Adventures in the Ghan

I travel frequently - it is the peril and the beauty of my job.  During the latter years of my marriage, I spent over 50% of the time away from home, working, loving working.  It lead to some issues - my husband wanted me home, but I loved being away, making a difference in the world … the teensiest, but a difference nonetheless.  I don’t know why I’m born with this appetite to be away, and I grew to hate it.  It is no fun hating something that seems as innate to you as the shape of your nose.  The marriage ultimately failed.  It left me hating myself, for a variety of reasons … hating my job was in there.  It has almost been a year … it goes so so fast - life.  The last six months have included business in some of our world’s finest destinations - Haiti, Bolivia, Afghanistan.  Each trip brought me a little closer to an appreciation of that appetite, that desire, and that passion.  I love the world, I love being out in the world.  My latest adventure to the Ghan sealed that.  It’s okay to love your job, it’s not okay to love it more than your spouse … when that happens, you’ve got issues to deal with.  What was initially my passion became an escape hatch, a place to flee life … my parachute.  I learned the hard way that the end result will be worse if you put the issues off, internalizing them out of fear.  It is always better to put it all on the table.  I will strive to keep it all on the table next time around.  The years of my marriage forced me out of one box and striving to be in another, which would have been okay if I could have somehow blended the two - or if the changes had been purely my choice, and not chosen to please my husband.  Marriage requires sacrifice and compromise of all kinds, there can even be a healthy redefinition of oneself … I wish I had found a healthy way.  I didn’t - I sold myself out and grew resentful in the process.  If nothing else, the Ghan has returned to me an appreciation of who I am, authentically me … with a passion for the world.

Classy . . .

“Classy doesn’t break into his answering machine!” (quote from “He’s Just Not That Into You”)

If there’s such a thing as a disdainful laugh, then that is the sound that I made when I read that quote.  Only … only because just a few short months ago I blogged this on my previous blog-site:

We all have demons don’t we? Crosses to bear … secrets … issues … quirks. Why do mine keep biting me in the ass? There’s one now. I am a closet potty-mouth. I choose not to curse, but deep down there is nothing like a good string of @ucks and sh@ts - not literally of course. That’s a tangent though. So - I am not the most patient of people when it comes to certain things. I can do a lot of waiting around in lines, in doctor’s offices, for friends … but I find it impossible to wait on love and people who don’t return my phone calls. If I were them, I would feel harassed by my constant ringing. I have managed to limit myself, okay well not really, to only leaving one message. Hence feeling like my curses bite me in the ass … so, I left two messages with the dude (not ready to call him the ex), and because I am desperate and lonely and unaware of his whereabouts, I felt the need to keep calling and calling - to the point that I felt justified to check his answering machine. I told myself that he had probably changed the code, but alas he hadn’t, then I told myself it was okay to paige through the messages because my intent was to delete mine … I only wanted to hear that he was as desperate and lonely as me and that none of his friends were calling either. I messed up the codes though and hit the wrong button, one thing led to another and I erased his outgoing message. Ughh. Now I have to confess, explain my delusional state of mind … WHY CAN’T I JUST BE NORMAL AND SAIL THROUGH LIFE BLISSFULLY UNAWARE OF MY IMPACT, good or bad, ON ANYONE AND ANYTHING? Surely that would be easier … wouldn’t it … or maybe it wouldn’t … shit, there goes my over-analysis demon … maybe it’s time for some alcohol induced exorcism.  (August 19, 2005).

Classy!

It all started when . . .

By means of intro - this was my first post on my first blog.  I have had considerable therapy since , but thought it added a certain context, and hence decided to paste it in here.  It was originally published on July 10th, 2005.

Have you ever felt like you were coming unglued? Yeah, me either until now. I felt like people thought I was perfect (except it might have only been me thinking that … and my Mom, but that’s obligation on her part). I always appear to have it all together. I am uber-organized - with ease. I try to be professional and respectful, and I feel respected. I know I am smart, and I try to be witty. I can and will talk to almost anyone - even though I feel shy. I have always felt like people like me. Is this me? Or the me you get to see … I just feel like all that was certain is uncertain, all that was uncertain is certain - heave ho, topsy turvy … sticky or unsticky? The truth is, if there is such a thing, I feel like I have worn out my friends lamenting the abstractedness of it all … I need to purge, I need to figure out if it is ungluing, or is this just the way life is … perhaps my life was never really stuck together in the first place.  Hmmm.

What I know for sure . . .

God exists.

Okay, that’s a pretty short list, and tragically even that one comes under fire at times.

Oh the mystery . . .

Yeeeessss … those that know me well know all about my struggle with the divine master of all things.  I have a wee bit of difficulty with the whole submission to a higher power thing, which consequently leads to questions questions questions … sometimes it’s fun, sometimes it’s scary, and sometimes it’s downright peaceful - love that.  If you’re a ponderer, I think you’ll like it here.  Just remember, it’s a personal journey … answers for me are only ponder points for you!