Author: ferylfiles

I had dinner with dear friends yesterday evening. They have been stalwart, fun, loving, good people who have tended to my heart long before Bryan passed and in the year and half since have continued to do so. We get to talk about what’s current, what’s coming, and fondly reminisce about what was. Bryan naturally filters in as topic of conversation from time to time. It was in this context that I get reminded of things he taught me, taught us. Don’t live by half measures. Be full of passion for everything that interests you.

Bryan was a man of strong opinions, a loud voice, and a whole lot of energy and conviction. He could fill a room with all of that. And if a person weren’t braced or prepared they could be easily bowled over by it all. What was at his core, however, was a need for push back and the dynamic of intelligent exchange. He longed for the refinement of his ideas and opinions or the open window into a new world of ideas he hadn’t considered before.

Even now, in my solitude, I am lifted and filled by his memory. I’m still learning from him. I am better for all of who he was and still is in my heart. I miss him so much. I’m so glad he lives in the space shared between friends, in the strong, brave voice of my daughter, in my own determination not to live by half measures.

I have a very public-facing job, the kind where I put mascara on every day and use manners and try not to say curse-y words quite as much. I’m pretty good at the mascara thing, intermittently good at the manners, and pretty much a failure at the curse-y words. Nevertheless, I make an effort to be friendly, personable, engaging, professional, and kind. But also funny. Can’t leave the funny on the front porch when I head in to the office. That would be criminal.

I really hope to have the spirit of MariAnne Moore and Atticus Finch when I chat with folks walking into our office–I want to have tons of empathy and imagine walking a mile in their shoes. I think that’s important no matter what the job but in this one particularly so. Regardless, there are those moments when I don’t live up to my mama’s example and I get judgy and unkind in my heart. Last Friday, a gal came into the office to drop off paperwork. As I was making sure I had all I needed and that she got her necessary copies, she asked me what I thought was a really peculiar question: “Do you like how you do your hair?” Well, I thought I had given it some nice attention with the roller brush and blow dryer that morning. I do have to weigh time constraints, the raw materials, and the overall effect I’m shooting for. Nothing’s perfect, but I think Orlando does an exceptionally good job with the cut and I do okay with what I’ve got. Flummoxed, I tried to communicate that, when she cut me off to clarify her question. Not the styling. The color. Because, well, I don’t.

You see, she had very definitely made a concerted effort to dye her own hair with precision and mindfulness. I explained that frankly I can’t be bothered. And I can’t. It is what it is and I’m not the kind of girlie girl to do maintenance like that. I dread the prospect. I have enough to worry about than to add roots showing through. Yuck. So while I was sort of taken aback and mabye a little insulted at the time, I have to appreciate the candor of someone asking the blunt questions. Most of the time, social graces constrain us not to ask what we’re really thinking, but maybe I’m kind of glad she did. Maybe someone who didn’t conform to an idea she held was radical enough for her to remark upon it.

When it comes to things like this, I don’t think there’s one right way or answer. People I love have determined they’re going to dye their hair until the very end. Others do a graceful transition with highlights and overall lightening. Whatever you decide, if you’re doing it because you WANT to and not because you feel like you SHOULD, I applaud it. I also appreciate the reminders about communication. Sometimes the things we think we’re asking and what is heard are not the same. Grace. Grace to others. Grace to ourselves. Sprinkle that like the salt and pepper in my hair.

According to Conan the Barbarian it’s “to crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women.” I have a slightly different take. I love to make people laugh, particularly when they’re having a rough day, even if it’s with a little Becci shock and awe. (It’s the Campbell’s Soup Kid face that throws people for a loop.) I like to share the bounty from my garden and kitchen. I love to dance–it’s best in my own living room where I’m the greatest DJ I’ve ever heard. Time and communication with my family and friends bring me immense joy. Flowers. Hummingbirds. Movement and nature.

The heartache doesn’t go away. Ever. It’s woven into my being like threads in a tapestry. And I’m not naive to believe there won’t be more to come. The joy nuggets are treasures I put in the bank of my heart for when the ache is strongest. Here are some things that have made me laugh, dance, and smile this week.

First, this is a clip that my cousin’s boy shared with me years ago and it still makes me howl with laughter…”that’s a ten!” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EYtFH2bFCfg

Next is a song called “Way Less Sad” by AJR that I’ve been dancing to a whole bunch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VlVhUbGa2pg

Finally, I got to pick this box of veggies and give it away to a dear friend and all those shapes and colors make a gorgeous still life.

What brings you joy? What helps you with the heartache of life?

Bryan so seldom visits me in dreamscapes that when it happens it’s incredibly special. Last night, I dreamed of him and he still had cancer, but for some reason was getting better. All of this should have been reason to rejoice. During the course of this dream, however, he rejected me–something he NEVER did in our time together. It’s clear that my brain and heart have tender spots and insecurities that still need to work themselves out in that plane of existence. I woke up sobbing “no, no, no.”

Dreams have a mind of their own. I’m reminded of times past when I would have a dream where Bryan would be unkind or hurt my feelings and I’d wake up and tell him. He’d say something like, “what did dream Bryan do now? That jerk is really causing me problems in the awake world. Please don’t punish me for what dream Bryan said.” Which makes me laugh because I remember one where dream Bryan told me I couldn’t get more kittens. I was so mad. Ha! It’s good to remember the things that help squelch the agony of a nightmare out of the blue like this one.

I wonder if my brain is trying to navigate a new world where maybe I would meet someone and I’m terrified by that process. Maybe being alone for a year and a half has me revisiting old insecurities, examining who I have become/am becoming and who is the consistent core self. Being rejected, being laughed at, being dismissed, being unheard, being left out, being fundamentally unliked–these are some of my fears and nightmares that trace back to my adolescence. One of my “parts” (thanks Dr. Schwarz) is this drive to be likable because there was a formative time in my youth where I didn’t feel that in my home. Consequently, I developed the skillset when visiting friends’ homes, being around teachers, with folks outside the home to be likable as a way to convince myself that if I could get enough folks to like me, maybe I would like me too.

I still have this as a piece of myself. Except there’s this thing that’s been occurring more and more in my solitude. I’m learning to like me. That inner person who likes to share, likes to create, likes to imagine, likes to play, likes to laugh–I’m allowed to like her. And guess what? I do. And that’s something worth waking up to.