Technically I should be planning a novel right now. So I’m going to write about my birthday instead. Because most of the fun of writing a novel is thinking about writing it. And then putting it off by writing something else.
Yesterday I turned 41. Big. Fucking. Deal. No, really, I don’t care. As far as age goes, I’m fine with where I am in life. I’m 41 and I look, well, younger than that (although this year has definitely aged me). I’m 5’ 8” and I weigh 123 pounds. I’m in the most creative and spiritual part of my life thus far. I have the job of my dreams. In live in one of the coolest places on the planet. I have a few very good, reliable friends, who give me as much as I give them. So really, I’m good. There’s only one thing left that I want for my life and it continues to elude me. I’m not desperate for it, but I want it a lot. And since I keep failing at getting it, I’ve started to think it’s because something is wrong with me, and I’ve started to attack myself as my latest overachievement to make myself worthy of it. Because if you’re not getting what you want, you must not deserve it, right?
That’s why Paul showed up on my birthday. To knock some sense into me.
At the beginning of last week, I wrote to a good (gifted) friend that I was under a great deal of pressure. Physical pressure, as in, it felt like someone was sitting on my rib cage. It was a new feeling but not an unexpected one. I keep losing the same thing over and over again this year. And this latest loss really dragged me down. I was feeling bad already. And then suddenly I was feeling crushed. Literally. Crushed.
It lasted a couple of days and then subsided. I didn’t think anything more of it, because the sadness underneath it remained and I assumed that was the real issue.
Then yesterday morning I had a dream. I was in a large wooden cabin with my mom. There were long wooden tables inside the cabin. It almost looked like something you would find at a day camp. Outside this cabin was very bright sunshine, so bright you almost couldn’t see through it. The door was open and I was looking out the window. There was a body of water that went to the horizon and an orange mountain sticking up from it on the right side of my view. My mom was on the phone with Paul, and I had a sense that he was somewhere on the other side of that mountain. It was as if he were still alive but had left because his health was failing and he knew he was going to die. In the dream, this seemed like a good reason to leave. It made sense.
I don’t know what they said to each other. And then she handed me the phone.
I asked him how he was doing, if he was ok. I got a weird answer that I can’t remember word for word. But the gist of it was, no he wasn’t ok, his health was failing. This wasn’t a nice vacation for him, you know? I didn’t feel he was angry at me at all, just unhappy with the situation that caused him to be where he was. Very much like one of the very last conversations I had with him before he died.
I woke up thinking that I must have had that dream because he had been on my mind. My mom had sent me a ring for my birthday, one she had made from the logo he had designed for himself and always used on all his work. I had worn it all the day before so it made sense that I would be thinking of him.
Then I read my Facebook messages. I had one from that same gifted friend I had written to earlier about the weight I felt on my chest. She had also had a dream about Paul that night. Except he spoke directly to her in her dream... about me.
He told her that the weight I had been feeling against my rib cage was him. He was trying to communicate with me. He was trying to show me by putting that pressure on me that I was putting too much pressure on myself. He said I had to pull back, “withhold all the stir crazies” in my head. Then he told her a joke, but it was too long for her to remember. That’s typical. Few of us could ever remember his long-winded jokes, no matter how funny they were.
They were always funny.
When I read that message I realized, my dream wasn’t just a dream either. He was showing me that he is communicating with me. And my mom. Even if we don’t understand, he is talking to us and trying to help us. Not only that, but he’s actually been telling me this for some time, and I’ve known it. He was a huge Eagles fan when he was alive. Since he died, I’ve been listening to a radio station that plays a lot of music from the 70s. And whenever I’m my most stressed out, confused, over-analytical self, the same song magically comes on the radio.
“Take it easy, don’t let the sound of your own wheels make you crazy.” I always knew it was him. I just didn’t always know what to do with his advice.
I almost didn’t make it to the Puss In Boots family screening on time after I read that message. I had to call my mom and tell her, and I had to think about what he meant. I had to recover from the emotion of finding out that although I haven’t heard from him in a while, he is actually still here. What was I doing to myself? I really wasn’t sure. I felt like everything about my life this year has been about loss and abandonment and my soul was just tired. It hadn’t occurred to me yet that I was causing a lot of that pain myself. Not until Paul told me.
I got to the movie just in time, and I watched it with this question in my head. What am I doing, and what do I do to stop it? I didn’t know yet. I watched the entire movie unable to let it go. And then when the movie ended and the credits started, I felt a punch in my heart and I started to tear up. I remembered on this exact weekend last year, I was watching Megamind with Paul and my mom and the rest of my family. It was the first feature I had ever worked on. It was a big deal. But I didn’t tear up.
The moment passed. Then my name came up in the credits and I felt the punch again, and this time I could barely keep myself from crying. I really, really had to work at holding it back. That’s when I knew what it was. It was Paul telling me he thought the movie was great and he was proud of me. He was there. He had watched it with me.
I managed to get myself back together and get out of the theater and back to the car. And I started thinking again, what was he talking about? What am I doing? I stopped for tacos and thought about it. I went home and sat on my couch and thought about it some more. And that’s when things started to make sense.
I’ve been wasting a lot of energy giving love and friendship to people who don’t want to give it back, as if the more I give, the more they will want to give me. When has that ever worked? Never. Somewhere along the way I had also decided that if I wasn’t getting what I wanted in my life, then I hadn’t earned it yet. So at some point I started trying to earn it. I started trying to be “better.” Stronger. More classy, more mature, more honorable, more trustworthy, more generous, more in control, and therefore, more deserving. Supposedly.
I had gotten myself into the same mindset I was in a few years ago in my last serious relationship, where I felt like I was broken and needed to be fixed. I thought, if I wasn’t getting the love I wanted from this person, it must be because there was something wrong with me. He would love me more if I were less broken. So I set myself on a path to fix whatever I could find. It gave me a false sense of control over the outcome. And it drained me completely, because it was never my fault to begin with. I did snap out of it on my own and I gratefully thought that was the end of it. And yet here I was today in the exact same place.
Somewhere in the last 12 months I had decided that I didn’t have what I wanted yet because God didn’t think I deserved it. And when I figured that out, I realized that can’t possibly be true. I already deserve it. Making myself the problem doesn’t give me more control over the outcome. I don’t have it yet because it’s just not right yet. It’s just not here yet. That’s all.
That was the pressure I was putting on myself. That’s when I let it go. Paul’s birthday present to me.
But perhaps the most startling revelation of all was when I realized the following:
If a DEAD man has more of an ability — and most importantly, willingness — to show me the love and attention I deserve than some of the people in my life who are STILL LIVING, then I am DEFINITELY putting my energy into the wrong things. The wrong people.
I’m very bad about making excuses for people when I give to them and they don’t give back. “He’s busy.” “He has young kids that take up all his time.” “He’s got a girlfriend now.” “He only wants what he can’t have and I’m not enough of a challenge.” “He lives 50 miles away.” “He lives 9000 miles away.” “He doesn’t think he deserves love.” “He has issues.”
Whatever.
A DEAD MAN has shown me more love this weekend than a few of the live ones in my life have shown me in the last year, and in some cases, ever. The greatest gift of all was the realization that THERE ARE NO EXCUSES for these people not returning the love that I have freely given them. Whether it’s romantic love, the love of a child, or just friendship. You don’t let one side do all the work. There are no excuses for that. None.
So my birthday present to myself is this: No more pouring my effort and my love down a black hole. No more making excuses for why the hole is black and in the process, giving it permission to stay that way. If the black holes in my life ever decide to cough up a little love or attention in return for all I have given them, I will be here. But I can’t waste my energy anymore. I don’t care how anyone really feels about me deep down. If you don’t show it, it doesn’t matter. There is NO EXCUSE for caring for someone and not showing them, not telling them. If DEATH is not an excuse, then there is no excuse in existence. And they are no longer getting any excuses from me.
From now on, I only return the love I am given. Happy birthday to me.
Yesterday I turned 41. Big. Fucking. Deal. No, really, I don’t care. As far as age goes, I’m fine with where I am in life. I’m 41 and I look, well, younger than that (although this year has definitely aged me). I’m 5’ 8” and I weigh 123 pounds. I’m in the most creative and spiritual part of my life thus far. I have the job of my dreams. In live in one of the coolest places on the planet. I have a few very good, reliable friends, who give me as much as I give them. So really, I’m good. There’s only one thing left that I want for my life and it continues to elude me. I’m not desperate for it, but I want it a lot. And since I keep failing at getting it, I’ve started to think it’s because something is wrong with me, and I’ve started to attack myself as my latest overachievement to make myself worthy of it. Because if you’re not getting what you want, you must not deserve it, right?
That’s why Paul showed up on my birthday. To knock some sense into me.
At the beginning of last week, I wrote to a good (gifted) friend that I was under a great deal of pressure. Physical pressure, as in, it felt like someone was sitting on my rib cage. It was a new feeling but not an unexpected one. I keep losing the same thing over and over again this year. And this latest loss really dragged me down. I was feeling bad already. And then suddenly I was feeling crushed. Literally. Crushed.
It lasted a couple of days and then subsided. I didn’t think anything more of it, because the sadness underneath it remained and I assumed that was the real issue.
Then yesterday morning I had a dream. I was in a large wooden cabin with my mom. There were long wooden tables inside the cabin. It almost looked like something you would find at a day camp. Outside this cabin was very bright sunshine, so bright you almost couldn’t see through it. The door was open and I was looking out the window. There was a body of water that went to the horizon and an orange mountain sticking up from it on the right side of my view. My mom was on the phone with Paul, and I had a sense that he was somewhere on the other side of that mountain. It was as if he were still alive but had left because his health was failing and he knew he was going to die. In the dream, this seemed like a good reason to leave. It made sense.
I don’t know what they said to each other. And then she handed me the phone.
I asked him how he was doing, if he was ok. I got a weird answer that I can’t remember word for word. But the gist of it was, no he wasn’t ok, his health was failing. This wasn’t a nice vacation for him, you know? I didn’t feel he was angry at me at all, just unhappy with the situation that caused him to be where he was. Very much like one of the very last conversations I had with him before he died.
I woke up thinking that I must have had that dream because he had been on my mind. My mom had sent me a ring for my birthday, one she had made from the logo he had designed for himself and always used on all his work. I had worn it all the day before so it made sense that I would be thinking of him.
Then I read my Facebook messages. I had one from that same gifted friend I had written to earlier about the weight I felt on my chest. She had also had a dream about Paul that night. Except he spoke directly to her in her dream... about me.
He told her that the weight I had been feeling against my rib cage was him. He was trying to communicate with me. He was trying to show me by putting that pressure on me that I was putting too much pressure on myself. He said I had to pull back, “withhold all the stir crazies” in my head. Then he told her a joke, but it was too long for her to remember. That’s typical. Few of us could ever remember his long-winded jokes, no matter how funny they were.
They were always funny.
When I read that message I realized, my dream wasn’t just a dream either. He was showing me that he is communicating with me. And my mom. Even if we don’t understand, he is talking to us and trying to help us. Not only that, but he’s actually been telling me this for some time, and I’ve known it. He was a huge Eagles fan when he was alive. Since he died, I’ve been listening to a radio station that plays a lot of music from the 70s. And whenever I’m my most stressed out, confused, over-analytical self, the same song magically comes on the radio.
“Take it easy, don’t let the sound of your own wheels make you crazy.” I always knew it was him. I just didn’t always know what to do with his advice.
I almost didn’t make it to the Puss In Boots family screening on time after I read that message. I had to call my mom and tell her, and I had to think about what he meant. I had to recover from the emotion of finding out that although I haven’t heard from him in a while, he is actually still here. What was I doing to myself? I really wasn’t sure. I felt like everything about my life this year has been about loss and abandonment and my soul was just tired. It hadn’t occurred to me yet that I was causing a lot of that pain myself. Not until Paul told me.
I got to the movie just in time, and I watched it with this question in my head. What am I doing, and what do I do to stop it? I didn’t know yet. I watched the entire movie unable to let it go. And then when the movie ended and the credits started, I felt a punch in my heart and I started to tear up. I remembered on this exact weekend last year, I was watching Megamind with Paul and my mom and the rest of my family. It was the first feature I had ever worked on. It was a big deal. But I didn’t tear up.
The moment passed. Then my name came up in the credits and I felt the punch again, and this time I could barely keep myself from crying. I really, really had to work at holding it back. That’s when I knew what it was. It was Paul telling me he thought the movie was great and he was proud of me. He was there. He had watched it with me.
I managed to get myself back together and get out of the theater and back to the car. And I started thinking again, what was he talking about? What am I doing? I stopped for tacos and thought about it. I went home and sat on my couch and thought about it some more. And that’s when things started to make sense.
I’ve been wasting a lot of energy giving love and friendship to people who don’t want to give it back, as if the more I give, the more they will want to give me. When has that ever worked? Never. Somewhere along the way I had also decided that if I wasn’t getting what I wanted in my life, then I hadn’t earned it yet. So at some point I started trying to earn it. I started trying to be “better.” Stronger. More classy, more mature, more honorable, more trustworthy, more generous, more in control, and therefore, more deserving. Supposedly.
I had gotten myself into the same mindset I was in a few years ago in my last serious relationship, where I felt like I was broken and needed to be fixed. I thought, if I wasn’t getting the love I wanted from this person, it must be because there was something wrong with me. He would love me more if I were less broken. So I set myself on a path to fix whatever I could find. It gave me a false sense of control over the outcome. And it drained me completely, because it was never my fault to begin with. I did snap out of it on my own and I gratefully thought that was the end of it. And yet here I was today in the exact same place.
Somewhere in the last 12 months I had decided that I didn’t have what I wanted yet because God didn’t think I deserved it. And when I figured that out, I realized that can’t possibly be true. I already deserve it. Making myself the problem doesn’t give me more control over the outcome. I don’t have it yet because it’s just not right yet. It’s just not here yet. That’s all.
That was the pressure I was putting on myself. That’s when I let it go. Paul’s birthday present to me.
But perhaps the most startling revelation of all was when I realized the following:
If a DEAD man has more of an ability — and most importantly, willingness — to show me the love and attention I deserve than some of the people in my life who are STILL LIVING, then I am DEFINITELY putting my energy into the wrong things. The wrong people.
I’m very bad about making excuses for people when I give to them and they don’t give back. “He’s busy.” “He has young kids that take up all his time.” “He’s got a girlfriend now.” “He only wants what he can’t have and I’m not enough of a challenge.” “He lives 50 miles away.” “He lives 9000 miles away.” “He doesn’t think he deserves love.” “He has issues.”
Whatever.
A DEAD MAN has shown me more love this weekend than a few of the live ones in my life have shown me in the last year, and in some cases, ever. The greatest gift of all was the realization that THERE ARE NO EXCUSES for these people not returning the love that I have freely given them. Whether it’s romantic love, the love of a child, or just friendship. You don’t let one side do all the work. There are no excuses for that. None.
So my birthday present to myself is this: No more pouring my effort and my love down a black hole. No more making excuses for why the hole is black and in the process, giving it permission to stay that way. If the black holes in my life ever decide to cough up a little love or attention in return for all I have given them, I will be here. But I can’t waste my energy anymore. I don’t care how anyone really feels about me deep down. If you don’t show it, it doesn’t matter. There is NO EXCUSE for caring for someone and not showing them, not telling them. If DEATH is not an excuse, then there is no excuse in existence. And they are no longer getting any excuses from me.
From now on, I only return the love I am given. Happy birthday to me.
