Tag Archives: sadness

meaningful stories and idle chatter

conversationa theme for me in the last little while has been to hear from others, “i don’t want to talk about this because i don’t want to be a burden.”

i honestly think i’m wired differently than most people. hearing people’s meaningful stories, whatever they’re about, is rarely, rarely a burden for me. and when it is, i have no problem dealing with it.

cancer, childhood sexual abuse, addiction, death, mental illness, unemployment – this is the stuff of life just as weddings, pregnancy, promotions, travel and enlightenment.

whatever is meaningful to you, my clients, my friends, family and acquaintances, actually, i can hardly get enough of it. when someone tells me what’s going on for them, they let me into their lives. it’s an honour and frankly, it’s fascinating. why go to the movies?

so i’m a very willing listening ear, and when my listening and our conversation help someone along, i am deeply grateful.

what i do have limited patience for is meaningless idle chatter. idle chatter can be meaningful (otherwise i wouldn’t be so happy on twitter, i guess!). not everything has to be important with a capital I every time we open our mouths. i’ll never forget many years ago, when my first husband overheard a conversation i had with my best friend from school (we’re still close after almost 50 years, imagine that!), where we were talking about detergent. “how can you have such a banal conversation!” he exclaimed. he didn’t understand. the connection i have with ava is so deep and meaningful, we could spend a whole year talking about nothing but tide, and it would still be lovely.

i do have difficulty with certain types of idle chatter. i actually find it painful; perhaps as painful as others find listening to people’s harrowing lives and experiences. how might i describe this type … perhaps it would be the type of chatter that is marked by disinterest and/or unwillingness to at least contemplate engagement. someone talking about all the stores in the mall they went to last week, for example, without giving an interesting description (=engaging the other as listener), talking about what they thought/felt/remembered during the shopping trip (=engaging themselves), or asking questions or opinions (=engaging the other as conversation partner). in such situations, i tend do try to follow the talk (can’t really call it a conversation) and imagine the trip, ask questions, or, last resort, tune out – all of which i find quite exhausting. as i’m writing this, the image of a closed circuit comes to mind, one that may have a few openings here or there, but only for highly specific input, which will then immediately be reintegrated into that closed circuit. mine or other circuits are of no interest. does that make sense? i’m exploring this as i’m writing along …

but what you have to say about your marriage, your struggle with addiction, your sorrow and confusion over being an empty nester, your fears around your chronic illness – i will always be interested, and, oddly enough, i will always be invigorated. it might be the invigoration of a forest fire; perhaps we’ll have to wait a while until the ashes fertilize new life. more likely it will be the invigoration of a thunderstorm, or the awe that comes from walking the desert. i am, truly, grateful for your stories.

image by closely observed

letting go of guilt: a conversation

earlier this year, i wrote a few posts on guilt. this turned into a case study with one of my readers where over the course of a few months, we sent emails back and forth. this reader, let’s call her carla, has agreed to publish some of our emails. of course, we’ve changed some of the identifying characteristics of the story to protect carla’s identity.

we hope that this will help some people who are dealing with guilt to find inspiration, and i also hope that this can be a bit of an illustration of how i help people in online consultations.

we’ll present this in a series of two or three posts.

carla, tell us a little about yourself:

i am a married, 60 year old mother of three, and grandmother of ten. i am a christian, though not in the traditional sense. i work full time, and i love to spend time with my with my grandchildren.

what interested you in the initial blog posting about guilt in the first place?

my own battle with guilt, for over a year of my life prior to reading the blog posting i was plagued with feelings of guilt.

how would you describe your state of mind when you first read that post?

plagued with thoughts and feelings of guilt which made it difficult to think of much else. that caused me to feel pretty depressed, and overshadowed any feelings of happiness. i felt extremely sad, and cried a lot.

how would you describe your state of mind now?

i am definitely a happier person, more at peace, feeling like i may finally be able to forgive myself for the mistakes i made with my family. however, i still struggle with placing blame on myself for mistakes they are making in their own lives, like they really didn’t have a good foundation to build upon. i have come a long way toward accepting my failures, but i still try to make up for my failures as a mother, in whatever way i can.

what changed?

i am able to see myself more objectively, with a degree of understanding that i didn’t have before, and would not have thought i deserved to have. i can now accept that i failed, not because i wanted to (on the contrary, i always wanted to be a good mother to my children). i now see that i didn’t have those skills i needed to be as nurturing and loving as i wish i could’ve been. a lot of that was through no fault of my own. (my mother left us when i was 10, and my father was emotionally distant). i think i may have struggled with some degree of mental illness, and perhaps still do.

this is part one. in the next post about carla’s progress we’ll show you some of the questions i asked carla, and how answering them was helpful for her.

my good friday poem

sad pink dragon

“never on good friday,”
mumbled the pink dragon,
and sighed over a dish of
marbled curry chicken,
“never on good friday
have i, pink dragon, had a friend
admire my spikey tail.”

 

his spikey tail with
orange pink polka dots,
his spikey tail all alone
in a chinese restaurant.

 

all around him
were grandmothers with white hair
pampering their gap-toothed grandsons,
middle aged lovers
twinkling eyes
over cups of hot green tea,
waiters and waitresses
chattering in cantonese –

 

but the pink dragon
sat alone.

 

his beautiful tail twitched sadly.
and out of a dragon eye with long purple lashes
rolled a long, salty dragon tear.

****

 (and as it happens, nancy just posted another kinda=sorta good friday poem of mine, here)