My Connection with a Man on the Moon

Neil Armstrong took his last breath on Earth yesterday, some 43 years after he first walked on the moon.  I never met him.  However, I still feel like I had a connection to him, and his passing touches me. That famous lunar walk occurred just a couple days after I drew my first breath on this Earth.  I was still getting used to life outside my mother's womb when Armstrong took his first steps on the moon and uttered his famous words.  

Being an astrological moon child, I always thought it was pretty cool that man first walked on the moon around the time I was born.  Apollo 11 was on it's way there when I made my way here... or so I sometimes (with a sense of humor) like to think.  Maybe we passed each other in space.  :)  When I was younger and dreamed of being an astronaut,  Neil Armstrong was my hero.  I just always felt a connection with him for taking those steps as I was adjusting to being here on Earth. 

When my husband interviewed for a position at Purdue University, I didn't know much about Purdue.  For some reason, even though I grew up in Big Ten country, Purdue was not on my radar.  I didn't even know it was in Indiana, and my impression of Indiana was mainly that it was the home of that Vice President that derided Murphy Brown and didn't know how to spell.  I wasn't too sure about moving to Indiana, but when I realized that Neil Armstrong went to Purdue, it actually seemed like maybe I was meant to be there too... 

So maybe I never met Neil Armstrong, and my connection is more fantasy than reality, but whenever I drive past his statue outside the Neil Armstrong Hall of Engineering I feel like coming to Indiana was meant to happen.  I feel like there was a destiny that I have fulfilled. 

So RIP, Mr. Armstrong.  Thank you for lighting my path a bit in this life so far, and may your spirit continue to light the way for many in the future.

Half Moon

I look up at the moon and see

What feels like truly part of me.

Sliced nearly in half, I see her glow

The darker part will ebb and flow.

 She hangs above me in the sky

And watching her, I always sigh.

For she is, in fact, my guiding light

I feel great blessings at her sight.

A Couple of Introverts go to Bonnaroo....

A view of the tent city

My husband and I attended our second Bonnaroo Music festival this year.  In case you don't know, Bonnaroo is a 4-day music festival where over 80,000 people camp-out and hang-out and rock-out on a farm in Manchester, Tennessee.  Over 80,000 people.  Over 80,000.  People.

We went last year mainly because there were a couple bands we really really wanted to see, and we wanted to be brave and daring and suffer through the heat and port-o-potties... and we survived!  And very much like child-birth, we focused on the result and decided to do it again....crazy people that we are.

Us

See, my husband and I are really both pretty much introverts, and 80,000+ people is a lot of people to be around for 4 days straight.  He and I are different in the way we deal with it though; I think he is more content to just get lost in the crowd, whereas I am really more *afraid* of getting lost in the crowd... so we definitely have different thoughts on the experience.  I can really only speak (write) for myself though.

Last year when we went we really didn't know what to expect.  We read up on it and talked to some experienced Rooers, but again - much like childbirth - you really don't know until you experience it.  It was hot and dusty and stinky and crowded... and the music was AWESOME.  And really, it was nice to get away with the old hubby.... and yeah, we felt old.   

Our Tent

This year we were more prepared - both mentally and physically.  Most importantly we had a tent/awning to go over our tent and give us more shade (yay!), and we were more careful to not let our car battery die as we unloaded (good for recharging the phone battery).  We were also a bit luckier with the weather so the heat wasn't quite so bad.  And really being more mentally prepared for the crowds and stinky toilets is really helpful.  :)

The Shins

Again, the music was awesome and we discovered a couple new bands, and we didn't get too sick of each other in the many hours of togetherness... But we also were reminded that we need to work on our social skills, and I think that if we go again we really need to be willing to be more out-going, cause really with so many people around, it is good to enjoy their company more.  True, most of the people there are much younger than us - it really is mostly a 20-something crowd - but we saw plenty of older folks too.  And admittedly since we don't smoke we lose out on a very popular conversation starter there... but I'm not gonna take up smoking just for that.  I don't think it is horrible to be an introvert, and I'm actually very happy with who I am, but I do hope that if I go back I will be just a little more out-going....

Red Hot Chili Peppers

So hey - if anyone reading this would like to join us next year, let me know.... I'd love to know more people there.

Fear and Compassion

I am writing this from a hotel room in Nashville.  I am here for one day, while my husband gives a talk and meets with a bunch of people at a university.  Tomorrow we head to the Bonnaroo music festival for 4 days outside with about 80,000 strangers.... So today I have some time to myself.  And that should be good.  Unfortunately my fear has gotten a hold of me and I have been beating myself up for the past hour or so.

I have been told that Nashville is a pretty nice place, and with a whole afternoon to myself I thought maybe I'd check it out.  But I am too scared.  I know anxiety pretty well, and what started out as a little nervousness turned into pretty good anxiety and I became afraid that if I went out I would have a full-blown panic attack...and those are just not much fun.  I've had them before in public places and I really prefer to prevent them if possible. 

The thing about my anxiety is that it doesn't always make sense.  Panic and anxiety really are not rational.  Sometimes I can work through it and "feel the fear and do it anyway", but other times it really is best to just be compassionate with myself and let me hide in my hotel room.  After about an hour of trying to push through it today, I decided the room is not so bad.  It looks like a beautiful day outside, but I will be outside for the next 4 days.  And Nashville, well... if there was a park or water right nearby I'd be out there, but I don't feel like getting the car out of valet parking and driving somewhere, and the nearest park is a half-hour walk down a potentially pedestrian un-friendly road.  I'm not into stores and shopping, and I have a little food in the room, so here I stay. 

What bothers me is the fear.  I have an enormous fear of asking directions, and even of being seen.  I actually believe that somehow I don't have the "right" to be places... like I don't even have the right to exist.  I kinda figure that if I can exist quietly, without anybody noticing, then I am ok... but if I have to ask directions or draw attention to myself that I will be "found out" and sent away or something even more humiliating (while I rationally know this doesn't make sense, this seems to be pretty spot-on with how I feel if I look deep inside).  I'm not sure I've ever articulated that quite like that before, but it really feels like truth to me.  I suppose writing it down like this is maybe not a good idea though because now anyone who reads this will know how deeply psychologically whacked I am!  Oh well.  It really does seem to be a root cause to so much of my anxiety.

Now, having written that, I can also admit that I don't always feel that way.  Sometimes I really do feel like I have the right to exist!  And once in awhile I even like attention.  But mostly I really am afraid that people will find out that I am a fraud of some kind and I figure that once they know the "real me" they won't like me.  So I really prefer to keep to myself and try to prevent that.  So here I am; alone, hiding in my hotel room on a beautiful summer day....

But today I will practice compassion for myself.  Tomorrow I will get back out in the sun.

Anniversary Reactions

This past weekend held two significant traumatic anniversaries for me, and in true Jen-fashion I had anniversary reactions. The older anniversary was from 1988, and I have done a lot to recover from that trauma and it might not have been so bad... but last year I had another trauma that is still pretty fresh and this was the first anniversary of that one so it compounded things. Two traumatic anniversaries in one day/weekend kinda sucked.

This won't happen every year; that first trauma - from 1988 - was a "night before Easter" thing... the actual date was really April 2/3. There have been many years where it haunted me but I didn't understand the whole "anniversary reaction" thing. Sadly, in it's association with Easter, I have not been a big fan of that holiday for quite some time... but I have learned to deal with my reactions and get by. Last year - on April 7 - I experienced another trauma, and the wounds are still pretty fresh and raw... and although I tried to not let the anniversary get to me too much, my anniversary reactions were pretty strong and a bit frustrating.

It may seem that by writing about this I am dwelling on the trauma and perpetuating the reactions. I don't believe that to be the case. What I am doing is acknowledging something that occurs whether I am conscious of it or not; my body remembers things that my conscious mind does not, and I become agitated and unusually "moody" during these times. Understanding the anniversary reaction helps me to be forgiving and gentle with myself when this happens, and I believe it helps me to heal. But it is still frustrating.

One kinda neat thing about this year is that when I woke up on Easter Sunday, it was a bit of my own resurrection; I had a new day and a new year and new healing. Maybe I can make new peace with the holiday too; I hadn't really realized the spiritual timing of my traumas before. Maybe what happened last year was a reminder that I hadn't fully understood the significance of my earlier traumas... I believe I still have lessons to learn.

I have some time before my next trauma anniversary in May. Perhaps I can spend some time looking at it more objectively and heal more of my wounds. I know that if I try to ignore it my body will just shout at me louder. But if I acknowledge it, I can make peace with it more gently... and I welcome that.

Peace and Love.

Happiness

Ok, I admit it. I am not a "happy" person. I am wary of too much happiness. I am suspicious of exceedingly happy people. I do not trust "happy". Bah humbug to "happy".
But that doesn't mean I am always miserable either.

Ok, so I also admit I have been my share of "miserable". It is a well-learned skill that I was taught growing up in my family. And I admit that when things go wrong, I do have a tendency to crash and burn. And well, things do sometimes go "wrong". But... well... I am trying to find that balance between the "happy" that I distrust, and the "miserable" that I unfortunately feel a bit more comfortable with.

Some people may be shocked to think that someone would be more comfortable with misery over happiness. And truthfully, I am rather puzzled with it myself. But the thing is, somehow I have internalized this belief that misery is safer than happiness. Crazy, huh? But then again, obviously I am not alone because otherwise there would not be such a market for positive inspiration... all that "do not be afraid" stuff is so popular because people *are* afraid, and often afraid of going after what they want and even being...happy.

In my own experience, I have internalized a notion that I don't deserve to be "happy". I have somehow come to believe - deep down - that I get punished when I am happy. I wrote about it a little in my post "When I Was Fifteen (an Introduction)"; because I do think that having a few traumatic experiences occur shortly after I have been "happy" has really taught me that happy is dangerous. I can actually think of many many examples throughout my life... but then I realize that if I can really look at things objectively, maybe "happy" is not the cause.... but as I said, it is a belief that I have internalized and the feeling is so strong that it is really tough to change.... I *am* working on changing it, though progress is pretty damn slow sometimes.

So I still don't trust "happy". If someone asks me what makes me happy, I think to myself that I don't want to be happy; I want to be at peace, and I want to experience love and maybe some joy once in awhile... but happy still feels dangerous to me. Still I will say that things make me happy - it is a word that gets used a lot - I will comment on places in nature being my "happy place",..., but really truly I am looking for peace...comfort...and once in awhile moments of contentment and even joy. But not too much. Too much joy = happy, and then my body starts to worry and look for trauma, and often then it seems to find it.

So please be understanding that I don't display much happy. It is still too closely associated with trauma, and I just can't go there right now. I'm tired and beaten down and for now it is safer to quietly go about my life and try to just get through it. Don't push happy on me.

On the other hand, I'm happy if you're happy. :)

When I Was Fifteen (a follow-up)

So, I wrote my introductory post to When I Was Fifteen, and nothing really came of it. I was pretty nervous putting it out there and I guess relatively thankfully, it didn't get much reaction. My daughter never said anything, so I figure she either didn't read it, or she doesn't want to know the details... and that's cool. Someone recently shared with me their own experience with finding things out about their mother, and how it scarred them, and I am glad that I didn't push anything on my own daughter. I'm not a big fan of pushing information on people.

A couple days after my last post was an anniversary for me; one that has caused great angst and strong anniversary reactions in me over the years. It was an anniversary of something that happened - not when I was fifteen - but rather when I was seventeen. I do believe that that incident occurred in part because of what happened when I was fifteen though. Unfortunately traumatic experiences can increase chances of other traumatic experiences - especially when we don't know how to deal with the earlier experiences... and unfortunately for me, I've had quite a few.

The concept of trauma is an interesting one for me as well. There are people who have gone through what I have gone through and not been as traumatized as I have. But I am someone who has always felt things very strongly (to the point where my entire life people have told me I am "over-sensitive"). I used to get really upset with myself for feeling things so intensely, but fortunately I discovered that that sensitivity is actually really useful for some things (such as being a mother, or a massage therapist). But for many many years I felt not only guilty about what happened to me, but also rather ashamed at my reactions; I felt like there was something wrong with me for not being able to just blow it off and forget about it. And believe me, I tried. But one thing I discovered is that I may have been able to push things out of my mind, but I couldn't push them out of my body. The body remembers even what the mind can forget....

So I still carry with me the things that happened to me when I was fifteen. I *have* managed to heal a lot of the injuries, but there are still scars, and occasionally the wounds will still open back up - though not nearly as frequently as they used to. I think that one of the most important things I have learned over the years is that I can't run away from it; I can't pretend that things didn't happen. It *is* my life and it is my history, and the scars are my scars and the healing is my healing. And just like the visible scars fade over time, my emotional scars have faded some... They aren't gone, but they don't hurt quite as much as they used to.