Yeah, ok. I obsess. And I'm trying to have a sense of humour about it.
I obsess because.. well, that's a side of my personality that's just like that. Plus, I am in a foreign country and I have no routine to cling to except my crazy job, my husband and my marriage. Well, and my sense of humour. I'm used to being self-reliant. And I feel very reliant on other people and circumstances right now, and that's tough.
When I'm working 12-hour days for people that demand me to be on call 24/7 in a country with so little daylight I might as well be a vampire, and feel wrung out like a dishtowel, my routine has very little flexibility. So I tend to believe that the mister, or someone else, will help create it for me. Will pamper me. Will figure out a routine for me. The fundamental problem with that is that with our work schedules, all we have is the weekend together. Routine? Hmm. Our life has never been routine, since the moment we met, got married shortly thereafter, moved countries and jobs twice, and moved homes 3 times. All in two years (though in a way, deep down, I think we perversely enjoy the challenges that we've been faced with- we're a pretty awesome team in that respect).
So, I start to obsess if things aren't exactly "just so". And not constructively. More like Chicken Little. I obsess over the times that we don't have, the plans that we can't make, the holidays that we can't take. Not because I try to be negative, but unfortunately, that's the solution in my personal equation: control freak+ stress + expectations-positive thinking= Negative Nancy. It's a bad habit that I have to get out of, because it gets a bit insidious in its negativity.
You know, you may think that these blogs aren't so much about my experiences in London, but about me finding out about myself as a person through Blogotherapy. And maybe that's a type of self-obsession, you could say. And people may think hmm. okaaaay.. I see that you need some venting, sheesh! But here's the truth: it's about all of it. It's my London Eye. It's my pure, uncensored current perspective. It's about how I learn about myself, my life, my place in this world, my husband, and our marriage. It's about all of the challenges and happiness and curiosities that I'm discovering. It's about learning how to figure out men (yeah, still working on that one) It's about my stories, my obsessions, my failures, my achievements, my hopes, my dreams, my insecurities and my love. And, as my friendly blogger Janet put it, it's about navigating the spaces in between.
I am a passionate person, an extremely empathetic person, an extremely emotional and demonstrative person. I take everything to heart. And I'm realising that my marriage is very similar, since both of us are very passionate and stubborn people who always do things 200%. And though the mister looks at me like I have three heads when I obsess when he does something that irritates me, he still encourages me to stop.
And listen.
And focus on the space. The positives. The moments of quiet. The bigger plan that we're both trying to achieve in this crazy world. It's the big picture that matters, and the moments that we spend with each other in between the lines, when we can.
But in the meantime, there's a lot to be said for writing down a few words here and there that help you see things more clearly. To appreciate a unique perspective. To learn about who you are. And to have a healthy laugh at your own expense.
Thursday, 26 June 2008
Thursday, 19 June 2008
You, the twinkle in my eye. You, the lint in my belly button.
When I was little, I saw Tato look at Mamo adoringly (like he still does), or not want to do anything fun without her. Even when I asked him to do stuff with just me, he would say "okay, but let's see what Mamo's up to". It would infuriate me to no end, and I would roll my eyes and ask him "don't you ever just get sick of her? I mean really, it's been 20 years already!"
And he would look at me, and in his eyes I briefly saw flicker the years of sacrifice, compromise, arguments, hugs, kisses and unconditional love. And he very succinctly said "nope".
He explained to me (honestly, I pretended to listen, but at that age all I could hear was the fierce beating of my own heart, for I had fallen in love/lust for the very first time) that love changes shape. It grows, it quiets down, it deepens, it sweetens. But that he always sees the girl that he fell in love with (even if she was, according to him, "a personified nightmare the first few years").
I'm still in awe about this. Every couple we know that are in their 60s and are still happily married, are an inspiration in this world of cynical relationships and custody battles. And all of them say the same thing "Just love each other. Talk to each other. A relationship is like a plant: both of you have to water it to make sure it flourishes."
And when you open your eyes to it, it is everywhere: I read so many beautiful posts from you out there about how in love you are with your families, your children, your partners, your lives, and how it is a constant learning process.. and it fills me with so much joy to know that that kind of love and happiness is almost uncontainable (is that even a word? Who knows, I'll keep it anyway). I love love, I love magic, I love stories like this. I'm a loveaholic.
As for my personal life, I am awesome at the love part. And I clean really well and I manage to remember to get the little things for the house, for dinner, etc. And I can organise and do the banking really well. The talking part? Not so good at that very much, though I'm learning. And my history with plants is horrible. I forget to water them. Or, even if I do, they realise their impending demise anyway, and decide to commit suicide.
Love isn't a catch-all like it used to be in my 20s. I'm well aware that it's more about the quality of time together, rather than the quantity. It's not the declaration of a thousand "I love you"s, but more about that one "I love you" when you need it the most. It's about the space that you give for love to breathe. The amount of time that we cannot spend together makes the moments that we do super-sweet. I still crave his hand to hold when we're going for a walk. I love that we can make fun of each other and have banter with only a sly look.
And I do know for a fact that years from now, when Mamo and Tato are no longer around, and our children ask me that same question, I'll have the same answer.
Я вас так люблю.
And he would look at me, and in his eyes I briefly saw flicker the years of sacrifice, compromise, arguments, hugs, kisses and unconditional love. And he very succinctly said "nope".
He explained to me (honestly, I pretended to listen, but at that age all I could hear was the fierce beating of my own heart, for I had fallen in love/lust for the very first time) that love changes shape. It grows, it quiets down, it deepens, it sweetens. But that he always sees the girl that he fell in love with (even if she was, according to him, "a personified nightmare the first few years").
I'm still in awe about this. Every couple we know that are in their 60s and are still happily married, are an inspiration in this world of cynical relationships and custody battles. And all of them say the same thing "Just love each other. Talk to each other. A relationship is like a plant: both of you have to water it to make sure it flourishes."
And when you open your eyes to it, it is everywhere: I read so many beautiful posts from you out there about how in love you are with your families, your children, your partners, your lives, and how it is a constant learning process.. and it fills me with so much joy to know that that kind of love and happiness is almost uncontainable (is that even a word? Who knows, I'll keep it anyway). I love love, I love magic, I love stories like this. I'm a loveaholic.
As for my personal life, I am awesome at the love part. And I clean really well and I manage to remember to get the little things for the house, for dinner, etc. And I can organise and do the banking really well. The talking part? Not so good at that very much, though I'm learning. And my history with plants is horrible. I forget to water them. Or, even if I do, they realise their impending demise anyway, and decide to commit suicide.
Love isn't a catch-all like it used to be in my 20s. I'm well aware that it's more about the quality of time together, rather than the quantity. It's not the declaration of a thousand "I love you"s, but more about that one "I love you" when you need it the most. It's about the space that you give for love to breathe. The amount of time that we cannot spend together makes the moments that we do super-sweet. I still crave his hand to hold when we're going for a walk. I love that we can make fun of each other and have banter with only a sly look.
And I do know for a fact that years from now, when Mamo and Tato are no longer around, and our children ask me that same question, I'll have the same answer.
Я вас так люблю.
Monday, 9 June 2008
Little victories. And little disclaimers.
The small things in life are almost always in danger of being overlooked. Like dinner being cooked for you, an extra hug, or those teacup Chihuahuas, for example. I should know- I'm a master at letting my aggravations overshadow the precious moments in life- and lately I've realised that the days fly past me with the breathlessness of a speeding train.
So, in the spirit of realisation that it is almost the middle of June (honestly, I can't even believe that even as I write it) and I've been used up like a tissue at my current job, I am attempting to slow down and focus on the little things and give myself the space to appreciate them. The little things that make life magic. In all honesty, this is a scary thing to do for someone who is totally type-A and believes that if she isn't doing about 15 different things at once, that there's something wrong with her.
Item #1:
It has now been a successful 6 months since I quit smoking cold turkey. I have managed to stand my ground and resist habitual cravings, constant snacking, the temptation of a summery glass of wine and cigarette with friends, and the nagging voice that wants to force the mister to quit (just because I did). I haven't preached to people to quit, I haven't justified my decision, I did it because I told myself I would and that I wanted to, and I did. End of story.*
Item #2:
I'm learning how to drive. Now, to all of you that took in a very quick breath through your teeth, let me just say that I am a good driver despite some interesting circumstances in the past.** I've managed to cultivate a squeaky-clean driving record in the states, and now that I'm here in the UK, I've been a passenger one too many times. The mister happily drives us everywhere in our adorable little car (translation: he refuses to let me drive it for fear that we'll end up wrapped around a tree), but I'm starting to get a bit antsy and feel like I need to be able to have wheels if I want to get out for a drive. It makes me feel a bit stuck that I can't just jump in the car for a few hours. So, yes, I'm taking lessons. I have my provisional license (which over here is the equivalent of a learner's permit, so I feel like I'm some sort of kid with a fake ID), and I'm going to be let out onto the roads very soon. Keep your children indoors.
Item #3:
I've signed up for a 10K. Now that doesn't seem like a big deal, but you're talking to someone that though used to be athletic and a dancer, now maintains her flexibility by doing absolutely nothing, and luckily can still pull her foot up by her head while standing. But the lack of activity aside from walking everywhere here is starting to make me feel sluggish and wimpy. So the mister and I signed up for this run in July, and he's running for the RNLI, and I'm running for the RSPCA. I have a sponsor page on Facebook, but I've really not used that website for a while, so I haven't kept up with asking people for money. Either way, it'll be a good challenge- and let's hope that I'll still be running at the 8th kilometer and haven't resorted to using the £10 in my bra for a taxi.
These are the three latest things that I've done for myself, and it hasn't even registered in my brain that I should pat myself on the back a little. Instead, a little voice says, "Sheesh.. couldn't you have been more productive? Look what everyone else is doing! You don't sound very interesting."
Yep, I'm wrapping duct tape around this little gremlin for a while and shoving him in the corner. After 15 years, it's about time I start telling him to zip it.
*Though I have to admit, there were Oscar-worthy dramatic days where I begged and pleaded for the mister to give me one of his, but he's been supporting my efforts and hasn't let me.
**Admittedly, I did manage to reverse into a mailbox with Tato's white Toyota when I was 17 (and tried to repair the giant scrape with White-Out), and when I did get my first car at 19, I totalled the front quarter-panel.
So, in the spirit of realisation that it is almost the middle of June (honestly, I can't even believe that even as I write it) and I've been used up like a tissue at my current job, I am attempting to slow down and focus on the little things and give myself the space to appreciate them. The little things that make life magic. In all honesty, this is a scary thing to do for someone who is totally type-A and believes that if she isn't doing about 15 different things at once, that there's something wrong with her.
Item #1:
It has now been a successful 6 months since I quit smoking cold turkey. I have managed to stand my ground and resist habitual cravings, constant snacking, the temptation of a summery glass of wine and cigarette with friends, and the nagging voice that wants to force the mister to quit (just because I did). I haven't preached to people to quit, I haven't justified my decision, I did it because I told myself I would and that I wanted to, and I did. End of story.*
Item #2:
I'm learning how to drive. Now, to all of you that took in a very quick breath through your teeth, let me just say that I am a good driver despite some interesting circumstances in the past.** I've managed to cultivate a squeaky-clean driving record in the states, and now that I'm here in the UK, I've been a passenger one too many times. The mister happily drives us everywhere in our adorable little car (translation: he refuses to let me drive it for fear that we'll end up wrapped around a tree), but I'm starting to get a bit antsy and feel like I need to be able to have wheels if I want to get out for a drive. It makes me feel a bit stuck that I can't just jump in the car for a few hours. So, yes, I'm taking lessons. I have my provisional license (which over here is the equivalent of a learner's permit, so I feel like I'm some sort of kid with a fake ID), and I'm going to be let out onto the roads very soon. Keep your children indoors.
Item #3:
I've signed up for a 10K. Now that doesn't seem like a big deal, but you're talking to someone that though used to be athletic and a dancer, now maintains her flexibility by doing absolutely nothing, and luckily can still pull her foot up by her head while standing. But the lack of activity aside from walking everywhere here is starting to make me feel sluggish and wimpy. So the mister and I signed up for this run in July, and he's running for the RNLI, and I'm running for the RSPCA. I have a sponsor page on Facebook, but I've really not used that website for a while, so I haven't kept up with asking people for money. Either way, it'll be a good challenge- and let's hope that I'll still be running at the 8th kilometer and haven't resorted to using the £10 in my bra for a taxi.
These are the three latest things that I've done for myself, and it hasn't even registered in my brain that I should pat myself on the back a little. Instead, a little voice says, "Sheesh.. couldn't you have been more productive? Look what everyone else is doing! You don't sound very interesting."
Yep, I'm wrapping duct tape around this little gremlin for a while and shoving him in the corner. After 15 years, it's about time I start telling him to zip it.
*Though I have to admit, there were Oscar-worthy dramatic days where I begged and pleaded for the mister to give me one of his, but he's been supporting my efforts and hasn't let me.
**Admittedly, I did manage to reverse into a mailbox with Tato's white Toyota when I was 17 (and tried to repair the giant scrape with White-Out), and when I did get my first car at 19, I totalled the front quarter-panel.
Tuesday, 3 June 2008
Priceless.
Hello, I'm back poking my head through the warm waters of the blogosphere. Hope everyone's well and leading very adventurous and amazing lives. Or lazy and relaxed lives, because that's equally fun.
What have I been doing, you ask? Well, let's see:
Work
Work
Work
Work
Eat
Sleep
Work
Work
Saw a girlfriend for dinner
Work
Yep. That pretty much sums it up.
The girlfriend that I met was a girl I used to work with in New York, who still works for the same company, but in London. We know a lot of the same people, and it was good to see what business was up to lately.
She's one of those girls that is ridiculously confident and self-aware at her age (we're around the same age), and is hilarious in her black and white approach to things. In her personal life and professional life, she's fun, fair, and has a strong sense of self. A really good all-around person, and fucking amazing at her job.
I realised walking home that nothing is as important as not sressing out: just play the game at work the best you can, and appreciate that you have your health and your family and friends (yeah, I got very philosophical after a couple of pitchers of sangria).
I did get a priceless lesson at work the next day though, and my super-confidence was ripped to shreds.
I was told that...
I am a confident, beautiful woman who knows what she wants and how to get it, and that people find me intimidating and unapproachable, and that's becoming a problem, because they can't connect with me.
And my boss said that this is a problem for him.
Yes, apparently, attractive women in the business world who are trusted to run things, babysit people and their jobs, have kids, run the house- all while wearing high heels, keeping a sweat-free face and odour-free perfectly fit body, and having a sense of humour that is at once beguiling and witty- these women are called BITCHES.
Take that same description and take out the "wo" in the fourth word up above, and you have a CEO that just got handed gold-plated keys to a private jet and a yearly personal supply of Cohibas, and has three secretaries that he's sleeping with all at the same time because people find his confidence hypnotically magnetic.
What do I do? I do love my job so much, and I do really like my boss and his thoughts on what my job should be, but do I change who I am just to make sure that people like me and have nothing of myself left at the end of the work day? Or do I hope that people will learn to understand me and get over their insecurities?
I find it exhausting, this uphill battle that I sometimes have in this country, in this business, trying to figure it all out, trying to work with men that want me to be a man disguised as a woman, and seeing first-hand, in the mister's job, the amount of praise and adulation he gets from being exactly that: confident and aloof and direct.
I think I may need to bite my tongue, change my approach and be a little less-confident and more like everyone else. So be it.
Yes, you read right: A little less-confident.
Priceless.
What have I been doing, you ask? Well, let's see:
Work
Work
Work
Work
Eat
Sleep
Work
Work
Saw a girlfriend for dinner
Work
Yep. That pretty much sums it up.
The girlfriend that I met was a girl I used to work with in New York, who still works for the same company, but in London. We know a lot of the same people, and it was good to see what business was up to lately.
She's one of those girls that is ridiculously confident and self-aware at her age (we're around the same age), and is hilarious in her black and white approach to things. In her personal life and professional life, she's fun, fair, and has a strong sense of self. A really good all-around person, and fucking amazing at her job.
I realised walking home that nothing is as important as not sressing out: just play the game at work the best you can, and appreciate that you have your health and your family and friends (yeah, I got very philosophical after a couple of pitchers of sangria).
I did get a priceless lesson at work the next day though, and my super-confidence was ripped to shreds.
I was told that...
I am a confident, beautiful woman who knows what she wants and how to get it, and that people find me intimidating and unapproachable, and that's becoming a problem, because they can't connect with me.
And my boss said that this is a problem for him.
Yes, apparently, attractive women in the business world who are trusted to run things, babysit people and their jobs, have kids, run the house- all while wearing high heels, keeping a sweat-free face and odour-free perfectly fit body, and having a sense of humour that is at once beguiling and witty- these women are called BITCHES.
Take that same description and take out the "wo" in the fourth word up above, and you have a CEO that just got handed gold-plated keys to a private jet and a yearly personal supply of Cohibas, and has three secretaries that he's sleeping with all at the same time because people find his confidence hypnotically magnetic.
What do I do? I do love my job so much, and I do really like my boss and his thoughts on what my job should be, but do I change who I am just to make sure that people like me and have nothing of myself left at the end of the work day? Or do I hope that people will learn to understand me and get over their insecurities?
I find it exhausting, this uphill battle that I sometimes have in this country, in this business, trying to figure it all out, trying to work with men that want me to be a man disguised as a woman, and seeing first-hand, in the mister's job, the amount of praise and adulation he gets from being exactly that: confident and aloof and direct.
I think I may need to bite my tongue, change my approach and be a little less-confident and more like everyone else. So be it.
Yes, you read right: A little less-confident.
Priceless.
Thursday, 22 May 2008
Extremes
I just realised I've almost reached my 8-month mark of living in the UK.
8 MONTHS!!! Wow. It's gone by so quickly!
It's been a hell of an interesting road so far, that's for sure.
So, between the observations, the ranting, the quiet times, the hilarity of it all, what's been the good and what's been the not so good?
Fun:
Setting up home with the mister.
Spending time with his family.
Exploring a new world.
Finding a beautiful flat.
Getting an awesome job.
Walking around everywhere and taking it all in.
Seeing my parents' excitement when they visited.
Celebrating our 2nd anniversary in yet another country.
Settling down and getting a routine.
Learning about myself and facing challenges.
Getting used to different words and phrases and brands and habits.
Drinking more and having more fun.
Observing people and the way they behave here.
Being able to travel to European countries on the cheap.
Meeting people through my work.
Seeing myself be brave.
Not so fun:
Missing the mister when he travels.
Being in a flat that is a bit removed from the village-y parts of London.
Missing my parents.
Missing all the familiar feelings that I had in New York.
Missing my friends (especially the fiercely huggable ones like Sean and Amanda)
Feeling lost. And actually getting lost!
Not having any friends here.
Because of my work hours, not being able to take evening classes for fun.
Not being invited to parties with the mister.
Feeling lonely and a bit sad.
Not having my own world- just having work and home, and that's it.
The good always outweighs the bad, so I just have to take those lemons and make Spanish Fly. Challenges are meant to be just that: NOT easy. But routine is never easy either. The hard part is that it's two extremes now. Nothing in between. And I realised that I'm making that for myself. I'm making it tougher by using my mister as my entire world here. I mean, it's easy to do that since I don't have anything else here, but per my previous post, I have to dig deep. It's not fair to put the onus on one person to keep you entertained. You have to have your own ME place, and so does that other person. THAT's what completes the puzzle. I need to do my own thing, and maybe then the attention that I need and the loneliness I feel will dissipate, because I would have created my own London life. My own London world.
Why have I never learned this? Why does it sound like I am only just now growing up, though I am a woman in my 30s? Because I never had the strange comfort of a semi-anonymous blog to psychoanalyse myself. Plus, I'm a late bloomer.
Go figure.
8 MONTHS!!! Wow. It's gone by so quickly!
It's been a hell of an interesting road so far, that's for sure.
So, between the observations, the ranting, the quiet times, the hilarity of it all, what's been the good and what's been the not so good?
Fun:
Setting up home with the mister.
Spending time with his family.
Exploring a new world.
Finding a beautiful flat.
Getting an awesome job.
Walking around everywhere and taking it all in.
Seeing my parents' excitement when they visited.
Celebrating our 2nd anniversary in yet another country.
Settling down and getting a routine.
Learning about myself and facing challenges.
Getting used to different words and phrases and brands and habits.
Drinking more and having more fun.
Observing people and the way they behave here.
Being able to travel to European countries on the cheap.
Meeting people through my work.
Seeing myself be brave.
Not so fun:
Missing the mister when he travels.
Being in a flat that is a bit removed from the village-y parts of London.
Missing my parents.
Missing all the familiar feelings that I had in New York.
Missing my friends (especially the fiercely huggable ones like Sean and Amanda)
Feeling lost. And actually getting lost!
Not having any friends here.
Because of my work hours, not being able to take evening classes for fun.
Not being invited to parties with the mister.
Feeling lonely and a bit sad.
Not having my own world- just having work and home, and that's it.
The good always outweighs the bad, so I just have to take those lemons and make Spanish Fly. Challenges are meant to be just that: NOT easy. But routine is never easy either. The hard part is that it's two extremes now. Nothing in between. And I realised that I'm making that for myself. I'm making it tougher by using my mister as my entire world here. I mean, it's easy to do that since I don't have anything else here, but per my previous post, I have to dig deep. It's not fair to put the onus on one person to keep you entertained. You have to have your own ME place, and so does that other person. THAT's what completes the puzzle. I need to do my own thing, and maybe then the attention that I need and the loneliness I feel will dissipate, because I would have created my own London life. My own London world.
Why have I never learned this? Why does it sound like I am only just now growing up, though I am a woman in my 30s? Because I never had the strange comfort of a semi-anonymous blog to psychoanalyse myself. Plus, I'm a late bloomer.
Go figure.
Monday, 19 May 2008
It comes from somewhere.
There's a band called The Weepies, and on their latest album I've been addicted to this magical, quiet song with some of the most beautiful lyrics I've ever heard. It's a sublime little whisper of a melody, and I highly recommend it, lyrics are below.
I've been listening to it on and off because I've been a little bit introspective. The mister, as you know, travels incessantly for his job, and because he's a superstar at what he does, he feels compelled to go if someone asks him. It is a highly orchestrated chaotic life of timezones, sleepless nights, late nights out with colleagues, flights, love notes and missed phone calls. And I haven't seen him for a while, because he's been on a nonstop trip- first to Spain, then the US, then China, then back to Europe. We've seen each other just a few times this month, and the empty space beside me as I go to bed yearns for his tall frame to fill it. I make him laugh on the phone and I'm great at just getting on with it, but as soon as we whisper our "I love you" and hang up, I have to swallow my whimper, and tell the lump in my throat to go down. I go for a run, I go for a horseback ride, I clean the house...I just shove it all away and don't think about it. But when I lay my head down at night and he's not there, the house feels cavernous. Empty. Yeah, it's just goddamn hard.
I've had to dig deep for strength sometimes, since I've lived here. It's only the second year of our marriage, and I feel like we haven't settled yet, haven't created a routine, haven't seen each other enough. And to be in a strange city without my best friend a lot of times, it's tough. The few friends I have here, they have kids, so I don't see them very much. My parents-in-law are always there for me, but I don't feel right leaning on them too much. Sometimes I feel like I'm an invincible Superwoman, other times I feel like I'm a faint whisper on the breeze, just drifting, yearning to feel something grab a hold of me and pull me down. To need me.
It's not that I'm not happy, because we knew this would be a challenge, an adventure for us. But the times that I do see the mister, I just want to tie him down to a chair and force him to spend a month with me in the middle of nowhere. I want to monopolize him. I want our life to stop running away from us, just for a little while. But we can't. Because life keeps going forward and we just have to get on with it.
That being said, I'm so proud of the stories we're creating, what we're achieving, the challenges we're facing. And I remind myself that these crazy years will someday start slowing down, and someday, somehow, we'll have the life that we're working toward. The quiet life on a boat that we keep dreaming about...
I have to be strong and just keep walking forward, because, well, life would be boring if it were simple.
Yesterday, when you were young,
Everything you needed done was done for you.
Now you do it on your own
But you find you're all alone,
What can you do?
You and me walk on
Cause you can't go back now.
You know there will be days when you're so tired
that you can't take another step,
The night will have no stars and you'll think
you've gone as far as you will ever get
But you and me walk on
Cause you can't go back now
And yeah, yeah, go where you want to go
Be what you want to be,
If you ever turn around, you'll see me.
I can't really say why everybody wishes
they were somewhere else
But in the end, the only steps that matter
are the ones you take all by yourself
And you and me walk on
Yeah you and me walk on
Cause you can't go back now
Walk on, walk on, walk on
You can't go back now
I've been listening to it on and off because I've been a little bit introspective. The mister, as you know, travels incessantly for his job, and because he's a superstar at what he does, he feels compelled to go if someone asks him. It is a highly orchestrated chaotic life of timezones, sleepless nights, late nights out with colleagues, flights, love notes and missed phone calls. And I haven't seen him for a while, because he's been on a nonstop trip- first to Spain, then the US, then China, then back to Europe. We've seen each other just a few times this month, and the empty space beside me as I go to bed yearns for his tall frame to fill it. I make him laugh on the phone and I'm great at just getting on with it, but as soon as we whisper our "I love you" and hang up, I have to swallow my whimper, and tell the lump in my throat to go down. I go for a run, I go for a horseback ride, I clean the house...I just shove it all away and don't think about it. But when I lay my head down at night and he's not there, the house feels cavernous. Empty. Yeah, it's just goddamn hard.
I've had to dig deep for strength sometimes, since I've lived here. It's only the second year of our marriage, and I feel like we haven't settled yet, haven't created a routine, haven't seen each other enough. And to be in a strange city without my best friend a lot of times, it's tough. The few friends I have here, they have kids, so I don't see them very much. My parents-in-law are always there for me, but I don't feel right leaning on them too much. Sometimes I feel like I'm an invincible Superwoman, other times I feel like I'm a faint whisper on the breeze, just drifting, yearning to feel something grab a hold of me and pull me down. To need me.
It's not that I'm not happy, because we knew this would be a challenge, an adventure for us. But the times that I do see the mister, I just want to tie him down to a chair and force him to spend a month with me in the middle of nowhere. I want to monopolize him. I want our life to stop running away from us, just for a little while. But we can't. Because life keeps going forward and we just have to get on with it.
That being said, I'm so proud of the stories we're creating, what we're achieving, the challenges we're facing. And I remind myself that these crazy years will someday start slowing down, and someday, somehow, we'll have the life that we're working toward. The quiet life on a boat that we keep dreaming about...
I have to be strong and just keep walking forward, because, well, life would be boring if it were simple.
Yesterday, when you were young,
Everything you needed done was done for you.
Now you do it on your own
But you find you're all alone,
What can you do?
You and me walk on
Cause you can't go back now.
You know there will be days when you're so tired
that you can't take another step,
The night will have no stars and you'll think
you've gone as far as you will ever get
But you and me walk on
Cause you can't go back now
And yeah, yeah, go where you want to go
Be what you want to be,
If you ever turn around, you'll see me.
I can't really say why everybody wishes
they were somewhere else
But in the end, the only steps that matter
are the ones you take all by yourself
And you and me walk on
Yeah you and me walk on
Cause you can't go back now
Walk on, walk on, walk on
You can't go back now
Monday, 12 May 2008
Hmm. Depends on what's in the glass, I guess...
In a nation full of heavy drinkers, I've sometimes arrived at predictable moments of self-analysis while looking at the drink in front of me, mainly regarding my outlook on life: half full or half empty?
I was raised by a gentle father, a disciplinarian Type-A mother, and an old-fashioned Ukrainian grandmother. From about age 7-10, I was with Babchya (the grandmother), since my parents were working in New York City to make the $$, and commuting every Friday evening to come and see me upstate. Babchya was a criticizer. I am totally in love with her now, but back then, I couldn't do anything right by her, and I felt really isolated without my parents. When they would come up on Fridays I would be insane with joy, but when they would leave on Sunday afternoons to get back to the city, I would fiercely cling to them, sobbing and pleading with them not to leave me. It was heartbreaking, and I can still remember what that felt like. After a few years only seeing me once a week, Mamo (my mother) couldn't take the strain anymore and moved upstate to be with me and Babchya while Tato (my dad) worked as a broker on Wall Street. Mamo and Babchya fought a LOT, because I was both of their property, and both felt "right" in their decisions about me. It was then that I tried to make everyone get along by disappearing into my own little creative world, and being the happy-go-lucky perfect child that excelled at sports and music- but no matter if Mamo was proud, she would cut me down to make me try harder. She would push me to my limits, a lot of the times physically, in sports, to force me to be a stronger person (she used to call me "Miss Delicate").
As far as Tato, for the next 4 years we only saw Tato once a week, because he kept commuting, trying to take care of us. He would arrive on a bus Friday evening, get up with Mamo on Saturday morning at 7am to drive me to Ukrainian school and dance classes, and on Sunday, he would have to take the 3pm bus back to NYC. I cannot imagine the strain he must have been under, and how difficult it was for their marriage to only see each other once a week. He finally said "fuck it, I miss my family way too much, this is getting ridiculous" and left the city to be with us and became a boat salesman at a well-known marina. And up until 2 years ago, that's what he did, and loved every second of it, because he was finally able to be with us. And I was finally able to have that unconditional "you're the bestsest no matter what" every once in a while.
Now, reading that summary of my life, one would assume that I would be a fiercely independent tough cookie and relish time by myself, since all of those days of proving myself and sobbing when my parents left would have shaped me into a woman of steel. Right?
Nope.
The opposite happened, and that's just because everyone reacts differently to their childhood stimuli.
I became a person that from my teenage years up until my twenties, I craved affection, attention, and as soon as someone close to me went away, and that affection wasn't there, it was extremely hard for me to cope. Ridiculously, I took it personally. I felt like I was the reason they'd want to leave, because I'd never be enough to keep them around. The pattern that was repeated in my head was Where are they going? Why is it more exciting to be without me? Are they ever coming back?
I was destructively half empty.
Even writing about that now, in my thirties, it strikes a tender chord with me, a bittersweet acknowledgement of what I used to be, and the woman that I've now become. It makes me want to hug that girl and tell her that she's always good enough because she lives a good life and she's nice to people, and she strives to be a good person that wants everyone in the world to have lovely love stories. I still have little remnants, little negative gremlins that creep up and say "ha, ha.. see? We told you that you'd screw up", or, I'd have a really lovely day out with the mister and then I'd say "well, how come we didn't do THIS also? That's disappointing.". But luckily, the mister recognises that trait and calls me on it before I start spiralling into more criticism.
It's not fun to know that that person still exists in me, but I know that the only way I can change that is to keep reminding myself of the amazing adventures that I've had, and will continue to have in my life as a Ukrainian woman, wife, writer, and hopeless romantic. And with my mister right by my side, solid and unwavering.
Half full.
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