Declaration of Independence

(Some clichés are too good to resist…It’s a holiday. Let me indulge.)

We’ve started a new Blog Challenge (again), and this one seems more manageable. Each week, one of us will ask a new question. This week Whitney inquired:

What did you accomplish in the last year?

I actually want to focus on something I was not so great at, which I would like to improve in the coming year. (Which is year #29. Let’s not talk about it…)
Yes, I am being Michael Scott in a job interview:
What are your strengths? / Lemme tell you about my weaknesses… 

I did accomplish some pretty baller things last year (birthday-to-birthday):

Participated in a surprise group dance number at a friend’s wedding reception (life list goal accomplished).

Started learning accordion, which is as awesome as it sounds.

Got runner-up in a national writing contest. (A one-liner writing contest. We’re starting small… but I got a free book! And my name on a website!)

Fit into pants I wore in high school (sweet red plaid Abercrombie situation circa 2001. For sure).

Went to Memphis to see my best friend from college marry the boy I introduced her to. (A long time ago. They get all the credit for the nuptials.) Still, “happiest day” doesn’t begin to describe.

Also saw Graceland. TCB.

Started writing for a TV show. Jokes that I wrote have gotten laughs on TV! For real, you guys! (The Mystery Hour, Saturdays @ 11 on KOZL. Check it, local peeps!)

Had a great relationship, lost a great relationship.

And now here we are. That catches you up to Sunday. And it’s that final one that gets me thinking about next year. As does the current message on my kitchen door chalkboard:

In case my cursive is bothersome, or the image doesn’t show up, it’s this:

You yourself, as much as anyone in the universe,
deserve your love and affection. –Buddha

(And the subtitle scrawled above, by Buddha’s bitter and less-famous cousin: AND NOBODY ELSE WANTS IT ANYWAY. har har.)

This. THIS. If I can internalize and put into practice one thing this birthday year…I think this mantra could save me a world of trouble. Perfectionism, conflict, jealousy, procrastination, burn-out, blow-ups, etc…. So many problems in my life get worse when I forget to take care of myself first. (That’s true for everybody, I think. Women in particular.)

There’s rarely just one thing (or one person) to blame when a relationship stops working, but I know one thing for sure: It’s in my disposition to put all my happiness eggs in a significant other’s basket. And that works for a while, because he’s happy that I’m making him happy, and I’m happy to be making him happy. But then, after a while, I don’t have enough happiness eggs left for myself. And then he wonders why I’m too sad to make omelets. And so he leaves.

(Oversimplified egg analogy…but not terribly inaccurate. There’s also some sort of “chicken” comparison in there, but I won’t make it.)

So that’s my goal for year 29: Take better care of my eggs. (or something)

Meaning, love myself first. Buddha knew it. Oprah knows it. Momma’s going to learn it. Then, omelets for everybody!

What cats & heartbreak have taught me so far

This is a story about a girl and a cat. (and some other things…)

I wrote a post about Kitler last August (and holy shit is it more apropos than I remembered…seriously, go read it. It’s short). Kitler is the stray cat I started feeding last year, and he’s stayed in my life, off and on, since then. Every time I think he might be gone for good, there he is when I open the door. As if nothing has changed.

And I feed him, just the same.

In that post last year, I used his lack of trust and my unreciprocated affection as a metaphor for my love life. I give and give and give (cat food), and though he’s slowly warmed up to me, he still won’t let himself fully connect (by receiving kitty snuggles).

That sounds about right.

///

Tonight as I was leaving my house to walk to the park — the one safe place I could think of to clear my head — there he was on the porch. After another long absence and presumed tragic ending. He looked skinnier than usual but meowed like he was happy to see me. (Allow me to give the cat some emotions. I need him to have emotions right now.) But when I carried the scoop of food outside, he hissed at me. (This is not typical Kitler behavior anymore.) On closer inspection, I noticed he looked a little dirty, and he was walking with a little limp. Somebody hurt Kitler.

This was too much, universe. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

…Because I’m helpless. The little guy won’t let me touch him when he’s well, so there’s no way I can manage to take him to the vet. He’s not even technically my cat… so I just have to stand there and watch him be hurt.

…And also because that’s how it goes sometimes. People you love get hurt and there’s nothing you can do about it. (Sometimes the “people you love” is you.)

But I’m letting this moment with Kitler teach me an important lesson. I think he’s been hurt by a lot of people in his rough little kitty life. After a whole year he trusts me — but not much. Not enough to let me close.

I see how life can get that way. (For people. I do still relate to people, cat lady conspiracy theorists.)

You trust and you love, and then you get burned sometimes. (This might even happen three birthdays in a row, for example.) After that kind of hope and heartbreak, you might want to completely self-protect. Close off. Shun affection. Put up walls. Harden your heart and never believe there’s someone who could truly care for you again.

(Right?)

But I’m not going to let myself believe that. Whether or not I ever get my own Nora Ephron ending (speaking of sad news this week, you guys…), I know that I deserve to be cared for.

I may be the sort of cat who’s a little roughed up in places, who’s not quite as trusting as she used to be. And sometimes I hiss at life — even at the people I love. But I’m not ready to close myself off. Not yet.

I know I can still care for Kitler even though I can’t fix him. And I certainly don’t have to end up like him.

Besides, I don’t think they make you change your status from “and ready to mingle” to “and ready to die alone” until at least birthday #30. (And it’s longer than that, I’ve heard, in cat-years.)

H is for HBlair

One of the greatest folks I know is turning the big 4-0 tomorrow!

I might not be so quick to announce a milestone birthday, except that friends far and wide have been showering her with gifts all week, so it’s no secret. And if anyone makes 40 seem fabulous! (in true Hallmark-card style…where a kitten covered in glitter is drinking a martini…but, you know, classy), it’s Heather.

Rather than try to wax eloquent in prose about why she’s such a great friend and why we all love her so much (my Hallmark card cheese-meter is already bouncing off the charts), I decided I’d attempt a list of 40 things that make me think of Heather…

1. Friend
2. Listener
3. Sharer
4. Tyra—where it all began (fierce, OMG G, etc.)—Banks
5. Stories
6. Gesticulation whilst telling those stories
7. Popcorn
8. Diet Coke
9. Books
10. (+ Booky Wooks)
11. Book Club
12. Wry
13. Witty
14. Wise
15. Weddings!
16. an ally
17. a refuge
18. Couch time
19. Surprises
20. Togethering
21. *Farkle Dance*
22. Guitaring
23. Believer
24. (+ dance competition TV show dreams believer)
25. The Paper Mill
26. Patient
27. Pleasant
28. Preaches the truth
29. Troll 2
30. Trivia
31. Tim Olyphant (you’re welcome.)
32. Inspiring
33. Instigating
34. Investigating
35. Roadtrips
36. Podcasts
37. Pineapple Whip
38. Prettiness
39. Pun intolerance
40. And (as Ricky Gervais might put it) having a laugh.

That was easy.
Happy Birthday, HBlair! You deserve every ounce of fabulousness sent your way.