Category: export

My son (he’s 6 now) is afraid a lot.  More often than I’d like him to be–just because I remember being the same and how painful it was.  The other day he asked me, “What if you leave me with a babysitter and that babysitter turns out to be a robber (his word for “bad guy”) and they cook me?”  I don’t know where he comes up with this stuff… other than, the same place I do (and did, as a child)… the same place we all do.  We make up these ideas of worst case scenario in our heads that are highly unlikely and if we believe in their possibility long enough they become imprinted onto our brains as a reason not to do something that feels risky.

He’s also afraid of water.  He doesn’t like (and has been, up until today, unwilling to go into situations with water where he doesn’t feel like he has complete control).  Splash him in the face–it’s over–he’s staying away from all bodies of water for at least another month.  Hairwashing is a big negotiation around here.

Learning to swim is something that’s been imprinted onto my brain as both a safety issue and an opportunity to build confidence.  And most kids who don’t learn by age 8, never learn at all.  According to the law of mom, that’s not an option for us.  So for the last several weeks we have been easing into swimming lessons slowly.  I’ve been leaving my (incredibly flexible) job midday to head to the Y for the 30 minute swim class his day camp gets on Tuesdays & Thursday.

The first day he sat on the edge with his feet in the water.

The second, after showing him how high 3′ of water was going to come up on his body using the growth chart in his room (score one for momma!), he got in once and got right back out.

The third, he held onto the side and did the kicking.

Every day he was adamant that he wasn’t doing anything else and every day I asked him to pick something new to do.  Today was the day when all of the “easy” things were off the table.

The only choices involved getting all the way in the water and practicing swimming or floating in the arms of the swim instructor.  He believed me when I told him the kickboard won’t ever sink and chose that as his new activity.  Walking onto the pool deck, he turned to me with tears in his eyes and said in a quivering voice “but I’m scared.”  I told him, “it’s okay to be scared.  Tell the swim instructor how you feel.  He’ll help you.”

And when it was his turn, he stood up and said, voice still quivering but now with chest puffed out, chin high and eyes blinking in matter of fact assuredness “I’m scared.  But I’m going to try.”  And in response to his vulnerability he got the support he needed to feel safe.  He got on that kickboard and kicked his way around the pool beaming all the while.  After that success he did all of the other swim activities in the class (even jumping into the pool at the end)!  Yes, I cried.

How lucky am I that I get to be this kid’s mom and have these abundant lessons in my life every day?  Today, in the pool, after being vulnerable and asking for what he needed my son got an experience that wasn’t that scary after all.  Prior to that, the pool was the scariest thing he could imagine (well, beyond being “cooked by a robber.”  By the way, I reassured him that wasn’t going to happen.  I do vet my babysitters to ensure they aren’t cannibalistic thieves before hiring them).

So many of us walk around this earth believing that vulnerability is scary–so we avoid it–when in fact, NOT being vulnerable is even scarier.  I can’t tell you how many times the fact that I come off as confident and collected has resulted in me being even more terrified of what I’m facing because I didn’t ask for and everyone assumed I didn’t need support!  When we don’t reveal how scared we are people assume we’re tough–we don’t need them–and they leave us alone with our fear. It can be dreadfully lonely.  If there’s anything that magnifies fear, it’s loneliness.

Everything we fear is a product of our reptilian brain trying to protect us from being eaten by a dinosaur (historical inaccuracy intended for humor) and almost everything we fear has no actual ability to hurt or kills us.  What hurts more is staying stuck, feeling lonely, and letting fear drive us.  TIme and time again I see people choose vulnerability or choose bravery and be surprised at how quickly it got them what they wanted.

A little vulnerability goes a long way, so let’s all take a lesson from my not so little one and the next time we’re feeling afraid, let’s not let that stop us.  Instead, let’s say to someone “I’m scared, but I’m going to try.”

My son, who is 5 (and 3/4 he would chime in proudly) is on a t-ball team this Spring. When we got to our first practice I was relieved to find our assigned team a perfect match for him. There was no expectation that you compose yourself when it wasn’t your turn to have adult attention on you. Instead of picking flowers and playing in the dirt the waiting boys and girls wrestled and climbed fences. The coach’s style was a little disorganized for my taste, but if resulted in a shame-free team sport experience I could deal with not finding out about the first game time until the night before.

Over the last couple of weeks our sweet coach either noticed what I had noticed (that all of the other teams were improving greatly and game experiences were tightening up–and we weren’t) or I had said something snotty about our team being disorganized within earshot of someone close to her (oops)… either way, she’s trying to shape a different team culture. It showed up for us last Friday when she approached me after class and whined (literally) “he doesn’t listen to me.”

I laughed “he doesn’t listen to me either!”
She didn’t even crack a smile.
“I’m sorry. What do you need him to do or know?”

She went on to say he needs to keep his glove on so he can catch the ball without getting hurt and then repeated at least four more times that he “doesn’t listen!” Tiring of the “I want your kid to do what I say when I say it without having to earn his trust or respect” feedback, I asked again if there was anything else she needed him to know she just repeated “he doesn’t listen.” Finally, I responded while not very effectively holding back my eye roll “yeah, just listening when we want him to isn’t his thing. But I’ll take care of the glove issue.”

And I did. We talked about it. I explained why it was important. He explained why he didn’t want to. I validated his experience. We talked about the role of a coach and respect and trust. He asked a lot of questions. I asked him to try it coach’s way–he agreed.

And he did. At the game the next day he rocked it! He was focused for the entire game, played an important role at both 3rd base and as catcher, caught every ball that came his way, and knocked the snot out of the balls at bat.

As we were walking to the car I was affirming his effort and the results and asking him how he felt about the game. He felt great. It was fun!

“but momma…?”
“yeah baby?”
“ooh! you’re not supposed to call me baby anymore!”
“oh yeah, sorry. yes sir?”
“I had a good game today but I was bad at practice yesterday, so it doesn’t count.”

(sad face) <--mine, not his. He's still young enough to live life mostly objectively. I guess he internalized the coach's whining about his "not listening" more than I realized. Note to self: child is listening while dancing and singing to himself 10 feet away. But a moment later (excitement) <--again mine because this is what came out of my mouth. "Oh babe," (oops, it's a hard habit to break) "all that matters is today." [caption id="attachment_553" align="alignleft" width="300"] he’s meditating[/caption]What happened yesterday is over now. Today is a chance to do things the way you want to do them. To try new things. To learn something new. What happened yesterday doesn’t take anything away from today, the only thing that matters is today.

He totally went for it. And it was one of those moments when you get to see a lifelong value form in your child’s brain from something you said (in a good way, believe me–there are some other moments where the imprint doesn’t feel as good).

And the best part is that this isn’t just 5 (and 3/4) year old wisdom. It’s true for all of us.

All that matters is today. Regret about yesterday is a map toward righting a wrong. Fear from yesterday is an opportunity to be brave. Hurt from yesterday is ready to be healed by a new experience.

All that matters is today.

Several days ago a friend posted a link to this article (about Mila Kunis & Jennifer Lawrence’s soaring popularity.  Note: I haven’t actually read the article so I’m making assumptions about what it’s about) on Facebook and highlighted this quote from the piece:

“You must be gorgeous but humble, smart but self-mocking, talented but awestruck by others with talent, young but wise beyond your years, perfect but anxious to admit your flaws to the world. And you’d better do it every second of every day.”

and I thought to myself, self, I think you’ve got that nailed (go you).  So then I commented on the post: I think I’ve got that nailed… (and then because I didn’t want anyone to know that I wasn’t kidding I added) when can I expect my check?

and no one “liked” it (aka, no one praised me for my cleverness or agreed that I was as perfect as the most perfect celebrity is expected to be).

and a few days later (apparently still seeking praise) I mentioned it to my beloved who also didn’t praise me for my cleverness or validate my perfection .  Instead she shared with me that I may be missing some of the humble portion and I scoffed and made an adorable shock face  in response to mask my hurt (but not very effectively, luckily, so she caught it and we worked through it).

and it’s still sticking with me (not the hurt, but my initial reaction to the quote)…  I still feel like I hear myself described in it… at least other people around me have done so much before as a means of praising me.  I set myself apart from Jennifer and Mila by gaining a ton of weight in early adulthood that took me out of the movie star gorgeous category (that, and my hairy, stretch mark prone skin and big feet), and with that rationale for why I am not rich and famous I stand firmly by the belief that the quote describes me.

and that’s disturbing.

But not because of what you might think.  Let’s dissect:

• gorgeous but humble–fine
• smart but self-mocking–ok
• talented but awestruck by others with talent–of course
• young but wise beyond your years–right
• perfect but anxious to admit your flaws to the world–yup
• and you’d better do it every second of every day–(tires screeching to a halt) wait what?  no… that’s where it all starts to get a bit screwy.

I actually (and this is where the “not as humble as I think I am” comes in… but hell, at least I’m self reflective, eh?) think I see those first several items as a result of being myself.  So, they’re authentic… they’re okay… if that’s what shows up when I’m being me then so be it (and if that’s what America wants then may I sell many books)…

But that last one… that strips all the authenticity out of it.  For me, and for anyone else.  Because if by being my authentic self I end up being some or all of those things, fine… but if being my authentic self results in being gorgeous and boastful about it, simple and self celebrating, of average talent and closed off to the gifts of others, young and dumb or old and immature, or imperfect and eager to admit my flaws to the world (by the way, reading all those aloud also feels like I’m reading a description of myself… so there’s that) does that make me any less worthy of love and acceptance than anyone else?

It’s rhetorical, but: No.  It doesn’t.

And therein lies the problem.  The problem is not that we hold ourselves to what seem like impossible standards because of the conflicting nature of the most desired qualities (most of us are walking dichotomies anyway), the problem is that we hold ourselves (and others) to standards at all.

I want to be the person in the first quote, and it’s great that (I believe) a lot of that shows up when I’m being myself… what’s less great is trying to be that person when something else wants or needs to come out.  I have a version of myself that I want to be, and I don’t always get to be.  Sometimes I get to be the less attractive me and spend time learning from life through that lens.  If I expect anything other than to be who I am in any given moment, I’ll be disappointed.

The only thing we need to expect anyone to be (self included) is authentic.  It’s one of the most challenging things we can do; so if we’re going to praise and revere anyone for who or how they are… let’s praise those who choose to be themselves.

I feel better now.

My beloved told me (shortly after we met) that a psychic she saw (shortly before we met) predicted that she would meet her soul mate in the form of me (my description per the psychic: younger than her, has a child, VERY responsible).

Ta-daa!  Here I am!  It’s all true.  My soul was made to love hers, and it does.  I am younger, but not so much that it’s creepy.  I have a child, yes I do.  And I am responsible… very responsible.  And being responsible has its perks.  Besides being a beacon to my love to help her know when she had found me it also keeps me and my son clothed, housed, and fed.  It gets me jobs.  It lets me travel through life feeling like I’m contributing.  I have even learned how to balance it with impulsivity so I can still take risks and reap the rewards

…but it has its downsides too.

I tend to take responsibility for things that aren’t mine… (read: other people’s feelings.  I think they call that co-dependency, but I think I invented it and cured myself and now live in recovery from it so I’m not going there) and taking responsibility for so much often puts me in an impossible position.  The other night, when tucking my kiddo into bed, he pointed at a picture of himself, his father, and me tacked up on the wall and said “I wish it was like that.  You and me and Poppa together.”

Ouch.

Ouch not because I’m perceiving it as any kind of attack, but ouch because I want my child to have what he wants.  It’s hard enough to say no to chocolate and carrying his backback all the time because I want him to learn healthy habits and be self-responsible…  it’s a constant struggle over even the littlest of things.  I lean towards enabler-he leans toward opportunist… we are a dangerous combination and I am hell bent on getting us both out of this healthy.  If it’s so hard with chocolate, imagine how much it hurts not to be able to give him the life that he wants (and society tells me he “deserves”).

I ended up in this version of my life because at a certain point I decided I was going to choose to be myself and it was the best choice I ever made.  I have never been happier.  Never felt more fulfilled.  Never experienced so much joy and love.  Leading up to that point I got married.  Had a baby.  Left my husband because I wanted to.  Got back together with my husband because I wanted to.  Told my husband he could leave our marriage to be with the woman he was pursuing because that seemed like what he wanted to do.  All of those choices were attempts to experience happiness, fulfillment, joy, and love but didn’t result in them quite as profoundly as the choice to be myself did.

So when I hear “I want it to be like that” and “that” is a way that #1, it cannot be, and #2 I wouldn’t want it to be even if it could… I take responsibility.  Somehow this is all my fault.  Even though my husband chose to emotionally exit the marriage when it ended the last time, I believe it must have been my leaving the first time that drove him to do it.  If I can swallow the guilt of believing I’m selfish for knowing that’s the best thing that ever happened to me then I go to the marriage and choice to have a child in the first place.  I hear it takes two to tango, but I don’t dance.  It doesn’t matter that he asked me to marry him or that we started trying to have a child because he said he was ready and wanted to…  he told me he did those things for me, and I believed him; I take full responsibility.

Responsibility likes to take long walks on the beach with guilt and while long walks on the beach are nice, guilt is a lousy companion.  I learned somewhere along the road that I needed to be responsible for everything and everyone because I (thought I) was the only who would or could be…  then I designed my life to reinforce that belief by surrounding myself with people who and putting myself in situations which I was responsible for.

Now, I get to be lucky enough to let go of that belief by sharing the load.  With a partner, with friends, with teammates, with Life as a whole…

Remember that scene in Good Will Hunting where Robin Williams is repeating to Matt Damon “it’s not your fault.  it’s not your fault” until he breaks down in tears because he starts to realize he had thought it was his fault all along and he might have been wrong.

That’s where I am… next step: upswing.

I think of myself as a good communicator…  I think HIGHLY of myself because I think of myself as a good communicator.  Over the last several days it has occurred to me that I am great in situations with other people who are also good communicators.  Trying to communicate with people who aren’t (ahem, 5 year old boys, for example)… not so great at that.  Maybe I’m not that great of a communicator after all.  I’ll tell you what I learned for sure today, if I choose not to get vulnerable, communicate my thoughts, and ask for what I want I’m no better than the next person.

Monday was “Student Led Conference” day at my son’s school, which is just a fancy way of saying “Parent Teacher Conference” and implying that the child is invited.  Nothing about us, without us, right?  I didn’t bring him, because even though he was at the previous one, it was by no means led by him and he was bored out of his mind.  I left the conference feeling pretty distraught.  Somewhere along the line my son’s teachers had decided that he was a problem to be solved, and even worse, one that they couldn’t solve because they didn’t have the resources.  I had never heard them say anything good about him, except for a rare occasion when we received patronizing praise about his “good behavior.”  Despite the fact that things had greatly improved over the school year the complaints from the teachers hadn’t and it wore on me.  The next day pushed me over the edge because along with the asenine behavior contract/chart they send home every day was a note to me about how to use it (1-3 stars=consequence, 4-8 stars=reward, Be Consistent.  Be Firm.  Student’s Bedtime is 8:00p.m.)

First, his bedtime is 7:00p.m., but thanks for asking.
Second, I am not going to subscribe to an arbitrary system of reward and consequence at home as it relates to his behavior in school where I KNOW he is not being supported.
Third, I’ll show you firm.

if you MUST flush manually press black button, control freak!

The whole thing sent a message of “the problem with your child is a deficit in parenting” which on top of the “we’ve given up on your child because he is difficult and we don’t have the resources to support him” was more than I could bear.  We attend our local neighborhood school and are part of an important social justice movement to improve schools like ours so they can be fully funded and not have to compete with private education for resources.  But when my public school doesn’t have the resources to support my child, how exactly am I supposed to feel?

I hadn’t spoken up about this explicitly before because: a) it’s a conflict and we know how I feel about those.  I couldn’t put myself in a situation where I might look like I’m being “controlling!” b) I also don’t know what I’m doing… hello first time parent to a 5 year old here!, and c) I wanted to be open to and welcoming of their expertise and experience.  I was too generous, as per usual.

In my anger, I bitched and moaned and whined and talked about wanting to pull my hair out and light things on fire. I had more violent fantasies about expressing my anger through physical aggression.  I expressed my hopelessness and got it validated by the Angry Wombat and Devon and through that I got the energy back to give it one more shot.

I contacted the principal for a meeting and we made one for later that same day (today, in fact).  I wrote myself a 1500 word essay about: The messages I’d received, the things I’d observed, and my suggestions about how to make it better.  I needed it to help me organize my thoughts.  My anxiety was raging and I knew I was going into this in a very emotional, very hijacked state.

I presented myself as such at the beginning of the meeting and I was at first irritated at how hard it was to keep up my rant because I just like the principal too much.  She’s smart, she’s clever, she’s good at her job and she validated the shit out of my concerns.  She also strategically complimented me, my knowledge, and my suggested interventions.  She reframed my son’s entire kindergarten experience to date as one that’s shown progress and isn’t being given up on by her by any means.  She guessed that the teachers probably feel like they’ve tried and they’re worn out.  She also said that she hasn’t been directive enough in insisting that they need to try harder and being worn out isn’t an option.

*deep breath out*

I didn’t leave the office today full of joyous confidence that my son is going to be treated the way he deserves to by his teachers, but I did leave without my rage. I left having expressed myself, through vulnerability and authenticity and even if it doesn’t make a difference at least now I know that I’m doing the best I can.

It’s worth noting that this was a “conflict” and I went into it deciding that it was okay to be in it as long as I took care of myself.  I did, and I was no worse for the wear. In fact, I’m probably better.  And now, I can face conflict after conflict after conflict, never backing down until my son is getting his needs met.

I guess I am a decent communicator after all.  The qualifier for that, however: speak up.

I had my first writing class this evening and I’m finding myself in this familiar place afterward… one that seems to make up much of what I choose to do lately: I don’t want to, but I am willing.  I don’t want to face all of the emotions and triggers that show up in a room when I try to be creative, face to face with individuals I just met, in a living room of the instructor’s home in Los Feliz, but I am still willing to do so.  I don’t want to engage in conflict, of any kind, particularly not the kind where I’ve said something that is upsetting to someone that I love, but I am still willing to have the conversation.  It really applies all over my life…  I don’t want to go jogging, but I am willing to put my jiggly ass in stretchy pants and go out into the world all red faced and sweaty every once in a while if it’s going to be good for me.

being the change is hard. ’cause everything keeps changing.

All of this willingness comes from a never quenched thirst for improvement… which is something I appreciate about myself, but it can be just as rooted in the darkness as the painful shit that comes up in these moments.  There’s not a lot of nobility in the pursuit of growth or transformation when it is attached to this need to be seen as the “best.”

I never thought of myself as a competitive person, and it was easy to get away with that because I didn’t play sports so I was never in situations where I needed to be competitive.  As I started to see myself more clearly I began to joke that “I’m not competitive, I just like winning.” And even though that contains truth, it isn’t the whole truth because really I avoid situations where there are “winners” because I am too afraid that I won’t be one.  Honing in on some clarity now I’m going to go back to claiming that I’m not competitive, but it’s going to be because I’m realizing that what I am is comparative.

I’m always looking at someone else to see how I’m doing.

Tonight, in class…  No wait, back up: Tonight, leading up to class I noticed that I didn’t want to go.  “What if I suck?” came first.  Followed by “what if no one likes what I write?  what if they don’t laugh at the funny parts or they laugh at parts that aren’t supposed to be funny?”  And then later I even got a little bit of “what if no one thinks I’m pretty and doesn’t want to be my friend?”  Really?  Yup.  Willing, despite the not wanting to go, I trudged ahead.  The class moved me through more opportunities to practice willingness without wanting (like interviewing and being interviewed by a classmate and then presenting about each other) and finally landed me at the big’n for the evening.

When it was time to read our first assignment (the “Why I Write” that was about anything but from the other day) I was asked to go first.  I did, and the reaction I got was perfectly satisfying.  There were some places where I didn’t hear laughter and I wanted to, but plenty of others where snickers and chuckles sustained me.  When I was finished I felt appreciated and heard.  I thought that I was done with the hard work and I sat back to listen to my classmates.

The young woman who went next started to read her piece and within a few moments I realized that I was starting to hate her.

Woah–let’s go into that…
me: why do I hate her?
me (in response): I hate her because she’s good.
me: Okay.  Wow.

I tried to make more sense of it.  I am a part of another creative workgroup (we call ourselves the Fucking Geniuses.  More about us humble souls later…) where I do not hate the members when they share work (and they’re all good!).  In fact, I love them and celebrate their great work.  So, why not hating there… but so much here?  What’s different?

me (in response again): I have a pre-existing relationship with the women in Fucking Geniuses, I am not in competition with them for anything…

another me: Did you hear that?  Competition.  Am I competing with the women in the writing class?  What am I competing with them for?
me (in response): Attention.  Affection (in the form of praise).  Establishment of worth in the room by being deemed the (fill in the blank: smartest, funniest, prettiest, “best” writer).

I tried to just “notice” myself feeling this way, but it was hard to do it without judgment.  Ay yay yay, Kate.  Really?!  You do not need to feel this way.  Go back to how you feel in your creative workgroup–find a way to make that feeling come with you here.  I made a mental note to ease the need to compete by finding something about these strangers to love.  Form a pre-existing relationship with them in your head.  Want them to be happy and successful.  Do not allow yourself to be intimidated by their success.

I could decide to love them for being good writers if I found nothing else.  One girl had a cardigan with heart shaped patches on the elbows, that helped.  Another grimaced a lot which I decided was because of some painful internal dialogue that I had empathy for.  I was getting there…  It was working.

Then a woman, whose work I didn’t think was particularly successful, read and I noticed that I became completely endeared to her almost instantly.  I felt safe again.  I might not be the best, but at least I’m not the worst.  Phew!  Cue: relief and then when I noticed what was happening, more judgment.

Back home with Devon, I debriefed the class experience.  We compared notes about competitive feelings. I deduced that mine were all about worth.  In our existing group I already had worth because the group was made up of preexisting relationships where I knew I had value.  In the writing class my only chance to establish my value was by performing successfully in class (yes, I hear myself and all the un-truths in this belief system).  Devon suspected it might be more than that… I heard her, but I didn’t have any more ideas and we went to bed.

Then I got out of bed…  drowning in shame, I couldn’t sleep.  I wrote this blog post and didn’t feel any better.  I wrote in my journal and found myself in a conversation again.

me: what’s up
other me: i’m an asshole
me: why don’t you go to sleep?
other me: assholes don’t deserve to sleep

I have conversations with myself, in my head and my journal, quite often but this is the first time I’ve ever written anything like this.  I’ve been reading Elyn Saks’ memoir about her life with schizophrenia… I think my subconscious is getting new ideas about how to more effectively self loathe and and punish myself.  I gotta finish that book and move on to something lighter.

I will maintain that it’s about worth, but the habit is deeper ingrained than just wanting to be the favorite…  I compare myself to others constantly.  In situations with new people I compare myself with others to see how I rank and establish my worth.  In situations with people I love I still compare.  Sometimes it’s just to see how I’m doing.  Other times (especially now that I choose relationships that challenge me by having something to teach) it’s to make sure I’m measuring up.

It’s amazing what I’m finding still buried deep inside.  I suppose I am somewhat grateful for the opportunity to pull these things up from the roots, but like any landscaping project (going literal with the metaphor here) it ends up taking much longer and being much more intense than I ever expect it will.

Big to-do list for 2013:
1. dive head first into conflict
2. know own worth without having to evaluate it alongside another’s

This afternoon I was happily doing some work from my home computer on my fancy, new virtual network connection when I got a call from my therapist.  It was about 2:15, 45 minutes before what I thought was our scheduled appointment time and I realized as soon as I saw his name that he had been expecting me at 2.  After a brief conversation we decided I would hop in the car and come down for the remaining portion of our session.

I expected to be about 15 minutes away and was pleasantly surprised to find a highway free of much traffic and found myself just around the corner from his office after just 10 minutes in the car.  I had been thinking over the last several days that I wasn’t sure what I wanted to talk about in this session.  I felt pretty “ok.”  I mean, I certainly still have feelings but I am rarely, if ever, in crisis mode and just as rarely in a position where I don’t have the skills I need to cope with what I’m experiencing.  I also noticed that I was wary of going to therapy.  I didn’t want to dig too deep and discover that there was something wrong underneath this calm facade and walk away all screwy (which is an interesting fear because a skilled therapist, which he is, doesn’t leave you all screwy when you walk away… they pay attention to the order of things as they take you apart and then close it up nicely and send you away all put back together).

I’m thinking about all of this while I wait at the light on the corner.  I’m the second car in line at a red left arrow and we’re waiting for the arrow to turn green and allow us to turn.  I notice that we’ve been sitting there what feels like a long time.  I start to wonder if this intersection is one where the lights go in a different order.  I observe another cycle of lights-no, that’s not it.  Then I notice that the car in front of me has left a significant amount of space between herself and the crosswalk… “oh, the sensor,” I suspect out loud.  “You know, you have to move your car up past the sensor if you ever want the light to change,” I say again, out loud (I do this a lot.  I’m not sure I would know that I do it a lot except that when Spiderman is with me in the car he’s constantly asking me who I’m talking to).

I’ve pretty much concluded that this is the problem: the woman in the car in front of me (yes, I’m just assuming she’s a woman because she’s driving a candy apple red camry, wearing large plastic frame sunglasses, has bangs, and a tousled ponytail.  forgive me, gender gods) hasn’t moved over the sensor so the light doesn’t know that there are (now) 8 people waiting to turn left onto Franklin from Highland.

Then several things happen:

1. I notice how amazing it is that no one has honked.  We’ve sat through at least 3 cycles of this light and our lane hasn’t moved an inch.  It isn’t a high traffic time of day, this is not an expected reaction of the typical LA driver I’ve come to know (assumptions again!)
2. I start making deals with myself (this is something I do because: a) it’s another way to avoid conflict and b) it’s rooted in the belief I have that my needs aren’t as important as others so I should wait) like “one more cycle of the light and you can take action”
3. I notice that I’m worried about how exactly I’m going to take action.  
1. If I honk, I’ll be perceived as a bitch (or worse: bossy.  urp!).  
2. The light tap of a “beep beep!” seems ineffective because if she hasn’t figured it out by now she isn’t going to figure it out
3. Maybe I write a note/sign… even backwards so she can read it in her rearview mirror.  If I combine a “beep beep” with a sign when she looks up that will help.  Oy Vey!
4. I could get out of the car and go tell her what’s up 
4. My curiosity and wonder has lapsed.  I’m officially irritated.  I was already going to have to pay full price for half a session of therapy because I got the time wrong… now I’m going to get even less.

this is Mark Twain trying to encourage me to be more willing to get into it with people and me expressing doubt…