It's never as simple as anger allows me to think it is.
Being angry allows me to pinpoint and shut down. It feels powerful... for a while... until I realize how tiring it is and how alone I feel.
This little blog of mine is not normally an update of my daily goings on - It is not meant to be the place where I share every fascinating detail of my everyday minutiae or to work out whatever issues I have. I really hate those blogs. Get a Twitter account or a therapist already. But today I'm going to make an exception, because it's warranted after my last posting. I need to offer you, as Paul Harvey would say, "the rest of the story."
First, I'm amazed by how many friends across my spectrum have reached out after reading the post to share their own personal experience of a friendship break-up. (Thank you for sharing those stories with me - You know who you are~) I'm not amazed that bad break-ups happen, just amazed by how many folks wanted and needed to connect to share their hurt/anger/bewilderment/sense of abandonment/general bad and sad feelings. And by the way, they weren't all women my age. They spanned generations and gender. A close high school guy friend wrote a really touching note about the post and then alluded to losing his best friend. It's been a painful subject for years. I can't remember a time when we've gotten together that he hasn't brought up the topic. Amazing how sucky it can feel.
Second, I'm humbled by the complexity of it all...
So, here's the update. It took me a couple of days, but I sent the blog post to my friend. When I did it, I felt a sense of empowerment. Take that! I thought. You hurt me and now I'm putting it all to rest. Done!
But that's not how this story goes, and looking at it now, I'm thankful for an alternate ending.
My friend answered back in just a few hours. Her email was a combination of beautiful note, heartfelt apology, explanation of a different side of the story, and a timeline of her post-breakup life. Post-break-up sounded terrible. I felt for my friend. I heard her familiar voice as I read her words and I thought, how did this all end up feeling so personal? The initial breakup did happen, but as I put our two stories together, there's a muddiness. What really did happen, and how much of it was open to interpretation? And holy cow, there were 18 years in between that had nothing to do with our friendship... it was LIFE taking over. LIFE got in the way of either of us reaching out and mending fences. Why go back and try to rehash and restart that friendship when we were each holding on for dear life to LIFE as it was happening?
And let's be fair. None of us has been a perfect friend. I have several embarrassing low points when I dropped the ball and hurt a friend, and I didn't fix it. There are times when I've looked back and thought, I should have fixed that and I didn't and now it just seems too late.
It is never as simple as anger and hurt let us believe.
I know that I said I was ready for a clean slate, and I am. And I hope my old/former/renewed friend will join me to decorate it.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Saturday, July 28, 2012
D*mn You, Facebook.
A request I've been waiting for for 18 years.
The request came from the woman who was once my maid of honor.
We had become fast friends a couple of years before on an 8-month, 8-country European tour of the all-Americana musical, Oklahoma! I was 24 at the time, and she'd felt like one of my first real post-college adult girlfriends. I loved talking with her, sharing books with her, running through German landscapes and exploring cities with her. She was a grounding force for me. It was an intense tour, and the moments when I felt the most broken, she was a generous friend.
The year after the tour, we settled a few blocks away from each other in NYC and both tried to figure out our next life steps. Auditioning was going well for me, but she was considering a career change. We both had complicated long-distance semi-boyfriends and short-term NYC dating until I met my polar opposite, Adam, and got engaged to him 11 weeks later. The year was jam-packed with big life shifts.
Of course I asked her to be my maid of honor, my sole bridal party. She was my closest girlfriend.
Not long after the wedding, my friend candidly told me that she didn't want to be friends with me anymore. I was stunned. I remember fishing for specifics for the break-up, but got generalities. I'd never done anything to hurt her personally - nothing that she was willing or able to divulge to me anyway. To this day, I'm still flummoxed. I can only guess that she didn't like the way things had developed between Adam and me. She may not have liked him or who I'd become with him. It had been a whirlwind year and I'd been caught up in what now looks like a string of bad judgment calls. Truthfully, if I'd had to witness a year of one of my close friends' unhealthy choices, I might have turned off, too. Maybe I would have slowly melted away, gotten too busy to make dinner dates... I have drifted away from a friend or two before. But would I have formally broken up with her? Maybe my friend felt like I deserved a true cutting of ties - maybe she thought it was kinder to offer something concrete and definite. I'm definitely someone who appreciates resolution, but I couldn't find a grounding for it all. What would I have done if I were her?
My friend broke up with me twice. She thought she could give our friendship another chance, but after a week (weak?) second try, she confirmed the end. The words I vividly remember her saying were, "I just don't value our friendship anymore." Ouch. That didn't seem kind; that seemed harsh.
I felt really lost and confused by it. We had mutual friends, one in particular that I was still close with. I'd ask him about her occasionally, and every time felt like a self-inflicted wound. She eventually moved across the country and I found comfort in the distance of place and time.
And then, Facebook ruined everything.
A while ago, I'd searched her name and found her. I was curious and masochistic, I guess. Who hasn't searched the names of people who have broken your heart, folks who have done you wrong, or ones who got away? So I found her, but did nothing. It wasn't my place to do anything. In my mind, there was plenty to be said initially, but not by me.
Last week, I got a Facebook Friend Request from her. No message attached, no note, just the request.
And I got really, really angry.
Now I'm in this impossible situation. I can't just dismiss the request and I can't just accept it. Oh, it's just Facebook! Who cares! Can't I be a grown up about it?
No, I can't. No, I won't. I'm furious that I can't treat this "Friend" request as casually as she has. She is not someone from my periphery, not some kid I sang with in middle school chorus class eons ago. Someone I loved broke up with me and has decided that after 18 years, she owes me no explanation, no apology, nothing but a lame click of a button to wipe the slate clean.
But...
So, now what? Perhaps I'll send her these words and let her try and make sense out of them. Here's my click of a button, I guess. With it, I'll wipe my own slate clean.
Monday, July 23, 2012
It's messy...
Yesterday, I finally caught up with a close friend, a woman I love, respect, admire, and always wish I could spend more time with. We try to see each other for a monthly dinner, but time's gotten away from the two of us. Life always seems to get in the way of our plans.
There are very few people I like to talk with on the phone, but she's one of the few. This friend is someone I can talk shop with for hours, because she knows her stuff about teaching, and her excitement and willingness to brainstorm ideas is never-ending. Her voice is so animated over the phone that I can hear the speed with which she's wildly gesturing on the other end. She'll stand in front of her bookshelf and yell out titles of books I MUST read - the woman's a treasure trove. I am so lucky to count her in my circle.
After a solid hour of unit planning, text sharing, and getting generally fired up about the work we do, I asked about the rest of her life... and the air left the conversation. Her answer was stilted and obviously uncomfortable for her.
I knew her mother had been battling sickness for a while, but my friend confessed that it's come to the end.
"The end." The time when lawyers and doctors enter the picture, when plans are put on hold, when vacation time is reviewed, when calendars are cleared for the imminent. The eminent.
To say the relationship between my beautiful friend and her mother has been complicated is an understatement. It seems the brilliant, generous, accomplished woman I know has never been enough for her mother, and her mother has always been sure to tell her ungrateful daughter how disappointed she's been with her. That selfish girl moved away and never calls or visits or supports enough. After all her mother did for her... gave her strict discipline... a good beating when necessary. It must have been necessary.
The hard truth is that some relationships can't be mended or resolved. Sometimes we have to resolve those relationships on our own, no matter how much we'd like them to be a joint effort. My friend has been trying to do just that for years. But "the end" complicates an already complicated situation.
My heart hurts for my friend. I know that the death of her mother won't be the end of the pain, it will be a new chapter of it. It will entail not only dealing with her own complex grief, but helping others with their own, of trying to reconcile who her mother may have been to others while not being a loving mother to her at all. It will be the beginning of sifting through what is left and trying to rise above.
I don't know how a person does that. I know that she will, because my friend is exceptional, but it humbles me to know that even with support around her, she will still experience part of this mourning alone... there are personal dragons that must be slain by one.
...
Today I came home from work to find a large manilla envelope for me in the mail pile. I picked it up and immediately recognized my dad's handwriting. Opening it, I found my copy of a cover letter addressed to my brother and me, signed by both of our parents.
The letter outlined their most recent estate plan and newly executed End Care documents. I sat down and read through the documents with my hand unconsciously over my heart. What could be a more loving and heartfelt gift from our parents than to try and make their departure from this world as easy as possible for us, their children? They've made sure that every situation has been laid out and considered. They've cleaned up every possible extra mess. Oh, don't mistake me, my mourning the loss of my parents will be very, very messy. It is inconceivable to me as I write this. But it won't be messy because of anything they've overlooked or forgotten or refused to deal with. They are handling all of their business. They will simply leave us, and that is as unbearable as I think I can manage.
Our parents have offered us something that is utterly invaluable. My brother and I have been adults for many years now, and our parents have treated us as such, but ultimately we all know we are still their children. They are still taking care of us. There is a logic to what they have done.
How I wish my friend was blessed with a parent who can lead, who can be the strong figure who takes care of her child the way my parents still thoughtfully care for my brother and me.
I am so humbled by their gift.
There are very few people I like to talk with on the phone, but she's one of the few. This friend is someone I can talk shop with for hours, because she knows her stuff about teaching, and her excitement and willingness to brainstorm ideas is never-ending. Her voice is so animated over the phone that I can hear the speed with which she's wildly gesturing on the other end. She'll stand in front of her bookshelf and yell out titles of books I MUST read - the woman's a treasure trove. I am so lucky to count her in my circle.
After a solid hour of unit planning, text sharing, and getting generally fired up about the work we do, I asked about the rest of her life... and the air left the conversation. Her answer was stilted and obviously uncomfortable for her.
I knew her mother had been battling sickness for a while, but my friend confessed that it's come to the end.
"The end." The time when lawyers and doctors enter the picture, when plans are put on hold, when vacation time is reviewed, when calendars are cleared for the imminent. The eminent.
To say the relationship between my beautiful friend and her mother has been complicated is an understatement. It seems the brilliant, generous, accomplished woman I know has never been enough for her mother, and her mother has always been sure to tell her ungrateful daughter how disappointed she's been with her. That selfish girl moved away and never calls or visits or supports enough. After all her mother did for her... gave her strict discipline... a good beating when necessary. It must have been necessary.
The hard truth is that some relationships can't be mended or resolved. Sometimes we have to resolve those relationships on our own, no matter how much we'd like them to be a joint effort. My friend has been trying to do just that for years. But "the end" complicates an already complicated situation.
My heart hurts for my friend. I know that the death of her mother won't be the end of the pain, it will be a new chapter of it. It will entail not only dealing with her own complex grief, but helping others with their own, of trying to reconcile who her mother may have been to others while not being a loving mother to her at all. It will be the beginning of sifting through what is left and trying to rise above.
I don't know how a person does that. I know that she will, because my friend is exceptional, but it humbles me to know that even with support around her, she will still experience part of this mourning alone... there are personal dragons that must be slain by one.
...
Today I came home from work to find a large manilla envelope for me in the mail pile. I picked it up and immediately recognized my dad's handwriting. Opening it, I found my copy of a cover letter addressed to my brother and me, signed by both of our parents.
The letter outlined their most recent estate plan and newly executed End Care documents. I sat down and read through the documents with my hand unconsciously over my heart. What could be a more loving and heartfelt gift from our parents than to try and make their departure from this world as easy as possible for us, their children? They've made sure that every situation has been laid out and considered. They've cleaned up every possible extra mess. Oh, don't mistake me, my mourning the loss of my parents will be very, very messy. It is inconceivable to me as I write this. But it won't be messy because of anything they've overlooked or forgotten or refused to deal with. They are handling all of their business. They will simply leave us, and that is as unbearable as I think I can manage.
Our parents have offered us something that is utterly invaluable. My brother and I have been adults for many years now, and our parents have treated us as such, but ultimately we all know we are still their children. They are still taking care of us. There is a logic to what they have done.
How I wish my friend was blessed with a parent who can lead, who can be the strong figure who takes care of her child the way my parents still thoughtfully care for my brother and me.
I am so humbled by their gift.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Can you keep a secret?
Do you know Post Secret?
"PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where people mail
in their secrets anonymously on one side of a homemade postcard."
I read the Post Secret website religiously every Sunday morning. It's early-service church.
I don't really have any secrets, but I'm fascinated that other people do. Some secrets are enormous weights, others are frivolous and silly, but the amazing thing is that people share them in order to be freed of them. Secrets are too big of a weight for me. I'm unable to carry my own. I can hold other people's with no problem, but my own? Forget it.
When I was 15, my parents were gone for a night and I took the car out. I couldn't stand the guilt. They never would have known, but I told my mom 5 minutes after she walked in the door. (Hey, Dad.)
A secret I carry now? Well, I like when a fly lands on me and walks around. Come on, it tickles! If I'm alone, I just let the fly be, because he's performing a tickling service and somehow it makes me feel interesting. Hey, this fly is checking me out. Now, if I'm with company, I will let the fly stick around as long as possible until the normal person will draw attention it. Maybe it's a glance, maybe it's a wave of her hand, maybe there's even a statement, "There's a fly on your leg." At this point, I will act utterly disgusted. "Ew, gross!" I will exclaim. "Get out of here, you, you disease-carrier! Whew, thanks for saving my life there. I can't believe I didn't even notice that Diptera: Muscidae."
(For your information, I'm up on the roof terrace, and a fly is futzing around on my arm as I type! Fantastic.)
...
Not long ago, I admitted another secret. I told my husband THE CHEF that I like to mix Bisquick and milk in a small bowl, pop it in the microwave, and then eat it. I undercook it too, so that it's this disgusting glop, nothing even close to resembling a pancake or a biscuit. It's just nasty goo that is my shameful culinary delight. I pour syrup over it and eat it with a spoon. Until this moment, Mike was the only person I shared this with, and it took 8 years to do that. It's obviously not something I'm proud of.
The comedian Jim Gaffigan has this whole riff about our dirty, shameful pleasures in his recent special "Mr. Universe" (Which I LOVE and downloaded on my computer and have watched over 3 times and you should too, but don't let anyone tell you what to do because you're your own person, darn it!)
"PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where people mail
in their secrets anonymously on one side of a homemade postcard."
I read the Post Secret website religiously every Sunday morning. It's early-service church.
I don't really have any secrets, but I'm fascinated that other people do. Some secrets are enormous weights, others are frivolous and silly, but the amazing thing is that people share them in order to be freed of them. Secrets are too big of a weight for me. I'm unable to carry my own. I can hold other people's with no problem, but my own? Forget it.
When I was 15, my parents were gone for a night and I took the car out. I couldn't stand the guilt. They never would have known, but I told my mom 5 minutes after she walked in the door. (Hey, Dad.)
A secret I carry now? Well, I like when a fly lands on me and walks around. Come on, it tickles! If I'm alone, I just let the fly be, because he's performing a tickling service and somehow it makes me feel interesting. Hey, this fly is checking me out. Now, if I'm with company, I will let the fly stick around as long as possible until the normal person will draw attention it. Maybe it's a glance, maybe it's a wave of her hand, maybe there's even a statement, "There's a fly on your leg." At this point, I will act utterly disgusted. "Ew, gross!" I will exclaim. "Get out of here, you, you disease-carrier! Whew, thanks for saving my life there. I can't believe I didn't even notice that Diptera: Muscidae."
(For your information, I'm up on the roof terrace, and a fly is futzing around on my arm as I type! Fantastic.)
...
Not long ago, I admitted another secret. I told my husband THE CHEF that I like to mix Bisquick and milk in a small bowl, pop it in the microwave, and then eat it. I undercook it too, so that it's this disgusting glop, nothing even close to resembling a pancake or a biscuit. It's just nasty goo that is my shameful culinary delight. I pour syrup over it and eat it with a spoon. Until this moment, Mike was the only person I shared this with, and it took 8 years to do that. It's obviously not something I'm proud of.
He makes the point that we all have our personal "McDonald's" - our McDonald's of the soul - "momentary pleasure followed by incredible guilt eventually leading to cancer." This is a great relief to me. Do you know what your McDonald's is?
My not-so-big secret - my ultimate McDonald's - is Bravo TV's Real Housewives franchise. It is filthy and pathetic, and I can't get enough of it. It's my pornography. I'm not kidding. I hear my husband in the hallway, coming home from work, and I immediately turn off the TV, spray air freshener around the room, grab a book and get comfortable. Nothing was happening here! Oh, and he always knows. It's a ridiculous lost game. He'll say, "You don't have to turn off the television," and I'll scoff, "Pfft, there was nothing on. I was done anyway." But really, I'm always thinking of my alternate plan. Can I outlast him and watch a rerun at 11:00? Will he have gone to bed by then? My mind races until I realize I can actually read the Housewives' blogs online at BravoTV.com. I can even watch video exclusives with my headphones on. I can do it right under his nose and he'll never even know...
Who does that?!
I do.
Secret's out.
Humbling.
(Has anyone else noticed that Rosie on RHoNJ looks a little like Ralph Macchio? I love both of them.)
UPDATE: Rosie and Ralph Macchio are related! I was reading my McDonald's today in Huffington Post's Celebrity section. I'm smug and shameful at the same time.
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