Thursday, April 11, 2013

Finding Answers

It's funny the stuff you find when you go looking for answers to all your questions--and how fast you find them. I told a friend I want to find the solutions to all my problems tied up in one neat little bundle on the Internet. Why not? Isn't that the way it's supposed to be these days? We just do simple searches and voila! there's your answer. The problem with searches is that there are too many neat little bundles on the list. How does one choose? Is what fixes my problems the same thing that will fix your problems? Probably not. 

I grew up in a crappy environment. My parents divorced when I was five years-old. The day I was informed of this calamity was my first day of kindergarten. Imagine! I loved my Dad beyond words. He was the first man/friend/artist/humorist/humanitarian in my life and my beastly mother was kicking him to the curb. I was never given reasons. It was-what-it-was and my tiny mind had to accept it without question. Besides, the responses to questions in our house were usually either non-existent, sarcastic or angry. Still, it could have been worse. We had a roof over our heads, food to eat and clothes to wear. We laughed sometimes, especially when Mom wasn't home. So, according to everything I've ever heard or read, indeed,  it could have been worse. But we're each born with our own unique genetic makeup. Someone else raised in that environment might have thrived, another might have turned into a hardened criminal. I suppose I was sort of middle-of-the-road. Throwing screwed-up psychological genetics into the mix I became rebellious, followed by alcoholic and suicidal. But, hey, that's just me. I'm old enough that when I first sought help I was greeted with, "There's nothing wrong with you." and, "Don't tell anyone you have a problem." Now we live in an era where there's something wrong with you if you don't have a problem and ultimately I stumbled my way through therapy and sobriety. But I'm still looking for--answers.

As I said in my last post, I know I want to slay the Jabberwocky and then I decided there's more than one Jabberwocky in my life. Lots of Jabberwockys in fact, and I'm not Alice. So I was going to make a list of Jabberwockys and kill them one by one. I was going to write about all my accomplishments so that whoever reads this blog could be in awe of my progress. And then . . . I went back to sleep. I said I'm not Alice. 

When I got up I dawdled, I sighed, I thought, I pondered and I continued my Internet search for "The Answer." I began finding lots of people with lots of questions searching for lots of answers. One of these seekers led me to a long deceased man named Alan Watts. His name sounded familiar but when I went to visit one of his youtube videos I didn't know he was dead. In fact, he sounded . . . current, completely relevant. He said things I know; he said things I didn't know; he reminded me of things I'd forgotten. He was funny, and that's always a plus in my book. But what he did most for me was remind me of our interconnectedness. My spellcheck tells me that's not a word, but it is. It's a very important word. It means exactly what it sounds like it means. We are all connected in a very important way. In fact, according to what I believe, EVERYTHING is connected in a very important way. I believe in the Higgs Boson. It's the glue that holds everything together. I'm not gonna go all scientific on you, or spiritual, for that matter. You have enough to think about and worry about and question. But if you think like I think, you might want to consider reading some of Alan Watts books. You also might want to watch programs like Through the Wormhole. As crazy as it might sound to some people, I've found comfort in thinking about the cosmos and things we can't possibly prove. 

Maybe I'm more like Alice than I believed and maybe I AM the Jabberwocky.



Monday, April 8, 2013

The Wrong Alice

 
I set up a new blogsite and decided to bring this one a little more in sync with that one, so if you decide to read this and you already read the other I'll try to make this one a little different for you. And now you already know, I'm not 'that' Alice.

The Alice to whom I refer is the one who visits Wonderland on a regular basis. I admire Alice for her bravery in slaying her Jabberwocky, among other admirable qualities. She gave the Bandersnatch back his eye thereby retrieving the Vorpal sword; she helped rescue the Mad Hatter from the Red Queen, and she was always brave enough to take chances with stuff marked 'eat me' and 'drink me.' I suppose when I was younger I was brave enough to take chances with ingesting eatables and drinkables having absolutely no knowledge of what they contained. Lord! I suppose that behavior would be better categorized as stupidity than bravery. But, we did it, nonetheless. I'm still here so I guess I'm stupid and lucky. But what I'd like to achieve before I depart this mortal coil is Alice's bravery.

Having reached retirement age in America, I'm amazed to be just now learning so much about life that I never understood before. I have other people to thank for that information. Friends and relatives have always tried to give me good advice, but it seems as though the pathways from my ears and eyes to my brain were blocked. So I've had other people to thank for good information for years now; it's not their fault that the pathways have been covered with brambles, trash, dead wood and ghosts--not that the paths are completely clear yet. But I have been brave enough to sweep away enough of the debris to allow some of the information to filter through.

So, I'm working on becoming The Right Alice. My friend Boris tells me I should live 'the pink life.' I knew what he meant even before he explained it, but when I Googled 'the pink life' I found nothing to match what he meant. I guess the pink life can be many things to many people. To some it means they love the color pink and surround themselves with it; to some it means surviving breast cancer, and to some it means running marathons for health reasons. What it means in Boris' part of the world is being happy and free. Maybe sort of like looking at the world through rose-colored glasses, as they say. And I can do that--why not? What is the alternative, really? I think the pink life also includes tea parties with the Hare, the Hatter and especially the Cheshire Cat. I can handle that.

I've also realized I have to identify the Jabberwocky and with that comes the realization life is full of Jabberwockys. Sigh. Usually we only have to fight one at a time; sometimes they come in pairs and sometimes they'll actually tell you they'll let you take a nap and come back to annoy you later. As I said in my other blog, I'm better at putting the Jabberwocky to sleep than I am at slaying him.

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

So What Happens Now?

Saturday is my birthday. I'll be 62. SIXTY-TWO! Do you hear me? How is it possible? I, who have been so often on the brink of suicide, am going to be 62 years old. Do I hate it? If you'd asked me when I was 40 if I'd hate being 62 I'd have said, "I'll never live that long." or, "Yes, I'll hate it if I live that long." But here I am. Sigh.

I'm going to make this brief because I recently found out that my retirement only means I have to work harder than ever. Here's what I've learned at nearly 62:
  • You never know what's around the next corner and it's not always a good thing.
  • Living in the moment is still hard to do, but necessary.
  • I love my family more than ever (family doesn't always mean DNA connections).
  • I still care what I look like and don't want to look like either of my Grandmas.
  • Napping is a good thing, but too much sugar and fat turn napping into an all-day sleep.
  • Housework sucks. My Grandmas must have LOVED it--I don't.
  • Getting older makes me care less about lots of stuff, including other people's opinions of my opinions.
But I think acceptance has been my biggest obstacle. It's hard for me to accept that I may never become what I believe I was born capable of being. I was born with all the standard equipment, but I never steadily pushed myself. It always seemed like pushing my talent or ability was met with failure and/or rejection. Oh, it's okay. That part of acceptance I can accept. That's the other thing about living this long; acceptance of failure becomes less devastating. I don't mean I'm not going to try new things, or polish old stuff; I just no longer expect miracles. They're great when they happen; I just don't live in a fantasyland about them. I've bought enough lottery tickets to know that it's usually the people who don't need the winnings who win. You know; it's always those people who say, "Quit my job? Oh, never!" What's wrong with those people? Geez, start your own business; go back to school; see the world.

Okay, back to work. I'm still trying to sell my stuff. I have to supplement my soon-to-be received SS income.
www.druneric.com