Sometimes family circles become spirals of memories and old feuds. Old hurts dredge up. Our childhood wounds become today’s disappointments and the love we want still eludes us.
We feel the pressures of our impulse buys while we struggle to stay with our Christmas lists and the crowds make us cranky from the moment we start looking for a parking place. Today, especially, it’s a major undertaking just to get the hell out of the house only to slip and slide on the ice and snow that covers Oklahoma City.
There’s all that end-of-year business stuff when we get the bad news about just how hard we worked for how little and we have to catch up on the boring paperwork we’ve been putting off since October, or maybe June.
There’s the spillover from our friends and lovers as their stuff spins out of control and we all take it out on each other and expect some “slack” from people we love who have no more slack to give.
All of this set against the inevitable out-of-control expectations that we’ll feel all along like a 7 year old boy unwrapping an Xbox 360 on Christmas morning in our footies and bed head.
There’s nothing like Christmas to destroy my Christmas spirit.
As I write this, snow has begun falling gently, promising a White Christmas but delivering wretched driving and frayed nerves. It’s a perfect metaphor for the holiday season which, of all times of the year, is the most fertile for suicide.
Then, of course, there’s the wretched excess of New Year’s Eve when everyone tries to feign having a much better time than they are really having and so, to make up and cover up and to forget about it, we drink far too much to try and fill that gap between our heart’s desire and our reality. We fret about that perfect date that we do not have. We wish we were kissing someone else as they play that wretched Scot’s poem about old friendships.
And then we stare into the dark of cold winter and another year of the same thing same as it ever was same as it ever was same as it ever was.
Why is Leonard Cohen so lighthearted?
Because we must be led by our hopes and not driven by our fears.
Because we must act as if there were a God despite the radical impossibility there ever was one (Sartre).
Because there is nothing good nor bad but thinking makes it so (Shakespeare).
There’s no reason to face the traffic at the mall nor the crowds of cows that go there. Go to Milissa at Mockingbird Manor and order some handmade jewelry for a one-of-a-kind gift. Go to Suzanne at Paseo for an encaustic and have no problem at all parking and get a work of art instead of a boring sweater. Buy a one of a kind tie from Diane Coady instead of a boring school tie from Foley’s.
Choose one person in your family or among former friends to get right with. Stuff your old crap where the sun don’t shine and polish up your good stuff by going the extra mile to put back together a relationship. Make it your Christmas present to yourself. Enemies are easy, it’s friends that are hard. Your resentments over things that happened when you were a child is you drinking poison hoping they will die. Stop it. Instead, forgive in the same measure as you wish to be forgiven by someone else. Cut the slack you want for yourself.
For me, this is a sobering season — and those of you who know me well know that I’m a recovering alcoholic and sober is precisely the right word. You will not be surprised to know that I’ve been a full bore asshole at times this past year. My end-of-the-year business this year is to clean up some of the messes I’ve made. One part of that process is me forgiving a few people for not realizing that I’m so fabulous that whatever I want and whatever I do is the perfect thing and realizing myself that maybe I haven’t been perfect in every situation every single time. Maybe, gulp, take some responsibility for my behavior.
Despite this, I’ve watched a major relationship go south, precipitously, just this week. Some part of me says, though, that letting go may be the kindest thing I can do. I’m thinking that this may be one of those times when what I want and what is right are two very different things.
How do you make God laugh? Tell Him your plans.
To some of you, I’m not much of a Christian. To me, a Christmas tree is a pagan symbol of the fact that the early Christian Church co-opted the pagan Bacchanalia winter solstice celebration. I do not believe the story of Christ’s virgin birth and the Holy Spirit.
I do believe in the words of Christ. Our lives will become a heaven on earth if we will only avoid judging our fellow humans and instead offer them our love. We must begin that process with ourselves, drop our heinous self-evaluations and remember that we are loveable, if by no one else then by ourselves.
I met a young woman at Galileo’s the other night and I think her name is Heather. She was punk’d in appearance with multicolored hair, tattoos and piercings. I met her because she was at the next table and I heard her start talking about the film “Coffee and Cigarets”, a rather obscure movie, but one of my guilty pleasures. I interrupted, confessing that I’d eavesdropped. I suppose she was 21 years old at least since she was in the bar area, but she was young by my standards, whatever her age. Just a random incident in my random life. Except for one thing: it’s perfectly predictable that I will meet unusual people hanging out, as I do, at the Paseo. In fact, it’s one of the main reasons why it’s my adopted second home. There’s more to it than that, even. There’s also the fact of my life that I’m gregarious. A great many people may have seen that movie and could overhear that conversation and keep to themselves. That’s not how I’m made. It’s also perfectly predictable that I’d speak up. Especially since she was a lovely young woman — Yes, I do know who I am. What is the nature of life? Is it unpredictable and random or is it merely complex?
Ah, this dance of life.
The bottom line for me is that when I try to direct my life, I fuck up. When I simply live with love and openness and passion, good things happen to me. When I insist on my self-importance, I ruin my connectivity. When I simply accept others as beings doing the best they know how to do at the time, I am serene and surrounded by friends.
I had a long conversation last night with someone I love and have loved for a long time now. I hope we got back on track because we’ve been alienated for awhile. One of the principal barriers between us is me. I’m all righteous about it and certain that I was right and she was wrong and, even though we talked in part because I’m determined to overcome my stuff, I still had those feelings. The hard part about it, or one of the hard parts in all events, is that I’m so very nostalgic for my relationship with her. I wish I had that intimacy back. Alas, I don’t think that’s possible. Again, I don’t blame anyone but myself. I just can’t put together the trust necessary for the intimacy I want more than anything. I know. Contradictory and stupid, but there it is. I realized that I would never regain my trust in her (or anyone for that matter) by staying aloof and refusing to be in her presence. It’s still hard. I know that I am doing the right thing by putting aside my doubts and hurts, but that next step to openness is so difficult for me as to be nearly impossible. All that’s required is the slightest change in my own thinking and I’m there, but I’m so very arrogant and self centered that it seems like an impassable chasm. Also the task seems too great for my feeble powers. The old arguments still loom out there in her thinking that’s she’s got no choice and me the same. It’s so sad to be my own observer and see both of us longing and wishing and hoping with such foolish hopes that we will someday be who we want to be rather than who we are. I think both of us would put it back together if we could and … we … just … can’t … quite … get there.
On another front, have I mentioned that I’m Alfie? Inside, I’m the man in the conversation last night who longs for the serenity and security of having only one woman in my life and in whom I can place the ultimate trust to know who I really am. Outside, I’m Alfie. I drive a sports car, dress flashy and flirt with every skirt that passes, flashing a good smile and making a smart remark. I have to own up to the fact that almost everyone regards me as an interesting diversion to a passing woman who is in a certain mood and not much more. I’m not sure why I think that acting the playboy will hook me up with the kind of woman who wants a long term relationship. And, my inner experience is not at all like the outer shell that others seem to observe. Inside, I’m horrible at meeting women and even worse at “closing the deal” because I abhor casual sex and insist on lovemaking rather than fucking. I’ve put myself in a bad place and it’s fair to say that, as a general rule, I’ve sabotaged every important relationship I’ve ever had on the reefs and shoals of sex. Fascinating little riddle, what? I absolutely hate and have no sympathy for Alfie, but that’s who I seem to be.
Just as I suggested y’all avoid the problem of holiday traffic with an alternative strategy, I think I shall do the same this Christmas — avoid the problem. If I am to be alone this Christmas, I will see it as a good thing. A time to take my own measure. A time to enjoy being with the good company of John Long. Whoever I see on New Year’s, they will be the perfect date and the perfect kiss. Or not. I will bear ill will to no one, especially myself. I forgive all tresspasses and beg for forgiveness, no matter how big an asshole I have been. I’m trying to do better and will as soon as I get perfect. Thanks for inquiring, btw, but I’m already being “fixed”. It’s just that it’s a big job and it seems to take a lifetime to get it done.
Merry Christmas, folks.
Resist Bush while we still can.
Post Script: I know this blog entry is confusing and random and scattered, but I started out saying I thought it was a confusing season.
