"Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds." - Albert Einstein

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I use this blog to comment on the world as I see it. Sometimes that's negative...sometimes it's positive...but it will always be truthful.

Friday, July 24, 2015

Prozac and Other Drugs

“Stop worrying so much and have faith that things will work out.”

My mother posted this inspirational meme on Facebook yesterday. It fell in my timeline above an article about the skyrocketing rates of depression and mood-altering drug use in this country and below another meme by a mom friend imploring me to remember that every day with my kids is precious and to cherish every moment.

Every moment? EVERY SINGLE MOMENT?

Here’s the thing, and this isn’t a mom blog – I’m about to take a left turn here – but have you even met my kids? Baby A and Little A are two of the most precious, amazing, inspiring beings to ever walk my earth. They’re sweet and kind and funny and their laughs make my ovaries hurt and my heart open like a freshly bloomed fucking daylily.

But my kids  - like all kids – are assholes.

They spend at lease 67% of each day fighting, spitting, choke-holding, complaining, whining, putting-their-cereal-bowl-in-the-sink-while-simultaneously-proclaiming-hunger-ing. They are children. They are a GIANT chunk of my world and the source of all my joy. But fun? Cherish? No.

I digress.

What is the deal with everyone telling me to be happy all of the damn time?

I recently moved to a new state. Brand spanking new rules, home (teensy apartment), car, “friends” (don’t have any yet). New DMV to figure out. New tax laws. New everything. We like new. New is good. I’m basically a modern day gypsy. But this move meant we also left behind a bourgeoning group of people back in Texas. People we knew. A home literal feet from people who had a cup of sugar or would share a cup of coffee in the morning. A place where the kids could play in the street and nearly everyone knew everyone else’s name.

And leaving that? It was brutal. Not just on me this time, but also on the kids. And, to some degree, I think, on my happyshiny husband for whom the world is literally the place he kicks up his heels and whistles while he works.

Since arriving, I’ve received a lot of well-meant advice about keeping up my chin! and how Things will get better! and Remember how much you hated Texas at first? and Just have faith! And these are all true and meant with love – but here’s the thing – I like to FEEL my emotions. All the way through. For me, even in sadness is a sprinkle of joy and it is, in fact, the sadness, that helps my bipolar, busted-ass brain remember the beauty and awe-inspiring grace this world offers me. I am unable to feel the joy without the hint of sorrow that accompanies it.
Did you see that Pixar movie yet? See the damn movie and you’ll understand.

This obsession with constant happiness isn’t something I’ve ever understood – but starting with my casual reading of “Prozac Nation” I knew that something was terribly wrong with the idea that people should always be in a state of Nirvana. The entire natural world is about balance. What even IS joy if it isn’t tempered with sorrow? But most often that translates in my brain as, “What’s wrong with me that I can’t snap out of it? Is everyone else right and I’m being morose? How is everyone else so goddamn happy all the time?”

And then, as these things happen, little A brought me a message from the capital “U” Universe last night.

He’s had a lot more trouble than all of us on this move; with his explosive temper, sadness, irritability, etc.  He’s hitting the pre-teen years with a motherfucking VENGEANCE. And that’s cool, I remember that: body all bubbling over with new hormones, aching from growing, brain on fire to be in control of your own life. Again – watch that Pixar movie, mm’kay?

So, he had another outburst and we sat him down and told him we had run out of consequences and we were interested to know what he would do with himself. And he

BROKE.

DOWN.

In painful, emotional, anguished tears. He broke down into a puddle of sorrow right there on the foot of our bed. He misses Providence. He can’t figure out how to control himself. He misses his friends. He misses his freedom. He hates himself that he can’t just get happy. Sound familiar?

And so I held him while he felt it. Big A excused himself to the bathroom because watching mine and Aidan’s simultaneous grief was too much for him, I think. He wants so desperately to fix us, sweet man. But he can’t. He can do what he is so good at doing with me in the throes of my own mental illness breaks – he can hold me while I move through it. Grief like this has to be moved THROUGH not AROUND. It is a constant fog, not a mountain. You cannot detour around your own mind.

So I held little A. And he cried. And I cried. And through our sniffles, we talked about all the things we loved and missed about Texas. Then we talked about all the new things we have in Virginia and how much better it will feel once we also have people here. We made a plan to get through it together. We would find our happy, but it might take a while. We agreed to give it a year.

Happiness isn’t always the goal. It can breed a static mind and loss of sense of citizenship, it can blur the vision and still a creative soul. Discontent drives people toward change and betterment of self.  Anguish can clear the mind. Tears can cleanse and sadness can bear fruit. Left alone, it will fester and turn into bitterness, but cultivated and allowed to breathe – sadness turns into a kind of rich, deep soil that will grow up into joy and, I hope, wisdom.


So, next time you find yourself in the uncomfortable position of being with someone when their sadness sets in – I’d ask you to try and hold in that desire to immediately distract them with happiness and instead, hold them while they seek their joy. You might find yours on the same walk through the rich and complicated garden of the human mind.

Love Letter to Texas

Reflection is a tool for the settled. As a confirmed gypsy soul, I’ve never once felt settled in my entire life, until January of 2015. Right about that time, I realized that in a sea of politicians who loathe everything about my politics, an ocean of citizens who truly, passionately believe their state is better than all others (most of whom have never visited and have no desire to do so), and right up to my armpits in a land uniformly focused on empowering businesses and leaders that are devoted to ensuring that the United States most certainly does NOT move in any progressive direction…right about that time, I realized I was happy.  I’m not talking just full of giggles and amusement, people. I found serene, calm, peaceful, beautiful, and graceful joy.

It happened all at once. I decided that I needed to get more exercise, so I committed myself to walking the kids to and from school with my new Spring semester teaching schedule. Every morning, I dutifully packed two lunches, scooped up papers into two backpacks, laced up my black and white Nikes, and took off the 0.6 miles to their school, the 1.3 miles around to the “back lake”, and the 0.4 miles back to our front door. I would then do a little yard work, say hello to Ms. Doris who lived across the street, and then pop inside to poach an egg, toast an English muffin, and make a French press of coffee for breakfast. I’d grade some papers, tidy up a powerpoint, plan my lectures, then settle in for some morning television before I cleaned the house and then walked the 0.6 miles there and then back to the school to grab the kids and come home in the afternoon and get ready to teach night classes. Brutal, hectic, beautiful.

No heart racing anxiety at the solitude.
No panic at the echoes of my own mind.
Just birds chirping, productive silence, and the occasional maudlin lady-rock album.

And then, glory! came the Valentine’s day dance.

I joined the PTA in August at Parent’s Night, as good Texas suburban moms are supposed to do. At that same Parent’s Night, JDH and I spotted a couple we(I) instantly new we(I) wanted to befriend. They had a little dude in baby A’s class, hovered over him at his table, and generally screamed “WE MIGHT/MAYBE/PROBABLY SHARE SOME OF YOUR VALUES BECAUSE WE ARE G – A – Y, GAY!!!”

Because, dear reader, you know we left our gaggle of good progressive gays in North Carolina to move to Texas and I mourned the loss of my liberal paradise with vigor. Gays? In the suburbs? In Texas? What had we found?!?

It turns out, we’d found two of the best, funniest, most committed parents/people/friends in all of Texas. Further, one half of this unexpected power couple was a PTA juggernaut and my door into the mysterious world of friendships with women.

She was there at the setup for the dance.

I am not a leader or a person who wants to be in charge in the PTA. I am a worker bee – service oriented and comfortable with being the person who is there. I show up. Whenever, whatever, and for any crap job that needs done.

I showed up for Valentine’s Day Dance setup and got noticed as being vaguely familiar (which makes sense as I’d been accidentally photobombing these people for months). I struck up a conversation with L, mentioning my kid talked about her kid a lot (true) and wasn’t that such a coincidence, (lie – I’d been trying to work up the guts to speak to her for months) and mentally made a note to speak to her again at pickup on Monday. It worked. I got invited to “Taco Tuesday” and met a whole gaggle of the kindest, most engaging, and genuinely nice women I’ve ever met.

I cannot express to you the magic behind this group of women and subsequently, the entire neighborhood. It opened up to me after that Tuesday. With the approval of L, I was in with the cool kids. Play dates. Cups of coffee on the porch. Spring break plans – it was all on the table! The president of the PTA and I drank beers on my porch. The treasurer and chair of fundraising and I counted chocolate money at our taco place over breakfast. We made weekend plans, our kids got to know (and love) one another, and we generally got along.

So, Providence was perfect and by proxy, Texas became something I didn’t bear, but embraced. I found a community in which I could play a small part and it felt amazing. It was incredible to feel that sense of belonging again, when I had been sure it was lost.

And then, the news: Big A was seeking a promotion, one that would allow me to go back to school. Nirvana! But wait – what about our paradise?

Ultimately, friends, you know the answer to this question. We are four days into our new move – crossing the country once more to a new beginning.  The idea that I won’t ever have this magic again – these women again – is terrifying. But I keep returning to L, the catalyst to my happiness. She and eventually her wifey C opened the doors to my joy by making me feel brave enough to speak out loud in a group of very diverse women united by our dedication to our children.

We might return to Providence someday, I hope we keep these people collected in our long term repository of love and friendship – but if we don’t, I am determined to take the lessons I learned in that serene and verdant copse and share them.


I intend to show boldness and honesty in spirit and conduct., to remember grace and acceptance of diversity of all types. Commit to the benefit of the group and the welfare of all. And above all, find the willingness to say, “hello” on the first day. With these values, new communities can be built and love can be discovered. So thanks, Providence.