I always hesitate to say I'm proud of somebody because I always feel like it indicates that I had something to do with their successes, which is rarely, if ever, the case.
A little while ago, through the generosity of my mother, stepfather, my brother, Jason, and my sister-in-law, I was able to take a trip back east to visit them. It was the first time I had seen my brother's family in a long time. My nieces and nephew are just as adorable as can be, even the 21 year old niece who was there with her husband, although I should come up with a better word than adorable for her.
Ummm, when did I become old enough to have a 21 year old niece who is married? I guess the lie that I've been telling myself that the grey in my beard is premature is over. Yep, the jig is up.
One of the things that I do is watch people. A good portion of my ability to observe comes from my training as an actor, but most of it comes from a fascination about people.
Seeing my brother with his son and daughter was a sacred experience for me. He's caring, on the tough side, what I call his "gunny sergeant" persona, not afraid to hold them, tell them to behave, and to teach them, and I get the feeling that he'd do anything for them.
All of this has led me to my past observations of my other brother as well as my sister.
Patrick, my youngest brother, has some amazing kids, and is a kind, loving man, who takes takes no shit from anybody. He's smart, with a great booming laugh, great with his hands, and is doing his best to make sure that his kids are raised right. All you have to do is spend a little time with them, and you can see that he's being amazingly successful. I'm so excited to hear about their lives as they approach the end of their high school years and into college, family-life and careeers. Patrick's got a heart as big as the world, but has no problems setting boundaries, something I aspire to a lot.
Denise, the sister. What a loving human being. She drove an hour and a half both ways to take me to the hospital for a biopsy recently, but she did it with her normal humor and certainly didn't have to. She's also tough. I've always thought that you might get through the men in our family, although that's doubtful, but don't mess with the women, because they'll kick your ass, and make sure it's done correctly. She has a great son that she idolizes and is turning out just great. She's a great mom.
The only word I can come up with, besides the obvious "L" word, is that I'm proud of them. Smart, caring, loving, funny, salt-of-the-earth kinda folks, who will have your back if you need it.
As kids we fought, laughed, got annoyed and did all the things that siblings did. I was the oldest, and it was just recently that I realized how much my brothers and sister stood up for me without me knowing. They are braver than I am in many, many ways. It took me a long time to find my inner-strength. They came into it much quicker, and much more comfortably.
There are few people in the world that can compare with my brothers and my sister. Some of the finest people that I know, or will ever know.
And, while I had nothing to do with it, I'm proud of them and how they are living their lives, even when those lives are difficult, and how they are providing for the next generation.
Showing posts with label personal relationships. Show all posts
Showing posts with label personal relationships. Show all posts
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Complete honesty is not always the best policy ...
I’ve had a hard couple of days.
I’m constantly battling exhaustion and trying to lead a productive life during this treatment. The battle tends to lend itself to irrational bouts of depression. The medication contributes to depression, which is why I’m on a fairly low dosage of anti-depressants, which have kept me out of the deepest pits of blackness during the past four months, but daily situational stuff also contributes.
This weekend my new roommate moved in. She and her mother drove out from Alabama to get her settled. I imagine her mother also wanted to make sure that I wasn’t an axe murderer, which I totally don’t blame her for.
In the three weeks prior to their arrival, I got all of my stuff out of what used to be my office, but which became her room, and painted it. Then I cleaned like a madman for three days because in the manual it says that when somebody’s mother is visiting, you clean. All in all, this took me about 3 weeks. I would work a bit, rest, work, rest, work, rest, ad nauseum, which strikes me as both necessary and pathetic.
Don't get me wrong, I’m very happy that she is moved in. She’s a wonderful lady, a talented artist and a good friend. She and her mother did an amazing job of decorating her room. Hell, it’s the nicest room in the house now. It’s so nice, I feel like I wanna throw rocks at the rest of my house. I guess I just gotta get off my ass, and get the rest of it painted. More work, rest, work, rest, work, rest, ad nauseum.
Back to the point. Lots of anticipation and changes (never mind that they are positive) and spotty sleep cycles have put me into a bit of a downward funk, and I am again faced with how much to share with other people about my general well-being.
I always think that the standard is my step-mother. She has literally walked around with a broken arm, taken a couple of Advil, and not said a word about how much it hurts. She finally went to the ER when I ordered her to get her ass into the truck and have my dad take her for an x-ray. She is and always has been strong and stoic, and the very definition of stiff upper lip, except when she’s really pissed off.
So, on one hand I think I should just get through all of this, don’t mention anything about it to anybody, and just say, "Everything is great!" Strong and stoic wins the day.
On the other hand, there are people that care, and honestly, I’m not doing many of the things that I normally do, and explanations need to be made to some people.
Unfortunately, there is also this pressure inside of me that builds and builds when I get really tired and emotional, and I find myself unable to hold it in anymore, and somebody will either see me crying at my desk, or some offhand joke that I make to cover all the inner turmoil will be seen by an observant friend as a cover, and bring it to my attention, and I feel embarrassed, weak and like a failure.
This is going to sound crazy, but I feel like I’m not a particularly capable or strong man. This issue is compounded now because four days out of five, I’ve had to go home and collapse onto the couch from exhaustion.
My father asks me all the time how I’m doing, and I always tell him I’m doing fine, just a bit tired. He’s got enough going on in his life and with his own health that he doesn’t need to deal with my daily ups and downs, plus he gets frightened that he’s going to lose me, and I have enough trouble dealing with my own fear at the moment.
Several friends have told me that I can reach out to them if I need somebody to talk to or commiserate with, and they are absolutely sincere and I very much appreciate the offer. However, with the exception of a couple of people, I’ve never felt comfortable calling up somebody and telling them that I feel bad. I guess it is because I’m fearful of being judged, thought of as being weak or a drama queen. Plus, there’s that whole "man" thing. Men don’t express their feelings, they shuffle along, do their job, and let the rest of it go undealt with. Right?
The crazy thing is that in my head, I’ve got all this crap going on, and the part of me that doesn’t like the other part of me, judges the crap constantly. Let me tell you, it can really wear one down.
I must say that I find it interesting that many of those people who say to call them if I need something, haven’t called or e-mailed to check on me even once since this whole thing began. I guess this is when one learns who really is a friend, or merely an acquaintance.
As I’m looking at all this, I guess the "answer" if there is one, is that I need to understand who is in the trenches with me, judiciously pick when to share the deep crap so that nobody becomes burdened by it, and to everybody else, just say, "I’m doing great, thank you for asking."
The truth is, the only person who is really in my head and sees the totality of my daily mishegoss is myself. Everybody else just gets the edited version, and that’s just the way life and the world are.
Maybe that's the way it should be, too.
I’m constantly battling exhaustion and trying to lead a productive life during this treatment. The battle tends to lend itself to irrational bouts of depression. The medication contributes to depression, which is why I’m on a fairly low dosage of anti-depressants, which have kept me out of the deepest pits of blackness during the past four months, but daily situational stuff also contributes.
This weekend my new roommate moved in. She and her mother drove out from Alabama to get her settled. I imagine her mother also wanted to make sure that I wasn’t an axe murderer, which I totally don’t blame her for.
In the three weeks prior to their arrival, I got all of my stuff out of what used to be my office, but which became her room, and painted it. Then I cleaned like a madman for three days because in the manual it says that when somebody’s mother is visiting, you clean. All in all, this took me about 3 weeks. I would work a bit, rest, work, rest, work, rest, ad nauseum, which strikes me as both necessary and pathetic.
Don't get me wrong, I’m very happy that she is moved in. She’s a wonderful lady, a talented artist and a good friend. She and her mother did an amazing job of decorating her room. Hell, it’s the nicest room in the house now. It’s so nice, I feel like I wanna throw rocks at the rest of my house. I guess I just gotta get off my ass, and get the rest of it painted. More work, rest, work, rest, work, rest, ad nauseum.
Back to the point. Lots of anticipation and changes (never mind that they are positive) and spotty sleep cycles have put me into a bit of a downward funk, and I am again faced with how much to share with other people about my general well-being.
I always think that the standard is my step-mother. She has literally walked around with a broken arm, taken a couple of Advil, and not said a word about how much it hurts. She finally went to the ER when I ordered her to get her ass into the truck and have my dad take her for an x-ray. She is and always has been strong and stoic, and the very definition of stiff upper lip, except when she’s really pissed off.
So, on one hand I think I should just get through all of this, don’t mention anything about it to anybody, and just say, "Everything is great!" Strong and stoic wins the day.
On the other hand, there are people that care, and honestly, I’m not doing many of the things that I normally do, and explanations need to be made to some people.
Unfortunately, there is also this pressure inside of me that builds and builds when I get really tired and emotional, and I find myself unable to hold it in anymore, and somebody will either see me crying at my desk, or some offhand joke that I make to cover all the inner turmoil will be seen by an observant friend as a cover, and bring it to my attention, and I feel embarrassed, weak and like a failure.
This is going to sound crazy, but I feel like I’m not a particularly capable or strong man. This issue is compounded now because four days out of five, I’ve had to go home and collapse onto the couch from exhaustion.
My father asks me all the time how I’m doing, and I always tell him I’m doing fine, just a bit tired. He’s got enough going on in his life and with his own health that he doesn’t need to deal with my daily ups and downs, plus he gets frightened that he’s going to lose me, and I have enough trouble dealing with my own fear at the moment.
Several friends have told me that I can reach out to them if I need somebody to talk to or commiserate with, and they are absolutely sincere and I very much appreciate the offer. However, with the exception of a couple of people, I’ve never felt comfortable calling up somebody and telling them that I feel bad. I guess it is because I’m fearful of being judged, thought of as being weak or a drama queen. Plus, there’s that whole "man" thing. Men don’t express their feelings, they shuffle along, do their job, and let the rest of it go undealt with. Right?
The crazy thing is that in my head, I’ve got all this crap going on, and the part of me that doesn’t like the other part of me, judges the crap constantly. Let me tell you, it can really wear one down.
I must say that I find it interesting that many of those people who say to call them if I need something, haven’t called or e-mailed to check on me even once since this whole thing began. I guess this is when one learns who really is a friend, or merely an acquaintance.
As I’m looking at all this, I guess the "answer" if there is one, is that I need to understand who is in the trenches with me, judiciously pick when to share the deep crap so that nobody becomes burdened by it, and to everybody else, just say, "I’m doing great, thank you for asking."
The truth is, the only person who is really in my head and sees the totality of my daily mishegoss is myself. Everybody else just gets the edited version, and that’s just the way life and the world are.
Maybe that's the way it should be, too.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Tired is the new good ...
... or is it "Good is the new tired?
I've been on these meds for about 2 1/2 months now, and everytime somebody asks me how I'm doing, I say, "I'm good, just a bit tired." It occurred to me the other day that just shortening it to "I'm good" would be better.
I'm not a big guy for sharing every detail of how I'm feeling with other folks, especially when it comes to describing my physical state. Honestly, many people don't care or don't know how to handle my personal trials and tribulations or want to. There are of course folks that do care and are willing to listen, but I often feel like I'm taking advantage of their kindness by blabbing about myself, so I try to keep it to a minimum. There's of course, a truth that I'm afraid of being vulnerable with most people. I guess that tops the list as to why I'm single. hahaha.
On the other hand, I'm also a guy that strives towards honesty with others. I'm always torn between telling the absolute truth when somebody asks me how I'm doing, and the socially acceptable answer, "I'm good!" So, I tend to land somewhere in the middle. Hence the, by now, stock answer of "I'm good, just a bit tired."
The fact of the matter is that I'm going to be tired until this treatment is over. The fatigue is constant and, for the most part, bearable. Telling other people that I'm tired doesn't serve a purpose, except to expose a bit of my natural flair for the dramatic, and my neurotic need for attention. I detest the part of me that craves attention. Guess that's one of the reasons I'm an actor; it gives me something of an outlet for that part of me.
From now on, I'm going to do my best to just say, "I'm good" whenever anybody asks me how I'm doing, and leave the rest of it out, unless I'm lying in the hospital hooked up to an IV, and then you can all expect that I will be indulging both my natural flair for the dramatic and that neurotic need for attention.
I've been on these meds for about 2 1/2 months now, and everytime somebody asks me how I'm doing, I say, "I'm good, just a bit tired." It occurred to me the other day that just shortening it to "I'm good" would be better.
I'm not a big guy for sharing every detail of how I'm feeling with other folks, especially when it comes to describing my physical state. Honestly, many people don't care or don't know how to handle my personal trials and tribulations or want to. There are of course folks that do care and are willing to listen, but I often feel like I'm taking advantage of their kindness by blabbing about myself, so I try to keep it to a minimum. There's of course, a truth that I'm afraid of being vulnerable with most people. I guess that tops the list as to why I'm single. hahaha.
On the other hand, I'm also a guy that strives towards honesty with others. I'm always torn between telling the absolute truth when somebody asks me how I'm doing, and the socially acceptable answer, "I'm good!" So, I tend to land somewhere in the middle. Hence the, by now, stock answer of "I'm good, just a bit tired."
The fact of the matter is that I'm going to be tired until this treatment is over. The fatigue is constant and, for the most part, bearable. Telling other people that I'm tired doesn't serve a purpose, except to expose a bit of my natural flair for the dramatic, and my neurotic need for attention. I detest the part of me that craves attention. Guess that's one of the reasons I'm an actor; it gives me something of an outlet for that part of me.
From now on, I'm going to do my best to just say, "I'm good" whenever anybody asks me how I'm doing, and leave the rest of it out, unless I'm lying in the hospital hooked up to an IV, and then you can all expect that I will be indulging both my natural flair for the dramatic and that neurotic need for attention.
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