Lover gave me "The Compassion Box" for Solstice this year. It's a lovely gift, with a book by Pema Chodron about the Buddhist lojong (or "mind training") practice of working with slogans in meditation (and in life) to become increasingly awake and aware. Pema is my hero when I've struggled with depression, grief, and confusion; I love "When Things Fall Apart". The box also includes a set of lojong cards and a CD with a guided meditation.

So, in my recent struggles, I got out the cards and have been picking one every day to reflect on as I go through my day. I don't (yet) have a formal meditation practice, but I have the cards by my computer at work, where I look at them all day long.

Today's was "Don't Try to be the Fastest", and the commentary on the back says, simply, "Don't compete with others."

It's extremely apropos to my current struggle because I realize that I've been competing, at least in my own mind, with my partner's past, and it's been causing me immense pain. The phrase "Don't Try to Be the Fastest" reminds me that not only is competing with another woman for the affection of a man ridiculous, juvenile, and unfeminist, it's based entirely on my own deep sense of insecurity. That I'm OK with him, I'm OK without him, and that I'm the same as her: a feeling, thinking, struggling human being dealing with relationship and emotion, always confusing at best and horridly painful at worst. Enough of this catfight shit.

I like the idea of not struggling to get ahead, to be the best, to win the man, or to be the one and only in the perfect blissful relationship . I like the idea of just being, not thinking about the race or participating in it. I've always felt like I wasn't ambitious enough in life, I don't have a high-paying job, a McMansion, or many save-the-world credentials, but I have a nice life and wonderful people to share it with and a flexible mind to take it all in.

Who needs to be faster?

What I believe

• That everything that has come before this – in our personal lives and in the world – happened in order to prepare us for this moment.
• That we all have a shared responsibility to create a world that nurtures and supports all beings, even the people we disagree with, and even the people we don’t understand.
• That being truly open to and accepting of another person is the most difficult thing we can do.
• With the exception of being totally open to and accepting of ourselves
• That love is a daily practice and that we have the opportunity to practice it in every second, with everyone we meet.
• That all of it’s worthless if we can’t also laugh and play and be silly
• That rules were meant to be broken, or at least twisted.
• That hate, resentment, guilt and self-righteousness are the most useless of emotions, unless we can learn from them.
• That the important thing is not what mistakes we make, but what we do with the lessons.
• That it’s okay to be afraid.
• That the hardest moments of our lives are also the ones that include the most profound seeds of growth
• That no situation is a problem, just an opportunity to learn.
• That there is no such thing as perfection, only the pursuit of balance
• That we all have things to teach each other, and things to learn from each other
• That if we ever stop growing, we’ll die – or we might as well.

Were hearts just meant to be broken? Is that why we have them? So we can break open and feel the true energy of the universe - all the beauty, joy, poignancy, messiness, confusion, fear, and pain, pain, pain that exists in the world? Maybe a broken heart is the truest thing in the universe - and a joyful heart is, also. They're both sides of the same coin. Maybe diving into the pain the the only thing we can do when confronted with the pain and confusion, and maybe on the other side of that - somewhere that I have yet to find - is joy and release from all this exquisite agony. Maybe opening up to that pain - being brave enough to do that - is opening up to the universe, to God.

The confusion is so deep - the love and the hurt intertwined in such a way that I can't separate them. Is this normal? Is it because I'm supposed to learn the exquisite lesson that pain and joy and life are inseparable? Or is it because I'm too sensitive, because I can't turn away from it? Is it something I'm forced to live with, my whole life? And can I do it?

In "Doctor Zhivago", one of the lines that I loved, and wrote down (somewhere), was "For a moment, she re-discovered the purpose of her life: … to call each thing by its right name.” I remembered this when I saw "Into the Wild" recently and he quotes that line. I remember when I first read that, I felt like that was me, that was my reason, too. And maybe me role in life is to observe, to watch, to experience the nuances of human emotion. Maybe my exquisite sensitivity and tendency to absorb emotion, like a sponge, maybe it's my role to live with that, to experience it fully, let be the pain flow over me and through me, so that I someday, somehow, find the joy on the other side. Maybe pain and joy will always be my companions, no matter what. Maybe they're everybody's, but we just don't like to talk about it. Maybe my job is to talk about it.

Today, in talking about my situation, I was told that I'm too nice, that I let him get away with too much. I was always taught that, as a woman, I had to be nice to be acceptable, happy, coupled. But nice only gets you so far. Nice gets you happy smiles when your soul is breaking apart, sweet words to hide the truth, declarations of love and actions that speak the opposite. Not uncommon for the nice girls, the ones who trust what people say. The nice girl in me says I'm being too harsh, that he's only dealing with his own confusion and pain. But the dark one says I'm being played for a fool. And I'd rather believe the nice girl, but there's still that doubt, that doubt....

But in this week, I've heard such care from people I never would have expected it from. I'm so grateful for all the people who have been honest with me in my confusion, supportive, let me cry in the middle of a party, led me outside to talk, called to check on me, told me they loved me and how special I am. The people who are taking care of me in my grief. My best friends, my mom, even my hairdresser, my doctor, and my boyfriend's neighbors...they all support me in being my whole, true, self. And that's magical, and I love them all for reaching out to me, for letting me cry, and unload all my crap on them. For telling me I deserve better. Maybe that's why I'm in this situation of limbo, pain, confusion and yes, love....so I can appreciate the good things I have while letting go of the expectations of what a love relationship is supposed to be. Maybe my lesson is to accept what is, exactly as it is, and to dig deep into myself to find the unconditional goodwill that can support the one I love through all, even if it means it takes him away from me, and to find the strength to live my own life, on my own, without dependence. Maybe the interdependence will come later, when this period in our lives is over.

I just want to lie down in some field and sink into the dirt, become part of the earth, because I don't know how to be in this life at the same time that I must. Am I just too sensitive to pain and the nuances of truth? Do I need too much? Then how can I exist? How do I cope? I know there's a profound lesson here, but I'm damned if I know what to do with it. That love hurts, like Steve Perry always said? And I sit here popping anti-anxiety pills and drinking champagne to dull the pain that wakes me up at night. I don't know what to do. I've moved on so often. I'm so tired. Part of me wants to become one of them - the mercenary, the manipulative, the ones who just use others to get what they want - because that's who gets ahead in this world. Maybe it's time to turn over a new, even more cynical leaf.

On one hand, can I accept the love that I'm offered, accept his confusion, and make a life with him that has room for that? Or should I be the iron bitch and just move on, not looking back, my tears being wiped away by the wind of my passage as I go, because, dammit, I can't get everything I want? Should I relish the good things and just accept the rest, caring for him in his confusion and pain, and seeking his acknowledgment of mine without wallowing in it or allowing it to turn me into a harpy? Or should I look, yet again, for someone with an uncomplicated life, who has all the room in the world for me, and who can offer me the warmth and strong arms around me that I long for. And does that person even exist?

I don't know. I don't know.

The image above is from http://www.trafo.no/media/lineamalie/broken-heart_large.jpg

New Year's Day and my love can't be with me, is wading in the deep messiness that comes from all human relationship, navigating the road of love and pain, past and future. I miss him so badly, want so badly to call to see if he's OK, but I'm trying to be strong and let go, the way they say you need to let go of the one you love. And in the letting go, I'm catching glimpses of that soft love in the center of my being that says everything's going to be OK, no matter what. The unconditional, encompassing love-with-sadness that the Buddhists call bodhichitta. I realized with a jolt, while taking down my Christmas lights: I love this man and I just want his happiness, whatever happens. It feels like a warm glow in my chest, like the sun that's right now breaking out from behind the chilly fog of the first day of 2009.

I regret the times I've tried to control him, make him meet my expectations. Right now, at this moment, I don't care about all of that. I just want to see him happy. I still miss him, but I'm holding him in my heart. It's funny how underneath all of our struggles and pain, is this love and warmth, and if we could all just learn to sink below the pain, we'd realize how lucky we are to be here.

OK, that's enough new year's cheesiness!

Happy New year!

When the words don’t come, what do I write about? The fact that I can’t write, I guess. It’s been a hell of a ride lately. I’ve struggled mightily with my own brain, which sometimes seems like it’s trying to eat itself. But it’s telling me something, and I’m trying hard to listen while not taking it 100% seriously. That’s the thing about depression; you can’t trust what your thoughts are telling you, but your brain is the only way to interpret the world. It’s like being blind – you know that there’s a world out there that you can’t see with the organs that are designed to see it. You have to see in other ways. In depression, you have to figure out what’s going on in the world using tools other than your normal understanding. You ask friends, you read books, you try not to make any major decisions because you don’t know what’s true.

Mainly I’ve been using all my energy just trying to stay balanced in the storm of emotion, trying not to go overboard one way or the other. Trying to stay compassionate and open, flexible and forgiving. And having, honestly, pretty inconsistent luck at it.

Relationships are hard. People are complicated (including me). I’m sometimes naïve about people and what they want and need. And my brain thinks it knows how the world should be. But still, I’m trying to learn and not be reactive when things don’t go the way I think they should. It’s a lesson in acceptance, in being in the moment, in letting go of expectation, in unconditional love, and it’s a hard won lesson. Sometimes, like today, I feel like I’m getting it. And sometimes, I feel like it’s something I’ll never fully learn. That the world isn’t here to make us happy, but we can be contented and joyful no matter the circumstances, if we learn to appreciate what we have rather than mourn what we don’t. In the last month I’ve grappled with a lot of pain and confusion that are nobody’s fault but mine, and also had moments where I catch glimpses of the joy and expansiveness that can also be mine, if I so choose.

With all of this, it’s been hard to find the time to write.

Best wishes for 2009 and may all beings be at peace.