I love the Talking Heads. It always feels like David Bryne is struggling to burst through his shell at any second and just lose his mind in a kooky, organic way. He's just feelin' it, man, and I love it. It speaks to my own kooky, organic side and I love the way music can make you feel something on a visceral, physical level. Maybe for this entry any reader should be required to YouTube-up, "Once in a Lifetime" and feel it in the background.
Pause for YouTube search.
It's been about five months since I last wrote anything. I was afraid that would happen. It's not as though my material dried up (HA!), but there's an interesting rhythym to the process of any major personal transformation and I've been mired in the "debris clean-up" phase, which also has a nice layer of "ok, what's next?" and a dash of "Dude, where's my car?" tucked in there. All of which puts a serious crunch on the desire for more vulnerability, the kind that writing this blog can suggest. And not because I know people read this, but because at times I have been exhausted by the self-examination, the problem-solving and the re-building.
When I first separated from my ex-husband, the emotions were overwhelming and intense, but often there was also a sense of giddy anticipation. The latter was partially a reflection of the relief I felt over having finally reached the day when I had the courage to make a change, and partially the excitement about the promise of a different kind of future — one in which I knew had to be better, whether we stayed married or not, because it was finally intentional. I was focused on making things right, better, more grounded and more fulfilled. I was focused on saving myself, and the momentum of that intention often felt really good. I can hear it in my writing at that time. Much was opening up around me and within me. Those close to me know that much of last year I found myself having some of (if not 'the') hardest, but also the best moments of my life. Finding yourself again and investing in yourself and others is an incredibly powerful, emotional, exhilarating thing.
So what is ridiculous about the last few months is that I've let that slip, and just yesterday I had the kind of quick, but poignant conversation where the mirror was held up for me and I saw it clear as a bell. I didn't like it. I have not been wholly myself for months. I had stopped investing even though I had convinced myself that I was. After the shock, I ended up laughing. Oh, how hard habits are to break, right?
One of my strengths, I think, is that by and large, I invest. It's made me a more capable and conscientious mother, a successful professional, a loyal and considerate friend. I am present. Being invested, in my mind, means bloom where you are planted, see and look for good and valuable things in others, empathize (much more intentional than sympathizing), remain flexible and be up for most anything. Be open to change and ideas. I'm competitive, so I am a goal-setter, but I don't often think too far down the road. I'm investing for today. I get up in the morning and I am choosing my day, my actions and my reactions to the best of my ability and all of this is pretty intentional. I feel a true obligation to my life and the people in it to invest and, as I was just having this conversation with a close friend today, living with the intention to focus on an obligation is powerful. I think it means you are conscious of the investment and this opens you up to be more present, more available, a better listener, more informed, more empathetic — there's just flat out a bigger energy to your life. I think it can take you places you never thought possible.
In my own life, I have always seen the power of intention and investment, but I would venture to say that most of us have lots of reasons why we fall short in this area. Making an investment inherently also creates vulnerability. There's real or perceived risk, insecurity, uncertainty, change. I have battled the vulnerability, more so in the past few months, and I have not been wholly myself in all areas. In some ways, I was even paralyzed by it. Not just emotional vulnerability, but also financial and physical. The positive aspects of the momentum created by the separation and divorce waned, as I was afraid it would, and real life and debris clean-up forced down any desire to stay open and vulnerable.
Investing takes time and there is no clock, nor even any milestone for the vast majority of things worth investing in. Being invested means that one thing breaks open into the next and amazing things can happen, but you have to be open for the ride. I know this and little by little, through a series of recent events, I am waking back up to all of this. This week alone, I am grateful for more than one thing that helped break my paralysis, including valuable conversations, even the uncomfortable ones. Thankfully I listened. I was present.
Tonight I'm headed over to celebrate two friends' 40th birthdays infused with good friends and a ridiculously fun 80's theme. My silly 80's aerobics instructor outfit is ready to roll and I'm feeling grounded and good. I am excited to celebrate two men who, no question, invest in their lives and for people like this, you can't help but feel grateful to know them. I'm also certain there will be some Talking Heads goin' down and I'm excited to be very, very present on that dance floor.
You may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife
You may ask yourself, how did I get here?
Letting the days go by, let the water hold you down
Letting the days go by, water flowing underground
You may tell yourself, this is not my beautiful house, this is not my beautiful wife
Into the blue again, after the money's gone
You may ask yourself, how do I work this?
Remove the water, carry the water
Time isn't holding us, time isn't after us, time doesn't hold you back
—favorite lines from the Talking Heads', "Once in a Lifetime."
