"I" Is For Ignorant

Ignorant, as in ignorant dolt.  That's mostly what I've been these past few months.  This transition from the familiar, family, and old friends to the unfamiliar, missing family, and the challenge of making new friends has not been done with grace.  I've made a lot of quick and unfair judgements along the way, and have been quite the whiny little brat about it all.  But I couldn't see any of that until the natural (and unpleasant) course of adjustment played out.  This past weekend was a tipping point of sorts, and I've begun feeling I just might find a place here where I fit.  Once that began, the rear view mirror of my attitude, fear, and behavior emerged from the fog.  I didn't like what I saw.

I saw old, familiar patterns of reacting to insecurity with anger and judgement; patterns of reacting to others having friends as something personal they did to shun me; patterns of romanticizing what used to be without trying to romance what I've got--give it a little love and a smile and flirting with every strange thing that came my way.  I've heard it said that whatever you want, you first have to give.  Well, that might hold true for others, but I want what I want, and I want it now (and without giving anything first, thank you very much).  This is some raw honesty I'm dishing up about myself, and I don't do it easily, nor do I do it with expectations of being petted and told I'm not really that way. 

I just want what I want, and I want it now, and what I've discovered I want most is strength of character.  Once that's in the bag, nothing is beyond my reach.  Nothing is given to me gratis and with secret guilt.  To get that strength, there must be bold, clean strokes of honesty.

Ouch.

Seriously, I mean "Ouch!" as in physical pain.  My first attempt to get over myself was stopping by the workshop at the Performing Arts Center, where I knew a dedicated crew was working late.  My intention was getting over my expectation of formal invitations and offering to be part of the community by lending a helping hand.  Luckily, their day was winding down and there wasn't much to do.  But I offered, and I asked the tech director if he'd mind teaching me to weld when he wasn't busy so I could help out some other time.  Who knew he had plenty of time right then and there and an extra face guard?  Before panic had. a chance to take root, I had a blow torch in my hands and sparks flying every which way.  The difference between my first attempt at welding a joint and my last attempt was the difference between a slasher movie and a cozy mystery novel.  I did pretty good, aside from some burnt hair and a few singed toes (that was the physical pain part), and the only reason I did that well was because my teacher was patient.  What my defenses had judged as Southern laziness popped into Southern flow and tolerance of ignorant dolts barging in and asking for impromptu lessons.  Nothing had to be perfect because people are people and all people have something to learn.  That Southern hospitality I'd been so pissed off about because people weren't flocking to my door with pecan pies and sweet tea turned out to be hospitality of spirit.  I just couldn't see it in my state of snit.

It was also a weekend where I made a friend.  That made a difference.  Joseph Campbell said that the best and most important things in the world and our spirit can't be talked about, only the second best.  Finding a friend is a lot like that.  Explaining what it was like and what it meant to me, and as it turned out, meant to her, would only be talking about the second best part of it.  I made a friend.  That says everything that can't be said.

In keeping with the simplicity of three, the third thing that put its weight on the platform, causing things to tip, was good news from my daughter back home.  Not only did she reach out for a job that was way beyond her education and experience, she wowed them silly and made them cry when she accepted the position.  Literally.  The VP of a certain division of the mega-corporation actually cried when my daughter took the job.  It doesn't matter how grown up your children are, if they're not growing into their own unique strengths, a little bit of us dies inside.  When they're putting their independent footprint in the sand, it's the step that puts the world in balance.  Aside from the thrill of this new challenge in her life, it's something new and demanding that will shift her focus from our family scattering, giving her more time for adjusting to this change with less loneliness.  That stitches up a lot of places where I'd been falling apart.

Today I started planting my garden.  I've been digging in the soil and adding nutrients that will help my plants grow strong for years to come.  I've never taken this much care with a garden before, but somehow it just seems like the thing to be doing right now.

It's what people do when they stop running and settle down in a home.