Naomi Dathan's Blog, page 2

Your Superpower

My kids are fairly obsessed with superheroes — X-men, Arrow, Ironman . . .   I might think they are bit too old to care about that, but I still managed to get infected with the bug.  I don’t care about the individual heroes, although I have a fondness for Wonder Woman, but the powers fascinate me.  On nights when I can’t sleep, I think about it:

Who saves people in distress while wearing a bathing suit?

What power would I pick, if I could just pick one?

The possibilities are as endless as the imagination, of course.  And it’s all a moot point, because, although I consider myself to be a pretty nice person who smiles at strangers, returns groceries I accidentally didn’t pay for, and takes my vitamins, no one ever offers me a superpower.

Kind of frustrating.

Still, thinking about it in the light of day, I had to realize that I could have written a quiz:  Your Favorite SuperPower Reveals Your Personality!    or maybe, …Reveals Your Dominant Stressor.

Let’s take a look:

Invisibility.  This was a good power when I was worrying about kids in the rough parts of Cleveland.  I could sneak in, steal baskets of illegal guns and drop them off at the police station.  Maybe rock neglected babies at night.  Unfortunately I soon realized that my paltry efforts would barely make a dent.  And I kept avoiding the idea of how I could use it to my own advantage (dropping my manuscripts on editor’s desks, learning bank passwords).  I could turn into a Nemesis in about 20 minutes.
Influence.  What if I could shake hands with people, and EVERYONE I shook hands with would be compelled to use their personal gifts to make the world better?   So cool, right?  Now that would make a dent in the pain on the planet.  That’s a great one, except for the whole free agency thing.  Basically, I’d be turning people into minions.  Minions for good, hopefully, but still.
5 Hour Time Stop.  This is a favorite.  I started with the idea of just eliminating sleep.  That would buy me 6-7.5 hours to get done all the things I’m not getting done.  Tempting, but at my late age I’ve finally sort of come to terms with the fact that my body requires sleep, and I’ve (mostly) stopped fighting it.  I’ve (mostly, again) stopped resenting the fact that instead of the advertised ~90 years, you really only get 60 because you have to spend the other 30 unconscious.    I’ve grown kind of fond of sleeping — warm blankets, warm Tom, peaceful drifting.  Why didn’t anyone tell me it could be so pleasant?

So instead I went with 5 extra hours.   At, say, 4:05 pm, I would get up to go to the bathroom.  To the world (ie Tom) I would seem to be gone only a minute.  But I’d have a gratis 5 hours to get things accomplished.  I could get that next book written, study the latest technology or finish a database, then slide back into bed for the rest of the night.

With the first two of those, I told you what I was worried about.  It took me longer to see it with the third.  I’d over-extended myself, signing on to another business that I loved but didn’t have time for.  I wanted the five hours because I’d used up the 24 I’d been allotted.

I became genuinely frustrated that I couldn’t have that power.  That frustration told me what I’d been refusing to see — that I needed to let some things go.

I still allow myself to sort through the options from time to time.   To date, no one has approached me with an offer of any superhero, even a second-rate one like elasticity or arrow-shooting.  But the superhero question does have a different kind of power — alerting me that I’ve exceeded my bandwidth or limitations in some way.  So I’ll try to donate more and write more letters demanding improvements for the little guys, but I’ll try to worry about them less.  Because even without my compellingly good-intentioned handshake, there are a LOT of people out there already fighting for their well-being, so I don’t have to imagine it’s all on me.  And I will (already have) cut my responsibilities to what I can reasonably handle in a day.

So now it’s your turn.  What superpowers would you choose?  Why?   And if it’s really, really appealing, should you be making a change in your own life?

 

 

Never Give Up! http://ow.ly/QhsR302VNgT

Never Give Up! http://ow.ly/QhsR302VNgT

Life, Basically.

I was a hot mess for a while after my first husband passed.  Seriously, if you knew me then, you’re already nodding in agreement.  And, if you didn’t need know me then, well . . . you don’t need the details.

He had been sick for so long.  My entire life was dedicated to keeping him alive, even after, maybe, it was good for him.  Bad things just kept piling on — bills, unhappy kids, hospital visits and the terrifying, looming, unseeable future.   I was as close to despair as I’ve ever been.

So when he was gone, and the new life, whatever it was going to be, had begun, I thought the bad things were over.  I didn’t quite formulate that thought; it was just there.  I didn’t even know I thought it until maybe a month after he died.  During the prayer requests at church, the pastor told us about a member who had had a devastating stroke at too young of an age.

I was shocked.

I was genuinely shocked, that this bad thing had happened.  The bad things were supposed to be over!

Even as I thought it, as I felt it, I knew it was absurd.  Life would keep happening.  Death would keep happening.  Illness, money worries, parenting challenges, they were all still rolling toward all of us like the big rock ball in Raiders of the Lost Arc.

Life, basically.

It was an overwhelming realization.  I was absolutely convinced that I couldn’t handle it.  I had nothing left to give.  And for a while I was right — I did a terrible job at life.  For a while, I seemed to only do things to slow myself down and speed up that ball.

We like need to pretend that we have security.  The promise of a happily ever after, or at least of longevity.  Like all the happy citizens of King Ezekiel’s Kingdom (Walking Dead reference), we cling to the illusion that we are safe.  It gets us through the day.

[image error]

But we are not safe.  Life is risky and messy and it always ends in death.   If that thought overwhelms or terrifies you,  it doesn’t mean you can’t handle it.  It probably needs that you are in need of replenishment.  Sleep, nourishment, love, mediation, prayer, art . . . whatever feeds your soul.  Allow yourself some time to heal.  Get your balance.

But when you are well, get back to the business of living in the fragile illusion.

Boot up your laptop and start working like you can’t lose your income tomorrow.  Love your spouse like nothing will ever happen to him or her.  Hug your kid like she’s not hellbent on flying overseas to the most underdeveloped nation she can hike into.

But don’t quite believe it.   Don’t trust it.  Save money for tomorrow, but spend some today.  Tell your stories now, even if the kids roll their eyes.  Pay to zipline, and when you’re standing up there, way too high, knowing you could die, let go.   Love hard, with your whole heart, and express it openly.  Do embarrassing things.  Chat with the homeless guy.  Taste caviar and fugu.

That big round ball is rolling toward us, faster and faster and faster.  But knowing that is what makes the fugu so delicious.

 

My political views have been very costly

My political views have been very costly to me. At least six relationships withered under the light of my evolving point of view. My dad wouldn’t see me for the final 3 years of his life, until I shouldered my way back in two weeks before he passed.

Obviously, these relationships were already fragile if my opinions about policy could shatter them, but they might never have actually broken without that blow.

A politically conservative relative heard me say that and asked politely how I identify myself. “I’m starting a debate or an argument,” he added politely. “I’m just curious.”

“I’m a progressive,” I answered automatically, but instantly realized that’s not a real answer. “That doesn’t actually tell you what I think,” I told him, “but how I think.”

For me, at least, the word “progressive” indicates that you identify the problem, look at possible solutions, scrutinize available knowledge and research, and pragmatically pursue the best approach for the most people.

If you don’t identify as a progressive, I’m cool with that. If you’re a Democrat, Republican, Libertarian . . . whatever. You still can and should be willing to have your opinions challenged. You should still be able to look at research and vote based on the best likely outcome, instead of voting because you hate a certain candidate or believe certain people shouldn’t do certain things or (have certain problems).

You believe that teens shouldn’t have sex? Okay.

But they ARE having sex, so how about we accept that reality and try to minimize the long-reaching consequences.

You believe that poor people should never have children? Okay.

But they ARE having children, so how about we invest some resources into making sure those children grow up to be productive, sane, emotionally and physically well members of the community.

You absolutely hate that candidate, but all indications are that the other candidate will bring on the demise of modern society as we know it? How about we avoid the whole demise thing by pragmatically voting for the lesser of two evils.

The world is a complicated place full of complicated people who may believe and even need things different from you. You can be all disappointed and sad about it . . . or you can take a good long look at facts and find the best next step. http://ow.ly/i/mcYkq

This is funny . . . but also sort of pro

This is funny . . . but also sort of profound. Lately, what have you considered starting, but then dismissed because it will take too long?

Going back to school?

Building an intricate project?

Writing a book?

De-cluttering your entire house?

Some projects are too huge, too daunting to take on all at once. You think, “Wait! That will take me five years! I’ll be (insert age) by then.”

So the question is, how old will you be in five years if you DON’T start?

Start. Take baby steps, but start. http://ow.ly/i/lKHkZ

Do You Qualify to Exist in Public Places?

http://ow.ly/TOOj302KFZF

It’s not what you look like, sister. It’s how the people around you identify your looks (you’re pretty, or fat, or homely, or boyish, or whatever), and what they feel you deserve as a result of their assessment.

Do you deserve to walk down the street and go about your business unmolested?

Do you deserve to attend class without worrying about whether some nearby boy will go apeshit over your bare shoulders?

Do you deserve to follow your passion for your work?

Do you deserve to remain at your job even though you refuse to have sex or flirt with your boss?

Do you deserve to be treated well in your romances?

Do you deserve to be laughed at because you’re wearing a bikini?

Do you deserve to feel pretty in your new outfit?

They believe they have the right (even the obligation) to judge you and decide. We are taught to support them in judging others and to embrace their right to judge us. We are taught shame (for being too pretty, too prudish, too plump, too bony, too homely).

We have to keep rejecting this. It’s so internalized, it feels impossible. But we have to refuse to play the game — whether it’s about others our ourselves. We have to reject the shame, and embrace wholeness. We have to insist insist insist that we are complete human beings worthy of respect. http://ow.ly/i/lF4cI

Too many quotes like these: “Women are

Too many quotes like these: “Women are actually SUPERIOR to men; that’s the problem.” Can we just be humans, also? http://ow.ly/i/muS8I

What you Control…and what you Don’t

This blog is a great read!

 

http://www.tranquilmonkey.com/brutal-truths-that-will-make-you-a-better-person

I used to the be the Supreme Multi-tasker

I used to the be the Supreme Multi-tasker (really — they issued me a special badge). I read novels while on the treadmill. I took notes on documentaries while spoon feeding babies and kneading bread by hand. I administered IV’s while practicing songs for church and cross-stitching Christmas gifts.

In other words, I was always distracted. Of course I did a lot of stupid things. I forgot appointments. I broke things. I stepped on dogs’ feet while cooking. I was ambitious, but I always fell short of my goals.

My mantra these days is, “I’m old now.” It sounds negative, but for me, it’s not. That’s me, claiming a privilege. That’s me, saying to the hyper-critical generation before me that I’m done feeling pressured and inadequate and rushed. I’ve been through a lot (who hasn’t?). I’ve earned my stripes. Maybe I WILL get less done in a day, but by gosh I’m going to sit in this chair and read a book without also trying to pay bills and form a boy band in my garage.

Giving up multi-tasking felt like a risky choice. Life is so very short — surely I need to do ALL THE THINGS. TODAY. But I made the choice any way. It felt more difficult than it should have, to only paint, to only write, to only clean. To only drive. To only listen to my kid talk about her day. To only pet the cat.

I mean — only pet the cat?? Without doing anything more productive? Petting the cat isn’t even on my to-do list!

Shocking end to this story — I get just as much done. Really, I get more done. Or, at least, I get more things of value done. I gave up baking bread by hand, because, as it turns out, they sell already baked bread in the store. (I’m not dissing you bakers, but it holds no value for me). I got more picky about what I read and watch. I figured out what holds value for me, and I throw myself into it without reserve. Without distraction.

I’m not doing All the Things. But I’m doing the Things that Matter . . . with All of Me.

I used to the be the Supreme Multi-taske

I used to the be the Supreme Multi-tasker (really — they issued me a special badge). I read novels while on the treadmill. I took notes on documentaries while spoon feeding babies and kneading bread by hand. I administered IV’s while practicing songs for church and cross-stitching Christmas gifts.

In other words, I was always distracted. Of course I did a lot of stupid things. I forgot appointments. I broke things. I stepped on dogs’ feet while cooking. I was ambitious, but I always fell short of my goals.

My mantra these days is, “I’m old now.” It sounds negative, but for me, it’s not. That’s me, claiming a privilege. That’s me, saying to the hyper-critical generation before me that I’m done feeling pressured and inadequate and rushed. I’ve been through a lot (who hasn’t?). I’ve earned my stripes. Maybe I WILL get less done in a day, but by gosh I’m going to sit in this chair and read a book without also trying to pay bills and form a boy band in my garage.

Giving up multi-tasking felt like a risky choice. Life is so very short — surely I need to do ALL THE THINGS. TODAY. But I made the choice any way. It felt more difficult than it should have, to only paint, to only write, to only clean. To only drive. To only listen to my kid talk about her day. To only pet the cat.

I mean — only pet the cat?? Without doing anything more productive? Petting the cat isn’t even on my to-do list!

Shocking end to this story — I get just as much done. Really, I get more done. Or, at least, I get more things of value done. I gave up baking bread by hand, because, as it turns out, they sell already baked bread in the store. (I’m not dissing you bakers, but it holds no value for me). I got more picky about what I read and watch. I figured out what holds value for me, and I throw myself into it without reserve. Without distraction.

I’m not doing All the Things. But I’m doing the Things that Matter . . . with All of Me.