Tag / confusion

by bcmiller2014

Stairs

Stepping up with 
one good leg I
make work of light and 
lift my bale, hoping 
under all my thought
that up is up and 
not a fall disguised
by some mean
trickery to make me
see the road ahead 
instead of down
before I fly with
tissue wings that 
cannot hold. 

Stepping down I
shift my load to give 
away for other arms 
the burden of my
thought and knowing 
little seeming more 
like fogging up the 
air where high 
things live and so
I doubt the down
and pause to 
ponder, adding to
my weight then
climbing when I
meant to drop. 

by bcmiller2014

Scrambled Eggs

Okay, I know what everyone else has figured out already. Getting upset about the seagulls wasn’t just about the seagulls. The problem is that I don’t understand what it really is about. I’m pretty darned tuned into the universe so I suppose part of it could be about hearing the earth groan all the time. It could be about all the devastation humans wreak on each other and the planet. It could be about watching my mother suffer all her life, or watching my dad give up all his dreams, or being their “all we’ve got in the world.” It could have something to do with being married to my dear husband for over 18 years and still dealing with a multitude of issues around physical intimacy. Perhaps it’s about being rejected and/or misunderstood by my in-laws, having little family of my own and feeling sort of alone. Adopted family is great, but it’s never quite the same, is it? It could be related to my desire to create, always thwarted by my need to earn a stable income and teach others how to be more creative. I’m writing a terribly depressing paper about the unseen human costs of cheap production of goods, demanded by people who expect rock bottom prices so they can take mission trips to help the poor, when the truth is, the demand for low prices is creating most of the poor, supporting slavery and child labor, and decimating the environment the most for persons of color and few economic resources. Is it about all that? I almost cried when someone let me pet their dog today. I cried at a commercial on T.V. I’m walking with a limp.

It’s not as though any of the above is new information. I think that’s why I’m confused. I’ve understood and accepted all of this and more. So why now has my body decided to grieve?

Maybe the seagulls were the last straw-the latest instance in which love has failed and suffering has won the day. It was in my face, a blatant violation of one of the factors that has allowed me to continue thinking that living on earth is something I can accomplish without being completely destroyed. My seagulls were stability. They were hope. I counted on the ritual of their lives as one of the anchors in my universe. And yes, I know seagulls don’t live as long as us and are susceptible to tragedy like everyone else. I worried about it, but to see their home destroyed so carelessly, thrown in the trash as though everything beautiful and precious to me were worthless shit to be taken away in just a matter of time. That surprised me.

We are promised nothing while we’re here. God says he’ll be with us, but I don’t understand him. Some of my friends think he’s attempting to perfect us by allowing a series of afflictions, and it’s all for our own good. Some people say he’s in control of everything, and everything happens for a purpose. To this I say, “bullshit.” I think shit just happens. I’m not interested in a God who allows birth defects so we’ll gain character. There’s got to be something I’m missing, but if God actually wants relationship with me he’s going to have to do more than meet me halfway. He’s God, after all, and I have the stature of a flea when it comes to the size of the universe. So I guess I’ll just wait here and send this invitation out into the spiritual dimension. God, I need you to show up. You owe me nothing. I’m sort of banking on the “God is love” theme being true, even though I have no idea how that actually works. Without something outside of and greater than myself to give meaning to this brief, astounding and devastating life, I’ve got nothing. I never believed in that whole idea that children give a person a sort of immortality, and I don’t even have kids. Maybe the point is in loving each other, but we’ve proven we all suck at that. I do have a lot to be grateful for. I didn’t haul my water from a dirty river today. I’m not living in a war zone. I can move around and do stuff. I need more. If you’re the one who decided I’d be a deep thinker then it’s your own damn fault. If all we have is this breath then I need you to show me what that breath is for. I’m asking for your help when I know I deserve nothing. I’m asking anyway. What the hell. It never hurts to ask, right?

by bcmiller2014

The Chaos Feeling Out

While endeavoring greatly to do nothing, my heart endeavors strongly to be heard. All those tears and shiver-making thoughts that I’ve captured and boxed and stored in places I no longer remember, come pounding back at once and I become small, like a 
seed 
at the bottom of the universe.  These feelings are all lost, gangly teenagers who don’t know how to express themselves, hoping to be strung somehow, like 
pearls – which 
I would be happy to do if I were big enough. Perhaps there’s some warm soil for my seed from
underneath a galaxy. 

by bcmiller2014

Something Lost

I’ve lost something but I don’t know what it is. I’m crying, all a mess, hands over my face and alternately grabbing for Kleenex. I saw a video about Orca whales. That started it, but I haven’t had any Orca-related trauma recently. I watched a video by a young man who researched the Bible for the context of six references to homosexuality. I cried then, too. I am asexual to a great degree, so I suppose I fit on the spectrum, but not anywhere that I catch flack for it. I’m married. No one really knew until I wrote this. I lost my seagulls last weekend, or at least, my assurance of their safety. That one hurt, as I’ve watched them hatch fledglings for years and given all of them names. But today was plain. I walked to a field trip, took the bus, taught a class, and received some books for a research project. Yet here I am, blubbering away, alone on the sofa. 

If anyone knows what it is that I’ve lost, I’m open to suggestion. I think it has something to do with safety, and something to do with love. That’s as much as I’ve got. 

I’m supposed to be researching for an upcoming presentation on the unseen costs of cheap production. Am I simply in tune with all there is to grieve in the world?  Am I afraid we are losing the Orcas like we lost my seagull nest, tossed in the garbage for convenience?  Am I sad at the long years I wasted, convinced that God held some special sort of antipathy toward gays?  And how then did he feel about me, off the purple end and having no children, either?  Why does this continue to shame me when I know in my heart it was the right thing to (not) do?

I do not know. I’ll keep the Kleenex handy, give up my books and have popcorn for dinner. Whatever I’ve lost, it’s taken my research drive with it. 

by bcmiller2014

Being Me

I have more than one side to my personality, perhaps more than most other people. My students rarely believe I’m an introvert.  When I’m in front of a room full of students I am passionate, quirky, and outspoken. They know exactly what I think about environmental issues, architectural integrity and twentieth century design. I can be silly and self deprecating and confident. I dress for the part as though I were taking a role on stage. I make sure the clothes are fairly comfortable, but I also ensure that I look the part of an artist/designer. The artist quotient enables me to be slightly more casual than otherwise. I get my nails done. I have my hair colored, with a purple streak somewhere. My glasses make statements, both pairs. 

As soon as I leave the classroom I’m in standby mode. I’m ready to interact with students in a professional level, but I revert internally to a more introverted state until they appear. I keep a professional distance in my interactions. I’m fairly silent with most other professors. 

At church they would never believe I could act like an extrovert. I’m quiet, almost silent. I wear yoga pants and sweatshirts.  I’m full of questions. I disagree with some of the church policies, but hardly anyone knows. Mostly I go so I can get hugs, and sing when I’m needed with the worship crew. My uncertainty about just about everything leaks through.  I’m pretty tapped out from keeping up all that professionalism during the week. 

When I’m writing I can be sarcastic, witty and vivid. I can sound totally confident and slightly snarky, but if a reader were to meet me in person s/he’d find someone who’s agreeable. Affable might be a good term. 

There are exceptions but when I’m with most conservative friends I’m quiet, because I know I disagree about at least a few things. In their eyes I know I’m the one who has God issues. I accept the perception that I’m the one who’s fucked up and waiting to be fixed, even though I no longer believe this is more true for me than anyone else. I lose touch with my own thoughts because I assume they won’t be accepted. It’s really annoying actually, because I truly value differences and would love to be able to have open, respectful discussions in which we talk about what we believe and why. We could offer ourselves and discover that hearing different perspectives makes us richer.  Instead I shut down despite myself.  Moving away from this is part of my healing process, I know. 

I am happy to say there are also people who defy categorization. These are the people who are in my life because they want to be, they like me, and political affiliations aren’t a big part of the picture. With these people I can find myself jabbering away. I talk about my classes, my thoughts, my opinions and my fears. I ask them about themselves. I’m hungry to know. Sometimes we can be silent together and it’s totally fine. I can tell them if I need something, and I can count on them to value me even though they see my weaknesses. They see the good stuff, too. 

So who the hell am I?  Identity is actually an issue that has plagued me all my life. When I was in school I wasn’t there to learn. I was there to figure out what was expected and then meet those expectations. I was pretty good it. I had a great gpa, and I developed the capacity to morph into whoever I was expected to be. I didn’t know this then, but I learned how to do that at home. Mom needed the emotional support of a husband. He was emotionally absent, so I filled in for him. She needed one person with whom she could be herself, so I became her safe place. Dad needed a dependable employee, and an intermediary with Mom when they had misunderstandings.  I figured out how to meet those needs, too. If I didn’t have a particular role to fill I crept back into myself and didn’t share much because I didn’t know who I actually was. This made being with other people generally exhausting because if I was with more than one person in a social setting I couldn’t possibly adapt to all the expectations on my radar, and once again I fell into silence.

How do we figure out who we are?  I think it’s supposed to happen during childhood, but what if it doesn’t?  How do we keep our footing and remain grounded in our general attributes, values and beliefs while maintaining the social complexity to adapt to varying parameters?  It’s perfectly healthy for there to be a teacher and non-teacher version of myself. It’s much like playing a theater role. The rest of my plasticity is a little too much. 

We’re all allowed to have our own opinions. People of good faith and intelligence come to different conclusions. That’s reality, and part of why we need community. We need people who will stand up for what they believe and humbly listen to those who differ, without losing grip of who they are. I want to be one of those people. I’m learning how to be one of those people. I allow others to have their own opinions. I need to extend this grace to myself. That seems, after all that I’ve written, to be key. And being who others need me to be is totally different than being me and meeting the needs that I can in a healthy way. Maybe I need some boots. Maybe that’s why I have so many boots!  I’m ready to stomp around in my own skin, express myself and be. I hope you are, too. The world needs both of us.