shear

i've always been fascinated by houses of cards, the real ones built with playing cards i mean; not the political television drama (though i do love that show).  it boggles my mind how people can build extraordinary towers and elaborate structures simply out of cards.  between my short patience and shaky hands, my attempt at a house of cards resembles a failed lean-to more than anything remotely house-like.

but there's a guy, bryan berg, who has figured it out.  he's mastered the delicate half art/half science pastime and has held the guinness world record for the tallest freestanding house of cards since 1992.  in fact the guinness folks invented a new record category for him to be honored in, in 2004.  lest you think this guy is just some punk with a steady hand, let me correct that misconception.  berg holds a professional degree in architecture and a design achievement award from iowa state university and a masters in design studies from harvard.  berg travels the world and builds elaborate card house displays on commission.  think: art installation.

in my wiki research i read that the general structural guidelines dictate a proper house of cards utilizes only friction and balance to remain upright.  these structures are delicate!  a strong breeze or misplaced card and they topple.

hmm.  that sounds familiar.  my emotional infrastructure somewhat resembles a house of cards these days.  delicate.  subject to sudden climate changes that result in certain disaster.  sometimes too much friction and not enough balance.  at other times, perfect balance toppled by unexpected brushes.  yes, an emotional house of cards indeed.

(i do love a metaphor, after all.)

but then i read this:

Bryan Berg claims..that the more cards placed on a tower the stronger it becomes, because the weight of the cards pushing down on the base (increasing friction) allows occasional cards to stumble without the entire structure collapsing.  He also claims that proper stacking technique allows cards to function as shear walls, giving considerable stability to the structure.  

and strangely enough, that makes sense to me.  i see that.  a layer of laughter, levity and love can remedy many a shaky card.   with enough carefully placed support, even the once weak cards can add stability to a structure.

while i was pondering this topic on my evening commute, pre-writing the blog in my mind, as i often do; a card was placed on my tower.  a surprise placement, quite out of the blue; it could very well have toppled the damn thing right over.

but it didn't.  as luck would have it, it was ever so carefully placed, building a shear wall i didn't expect.

d:  patience with my construction
b:  metaphor win
g:  shear walls

cracked

i feel much like i did three and a half years ago when i stopped writing.  i tried to explain it when i came back this time - that it was too hard to write when things weren't sugar sweet.  but that's not wholly true.  it's easy to write - in fact it's the most natural thing in the world for me.. writing when i'm in pain or struggling or lonely or confused or a myriad of other emotions.  but what isn't natural for me is holding back.

i've often wished that i did this blog anonymously.   that i hadn't shared it with my social networks.  that i'd used aliases for the people in my life.  for then i would never run into the brick wall that is self-censorship.

self-censorship.  what a strange oxymoron that is, a cruel twist on self-expression: self-suppression.  

censor  [sen ser]  noun
1. an official who examines books, plays, news reports, etc for the purpose of suppressing parts deemed objectionable on moral or other grounds
2. any person who supervises the manners or morality of others
3. an adverse critic; faultfinder
...
verb
6. to examine and act upon as a censor
7. to delete (a word or passage of text) in one's capacity as a censor

when i act as a censor (def 1) on my writing and then censor (def 7) my words here it must be the "other grounds" on which i am basing my decision.   i think what i may have implied in my earlier blogs is that it was self-criticism or judgement (def 3) that has held me back.. but that's not exactly true in this context.  it's not faultfinding on my part.  it's not a critic within me.

it's the critics outside me.  those who are quick to discern where another has made a wrong turn.  those who always can see the obvious solution.  those who can read a person's mind and heart and assess their shortfalls from a small excerpt of their life.

those who define my grey truths on their black and white scale.

but why do they matter?  it must be fear.  of the judgments, of the questions, of the shrewd deductions.

and so i write in metaphor and concepts.  i write in abstract innuendo and private language few can decode.  i write myself into a corner and then cry when i'm all alone.

i don't know how not to.  the roadblock of exposure and vulnerability is still too great for me to break through.  and so i will write of it, i will expose myself afraid of exposure and maybe in time the two will be one.

There is a crack in everything

That's how the light gets in.

 -lyric from Anthem by Leonard Cohen

for what it's worth...i mean no offense to you; for my fear is generalized to all who look in.  there's no specificity in my barrier, and perhaps no grounds.

d:  the light of exposure
b:  i made a crack
g:  lack of grounds

perchance

To sleep, perchance to dream -  

ay, there's the rub.  

 Hamlet  (III, i, 65-68)

it's some sort of cosmic, karmic joke that both of my boys have taken up extracurricular activities that require them to arrive at school before the sun is up on saturday mornings; seeing as i'm such a morning person.  but this week is different.

today todd left for virginia, to a national debate tournament, at 6:30 am.  incidentally, that's the same time my first alarm goes off on weekdays.  the first alarm being the one that i ignore and sleep through.  the first alarm being the one that cues mega to begin my real waking process, "wake up, i'm hungry!!"  so ordinarily i would fall back into bed after dropping him off and try to catch a couple more moments of dreamful sleep.

but not today, friday.  i left him at school, went to the grocery store, got home and readied myself for work, and there was a bounce in my step.  friday has long been my favorite day of the week..not because it's the end of the week, but rather because it's the beginning of the weekend.  full of promise and potential.  full of play and possibility.

for the past two years my december fridays have been polished off with an early quitting time at work.  we close at 2 for this month of fridays in order that we can plough the mall, prepare for the holiday, and perhaps elude gridlock.

that's already pretty perfect; but today, my friday precedes a saturday of peaceful, alarm-free, slumber.  the plan is poised:  boys out of town, pork dinner for mega, pillows prepped.

d:  plentiful dreams
b:  planning for pleasure
g:  private peace

tyranny

if i had a dime for every time i said, 'i know i shouldn't, but i wish...'  or 'i shouldn't feel this way but...' or 'i shouldn't say this but...'  well, let's just say i wouldn't be blogging at noon on black friday.  

shouldism:  a virus of epic proportions - never mind ebola.  this one will grab hold of your brain and your tongue and deliver a crippling dose of judgement and guilt.

admittedly, i'm not uncovering a great revelation here.  it's the subject of many pithy expressions. 'stop shoulding all over yourself,' 'shoulda, woulda, coulda.'

and it's even documented in psychological literature as a symptom of neurosis.  karen horney coined the foreboding term 'the tyranny of should' as a trait of a neurotic.  she described it as a split between a person's ideal self and their despised self.  the despised self being the one that they believe to not measure up to some ideal. what these neurotics, according to horney, fail to recognize is that the ideal self is not a positive goal, but rather unrealistic and ultimately impossible.   she proposed that the neurotic vacillates between hating themselves and feigning perfection.

strong words, eh?  no wonder she termed it a 'tyranny'.  just so we're all on the same page:

tyranny (n) [tir uh nee]
1.  arbitrary or unrestrained exercise of power, despotic abuse of authority
2.  the government or rule of a tyrant or absolute ruler
3.  a state ruled by a tyrant or absolute ruler
4.  oppressive or unjustly severe government on the part of any ruler
5.  undue severity or harshness
6.  a cruel or harsh act or proceeding; an arbitrary, oppressive or tyrannical action.

so, to me, that sounds as if i'm acting as an oppressively harsh and unjustly severe absolute ruler on my own emotions.   oh and let's not leave out:  arbitrary.  no wonder it's neurotic.

apparently the remedy for this neurotic condition is to mute the critic in our heads and replace the 'should' with a 'could' or a 'choose', or simply deleting it.  acknowledging what is, rather than denying and subjugating our own reality.

'i shouldn't be so upset about it...' becomes 'i am upset.'
'i shouldn't say this but...' becomes 'i choose to say this..'
'i should go to bed earlier...'  becomes 'i could go to bed earlier...'

i can get behind that.  especially when it comes to emotions.  after all, 'should' is a mental process of evaluating and judging, and emotions are not.  as mark twain so simply put it -

Any emotion, if it is sincere, is involuntary.  

and despising oneself for an involuntary act has never proven to be all that effective.  (see: snoring, stage fright, goose bumps, laughter, et al)

confession:  even now, as i conclude a blog on the destructive nature of self-judgement, i think to myself, 'i should be more clever.  this isn't as funny/clear/insightful as it should be.  i should delete and start over.'  

but no.  sure, i could be more clever.  sure, i could have brought more levity to the topic.  but the reality is - i'm not.  i choose not to.  this topic weighs heavily on me and i'm writing from a place of heartfelt consternation.

that is my reality.  and that's the only one i have to worry about.

d:  less tyranny
b:  more acknowledgement
g:  involuntary sincerity

fated

The ancients believed in fate because they recognized how hard it is for anyone to change anything.  The pull of past and future is so strong that the present is crushed by it.

 -excerpted from Weight: The Myth of Atlas and Heracles, Jeanette Winterson

i've never been one that believes in 'fate', as it were.  instead i believe in the power of manifesting.  the power of now.  the power of the individual to tap into a greater consciousness, call it what you wish, and change the course of their life.  but when i ran across this passage by one of my favorite authors, i had to pause and consider it.  

i relate strongly to the last clause...'the present is crushed by it'.   i know that feeling.. the feeling that no matter what effort i deploy, no matter how staunchly resistant or willfully headstrong, the course is set and some things are simply inevitable.  and yet, how can that be? 

growing up in a christian church i often struggled with this same paradox by a different name.  predestination versus free will.. and it was one of those conundrums that could tie my brain in knots, such as 'how do you get from 1 to 2 when there are infinite numbers between them?'  

argh.  that one still sends me into a spiral of mathematical torment.  

but i digress... back to the question at hand.  of fate.  of crushing inevitability.  and suddenly, just now, while i stare out my front window at the autumn sun and ponder this, i remember another passage i have transcribed in my book of quotes.  here, i'll share it.. 

But he was able to understand one thing:  making a decision was only the beginning of things.  When someone makes a decision, he is really diving into a strong current that will carry him to places he had never dreamed of when he first made the decision. 

-excerpted from The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho 

this 'current' coelho references.. this 'strong current'.. that is how i see fate.  it isn't there waiting for us, but rather an unexpected byproduct of the choices we make at every turn.  semantics perhaps.  but it's an explanation that i can abide by.  my skill at predicting those byproducts is woefully weak; but nevertheless, in hindsight i can usually identify when i stepped into the current that is currently sweeping me off my feet. 

d: to give in and float a'while

b: i have ideas!  so many ideas about which i want to write...

g: weak prediction skills.. for i fear i'd miss so much if i always knew where the current was taking me

reprise

two days from thanksgiving 2014.  three years and nearly eight months since i last put words on virtual paper under the auspices of a blog.  i see a few feeble attempts to resuscitate my writing in the last entries here.. but as i'm certain to have expounded on years ago, i'm an all or nothing kind of girl. and despite living with this on/off switch for 40 years, i have yet to find a way to flip it at will.

that being said, one thing is certain... i may shelve an obsession for a time, but where there's passion and joy i will revisit again and again.  and in my writing, there are both.

in my languid rereading of years' past blogs, i am struck by the effervescent zeal and inspiration that drove me to pour words out, page after page... and the abrupt stop to the creative product when the struggles of reality crowded out the buoyant bliss in which i wrote.

on the one hand, i thought to myself, it makes sense that in the thrall and thrill of a new love i would find my greatest creative inspiration and of course it would fade when that honeymoon subsided.  but i also recognize the lie of omission in that explanation.  it wasn't for wont of time or even of emotionally moving content that my writing here ceased.. it wasn't for lack of desire to write or forgetfulness.. it wasn't even 'dead to me', as things i'm once obsessed with may suddenly become.

it was fear.  it was shame.  it was a facade that i didn't want to taint or tarnish.  the first two hundred and eighty one posts in this blog were in large part a tribute and a testimony to the relationship i had just begun.. starting this blog only a few months after we met, it was my creative outlet in a time when my emotional enthusiasm was unbounded.

when my marriage began to crumble around me and while i hid from that reality and my part in it, i also ducked out of the parts of my life that made me joyful.  i stopped writing..and reading.. i stopped working out.. i stopped exploring my world, literally and figuratively. and i stopped connecting.  in fact, i isolated myself.  both from my estranged wife and from the daily connections i once treasured, both known and yet-to-be formed..

and the last thing i wanted to do was blog about it.  exposing my utter failure at the relationship that held the headliner's role here was simply too vulnerable.   and also, in the utterly fantastic way i approach all of my pains and struggles (fantastic meaning fantasy-based, that is), as counterpoint to my notion growing up that 'writing it down verifies its occurrence', if i didn't write about it.. if i didn't acknowledge it....

yes, denial is a powerful drug.

so, here i am two years after my marriage ended and three and a half since i've written anything more than a debate case with todd.   it's time for a reprise.  a reprise that's not motivated by an epic high in my life.  a reprise that's not steeped in rose-scented recounts of a blossoming relationship.   but rather, a reprise that is real.  blooms and thorns.  bliss and duress.

a reprise that's not obligated to a calendar or a sugar-coated charade.  i will however commit myself to the discipline of a dbg within each post, not because it's at the top of the page; but because it's the thread that carries me through.. and in this reprise, it's the tool that i'll use to remain vulnerable and honest with myself.. and with you.

d:  a return to candor, minus the sugar-coating.
b:  i still have it.  and love it.
g:  a strongly worded question of reckoning from an influential voice in my life