Shit! I Forgot To Write About Music
I'm still trying to figure out how I managed to get from a place where I felt I couldn't take care of myself to one in which I seem to be a functional father.
My parents have told me that "I was meant to be a father," and my dad apparently had a sort of epiphany that this is where all my sensitivity and (over-)thoughtfulness had always been leading. Which was a relief, because as a father himself, he never quite knew what to make of it.
I don't know what to make of all that. I don't seem to be any less self-absorbed than usual. But there are two people in my life now whose needs are always in the foreground along with my own; if not before them, then certainly never behind.
Does this sound clinical, or underwhelming? To me it's a big deal. I married mama_k without hesitation because she struck me instantly as someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. It felt like quite a commonsensical decision. All the pieces fit together; the picture was complete.
And of course, having children was part of that decision. I had never given thought to children before, other than the one about "I hope my partner doesn't get pregnant. That would suck." When I met the woman I would shortly marry, the thought "and we will have kids" was as clear and, well, right-seeming as could be.
And therein lies the big deal. Prior to this, while I have always (I think) been proficient at sensing the emotional needs of others, I rarely allowed myself to let that awareness flow into action: into engagement with that person, giving of myself to fulfill their needs. You know, a healthy human relationship. It's difficult to describe, but much more so to practice, on an intimate, day to day basis. At least, so I thought.
When I did want to give of myself, it was inevitably to someone whose needs I could never fulfill, no matter how much I gave or how much I twisted myself into the contours of their lives.
Now that I'm married, I realize how much work and growth took place in my relationships to get me where I needed to be. And I'm grateful, and for all that there were always good things along the way.
But sometimes I'm dazzled by... how inappropriate my love could be. How little it really sustained myself, or others. It's as if the connections were always sort of wonky; as if the energy could not flow freely. Cosmic constipation, to coin a vivid if unfortunate term.
Now, it's easy. My wife's needs are as important as my own, and so are my daughter's. Duh. Where have they been all my life?
This makes life terribly complicated from moment to moment, but the big picture, if we were to pull back, is one of wholeness. Unity. Rest.
Soon it will be difficult to imagine a time when Maya wasn't in our lives. Like mama_k, she appears in hindsight to have always been there, somehow, just out of sight. In the next room, or the next after that.
What I haven't forgotten is how good I am at wasting time. The more free, unstructured time I had, the less I could accomplish. I haven't lost that ability, fersure, but there is something comforting about the idea that free, unstructured time is something about which I need not worry. Probably from now on.
Sometimes it feels as if I've just been waiting. I spent my 20s trying hard not to learn too much (outside of book learnin', that is), or take on too much responsibility, or have too much at stake. It's a nice way to live in the short term.
But now that I'm "growing up," a process whose steps I can't retrace but which has been quietly unfolding all along, I am exasperated at my past self for having so little self-knowledge, so few keys to so many doors. I know I had to start somewhere, but when I look back I see a lot of inertia and a lot of automatic living, all tape loops and repetition. That I suspect I'm afflicted with a mild OCD puts it all in clearer relief.
So now I'm living for my family, and it doesn't feel like a burden. Walls are not closing in; options are not deleting themselves. Rather, my life is taking on a shape.
I've always been one of those people with too many interests, too many talents (or at least competencies) to ever settle on a direction. For such a person, parenthood does not place limits or restrictions. Rather, it is refinement, definition, focus. It pulls my true shape out of the formless block.
Welcome to the world, Maya. I'm honored to have you in my life.
Now if I could just work on that "career" thing.
My parents have told me that "I was meant to be a father," and my dad apparently had a sort of epiphany that this is where all my sensitivity and (over-)thoughtfulness had always been leading. Which was a relief, because as a father himself, he never quite knew what to make of it.
I don't know what to make of all that. I don't seem to be any less self-absorbed than usual. But there are two people in my life now whose needs are always in the foreground along with my own; if not before them, then certainly never behind.
Does this sound clinical, or underwhelming? To me it's a big deal. I married mama_k without hesitation because she struck me instantly as someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. It felt like quite a commonsensical decision. All the pieces fit together; the picture was complete.
And of course, having children was part of that decision. I had never given thought to children before, other than the one about "I hope my partner doesn't get pregnant. That would suck." When I met the woman I would shortly marry, the thought "and we will have kids" was as clear and, well, right-seeming as could be.
And therein lies the big deal. Prior to this, while I have always (I think) been proficient at sensing the emotional needs of others, I rarely allowed myself to let that awareness flow into action: into engagement with that person, giving of myself to fulfill their needs. You know, a healthy human relationship. It's difficult to describe, but much more so to practice, on an intimate, day to day basis. At least, so I thought.
When I did want to give of myself, it was inevitably to someone whose needs I could never fulfill, no matter how much I gave or how much I twisted myself into the contours of their lives.
Now that I'm married, I realize how much work and growth took place in my relationships to get me where I needed to be. And I'm grateful, and for all that there were always good things along the way.
But sometimes I'm dazzled by... how inappropriate my love could be. How little it really sustained myself, or others. It's as if the connections were always sort of wonky; as if the energy could not flow freely. Cosmic constipation, to coin a vivid if unfortunate term.
Now, it's easy. My wife's needs are as important as my own, and so are my daughter's. Duh. Where have they been all my life?
This makes life terribly complicated from moment to moment, but the big picture, if we were to pull back, is one of wholeness. Unity. Rest.
Soon it will be difficult to imagine a time when Maya wasn't in our lives. Like mama_k, she appears in hindsight to have always been there, somehow, just out of sight. In the next room, or the next after that.
What I haven't forgotten is how good I am at wasting time. The more free, unstructured time I had, the less I could accomplish. I haven't lost that ability, fersure, but there is something comforting about the idea that free, unstructured time is something about which I need not worry. Probably from now on.
Sometimes it feels as if I've just been waiting. I spent my 20s trying hard not to learn too much (outside of book learnin', that is), or take on too much responsibility, or have too much at stake. It's a nice way to live in the short term.
But now that I'm "growing up," a process whose steps I can't retrace but which has been quietly unfolding all along, I am exasperated at my past self for having so little self-knowledge, so few keys to so many doors. I know I had to start somewhere, but when I look back I see a lot of inertia and a lot of automatic living, all tape loops and repetition. That I suspect I'm afflicted with a mild OCD puts it all in clearer relief.
So now I'm living for my family, and it doesn't feel like a burden. Walls are not closing in; options are not deleting themselves. Rather, my life is taking on a shape.
I've always been one of those people with too many interests, too many talents (or at least competencies) to ever settle on a direction. For such a person, parenthood does not place limits or restrictions. Rather, it is refinement, definition, focus. It pulls my true shape out of the formless block.
Welcome to the world, Maya. I'm honored to have you in my life.
Now if I could just work on that "career" thing.