Blowing in the wind

            How many times, the song asks, must a man look up before they call him a man?  I've never really understood what they were talking about until today.  They want the man to think himself less and look up to another person for permission to feel like a human again.

            Everything we do, in the eyes of some people, is watched and measured and scrutinized until we can hear the gears grinding in the mind of our tormentor.  This person could be a family member, boss, supposed friend, coworker, etc.  Either way, they are a generally selfish person and want to look good no matter how we look or feel.  Perhaps it is desperation which causes them to act this way.  Maybe they are falling and we are rising, and they want to salvage what they have by making us look bad... or perhaps they want to ride our coat-tails, or take credit for the efforts of others so their own demons will leave them alone for the day.  So, the tormentor gathers the data and finds something to complain about, and we wonder: how many days do we have to beat ourselves up over this?

            We do well at X, they complain we have not been doing Y.  Okay, we spend a whole day, at their request, doing Y.  Good, right?  No, now you aren't doing enough Z, and you aren't allowed to do X... which was a task, but is now being billed as a privilege.  My head is spinning, and believe me, when you add in the proper words for what's going on instead of letters, it doesn't make any more sense than that. 

            Who am I, and who do I work for? 

            Only I can decide the answer to this question.  I know who I am, and I am no longer a person who will work until I drop.  I cannot make myself sick, nor can I constantly apologize for having human limitations.  I have evaluated what I do and what its true worth is.  And I work for myself and those I love.  If Becca needs me, I am there.  I make money to keep her safe and well and fed, to keep me fed and healthy and sane, to give me enough gas to play frisbee and travel for the work I do and to transport Becca.  Period.  I am no longer going to pretend that I am doing this for anything other than those reasons. 

            I don't need to look up anymore, because I am seeing the tormentor eye to eye now, seeing the spade for the spade they truly are.  Take a deep breath, spade, because I'm about to knock the wind out of you, and not apologize for it.  You can have me on your team, helping you, fighting beside you, working toward a common goal and making a sizeable dent in the problem at hand.  Or, you can treat me this way, and watch me and all of my skills walk away from you.  I'm not afraid of you... or failure.  Because I've done just enough to learn that I can make it on my own. 

            How many times?  Just this one last time.

Who am I kidding?

She just sang in the concert I mention here...

            Driving home with Becca today, I was thinking about how I miss spending time with her when she’s at her Dad’s house and wondered if there was still any influence of mine on her.  She’d just gotten her report card, and though she is doing very well and is even reading above grade level much like I was at her age, some of that is genetic, and sometimes I still wonder if enough Williams is getting into this Lynch. 

            So, I turn out onto the main highway and as I go to turn on the CD player, Becca asks if, instead of listening to the radio, we could practice the songs she has to learn for her choir concert on the seventeenth of March.  I paused.  Sure, why not?  She hands me a piece of green paper with the words to four songs typed on it.  I inform her that she’s going to have to sing them to me.  One, I don’t have the notes on this piece of paper.  And two, if it’s dangerous to text while driving, it’s probably equally hazardous to try to learn the lyrics to “Boris, the Singing Bear” by reading them while driving up I55 at about sixty five miles an hour when it’s windy… you get the idea. 

            This seems logical to her, fortunately, so she begins singing about the bear, whose absence is noticed in the animal chorus during his hibernation season.  Cute, all five or so verses of it.  We try again, and slowly I learn the song by rote, the best way I know how to learn a song.  Then, she jumps to another song.  Fiddle-dee-dee, apparently, a fly married a bumblebee.  Lovely.  Also a cute song.  She keeps changing keys as she sings, and I am left wondering if the song is like that, or if it’s set in the wrong key for her and she’s trying to find a comfortable one to sing in.  I remind her we need to sing the first one again a few more times as this is the first time I’m hearing them and I don’t have it down quite yet. 

            As the long miles pass, we sing together, learning that song and another about the happiest street in the world, and how it’s never far away when you need it.  I lose the urge to switch to the CD.  I am taken back to the days of short but sort of long car trips in my childhood when my family would sing to pass the time.  Because that’s what we were; a family of singers.  A Williams learns to sing before they learn to talk, and this little girl is not shy about it.  When told to sing out, or slow down, or redo a line, she immediately does.  In fact, she even learned a song I began singing which I’ve always called “Whither Shall I Follow”, which is a round (a canon, in musical terms).  Much prettier than “Three Blind Mice”, and she was ecstatic when she could finally sing her part without my help AND against my singing the same thing at a different time… And then we got to the final song on the green missive from the music teacher. 

            It sounded familiar.  “I know a tropical island where the mango moon and banana sun shine, and on this tropical island there lives a cousin of mine.  Sometimes he lives in the water, sometimes he lives on the land…”  Wait a minute.  Go back to early science lessons for a moment.  What lives both on land and in water?  An amphibian. 

            Does anyone else hear “Caribbean Amphibian” and see Kermit singing with a couple geckos on Sesame Street in their head?  This is not a new song.  And I am singing at the top of my lungs now, in my best imitation of a Jamaican accent, and she is laughing and singing along.  We sing all four songs, especially that one, all the way home for a two hour drive.  At dinner, her first non-song words are “Mama, I love you.  Daddy didn’t know the songs like you did.  I’m glad you sang with me.  Can we sing them on the train tomorrow for Jason?” 

            Yes, world.  She may live the first twelve out of every fourteen days with someone else, but this little child is MY daughter.  Descendant of the Welsh who, legend says, drown the babies who can’t sing.  There can be no mistake.  And I have never been more proud of her.  And yes, sweet Roo, I will happily sing about a frog in a coconut tree on the green line tomorrow… if it makes you smile.  Crazier things have happened in downtown Chicago, and they’ll get over it long before I forget the look on your face as you fall asleep humming tonight. 

Trust the teacher

            As I’ve been publishing my old thoughts on learning to swim, I’ve been going through some mental processes and ended up writing to my teacher…

            I was reading through my blog material about swimming, and I wanted to share something with you.  I was talking to my friend Chris last night and I owe you an apology.  I was talking to her about the day I jumped in with my vest on.  Mind you this is the friend who had a running bet with me that she'd get her license before I learned to swim.  She won, but just recently.  I trust her opinion, and she asked me to honestly remember if I had trusted you to get me to the side of the pool when I got to the surface. 

            The answer, though I hate it, is no. 

            I didn't trust you, my own body, the vest, nothing.  I realized the main problem behind my aquaphobia is my focus.  She helped me to go over the near drowning in my mind, in a safe environment, and I recalled a similarity: incorrect focus.  See, both times when I panicked, I focused on someone else.  When I was a kid, it was "Jon can't swim!"  I wasn't thinking to get to the surface and breathe first.  I didn't try to stand up and see where he was.  I blindly flailed, and the water (my bitch, which she agrees) didn't know which way to take me because my movements were chaotic. 

            Now, you said you saw me kicking for the surface, and I believe you so that's an improvement, but my focus that time was "Becca! I can't save her!" because I felt totally out of control and I could hear her crying.  I'd had the nightmare about her and thought that meant I had to focus on her and how much she needs me to be able to swim, but that's what hurt me.  I have to focus on me.  But I realized that if I'd really trusted you to help me, I might have been able to start calming down before I got to the side of the pool.  At least I hope I would've been.  I told her over and over again that I do trust you, that you've gotten me farther than anyone else has.  She agreed to that part, and told me I had to change my focus before I could continue.  By the way, she sinks like a rock like we do.  She's one who's tried to teach me before and failed.  The main reason was that she was my size, and I could never believe that she could rescue me if I was in trouble.  I know in my heart that you would be perfectly capable of rescuing me, but some part of me won't trust anything but my nonexistent swimming skills...

            So, two requests for this summer:

            I'd like to try again, to take days off when you have them a spend the day getting me to trust you and myself in the water a lot better.  I've said it, now I have to actually do it.  And I don't want to stop until you can feel that I am relaxed because I know you're there and that nothing on earth would keep you from saving me if I needed it.  Because I know that logically, but until I know it instinctively, there will still be a block to my progress.  I have to stay in a place of fear and wait until it goes away... and this time, it can't be the wall that makes me feel safe.  She did agree that you are the perfect person to help me.  Namely because you don't scare me, and I trust you completely in everything else.  I just have to consciously work past that part of me which fears EVERYTHING once I'm under the water.  Because once I can trust you there, I will begin to trust myself.  And Becca cannot be there.  We have to find a day without her, because my mind won't let me focus on saving me if I live in terror of not being able to save her.  It's easier if she's not physically there.  Thanks for understanding and not giving up on me. 

            I am actually excited to start this again, and not just because it will mean warmer weather.  I want to do this.  Not for her.  I want to stop being afraid.  I want to enjoy the water.  I want it to relax me, not freak me out.  I want it to, maybe, possibly, be... fun?  I don't know, but I'm sick of fearing things… I now count the days until Memorial Day.  May this be one challenge of the summer that I rise above this year.  To get in shape, lower myself into the water and swim.  Finally.  

A challenge to be positive

My final post on swimming, from last summer:

            About a month ago, I was writing about the foibles of learning to swim.  And after a particularly frustrating day, my aunt and uncle were concerned with the fact that I wasn't being very positive through the process, or perhaps with much of anything.  A challenge was issued to be positive for 30 days.  It being about that long since then, I thought I would see how things have gone. 

            I'm going to start by being realistic.  I've been through a lot in the past month.  Swim lessons continued with mixed results, my schedule at work did not improve as I'd hoped it would, Becca is having a little trouble adjusting to being away at school all day, my faith groups are experiencing some transitions and a friend of mine died suddenly.  Woof.  That's a lot to stomach, and the stress catches up. 

            Now, for the positives.  You see, being positive does not just mean skating along all full of sunshine and not living in the real world.  You can try it, but it won't last long and one tends to get a bit disenfranchised.  So, what has happened to me that is good?

            I'm still here.  As in, alive, employed, and can pay my rent.  As silly as it sounds, this is never a guarantee and I am grateful for it.  Thank you Marty, Lori and Dad for these realizations.

            Despite all turmoil and crap floating around personally and socially, I still have my friends and family around me... nudging me, berating me, supporting me, driving me crazy.  And I love you all dearly even on the days I want to wring your necks.  Thank you Grant, Teri, Ginny and many others who either drive me to plot your demise or give me long distance hugs.

Through the help of said family and friends, I am coming up with a plan to improve my health.  And as of tonight getting dressed for work, the belt came out one notch: progress!  The weight is slowly coming back.  I don't feel as exhausted either, but that will take time to improve.  Thank you Robbyn and Randy for helping with nutrition and the death of caffeine. 

            That's the other thing I am gaining: patience.  Becca won't get used to missing us right away, but it will come.  Health doesn't fix itself overnight.  My boss can't change certain things until other things change for him (hell, the new desk they ordered for us last year will finally be here NEXT WEEK).  No one can pull miracles out of their ass, and part of being positive is looking at what is possible and being optimistic about what can come of it, instead of expecting the impossible and then being let down when it doesn't come.  And then work like hell toward that realistic goal.  Thank you Jason and Tom for being an example of going after what I want, or rather, what I deserve.

            That's not to say I can't have dreams, but one step at a time for now.  Get my health and personal schedule back on track.  Help Becca.  Get the half done paperwork taken care of so that hopefully by year's end I can focus on whether this job is really right for me and what I can do about it.  And for right now, eat my roast beef sandwich and take care of my facility come morning.  Take a deep breath, and be positive about the things I know I am good at. 

            And in another 30 days, see how things look then.Top of Form

Lost at sea

I remember this day like it was yesterday:

            Let me begin by saying summer colds suck... The aching and crud kept me awake until 2 pm yesterday and I usually get to sleep by 10 am.  Yeurg, not good. 

            So back to Sunday and swimming for a moment.  I wasn't making a whole lot of progress.  I showed my teacher that I could now get my face into the water without him even noticing, because it really didn't bother me much.  I did this a couple of times and then wasn't sure what to do next.  The water was really cold, and his only directive was to try to do more... more than what?  Well, more than I'd already done.  I wasn't feeling it, and was starting to not feel well, so after about an hour, we gave up and went to eat. 

            Anyway, today after having several days to wonder about my lack of progress, I had a horrible dream about Becca in the deep end, with someone trying to get her vest off.  She was scared, and calling for help.  I was fighting my way over from the shallow end, still walking through the water and telling the person to stop, telling Becca to hang on, and relax, and try to stay up until I could get there...

            And a mocking voice from nowhere told me that it didn't matter in this case how authoritative my voice was.  This time, my words had no power.  She would sink, because it was not within my power to TELL the water to hold her up.  I had to get to her, and because of where she was, I would have to swim, truly swim. 

            And I couldn't.  I was sinking, wading, watching her sink and scream for help.  I couldn't move, and it felt like the water was waiting to swallow me... and her.  I woke up screaming and scared the crap out of my cat, Bandit.  After crying for half an hour, I sent a frustrated text to my teacher and vented about feeling like a failure.  I told him about the dream, and how Dad told me once that when you are trying to save someone, panic has them trying to climb you like a tree, and you could both drown.  I'd also figured out that being in the water for me feels like the inside of a seizure: you are falling, spinning, no control over where you are going, nothing to hold you up.  There will come a point when I must trust the water to hold me up, and the last time I did that, the water said screw you and let me fall...

            He commented that to him, there's no loss of control, it's just wet and he knows he can't quit moving.  He also said I don't have to trust the water to hold me up, just move where I want in it and keep myself up.  Right.  Easy for him and everyone else to say.  The only thing that keeps me up in the pool is my legs when I stand.  I blew up, venting about how it looks so damn easy for everyone else, just floating around, zipping through the water while the damn water laughs at me and says, nah, I don't think so... no soup for you!  Sorry, Seinfeld reference.  Boy am I sorry. 

            Finally, he sends me this: Again, you talk about the water holding you or me up.  It doesn't.  I make myself go up by moving.  I push the water down.  I'm in control.  The water just sits there and takes it.  The water is my bitch.

            Cute, and I call to tell him so, as I'm finally calmed down enough to talk.  As I try to eat dinner, he reminds me that it's easy for other people because they float.  He sinks, like me.  But no one is a blank slate.  It's hard for me to forget every other teacher who has been stymied that I can't float... guys, you all unintentionally lied to me.  The water will NOT hold me up.  Actually, it was kindly pointed out to me that the water would probably love to hold me up, but just can't because I'm too dense. 

            Therein lies the problem.  I have to get beyond wanting the water to do all the work.  I wonder, oddly enough (maybe this is the lack of sleep talking) if the water is ever as frustrated as I am.  It sees me coming and thinks "aw, man, it's her again, I tried holding her up last time and it didn't work... grr, well, I'll try again, maybe it'll work this time, I can always hope"...

            Water, we need to come to an understanding.  One, I know you're not out to get me.  I do.  I just forget sometimes because you are big and scary, but I know you don't mean to be.  Two, I'm never going to float.  Much as we both hate this fact, it's true.  We need to wipe our damn noses and get over it.  Three, I don't hate you, I just don't understand you.  Someone told me things about you once that weren't true, but just as if you were a person, I want to find out the truth for myself.  Four, I can't act scared around Becca, but please forgive me if I still am...

            This is still going to take some time.  I may have to go down some days when my teacher can't be there, just to commune with the water, not an enemy, not a friend, but just an element I must learn to move through.  Hal Jordan again, through the heart of the beast... as my one friend would say, I still don't know what feels to feel. 

            It's late, or rather early, and I feel like this is rambling, but I take away from this week a few important things to remember:

            I am a shark, not a fish.  If I don't keep moving, I will sink. 

            I might always be afraid.  Meh.  That doesn't change that I have to do this anyway. 

            I used to think bowling was pointless and boring.  Now I like it.  Maybe, somehow, someday, I will splash around swimming and actually think that pushing myself through water, even underwater, might possibly somehow be... fun?

            I can hope. Top of Form