I’m strolling down Lexington Avenue on a sunny Saturday morning, feeling proud of myself for having risen at seven to work out. Despite the chill, I’ve decided to walk home from the gym instead of taking the bus. As I approach 28th Street, a disheveled man wearing a raincoat splattered with stains approaches me. I feel around my pockets for change, but find none.
Trapped under scaffolding, the cool air damp from lack of sun, I make a split second decision to fly in the face of conventional Manhattan wisdom – and smile. As we pass, he leans toward me and screams “You’re fat!” right into my face.
That happened to me over 12 years ago. My ego held onto it for quite some time, basking in the misery I allowed it to create. The funny thing about being fat is that when someone reminds you of your fatness, especially in such a rudimentary fashion, it makes you want to eat. Not a lovely crudite. Or a fresh salad. But a giant, gooey, chocolate-covered ice cream sundae that slides down the throat and drowns the pain and shame in its sweet elixir.
Of course, I’ve received other suggestions:
“Just eat less.”
“Exercise more.”
“All you need to do is change your eating habits.”
Helpful advice offered by well-meaning people who have made different choices in their coping mechanisms. Sometimes I feel like screaming back,
“At least I’m not married to an alcoholic.”
“No one will ever accuse me of being the town gossip.”
“You’re homeless!”
Retaliating doesn’t solve anything, however. In fact, it perpetuates fear and anger. It would be great if my friend could admit that her husband is an alcoholic, see the devastation it wreaks on her family, and make a healthier choice. It would be awesome if another friend could realize the damage her gossiping does and recognize that she does it because it’s easier to focus on other people’s troubles than to look in the mirror. And it would be amazing if that homeless man could find a job; then he wouldn’t be homeless. Unfortunately, life is not so Dr. Phil simple.
Our ability to live in denial about any number of things that are apparent to those who know us surpasses every other creature in nature. The behaviors we use to prevent us from seeing the truth are designed to protect us from what we subconsciously believe will cause us inordinate pain. From cigarette smoking to popping Vicadin, we all have our survival mechanisms.
Many people who are fat were abused, raised by alcoholics, adopted, molested, abandoned, or otherwise traumatized. The only difference between those who are overweight and everyone else who experienced similar circumstances is that their method of coping is worn on the hips and buttocks.
Instead of drinking a six-pack every night, cruising the Internet for anonymous sex, spending thirty hours a week at the gym, or working until midnight – some of which can be carefully hidden from loved ones, and others are even accepted practice or marks of success in society – fat people eat.
Food is how I chose to deal with that which was undealable. It was how I opted, as a child, to cope with the trauma of sexual abuse. Then it became the way I dealt with any and all trauma. A habit, fraught with emotional anchors and psychological complexities, which has been as tightly wound around my being as the cellulite that covers my thighs. A habit that I have yet to eradicate, despite the level of difficulty that exists when one is fat in America.
Now, had I been born in Europe at the beginning of the 17th century, the story would be completely different. Then, being fat was symbolic of wealth, prosperity and class. If you were thin, it was assumed you were stupid, had no class and were of little value to society. With the exception of an occasional gleeful daydream, I wouldn’t want to live in that society either. Because a community that belittles any of its members is fraught with issues that go far beyond making fun of fat people.
Despite the societal vagaries, the choice to eat excessively has been mine. No one has ever hog-tied me, pardon the pun, and forced either Ben or Jerry upon me. Yet, I cannot help to feel a bit resentful that my chosen method of coping has placed me on the receiving end of myriad messages constructed to desecrate my self-esteem.
For years, gaggles of razor-thin models and actresses layered with the absence of anyone heavy ever “getting the job, the man, the glory” in the media – be it sitcom, film or news – cast a subliminal voodoo spell, hypnotizing my mind until I believed I could never have any of those things. Add to that the childhood taunts, the nightmare of dating, the bigger nightmare of clothes shopping, and the horror of shocked stares at the pool, and what little self-esteem I salvaged evaporated like a puddle on a hot summer day.
I’ve never actually gone up to someone and said, “I’m sorry if my being fat bothers you. I’m so sorry for not living up to your standard of fitness, beauty, or worth.” I didn’t have to. It was written all over me. The fear in my eyes, the false bravado, the concave posture all trumpeted: “I’m sorry I’m fat – please don’t make a scene” to anyone who, upon noticing me, responded with an averted glance or snicker.
In a perverted Pavlovian twist, I grew so accustomed to this response, that although not everyone shared that opinion, I anticipated the disdain, like Mary Antoinette waiting for the guillotine. I didn’t just anticipate it; I expected it.
Feeling sorry for who you are is a tenuous way to move through life. It made me fragile in invisible ways, noticed mostly by those who are also damaged and whose primary method of survival is to create and then manipulate negative attention onto someone else.
Yes, “society” contributed to the depth of my own brand of self loathing. But I know plenty of people who behave in ways that say they are sorry for who they are, even if they don’t have a plump rear or bat wings to show for it. The truth is that the responsibility for feeling good about who I am rests on my shoulders, not on those of actors, the amorphous “media” or society at large.
Despite the challenges of being fat, it appears that people are ending up this way in droves. I now have a family of fat people who are now demanding wider car seats, longer seat belts and fashionable clothes. Now that there are more than 60 million obese Americans, the capitalistic bottom feeders have found a way to profit from the feeding frenzy by providing designer jeans in double-digit sizes and sturdier toilets.
Some might say I’m being harsh. Manufacturers and businesses are just giving fat people what they want. Where’s my fat pride? Don’t I see that fat people now constitute a powerful economic force? Shouldn’t I be overjoyed at finally achieving some semblance of equality? Perhaps they’re right. I certainly benefit from some of the products now available.
All I know is that after living more than 30 years as an overweight person, I want the focus to be on something besides being fat. I’ve heard all of the suggestions, advice and responses. I’ve done Atkins, Weight Watchers, South Beach and the Dolly Parton Cabbage Soup diet. I exercise on a regular basis. I have a physical almost every year with a complete battery of blood work. And I’m still fat.
Recognizing and accepting the value of what I bring to my experiences and giving myself credit for accomplishments, healthy relationships and tough choices that honor me have ultimately created a stronger foundation of worth than I ever believed I could have. Now where did I put that pint of Chunky Monkey?
Tags: diet, fat, overweight, personal growth, spirituality
Tue, August 31 2010 » Thoughts » 1 Comment
I wrote this blog two years ago and thought it was time to continue the conversation.
When I saw the YouTube video “I’m Voting Republican or Democrate,” I laughed so hard I cried. On it, a young African-American woman named Glozell admits to initially siding with the Republicans because she wanted to be on a winning team. Flipping the blond hair of a shag wig over her shoulders, Glozell goes on to joke about how she’s placed all of her issues with black men squarely on Barak Obama’s shoulders, pouting, “Why you didn’t call me, Bama?”
After back peddling about how she knows it’s not fair to blame him for all the wrong done to her by black men, Glozell rants about spending over $20 on a dress at “The Rainbow” and taking care of his kids that aren’t hers, only to have him come home from a game of dominoes with sucker bites on his neck.
She goes on to make salient points about the McCains and Hillary Clinton, but in the end, it was Glozell’s “ghetto speak” that had me laughing. It wasn’t until I forwarded the video to my friend Karen, also African-American, that I began to ask myself if I had overlooked something.
Karen told me she didn’t find it funny because Glozell portrayed a stereotype to communicate her message. “It doesn’t speak to anything new or diverse about the black community,” she pointed out. “It’s affected, old and not interesting.”
When I showed it to another African-American friend, her facial expressions told me she didn’t find it funny either. Did I, as a white person, need black people to be “ghetto” in order to find them funny? The awareness about my own subconscious racism pelted me like hail, and I realized that there was little difference between me finding Glozell’s video entertaining and the millions who laughed at Al Jolson in vaudeville clubs as he sang about “Mammy.”
I had another opportunity to raise my awareness about ugly thoughts bubbling beneath the line of consciousness by watching Bravo’s reality show The Real Housewives of Atlanta. The show focuses on four African-American women and a token white female, all of whom are rich, mostly because of current or ex-husbands. The show is a total train wreck, but an interesting vehicle for raising awareness of subconscious racism. Why was I surprised when DeShawn was well spoken and extremely intelligent? Why was I not surprised when NeNe wanted to rumble with Sheree? Although loathe to admit I had these thoughts, I’m confident I am not the only one.
With an African-American man running for president, we have a perfect platform for discussing this issue, to discover the thoughts and beliefs we have regarding race in our society. The reason we’re not is because we, as white Americans, don’t want to admit racism still exists. That would mean there’s more work to do. More to become aware of. More to change. And we’re all so busy, what with jobs, families, scrapbooking, watching football. Who has the time to deal with the racism still prevalent in our country, especially that which lurks beneath the surface?
The thing is, it’s not staying beneath the surface so much anymore. Now that being “politically correct” has gone the way of the car phone, people feel more free to be open with their opinions. Like the guy riding a motorcycle with a McCain-Palin bumper sticker wearing a T-shirt that says, “N*****r please – it’s a WHITE House.” Or the vocal threats on Southern Poverty Law Center founder Morris Dees’ life by white supremacists groups for suing the Imperial Klans of America because they beat a 16-year old US citizen believing he was an “illegal sp*c.”
Many may think that Glozell’s video is hilarious. After all, “funny” is in the eye, or ear, of the beholder. However, humor can reinforce stereotypes in a way that subtly anchors them in the subconscious, making the beliefs they perpetrate an insidious thread woven into a culture that claims to have come “so far” in treating all races equally. I challenge you to grab hold of one of those threads, be courageous enough to become aware of the thoughts you have around race, and then discuss it with someone. Let me know what happens.
Tags: culture, humor, peace, racism
Thu, August 19 2010 » Insights » No Comments
Congratulations to Tampa resident Mintie Das whose manuscript for the novel Brown Girl, is at the McVeigh Agency in NYC. I worked with Mintie as both a book coach and an editor. If you know someone looking for support in writing his or her book, I’m available to help. Whether fiction or non-fiction, I can provide direction in structure, outline development, querying agents and indie publishers, and also offer guidance in evaluating self-publishing options. Call me at 813-598-1624 or e-mail backauskas@yahoo.com.
Tags: literary agent, novel, publishing, writing
Mon, August 9 2010 » Thoughts » No Comments
My friend Tiffany e-mailed asking my opinion on the upcoming “I Can Do It” conference sponsored by Hay House, a leader in the self-help and new age world. I guess I was having a moment, because this was my response:
A lot of wounded people looking for “the answer” from people who claim to have it.
In retrospect, I see my words could be construed as cynical. I have deep respect for many of the speakers on the tour – Wayne Dyer, Caroline Myss, Louise Hay. And I have friends who attend or volunteer every year religiously, asserting that the experience makes them feel so positive.
The frustration I expressed comes more from what I perceive as duplicitous language that conveys that there is an “answer.” So many people are miserable with the lives they live and will pay hundreds of dollars in the hopes that the next conference, the next book, the next audio contains the magic pill that will make it all better.
It feels as if the “spiritual self help world,” so steeped in the principles of the Law of Attraction, believes that they must resort to modern marketing and advertising tactics to notify people of their products and services while making veiled promises of “enlightenment” and discovering “inner peace.” Nobody has that power for me but me. And as long as I’m living in this body, I will be striving for new levels of awareness, not basking in the warmth from my enlightenment.
Perhaps no one wants to hear the truth – that this journey is one step after the other until the end. Maybe people wouldn’t be so excited to purchase signed copies and pay hundreds of dollars to hear people speak if the cat was out of the bag about there not being an “answer.”
What the authors and speakers at the “I Can Do It” conference provide is a potential next step. Because the next step is all there really is. And it’s a potential step because we are all wired differently. The message one receives from listening to Dr. Dyer may put someone else to sleep. ego doesn’t want to admit that.
There is value in exploring different ways to connect to Source. There are so many wonderful teachers that can offer the right piece of information at the right time. But I guess they don’t want to call it the “I’m Taking the Next Step” conference.
Tags: ego, enlightenment, louise hay, self-help, spiritual
Fri, July 30 2010 » Insights » No Comments
The past came knocking at the door this week. My girlfriend and I share a history that goes back more than four years. Over that time, we both behaved in ways that were indicative of who we believed we were, not who we really are. And occasionally, the past makes an appearance, a full array of baggage in tow, to help us move beyond some of the trust issues we have.
I don’t often feel hospitable when it shows up. Instead, I’d rather slam the door and turn up the stereo, ignoring the incessant knocking. Pretending it’s not there. Resisting its presence.
Evidently, my default is still believing that conversation about it will lead to hurt feelings and some kind of separation. I’m working on understanding that it comes up to be cleared out and that every time we’ve opened the door, our relationship has ended up stronger.
In this last go round, we revisited certain choices each of us had made that hurt the other. “Everyone talks about forgiveness,” she said. “Forgiveness is easy. It’s letting go that’s hard, and no one talks about that.”
Her words hovered like a cloud, covering me for the rest of the day. How do you forgive, yet not forget, but still let go? No matter which direction I took my thoughts, I couldn’t find an answer. It wasn’t until I stopped looking that I realized the question itself is ridiculous.
The reason “letting go” seems so hard is because we tell ourselves that if we “forget” that we’ll eventually find ourselves in the same situation, experiencing the same emotions – pain, betrayal, deceit – that we did the first time. The drive not to feel that way again is what makes it seem difficult to let go. But the whole line of thinking is faulty.
It’s impossible to experience a situation similar to the one that required your forgiveness in the same way you did in the original circumstance. It’s impossible that you are the same person. And if you are not the same, you cannot possibly experience anything in the same way.
You can believe you can. You can stay connected to the perceptions and beliefs that enabled the original experience to occur. You can listen to ego chanting in your ear that this is a repeat, that you were stupid enough to find yourself in the same place again. But the laws of physics defy this theory – nothing remains in stasis. It’s impossible. It’s merely attachment to perception and belief that makes it feel like it’s the same.
The trick is finding a way to remember the truth, to trust that you’ve changed, that you’re not the same person you were then. The entire “forgive but don’t forget” mantra is nothing but ego drivel designed to keep you locked in a past that made you miserable. To keep you swirling in the fear of being hurt again so you can’t see that it’s not even possible.
So, I’m working on remembering the truth. I am not the same person I was when these events occurred between us and neither is she. Both of us are committed to releasing the lies we’ve told ourselves that created the patterns and habits that caused so much pain. Now if we could be as committed to acknowledging where we have.
Tags: ego, insight, peace, relationships, self-growth, spiritual growth
Wed, July 21 2010 » Insights » No Comments
Yesterday morning, my girlfriend called and invited me to lunch. She supervises a cafeteria staffed by a group of people with mental health issues, teaching them how to prep, cook, wait tables, and other kitchen tasks. I was touched by her simple offer, available to me largely because I have backed off and given her the space she needs to be herself.
“What do you want to eat?” she asked.
“What are my choices?” I replied. The lunch menu included her homemade macaroni and cheese, green beans and pudding.
“But I can make you a salad,” she offered, knowing my fondness for “healthy food” as she calls it. I felt like a princess being offered the world, not merely a woman presented with a selection of greens and toppings.
When I arrived she gave me a tour, explaining the various departments within the organization that allow clients to learn skills that lead to transitional employment. As she introduced me to people – both clients and co-workers – they reacted to her with affection and respect. One of the directors made sure to tell me how much they appreciate her and everything she does.
We sat and ate and I watched as she offered gentle reminders to our waitress when she forgot the salad dressing or served the plates from the wrong direction. The food was delicious and people kept stopping by our table to tell her how “this mac and cheese is off the chain.”
I’d not had an opportunity to see her in action like this and I felt as if someone lit me like a candle from the inside. In the midst of the bustle in this busy cafeteria, our private moments of silent glances seemed more intimate. And I fell in love with her all over again.
The next morning, I wasn’t surprised to find the part of me that wants to get lost in her wide awake. Recent images flashed through my mind – her gently dabbing the sweat from my forehead, receiving my vulnerability with grace, admitting something painful.
All of the nakedness makes me want to slip under her skin, merge, let myself become her. It makes love feel painful. And it provides me with the opportunity to do things differently.
Instead of charging forward, I stepped back. I remembered all of the times I’ve felt like this and boldly moved toward her, labeling neediness as love, and how she ran. How this longing is wrapped in thorns that hides the purity of real love. It is time to trust the connection between us instead of furiously finding ways to prove it exists. It is time to trust my worth and know that it is reflected is all of my relationships. It’s time to trust me.
Tags: ego, peace, relationships, self-help, spiritual growth, spirituality
Thu, July 15 2010 » Insights » No Comments
When I was a kid, I remember a friend of my brother’s getting diagnosed with Osgood-Schlatter disease. His bones were growing too fast for his body and it caused excruciating pain in his knees. Recently, the growth I’ve experienced feels too big for my heart, like Osgood-Schlatter of the soul.
When my girlfriend called me selfish for always driving 20 miles to pick her up so we could spend time together, my default was to defend myself. I was being kind, caring, considerate. Didn’t I lend her my car on Saturdays to do her errands? Selfish? What in the world was she talking about? “You wanted me where you wanted me, Staci,” she said. “If I wanted to be there, I know how to take the bus.”
Relationships, if you allow them, plummet to the deepest depths of your being and draw out the meat of patterns and beliefs that have driven your life. In the last three months, I have seen myself in ways that make me dance with joy and others that have left me bleeding on the floor. And ego is having a ball.
The most painful to examine has been the realization that I have not transitioned as much as I believed from feeling entitled to knowing my worth. Entitlement is born of fear, the terror that I will always be in need. When I’m operating from this place, it causes me to act selfishly, although ego has learned over the years to mask it, decorating it with smiles and gifts so it appears as care or concern.
Instead of realizing my worth and trusting that we would spend time together without the need for me to act like a deranged meeting planner, I reverted to behavior that allowed me the illusion that I could “control” the situation to get what I wanted when I wanted it. I was afraid I wasn’t enough. I forgot that when it’s organic, our time together is filled with joy and laughter.
I am furious with myself. How could I have worked as hard as I have for so many years and still fallen, slipped down the rabbit hole and behaved this way? ego is furious with her. It hopes that being angry at her will absolve me from the privilege and responsibility of looking in the mirror. Of going through the process – rage, disappointment, hurt, acceptance. Forgiveness. Realizing there is nothing to forgive.
ego is loath to release another remnant of belief, lodged in the back of my throat like a pill swallowed dry, that will further my desire to know who I really am. Fortunately, I’ve been down this road before. I know that kindness will enable me to move through this with the least amount of suffering. Please let me be kind.
Tags: ego, inner peace, peace, relationships, self-help
Fri, July 2 2010 » Insights » 2 Comments
While swimming at the YMCA recently, I saw a young girl with skinny legs and platted hair teetering at the edge of the diving board. Behind her were several boys from her class anxious for their turn to jump toward the instructor, who treaded water just beyond the edge of the board.
The instructor slowly counted down, “3, 2, 1,” but she didn’t move. The small crowd encouraged her with calls of “Just jump!” and “You can do it!” She kept glancing at her mother hovering on the perimeter of the pool, cheering her on. After a few minutes, she was still at the edge and I went back to swimming.
By the time I returned to the end with the diving board, she was off the board and leaning against the wall. It was clear she hadn’t taken a turn. After the other students finished, the instructor called her back up. Despite the cheeriness of her pink cap and bright goggles, I could feel her terror. That girl’s not ready to jump, I thought to myself.
Again, she gripped the board with her toes, the instructor counted down from three several times and most of the onlookers repeated their words of encouragement. I headed toward the other end of the pool and as I completed my lap and turned around, I saw a young life guard come up behind her, lift her up and gently drop her in the water. He had no idea of the opportunity he’d stolen from her.
The “just do it” philosophy we value so highly in our society has an underbelly that we rarely acknowledge. Sometimes we’re just not ready. By “helping” her jump, the adults in charge deprived this girl of two enormous gifts – the peace that comes from acceptance of where you stand and the power unleashed from moving past a fear.
Several attempts and fifteen minutes of coaxing made it clear that this girl was not ready to jump. There was shame implied in her unreadiness. Disappointment felt by those watching. And perhaps, just maybe a bit of our enthusiasm really came from the place inside that regretted all of the times we didn’t get past our fears.
The truth is “success” is knowing yourself well enough to determine whether you’re ready to jump and then accepting where you are, knowing that when it’s time, no one will be able to keep you from jumping.
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ego loves a good game of hide-n-seek and Staci Backauskas loves nothing more than shining the light on its favorite hiding places and transforming chaos, confusion and doubt into joy, laughter and peace. Her new book ego: A Primer made it into the second round of the Next Top Spiritual Author competition. Read the sample chapter on Guilt and vote at http://www.stacib.com. Everyone who votes can receive “50 ego Tips and Reminders: How to Transform ego from an Enemy to an Ally.” Out your ego today!
Tags: choice, courage, ego, peace, power
Tue, June 22 2010 » Insights » No Comments
Snuggled under the covers at 730 on a Saturday morning, ego was already awake. My girlfriend was in the shower, but I didn’t feel like moving. You better get up and make her some coffee. But I just want to stay in bed, I argued. You know she likes taking coffee with her. Get your lazy butt up.
After a minute of debate, I tossed off the comforter and forced my feet onto the ground. I had barely started the coffee when ego chimed in again. But this time it was silent – I just felt resentful.
She kissed me good morning and when she went outside to smoke a cigarette, I sat on the edge of the bed asking myself what was going on. As usual, ego had plenty to say. When was the last time she did the dishes? Or cooked dinner? And here you are getting out of bed to make her coffee?
I thought about what I needed to do and ego offered suggestions. You could just not do the dishes. How passive-aggressive. Why don’t you make an off-handed remark like, “So what are you cooking for dinner tonight, baby?” Better, but still not honest.
I’ve come to understand that while the internal debate is still going on, it is best to remain silent. Allowing words or actions to unfold organically only comes from being in a place of peace and I’m committed to refraining from any behavior that isn’t honest. Although I’m not perfect at it, I find that making the commitment at least guarantees I’m able to do it some of the time.
I locked the door behind her and embraced the solitude. She wasn’t out of the driveway before the conversation began again. As I listened to the persuasive logic ego presented, I chose not to become engaged. Instead, I remembered that allowing someone else’s behavior to dictate how I feel is not necessary.
Two memories popped into my head. First, her cleaning the grill after I’d cooked steaks. Second, her taking out the garbage. Both happened last week without me asking. Without any input from me at all. The difference between then and now is that in the days since she’d been at her place, I’d somehow morphed into June Cleaver 2.0.
It appeared like I was taking care of me. I’d met all my deadlines and kept my appointments. I was taking time to journal and meditate every day. I finally joined the Y after months of praying for the motivation to exercise. But if I looked closely, under the surface, June was humming along – a feather duster in one hand and a bottle of Dr. Pepper in the other.
I was pouring before she asked. Doing dishes out of some ridiculous belief that not doing them would cause her not to love me. Making the bed out of fear that if I didn’t, she’d judge me a slob. As I silently prepared my approach to a discussion, it occurred to me that sometimes the best form of communication doesn’t require words, merely gently changing behavior.
So there will be no conversation. I haven’t made the bed or done the dishes. Not because I wanted to prove a point, but because writing was more important to me. And for the rest of the day, I will be a loving and kind partner who is aligned with Source. Who does what makes her feel good without projecting a reaction. Who allows the woman she loves the space to ask for what she needs instead of anticipating, instead of wearing the mask of “helpful” that shines with a permanent smile disguising the fear hidden behind it. Good-bye June 2.0.
*******
I’m in the second round of the Next Top Spiritual Author competition with my book ego: A Primer and I’d love your vote! Read the proposal and sample chapter at www.stacib.com and vote and I’ll send you 50 ego Tips and Reminders: How to Transform ego from an Enemy to an Ally.
Tags: acim, ego, peace, relationships, spirituality
Sat, June 12 2010 » Insights » 1 Comment
I cried when I burned the turkey bacon this morning. Not because the acrid smell was awful. Or because I was hungry. Or even because they were the last three pieces. But because it is one more bit of evidence that nearly everything in my life is different.
After months of trying to hold onto a house I didn’t really want, I have learned the intricacies of short sales and how to hold a successful moving sale. I have sorted, donated, packed and tossed for months. The closing is scheduled and most of what I own is in storage, except for what is packed in the back of my Pathfinder.
I wanted to save some money and wasn’t sure where I want to live, so I asked the Universe for a peaceful temporary space. At the last minute, a friend called and offered to rent me her condo for a few weeks until she returned. It’s a beautiful space overlooking Tampa Bay and I have enthusiastically eaten every meal on the balcony allowing the water to soothe my jumbled mind.
I am appreciative for this opportunity and remind myself to focus on gratitude – friends who love me, delicious food to eat, reliable transportation, paying projects. Quivering beneath my appreciation, the illusion that what’s around me makes me stable and secure splinters apart. And I feel untethered, like a tomato plant being repotted, my roots clinging to the dirt of all that was once familiar.
When I burned the turkey bacon, the final root gave way. Nothing is the same. This microwave cooks things faster. The shower head faces the opposite direction. The toilet paper is now on the right. I must walk the length of a football field from the remote parking lot for guests to get “home.”
I am reminded daily how I’ve built the illusion, detail by detail, counting on turkey bacon to take exactly two and a half minutes to cook, relying on toilet paper to be within reach of my left hand. Sometimes I want to fight the truth, get rooted in a living space and tschokes. Use the people I love as anchors. Revert to old . Return to the illusion.
But I can’t. Something in me has woken up to the reality that the only home I’ll ever have is the calm and peaceful feeling in the core of my belly. And little by little, I am coming home.
Tags: anxiety, change, ego, fear, peace
Sat, May 1 2010 » Insights » 1 Comment