The clouds are breaking, finally

This has been a spectacularly bad season. I wonder if I've always been like this. Yes, autumn is lovely with the leaves and the gourds and the children in cute costumes plus it has football and the Renaissance Festival, yet it drives me right 'round the bend. I used to think it was all about knowing winter was coming, but I'm almost never as low in the winter as I am in the fall. Even though I hate the cold and can't wear cute shoes. My out-of-sync Seasonal Affect Disorder is just another of my weird symptoms.

I used to think it was the cold but maybe it's the light. Seriously - if I can get my holiday shopping/obligations taken care of before my birthday, I pretty much breeze through the holidays and start taking giddy pictures of the days getting longer.

Whatever my particular story is, several friends have reassured me that late September into late November is always a bad time for me. This year it just hit me especially hard, maybe. Then there's the whole "ended my three-year relationship in June" thing. And the "turning an age which shall remain unacknowledged" thing. Throw in a couple of spectacularly bad decisions I'd rather not discuss (no long-term bad consequences besides feeling like an ass, thank the Maker)...it was a spectacularly bad season. One where I dragged myself through each week doing the bare minimum possible to keep my home from falling into complete disarray to get to the weekend, when I moved from the bed to the couch and watched (and napped in front of) every baseball playoff and then football game to believe I was engaged in something. The diet went halfway to hell (I'd keep making South Beach-compliant food to take to work, then eat a huge piece of pound cake with chocolate frosting every night), exercise dwindled to one or two yoga classes a week, and meetings dropped to one, maybe two a week. Did I mention I started smoking? (My standard pack-a-week.) Then there was the anxiety about preparations for the holidays and the socializing that comes therewith, which I fight through almost every time I go out these days but seemed so overwhelming in that space.

This past weekend was my first hyper-planned one and I not only survived, but caught up with some household doings as well. Maybe that Newton guy was onto something. Not only did I attend two parties (bringing food and ornament-making supplies to one; food and gift-wrapping supplies to the other), but I put my Halloween decorations back in the shed, got out the Christmas decorations, put up storm windows in the kitchen and bathroom, did two loads of laundry, made my food for the week, put up my tree, and got lights on it. I don't think I even broke down sobbing once!

I'm still not exercising and I'm not really trying to tighten up on the diet again until January, but I haven't gotten a new pack of cigarettes and I have almost all of my shopping done. Yes, autumn is lovely, but this year I am thrilled to see it go.

Self-awareness

I don’t have time to flesh it out fully now, but it has just occurred to me that I have different levels of self-awareness. (Forgive me is this is stunningly obvious to everyone else.)

Today is taken up by a coven party that will require me to leave home by about 11:30 and I have no idea when I’ll be back. Various foods and crafts are required and have been planned and prepared; this sort of thing stresses me out disproportionately and I have no idea why.

Further preparation is required before participating in circle; as a result, my time is not really my own after about 10. The preparation of food and self and the 45-minute travel are part of every ritual day.

I have noticed as I prepare that I am almost always incredibly irritable in the few hours before I have to start - this has always struck me as incredibly inappropriate at worse; at best, ill-timed. WTF, self?

The phone rang a few minutes ago and I let it go to voice mail since I was eating a bowl of cereal (a time-sensitive occupation). I did check to see who it was and it’s someone I’m going to see later today so I have to believe there’s a good reason for the call but MAN am I annoyed. And I think I’ve figured it out.

I know I need my down-time every day; especially I hate having each moment after waking be scheduled and I will stay up far too late to have a period of free time before I go to sleep. This I know and I’ve even articulated it to some degree at various times, but I just finally put it all together with the ritual-day crankiness. This is the small bit of unplanned time I have before I have (chosen) to be accountable to others; before I become the social me that I try to keep as authentic as possible but can’t help but mitigate to facilitate the comfort of those I care about. This is my time to “waste” however I want to and it is - I don’t know if it’s absolutely necessary but it seems to be extremely helpful in maintaining my sanity.

This is also the time when I wonder if I could ever possibly parent if being disturbed at the wrong time makes me such a grouch. But I know that when I’m around kids my agenda becomes theirs and my natural rhythm adjusts to accommodate theirs better. I suppose I’d just carve out my pieces of time differently.

Okay, well! More words than I’d planned, but there it is, FWIW.

(I'll explain the prolonged absence when I have more time.)

The Tomato Nation Fall Contest 2008

I met Sars at Television Without Pity and followed her to Tomato Nation, where in 2007 I helped raise an amount of money so impressive they wrote about it in Fortune. Watching the dollar totals go higher and higher throughout the month was amazing; being part of it made me proud.

Several months later a huge envelope showed up in my mailbox. The kids whose project I funded wrote letters and sent some examples of what they'd done with the materials I helped to provide. They were a Spanish class learning about Día de los Muertos, a Mexican holiday of remembrance and celebration of the lives of people who've died. Even knowing the students were probably made to write the letters by their teacher, I was touched. I sat on my couch with their letters and their creations and read every single word.

Because I'm fortunate enough to make more money than I need I've started a giving program of my own. Every time I splurge on something for myself, I donate the same amount of money to a charity or non-profit organization. This year's beneficiaries include the MD SPCA, MD Food Bank, Frisky's Wildlife and Primate Sanctuary, and now Donors Choose.

I chose a class making large-scale sculptures in MD (where I live) and another learning about the Holocaust in Washington (Best wishes for a happy and peaceful new year). You can choose projects by location, subject, materials needed, income level, grade, or whether the proposal is about to hit its deadline without being fully funded.

I'll probably go back and give some money to the yoga class in DC. It's impossible to go through the project lists without being excited by something and wanting to help. At least it is for me.

What is love, anyway?

In the wake of another break-up, I have been thinking deep thoughts about the nature of love. I am indeed one of those women who believed oh-so strongly that I could help fix your inability to love if you’d just let me. Wrong, several times.

What I’m finally figuring out is that my loving you is about me, not you. So often I would use “I love you” as some sort of persuasive argument, as if my feelings about you should effect (affect? This is the one that messes with me) some reaction on your part. “I love you” was supposed to convince you that you should see it my way.

Other times, “I love you” was a call waiting for its response. Your cue to say you love me too. What I’m starting to understand is that saying “I love you” is more like saying “I love this song.” I am reporting my state of being in reference to a particular object. You may be moved to follow up with “I love it too” or “Really? I can’t stand it” but it’s possible you may not have any reaction beyond acknowledging that a statement was made.

My love for you is about me. It’s about what I want for you, what I’m willing to do for you, and how I plan to treat you. One thing it can never be about is control. I can not make you respond to me the way I want you to no matter how hard I love you. I have to let you be you because I love you, not in spite of it.

I know far too well that the love others have felt for me did not change me. Sometimes I have been motivated to be a better me because someone loved me, but only if I happened to love them back. I know there have been men in my life who felt that they could love me enough for both of us and I know I walked away from all of them. Why would it be any different just because I’m the one doing the loving?

There is still a part of me that feels like “I love you” is some sort of trump card I can play if and when necessary. I’m trying to reprogram myself to recognize that it’s really just me playing the dummy bridge partner and laying down my hand.