Monthly Archives: May 2013

Single=failure=crazy

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I am going to try to explore a tough question for which I’m not sure I have a good answer.

Recently I had tea with a fellow spiritual quester who is also single. I was talking about how powerful a step it was for me to recognize that I felt like a failure for being single and then to work to break that connection between my heart and that voice.

She asked me “how did you do that?” and then “can you please write about it?”

I don’t know that I have the answer; in fact, I’m pretty sure I don’t. But, because she is an amazing woman, I will try to at least share some thoughts.

First, I came to this realization through the work of Brene Brown. Respect duly given. In her book on shame, there is an exercise where you write down 5 things you want to be seen as (success) and 5 things you don’t want to be seen as (failure). When I wrote “single” I realized that there was a direct link that went single=failure=shame=unworthy of love. When I had the realization, it was like a thunderclap. A boom in my heart. I remember thinking, “holy crap, that’s crazy!” Cause when you say it out loud, it IS crazy.

So the question is “who is that quiet voice in the darkness that whispers this nasty little refrain?”. Where does that insidious soul-crushing message originate and how does it worm its way inside me/us?

And, maybe more importantly, how do we silence that voice. Stand up and in a loud voice and declare “you are wrong”. Or maybe say in a quiet but firm voice of certainty – you are wrong. Gently take that part of us that listens to that message and draw it away, moving away from judgement and towards love and compassion.

These are the things that have helped me.

1. I stopped watching romantic comedies. The story lines of romantic comedies are complete crap. I am not “fine without a man until I realize how much I need him”. I am not “not okay but then lose the guy because of it only to become okay and then have him realize he loves me”. And, I seriously doubt I will ever find myself chased down in an airport by someone declaring their undying love. Cause in this day and age, that would just set off security and likely end me up on the no-fly list. Romantic comedies do not make me feel good. And there is nothing funny about that.

2. I stopped listening to advice from others. I cannot even begin to tell you the advice I get from other people on how to cure my disease of singleness. Go out and be more social. Don’t be so social. Actively search by dating on-line. Stop looking. Be more open. Don’t be needy and desperate. As well-meaninged as all this advice is – and I believe it comes from people who genuinely care and want for me to be happy – it inevitably left me feeling like somehow being single was not only bad but it was completely my “fault”. Magnify that through my filter of “single is failure” and it’s no wonder it became a big jumble of everything I was doing wrong. Again, kudos to Brene Brown. Every night in my journal I write “I am enough” And, I rewrite it as many times as I need to until my heart knows it’s true. Today, I am enough exactly as am. Right now.

3. I don’t make assumptions about people’s marriages/relationships. The crappy myth of “happily ever after” espoused in romantic comedies and everywhere else in our culture is just as damaging to couplehood as to singles. Relationships are hard work. I see the commitment and time that my coupled friends put into their relationships. I have seen “perfect” long-term relationships end suddenly. I have seen unhappily married people stay in relationships for a variety of reasons. Couplehood has its ups and downs. Just like singlehood. Walking our path in life is a complex journey with all its varied relationships. And comparing myself to anyone else is a zero sum game.

4. I am mindful of the things I like about being single. There are lots of great things about being single. My schedule is pretty much my own. I get the whole bathroom to myself. I can listen to whatever music I want as loud as I want. The computer is always free. My work colleagues (both men with small kids) joke that they live their lives vicariously through me. Sometimes, when they ask what I did on the weekend I just say “whatever I wanted”. And smile.

5. I recognize my choices. There is a tendency, in the dark hours of loneliness, to feel like no one wants me. That single means unwanted. Single means rejected. In public. Even the last kid picked for team sports was still picked. A good friend of mine who is also single once said to me, “I am okay with being single. I just don’t want other people to think of me as single.” So true. And, the weird thing is that I never look at other single people and think they are unwanted. But I sure feel like that’s what people think about me. And that’s my little voice inside doing that. But, the truth is that there are opportunities and offers that I have turned down for a variety of reasons. I am not single because I am a failure. I am single because I am not currently choosing to be in a relationship. End of story.

6. Singleness is a sell job. Our consumer culture is based on the premise that we are all unhappy but that there is a product we can buy to give us that happiness. Whiter teeth, skinnier bodies, shinier hair, cleaner homes, faster cars, more stuff. If being single makes me a sad failure, there are hundreds of products out there that can fix that if I just try a little harder and spend a little more money. Aren’t I worth it? About 18 months ago, I shut off my cable. I watch very little TV and almost no advertising (although it is around me in lots of other ways). I am much a happier and I’ve saved money.

So, there we go. I’m not sure if that answers the question. It’s a hard thing to write about. Partly because I feel like writing or talking about being single is either perceived as an attack on couplehood or as me saying that I have “given up” on love and am settling in for a long and bitter spinsterhood. Neither of which is true.

What is true is that I will not accept the message that being single is a sad state of failure. Life, and relationships, are way more complicated than that. I am enough exactly as I am.

And my heart is thankful that it no longer has to listen to that crazy voice that says otherwise.

florida

York Minster

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It was a sunny but windy day when we visited York Minster, one of the largest cathedrals in Northern Europe.

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The current Gothic-style cathedral was built starting in 1230. But, you can still see the foundations of the older, Norman-style church underneath the building.  Well, unless the lower part was closed for renovations like on the day we visited. Somewhere on that west portico are some tiny little carvings of a Klingon and a Ferengi, put there by modern stonemasons in a personal touch, just as their 13th century forecarvers would have done.

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In the English Civil War the city was besieged and fell to the forces of Cromwell in 1644, but Thomas Fairfax (who was a York man) prevented much damage to the cathedral.  The organ base and casing is from 1832 although the organ mechanics are only from 1903 (only!!).

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On 9 July 1984, a fire believed to have been caused by a lightning strike destroyed the roof in the south transept, and around £2.5 million was spent on repairs. Restoration work was completed in 1988, and included new roof bosses (the bits where the beams join) to designs from children via a competition organised by BBC Television’s Blue Peter programme (a kid’s show).  This boss has some children looking into a well with a rabbit. I think it is taken from one of the beatitudes.  At least  I think that’s what our guide said. The rose window was also under restoration and the workers were making a lot of noise.

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The Five Sisters window in the north transept made of five lancets, each 16 metres (52 ft) high and glazed with grey glass, rather than narrative scenes or symbolic motifs that are usually seen in medieval stained glass windows.  Til I learned this, I thought it was just really dirty.

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A view of the south transept ceiling and my good friend and traveling companion, Cat. To avoid having to give everyone complimentary neck massages on the way out, there was a mirror placed so you could look up while looking down. Beautiful church and beautiful friend in one shot.

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Behind the high altar is the Great East Window which tells the story of Genesis and is the largest expanse of medieval stained glass in the world. Which would have been amazing to see but it’s currently undergoing a massive conservation project.  Instead, it was covered by the largest expanse of painted plastic in the world. Below the Great East Window currently sits The Orb, a stainless steel dome containing five of the conserved panels from the window, one of which is changed each month. We did get to see the Orb and thus to see some of the stained glass panels from the Great East Window up close.

A picture of before the restoration of the panel showing St. John being told by an angel to write to the seven churches of Asia.

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And the actual glass panel post-restoration. I never really realized how the glass was painted until I saw it up close.  New epoxies have allowed the glaziers to remove many of the lead lines which were holding pieces of glass together. This makes for a clearer picture.

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The Chapter House (this one built starting in 1260) is my favourite part of a Cathedral (if I’m allowed to play favourites). The Chapter House is where the priests met each morning to hear a chapter read. They are usually round, which makes for a great space and really funky acoustics. Each priest has his own chair round the outside and you can whisper and still hear all round the circle. No gossiping for the priests!! The ceilings are always amazing, as are the floor tiles. I think I’d rather hang out in the cozy Chapter House than the big drafty Cathedral!

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My trusty red walking shoes in the Chapter House.  An eight-pointed sword star and blue X marks my spot.

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Chalice Well, Glastonbury

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Last weekend I visited the Chalice Well in Glastonbury. What a beautiful, peaceful and energetically soothing place. Now, it’s true that I had just come from the Tor, where I had a paralyzing attack of “OMG, I’m going to fall to my death” so any flat space close to the ground would probably have been soothing but none of the wells I have visited in Ireland or Scotland (or elsewhere) have been so lovely.

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The cover of the well has a wrought iron vesica piscis with a lance passing through it.  An ancient symbol of interlocking circles, representing heaven and earth, spirit and matter, inside and outside, above and below, masculine and feminine, two as one.

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In the past, the well was known as the Red Spring or Blood Spring because the water that flows from it, rich with iron, leaves a red deposit on everything it touches.  As you can imagine, many legends are associated with the well. That Joseph of Arimathea buried the cup that Christ used at the last supper. Or, that the red spring is a direct expression of the lifeblood of the land.

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Water has long been considered a source of healing and a bringer of life. It stores and transmits energy and our bodies flow with water just as the earth does. The Lion’s Head drinking fountain is safe for consumption. As the water is rich in iron, only small quantities are recommended. A little goes a long way.

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I collected a litre of water to bring back to share with friends.

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The vesica pool consists of seven bowls which each inscribe a figure eight. While wells often  have feminine associations, this pool seemed especially curvy and feminine to me. And, the flow of the water caught the sunshine and danced as it flowed.

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I left my votive candle by the vesica pool for blessings of the divine feminine.

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And, while the Well is obviously a place of Christian pilgrimage, it was nice to see the pagan element. Being close to Beltaine, there was a newly danced Maypole by the vesica pool, adding some divine masculine to the garden.

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The spring flowers in the garden were in full bloom.

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And so was my spirit.

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No choice but fear

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Sometimes the Universe waits patiently while you gather your courage to face your fear. Other times it sneaks up on you and shoves you from behind.

Yesterday, C and S and I headed to Glastonbury to check out the Abbey, the Chalice Well and the Glastonbury Tor. The Tor is a big steep-sided hill, jutting up from the English countryside in a defiant juxtaposition to the gentle, rolling landscape around it.

I was looking forward to the view from the top, especially with my new camera in hand. I was even looking forward to the climb up. In the past, such a climb would have been beyond me but the last 5 years of hard work to get healthier meant that I was sure I could climb the Tor, even if I had to stop a few times along the way.

What I did not expect was the heart-stopping, limb paralyzing fear of falling that hit me like a ton of bricks when I was almost to the top.

I have never been afraid of heights so I’m not sure why I was suddenly gripped with the irrational fear that I was going to fall down the steep slope of the Tor and completely lose control of my bearings. Or, given how strong the wind was, just be blown right off into empty air.

I sometimes have claustrophobia and anxiety attacks and what was amazing to me was that this feeling and the response of my body was exactly the same. Racing heart, shortness of breath, constricted chest, a little voice in my head crescendoing “no, no, no” and that sense that everything was spinning completely out of control, no matter how hard I tried to hold it together.

I know it’s not rational, which I find really annoying. But it is still very real. And as little as I understand the why’s and how’s of it, one thing I have learned is to stop and deal with it.

Step One – acknowledge the feeling no matter how silly/stupid/ridiculous I think it is. So, I tell C and S that I’ve having problems with being up that high, and the steep slope and that I’m not sure how I am going to get back down. I am trying not to cry.

S very helpfully says, “Well, you don’t really have a choice.”

While part of me wants to smack him for pointing out that I have to do what every cell in my body is screaming I can’t do, the small rational part of my brain still left recognizes that he is, of course, right.

I have no choice. I am going to have to do this so I’d better figure out how.

Step Two – ask for help. Ever am I grateful for my true friends. The ones who bring out the best in me but who also stand steadfast beside me when I am, ahem, less than my best. Including the times when I’m a total mess. So, C ran around with my camera and took some pics since my back was glued to the building at the top. Then, she walked in front of me holding my hand while I made my way back down the path to the safety of level ground.

Step Three – be gentle with myself. I don’t know why I reacted the way I did. But one thing I do know is that beating myself up about it doesn’t help. It is love and acceptance and forgiveness and understanding that defeats fear. Not anger. Whether it is directed inward or outward. I don’t care what anyone thought of we two 40+ women holding hands as we slowly walked down the hill. Together, we did it.

I’m not sure if the time that the Universe gives us is a gift or a barrier. In this case, I was forced to walk off the edge of that steep hill of fear because I had no choice. I had to get moving forward.

I wonder how much time we waste in that place of constricted hearts, feeling like things are spinning out of control, trying to catch our breaths before we accept that have no choice but to face toward the fear and then head straight into it. Otherwise, we’re just stuck on a hill. Or, in a rut.

Perhaps the hardest thing might be that sometimes we do have a choice.

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Unstitched

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I lost my mittens on Calton Hill
Twas Beltaine night and I thought it’d be chill
But the fire burned hot so I stripped down nude
And my poor little mittens had nothing to do

Neglected and sad they wandered off
And were banished away with the cold winter’s frost
Hand-knitted and warm, a gift from a friend
Sacrificed to the Spring, cast off at the end.

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