The Peace In Bartleby’s “I Would Prefer Not To”

“Blessed are the high in agency for they have done enough already.” ~taken from The Book of the Firstborn, probably

Three weeks ago, my sister sent me this video about finding the high agency people in your life. In the video, one gentleman asks another whom he would call for help if he were trapped in a South American jail and were to be transferred in 24 hours to an undisclosed location. He explained a high-agency person is someone who can think on their own, without instructions, and solve problems at a very high level under pressure very quickly. My sister added this comment to the video: “You are this person. You should know that most of your friends would feel the same way. This is a high compliment and you should feel really good about yourself.” I watched the video, read her comment, and realized it didn’t sit with me the way I knew she intended it to. I responded with a laugh and then said, “I think that most of the people who would be chosen for this job would be first-born daughters.” Perhaps taking my comment as self-effacing and dismissive of my skills, she replied the “only response necessary is yep. I’m awesome.” I decided to let it go at that.

The exchange has been lodged in my mind ever since, though, due to my visceral, real-time reaction to that video. It was an emphatic inner voice saying, “Yes. I could be that person but no thank you.” There was a time in my not-too-distant past when I might have received that video and corresponding accolades and felt quite honored to be someone else’s chosen savior in a tough situation. I don’t feel that way anymore, though. Thousands of hours of therapy have helped me understand I have some deep-seated issues around constantly being called on to be the adult in the room, to be the one who makes things run smoothly, the one who steps back from her own tasks to ensure everyone else is taken care of and not inconvenienced. This is not to imply that I have never been selfish because I certainly have. Who hasn’t? But my reaction was inner me finally standing up and saying, “I’m finished looking out for others at my own expense.” I would most certainly help my sister if she called me from a South American jail. I’m simply now, more than ever, finding myself capable of telling others to be accountable for their choices and figure out their own shit. It’s a small measure of heretofore unimaginable success for me.

Some people who are high agency might be so because they were required at a young age to be the adult they were not. Some people who are high agency might be so because they were taught they had no intrinsic value outside of service to others. Not everyone who is high agency loves being called on to help in every situation. Some of us are struggling trying to deal with our own crap but aren’t skilled at saying no just yet. We may not yet have learned to channel Melville’s Bartleby-the-Scrivener-level attitude of “I would prefer not to.” It’s admirable to be high agency, but being high agency for others without being high agency for yourself first will lead to burn out, regret, and bitterness. Every mother who has survived a holiday season knows this.

So this holiday season, if you have high agency people in your life upon whom you call regularly, maybe consider giving them a break and not contacting them for assistance. Yes. The holidays are stressful and you could probably use their help, but maybe give them the gift of unburdening instead. And, all you high agency people, you know who you are. Please also know it’s okay for you not to respond to someone else’s emergency, especially when you are overwhelmed yourself. It’s not only acceptable but advisable to tell the relative who is flying out to see you for the holidays and asking a gazillion unnecessary questions of you to check tsa.gov for airport security information and weather.com for updated forecasts. You don’t have to take it all on. And if someone calls you from a South American prison, maybe you choose to help them or maybe you tell them perhaps they shouldn’t have ended up in one in the first place and wish them the best.

Posted on 10/12/2024 by Me 0

Goodnight, Sweet Princess

No matter how long you prepare, no matter how much you attempt to convince yourself you will be able to keep it together when the moment comes, all good intentions dissipate in a pathway towards hell when your cherished pet takes their last breath. The energy in the room, with one less spirit in its midst, shifts. That is when I start sobbing.

We said goodbye to our furry girl today. For over a month now, she’d slowly been deteriorating. She was having difficulty standing and began experiencing bouts of diarrhea and vomiting. When she couldn’t keep even water down this morning, we knew it was time to escort her to the Rainbow Bridge. And it would have been difficult no matter what. She was my constant companion for 15.5 years. But it’s even more difficult because her death marks the end of a chapter in our lives. Ruby was the boys’ dog. She was a kindred spirit to me, but she belonged to the boys from day one. They were her charges, and she kept them safe and well.

We won her in a school auction when Joe was 8 and Luke was 6. We’d been fostering her before the event, and when the time came to auction her off to the highest bidder, we became the highest bidders. She was quirky, spunky, anxious, independent-minded, and a little wild. She loved chasing bubbles and lunging at bees, which she would snap at, swallow, and then shake her head vigorously for the pain of the sting and then do it again. She was excellent off leash and loved hiking and exploring, never wandering too far away because how do you herd what is out of sight? When we tired of kicking a large ball to her, she would hike it to herself between her legs. She was fearful of other dogs, but a lover of most people. In our FJ Cruiser, she would travel in between Joe and Luke in a tight little curl. She spent most of our drives covered in whatever the boys no longer felt like holding, books, Nintendo consoles, or boxes of goldfish crackers and travel cups. She was not a fan of water or baths, but she loved the snow. She could catch a frisbee midair and would spin an airborne 360 before catching a snowball Joe tossed to her. Although usually quiet and unassuming, she was kind of a showoff that way. She was a good girl, an easy, if somewhat neurotic, companion who followed each wall shadow carefully because she took ownership of all she surveyed and carried the responsibility with the relentless ferocity only a border collie can muster.

As the injection was administered, we said goodbye to her and we closed the chapter on the boys’ youth. Their childhood pet, a remnant of what once was our everyday experience, was gone forever. I kissed her on the head one last time, told her I loved her, thanked her for her tireless love and service, and left the room. It wasn’t easy but it was necessary and cathartic. I will never forget her.

Moving on happens in stages. Our sons won’t be coming home from college this summer, and that has hit like a ton of bricks. But Ruby’s passing is an opportunity to take another step forward in this new life beyond daily parenthood. It’s uncharted territory, but it’s time. I’m ready for a change in my life, looking forward to carving out a new daily normal. Fortunately, this new phase also includes dogs, the two corgi boys we purchased to fill our house with more boy energy when Joe and Luke left. No matter what may change in our lives going forward, dogs will be part of it. Saying goodbye to them is heart wrenching, but I’ll gladly suffer the pain comes with loss for the joy and love that comes with the companionship and adventure.

Posted on 24/04/202424/04/2024 by Me 1

From The Ashes Rises The Phoenix

I haven’t been writing much lately. When asked, I’ve struggled to understand or explain why. Writing has always been my go-to, the place I land when I need to work through feelings. Last year I went under, and many times I thought I might turn to writing to get me through it. I didn’t though because I was weary from hearing myself lament about my myriad demons and why they were there and why I didn’t think I could let them go. In the end, extricating myself from long-term relationships, relationships that had swept me up and held me like remnants of roofing swirling in a tornado, brought me to the peace I had sought for years. Sometimes you have to walk away from people to find yourself. I knew what I needed to do. I wasn’t sure I could do it until I did. Every day since those disentanglements, my world has grown clearer, my heart happier.

I find I am not the person I thought I was. Never thought it was possible, but now I openly cry when I listen to a song that reaches my heart. I dance around and act silly, even when people are watching. I say no when I feel I should. I attempt new things despite knowing I might fail. I’m no longer paralyzed by fear of ridicule or disdain. I’m honest, all the time. I don’t take myself seriously because I’m not worried about being palatable to people. It took me far too long to appreciate that anyone I care about who wants me to be different, smaller, or less isn’t worth keeping, no matter what our relationship is or how long we’ve been in each other’s lives. I have no regrets about cutting those ties, and I don’t care who judges me for walking away to save myself. I see and appreciate my value now. There is nothing that could make me go back.

Last weekend I went with some friends to the symphony for a performance of the soundtrack to Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. The movie played on a screen above the orchestra. During the speaking parts, the orchestra was silent. Then they played John Williams’ moving soundtrack in perfect time to make the movie experience seamless.

One scene has stuck with me since that viewing last weekend, a scene I had long forgotten about. Harry is in Professor Dumbledore’s office and is the only one in the room when a rather scraggly-looking Fawkes, Dumbledore’s phoenix, bursts into flames. Harry is beside himself, wondering what he did to cause the bird’s demise. Dumbledore tells Harry:

“Phoenixes burst into flames when it’s time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy burdens. Their tears have healing powers.”

And that is when I realized where I am now and why I haven’t been writing. I’m in my Phoenix Era. I carried immensely heavy burdens in my heart since my childhood. Eventually, I got to the place where I couldn’t shoulder them anymore. Like Fawkes, I was withered and scraggly and needed to die to be reborn again. So I set my life on fire and ended in a pile of ashes full of possibility. My tears fall readily now as I heal myself. I haven’t been writing because I’ve been experiencing my regrowth. I’m rising from the ashes. There will be plenty to write about when I’m whole again and take flight.

“And just as the Phoenix rose from the ashes, she too will rise. Returning from the flames, clothed in nothing but her strength, more beautiful than ever before.” — Shannen Heartzs

Posted on 14/01/202416/01/2024 by Me 0

With A Poet’s Heart, I Begin Again

I used to write poetry. I was much younger then, with a radical heart, raucous with emotion. Then I grew up. I learned to pull my emotions in, hug them like it was the last time I’d ever feel them because I was sure no one else wanted to hear from them. I stopped wearing my heart pinned to my chest and gave it a forwarding address deep inside. Now I find that with the passing of time and with roughness of the outside world, life used heavy-grit sandpaper on me because now, now my heart is back on the outside where it was before. Everything is raw. I can’t push it back down, and that’s a good thing, I think.

So I am mentally planning a poetry comeback. Until the inspiration hits me, I’m reading others’ poetry. Good Bones is one I feel with all my heart. I have on many occasions apologized to my children for the state of the world and my part in making it what it is now, what they will inherit and have to fix (or create a rocket in which to leave forever).

As I start down the poet’s path again, I share this work with you today. Perhaps it will resonate with you as well.

Good Bones, a poem by Maggie Smith

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.

Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine

in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,

a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways

I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least

fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative

estimate, though I keep this from my children.

For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.

For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,

sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world

is at least half terrible, and for every kind

stranger, there is one who would break you,

though I keep this from my children. I am trying

to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,

walking you through a real shithole, chirps on

about good bones: This place could be beautiful,

right? You could make this place beautiful.

Posted on 11/05/202211/05/2022 by Me 3

When The Words Fail You

Somedays I say a lot about nothing. Today I am going to say very little about nothing. In fact, I have nothing to say about anything. There. I said it.

I don’t want to leave you without something positive, though, so here is a cute puppy photo.

Posted on 25/04/2022 by Me 2

The Box Of The Me Who Was And Is Still

I was going through a plastic tub of memorabilia today. It’s full of things I collected while growing up. I dug the box out of the basement hoping to find some remaining buttons from bands I liked when I was in high school. I did find some, definitely not as many as I had at one point, but some.

The box contains some items my mom saved from my childhood and then other items I held onto for myself. There is an album someone else compiled with cards given to my parents both when I was born and on my first birthday. There is a local newspaper with a photo of me in 1976 when I was 8 and won a coloring contest sponsored by a bank. For that feat, I earned a $25 savings account and a liberty bell bank. The headpiece to the veil I wore at my first communion is in there, as is the memory card from my confirmation and photos from church trips. There is my Brownie uniform, my Girl Scouts membership card, and all the Girl Scout badges I earned but never sewed on my sash. There are report cards from elementary school, junior high, and high school. There are two random field day ribbons, both for the high jump, one fifth place and one third place. There are the literary magazines I contributed to and edited in high school, along with information about the band trip I took to Florida my junior year. There’s a letter from my orthodontist about how to care for my braces. There are wallet-size photos given to me by friends in junior high with their written dedications to me on the back, along with some notes that they passed to me in classes. My eighth grade yearbook is in there, which is odd because the rest of my yearbooks reside in a separate box. There is the corsage I wore to prom. There is a Junior Passport for Disneyworld from 1983, cost $9.50. There are envelopes containing my ACT, SAT, and GRE scores. There’s the letter I received when I was waitlisted at the only college I applied to. So many parts of my life that would be forgotten if I hadn’t saved the specifics to remind me when I hit 50 and discovered my childhood memories fading like the ink on the photographs from my youth.

Of all the items I unearthed, among the poems, paintings, and artifacts, I found one that stood out. It was a note I wrote to my mother when I was 7 years old. On a morning when presumably she didn’t wake up in time to help get me ready for school, in my second grade handwriting and with my second grade spelling, I wrote a note so she wouldn’t worry about me when she woke up and realized I was no longer home. It read:

“Dear Mommy, I got Kathy and Julie quiet. I left the house. I wost up and brust my teeth. I got my cloths on. Rigth now Im in scool.”

I wrote my name at the bottom in case when she found the note it wasn’t completely obvious it was written by her seven year old and not her five year old or two year old.

Everything you need to know about me is contained within this short note. 1) I started my writing career early. 2) I have always been quite responsible and self-sufficient. 3) I look out for people I care about. 4) I don’t want to be a bother. 5) There’s a reason why I didn’t go into art.

I’ve changed a lot over the years, but the person at my core remains the same. I’ve been writing for too long to stop now.

Posted on 02/04/2022 by Me 0

A Change Of Heart

On July 26th of last year, I made a commitment to my blog. I would write every day for the next 365 . It’s been 250 days as of today. I can’t believe I’ve made it this far. It’s difficult to come up with a post for every day. Some days I barely squeak something out. Some days I am proud of what I do. But most days it feels like I am creating material below my capabilities because it is being done under the duress of having to post something.

So, after a lot of consideration, I’ve decided I’m stepping back again. I will write on occasion, when I feel I have something valuable to contribute to the blog universe. I’m simply tired of forcing myself to do this. I need a break.

But, maybe then again, maybe this is just April Fool’s craziness and tomorrow I will be back at it. I guess we’ll see.

Posted on 01/04/2022 by Me 5

Ain’t No Shame In That

It has come to my attention that the post I wrote months ago about my husband’s sleeping habits made him feel a bit called out. Let me first state that was not my intention at all. People who are included in my blog posts often think the blog posts are about them. Ninety-five percent of the time, this is untrue. Oddly enough, my blogs are usually about me or my opinions. I may mention other people, but not because I am calling them out. They are part of my story. They are not THE story. Anyhoo, my sweet spouse felt a little seen about my post regarding the fact that he can sleep anywhere while I, in fact, cannot. So, I have resolved to make this better.

In case you think, after reading that post, that I was calling my husband out for his sleeping gift, I thought I would share this little tidbit from our house. My husband is not the only one who sleeps in odd positions on the floor. While I still struggle to sleep on many nights in my comfortable Sleep Number bed with my twin down comforter, this family member, like my husband, has zero problem sleeping:

To summarize, I did not write about my husband’s fall-apart-on-the-floor-due-to-exhaustion sleeping habits because I was calling him out. I wrote about them because, as I stated in my earlier post, I am jealous and wish I could sleep like him. Or our dog. Or both of them.

If I could sleep anywhere, including on my stomach on the living room floor with my feet out in a corgi sploot, I would. Ain’t no shame in that.

Posted on 27/02/2022 by Me 3

Dream Big — If You Can’t Dream It, You Can’t Do It

A few weeks ago, I bought a journal and new pens. I bought one for my youngest sister too. Then I told her we would use our journals to get our poop in a group. Because she and I are on similar journeys of self-discovery, I told her we would come up with writing assignments for our journals and share what we were writing so we could lift each other up and support each other to reach our goals. To that end, a week ago I created our first assignment. I called it our Dream Big Assessment. We were to come up with a list of things we would like to see, experience, do, or have in our lives in the next twenty years. The caveat is that we have to dream big. No worrying about money or practicality or health or reality. It didn’t matter if what we listed was pie-in-the-sky. It was meant to be. You can’t manifest something if you can’t first envision it. And if you’re going to envision a future you would love to live, why would you let reality tether you? I started my list with this statement to make sure I kept my intentions clear.

“If I could dream anything for the next twenty years of my life, these things would happen. I would…”

It was a good idea to start with active statements, but my statements started out rather prosaic. I suppose this is because I am a practical person, but I suspect it is also because I’m accustomed to living smaller than I am. When you have spent your life in a box someone else designed for you, it’s a challenge to stretch and imagine yourself or your life as something so much bigger than you ever dared to dream before. So my list began mostly realistic and, therefore, understated. I would….

Publish something I have written
Speak about said published work to interested readers in a public forum, like a book club
See my sons in happy, healthy relationships where they feel loved and supported
Hold and love on a grandchild or two or three
Own more dogs

Most of these items are intentionally vague. I mean, “publish something” could mean an article in an online newsletter with a readership of 25 people. By not elucidating an action more clearly, I am giving myself a safe space to continue being small. After realizing I was being too calculated and cautious with my dreams, choosing things that had a decent probability of happening, I started to get a bit more specific with my choices:

Cycle through Provence when the lavender is in bloom
Spend a year traveling the US and living in an Airstream trailer
Learn how to scuba dive, knit, and tap dance

Again, all these items are fairly attainable and not huge stretches of the imagination, but at least they were more specific. I was making some progress with my wording and specificity, but I felt the list was sounding rather shallow. All the endeavors I listed were about doing, not about being. So I commenced traipsing down more of a life-philosophy path:

Feel more comfortable being myself regardless of the situation
Be less defensive and more contemplative, curious, and forgiving
Be mindful and grateful as often as possible
Lead with compassion and empathy

While all these items are good goals and, when compared to my normal modus operandi, are definitely dream big enterprises in terms of personal growth, they don’t really fit the assignment either. Try again, sister. So I let my mind get a little crazier and stretch a bit farther and dig into dreams I had when I was much younger and had more life ahead of me than in the rearview:

Own a Jaguar E-Type convertible in British racing green with camel interior
Travel the Greek islands in a private, chartered yacht
See the Northern Lights in Lapland
Visit the Maldives or the Seychelles or both
Live in either Italy or France as an expat
Try a psychedelic drug*
Swim with the jellyfish in Palau

I feel I am beginning to get to what I originally intended with the creation of this list. I plan to keep working on it. Items that resonate with me more than others will be added to the vision board I started creating a few weekends ago. If I can dream it, I need to see it to manifest it in my brain as part of a future to strive for.

What would make it onto your Dream Big list? Maybe something I wrote here will inspire you? Maybe something on your list would spark an idea for me?

*This idea came from a book I read by Michael Pollan called How to Change Your Mind: What the New Science of Psychedelics Teaches Us About Consciousness, Dying, Addiction, Depression, and Transcendence

Posted on 19/02/2022 by Me 0

Escape From Reality: The Me-Time Tour

To get their needs met, most people require a little “me” time. This looks different for everyone. For some, it might include time with friends. For some, it might require solitude. Others might find their peace through travel. For me, it often requires a little of both of the last two items. I am midway through my Escape From Reality: The Me-Time Tour. I have taken this particular tour once before. I’m staying in Boulder, where I attended the University of Colorado approximately four hundred years ago. At the foot of the Flatirons lies Chautauqua, a park, auditorium, dining hall, and collection of quaint cottages where people are welcome to relax, experience culture and nature, and simply enjoy a quieter pace. How is it going, you ask? Writing time on the sofa with a cozy blanket is how it is going. In other words, I am relaxed for the first time in over a month.

Very meta this photo of me writing this blog

The cottages at Chautauqua offer everything a writer needs…solitude, beautiful surroundings, quiet, comfort, and no television. There is WiFi because it is helpful, especially if you are a writer, but other than that the distractions are minimal unless you count the squirrels running across the roof. Time here allows me to unwind, silence the noise in my brain, and determine where I need to place more attention when I return home and what I need to jettison to usher in a calmer, steadier existence. The last time I visited here was September 2020 after full-time lockdown with my family had me frazzled.

I suppose I could get the same calming results if I stayed at a hotel, but this place holds special memories for me. I love hiking in the Flatirons. I love the park here. And, seriously, how cute are these little cottages? In a place like this, approximately 420 square feet, I am reminded of how little I need to be comfortable and relaxed. Our home is massive compared to this space, but I could totally live in one of these cottages and be content. Not sure where my husband would live. He might need to be in the cottage next door because I am well beyond the days of happily sharing a full-size bed with another human being.

Cozy place for resting, requisite stuffed dog already in place

I had three main objectives when I came here. First, I wanted to have enough time to write some extra blog posts. Writing every day can prove challenging. It isn’t that I can’t find something to say each day. Heaven knows there is enough insanity in my head to spill onto pages for days and days. It’s just that sometimes the days get away from me, and I don’t like having to resort to a photo-and-haiku post (although those can be fun too) because I have run out of time to function as a rational person. So having a few extra posts stashed for days when I simply cannot has become crucial. Second, I wanted to work on a vision board. I’ve been trying to figure out where other people’s wishes for my life end and where mine begin. To live intentionally in a direction that makes sense for me, that is my goal. I figured creating a visual reminder for myself, a map of sorts, might help keep me on my own best track. Finally, I wanted to do some journaling and planning. I wanted to check in with myself and determine what my priorities are right now. I know I need to set up some boundaries in my life so I can keep my tank from running on empty. I also need to diffuse some mental land mines others have left for me. But getting to the bottom of problems like these requires ample time without distractions, and I am not getting that right now at home.

I have been feeling for months as if I was coming to a tipping point, a point from which I would either springboard forward into a period of exponential personal growth or slump back into my lockdown hole of mindlessness and go back to full-time life on the Animal Crossing island. I want to go forward so badly, but first I need to dig deep and find the courage to do it. And that is what this weekend is about, self-reflection and goal setting. It is about making a plan for growth and pointing myself in the right direction. I’m thinking I need two weekends like this a year. Maybe three. Possibly four, but no more than five. I think. That’s reasonable, right?

Posted on 05/02/2022 by Me 0

Live Now and Zen

Because even when it seems like a gag gift, the present is still a gift