I finished Mia Birdsong's book, but it hasn't finished with me. I feel the lack of pages and words like a leaving of the nest. The next phase of learning will be uncomfortable because I have read all that was written. I will have to leave my bedroom and live the words into being. I will have to do it wrong before I really get it right. I know that I can always start again at the beginning, but if I don't engage with the text in the 3 dimensional world, then this book might as well be fiction.
And I don't want it to be fiction. I want it to be my life. I want to be better at defining friendships and building community. I want to have better words for those who mean so much to me. Take my step mom for example. Her and my dad split in 2009. We weren't close before the divorce but we came to an understanding through the divorce and in the years after. I call her my stepmom still because she's still here and still family. But I don't call or text on mother's day. We've never been close like that. She's never been a mother figure.
But we are bound together by our survival of those years and by the fact that when asked, we both chose each other in a time of uncertainty. And that choosing shaped us powerfully. We are closer now than we were in the 8 years of living together. And there is so much love. Where are the words to describe these kinds of complicated bonds. She's not really my stepmom but she's more than a friend. She's definitely family and a special kind of family at that. Many of my family member have never had to "choose" me and maybe they wouldn't choose me in a line up of possible family members. We're more stuck together than chosen.
And that choosing is powerful but must be done by both sides. I can choose whomever I want but it doesn't mean anything if they don't choose me back. One of the most powerful things I've experience by trial and error is how "taking a break" from a family member can give you both space to re-evaluate the circumstances under which you would choose each other. My dad and I did that. I think it was nearly 2 years of mostly not speaking, pretty terrible communication. But the rule was "don't call unless you want to talk".
That means don't call just because it's a holiday or it's been awhile. Don't call because you are lonely or bored (or drunk). Don't call because someone asked you how I was and you didn't want to admit that you didn't know. Don't call because you missed my call. Don't call because you feel guilty or obligated. And if that means a whole year goes by, don't call for a whole year. The silence was strange and sometimes unnerving. But it was also useful. I think we do our sense of guilt and obligation a disservice by always trying to bury them as quickly as possible. Sometimes doing nothing and proving to your guilty that no huge disaster happens is the best salve for chronic guilt. And the part that came after was worth the uncomfortable silence even though there was no guarantee that the silence would end.
Being sure that you do want to talk and choosing someone and them choosing you back is powerful. Connecting because you want to. Sorting out your guilt and anxiety from your love. Loosening your hold on your relationships from "we're family we have to be there for each other all the time" to "I'll let you know when I'm ready" even though there's no promise that both of you will be ready at the same time.
And I guess that's the scary part. I've been smothering some of my family members in my attempts to choose them and have them choose me back. But they aren't ready. And I'm afraid that by the time that they are ready, I will have changed too much internally and built a life that I don't know how to incorporate them into. But that's their choice. And they shouldn't take the future or the people around them for granted. I can't make them choose me back. All I can do is clearly communicate my love and my boundaries.
So that's it. Just some musing on the power of choosing and being chosen. Go read Mia Birdsong's book and tell me what you got out of it.
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