Go to your room!!

Gross National Happiness

Lunchtime today:
I am so incredibly grumped out. I can barely stand myself. I'm sitting at lunch for the second day in a row wondering if I can just get away and get a hold of myself in this hour. Ugh.

I'm mad at the traffic. Mad at the line at lunch. Mad at the music overhead covering Coldplay, and mad at the girl unhappy that I asked her to bring me salad dressing. Mad she said she would bring it and didn't.

Mad at the European tourists' shoes. Mad at this gorgeous day, or not that exactly, but the attitudes underneath it, carefree. Mad I have one hour for lunch, mad I feel guilty for taking the hour. Mad I have to work at all on a beautiful and disarming day like today. Mad at my temp for leaving. Mad I have no one to replace her. Mad that my desk drawer breaks. Mad that It's not all just right. Mad that Michael's gone. Mad that this gorgeous, unbelievable, beautiful spring day is here without Michael beneath it and Talia and everything I ever knew before this winter is changed to some other animal with some other pelt and some other mode of recognizing itself in its environment.

Then, dinner with Michael's mom and step dad:
"Did you know that recently the King of Bhutan abdicated the throne in favor of democracy and threw out Gross National Product in favor of Gross National Happiness?"

Now:
There's a kitten in my lap. Happy me for kitten tonic. Gross National Kittens.

*________________*

*your title goes here*
go ahead, have a seat and say something

Warning: Ocean

Can't see because it's nighttime, but this sign sits at the entrance to the beach. In case you don't notice that wily Pacific, the sign above this one reads: Coastal Access.

Sometimes You Just Gotta Dance

Boobs on the Bench

Nearing 5,000 page views and you know where near half of them are bounced from?
Not Lindsay Lohan. Not Britney Spears. Not Paris Hilton.
Not Roger Clemens. Not Lance Armstrong. Not Tony Romo.
Not Pamela Anderson. Not my fine, fair thoughts on life and how we live it.

Google Image: Fake Boobs
Hi folks. Pull up a park bench and strip 'em.

Map of the Soul

if you read this at all regularly, you know i get a little deep sometimes. thankya jesus that there are people like matt, and listings on google to shorten the depth.

i google imaged "map of the soul" just to see what it looks like and where to turn:

www.metsoul.com

Eclipse

The wind is high, the night is cool, the full moon is fully eclipsed, dark and disappeared in its Umbral Shadow.

Umbra: "the blackest part of a shadow from which all light is cut off."

But curiously, the shadow never stops moving, and soon the skinniest of slivers begins to show the moon's light again. This time, it was 51 minutes of darkness. Umbrage. If we can just feel the quickness of that passage, or the continuity of it, perhaps we can remember, without seeing, that even the dark speeds toward the light. Even the dark is defeated soon.

Oops

Kate's out of town and Kara went to work tonight.
I got in trouble.
Tania called right when the credits were rolling on "Sophie's Choice."
Tania said: What? You watched by yourself??
Lisa said in the background: Where are those mommies?

Pema Has 4 Mommies*

I rent a room from Lisa and Tania.
I housesit/catsit frequently for Kara and Kate, just up the hill from us.
In between times, we all have a great time hanging out together.

Today when Lisa called me in SF and said my room flooded and asked if Kate and Kara might take me in for the week while it gets resolved, it was lost on none of us that it feels a little like joint custody. Of Pema.

* Cultural Footnote

my heart's in san francisco

along with the rest of me.

looking out a hotel window at a shimmying bay and a lit up bay bridge.
savoring brunch and sunshine with jane, molly, tanyaa.
drinks and synchronicity with dan.
breakfast with kim.
lunch with michelle.
more synchronicity with britt.

apparently a lot of food...and a lot more love and history all shmished and mingled and swirled into a heady concoction of hey la vie. hey la la. happy me.

Thankya Jesus

Have you ever heard that accepting generosity is a compliment to the person who offers it? I'm thinking that ties into a sense of self-worth: the more easily you can accept someone's generosity, the more in tune you are with your worthiness, your simple worth as a person.

Since this blog is an experiment in exploration, henceforth we shall commence with the Thank You Catalog. An exploration in practice, a practice of thanks...

Since I was in high school, I imagined the day I would be able to give thanks to everyone who ever helped me in my life. The fantasy usually took place from the podium at the Oscars, statue in hand, cameras rolling. Then it was a huge party. This is what I'll do, I would think. When I make it big I'll throw a huge party and invite everyone who ever meant something to me, believed in me, wanted me to do well and supported me in my desires and endeavors...Of course this means I have to make it big for people to finally know what they mean to me. No pressure.

I think the fantasy came from such a small view of myself that I wanted people to see I deserved it ("see what I did with your help?") I wanted to show them their kindness wasn't wasted on me.

Well...you know how when you save money bit by bit, it adds up and before long your sitting atop piles of green? Lets call the Thank You Catalog the savings account of thank yous. Slip in a 50, and watch it grow. Then, one night if I'm standing there at the Oscars podium after all, dolled up and weightlifting a gold statue, I can just say, "read the blog amigos!"

The inaugural Thank You Catalog entry honors Janey Jane, who, in the gathering of momentum that launched me out of our city and into my dream--playwriting school in New York--gave me $400 for a used leather jacket she may never have "bought" in the first place had it not been for her love, belief in me, support of my dream, and passion for the person I was and friendship we had. Janey Jane and I are still the sweetest of friends and I have many many things to thank her for. But that teeny little act of kindness that took all of 90 seconds to transact accompanies me to this day when I think about people and moments in my life for which I am grateful and full of love.

Love Sweet Love, or What the World Needs Now

Someday I will undertake to understand the kick in the gut and the subsequent tears that certain generosity brings. Once, I was so broke, I had to steal quarters from the parking drawer at work to get a sandwich from the Mobil station on the corner. When I say once, I mean, once upon a time in my life--it was a span of sandwiches and a season of thievery.

During that season, I was taking a weekly seminar where we all got to know and admire each other quite deeply. And as one of the evenings was wrapping up, the seminar leader, Pam, said, "Why don't we just look around the room and check in with everyone before we leave, see where we're at." She said it because huge tears were streaming down a face I couldn't keep straight to save my life. I was holding my breath trying not to make any sounds, so I was that dear-me-I'm-crying-and-can't-stop shade of red.

Someone, it turned out, had slipped a 50 into the book under my chair. When I bent down to gather my things and saw it there...oy. I opened my book and stared at the bill like a mouse had just walked on hind legs into the room bearing a hall pass and telling me in front of everyone to go to the vice principal's office. A mouse. In other words, what-the--?

And then I lost it. Tears from here to eternity in gratitude for the person who felt moved by me to the point that he quietly slipped an entire 50 into my possession. I could live a week on $50. I could buy groceries with that. Take the bus with the rest.

I think about those tears sometimes when someone's generosity tugs at me, noting the difference in my gut between now and then. Somewhere along the line I have discovered I am worthy of a generous offering, or someone's love, or their time. Worthy of a healthy paycheck, a full hour at lunchtime, and some help when I'm stressed. How do we get it into our heads that we're not worthy? And how might we smite the bigger issue of poverty if folks remembered that primary condition, worthiness?

School

These days I think people and experiences cross my path for the express reason of teaching me something. I've always thought that, but recent times have produced so many of them, they're like cue cards and I'm studying for the test. There was "The New Guy" to yank my anger out into view and discover how deep it resides in me (he's the sweetie I was dating who forgot to, oh, call me when Michael died.) Jeff, from the post below, resurfaced anonymously long enough to provoke me to share my real feelings about being flaked on. Interestingly, though he apologized, he himself was not one of the flakes. Allen invited a lunch date today--using the term very loosely here, way more lunch than date. But it reminded me what a reflection he was when we did date last summer, of my carefulness and reserve around affairs of the heart.

It's only Wednesday, and these have already populated my week. That's like cramming. I'll need coffee for this.

Fine. Here's Naked.

Dammit, who keeps saying NAKED??
"Sitting on a park bench naked", "These pages will always be naked," nyeh nyeh nyeh naked. Pfuh.

Ergh. Here's the NAKED response to the post below...

Dear "Sorry,"
Yes, it hurts my feelings when someone doesn't keep his word. When excitement or fun or connection is part of the picture, it hurts my feelings even more to get flaked on. Full on break-ups have been fulfilling in contrast to some of the forgotten plans that have left me dangling in the mystery of manliness...making me pull out my Nancy Drew for clues...."Am I getting that familiar silent shaft, instead of hearing, 'hey, man, sorry, not for me'?"

For the sake of fairness, I have been the silent escapee, myself, so I get the allure. But it's ugly. Having also dated my fair share of women, four out of five doctors surveyed agree men are "way more prone" to vanishing disease.

So. Where does that leave us, my "Sorry" friend?

On the outset, it probably left me sad and confused, wondering at my worth and why folks think I'm great, but not "the great," or even "a great." These days, it is what it is. The runner is a runner, and not a match for me.

I do have to say that the anonymity of your post--considering what the apology is for--strikes me as a decisive reminder of the of the alleged disappearance itself. But like a spirit visiting from the other side, maybe you could only summon enough stamina to be partially revealed, shake some chains to send a message. So, thank you.

From,
Pema

If a Tree Falls

Is this tree falling in the forest?

Anonymous said...
Morning coffee. Freezing rain. Procrastinating the work I have to do. One of those whimsical mornings when you decide to Google people from your past you've lost touch with. Just to see... Now an hour or so later, I've read your whole blog. So much struck me, but this post struck me the most. Am I one of those guys? Maybe... sort of. I've often wondered, and often regretted having not said or done more, but especially regret having let you down. I am truly sorry.

I'm a little sideways at the irony. It's anonymous.
I can't recount the men who have peed on my shoes and trotted off to the next tree. It's the pee trot. The tree trot. But thanks for the apology, Stranger.

Jello

I kind of feel like Jello today. That area between my throat and my legs feels a little wobbly, like the surface of a bubble. No explanation. Just do. My mind is quiet and is a little stingy with the big thoughts to share, or the funny observations. So for today, just Jello.

Due Process of Desire

At 19 I fell in love with Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged. She also wrote my other favorite, The Fountainhead, in which one of her characters, at the end of his journey, beaten and undone says the thing I have never forgotten:

"It is a big responsibility to want something. Not like to get my name in the papers or sleep with some woman, but to really want something."

Today the quote is returning like a roller coaster on its track, round and round and round. I'm thinking about due process, let's call it. Due process of desire.

I want things passionately. I have been known to sink my teeth into a desire like a dog on a bone, and shake it into submission. But in the course of my life, my wanter has been in varying degrees of malfunction. At some point, I repressed my desires to the point of not knowing what they were. Then I went looking for them. Found them. Didn't know what to do with them. So I started a personal campaign. How do I dance with these things?

What trips me up is the heat of my desire. Have you ever noticed that when you really really really really want something, goddammit, somehow you just have to wait a teeny bit longer than you thought you should? You really really really really want a job. You show that to the people hiring, and they're like, whooee what's up with Desperado over there? She's a little too clingy to fit our company. Or the guy (or woman) you think is dreamy. Come on too strong, showing the weight of what you want and kiss that dream goodbye.

It occurs to me that that measuring act of emotional balance around a desire is part of the responsibility of wanting. You can't just throw your passion or drive into someone's lap and expect them to sort it out. You have to measure it.

This points to two things: 1) detachment 2) patience

WHAT?? LET GO OF WHAT I WANT?? BUT I WANT IT!! WAAAII-IITT? I HAVE TO WAIT??

Remind you of any two-year-olds in your life? It reminds me of me and I'm 36.

Desire unleashes all these powerful, empowering emotions, and sometimes it's more than I can muster to chill out and let it follow its due process...It's a wave. It'll accumulate, rise and crash on my shore, then recede. (Ahh, can you hear the tape from my quiet place saying, "breathe"?)

...Now that I'm all Zenned out, that concept, due process, or unfolding, is a kinder one that "responsibility." I'm going to go with that one. But thanks, Ayn Rand, for getting me there.

Reconsidered and Recused

This daily post got the better of my conscience
and is thusly replaced, or rather, deleted. Now go
sing songs of freedom and make daisy chains.

Don't Cry for Me

To celebrate the culmination of Tania's campaign leadership work, Lisa and I went to the election results watch party, or the Super Fat Tuesday party--as one of the Obaminators put it, since it took place on Fat Tuesday. She was as buoyant as ever, despite the bronchitis, a 5:30am start to the day, and weeks of meetings, organizing, and late night calls from volunteers.

Tania's enthusiasm for Barack Obama can blast a room clear of doubt in two heartbeats. She was so inspired by his book and the leader himself, that she went to a volunteer meeting on a Thursday, started canvassing on a Saturday, and turned her duties as a neighborhood team coordinator into those of the Santa Barbara Team Coordinator in about 6 weeks' time.

Tania's enthusiasm grew as Obama became more than a candidate. He became a movement. This groundswell of people came forward as citizens of a nation, rather than passive riders on The Big Bus. People were talking and volunteering and pasting bumper stickers...getting excited that things could really be different.

Then my fear grew. What if...our nation puts ALL of its hope into this rising star? When movements swell, they swell from the heart. It is our passions and desires that get us off our rumps and into the election booth, and beyond. We get excited like teenagers that goodness really IS possible, and we pin all of that possibility on the ONE we think will make it for us.

What will happen to everyone's morale and spirit if something awful happens to Barack Obama? What will happen to the light that he is growing, and the hope people are excited about? Strategically, if you want to put a hole in a nation, kick its hope in the shins. Worse, knock it out completely.

That's when I started writing about leadership and personal accountability. 'Cause I got scared of the country's rampant hope. (Backwards? Maybe.) You have to understand that I just lost a leader, myself. My late boss, who died in December, was a leader and mentor to many people he encountered, especially those of us who worked with him directly. After losing him so suddenly and tragically, it has given me a lot of moments to meditate on what you pin your hopes on when your leader is gone.

What I have come up with is what lies here in these blog pages. That we need to call on ourselves to fulfill ourselves; that we need to be contributors ourselves, instead of solely placing our hopes on someone who will do it for us, save us for us.

Back to Tania. On Less-Super Wednesday, it was time to break down the campaign office after an undecided race. People were asking Tania if she was upset that Obama was not the clear winner, if she felt like she failed, if she was having a hard day. And when she was telling me this story she was grinning and saying, "Are you kidding me? I feel great! My work is DONE. I did what I set out to do: I helped win 112 precincts out of 131!! I delivered on my promise."

Then she quoted the Dalai Lama: "Attachment to outcome? Bad idea."

And this my friends, brings me to the moral of my story. Tania shouldered her hope. She carried the weight of it, even while campaigning her heart out for the man who would improve her country. She's a HUGE supporter of Obama, and yet, she did not give ALL of her hope over to him. She volunteered for the campaign so she could CONTRIBUTE to the leadership process, which if you think about it, is exactly what Barack Obama is doing.

Tania is my inaugural Exemplary Human of the Week, because she so well exemplifies the notions I've been pondering aloud here these days. Let's be a nation of Tanias. :-)

Obama cum Evita

Tania was the Team Coordinator for the Santa Barbara Obama campaign.

She likes to write lyrics to popular songs, making them entirely new songs, and making her very popular among her friends and admirers. With this song, she even got a balcony to sing from...

Head Heart Gut...Knee

I'm not voting. Should I vote? Don't even know if I'm registered.
Grumble bumble.
Driving to the precinct.
Who's it going to be?
A WOMAN?? How could I not vote this history into being?
Obama? Dreamer, compassionate, purposeful. I believe him, too.

So I head into the parking lot. Moments away. It hits me:
Head, heart, gut.
Which am I going to vote with? Head, heart or gut?
No idea.

I get into the booth. Dennis Kucinich is on the ballot and I realize, great! He's my heart candidate. If I voted my heart, I would vote for him, most believable, least shit-talker of all of them. But he's not in the running.

Next, head and gut. Hillary is definitely the logical choice. She's the head candidate. 30 years of service, firmly entrenched in a political machine that has proven to do good things for a nation. And she's a woman! But...I don't trust her. I just don't trust her, why don't I trust her? My gut says no Hillary--

And Bam! It's Obama. My gut says no Hillary, so I vote Obama. I fill in the little charcoal dot, and realize when I'm driving away I've voted KNEE.

Knee jerk.

Thank you to my other body parts for playing foil to the champion: reaction.

Love a good conversation

Pasted from comments on "Reflections on Loss, Leadership"

Dan said...
It's an unbearably geeky reference, but I've always like the song "Hero" from the SpiderMan soundtrack.
"Some say a hero will save usI'm not going to stand here and wait"
It's also been said "be the change you want to see in the world"
There are many things we cannot change, cannot impact... but MANY things that we can
February 4, 2008 11:33 AM

Pema said...
The most pressing being the awareness that we each are our own saviors. However it is that we remember--divinely or politically--that WE ARE NOT LOST when plans go radically awry, when hope goes peekid, this is the most important impact we make.

I waited till I was 35 for my dad to save me, help me, see me as someone who needed his parental shepherding. Going it alone during a debilitating health condition, I was upset and grasping at anything that could be a factor in my illness, emotional, physical, psychic. When I said to a health practitioner, "What's it going to take for my dad to notice that I need him? What has to happen to me?"

The air sucked out of the room and she looked at me sharply. "Bite your tongue," she said. "You need to take care of yourself, and believe that YOU are your protector, no one else."

She was saying what I am saying now. We can place hope in people and things outside ourselves--leaders and lovers and politicians--but it is only that little flame in us that is going to keep us alive and thriving when shit hits the fan.
February 5, 2008 1:16 PM

Answer

Before the days obfuscate the view, the answer to Feb. 1's post is in the first comment on its page. A little too much answer if you ask me, but I'm just the one on the bench in goose bumps. Not just naked, apparently, but also transparent. :-)

Reflecting on Loss, Leadership

"Loss is not a deficit. It is a shifting of weight. It’s a reorganization of soul and will and life and light and purpose. WE create a new normal. We cannot be mired in fear of loss, fear of terror, fear of fear. We must step into the creation of our lives—daily. We must be a light that radiates outward and affects our elders, our juniors, our peers. And when we die, when we go, those we once led will step in, and in turn lead. We each must lead in order to affect leaders around us. We must realize the chain of worth and recognize our power is not held in whom we choose or whom we adore or disdain or desire. It is in ourselves and in the desire itself. Reach deep within for the balance and the ballast of your strength. It comes from love. It grows from faith and trust. It thrives in sharing your understanding. Be a light and know that light does not stop with you if you stop. It continues rippling out to every one of us, so that when one life is extinguished, it's light is not put out. It carries on, through those we’ve affected, those we love, those we’ve led. "

This came out yesterday after weeks of gestating loss, and uncountable hours meditating on personal accountability. I got scared about the great American hope we're placing on our presidential candidates, to pull us out of this country's present abyss. Loss in our lives is inevitable. Death is inevitable. Yet, HOPE and personal accountability cannot go with it. We each must remember our individual contribution to the equation of our lives. We cannot rely on one person to pull us out of a nose dive, whether personal, political, national, or in our neighborhood. Shift the weight of hope to your shoulders, too. Take on what you don't like, if just in living by example. Perspective will save us. Strength in our own characters will save us.

Obfuscate

Which of the following does NOT define OBFUSCATE?

1. to make obsolete

Photo: www.janchipchase.com

2. to make obscure or unclear

Photo: www.hickerphoto.com

3. to confuse, bewilder, or stupefy
Photo: barkbarkwoofwoof.blogspot.com

4. to darken
Photo: www.tommangan.net