Waiting Tables Reminds Me A Lot of Life

by admin Posted on May 20, 2012

If you’ve been following my adventures, you know I spent the winter working as a barista and a part-time philosophy instructor.

A few weeks ago, I left the coffee shop gig for a position serving at a local cafe. In many ways, a major quality of life improvement: better hours (i.e. no more waking up at 4 am), higher pay, and a more diverse and challenging work experience. I continue to teach at a local University as well. I had grand plans of picking up my thesis, pounding it out by the end of summer. Now I recognize the craziness of that plan. As it is, “just” working, I have little time for play. And that kind of bums me out.

Regardless of my dissatisfaction with this lack of balance, it’s not all for naught. I am always learning. In fact, today’s been a series of reflections on what work is teaching (or re-teaching) me about life in general.

1. I can’t change others, no matter how much I’d like that power. Everyone is on his or her own particular journey, a journey that often doesn’t gel smoothly with mine. If I let it, that disconnect brings me loads of discomfort, angst, and sleeplessness. And I cannot do a damned thing about others’ worries, stresses, problems, attitudes, outlooks, or feelings. All I possess is the capacity to show up, be as positive and mindful as possible, and not let myself be so easily derailed or rerouted.

2. Honey, not vinegar. You know that old saying, “You catch more flies with honey than vinegar”? I’m fortunate to be faced with the honey/vinegar decision at least three times an hour these days. This relates to control issues (as discussed above) too. Just because someone else is throwing around vinegar doesn’t mean I need to participate. By no means am I able to stay in the honey all the time; I’m a flawed and bumpy human being. A particularly sensitive one at that. I pick up external energy fields like my favorite brown sweater collects errant pet hair. It is something I have to pay attention to: do not get sucked in. Honey. Everything else is a distraction.

3. Please and Thank You. There appears to be a void in the collective public’s vocabulary. Me? I choose to say please and thank you, ad nauseam. Gratitude up the yin-yang.

4. I have no idea what’s going on in Person A, B, or C’s inner self. However, I am usually safe operating under the following assumption: it is not about me. So long as I keep my spiritual ideals front and center, operate from a place of love and compassion, and wipe my own nose. What a relief! The world doesn’t rise and fall in me and often, others’ foul moods are due to their own particular life challenges and struggles. When stuck in my own negative space, I too lash out around me.

5. Every day is a new beginning. Please forgive the platitude however it is true. Each morning, when I open my eyes, I am faced with the most important decision I make that day: how I intend to move forward. I’ve tested it enough times to know for certain that when I step onto the floor with thoughts like “this day sucks already” or “I don’t want to _____ (insert go to work, do my school reading/planning, get out of bed in general),” the day will be dreadful. All I will pick up on is the negative stuff. I will miss the momentary, fleeting snapshots of coolness life continually shows me. I will make my own day suck. If I can take two seconds before pulling my head from the pillow and decide that instead, I am going to have a kick-ass day, it typically turns around and fast.

I am sure there are many more golden life nuggets hidden in waitressing too. I will do my best to remain teachable, pay attention to what matters, and laugh off the rest.

Peace and love to all.

Posted in Acceptance, Emotional Sobriety, Gratitude, Mindfulness, Negativity, Self-Care, Service, Spirituality | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Good Grief

by admin Posted on May 14, 2012

Yesterday was Mother’s Day.

Since my mom died, over 4 years ago, I’ve done my best to shield myself from Mother’s Day. The inundation of commercial emails, urging every son and daughter to not forget, to spend more, hurry before the free shipping window closes, etc. The damn floral arrangements. The Hallmark moments.

I am an orphan. I write that with a lump in my throat tonight because I am actively grieving. I’ve been in this confusing place for about 36 hours now and I don’t quite know what to do with myself. I am all thumbs. I don’t have the attention span to read. Suddenly all of the juicy and terrible reality TV I’ve been watching bores me. I just kind of want to sit, alone (or maybe with my dog), and be.

Of course life permits us narrow opportunities to just be. But I am doing my darnedest not to shove these feelings aside, zone out on sugar or television, or sleep them away. So that means just being… whatever that looks like.

Grief is the slipperiest, most elusive of human experiences… at least for me. It’s unpredictable. It pops up at the strangest of times. It reduces me to tears in one moment and in the next, prompts me to tear up a box with a rage and fervor that frightens me a bit. I feel empty but not alone. Exhausted but something is pushing me on.

I am keenly aware that I am not in the throes of self pity right now either. Which is new. I don’t blame the world for being an orphan. I am not feeding the chip that’s mostly healed over. I am not directing my emotions at any person or thing. I am just sitting with feeling deeply, poignantly sad. Missing my mom.

I miss her sense of humor. She used to embarrass the shit out of me as a kid but as an adult, I would love to walk down the sidewalk with her. I miss her child-like excitement at new projects. I miss her cooking. I miss dining out with her. I miss how she’d sing the wrong lyrics to songs and be totally unselfconscious about it. I just miss her.

I don’t have much more I wish to add right now. I am going go and just be. My man friend brought me some ice cream. I am going to sit and eat it and remember my mom some more.

Lots of life changes and events, however, so I will be blogging away, time permitting, in the next few weeks. Until then, peace and love to all.

 

 

Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Temper, Temper

by admin Posted on May 1, 2012

I am mad. Not pissy. Not grouchy. Not even crabby. Mad. Not mad as in mad about kittens. Or mad as in crazy (although I do dabble in that from time to time). No. I am raising my voice, shaking “fists of rage” (as my awesome sister would say) mad.

I had a bit of a temper as a child. My sister, the same awesome one I quoted above, had the ability to make me incredibly angry. So angry I would throw things at her. Push piles of magazines on top of her. Bite her.

I carried around a ton of anger as a teenager too. It would come out at terribly inappropriate times. Like my freshman year, when I was on the orientation camping trip (which, incidentally, I hated). There was a girl in my group who annoyed the shit out of me. Funny, I can’t tell you why that is now. I managed to keep my temper in check around her until a week in, when I exploded. A litany of cuss words flew from my mouth and I wouldn’t be surprised if smoke blew out of my ears. I yelled at this poor girl for several minutes. I also don’t remember exactly what I said to her, I just know it was AWFUL. She cried. I got in trouble with the principal. I had to issue an apology, which I did without making eye contact (that I do vividly recall, oddly).

In college, I would get angry nearly every time I got wasted. Which was about once a week. So, it’s safe to say I had some kind of altercation with another human being on any given Friday or Saturday night from September 1995 to June 1999. One memorable night, I picked a fight with a senior hockey player about three times my size. He cut the bathroom line and I got up in his face, literally, and told him what I thought about that. He laughed at me and called me “angry woman girl.” He proceeded to go around the party, pointing at me and asking people, “have you met angry woman girl?” Mortifying.  Like most things in life, however, something really great came of that embarrassing squabble. I made a dear friend, a fellow party-goer who came to my defense and made sure I was okay. Thanks, Jamarr.

Another college moment– Puerta Vallarta, Mexico. Spring break with my girl friends. I drunkenly screamed at one of my best friends (yes, we are still friends– we laugh about this now but it really wasn’t funny) and tried to tackle her in a cab. Ugh. My apologies, Emma.

The rest of my twenties are a little fuzzy, although I have a particularly keen and painful recollection of flipping out on my mother when she and a family friend took my sister and me to buy black dresses for my father’s funeral. If I was four or younger, it would have been okay behavior. A typical toddler temper tantrum. Only I was 21. And I screamed at my poor mother because she wanted me to pick out some shoes to match my funeral dress. I thought it impossibly trite and stupid, this concern about footwear, and let her know. With lots of four-letter words. In the middle of Macy’s.

I had other bursts while drunk. Like the night I apparently bitched out a guy I was on a date with and awoke to texts to the tune of “you’re crazy, never call me again.”

The list goes on.

The thing is, although I was a super angry person, and remained so well into my first year of recovery, I don’t think “mad” is my true nature. I find myself feeling those feelings much less frequently (and when I do, for shorter durations). I attribute this to cognitive behavioral therapy, recovery, and time. My thinking, my attitude, and my outlook have all changed. Things that used to break me now roll of my back. I aim to civilly and calmly address whatever has me in a snit as quickly as possible, lest it eats my lunch.

The truth is, I don’t like being mad. Anymore. I think I used to really enjoy it, get off on it. It no longer feels good though. I don’t get a rush from it. It’s merely exhausting. No one wants to listen to the rantings of an angry person. It damages the psyche and eats away at the soul. So I do my very best to avoid it.

But this is a fairly new way of being in the world. Keeping the temper in check requires me to take action. I pause, repeat the Serenity Prayer (God, Grant me serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference) over and over until my breathing and pulse have steadied, and most of all, I remind myself that it is not worth it. When that doesn’t do the trick, I write. Nastygrams (to quote my old boss) that don’t leave my draft box. Letters to myself. Blog posts. I’ve also found a new trick–or really, I am revisiting an old one–I get moving. I’ve gone for a few spontaneous runs over the past month because I felt inappropriate anger I really didn’t care to spew all over my family.

Most of the time, these tools–breathing, prayer, writing, or running–are enough to chill me out. In fact, I am so much less angry now than when I began to write this. HOORAY! But I will tell you what had my undies in a bundle anyway.

I have had two annoying experiences at work this past week. First, a customer referred to me as a “dumb blonde” because, when he questioned the validity of the trivia question I’d posted on the board (customers get a whopping ten cents off their order if they guess the correct answer), I assured him it was accurate. He then snidely inquired, “What, did you google it?” I, in fact, had gotten the information from a highly intelligent, trustworthy friend. I responded by asking, “Well, I don’t know sir… do you consider google to be a reliable source?” He and his cronies laughed and snickered and I turned red.

I also turned irate. (The fact that I am more redhead than blonde is entirely beside the point.) I called my man friend and vented. Then I clued in my coworker (who had seen me get uncharacteristically ticked off), as he hadn’t heard the entire conversation. Oh, I told lots of people. Anyone who’d listen. I also fantasized about “low-talking” (to borrow one of my man friend’s favorite expressions) the guy. Going up to him, in front of his cronies, and letting him know just how smart I really am. What degrees I hold. My professional know-how. And then walk away, leaving him feeling embarrassed and ashamed for being such a dickhead.

The second thing… I work with a man who is, and I say this with all the love and compassion I can muster, quite limited. Some might say obnoxious. Rude. I will stick with limited. Anyway, he and I have wrangled a bit the past month because I find his approach to many things… inappropriate.

Now, typically I have no poker face. When I am upset or unsettled by someone or something, I wear it on my entire body. Usually I appreciate this quality in myself, my utter inability to bullshit and hide my feelings, but there are other times, like in a work setting, that it is a weakness. It comes across as unprofessional and unkind. So I do my damnedest to keep it to myself… only my stiff posture, stoney facial expression, and monosyllabic responses always give me away.

Today I had a snarky encounter with this coworker. I won’t get into the details, but it ended with him shouting across the room,”You are such a thoughtful person.” Luckily I was on my way out the door and I didn’t miss a beat. I kept on walking. To my car. Where I then sat, fuming, music blasting, for about ten minutes. I thought deliciously evil thoughts and drummed up fantastic low-talking fantasies. I mean, how dare he! He doesn’t know me! I am the MOST thoughtful person! F**k him!

Ugh. I know better. I have had enough experience on the merry-go-round to know that I can’t change people. Not with the best of intentions and certainly not by joining them down in the trenches. All I can do is live in accordance with my spiritual ideals–kindness, love, compassion, service.

This morning I missed my spiritual mark. This morning, I was, well, a bit of an asshole. So, what’s the reward for using my elbows? I get the booby prize: I have to now make an amend to this individual. Because I allowed his way of showing up in the world– which is none of my business– to interfere with my serenity.

I laugh now. I have an image of myself eating this giant slice of humble pie. The Universe is unpredictably predictable, ever sending me signals that I’ve become too sure-footed and overly confident. I still have a temper. It may not flare up nearly as often or vehemently as it used to… but it’s there and it has the power to take me down a peg or two. Which is good. It reminds me of something vital– just like my coworker (and everyone else in this world), I am quite limited.

Posted in Conflict, Emotional Sobriety, Mindfulness, Negativity, Problem Solving, Relationships, Spirituality | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Be Kind to Your Web-Footed Friends

by admin Posted on April 15, 2012

This morning, I had occasion to recall a songbook my sister and I frequently read from as young girls. It was well-loved, its pages frayed and torn, its spine weakened and floppy. The songbook included traditional favorites, such as This Land is Your Land and silly tunes, like Great Green Globs of Greasy Grimy Gofer Guts. 

A goody from that latter category, Be Kind to Your Web-Footed Friends, has been on my brain since 7 a.m. Maybe you aren’t familiar with this one. Its lyrics (set to the melody of John Philip Sousa’s The Stars and Stripes Forever) are as follows:

Be kind to your web-footed friends
For a duck may be somebody’s mother
Be kind to your friends in the swamp
Where the weather is very, very damp…

You see, I witnessed something earlier today that kind of took my breath away. Reinstated my faith in humanity. Sort of amazed me.

There I was, taking orders at the coffee shop. Ho hum. Large dark roast. Blueberry muffin. Small decaf skim latte with one pump of sugar-free caramel and half a shot of white chocolate (and put the chocolate on the side in a separate cup). That kind of thing. As I moved on to the next customer–a man in U.S. Air Force uniform– a woman (whom I’d just served minutes earlier) bustled through the line and shoved her credit card at me.

I am paying for him.

Oh. Okay. I assumed he was with her. I quietly contemplated the relationship… she was too young to be his mother… not old enough to be his grandmother. Must be an aunt. That made sense, for surely she was a family member. Why else would she so authoritatively and forcefully insist on paying his bill?

Only he looked taken aback.

Once she’d ensured I understood and was, in fact, swiping her Visa for his tab, Auntie turned to him, her perfectly manicured hand on his broad shoulder.

Thank you for all that you do. My father served in Korea. Thank you.

Before he could respond, the man behind him exclaimed, You beat me to it! I was going to get his coffee!

The officer humbly thanked the woman (for her gesture) and the man (for his unrealized offer). Thanks m’am, sir. He nodded at me and with impecable posture and at a right angle (these are the things I notice, yes), he turned and left the shop.

Now maybe you don’t think much of this encounter. Me, however, well, I was touched. Moved. Actually, and this is out of the ordinary– I was shocked.

The other day, when a customer cut in line and a regular audibly scolded him? I didn’t miss a beat or bat an eye. The guy who leered at my chest and then dropped a fiver in the tip jar? Pleasure doing business with you, perv. The woman who stayed on her cell phone while ordering and then yelled at the barista for “messing up her order”? Par for the course. All the customers who say please, thank you, or offer up other commonplace but oft-forgotten pleasantries? It’s just nice to be acknowledged as a fellow human being. But very rarely do people surprise me.

This is going to sound so cheesy but after the officer and Auntie left the coffee shop, I felt a little warm and fuzzy, and refreshed, all at once. And a bit more inclined to pay it forward myself. I also contemplated, would I ever have thought to do that? No; it simply wouldn’t be on my radar.

What in the world does this have to do with my old childhood songbook or Be Kind to Your Web-Footed Friends? It’s about being nice to others (but not to the strangers I implore my man-friend’s children to watch out for or my mom told me not to accept rides from–be discerning, please). Because you never know.

And if it’s not compelling enough that “the duck may be somebody’s mother” (i.e. we are all people, people who need people) or that another may “live in a swamp” (i.e. have a rougher time of it than perhaps you do) here are a few more arguments in favor of generosity and being of service: 1) Uh, karma. Duh. 2) Going beyond the habitual door-holding or Gesundheit offering lifts the spirit and lightens the load. For the recipient AND the giver. 3) Whether we like it or not, we are a community.

And that is my hippy trippy rant for the week. Peace y’all.

Posted in Gratitude, Help, Service | Tagged , , | 4 Comments

What Are You Doing Here?

by admin Posted on April 14, 2012

One of my favorite professors from law school came into the coffee shop the other day.

“Well, hello!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing… here…?” she inquired, head cocked.

I quickly launched into my go-to explanation:

“After law school, I decided to get my Master’s in bioethics. So I am working here part-time and finishing my thesis right now.”

Never mind that that’s only a fraction of the story. What’s the real story? Why am I, a J.D. with a plethora of varied work experience, slinging Joe?

It occurred to me, sometime over the past few weeks, that my foray back into the service industry might be more than just a desire for simplicity. I have been trying to prove something to myself. You see, as a twenty-something “functional” problem drinker, I did a piss-poor job of meeting the expectations of a coffee shop barista. I was often late. Nearly always hung over. Surly. Angry. Unpleasant to work with. I didn’t play nicely with my coworkers and I snarled at customers. It wasn’t pretty.

Since sobering up, I’ve embarked on a number of “living amends.” The shame, the unbelievable shame that accompanied me everywhere I went, slowly gave way to a series of realizations. I had stopped showing up for my life. I was a sorry excuse for a dog owner. I rarely picked up my phone or returned calls. I often flaked on plans with friends and family. I procrastinated until I was so anxious, I could barely function. I spent more time under the covers, avoiding what I felt like was a collection of unbearable, undesirable, unmanageable situations. In a nutshell, I had stopped. I was stuck. In isolation. In misery.

Once I committed myself to a new way, a different path, in recovery, it was time to do. To do my life. Not hide from it. Be the dog owner I know I am in my heart. Care for my pets. Make plans with others and stick to them. Give a call now and again. Use my bed for sleep, not life avoidance. Engage with others, with myself. Show up– at work and school, in friendships and other relationships. Live.

How I conduct myself at the coffee shop today is light years away from the barista of my drinking years. I arrive for my shifts, on time, and, with only a couple exceptions, a positive attitude. I greet people with a smile. I try, I really try, to never roll my eyes. I let the piddly crap roll off my back. In essence, I am, every day, proving to myself that I am different. I can do this.

At the same time, I must confess… the “novelty” of the barista role has worn off. I have tired of waking at 4:30 am. The freedom that comes with a “leave work at work” job doesn’t make up for the lack of intellectual and spiritual stimulation. In a nutshell, I am bored. B.O.R.E.D. And when I get bored, I get cranky. Majorly crabbypants actually.

But, rather than just quitting and jumping into the next thing– how I operated for many years– I am slowing down. I am putting out feelers for other positions, for sure, however I am also considering using this time, channeling the “brain space” not utilized at work and its accompanying anxiety into finishing my thesis.

I think this is an opportunity. I have realized that my life’s calling is not to serve coffee and lemon poppyseed bread and I have recognized that completing my Master’s program is integral to my self esteem. Beyond that, I don’t really have to know. I just continually ask the Universe, Universe, what the f**k am I supposed to be doing with my life? One of these days, it will be clear.

In the meantime, I live. And I finish what I start. Before moving on to the next thing.

Peace and love to all.

Posted in Emotional Sobriety, Gratitude, My Story, Relationships, Self-Care, Spirituality, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Hello Strangers…

by admin Posted on April 11, 2012

Dear readers:

I have received several email comments inquiring about my whereabouts, concerned by my lack of recent postings. I am alive and well; I’ve been insanely busy– juggling two part-time jobs and family life, plus working to get healthy after an abscess and a gnarly respiratory infection.

I’ve also been reflecting on next steps for my writing and this blog. I am finding myself pulled in new directions, creatively, spiritually, and practically this has caused me to pause.

All that aside, regardless of what’s what, I will be back in the saddle this weekend. It’s a little ironic (or, perhaps, not at all ironic… remind me to share my piece with you about how Alanis Morisette’s song “Ironic” is anything but…) that I took a job at a coffee shop to provide me with the physical, emotional, and intellectual space and time to write and I’ve been utterly drained!

I just wanted to touch base with peeps and assure you I am fine; I did not “relapse.” I am alive and kicking with fire–just life getting in the way of my best-intentioned plans. Isn’t that always the case?

More soon. Peace and love to all.

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That’s When He Will Start to Feel Better

by admin Posted on March 23, 2012

Nap time is something of a laugh-riot in our house. I am talking about young child nap time.

Now me, I LOVE to take naps. Naps are right up there with coffee, bacon, cinnamon rolls, hugs, and kisses. Sublime. But for whatever reason, most kids don’t enjoy the requisite afternoon slumber. This continues to baffle me; then again, I am looking at it through the lens of a sleep-deprived adult who’d love nothing more than to be ordered back to bed after lunch. Alas…

Nearly two weeks ago, late Saturday afternoon, I lay in bed with my man friend’s youngest daughter and read her a story. Just minutes before we’d arrived home from a birthday party for the daughter of one of my best friends. A lovely occasion for a little “adult” chatter, climbing on the biggest indoor jungle gym I’ve ever seen, playing basketball, and eating pizza and donut cake. The gift we elected for the birthday girl? A copy of Kiki’s Hats, a touching tale about an older neighborhood woman who knits hats for the world. Naturally that was the story picked for pre-nap reading that afternoon as well.

I began to tell the story of Kiki’s Hats in a hushed, soothing, sleep-inducing (yeah right!) tone while little miss avidly listened. Typically, when I read to her, she has lots of questions and concerns. What about this character? Can we look at the next picture? Go back and read the last part again. Etc. On this occasion, she was very, very quiet. After we finished reading, she asked me a toughie.

“Why was Charlie so sad at the party?”

Charlie is the ex-husband of a dear friend. He brought his daughter to the party that afternoon as mom was out of town for work. When he arrived, little miss and I approached him to say hello. He wasn’t interested in talking and kind of waved us off. Little miss was confused by his behavior and her dad and I did our best to explain it.

“Charlie is having a hard time. He is very, very sad. Sometimes adults get sad.”

She accepted this and ran off to play with Charlie’s daughter, her friend.

But clearly she’d been pondering it, as she inquired again, “Why was Charlie so sad at the party?”

Charlie and my friend had a tough relationship, one that stopped making either party particularly happy a long time ago. They did their best–as people often do– to “make it work.” Time apart. Counseling. Talking things through. Sometimes, despite all the good intentions, “work,” and space, marital journeys come to an end. My friend has made her peace with this. She is ready to seek and secure the joy she wants and deserves. But Charlie is stuck. He continues to beat himself up, shoulding and what-ifing all over the place.

But of  course I did not share any of that with little miss. Instead, I just sighed and hugged her closer, and said, “Honey, sometimes people go through really hard times. They become sad and they don’t really want to talk to other people. The good thing is that with time, usually they start to feel better and start smiling and laughing again.”

“But when will he start to feel better?” she wanted to know.

I sighed again. “Soon, love. Soon.”

She seemed to accept this. Then she switched gears back to Kiki’s Hats.

“Andrea, why does Kiki make all of those hats for everyone?”

“Well, she wants to share her hats with people who don’t have hats,” I replied. “She believes in helping other people. Helping other people helps us too.”

She paused and said, “That’s when Charlie will start to feel better.”

I am very rarely at a loss for words but that took the wind right out of me. An almost-four-year-old grasping the connection between sadness and self involvement. It took me 31 years to appreciate the value of being in service to others. And here’s a wee one, somehow making the connection between Charlie feeling better and helping other people.

A couple years ago, I attended a show put on by Minnesota Public Radio, part of its Wits series. Mason Jennings, a local and nationally known artist was the musical guest. I love Mason Jenning’s music. But what I recall most vividly from that night is not his guitar playing or killer lyrics; it is a story he shared about one of his children. They were playing at the park. A plane flew overhead and his son stopped and made some amazing observation about the plane. Mason Jennings just looked at him and said, “You are one mystical little dude.”

That’s where my head went after little miss spoke. You are one mystical little dude. How in the blazes does a small child see things adults can’t? Is it really that simple? That clear? Or is it that they haven’t yet developed the unwillingness and the fear that keeps so many grown-ups stuck?

When I first sobered up, I was told several things that I had a hard time grasping: 1)  It will be okay. Everything will be okay; 2) Letting go makes everything easier; and 3) Service work helps.

Those three tenets of recovery have been proven to me, time and time again, over the past almost three years. It is okay. No matter what. Everything is okay. Letting go and accepting what life throws at me does make everything easier. And service work helps. It helps when nothing else seems to. When I am in service to others, whether it’s simply taking the time to listen and share with another human being, talking with other alcoholics and addicts, or writing my blog, I get out of my own crazy head. I contribute something. Doesn’t really matter what it is. The key is this: it’s not about me.

Today I keep Charlie and others suffering in my thoughts and prayers. Being stuck is a painful, gut-wrenching place to be. While I may forget sometimes, get caught up in the injustices, the details, the things that are none of my damn business, I want to always, always, have compassion and love in my heart. But for the compassion and love of others, I certainly wouldn’t be here today.

Love and peace to all.

 

Posted in Acceptance, Conflict, Depression, Emotional Sobriety, Family, Fear, Mental Illness, Negativity, Openness, Relationships, Socializing, Spirituality, Suffering | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Gratitude Abound

by admin Posted on March 20, 2012

Hello all! I haven’t blogged in about two weeks and it’s been nagging me… I have wanted to write, that’s for sure, however I have been either one or some combination of the following for over a week: 1) exhausted and sleep-deprived (damn insomnia and a new sleep schedule); 2) in intense pain (f’ing dental abscess); 3) working; 4) watching Downton Abbey; and/or 5) hanging with my peeps.

Anyway, things are just fine– fatigue, health issues, work overload and all. Life is grand. Yet it’s been a long while since I penned a gratitude list. And so while I have so many things I’d like to write about today, I find myself stuck on gratitude. Here it goes.

Before I begin, a brief disclaimer: this list is by no means all-inclusive. I have boundless, bottomless gratitude for an unquantifiable number of things/people/experiences/etc. These are just the first five items that popped into my tired brain this morning.

1) The calm. I have shared about this before, but when I don’t interfere, my life possesses a serene quality that I never imagined possible. Serene as in the absence of anxiety and emotional turmoil. For the most part, the days of icky sticky drama are behind me. I absolutely treasure this. Allow me to be more specific. Last night, I sat down to dinner with my man friend and his two older daughters. A delicious pasta salad with chicken, cashews, and raisins. Hot, buttered bread. I was quiet and staring off into space when I heard my man friend ask, “Are you okay?” I paused for a moment and I responded with an empathic, “Yes. I am just really relaxed.” What a wonderful sensation.

2) The ability to show up. I have been pondering this with respect to my work the past few days. Not only am I teaching part-time and working 20-plus hours per week as a barista, I just concluded a teaching assistant position. Somehow, thank you Universe, I’ve managed to keep all balls in the air. I have completed all of my reading, grading, and class preparation. I continually arrive on time for work at the coffee shop (okay, I was eight minutes late once). I greet my coworkers with a smile and positive attitude. I don’t whine and complain about the time or bark at the customers. I stay busy and I like it. I feel I am dependable and reliable– two words listed as antonyms for Andrea just three short years ago. I am actually kind of proud of me!

3. The early morning hours.  Three or four mornings a week, I rise between 4:30 and 5 a.m. The other days, I “sleep in” until 7. It’s glorious… even though it requires me to leave my warm and fuzzy bed and warm and fuzzy man friend long before I’m ready. This morning, I witnessed a gorgeous purple, red, and pink sunrise. My coworker and I took turns going outside to take it in. I just love the quiet and solitude of those early hours. The world is waking up yet I am already rearing to go… It occurred to me this past week that perhaps I took this position to prove something to myself, and to make up for lost time. All those days I stayed in bed, too ashamed, hung over, and tired to do anything.

4. My home. Nearly four months ago, I moved in with my man friend and his children. He and I have been together for over a year now. And it is strange. Strange awesome, not strange peculiar or bad. The fact that I am in a healthy relationship with a man who continues to excite, challenge, and care for me… it’s still unfamiliar at times! Yet day in and day out, he continues to welcome me into his heart. And I feel home.

5. My health. Although it’s not perfect, it’s near enough. I can walk, talk, hear, see, smell, eat, run (when I get off my lazy ass), and do countless other things I take for granted. That said, I’ve been battling a periapical abscess for almost four months (let’s just say I’ve had 3 root canals, one dental extraction, a CT scan, numerous rounds of different antibiotics, and enough pain meds to put down an ox) and the accompanying insomnia and discomfort has brought me to tears at times. I feel helpless and weak. At the same time, I am ever cognizant of my good fortune. I have health insurance. I can afford to put my dental treatments on a credit card. I don’t have to suffer.

So much more to say, alas that nap is screaming my name. Thank you, as always, for reading and allowing me to share. I invite you to consider what you feel grateful for in this moment. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

More to come soon…

Peace and love to all.

Posted in Emotional Sobriety, Family, Gratitude, Insomnia, Spirituality, Suffering | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Want Some Whipped Cream on That?

by admin Posted on March 6, 2012

Yes, madams and sirs, this is a phrase I uttered maybe twelve times this morning. You see, I am moonlighting at a local coffee shop because I have so much free time. Ha! Actually, I am, very unromantically, serving lattes and shit tons of white mochas (by the way, what the hell is up with that? I don’t get the appeal of the white mocha…), for a large coffee conglomerate. No, not Starbucks and no, I won’t give you free stuff.

Anyway, here’s the deal… those of you following my blog for the past year know I’ve been in transition. Trying to get to the bottom of queries like, what the fuck do I want to do with my life? What should I be when I grow up? Should I start a law firm? Nope. Should I work as an attorney? Doesn’t appear so… So,what am I doing then? I am teaching Philosophy and Sexuality at a local university, grading papers for the Bioethics department at another school, and making coffee.

I decided to take on the part-time coffee gig for several reasons. 1) Too much time + Andrea = CRAZY. I am most joyful and effective in all areas of my life when I am busy (but not too busy). 2) Yes, I am a licensed attorney and I am aware that I could make some dough practicing law (but a shout out and thanks to all who feel the need to remind me of that each week) but, and it’s really this simple, I DON’T WANT TO. 3) Grownups, like real adults (which I would say I have been for approximately 4 months now), take jobs because they offer benefits! Health insurance. Maybe a retirement plan. 4) It sounded like fun. 5) It would allow me the mental and psychic space to focus on my writing; i.e. I could “leave work at work” and devote my off time to my passion.

It has been fun. Thus far. Certainly, there is an element of “been there, done that” but at the same time it is its own unique, qualitative experience. Sure, I slung java in my twenties, but I was a surly, unpleasant, socially awkward drunk. I didn’t go to work drunk per se, but I am willing to bet that many an opening shift, I would have blown over the legal limit if tested. Luckily for my neighborhood, I walked back then.

Anyway, it’s funny… I had a long conversation with a like-minded co-worker this morning. He used to be an insurance salesperson. Now he makes 1/5 the money but he has something precious and unquantifiable — he is happy. Which I get. I, too, am happy. 

Now, fast forward a couple hours. By this point, it’s sometime after 7 am and I have spilled coffee all down the front of my white button-up, have mocha smeared on my face (damn you white mocha…) and smell like the underside of an espresso machine. But I am grinning. Then a customer walked in and my blood ran cold. No fucking way.

The customer was none other than a man I had a HUGE crush on in college. In fact, one drunken night, over 15 years ago, we made out a little. But it didn’t go further than that, despite my inebriated, incessant hang-up phone calls afterwards. Anyway, seeing this person didn’t freak me out because of the crush I’d had; I kissed a lot of random dudes after a keg stand or two. And I am happily involved with the most awesome gentleman today. No, what I felt was…  and I hate to admit this… embarrassed. That I was working at a coffee shop, ringing in his coffee and muffin. The coffee and muffin he would then take back over to his office at the hospital. Where he works. As a doctor.

For a second, I thought I would hide out in the back room until he paid and left. Then I caught myself and said, Andrea, nut up. So I put a smile on my face, confidently walked to the front of the house, and said, hey, how are you? Eye contact and everything.

After he left, my coworker and I talked about it a little. He said, “yeah, I see people I wish didn’t know I worked here too sometimes…” We had a laugh, reminded ourselves that we are making an active choice to brew super-pricey non-alcoholic beverages, and went about our day.

What I am taking from this is the following: I am shocked that I possess the ability to shove my ego aside and face something like this. Three years ago, I would have run out of the store or hidden in a box. No joke. But I have nothing to feel embarrassed about. I am where I am because I want to be here and because I feel like it’s the right place to be. No shame.

So, wherever you are in your life, I hope it feels right and gives you energy for other, extracurricular pursuits. Everyone should be so blessed.

Peace and love.

 

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Rest in Peace

by admin Posted on March 1, 2012

A couple of hours ago, I learned that D, a fellow recovering alcoholic, passed away. I would like to take a moment to share my memories and thoughts about this man, who, although briefly, touched my life.

What I know about D is that he was a kind and compassionate man. He gave back to the community and was actively involved in advocacy and documentary work around transplantation. D encountered much adversity in his life, particularly with respect to his physical health, yet he exuded that spirit and aura of a man actively working a program of recovery.

I am grateful for the opportunity to have known D. I know he also meant a great deal to one of my best friends. I have been trying to reach her to give her the news in person as reading of someone’s death on Facebook can be a bit jarring.

D, you lived a full life and never shied away from sharing your story and experience, strength, and hope with the community. Thank you. Wherever you are, I trust your spirit will live on in and through others and that you are at peace.

Love to all.

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