Tag

Heart and mind

Fear: Does Writing Scare Me?

Fear, that coward; that bully who frightens his victim into resignation.
Defeat this oppressor with action, simple as it may be, for it is in the stagnation that he performs best.

I haven’t sat down to write like I used to. This presents a considerable problem (not to the outside world necessarily) but to my own psyche that thrives on the outpouring of my soul onto paper.

There are a slew of reasons why: excuses, some of the legitimate, some of them not so much. Time being one of these justifications: who has the time? There just isn’t enough time. Maybe tomorrow, next week, when things slow down, someday…

It becomes scary when “too much” time has gone by. All of a sudden, the blank page faces me and I find myself in the grungy hands of fear. I need to make a change.

In my spiritual quest as of late, I’ve been reflecting on time, specifically “time dysfunction” as Deepak Chopra describes it. I consider what is most important to me, in the now:

  • Spending meaningful moments with my family
  • Maintaining a healthy lifestyle
  • Writing

I ask: How can I arrange my now, my present life, to care for and nourish those things that are most important?

Faced fearI think of those things that I’m already doing, and I give myself a gold star before moving on. Then, I begin to-politely- ask fear to leave, as he is no longer welcome. My behaviors require constant reinforcement:
You’re doing great, Kirsten!
Keep up the good work!
This is for yourself, and you’ll be a better person for it. Promise. Swear. Girl Scout’s honor.

“When a resolute young fellow steps up to the great bully, the world, and takes him boldly by the beard, he is often surprised to find it comes off in his hand, and that it was only tied on to scare away the timid adventurers.”  
Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

So I will not be, as Mr. Emerson says, a timid adventurer, and write I shall.
The time is now!

I am resolute; I will not fear.

I Smelled Fire

I smelled fire.
The moment I walked into the house from the garage, its pungent odor invaded my nostrils, but I couldn’t see the source.

To my right I saw him sleeping on the couch with the TV blaring ‘Lethal Weapon 3’ on TBS, the ingredients for the dinner he had promised to make while I was at class sat on the kitchen counter. I wondered how long that pork had been out.

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Soulmate

soulmate
I could write a book about all the ways I love you…

I’ve finally found someone with whom I share myriad interests and passions.
We enjoy the same kinds of movies (horror and comedies- nothing that makes either one of us feel emotions).
We have the same taste in music (all over the place; much like my mindset).
Figuring out our food options is never an issue (sushi again? Sounds great!).
I think I’ve found my soulmate.

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The Lies We Tell (2)

(1)

At 16, I obviously knew everything.

The lies that I told were usually to intentionally create the kind of Beverly-Hills-90210-Dawson’s-Creek-esque drama that I kept vigil over each school night instead of studying for world history. I became this theatrically foolish teenager as my relationship with my very first long-term boyfriend, Brad, progressed.

Lucky him.

Thankfully this phase only lasted about a year, but there were plenty of characters whom I involved in my web during that time. Good people. Innocent people. When I think of my behavior during that time in my life, I get sick to my stomach.

I cheated.

When I tried to lie my way out of it, a web of deceit began to grow. Before I knew it this web had entangled me, got twisted in my hair, and caught in my mouth.

spider web

It tasted like tinfoil, and the flavor was that of treachery. When I allow the synapse of my brain to meander through these recollections from my teenage years, I taste the cold aluminum and feel as though I’m being zapped in a shamefully purgatory-like episode.

Unfortunately, the web ensnared others as well, Brad of course being a large fraction.

Normalcy came with time, with realization of my own worth, with amazing friends, with supportive family.

I can only speak from my perspective, because I never asked, but it seemed that everyone was okay. Quite a bit more okay than me, but I’ll never know for sure. Because I never asked.

In his yearbook just before graduation, I quoted Janice Joplin:

“I’d trade all of my tomorrows/ For one single yesterday…”

When Brad read it, he looked at me quizzically, like a sudden deformity had developed on my head. “Why? That doesn’t make any sense.” Then he closed the book and walked away.

His reaction was well deserved.

*untitled*

Sometimes I need to meander along the shoreline:

Feel the wet sand underfoot

To hear the tide pull pebbles up into its grasp

And lay them down again on the shore with a beautifully intricate whirl,

To visit with myself

Shore

Ladies, Behaviors of a Man that you Deserve

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Ladies, find a man who you deserve.

Find one who notices the goosebumps on your thighs, rubs his hands together and blows his hot breath on his palms, then rubs his warm extremities on your legs.

Find a man who is dependent on you in some respects, yet invaluable in others. You should both better the other.

… opens his eyes on a lazy Sunday morning, smiles sleepily, and kisses your elbow, because it’s the first skin he can get to, and he needs to touch his lips to you immediately.

… who makes you laugh uncontrollably and genuinely.

… who appreciates YOU: your sense of humor, your quirks, your un-made up face.

… who doesn’t even flinch when you storm in the morning, angry and ugly; pissed at everyone, pissed at life, pissed at the morning sun. He just simply says “Coffee?” (Bonus points for making it himself)

… who doesn’t lie.

… who doesn’t judge.

… who hopes that you’ll talk back, then truly LISTENS when you do.

Ladies, you deserve the best, as do I, though sometimes it’s hard to realize that. We make excuses, we try to change them.
Love isn’t supposed to be hard.
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P.S.- I compiled this list based on my son’s actions toward me within the past 24 hours.

P.P.S.- Before you all “aww” about his behaviors, please note that on the flip side he outwardly refused to make his bed and/or clean his room, smacked his sister on the arm, and made up a song with the chorus, “Girls are such stupid-faces, with dumb butts.”

“An Absent Detail” Secondo

Scared

(Continued from Introductory)

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“Mommy! I missed you so much!” She came over and hugged my waist, her 7-year-old scared little hands gripping at my sweatshirt.

What had happened in such a short period of time?

Confused, I looked down at Avery, who still had fistfuls of my clothing. Her voice was muffled as she spoke into my stomach. “I’m really scared, Mommy, really scared.”

I looked over at her little brother, who shrugged. “Can I stay up and watch tv?” He was completely oblivious.

“What happened? Why are you scared?” I tried to peel her off of me so I could hold her at arm’s length. She didn’t say a word.

I looked up at Tayler.

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“An Absent Detail” Introductory

Parenting can be straightforward a lot of times:

“No, you can’t have Oreos for breakfast.”
“Yes, you have to go with the family to Aunt Suzy’s house for her dog’s wedding.”
“Don’t lick your brother.”
“Eat a piece of lettuce, for God’s sake. Just one freaking piece of lettuce!

lettuce detail

I’ve notice that as the kids get a bit older, however, situations become more difficult and parenting becomes more complicated. Last night was a prime example.

“Only 2 and a half hours left!” Avery cried to me from up in her bedroom. “When she gets here, we’re going to pretend to be princesses, then play Jenga, then we’ll color a picture, then I’ll play her the new song I learned on the piano, then we’ll read my new library book, then we’ll-“

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The Kiss (Trois)

Un

Deux

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Finally, the boys started coming in, looking Long-Island-90s preppy. I looked at the sea of plaid shirts that was before me. Almost all the guys looked the same in their button-downs and baseball hats, so choosing would have to be based on more than their looks, which would require much more detective work. I walked back over to the only two people who I actually knew at the party.

“So, what do you think?” Liz asked me, pouring herself a cup of lemonade.

“Think about what?” Her cousin asked.

“Don’t worry about it, Mark. Kirsten’s just looking for someone to hook up with.”

“I just want to kiss somebody,” I said, not wanting there to be any confusion about my intentions.

“Oh,” Mark rolled his eyes, “I’ll leave you girls to it then.” He walked off and was quickly engulfed amid the waves of teenagers.

“What about [insert generic boy’s name here]. He’s cute. Nice, I guess. He keeps looking over here too.”

“I trust you.” What the hell? They all look the same anyway.

“Consider it arranged.”

In a few minutes I could see Liz out of the corner of my eye talking to a boy and trying to motion discretely with her chin. He WAS pretty cute. I was glad I had put my trust in he;. It would’ve taken all night to deduce a contender by actually talking to all of them. Generic white boy, you are the chosen one.

I tried to play it cool, as I knew he was looking in my direction. I poured myself a cup of lemonade, all shaky and uncool, in order to look busy. I heard a voice from behind me, confident and strong. I had found my polar opposite! “Hey,” he greeted me as I turned around. Liz tells me you’re one of her friends from Stony Brook. That’s cool. Kristen, right? I’m Mike” (?)

I tugged at my hair and fidgeted in my own skin for far too long. “It’s actually Kristen. Uh, I mean Kirsten. Whoops.”

“Ha. Do you wanna… umm…”

“Hmm?“

He wasted no time. “You know, go to the other room?”

“What?” Over a decade being friends with Liz, and I wasn’t aware of the other room.

He smiled coyly and led me over to a door in the basement that led to the boiler. The other room?

It was pitch black and free from any ambiance. I sat down on, well, I’m not quite sure. I felt like a live flounder was flopping around in my belly. I heard the sound of another couple kissing in a different corner of the room. “Comfortable?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah. I guess.” That fish wouldn’t stop wiggling.

He sat next to me. Herewegoherewegoherewego…

 

Continued…

The Kiss (Deux)

Continued from The Kiss (Un)
the big night
When the big night came, I brushed my teeth 30 or so times. My gums were sore, but it was all for the greater good. I chose my sweater-turtleneck-jeans combo carefully. I didn’t wanted it to look like I tried too hard, but try I did. I brushed my hair and swept it up into a messy bun. The full-length mirror revealed the reflection of a little girl. “Next time I see you, mirror, I’ll be a much more seasoned young woman.” My stomach did a little flip-flop at the premise.

I got to Liz’s house about an hour before everyone was expected to show up. We carefully constructed a game plan for the night. My stomach growled as I stared at the chip bowl on the coffee table. “No!” I scolded myself, “No one wants to kiss a girl with sour cream and onion on her breath!”

“Okay,” Liz was saying, “so you’ll just give me a signal, I don’t know, wink or something, when you see some one you’re interested in. I’ll get this done, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay!” a nervous laugh escaped me.

“And don’t do that.”

“What? Laugh?”

“Is that what that was? You sound like a hyena doing jumping jacks.”

I tried to picture the scenario. “I get it. I’ll try to play it cool.”

We sat on the couch in her finished basement watching some made-for-tv movie that starred a somebody from 90210, but even that couldn’t catch my eye. I couldn’t concentrate on anything but my impending kiss.

Her cousin showed up first, the one who I really wanted to make out with, followed by a group of girl friends, who greeted each other with loud yelps and jumps, as though it had been years since they’d seen each other, as opposed to the three and a half hours since school had let out.

Continued