DOORS THAT CLOSE

I just found out an hour ago that the thing I was nominated for...was given.  More on that later.  Maybe.  

Meanwhile I have processed/made peace with the thing I was selected to represent, but didn't advance in.  It was a regional speech competition that was judged. I was one of 45 participants and I did not get past the preliminary round, which honestly surprised me a bit. For one, the competition at the regional level wasn't as hard as it was at the university level. So that was perplexing. Also, there were nine competitors in the room, three judges, and three randos in the back, and of all those people, no fewer than six came up to me afterwards and said, "yours was my favorite" or "I can't believe you didn't advance." One person who came up to me after was one of the judges. She told me why they didn't select me and it turns out they had based their decision on a misunderstanding of the rubric. I know this because I checked with an organizer later.  But I'm not really all that disappointed about it. I'm sure if I really sat and thought about it, I could find some way to make myself miserable, but I'm just...not.

The third thing, the one where I was encouraged to apply, I had some serious reservations about that.  So although some components of that opportunity would have been exciting, I'm secretly relieved.  I met with a friend that I had not seen in ten years and she said something very wise to me.  'Sometimes door that close have nothing to do with you.'      

EAT ME

I was walking back to my car after work a few weeks ago. It was a warm winter day and I was wearing a cute, sleek black cotton dress. The kind you can comfortably take a nap in. I was minding my own beeswax reading Socialist Realism by Trisha Low as I walked, as one does, not too fast and not too slow. I came to a zebra stripe crosswalk, where it was very clear that I, the pedestrian, had the right of way. I have pretty good peripheral vision and noticed a big silver truck with tinted windows, waiting for me to cross before it could turn. Just as soon as my body cleared the front bumper, the driver laid long and hard on the horn and peeled around me. It was so obvious this person was trying to make a statement. 

Normally in these situations, I reflexively flip the bird, but this time I felt inspired to try something new. So I grabbed my crotch and yelled, eat me! I was laughing when I did it, and I continued to giggle as I walked because the driver's reaction was so ridiculous, so incredibly over the top.  It really speaks volumes about the driver and the kind of day they were having. At first I felt entertained but then I started feeling sorry for them. 

There's a concept in Buddhism called the second arrow. The first arrow is a negative experience that is out of your control and it causes pain. But the second arrow is your ruminations on that painful event and that is what causes suffering. We do have control over the second arrow. Somehow, my understanding of that event (the first arrow) helped me avoid suffering (the second arrow) because a normal, whole person doesn't behave the way that driver did. Only a sad person treats a stranger like that. Only a hurt person dehumanizes like that. From the bottom of my heart, I do wish that motherfucker some peace.  

3 BIDS...FOR WISDOM

I put a bid in for three things in the past month.  

1) One, I was nominated for.  

2) One, I was encouraged to apply.  

3) One, I was selected to represent.

For three different reasons, the Powers That Be decided I wasn't their girl. I could blame myself for my failure to advance, but when I consider all I put together, I can honestly say I was true to myself and did my best work. Don't get me wrong, I have feelings about it. I won't pretend I'm not disappointed or sad. I can recognize those feelings without letting them eat me up because...I just don't believe I am entitled to anything.  

Also, I don't necessarily believe hard work gets you things. I mean, certainly doing no work will get you nothing (unless you are an heiress or heir), but sometimes people work their asses off and still get nothing.  I just finished reading Matthew Desmond's Poverty, By America.  It's about the policies and systems that keep some people poor and other people rich.  It's a good reminder that there are limits to what we can achieve and there are a lot of forces outside ourselves that we can't control.

Instead of getting upset about those things, I'm going to focus on the fact that I am lucky in love.  I had so many people supporting and encouraging me, wishing me luck, and sending love when When I leave this planet, I'm not going to dwell on the speeches I didn't make, the competitions I didn't win, or the impressive salary I never collected.  Instead I am going to be grateful for the people I loved and who loved me.  Being good to people, and cultivating authentic relationships, is something that I have some control over.  This is the lesson I'm choosing to take from this experience.

A CAT NAMED STEVE

I have a cat named Steve.  He's a good boy.  But he gets beat up by other cats.  Sometimes my kids harass him.  They like to pat his big belly and tell him that he's fat.  My husband also molests him.  He likes to pick Steve up and hold him and smells his fur.  I think it's really weird.  I keep reminding him, 'purring is not consent,' but he never listens.  Truly, I'm the only one who respects Steve's bodily autonomy.  I pet him when he approaches me and when I do, he makes little fists with his paws, gripping the ground as though he might float into the air on a cloud of ecstasy.  

Unless he's getting the tar beat out of him by a neighbor cat, his tail is almost always straight up in the air, like an exclamation point at the end of the statement, 'I am happy!'  I can relate.  I'm the same.  I have this weird internal resilience where I keep bouncing back even when people fuck with me or things go poorly.  I don't even hold on to bad feelings about it.  It's just...life, you know?  I'm just happy I get to experience it.

I don't really know what's going on in Steve's little pecan brain, but I'm starting to think he really chooses happiness.  I mean...he purrs when he licks his own butthole.  

FEAR, BRAVERY, ACTION

Fear and bravery are the same things.  The only difference is, bravery is connected to action.

READ THIS POST WHILE LISTENING TO 'THESE ARE THE DAYS' BY 10,000 MANIACS

When I was a little kid, I had this little kid play table.  It had some kind of pattern on the top with a bright orange plastic trim.  I remember dragging that table into the bathroom, and getting a whole bunch of playdoh, and pulling all of that over to the toilet so I could play with my playdoh while I took a dump.  

If you didn't search up the song and play it while reading, as instructed, you can still click here and read the post again for the full experience.

AUTOCORRECT

It's weird that my phone has an autocorrect for the word WOKE, but not for another four letter word that ends in K (that I use far, far more often).