Started my period today
Um, so things are not going well for me, which is weird because most of the point of this e-mail is that in the mundane world, things are going too well. I'm in a very weird and difficult headspace right now, some of it possibly brought on by reading The Mists of Avalon, but a lot of it is just related to me and who I am.
It seems I am chasing a happiness that doesn't exist. I often am happy, and I sometimes feel content, but mostly I feel that it's time to attack the next windmill, and I look around for the appropriate mission. My windmills have been, variously, having Burgundy, finishing college, finding a husband (at times a much more important windmill than finding love), buying a house, getting a good job, getting various raises, etc. My latest windmills have been getting out of debt and getting pregnant. The former I can do, no problem. We make enough between us to be debt-free in no time flat, really. The latter, though is the real thing that's put me in my headspace.
When I decide to do a thing, I do it. When I decide I want a thing, I get it. I wanted a laptop, and I bought it. Later, I wanted the laptop to be a macbook, and I bought it. Burgundy remains pliant and responsive, and I work not to take advantage of her trust in me. Ultimately, though, I am able to keep her responses and behavior in check. Mark is loving and generous; he rarely refuses me what I want. He might ask me to hold off for a while, to think about it, but ultimately, he gives to me what I ask.
The thing about chasing after windmills is that for the chaser, the windmill is a great issue of terrible importance. An all-consuming focus - a monster that must be put to death. But to onlookers, the chaser is a fool, waging war against a large, inanimate object. A futile mission against a non-enemy for an irrelevant cause carried out by a complete nut job.
I feel too in control. I feel that I could get used to this, that I already have gotten used to this, and I will be unable to cope when I am faced with a reality I can't change. These windmills I defeat are completely irrelevant, but I can have them, I can MAKE them happen, so why shouldn't I? Inside, even now, I'm having a raging tantrum, I've thrown myself on the floor, beating my hands and fists around, screaming, "I deserve it! There's nothing wrong with me getting it! I want it, and I should have it just because I want it, and I’m not hurting anybody else by getting it, so I'm gonna get it!"
I also feel, oddly, that I would be well-served to have something horrible happen. I feel as though I deserve to have my house blown away or my car totalled. When the day to day feels this easy and Mel-serving, as though the whole world revolves around me, I feel like I need some kind of cosmic correction to blow through and make a mess of my life and set me on the right path of other-centricity.
I want to be big enough to set myself there on my own. I want to be strong enough, woman enough, humane enough to self-correct and serve my daughter and my husband selflessly and without thinking of what I give up to do it. Or I could be mindful of what I give up and full of love as I do so. I know my greatest moments of joy have been spent in service to others. I know it is right, and I seem unable to pull myself back around to who I need to be.
Thus I return to the latter windmill. I have been pregnant at least twice since the doctor told me I was sterile. I know I can get pregnant, and I know that if my body doesn't want to do it the old-fashioned way, then I can go the IVF or fertility treatment route. I can have what I want; I can do what I want. I wonder though, with some kind of guilt for being in control, or for feeling the illusion of control, if it isn't better that I am denied.
I value austerity, but I live in luxury (maybe not by Bill Gates' standards, but certainly by my own). I value simplicity, but I create complexity and drama in my life to keep myself occupied. I value service to others, but I am a magnificently self-absorbed person. I value discipline, but I do whatever I want. I value self-control, but I exercise so little of it that I won't even live by these concepts I value. Where - or who, or what - does that leave me but a hypocrite? Or a child?
All the major shifts in my life have been preceded by some great personal calamity. Pregnancy at 19, failing out of college and a joyful user of whatever I could get. Getting fired. Getting married. Not that Mark is a great personal calamity, but that first year was hell on both of us, and it resulted in very big and very real changes in my way of being. I don't know how to make the shift for its own sake. I don't know how to make the shift I know I need without the pressure that creates excellence in me. I don't know how to do this.
Being in control is too easy and too comfortable, but it's also too empty and too lonely.
It seems I am chasing a happiness that doesn't exist. I often am happy, and I sometimes feel content, but mostly I feel that it's time to attack the next windmill, and I look around for the appropriate mission. My windmills have been, variously, having Burgundy, finishing college, finding a husband (at times a much more important windmill than finding love), buying a house, getting a good job, getting various raises, etc. My latest windmills have been getting out of debt and getting pregnant. The former I can do, no problem. We make enough between us to be debt-free in no time flat, really. The latter, though is the real thing that's put me in my headspace.
When I decide to do a thing, I do it. When I decide I want a thing, I get it. I wanted a laptop, and I bought it. Later, I wanted the laptop to be a macbook, and I bought it. Burgundy remains pliant and responsive, and I work not to take advantage of her trust in me. Ultimately, though, I am able to keep her responses and behavior in check. Mark is loving and generous; he rarely refuses me what I want. He might ask me to hold off for a while, to think about it, but ultimately, he gives to me what I ask.
The thing about chasing after windmills is that for the chaser, the windmill is a great issue of terrible importance. An all-consuming focus - a monster that must be put to death. But to onlookers, the chaser is a fool, waging war against a large, inanimate object. A futile mission against a non-enemy for an irrelevant cause carried out by a complete nut job.
I feel too in control. I feel that I could get used to this, that I already have gotten used to this, and I will be unable to cope when I am faced with a reality I can't change. These windmills I defeat are completely irrelevant, but I can have them, I can MAKE them happen, so why shouldn't I? Inside, even now, I'm having a raging tantrum, I've thrown myself on the floor, beating my hands and fists around, screaming, "I deserve it! There's nothing wrong with me getting it! I want it, and I should have it just because I want it, and I’m not hurting anybody else by getting it, so I'm gonna get it!"
I also feel, oddly, that I would be well-served to have something horrible happen. I feel as though I deserve to have my house blown away or my car totalled. When the day to day feels this easy and Mel-serving, as though the whole world revolves around me, I feel like I need some kind of cosmic correction to blow through and make a mess of my life and set me on the right path of other-centricity.
I want to be big enough to set myself there on my own. I want to be strong enough, woman enough, humane enough to self-correct and serve my daughter and my husband selflessly and without thinking of what I give up to do it. Or I could be mindful of what I give up and full of love as I do so. I know my greatest moments of joy have been spent in service to others. I know it is right, and I seem unable to pull myself back around to who I need to be.
Thus I return to the latter windmill. I have been pregnant at least twice since the doctor told me I was sterile. I know I can get pregnant, and I know that if my body doesn't want to do it the old-fashioned way, then I can go the IVF or fertility treatment route. I can have what I want; I can do what I want. I wonder though, with some kind of guilt for being in control, or for feeling the illusion of control, if it isn't better that I am denied.
I value austerity, but I live in luxury (maybe not by Bill Gates' standards, but certainly by my own). I value simplicity, but I create complexity and drama in my life to keep myself occupied. I value service to others, but I am a magnificently self-absorbed person. I value discipline, but I do whatever I want. I value self-control, but I exercise so little of it that I won't even live by these concepts I value. Where - or who, or what - does that leave me but a hypocrite? Or a child?
All the major shifts in my life have been preceded by some great personal calamity. Pregnancy at 19, failing out of college and a joyful user of whatever I could get. Getting fired. Getting married. Not that Mark is a great personal calamity, but that first year was hell on both of us, and it resulted in very big and very real changes in my way of being. I don't know how to make the shift for its own sake. I don't know how to make the shift I know I need without the pressure that creates excellence in me. I don't know how to do this.
Being in control is too easy and too comfortable, but it's also too empty and too lonely.