ASYAD - Day 138 - Are we all broken?

This past weekend, a dear friend came to visit me. His presence has always given me that warm fuzzy feeling of comfort, so his visit was well-timed. We spent a whirlwind two days running around Portland, but also had a couple of hours of downtime to just talk. And as is our way, the conversation became deeper than I think either of us expected.

We talked about our issues, where we felt like we fell short in life. We both summed it up as, "I'm so damn broken." At one point, my friend asked me if we knew anyone that wasn't broken in some way. And that gave me pause for two reasons. First, I look at my friend and am constantly amazed at what he accomplishes every day with his challenges, so I don't think of him as broken at all.In fact, I have very few friends that I would truly identify as "broken". Second, if everyone is broken, is that the best way to describe anyone?

With those thoughts running through my head, I started wondering what "broken" really means. Who is broken? What makes them broken? How do we define broken versus having challenges?

In talking through this with my friend, I realized that while I regularly say that I'm broken, I don't really believe that I am. I have challenges. I have areas that I'm working on. That's everyone. Or at least, that's everyone who has even a bit of self-awareness. People - humans - know their areas to work on, and are continually learning to make those areas better. That's pretty unending. No one is perfect, so we're always working on something.

Those challenges and areas for improvement are more difficult for some than for others, to be sure, but if that's the definition of being broken, yep. We're all broken. Humans, as a whole, are broken. But that makes the word worthless. It's not really a description at all. It's like saying that humans breath air and poop feces. There has to be more to it to make it useful.

There are a few people in my life that I do think of as "broken". Like truly challenged people who need to do a lot of work to be a functional adult. They struggle with the most basic of life requirements, like getting and keeping a job in order to support themselves. They simply can't adult at the most basic levels. More importantly, they aren't working to get better. Their struggles are intense, but their effort is minimal or even non-existent. They've given up, or they won't seek out or listen to guidance. They settle into their challenges, wrapping themselves in their despair like a cloak. For some, their trauma has pushed them past being able to see any chance at correction of course. For others, they just can't see any path forward so they stop in their tracks, for whatever reason. I think there is comfort in their misery because at least then they understand their failure.

But those people are the exception in my life, not the rule. Nearly everyone I know has challenges either new or old. Nearly everyone has something "broken" in their life, but that doesn't make them broken as a whole. They know there are challenges, and nearly all of them are looking for ways to correct it. They may not really know how to fix those challenges but they're still working on it.

You've all seen my broken bits. It's on display in this blog in a million ways. But the more I think about it, the more that I realize that I'm not a broken person. I'm a flawed person, who spends a lot of time trying to correct those flaws. I've made mistakes - a lot of mistakes - and I'll continue to make mistakes, but I'm not a bad person for those errors. I'm just a person. Living my life in the best way that I know how. Sometimes I miss the mark, but that's not an inherent blot on my character. It's an action that I can learn from, and make better the next time.

This can't be news to anyone. For decades, psychotherapists have said exactly this. So how come we still consider ourselves broken instead of just flawed? Why do we wrap ourselves in that cloak of despair as if we're the only ones who've made mistakes or who are struggling to be better people?

We can't all be broken. So, going forward, I'm just going to call myself challenged. I'm a challenged human working to live a life that requires less effort to be a functioning adult. Maybe that's not as clean as saying broken, but at least with that I can see hope for a better me tomorrow. And when all else fails, hope helps get me through.

Heard on the Train - Respect for the masses

On the train this morning, a gentleman had a seizure. A grand mal/tonic clocic seizure, to be exact. He fell to the ground, of course, and people screamed and a few semi-panicked.

The woman in the seat in front of me whipped her head around to see what the commotion was, and then pretty casually said, "Oh, he's having a seizure. Make sure he doesn't hurt himself." She got up and went to him. I glanced back, saw that she was right, and went back to reading the news while somewhat monitoring the situation behind me.

One young man, maybe 30, was speaking to the conductor through the intercom. His voice was stressed, but he was clear and calm. One woman who had been standing by the man when he collapsed was bent down rubbing his back. The other woman, who'd gone down earlier, was talking to him in soothing tones. She explained that the train was stopping soon, that an ambulance was coming, that she was making sure he was okay.

The panic turned to concern. The rest of the train stayed on alert, but there was no more chatter. They were just there, listening to the young man and the woman.

When the train stopped, most people filed off to catch other modes of transportation. The two women stayed with the man even after the medics came. I left to walk the last couple of miles to work.

What struck me was that after the initial fall, no one acted poorly. No one complained about the train being held up. No one talked about the man as if he weren't there. It was a respectful silence while others handled the situation.

I hope the man is okay. The seizure was over by the time we stopped, and he seemed fine. As for everyone else? They've restored my belief in people for one more day.

ASYAD - Day 124 - Time to re-evaluate life in Portland

When I moved to Portland a little over two years ago, I promised to give myself three years before making any decisions about how long I'd stay here. I knew that moving away from my family - by blood and by choice - was going to be hard. Making friends as an adult is always difficult. I wanted to make sure that I'd given my new city every chance I could to be, you know, home.

Those three years are up at the end of June, and I keep finding myself wondering if this is where I really belong.

I moved to Portland for change, and to be near my sons. I wanted to experience a different part of the country, to live there, and to see what opportunities I could find. And I've found a multitude of differences and opportunities. My heart soars at the thought of being able to hike on the side of a mountain or along the coast with just a short drive. I love that one of the most beautiful cities in Canada can be experienced in a weekend for the cost of two tanks of gas and an AirBnB for a night. I love the culture in my new Kingdom - for the most part. I love working in downtown Portland, and being able to easily experience all it has to offer. I love how dog-friendly everywhere out here is. I love that my kids can easily call me up and ask me to do things with them.

But there are a lot of negatives to being here, too. In my two years here, I've struggled to be part of the groups I've encountered. I participate, but I feel very much the outsider. It could be argued that I've kept myself away for a lot of that time. I dated a man who didn't understand nor want to participate in a hobby that has been my life for two plus decades. My built-in social group, as it were. So I didn't join in as much as I could have.

Not that I stayed away, particularly. I became an officer within a few months of moving here, and have continued as an officer of some sort ever since. I attend at least one event a month, usually, though I've been known to skip a month here or there. I guess I count myself as still active, but not as active as I had been back in the Midwest. Some might even say that I participated a healthy amount. And I've met a number of people. I am acquainted to many, and friends to a few. But it's not the belonging that I left behind. Of course, that's hard to replicate.

These new friends have built-in social dynamics, and they don't always include the lonely, needy new woman who has shown up in their town. They're kind and I think they care, but they also don't always think to invite me, or they have limited space and I don't make the cut. I don't blame any of them, nor am I hurt or upset for the most part. It just means that I'm never sure where I fit into this social dynamic that I'm now a part of, and I think many of my friends here feel the same about me.

On top of that, while it's nice to be available for my kids, they don't reach out that often. They have their own lives, which often doesn't include Mom hanging around. I'll invite them over, but it's hit-or-miss if they can or will come. Weeks will fly by and suddenly they'll remember me. I'll get invited to do something, and for one night, things are really good. Then it'll be another several weeks where I'm home alone, waiting to be remembered. I'm not their priority.

I'm not anyone's priority right now. And that's hard. It's lonely.

I've been seeing a few guys, but they're transitional. None of them are people that I really want to invest my energy into too much. They're fun in the moment, and when they're gone, they're pretty much out of my mind. They're a diversion from the loneliness, not a cure.

Moving away from everyone you know and love is hard at the best of times. When I moved out here, it was pretty much the worst of times. I've struggled for the last two years to not only find my place in this new city, but to find myself, too. That's been so damn hard. I think I'm finally coming to grips with who I am, but I've still got to find my place here.

One of the smartest people I know suggested that I make a pros and cons list about living here. Be logical in assessing if this is where I should be at this point in my life. The pros list is long and deep. I love my job, I love the terrain, I love the culture of acceptance. I love the weather, the culture, the sailing, the snow-shoeing. I love the food, the new experiences I've had (and so many more that I know are still to come). I love Portland, and its proximity to so many amazing places and things.

My cons list is short and very narrow: I'm alone and lonely. It's been a theme throughout these blog posts. I'm an extreme extrovert who needs people to fully appreciate the experiences that I have.

This is why I settled into a relationship with a guy that I knew wasn't right for me. He was someone to have experiences with, and we like a ton of the same things. That everything we experienced were on his terms for the most part didn't matter so much, because at least I wasn't left to have those experiences by myself. Because if I'm honest, for me, most of the time, having those experiences alone are barely worth having. The shared experience is what I seek.

I don't know how to appreciate solo experiences. If I can't laugh with someone else, then what's the point of a comedy? If I can't share a sunset over the ocean, then how can the beauty be truly seen? How do you cheer for a team by yourself? Who is there to argue politics with - or to share the grief with - when you're the only person in the room?

So all that Portland has to offer falls flat so often. Those pros are dimmed.

My three-year commitment isn't up until the end of June, and a lot can happen between now and then. For now, I'm holding onto the shared experiences I've already had that make Portland so amazing. And I'm hoping that in some miraculous way I'll learn to appreciate solo experiences. I miss my people, but I really do love it here. I just don't know how to love it alone.

Does anyone know where I can learn how to deal with this whole alone thing? Suggestions appreciated.

ASYAD - Day 117 - Resilience

I spent the weekend in Canada at an event that my medieval recreation group put on. The event went off well, my friend joined the knighthood, and I managed not to do much damage to myself or my dog.  After, I took a the holiday Monday and spent it with two friends that I've known online for nearly 15 years but had never met in person. We're all participants on a forum that discusses politics, history, sports, our lives, and life in general.

These two men - and their families - have been a part of my life for a very long time. They've witnessed my highs and lows for one and a half decades, all the while cheering me on from the sidelines. (To be fair, it goes both ways as one dealt with health issues and the other with employment concerns, and I've always tried to be as supportive toward them as they've been with me.) Regardless, what this means is that these two men have seen snapshots of my life for a long time. They know some of my more intimate concerns about my life, and they've actively supported me when things were truly horrendous.

They know me.

One of the men, R, and I went on a hike with our dogs when I first arrived through a gorgeous old-growth forest near his home. He showed me the massive stumps of hundreds-years-old trees that were cut down at the turn of the century, and the new trees that have taken root in the rotting carcasses of those old trees. He showed me the river his boys played in as children, and the beautiful serene cliffs on either side of it. While we walked, we talked about our families, his health, my life, and basically just enjoyed spending time talking about the things that we knew about one another, but digging a bit deeper.

In the midst of that conversation, R says to me, "I have to tell you. I've told my wife that you are easily the most resilient person that I've ever known. You take whatever is thrown at you, and you turn it around into something positive. I'm just continually impressed with how you always bounce back and up."

I stumbled a bit on the hike when he said this. Then I said, "Well, I mean, what were my options? Giving up and curling into a ball?"

He stopped and looked at me. "Well, yes. That's what plenty of other people would have done."

I half-laughed and said, "I'm too stubborn for that. And I don't have time to give up."

He smiled and said, "Well, I'm impressed by you. I wanted you to know."

We continued on our hike, but I couldn't shake what he said. This is an accomplished man, regularly voted one of the top lawyers in Vancouver. He does amazing corporate work, and offsets that with meaningful pro bono work. He's extraordinarily intelligent, kind, and generous to a fault. A bit pompous - he's Canadian after all *wink* - but someone that I've always looked up to as The Guy to Be. And he looks up to me. He finds me extraordinary. He's so impressed by me that he tells his wife how exceptional he thinks that I am.

Not because of my accomplishments, but because of my accomplishments after my failures. Not because my life is genteel and lovely, but because of how hard-scrabble it's been, and yet I've achieved many things. He respects me because I never gave up when so many others would have.

We returned to his house, showered, and headed off to lunch with our other friend, J, and his family. J and R have delightful wives, both marrying well the first time. They chose exceptional life partners, and I enjoyed getting to know them as well as spending time with the guys. In the midst of lunch, J says to me, "You know, M, I just have to tell you how remarkable I think you are. I just can't believe all that you've done given what you've been through. It is truly impressive."

I blink and slightly shake my head. "Thank you, but honestly, I mean...."

R jumped in, "She's going to brush you off. I was telling her the same thing. It's really incredible."

J says, "Yeah, seriously. I don't know how you've done it. I mean, you taught yourself your current career, and you're succeeding brilliantly! That's so remarkable!"

R then turns to me and says, "One day, maybe in a few years, you're going to look back at this time and think, 'Yeah, I really did some great things despite it all.' Just watch. You taught yourself an entirely new world at an age when I'm convinced I couldn't learn how to play a new game. You have to see how amazing that is."

When I think about my life - the highs, the lows, the meadows in between - I don't think about the grit that it's taken to keep getting up and to keep moving on. These men have heard the stories about my dad, about my ex-husband(s), and about my career woes. They were there when I was fired from an $11 an hour receptionist job, laid off from a toffee shop, and so many other job disappointments. They cheered me on when I took on the task of learning new skills so that I could land a career instead of just another low-paying job. I didn't realize they thought all of that was so amazing. I just got tired of being broke, and did what I needed to get out of that situation.

I never saw myself through their eyes. Until yesterday.

My Midwestern roots taught me that one doesn't crow about our accomplishments. We are self-deprecating to a fault, and we never say thank you when given a compliment. We, instead, brush it aside. We remember the failures and ignore the successes. We share what we've learned due to our mistakes, but not from our accomplishments. Lessons are learned the hard way or not learned at all.

And this has led me to struggle with seeing my own strength, my grit, and my determination to succeed when others would not have done so. Looking back now at the mountains that I've climbed, the fears that I've conquered, and the successes that I've created for myself out of whole cloth, I feel... proud. It wars with my Midwestern upbringing, but still, it's there.

J and R are two men that I've respected for more than half of my adult life. They are brilliant men who've built up lives to be envied. And both men hold me up as an example of what success looks life against all odds.

So I'm looking at those accomplishments differently today. I'm looking at my career - on an upward trajectory - and my life - full and filled with more joy than sadness - and I realize that I made this for myself. Like the old-growth forest in the park by R's home, I planted new saplings - now full-grown trees - on the stumps of old life. I'm taking the nutrients - the lessons and love - and building newer, more healthy growth.

I'm proud of who I am today. I don't love what I went through to get here - and I'll be honest, I'll never say I'm grateful for any of it - but I am proud of where I am now. Where there was rot there is now life-saving, oxygen-giving leaves. The pride won't last - I'll cover it with memories of failures soon enough - but maybe I'll see even those as obstacles to overcome rather than mistakes to forget. Maybe, just maybe, my time with these two men have given me a new way to view myself and my life.

Midwestern girl or no, I've achieved great things in the midst of chaos and pain. I need to remember this. I need to hold this tight.

I need to keep seeing myself the way these two men that I respect so much see me.