"Where the hell is my sock? She always puts them in the same place and there is not sock here. Hey! Oh. There she is. Wow. Her ass looks great like that...."
There it is! Grab it! Not the ass. The compliment. Grab it in your head and let it fall out of your mouth before it sinks into the abyss of your head, covered with bitching about your socks. It will do you far more good being verbalized than flitting away with the thousands of other positive things that could have made your life better. And hers.
My husband and I were discussing why I was being so cold last night. Our communication skills have taken a turn for the better in the last couple of months but there is a strangeness in our relationship too. We don't know where it is safe to tread. At one point I said that I didn't feel like I heard good things about myself. He said he said plenty of nice things. Like "thank you." He always says "thank you." Which is true and I appreciate it. But it ain't the same as "I like the way you smell."
I think I am not alone when I say that I probably created a safety issue. I am sure there have plenty of times that he has tried to say something nice or grab at something and I either asked what the ulterior motive was or brushed it off. There seems to be a rash of long marrieds around me with anger issues and mistrust. Its taken me a good scare in the relationship to admit that I don't care what the motive is. I want that pleasant thought that flows from his brain to exit safely from his mouth and, frankly, I don't give a shit what the motive is. I'm really sorry that I made you feel bad for thinking something nice, even if perhaps it was a little raunchy. Raunchy is okay if you have been together for 13 years and way better than silence.
Life in a domestic situation can be so complicated, especially with kids. There are layers of needs in a partnership. We need to figure out expenses. We need to get groceries and figure out what would be good for dinner that will satisfy everyone. We need to cover childcare for work conflicts. We need time alone. We are in this life together and it can be draining. It is easy to resent each other and shut down. The compliments get buried under the five hundred other things in our head and we don't always feel safe to express ourselves.
I get plenty of compliments about my physicality in the outside world. A lot of times they are a little creepy or, at their best, they don't mean nearly as much as a good thought from the person that I spend so much time surviving in this life next to. The person who has seen me sick, pregnant, full of self loathing, bent up in unseemly positions, in a bikini with an extra twenty pounds on me and vomiting. There is not another human being on earth that "Your eyes are pretty" means more from because he knows the truth of what I can be on a very bad day when they are red and swollen.
A good thought towards another person is a gift that is wasted locked away. I think it is always worth the risk to put it forth and it is a shame that so many of us take it for granted until it becomes something that causes resentment. On the other hand, chances are that at times there was a motive attached to the compliment otherwise we may not feel that way. But so what. Take those kind words. Say them anyway. You know that they are coming from a genuine place in the thought process and if you do it often enough without a reason, maybe your partner will learn to just appreciate the gift. It's always so easy to do in the beginning without the history of life to complicate it but I think I value the kind thought from my partner even more that I know that. It is so easy to do in a new relationship but it means so much more when a person knows you so well that they could easily forget to tell you the good things.
And P.S. Yeah. It works both ways. Don't I know it!
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Leapin' Yuppies and Flyin' Sensible Shoes
He went whipping past my car going full tilt, long legs fully extended like a Kenyan Olympian in the Boston Marathon. His outfit moved easily with his body because he wasn't a suit guy. He existed in the more practical LL Bean vortex. He wasn't a fancy man. He was practical. His hair was trimmed close to his head with a side part, maybe fixed with some sort of pomade. His face was Clark Kent handsome and it said to me, the passerby in the car driving home, "I am running in public. Yes. I am."
The train was just pulling into the station, my husband Jason boarding it as I turned the corner after dropping him off at the platform. I was glad that he didn't have to run because his backpack looked heavy. The man who went by my car was less laden. He looked like he could afford smaller electronics. I reckonned he rarely got to show off his atheletic skills outside of a gym he fit into his regimented schedule.
He looked like he had a high school athlete. Maybe even college. Tall with long muscles as part of the gift of his body's natural genetic code. Somewhere along the line his life turned a more practical corner. He became a responsible commuter. He looked secure and tidy, although today something in life made him tardy. Maybe he secretly liked it because late was somewhat edgy.
A man right behind him was running full out as well but he didn't look as good at it, more like a dad chasing a rambunctious child heading for traffic. A lady crossed behind my car doing a run with a little hitch then walk fast run with a little hitch walk fast run in her somewhat sensible yet fashionable boots. A half a block down behind her another lady in a lime green Talbots vest and brown shoes was hobbling as speedily as she could without actually unbending her legs at the knees, irritation written across her face. I wanted to yell out the window, "Give it up and relax! It's futile without commitment!"
Collectively, they were off to a bad start in the morning. Something in life tripped them up from their regime and had messed with their schedule. Some of them made it but some of them failed and had to wait for the next one. They probably felt punished. But I bet the Clark Kent athlete man was saying a little "Thank you, God" as he realized that he would make the meeting or get time to stop at Dunks or whatever it was that made him not want to be late the first place. His knew his bad morning had been salvaged with his superior running ability. Perhaps he would never play sports like he had in his youth again but it was still worth something. And today he got to run in public.
The train was just pulling into the station, my husband Jason boarding it as I turned the corner after dropping him off at the platform. I was glad that he didn't have to run because his backpack looked heavy. The man who went by my car was less laden. He looked like he could afford smaller electronics. I reckonned he rarely got to show off his atheletic skills outside of a gym he fit into his regimented schedule.
He looked like he had a high school athlete. Maybe even college. Tall with long muscles as part of the gift of his body's natural genetic code. Somewhere along the line his life turned a more practical corner. He became a responsible commuter. He looked secure and tidy, although today something in life made him tardy. Maybe he secretly liked it because late was somewhat edgy.
A man right behind him was running full out as well but he didn't look as good at it, more like a dad chasing a rambunctious child heading for traffic. A lady crossed behind my car doing a run with a little hitch then walk fast run with a little hitch walk fast run in her somewhat sensible yet fashionable boots. A half a block down behind her another lady in a lime green Talbots vest and brown shoes was hobbling as speedily as she could without actually unbending her legs at the knees, irritation written across her face. I wanted to yell out the window, "Give it up and relax! It's futile without commitment!"
Collectively, they were off to a bad start in the morning. Something in life tripped them up from their regime and had messed with their schedule. Some of them made it but some of them failed and had to wait for the next one. They probably felt punished. But I bet the Clark Kent athlete man was saying a little "Thank you, God" as he realized that he would make the meeting or get time to stop at Dunks or whatever it was that made him not want to be late the first place. His knew his bad morning had been salvaged with his superior running ability. Perhaps he would never play sports like he had in his youth again but it was still worth something. And today he got to run in public.
Friday, March 2, 2012
The Lady Birds In The Locker Room
They all have old New England names like Helen and Alice and Mary and Edith. Solid. Friendly. Nothing crazy like Karen or Cathy. All of them are in their 70's and 80's. I can't figure out if they know each other from outside of the YMCA or if some of them came in as friends. Usually they are in the locker room together around noon after they get done with swimming, traipsing around in their one pieces and flip flops, catching up as they speak through the dressing areas, putting their shoes on in front of their lockers or perched in a row in their bathing suits in the sauna, like a flock of pigeons under a bridge abutment, tittering away in the heat before they take showers in their swimming duds.
Early on in my days at the Y, they used to irritate me. I would go into the sauna with my music and try to meditate but the wall of noise upon the return of the ladies from their swim was impossible to drown out. It was like trying to get peace in a chicken coop. Lately, though, I've been going through a crisis and it has forced me to mellow out a lot. I have had to also learn to appreciate my own attributes a little more, make me appreciative of what I have. Watching the Lady Birds helps cement my attempts.
I like them. And I admire them. They have a wonderful positivity. No one ever seems to be in a bad mood. You can see that they maintain peace in their lives, maybe because they value the fact that they can still go to the pool and swim while they are talking about sick friends going into nursing homes and dead husbands. And live husbands. They are long past worrying about their bodies as tools for attraction, sexuality having left the stadium. They seem to treat their marriages as old businesses with really great partners that they are friends with.
You can tell that they are very good to their friends. They don't seem to talk about themselves as much as they do about their concern about each other. How was the vacation? Where is Edith? Oh? Dementia is going to kill her husband, so sad. We have to have coffee and give her a little break. Today I heard one lady.... God bless her.....say, "85 isn't old if you are healthy. Heck, even 65 is old if you are unhealthy."And I wished I could put it on a tee shirt. Why, I thought, I am positively infantile next to them!
One of them lost her locker key. Turns out it was the wrong locker and it was still in it. She was extremely patient, waiting for the lady to return with the wrong spare locker key. After she realized her mistake, we all laughed. There was no embarrassment or irritation for the loss of time. It was funny. We all agreed that having bad eyes was such a nuisance. I thought about how I had bad eyes too but hers probably trumped mine because hers were old and bad. The ladies are probably still talking about it, teasing her joyfully.
During my crisis I lost a lot of weight. I like not wearing clothes now if I don't have to. The ladies are modest with their bodies but they don't seem to mind me walking around naked. On the contrary, I think that they would do the same if they still felt like they could, a silent "God bless you" for my frilly girl undies with nontraditional not proper lady cut, ignoring my 21st century shaving habits. I've noticed in the Y locker room that there tends to be more modesty in general than in places that I used to go to in NYC. But the ladies don't seem to judge. It's a locker room. Live and let live. They are too busy talking about their friend's sick husband and how the man at the desk always give the locker key to a person just as you sit your belongings down in front of that very space isn't that always just the way?
They make me feel young and they give me hope for being older. They exercise every day. They have an attitude and social life that I envy. Their husbands are part of their lives like their limbs, not like boyfriends. It's hard to tell if the husbands are alive or not and there is no animosity or venom I see in so many younger couples. They just are who they are as a unit. Or were. They are a singular noun. "The Joneses." Like "the house" or "the kid." Their friends are there with them now. That is whom they chose to focus on. The lack of drama permeates the room.
I want that. I look forward to paying the price of lost youth for that. The worst has happened. They aren't pretty young things trying to hold onto men or losing jobs or raising children or not meeting bills because their incomes keep fluctuating. That part is done. Now they take their aching bodies to the pool. It isn't as much fun to move any more, but everyone has that problem. There are worse ones. Like being dead. And right at that minute, the Lady Birds are in the sauna at the Y while it is winter in New England. They have talking to do. And that is that.
Early on in my days at the Y, they used to irritate me. I would go into the sauna with my music and try to meditate but the wall of noise upon the return of the ladies from their swim was impossible to drown out. It was like trying to get peace in a chicken coop. Lately, though, I've been going through a crisis and it has forced me to mellow out a lot. I have had to also learn to appreciate my own attributes a little more, make me appreciative of what I have. Watching the Lady Birds helps cement my attempts.
I like them. And I admire them. They have a wonderful positivity. No one ever seems to be in a bad mood. You can see that they maintain peace in their lives, maybe because they value the fact that they can still go to the pool and swim while they are talking about sick friends going into nursing homes and dead husbands. And live husbands. They are long past worrying about their bodies as tools for attraction, sexuality having left the stadium. They seem to treat their marriages as old businesses with really great partners that they are friends with.
You can tell that they are very good to their friends. They don't seem to talk about themselves as much as they do about their concern about each other. How was the vacation? Where is Edith? Oh? Dementia is going to kill her husband, so sad. We have to have coffee and give her a little break. Today I heard one lady.... God bless her.....say, "85 isn't old if you are healthy. Heck, even 65 is old if you are unhealthy."And I wished I could put it on a tee shirt. Why, I thought, I am positively infantile next to them!
One of them lost her locker key. Turns out it was the wrong locker and it was still in it. She was extremely patient, waiting for the lady to return with the wrong spare locker key. After she realized her mistake, we all laughed. There was no embarrassment or irritation for the loss of time. It was funny. We all agreed that having bad eyes was such a nuisance. I thought about how I had bad eyes too but hers probably trumped mine because hers were old and bad. The ladies are probably still talking about it, teasing her joyfully.
During my crisis I lost a lot of weight. I like not wearing clothes now if I don't have to. The ladies are modest with their bodies but they don't seem to mind me walking around naked. On the contrary, I think that they would do the same if they still felt like they could, a silent "God bless you" for my frilly girl undies with nontraditional not proper lady cut, ignoring my 21st century shaving habits. I've noticed in the Y locker room that there tends to be more modesty in general than in places that I used to go to in NYC. But the ladies don't seem to judge. It's a locker room. Live and let live. They are too busy talking about their friend's sick husband and how the man at the desk always give the locker key to a person just as you sit your belongings down in front of that very space isn't that always just the way?
They make me feel young and they give me hope for being older. They exercise every day. They have an attitude and social life that I envy. Their husbands are part of their lives like their limbs, not like boyfriends. It's hard to tell if the husbands are alive or not and there is no animosity or venom I see in so many younger couples. They just are who they are as a unit. Or were. They are a singular noun. "The Joneses." Like "the house" or "the kid." Their friends are there with them now. That is whom they chose to focus on. The lack of drama permeates the room.
I want that. I look forward to paying the price of lost youth for that. The worst has happened. They aren't pretty young things trying to hold onto men or losing jobs or raising children or not meeting bills because their incomes keep fluctuating. That part is done. Now they take their aching bodies to the pool. It isn't as much fun to move any more, but everyone has that problem. There are worse ones. Like being dead. And right at that minute, the Lady Birds are in the sauna at the Y while it is winter in New England. They have talking to do. And that is that.
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