And The Beat Goes On ~ Early Afternoon Thoughts

Normally I use early afternoon thoughts for elegant time wasters, I found there actually were legitimate times wasters in the real world over the last several weeks. In the recent spate of headlines there were several news stories about a councilwoman who objected to another councilman saying that the “paperwork would disappear into a black hole. . . ” I always thought that astronomical term was perfectly respectable, and could be used to describe the mythological place where things (even the socks from the dryer) could be described as disappearing.

Evidently the PC Police feel otherwise. Now, had the man said “black Ho” I might have understood – but black hole? What is this woman going to demand – that Astronomy change its term? That the Black Hole of Calcutta of history be renamed? Hold up on the cards the letters, I DO know that the Calcutta story has been debunked . . .

By this point I was ready to get on a roll of time wasters, and was perusing the blogs I follow on a regular basis when I was literally knocked off my soap box (which was pretty large by-the-way) by the following from the blog Joe.My.God . . .

For some time I had followed a blog called Coopers Corrider where a gay man adopted two children and aside from being an incredible writer allowed us inside his life and feelings.

Joe titled his post:

Apology Revoked
(And Munchausen-By-Blog Syndrome)

And then the OMG portion of my day began –

“Oh, gentle readers, what a twisted, fascinating, maddening, saddening place is this thing called The Internets.

Remember Cooper? The firefighter gay dad of two adopted boys who pulled his widely-loved blog after an “attack” of malicious comments and emails from the readers of this blog? Causing me to get extremely bent of out shape and offer Cooper a heartfelt (really) public apology? Over the last few days our little blogosphere has retched forth some unpleasant, uncomfortable revelations about Cooper.

The short version:
He is not a firefighter.
He is not an adoptive father.
He is not gay.
He is not, in fact, a he. “

(OK ~ now I’m really intrigued.)

“Intrigued? The long version:

The story began to unfold at Sweet/Salty, the blog of a woman named Kate, a young mother dealing with the death of her infant son. On the day of the supposed attack on Cooper’s blog by JMG readers, Kate had emailed him, extremely distressed to have discovered that Cooper had lifted many of her gorgeously written posts verbatim, including photographs of her husband.

Upon receipt of Kate’s surprisingly kind request to remove her plagiarized material, Cooper deleted his blog and apparently then concocted the JMG attack story to placate his legion of starry-eyed readers, people who avidly followed Cooper’s Corridor as a place where they saw their most earnest ideals about gay parenting realized.

Shortly afterwards, Cooper’s Corridor resumed as Nico’s Niche, a private blog where Kate’s material continued to appear. Kate found my public apology to Cooper and emailed me about the situation. Knowing that Father Tony has had a longtime internet friendship with Cooper, I put him on the case. What he uncovered may blow your mind.

According to the bizarre confession wrangled by Father Tony, Cooper’s Corridor/Nico’s Niche was written by a woman, a 52-year-old British Columbia grandmother named Jo, who says that ever since she was a little girl she has felt that she is a gay man trapped in a woman’s body. Cooper/Nico (Jo claims) was a concoction created in order to deal with her lifelong gender identity disorder. She says she calls her inner gay man “Nicky”.

Oh, but hang on a minute, it gets curiouser still. Turns out that there are extremely similar aspects between the Cooper/Nico story and another infamous case of blog imposterism. Years ago there was the (now-infamous in the gay blogosphere) case of A Priori Ad Lib, a blog supposedly written by a gay Canadian grade school teacher slowly dying from leukemia. The dying gay teacher’s name? Nicky. Who lived in British Columbia. Who turned out to be a woman, exposed when a blog pal of mine attempted to actually visit “him” in the hospital only to find no such person existed.

As the initial outrage and sense of betrayal about Cooper died down a bit, there have been some rather generous expressions of pity towards Jo/Cooper/Nicky. Kate (the blogger whose occasionally tortured, but always lovely prose was stolen) has been by turns baffled, angry, stunned…but most of all, kind. (Her readers, understandably, not so much.) Even as evidence was put forward that Jo had plagiarized other blogs, the conversation turned to pleas for understanding for the mentally ill.

Go read Kate’s initial angry post, then you absolutely must delve into Father Tony’s post, where in addition to publishing Jo’s emailed “confession”, he muses in his typically artful way about the anonymous nature of the internet and how much we can ever really know about people, even when we think we have an insider’s view of their day-to-day lives.

To my readers who leapt to defend “Cooper”, I thank you for your kind words to him, however misguided we all were. I know some of you had even sent Christmas presents for “Cooper’s” nonexistent children, so I can only imagine how incredibly betrayed you feel. Jo has told Father Tony that she’s been suicidal over being exposed, but has found a mental health counselor and is considering gender reassignment surgery. Color me extremely skeptical on that, but at the end of day what we have here is a very troubled person who needs help of some kind.

Even this post may please the sort of person who engages in what I call “Munchausen-by-blog syndrome”, but consider this yet another unhappy lesson about trust, gullibility, and how we as gay people are sometimes overeager to find our heroes.”

Aside from leaving me speechless ~ A difficult feat in itself ~ I was struck by the last paragraph (as in the solar plexus). I have to take a little issue with Joe on the last line, I don’t think it’s only gays that are overeager to find heroes ~ I think many people have fallen into the “Hero de Jour” trap.

And The Non-Winner Is …. Early Evening Thoughts.

My apologies for not posting over the last few days. I really couldn’t bring myself to post something humorous or trying to let you know part of the story when I myself didn’t know how it was going to turn out. I wrote in the last point about my friend playing crash and burn with his body and mind. I think crash and burn won….

After he recovered from last Sunday ~ we had several l-o-n-g talks about what was happening and what he was not only doing to himself, but to those around him. I was trying to be careful not to be judgmental and/ or evangelical. It was becoming an extremely difficult task.

I finally got through with the sentence: “I can care unconditionally – but I don’t have to accept the behaviors unconditionally.” So, he agreed that getting to the counseling center and getting into therapy was the only way to go.

Yesterday, I got a phone call from him wanting to meet for lunch and talk. He was worried about what was going to happen and if he really had the strength to resist his addictions. We talked for a few moments and I hung up to get ready to go down the road and meet him for lunch. He arrived and seemed in good shape – looks and demeanor can be deceiving. I realized that when he took out a bottle of vodka during lunch and helped himself. Once again I’m thinking – “holy Crap now what!” (raging drunks for 1000 Alex.)

At this point I’m also thinking “This is a restaurant I will be unable to go back to….” But my deepest concern is for my friend. He’s at this time beginning to spin out of control. I finally get him convinced to leave the restaurant ~ he wanted to buy a backpack and I thought the walk to the store might help. (foolish thoughts for 500 Alex.) And once again I was left shaking my head in disbelief.

I knew I could get him a ride ~ a friend of both of us was still willing to work with him. Several calls later he agreed to pick us both up – but particularly “Mouthwash”.

He “earned” the nickname from the Crisis Residential Unit we were both in after my stay in the hospital. He actually managed to get alcohol and smuggle it into the unit. He wasn’t selfish evidently ~ more than willing to share with others. Of course, the fact that everyone was on medication that might have a very negative (as in deadly) reaction to it never figured into his conscious. The alcohol? One that needs to be banned from drug store shelves. I’m not going to reveal the name – but the next time you are in a drug store look for a mouthwash that is more than 50 proof. The night at the unit was very interesting. He was turned in to the director and actually never denied the alcohol, merely blamed whoever turned him in as being at fault.

As the counseling center I was hoping to get him into was closed Friday/Saturday and Sunday. He had promised to call on Monday to get the intake appointment, and I agreed that I would go with him. All I could do was hope that he would be able to hold on until then. We finished getting the backpack and a really great pair of sunglasses for me and went outside to wait for our friend to come and take him away.Mouthwash decides that sitting on the sidewalk is the best option. So, now I’m sitting on the sidewalk (getting down there with my knees was a fun undertaking) ~ and he’s sitting there taking alternate hits from a vodka bottle and soda bottle. All I could think was what a great picture we were – and how much we both looked like older homeless men sharing a moment. As we were not sharing the bottle that’s all we would be sharing. He rambled on and on and I kept praying that no one I knew would show up.

That’s when the rest of the story came out. Not only had he been imbibing alcohol this week – but he had been mixing codeine cough syrup and pills (Xantax specifically) ~ a sure-fire meltdown combination. Now I’m worrying about getting arrested simply becvause I’m sitting next to him . . . and I have begun to create a catastrophe out of the situation. I’m not going to share those with you at this point ~ but later they became quite funny.

Finally we had poured him into the car and he was being taken back to the center where he lives to sleep it off …

The sleeping it off hope ended ~ evidently ~ when he passed out in his doorstep and awoke moments later cursing and threatening everyone in sight. . . including the friend that drove him home and was trying to get him into his room. Details are a little sketchy, but from what I found out ~ he checked himself out of the center and headed off to one of the most dangerous areas of town to add crack to the ingredients in his system. Today we learned that he was beaten up and arrested…no one knows for sure, but it sounds pretty likely to me.

Today when I contemplated what had gone on – I realized that my view of things/people/places and events has really changed. I know that there is nothing I can do to help this person directly and that worrying about it is neither productive nor helpful.

What does concern me is what this says about people I am around. There will be more on that soon.

And Yet, It Does Matter (end) ~ Early Morning Thoughts

Yesterday’s post ended with the idea that the The symbol is NOT the thing symbolized. The map is NOT the territory. The word is NOT the thing. And this is very important as individuals. I am not a label, I am not a word, I am not a symbol. I am me.

Several years ago, I performed in a delightful theatrical adaptaion of Author Robert Fulghum’s All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. In once section (borrowed from one of his other books) he imagined a party where people were exchanging business cards. Each time “he” was handed one, he would look at it, then ask ~ “But, what do you do?” The reactions in the script and from the audience was ~ to say the least ~ delightful. Finally, he had this to say about what he did when he got himself a new business card:

What counts is not what I do, but how I think about myself while I’m doing it. In truth, I have a business card now. Finally figured out what to put on it. One word. ‘Fulghum.’ That’s my occupation. And when I give it away, it leads to fine conversations.

What I do is to be the best Fulghum I can be. Which means being a son, father, husband, friend, singer, dancer, eater, breather, sleeper, runner, walker, artist, writer, painter, teacher, preacher, citizen, poet, counselor, neighbor, dreamer, wisher, laugher, traveler, pilgrim, and on and on. I and you—we are infinite, rich, large, contradictory, living, breathing miracles—free human beings, children of God in the everlasting universe. That’s what we do.

And there it is ~ no labels necessary. No trying to figure out “what” someone is or is not. And that’s what I’m striving for ~ to be me…the best WD I can be.

OK TZ, it took me longer than 100 words (I delighted in the email challenge however!)

But I would like to close this post with a new (to me) quote:

Robert Fulghum in his book Maybe, Maybe Not:

I do not believe that the meaning of life is a puzzle to be solved. Life is. I am. Anything might happen. And I believe I may invest my life with meaning. The uncertainty is a blessing in disguise. If I were absolutely certain about all things, I would spend my life in anxious misery, fearful of losing my way. But since everything and anything are always possible, the miraculous is always nearby and wonders shall never, ever cease. I believe that human freedom may be stated in one term, which serves as a little brick propping open the door of existence: Maybe.

And Yet, It Does Matter (2) ~Early Morning Thoughts

Yesterday, I vented my “orientation fatigue” about people who feel it’s absolutely essential to label everyone according to orientation ~ straight, gay, bi-sexual, non-sexual, waffle-sexual, buy-sexual and whatever. There were the “ladies” of “The View” trying to determine if Hugh Jackman was gay (suggesting because he had married a less than attractive (!?!) wife he was suspect), there were a number of blogs determining if Enrique Iglesias was gay because he dared perform at the largest gay nightclub in Europe (not for free I can assure you) and sang one of his signature songs to a patron on-stage. My feeling was (and still is) “WHAT DOES IT MATTER?”

A lot.

After I finished quelling the desire to yell and become a hermit, I realized what was really going on was something that I work hard NOT to do. All these instances were simply a desire for labels. Didn’t matter if the label was/is accurate or not, the important thing was/is to get the label. And this is why it does matter ~ regardless of orientation.

ALERT:
THE NEXT SECTION
IS GOING TO BE VERY FRANK ~
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

I was trying to figure out why the labels of today are so important. In thinking about some of the labels over time and I was struck by how many of them were and are used to define the relationship with a supposed “enemy.”

A time tested method of establishing such a relationship is by constantly referring to “the enemy” with some sort of derogatory label. Depending on your age and what you read or were taught (or believe), the labels you know of might be: Nips, Krauts, Slopes, Monkeys, Panheads, Gooks, Commies, or Ragheads. Soldiers aren’t the only people who employ this technique. Hate groups label the enemies of the week as Nigger, Kikes, Jew Bastards, Half-Breed, Witch, etc.

And soldiers and bigots aren’t the only ones to do this. The use of derogatory labels is a widespread technique for legitimizing the mistreatment of others. From grade school to Columbine to the NFL, our culture refers to those who are “not accepted as non-enemies” as Wimps, Freaks, Homos, Faggots, Pussies, Retards, Breeders, Fag Hags, Fag Stags, Sluts, Celebutard, Bitch, C–t, Redneck, etc. Someone, somewhere has, I’m sure, a more complete list if you care to look it up. I’ll leave the list at that – and pardon me while I sanitize my keyboard.

And if you question my use of Columbine, here is the opening paragraphs of an article from The Denver Rocky Mountain News – July 25, 1999:

At Brooke Gibson’s high school, nasty nicknames were the norm. “Nigger lover” was what they called her when she listened to rap. “Dyke” when she cut her blond hair short.

At the school her sister Layn attended, nicknames might poke fun at someone’s shirt color, but never their skin color or sexual orientation.

It was the same school.

Columbine.

I realized that the label(s) make some people comfortable. Much as the old country fellow said: “Yur either fer us or agin us!” And there it is ~ labels define who is “fer” us or “agin” us. If Hugh Jackman marrying a less than attractive woman (according to “The View”) makes him suspect as being gay or Enrique Inglasias performs at a gay night club makes him gay ~ then that helps define the “group” and where they belong. But then, according to S.I. Hayakawa’s Language in Thought and Action:

The symbol is NOT the thing symbolized. The map is NOT the territory. The word is NOT the thing. Most societies systematically encourage … the habitual confusion of symbols with things symbolized. For example, if a Japanese schoolhouse caught fire, it used to be obligatory in the days of emperor-worship to try to rescue the emperor’s picture (there was one in every schoolhouse), even at the risk of one’s life…. The symbols of piety, of civic virtue, or of patriotism are often prized above actual piety, civic virtue, or patriotism.

In one way or another, we are all like the student who cheats on his exams in order to make Phi Beta Kappa; it is so much more important to have the symbol than the things it stands for.

So, (he said with a lot of trepidation) if the word is not the thing ~ why does it carry so much weight and/or power to hurt or destroy?
—more tomorrow

And Yet, It Does Matter ~ Early Morning Thoughts

I read quite a few blogs ~ actually a LOT of blogs. It’s always interesting to see what people are talking about, what concerns people on the internet … as anyone who reads blogs can tell you ~ sometimes it’s funny, sometimes its somewhat frightening and then there are the days where irritation lands similar to a cartoon anvil.

A number of the blogs were all “a-twitter” over a discussion the ladies (a term I might …no, I won’t go there) of “The View” had whether Hugh Jackman ~ known as Wolverine in the X-Men series ~ might be gay or not. Evidently no definite conclusions were drawn…at least by the time of the commercial break. (please note: Rosie was no longer on the show – and these were women who usually talk over each other doing news topics) No conclusions were reached other than that men who marry women not stunningly attractive, are considered possibly gay. (what a lovely thing to say about Hugh Jackman’s wife!!)

Then – while in London Enrique Iglesias performed ~ neither by surprise nor free ~ at one of the Europe’s largest gay nightclubs. He was doing his usual songs, and came to one of his signature pieces titled “Hero.” At this point, he usually brings a woman up on stage and sings to her. In this case, he called up one of the bar’s male patrons and sang the song. A large number of blogs went beyond “a-twitter” to almost hysteria…(including some that should know better) although any performer will tell you ~ you play to the audience you have. Ask Bette Midler.

To make the day complete probably should have involved a phone call from D&D, but instead I got a call from someone who might be a delightful replacement for them. I was regaled with a complete description of a movie he had just watched and had to listen to an extended description of the people in the movie and their possible orientation. (I have watched movies with this person before ~ this is nothing new)

I’m going to be politically incorrect here ~ but at this point I was, frankly, suffering from “orientation” fatigue. After the 5th time of trying to convince my movie reviewer and performer sexual preference psychic, I gave up and gently but firmly ended the conversation.

I thought about why all this seemed to be going on, and why it mattered at all. I literally wanted to go out in the middle of the complex and yell ~ “WHAT DOES IT MATTER?”

My point is talent is talent is talent. If it’s good it needs NO labels. If it’s good it will cross lines, orientations and even – Lord help us – party affiliations. I don’t spend my time while watching a movie wondering what someone does in their off-time. If the performance is terrible I will 1) regret that I’m there and have been known to 2) count patterns on wall paper or buttons on what someone is wearing to keep my mind and/or body from falling asleep.

As a slight aside, my technical theater instructor in college told about having to design a really, really awful show. He painted grape clusters on the wallpaper of the set ~ only each cluster had a different number of grapes. His rational was that perhaps the audience might make it to intermission before they finished counting the grapes.

After I finished quelling the desire to yell and become a hermit, I realized what was really going on was something that I work hard NOT to do. All these instances were simply a desire for labels. Didn’t matter if the label was/is accurate or not, the important thing was/is to get the label. And this is why it does matter ~ regardless of orientation.

As I’ve written about before, labels are very handy for boxes, shelves and sock drawers, but deadly when applied to people…blonds are dumb(er), geeks wear glasses, people who appear smart or work hard are nerds…to the racial, orientation and intelligence labels designed to either hurt or put people “back where they belong.”
–more tomorrow

–the intro notes to Enrique Inglesias “Hero”
http://www.8notes.com/school/riffs/guitar/enrique_iglesias_hero.asp
–Twilight Zone picture unfortunately had no credits or year
–grape cluster picture
http://www.forchini.com/history.html
–fire picture
http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/56877193/

Three Thoughts and a Funeral ~ Early Morning Thoughts

I will admit it. I didn’t want to post tonight. I didn’t want to do much of anything tonight. And I especially didn’t want to talk about much of anything. I thought that I would just put up a pretty picture, write about being back tomorrow and that would be that. For a short while that seemed to work as an idea, but then I realized that because I had set some goals – I was going against what I had decided when I first opened PB & J. One of the goals was I would post at least once per day, unless I was sick or such. Another one was I would be sharing and honest. And I’ve just finished a funeral. (read on McDuff to find out what I’m talking about!).

The whole malaise certainly didn’t start when I got up this morning. While an overcast day, I was feeling fine – and actually accomplished a number of things I wanted to get done. And I had some relaxing time and even got some reading done.

I also dealt with some emails that needed attention, two of which really irritated me. And really for no good reason. Yes, one was vaguely manipulating from a dear friend, but he’s not really being that way, that’s just the way he comes across – but I was beginning to get rubbed the wrong way.

I later realized that I needed to get some shopping done, and got ready to go – and just sat down. I couldn’t put my finger on what was going on with me. I finally got up and forced myself out the door. I have found that I can cocoon quite easily if I’m not careful and aware.

When I got to the bus stop I realized what part of the problem was…my knees. I think I may have mentioned this before, but both my knees are in very bad shape. I’ve misused them, abused them – and now they are having their revenge.

(N.B. slight rant here-skip over if desired:)
Unfortunately, I am one of the millions without health care insurance, and people in government can make all the pronouncements they want about affordable health care – but it matters not if the insurance companies won’t take you.

I have a certain amount of money for this purpose, and actually had an insurance company that said they would take me – I was willing to pay an entire year of premiums upfront (I thought the money was talking!). But then, 15 minutes after the phone interview – I got the email turning me down for coverage. Their reason? An operation I’d had 15 years ago. I don’t know how much awareness there is about the pricing of medical without insurance, but even paying cash for an operation such as my knees at all the hospitals I’ve checked with would cost between $32,000 and $54,000 per knee. There is a teaching hospital here that does it for much less (as in 90% less) – but I can’t seem to find out how to get it done there – and find a surgeon who is credentialed there to perform it.

I’m there at the bus stop, glad I can sit down and when I get up to get on the bus – I’m hurting. But I sat down on the bus, with a smile on my face (no song in my heart, I’m sorry to report!) At the grocery store stop, the walk to the store was not bad at all. I almost felt as if the pain was going back to where it had been. I did my shopping – slowly – and then checked out. I was struck with how many crabby people there were in the store. One lady was angry because the sacker didn’t pack the way she liked it, and so – holding up the line – she repacked everything complete with play by play commentary. I have made a conscious decision that I will try to be understanding of people’s bad moods. As someone said, I don’t know what battles they may be fighting.

I left the store taking the cart to the edge of the lot, picked up the bags to head down about a block to the bus stop and realized – it wasn’t going to happen. I wouldn’t make it. And even if I did, it was doubtful I would make it the two blocks from the bus stop to my home. OK – quick decision time. I made my way back across the parking lot, and into the store to call a cab.

The cab turned out to be one of the van cabs – which was interesting getting in and out of. But I managed, and got home all in one piece. Got things somewhat put away – made some dinner and sat down to work on the computer. I was watching the TV in the background and trying to get a program to work in Vista on my computer.

In the meantime, I got another email that I felt was even more manipulative than before – so now I was really getting irritated.

Suddenly, this sense of great sadness washed over me. I don’t mean just as a small ripple, but a crashing wave. I was totally taken aback…and awash. I turned the TV off, turned off the computer – turned down the lights and just sat. I listened to within, and searched within to find out what was going on and why.

It started last night I believe with the fight between D&D, and all deep seated fear that brought up, but it seems there was still more. And there was, some of it not surprising – and some was. It seemed that a lot of had to do with a WD that doesn’t/didn’t seem to exist anywhere except in my own mind. No, I’m not schizophrenic or anything like that! But, this WD was really beginning to get in the way of a lot of things.
Alack and alas, there was nothing to do but to get rid of him. He doesn’t take hints all that well, and if simply sent away, he finds his way back. This time I needed to do something quite final…thus the funeral.

I had read about this in a delightful book “Tales of a Reluctant Traveler,” by Jeannette Clift George and had often wondered if it was as effective as the author maintained. I thought that tonight was a good a time as any. I literally put a chair by the couch, and held a funeral service for the late WD. I recounted his strengths – never upset, always had the right word to share for any occasion, never wore the wrong outfit, was surrounded by multitudes because of his charming wit, incredible taste, and never ending knowledge of the world around. This WD was a perfect house keeper, gourmet chief using only the ingredients on hand, and could manufacture soap from bread crumbs if necessary. This WD was never at a loss for words, never had to struggle to get ideas out and explained, was sought after as a speaker, house mate, lover and – if offered – president of the universe. This WD was unafraid of what might happen with his knees, or that the teeth needed some attention, or that the store bought glasses were not really working. This WD would never share about struggles, pain or fear – as the people around realized that he had none, or if he did they were of such little consequence, a mere flick of the finger would remove the annoyance. And (as someone at the funeral pointed out) this WD was becoming a royal pain in the …butt.

As I closed the service, I realized there were parts of him I would miss, but those parts were within me. And as I continue in the struggle to make my maps match my territories, he would have been a major force in keeping me from reaching where I want to go and what I want to be. Perhaps there will be other funerals I will have to have. I’m sure I’ll have to have more than one for good ol’ WD as he’s quite a survivor, but I think those will be a lot easier.

I realize this is a little different from my normal posts, but bear with me – it will all make sense.

more on this later

"But They Made Me…"(continued) ~ Early Morning Thoughts

Little did I know when I posted early Sunday morning that I would have a couple of personal experiences to use for this post. I was to spend the day with D&D – a simple brunch, visiting an (overpriced) antique shop, and perhaps a not-so-gentle libation to complete the day.

D&D provided a delightful brunch and we headed off to window shop the antiques. The shop was packed with much to see – and a few things to try and avoid. My knees are not in the greatest shape, so the ability to sit down occasionally is regarded as a blessing. The chairs that were NOT for sitting had delightful piles of “stuff” on them. After having been wandering around (and suppressing gasps at some of the prices), I noticed two chairs of the fairly sturdy kind along a division. As I lowered myself into the chair, the arm literally snapped off in my hand. There is nothing like sitting in an antique chair with the antique arm off the chair and now in my antique hand.

No one made any derogatory comments concerning the incident – but it roiled inside me. I walked outside and thought about what had occurred and my reaction to it. Of course there was the embarrassment and no small amount to shame – but what really surprised me were the old “tapes” that began to instantly play in my head. Reminders of what had occurred before, and what words had been ingrained in me…that I thought I had replaced over time.

The words we live with can become something quite serious – The word CAN become the “thing.” When I would hear the word “clumsy” I allowed that word to become the thing (me) and therefore I was clumsy. When the joke used to be made that I could trip on the seam of linoleum, I allowed those words to become the thing (me) and began to feel that everything I did had to live up to that label. By allowing the word to become the thing, I unconsciously began to look to incidents that backed up my feeling. Of course, the word was NOT the thing, but to me it was. By attaching power to words, I gave that word control. That control drove what I did, felt and created.

Words are not the thing they represent. What they are ~ representations of something. When I was growing up I became clumsy because I felt that word was what I WAS. What was happening; I had mapped out a territory and I was following the map.

Here’s a fun party game (especially after a couple of drinks!). Hand your guests a piece of paper and have them map out in detail how to get from where they are sitting to their cars. They have to map out direction, the number of steps, the doors to open (and how those doors open), etc.. They give their map to someone else to follow exactly as written. (it helps to have a prize, by the way.) So if the map says “6 steps to the 1st door” and the steps actually require 10 steps, the map is invalid.

When I took on the “map of clumsiness” as my personal territory, I kept running into parts of the map that were completely inaccurate. Of course, it was easier to blame the territory rather than the map. It became easy to place the blame externally rather than looking inwardly to see what needed to be changed.

After posting Sunday night, I decided that I needed to fix my browser bookmarks. I’m not even going to admit how many there were/are. As I was moving and eliminating, with one keystroke, I completely eliminated a valuable (to me) collection of places. While my reaction included some very unprintable and in a couple of cases physically impossible reactions – it also included some chuckling. In the past, an incident such as this would have completed the map I had of my territory. I would have used words such as “idiot,” “dummy,” and others. They would not have been just an indication of irritation (!?), but would have been an indication of just how I felt about myself. It would not have been an unfortunate “goof,” it would have settled to me what I was, and how I felt about myself. My innacurate map would have matched the territory – and to me the territory would have been safe and complete.

more on this tomorrow

Watch your thoughts, for they become words.
Choose your words, for they become actions.
Understand your actions, for they become habits.
Study your habits, for they will become your character.
Develop your character, for it becomes your destiny.
–Anonymous