Tag: love

Multiple Diseases of the Elderly

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

The cremation place called me this morning…maybe it’s a cremation facility…I’m not sure. Anyway, they called early this morning to let me know that they have my mom and they’re taking care of her. That seems strange because she’s dead so how much are they really taking care of her? I understand that they were telling me that her body is being handled respectfully. I do appreciate that. They also wanted to ask me if I wanted the cause of death on all the death certificates or just some, what about half and half? Of course, I ordered 7 so there you go. We’re getting 4 of one and 3 of the other. I’m not sure which way so it’ll be a surprise. 

Since I had them on the phone…and a side note here, these cremation people are really lovely. They speak softly and calmly…slowly. They are as relaxed as possible, I’m sure because they are dealing with some unstable people…like me. So, since I was talking to them, I asked what my mom’s cause of death was, because no one told me, and I didn’t think to ask. She said, “Multiple diseases of the elderly.” Multiple diseases of the elderly…what the fuck does that mean? I thought they’d say natural causes because being almost 92 is a natural cause of death. Multiple diseases of the elderly make it sound like no one really knows…she was old…elderly…so check the box that covers the most options. Like a big “I’m elderly” blanket. 

I do not agree with their cause of death. My mom did have heart failure and A-Fib. She had a damaged valve in her heart because of rheumatic fever as a child. She had Parkinson’s disease that was progressing. She had a harder time moving her legs to walk and she became so unstable that she had to use a wheelchair. Her hands were shaking worse, and eating was more difficult. She had a hard time keeping food on a spoon or a fork. I know that really frustrated her. I can only imagine. I don’t think any of those multiple diseases were the cause of her death. 

Multiple diseases of the elderly were not the cause of my mother’s death. Not eating, not drinking, and sleeping were her causes of death. Maybe loneliness because she really missed my dad. Maybe that was the heart failure…failing from sadness. The real cause of death was that she wanted to die. So, the official cause of death was a “strong will.”

Now I feel confident in saying that “strong will” is not a choice on a death certificate. That’s too bad because I think it’s one of the most common causes of death for the elderly…strong will. I think that was the same cause of death for my dad. He was ready. She was ready. My mom told me that she wanted to die, and then she’d add, “Not because of you.” I did appreciate the clarification. 

My mom felt like she had lost control over her life and that all her decisions were made for her. That really made her angry. I told her that there were 3 things she controlled: what she ate, what she drank, and whether she took medicine. She controlled those things, and no one was going to make her do anything she didn’t want to. Then I talked to the staff to make sure I wasn’t lying. It was difficult for the nurses and aides who really cared for her to let her go. They wanted to convince her to eat, just a little, or take a sip of water…but they stopped. They honored her wishes, and in that way honored her. 

I do believe my mom willed herself to die. She definitely had a strong enough will to make it happen. She shut everything down and died. Strong will is not a disease but is certainly a cause of death. What are the multiple diseases of the elderly? At first, I was thinking of the obvious…heart failure, cancer, kidney, heart, lung, or liver disease, an aneurism, dementia, a stroke, and the list could certainly go on and on. My Aunt died of COPD, my dads’ parents died young of heart problems, my mom’s mom lived until 96…96 and ½. She’s got the record for sure. Her great grandchildren called her the “energizer bunny” and said that she kept going and going. 

But what are really the multiple diseases of the elderly? A “disease” is defined as an “illness or sickness characterized by specific signs or symptoms.” Seems obvious. But what about the “dis-eases” of the elderly? “Dis” is a Latin prefix meaning, “apart, asunder, or away.” The slang “dis” means “to treat with disrespect or contempt.” “Ease” is the “absence of difficulty or effort, making something less severe, or moving carefully.” Another definition is “to free something that pains, disquiets, or burdens.” 

So…apart, away, disrespect, absence of effort, less severe, free what pains or burdens us….Hmmm. Perhaps the real dis-ease for the elderly in our society is being put away or apart, not being respected as a useful member of society or a family. Maybe it’s that we want to be free from the extra burden of caring for someone in their last years. I guess it’s not that surprising since we do glorify youth in the United States. No one wants gray hair or wrinkles, so people have cosmetic changes made to themselves in hopes of looking forever young. We treat aging as a curse, instead of a natural part of life. I’ve told my wife that I like the lines on her face because I see them as laugh lines, and how could lines from happiness be a bad thing? 

When we moved to Florida with my parents, I had a plan. The plan was that my parents would live with us until their deaths. That way they’d never need a nursing home because we would take care of them for the rest of their lives. Oh, the best laid plans of mice and men…and women. For whatever reason, my mom became adamant that she wanted to be in a nursing home. She wanted to be away from me and away from my dad. She’d tell me that I didn’t want her there and neither did my dad, although that was untrue. 

We both tried to make her happy, but we couldn’t. When her aggressive behavior was too much for me to handle and keep my dad safe, I agreed to find her a nursing home. Getting her into a nursing home was a giant cluster fuck, as I have written about in other blog posts. Once she was in the nursing home she didn’t want to be there. She didn’t want to be at home with my dad and I either…I don’t know exactly what she wanted. I think that maybe she didn’t know either. That was sad.

I know that the elderly are frequently overlooked in our country. Unlike other cultures, we don’t look to our elders for their wisdom and insights about life. We don’t ask about what life has been like for them. We don’t ask about the things they’ve learned or the experiences they’ve had. My dad could tell you about every place he ate when he was traveling. When we were driving from St. Louis to Florida it was a narration of all the places he drove and where he ate the best something. I told my wife I want to start looking for places to eat when we’re driving cross country…usually I just want to grab something and get right back in the car…but I could change, and it might be fun.

I think the multiple dis-eases of the elderly are loss, sadness, lack of control, and nothing to look forward to. The dis-ease is in watching everyone you love die. You may want to live a long life but along with that comes the loss of many people in your life. My mom said all the time that all of her friends were dead. Then she lost my dad. It’s hard to go from independence to complete dependence. My mom would tell people that I made her sell her car and that she could still drive fine. What she didn’t say was that one whole side of the car was scratched because she hit the side of the garage regularly pulling in. And she was completely blind in one eye. So, she could drive but it was dangerous for her, anyone on the road, and the garage. I understand selling the car represented a huge loss of independence for her.

It’s difficult to move somewhere knowing that you won’t move again. My wife and I talk about Florida as our last move, and we hope to stay where we are. But I’m 63 not 91. I know there’s still life ahead of me and many things I want to do. In a nursing home people only leave when they die. She felt like she was waiting to die. I would try and focus on everything she still had, a big family with grandchildren and great grandchildren, and the fact that she was very loved. I think my mom was sad and felt like I put her away, even though she’s the one who put herself away. It was hard to see her sad and angry.

We have a rapidly growing population of people over 65 in this country…I’m not, but that’s what I hear. We don’t have good answers about caring for an aging population. If you have the money, you can find a beautiful resort style place for independent or assisted living, with increasing levels of care as you need it. If you are not independently wealthy, it’s not as easy. The multiple diseases of the elderly are sadness, isolation, loneliness, loss. Those are the dis-ease’s of the elderly. Those are the causes of death in our elderly. 

I don’t know how to solve the problem except with awareness. We tried to give my mom and dad a full and happy life in Florida, some days were more successful than others. I’m not sure I was always as aware or attentive to my mom’s emotional needs as I could have been. I do know I was doing my best. The only way to discover what needs to be done is to lead with love. If I am leading with love, then I am seeing issues and people through a lens of love. When we love people what are we willing to do for them? If we love our neighbor as ourselves then what actions are we willing to take? Could we befriend a lonely neighbor or just say “hi” to someone? My mom used to love to sit on the patio and watch people walk their dogs. She was thrilled when someone stopped and talked to her. That’s all it took. Less than 5 minutes. Certainly, we all have 5 minutes to give. 

Let’s be real…Everyone wants to matter…to be seen…to be cared about. None of that changes just because you’re 70, 80, or 91. We never reach a place of not needing. We thrive in connection with others…in relationships. We are interdependent beings. We all need love, and we all have a tremendous capacity to love. Sometimes we hoard our love or reserve it for special people in our lives. But love is one of those things that the more you give it away, the more you have to give. 

So, let’s lead with love. If we use love as our guiding force, we will find the people and places that need our love the most. Let’s find them and let’s give all the love we can. We can meet people’s needs to matter and be seen by taking our focus off of ourselves and turning it towards others. We can find ways to be loving all day every day. Let’s do that. Because in the end all that matters is how we love people. Let’s love freely and generously. Our actions can ensure that love wins. Love must always win. 

I’m An Orphan…Right?

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

Can you be an orphan at 63? Well, 63 and ¾’s to be accurate. Personally, I’m not sure but my sister says that we’re orphans now. My mother died March 17th. St. Patrick’s Day. My sister and I think she did that on purpose. Now no one will ever forget the day she died and it’s a national holiday for us Irish folks. What more could you ask for…green beer and toasts to you all night…toasts lengthening with each Guinness consumed. Omg! She would be so pleased. I’m happy for her about that. We did many toasts Sunday. My favorite was, “May heaven know you’re dead a full half hour before the devil finds out.” She wouldn’t like that one for herself, but my dad was probably laughing his ass off. Hopefully I didn’t create a conflict there…I wouldn’t want them to fight on her first day in heaven.

My mother died peacefully in her sleep Sunday morning. The rehab center called to tell me. It was a call I had been expecting at any time, but I was still surprised when it came. My mother wanted to die. She was ready. In her good weeks, she told me she had a great life but that she had lived longer than she wanted to. She missed my dad. She had stopped eating and drinking. She curled up in bed and went to sleep. She stayed asleep several days before she died. My dad passed away exactly the same way. I’m sure after 70 years it was hard to be apart. 

My first phone call was to my sister. I told her and then we just stared at each other silently for a minute or two on FaceTime, and then she said, “Well we’re orphans now.” I would have been surprised by that except she had been practicing this idea on me with “We’re gonna be orphans soon” or “We’re gonna be orphans when mom dies” and “We’ll be orphans. That’s what it’s called when both of your parents are dead.” That’s what it’s called alright…kind of.

An orphan is defined as, “A child under the age of 18.” This definition made my sister super sad, so I told her I’ll adopt her, and then she won’t be an orphan. I can be her “sister mother” kind of like “sister wife” only legal…at least I think it would be legal…super creepy but legal. And I won’t make her wear a long dress and braids…well maybe braids. I’m thinking Pippi Longstocking’ish. I need some red hair dye.

When I hear the word “orphan” I think of “Little Orphan Annie” the title of which became “Annie” probably because you don’t address a child as a “little orphan” or any kind of orphan. It’s not a title. The movie “Annie” reminds me of, “It’s a hard knock life for us” and “Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you tomorrow….” And of course, Carol Burnett as Ms. Hannigan. She was some bitch.

For my sister’s sake, I also read that adults who have lost their parents can (and do) identify themselves as orphans. Merriam-Webster says, “A child whose parents have died, are unknown or have permanently abandoned them” are orphans. By that definition my mom was an orphan from a young age. Her father left my grandmother when my mom was 6, I believe. She told me that he was crazy about her and loved to take her places with him. She said that he loved her so much, but he still left, and she never saw him again. And she doesn’t know why. My mom was devastated by the loss of her dad. She had a double loss, her dad and being left with her mother, who she told us, never loved her. My grandmother’s brother, my Mom’s Uncle Mike, lived in the apartment with them. I’ve heard horror stories of how my grandma and great uncle would scare my mom and how they were mean to her. She was traumatized as a child. And I guess no one really cared. I know she felt abandoned and unloved.

It’s no surprise my mom had a lot of phobias…claustrophobia, acrophobia, and hydrophobia are the ones I remember. Not understanding why she was treated so harshly she came to believe that she was “bad” somehow and everything that happened was her fault. When children don’t understand what’s happening around them, they make up a story that solves the riddle for them. Our brains cannot manage the stress of not knowing or understanding what happened, so our brain creates a solution…even if the solution is hurtful to us…or untrue.

I was also an orphan, way before this St. Patrick’s Day. I was abandoned by my mother almost from birth. Not technically, not physically, but emotionally. My mom and I had a complicated relationship. I’m not sure exactly why.  I think many of our issues stemmed from her own childhood. They were hers but projected onto me, so what was hers became mine. Her mother favored her brother, 4 years younger than her, I believe. My mom used to say, as if she was joking, that her brother was “the sun, moon, and stars” to her mom and that “he could do no wrong.” She felt unloved and unwanted. I felt the same way. My mom and I had years that we were estranged from each other and that led to my estrangement from my dad, my sister, and all my extended family. I’m sorry for the lost years, at the time I was doing what I thought was best for me, and my own mental health. Would I do it differently now? I honestly don’t know.

I’ve used this blog to write about my mom and I will continue to write about her, probably a lot. I’m going to write about her because she was my mom. She was a very influential person in my life. The ways she loved and hated, was pleased or disappointed, what she accepted and what was just tolerated shaped who she was and who I am. Now with awareness, I want to choose my shape…I will shape who I will become…or am becoming. We are always becoming.

My mom had mental health issues. My primary caretaker had mental health issues. Issues that were never fully addressed and definitely not talked about. It was perhaps the biggest elephant in the room growing up…and there was a small herd. I’m going to free the poor elephant, actually, all the elephants. They’ve been chained up for too fucking long. I’m going to write about, and talk about, the issues in my family, with my mom, my dad, my parents (because they were different together than individually), maybe my sister, extended family…I’m gonna talk about patterns and habitual behaviors, familial and personal. I’m going to talk about the legacy of abuse, mental illness (in different forms), abandonment, grudges, withholding, and I’m going to talk about forgiveness, mental health, insight and change…I hope lots of change, for myself. I’ll leave other people to determine their own path through whatever life brings to them. Life brings a lot…a hell of a lot. 

If you’re reading this and you loved my mom, you might be offended when I talk about her…so this blog may not be for you. Remember though, I loved her too. I loved her and she was my model for motherhood and womanhood. I was sculpted out of my responses and reactions to her. In order to understand me I need to understand her. I need to develop my compassion for her. She was just a woman doing the best she could. It didn’t always feel that way. I’m sure it doesn’t always seem like I’m doing my best either. I’m gonna do my best with this. I’m gonna do my best for my wife, kids, and family. I’m gonna do my best for her and for me…so I keep moving forward.

Let’s be real…losing a parent is hard. Losing both in less than a year feels like a lot. That’s my official assessment of myself…it’s a lot. Sorting through baggage, that we’ve carried for years is hard work. The starting point is to put it down. Set the baggage down. It may feel like you can’t because it’s such a part of you and after all it’s part of a matched set. Do it anyway. Set it down and look around it. Finding a new perspective can get you started on a new path, and intentional path…a path for you and your health, both emotional and physical. I am choosing an intentional path. I am choosing my path. No one is making me do anything. I’m taking the path that leads me through all the shit I’ve been avoiding for such a long time. No more serpentining…constantly running in a zigzag line because I’m afraid of what will happen if I stop. What happens if I stop? If I stop and set down the baggage…I guess it’s time to find out.

So I’m headed on to a path of transformation. My transformation. I am way the fuck too old to be blaming my mom for anything. It’s time I take charge of my own life. My own life and my own behavior. In order to love someone, you have to know them. And to know them you have to listen, deeply. Its time for me to know, listen to, and understand myself. To give myself the same consideration I’d give a friend. And of course, it all starts with love. Love is the greatest gift we can give someone, including ourselves. I’m going to lead with love, in the world and with myself. I’m gonna try some tenderness. In the end, all that matters is how we love people, and that includes ourselves. I want love to win in my life, and in yours. Let’s be love warriors…starting now. I’ll go first….

What’s In A Name?

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

I remember when I was expecting my first baby…it was all very exciting. Everyone was asking if we had picked a name yet. Naming a human being is an interesting task…an important mission. So, we started looking at names. How do you pick a name from literally every name in the world for this little being you have not even met? No pressure there. And the possible list is a bit much. We didn’t even know if we were having a boy or a girl (more discussion on gender assigning at a later date). I suppose we weren’t picking from every name in the world. We were never big on Boris, Ivan, or Helga. Anyway, it was hard to even know where to start. I bought name books and spent days scouring them for the perfect name. 

Recently, my grandson, and his girlfriend, had a beautiful baby boy. My first question was whether the baby was healthy and the second was what’s his name? He told me they didn’t know yet. I’m way too type A to register “we don’t know yet” comfortably. How do you not know?! You’ve had nine months to decide. You only had two jobs…grow a healthy human and name him. Fifty percent completion rate is not that good…it’s a D. My great-grandson (and yes, I am way too young for that ancient title) deserves better than a D.

Of course, I did not say any of those things to my grandson or his girlfriend…those were just the musings of my mind…”musing” might be too gentle of a word…the roller coaster of my mind…the bumper car…that’s more accurate. I did ask when they were going to decide and my grandson said, “We don’t know. We’re going to get to know him a little and then decide.” When did my grandson become the Buddha or the Yoda? The simple wisdom in that answer did not escape me. Now my question was why doesn’t everyone do that? You give birth and then there’s a three-day waiting period before you can pick a name that child will have for the rest of their lives. That seems reasonable.

When I was pregnant, I spent a lot of time repeating names over and over, trying to see if I would like the name forever. We had a beautiful, healthy baby girl, and named her Jessica. It’s been almost forty years and I still love saying it…and Amy and Ben…can’t have anyone feeling left out. 

When I was born my parents wanted a boy, so the only name they picked was Kenneth, after my dad. That’s not really a pick because they didn’t have to come up with the name. For it to be a “pick” you gotta do the work. My family has a thing about names that begin with the letter K. My sister’s name is Kathy, well Kathleen. We only use the full name for dramatic effect. My parents decided on Karen for me. My two cousins are Kevin and Kelly. I’m not sure of the reason for the attachment to K…but there I was Karen Ann Morrison. 

You would need to live in a box to not have heard of all the bad press the name “Karen” has been getting. My summation is that some “Karen’s” have been complete assholes and managed to get themselves all over social media acting like the privileged fuckers they are. Now you can “be a Karen”… that’s a real thing…and it’s a really bad thing. It is bad to become a verb. WTF?!

The BBC gives this explanation. “‘Karen’ has, in recent years become a widespread meme referencing a specific type of middle-class white woman, who exhibits behaviors that stem from privilege. To give some examples, ‘Karen’ is associated with the kind of person who demands to ‘speak to the manager’ in order to belittle service industry workers, is anti-vaccination, and carries out racist micro aggressions, such as asking to touch a black person’s hair. But a predominant feature of the ‘Karen’ stereotype is that they weaponize their relative privilege against people of color – for example, when making police complaints against black people for minor or even – in numerous cases – fictitious infringements.” Now who wouldn’t want to be associated with that bullshit? Don’t be a “Karen.” But I am one. Thanks parents.

In the last two years, I’ve heard my mom say my name hundreds of times. The majority of the time she wasn’t saying it as much as screaming it…with much hostility. She used my name when she told me she hated my fucking guts. She used my name when she told me she was going to call the police, lie, and tell them I hit her. She used my name when she told me I had always been the bad seed of the family. She used my name when she told me the worst thing she ever did was move to Florida with me. I’ve heard my name a lot…too fucking much really.

My mom doesn’t actually say my name. She screams it, yells it, and spits it at me full of venom and animus. I can feel the hatred when she says it. She spews it at me as if it’s a curse she’s put on me. I have heard the name “Karen” more than I ever wanted to. I dread hearing my name now. I cringe when my mom says it because I never know what’s coming next. I have become so conditioned to the hostility in her voice that when she says it nicely, I don’t believe her.

Names are a strange thing. I’ve been thinking that parents should only be able to give a child a temporary name. You name the baby, after the three-day waiting period, and that name sticks until the child is old enough to pick their own name. What age would that be? I’m not sure. It can’t be too young. We don’t want a slew of Cinderella’s, Snow White’s, Spider-Men, or Thor’s. Someone might grow up and regret that choice…at least it was their choice. There’s power in naming something…power in naming yourself. You picked it, you own it.

I’ve read that the sound that people love to hear most is the sound of their own name. Personally, I’ve lost the enjoyment of hearing other people say my name. I used to love hearing my wife say it in her sweet Texas drawl. Family, friends, acquaintances, I don’t want to hear it at all. So, I have decided to pick my own name. I’m 63 so I should be old enough to pick a reasonable name…P!nk is tempting, but already taken.

When I was little my family called me KayKay. So, I thought maybe Kay. That might work. Then I heard my mom call me that and I understood something…I need a name my mother has never said. When I hear “Karen” I hear it from my mom, regardless of who’s speaking. It’s painful to hear it at times. The hate is all I hear now. I need a name that no one says around her, so she never hears it, so she can’t repeat it. Then I can get rid of “Karen” except with her. She’s the only voice I hear anyway. Then I will no longer be a “Karen.”

So, what do I want my name to be? One of the things about the name “Karen” is that it doesn’t mean anything to me. I wasn’t named after anyone…no best friend, favorite relative, or someone loved and admired by my parents. I’ve been pretty much the only “Karen” I’ve known. Well Karen Carpenter…I might have accepted being named after her. 

I realized that the name I pick has to mean something. It has to mean something to me. Meaning is very important to me. My tattoos were selected because of their meaning. All the jewelry I wear, and even my key chain has special meaning to me. Meaning is a big deal.

So…sticking with the “K” theme, my family seems fond of, I’ve decided on “Kai.” Why “Kai”? I’ll tell you. I like the sound of it, and I love what it means. “Kai” is a gender-neutral name that is Welch in origin and means “keeper of the keys and earth.” In Hawaiian, “Kai” means “ocean” or “sea.” In Japanese, “restoration” and “recovery” are included in the meaning. The ocean is my favorite place on earth, and I am restored when I am there. I am renewed and free in the ocean. I am not in pain in the ocean. I don’t have a disability either…I am restored. 

The Navajo say that “Kai” means “willow tree” whose spiritual properties include “protection” and “healing.” It’s also associated with “love” and “being lovable.” I think we all know love is an important theme to me…I do mention it on occasion. After a lifetime of negative messages, it took a long time to finally believe that I am lovable. Everything I talk about, everything I read about, everything I think about is focused on healing…my own, other peoples, and the worlds. “Divine is the task to ease pain.” I choose a name that means healing, lovable, and ocean. Kai. It’s perfect. It’s me in a name. Kai. It’s my name. It’s MY name. Kai Ann Raines…hmmm…I will not be using my middle name…lol.

Let’s be real…choosing a new name doesn’t necessarily solve anything. It does give me the joy of not being a “Karen” anymore. The name change moves me and creates a change of perspective…I’m not that person, I’m this person. The pain and damage caused by the misuse and weaponization of my name aren’t suddenly gone…although that would be awesome. The name change allows some space and fluidity in my thoughts and perspective. That movement allows me to see myself differently. It allows me to see myself through my-self…my own eyes…my own knowing. I see a bigger picture, not someone else’s narrow or biased view. I can be brand new, like a baby you get to know before you name him. I have gotten to know myself. I know who I am. I am a Kai, not a Karen.

Oh yeah…my great-grandson’s name is Zacary…it’s perfect just like he is. Good job mom and dad. I love that little baby. He reminds me that there is still hope and so much possibility in the world. So, I’m gonna love him the best I can. I want him to grow up feeling swaddled in love. And from that secure place he can see the possibilities and hope as well. I want him to see all he has to offer this world. I’m going to lead with love in all my interactions. I’m going to model love for him, the best I can.

Let’s love generously. Let’s be extravagant in our love…giving much and often…without conditions. Let loving actions take the place of empty words. Because in the end all that matters is how we love people. Love is a verb. That’s a verb I can get behind.

Happy New Birthday Year

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

I recently celebrated my 63rd birthday. I have been thinking for a while now that each person’s birthday should be their own personal New Years Day. Instead of some forced midnight tradition on January 1st it should be an individual occasion, shared with people of your choosing. Certainly, when we’re born that’s the original new year, new day, new moment. Every single thing is brand new. You may have a muffled recognition of some voices or sounds, like people talking under water, but everything else is new. Every thing, every person, every experience brand new…that’s exhausting. No wonder babies sleep so much. 

Seriously though, on my Happy New Birthday Year I like to think about the past year and what I’ve learned and to think about where I’m headed, what I want to learn, what I want to change, what I want to be (if I ever grow up), not so much “what” as “who” and “how” I want to be.

What did I learn? That I can’t control everything and everyone, although sometimes I really want to. I don’t know what is best for everyone in every situation, although I often think I do. Other people’s choices don’t define me or make me good or bad. Sometimes things just are how they are, and everyone is doing the best they can, even if it’s not what I want. I continue to learn about loving, forgiving, and letting go. I learned more about being honest without being mean. Sometimes the truth is painful, but it doesn’t need to be intentionally mean or hurtful. I learned that people are allowed to have their own feelings and to feel them, even if I don’t like it or am uncomfortable with it. People having feelings is not an attempt to hurt me. Turns out I really am not the center of the universe…damn it. 

Continuing on…I’m learning that I can’t force people to have relationships they don’t want or to love people just because it makes me more comfortable, and I want them to. I get to have feelings too…all of them, even if my feelings make other people uncomfortable. It’s not my job to make people feel good, although I really like to. And people make mistakes and fuck up sometimes intentionally and more often accidentally. Either way they are still good people. And I don’t think it’s so much intentionally as it is unconsciously. Most people don’t set out to intentionally cause another person pain, but we do it all the time. That doesn’t make anyone a bad person. It makes us people who lack awareness. Awareness of what we are doing, why we’re doing it, and how it may impact other people. So much of what we do is habitual, and we don’t take the time to investigate why we do what we do. Everyone wants to be happy, sometimes we look for happiness in fucked up ways.

This next year I need to continue learning all the same things, in different configurations, but the same general ideas. I need to understand and change some of my habits, for example shutting down when I experience conflict. I do not like conflict, but it happens, and I need to be present with it. I need to feel my feelings even when they scare me. I need to worry less about my own comfort and more about my ability to be honest with myself and others. I don’t like other people to be uncomfortable, but I need to be honest and then allow people to manage their own emotions. Other people’s emotions are not my responsibility, regardless of what they think, or how guilty I feel…thank you Catholicism.

I need to stop allowing other people’s needs or wants to push my needs aside. I am allowed to need. I am allowed to meet my needs. I can be a priority to myself. It isn’t selfish to take care of myself. It’s selfish to expect other people to meet my needs, especially if I haven’t voiced them. People who love me do not need to read my mind. I can be open and honest about how I feel and what I need.

Here’s something real…I have 10 tattoos. I once had someone tell me I was the last person they ever thought would have tattoos, not sure what that meant. Anyway, I love when people explain their tattoos to me…why they picked them, what they mean. Now it turns out that these tattoos of mine cover everything I’ve learned, am learning, and need to learn. I watched a movie once that talked about our bodies being primarily water. A Japanese scientist,Masaru Emoto did an experiment by taping a word on the outside of a container of water to see how that word or intention might affect the molecular structure of water. He found that positive words, like love and kindness, formed beautiful, symmetrical crystalline structures when the water was frozen. When the words were negative, like hate and anger, the molecules formed disorganized, asymmetrical molecular structures.

So, what are the messages I put on my watery body to affect my molecules? In no particular order, they are the divine feminine or ground of being, endless possibilities, wealth, fearlessness, courage, the present, a lotus, equality, and my own symbol for integrity. It turns out I’ve put permanent symbols on my body of all the things I want to learn and be. So isn’t it serendipitous that any time I need a reminder I just have to look at myself. And don’t we always need to look at ourselves? The answer is right in front of me, well in front of me, or behind me. That was clever of me, and kind of coincidental.

Now the meaning of all those messages…Prajnaparamita, the great mother or ground of being, tattooed close to my heart…my ground of being. Not a white man with a beard, as God is often depicted, but a great mother, a divine feminine energy, a spiritual grounding. The courage to be present. Fearlessness, not having no fear but moving forward regardless of fear. And I am capable of so much…there are endless possibilities for me. Integrity meaning to be intact and whole. Wealth, not just physical wealth but spiritual and relationship wealth. A lotus, because it reminds me that out of shit something beautiful can grow…it doesn’t have to, but it can. That brings me to allowing. Letting go of my desire to control everything and allowing what is to be. Not fighting reality…a frequent pastime of mine. And equality…of course equality for all people, always. We should all have equality tattoos because that should be the ground under everyone everywhere always.

Let’s be real, I need to be more courageous. I think we all need more courage. I need to be courageous enough to be present in my life and the lives of those around me. I want to live fearlessly allowing what is to be. I have two more tattoos I want to permanently be a part of me, generosity and love wins. Wealth in any area of my life means so much less if I cling to it instead of spreading it around, generously. 

Love, integrity, allowing, spiritual grounding, generosity, courage, and more love. Love should the beginning and ending of everything we do, think, and are. Now stop, rewind, pause, and repeat, repeat, repeat. For love to win it has to be on continuous repeat, forever. In the end, all that matters is how we love people. May our ability to love, growbigger and deeper each Happy New Birthday Year…because love must win…that’s what’s real.