My Dark Night

One of my favorite quotes is from American Beauty: ….but it’s hard to stay mad, when there’s so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once, and it’s too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst…

These last few days, weeks, months, I am not seeing the beauty. I am seeing the sadness, so much so my heart threatens to burst from it. I don’t watch TV because I don’t need all that pain but sometimes the pain just seeps in anyway. My cute baby boy Aaron is 27 on Monday. I had such high hopes and dreams for him but what difference did all my parenting do? I worked so hard to help and fix my bright little boy but I was fighting a fight that’s bigger than me. He’s still a drug addict. Just like his daddy and his granddaddy was and now my ex is raising two more. I watch as my brother struggles with his demons and I can’t do anything about it – but love him. Still, sometimes it’s just so overwhelming, it gets to me…and I find myself saying “What’s the point?” “What will it matter in a million years?’ “Who will even notice?”

This morning I was raging at god, beating him up like a plastic karate doll. You know the kind that you put water into the bottom so no matter how many times you punch and kick it, the doll pops back up to be kicked again. ” I don’t f*ing deserve this! I’m a good person. It’s not fair! Why me? Why so much pain? Where are my loving parents? Where’s my safe place? When can I finally relax and breathe? I am so tired of being strong. Today... I just want to cry.

These days I know enough to suit up and show up so I did. I slogged through my day. I went to my meeting tonight and admitted my darkness. Put it all out on the table for everyone to see. Then I hung out with my good friends – the ones that are there even when you’re grumpy – and got into my car to go home.

As I was pulling onto the freeway, a woman came running at my car. Her little SUV was on the side of the road – they had run out of gas. She was with another woman and there was a small child in the back seat. They asked if they could borrow my cellphone to call the woman’s husband and instead I pulled out my spare gas can – the one I carry because my gas gauge quit working- and the woman’s eyes got real big. “Oh my god, thank you! Oh my GOD she has a gas can!, she called to her friend.” ” We’re almost home, the next exit down. Oh my god, thank you.” They were so cute and excited and we got the gas into their car. The woman thanked me in Spanish and I gave her a hug. The little boy in the back seat peeking out in his PJs. It took a few tries but the car started up and I followed them to the next exit and watched as they went home.

Watching their taillights driving away my eyes welled up in tears as I realized ….there is so much beauty in the world.

You can't get enough of what you don't need

Ram Dass was quoted as saying that pain is our separation from god and addiction is our quest for god. Problem is that the addiction - whether it be love, gambling, drugs or work - addiction has a certain duration while our connection with god is who we are, where we came from and where we are going.

If this were true, why would anyone turn away from god?

I think that before we were here we were with god - whatever form that comes in. There were no blinders on our eyes. Our connection with god was never in doubt. We were connected. Then, once we came into this body, our experience became physical and if I am physical then my god must be physical too. So, where is he. If I can not see him in front of me like I see my brother, then maybe he doesn't exist. Instead our ego kicks in and he think we are awesome. And we are. But not more awesome than god.

Then things do wrong or life just happens and there is pain. The ego shrieks out - I didn't ask for pain! Even good pain - the pain of growth - hurts. When the environment is supporting and loving, this pain can be dealt with. When the environment is dysfunctional, the pain becomes overwhelming and we search for relief.

My pain became overwhelming when I was 13 and my mom was murdered. I officially gave up on god and fired him. He was doing a crap job and I could do better on my own.

At 13 I had not had a sexual experience. Sexuality was never spoken about as "healthy" only as "bad". My naked body was shamed and covered neck to ankle. I was taught that masturbation was bad and had never had an orgasm. I think all of this avoidant behavior plus overwhelming pain made me a prime candidate for love addiction - or at least love distraction.

Just four months after my mom's death, I ran into a 21 year old guy that thought I was special. He had blonde feathered hair and tight big bells and he seemed "bad" enough to know how to "do it", which we proceeded to do on the floor of my parents bedroom. I can still remember the rug burns on my back side.

Sex was fun and I'd never felt anything so amazingly wonderful. I wanted to feel like that all the time. It filled my body with fun hormones and the pain of real life faded for a little while. The calm afterglow of sex was as close to heaven as I had ever felt.

Since I had never felt like that before, I attributed this great new flood of hormones to this guy. I kept him around longer than I would have otherwise. At 14, it was the closest to god that I had ever felt. Problem was, the feeling faded, I realized the guy was just a guy and I was left in the pain again.

Left to find god another way.

Why Struggle?

My favorite analogy of life is the flowing stream.

It is calm and peaceful and gently ends up at the ocean. I can choose to swim in it, play in it, float along in it, enjoy it or I can try to fight against it and swim upstream.

Of all the choices above; which one do you do most of the time?

For some reason, my default option is to swim upstream.

It reminds me of the annual salmon run. Every year the salmon swim upstream, back to the place of their birth, to lay their eggs. I remember seeing videos of the salmon jumping into the air, using all their energy, to get through the rapids and finally reach their home. It's an incredible, sometimes impossible and ultimately futile feat. Many of the salmon die in the journey but the ones that make it are then able to lay their eggs and die.

So, if it's such a futile task to fight the current, why do I end up there?

I've thought of a few reasons:

Martyr - The Martyr finds a false sense of nobility and significance in the pain. It's a safe way to get connection when what's really sought after is love. Also, this pain is not what I call "good pain". Good pain is when you are stretching and growing. This pain is "stuck" pain; pain that's meant to get you moving but instead you choose to live here. I wasted a lot of years in the "stuck pain".

I can do it/Ego - I didn't have anyone I could count on so I learned to do it all myself. I can't ask for help - that would be admitting weakness and also open me up to rejection. This also is a safe "connection" with self when what's really sought is love.

Fired God - When I was 13 I fired God. He was doing a horrible job with my life and surely I could do better than this slop. God's not doing it quick enough, good enough or the right way.

There are other variations on the above themes - but these seem to be the core issues.

Ultimately, for me, it comes down to this: Trust

I heard a story about a man that asked Mother Teresa to help him pray for clarity. She would not. Taken aback, and a bit put off, he asked her why not. Her response was along the lines of; she never had clarity but she had fully trusted in God.

Today, if I am trusting God, I am enjoying the soft sun on my face as I flow down the river of life on my inner tube.

If I am struggling, and trying to swim upstream, I have fallen back into my painful old habits of fighting god's will for me. I'm not sure why I fight. God's gonna win. He/She always does.

What are you choosing today? Can you let go of the struggle? Can you humble yourself before god, or the stream, or your higher power, or the universe? Do you have to be knocked down on your knees again or can you, instead, choose to go willingly? What do you choose now?

The Little Cucumber

Once upon a time there was a perky little cucumber. She was cute and fresh and crunchy and unafraid. She was the perfect little cucumber.

When it was time to go home with her parents she was plucked from the vine and they all went home to their vat of brine.

The little cucumber didn't like the brine. It was dark and scary, there was yelling and fights and the bitterness made it hard to breathe. The little cucumber really wanted to make her parents proud of her so she didn't complain. She learned to accept the brine as the way it was. The little cucumber made her parents laugh and did great at school and never talked about the bitter brine that they lived in.

The little cucumber thought all cucumbers lived in a dark, bitter, harsh vat of brine.

The little cucumber had a best friend named Randi. The other cucumbers picked on Randi because she wore glasses but the little cucumber protected her and they became friends.

One weekend Randi invited the little cucumber to spend the night. When the little cucumber got to Randi's house the little cucumber was surprised to find that Randi lived in the sunshine. It was happy and bright and easy to breathe at Randi's house. Randi's mom made souffles and she let the girls watch TV and play with the dog. The little cucumber loved Randi's house and never wanted to go home.

The little cucumber loved her parents and didn't want to disappoint them but that day the little cucumber decided that when she grew up she was going to live in the sunshine like Randi did.

In sixth grade the little cucumber learned about bad parents - the ones that lived in saline solution. Saline solution sounded really scary and she was really glad that she didn't live there. She had good parents.

When the little cucumber started dating she always seemed to be attracted to other cucumbers that had grown up in brine. That was ok, she was going to help them to come and live in the sunshine with her.

The little cucumber married a cute boy cucumber with feathered blonde hair and they went to live in the sunshine. The sunshine felt good at first but then the little cucumber got a sunburn and the clean air felt strange in the little cucumber's lungs. It seemed that after all those years in the brine, the clean air and sunshine didn't feel like home anymore and the cucumber couple soon found themselves back in the comfortable darkness of the brine.

The cute little cucumber tried really hard to be in the sunshine. She divorced the cute boy cucumber because it must be his fault, she had left the sunshine for him.

Then the cute little cucumber met a wonderful cucumber. He took her places and they had fun together and they married and had a little boy cucumber. Every once in a while the little cucumber would wake up and be in the brine again. Then slowly, little by little, the days of sunshine were replaced by days of brine. At first it was a day of brine a month and the next thing the little cucumber knew the boy was 12 and they were living in brine again.

The little cucumber was angry to be living in the brine again. After all the work she had put into doing everything perfectly, she deserved better than to be living in the brine. The little cucumber packed her things and left again. She would not put up with another day of living in the brine.

But, it happened again. No matter how hard the little cucumber tried she kept ending up back in the brine.

One day the little cucumber woke up and realizing she was in brine, again, looked around to find out who put her there but there was no one to be found. She was alone. There was no one to blame but herself. That day she had to admit to herself that she was no longer a cucumber. All those years growing up in brine had changed her. She was not that perky fresh cucumber she was as a baby. She had become a pickle. Just like her parents and her parents parents. She suddenly realized that she came from a long line of pickles.

That day changed the cucumber's life. That day the little cucumber admitted that she was powerless. That her life had become unmanageable.

She got down on her little pickle knees and asked god to help her to become the cucumber she was born to be. That day she became willing to change.

Nice guys make great girlfriends

I've been dating this guy for the last 6 months. He's in real estate so it's easy to talk cap rates and turn around strategies. He treats me well and looks forward to seeing me. He lives in a great big house in an exclusive upscale part of town. He drives a big black beemer and always opens the door for me. He always pays, always. We go to concerts and nice restaurants and hang out on the patio for a beer. When he leans in for a kiss, I lean away.

We have so much in common, we're good friends. Movies and TV and the big "they" taught me that friendship is the foundation for an intimate relationship. So where's the attraction? sexiness? hot man that makes me melt?

I remember a boyfriend I had in my teens. He had lived with us for his last year of high school and then went off to Air Force boot camp in San Diego. For the six or eight weeks of boot camp, I was the loyal girlfriend; sending cards and surprises to get him through. The night before I was leaving for his graduation from boot camp, I kissed another guy.

My boyfriend was a little on the skinny side but the "other" guy had great strong shoulders and he held me tight. He pulled me close and I could feel him wanting me, both in his kiss and elsewhere. He had energy, moxie and strength that I didn't know I needed. I was weak kneed and giddy. Flushed and washed in guilt, I fumbled and pushed away from him. I had a plan, I was going to San Diego in a few hours, what was I doing kissing this hot man?

I drove down and saw my boyfriend. We stayed in a hotel for a few days and it was pleasant but it wasn't mindblowingly hot. The day I got back home, it was mindblowingly hot with the other guy.

The other guy was the best lover I had ever had. He was present, playful, paying attention. I couldn't say no to him and I didn't tell anyone about him. I was playing the good girl. Having everyone think that I was the long suffering loyal girlfriend was more important than telling the truth. I was afraid that telling the truth would blow the facade and that people wouldn't like me anymore.

After a few months of pretending to be the good girlfriend, all the while making hot passionate amore with my secret lover, the boyfriend was coming home on leave.

My boyfriend drove up on a Friday nite, happy and excited about all he'd been doing for the last few months. We went to dinner and had a nice time together and the sex was pleasant.,

By the second day my boyfriend could tell that something was going on. When we went to bed instead of feeling sexy, he was feeling insecure. In this state of weakness, he wasn't able to be present intimately. His way of resolving this problem was not by facing it head on and calling me on my shit but by pouting and wanting to talk about it. In the moment, I didn't need pouting, I needed a resolution so I rolled over on top of him and brought it home.

The funny thing that I remember about this exchange is that I resented it. I felt anger and disgust for him. He was so pathetic. "Be a MAN", I thought. In my core I am feminine and feel most happy in that role. However, I can step up and be the man but if no one else will.

People often tell me that they think I am in extrovert. I have a charming way of chatting with people and putting them at ease. But, it’s not my strength. It’s an ability I’ve developed over the years and it takes all my energy. After a long day of dealing with people - even if it's at a party, I need a nap. The masculine feminine thing is just like that. I have the ability, I've developed it over the years. I can take charge of the situation, I can get it done. And then I need a nap.

I heard an interesting stat about the majority of divorces happen not for a lack of love but because of a lack of intimacy. Another recent stat: about 1/3 of American marriages are celibate. Somewhere we've confused our business partners with our intimate partners. A French man would never stand for that, a Greek man would never stand for that, even an Englishman would never stand for that. Here in America we seem to be more interested in equality than in passion. What's the point of having a marriage when a nanny is so much cheaper?