Flexibility

(Dec. 19)
I remember going on simple mission trips as a teenager and being trained to "always be flexible!" This usually meant that when you planned to paint and they ask you to be on kitchen duty, you agree and don't complain. Or it might mean that when you planned to sit next to the cute guy and you were assigned to sit next to the smelly girl, you should be nice and just breathe through your mouth. These were always trivial flexibilities I assumed were part of life.

Now, being flexible means spending Christmas without my son. After I tell the voices that say, "It's your fault, your mistake, your problem to bear, tough shit" to shut up, I am grateful for the smaller lessons in flexibility. He's asleep now, and I'll get a few hours with him in the morning, and then he'll be gone until the afternoon of Christmas day. I'll be trying to fill my days and avoid being alone too long. I need and treasure my alone time, but I also miss having people around. When I was with T, I had made one friend in four years. I may have my socially anxious moments, but I've moved to brand new places several times not knowing a soul. I've made friends easily and enjoyed the newness.

It's hard for me to balance feeling happy for the first time in almost five years, but yet feeling sad, a little remorseful, and confused.

(Jan 2, 2013)
The sadness wanes, though, more quickly than I expected.  Despite my vow of no guilt, I feel some sort of obligation to feel guilty for being happy on my own. My default is soon becoming contentment, though, and I can't remember the last time I felt that way more often than not. Maybe it's just being in my 30's? If so, I'll take it. My 20's were far too tumultuous. I only have to revisit my old blog started in 2004 when I moved to Montana to remember that. The silent places are when things were the worst, and that's saying something.



Apparently, the story that follows A River Runs Through It is titled "Logging and Pimping and Your Pal, Jim." It's exactly what it sounds like. Here's a sample:

Dear partner,
Just to let you know I have screwed a dame that weighs 300 lbs.
Your pal,
Jim