I gave my boyfriend a hard time for having expensive shoes, only to be told that, according to GQ magazine, a man's shoes are one of the first things a woman notices. Really? It's certainly not true for me. I couldn't tell a Florsheim from an Allan Edmunds. And yes, I had to ask him for that info. That's how clueless I am. I am also, needless to say, not very well-heeled.
So I was stunned recently when I went to meet him at the train station. He texted me that he was already there, but I didn't see him anywhere. Since he's in a wheelchair, I went to look by the elevator. Not there. I approached the station attendant, about to ask if she'd seen him.
"I'm looking for my friend..." I began.
"Brown shoes?" she interrupted.
Not the guy in the wheelchair? Red coat? Dark hair? No, he was the guy with the brown shoes.
I stared at her, thinking how the heck do I know what shoes he's wearing?
Now I simply have to know. Ladies, do you really notice shoes? Please respond! Meanwhile, I stand corrected. In very average shoes.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
This Year's White Elephant
In writing my last post about how I spent Christmas Day, I'll admit that I left something out. The elephant in the room, so to speak. Close friends have seen it hulking there in the corner, but I haven't known exactly how to talk about it.
It's a gift I got Christmas morning: an email from my dad, asking me to forgive him for being a complete failure of a father. He was scheduled for a risky heart surgery. After years of living with a severely enlarged heart that was pumping at only 15% capacity, he was getting a new aortic valve.
As it happens, my heart is fine. Good and strong. Compassionate. Even forgiving. In fact, I've given plenty of thought to forgiveness. But what I discovered Christmas morning is that thinking about it doesn't necessarily translate to feeling it. I mean, here was the ultimate white elephant, which, according to Wikipedia, is defined as something with a maintenance cost exceeding its usefulness. Or, both a blessing and a curse.
To his credit, my dad was up front about his reasons for reaching out. He wanted to get right with God. Okay. I can understand that. Still, I wasn't sure where to put his offering. Display it loud and proud? Stick it on a top shelf to gather dust? So I wrote back as honestly as I could. I told him that this his unexpected Christmas present was probably one of the greatest I've ever gotten. But, like any long-anticipated and long-desired gift, it couldn't possibly live up to my expectations, because, mixed with the relief and gratitude I felt reading his email was also a lot of pain. I'm 43 years old and still angry that I didn't get to have a dad to do all the normal father/daughter stuff with. I'm sad that I never felt that I knew him, or that he knew me.
And his timing...well, let's just say that I'll never again doubt that there are greater forces at work in the universe. His change of heart (no pun intended) comes as I struggle with my own divorce from a man who turned out to be uncannily like dear old dad. Both in that club, you know, that starts with the letters 'phila..' and I'm not talking stamp collecting.
But it was Christmas Day, and I was seriously scared my dad was going to die. I wanted to go all Frank Capra-esque. I wanted to gather up those bad feelings like so much shredded gift wrap and stuff them away. It would really tidy the place up. So I sat down to write this blog, a book of flowery quotes about forgiveness by my side. I read what my pastor had emailed me, pointing me toward Jesus as an example. I waited for my heart to open with a burst of white light.
But I finally had to admit that my dad's 'gift' didn't look like the one in the shop window. In fact, a second email from him made me feel decidedly ripped off. He said he had no interest in reliving the past and really just wanted to start with a clean slate. IF he lived, that is.
Call me ungrateful, but isn't that a little like giving something with the price tag still on it? Look what I paid for this baby!! Don't you love it? Huh? Huh? It was too similar to these recent, illuminating words from my husband, his cell phone still vibrating from some illicit text: I SAID I'm sorry, what more do you want? Or, for you Fargo fans, think of the way William Macy tells Marge, the pregnant cop, I'm cooperating here! just before he flees the interview. At least that scene was outrageous enough to make me see what I hadn't before: there are people who will say one thing but do another.
Am I one of them? I'll talk forgiveness, but will I give it? I've asked myself, what more DO I want? I certainly don't want an interview with either my dad or husband. Their answers would mean nothing. The words themselves are the white elephant. Both blessing and curse. Costly, and ultimately useless.
My dad came through his surgery with flying colors. My brother told me that my name was one of the first things he said when he woke up. I admit I was touched. But 6 weeks have gone by and I haven't heard from him. No big deal. So nothing's changed. Except that I have realized something. My dad has asked me for forgiveness, with strings attached. I'm trying to forgive him, with strings attached. For me to cut those strings I have to accept that he is being who he is. I'm never going to get exactly what I want from him, but the truth is that I don't need anything. I can turn back to my little book of quotes, and now one makes sense. It's from Robert Holden, who says that "in essence, true forgiveness is the willingness to believe 1. you are whole. 2. no one can threaten or take away your wholeness."
That's big. Elephant-big. I'm not sure what to do with it. I just wonder if it's a coincidence that, in a class I took recently, the instructor, who was Texan and full of folksy phrases, had this to say: 'I know these ideas seem too big to swallow all at once. But you could eat an elephant if you had to, one bite at a time.'
It's a gift I got Christmas morning: an email from my dad, asking me to forgive him for being a complete failure of a father. He was scheduled for a risky heart surgery. After years of living with a severely enlarged heart that was pumping at only 15% capacity, he was getting a new aortic valve.
As it happens, my heart is fine. Good and strong. Compassionate. Even forgiving. In fact, I've given plenty of thought to forgiveness. But what I discovered Christmas morning is that thinking about it doesn't necessarily translate to feeling it. I mean, here was the ultimate white elephant, which, according to Wikipedia, is defined as something with a maintenance cost exceeding its usefulness. Or, both a blessing and a curse.
To his credit, my dad was up front about his reasons for reaching out. He wanted to get right with God. Okay. I can understand that. Still, I wasn't sure where to put his offering. Display it loud and proud? Stick it on a top shelf to gather dust? So I wrote back as honestly as I could. I told him that this his unexpected Christmas present was probably one of the greatest I've ever gotten. But, like any long-anticipated and long-desired gift, it couldn't possibly live up to my expectations, because, mixed with the relief and gratitude I felt reading his email was also a lot of pain. I'm 43 years old and still angry that I didn't get to have a dad to do all the normal father/daughter stuff with. I'm sad that I never felt that I knew him, or that he knew me.
And his timing...well, let's just say that I'll never again doubt that there are greater forces at work in the universe. His change of heart (no pun intended) comes as I struggle with my own divorce from a man who turned out to be uncannily like dear old dad. Both in that club, you know, that starts with the letters 'phila..' and I'm not talking stamp collecting.
But it was Christmas Day, and I was seriously scared my dad was going to die. I wanted to go all Frank Capra-esque. I wanted to gather up those bad feelings like so much shredded gift wrap and stuff them away. It would really tidy the place up. So I sat down to write this blog, a book of flowery quotes about forgiveness by my side. I read what my pastor had emailed me, pointing me toward Jesus as an example. I waited for my heart to open with a burst of white light.
But I finally had to admit that my dad's 'gift' didn't look like the one in the shop window. In fact, a second email from him made me feel decidedly ripped off. He said he had no interest in reliving the past and really just wanted to start with a clean slate. IF he lived, that is.
Call me ungrateful, but isn't that a little like giving something with the price tag still on it? Look what I paid for this baby!! Don't you love it? Huh? Huh? It was too similar to these recent, illuminating words from my husband, his cell phone still vibrating from some illicit text: I SAID I'm sorry, what more do you want? Or, for you Fargo fans, think of the way William Macy tells Marge, the pregnant cop, I'm cooperating here! just before he flees the interview. At least that scene was outrageous enough to make me see what I hadn't before: there are people who will say one thing but do another.
Am I one of them? I'll talk forgiveness, but will I give it? I've asked myself, what more DO I want? I certainly don't want an interview with either my dad or husband. Their answers would mean nothing. The words themselves are the white elephant. Both blessing and curse. Costly, and ultimately useless.
My dad came through his surgery with flying colors. My brother told me that my name was one of the first things he said when he woke up. I admit I was touched. But 6 weeks have gone by and I haven't heard from him. No big deal. So nothing's changed. Except that I have realized something. My dad has asked me for forgiveness, with strings attached. I'm trying to forgive him, with strings attached. For me to cut those strings I have to accept that he is being who he is. I'm never going to get exactly what I want from him, but the truth is that I don't need anything. I can turn back to my little book of quotes, and now one makes sense. It's from Robert Holden, who says that "in essence, true forgiveness is the willingness to believe 1. you are whole. 2. no one can threaten or take away your wholeness."
That's big. Elephant-big. I'm not sure what to do with it. I just wonder if it's a coincidence that, in a class I took recently, the instructor, who was Texan and full of folksy phrases, had this to say: 'I know these ideas seem too big to swallow all at once. But you could eat an elephant if you had to, one bite at a time.'
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
I Need a Better Moisturizer... Is That True?
Life has certainly been strange. On Christmas day, after dropping my kids at their dad's house, I had four hours to kill on my own. I've never spent any part of Christmas alone before, but decided to make the best of it by seeing a movie. First, though, I stopped at Walgreens to shop for some face cream. I was surprised to find it bustling. Apparently there are plenty of us misplaced souls out there. Anyway, it was twenty minutes into my alone time and I was feeling pretty good. Ahh, time to shop! Time to give serious consideration to whether Oil of Olay is worth the extra outlay.
Sadly, I'll never know, since in the end I went for the cheaper Neutrogena, and even then was too cheap to buy the one I really wanted, the one with that beguiling word: ageless.
The movie I chose was "It's Complicated." Call me crazy, but I expected nothing more than a lighthearted romp. I did laugh hysterically, but was also moved to tears more than once. I was especially stunned when Meryl Streep's three grown kids cry at the idea of her getting back together with their father. It's been ten years since their divorce and the kids tearfully explain that they're still getting over it. I imagined my own three kids a decade from now saying the same thing. Ouch.
I also loved the part where Steve Martin has to be brutally honest with Meryl Streep and, in response, she says "Wow, so that's how grown-ups talk." It got me thinking about other things grown-ups do, besides fail their children, see movies alone, worry about their age, or remember when Alec Baldwin was buff. Something immediately came to mind (and I'll share it only because I know you are grown-up enough not to laugh).
Lately my friend Victoria and I have been filling out Byron Katie worksheets. For fun. Katie is the author of great books like "I Need Your Love. Is That True?," "Loving What Is," "Question Your Thinking, Change the World," none of which I've read, but I'm meaning to. So she has you do this exercise where you begin with a judgement you have about someone, then ask 'Is that true? Can you absolutely know that it's true?'
The idea is to debunk beliefs that may be causing you pain in your relationships, to understand that others are simply distorted mirrors of yourself. Cool, huh? I mean, really, you've got to try it. Forget Scattergories or Taboo or even Wii Fit. The next time you're with your family or loved one, grab a legal pad and start shouting out your grievances (You only wear that shirt to annoy me! Your mother hates me! You are so f@#$% selfish!) It's scary at first, but if it works you sort of recognize that you're not alone, that we're all misplaced souls. At the very least, it makes for a memorable night.
And by the way ladies, the bathroom mirror is NOT distorted, so yes, you do need a good moisturizer. Look at Byron Katie (fabulous!). She would absolutely say that this is true.
Sadly, I'll never know, since in the end I went for the cheaper Neutrogena, and even then was too cheap to buy the one I really wanted, the one with that beguiling word: ageless.
The movie I chose was "It's Complicated." Call me crazy, but I expected nothing more than a lighthearted romp. I did laugh hysterically, but was also moved to tears more than once. I was especially stunned when Meryl Streep's three grown kids cry at the idea of her getting back together with their father. It's been ten years since their divorce and the kids tearfully explain that they're still getting over it. I imagined my own three kids a decade from now saying the same thing. Ouch.
I also loved the part where Steve Martin has to be brutally honest with Meryl Streep and, in response, she says "Wow, so that's how grown-ups talk." It got me thinking about other things grown-ups do, besides fail their children, see movies alone, worry about their age, or remember when Alec Baldwin was buff. Something immediately came to mind (and I'll share it only because I know you are grown-up enough not to laugh).
Lately my friend Victoria and I have been filling out Byron Katie worksheets. For fun. Katie is the author of great books like "I Need Your Love. Is That True?," "Loving What Is," "Question Your Thinking, Change the World," none of which I've read, but I'm meaning to. So she has you do this exercise where you begin with a judgement you have about someone, then ask 'Is that true? Can you absolutely know that it's true?'
The idea is to debunk beliefs that may be causing you pain in your relationships, to understand that others are simply distorted mirrors of yourself. Cool, huh? I mean, really, you've got to try it. Forget Scattergories or Taboo or even Wii Fit. The next time you're with your family or loved one, grab a legal pad and start shouting out your grievances (You only wear that shirt to annoy me! Your mother hates me! You are so f@#$% selfish!) It's scary at first, but if it works you sort of recognize that you're not alone, that we're all misplaced souls. At the very least, it makes for a memorable night.
And by the way ladies, the bathroom mirror is NOT distorted, so yes, you do need a good moisturizer. Look at Byron Katie (fabulous!). She would absolutely say that this is true.
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