I say that to myself in my most sarcastic voice whenever I feel the self-pity starting to creep in, whenever I feel like I am taking certain things in my life for granted.
Sure, my life isn't always the easiest to navigate. I've got things that worry me, that make me sad, that make me so very angry. Things that keep me up at night. Things that make me cry.
But, you know what I don't have?
Bombs exploding all around me when I try to do simple things like get groceries or send mail.
Concerns that the water I drink might give me a horrible disease and kill me. (Or, worse, that I might not find water.)
Fear of being killed in some barbaric way just for my gender or my penchant for self-expression.
I didn't have to live without power for two weeks in the wake of a hurricane, like a friend of a co-worker.
I don't live in the Gaza Strip.
Next week is Thanksgiving, but it doesn't hurt to take a moment the other 364 days of the year to think about how much harder, how much sadder, how much more dangerous life could be.
Friday, November 16, 2012
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Thinking out loud
This blog is supposed to support my mission to "keep working on love" and I think a big part of that is self-reflection and figuring out the stuff in your own head. (You'd think it'd be easy to figure out since it's ALREADY THERE in your own head, but no. I have a hard time deciphering the stuff my brain creates until I put words to it, which is why I babble relentlessly at a lot of people.) Here goes some babbling:
One of the best gifts I ever received was from my sister. She was sending me a birthday present quite a bit late (it was during a period where she sent everything late and we all used to tease her about it) and tossed into the box, unwrapped and like an after thought, was this little stuffed Star Wars creature that had obviously come from the store where she worked. The tag on this guy's ear told me he was Max Rebo (I didn't know he had a name; I just knew him as the blue elephanty guy in one of the original Star Wars movies, I'm not even sure which one). I called her up to thank her for the gift and when I got to the stuffed Max Rebo, I said, "And hey, he was always --"
She cut me off, "Your favorite. I know. That's why I put him in the box."
I'd never realized that anyone had noticed that I loved that character as a kid. (Blue has always been my favorite color, and I had a real thing for elephants when I was little, so he was just AWESOME in my book.) I didn't ever remember SAYING anything to anyone. Even if I had, it would have been about 20 years prior.
And yet. Here my sister was remembering that I liked this guy and sticking him in with my birthday present as just a little something small to say she thought of me.
My mom used to do stuff like that, too -- little gifts for no reason other than, "Hey, I saw this and I thought of you." It's one of those things I'm proud to say I inherited from her. (My derby wife also does this; I think it's probably a big reason we get along so well -- y'know, kindred spirits.)
And although it's nice to have someone say, "Hey, I thought of you," the Max Rebo left a bigger impression because it was more than that. It was also, "Hey, I know you." That kind of recognition is something I've often craved (probably because I spend A LOT of my time explaining myself, feeling misunderstood, feeling like even the people who know me BEST don't really get me a lot of the time).
Toward the end of my engagement, my ex and I used to fight all the time, because I felt like he didn't see me for who I was. He didn't know me. (Which is a big part of why he became my ex.)
Logically, you'd think that I'd appreciate it when someone says, "I know what you're thinking" or "I know what you're gonna say" or something similar. You'd be wrong. Few things make me want to prove someone wrong (even to my own self-detriment) more than someone saying such things. Don't philosophize about what's in my head; lots of times I don't even know (see first paragraph above). Don't pretend you know me better than I know myself.
But why? Why does it bug me so much?
And then I realized that usually when people SAY stuff like that, they're wrong. And I guess it bothers me because I really do WANT what they're saying to be true -- because I want someone to know me that well, because I crave that sense of recognition and connection -- and I'm so let down by the fact that they're wrong. Truth doesn't need to herald itself with banners and fanfare. It just shows up. Like a little blue elephant in a box.
One of the best gifts I ever received was from my sister. She was sending me a birthday present quite a bit late (it was during a period where she sent everything late and we all used to tease her about it) and tossed into the box, unwrapped and like an after thought, was this little stuffed Star Wars creature that had obviously come from the store where she worked. The tag on this guy's ear told me he was Max Rebo (I didn't know he had a name; I just knew him as the blue elephanty guy in one of the original Star Wars movies, I'm not even sure which one). I called her up to thank her for the gift and when I got to the stuffed Max Rebo, I said, "And hey, he was always --"
She cut me off, "Your favorite. I know. That's why I put him in the box."
I'd never realized that anyone had noticed that I loved that character as a kid. (Blue has always been my favorite color, and I had a real thing for elephants when I was little, so he was just AWESOME in my book.) I didn't ever remember SAYING anything to anyone. Even if I had, it would have been about 20 years prior.
And yet. Here my sister was remembering that I liked this guy and sticking him in with my birthday present as just a little something small to say she thought of me.
My mom used to do stuff like that, too -- little gifts for no reason other than, "Hey, I saw this and I thought of you." It's one of those things I'm proud to say I inherited from her. (My derby wife also does this; I think it's probably a big reason we get along so well -- y'know, kindred spirits.)
And although it's nice to have someone say, "Hey, I thought of you," the Max Rebo left a bigger impression because it was more than that. It was also, "Hey, I know you." That kind of recognition is something I've often craved (probably because I spend A LOT of my time explaining myself, feeling misunderstood, feeling like even the people who know me BEST don't really get me a lot of the time).
Toward the end of my engagement, my ex and I used to fight all the time, because I felt like he didn't see me for who I was. He didn't know me. (Which is a big part of why he became my ex.)
Logically, you'd think that I'd appreciate it when someone says, "I know what you're thinking" or "I know what you're gonna say" or something similar. You'd be wrong. Few things make me want to prove someone wrong (even to my own self-detriment) more than someone saying such things. Don't philosophize about what's in my head; lots of times I don't even know (see first paragraph above). Don't pretend you know me better than I know myself.
But why? Why does it bug me so much?
And then I realized that usually when people SAY stuff like that, they're wrong. And I guess it bothers me because I really do WANT what they're saying to be true -- because I want someone to know me that well, because I crave that sense of recognition and connection -- and I'm so let down by the fact that they're wrong. Truth doesn't need to herald itself with banners and fanfare. It just shows up. Like a little blue elephant in a box.
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