Breakin on Through to the Other Side

I can feel that the next distraction might be a bunk bed for Ax who still co-sleeps with Mike and me. Deep breath. I don’t even want to have the kind of home where our child is in a bunk bed so he can have wild sleepover parties where boys jump off high things and have to be rushed to the ER. (See where I went, automatically?) That said, a lower-bunk fort does seem like a cool option. Something to consider. And I’d way rather consider potential bunk bed options for sure – trundle-style, loft/desk combo, twin-over-full, full-over-full, steps, ladder, both – than consider my part in situations I don’t like. Like if a sub-optimal situation or dynamic is 98% the other person’s “fault,” I’ve got a 2% chunk that’s all mine I could look at, examine, turn around, cradle, pet, gaze into deeply with full love eyes laser-focus-style, forgive, feel into, and yes, even consider changing. Man, that’s a lot of work. Me No Likey!!!!

Sometimes I trick myself into complaining and crying and whining and wrestling with how to change the other person’s 98%. As if I’ve fallen into a mental ditch and I can’t get out. “Oh if only THEY would …” is the way these thoughts generally start. “Why don’t THEY do ….” such and such and such and such different from what they are doing or how they are being? What a waste of my precious life and brain cells.

But bitching or strategizing about the other 98% is seductive. I am fairly certain my life would be a lot easier if everyone else and everything else acted the way I wanted them to. At all times. But man it’s a lot of work trying to control people and things that I have no control over. And even wishing and thinking, bitching and strategizing, really makes my knee hurt sometimes.

And seriously, the more I wish things were different the less I get to appreciate the way they are. And if I’m really interested in changing how I feel about stuff, I gotta get into that freaking 2%. I have friends who are so into this kind of “courage to change” thing, really, that they actually welcome crappy feelings because they know if they go for it, lean into them, get in there and really look at what’s up, the 2% that’s theirs in it, maybe even write about it a bit, they’ll come out the other side.

The Other Side is wayyyy better. Like rainbows and butterflies better. Like really feeling love for the people I love better. And feeling their love too, in whatever form it’s given. Like a hug from the universe. I know I’ll get to the other side when I’ve done all I can, or at least something, about my 2%.

And weirdly, and this is true, my experience is that when I deal with my 2%, the other 98% shifts or at least doesn’t seem as egregious as it did. Other people’s words and actions don’t hit me like a knife in the stomach the way they used to when I’ve done my 2% work. That’s the bonus. What some folks call “the miracle.” When I get better everyone else and everything else gets better. It’s freaky. It works.

So do I wish Cleo weren’t getting old and meowing all night long to be let in and out these days? Yes. I totally do. Have I installed the new chip-activated cat door for her? No I haven’t. Have I bitched about her long enough without doing anything I can do to make things better? Yes I have. Today the cat door! Tomorrow something else. Namaste.