb (used with object), snubbed, snubbing.

to check or stop suddenly (a rope or cable that is running out).

Initially, I felt like something unavoidable must have happened to him for him to not show up and not contact me.

“Maybe he got in a car accident.”  

“Maybe something happened to someone in his family.” 

“Maybe my phone is on mute.”

“Maybe I misunderstood the time.”

“Maybe he’s a figment of my imagination.”

Well….it’s Saturday, past noon.  I haven’t had any status update.  I guess that’s a good enough slam of reality for me.

What is my self-talk?  It’s too personal and teenage-like to write about at the moment.  I can tell you it starts out with self-degradation.  I’m not good enough.  I’m not attractive enough.  There are a lot of  “Never” statements. 

Once I’ve wallowed in lies for awhile, I did a reality check on the facts.

Cleansing of the Brain

I know none of my internal conversations are really true.   After time passes I come about-face from this rut of thinking and face who I am.

I have worth.  I have intelligence and I am good enough.  I have beauty.  Just as I am.  Maggie.  

He’s not good enough.  He didn’t show respect for me by calling to cancel or just to talk to me about what was going on.

To survive personal relationships it takes a life-long learning curve.  My strategies couldn’t possibly stay the same.  Especially when I’ve spent most of my life married.  I could slam the door on Harry and knew we’d be able to talk later and work things out.  Love kept the hinges oiled and the door on the hinges.     

Strategies have to evolve as I do, constantly.  Relationships with family members, with community members, with strangers and day to day interactions with people take a balance of hard work.  The strategies are as individual as the people and the situations.   

Swimming is one strategy I use often.  It seems to take the wrinkles out of my thinking. There were many others.  I had to have many others, I didn’t go to swim, yesterday, until 4:30 p.m.   

I walked two miles with my camera exploring the neighborhood.

I put some chicken in my crockpot.

I did some artwork on my rocks from Lake Huron.  

I read the local paper (every word but the obituaries),

I checked my email,

Checked my phone (way too many times)

Walked over to the apartment office and paid my rent.

Played my recorder.

Played my guitar.

Put down my yoga mat (listening to some soft music) got on the floor and slowly went through familiar stretches and breathing. 

I cried.   

When I get to the point where I humble myself, I’m on the up-swing.   The self-talk starts to change.   And I feel more powerful.

“I’m fallible.”

“I can find comfort somewhere within myself, I don’t have to feel this way.”

“I am powerful when I don’t let anyone else take my power away from me.”

“He’s not worth my time or emotions if he can’t communicate with me.”

“The only misunderstanding is I trusted him.”

It’s a new day.  I am wiser.  A bit wounded.

Visiting the Washtenaw Dairy always seems to make me feel needed and valued.

I listened to a woman tell me about her last day, this week, with her dog, Chester.  With tears in her eyes,  she shared her grief and love for her animal companion.  I listened and listened.  It didn’t matter what she relayed to me, it was the fact she was opening up and sharing and had someone to listen and empathize with her.  

I talked to a man who had two young girls with him.  He told me he was their driver’s education teacher.  He listened and laughed when I told him about Mr. Olson who use to take us to Hessel when we were practicing driving, so he could go into the hardware store there.

“I’ve been taking my students to the Washtenaw Dairy for thirty-five years, too!”  he chuckled in understanding, as he licked his large ice-cream cone, “they still love it and so do I.” 

One man emphatically explained to me a well known fact (as he sees it), “Democrats like to be told what to do and when to do it, but Republicans like the freedom to think for themselves.” 

 I’d never heard that take on the difference in political parties.   I thanked him for his perspective.  

I appreciate it when people feel comfortable verbalizing their views.  He wasn’t asking for me to agree or disagree with him.  He was taking his moment on the soapbox.  It’s the comfortable atmosphere in this establishment I love.

We Need More Free Speech!

Tomorrow I’ll probably get on the soapbox and tell all the women-haters at the table that I’m a man-hater.  It’s only fair.  Then we’ll discuss a myriad of other subjects, drink our coffee, have fun, laugh, enjoy the camaraderie and take time to think during the many moments of silence when everyone stares off into the distance.

Hell, I was brave enough to put myself out there in the dating world and allowed myself to feel vulnerable.  I’m alive and haven’t given up on the chance to find love.  I just hope I don’t get kicked in the stomach too many times. 

I may end up like Emily Dickinson living her life from inside her small living space and writing poetry. As Emily Dickinson got older she withdrew more and more from public life.  

But, I doubt it.  I’d have to leave society kicking before I’d shut myself off.  

I love This Visual

For now, though, I feel comfortable doing just that.  A bit of withdrawal into myself.  Not to write poetry, but to think.  Who am I?  What do I want?  How will I shake off the small negative events and return to my life as I live it day to day.

Anything is possible.