Carnal Zen

Ayn Rand is one of my favorite authors. I would never have picked up Fountainhead or Atlas Shrugged had it not been at the persistence of a former colleague.  Rand has a cult following, is frequently credited with launching the philosophy of objectivism and has received much criticism for her portrayal of selfishness as a virtue…but I have started to agree with her.

Last night over wine, a friend and I held a lengthy discussion about the search for happiness and the accusations of selfishness that result when we put ourselves first.

You cannot say I love you without first saying “I”.   You have to honor yourself and meet your needs. Nobody can or will do that for you.

Humans are selfish by nature. We derive pleasure from even the most generous of our gestures.   When we compromise in relationship we don’t really do it to make the other person happy, we really do it because they make us happy.  We want the other person in our lives to smile bringing us joy, shared moments and laughter.  That is a selfishness I can live with.

If you have followed Fay or Gustav you have seen the yellow arc of it’s projected paths.  Since I live in South Florida I am nearly always in the path of terror, the boarded up windows and the flood advisories .  I am stringing together supplies for a storm that I am told is heading my way.  The storm I fear is more tornado than hurricane.  It pulls everything dear to you into it’s vaccuum.  There is little warning.  I am scared.

You spend your childhood being convinced there are no monsters under the bed.  You grow up, you read the newspapers and come to understand that monsters are in fact, everywhere.  You embrace it.  Fear is clever.  He pretends to be your ally, your protector.  You respond by parking in well lit areas and rechecking the deadbolt on your back door.  Eventually, he becomes the doubt that kills love and destroys confidence.

Today I realized that I can not be living my dreams if I am living my fears.    Neither can you.

At some point in our lives we are guaranteed to get screwed.  It’s part of the experience.  You grieve, you relearn trust, eventually you forgive and finally you move on.  Watching loved ones get hurt is infinitely more frustrating.

It is Groundhog Day.  You hear sniffles on the other end of the phone.  “It’s over” you hear for the millionth time as you pack a Cabernet and kleenex pack into your overnight bag and head over.  Conversations are analyzed, scenes scrutinized.  The term deal-breaker is used.  They may well pack their bags… but soon enough the fortress of anger cracks and then the whole thing goes around again, and again.  Details change, sometimes partners but the story is the same.

In the end your emotional investment wears you out. You tire of your powerlessness and grow resentful that your friend is holding on to an unhealthy relationship but the truth is you’re the one who needs to let go.  Letting go takes love.

To let go does not mean to stop caring,
   it means I can’t do it for someone else.
To let go is not to cut myself off,
   it’s the realization I can’t control another.
To let go is not to enable,
   but allow learning from natural consequences.
To let go is to admit powerlessness, which means
   the outcome is not in my hands.
To let go is not to try to change or blame another,
   it’s to make the most of myself.
To let go is not to care for,
   but to care about.
To let go is not to fix,
   but to be supportive.
To let go is not to judge,
   but to allow another to be a human being.
To let go is not to be in the middle arranging all the outcomes,
   but to allow others to affect their destinies.
To let go is not to be protective,
   it’s to permit another to face reality.
To let go is not to deny,
   but to accept.
To let go is not to nag, scold or argue,
   but instead to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.
To let go is not to adjust everything to my desires,
   but to take each day as it comes and cherish myself in it.
To let go is not to criticize or regulate anybody,
   but to try to become what I dream I can be.
To let go is not to regret the past,
   but to grow and live for the future ~ Author Unknown

Work challenged my nerve endings today.  I smiled through it but now my face is tired and I just caught myself watching the pasta water come to a boil.  Since I can’t offer my lovely readers and friends any thoughtful insights today - I’ll let you laugh

WASHINGTON, DC—After running a thousand errands, working hours of overtime, and being stuck in seemingly endless gridlock traffic commuting to and from their jobs, millions of Americans were disheartened to learn that it was, in fact, only Tuesday.

“Tuesday?” San Diego resident Doris Wagner said. “How in the hell is it still Tuesday?”  Already the week is unbearable for these New Yorkers awaiting a subway train, and it’s only fucking Tuesday. 

Tuesday’s arrival stunned a nation still recovering from the nightmarish slog that was Monday, leaving some to wonder if the week was ever going to end, and others to ask what was taking Saturday so goddamn long.

“Ugh,” said Wagner, echoing a national sense of frustration over it not even being Wednesday at the very least.

According to suddenly depressed sources, the feeling that this week may in fact last forever was further compounded by the thought of all the work left to be done tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, and, if Americans make it that far, possibly even Friday, for Christ’s sake.

Fears that the week could actually be going backwards were also expressed.

“Not only do Americans have most of Tuesday morning to contend with, but all of Tuesday afternoon and then Tuesday night,” National Labor Relations Board spokesman David Prynn said. “If our calculations are correct, there is a chance we are in effect closer to last weekend than the one coming up.”

Added Prynn: “Fuck” 

Believe it or not, it’s not even goddamn lunchtime yet for these commuters in Southern California.

Reports that this all has to be some kind of sick joke could not be confirmed as of press time.

Isolated attempts to make the day go faster, such as glancing at watches or clocks every other minute, compulsively checking e-mail, hiding in the office bathroom, fidgeting, or reading a boring magazine while sitting in the waiting room, have also proven unsuccessful, sources report.

The National Institutes of Standards and Technology, which oversees the official time of the United States, is flatly denying that it has slowed or otherwise tampered with Tuesday’s progression.

“The current Tuesday is keeping apace with past Tuesdays with no more than one ten-thousandth of a second’s variation at the most,” NIST spokeswoman Dr. Geraldine Schach said. “However, I sympathize with the common consensus that this week has already been a colossal pain in the neck.”

Labor Secretary Elaine Chao released a statement addressing widespread speculation that it might as well be Monday for all anyone cares.

“We understand this day has been tough on many of you, what with meetings mercilessly dragging on and an entire stack of files still left to organize,” Chao’s statement read in part. “Yet we urge Americans to show patience. The midweek hump is just around the corner, and we have strong reason to believe that Saturday will be here before you know it.”

“Go about your lives as best you can,” the statement continued. “Do not, we repeat, do not take a sick day, as it’ll make the rest of the week that much harder to endure.”

In the meantime, citizens are doing their best to cope with the interminable week, though Tuesday is still hours away from ending.

“The more I try to speed it along, the longer it almost seems to take,” said Dale Bouchard, a Chicago-based broker who has been waiting for today to be over since it first began earlier this morning. “Honestly, today could not have come at a worse time this week.”

In the meantime, the latest wristwatch consultations indicate that it is somehow still Tuesday, if that makes any sense at all.

(Compliments to our friends and authors at The Onion )

“There is a saying in Brazil” my friend began as he struggled to interpret from his native Portuguese for my benefit. I love idioms, but some expressions can throw a curve ball to even native speakers.

This morning I ignored the trace amounts of vodka which remained in my blood system from a Saturday night and went to my favorite yoga class. I breathed in the fragrant lavender oil and when prompted to put my heart into it I pushed so deep that each posture nearly brought me to tears.

In the aftermath I wondered what was meant by “put your heart into it“. Although it sounds like instructions to play twister with your internal organs, I’d always assumed it was the same as determination or willpower. I was wrong.

It means, to do it with love. Any action derived from real love will have a positive result. It may be love for another, or love for your yourself but consider the magic we could create in our lives if all our efforts were labors of love.

Everyone has a day when they are off their game.  A day when you can’t or won’t to find a silver lining this side of the Mississippi and you give in or give up.  I’ve talked about giving myself permission to spend the day indoors and unshowered even if the sun is shining.  I’ve parked myself on the kitchen floor letting the dog lick my tears in a heap of woe is me more times than I care to admit.

It is in the aftermath of those moments that I can measure my growth.  Those tears are the signs that I am pushing myself into new, unchartered and frightening territory.   I am breaking through some wall and leaving my comfort zone behind.

The word relapse stings.  It indicates failure instead of a natural cycle of change but eventually we become aware of ourselves battling negative thoughts and it can create an opportunity for growth.   Here are few things to evaluate post-meltdown:

•  What was the most satisfying part?
•  Why?  What need was it fulfilling?
• Is there a more productive way to fill that need?
• Identify anything that may have triggered intellectually, emotionally, physically, spiritually.
• What would you do differently the next time?

Please for the love of all that is holy, do not say “home where you make it”.  Whether I’ve “made it” on multiple coasts, in multiple countries, in numerous beds, houses, or the occassional state park has no bearing on where home is.  Home is a feeling and I’m not feelin it.

Even after I say otherwise after a long day, I love my work - the challenges, the politics, the colleagues.  This city is full of ugliness, high crime and crappy schools but I have good neighbors, great beaches, new friends and a slightly leaky roof protecting me and the furkids each night.

In O-town, I hated my work but I liked my boss and loved my condo.  I had entire circles friendships that had evolved into kinships- the kind who scrub your bathtub and take turns buying you shots when you euthanize your pet cat.

New York has pizza, bagels, reliable transit and family.  The winters are unforgiving and the prices unrelenting.

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted.  But mostly they’re darked.
A place you could sprain both you elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out?  Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?
And IF you go in, should you turn left or right…
or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.
You can get so confused
that you’ll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place…”  ~Dr. Suess

How is it that Dr. Suess is still the one who gets it?  I have neither the energy nor the direction for another new beginning right now…. so I find myself at the southeast corner of Now & Later Avenues.  U turns are prohibited.

When you’re in the throws of getting to know someone there are always early compatibility indicators.  What books are on his shelves, what is does the movie collection say, what their friends are like, how many video games are around and most importantly, what’s on his playlist.

 I am not a music junkie.  In fact this weekend I heard about Shazam some iPhone application that lets you play a few notes of any song and it will immediately respond with the artist, album title, song name and places to purchase.  I need that.

 Maybe you think judging his musical preference is shallow.  I admit that schizophrenia would be the only logical response to a review of my own collection but I’ll let you men in on a little secret – I am looking for something that can’t be found on a top 40.  Something that tells me he doesn’t just run with the pack.

 Not long ago, Mate and I piled in the car to head to dinner.  I clicked on his stereo to hear Miley Ray Cyrus at top volume.  In one fluid motion, he scrunched his nose and belted out every word to the neophyte pop star’s song to the very last “yeah yeah”.  I laughed through my nose.

 That’s the juicy stuff I replay when he’s so far away.  It’s been a long summer.  I’m ready for his ship to come in, for us to thumbwrestle over whose turn it is to make the coffee and to just be silly in those private precious ways.

Ok seriously - she’s not even a hurricane.  I’ve taken more violent showers.  I’m tempted to go perform an entire rendition of singing in the rain so everyone who has “hunkered down” in their living rooms will have something intersting to watch.  Instead I’m heading out to dinner.

Living in Florida makes you a human barometer.  You can smell rain within 10 minutes of accuracy despite that the other side of the street stays bone dry during your afternoon downpour.  You are a Floridian when your hurricane supplies include beer and you laugh off anything that isn’t a category 4.  You suspect but cannot prove that Home Depot and Energizer batteries have a special hurricane commercial deals and newscasters get a bonus for inducing panic.  You have used the term “hunker down”.  You stopped carrying an umbrella because the rain will be over in a few moments.  Pantyhose have been outlawed by your boss as cruel and unusual punishment.  Cuban politics leave you deeply confused.  Tap water is VERY clean but tastess like feet.  Camping season doesn’t begin until October.  You don’t own socks. 

I am still a New Yorker in many ways, and plan to go home in a few years when its time to start having kiddos.  I will miss the thunderstorms.  I will miss flipflops being appropriate footwear all season.  I might even miss the hurricanes.  To my Florida friends - I wish you lots of laughs over board games and beers during tonights drizzle.  XO

Did you ever notice that alcoholics are still called alcoholics even if they’ve been sober for decades?   Isn’t recovery supposed to be about liberating ourselves from an identity that was self destructive?

 At some point in our lives everyone has used some un-healthy crux.  Today, after listening to a friend’s negative self portrayal I thought about how our history can become self perpetuating.   Schemata are cognitive tools that help our minds collect, retrieve and organize information deemed relevant to support the existing idea.    Our minds will also resist information that is contradictory to our schema by omitting or forgetting anything that presents a conflict.

Self-schemas are cognitive generalizations about who we are and what we are capable of derived from past experience and it affects what we do.

·     If we think we’re reliable we’ll try to always live up to that image.

·     If we think we are sociable we are more likely to seek the company of others.

·     If we think we’re attractive we’ll be more confident in our romantic dealings with the opposite sex.

·     If we think we’re shy we are more likely to avoid social situations.

How many of us are even aware of what labels do we’re holding on to?  Are we ready to start creating a new history?  We say we want change but are we really ready to stop being caterpillars?