There’s a story about Abraham Lincolns first and second wives. His first wife lived in their house with a dirt floor. She was promised a real floor, but lived for years until she died, on dirt. His second wife took one look at the dirt floor and refused to move in until a real floor was built. Which it quickly was.
How often have I shown up as the long suffering first wife? Ugh! I’ve gotten better! It took me a few years to know what I wanted. There’s a line in a Tom Petty song that says “we didn’t know what we were looking for” I sure didn’t.
If I see myself lumping it, Im getting better at catching myself. But then I have to speak up, take action, do something different. Essentially be uncomfortable. I don’t know why I’ll sometimes take long term discomfort over making some waves. This is something I need to ponder.
Confrontation. Stepping away. Not budging. Hmmm
I moved into a place without a hooked up stove and an oddly placed refrigerator, but was promised the kitchen would be built. It was in progress. It looked and sounded like it would be easy and quick. During our four years, we helped remodel other people’s whole kitchens. Yet the tiny one in our rental, moved at glacial speed. I can’t say why every part was a struggle. We pushed for somethings, but there was always a reason for stalling. The stove sat for all of the four years just taking up space. We acquired a hot plate, a butane camping stove and a nice convection toaster oven. We managed. Then our rent was raised and raised again (nearly doubled). It’s so interesting how I found myself being the first wife.
If I’m going to curate the life I want, and in many areas I had, why did I settle on something as important as my surroundings?
Our land lord is nice! I don’t think she didn’t like us, She was struggling with finances and health issues. The thing I realize now is that I needed to handle things differently. I aim to be the person who is responsible for me which includes being GOOD to me. The time I spent discouraged, frustrated, feeling powerless and like the lowest of priorities did not feel good. At all. It was demoralizing. How did I do that every day for most of four years?
Looking back while going forward, I see a lesson coming into focus. We didn’t want to or know how to move, but life finally moved us. Again I see how I need to get better at paying attention. I need stand-up-for-myself practice.
I did a painting years ago of an abstract woman bent backwards over a house of cards, broom in hand, abstract man contributing to her backwards posture. I named the painting ‘Stand Up’.
Much pondering and some practice needed for sure, but is this all about staying aware? Do I need to focus and pay better attention to myself!? Always a work in progress, I’m hopefully moving faster then that kitchen…
I know this at the very least, I won’t move in again anywhere, unless there is a working oven.
Peace Kit 