Do I like it?

I dreamed I lost control of my mouth the way I do when I have three glasses of wine and it becomes so important to be understood, so important that I begin to repeat myself. I spouted and spouted the way I do when I am rosy with wine and then later returned (with my emotional hangover) to the scene of the crime, surprised to be met there by a rebuttal. The rebuttal was angry, which was fair, but what stung was that it was also cold. (Fiery anger is one thing and cold detached anger is something else entirely.) I was dismissed and devoid of explanations and ashamed of all the clumsy swirling words lying tumbled around the space, some now upside down and inside out and with their glasses askew and their sense of direction impaired by the rapid drop in temperature. It was too late to gather them back up and put them away neatly, and so I left them there like that, messy and disorganized. And I slunk away.  This dream felt very real.

*

Yesterday I taught a full day and felt more calm than I have so far in my new career. This time I slowed down enough to catch my breath and to notice the people as well as the content. The students provided (unsolicited) positive feedback at the end of the day, which also made it easier to breathe. I was more aware than I used to be that these Masters students have the same needs, essentially, that my high school students have. They want to be invited into a dialogue. They want me to share some expertise so they can take notes and feel they learned something new.  But not so much that they are overwhelmed.  They want me to give them actions they can try tomorrow and begin practicing. And mostly they want me to slow down and connect with them.  Smile at them. Listen to their stories. Laugh when they say funny things.  Got it. It’s all about slowing down the inner race enough to notice what’s happening outside my own head.  It has taken a few racy breathless attempts, but I think I’m getting it. Breathe in. Breathe out. 

*

Classified

Awhile ago someone I liked to read about said “I am afraid that I am incapable of having a relationship that is not a competition”. This was an interesting thought to consider. I think I have also felt this way. Not now, but in a different phase. Competition is inspiring when you think you stand a chance of winning. And later I have learned to be invested in the success of others, particularly loved ones. 

In an effort to walk the talk, I decided to go for counselling sessions, the first of my life not including family counselling in my childhood that revolved around my sister and did not invite any meaningful participation on my part. I have only attended one appointment, and in the first session it is typical that the counsellor does most of the talking to cover all the informed consent and limits of confidentiality jazz.  So I was not pressed much.  And still it was activating, pointing at some boxes that might warrant opening. I know exactly why I have avoided this process my entire life. I am doing it now, because I want to be brave, but I expect it to be difficult, very difficult. Avoiding counselling, in spite of my personal and professional belief in it is something like cutting my own hair at home in the bathroom mirror, like I am not worthy of a $32 trim from a professional. It’s an old struggle and I am working to change it. Finally. 

J and I have tickets to see the Violent Femmes tomorrow night and this makes me happy, pretending it’s 1996 again. They are older. I am older. Instead of going early so I can push my way up to the front, I am going early to make sure I find somewhere to sit.