Tuesday, March 26, 2013


• In class the other day, my yoga teacher was standing nearby, and before sending us into the next posture, she looked at me and said quietly, “You’re a powerhouse.” I smiled and mouthed “Thank you.” She replied, “Don’t forget that.” Folks, do things like that. Say kind words. Give compliments. If you know me well you know that I have a testimony of compliments. If you’re thinking something nice, don’t keep it to yourself. Don't assume people already know the good things about themselves. When you give compliments, folks take that stuff and tuck it away for later. At least I do. So I guess what I mean is: say nice things to me. I shouldn’t speak for anyone else. Maybe I’m the only one who thrives on compliments and encouraging words. (And when I say “encouraging words” I don’t mean “Everything happens for a reason.” The next person who says that to me gets it in the teeth.)

• Shrink Nancy has me listening to Radical Self-Acceptance: A Buddhist Guide to Freeing Yourself from Shame by Tara Brach. I’m ashamed to say that I’m an expert in shame. Overcoming that will be some tough shit.

• I have a crush on Geoffrey Zakarian.

• More on compliments: today I was in line at Trader Joe’s and an employee came over to me and said, “By the way, you look adorable.” Please do things like that. It sticks with a person. Granted, she wasn’t wrong. I was freaking adorable today. I looked like Easter personified in my coral pencil skirt, flowery yellow shirt, kickass pumps with pilgrim buckles, and ivory cable-knit cardigan with big mismatched gold buttons.

• The church membership dude in our ward called me tonight to make sure all my info is up-to-date. At one point he said, “If you and Mark reconcile and don’t get a divorce—” I interrupted him, “Oh! We’re divorced!” They didn’t know, apparently. So he updated the records to show a marital termination.

• Thanks to a fat vet bill, I spent the last half of the day feeling a little crushed by the weight of my alone-ness. And that sent me spiraling into thoughts about what marriage meant to me. Marriage is a contract that is supposed to guarantee you a someone. In my case, the contract dissolved, and I miss that guarantee of my very own someone. It’s a guarantee that I took for granted. If you’re married, don’t do that. I am happy to be divorced, but it occurred to me today that though I’m plenty capable on my own, I’m not happy to be alone. And isn’t that just the worst, most vulnerable thing to admit? (Yes, it is.) Today I was lonely. Even though I’ve got effing amazing friends and family, I miss having a someone who is intimately entangled with my interests, such that I know they will automatically give a damn about my dog’s pain-in-the-ass teeth, because that dog is theirs too. I didn’t want anyone to solve any problem today—I can handle most anything myself—but, truth be told, I just missed having a husband. The Wasband really was good at giving. In that area, he was a good example that I recall and draw on to make me better. I’m tough, strong, independent, blah blah blah, but I miss how he took care of me. I failed in that I took that for granted . . . Yes, all those thoughts bloomed from something so routine as a vet bill. I’m learning that hurt and healing are gonna show up when I least expect ‘em. Hey—kinda like the affair that led to the divorce! What a coincidence.


Karla said...

Life. Inalterably changed.

tom lindsey said...

I had an affair with a vet-- no, wait. I was screwed by a vet who handed me a 500$ bill to fix the teeth of a blind pain in the ass miniature schnauzer.

Megan said...

Tom, my parents have a mini schnauz and he is crazy. If my mom dies before he does, that dog will decompose on her grave. No one has ever loved my mom as much as Miles loves my mom. It's kind of creepy.

And $500? Child's play! Talk to me when your vet bills get above a thousand bucks with disturbing regularity. My dog's a lemon. And I'm a moron.