A Return To The Mean

I am a woman of singular virtues.   In each sphere of my life, I possess one particular gift.  It may not be enough to make me exceptional or even interesting, but such a constitutional makeup has, in the long run, kept me safe.   My only physical gift is that of endurance.  I can run and run and run and run till the world finally makes sense again.   My gift in the realm of emotions -- an area the never fails to bewilder and fluster me and turn what I know inside out and upside down -- is the uncanny ability to return to the mean.  Sometimes this return is a stop-motion trickle of rivulets ultimately accumulating into a substantive pool and sometimes it is a head-jerking snap back into place -- but no matter its pace, there is always the return.  My emotional compass may often lead me to wander in a despondent wilderness, but it is also why, in the end, I am never lost.  I always know deep down I will find my way back, that I will return to the mean:  I will come home.  

The mean is neither happy nor unhappy.  It is not painful nor is it exuberant.  Not orange, nor blue.   Sounds a bit like purgatory, but shares just as many characteristics with the definition of nirvana.   It is a holding pattern.  It is refuge.  It is safe.  

The mean is not a place to live.  But, I do often forget, that it is a place to catch my breath.  A ramshackle haven.  Somewhere for the wicked, the worried and the weary to rest and regroup.  

Too long in the mean leads to hardening at the edges, a calcification of the soul.   As such, an imperfect defense from the rawness that ensues from wandering out, bounding up and down the orders of magnitude.  

But the mean keeps me safe.   It lets me survive.   It makes hope possible.   

It is what proves that I can take care of myself.  

Real Life

Currently, my Facebook newsfeed has (1) pictures of four different newborns (all girls, as it happens), (2) a picture of someone's first sonogram (sex indeterminate at this point), (3) three status updates re. attendance at a wedding, (4) one status update celebrating someone's change of relationship status, and (5) a couple pictures of a very pregnant woman (pregnant with a boy, I believe) walking her oldest son to his first day of school.

My life? I have a profile picture of myself at a dance club, a status that features a quote from the premiere of "Entourage", and a posted NYT article re. the Beastie Boys' MCA (nee Adam Yauch) making indie films.

Arrested development much? Oh God. This is not how I envisioned my life to be at this point.

Yeah, I want to gouge my eye out with a fork.

Damnit...

I am never right about anything. But when it comes to the end of relationships, I am a fucking savant. Fantastic.

So, as will come as very little surprise to anyone, it is over. I know I sound angry. I am not sure how I feel. Again, more of this out of body feeling I have had over the last 24 hours. He pegged it to an insurmountable distance issue. Assuredly, the distance put pressure on the relationship that otherwise would not have been there. It artificially accelerated everything. But if you were really excited about the person you would give it a go. However, best to know he is not excited now, rather than later, I suppose. God, I feel so fucking numb. Like literally, I cannot feel my fingers. My body could be made of silly puddy and being contorted in all sorts of shapes right now and I am just watching it happen. Okay, that last sentence makes no sense. I guess I am just... again, numb. My body and my brain are protecting me.

The latest guy has dumped me. The Boy is engaged. I am going to be 31 in 18 days. And if I am brave enough, I am going to go see my first love get married this weekend....

Finally, there are the tears....

Your host...

in this twisted alternate universe is both very sad and very lonely.

Probably doesn't help matters that she is getting old, and watching PS I Love You.

Under Armor

Having decided to take this week -- in the middle of all of my varying inanities -- to contemplate the various planks that make up my own personal platform, I figure I will take the opportunity to explain myself. If only bit by bit. And, if only to myself.

My love of clothing, accessories, shoes and handbags is something that both inspires great pride and great shame in me. I feel shame because I know that taking pleasure in such things is shallow -- vainglorious to the extreme -- and, at a certain level, very declasse (insert accent mark over the last e -- I am too technologically impeded to do so). Very West Egg indeed. But the truth is, labels don't mean that much to me. They do hold some panache for both quality's sake, and letting others know I recognize quality. But still, that is not why I would spend $125 on a t-shirt or $700 on a pair of shoes. Obscene. Wretched. Decadent. Wasteful. I know. But, in the classic new money iteration, the ability to do these things are a signal that I have arrived. I find more honor in them in that, I could care less that the rest of the world thinks I have arrived, it is a signal to me that I am the master of my own destiny. I take care of myself, and I can cater to even my own decadent whims. And, I can make happen for myself, the things that were only pipe dreams so long ago when I was first introduced to the trappings of high society.

But even all of that is just a surface level explanation of my affinity for beautiful clothes and extravagant couture. The end game, the bottom line, is this: High end fashion is the epitome of glamour and beauty, when I can adopt even a little of that into my life, I feel instantly more empowered. Stepping out in 4 inch Christian Laboutins, I feel as though the world is my oyster. I strut. I am powerful. I never feel that way otherwise. Never. And it isn't just the label, but it is the beauty. I have adorned myself with something beautiful and it makes me beautiful too -- if only for a moment. And it feels good. The ugly duckling making good. It gives me a bite of the ephemeral. It is an easy, if temporary, fix to my ongoing crisis of confidence. Though, I must also take pride in the fact that people (as misguided as it is) will look to me as tastemaker. This is an affirmation of a magnitude I can never adequately describe. I was the little fat girl wearing stirrup pants (because she couldn't fit in jeans) and an ALF t-shirt that read "Nice Planet You Have Here" -- for anyone to compliment me on my taste is beyond thrilling. Especially because it really is something I came to all on my own. My mother is not very girly -- her naturally beautiful looks always got her everywhere. Everything I learned about being a girl, about being even remotely a fashionista, I learned on my own. And admittedly, I am as proud of that as I am of any advanced degree or professional accolade I have ever had. Perhaps that is a sad statement, but there is something in the fact of its very organic nature that I find inherently comforting.

Maybe I am shallow after all.

Brave Alternate World

IF I WAS BOTH COURAGEOUS AND FOOLISH ENOUGH TO JUST STATE THE FOLLOWING (WITHOUT ANY CONTEXT OR WARNING) I WOULD. THEN MAYBE I WOULD BE LESS RIDICULOUSLY INSECURE BECAUSE ALL OF MY "UNATTRACTIVE" PARTS WOULD BE EXPOSED. AS I AM STILL A HOPELESS COWARD, INSTEAD I PUBLISH THIS LETTER TO... WELL, LET'S JUST SAY MYSELF... HERE. MOST OF IT WILL NOT BE UNFAMILIAR TO THE AUDIENCE HERE. MERELY COMPRESSED/SUMMARIZED.

What should/could you know about me (as I am not sure I am the best arbiter of what is necessary and what is not -- as I am the most opaque transparent person you will ever meet):

-- I have a tendency to be anxious/a little neurotic. I qualify it this way because I am a lot less anxious/a lot less neurotic that I was years ago, though I guess that even with that being said, I am a lot more anxious than the average person. I have learned over the years how to cope (well, cope better) when I feel anxious. I make a list and/or a plan. I take a run. I ask a direct question b/c usually the answer, one way or another, will make me feel better. It occurs to me that asking the question may make me look silly, but it is a smaller price to pay that carrying the larger ball of anxiety without pause. In this same vein, I am insecure. I know I am smart and there are moments where I believe myself to be attractive, but out in the field/in practice, I have a hard time exuding a belief in the whole package so to speak. In my dating life in particular, I think I am so hung up on my past failures and my internalization of all of the blame for such things, that I can't relax and just be myself, for better or worse. I really, really want to.

-- If I could, I would worry less about things. I will always try to do so, but to a certain extent, I think it is just my way. Silly, I know. But I was the chief worrier in my household -- my mother was cavalier, my father combative in his stress -- and I was always trying to smooth things over. It has become a habit in a lot of ways -- I worried about things that would never happen, and subconsciously, I think I began to believe that that is why they never came to pass. Because I was vigilant, or some such nonsense. These days, I try to ask myself the question as to whether my worry really makes a difference. Sometimes that helps, sometimes it doesn't. Being a BigLaw lawyer, paid to worry over the placement of semi-colon's as though they were a crises, did not help matters much; being a lawyer in a more relaxed in-house setting has helped matters a great deal.

-- Factually "scary" things --

• I was a fat kid (not so scary), I had an eating disorder (on and off from the time I was 14 till the time I was about 28 -- more scary). Not hospitalization-worthy stuff, just more neurotic than anything else. I have always had body issues (see the fat kid thing), but this is actually an area in which I have made tremendous progress in the last 2 years between my nutritionist and having time for regular exercise. I am still probably more of a gym rat than I ought to be, and I am always conscious of what I am eating, but it is also important to me that I eat. Hunger is not an acceptable state of being, and I am okay with being a size 6 (at some point I had whittled myself down to a size 2, but looking back at pics, I don't think that looked good, and I know I certainly didn't feel good, and I was definitely not thinking straight, as I was clearly starving).
• I was raped when I was 14. It was a high school party date rape sort of situation -- which would have been issue enough -- if it hadn't been complicated by the fact that the party was at my house, hosted by my brother, the guy who did it was my best friend's older brother, and it happened in a newly constructed part of the house that had no curtains and faced out towards the backyard where everyone who was anyone at my highschool stood and watched what happened to me. I spent the next two years of high school trying to pretend it didn't happen, though getting reminded of it nearly every day. Years later, people still mention it to my siblings, and not in a sympathetic way, but in a laughing sort of way. Looking back, it is the way my classmates treated me after the fact that seems even more painful than the actual occurrence. I think this is also something I have overcome and that it does not affect me, but I mention it only because I would have said the very same thing 10 years ago, and it was only upon making such a statement to a friend that I realized that I also ended up in tears every time I got physically involved with a man. This is no longer the case, but I think it definitely made me very hesitant and unsure about physicality for a very long time.
• When I was at the firm, I ended up on antidepressants for about a year (I was also seeing a therapist regularly during this time -- at certain points twice a week -- more her idea than mine as it was really expensive). Anyway, I like to think of this as being evidence of strength because I reached out for help when I needed it, but truthfully, it does embarrass me that I was so overwhelmed by life that I had to take such actions. Nonetheless, while it prolonged the inevitable, eventually, I made the move I needed to make -- meaning I left the firm and BigLaw practice, and miraculously, my disposition improved immeasurably (and almost instantaneously). And here we are 18 months out, and I cannot imagine having to use such crutches anymore.
• My family is a little/a lot nuts. They are good people with good hearts and they are not nuts in a way that is mean or vicious, but it is pretty clear they all carry a lot of their own emotional baggage and it is pretty weighty. My parents -- married for 32 years -- did not really seem to like each other much till recently, and then I think it is because they realized they had been together so long, they actually do depend on each other. My mom is generous to fault -- she literally would give you the shirt off her back, on the other hand, she is also ridiculously divorced from her emotions or from the worries of everyday life. She believes absolutely in her own world view and struggles in understanding others. My worrying (a lot of which is misguided, but a lot of which comes from being practical and being a lawyer etc) has always perplexed her. She just doesn't get it. Sometimes this means she succeeds brilliantly, other times it means she crashes and burns in spectacular fashion. Her real estate speculation, into which shamefully, I allowed her to draw me in (as she did to one of my brothers) is an example of the latter. So yes, I am paying a mortgage on a house I will likely never be able to sell, and which is probably worth less than what I paid for it. Again, it shames me to this day, and it has, unfortunately, frayed our relationship quite a bit. The house made me feel trapped at the firm for a long time. Finally, I decided I would have to leave regardless in order to save myself. Things are okay, but again, to this day it still vexes me. I should not have to worry about money the way my parents did -- and I don't -- well, not to that extent. But I should be a lot more secure than I am. And, to a certain extent, as my mother purloins the rent check for the house every month, I am supporting my parents now (in part) as well. It makes for an uncomfortable dynamic, so I don't spend a lot of time with them, though they are geographically close. That being said, they don't exactly reach out either. They are odd folk. Very live and let live -- which is good, so as not to be crowded and smothered, but also there is no feeling of safe harbor, of a buoy of unconditional love. My father is a smart and kind man, who has worked harder and worried more in his life than any person ought to, but he definitely does not cope well with his own stress and worries. He takes them out as passive aggressive moments on the rest of the family. His unpredictable moods would color every dinner and every holiday. When things were good, they were very good. When they were bad, they sucked. Running around on eggshells and still he would find ways to be unhappy. As an adult, I understand all of the extreme pressures to support a family of 7 and to deal with my mother's flights of fancy and everything else, when I was growing up, and I empathize with him. The pressure must have been unimaginable. The man probably didn't sleep for close to 20 years. But it doesn't change the fact that it is for that reason that I have no stomach at all for even the slightest amount of tension or disagreement in my personal life and why I will do anything and go anywhere to ameliorate such a situation as soon as possible. It could be why I am constantly apologizing for things that are not my fault. I will take the blame if we can just move on. Again, he has mellowed with the years, and with children moving out of the house (well some of them), but every holiday still holds the possibility of dramatic exposition, so I always travel home with my metaphysical pith helmet in hand. My brothers all run the gamut of dysfunction from normal to sad. My youngest brother is a geek, but generally, these days, he has a sweet disposition. He is a good kid, and I love him to pieces. Much better than the mid-range teen years when all he ever said was a grunted, "Yes", "No" or "Fine" (or maybe I just caught on and realized I needed to ask more open ended questions). MY oldest brother -- also a sweet person whom I love very much -- has been caught in an arrested development phase for the last 15 years and is now an adult living with a wife and child, but is still enrolled in college classes full time, as he has been constantly, again, for the last 15 years. He broke up with the girlfriend he had before his current wife, just by ceasing to speak with her. Just stopped returning her calls one day. After 2 years! So I ended up dealing with his breakup (I was the only other person related to him for whom she had a number). My middle brother, whom I adore is smart and funny and wonderful, and has a lot of personal issues. At least he has a tendency towards depression, confirmed he has OCD, at worst he is an agoraphobic. He moved back in with my parents a year and a half ago after a break up and he basically hasn't left the house since. Needless to say, family holidays are always unpredictable.
• I am messy.
• I really, really want to be married and to have a family of my own. I am so tired of my own navel gazing. I really want the opportunity to take care of someone else, and to have them take care of me. I cannot think of anything else I want more in this world. I don't know what the "family of my own" would look like. I think it would have kids -- I find myself lately hoping that it would have kids -- but I would not have kids for their own sake. If my family of my own, was just my partner and I, then that would be fine too. Maybe I say such things because I am afraid that I won't be able to have kids, but I think it is more that I have learned enough to know that I can't be sure the shape that certain parts of my life will take. I just need to find someone who isn't afraid of all of the above. And I have to be willing to share it. Both of those things are very hard things, but I think they are possible. Someone who can be patient with me. I am slow to find my rhythm, but once I do, I can follow the beat pretty well.