Oryoki Bowl's Open Salon Blog

Jesus, My Sister, and the Bat Signal

Fri, 10 May 2013 15:05:43 -0400

I am not sure that I am a very good (insert buddhist, quaker, doctor, sister, person). I mostly feel like I am, but I am so daily reminded of the limits of my patience and the stretches of kindness. I want to be a bodisattva, and that means desiring happiness and non-suffering for all human beings. Of course, desiring it for others does not obligate one to provide it. I advocate non-violence, although I totally have moments of wishing punishment on evil doers. I know that punishing them won't stop the world from being human, and it won't undo damage done, and it won't teach people moving forward to stop harming others. My human reaction is less and less towards that, but there are still those flashers of "son of a bitch....". Sometimes when reading news of kidnapped women, sometimes in traffic. Everyone can be a good person, and even if they find they can't, I do my best to be kind anyhow. I do my best, but I am not an Olympian here.

My sister is recovering (appendix surgery) and needs a lot of help. The help is distributed between my aunt and myself, and we know it has to happen and we also communicate about ways in which to draw boundaries and not become the nurse/maid/mother/nanny. We have all needed help along the way, it is just that my sister has needed a lot more help and a lot more intensive help and has had a lot more problems during help than most people I know. However, she does not need to defend that. I spend a lot of time imagining myself in other people's shoes to see how they would feel in their own situation, and try to make my decisions partly from there. I have found recently, however, that I do that so often now I forget to check in on how I feel and make decisions around that to, and sometimes even first.

I am learning some boundaries. I have felt recently that between the upsurge at work (and with it, a whole lot of unhappy people, because, you know, I tend to see people when they are not feeling well, and it isn't always just sickness, but mostly emotional trauma and exhaustion) and the upsurge with her and the upsurge with a friend that I haven't been as good at setting boundaries as I thought. I mean, I know I have had issues with that in the past, classic for child of two abusive alcoholics. There is no boundary you can set that is not ignored, there is no line you can draw that isn't blown off, no request you can make that will be honored. You learn to stop asking, until you forget. Or snap. I am not much of a snapper, anymore.

My reed is not thin and brittle, but my body has responded by showing me it is not as supple as I had allowed myself to believe. I have recently decided to start doing the things I say I want to do, and keep putting off because I get derailed so constantly by the requests, invitations and needs of others. Working late to accommodate late patients, working through lunch to accommodate a packed schedule, trying to say yes to social invites. My meditation and exercise schedule- 2 things I have always maintained were important to me- disappeared from my daily geography without my even realizing it.

You have to schedule it in. You must choose it as "not an option but a requirement". It doesn't work if you are continually adapative to the needs and requests of others, because there will always be needs and requests of others.

Yesterday I said I'd take my sister to the doctor, because I could not today, and she cannot drive. I envisioned an hour and a half. It was two and a half or more, and then I gave up trying to get much done. I went back to my office to clean up loose ends, and get sidestepped a little more. I had a business obligation and a meditation commitment, at the same time. I chose both, leaving one early to arrive late to the other, knowing we must do these things to put forth the requisite energy of showing up, being present, interacting with others. Then I turned my attention at home to my recently neglected sweetie. I missed the exercise because there is not a enough time in the day, and my sister moves at the speed of mud.

So, today I am thinking about how high needs people keep a ton of friends around, because they always have to have two or three people they can call, at any given moment, to help them out because they always need to have help. Some people burn through these friendships faster than others. My sister has more friends than most people I know. None of them live in California, where my brother is, and and none of them live here, where my aunt and I have now been asked (by default) to assume the role of caregiver/helper. There is no one else to call. This didn't go down well at all with brother's family, too wound up and too tightly scheduled to accommodate anything not planned ahead. I am less so, but realize how my sister has taken over my life in the 4 months she has been here.

I see with her, and my adult patients who are not married, that when illness or injury strike, almost all you have are your friends. A few may have a sibling around, or a child, who is willing to help, but most have to rely on multiple someones. I have had this predicament myself, and it is exhausting and humiliating and humbling to have to ask for and accept help from people you never thought you'd have to ask for and accept help from. My sister has helped me, as I have helped her, and my sweetie helped me when I have needed it, as have my aunt and uncle. And I have helped them. Not everyone has this in their life, and I know it is devastating for many to face serious injury or illness alone.

So, I am driving in traffic and swearing at the person who does a U-turn cut off at the intersection, because I am grumbly. I bring Jesus into the conversation, and then wonder about whether or not he really "helped" people or just talked about it. He washed feet (ok), made loaves and fishes (ok) and said, love other people, turn the other cheek (good advice, tougher on some days more than others). I don't want to be a goddamn Jesus! which is just ridiculous to even say in my head or out loud. I don't have sympathy for martyrs, in day to day life, most of them perpetuate the drama and suffering they are supposed to be alleviating.

I think of my friend's birthday plans and realize I really don't want another obligation, yet again, to steer the ship today. Already I am tired until next Tuesday and I have a real weekend coming. I decide to cancel tentative plans for tonight, instead of asking if it's okay. I am not good at that, I usually just go even if I am exhausted, because I hate the feeling of being canceled on. Yet, it happens all the time and we are all still friends. Why do I feel so weird to ask for this?

Then, I am still driving, and thinking about the "Bat Signal", which is the euphemistic expression for our ability to call out for help and it will be guaranteed to come. I have developed the habit of turning off my cell phone ringer at night, because of random mistake calls, my mother living on the other side of the Atlantic and forgetting the time difference (9 hours) when she is in a bad mood, and patients forgetting that I keep regular sleeping hours (yes, they get my number, but no, they can't expect 24/7 access). My sister gets upset that I do this. I say, if something bad happens at 2 am, don't call me. Let me sleep and tell me when I wake up, since there is nothing I can do about it. She thinks she should be able to call someone at 2 am sobbing and crying. I have gotten those calls, and hence, I have stopped answering the phone.

So, maybe we all have an emotional Batman, or want one. Our phone calls are supposed to be the siren signal, COME HELP ME NOW!, and always always the right person shows up to bail us out, from the edge of danger or sorrow or panic or pain. I am not a follower of the Dark Knight series, but I am pretty sure Batman was a messed up guy, full of anger and control issues, seething all the time, and hopelessly trapped in the cycle of hero, rescuer, avenger. I definitely don't want to be that person. I don't even have that person for myself.

I have dated a few guys who liked to believe they were that guy, but they lived on drama and generated it when it got too easy going. I am thinking, if you keep having tons of drama, illness, injury, difficulty you are making some wrong choices about what you are doing or how you are handling it. Still, that goes back to judgment. There is awareness, and there is mindfulness, and there is non-judgment. Do I not judge my sister for needing help less than I don't judge myself for not wanting to be asked to provide so much support? They say it takes a village to raise a child, and I am thinking it takes a village to take care of anyone recovering from illness or surgery. I watch her with concern, wondering how many more times we are going to go through this rodeo. She has plans for elective surgery in a month, and I want to ask her to reschedule. Not just for her sake, but for my own.

Radical Deinvention

Sun, 5 May 2013 17:05:43 -0400

Today in meditation (yawn, boring already) the world "DE-INVENTION" popped into my head. So often we hear about people RE-inventing themselves, and applaud someone for starting over and making something new of themselves. The Comeback Kid. Donald Trump. Madonna. Our tv world is littered with makeovers and transformations. We have Swans, Biggest Losers and Lucky Winners of Extreme Makeovers.

I smiled in its simplicity, although my face didn't move, because you don't move or judge or even flinch a little bit when you are a serious meditator. I smiled inward, but didn't pat myself on the back inward, because that would be pride. Actually, I mostly just let out a smile of relief. This salmon can stop swimming up stream all the time.

Somehow, in order to succeed in what you are doing, you are to "brand" yourself, create an identity/persona that people really like and want to buy. Then you sell that brand, being careful to update, repackaging periodically. I hate that. I dig in and resist it. Lazy? check Too cheap to keep up with fashion? check Chronic reduce/reuse/recycler? check. Repurposing old stuff is something I pride myself in, although I also cringe at my ability to accumulate clutter. I am pretty good at gifting my stuff away, but damn if that stuff doesn't just grow back.

The idea that we grow through reinvention dislodged from me today and threw itself out the window (defenestrated, it was self defense). Of course, if there is no real self, what the bleep am I reinventing, and why do I have to keep selling it? 'Carve out your niche', 'make yourself a brand', 'become a specialist', .... , all that stuff. There is a natural trend toward growth and pruning, and then there is a cinderella style showdown with the glass slipper and the big toe.

I don't seek fame, although I am supposed to want to develop a certain level of recognition. I see myself there one day, yet don't see the path or the process, so maybe it is just one of those remnants from the alcoholic school of ambition I wrote of recently. So much praise comes with the territory, of being a standout, a winner, unique and what people need.... I resist the urge to become a Dr Oz or Dr Weil or Oprah or megastar in my fashion. I need to deinvent myself, to stop writing the story, stop buying the story, stop making it a story, a product, a goal. Just show up, be present, be genuine, and go away again.

Makeovers be damned, I am refining and whittling. This process towards less is more is more or less undulating. I don't have to become anything and I am still valid. I don't exist to produce or to be helpful. I can be those things, but I don't exist for those things. It's a way to pass the time.

Dwelling in the House of Fear

Fri, 3 May 2013 13:05:09 -0400

I wonder what my role is in life, for myself, for others. There is educator, there is guide, there is doctor, there is voice of reason. There is friend, there is sister, daughter, niece, aunt, there is lover. All these different roles, different hats, and hopefully not too big a jump from one to the next.

Some years ago, I realized how different we are expected to be in our personal and public life, our working day and our home shift . I thought about how much Eastern philosophy, while recognizing the yin/yang, seeks to get out of the dual mind. Intrinsically, it makes more sense to me to integrate. People seem to prefer their roles and labels, drawing strict lines around their boundaries. This may work well for "efficiency", but efficiency is neither the point of life, nor the best way for people to live. Efficiency is anti-human in many respects. I do not strive to be a robot, and I hope robots don't become too much like me. I don't want to be disposable or interchangeable.

I try not to be too different at work than I am at home, with reasonable boundaries. While home should be a place to let it all hang out, I have to wonder how good it is to have too strong a tidal pull between holding it together and letting it go. To maintain one persona is work enough, to have to manage two or three is exhausting. I don't like two-faced people, and I try not to make myself too different from others while I still have to respect my individuality. Duality. Me and them, me and you, me and me.

I do not consider myself fearless, though I think I have done a lot of personal working on addressing the fear vortex (black hole, dark pond, The Darkness, murky bog of emotional despair). I probably do enough to avoid trouble, instead of diving right in. I have come close to death a few many times in life- quite a number of near drownings (such is life on the Atlantic Ocean and in pools with squads of friends and no supervision), car accident, and one or two moments of seeming to go into the great beyond without incident to warrant it. Maybe the line between "life" and "death" is not so clear cut, and maybe we can cross it more easily in and out than we know.

Consciousness has always been on my mind.

My hope for myself is that I help people through their dark times, their pain, their struggle, their journey. I imagine my voice connects to them when they are disoriented on the path, I see myself holding up a lantern to shine light so that they may see where they are stepping. I wish I was the hand to help them to the guardrail on the stairs of survival. I am only human, not some superhuman. I don't desire to be a Mother Theresa or the second coming of Jesus. Suffer the children to come unto... themselves. Look inward, find your strength, see the delusion, break from the chains you wrap around you. Repeat, as the jungle of life keeps up with new vines, new predators, new sand pits and other traps and pitfalls. It's not that unlike a video game, you keep getting to new levels and then killed off or injured pretty fast.

I try not to dwell in fear. Nothing to fear but fear itself (and spiders and great whites and most of the Australian fauna). If it isn't my fear, why do I have to suffer for it? Parents seek to protect their children from harm by keeping them from scary things. Eventually they do harm by preventing them from developing coping skills. Too much trauma wounds you for life, and not enough makes you unprepared.

My brother was an Outward Bound instructor for some years. I didn't go on the course, but I did have some good talks with him about leadership models and self empowerment. I am the most inward bound member of our small family side branch. I see when my fears crop up (or manifest in some behavior) and I stop and stare at them, breathe them down, and talk myself out of it. I try not to judge and I try not to be uncritical in my non-judgment. Somewhere between pure emotion and pure logic is what is happening, and what should reasonably be done, and what can reasonably be changed.

I don't find comfort in offering lamentable support, only kindness and understanding and patience. I do get a bit choked up at times, but I am not a wailer. Going into the House of Fear with friends, family, patients helps no one- even if misery likes company. Like the haunted houses of Halloween, they are imaginary constructs of the worst possible thing you can think of. I don't see the value in creating imaginary horror scenarios, while still facing the need for thinking out what could happen, and how to deal with it. I am not uncomfortable with the tears of others, their pain, or their sorrows. I am uncomfortable with trying their feelings on for myself. This is like the insufferable adolescent comisery of teenage girls. I lived through it once (but barely) and spent years unlearning the language of group trauma. Maybe like the Salem witch trials, or Heathers, or Shakespearean angst. I would rather not, after all, follow the lemmings off the cliff.

Family Medical Drama Redux

Thu, 2 May 2013 21:05:46 -0400

Today was spent taking my sister to the hospital, where she is now. She may have appendicitis. She may just have acute inflammation of the bowel. She is on pain meds and IV antibiotics. This is not the first time she has gone through this, and she asked them to wait and see before going in. The symptoms passed, and she was released. Of course, as she is a chronic pain patient with a lot of intestinal issues, today's visit to the ER is not a surprise. It's one of several times she has gone to the hospital with possible obstruction. It has never resulted in anything but high level trauma drama, CT scans, antibiotics, pain meds. It also always involves lots of crying and tears and please take me to the hospital. Today, it is me. It was her friends before she moved here. It was my brother last year in California, when she had the flu/bronchitis/-itis.

I have had my share of medical drama in my life. I've been in the ER only a few times, but three of them were in the last 7 years. A car accident that tried to kill me, a miscarriage that felt like it was trying to kill me (my friend called the ambulance) and the ruptured disk. All of these were pain 10 plus, and with the exception of the miscarriage, I got excellent and high level trauma care. It is not that I lack empathy for my sister, after all, or sympathy. It is that I don't make a life out of it. Or, maybe, I just make a point of not making a life out of it.

I was in the hospital at 12 with acute gastroenteritis, and sent home to drink clear fluids and avoid sodas and milk a few days. If only I had learned right then that avoiding them moving forward would eliminate the next 15 years of GI misery (and migraines and muscle pain and menstrual torture). I lived with persistent and chronic pain for most of my young adult life. It was only when I was willing to make some changes in my lifestyle that I could actually get out of the always hurting, always panicking cycle. It was also due to a change in attitude about not wanting to always be the sick one. I limped along miserably for many years, trying friendships and deeps bouts of depression, with my constant sick drama. I was never well, by much.

When, in my 20s, I made the mental decision to stop being sick all the time, and take care of it the first sign I saw of it, I stopped getting colds and flus and similar. I prepared when I saw those around me ill, and laid low, and took my herbs and made my chicken soup and rested. I so rarely get ill like that anymore, that it always startles me when it happens. It also rarely lasts long, although I'd have to be carrying herbs and medicines with me in preparation. When I haven't, I paid the price.

Later, I learned the magic control diet had over so many seemingly unrelated chronic problems. I decided to make a huge change, and with that I saw years of "how it is" change to "how it used to be" within days to weeks. It isn't the answer to everything, but it should be the start of any health inquiry. You are what you put in your face. Pretty much.

It was in that time that I was probably borderline fibromyalgia, and I knew back then that I didn't want to have that diagnosis, no cure, no help. I already worked with chronic pain patients and accident victims at the physical therapy center, and saw how their victim status kept them from progressing. It doesn't mean they didn't feel pain, and it doesn't mean something bad hadn't happened. It just meant that for many of them, willingness to move on was not an option. They were holding out for payback (insurance claims), emotional blackmail, pity, holding family hostage to their misery. No one will ever admit that is what they do. Chronic illness and chronic pain patients create the martyr/victim identity and I have adamantly refused to be that person.

So, today I am having a hard time because my mother and my sister are both a lot like that. They will deny and deny how much they demand from other people, insisting they are better off on their own, they are independent, they aren't needy and yet they can't make it through life without depending on others to do so many things for them. There is give and take, and then there is the carousel of demands. Both are prone to having all sorts of hospital visits and high level drama. It is a mental state, as well as a physical one. I don't find it seductive and alluring, and they would both say they don't, and yet... and yet... they have at least one ER visit per year.

I am feeling bad that I feel this way. I sit with my sister as she tells her litany of problems to the ER nurse, the ER doctor, the admitting nurse, the second admitting nurse, whomever. She has rehearsed this list and history so many times, and maybe she should just carry around a piece of paper with everything on it. While direct information is important, there seems to be an almost incantation quality to her speech. She has become a professional patient. She will critique people on how present they are to her problems, how good or bad a job she thinks they do listening and responding.

I think a little with my doctor mind, they have been so kind and attentive, since like with all patients you have to sift through the long babble until what you need to know comes out in a way that is useful. At least she isn't one of those people that when you ask them about their diet, and they blame their family having a busy schedule, and then go on about their kid or their husband's problems, and you just wanted a 5 word response that answers the question- not excuses the behavior. This does cross into the realm of personality disorders. I understand that the DSM-V has recently addressed a few of these things and everyone's upset about it. They're upset because that would give 1 in 2 people a diagnosable problem. It disturbs me, because it is mostly true. I see that Americans are so damn crazy and sick, and refuse to own their own shit and create so much drama when they can, and won't change their ways. They create crazy lifestyles and justify them and then demand to know why they don't get better but won't admit they create their own problems. We all create our own problems. We get focused on finding fault in others when it's just about taking responsibility.

My recent recommitment to Vipassana has been helpful, and maybe a little uncomfortable. I am even more tuned in, more present, more focused. I am not overreacting, just get exhausted with the constant demand, need, for tending and sorting other people's issues when I see how much more of my own I have to tend to. I had some stomach pain earlier this week, and spent some time resting, and just said "I'm feeling crummy, I will lie down" and I waited it out and was glad I didn't need to medicalize it.

I think about how often we use up the energy of those around us who give us support, caring, understanding, patience, assistance. I had just spent last weekend tending to my sister's animals while she did a seminar. She had already had plans to go away this weekend (could you take care of the cat?) and plans at the end of the month for reconstructive surgery (will need attentive care for herself and animals for 2 weeks) and plans to travel at least 2 times this summer back to the East coast for a bridal shower and a wedding (and taking care of animals then). She has lived here 4 months and has asked for more help than my boyfriend of the last 4 1/2 years has asked for in all this time. It's nice that she has been polite about it, thanks for helping me today, sorry you wasted your day here, sorry you had to cancel your day. If she ends up getting surgery tonight or tomorrow, it will be at least a week of myself and my aunt taking care of her, and her animals. Her history is of poor recovery, lots of pain, and slow healing time. She announces this to her doctors, and I wince at her commitment to being a professional patient.

And I wince at my wincing, wishing I could be a softer hearted about this. The resentment is all mine, and then that is my misery and I don't need that. Recently, she asked me to stop being her "caretaker" and I am thinking, please stop asking me to help you all the time. I have lived with constant updates on her pain and misery, and demands for help. I didn't want to leave her on the floor this morning, or say "Call 911" when I was 2 minutes away, but I wanted to tell her to fuck off for calling to wake me up (fine) and then calling back in 15 minutes because I wasn't there yet (I am getting dressed, brushing teeth, eating, preparing to leave for a possible trip to hospital all day). I feel like she had to up the ante to full level hospital visit to get the attention she just said she didn't want anymore.

Maybe not, maybe I am evil for thinking this. I wish it didn't seem so familiar, so expected. Every day in my head, I try to let her write a new story for herself and today I was hoping we'd go down the path of "it's just a little gastroenteritis, go home and drink clear fluids" . Some people manifest all sorts of wonderful things in their life, and some at least learn to stop manifesting all sorts of misery. Health is really not that different, once you choose victim status it is a downhill trip. We are what we put in our face, and we are the thoughts we think, and we are the emotions we choose to feel.

Happiness, Success and Failure

Sun, 28 Apr 2013 23:04:19 -0400

Like many, I come from a strong background of pressure to be successful. I grew up around a lot of rich people, and many were successful. Realistically, most of them were rich because their parents were rich and gave them many legs up in life. Whether or not they became successful in their own right was not as much at issue, as they always had funds to cover the gap. I wasn't aware of this too much, as most kids wouldn't really know about it. I did know, however, that my family stopped having money and had to borrow from family and friends. I did know this made my parents unhappy. I did know this made them failures, on the social, societal, business, emotional, marital front. They were alcoholics, which may have been the cause or result of their failures and unhappiness. Or a bit of both.

My father's father was as successful man, as was his father before him. Great grandpapa Jarvis Sr was a man I never met, and probably wouldn't have liked. I haven't heard a kind word about him, just some admiration for his business acumen. He pulled himself up by his bootstraps, to go from boiler room to president of the bank. He was an important man on Wall Street, and this was back in the early 1900s and into the Depression. His son, my grandfather, followed his father's steps, and made a moderately successful upper middle class living. The nice house, the nice car, the vacations, the two children, the country club, the golfing all around the world. My grandfather had two sisters, both of whom were successful in their own right. One was the pioneer of world class women's golf and being a celebrity sportstar. She still ended up an alcoholic living in her father's attic, drinking herself into a depressed death from cancer. Money, fame, self determination didn't save her from it.

My mother fared not much better. Her father's father was not successful, a struggling business man. His wife had to work, too, for income. They gave their daughter up for adoption because they could not keep her themselves. They struggled to pay for my grandfather's education, he was so bright it was clear he needed a formal education. My great grandfather's brother was more successful, and fostered my grandfather in his education. In turn, he became a self made man with an early best selling book (the first Do It Yourself farm guide), a columnist and journalist, and eventually worked with the UN. He was important enough his children suffered from his ego. He knew the queen, and Karen von Blixen (Isak Dinesen). He traveled and wrote. Yet, his two youngest also struggled with making anything of themselves, and became alcoholics.

I realized somewhere in college that I had pretty much failed almost every social milestone (other than getting into college and having it paid for by someone not me or my parents) so far. I was neither thin, nor overly pretty, nor particularly well dressed, nor exceptionally popular. Still, despite my perpetual misery, I was generally liked by those who knew me, and considered kind. If think back to my earliest social memories in school, that would probably still hold true. Today, I have gotten a little better handle on the body image and body control thing. And most people, I think, would consider me kind.

Yet, I struggle with the idea of my "success". I have, yet again, failed to realize almost every social milestone put in front of me, propped up along the path of Life. Like the game, there is this twisty path that takes you through marriage, children, career, home/land ownership, and maybe you get to your golden years with a nest egg. Along the way we hope to avoid drug abuse, alcoholism, bankruptcy, divorce, death of a loved one, loss of a home. This doesn't even begin to address how people who don't want those things identify with success. Nor does it let people who have conscientiously chosen "other road" have a say in the matter. Even worse, there are those times we tried and failed, and lived to tell about it instead of dying in shame.

I am not much of an alumna kind of gal. I keep in touch with some childhood friends, but not through any need to relive the past. If anything, I can be glad to forget about it and move on. My past is littered with many failures, and many sadnesses. In there, too, lies some successes. I don't forget them entirely, but there are no glory days for me to relive. If my best days are already behind me, I'm screwed.

I spent years of unhappiness writing in journals and collecting photographs of myself with friends, going on journeys. Somehow or another, I still have many of these mementos, although I rarely look at them and shudder to see the person I used to be. I don't like to identify with my former sadnesses. Sometimes talking to family or friends about the past reminds me acutely of embarrassment or shame. I realize I am not that person now, but the person I am now was born from those dark days. I consider it a form of personal success that I refuse to let my past define who I am going to be. Naturally, I struggle, as time goes along and I come to new realizations about old crap. I could retell the same story again and again, until it no longer interests me. It could be once or a 100 times. I am done with the story of my failure. And I am resisting writing the story of my success.

Recently, after a long time of yammering about doing something about it, I got clear about my commitment to meditation and joined Vipassana sitting groups. The members of these groups overlap, as there are several opportunities a week to sit in different places, for meditation. My years of reading and self study and dharma talks made a natural fit with the Vipassana crowd. I didn't know this until I went, and I felt like I was putting on old, comfortable pants. That was nice. I went again, met new people, and felt like I was among old friends. Considering what I have just written about the past, and old friends, this was not alarming but quite comforting. I have many friends from my past I would be happy to see again. As long as I like them as they are now, not just as they were then.

I have also started back at Quaker meeting, after not attending on any kind of regular basis the last few years. My work schedule got the better of me until it was strangling my very existence. I was working a lot, I was busy all the time, and by some measures, I was successful. I was underpaid but still paid, and I was putting up with a lot of BS that was harmful, but I was finally "doing it" if by doing it, I was working full time and supporting myself and saving money. Amazingly, when I was more or less forced to quit a few months ago, and talked about this with my family and the stress of having to give up a decent income, their response was (in part), "We have never seen you as doing well, didn't realize you felt that way about your work. You never talked about it."

I struggle with this a bit, because my on going complaint with my family is that they see me as a failure. I am reminded of how much I haven't done compared to their standards, their friends, themselves, their wishes for me. I have always wanted to focus on happiness, and pursue that which makes me happy and also allows me to live. I have succeeded in that, even if the path has been uneven and occasionally unreliable. I don't see that as a failure, just life, but I am reminded how much I am mistaken if I am to take the words of others. I wasn't expecting applause for finding work, just as I was tired of expecting to find criticism for the times that work was not paying more than the bills.

Today, in meditation, I thought about the juxtaposition of happiness versus success. Is my happiness defined by my success, or is my success defined by my happiness? I am in a loving relationship, I have steady work, I have succeeded in starting a new part time business that is already doing well. I have a home and car that runs, and am even managing to save up a little money while I honor my debts every month. I don't feel deprived, mostly because I don't spend time wanting a lot of things. I see how miserable some of my family is as they are constantly striving for more and more and more, and feeling let down as they fail to make their goals. I changed my goalposts, and meet most of them regularly. I don't need medication, I don't drink to excess or drown myself in shopping, gambling or other.

So, I've been thinking on that today. It weighs on me, enough, when I hear my brother or sister say "What I want for you..." or "What I see for you...", when it is not something I particularly want for myself. It may be something I have already had to come to peace with on my own terms. It is hard not to be defensive, learned early in a home of alcoholics, and it is hard to stay in equanimity with I really want to say some choice words. I am not averse to self inspection, and I am also not averse to accepting my faults and flaws rather than try to correct them. I think about how much BS we put on each other, when the choices we made in order to be happy somehow leave us feeling lesser than we expected.

The good news is, my meditation time has already started paying off. Investing the time to sit, to make appointments to sit, to not let myself get derailed when I have all sorts of other invitations and plans and chores and things to do, actually going and being present and doing absolutely nothing but meditate in the moment has been wonderful. I had not forgotten the memory of that peace I had before, but I had forgotten the visceral feeling of it. This, to me, is success. It is happiness with my life where I am, with room to grow and ability to lighten the load.