Making Memories

Yesterday I thought to peruse a blog that two of my friends follow.  The entry was about the ancient art of making mixed tapes.  Back in the day, this is what we did for people with whom we wanted to share a bit of ourselves.  It would take hours of fiddling and frustration to get the songs in just the right order and sounding good. 

Today, oddly enough, I received a mixed tape from a friend.  Well, a CD, actually, but same difference.  It had been promised a while ago but due to technical difficulties, I just received it, very appropriately, today.  Having just read Cabo's blog, I think it made me appreciate it even more.  For this is not just a CD with "high octane" tunes, it's a memory in the making.

For instance, a few months ago a friend of mine moved and found a mixed tape I'd made for him ca. 1995.  I'd completely forgotten that I'd made it so he sent me a list of songs, which went like this:
SOFT
Darkening of the Light - Concrete Blonde
Bleed a Little While - Lowest of the Low
Damn Your Eyes - Sinead O'Connor
Pretty - The Cranberries
Bizarre Love Triangle - Frente
Path of Thorns (Terms) - Sarah McLaughlin
At My Funeral - Crash Test Dummies
Tiny Little Song - Barenaked Ladies

NOT SOFT
Big Time Sensuality - Bjork
Breakin' Up - Violent Femmes
Plush - Stone Temple Pilots
About a Girl - Nirvana
Killing in the Name - Rage Against the Machine
Jesus Built My Hotrod - Ministry
Animal - Front 242

Just reading the song titles and artist names brought back fantastic memories of him and that particular time in my life.  It was also a curious exercise to look back and try to remember why I picked those songs and why I put them in that order.  What message was I trying to convey?  Or were they simply just songs I liked at the time?

I was a great lover of mixed tapes.  I made many and made them joyfully -- and received them equally so.  I still have all the mixed tapes (and CDs) I was ever given -- and yes, I still have a means with which to play them.

Of course, the art of making a mixed tape has since been usurped by the evolution of technology.  It is so much simpler now to burn a CD using digital music on a computer.  But I think we all still love getting a mixed tape, even if it is a CD.  The sharing of music is the sharing of oneself: I like this. I hope you like it, too.  It lets the listener discover new things about the person who made the tape and often opens the door of discovery, challenging the listener to broaden their musical repertoire, their ideas and themselves.

So thank you to everyone who has ever made me a mixed tape, for sharing a part of yourselves and your lives with me.  And for making memories.

"Hope is a Waking Dream" - Aristotle

It's helping, this new way of thinking.  I am beginning to see the light and that very small glimmer of hope.  Hope.  Now that I've said it, I realize that I've been without it for a very long time.  With any luck, it will actually stick around because I quite like the feeling that there's even a small chance that things will improve.  Those of you who have ever felt hopeless will understand what I mean and those who have not are truly blessed to have never been there.

I think today actually began on Saturday and built up to the present.  I've spent so much time over the past few days with dear friends who let me be myself, which was imperative to starting the change.  The fact that these friends are uniquely qualified to make me laugh is also crucial.  So starting off in a good mood certainly spawned the movement.  This was then followed by a very good chat last night (see yesterday's post) all of which allowed me to free myself today to doing things for myself.  Not that I really accomplished anything inspiring (laundry, watered and pruned my houseplants) but I did everything because I wanted to do it.  I certainly needed to do laundry and the plants needed watering but today I did those things without being tormented by the monstrous Shadow of Ought.  It my seem trivial but for me it was monumental, enlightening and motivating. It was a glorious change for me and truly felt like today was a brand new day. 

Now if only I can keep this up for the rest of my life -- or even just a series of tomorrows. 

Thinking of Me

Following a nice chat I had tonight, I concluded that a large part of my unhappiness and unproductiveness comes from the fact that I don't do enough for myself.  The theory goes that I would be much better at getting things done if I was actually inspired to do them for myself instead of for others.  There is obviously enough rebel in me that if someone tells me do something, or insinuates that I ought to, then I won't do it.  The theory applies to everything from tidying the house to finding a career.  In order for me to want to accomplish anything, I need to really want to do it for myself.

The trouble is that I spend most of my time taking care of everyone else.  This is what I do and this is what I'm good at and while I quite enjoy doing it, it doesn't leave me much time to do much for me.  I don't spend enough time thinking about me and what I want.  I think if I did that and could figure out what I wanted, I could probably take a step or two towards making it happen.

I actually stumbled upon a version this idea a few years ago when I took my first ever holiday by myself.  For almost a week I ceased to be anyone's mother or wife and I was just me.  It was a glorious time and I decided to take steps to ensure that I didn't forget who "Me" was.  I made a grand list of things I wanted to do and things I wanted to change and I even got a tattoo to always remind myself that I mustn't ever forget who I am.

While I have gotten better about remembering who I am amidst the loving chaos of family life, I obviously haven't been doing enough to really discover who I am and what I want out of life.  I must make a more concerted effort to make time for myself and think about myself, my wants, my needs and my desires. I need to marinate myself in dreams, as my therapist said and, I now realize, I must also marinate myself in me. 

And maybe get another tattoo...

There'e No Place Like Home

Today is my last day at home.  Tomorrow I shall pack up my children and our belongings and head home. It amazes me that statements like this no longer confuse my children but it seems they have figured out that I have two homes.  One is in Canada, where my family resides, although my parents no longer live in the house I lived in with them.  Nonetheless, this general part of the GTA is still home to me.  This is the home of the heart.  My other home is the house in which I currently live.  That home is nomadic and is the home of my belongings and my life and changes rather frequently.  The children, and probably anyone else who knows me, know that when I am at my house and talk of going home, it means Canada.  If I am in Canada and talk of going home, it means I am going to my house.

Now that I think of it, I also have a third home, which is in BC.  This is where I grew up and although it has been many, many years since I lived there, it still holds a piece of my heart.  When I see the mountains my spirits soar and I feel like I can breathe again.

I wonder if my children will ever have anywhere they can call home.  My son is 10 and has lived in 4 cities in 3 countries.  My daughter is 8 and has lived in 3 cities in 2 countries.  They have lived longest in the US but they are not US citizens, so what currently feels like home to them is not a place they can choose to live in without great amounts of time, effort and money put into settling mundane beurocracy.  And should the US be the place they choose to call home when they are older, it is likely not the place they will find their parents.

We have not made "home" a simple concept for our children and sometimes I wonder if they will ever have a sense of "home".  I hope they do, because it is always refreshing to have a place to go home to - to regroup, reconnect, recollect and rejoice - no matter where it is.

To Change or Not to Change?

I am struggling with the concept of change.  There are many kinds of change and I like to think of myself as a master of many.  To begin with, I move with my husband and two children every 3 years or so.  This in itself necessitates many changes: country, city, house, school, friends, stores, cars, and a general way of life.  I like to think that I deal with these kinds of change quite well.  But recently I have become aware that despite all these external changes that I have learned to conquer over the years, there is one change I am loathe to consider: changing myself.

It has been recently and frequently drawn to my attention, in many different ways, that there are parts of me that are not, perhaps, ideal.  I have been adament about not changing anything about myself simply because someone else tells me to.  I do not believe I should change myself to please someone else. In fact, this is one of my fundamental core beliefs: if you don't like me for who I am then tough shit.  I also fundamentally do not believe that what I do is a reflection of who I am.  I don't believe that being a poor housekeeper does not make me a bad person any more than working a 16-hour a day job makes one a good person.  As the joke goes: sitting in a church every week doesn't make a person a Christian any more than sitting in a garage makes a person a car.

But what if I'm wrong?  What if changing some parts of myself and my behaviour would actually benefit me in the long run?  What if these other people are right and they just see that I can be a better - or at least more productive - person than I currently am?

So I am torn.  Lately I have lost enough self-confidence to start thinking that maybe I should work on improving myself.  But where is the line between changing for someone else and changing to improve yourself (at someone else's suggestion)?    

Hugs

I love hugs.  Proper hugs.  Not the fake, superficial kind of hugs but good, full-frontal, squeeze-me-tight-and-show-me-that-you-care hugs.  Love those.

I come from a hugging culture.  Where I grew up everyone hugged everyone all the time.  In some countries, people shake hands but where I'm from, people hug.  At least my generation do.  The older ones probably shake hands.  But I hug.  And I miss it.  And I miss living in a place where hugging is commonplace and hugs are given, received and exchanged on a regular basis.

So next time you see me, hug me tight & show me that you care.

Friendship Immersion

I am immersing myself in friendship and it is fantastic.  My two children and myself have come "home" for a 5-day visit.  We are staying with my parents but my main goal is to spend as much time with my friends as is humanly possible.  The wonderful thing about the friends I have here is that they have been my friends for a long, long time.  We have passed that magical point where we have known each other longer than we have not.  Although all the new friends I have are precious and although I will cherish any new friends I will make in the future, nothing can replace a friendship that has lasted more than half a lifetime.

So when I come "home" I spend as much time with my friends as I can (balanced, of course, with spending time with my family).  Today I spent a couple of hours with one of my best guy friends.  Tomorrow I'll be spending the day with my best girlfriend, her sister and all our respective children.  The following day will be spent with my two best girlfriends, our children and a few of our nieces. Then one last day with the girlfriend(s) before we head back to our house again.  It's going to be fabulous!

The best part of all is that after only a day here, I feel so much better already.  I can feel a wee bit of energy coming back and I am beginning to feel like that big cloud that has been hanging over me is starting to dissipate.  The world is starting to seem a bit brighter and I am starting to feel a bit lighter.  I can only hope that after 4 more days spent immersed in the presence of those people I love and cherish I will be well on my way to mending myself.

A friend of mine said the other day that he was in pieces, but at least they were all within view.  I have been in pieces for the past month but couldn't find any of them. My friends have helped me find the pieces and with any luck, I'll be able to start putting myself back together soon.

That's What Friends are For

Today I spent 6 hours driving in the car to visit my family in Canada, which gave me lots of time to think and reflect upon many things that have transpired over the past few days.  What I realized was that despite - or rather because of - the recent insanity and emotional upheaval in my world, I have been spending a lot of time this week talking to a few very special people I like to call friends.

For the past few weeks I was so miserable that I was unable to really talk to anyone about what was going on.  My husband suggested on Saturday, when I was in the depths of despair, that I call my best friend and talk to her.  I did, but she wasn't home.  She was where I would have rather been: collecting sap in the sugar bush with 3 small children and a heavily tattooed man.  Just as well, because I doubt I would have been able to carry on a coherent conversation.  When I did finally talk to her a few days later, we had a wonderful conversation that did me a world of good.

The following day I had a spontaneous lunch date with another girlfriend who is going through her own emotional and physical upheaval as she struggles through the semantics of divorce.  I hadn't had a chance to have a good talk in ages so it was fabulous to be able to air all of our cumulative grievances and offer each other a listening ear, a word of support and a big hug.

Yesterday, when the shit hit the fan at my house, I felt so incredibly blessed to have two other good friends with me via text and in person all day and all night long.  I find it even more interesting that these friends - who, luckily, are also neighbours - are people I have not known very long but with whom I have become very close very quickly.  And thank God for that!  There were innumerable text messages all day long, followed by a visit to my house and then the offer of refuge and a bottle of wine at their house.  They listened to me, offered words of wisdom, hugs and, most importantly, they made me laugh.

These friends have all shared with me their own personal battles as well.  I realized that I am only able to share my troubles with those whom I know have troubles of their own.  It seems almost counterintuitive to burden those who already have issues with my dilemmas, but then I believe that because they are able to trust me by sharing with me their problems - however major or minor they may be - I feel I am then, in turn, able to share my stories with them.  I know they will listen and I know they will understand.

Most of the time I feel very alone, even when I am surrounded by people.  This week has proved to me that I really do have people in my life -- and even in my neighbourhood -- who really do care about me.  I hope they understand how much it means to me that they are there.

Anger

I got angry today.  My therapist would be pleased.  I'm surprised.  I am not familiar with anger.  Yes, I get angry with my children every now and then but that is generally frustration that gets expressed as anger.  This was a different anger and anger is certainly not what I do.  More often than not, when things do not go right, when my expectations are not met, when I find things out of reach or beyond my control I get sad.  Sadness is what I do (althought lately, it's been despair).

The other day there was an incident at home with our exchange student which really made me hit rock bottom.  The only way to protect myself and my emotional well-being was to conciously decide not to care anymore.   So I decided I no longer cared what he thought of me.

And let me tell you: it is SO much easier to be angry with someone and tell them exactly what you think when you don't care what they think of you.  I had nothing to lose so I could put it all out there   I don't think I've ever don't that before.  I can't say I enjoyed it and I'm still not settled (there are still some issues that need to be discussed) and I am rather burnt out by the whole emotional turmoil of it all, but I have learned something.  Namely, that I care too much about other people.  I care too much about their feelings and about their opinions of me.  I am a being too social for my own good.

Obviously I can't go around not caring about everyone but I can see that anger is not such a bad thing when it allows me to open up and say what I think.  I guess balance is the key.  I don't want to be angry all the time but maybe it's better than being sad all the time.  I don't know what to make of all of this but I'm learning.  It's exhausting and unsettling to experience all these new feelings but with any luck I'll come out of it a more well-balanced person who can get angry at people that I like and care about.

A Little Bit of Positivity

Just when I thought I wouldn't be able to continue on this emotional roller coaster much longer without being heavily medicated, something positive happened.  I'm not sure that I'm off the roller coaster, but at least we've stopped to let people on & off.  A little bit of positivity has infected me. In fact, I am near bursting with pride because this morning my son had his first cello performance at school.  He is in 4th grade and has been learning cello at school since September. 

Now, this in itself is not that exciting.  Nor is a 4th grade orchestra performance all that exciting.  What makes it so exciting is that our son has an anxiety disorder called "situational mutism".  Basically, certain situations make him so anxious that he physically shuts down and unable to speak or move.  It's not a choice, it's a reaction.  For him, school is what causes him the most anxiety.  He did not speak a word to his kindergarten teacher(s) or participate in class for the entire school year - other than doing written work.  He couldn't.  Even after he began participating in class and speaking to his teachers, he still had a lot of trouble doing things that put him in a position where people would notice him (reading aloud, presenting, performing, etc).  However, thanks to an amazing therapist and some really supportive friends and teachers, our son has slowly been "coming out of his shell". 

So, for him to be on a stage, front and centre with a hundred or so strangers looking at him is incredible.  For him to then participate while he was up there, playing his instrument and singing along with the class is beyond anything we could have dreamed of.  He was amazing today and I am so immeasurably proud.

Which is just what I needed.