You see, I read Anne Lamott's status and blog posts fairly frequently. But, yesterday...I had already decided that I was nearly incapable of doing anything for anyone, other than myself. Yesterday, like most days...I was tired of tracking people down, reminding myself to remind others, calling, sitting, waiting, doing for everyone and being mad at them for not noticing me and the needs that I so clearly had. So, you can imagine my surprise when I stumbled upon her status update. One which, so clearly echoed my own. She gave me permission to complain...to bitch about the nonsense that has become my daily life. I didn't have to have cancer, a child on the brink of death, or be an addict looking for her next high. Anne gave me permission to complain about life and the little things that make us go over the edge of reason...You know, the space where crazy ceases to "leak" out of the bottle and becomes the "crazy train of batshit" that we all know so well. We all seem to hold it together when family members are in peril, friends call us at wits end at 3:00 A.M., or our colicky babies have cried for six solid hours. It's when someone spills coffee on us, cuts us off in traffic, or merely doesn't respond to us the way we want...no, NEED them to. That is when crazy pours out of us like rushing rivers of rage. And, we laugh at ourselves and the mess we've made of things...over something silly, simple, and inadvertent.
Yesterday Anne gave me permission to complain. She said "So for today, 1) feel free to mewl and puke and spew here about how the last few days have been a nightmare or how much your feet hurt a lot of the time, even though you know that amputees do have it much worse, or how much you hate hate hate your current weight, or what an absolute asshat your son has been lately, or how scary you just find all of life on earth some days, and how you can't get your Internet working and have been on the line with snotty tech support for so long that you may have had a nervous breakdown. will read every single post, and believe complainy-spoiled-overly-sensitive old me, I will GET it.
2). Baby yourself, all day. Radical self care, naps and lotion on the Auntie thighs and maybe too many scrambled eggs and also a basket of raspberries that possibly could feed a family of three for the day, and the new issue of People, or the new Mary Oliver collection.
Okay? Start your engines. I want to hear some nice juicy complaints: for instance, I was on planes and at airports and in cars for 22 of the last 36 hours, a flight got delayed and i missed a connection and I was trapped at the Newark airport forever, and was completely bitter and enraged, even though I got paid for my lecture in Richmond and sold lots of books, and got to be a writer when I grew up.
SEE?
You can do it. I'll be right here."
So, here goes it...
Dear Anne,
Thank you so much for saying/writing what I needed to hear today. I'm tired. I'm so tired that I'm uncertain whether or not I can even write this. But, I am nothing if not persistent. And, I rarely quit even when I should.
I want to start by saying how blessed I am. However, I promise this will not be about the rationalization of my blessings/tribulations. I am a mother of two. My youngest is a beautiful 13 year old ballerina who dances 5-6 days a week. My work, church, and social life revolves around either taking her to and fro, or making arrangements for someone else to take her to and from the studio. And, though she is truly a dancer...it is who she is...the endless performances and decisions of well intended artistic directors/choreographers inevitably break her heart and thus mine.
My oldest is 17. And, he is on the Autism Spectrum. He is bring, funny, and hard-working...when he chooses such. School has been a struggle since kindergarten. In fact, I am applying to graduate programs and have spent more time at his high school than working on my own applications, coursework, reading, and writing. He refuses to play the "game" of showing his work or turning things in on time. He is an aspiring chef and attends a culinary arts program. Though, around this house...he rarely cooks and complains of any requests made of him to do so.
Did I mention that I am tired?
Hey, by the way...I sort of met you last April. I go to a church in KC where you spoke and did a book reading. I date a minister and he brought me back to the room that you were waiting in...we refer to it as the library. I'm unsure if you remember...but, it's funny...because there are so few books in the space. Not the point, sorry. But, you see...I had this fantasy. We were going to talk about the connection I have to your writing. I was a single mother in the late nineties and someone gave me "Operating Instructions". I read the book and just knew we would be friends. As I sobbed with my two year old on the bathroom floor, I knew that you would be able to provide some sort of direction. So...the BF brought me back to the "library" and you were chatting with the Rev. Hill and his wife...not so much as an introduction. I stared at you in awe and wondered how this moment was passing so quickly right before my eyes...didn't you know how much I wanted to meet you? We were supposed to go share a french press and dessert at "Classic Cup". Did you forget? You know I'm kidding right?
Then there's this happiness stuff. I'm not sure that I even know what to do with it. I've been in and out of abusive relationships my entire life. I was a child of abuse...even my own mother couldn't figure out how to truly love us. So, how...how could I require that of anyone else? But, I'm not there anymore. For some reason though, I kind of miss her...because I was her for so long. I rarely recognize this mostly healthy, mostly adjusted, mostly sane and self-loving being that looks back at me. I'm in a (mostly) healthy relationship, I've been accepted to three MDiv programs...one of which is at an aspirational school that I would have never thought possible. But, it's so much work. We are training for a marathon...and the dreaded "long run" is today. It's symbolic really...mostly I feel like my whole life is a marathon...you get over one hill just so you can start climbing the next.
Anyway, thanks for permission to take care of me. I shouldn't need it. I know. But, God...I still do. Thanks for reminding me...today, I'm going to take a long bath (it's mid-afternoon), eat ice-cream, sit in my fuzzy socks and bathrobe until I have to go pick up the ballerina. There's more time...the long run can happen tomorrow. But, for now...I'm the emergency...I need watering.
Peace and Amen,
Monica
So...pass it on...are your socks wet? Complain. Did the dog get out? Did you get a "B" instead of an "A", miss a stoplight, get a ticket, your soda doesn't have enough ice, too much? Freely let go and take care of yourself even if just for a moment...eat something sinful, have a martini, skip the decaf...we are in this together...But, put your Oxygen mask on first...because most of us don't and the person next to you is probably holding on by a thread just like you...
