Thought of the Day 08/24/2013: Intertwined Vines

Having gone into work for a 6:00am all-staff meeting, I decided to head home early for an opportunity to give my house a thorough cleaning.  This is typically a two hour process during which I clean with a determined fervor that could be compared to Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.  For the lengthy vacuuming portion I sequester Charlie to the bedroom to ease his anxiety, then let him out while I'm finishing up with the Swiffer to get the last bits of dust and dog hair, and put the rugs back down.  He switches from his primary bed in the bedroom to his secondary bed in the reading room.  I know his routine as well as he knows mine, so why I was surprised by what happened next, I really can't say.

Next to Charlie's secondary bed, a sweet potato plant I grew from a spud I bought at Wal-Mart when I first moved here sat atop a little stand.  I admit it was a poor choice of placement, but had felt obligated to keep it there as it had sent about thirty vines tightly winding themselves around a wall sconce that was above it.  Moving the sconce was too much work, so even though Charlie had knocked down the plant on three separate occasions, usually while playing with one of his many tennis balls on his bed, it remained there.  During these previous mishaps the plant had fallen on Charlie's bed, so after giving Charlie an incredulous look I sighed and picked up the mess by taking the bed outside and giving it a quick shake; on the last such occasion, I even opted to wash his bed.  

This particular plant was a great source of pride for me.  I attempted the feat simply because my Mom suggested it and I doubted it was possible.  After following her instructions, the half-cut sweet potato sat in a carnival glass candy dish with toothpicks holding it's flat end above the bottom, and I faithfully refilled (never replaced) the water whenever I noticed it was getting low.  After about two months it started looking a bit sickly and shriveled.  I was about to toss it when I looked closely and saw a tiny purple spear jutting out from it's side.  Upon closer inspection I found four more of these out-croppings, so tiny they were nearly invisible.  The rest was history; I marveled as these miniature spears grew at an alarming rate, and even speculated that if I watched them for about four hours I could witness the growth with my own eyes.  Since I'm notoriously horrendous at growing plants I was overjoyed by my plant's success.  Any visitor was marched straight into the reading room to experience my miraculous potato first-hand.  Within two weeks two of the vines had grown tall enough to need support, so I placed them around the bottom of the sconce.  I never imagined that the plant would creep up and over the sconce in such a magnificent way.  Growing this beautiful plant gave me an overwhelming feeling of awe, so despite its inauspicious disposition I left it where it was; it was a hardy plant that had survived its previous dumpings.  The potato, dangling in the air held by it's vines intertwined in the sconce, patiently awaited as I cleaned up the mess and set it back in it's flower pot.  

Something went awry on this particular day, however, and when Charlie suddenly sprang from his bed frightened by the Swiffer he also knocked the pot of soil onto the floor; something inside me snapped.  I glared with fury at the mess in my freshly cleaned house.  The rational side of my conscious broke through long enough to remind me that, since this had happened three time previous, this was actually my own fault.  I had identified this as an almost certain event yet failed to mitigate the issue by moving the plant and sconce, or Charlie's bed.  This rational thought only served to infuriate my primal Human mind; I tell you though I am abhorrently ashamed on myself, that I kicked Charlie in my anger and shoved him outside so that I could clean the mess.  Despite knowing he was outside unchained, and thus unsafe, I wrongly felt he deserved the punishment.  Didn't he know how hard I worked, and how difficult it was for me to find time to keep our home clean? Couldn't he understand my attachment to this plant? (No, he couldn't, because Charlie's a F*ing dog!)  With many such self-pitying thoughts running rampant in my brain I began to violently rip at the vines of my sweet potato, determined to resolve the underlying issue once and for all, experiencing almost physical pain at the sound of every rip.  There were so many, and so strongly wound around the sconce, that I had to tug and pull from many different directions to emancipate the plant from the wall decor.  Almost in tears I realized the symbology of what I was doing.  Even when we know we need to change the things we love, we'll wait until the last possible moment.  We'll wait until we're forced, and then pushed past our breaking point by some menial action that inspires extreme emotion(s) we take it too far and provoke the change in a way that can never be undone.  This is, of course, especially true when applied to relationships we have grown and nurtured.

Charlie's ability to smile is my constant inspiration.

I grudgingly threw my potato away, wondering if I'd bother to start a new one, swept up the dirt and let Charles back in who was anxiously waiting for me to open the door from the front porch.  He looked at me apprehensively.  I gave a heavy sigh and reached down to pet him, telling him I knew it wasn't his fault and apologizing for booting him in the ass.  After one of his epic Charlie smiles he happily bounded off towards his toy box to retrieve his favorite ball as I asked myself "Why can't everyone forgive as easily as my dog?"  

Thought of the Day 08/16/2013: Intolerance and Choice

Today while explaining to some co-workers that speech impediments significantly disturb me, especially on a visual level (lispers tend to overuse their tongues), I was labeled as intolerant.  Instantly I became sad and frustrated, do people really view me this way?  I’m woman enough to admit my faults, but I have never before considered being among them. 

Indeed, I am tolerant of all type of Humans, having no moral judgment in my heart.  Though I may superficially comment on someone’s wandering eye or absurd choice of dress, I never extend that to their fundamental ability to function as a Human.  To me all Humans despite their faults, addictions, physical oddities, masturbation habits, race, general moral deficiencies or education level, deserve a fundamental level of respect because they are here attempting to survive as a Human. We’re all in this rat race together, for better or worse, and since no one is without fault, no Human has the right to judge another. 

Now, the one thing I do have in my heart is honesty; it’s been called brutal.  I was raised never knowing if I was being told the truth; as a result, I apply a strict policy of full disclosure smothered in 100% honesty.  This it is my gift to those around me, but for some people it is a gift they never asked for or expected, and it is often misconstrued as rudeness and/or intolerance.

Since I’ve been on the self-improvement kick for the past couple of years, I thought hard about why being called intolerant upset me so much.  It can only upset me if I think it’s true, because though people perceive me in different ways, it is how I perceive myself that truly matters.  As Humans we should all be sensitive to the gaps between how others take us and how we want to be taken; but relying too heavily on the approval and opinion of others can be devastating to one’s self esteem.  We should instead focus on who we want to be and align our behaviors accordingly; some people won’t get it, because ultimately we can’t control what others think or how they interpret our behavior. Accepting this is Step #1 towards stronger self-esteem.

Anyway, I realized that I am indeed intolerant, but of only one thing.  This one thing, however, is so broad that I understand how it can be taken as general intolerance. I cannot, and will not, tolerate people who fancy themselves victims.  If someone is unhappy then they must do something to change their situation, pure and simple; I have no time to listen to their incessant gripes.  People in shitty relationships need to overcome the fear of loneness and leave, people who hate where they live need to move, people who hate their job need to quit, addicts who hate themselves due to their addictions need to get their asses to a meeting, people who hate their poverty need to find a way to conserve or make money, if Person A has an issue with Person B then they need to confront Person B instead of bitching about them to everyone else.  These are the things that I cannot tolerate; complacency over one’s own happiness.

What’s odd is that this morning I was contemplating writing about my thoughts on the choices, or lack thereof, which people make and realized that these two things are directly related.  People feel victimized when they believe that they have no choices.  To this point I will state this undeniable fact: THERE IS ALWAYS A CHOICE.  Even if someone is holding a gun to your head, there is a choice.  Now, what truly makes us feel like we have no choice is that we find the repercussions of those choices so horrible that we trick ourselves into thinking there isn’t one at all; but that is a fallacy. 

For example, I repeatedly flake on friends.  I opt to do the things I feel are critical to sustaining low stress levels, and thus, my sanity; damn the consequences.  Sometimes I feel guilty, but I attempt to mitigate that by warning friends of my flakiness.  Also, I assure them that if they clearly state the event’s importance, I will commit and keep that commitment.  This makes some of them angry and I’ve even lost friends this way, but that’s just something I have to deal with.  I do this in accordance with one of my fundamental principles: When a person makes a choice to ensure someone else’s happiness, instead of their own, they will create resentment towards them either conscious or subconscious. So, ironically, I do my loved ones the favor of keeping myself happy first and foremost, which in turn ensures that I am emotionally fit to optimize my relationships with them.

I make choices every day, doing so knowing that I will have to deal with their repercussions both positive and negative.  Especially daunting is the fact that it’s not always possible to prepare for that outcome or know whether it will be positive or negative.  In this case, I choose what I think will make me happiest at the time and the choice that is best in-line with my intrinsic principles; regardless of what I suspect will happen afterwards. Most importantly, it makes me feel powerful to know that I always have a choice, and that I’m strong enough to deal with the outcomes.

So yes, I am intolerant, but my honesty keeps me from being apologetic for this fact.  Making choices and invoking change is painful and terrifying, but it is also a requirement for growth and happiness.