Being Vulnerable - With Victor Hugo

“There is one spectacle grander than the sea, that is the sky; there is one spectacle grander than the sky, that is the interior of the soul.”

― Victor Hugo

I am learning that letting someone see you, really and truly see you, is a very intimidating thing. It is requiring a certain level of exposure and vulnerability I am not entirely comfortable with but drawn to at the same time. I spent so much of my life hiding myself, hiding from people, hiding my life and showing people what they wanted to see or at least what I thought they wanted to see. In doing so, I seem to have misplaced pieces of who I really am. I bought into my own act and at some point believed the altered and air-brushed parts of my life were all true. I hid behind the facade of myself for so long, I was not entirely sure I really knew who I was anymore. That is something I am still discovering. I would like to say it all feels fantastic, and a lot of it does, but at the same time, a lot of it sucks. I am both repelled by it and drawn to it in a way I can't explain. In some ways it feels like a death, letting go of what was or what seemed to be and then it feels like the birth of something new or perhaps the rebirth of something that has always been.

In Les Miserables, Victor Hugo wrote, “The branch trembles when a hand approaches to pluck a flower, and seems to both withdraw and to offer itself at one and the same time. The human body has something of this tremor when the instant arrives in which the mysterious fingers of Death are about to pluck the soul.”

I know that feeling of offering and withdrawing at the same time. When thoughts and emotions are in such contrast with each other and then there is the choice. To withdraw into the known of what is, no matter how uncomfortable that might be or offer ourselves to the scary unknown. What makes the whole process even more exciting and intimidating is going through it in full view of others. Normally, I would keep these things to myself. I don't enjoy letting people in, letting them see the nooks and crannies of my life. It scares me. It scares me that they will see something they don't like and decide to leave. I have always had that fear of being rejected, the fear of people leaving. I don't think I am special or unique in that way, I think everyone has that fear. Maybe it is fueled by the fear of being completely alone. Is being authentic and true to one's self worth the risk of being alone? I used to think the answer was no. So much of my life has been spent worrying about what others think, doing what they want, being who they want or who I thought they wanted me to be. The idea of being rejected and alone can be too much sometimes.

I am beginning to realize that it was the fear of being alone that fueled a lot of my life. If I moved, if I left first, I might be alone, but it would be on my terms. And if I was going to be alone, why not be alone in India or Paris or someplace wonderful. Now, I am taking the risk of being alone here. Just here. It sometimes isn't easy staying put, standing firm in vulnerability and the possibility of rejection. But, the more I force myself through it, the more I wonder why I would ever do anything else. Yes, the fear brings up the most terrifying feelings I think I have ever known, but I am finding that if I stand there and let the emotional storm blow through, it will pass and when the sun peaks through again, it is an amazing view.

“I met in the street a very poor young man who was in love. His hat was old, his coat was threadbare - there were holes at his elbows; the water passed through his shoes and the stars through his soul.” - Victor Hugo

Today, things in my life took an unexpected turn. For the past two months, I have had star passing through my soul. A man named David has become incredibly special to me. He has become family in a way I never suspected and I love him more than I imagined ever loving again. He is the person who makes me want to be the best version of myself, who makes me want to be vulnerable and seen, no matter how uncomfortable it is, because I know that it will all be ok. But today, I hurt him. I didn't mean to, it happened and now I am left waiting and wondering what it all means and how it will all work out. I seem to be quite clumsy in the area of love, and while I had and have nothing but the best intentions, I seem to have let things go off the rails in a way I never imagined. In just a blink, the dreams I had for the future now seem about to come crashing down. I am not sure how to deal with it, not sure what to do. All I know is that I have to stand here, in the middle of the storm and wait for it to pass. I feel helpless and vulnerable and right now, I can honestly say, I hate the feeling. I hate being open to pain, being open to the unknown. But, I also know, there is no other way to go, but through the middle of it all, hoping for the best, but knowing I have to except whatever may come. I need to have faith while I feel as though I am grasping for threads to hold onto, to keep from drowning.

“The power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories, that it has come to be disbelieved in. Few people dare now to say that two beings have fallen in love because they have looked at each other. Yet it is in this way that love begins, and in this way only. The rest is only the rest, and comes afterwards. Nothing is more real than these great shocks which two souls give each other in exchanging this spark.” - Victor Hugo

I met david on a beach in March. In a glance, my world changed. I was no longer who I was moments before, but I was someone better. I let myself jump off the cliff and into the great unknown of love and new possibilities. I wanted to drown in that feeling. Now, I am in alone in my room, a bottle of red wine and music, wondering what will come of it all.

And it is in these moments when I wonder why I deal with vulnerability at all. Why not just build up the walls and keep out the pain? It may be a bit lonelier, but it won't hurt as much. 

Sawubona

Sometimes in life, things don't happen the way we want or go the way we think they should. Where once there was a feeling of security and certainty, suddenly there is confusion and fear. I know the latter feelings very well. Several times over the past years, the floor has been ripped out from under me a few times. I know what it feels like to be in the free-fall of uncertainty and vulnerability, wanting to land but scared of the impact. Sometimes, as scary as the free-fall can be, it is nowhere near as frightening as the questions about what is to come. There have been times then it seemed easier to give up, to give in and just be done with it all. But then, for some reason, there is something that clicks, shifts and for some inexplicable reason, there was the hope that things would be ok and the faintest belief that it would all work out.

Just to be clear, I am not only talking about the trials and tribulations in life. Sometimes, the most amazing things can feel as intensely scary as the hard times. In my case today, it is about opening up and putting myself out there, way out there, even though I have no idea what will happen. I feel like there are just so many skeletons in my past, mistakes I've made and things I've done I'm not proud of. I find myself wanting and even needing to show someone and at the same time being terrified of what will happen when they see. I don't know exactly why I am scared. I guess there are just things about myself I don't really like to look at, so showing those things to someone else is beyond intimidating. I am trying to walk in vulnerability and not let it shut me down, make me pull away or do any of the usual things I do when things get uncomfortable. I am trying to let myself be seen, really seen.

Over a decade ago, I heard about sawubona. It is a greeting used among the largest South African ethnic group, the Zulu. In its simplest form, it means "I see you." But deeper than that, it means “I see your being, your dignity, respect, humanity and personality.” It is a word that sees and acknowledges the essence and spirit of a person, thereby honoring the person and who they are. The usual response to sawubona is ngikhona, which means “I am here” or “I have been seen” and like sawubona, means a lot more. It says “My dignity and spirit have been recognized.”

In my life, I learned very early how to keep people at arm's length. I never really fit in, never really had friends until I was older. I knew I was different in ways I could not understand or articulate. I felt isolated, separated. I felt invisible and insignificant. Even at home, I felt like a stranger. Unseen, unheard and unknown. By the time I was an adult, it was something I kept around me. It kept the hurt out, kept me safe. It also kept me lonely, no more so than when surrounded by mobs of people. I wrote about it a few years ago.

On Loneliness - July 12, 2010

Throughout my life, there is one feeling that has always been there. Sometimes it is overpowering and at other times it lingers just below the surface, and I can feel it, waiting. Even now, in the one of the most populated places on the planet, I still feel so lonely. It is the feeling I wake up with, the one I carry around all day and one I feel when I go to sleep. Even when I am laughing, it is there in the background. It is not a feeling of loneliness that is about the longing for the company of other people, but more a feeling that there is nobody who truly knows me, nobody who is truly there.

Sometimes it is the most intense when I am with someone else. How is it possible to physically be so close to someone and yet worlds apart. Why is it the people who are most important to us can, without even knowing it, make us feel so completely and painfully invisible and alone? And then I don’t know what to do. So often I want to reach for a hand, just to hold it, to feel another person, but then there is the fear of them pulling away and the loneliness is so much easier to deal with than the potential rejection that seems inevitable.

And so I go it alone, even in the company of others. I am there with them, but not really, not totally, not in the way I would like to be. I see so many people that seem to effortlessly connect with others and I don’t understand them. I know people think I am that way. They see an exterior that looks shiny and polished, but the fact of the matter is, I have just learned to fake it. I shut people out as much as I can, and when I have to, I put on a huge smile, tell some jokes and tell the world that everything is fine. But it is all smoke and mirrors, slight of hand and it is getting more and more difficult to pull the rabbit out of the hat. When I do talk to people, I am clumsy and give the impression I am making everything all about me. But the fact of the matter is, I am just gasping for air, trying to stay afloat.

I hate feeling lonely, but I am not sure how to feel any other way. I am tired of putting on a smile when all I really want is just to be held, really held and cry. I want to feel safe, heard and seen. But it doesn’t happen and so I go on, waiting and wanting but growing more confident that it is never coming. And I am not sure I would know what to do if it happened anyway. 

For the first time, I think I am beginning to really understand the meaning and importance of sawubona and ngikhona. I am learning they are essential to the life I want to lead. A life that is spent being seen, being recognized and loved, not only in spite of the past, but quite possibly because of it. 

This is the Moment

One of the things I have always loved about writing is the way it seems to come from nothing, form into something vague and hazy and finally, transform into something concrete and “real.” When I write, I more often than not, turn off my thinking and just let it go, being whatever it wants to become. Sometimes I start with an idea of what I think it will be and when I am finished, I am often surprised at what comes out. Of course, I sometimes have to force it, but I have discovered that is when I am either not really interested, not not being authentic. When I am being me, really me, it flows and I make no attempt to stop it. I don't worry what people will think and I don't go back and criticize or judge. It is what it is, what it is supposed to be. I feel the most present when I write or take pictures. That is probably why they are two of my most favorite things to do. Travel also puts me in that space.

It is easy to talk about being in the moment, being present and letting things happen as they will, but I know from recent experience, putting it into practice is hard, and at times, can really suck. I have spent a lot of time since the stroke wondering why this happened to me, comparing the “new” me to the pre-stroke me. I have spent a lot of time looking at my life from a sense of loss. I was everywhere but in the moment. I have felt angry, robbed, frustrated, isolated, confused and scared. Strokes are the number two killer world-wide and I remember making the decision to live that day in the hospital. But live for what? What was the reason? I have spent a lot of time wondering why. Surely I did not live to just go through the day-to-day feeling all those negative thoughts, mourning the life that was, unable to accept the life that had become. Searching for the reason drove me crazy, but I was sure there was something that would make sense.

A couple of weeks ago, and coinciding with going off the medication, I watched an conversation between Oprah and Nate Berkus. Nate was talking about how he lost his partner during the tsunami when they were in Sri Lanka and he spent a lot of time wondering why he survived when his partner did not. The thing that really struck me was the idea that so many people, like me, look for the big reason. We want to be able to say “I survived because I was meant to (insert major achievement here)” but the reality is, that every day we spend alive is the reason. I did not live to find a cure for cancer or win a Nobel Prize, but I lived because I did. I made a choice. I lived for myself, to spend time with my sisters, my niece and nephews, to see my sister Ava married. I lived for those little reasons and so many other ones. The other gift I got from the stroke, is the true knowledge that life, all this, is temporary. It is coming to an end. It will end. No matter how much we worry, regret, judge, compare or whatever, it will end. The only thing we really have control over, is how we spend these moments. And, I have learned even more than before, that being in the moment, being present, being open and willing is the key to truly amazing things happening. I would like to say I have it down, but I am learning. I am learning that it is not the destination that is important, it is the journey. It is what we take with us and what we leave behind. It is about going through the things that strip us from who we think we are to revealing who we really are.

These days, I am trying to stay more in the moment, present and open to what wants to be. I am trying to put the writer part of me into the every day places. Not judging, not controlling, but being. Yes, I have my plans, and no, I am not sitting around doing nothing as though waiting to win the lottery. I feel like something big is coming, something just around the next turn. I am not sure what it is, I have a hazy vision that each day, each minute comes a little sharper into focus. I am excited about sailing the unknown waters off the horizon.

Waking Up

About two months after starting the Prozac, my mood leveled out. The only problem was, it was in the basement. I felt like a shell of my old self. I would often have out-of-body type experiences, where I would see myself as though in a movie and have absolutely no control over what would happen. My camera collected dust, my laptop barely got opened, I didn't call anyone, I rarely went anywhere. If it wasn't for a few people forcing me to get out of the house or the absolute need to occasionally go out in order to survive, I could have easily have boarded up the doors and stayed inside forever. I didn't recognize myself at all. I didn't feel sad or depressed. I didn't feel anything at all.

After a couple of months, I realized that things were just not going to get better, so I spoke with my doctor about everything. He told me that for mild to moderate depression, regular exercise usually has the same effect of medication. That was my green light. I knew that I would rather make a sustainable lifestyle change instead of the endless routine of medication. I still have nothing against the medications, and my doctor also thinks I was probably just on the wrong one, or the dosage was wrong, but I feel like I need to see about life without them. I immediately arrived at the conclusion that being off anti-depressants would likely be better for me. I started hitting the gym, eating healthy, eliminating most anything unhealthy.

To say I was scared is an understatement. I had some pretty dark experiences with depression last summer and while I didn't like the feeling of not feeling, I was scared about what might surface. I was scared there might be something horrible and overwhelming just waiting to come out. So the agreement was made to stay in close contact with my doctor and really pay attention to what was happening in my body and mind.

One of the big things that happened on the medication was disconnecting myself from people. A couple of my friends were visiting California and I was overwhelmed with the thought of even messaging or calling. It just seemed so intimidating in a way I have not yet been able to describe. I wanted to see my friends, I just couldn't do it. Worse, I wouldn't even message them to explain. I have kept my distance from other people as well, like Ken and Charise. I didn't realize how I has isolated myself until I started looking back over the past months. I didn't recognize myself.

The post I wrote for this blog shortlyafter my trip with Ulco wasn't entirely true. Yes, the details of the trip were, but I wrote about participating in life. That was something of an exaggeration. With Ulco around and being on the road, I was indeed active and would just force myself to do things even when all I really wanted was to just do nothing. After Ulco left and the trip was done, I bottomed out and stopped participating in life in so many ways. I would have been happy to stay in bed and sleep my way through life. I didn't understand what was going on as I was on medication that was supposed to help, but I still seemed depressed. I wanted to believe that I was improving, and I used the trip with Ulco as proof that my life was moving ahead in a good direction. I needed it to, but it wasn't. It wasn't moving in a bad direction, it just simply wasn't going anywhere. And I wasn't even spinning wheels trying to make a change. I simply gave in, gave up and tuned-out. I sat around eating all day, putting on weight, watching TV and not caring. I quickly put on enough weight to be classified as overweight. Anyone who has ever met me knows what a big change that is. My clothes didn't fit and I felt horrible and dumpy and that made me even more willing to stay home and eat. I now understand the cycle of overeating and weight gain. I would look at overweight or obese people and wonder why and how they could just let themselves go. Now I get it, at least to a point. I realized I needed to make a change, to take control or things were either going to take control of me and it was not going to be pretty.

One thing I know for sure, is that the re-emergence of feelings is a very odd experience. Having spent the last few months feeling unmotivated and somewhat uncaring in pretty much every area of my life, I am excited to really have the start of actual feelings again. I caught myself singing in the shower again, one of the things I do when I feel happy and light. It has been a long time since I did that. I also feel not only the motivation to create, but the urge, the need. I am getting that feeling of needing to write, needing to use my camera and just make something, anything. I don't feel like sitting my pajamas all day waiting until an acceptable time to take a nap. The horrible insomnia I have had since November seems to be pretty much gone. I have energy. I want to do things. I want to see people. Instead of wanting to stay in bed until the wee hours of the afternoon, I like being up early. I now look forward to the day instead of looking forward to bed time.

The past ten days are like a re-awakening. I am actually enjoying things instead of going through the motions and pretending like I care. I feel more alert, awake and alive than I have in a long time.