I'm too old for this

Dominique Browning wrote a piece for the New York Times titled, "I'm too old for this." It resonated. Not just the first part of the article about the deterioration of our looks at 60, but mostly the latter part of the article on the freedom to ditch old baggage and suffocating expectations. She was finally going to be herself. The idea of living light and right always perks me up. Then my family intervened.

And the rains came.

I'm not "chatty." When I do talk, I talk too loud. I think too deep. I care too much. In writing, particularly on Facebook, where developing thoughts should never be written lest a misunderstanding occur, I write them, hoping for a connection, or someone on the receiving end to help me grab my thinking and move forward. I always intend to be meaningful, and most of the time caring (except for incidents where hate speech is involved- but that is a different topic for another time).

Apparently, I should just shut up. Basically, that's what I think I'll do.

How does this jibe with the, "I'm too old for this" freedom we are supposed to have at a certain age? It doesn't, at least not if you care at all about what others think, which is basically the point of the article.

You shouldn't care. And I do. I do a lot.

 

Looking for a clear view

I worry about this because it means my development is stunted, and I'll never be free. I believe in my heart I've done the right thing. But, I'm shamed. I retreat and apologize. Then feel awful, because I've reconstructed the incident to be what I'm told it was. But, it wasn't. At least for me.

Not that many months ago, I sat with one of my mentors in Sri Lanka sharing lunch. He spoke about his attempts to not speak negatively. But, he said that whenever he opened his mouth, judgments came out. His answer was to meditate and be mute.

I'm with him. And I wish others would come along.

Self Control? Self Censorship? Or Self-Improvement?

Why can't *other people* just control themselves...?

Or said another way, why can't people learn to self censure?

I have been struggling with this question for the last few days because I have been irritated at some of the people I live with for their inability to stop criticizing (me). You know the old adage: If you don't have something nice to say don't say anything at all.

But, no matter how much I just want peace and quiet I have to ask myself, is self censorship desirable or even a good goal? 

If someone is constantly irritated and cranky, and they have the self control to hold it in, isn't it nearly as bad for you and for them as if they just spoke their (cranky) mind?  I tend to think that I can read people fairly well, and if I was with a person that was angry all the time, verbalized or not, I'd know. Living with that sort of anger sounds illness inducing. And probably has been.

However, I am reminded that I can't control someone else and what they do or don't do, or what they think or don't think, or feel or don't feel. Yes, those things are outside of my control.

That's too bad because I was going to recommend meditation to attain inner peace and harmony *for the other person.*  :-)

What I *can* do I guess, is to encourage communication and problem solving with my house-mates. And I know that I can work on not letting someone else's attitude or problem bother me so much, through meditation, prayer, and inner work.


So, I guess I've answered my own question, even if I don't like the answer so much, because it means work, and change, and self improvement for *me.*

Pappa visits us on Daniel’s birthday: Sometimes fights are good for something

Fighting with my baby is painful, particularly on my baby's birthday

My oldest son and I are in a fight. Somehow we are communicating the arguments of our respective significant others. Daniel is speaking for his fiancée and I am communicating for my husband. At one point, I had to stop the argument to ‘fact check’ so that I could offer up the appropriate retort. In that long moment when I was searching my brain for suitably fitting words of reply I realized that the words weren’t absent because of any impending Alzheimer’s disease. The words weren’t there because I didn’t have a memory of what we were fighting about. For a lack of anything better to say, I told him I’d have his father call him directly. The situation becomes simultaneously more complicated and clearer with the knock knock of my mother at the door. She begs me to “please, please, please agree to go to Daniel’s birthday dinner with him. “

This strikes me as absurd. Why wouldn’t I want to go to our number one son’s birthday dinner? How did a fight about canceling Kellan’s visit to our house at the last minute become so complicated?

In an obviously rare moment of reflection I figure out that it is because our fight over Kellan overshadowed the second part of the weekend soiree, which was to have dinner with Daniel and family when we brought Kellan back or they picked him up. Daniel was feeling like we only cared about seeing his son and not him. All at once I felt awful. No one could replace Daniel, not even the child that he fathered.

How do you explain that there is always enough love for everyone, and that love is not reproducible. Unlike a dojong (a Korean name stamp) it is never the same twice.

We had a foreshadowing of this altercation the weekend before, when we were focusing on a grandson-visit and our grown-son felt left out. I hate it when I’m obtuse and stubborn.

I call Rich and leave a message. Then because I am shook up I go to sleep.

Rich comes home and immediately apologizes via iPhone. Daniel does the same via his iPhone. They say they’ll “start over” and talk after the NFL draft is over. They are fine in 5 minutes. It has taken me a full day of arguing and fretting to come to this point of what is non-closure for me (I guess I need an iPhone), but relief.

We wait for Daniel’s phone call.

In the meantime, all phones large and small in our house are freaking out. We get multiple calls on our land-line from the pharmacy telling Rich that his prescriptions are ready to be picked up. This is a new experience, the same recording over and over, one right after the other. China Taste, our local restaurant calls James twice on his cell phone to tell him that his food is ready to be picked up (he didn’t order any). Rich’s cell phone, clearly sitting on the counter in the basket calls me on my cell phone. I answer to silence. And now my freaking E-mail doesn't work.

I am aggravated at technology and perplexed at the multiple glitches that can occur at the same time in totally different communication systems, until it dawns on me. It’s my father: Daniel’s Pappa, who died almost 3 years ago. He is upset that we are fighting on the day before his Prunie’s birthday. I walk over to mom’s house and tell her that Pappa is here. She cries and says, “I’ll bet that’s it.” I call Daniel and tell him what is going on. He believes me. Dan calls and makes reservations at the Japanese restaurant for tomorrow and promises me he’ll let Pappa know that he’s okay. I have no doubt that my dad will be there tomorrow with us, eating Japanese food and celebrating. Just like I have no doubt that he’s here with us now.

The phone calls stop. My E-mail works.