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10, 3, 5 and Potatoes

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Late last summer, I thought it would be a good idea to join a dating app. You can skip the middle and end and just know, it wasn’t. I had a goal–ten dates by the end of 2024. It was some sort of misguided attempt to affirm that I am continuing to live and moving forward. Ugh. Gross. Can I go back in time and tell late summer 2024 Becci that she was/is continuing to live and move forward? Some lessons get to be learned harder than others, I reckon. I met three different fellas and had a total of five dates. I won’t bore you with the details.

Here’s what I learned:

Being polite and listening are not the same as romantic interest. Chemistry matters. More than chemistry matters–things like curiosity, care, and effort are essential. If my platonic friends make more of an effort to check on me and care for me than any romantic interest, I need to pay attention to that. Sometimes things don’t have deep, hidden meanings. They aren’t symbols of something important. Bryan’s first gift to me was a potato peeler. One of these fellas gave me bucket of potatoes. A hopeful romantic heart wants to make meaning even if there isn’t any. Sometimes a bucket of potatoes is just a bucket of potatoes.

Where do I go from here? I recalibrate. Dating was not some magical lift to my spirits. It was basically terrible (no offense to the three fellas–I’m just not your huckleberry). I am discovering how to be my own huckleberry and remembering I have people tell me every day they love me. Is it the mind/body/heart/soul connection I had with Bryan? No. But right now it’s exactly what I need.

Sorting, Organizing, Etc.

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This past weekend, I started small-scale organizing. I began with the bathroom cupboards. You wouldn’t think that’s an emotionally daunting task, but it is/was/is/was. Whatever. Yes. One corner had Bryan’s contact supplies, some cologne he never wore. I went through like a small cyclone. The third drawer down by the sink, emptied of beard trimmer and accessories, now holds hair ties and clips. I hate everything about it and know it’s time and necessary. I keep telling myself, every hard thing I don’t do is something someone else will have to. Early July, there will be a yard sale. I’ll give more details as that nears. I keep plugging away at shredding and sorting and donating.

This sense of “doing” something stems largely from the feeling of helplessness. As I look at and experience (what I consider awful) cultural whiplash, I find a gift in the act of menial tasks once again. And I also look for the lifting of weight because much right now feels so heavy.

I’ll be selling my piano, too. The last time I played it in earnest was on January 6th, 2021 when I plunked out to the best of my abilities “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” I was angry and disgusted with what I witnessed happening at the Capitol. I remembered my mom sorting through her feelings often by playing the piano. It’s what I had in the moment because I didn’t even have words. This past week all those convicted for what they did that day have been pardoned. I’m sickened. And I need someone with a stronger heart than mine to plunk out the chords.

Sitting here thinking about how to streamline things, make them neater, simpler, throwing off ballast and battening down the hatches, I am determined. The process isn’t fun. It isn’t easy. It is, however, necessary.

Empathy

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Background—When I was little, my mama wanted to make sure I had a mind and heart attuned to others. I can remember more than once when I would come home from school complaining of this mean girl or that awful boy. She would stop me and have me consider the why, the possible hurt, the background story. Of course, I was initially very put off by her lack of immediate side-taking, mine, that is. But this was her legacy to me. Think of others. Think of their feelings. It also is no coincidence that as a child of divorce, I developed a finely tuned toolkit to read the emotional temperature of a room and its people. One was a loving gift, the other, I suspect, is a trauma response. Good, bad, or otherwise, my superpower is empathy.  

Upside—When good things happen to other people, I feel it. Call it convergence or mudita, either one, but the effect is one of delight and joy. That’s the very best part of empathy. Having the capacity to feel the not so joyous things has its merits too because this allows for compassion, understanding, grace. If I can pause for a moment to put myself in someone else’s shoes, understanding increases. From there, dialogue, possibly resolution occurs. All good things. And bare minimum, if I can pause in my day to remember everyone has their hurts, hopes, histories, maybe I’ll be a little more patient at the grocery store, curse a little less in traffic. That’s the hope, at least.

Downside—Yet, the emotional weight can be debilitating and sometimes I take responsibility for feelings inappropriately. Just because I feel them, doesn’t make them mine or something I have to do something about. I forget this. Recently a friend posted a little video blurb that sort of felt like I was being called out. Nuggets of wisdom, when they show up like that, can have that effect. The video highlighted the concept of “ruinous empathy.” With this unhealthy form, a person with empathy makes allowances and excuses for the behaviors of someone else. Ruinous empathy will break down important personal, boundaries. “Oh no, so-and-so, is suffering/experiencing pain, these hurtful, negative behaviors that I would never in a million years tolerate suddenly have gotten a pass because I am (ruinously) empathetic.” This unhealthy manifestation of empathy is mine to own and battle, too.

Conclusion—I want to be the person my mom envisioned—thinking of others and extending grace. I’ve got a LONG way to go. And just like a game of whack-a-mole, I’m going to have to  pay close attention to when ruinous empathy creeps up and has me eroding my own boundaries. “Constant vigilance.”

Learning

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One of the hardest things about being a widow, or anyone who has been through dramatic life changes, is rediscovering oneself. While Bryan was alive and we were together, we developed a way of being that I understood. We had challenges, we both grew and changed, but at our base we had this solid foundation. In that space, I understood him, myself, and us. That dynamic has shifted and I’ve been paddling like I mother-flipping mean it (laugh with me Kambra) to figure out all the things—who I am, what I want, where am I going, to what purpose any of it.

I can tell you with 100% certainty, it’s the most miserable, affirming, important process of my life. Walking by the sound of running water has helped me keep my sanity and my heart from crystallizing or shattering. I have (and will continue to) open myself up to possibilities. So far, I have had varying degrees of success and failure with those. There’s tremendous vulnerability in living open-heartedly. Pain, it appears, is a constant, but numb is far worse because it’s only a temporary reprieve.

Maybe that’s the whole point—getting back up, trying, learning, and holding space for serendipity and joy.

Bryan often used to say “I never lose. I win or I learn.” Here’s to learning, sweetheart.

What I’m Listening To…

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I don’t have a lot to say. That’s not true. I’ve got more words than I know what to do with, but not all of them are good or important or necessary to write or speak out loud right now. So, I’ll do a little music round-up instead. Here’s what’s been on frequent rotation in the last few weeks. (Disclaimer: Some of the choices below have colorful language. If that’s not your bag, please skip this post.)

Yes, I’m fully aware I have lots of people to love and I do, but the longing for romance is still there. I’ll be 87 and it will still be there. It’s how I’m built. Sorry not sorry.

This brings me so much joy. If you can get past the curse-y words, the lyrics are just so so so good.

Every time this 90s throwback comes up on my playlist, I get ridiculously happy and belt it out in my kitchen. The cats are ambivalent, but I sure like it.

Joan Jett has been a mainstay for the last month. I’ve adored her since I was a little girl. “I Love Rock-n-Roll” was my anthem at five. Ha! I just feel a little stronger when I listen to her and sometimes a person has to use all the tools in her arsenal.

And this one is complete silliness that makes me smile. Absolute ridiculousness. What can I say, you can smack some polish and vocabulary on me, but I’m still a redneck. 😛

What are you listening to?