Growing the "F" Up.

Clearly this is a cliche.  But I dig those, because, usually they're cliche's because they're true.  Sorta like stereotypes, but not as racist.  (Side note: I do not consider myself racist.  Quite progressive, actually.  But stereotypes exist because truth gets exaggerated.  Read a book.  God.)

But I digress.

I've been thinking quite a bit about impermanence lately, and this idea that life is constantly changing, things are always in transition and the fact of the matter is of my (and yours!) nature to grow old, to get sick, to die and to die alone.

Bleak, ain't it?  But it's the truth and nothing reminds me of that more than Colorado in the Spring (or winter, or fall, or summer for that matter).  Sunday was a beautiful day.  Monday, we enjoyed a high of 69 and news of a Blizzard warning.  While Tuesday did not bring the blizzard we were promised (um, Thank GOD) it did snow, get pretty icy and had a high of 25.  It's been chilly ever since.

And I'm over it.  I'm over tights. I'm over sweaters.  I'm over sweater dresses with tights (which some of you know is partly because I will NOT purchase new ones and all of my tights proudly sport holes on my bum).  And I'm over boots.  I want spring!! I want to see the first buds on trees, and get excited that every day the world looks a more vibrant shade of green.  I want shorts and flip flops and a reason to actually get a pedicure and to have to shave my legs and arm pits daily.  I want cute dresses, damn it, AND the hope, expectation, and feeling of endless possibility that Spring brings.  I want Winter to be OVER!

And aren't we like that? Fuck you if you aren't, because I am.  I am consistently wanting to get to the NEXT thing, the NEXT vacation, the NEXT boyfriend, the NEXT NEXT NEXT...unless I'm attempting to return to the LAST thing, the LAST weekend of college, the LAST time I saw what's his face, the LAST time I...whatever.  I can go through old pictures and letters and relieve entire eras in my head, or I can fantasize and worry and create entire miniseries of future happenings in my head.  What I have a much more difficult time doing, however, is being still.  I am constantly wanting the winters of my life to be over, and constantly nearly pee my pants anxious for the springs to start.  And usually, this all happens at the same time.

We I are am an impossible beings.

And I'm going to blame all of this on the seemingly complex, impossibly simple notion of impermanence.

During the last winter of my life, I was 28, living with parents--single after I pretty much told God that I had met the man I was going to marry and gripped my little fist over that one particular outcome so tight that Universe nearly needed to cut my arm off to save me (at least that's what it felt like).  And I was miserable learning the lessons.  I was tired of the ups and downs, continuous motion and the rapid shifts in e-motion that grieving brings.  I was HEART BROKEN.  And I wanted it to STOP.  And I didn't deserve ANY of this, couldn't you see that?? I was the perfectly innocent victim that did not understand how I could orchestrate every detail of a life that fell apart.  Sure, I couldn't tell you one detail about him in particular that I missed.  Sure, I didn't necessarily want HIM back as much as I needed him to want ME back.  Sure, I ignored every sign that God, my body and my spirit gave me that this was NOT WORKING.  Still, I did NOTHING to deserve this pain.  And why was it lasting SO LONG?!  It had been three months for God's sake.  (insert sarcasm font here). At least this is what I was telling my therapist one particular Wednesday morning in July.

Right before she asked me if I wanted her to tell me what she thought or "massage you through it?"

And I replied..."Well, I'm not really paying you for me to work so hard." (Best. Client. Ever.).

To which she responded, "Jasmine.  You need to grow the fuck up."

Which quite honestly, I didn't get.  I mean, how much more grown up is your life FALLING APART?!  But I digress, because I must preface this by saying that I have been seeing Gayle every other week since I was 24 years old.  SHE KNOWS ME, and she knows what I need and I love her for it.  Some of my therapist friends are gasping right now thinking that a good therapist would NEVER say that OUT LOUD to a client.  And the people who know me, know me, like FOR REAL know me, are laughing their asses off.

Because she was right.  100 percent right.  And since I chose the option that didn't allow her to "massage me through it," we were able to process this.  We were able to discuss the truth that no one gets to escape pain.  Everyone has a winter, and if you're lucky, blessed and on the path of vulnerability, courage, realness or just human, you have multiple winters.  And you embrace this like the fucking spiritual warrior you are.  At least that's what I tell myself.  Because I can't control the weather, I can't control my feelings, I can't control my thoughts and I can't control others.  But I can control whether (see what I did there?) I open up to these dynamic shifts of humanness.  I can control if I let my pain define me, close me up to more winters, kill the vibrancy that comes with being a vital, mature, grown up human being who gets to feel EVERY emotion other human beings feel, or if I do my damnedest to lean into the pain, let it teach me what it will and let it join me on my journey as a companion during the next one.

And I choose, and consistently re-choose because I forgot, and re-choose again because I'm tired, and re-choose some more because I'm imperfect, the latter.  I choose to be a spiritual warrior and not only wake up to, but embrace the fact that, as Pema Chodron beautifully writes, "Life's energy is never static.  It's as shifting, fluid, changing as the weather.  Sometimes we like how we're feeling, sometimes we don't.  Then we like it again.  Then we don't.  Happy and sad, comfortable and uncomfortable alternate continually.  This is how it is."

And I'm still tired of this winter, and I'm still excited for spring.

But I'm here.  And I'm present.  And I'm learning.

And clearly...I'm growing the fuck up.

Sabbaticals

Oh. My. God.  I literally forgot that I even had a blog.  I have spent so much time well, living my life, that I have not written in a really long time.  And that makes me sad, because a trend I'm noticing in my life is that my creative juices have, in the past, been only used during times that I am feeling sad.  The last time I wrote anything on this was October 11, 2011--about 5 months into one of the most heart wrenching, life changing, life affirming breakups that I have ever experienced.

And I have endless gratitude in my ability to say right now that I'm on the other side of that.  One of my latest Facebook status updates was my expressing gratitude for being in a place in my life where I find myself thinking, often, many times a day on some days "I'm really happy."

And ain't that an em-effer?? Because the last time I wrote on these pages, I was doing so for survival, for sustenance, and for a less harmful coping skill than endless glasses of whiskey wine.

But I just spent the last hour catching up on a coworker's blog.  And it restored my faith.  And before you think that's a bit melodramatic, let me explain.

But first, I must offer up a virtual bow of thanks to our grand comedian, Universe, for the realization that I am writing again exactly 18 months after my last post.  

Ok, back to it.  I have been in the clinical portion of my Masters since January of 2012.  I started with Practicum that spring semester, took the summer off, and began my internship with the Colorado State Employee Assistance Program, where I have been working since August of 2012.

And the experience has been AMAZING.  Sometime in late September I felt I hit my stride as a professional therapist.  I had that "Holy SHIT, I'm a therapist.  Like a REAL one, and I'm pretty effing good at it!!" feeling.  It was incredible, and continues to be.

But now, five weeks away from the weekend of graduation, my 30th birthday, and no more financial aide checks, I'm EXHAUSTED.  I continue to work at the Eating Recovery Center, and I often work Sunday, Monday and Tuesday (12 hour days!!) there and then work Wednesday, Thursday and Fridays at CSEAP.  And I miss my social life, friends, soul affirming conversations with people other than my clients and patients something terrible.

So, back to the concept of my coworker's blog restoring my faith.  She recently made the courageous decision to take a month long sabbatical at work.  And based on her blog posts, she's happy.  She's nourished, she's taking care of her.  And here I am, on day 5 of a 6 day work week.  My eyes are red, my contacts feel glued to my face and I'm literally so anxious and so wound up that I was pacing my living room to "relax."  (That's in quotes because I have a hard time lately understanding what that looks or feels like).  I was feeling the familiar acidity of envy, thinking of her bright smile, infectious laugh, healthy food and wonderful life, while also planning how I can get my private practice off the ground and beating myself up for not writing a business plan or curriculum for a group or reading some therapy article, when the Universe tapped me on the shoulder and said breathe.  Breathe into it and get to know yourself.  And my faith was restored.  I'm finishing INTERNSHIP.  I'm graduating in FIVE weeks.  I'm working 60 hours a week and in a field I (usually) feel blessed to have been chosen for.

I re-read her post about taking a month long sabbatical.  And I smiled.  For her, and for myself.  It took me 4.5 years to become a therapist and 30 years to reach the level of contentment and overall ME-ness I have felt for the past 9 months.  The last time I raced to the end, to the success that I thought was expected me and played by all the arbitrary rules I set for myself, I ended up depressed, co-dependant and fired from a high paying job.  I ended up burnt out.

And I love therapy too much to do that to myself and my career.

So I want to say thank you to this coworker and thank you to God, because tonight I finally gave myself permission to NOT know what happens in the next five weeks.  I don't know what my private practice looks like.  I don't know what my plans are for after graduation.  I  don't know what I'm doing for my 30th birthday (so stop asking, folks), I don't know the details of my graduation party.

I just DON'T KNOW.  And I'm finally, for the first time since the beginning of the year, ok with that.

The future is still there to be discovered.  And just like when I stopped micro-managing my life 4.5 years ago and just let school, and the knowledge I was exactly where I needed to be carry me, I'm letting the don't know-ness of this moment carry me to the couch.  To relax after a long day (week, month and year) to watch cougar town, and later, to cuddle with a new someone nice (And I DON'T know what we're doing either! So stop asking, folks).

Selah, thank you.

Hey, I'm Open!!

But not THAT open, I'm realizing. I was recently pursued by a man in an open relationship. And initially I was flattered. We did the whole flirting thing for a few weeks. He told my friends how much he liked me. He texted me every day, HE pursued ME. But he had this girlfriend. And not the normal, "this guy has a girlfriend" situation. No, he wasn't "over" his girlfriend. He wasn't some guy hesitant to leave a bad situation. He wasn't seeking me out for comfort (not that this is the type of thing that rocks my boat, but attention from an attractive, smart man IS flattering, relationship or no relationship...right??) No, he was openly and admittedly in love with this woman. But they had conflicting schedules and decided that it was ok that they see other people.

I know...if you're anything like me, you're wondering how this works. Or, you're saying "oh, he's just looking for sex." Whatever you're thinking that's ok. I know some of you would have run in the opposite direction and I respect that. But I considered it. And before you judge me for this, realize that I'm in the middle of a break up. I get lonely. I don't want nor am I ready for any attachment (and this was made PAINFULLY obvious when I broke things off with the rebound guy and got ambushed by feelings neither of us were ready for), so something casual seemed nice...a way to have male attention without any of that yucky emotional attachment (ok, ok, so this is a LITTLE idealistic)...it sounded nice. For about ten seconds, until one of my Blonde Besties essentially asked, "Are you FUCKING CRAZY?!" And did the job that only a close friend could do, forcing me examine why it is that I was thinking so little of myself that I was actually CONSIDERING getting involved with a guy who was basically offering me complete emotional unavailability, and not only that, but a second place spot in his heart.

Yes, I'm fucking crazy. Because I'm ADDICTED to unavailable men. In short, they hurt me soooo good and I simply can't get enough. And the reasons for this are far too sad, boring and cliche to get into now. Just know that this realization has been following me around all year long, kicking me in the face repeatedly. You'd think that after multiple black eyes, a bruised ego and a broken down spirit, I would just let go. Give up. Learn to be on my own.

But just as-- thankfully--I couldn't open myself to being second place, I'm not yet ready to open myself to up to the relationship I tried so desperately hard for when I was with my ex. I'm not ready to be that intimate with someone, but I'm also terrified of being alone, which makes it impossible for me to get truly intimate with the person I need to get to know...MYSELF. I'm in this disgusting limbo, middle ground where I'm the only person blocking my path. I want to be dating and even think it would be exciting to meet a man that inspires me. But thinking of what I feel I would have to give up for that type of relationship is enough to make me agoraphobic. I want to be strong enough to say "Yes, I'm single right now, and it's going to take someone pretty amazing to change that." But 8pm shows up every night and brings my two biggest adversaries: loneliness and self-loathing, and you know what I'm learning?? I'm not as open and healthy about dealing with them. I never just open myself to inviting them in and letting them question me. No, I hide from them. I hide in bars with my friends even when I don't want to be out. I hide in novels I'm not enjoying reading, bad tv, my ex, sleep and a host of things that are no longer serving me.

So no, I'm not as open as I thought. But I'm trying. I'm really trying.

Suggestions??

Where is my parachute?

I have always been deeply impressed and in awe of people who go sky diving. It's not that I don't understand it. I get it...that incredible exhilaration one must feel when you finally reach the ground. Or, that feeling of complete freedom people describe when they finally let go and just enjoy the ride. What I don't understand, however, is that moment of complete terror and panic I would have to feel as I stood at the ledge, too high up to see the ground, completely frozen in fear of the fact that I am about to jump out of a plane.

I've realized recently that I'm a person who lives her life avoiding these moments of terror. I'm a professional fear avoider, if you will.

I plan to deal with being afraid. I realize that to some this makes me a control freak. I prefer to call it "knowing what I want." But, whatever the semantics, it makes me live my life in a constant state of intense awareness of the future, learning from the past and completely avoiding what's going on in the present. And when the present is riddled with pain and discomfort, rather than sitting with it, I plan on how to rid myself of it, and then, how to avoid feeling this way again. This little habit of mine, often shows itself in manipulation, in controlling tactics. I have to get people, things, the world, God, whatever--to do what I want so that fear can JUST GO AWAY.

Not the cutest trait, trust me.

And this brings me back to what makes sky diving so impressive. For the first time, I GET IT. The accomplishment in sky diving is the jump. It's standing on that ledge, terrified, and JUMPING ANYWAY. It's having the faith that your parachute will open, that you will make it down and that you will be better than you were before the jump.

And this is what makes this current period of transition so incredibly scary for me. Because right now, I'm filled with pain. I'm standing on that ledge, about to jump out of the plane and I have no choice but to take that leap. I have no choice because I have literally exhausted every option. I have planned, I have manipulated, bargained and cajoled and I still find myself, 13,000 feet in the air, literally facing my biggest fear. I have to embrace this pain, and let it have its way with me. Wave after wave, coursing through my life and my consciousness until I've learned the lessons and grown into the woman God will have me to become.

And the problem, is that I don't WANT to jump. I have had many, many friends tell me that they're proud of me, that I'm strong, and I often look at them, confused. I appreciate the compliment, but I don't feel very brave. I don't feel very strong. I am ONLY jumping right now because I've already tried everything else. If I could figure out a way to make it work, I would return to the same situation that has led me here. Is there pain in the past? Of course. But THAT pain I know. THAT pain I've become comfortable with.

And I have a parachute I don't have much experience in. I have to wrap myself in a parachute of faith and trust that it will work on my ride down. I have to do the thing I am not yet good at doing, and that's to stop planning. To let go and feel myself coast, to embrace the freedom in not being in control and letting God take the reigns for awhile. It's hard because so far all I've known of this experience is pain. All I've felt is fear. I have to trust that the God who lives in me AS me, will show up for me.

And all I can say is, this parachute BETTER effing work. God, wrap me in your faithfulness.