Possible Hit And Run

One of my brothers was hit by a car last night.  He remembers hearing screeching tires and the next thing he knew he was looking at first responders.  I can’t remember if he said he was walking or riding his bike.

His collar-bone is broken, and he’s badly bruised, but alive.  I called the police and they said they could release the accident report to a family member in person, but that requires driving back down to Cape Cod, and I can’t do that now.  We don’t yet know if it was a hit and run, but there had to have been witnesses.  It happened on the main drag, but it was after dark.

My brother sounded cheerful when I talked to him, but he’s also drugged up, so it’s hard to know how he’s really doing.

I feel this intense guilt, like I am responsible for my brother because that’s how it was when we were kids.  There were six of us children, and the older two boys were pals, and my older two sisters were united against me much of the time, and my default family person was my younger brother.  I wanted to be with my sisters, not my stupid younger brother.

That’s probably where the guilt I feel came from.  He was the only family member who accepted me and wanted me around, but I didn’t want the same thing.  We did laugh a lot together as we got older and he wasn’t such an idiot anymore, but I’ve never felt as endeared to him as he seems to feel toward me.  I suppose I should feel closer to him because we are the nearest in age, and were the last kids in a violent, destructive family, but my brother also has A.D.D., maybe even Asperger’s Syndrome, and that has been difficult to deal with as well.

I suppose it’s telling that I believe I wasn’t present enough for my brother, or I somehow caused his deficits by not being a good sister, when where the hell were my parents?

I am so tired of trying to explain my weirdness to people so that they can understand me.  I feel like I am a category of human being unto myself, belonging to a small group of freaks in a dark circus, only I never joined up.  My membership is by default, and if I had joined, I’d either want to be the beautiful lady who rides the elephant, or one of the acrobats.

I get it that these are the ‘cards I was dealt’ – a fucking insipid metaphor if I ever heard one – and I am doing my best to learn how to cheat – believe me – because life always plays with a loaded deck.

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Evocation

I’m evoking the indomitable spirit that I came into this world with.  I was a handful as a toddler, my mother told me.  I was not someone to be trifled with, even at two.  I learned how to be cowed because of the violence I lived with, but staying oppressed has never been my nature.  My mother says that I was always vocal about what I liked and didn’t like.  I told her I was sorry for being a complainer, and she was quick to correct me that I never complained, I just let everyone know how I felt.  I appreciate my mother making that distinction.  I have never lost that quality, but I know it’s not always a strength.

I do pretty well in keeping quiet and trying to accept how things are rather than how I wish they were, but I can forgive myself more knowing that it’s a personality trait and not just dissatisfaction with life.  If I have a purpose, and that quirk has never left me, I imagine that I am one of those people who provides an irritant until things change.  Maintaining the status quo doesn’t allow creativity to flourish.

I can’t see myself as others see me, but I know that I’ve changed over the years, and I do the best I can in my life.  I probably have less anger than fear at this point in my life, but the fear that remains sometimes stops me from pursuing my dreams.  Anger is often useful to replace fear or procrastination.  Unfortunately, the kind of anger my father had is usually sparked to memory when I’m angry, so it can also hurt more than help me.

Fortunately, I have an easy sense of humor which can trump both anger and fear.  I have also found friends everywhere I’ve lived or gone, which has helped me through this life, and I enjoy the variety of personalities in this world.  When I stayed at the hostel in Israel, the owners, Rachel and Rahmin, were wonderful hosts, and I was usually in the breakfast room before anyone else (or perhaps after everyone else!), but I got a chance to have conversations with Rachel on everything from religion and politics to the many people she has seen come and go through the years of running the hostel, and I was flattered that she felt I was one of the better ones.  One of Rachel’s friends came to Haifa to stay for a week a few days after I arrived and we shared the women’s dorm for the rest of the week.  She was a lovely, personable woman and we also talked a lot about life and humanity’s follies.

I was on a spiritual quest, and ironically found out that the path I was on was not the path for me in a traditional sense, but I still love aspects of the religion I was following at the time.  I found out that I cannot tolerate having my life micro-managed by some unseen, unknowable essence, and while religions aren’t usually horrible, the followers can be.

I’m grateful that my early experiences made it nearly impossible for me to be a faithful follower or believer in anything.  As a result, I’m forced to believe in myself, and trust that I’m where I’m supposed to be.  It’s somewhat ‘Zen’-like that it’s the right path for me because I’m on it, but that doesn’t mean it’s an easy walk.

I remember when I first got into a recovery group I learned that we were ‘trudging the road to happy destiny’, not skipping it.  The recovery community has its own dysfunction through its followers, but I always defaulted to the founders who stated they ‘knew but a little’, that more would ‘constantly be revealed’.  I began understanding that whenever you concretize a fluid principle, it starts to lose its meaning and value.

I especially appreciate Grandma Moses’ statement that: “Life is what you make it.  Always has been, always will be.”

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Where I Belong

I was excited and happy to be in Boston yesterday.  I love the bustle, and variety – maybe not so much being stuck behind a garbage truck for miles – but I don’t like that at home either.  The smells of the city are more concentrated, not having anywhere to go from being hemmed in through sky-scrapers and a labyrinthine road system that’s always in the flux of disrepair and repair somewhere along the routes, and usually in several areas at once.  The same is true in the hill towns, but it’s not as oppressive as it seems in a more concentrated environment.

I enjoy the challenge of successfully navigating through the crush of people and traffic.  I practiced letting go of control while my son drove through the city on our way in.  We very nearly hit a pedestrian, and it would have been that guy’s fault crossing against the green light, his eyes only on his destination – meeting someone on the other side of the street.  If I hadn’t been there to call out for my son to stop, that guy would have been hit because my son said he never saw him.  I’m glad we averted that tragedy, and that my son didn’t have to bear that responsibility, but I hope the event made him a more aware driver.  This is real life, son.  People are idiots – including myself…

On the drive home, I started to relax, as I usually do, once I headed into wilder country.  Seeing the hills of home in the distance at about the half-way mark between here and Boston is like a drug kicking in and I feel like I belong to that land.  I know my friends and some family members are there, but it’s the actual vista that claims my heart.  I will probably die here, or ask that my ashes be sprinkled from a plane over the hills. (Can you imagine being those hit with my ashes? “What the he-” choke, cough.)  Maybe I can have someone just spread my ashes on the forest grounds.

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

I Was In The Right Place, But It Must Have Been The Wrong Time

Right Place, Wrong Time, Dr. John (modified) lyrics

I went to karaoke last night and hung out with my fake boyfriend for a little while, which was great, but also put somewhat of a barrier between me and my regular crowd.  The bartender who’s usually there wasn’t because he and his wife just had a baby, and it altered the club’s dynamics.

He’s a somewhat gruff guy, but also a super sweetheart.  It’s interesting how I didn’t realize how fond I am of him, or how much he adds to club’s ambiance until he wasn’t there.  We’ve established more than a patron/bartender friendship from nights where I had my friends who run the karaoke drive me home, so we’d be the last ones there, and the bartender put me to work clearing tables on several occasions, and just hearing stories about every day events and observing personality quirks.

I played pool with my fake boyfriend, and danced a bit, and later we went to a nearby river that I was planning on going swimming in, but the bottom was mucky where it’s usually sand, so I ditched that idea and we just talked for a while.

He’s in that world-of-hurt place, and while I might provide an ego-boost because he knows how much I like him, it’s a ‘right fight, wrong arena’ deal.  I’m not going to be part of the fall-out.  I’ve seen pretty much all the dog and pony shows, and have no desire to be anyone’s re-bound.

And that’s what’s good about being older.

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

May The Fourth Be With You

I’m sure that will be the title of quite a few blog entries today, but I couldn’t resist!

My son would get upset with me when he would eat with his hands when he was little and I’d say “use the fork, Luke!”  He’d yell at me that his name wasn’t Luke!  Now he just rolls his eyes if I ever say it.  I love Star Wars.  I vacillated between wanting to be Princess Leia, and wanting to marry Luke Skywalker.  Then I wanted to reincarnate as Princess Leia and marry Han Solo.  I wasn’t really up on the whole reincarnation concept.

I don’t believe in reincarnation – and even if it’s real regardless of my belief, I don’t ever want to come back here anyway.  A sincere fantasy of mine is wondering what it would have been like to grow up in a good-enough family.  Maybe I would have turned out exactly the same with all the same issues, but I doubt it.  I would have been braver, and I would have had tangible support.  My parents would have brought me to music lessons, or helped me learn how to pursue my dreams.  I do my best now – and I also have a large network of people who care – some I’ve never even met, and that’s what matters, but it would be nice if it wasn’t so taxing.  I am proud that I was a mostly good parent for my son, and presented him with many opportunities and supported his choices when he took the initiative to try new things.  I think that being present with him was my best gift to him, and regardless of my mistakes, he knows I did the best I could.

When my son was a sophomore in high school, starting the college process, he was being courted by dozens of colleges.  I cried when all the college applications and information starting pouring into our mailbox because it was so outside of my experience.  Those colleges wanted him, or at least wanted him to apply.  I applied at the only college I imagined would take me – our local community college – and then only because of my friend’s prodding.  Once there, it was one of my professors who suggested I apply to Smith College to finish my degree.  I looked at him and told him I wasn’t smart enough to go to a school like that.  He smiled, put his hand on my shoulder, and said: “Just apply”.

I was accepted that summer, on a full scholarship, and I was terrified.  I moved on campus and began what has become one of the most important experiences of my life.  I didn’t get a terrific job when I graduated, because I was still me, with all my untreated trauma issues, and there was a glut of English majors on the market then.  I was told by one potential employer to ‘go back and get a science or math degree’.  That’s what was really needed at that time.  I sent out a hundred applications and got two job interviews, neither of which hired me.

I finally found work as an office assistant, and was dreadfully unhappy.  Then I found work at a daycare, but only lasted there eight months.  I liked kids, but it was an overwhelming job, and was too close to home with some of the abused kids we worked with.  Then I was told of a band audition coming up and I went.  I was hired as a singer, and sang with them for a year, meeting my son’s father, the keyboardist.  We had a whirlwind romance and I was pregnant in two months.  He wanted me to not have the baby, but I felt differently, so I told him I’d leave and never bother him again, but I wasn’t giving up the baby.  A few days later he told me he thought about it and he wanted to stay with me, so he was resigned to my having the baby.  We tried to make our relationship work, but I think it was doomed from that day.

Our son is now in college, a bright young man who is very much his own person.  I wish he had a relationship with his father now that he’s older, and I talk about his dad with him on occasion.  Our son feels that it was his father’s job to keep in touch with him no matter what.  Maybe I should tell him it could be worse; his father could have turned out to be Darth Vader.  Of course, Darth Vader did redeem himself at the end.  I know life doesn’t often end on a positive note – it usually just ends.  I hope my son reconciles with his father because even if they don’t go on to enjoy a close relationship, he won’t be left with the regret of a wasted chance.

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.