The plan

Sooo.....since I announced (to all 3 of you that read this junk) that I am experiencing a break-through, things have been weird.  Like I have this huge high expectation I have to meet.  Like I have proclaimed that I am going through a change and now my next post should involve all the answers to all the questions.  And the truth is, I'm not even sure what the stinkin' questions are, much less the answers.  This is all self-induced, of course, which is the story of my life.  Setting too high of expectations and either killing myself trying to achieve them or avoiding the task all together for fear of not meeting them them (see time filler cat post).  So, in hopes of moving toward the new me, I am just going to move forward.  Slowly.  Awkwardly.  The wrong way, and occasionally the right way...just so you know.

I have put a lot of thought into why I don't know who I am.  I mean, who doesn't know who they are?  It should be the easiest thing to know, right?  Not knowing the person you are dating, or your child's teacher or your teenage daughter - I get that.  There are all sorts of games, and wills and desires and social cues that get in the way of that knowledge.  But yourself?  You have constant access to yourself.  You are in your own head, all the time.  I have been in my own head for 36 years and am just realizing that my greatest wish is that I had a map or a table of contents or something to make order of all of it. 

But why? 

I grew up with a father who had a personality a lot like mine.  He was very black and white.  He was very practical and task oriented.  He also set high expectations quite frequently, both for himself and for others, and knew the best way to achieve those for all involved.  He was not someone I would label a dreamer and flexibility was not his strong suit.  Many of these qualities I see in myself, much to my own chagrin.  Shawn has to remind me several times a week that no plan is set in stone.  Life is fluid.  But it is so hard to explain that to a rigid person. 

One of the memories that sticks out vividly in my mind of inflexibility being modeled in my home is when I was maybe nine or ten years old.  We had a ski boat and my younger brother, stepmother, father and I had planned on going out to the lake for the day.  This involved all sorts of preparation....gathering towels, sunscreen, food, change of clothes, loading the boat, hooking the trailer to our suburban, etc.  This particular morning involved some missing swim suits and the realization that the suburban was low on gas.  As usual, it was very stressful for everyone.  My dad always sent a message through his actions that time was of the essence and that we were always operating 30 minutes behind what we needed to.  After all...if you are going to go to the trouble of getting everything ready to go to the lake, you must go as early as you can as to make the most efficient time of the day and suck every last drop of "down time" out of the Saturday.  So we were all hustling around under barking orders attempting to get ready.  My dad had me stand alongside the boat trailer and guide him as he backed the vehicle up to hitch on.  I was always scared of not doing it perfectly, and therefore wasting time.  We did it within two or three attempts, and I was feeling pretty good.  It was already late morning due to all of our hustle and bustle getting things ready, and so as my Dad was securing the hitch, he directed me to get in quickly so we could get going.  I followed directions, he jumped in after me and threw it into gear.  We moved forward only to suddenly jolt backwards and then come to a ferocious stop.  My dad flew out of the suburban and once his door opened we heard a horrible yelping noise.  We all jumped out and found that our beloved dog had been napping in front of the tires of the boat trailer and hadn't gotten up once we began to move.  His leg had been run over by the tire.  He continued yelping, but was able to get up and walk.  The injury was the least of the carnage that followed.  My stepmother became irrationally upset with the thought of the dog being hurt and instantly shot blame my father's way for being in a hurry, my little brother became age-appropriately emotional, my father became guilt-riddenly angry and began to yell at me for not seeing the dog as I was helping to back him up.  At this point, three out of the four members of the family were crying and the dog is now limping away to just find a peaceful place to lay down.  But what sticks like glue to my memory about this episode was not really all that detail.  Not the crazy circumstances...it was what followed.  The dog was apparently okay, he could walk but was still hurt.  We were all upset not only by the idea that the dog was hurt, but by the family dynamics that resulted.  And instead of addressing any of these, my dad insisted we continue to the lake.  Like, as fast as possible.  After all...were were now burning even more daylight.  The plan was to go to the lake for the day, and that, by god, is what were going to do.  It didn't matter that we wanted to stay with the dog and see if he was okay.  It didn't matter that feelings had been hurt, blame had been cast, buttons had been pushed and everyone was a little wonky.  The plan took precedence.  And we went.  Growing up...we always went.  Went with the plan.  Carried through, no matter if the plan was working or not. 

Follow through is a good thing.  It is necessary.  But sometimes it is necessary to not follow through.  I see that same inflexibility rear it's ugly head in my day to day life.  One morning I had planned to take the boys to the zoo to see an Imax film.  The movie started a specific time, and I had orchestrated my morning to go according to plan.  But as they always do...things got wonky.  Roanin could only find one shoe.  Rex wanted to line up all his choo-choos before we left.  The dog couldn't be hurried in because of a squirrel he had trapped in a tree.  The cat tipped over a full cup of coffee on the kitchen floor.  But I had planned on us making that show (please note that these shows run everyday, multiple times per day, and we have a season's pass).  BUT, in my mind...we would make that show.  After all...it was the first show of the day, which would allow for the most efficient use of the rest of our day (no specific plans...just need to be efficient just in case).  So I grumbled, and hustled and broke out in a sweat.  As I was fastening sweet little Roanin's car seat I made an off-handed remark that everyone had made this morning very hard for me.  I specifically told him that this outing had become quite an ordeal.  And he looked at me with a double dimple smile and the brightest and most excited eyes and said, "No mommy....this is an adventure!" 

I stopped dead in my tracks.  I had just been schooled by a 3 year old.  How dare I?  How dare I not slow down and go with the flow?  How dare I not bend with the events of the morning?  How dare I place blame on anyone besides my self for the way I was feeling about the lack of making the plan work...and especially my innocent little babies?!?!?!  How had I put following through with the plan above the needs, wants and just plain flow of my family?

And I think that is what I have been doing.  Carrying on.  Following through.  Without a clear knowledge of who I am.  Without an examination or an assessment if my surroundings are working or a disaster.  Without figuring out if I am working or a disaster. And I am done.  I am done with this pattern of behavior.  For the first time in my life, I am slowing down with one shoe, amongst millions of choo-choos, looking at spilled coffee, with a dog outside and asking myself if I need to change course.  Looking at the plans I have for my life, my future, and the future of my family and evaluating if they are working. 

This is the first step in getting to know myself.  And it is scary as hell.