Lizard Moment(s)

One evening while accompanying my husband on a photo shoot into the desert, I perched myself upon a boulder and peacefully listened to the silence surrounding me. A very slight movement caught my eye and I realized I was not alone on my rock. My hubby chuckled at the ensuing conversation with my reptilian friend. Then upon our flight home, he handed me the following poem which I only wish I'd written myself as it captures both the lizard and me perfectly!

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Unwritten Until Now

The creative muse visited recently and wanted to hop into the conversation on beginnings.

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Pause before you Punch...

... or How to Deal with Mean People

My friend and colleague, the beautiful and talented, Deb Smouse, recently asked if I had any tips on dealing with mean people. Not knowing exactly what she desired, I decided to do a little journaling around the topic to find out what I know ☺.

Bottom line, no matter how hard we try and hope it isn't so, they do exist and well... Sometimes mean people are just plain mean. They get under your skin and make you feel like you want to lash out and be mean too (or at least I do.) When I feel my blood pressure start to rise and my chest begin to pound, I realize that’s usually the time to take a deep breath and pause for a quick look in the mirror. Stop. Look. Listen. Notice and begin to imagine where their nastiness might be coming from, because most often it doesn’t have anything to do with me. I’ve also learned that without the pause, I’m at risk of feeding their fire (or ire) by turning up the heat with my less desirable Lucy-girl tactics. While momentarily this might feel good, it typically feels downright yucky and both of us walk away feeling singed. If I can avert this quick response and gather my pause, I often discover it’s the perfect time to pull out my super-secret (wish everyone knew about it) diffuser: Compassion. Whether or not the other person is willing to receive it, depends on them. In any case, through compassion I can stay grounded and with much better-feeling results than trying to match their nasty attitude.

(Warning: If you offer compassion and kindness to someone and consistently walk away feeling guilty or at fault for their bad mood, you’re probably dealing with a narcissist. My advice is to steer clear!)

Grumpsters come in all varieties and curmudgeons are my favorites. They’re usually just big old teddy bears who lay on the mild end of the “mean” scale just before hard-to-love, prickly, but ultimately approachable people and far away from sociopaths or narcissists who can rarely be won over and always leave you feeling icky. My approach with curmudgeons (and I realize I’m now giving away trade secrets) is to tame them with kindness. I like to get playful and perhaps a little sassy with these growly bears while feeding them their own direct medicine. I truly love being their pal, and rarely let them off the hook, because curmudgeons typically enjoy a good jest and are usually just trying to stir things up.

In my experience mean people are always asking for something and while it usually looks like they want you to go away, the exact opposite is often true. My kids, for example, have perfected the nasty look or growling get-away-from-me grunt. They can trigger me faster than any living person, so it’s trickier with people you’re close to, because you’re often a lot alike and/or it feels like there’s more at risk than with someone you don’t know. Once I began to understand my own insecurities and hidden motivations for being mean, it became easier to stick it out with others and turn on the loving compassion. It also taught me to slow down and consider how things aren’t always as they seem.

If pausing, looking in the mirror and calling on compassion, doesn’t do the trick for taming a mean person, then my surefire, foolproof approach to not letting this person get to me is to imagine they are about four or five years old. I see them slightly past the terrible two’s (although it can be fun to think of them at this age), but not yet jaded by a world of should’s and should not’s. By seeing an offensive person as a tender child who only wants to be loved, I’m able to drop my own defensiveness and tap into unconditional love and compassion. If four or five years old doesn’t work, I drop the age even younger until I can only see them as needing care. I can’t even begin to imagine retaliating or hurting them. I try to envision what this child might need – a kind word, a grounded presence, a hug or pat on the back. Mentally offering it to them can be equally powerful when it’s inappropriate to do it physically. In some cases they may just need to be left alone. In the case of hard-core offenders (sociopaths/narcissists), sometimes we just need to walk away and take care of our own inner child (i.e. don’t add to the abusiveness by staying in the line of fire!) It’s ok to move away gently and acknowledge for ourselves where and how it hurts. Finally, I allow myself to remember sometimes mean people are just plain mean.

Be sure to pop on over to Debra Smouse’s To Box or Not to Box for another viewpoint on dealing with those mean-spirited people in your life.

You can also visit me at Diamonds in the Soul to learn more about me.

Anyone There?

Themes of birth, awakening and mothers float through my mind. Vivid dreams invade my night and wake me like a whisper from my sleep. I roll over, turn off the alarm and sink into that space where dreamland meets dawn. The space between past, present and future cannot be delineated and my earliest memory drifts into now. I am older than one and younger than two. Standing in my crib with an earnest look on my face, I am not crying or distressed. I appear to be reaching, perhaps not with my arms, but only with my eyes. Anyone there? My eyes stretch into the room beyond the recesses of my barred bed and beckon, Anyone there?

Isn't that the question I still ask today? In times of lament, I turn to the ancient lie I tell myself. I am not important. I will always be alone. Was no one there? Sharing my 10 year old brother's room, I wonder if he resented my presence from the beginning. I recall the black eye my mother received when she bumped the door jamb during a nightly visit to me. Would she return again?

So odd, these memories. So very interesting. Anyone there is what I continue to ask today. Will you read my work? Hold my hand? Laugh at my jokes? Kiss my lips? Notice my hair? Anyone there? Are you paying attention? Do you see me? Is it possible I still carry the look of a one year old standing in her crib - reaching and searching for connection. Anyone there?

What are the questions you ask yourself or the lies you whisper when past & present merge?

photo - Paris

Shared Memories

Earlier this evening I found myself responding to a post by Sunrise Sister reflecting on her recent experiences with her 50th class reunion. While she and I grew up in the same family, we had vast gulfs in our own experiences beginning with an age difference of several years. She and I continue to be amazed as we’ve entered adulthood and ultimately friendship, how life has shaped us in similar and different ways.

It was my distinct privilege to travel with her for the event of a lifetime – the gathering of friends who spent 12 years together in school – many of them still living in the same district from which they graduated. Even though I was just a tot when they graduated from high school, they influenced me as they orbited around my sister who seemed larger than life to her baby sis.

Attending a reunion breakfast with SS one morning, I was amazed at the memories that flooded back to me. In front of me sat the gregarious twins who I’ve never seen apart from each other – they were chattering bookends with my sis in the middle as I recalled those years. They lived around the corner from us and their house still stands just as I remembered it. Speaking with them I recalled falling off my bike and scraping my knee only to confirm it was their caring mother who scooped me up and tenderly patched my bleeding wound. Her act of tenderness has never left me.

I also encountered the tall prince who I gazed up at with star-struck eyes when he came to pick up my sis for a fancy banquet (I always thought it was a dance, but learned there was no dancing allowed in the provincial school.) He smiled at me in present time and became a little teary as he remembered his own little brother, my age, who died when he was just a boy. And then there was the prom queen – a little worn with age, but recognizable nonetheless as she opened her mouth and spoke to me in Southern drawl of yet another brother, my age, who passed away just last year. For many of my sister’s classmates, I was a mascot of sorts – a reminder of their mothers who birthed children in their 30’s (almost unheard of in that day.)

One other neighbor introduced himself and we both gave our descriptions of the circular path in front of his house – to me it was a giant driveway on which to ride my bike endlessly; to him a small sidewalk nearly forgotten. Who knew all of those memories would tumble out of a woman who was barely 4 years old when they were created? The emotions these individuals evoked in me were surprising, tender and pretty remarkable.

It’s funny how I started to write this post about my own reunion that occurred on this same trip. Today, however, it feels important to honor the people who grew up a little before me. Like my sister, I cannot shake the awareness that each of these encounters both past and present has marked my life with indelible ink.

People (& things) seem pretty darn big in the eyes of a four year old. Are there those you recall who were bigger than life? The handsome prince, a gentle caregiver, the beautiful queen? Your adored sibling or parent? How do they still impact you today? If it's been awhile, I invite you to take a stroll down memory lane. The path to get there may be shorter than you think.

lucy circa 1960
the "giant" driveway - photo 2010