Ordinary

I am sitting drinking coffee listening to a song my daughter wrote this week.



The title of the song, is the title of this post. She wrote this song as she goes through the difficult process of ending a difficult relationship. She is so far away. She is right here in her Dad's and my heart. He is weeping, I am weeping. She is so far from ordinary.

Leo Tolstoy wrote "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." This is true also of relationships.

I keep thinking back on Elizabeth Kubler-Ross's 5 stages of grief in her book On Death and Dying. I read it when I was 17, after my father had died. I refer to it often: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I don't think they have to come in necessarily that order. Denial is the first, acceptance is the last, but I think the individual may work through the other three in different order. She is angry. I think this is her fourth stage before acceptance.

And then this quote from Tale of Two Cities: Dickens writes, "A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imagining, a secret to the heart nearest it!"

We can never truly know what is going on in someone else's heart, and vice-versa. That is the profound sadness of the human condition. Despite sharing this planet with 7 billion others, we are essentially alone.

We are alone, but not ordinary. None of us are ordinary.

We are all extraordinary.

What would your life look like if you walked in the knowledge of all of us being extraordinary?

Maybe we wouldn't feel so alone.

Maybe we would change the world.

Betwixt and Between

I have a feeling I have written a post before with this title. But that is how I am feeling today. Betwixt and Between. Unsettled, anxious, nervous, tired, but also feeling like I want to get going. I want to do something, paint something, fix something, go somewhere.

Spring is coming, slowly. One step forward, two steps back. The cottonwood tree outside my kitchen nook window is budding, everyday its progress is noticeable. Same with the apple tree. Soon the chickadees will be able to hide in all its foliage, without being exposed to my prying eyes.

The house is cold. I seek out hot tubs and saunas more than a couple of times a week. Just to get warm. And stay warm.

I feel like I am reaching out, but no-one is reaching back. It isn't true in reality, but it is how I feel. I have put myself out there, put some thoughts out there, and nothing. I realize that I am putting myself out there in cyberspace, and it is a wake-up call to put myself out there in the real world.
The real world.

So I think I will fix something, and paint something and go somewhere. Afterall, once the crossword is done, the dishes are done, and the bed is made there is nothing to stop me.

Ya, it is that kind of day.
Betwixt and Between.

Best Friends

I have been pondering this term for a while. Lots of people I know designate someone as their best friend. I suppose it starts in elementary school, or high school, or maybe even pre-school. Best friends change. Best friends come and go. Best friends are different for different parts of my life. My husband is my best friend. My friend from grade school is my best friend. My sister is my best friend. My friend from my first year of teaching in my best friend. My friend from my last year of teaching is my best friend. To me, a best friend may be someone I don't see often, but when I do we can just pick up where we left off. I think I have a few best friends. Is that weird?

On the flip side I know that sometimes, irrationally, my feelings are hurt when someone I consider to be very close to announces that someone else is their best friend. I want to be their best friend. Are we only allowed one best friend? That would be silly. Right?

I have been learning to be my own best friend. Someone I can count on when the chips are down. But I have lots of best friends who I can count on for different needs in my life.

This past summer I read Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities. I actually have a lot to say about this book. Most of it uncomplimentary. And I have an opinion about it being on the high school reading syllabus. But. There was this one paragraph that truly stuck with me.

"A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imagining, a secret to the heart nearest it!"

Somehow this passage truly spoke to me. If, when, I feel so alone, it is because I am. And I am glad that I have some best friends to share some of my secrets with and in those moments don't feel so alone. Maybe if we all made room for more best friends we all would feel better. At least a little. At least some of the time.

hello? Is anyone there?

Sometimes this is how I feel. Like no one is home. Like I am not at home. Like no one gets me. Sometimes this is how I feel. Lonely.

I have no reason to feel lonely. My loneliness is self-inflicted. My loneliness stems from not feeling understood, or more precisely, from wishing others would understand. Maybe these two things are one and the same. I don't know.

I do know that I wish those around me would take responsibility and act, well, like grown-ups. But, then, I know that grown-ups have often disappointed me in their actions so clearly that is not the answer either.

I guess what I really want is that people take responsibility for what is bothering them. And, yes, I am listening to myself here, too. But still, it has been a day of people telling me about things they are worried about, or pissed off about, or upset about, but they won't DO anything about it. I am tired of talking and listening to the same issues over and over. Speak up. Write a letter. Tell someone that you are 'mad as hell and not going to take it anymore'.

Maybe it is because I am teaching about revolutions and trade unions, and listening to the idealism of 14 year olds. When they are mad about something they let me know. I like that. They let me know.

So, I am letting myself know. You don't have to take this anymore. Draw the line in the sand, and stand your ground.

And, really, while I am writing this, all I can think about is my dear, dear friend whose blog said today - My son is dead. Every day she lives with those four words.
I have nothing to complain about that begins to compare with those four words.

I need to call her tomorrow, email her tonight, and make a date for tea. I need to put everything into perspective.