A Blue Streak and The Hardest Word

Did it make him feel better, I wonder, to speed off in his blue pickup without telling me goodbye? I suppose it gives one a sense of power to be the one to run – to turn his back on or otherwise avoid an undesirable situation. I imagined him driving away muttering a, “Whew! That was close!” to himself, or banging the steering wheel with an exclamation of “Yes!” in victory over me.

Before that moment I imagined a different ending. I thought he might pull me aside sometime during our visit to say he was sorry too and we could share a hug, say we’ll do better and move forward. But that silent departure showed me that he would rather stew, rather hold onto that hurt and that grudge – keep it alive, keep nursing it and letting it grow. If I had managed to catch him before he sped off, I just would have hugged him. I wouldn’t have asked for anything more, but I suppose even that was more than he could give.

It is interesting to me at the number of people I know who cannot muster an apology. Part of being emotionally strong and intelligent is recognizing that you are not perfect. I have never met a perfect person. I have no trouble with apologies and I don’t hang on to what I deem as wrongdoings by others. I’ve said I was sorry to him more than once. It is up to him to accept it and realize his conduct was not exemplary either and respond similarly. But that obviously won’t happen. The utterance of the words “I’m sorry” is to him a mark of weakness rather than emotional strength. It is a gloomy situation and one that will carry on in a fog of anger, unhappiness and disappointment until he decides to clear it.

I am told to give it time – he will come around. What if my plane had crashed on the return trip home? What if I die tomorrow? Would his cold shoulder bring him comfort then? Tomorrows are not guaranteed any of us, so if I can offer advice from this experience it is that apologies, peace and forgiveness should be part of your emotional repertoire now. We shouldn't wait or postpone forgiveness because it's momentarily uncomfortable. And "sorry" should not be the hardest word.

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Necessary Chaos

My theory is simple. You must have chaos to sustain life. I'm not quoting Jeff Goldblum here although I do recall his Jurassic Park explanation made sense to me at the time. I know it had to do with chaos being essential to life, evolution, natural selection and all that. One look at my life and you will see that it is fully immersed in chaos; miles, eons away from perfect and orderly. Almost everything about it is wild, disheveled, and unkempt, clean down to my hair. I’ll never have neat hair. These curls will never be tamed no matter how much I pay someone to fix them and try to make me look polished. It just isn’t going to happen. It seems as though the universe is opposed to my having order in my life. A synchronized schedule, path, orbit, clean house, neat as a pin yard, car, hair; these things elude me.

Just tonight, I wanted to write a song. I sang it over and over on my drive home from work. I didn’t have my little recorder with me, so I tried hard to burn it into my mind through repetition. I pictured how it might go: the musicians collaborating, the recording session where everyone loves it, the radio play, the record label, the house in the hills. But I walked in the door and couldn’t find my notebook to write down the lines of the chorus. I settled for a quick scribble in my sketch pad, and then I had to get my son to bed. Of course he did not want to go. We gently rocked to the Beatles in his dark room. He nursed and fell asleep. When I tried to lay him down, he popped up, too tired to sleep, and cried a bit. The chaos in his little mind was making him restless. He tossed and kicked. I lay down with him and patted his back until he settled for a position on his stomach and found sleep. I looked down at his closed eyes and was reminded how precious and rare these little moments are.

So what if my hair is a mess and I can’t remember my hit single now. This is the good stuff. This is what I live for.

The Need for Words

Why do people blog? What is a blog anyway? A web log, okay. Who's going to read it? Who coined that word, "blog" I wonder? Does it stem more from a need to connect or to be heard? For me it will be an excuse to come up with a topic and write about it -- kind of an exercise for myself. A stretch and a little finger walking I hope will do me good. I won't be writing a journal here or posting pictures or recipes. (Hmm, at least I don't think so now; I reserve the right to change my mind and content at any time.) This will be mostly bits and pieces of whatever is on my mind. Maybe once in a while, I may even manage to say something interesting. We'll see how it goes. This is an experiment. I imagine myself a writer, but I don't actually write a fraction of what's required to earn that title. Here's hoping a little routine writing will get me closer to who I think I am, or want to be.