Monthly Archives: May 2017

The grief bone is connected to the…

25 Thursday May 2017

Posted by in Dreaming, Grief, Traditions, Transformation

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The more I process my grief, the more I realize that peeling back these layers reveals the usual suspect feelings but also opens the way for other unanticipated issues to come up that can be (have to be?) dealt with. What I have discovered so far about grief is that it has little enough to do with Kevin, except for the obvious loss of his physical presence, and everything to do with who I am and who I choose to be now.

I have recently started back on the path of how I got the way I am, trying to understand myself differently so I can refine or change some things I don’t like about myself. My post from back in January 2016 (Remembering Dad) is one I go back to time after time, thinking about how my parents’ grief over the death of my baby brother affected me then and continuing while I was growing up, and how that is a prime ingredient in the make-up of who I am so far.  And how all that might have influenced how I parented my children, who are now parenting their own children.  This is how cycles get rolling.

So why now? Well, here I am trying to figure out my future, make sense of the options I have. I am conflicted about calling myself an entrepreneur, since I don’t really have a business with products to sell. I am a trainer (underemployed at that) with services to offer.  I haven’t marketed myself much, though, so I feel sort of like a starving artist, living on principle and principal. Even though it’s been a year and a half since I left my last job, I’m still unsettled about what’s next.  And I still cry, but I am making new friends and developing a strong support network. Now I just need to find more meaning and make some money.

An alternative that could solve my financial insecurities showed up in my Inbox recently. I applied for a job back in Minnesota, one I hadn’t made up my mind I really wanted but was interested in enough to apply.  I got a first interview, and I started making up reasons why this was a good idea.  The prime factor was the salary and the stability of a regular paycheck with fringe benefits like health insurance.  A strong but secondary factor was that I would be geographically close to three of my siblings and two of my very best friends.  But my heart just couldn’t get excited about Minnesota winters, nor especially the structure of a Monday-Friday, 8-5, 50 weeks a year job, carrying out someone else’s priorities and directives.  I kept hearing in my head that saying, “If money weren’t the issue, what would you do?”  No clear answers yet, in case you’re wondering.

While I was waiting to hear about a second interview, I decided it was time to put my house in order, so to speak. Not just physically clean and well-maintained, which I would have to do if I were potentially going to list it for sale; more importantly, I wanted to mentally prepare myself for giving up the freedoms I have now. I rationalized like a champ all the positives of a move, and discounted the hassles of moving and starting over again. Suffice it to say that I want my roots to go deeper instead of broader now.  And I wanted peace of mind, whichever way the cookie crumbled.

My friend Rosanne once asked me while I was packing for a move what it was I was running from, and I told her I wasn’t running from but toward, except I didn’t know what toward either.  I still don’t know.  Or rather, I don’t know yet but I’m getting closer. Note to self: what I have been doing all along is making money, not making a life. That’s going to change.

Yeah, so that cookie crumbled, and I didn’t get the job. I didn’t even get the second interview. And I still don’t have peace of mind (although the anxiety of moving has subsided, which must be a good sign).  I’m very okay with this, because I didn’t really want to go (and my Spirit Self didn’t want to go either, I’m sure of it).  But if not this, then what??? This is my time, right? Finally? No kids to worry about, no husband to convince, not even any bills except the mortgage and monthly utilities and other living expenses.  Not the next thing, but the last thing, a legacy act.

I have often said to myself, I wonder what I’d be capable of if I just applied myself?  I have had significant achievements in my life, which I am proud of, but if I really tried, imagine that!  So I hired a coach/business start-up strategist to help me.  The first thing she had me do was fill out a questionnaire about my job history.  Which got me to thinking about how many times I have moved, how many jobs I have held, how many times I had that fresh start. Those Millenial kids have got nothing on me! I have held 12 positions in the past 40 years, always chasing more money, but eventually climbing a career ladder.  I have had 13 addresses in six cities in four states (not counting the Army).  Looking at that list laid out in black and white was an eye-opener. Having to articulate what my ideal day would look like, and define what success looked like so I’d recognize it when I hit that mark…those were tougher tasks. Trying to align all these bits and pieces into a vision and voice is going to be some work.

I know I would get along okay if I didn’t do all this thinking and analyzing and conjuring and … whatever else I am doing.  I know I would be just fine if I put away the questions and reverted to “normal,” albeit a new normal, and society would readily accept that without question. People I know would probably be relieved I have finally settled down.   I think I have done a swell job with processing the early stages of grief – the loss and doubt, the discomfort and discovery, even the understanding. But there’s more for me.  I’m seeking full integration in this new life, fuller satisfaction, and confidence in the new me.

I have started something that won’t let go of me now. In this past month’s time, I’ve turned inside out. Move over, Alice, I have to go down this rabbit hole and see what there is to see. I just know that the door marked Grief is not the only one that has opened. I’m curious about what labyrinth I will find myself walking on this journey.

 

 

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The value of things

16 Tuesday May 2017

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I made an on-the-spot decision a few weeks ago to finally deal with the rest of Kevin’s hunting, fishing, motorcycling, golf, outdoor and other guy stuff. I just decided that the day had arrived, and I went into action. That’s one thing about me; it may take a while to finally decide, but when I do, I’m all in!

His things hadn’t been in my way, since the majority of his gear was in one of three attic spaces in the house, so I didn’t have to look at it or work around it. The remainder was stored on a loft I had built in the garage after he died. The problem with enough space is that it’s easy to ignore what you are hanging onto.  As it happens, our neighborhood was having a community yard sale in a little under 2 weeks, so timing seemed right to purge.

It’s been nearly 2-1/2 years since he died. I thought it would be easy enough by now to finally get rid of his things. Unfortunately, it turns out all his stuff – even stuff I didn’t know he had – has apron strings (or in his case, bungee cords) attached to memories. Not only did I have to exert myself physically to drag boxes, tubs, and clumsy chunky things down two flights of stairs, and organize them in the garage, but I got a renewed flood of memories of our years together…and some speculation about him before us. (Some things I didn’t know he/we had, or what they were for, or why we had 3 or 4 or 8 of them!)

The good news is that I was mostly laughing through my tears. When it got too hard, I texted my brother, or called a sister. They had some of the same memories, although from a different perspective.   The motorcycle rides, the camping trips, the holidays, that reunion at the cabin at the lake.  Telling Dad what LLC stood for when we all rode into Welcome that day.  The houses and yards we had designed, refreshed, and lived in,  The discussion of how many guns or fishing rods he needed versus how many pairs of black shoes I needed. The wood carving tools and the smoker grill that were gifts from Buddy and Bo to him on Father’s Day. That day when he put on his blaze orange coveralls and drove my motorcycle home for me after it had a new belt or something put on it, in the snow and freezing cold. The walking stick he had carved, and we were glad we had with us when we came upon that rattler in Nebraska. Golfing and the M&Ms he cajoled me with (I got a handful every time I swung and DIDN’T miss hitting the ball).  The bicycle rides pulling Buddy behind us in a pet Burley. And more.

As I pulled clothes out of Rubbermaid tubs and sorted them on the couch, the dogs pulled them onto the floor or found ways to snuggle up in them and smell Daddy. When I put the cot up in the garage, the dogs immediately wanted up and then found their way straight to the foot of the cot where they napped with Daddy when we went camping. These were the harder tears.  I’m sure that they, too, were reliving memories.

Letting go is painful, and it raised all kinds of questions.  How do you put a price on a memory? What has value? What IS valuable? How much stuff do we really need???  Why have we kept what appears to be junk, or at least stuff we know we do not and will not need (like the kingpin stabilizer thing for the 5th wheel camper we sold almost 4 years ago)? How do you cleanse the profit so it doesn’t feel like blood money and you can spend it with a smile? What am I going to sell that I will want next week, or someday?  How do you reconcile the fact that it’s been 2-1/2 years and you are still crying? What is the difference between “letting go of” and “getting rid of?”

Well, the garage sale came and went. In the end, it was a good feeling to release the physical STUFF.  Then I also decided it was only fair to take some of the same medicine myself, and I have now managed to accumulate four excess boxes of my own clothes, plus one box of shoes and boots.  I called the Viet Nam Veteran’s place, and they are coming to pick it all up in a few days. They will also take the remainder of the things that did not get sold at the garage sale. I truly wish for others who need these things to be able to get them at whatever wicked-good prices the thrift store will determine.

It’s interesting how easy it was to pull my own things off the hangers.  They are all articles I know I can replace easily if I want to.  It turns out I can replace his stuff, too, if I want. I can never replace him, though, and I don’t have to. I still have him and my memories in my heart.

So, the question was about value.  I got more than I bargained for:

  • I gained appreciation again, for Kevin’s eye for quality – whicdfamilyweddingh included me, right? He chose me as surely as he chose a hunting jacket or a hammer or cot or fancy arrows. 
  • I gained miles of smiles as I remembered things I might not have thought of, things for which there are no pictures, things like 3 tackle boxes that brought him fun and peace on the river, and I had good fish to eat as often as I wanted it.
  • I gained the satisfaction of knowing that those kids that bought the decoys will have a ball carrying on the traditions he enjoyed.
  • garageI gained garage space, which isn’t there to fill up again, but the spaces in between what’s left present a clean, organized, clutter-free place that I pass through every day, now without stumbling or squeezing or stepping over. I don’t have to whine any more about all his crap!
  • I gained a newfound friendship with my neighbors, people I had seen around but hadn’t really talked to much, but who came over and spent time with me, helping get down a tree stand or organizing the tables, and buying the power washer and chain saw.

All in all, the value was way more than the dollars. Priceless, truly.

# 101

03 Wednesday May 2017

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I am trying something new today. It is Small Business Week, and the local business incubator is offering free co-working space this week. It’s an alternative to working from my office at home. Theoretically, it offers an energetic vibe and some stimulation because of the various other people present working on their own thing. Theoretically. Because except for two people in the conference room with a closed door, and one in an office with a closed door, the place is as empty as a lot of courthouses on a Friday afternoon. I’m it.

The idea is appealing, and I’ve been thinking and exploring this concept for over a month. It’s nice to have a 30-second commute at home, in jammies if desired, but there is a “real thing” aspect if you go to an office outside the home. Even though it doesn’t offer the company I expected, I have already learned a few things.

First, I brought my old laptop, because the newer one is fairly large and heavy compared to this one. I forgot my mouse, so am having to use the touchpad. Lesson 1, like packing to go on a trip, don’t skimp on what you bring along, especially if it will help you be productive.

Second, expectations don’t need to be high or low. Instead, just keep an open mind. It’s actually aesthetically pleasing here, although a bit contemporary for my taste. I read somewhere recently that creativity is sparked by trying something new – whether it’s a new place, a new view in an old place, a different route taken, a new food, etc. On the way here today, I came the back way, and it was nice and refreshing, driving through residential areas with tree-lined roads instead of taking the fast highway.

Third, it took a while for this computer to boot up. Instead of zipping right to the last-saved place, I had to log in and saw a Dashboard screen I don’t usually see unless I seek it out. Interesting factoid: I have published 100 posts; this is 101. As I scrolled through the archive, I smiled to myself to remember what this or that post was about. Likewise, I am pleased to recognize the forward progress and occasional momentum I have gained on this journey. I have changed, no doubt about it.

One hundred is a milestone of sorts. Our president has been in office 100 days, and there is a bit of news surrounding that. I recently noted I hadn’t ridden my motorcycle “even 100” miles last year. I had a garage sale last weekend, and the $100 bills I have set aside….and I took a few $5’s and $10’s to spend. One hundred degrees for summer temperature is not far off, and there is no dispute that that is HOT no matter where you are.

One hundred one is a new start, a rollover-and-reset for the counter, a next level begun. I’m there. I didn’t know it would be now; I didn’t even see it coming … didn’t set my sights on it at all. It happened. As life does. It goes on. Here I go!