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Incapable of mad?! (And someone who wasn’t)
Ironic that I was about to write this post and had the following interaction with my son. I told him a little while ago he’s got to take a shower – and if he didn’t I would be sad – and mad. He chuckled. “What?” I asked. “Nothing” he said. He finally just caved and said he was laughing because, and I quote, “you’re incapable of the emotion mad“.
Suppose I should take that as a compliment. I try not to let things get to me. And I’ve never truly lost it with him. I’m glad he doesn’t, and hasn’t lived in fear of me.
ANYWAY! Today I had another interaction that did not end in chuckles.
I keep my actual ‘real life’ (except for my skeletons) anonymous for obvious reasons. So, I won’t be mentioning details about my job. But, had a customer today at my desk, spewing very ugly and aggressive words in my direction while leaned over my desk towards me.
Let me just say – this is someone who just seems to be perpetually angry. Chronic discontent. After I was told I could ‘shove’ something in an area that could prove to be uncomfortable, and after a few F bombs exploded in my face – I’d had enough.
I may not know all my worth, but what I DO know is I do my best and go above and beyond at work. I CARE about the customers. I CARE about the people I work with. I just care. I also think it’s important that whatever job you do, no matter big or small, it should be done well.
I come in early every single day – I eat my packed lunch at my desk. I’ll take maybe 15-20 minutes to clear my head and come right back and dive in.
The verbal assault was unwarranted. I had to tell her that she needed to back up and that her tirade was neither fair, nor right. I remained professional and kept my calm and my wits about me, but inside I was a little girl again and cringing and stinging from the assault.
I was alone in the office and I’ve dealt with this particular person on several occasions. She is always angry.
After almost half an hour of this, she said the sentence that was the final straw for me.
“YOU don’t understand!”.
“OK, you’re right, I can’t know how you are feeling right now, but I DO understand! I’ve been doing this for almost 14 years. I have worked with hundreds and hundreds of people. I have personally lost my house, been almost homeless not so long ago, work two jobs to raise my son alone, have a heart condition and a lung disease and I GET IT!”.
What I wanted to add to that is: “But I CHOOSE every day to be happy! I CHOOSE to count my blessings and focus on what I DO have”.
I’d love to say that she left placated. I did try to soothe, and help – that’s what I do. I pointed out that there seemed to be more to her frustration than our situation, and that I was sorry she was so upset. I tried to suggest she count her blessings. But, there are some people who just do not want to be soothed, and do not want to be helped. Pity sometimes is just too pretty.
When she left, I wasn’t mad. I was sad. I was sad because, this is the same woman who shocked me the first time I met her with her racist comments – the same woman who has been a pill from day one.
I am sad because it just must feel awful to be her. To feel the way she does. I don’t mean that in a condescending way, I mean it literally. I truly hope she finds a peaceful heart.
It’s got to be just an awful feeling to be so angry all the time – to hate – to be capable of such venomous words.
I’m sure there’s a reason behind her behavior, but it’s no excuse. There are people who have been through hell and back and don’t take it out on everyone they come in contact with. They CHOOSE to be happy. And if not happy, at least not angry all the time.
I’ll say a prayer for her tonight. I’ll gather all the positive energy I can muster when I work on her transaction. I’ll send her love and light. Because really, she is in a prison of her own making and it’s holding her tight. Tightly away from serenity, love and peace. The key is deciding to overturn that self-inflicted punishment.
I hope she finds the key – it’s right there … in her hands.
Bigger than this
I tossed and turned last night. I wanted to keep reading a book I was so close to finishing, but it was way past my bedtime. I begrudgingly shut off the lights and closed my eyes.
Deep in thought, couldn’t get comfortable – dog (of course) was staring at me. I flopped about like a fish on the deck of a boat.
Then from nowhere (in mid-flop), bigger than my irritation at not finding sleep, a sense of assurance. A voice. I was being given answers to questions I wasn’t asking. I was not being ‘still’ but I was knowing God.
“Yes, there is more than this” “Look for the bigger picture” “Find me”.
There were words and shame on me for paraphrasing whoever was speaking, but … how to explain? It was more of a feeling than a dialogue, although, there were words. I’m conveying here the gist of those words.
Almost felt like whatever was ‘talking’ to me was lovingly chuckling. The way we might as we watch a toddler try to accomplish something the hard way because they don’t know better. Or because the item is too big for them.
There were no other prerequisites other than ‘getting’ that there was ‘more’.
PHEW! Because I am of no particular religion, I consider myself ‘spiritual’. I believe in a power greater than me and I believe in love. That’s about all I can swear on my life that I believe to be true for me. I don’t want to fake a Faith in something so important just because I’m afraid to go to hell.
Now, whether that was God, or some internal, wise facet of myself speaking, (although, I don’t know what the heck she was doing up past our bedtime) it was very clear that I needed to hear that message.
This morning, I was peering into my pantry and my eyes took in the canned goods. I saw my pantry in a different light. A dimmer light that I knew not so very long ago. The thought of being jobless crossed my mind out of the blue and suddenly, the cans didn’t seem like enough. I was meting out meals in my head.
On the drive to work, I was taking in the buildings, the cars, an emergency vehicle approached, lights flashing and sirens screaming – another voice. “This is not what it’s all about’.
Another assurance there’s more. This time here – important and valuable, but a place we’re passing through to get to another destination none the less.
Why these thoughts??
Either I’m losing that final marble or …
I know I have an overactive imagination (or do I? ‘ Who’s to say?). I had a vision as I started my drive to work this morning of being very sick. Alone. Nic a young adult and I was dying. Going to work anyway.
I wasn’t in a somber mood – no idea why such a morbid thought would play itself out in my head.
The other night had my mind playing out my death-bed scene. Nic asks if I’m afraid to die. I tell him no. “I’m not afraid to die, I’m afraid I’m going to miss you!”
And that’s it in a nut shell for me. The good times here are SO good. I am SO glad I was born. I love the colours, the sounds, the creatures, the smells, the endless things to discover and I love dreaming and loving and laughing.
And there’s something bigger than THIS? I’m in.
Writers Remorse
I’ve been pretty careful about skirting around some issues for the purpose of respecting people in my life – or protecting people in my life. This has been a little frustrating, but par for the course of ‘going public’ with my blog.
Originally I wanted a spot I could write anonymously (other than my journal). A venue where I didn’t have to edit myself. I had hoped to share and help others with some issues I haven’t addressed yet. It is what it is though, and I do have to edit myself.
Yesterday, after my post about my son I felt pretty rotten. I shared my concerns with a writer friend who told me not to edit it – to stick with what my gut told me to write.
And he was right. I wrote from my heart and from the place I was in right that second.
So consider this an amendment of sorts.
My son is kind-hearted, funny, loving, intelligent, and good.
My frustrations yesterday had to be looked at. Examined. Because the fact that I was having a physical reaction to something that wasn’t even intended to piss me off, definitely deserves to be contemplated.
If I have learned anything in the past few years, it’s that most emotions stem from fear.
I am scared.
I am fearful that I haven’t done enough, taught enough, instilled enough and the clock is ticking on my sons childhood.
He will be 18 in March of next year.
I want him to say ‘thank you’ when people do kind things for him. I want him to see someone obviously up to their elbows in work and offer a helping hand. I want him to be aware of his surroundings and make sensible choices. I want my son to know and show gratitude.
I can want these things for him until I’m blue in the face – but I can’t make them so.
I have tried to teach by example. When I missed his first step, his first laugh, a school assembly, I hoped at least he would grow up knowing the importance of hard work. Knowing that providing for your family is important.
I’m demonstrative with my gratitude, my love, my compassion. I want him to see those things in action and have them become a part of who he is.
I’ve never beat him, never told him he was less than and never has he gone without a meal or an article of clothing that he required.
My son has had the best of me and my time is almost up.
He’s going to be in the worlds kitchen while it’s population is carving, cleaning, juggling tasks. And I don’t want him behaving the way he did in mine.
I tell myself ‘God doesn’t have grandchildren’. I also remind myself that it took me a long time before I knew half of what I know today.
I guess it all boils down to that age-old wish. I don’t want him to make my mistakes.
But this isn’t about me.
I could have handled yesterday a lot better. So obviously, at 43 I still have a great deal to learn. Why be so hard on a 17-year-old?
“I’m not in love …”
Which is a really silly title for this particular blog post considering the rest of the lyrics, but lets just put that aside and focus on just those 4 words.
A dear friend once (not so very long ago) sent me these words:
“The great wonderful Amanda (where do keep the hearts and souls of the men you collect)?” Ouch.
This was painful on a few levels. 1) I deeply care for this person. 2) I don’t go around entering relationships with the intention of cruelly ending them for recreational purposes. 3) Apparently I had hurt someone.
Here’s the deal. I watch romantic movies and I’m pretty sure I want that. I do!
I want the speech Meg Ryan got at the end of ‘When Harry Met Sally’. I cry every time Harry ends with,
“And it’s not because I’m lonely, and it’s not because it’s New Year’s Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible”.
I want the car to pull up with my suitor holding up flowers and an umbrella like ‘Pretty Woman’. I want the fairy tale.
I want to have my Holly Golightly moment when I realize I don’t have to be caged to give my heart.
But I have not found the person I want those things from.
I have never truly had my heart broken, I have never mourned for the loss of a relationship and I have never had that kind of love. Well – perhaps that’s not fair. I have never felt that kind of love.
To be honest, it’s only been a couple of years since I’ve been comfortable enough in my own skin to be capable of offering anything of substance to someone else. I can’t begin to describe how much the term: ‘You complete me’ drives me up the wall!
How, in the world, does one expect any success in a relationship when one enters it ‘incomplete’? I would hope to offer my whole heart to someone who also has a whole heart. I would hope to offer my serenity, contentment and love to someone who also has that. A partner that compliments, not completes all that is me, who brings differences and experiences to the relationship with their uniqueness.
There are many reasons I won’t go into for my lack of success when it comes to love. Trust me when I say that events occurred to a little girl, a teenager and a young adult that should not have.
Lately, I’ve been noticing happy couples. There is a beautiful woman at work who after decades of marriage is still SO completely in love with her husband. She exudes happiness (which came first I wonder? The happy chicken or the love egg?).
Then today, I bumped into an older couple at the store that I did a loan for. We chatted a while, and my heart swelled watching them finishing each others sentences (NOT the same as ‘completing’ each other people!) – I swear, the lady’s eyes literally sparkled when she looked at her husband. Dreamy. Absolutely dreamy. Of course, I had to point that out to them, which brought about more sparkling from both of them.
I want that. I want to spend the rest of my life with someone who makes my eyes sparkle. I want a best friend to hold hands with, to laugh with.
It’s corny, but when I was younger, I used to imagine what New Years Eve 1999 would be like.
I’m getting ready, putting on my earrings as I smile peacefully into my vanity mirror. I can hear my husband telling the dog to quiet down and greeting the babysitter. I hear my children running around downstairs squealing with delight because the sitter is here and they’ve just been told they can stay up late. My husband walks into the bedroom as I stand up and smooth my party dress, we exchange a secret smile. It’s date night with the man of my dreams.
He never showed up.
I do have the dog – and I do own earrings. I also have an amazing son who is the only man I’ve ever truly given my whole heart to.
But I think I’m almost ready for more. I think there’s still time for a ‘ever after’.
A Necessary Truancy
“Is this Amanda?”
Yes.
“I have your son in the health office – he says he has a headache and is nauseous”.
(refrain from asking if she means to imply he’s making others feel sick, you grammar nazi! Besides, there are now two definitions for ‘nauseous’)
“Would you like to speak to him?”
Yes please.
Nic get’s on the phone.
Me: What’s going on?
Nic: I don’t want to be here – I’m having a really bad day”.
I’m seeing this in my head:
And this too:
OK.
Honesty really racks up the points in my book. Honesty will earn you respect, and today earned me using my lunch to leave work, drive to his school and collect him.
I didn’t need the details yet, he told the truth and from the tone of his voice I got it.
Sometimes, we just want to go home. We’re done. We want comforting and to be surrounded by comfort.
I pulled up to the school and sprung him. I got the scoop about what possibly could have ruined his day in the whole hour and 20 minutes he was there. I won’t share the details – that’s not fair to him, but suffice it to say – he was in fact having a pretty crappy day.
Yes, he needs to learn to ‘decide to be happy’ to ‘soldier on in the face of adversity’ and to ‘not take things so personally’. But he’s 17. I’m in my 40’s and am still honing those skills.
When you’re a teenager, sometimes it does feel like your entire world is crumbling down around you, and you just want a time-out.
I am SO very grateful that my son can be honest with me. Oh, I know. I’m not so naive as to believe that he tells me everything, and nor should he. But when it really counts – we’re close enough that he trusts he can tell me the truth and not regret doing so.
Our ride from his school to our house was filled with conversation, observations, lessons and advice. Of course I stressed the importance of not missing anymore school – about not letting people ruin his day. That he can’t run away from every problem. About resentments – how futile they are. Metaphors flowed. “Nic, resenting them is like taking poison and expecting them to die!” Concerns were soothed, smiles were exchanged and I felt so very blessed.
No. He’s not my little boy anymore. No, I can’t save him from the world. But today I could give him a chance to regroup. To feel loved. To take a breath and collect his thoughts and I could take a rare opportunity to share some wisdom and experience with him.
When my grandson or granddaughter calls him years from now having a bad day, I hope he picks them up. Figuratively and literally. And I’m pretty sure he will. Because this young man who I am so lucky to call my son – is a kind-hearted, sensitive, funny, bright, loving soul.
All that being said, if he hadn’t told the truth, his butt would have stayed at school. 😉
Debauchery Soup 