A Breakthrough

I am reading a book called "The Mastery of Love" by Don Miguel Ruiz. One of the parts that I read recently was about how we should treat our partners no different than we treat our pets.  No, we don't potty train them and put leashes on them and walk them.  We give them unconditional love.  We accept them as being dogs and cats because that is what they are.  We need to accept our partners as human beings because that is what they are.  For example, one of our recent disagreements was because he wanted to go out on a Sunday night during a snow storm when I had to work on Monday and he didn't.  I wanted him to feel bad for leaving me behind because I thought that meant he would rather not spend time with me.  Conversely,  I was reading a book the other day and my cat Mimi was sitting beside me purring.  At one point, she got up and scratched at the door to get out.  I got up and let her out.  Why?  Because she's a cat and wanted to be in the other room.  Did I get all weird and emotional because that meant she loved me less?  No.  She just didn't want to be around me right then and I didn't take it personally.  Why can't I apply that same type of unconditional love to the situation with Ian?  Why do I have to get all caught up and emotional?  He didn't want to be around me right then and there's nothing wrong with that because humans feel cooped up sometimes and want to go out even when it seems like a bad idea.

One thing that struck me a few months back was an argument we had when we were drunk.  Unfortunately, alcohol can be a truth serum sometimes and it can reveal the ugly truth.  He said to me: "You love the cats more than you love me!!"  It sounds absolutely ridiculous, but a part of me recognized it and it's through this book that I pieced it all together.  He was telling me that I don't love him unconditionally.  And compared to how I act with the cats, it is apparent.  For example, if my cat Haxan jumps up on the counter and breaks a dish, I scold him and clean up the mess.  Maybe I spray him with water.  But two hours later when he jumps up on my lap and purrs, I am right back to loving him and cuddling him again.  Why?  Because he's a cat and cats break things sometimes.  It's part of owning a cat and it isn't personal. He didn't think in his kitty brain that he wants to break that dish because he knows it will make me mad.  He just wanted to be on the counter.

I remember being jealous of the cats I grew up with for the same reason.  I felt that my mom loved them more than me because she loved them unconditionally.  If they peed on the floor, she would scold them and then love them again an hour later because they are cats and cats pee on the floor sometimes.  However, if I forgot to do the dishes or left a mess somewhere she would be mad at me all night or bring my mistakes up several months later to make me feel bad.  I don't want anyone to feel that way, however irrational it sounds.  When I walk in the door after a long day I rush to the kitties and hug them and pet them and always smile at them and am happy to see them, even if  they made some kind of mess.  I say "Hi babies!  Hi sweethearts!" and they always rush to the door to greet me.  But if he is sitting there I will just say "Hi."  Why?!  Am I any less happy to see him?  No.  I am MORE happy to see him, but my fear of judgment holds me back from showing him how much I love him.  Why do human relationships have to be any different than the relationships we have with animals?  Why is it so easy to love an animal without fear of judgment but we have such a fear of the same from our fellow human beings?

I plan to love him as much and more than I love my kitties.  He brings just as much joy to my life as they do, and deserves all the attention and sweetness that they deserve for being kitties, because he is human.  With all his strengths and weaknesses, joy and anger, he is human.  And he is beautiful.

Love Your Failures

We love our successes.  We celebrate our successes.  We pat ourselves on the back when we are successful but we also need to love our faults, our failures and our shortcomings.  What is the obsession with perfection in this society?  Perfection does not exist.  It makes us a prisoner in our own minds; a victim to our failures.  Failing and picking ourselves back up is part of life.  More than that, it proves that you are alive.  That you exist.  That you breathe.  So forgive your failures and shortcomings.  They are part of what makes us human.  They are beautiful.  Our flaws make us individuals.

Thankful

I'm thankful for clean drinking water, and purring cats; nature documentaries and a good scary movie.  I'm thankful for the basic goodness in all people and the badness that is on display for my entertainment in the media.  I'm thankful for family and friends and good food; mass transit and park & rides.  I'm thankful for the clarity a cup of strong coffee or a few mixed drinks at the 90s seems to provide me.  I'm thankful for a soft warm bed on a cold winter night.  I'm thankful for the first delicate snowfall and the "Six Feet Under" box set.  I'm thankful for walking into Target on Black Friday, avoiding the frenzy and walking out empty-handed.  I'm thankful for the laughs and smiles of my niece and nephew; their pure innocence and their eyes filled with wonder at every new discovery that I take for granted.  I'm thankful for no cable and DVR and the writing that pours forth from me when I'm away from TV.  I'm thankful for writer's strikes and Netflix; my sister's free-range organic turkey and my boyfriend's burnt green bean casserole.  I'm thankful for Weight Watchers and gainful employment, road trips and hotel rooms; far-flung new relatives and acquaintances in tiny Wisconsin small towns.  I'm thankful for inspiration and creativity, writer's block and espresso.  And pie.  French Silk Pie.

Linn Liu

I'm in fifth grade, we are having "Inside Recess" because it is about 30 below outside and I have discovered that I have very statically-conductive shoes on. They are just one in a string of very cheap horribly stinky shoes that my mother and I got at Target.  They smell like a mixture of Cheetos left out in the hot sun and rotten garbage mixed with farts.  

Stinky though they are, they seem to give me super powers.  Blue sparks shoot from my fingertips when I scuff them on the floor, I learn after mistakenly touching the metal edge of table. I smile. I AM ZAPPER BOY!!  I am scuffling my feet on the strip of carpet in our classroom and zapping people pretty seriously with static and loving every minute of it.  Good kids, bad kids, friends and enemies; all are my victims. I am on a rampage.  Scuff-scuff- scuff!!  

I zap my friend John POP! "OWW!" Scuff-scuff-scuff!!  

I zap my friend Nick.  POP!  "OWW!"  Scuff-scuff-scuff!!

I zap the annoying class brain, Shanda.  POP!!  "OWW!!"  Scuff-scuff-scuff!!

I zap the kid who shoved me down on the playground once.  POP!  "OWW!!"  

I zap the weird Chinese girl named Linn Liu that no one talks to.  POP!!  "Ahh sss!!  Let me see yo finga."  I show her my finger.  She is mystified.  I am amused.  I assume there is no static electricity in China.  I scuff all the way across the room, then back.  I zap her again.  POP!!  "AHH SSSSS!!  HOW YOU DO THAT?!!"  But I never tell her.  

I am trying to figure out a way to zap our teacher whom I hate when recess ends. And just like that, I am a boring kid with stinky, plastic shoes again.