Hello to my few readers.
When I began this blog I intended to write mostly about the imaginary lives of animals. There's part of me that still wants to do that, but I've been pushed in some different directions for a variety of reasons. Protocol probably says I should scrap this blog and start another one but I don't want to do that, I've always liked what I do here. So I'm going to make the effort to write more. Please understand that some of it may get political or personal. I try to choose my words carefully when I sign my name to something, so I promise I will try to be respectful of other's feelings and not speak out of hate or fear, and I reserve the right to delete comments yada yada yada if anyone starts getting silly.
So, I'll be writing more. But for now, I want to put up two re-posts from my facebook page that sum up where I've been space-wise and head-wise the last few months. Some of it repeats a little bit of my post below about my stepfather, John, from the perspective of a couple of months later. Some of it might be difficult to read or understand, but it's the truth as I see it, or at least as I saw it when I was writing.
Thanks.
I'm not really this scary.
From July 24:
I'm not pretending that everyone who is a facebook friend should care about this, but there's been a lot going on with me that I want to tell everyone about.
In many ways this has been a very good year for me, because I've learned a lot about myself, maybe more than I ever have about myself in such a short time. As someone who is going to be 39 years old in a few months (to some of you that must seem like a long way away), that's kind of an odd thing to say. One of the lies they tell you when you are a kid is that when you are a "grown up" you will stop growing and changing. Whether it's staying in one job, with one partner, in one place, the idea of stability is somehow equated with maturity.
Well, I've moved around a lot, with great pleasure, through a couple of different careers, a few different schools and states, a lot of wonderful experiences, a lot of good friends, and a healthy dose of disappointment as well. I'm no stranger to transition and looking for something new, I've never been one to settle.
So what makes this change so different, so drastic? It probably has to do with the fact that it came out of what is truly the most horrifying and terrible experience of my life, something that even three months removed is completely raw, unpredictable, and torturous. I've shared a lot of details about this with many of you, but for those of you who don't know, my stepfather died in a particularly horrible way on April 13. Rather than recount the details, you can read about them in a post I did for dailykos.
http://www.dailykos.com/st
The follow-up to this is that I have a new and more complicated relationship with my mother. I've often felt a bit ashamed about being that grad student who still lives with his mom, but obviously it's a blessing for her that I am here right now to help us get through this time. I'm happy to say that beginning next week she is starting a new job -- her old job was a key source of what contributed to my stepfather's actions -- and that she's started to find new and wonderful directions in her life, reconnecting with old friends, doing things she hasn't done before (Like innertubing in Texas, which was a bad idea since she wiped out and lost her glasses and banged up her knee, but at least she was being alive). But it's also meant that we've had to carry this darkness between us. It's something I'd do for any friend, anyone in my family, and obviously, most of us would do it for our mothers. But it's been difficult: it's not easy to come home and find my mother, a woman who I consider an emotional giant and an inspiration, crying, broken down. The Shakespeare word is "bereft." For whatever joy we may have in our lives, ours is still a home bereft of life.
Another result is that immediately after this event my body started acting up on me. I admit that I am not in the greatest physical shape, but I have always lead a fairly robust life, eat reasonably well most of the time, and like being a bigger person. I knew that one day I would have to change some habits, and when things just weren't working right, and I was getting weird sensations and digestive problems, something needed to change. As a result, I've radically changed the way I eat, more to control my body chemistry than lose weight (though I am likely to lose weight) and have for the first time in many years agreed to go on minor medication (I loathe pharmaceuticals) to control my blood pressure, which in the last two months has become dangerously high. (For the record, I had a full checkup less than two years ago and everything was fine).
At first, as I was going through all this, I kept reminding myself that I am not afraid of death. And I'm not. I never have been. I believe my soul will ascend to a better place (I call it heaven and imagine I will be with God and other souls who have passed, but you can believe otherwise if you choose), I know my troubles will be over, and I know that I will be well-remembered. But that thought wasn't getting me through the emotional trauma, it wasn't pushing me forward, it wasn't making me better. It was just keeping me from getting worse, reminding myself that if any of this killed me it wasn't the worst possible outcome.
What has changed is that I have learned that there is a slight difference between not being afraid of death and actually wanting to live.
I don't think I've avoided life, but there are times when I seem to take a step back from the way other people live. It's because I like watching, it's because I like to be a little different, it's because I trust myself being a bit on the alone/solitary side. I get so much out of my work teaching, so much enjoy my creative work acting and playing music, that it is easy to devote myself entirely to those two things and not have to worry too much about the rest of the world.
But now, seeking more meaning, seeking something that will help me make sense of my life in the wake of a horrendous 45 minute nightmare that has become a most unwanted center of gravity in my home, my family, and my ability to love, I realize I do care about the rest of the world. I actually want to live, and want to declare my preference for living, which does not negate my non-fear of dying.
I don't think I'm a different person than I ever have been: I have new experiences and new memories and new wisdom, but I love the same way and believe the same way that I always have. My process is mostly the same, my desires the same, my dreams the same.
But I feel like I am beginning to act differently, more in accordance with who I really am, asserting that side of myself to the world just a little bit more. It's important for you, all of you, to know how much I deeply care about and respect what you have done in my life. Even if you are an anonymous DA60 student, someone I had in DA5 four years ago, someone I knew from Hollywood, my mockumentary friends, someone I've never met from Cute Overload, or my best friends whom I have worked with and played with for the last several years at college. You have all helped give me the confidence to do what I do well, and have hopefully kept me humble enough that I keep learning new things every time we meet and play.
I hope that in however many years I have left (and I do stress "many years") I have the opportunity to not only work hard doing what I do best, but also to love in stronger and more obvious ways. This is not done "just because" it's a good thing to do as a human -- it's done because it is who I am and who I need to be.
So many good things have happened this year: a beautiful wedding that reminded me how appealing public celebrations of love are; the "last" Revolving Madness show, which reminded me how proud I can be of my friends; lots of time with my nieces, who actually think I'm a fun guy and like to cuddle up with me like kittens; and later this year, I will preside over my cousin's wedding on the beach in Ventura, a reason for our family to celebrate together again, after a very, very troubling time. I am as optimistic as I have ever been, even though death, violence, insanity and morality have become more obvious and terrifying to me than ever.
And best of all, I love you, with the love of the (Lord, Universe, Force, Goddesses, what have you).
"Believe it if you need it, if you don't - just pass it on."
"Fork" (2004) written and directed by Courtney Rundell.
(Yes, I know it's spelled wrong. It's intentional. Read on.)
Contemplating the relationship between waiting and weight.
Due to recent lifestyle changes, my weight has gone down. This was not my intention, so congratulations are unnecessary (though I will accept golf claps for changing my body chemistry for the better). It's not even the icing on the cake, as my recent history of migraines has also seems to have abated. But the candles in the icing (or whatever) is that none of my pants fit me anymore and people routinely comment on my new physique. Don't get me wrong, I know I'm still, at best, "a lovable panda-bear shape," but the weight is definitely less. I have less weight, take up less space, carry less with me, eat less, eliminate less, sleep and laze around a little less. Weight that I had accumulated through experience and indulgence being lifted away. Where does the weight go?
This has coincided with perhaps the most intense periods of waiting I've had in many a year. Some of you have been tuned into my ongoing career drama: at the last moment, a job opened up in Missouri, one that would have required a rather rapid relocation to a place that is, though exciting, decidedly foreign to what I have grown accustomed to. For a week, I waited for a phone call or e-mail that would tell me to pack my things, or else just move on with my life. Plans made were put on hold. My car died three weeks ago and is still 70 miles away in Santa Barbara, because I didn't know if I was going to just let it rot or if I would need to get it fixed so I can function in California. I couldn't commit to other work. I couldn't commit to making dinner plans with my friends, or even appearing in the last two performances of Much Ado About Nothing (shows this Sat/Sun at 5:00 PM, www.shakes-sb.com for details).
That wait ended, but now it's being replaced with this 72 hour tease that Barack Obama is playing with the nation. I mean, he's supposed to text me when he announces his decision (well, me and millions of others, maybe you), and here I am, waiting, being sure my phone is charged and functioning. I mean, really, it's tremendously exciting. It's NEVER this exciting. If nothing else, the man is a master of playing his cards close to the vest. It's a week before McCain's announcement and already there are leaks in major magazines that he has picked Romney. Obama has a public date with his VP choice in less than 48 hours and no one has ANY freaking idea. (For the record, at the moment I'm thinking he's going with Clinton -- it's certainly the most dramatic, "game-changing" move.)
And I'm waiting for other things, too, while weight is leaving me. I'm waiting for a day when I don't meet a memory of my stepfather's last moments every half hour or so. I'm waiting for a day when I can come home and not have to worry about what emotional state I'll find my mother in. I'm waiting for a day when I can have friends over to my own house, when I can adopt another cat, grow green peppers in a garden, and do at least three good things for people I love.
I'm waiting for next month when I get to officiate over my cousin Tory's wedding ceremony. I'm waiting for the moment I get to see my nieces again. I'm waiting for a lot of people in my life to grow up just a little more, because I'm still just a little too old to be a really close friend. I'm waiting for the person I have always been inside to permeate my outer skin and show himself to the world without fear.
I'm waiting for this world to get a little bit older -- or younger -- through evolving. I'm waiting for the promise of the next world to reveal itself to more people I know and love. I'm waiting to live, and I'm waiting to die.
To wait is to experience the emptiness of now: the blessed, eternal present tense of life turned against itself, forced to see its own limitations. It is as much an exercise in futility as it is in faith, for whatever we yearn for, whatever we desire in the future, only has power through its absence in the here and now.
And to lose weight? To lose what has been gained? To undo yourself, physically, remove yourself (or at least layers of yourself) from the space you grew to occupy? To reduce your presence?
Another exercise in being out of time.
Which is probably exactly what I need.
BerthaS...
I jumped onto your blog because I love CuteOverload, and you are so charming, I had to see what you were all about.
I wanted to thank you for putting your heart on your sleeve (or your blog?) Maybe because your story is so compelling to me; maybe because you are a stranger, and it's amazing how comfortable it is to open up to strangers... but, at this time of my life, your words are particularly meaningful to me. Thank you.
I am 34, just left a fairytale relationship that ended up being empty and suddenly left me without energy. A little shellshocked, I guess. I also lost about 25 lbs (purposefully,) and wonder where all that fat really *goes* (though, I'm a nurse, and *know* where it *went,* but sometimes, biology still amazes me...) All your thoughts, about loss and change - about weightloss, gosh - everything, are as cathartic to me as I hope they are to you.
I'm terrified not to have babies, to have had a string of perfect relationships, but still be alone. I am mystified how a 25 lbs lighter me can feel so different, but how being sad feels the same fat or thin. I'm not comfortable with change because, you're right - when we "grow up," we're supposed to be "stable." The kind of life change that I'm experiencing right now is supposed to be past. You are so graceful in your acceptance of life not being what we'd dreamt it to be when we were 14.
In any case, I want you to know that your thoughts are a Godsend to me. It makes me feel so great to know that during all this time of hideous intraspection, there is someone else who sees, and accepts, all the grossness of life - and still can embrace cuteoverload in all its glory.
I want this note to make you feel better. For what it's worth. For some girl in Texas, you make the next few moments of a rough patch bearable...
:)
-Julie (jchang@seton.org)
Posted by: turbofloof | October 16, 2008 at 04:13 PM