St. Benito--Patron Saint of Lost Drivers

And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.

We were on the road in Genoa…..smooth sailing according to our Google Map directions—piece of cake.  Our little white Fiat CinqueCento, dubbed St. Benito….patron saint of tourist drivers, zipped through tunnel after tunnel…bridge after bridge…..we were early and life was good. 

Our exit was coming up soon according to the map…..the light from the end of the tunnel was bright and suddenly a multitude of exit signs appeared—all right together---for a sharp immediate right----semi on my tail at an “Italian” distance (meaning he could count the hairs on my head)…..and in a moment’s time, we missed the exit according to Google Maps. 

No worries, we will simply turn around…….bridge…..no exit…..tunnel…..no exit…..bridge….no exit…..tunnel….no exit.  Kilometers passing.  Traffic getting congested……me reminding myself that the car portion of our trip was almost over…….and voila!  A Roundabout! 

We turn around and zip back to the beginning only to find that the exits are not marked the same in the other directions…..of course not…..we miss the exit again and St. Benito is headed towards the Autostrada with no exit for miles……he hang right to the Airport to turn around…..to start completely over…..no problem…..no worries. 

This began our journey in Genoa….two hours of roaming the streets……of realizing that Google Maps did not have proper directions…..the exit it wanted us to take took us kilometers away from our destination and put us smack dab in the middle of the red-light district…..casinos…..gentlemen’s clubs……graffiti…..we find the city center where our rental drop off should be located……but now what??  The rental office is closed (of course it is) and no one answers the phone….the emergency number does not work (It’s Italy on a Saturday afternoon…..) and my phone navigation system cannot seem to find us……  We have missed our train….and I am lost. 

Do not grow weary in doing what is right…..because in due time, you will reap a harvest…….

I want to quit!  I want to give up!!  I want to put the car in park, grab my suitcase and find the nearest gelateria.  As I circle back…..street after street…..light after light…..roundabout after roundabout…..I am over it!  I am done!!  I’ve got nothing left to give…..and St. Benito’s protective powers for lost tourists obviously expired and the end of my agreed upon rental return time….. 

It’s easy to grow weary of doing what is right.  It is easy to simply give up when you aren’t appreciated…..when people do not see your heart….when you give and receive nothing in return.  Sometimes, I just want to put life in park and run away to the nearest vendor of gelato fragola…..un cono con due gusti per favore…..but the reminder to not give up permeates my soul……  Life is discouraging sometimes…..being a parent is discouraging sometimes…..trying to blend a family can be excruciatingly discouraging most of the time…..but if I quit doing what is right, I am going to miss the sweet harvest. 

Remember to not get tired of doing what is right…..because in due time, you will reap a harvest at the proper time. 

We see a row of taxis sitting at a monument.  An idea springs forth….what if we paid the taxi driver to take us to our destination?  Ding-Ding-Ding-Ding!!  It’s harvest time!  

Turning Tables

Close enough to start a war…..

I am enamored with Adele. She has been one of my favorite singers for well over a year now—she just has a soulful quality about her voice. I have been meditating on this song for weeks now. It started with that statement, “Close enough to start a war.” Those are the hardest kinds aren’t they? The emotional battles with those we love—the abandonment we feel when someone “checks out” during a fight—the shame we feel inside when we know we are pushing them away….but we don’t know what else to do….after all we are right…we are entitled to speak our truth…we feel unheard, unappreciated and (my personal favorite) ignored.

All that I have is on the floor….
God only knows what we’re fighting for…

In the midst of an all out cold war in the house…or maybe even in the heat of the battle, do I really know why I am angry/frustrated/ticked off?? Seriously?? Can I name it?? I have found myself a bit addicted to Grey’s Anatomy…it’s a new addiction actually…one fueled by the discovery that I can watch episodes through Netflix. In one episodes, the GI Joe doctor-man is seeing a therapist for his PTSD. The therapist says something profound—“you have to name it to examine it.” (or something along those lines). If I can’t name the feeling (rather than the action) then I am not really getting down to the bottom of things. If I can’t express why something is annoying me today when for the last six months it hasn’t been a problem, them I am not being honest with myself and with my loved ones.

All that I say, you always say more….

I have been guilty of expressing this feeling a lot lately. To keep the peace, I keep the peace…but sometimes peace comes with a price—emotional withdrawal—divesting myself in the outcome. Sometimes this can be beneficial…but most times, it is devastating. I feel unheard because I can be an emotional mute…afraid to act…afraid to speak…not because someone has made me afraid, but rather I am afraid of what I will say and the repercussions and stark vulnerability that sharing my heart brings.  I am unheard because I don't speak...so my feelings of being unheard are correct--just misdirected....

I won’t let you close enough to hurt me – no
I won’t ask you—
You would just desert me….

Bingo!! If I share the depths of my heart—my fears, my hopes, my struggles and you don’t “get me” or you judge me…I will be devastated. Desertion is not just physical…it can be emotional as well. There is nothing worse than getting up the courage and asking—only to be shot down. The stakes are high when I am asking for you to be there with me and for me—even when I don’t deserve it. So instead, in the heat of battle, I turn the tables—I point the eye towards you to take the penetrating glare off of me. I put you in the hot seat so I can breathe. Coming from a former marriage where emotional desertion was the mode operandi has taught me the skill of the emotional bob and weave—to position myself where the hurt has the least impact, butstill function (somewhat) in the relationship. It’s a hard habit to unlearn…..trust me…

It’s time to say goodbye—to turning tables…

Yay!!! No more turning tables!! But wait…there’s more!! Adele’s answer is to leave the relationship so she can breathe. She can’t ask…because she is afraid of desertion…she has no idea what they are really fighting for….so she goes…she walks away for relief. Sometimes I want to go there….I want to pack my bags and head for Tahiti…sand in my toes…mai tai in-hand and forget how to grow as a person. I am a runner by nature—it gets scary and I hide behind the big old oak tree…peeping around the trunk to see if it’s safe. I am the deer who freezes upon danger and then bounds out of the way----and into a mac truck. I vow to freeze my fleeing feet into place and wait and allow myself to be seen….and to be loved. I vow to ask even when my knees are knocking and I have mentally pre-determined the answer. I vow to love and to be loved—to be fully visible even when invisibility seems safer. I vow to get even closer and not stray to the perimeter. Fully present, fully seen, emotionally honest. Here I am.

Introducing HRH, The Princess of Argyle

Introducing……..HRH, The Princess of Argyle.

Imagine if you would a little girl in a sparkly pink dress with layers of ruffles underneath. Her long blond hair is in ringlets with pink, silver, and white ribbons intertwined. Her tiny fingernails are painted a delicate pink with a smattering of glitter. She twirls sparklers and ribbons and sometimes big golden pinwheels. The Princess giggles incessantly and skips from place to place in her white patent leather shoes with frilly white socks (pre-labor day, of course).

Despite her frills and her sparkly frocks, the Princess desperately longs for adventure - to be found worthy - to be important. She wants to play an important part in the world - to offer hope and beauty - to console the suffering - to rescue puppies and kitties.

Not content to stand still and look pretty, the Princess has been known to pull on her daddy’s boots, slip on a piece of armor, and wield his heavy sword in mock battle. She dreams of the day when she can defend the family honor…..save the day…..and be seen as worthy just like her boy cousins.

Life goes on and she learns to use his shield - mostly to protect her heart….to hide the fact that she is shaking in her boots when conflict comes. Large shields are adept at hiding hot tears from her attackers. She learns that the sword can gives her power - power to be brave….to be heard….to be in control - but that sword can also pierce the hearts of others with wounds that sometimes never heal.

This Princess - this little girl lives inside of me. There are times when like Cinderella, she had worn rags and dreamed of better days and there are times where she has shined in all her glory. Sometimes I get protective and don’t let her shine - using the shield to hide her sensitive heart. Sometimes, I pull my daddy’s boots on, grab his shield and the sword so heavy I am not sure I can wield it…….saying…..be brave…..show your worth……show you are worth something….that losing you is painful……and I fight with all my might. I hold down my princess-heart emotions, refuse to see the heart of my opponent and be valiant.
Oh I talk a good game – I act brave and seem to approach things head on…..but deep down inside, I am still a little girl in a pink dress wearing her daddy’s too big boots and armor wielding a sword with all her might to valiantly protect herself from an evil king saying, “you’ll never beat me” all the while wishing someone would come riding up on a big horse, rescue her, and put her safely in the castle with a glass of milk and some cookies. This little girl longs to be brave, to prove that she is worthy…….but if she stops for a second, she will simply just break down and cry.

There is a song by a 90’s Christian group called Small Town Poets with a line that says, “If you let me love you, we’ll sit here and cry.” Sometimes that is all I want……

Can that happen?? Can I be brave and un-brave?? Can I be adventurous yet fragile? Can I protect and allow myself to be protected? It’s complicated……..but that’s why I am a Princess.

Bunny Hills and Karaoke Songs

Fear is a curious thing….it can paralyze…it can motivate….it can damage…it can even inspire. The last few years, my mantra has been “don’t act out of fear - don’t decide out of fear - be proactive - have faith.” Fear causes me to act in the most irrational ways…..

Case in point:

When I first moved to Indiana in the early 1990’s, my (then) hubbie took me skiing in Michigan. I had never seen that much snow in my life…..I had never worn so many layers…giant gloves and goggles…and snow pants. I felt as if I were going to walk on the moon….the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man had nothing on me……

I took the obligatory ski lesson (which I was grateful) and set out for the bunny hill armed with the knowledge that if I fell, I knew how to get up. My (then) hubbie was off skiing the expert slopes and had pretty much left me to my own devices. There I was standing at the foot of the bunny hill….walking awkwardly in skis….looking around……and trying desperately not to look like a big ski-dork.

Looking to my left, I saw the tow rope the skiers used to get to the top of the hill. In my usual take charge fashion, I confidently trodded over to the moving rope and grabbed a hold----SPLAT! There I was…face-first in the snow…skis entangled…body flattened…..rolling around in the snow next to the tow rope trying to get my Stay Puff Marshmallow Man-self up….Wow….that was embarrassing!! I moved away from the rope and watched the bunny hill novices miraculously grab onto the rope and be ushered to the top…..oooohhh….they bent their knees and set back a little. A little more skeptical this time, I plodded back to the rope…this time armed with a little more knowledge. I bent my knees, grabbed onto the rope and was ushered to the top. Now this wasn’t too bad.

Wow! The hill didn’t look so tall from the bottom. I stood at the edge of the hill precipice…..dang!! Looking around desperately for another way down….I watch and hope for a miracle…..that I could just wiggle my nose and be transported down to the bottom….no such luck. I watch the little kids going down the hill-coming back up-going down-coming back up…..and think, “Becky Pruitt you can do this!!” So there I stand….ready to go 1…2…..2 ½ …..2 ¾ …no……okay…okay…here we go….I stand on the edge ready….poles in hand….determined…..1…2…I can’t…. The people around me must have thought I had lost my mind. This is the bunny hill for goodness sake!! An hour later….as I am still standing on the top of the bunny hill desperately hoping for a miracle…..up there all by myself…..I finally muster the courage to push off the hill and plow my way down. Whew…that wasn’t so bad!! When I got to the bottom, there was the (then) hubbie grabbing my arm telling me now that I had an hour or so practice on the bunny hill, I was ready to tackle the intermediate slope (did I mention that he is now the X….)

Last night, I did the same thing with karaoke. It is a foreign concept to me and for some strange reason (plus some past history…the X was a musician) it scares me to death. I want to be perfect (or at least not suck) and it is one of those things where you actually have to practice and be willing to try and fail. There are so many things out of my control (like the bunny slope) and so many variables. So I stand there looking at the words…trying to sing…but the words just won’t come out. I just can’t commit to sing….I just can’t seem to “go for it…” the risk of failure seems too great. Standing on stage, I try hard as heck to look “cute”….try not to get frustrated…. ….1…2….2 ½ …2 ¾ …. not going to happen……and I look for my escape…. and sit down once again without singing. The funny thing is---I WANTED to sing….desperately…but I just couldn’t.

The question looms……is this what I do when I am afraid?? Do I stand on the top of that hill and become paralyzed with inaction?? Do I second guess…analyze..compare and look for an escape? Am I missing out on the joy in life because I hold back…too scared to push off of the hill and start a journey…..sing a song……take a risk?

Be Brave, Becky….be brave!!