This week I was at the health clinic, for one of my many appointments lately. I was done and waiting near the door for valet parking to deliver my car. An older woman caught my eye and smiled and commented on the lively piano music that was playing covers of popular songs, that she liked it. We chitchatted back-and-forth a little in that friendly Minnesota way. Behind me was a wall of glass looking into the entry/exit way.
The woman went up close to the glass and waved, and when I looked over my shoulder and older curly haired man pressed his face close to the glass and made some faces at her. She laughed and said “I know him.“ Then he came inside and gave her a kiss and we 3 started talking— casual, jokey, teasing. They were definitely in a good mood. She turned to me and said that they’d received good news today. Continue reading
Maybe you’re like me– having some trouble with worry and preoccupation and watching or listening or reading too much about the coming 2024 election. All the hype and commentary and analysis and play-by-play that goes on and on. Sometimes it’s hard for me to focus on my own life, and my mental health gets wobbly when I get too caught up in it all.
Yesterday I wrote about it, trying to help myself get some perspective and calm down. I came up with this poem, and I want to share it in case it might be helpful for anyone else who’s also struggling. I’ll probably still watch at least part of the big debate tonight, but I’m intending to limit my scrolling and hand-wringing afterward.
Here’s the video I made, and the text below. Peace, my friends!
It’s starting to happen again, that pre-election fear ramping up, my heart beating against my chest like a moth trapped in a jar as I watch the train wreck coming closer, the dark storm clouds rolling in, and it seems there’s nothing I can do but watch it.
So I watch it, my screens filling up with politics and loud voices and warnings and clips and snippets and fear. The worst is coming coming coming, the ignorant hate pouring endlessly from a mouth that no one seems to know how to stop despite laws and checks and balances and common sense and decency. Common sense and decency don’t make money, so it will not be stopped. It’s just too viciously seductive to have us ramp up every day, our collective fears flocking like crows cawing out as we fly in frantic circles towards that doomsday, or a possible last-minute save.
But today, I can save myself.
I’ve given money, I’ll write letters soon, but for today I can unwring my hands, soften the knot in my chest. Breathe. Remind myself that watching and worrying won’t help anyone. Step outside and look up at the actual sky, not the pre-recorded sky image on a screen. The vast blue expanse above me with trees raising their leafy limbs in the free air. Breathe in this freedom. Just for today.
Today would have been my 35th wedding anniversary if my ex and I had stayed married (he left 4 years ago, and the divorce has been final for almost a year and a half). It’s strange to have these days come along, an old anniversary that we used to celebrate and share the memories of, and now, not. But it’s still a big memory of a day that was special, so I tip my hat and acknowledge it for myself, feel the pangs of both happy thoughts and grief (which s-l-o-w-l-y softens over time).
Today feels like a good day to share a poem I’ve been working on for 2 years and finally finished. It took a long time and word-puzzling to have it say what I really want to say, using surgery as a metaphor. I think a lot of people can relate to the topic, considering the divorce rates. I’m including an audio of me reading the poem, so you can read or listen if you’re interested. Feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think!
DIVORCE SURGERY
1. They stand before us in suits, not scrubs, no scalpels or scopes in sight. The cuts will be just as deep and precise as they bisect us, me from you, you from me, peering inside organs we’d grown to share in our co-joined state, snipping the sinews, separating tendons and muscle from bone.
I think I’ve written about the Messy Middle before. Probably because that’s where I’m usually hanging out!
But no one else is, right?
As someone who grew up with a perfectionistic judgey voice in my head, I imagine that almost everyone else is keeping up much better than I am, That You Allhave some secret to life and are happy and organized and getting your stuff done, that I haven’t figured out yet. I see you #livingyourbestlife on Instagram and Facebook… that’s the way it is for you, right?
And me, I’m always feeling like I’m running-running-running, trying to catch up. I’m always behind.
I get it– this is all a myth, one that’s out there, one that’s in my head. The “everybody else has it figured out and I’m failing” myth. We all usually post photos of the good days, the special days, the pretty days. When I look at those posts, I compare my shit-days to your good-days, and then I’m back to judging myself. This is not a good plan to live by.
So I pause and remember to breathe, tell myself it’s okay, perfectionism isn’t a goal because it isn’t real or remotely possible. I can look around my Messy Middle Life and (breathe again) count the things I’m grateful for. There are so many. Remember comparison is the thief of joy (I think Brené Brown said that). It’s just good and okay to be here in my Messy Middle Life on my Messy Middle Couch. It really is.
"Mono in a Poly World" was written under the pen name Tazmyn Ozga. Available now on Amazon. Click image for book info and to read an excerpt. Thanks for your support.
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