Ramblings – Page 60 – The Hermits' Rest

Friendship Is HARD

Hey, kind readers, thanks for all of your feedback on yesterday’s post about friendship and jealousy. You all gave me a lot to think about, and the BEST part was finding out I’m not alone in having difficulty becoming a member of a group of friends. It’s important to think about it, and I realize I do it a lot. I even wrote that “friend” is my favorite word back in May!

Pickle is one of those who like people, but chooses her intimates carefully. By the way, she went to the vet and is all healthy! 9.9 pounds of vigor.

A couple of comments made me think about WHY some of us have this issue. My son’s partner realizes she has some issues being in groups, thanks to her autism symptoms, which make forming friendships difficult for her, but make her value her real friends even more (I am happy she is MY friend!). She’s not alone. Many of us note that forming friendships is hard due to personality challenges. Some of us are shy; others aren’t great at (or fond of) the kind of bonding but non-substantive conversations that lead to deeper friendships. [Insert your own reasons here.]

A neighbor texted me wondering if people even realize I want to be their friend. I found that amusing/ironic, since this was someone I want to be friends with and have no idea if they realize it. The point was that sometimes people appear to others as if they have some kind of boundary or other presentation that makes them appear to want to keep their distance. Aha! That was an insight to me. Maybe people misinterpret my “resting hermit face” for not wanting to socialize. And maybe I misinterpret others, too!

Jealousy and Friendship

Here’s a fact about me (I know you were dying to read one): I’ve never had many close friends. Let me explain. I always have a few people I can talk to and do stuff with. But I think I always wanted to have a group of close friends who could get together and talk, travel, and share experiences. The couple of times I’ve tried that have made it clear in no uncertain terms that I’m not cut out to do that and will end up being “that member” that everyone talks about behind their back and wishes would stop showing up (hello, yarn store clique; I still like many of you as individuals). No wonder I have so much sympathy for the pariahs in my social circle and keep doing my best to be kind to them.

Why is this relevant?

Well, over the past weekend, I watched as a couple of groups of people from work went on fabulous trips and had fabulous times together. I found myself wishing I could go along. These are friend groups I tried to be in, but didn’t fit in. Yep, I had a bit o’ jealousy. I’ve always wanted to be a member of a close group of friends that were drawn together because of shared bonds, not because they are members of the same club or somehow paid to be together.

How I imagine all these groups of close friends are, out having their adventures. All white, young, and lanky. This is not real life. Photo: *@sashapritchard via Twenty20*

Maybe this all stemmed from when I was a kid growing up, when our neighborhood was a merry band of young folks who did everything together, regardless of our differences and actually cared about each other (I feel warm when I remember how the autistic child, Gay, came along with us wherever she could, and stood on the sidelines, rocking back and forth, but a part of the group; of course we had never heard of autism).

Here’s what a large group of MY friends and acquaintances looks like. Much more varied. Photo by Rae Schopp.

What to Do When You’re Triggered?

Earlier in the week, a series of events unfolded in a group, the details of which are irrelevant. The outcome is where I’m focusing today. As people interacted, the scene became more and more like ones I went through very frequently when the organization I was working for was undergoing a crisis. And it was hard on the participants.

Even good teams have trouble putting everything together correctly sometimes. Photo: *@Nodar77 via Twenty20*

I needed to provide input, redirect the conversation, or in some way diffuse the situation, but I could not. I mentally froze up, as I retreated into a way of feeling and acting from over a decade ago. I didn’t get memory flashbacks, but my emotions went into overdrive and I could FEEL the atmosphere at my old job when volunteers I directed and others at the organization were engaged in unpleasant and unproductive exchanges.

I was triggered, I guess. My current set of coping mechanisms helped me, at least a little. I didn’t burst into tears or run out of the room, like I might have over a decade ago. Instead, I played a word game on my phone, since all my life I’ve coped with being overwhelmed by doing something with my hands (hence all that knitting and playing of Bejeweled). I find that when a good chunk of my brain is busy on a soothing task, I can make better use of the rest of the ole noggin.

Why Be So Open?

I was rather surprised at how many people looked at my post about changing my medication and food patterns yesterday. If I were out to make money, I know what kind of stuff would work and what would not work (hint: self examination wins, plant pictures and book reports lose, unless an author tweets about your post, which did happen last week). But, I’ll just forge ahead and write about what interests me, and I’ll enjoy whoever tags along. This here blog is not intended to lead to fame and fortune, like some people’s are.

What about my PRIVACY? You ask?

I am open and honest about myself here on the ole blog, or at least I try to be. I know some folks who are not comfortable doing this, and I totally respect them. Maybe they have something they need to keep from their employers or family members, and I get that. Other people fear the nefarious spies lurking all over the internet just looking for information on them so they can do…something…with it. (I know some folks who have dealt with stalkers, and I get that, but I also know people who use some totally made-up name and obscure their location.)

I can’t resist sharing when random houseplants bloom, either.

As for me, well, my boss and family know all my stuff, and there are a couple of things I don’t talk about because THEY own their stuff, not me. So, whatever’s going on in my head won’t ruin my “career” (ha ha, I believe I have a series of avocations, some of which pay money). I do not intend to run for public office, so none of the dumb stuff I did in my twenties or forties will ruin those aspirations. And I believe in learning from mistakes, which requires a lot of introspection. I “introspect” by typing. So, here’s a blog full of that.

Overcommitted? Me? Maybe Not!

I read a lovely article today about a woman who was overwhelmed and realized the work she was doing had nothing to do with her actual talents or things she enjoyed doing. She got therapy, pondered a while, and POOF, she’s now living on a goat farm in a yurt, perfectly happy to enjoy a quiet life.

Yurt, sweet yurt. Image by *@sojourneynicole via Twenty20*

I’m happy for her. As she pointed out, it’s not a character flaw to be someone who shudders at the idea of trying to “make it” and cramming as much as possible to achieve some new goal every few months or climbing the corporate ladder until you “win.” Knowing full well that most people aren’t going to “make it” or “win,” it’s probably a good idea to take comfort in more modest goals and aspirations that allow you to live a full but not overfull life.

Looking at the list of things I’m involved with lately, you’d think I am among the over-achieving group and that I am trying to “win” at something. Most organizations volunteered for? Most confusing schedule? I sure don’t look like a very good hermit.

Fire Hair

Most of you know that I’ve been playing with hair color for the past few years. It has been blue, maroon, pink, purple, and white. Why?

Who knows? It was fun. Especially since I started using this Overtime stuff. It doesn’t hurt my hair and fades fast enough that I don’t get sick of any color. And they are also excellent conditioners with ingredients you recognize. They smell like mint and rosemary, too. Nice.

Today I tried one of their intense colors made for dark hair. These have a lot of pigment. I bought the intense rose gold and red. I let Anita decide which one to try, and she picked the red.

I’m glad I had gloves. My hands turned really red when I rinsed, too. I had an old towel and plan to sleep on an old pillowcase.

I’m happy, though, that even my brown hair shows the color. It will be fun to see how it fades!

One day I’ll let my hair be normal. It looks fine that way, too. I just like having fun with impermanent color. I’m scared of permanent things like tattoos or piercings.

How about you? How do you express your wild side?

Moments of Zen

This is one of the most interesting times in my life, at least as far as my mental state goes. Why so interesting? Oddly enough, it’s because I’m not in a tizzy about anything. It’s not because my life has suddenly turned out to be like I imagined adulthood would be as a child, where you go to work, come home and do hobbies, enjoy a meal with your loving spouse, and sleep soundly, knowing you have the money to pay all your bills. Nope, that’s not it.

Little things just make me happy these days, like my peace and trees corner (shh, they are not Christmas decorations).

Rather, as I’ve mentioned in other blog posts, it seems as if all the things I have been working on to become my best self have taken effect, at least for the most part. Like what, you ask?

First, I had to accept myself the way I am. I’m human, with some issues that led me to develop some habits and tendencies that might bug people (let’s see, over-reacting to perceived criticism, crying when confronted angrily, problems with being “yelled at” or picked on, sarcasm, coming across as “looking down” at people…whatever). It’s weird, once I convinced myself that it was okay to be who I am, so many of those behaviors lessened. I haven’t cried in AGES other than when totally appropriate (death of people and dogs I love, mainly).

Why I Had a Happy Childhood

Baby me and my father, Edwin Prince Kendall.

Things just hit you sometimes. Yesterday I was walking toward Rowdy the Rental Audi in the work parking garage, and I got a flashback of being a kid. I’d talked about missing my parents earlier in the day, which probably prompted the experience.

I suddenly felt the heavy weight of the humidity at my house in Gainesville, Florida, smelled the dark black earth, and heard the thump-thump of my dad, doing his favorite activity, known as “digging a hole.” If Dad was upset, frustrated, or just needed to get away from Mom’s antics for a while, he’d go out in the yard and dig. He used to joke that some of the camellias had been moved five or six times, for no good reason.

Here’s dad around my current age, telling me something I’m dubious about.

Smiles. Yes!

I suck at wallowing in self pity these days. After a day or two I hug my inner child and set my sadness on a mental shelf. That works until I start dreaming about whatever the issue is, which shows my subconscious is processing away.

So I’m bruised and battered by the last few days, but allowing myself to enjoy what’s good.

I asked for some photos of old friends getting together for my overdue big project. The things that were shared made me all warm and fuzzy.

Friends who make you laugh make it hard to mope.

And Lee sent me a photo of Penney showing all her pug heritage by sleeping all wrinkly.

She was snoring when the picture was taken but is always smiling.

And of course, my constant companion Vlassic reminds me of what unconditional love means. That’s what I feel from my circle of close friends, who’ve been there for me, even while dealing with their own issues.

And that’s what I feel for my family. No matter what. Please tell your family if you feel the same.

Thanks to Everyone Who Ever Sent Me Flowers

Sad times come to everyone. It’s part of life. When you’re sad and feeling unloved, nothing beats having the people who do love and care about you remind you that you aren’t alone.

Today, my therapist and friend listened to me, affirmed my experience, and gave me flowers. That’s about all you can do, but it means a lot!