All I Can Say

#103: Two agreements

I suppose I can do better than show you some pictures of snow melting — although for a few days there, I really thought I could not do any better than that. I am leaving for Florida in a few days, so I'm afraid this study of the spring thaw will end before the snow is completely gone. Aren’t you relieved?

I have been reading The Four Agreements. Slowly. This little book, by Miguel Ruiz, requires time for digestion. Last week I ruminated over the first agreement, and this week I am concentrating on the second.

The first agreement is Be impeccable with your word. On the surface, this seems obvious, and maybe even easy to do: say what you mean, and keep your promises. But Ruiz has more in mind here, because by “your word” he means your unique power to interact with the world. To be impeccable with your word goes beyond just saying what you mean. I’ve been thinking about it, and for me, to be impeccable with my word means these things:

Be authentic
Be original
Be honest
Be fair
Be kind
Be sincere
Don’t exaggerate
Don’t dramatize
Don’t gossip
Don’t criticize
Don’t judge
Don’t hate

Ruiz talks about how we use our words to poison others, to create drama, to make ourselves feel less alone in our pain and fear. But if I could stick to these twelve rules, each of them so straightforward by themselves, I could eliminate all the negative impulses within me. I have strived to be this way, but I haven’t always been able to resist the pull of the negative. It’s very powerful.

The second agreement is Don’t take anything personally. Years ago I established this imperative for myself, but I can’t say that I live by it. I tend to take things far too personally, which is a reflection of just how self-centered I really am. To think that everything is about me is an entirely selfish worldview. Ruiz insists that nothing is ever about me, and I think he’s right. We all live in our own bubbles.

I know a woman who appears to have two temperatures: lukewarm and cold. When I first met her, she was lukewarm. Now whenever I run into her, she’s completely cold. Naturally I thought she hated me, that I had done or said something to offend her, but I had no idea what it could be. As time passed, I came to the realization that her disposition toward me had nothing to do with me at all. It was her attitude toward the world. And that made me have empathy for her, instead of hating her for hating me. I feel sad that she is living her life this way.

I know another woman who is always on the go. Whenever I run into her, she is so glad to see me, but always in a big hurry. She uses her children as a wedge, turning her attention away from me to chase after them, creating situations that need her immediate attention. For a long time I found our encounters unbelievably frustrating, because I wanted more, but it seemed as though she couldn’t wait to get away from me. She always had an exit strategy, an escape plan, and I eventually realized that this was not about me, either. It wasn’t me, specifically, that she was trying to avoid; it was intimacy. I started to see her in a tragic light too. She is so afraid of rejection, that she spends her days escaping every possibility of human interaction.

I understand this fear, the fear of being found out that I’m not what I project myself to be on the surface — that I’m less than perfect. At times in my life I have felt like a complete fraud. But that was me hating myself, agreeing with all the little negative messages I could tune into. Ruiz calls this hell. But his philosophy, so beautifully explained, offers a way out.

Be impeccable with your word. Don’t take anything personally. I am working with these two for now. More on this later.

#78: Things I could do...

to feel better on a bitter cold January day:

Stretch
Make soup
Go for a walk with a friend
Get a massage
...or a pedicure
...or microdermabrasion
Make a pitcher of margaritas
Drink a gallon of water
Invite some friends over
Eat exotic fruits
Start a book I won't be able to put down
Light a fire
Make a new playlist
Take a steam shower
Sign up for yoga
Slather on some lotion
Shave my legs
Order that cashmere from Garnet Hill
Spray myself with Static Guard
Paint
Line up a babysitter
Go rug shopping
Buy some shearling slippers
Turn the heat up
Boil a soup kettle of water into the ether
Organize my closet
Mop the kitchen floor
Greet kids off the bus
Bake chocolate chip cookies
Plan a dinner party
Write a letter
Go shoe shopping
Visit a tanning booth (oh, as perilous
  as crack!)
Go to one of those makeup boutiques
  and GET SOME HELP
Watch Best in Show, yet again 
Look through some photo albums
Research San Fransisco/Sonoma
Plan girl’s trip to Chicago
Listen to N sing
Play PIG with G
Drink some fine Pinot with JH
Blog

#74: Not trying to be oblique

I’ve been trying to figure out how to clarify yesterday’s post. The feedback, public and private, suggests that we’ve all heard enough of my whining. And Sky wonders what “it” is when I say I never believed I deserved it.

It all depends on what your definition of “is” is.

No no no. Bill Clinton can be of no use here, but that ridiculously oblique remark of his seems to come up a lot for some reason. I say it to myself all the time when I need to lighten up a bit.

“It” is my best. “It” is fabulous. I aim for fabulous, but then I back away from it, as m lindsey correctly observes. Why? Because I don’t believe I deserve it. Why? A lack of self-worth? Just guessing. That’s at the core of all that’s unfulfilled in my life. Why? It just is.

It’s always been clear to me that I am extremely fortunate to have all that I have. Believe me, I know. I ask you to bear with me as I continue to process my ever-changing role as a mother, how I feel about how I spend my days, the constant fluctuations of how much I am needed, and how much I allow for myself.

More mumbo jumbo psycho babble. You can see why I am drawn to writing about my children, who are so clear and direct in their intentions and responses. 

So in an attempt to be clear and direct (if irrelevant to the topic), here are two things I can say for certain: Life is short; and I am infinitely adaptable.

#73: Orhan Pamuk and Stuart Smalley

"Why aren’t you blogging anymore?" JH asked me last night. My answer had to do with a lack of time lately, which is part of it, but I think it’s equally a lack of inspiration. With me, writing just because just goes nowhere.

Real writers, the professionals, sit down and write every day, like a job. Whether they feel inspired or not, they just do it, and ultimately their efforts yield something. A great deal of the work might get scrapped in the process, but through the discipline of writing every day, real writers uncover kernels of truth and turn them into art.

My method is to go about my life, observing, cataloging and making connections. I might walk around for days with something brewing inside that I eventually turn into a blog posting. Many of the posts here have been rattling around in my brain for years. Just things I think about.

The question is why would anybody care? The things I choose to write about seem so esoteric to me. At my best, I might manage to express something universal, but lately I find I am often recounting stories about my kids — all the rich things they’re saying and doing — and possibly exploiting them. Which worries me. True: they are the central part of my life, and the relationship between mother and child is something everyone can identify with, in one role or the other, or in both roles. It’s natural for me to write about that. But I wonder if my problem is that I’m plodding along here, ushering my children through their lives, and meanwhile failing to invent one for myself.

Maybe the question is not whether I am writing, but whether I am really living.

Orhan Pamuk, in his 2006 Nobel lecture, My Father’s Suitcase, said these things on writing and being a writer:

“A writer is someone who spends years patiently trying to discover the second being inside him, and the world that makes him who he is…it is the person who shuts himself up in a room, sits down at a table, and, alone, turns inward. Amid his shadows, he builds a new world with his words.”

“To write is to transform that inward gaze into words, to study the worlds into which we pass when we retire into ourselves, and to do so with patience, obstinacy, and joy.”

“For me, to be a writer is to acknowledge the secret wounds that we carry inside us, wounds so secret that we ourselves are barely aware of them, and to patiently explore them, know them, illuminate them, own them, and make them a conscious part of our spirit and our writing.”

It’s not new to me, this idea that it requires an endless fund of patience, courage and resolve to be a writer, and often a normal, contented life for yourself is the price you pay. I’m aware of what it takes, and I don’t know that I am that kind of writer. Is it a cop out to say, a la Stuart Smalley, "and that’s...o-kay”?

It feels just like what obstructs me from deciding what I want to achieve by working out. I devote considerable time to this, but I don’t reach any goals…I don’t ever set any goals. My friend A said that we should always try to be our best, and she’s absolutely right; there’s no shame, no egotism in that. But I never believed I deserved it.

#67: New years goals

I’ve never been very good at making New Years resolutions and I suspect it’s because my nature is too contrary to fall in line with this sort of "required" exercise. Also, I can't bear insincere promises; when I set a goal for myself, I need to really feel it to make it happen. But in truth there are so many different areas of my life that could stand some overhaulin', maybe the problem is where to start.

One thing I know I want to pay attention to this year is my energy consumption. That's something I believe in very much. The viability of our planet is at stake and I want to diminish my personal contribution to the problem. So I'll drive less, put on a sweater, turn lights off and stop thinking of anything as disposable.

I want to have more fun with my family. Sometimes I can see that as the family’s general contractor, I miss out on a lot of the potential joy we can have together. I’m focused on maintaining order and equanimity. I keep the schedule running and the household humming, and I’m operating on an entirely different level than the one on which real stuff happens. I could improve every member of my family’s quality of life with this one.

Something I've been thinking about for a long time but haven't acted on: I’d like to get involved in a Habitat for Humanity project. Having a comfortable home of my own is absolutely essential for my wellbeing, and I know how rewarding it would be, even in a small way, to help someone else achieve that.

I’d like to earn some money this year, and the best way to do that is to start a business offering writing services. The sequel to this one is that I want to spend less money. I buy things we don’t need all the time, and I think buying is often a response to boredom. We have so much already. What more could we possibly need?

I could say that I want to lose 10 pounds this year, but that seems so trivial and egocentric in comparison to these others. I’m already at a normal weight and I exercise regularly. My cholesterol is low. My blood pressure is low. My resting heart rate is low. I’m fine, even if I’m far, far from perfect. Here again, my contrary nature refuses to buy into our cultural idea of perfection. No, I don’t feel any true purpose in losing 10 pounds. Although, if it somehow happened magically, I wouldn't exactly be distraught.

So this seems like plenty to cut my teeth on this year. I hope the fact that I have written it all down in this rather public way will keep me attentive to these goals. It goes without saying (or maybe it doesn't since I feel the need to say it) that maintaining this blog is a goal for 2007 too, and I hope it's obvious that I feel it.