95% Bullshit Free

Here’s the truth of it: some days just kick my ass. I get scared, lonely, tired and overwhelmed, and then I sort of wade around in it for a spell trying to remember how to stand up straight and move forward.

This is not a confession, because anyone who reads between the lines probably already knows that I am not as strong as I profess to be (nor as confident). In fact, the sole brilliance I may possess (outside of making very tasty pies) - could very well be my ability to act as though I have all the confidence in the world.

In some circles this is also known as “bullshitting.”

For years and years, I sharpened my bullshitting skills. It wasn’t uncommon for me to leap before looking, raise my hand first (even if I didn’t know the answer), get mad rather than show pain, and generally act as though nothing could frighten me. The bad news about all this behavior is that, over time - I liked who I was pretending to be less and less.

Now, the funny thing about traits that we practice for years and years, whether they’re good or bad, is that they take can take root deeply. To really and truly dislodge one’s negative roots can be very very difficult. It requires not only awareness and practice...but maybe even a life changing event - or two - to shake you to your core and start mixing things up.

A year ago I was plodding along, considering the pros and cons of being just a tiny bit less of a bullshitter. I wasn’t much liking myself, but change felt like an awful lot of work. I suspect that I may have even been attempting to bullshit myself into believing that happiness and connection and forgiveness and faith - were perfectly attainable - without requiring me to make too many adjustments in my behavior.

Enter life changing events: a career unfolds, a marriage ends, a child becomes ill. Family falters, relationships are tilted on their axis, 2 A.M. takes on the gray streaks of loneliness and creativity has flown the coup. Nasty shit. Sort of like copper cleaner. It stinks; it’s poison; you really ought wear protective gloves when using it, but man oh man - with just the right amount of rubbing and attention to detail - it sure does make the metal gleam like sunlight.

So, what I said in the beginning - about “some days” ??  Right. Well, I had one of those today. I was tired, frightened about a simple thing, didn’t like being alone and feeling especially sorry for my sorry little old self. Compared to some of the days I’ve weathered, it really was NOT that tough of a day, but for some reason, maybe because my bullshit tools are growing rusty from disuse, I not only allowed myself to honestly feel, but I also asked for help. (And guess what?) Help arrived in spades!

I was assured, treated with respect, reminded to keep a sense of humor, shown kindness, offered love - and even told that I really AM strong (without pretending).
 
So, at the end of this day that I was pretty convinced I couldn’t be done with quickly enough), I am now savoring.

Sarah, thank you for making sure I ate breakfast  and getting me to smile. Roanna, thank you for letting me be grumpy and still being my friend. Carlos, thank you for calling me all the way from Spain - twice - to reassure me. Steve, thanks for being a boss who supports learning and for making me laugh at the small stuff. Aidan, thanks for starting and ending my day with your care. Carolyn, thanks for checking up on me. Maylee, thank you for catching me with tenderness and for the beautiful flowers! And all my friends paying attention out there - you twinkling points of light and life - thank you for reading and posting and asking great questions and making honest observations.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. From the depths of my much happier, much more vulnerable and 95% bullshit-free heart - I thank you. ~ mlp

The Territories of Joy and Sorrow

How does one who lives a wild and untamed life keep the inevitable sadness that goes with such a life at bay? Because, it's true. To live in the fullness of a passionate life that is creative, intentional, in motion and ever-changing, one must be prepared for unexpected risks into the deepest territories of both joy and sorrow. The joy...well, most of us risk-takers know exactly what to do with joy. But the sorrow can be a bit trickier to manage. Either way -  learning to completely embrace either state of being is not for the faint of heart.

T.H. White wrote, in a conversation between Merlin and Arthur in the novel The Once and Future King a bit of wisdom that helps me when I find myself disoriented by fear of the unknown, or despair over the state of the world, or the simple but profoundly intense experience of missing someone I love.

"The best thing for being sad," replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, "is to learn something. That's the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are to learn.

My current "to learn" list looks something like this:

• a new language
• the fiddle
• more patience and trust
• all the new web-building programs that my boss has asked me to digest
• how to streamline my practical tools (camera, computer, phone). Whew!
• more kindness
• more surrender
• more faith - that all will be well
• and maybe a wee bit of step dancing...because, when I'm truly sad, dancing is a temporary and wonderful remedy.

So that seems like plenty for now. It may not abolish the sadness completely, but it will - at least - keep my wild and untamed fire burning while I wait to turn the next corner into the realm of joy!

 

 

Damn Issues

Dear friends,
A good Monday morning to you. I was all set to dive into a more creative topic than this, but something up into my in box this morning that changed my topic course.

Apparently, Google blogger (the blog site I use) is having issues with comment postings. (See image below to fully appreciate how I am feeling about this problem!)

How it typically works is someone responds to a blog post, their comment comes to me via email for me to “moderate” the comment (decide whether or not I want to make it public) and then I just click “okay, “ and your comment gets posted under the blog it was in response to.

Your comments and feedback mean a great deal to me. This blog is a labor of love, and I appreciate even knowing that there is even someone out there reading it - much less actually participating in the “conversation” about how I may have sparked a thought or feeling in them.

I’ve yet to delete or reject someone’s comment.

Thank goodness, my dear friend Kris dropped me an email through a different route this morning asking me if her comment has offended me in some way.

Comment....I thought....what comment? Which lead me to discover that the system is flawed, broken or just down - hopefully temporarily, but in the meanwhile, twelve - yup 12 comments have vanished. I’m super bummed. I never got to see them. I was never notified, and worst of all - some of you may think I didn’t want to hear what you had to say. (Once again, please refer to the image below for full effect!)

I really want to hear from you.

Please email me your comments. If you’d like me to keep them private, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll manually add them to the post which they are in response to.

Honestly. Some days I doubt that a single person is reading this, so to know that 12 people chimed in feels very heartening.

Here’s my email: mlp@marthaphelps.com

Looking forward.
Martha

PS If anyone out there feels like experimenting (Jimmy??), please post a comment to this morning's post AND email a copy of your comment to me. That way, I can find out whether or not Blogger has resolved their issue. Damn issues. They have a way of being a real drag on occasion......

Extending Life's Radius

 Mt. Shasta - a mere 76 miles from home - taken from Hwy 89 vantage

I heard somewhere that it’s not unusual for “most” people in the world to be born, live and die within a twenty mile radius. This is easy to imagine, when I consider the lives of folks living in developing countries, but it’s damn near impossible to fathom when I look through the rose-colored lenses of my middle class American educated upbringing in comfortable Ashland, Oregon. Nevertheless, the girls and I pondered this “leaving one’s known twenty mile turf” theory while our odometer logged in more and more miles in the opposite direction of home. We were readily able to acknowledge that our act of packing up and making a 1500 mile trip would be considered a very large departure of the norm for many folks.

Perhaps that was part of the reason our trip was such a stretch for me; I was actively choosing to drive away from a safety net I have had anchored in place since I was about ten years old. See, I was the kid who wouldn’t accept a sleepover invitation unless it was close enough to home that I could easily walk home (or be picked up by a sleepy parent ) at 12:30 A.M. That was about the hour I would invariably realize that I was SO wickedly homesick, so painfully anxiety-ridden with fear of being away - that,  with knees literally knocking together, I'd make the walk of shame to the parent’s of whichever friend had invited me over and ask permission to call home.

Mind you, after playing out that particular scenario two or three times in elementary school, it ceased to continue with regularity because I became a skilled practitioner of avoidance and was adept at politely refusing most invitations to slumber parties, Friday night sleepovers and summer weekend camp outs. In middle school, when the social ladder is as much a part of one’s overnight luggage as a comfy pillow, it was often a very tough call between accepting an invitation (and perhaps spending a night in overwrought tension) or declining (and being left out of essential adolescent  exploits to be shared among peers on Monday morning by the lockers). Sometimes I would momentarily forget my angst - in the excitement and thrall of potential adventures, and I would say “yes” to a generous friend who wanted my company. Then, I would remember my looming apprehensions at the last moment and crumble in complete humiliation - disappointing tenfold whomever my pal was with a phone call to say, “Sorry; I can’t make it after all.”

By the time I was fourteen, my parents were ready to disown me due to what they considered irrational behavior. It wasn’t irrational to me though, nor was it complicated. I didn’t particularly need THEM to be at home; in fact, they could travel away all they wanted, as long as they left me there  - safe and snug. About the time that they began to surrender to the idea that I would live in Ashland forever and never trot the globe, I began to conquer some of said homesickness by the company I kept, and made my first successful trip away with my high school sweetheart and his parents at fifteen, and the rest is - as they say - history. Sort of.

Diagnosis-wise, I’m fairly certain my symptoms were anxiety attacks, not exactly your run-of-the-mill childhood homesickness, but truly scary events. Do I still experience that knee-shaking, belly quaking fear from time to time? I guess the fact that I have traveled happily and successfully for the past three decades is some sort of “Proof of Ability,” but the honest answer is: Yes. Absolutely. (And I’ve learned to get over it.)

The first two nights spent with my son in the oncology unit at Oregon Health Science University gripped me like I’ve never been gripped, and since Reid’s cancer diagnosis, I have become reacquainted with fearful feelings I haven’t felt since adolescence.

So this first trip out and away since leukemia moved into our family, this first time away from Reid since he got sick, THIS was a big departure from the “new norm” of our life. All the way to Death Valley, California I asked myself, “Is fear of FEAR big enough to hold me back anymore? Do I decline otherwise new journeys because I’m afraid of being sick to my stomach with terror in the middle of the night? After having come all this way - after having left behind all that we once believed was comfortable and familiar, is worry big enough to keep us from venturing out, kids in tow to see, share and discover this amazing planet?”

I know it will be a damned tough call at times. Sometimes, like this past week, I will have to dig very, very deeply into my heart, remind myself to breathe and resolutely plant one foot forward. Being able to set forth and journey - both literally and figuratively - was and is a privilege and a joyful act of life celebration. The learning opportunities outside our doorsteps have as much to do with what we experience while away - as how they impact our return and the changed, hopefully sweeter relationship we will bring back home. 

 McArthur-Burney Falls Memorial State Park, CA

127 miles from Ashland, OR

Contracts and (Re)negotiations

renegotiate |ˌrēnəˈgō sh ēˌāt|
verb [ trans. ]
negotiate (something) again in order to change the original agreed terms : the parties will renegotiate the price | [ intrans. ] she asked to renegotiate after signing the contract.

If memory serves, the attached note was composed by a seven year old Reid. One day at summer soccer camp pick up, the young YMCA director - with a firm hand gripping my son’s shoulder - approached me with a “concern.” My boy had not only been side-talking while coaches were instructing, but Reid had declared during a match that the officiating "sucked." Clearly this kid was a trouble-maker, and if he intended on returning to camp the next day, a letter of apology would be necessary. The terms were non-negotiable.

Sitting in the car together, Reid explained all of the reasons he was not at fault. He declared that, despite his obvious innocence, he would “write the stupid letter,” but only because he really wanted to keep playing soccer and not because he was admitting guilt.

As a still-novice mother at that point in time, I’m sure I was bugged by Reid’s seeming lack of willingness to accept responsibility for his actions. Now, I look back on the incident with amusement and appreciation for the way he “sucked up” (pardon my language, Coach) and re-negotiated within his own heart and mind so that he could stay in the game that he loved (and  continues to love) so much.

Sometimes, in order to get what we want - or serve the greater good - or make amends - or simply make a shift, we have to accept different terms and conditions. Every day - from business to personal, from political to spiritual, from children to adults - agreements change and new contracts are drafted. It’s maddening in many many ways (just ask any attorney), but it’s part of the human condition. Sometimes the easiest way to accept something that is non-negotiable, is to work a little inner renegotiating and healthy surrender.

This morning, my desire to stay in the game is so great, I am about to back down from the covenant I made with myself to blog continually for ninety weekdays in a row. Since I am the creator of my blogging contract, my own boss - so to speak, this renegotiation has not been a simple or necessarily peaceful process. I’m a tough boss to myself. In the end, I had to call out my inner mediator to successfully seal a new bargain between Martha, the writer and Martha, the hard-assed boss lady. True story.

The result of these new terms: I am taking the next two weeks off from public journaling to make a couple of geographic trips and hopefully, a multitude of creative intangible journeys. There’s essential business and play to attend with my kids and myself during this break, and I want to give each moment my undivided attention. I will return to this written account of my wild untamed life on purpose on Monday, March 29. Meanwhile, I’ll be out there living in it, and I invite you all to do the same!

All will be well ~ m.l.p.

Sick Days

I have a kid home sick today, so I'll keep this brief.
Assuming that most of my readers are over thirty, do you remember sick days as a kid?
I do. In a word - they were, besides bearing all the trademarks of typical childhood illness's (low grade fevers, puking, sore throats and horrid head colds), BORING.
In my family of origin, staying home sick from school meant sleeping, reading, pretending the lines of the quilt were roads, drawing pictures and occasionally, if one had an exceptionally bad headache, and if one of my parents had stayed home to adhere to those lines in the unwritten contract of parenting (Section II, article IV: "When your kid runs a fever over 101.5, you are required to take a day off of work.") - then we might get read out loud to for 20 minutes. By the time I had done all of those things, I only had another six and a half hours of feeling lousy and bored until one of my siblings came home from school. By the time I was a teenager, the sick day repertoire expanded to listening to records or sometimes being allowed to bring the 18 ton "portable" black and white tv into my bedroom to choose between three channels of daytime television.
The beauty of sick days back then were that they were so horrendously mind-numbing, the motivation to get well soon was very very high. Anything at school (except for the cafeteria food) was better than being stuck at home with a snotty nose.
Here at my house, in this grand new year of 2010, being physically ill is no less of a drag, but the stay at home perks are abundant. First off, I work at home - so Mama is on call all the time. Since 7:30 this morning, I have delivered tea, pancakes, re-warmed the tea, whipped up an egg and toast, administered children's ibuprofen and opened a fresh tissue box. The many voices of Jim Dale (brilliant reader of all the Harry Potter audio books) is drifting down the staircase into my office, and I know that when I go to check on my rosy-checked girl, she'll be contentedly snuggled down in the blankets in a Hogwarts induced stupor.
She's already asked for the laptop and Netflix, to which I replied with a firm negatory. An order for the next in a series of books she is reading will hopefully be filled at the public library. An art pad awaits when she feels ready to sit up, and the kitchen won't close all day long. She'll be amused, but not too; we'll both be grateful that I work at home, but I'll surrender much of the day (in accordance with section II article IV). She’ll whine a bit, sigh a few hundred times, and her healthy little body will race through this with nary an issue. All will be well.

 

My gal on a feeling great day, not so long ago!

What NOT to Say to Someone with Cancer

When presented with the opportunity for a new life experience, many of us  take anywhere from a few moments to a few days to “bone up” (study) on what we may need to know for the greatest success, pleasure, reward and impact when we have said “new experience.” The internet is an incredible resource for quick studies on damn near everything. So as I sat considering today’s blog, I started with a simple search engine query to find out what others have had to say about: “What not to say to someone with cancer.


There were 52,100,100 search results. Wow. Why bother with today’s blog?

Maybe the real question is: why have there needed to be 52,100,100 posts, articles, videos, newsletters, ezines and statements about this topic? Clearly, people aren’t getting the memos being sent out over and over and over and over. While no one denies the good intentions that friends and community may feel deeply toward a cancer patient and their family, nor the gratitude that a cancer patient and their family feel in response to the care and concern extended to them, there truly are things that one SHOULD NOT SAY to someone with cancer.

Lori Hope at care pages has written a short and clear piece about this issue that I highly recommend, while pink prozac’s blog relates “41 Things Not To Say To Someone With Cancer” in a very direct, non nonsense, language colorful manner. Wild Roses has both a “what not to say” entry as well as a “what TO SAY article” that is very well informed and positive.

Should I attempt to be the 100th monkey on this topic? The one that ultimately tips the proverbial balance so that there is an awakening of compassion and understanding in how to talk with cancer patients? The answer is yes. Because if you want to have the greatest success, pleasure, reward and impact in the life of a friend battling cancer; if you want to be a part of their HEALING journey, then you need to study up on how best to communicate and be present for that person and their family.

I won’t recreate a list of 41 things (but please, click the link and see for yourself). I am going to touch on things I hear about eight times a week (unless I happen to be at a social event, in which case - I hear them eight times in an hour).  For each of these, I offer an alternative thing one might say instead.

1. “What’s your (son’s) prognosis? “As Lori Hope says, this word reminds us of mortality. Hearing it challenges one’s ability to remain present and positive. 

Try this: You are in my thoughts and prayers.

2. “I saw your son, he looks great for someone with cancer.” What is someone with cancer supposed to look like? My son looks like himself. He cares about his appearance in the world, even when he feels like shit, is completely exhausted, frustrated over having his nineteen year old life ripped off and has just weathered an hour long nosebleed and a three hour blood transfusion.

Try this: I’ll bet this sucks. Would you like to talk?

3. “I had a (fill in relation) who had cancer.” Stop. Just stop. Don’t even think of telling the story unless it is positive and the outcome is LIFE.
Try this: Say nothing. Offer a hug. Say I love you. Talk about something besides cancer.

4. To me, the caregiver/mom: “You’re so lucky you don’t have to work right now.” Good grief. First, I’d take ANY job over having my boy have cancer. Second, this IS work. My son is working harder than he’s ever in his life - for his life; I am working very hard also - to support him, his sisters and myself. Third, I’m unemployed and while the timing (as if there were such a thing with cancer) allows me to care for my son, this is anxiety producing on multiple levels.
Try this: I’ll bet this is hard work. or - I have a lead on a part time job for you that will allow you to keep taking care of your son.

5. Again, to me: “I just can’t imagine having my child die before I do. Where do you find your strength and positive attitude?” Guess what? I can’t imagine such a thing either. What parent wants to imagine such a thing? Our family is moving through stages of grief and loss. Dealing with depression, anxiety and panic is very taxing. I am doing this because I love my child. I find strength in my love for my child - just as any true parent does in times like these.
Try this: I’m here for you. So there you have it.

Now the search engine will read 52,100,101 results. Hopefully this one will help teach.