what goes up must come down.So, it's no secret, if you are wont to read into the subtext of my blog -- which you can only see if you highlight it and enter the magical code and knock three times on the ceiling -- that I've been having a bit of a "rough go" as of late.
Now, things happen in all of our lives that veer us off-course a little, or present us some fresh challenges. When those things happen, we have two choices: either we deal with it as best we can and keep our chin pointed skyward, or we curl up in a ball and make the dying Wookie noise (which, along with the moths, is still a part of our lives.)
Okay, perhaps there are more than two choices.
But I like to pretend that there are only two.
That way, I can choose the former and feel all proud and stuff that I didn't choose the latter.
Which is, to put it bluntly, completely and utterly arrogant.
Curling up into a ball now and then is something that no one should be ashamed of. Hell, it works for various kinds of marsupials and snails and turtles and all sorts of cute things. Even sea horses!
And sea horses... that's serious cuteness:
Awww... wook at the wittle tiny horsies. Wook!
Erm.
The point is this: you should only curl into a ball and stay there for very long if you have a plan for uncurling. Or if you're ready to ask someone else to help you find a plan, if you've got no damn clue what to do or where to go next. That's good, too.
But the curling without planning or reaching out?
That just results in a sore back and being mistaken for a fetus.
Everyone needs to curl sometimes, though. You cannot always be Chuck Norris. You cannot take on the whole world in your tight jeans and cowboy boots. You cannot dole out the roundhouse kicks and expect that you're not going to get injured doing your own stunts now and then.
Well, you could. But you'd be nuts. Like Mr. Norris.
I'm one of those really irritating people who prides myself on being "capable." Capable is great, don't get me wrong, but the kind of capable I tend to be has a slightly different definition than the one you might use.
Oh... I guess I should give you the definition:
Main Entry: ca·pa·ble 
Pronunciation: 'kA-p&-b&l, in rapid speech 'kAp-b&l
Function: adjective
Etymology: Middle French or Late Latin; Middle French capable, from Late Latin capabilis, irregular from Latin capere to take -- more at HEAVE
1 : to be a giant pain in the ass by pretending to be fine all the time when clearly you are not or shouldn't have to be in the light of traumatic circumstances; apologizing for complaining if a complaint should slip out; refusing to be open about frustrations or angst; unadmitted martyr complex; cheerful face, sucking chest wound. Eye-rollingly prideful about own strength, even as one lies on floor of hospital ER.
2 : having attributes (as physical or mental power) required for performance or accomplishment <is capable of intense concentration>
3 : having general efficiency and ability
- ca·pa·ble·ness /'kA-p&-b&l-n&s/ noun
- ca·pa·bly /-p&-blE/ adverb
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Hmmm... I wonder which of the meanings apply to me?
I'll let you figure it out.
I have gone through the past couple years of my life with occasional fits of openness about difficult circumstances -- often resulting in honest posts right here, on this blog -- and long stretches of Alfred E. Neumann-like behaviour in which I grinned and smiled and made jokes and offered cheer...
... followed by sleepless nights trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do to fix the mess I was in/the problem I had/the sickness I was dealing with/the pain my family was experiencing.
It wasn't that I was being tough -- though I am, and I know it -- but that I was avoiding my concerns and being dishonest with the people I loved about just how serious things had become.
That said, positivity is a fabulous thing, and no... the whole world doesn't need to hear about your litany of issues at all times. Really. Choose your confidantes, choose your moments... that's the healthy way to go.
But I chose to let my foundations crumble while I danced on the pile of rubble. And I didn't say much about it at all to anyone.
Now I have a pile of rubble I need to deal with.
A lot of things have to break to build a pile of rubble like this, you know. That is something I have to own up to. I knew I was falling apart, and I looked the other way.
And it's nobody's fault but mine.
So here's the truth: I am a bright, well-adjusted, happy person who loves my occasionally-stressful job, loves my occasionally-stressful friends and family, and who finds a lot of joy in every day I'm alive. Those joys can be big, or they can be small. They can be the coffee I drink in the morning, or a new baby, or a job well done, or the opportunity to make dinner for a friend. They can be as small as a blog post someone writes that makes me laugh or think, or as big as a successful operation for my grandfather.
The voice of delight you know here is a true, honest, real voice. It's me.
But there's more to the story. I am dealing with some difficult things right now that occasionally hurt me so much that I'm struck dumb. I can't write about them. I can't talk about them. I don't feel like talking about them adds much to the picture here, but I sometimes feel like a fake for not acknowledging that my life is difficult at times.
Then I think -- gosh, there are so many people who have it so much worse than I do. Who am I to complain? Who am I to thrust negativity into the universe when so many good people are just fighting to hang on? And who is to say that every part of who I am needs to make an appearance on this blog?
But when I'm dying to scream "This sucks!" while I'm writing a happy post about penguins? That's just insincere, not noble. It makes me full of shit, not sunshine and flowers.
Now, you can rest assured that I find the penguins more interesting than the shit (Which is not a sentence I ever dreamt that I would write.) But the other stuff deserves an airing now and then, too.
How am I ever going to encourage other people to survive and walk on and perservere if I refuse to admit that I've ever had anything to survive? Or if all I have to offer is a series of platitudes?
I owe both of us something more. Because I have more to me than this.
So, right now, tonight, I'm going to ante up: I am in pain, both physically and emotionally. Not vague, free-floating pain, but pain that has a reason and a source and demands to be taken care of. And I am.
That's hard, too.
If you want to support me in my walk, take me for whatever comes along. Trust that when I am all Care Bears and gumdrops and cupcakes that I'm feeling those things for real. And when I pause to cry, know that that is real, too.
And also... not the end of the world.
I am not exclusively defined by my joys or my pains. I am defined by how I shape them into a life well-lived.
That's what I'm doing now. And you can read about it here.
12:36:58 AM 
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