Faith February 4, 2008

Okay, I think I have to write about something I feel awkward writing about. I feel like I’m in one of the dozen or so Morgan Freeman movies where he plays God and makes himself apparent to someone in such a way that they have to acknowledge his existence publicly.  So here goes: I have a Higher Power, a God, a Spirit Guide – whatever anyone chooses to call a loving, guiding presence that makes occurrences beyond our wildest dreams possible.  I’m sure of it.

The other day – yesterday or the day before – I finally thought to ask my H.P. to help me with coming up with a paper I need to write and pass in order to begin my dissertation. I’ve been stuck and avoiding thinking about it, even though it’s due in less than two months, and I kept telling myself something would come to me, but then finally, standing in my kitchen, I just looked upward (there’s no genuflecting or prostrating myself in this relationship) and asked for help coming up with a topic. Yesterday, I’m on a walk with my sponsor’s husband’s daughter (got that?), and after asking me about the work I do, she mentions a professor who talked about the creation of “safe space” and its contribution to self-esteem. My heart kind of skipped and my head started reeling: I won’t go into it in detail here, but it’s a concept that fits my interests in a way nothing else has: a safe space could mean Alateen or Al-Anon (or any 12-step group, for that matter), it could be a chess club, it could be a team – it’s all about what makes a space safe, and the benefits that has for teens and adults alike. I’m so incredibly excited about it – it feels right in a way nothing else quite has. But the point of this story is not that I found a paper topic, but that I asked for help and I got it, just like that. I could almost picture my H.P. smiling down at me when I realized what had happened – I was looking outside at my wonderful dog playing in the snow and thinking about how amazing it was to have found him, and it clicked: I asked for this dog, I asked for this house, I asked for direction, and I got it. One of the most wondrous things about this program is this notion of a loving, benevolent entity rather than one that tests our faith or punishes us for trespasses: more and more and more, I see evidence of this presence in my life that is conspiring to make me whole and happy. So call me what you will – I had to say something. Morgan Freeman told me to.

Procrastination Expert December 12, 2007

Yes, yes, I know I’m supposed to be writing in this every day, and that I didn’t yesterday, so hurray for me that I’m doing it now, but truly it’s entirely to avoid reading 17 heady journal articles for a 15-18 page lit review due Friday.  Friday, you inquire?  Why, you have all the time in the world!  Alas, I do not, as I will be leaving my home by 7am on Friday in order to conduct a training, so that day is entirely lost.  And at 37, I’m not pulling any all-nighters, either.  So far I’ve ordered a highly involved christmas present, gone to court for a speeding ticket, gotten my oil and front tires changed…all in all it’s been a phenomenally productive day, just not in any way relating to this deadline.  But I’m ready for the snowstorm tomorrow!

I do this to myself, a lot – causing crises where there need not be any by waiting until the very last minute to accomplish something I actually want to do well.  Friends and therapists have hypothesized either that I’m sabotaging myself, that I’m giving myself an excuse for when the finished product isn’t up to snuff, or that I actually am doing the work…in my head.  This time around, that third and gentlest interpretation is essentially impossible as I can’t mentally muse on articles with which I’m completely unfamiliar.  This is my last final paper ever, in my entire academic career.  Unless, of course, you want to count my comps and my dissertation as final papers.  My very last class until I’m a senior citizen signing up for “The History of Wine” or some other intellectually dubious teachings.

I wake up cranky every mornning these days.  When I was with B, every morning got me up with a shot of adrenaline, knowing I would see her or receive an e-mail from her.  Now I feel overwhelmed at the prospect of my day, whatever I’m imagining it will bring, and recovering from a series of anxiety dreams that leave my jaw hurting from grinding.  I really do have such a good life: a beautiful home, enough money (though that’s a whole other story), great friends, a loving cat and dog, my health, a very cute little body and face that I’m overall quite satisfied with, and a seemingly burgeoning career that has had multiple lives and continues to thrive.  I wish I were more even-keeled.  One thing that’s very helpful (and that I appreciate more reading a few other blogs) is that without children or a significant other to point a finger at, I only have myself and my life and my head to “blame” for my mercurial nature – I’m moody even without finding fault with someone else, man.  I’m actually very relieved to be single and facing myself, even though not a fucking minute of it is easy.

I feel like I’ve been a pioneer all my life: bushwhacking through thorny, brambly, uncharted territory.  I’ve never really had a mentor, I don’t even know who to ask to chair my dissertation, and everything I’ve done to this point – starting a business, buying and selling real estate, moving away from NYC – I’ve done pretty much blind.  It’s all working out reasonably well, but the going is rough sometimes, and lonely.  For a while, I thought that B was going to be my trekking companion.  But we only walked in the direction she needed to go, and whenever I commented on that, she’d flee.  Until her final escape last May.  I can honestly say we weren’t right for each other, that we never will be, and I can wish her well, but when I’m thinking about cuddling with someone on the couch while watching TV; when I’m trying to remember what it feels like to have someone’s fingers inside me in just the right position, she’s who comes to mind.  Thankfully, we didn’t really have a “soundtrack” to our relationship the way my others did, we never lived together, and we fought or processed as much or more than we got along for the year we were together, so there are a lot of memories I don’t actually have with her.

I don’t think I can rationalize avoiding this paper much longer.  Ooh, maybe it’s time for a snack…