Dad's Learning Part 17: Decompression and Leveling Off

Where's your lifeline? Are you surviving?

The public is the only critic whose opinion is worth anything at all.

Mark Twain

Stop It With The Titles

There’s something about not having a title in mind that bothers me. What an odd thought. I have spoken about this before in an earlier piece, “Recycled Wordplay”, but it still trips me out. Oh well, let’s get to it.

Therapy! That’s what we’re here for. That’s what I am working with, and that’s what I want to leverage to help build myself into the image I have in my head. The image, of course, is of my own father and my step-father. There’s a mix of others as well, like my grandfathers, my uncles, even portions of my mothers and aunts. Not that they take a back seat in any respects, but because I don’t see myself as a female. That’s really all it is.

That’s a bit of an oddity in some respects as well, I think. I want their strengths, of course, but the VISION ITSELF only has hints of the feminine.

Either way, that seems normal. But it has been in my head for a while and that would make anything feel normal.

So. Therapy.

Dictation, Again

This week, as with every week so far, has been eye opening. That’s not overly revelatory here. But it should be stated either way.

I have been attempting to take the dictation advice and run with it, but I am having difficulty looking in the mirror in some respect. Listening to my own voice is off-putting, to say the least.

In an effort to get over myself, I have made many such recordings and I am trying to rely on those for some of my content.

For better or worse, that also manifested itself in the creation of a PODCAST to go along with these writings.

There’s nothing uploaded or published to that podcast as of now, of course, but I am attempting to get more comfortable with my voice and that felt like an actionable step. I’m unsure if the posting of anything is necessary though.

What DID I Do Today?

What a jarring question posed to me last Wednesday. I had no clue. I am able to ramble on about most things with vigor and unfortunate length. But that had me lost for words. What the hell did I do that day? I told her I had to think about it and start writing things down. It turns out I did stuff and was not in some catatonic state unaware of the passage of time, which was lucky, but that spoke volumes about how I go about days now. With no structure leads to wander and waste. I need to plan and I need to annotate.

So that’ll be something to work on with EVERYTHING ELSE.

It feels overwhelming until I start. It being whatever I need to get done.

But whenever I start, it feels OBTAINABLE or CONQUERABLE.

So that’s nice.

Persona Non Grata

Where am I headed now?

Let’s talk personas.

We spoke about my online presence a bit and about some people we knew and experiences. During that discussion some NEW revelations came about, or new to me at least. Online personas and interpersonal, in person personas and how they manifest.

We all have personas. It is the rare individual indeed that does not modify, even slightly, the way they interact and behave with different groups of people in their lives.

For instance, when I am with my Marine buddies, I’m different than, say, when I am at my Mamaw’s house.

IT’S JUST SCIENCE, PEOPLE.

So it’s an environmental and circumstantial adaptation, of course. A necessary one at that.

A problem arises, though, when the persona is no longer shaped by you, but instead serves to SHAPE you. When you are having to wear a mask at all times, and you’re unable to shake it or remove it, that’s an issue.

You aren’t being true to who you are, which means you are likely ignoring your own needs and desires in order to be something you believe other people want.

That’s a mistake. That’s just a mask. You’re being fake and that is painful to keep up.

Have you ever worn one of those Halloween masks for longer than a few minutes? They’re awfully uncomfortable, so take that shit off.

But Wait, There’s More!

There’s a lot more actually. More than I feel I should convey in one sitting. I get impatient at times while writing and I don’t want to rush any of it. There’s portions about addiction, portions about oxygen, portions about manifestations of given personas online and the dangers posed that go into more detail than the section above.

But I’ll end this piece with this next topic: there’s more to come from me.

And I say that… heavily?

No, I don’t say that LIGHTLY.

I am human. By that I mean imperfect, as always.

One benefit of writing for my children is it forces me to think about what I am writing but NOT ENACTING. Which, unfortunately, happens somewhat often. It’s not a constant thing. It’s not always the same thing, but I catch myself slipping.

I write what I know they should understand. I write what I am confident works. But man, I have a hell of a time following it myself.

That tells me a few things.

One, that this whole life thing is NOT easy. So buckle up.

Two, that I need to figure out why.

So my therapist asked a few questions and one stood out.

Cabin Pressure

“Why have I taken myself out of the equation?”

Whoa. What the hell does that mean?

The equation is the formula for leading a good life. So, my writing.

But I am not in it. Am I? I don’t think I put myself in there, for one reason or another. So that leads to another question.

Why do I not see myself as worthwhile or good enough?

That’s interesting. I need to find an answer. But I also don’t have to RIGHT AWAY.

Because the plane is hurdling towards terra firma, and the masks have dropped from overhead.

The kids will be fine for a minute, but I was instructed to put MY mask on FIRST.

Then I can affix theirs.

And that’s for a reason. The pressure in the cabin has dropped and if I am trying to get oxygen to them, and I have four, I may not be able to retain consciousness long enough to get oxygen myself. Then I’m dead, even if they level off the plane and avoid the crash.

But getting my mask on first affords me the time to save all of them, too.

It’s the proper order.

It’s the correct priority.

Don’t forget your own oxygen because you’re too busy fumbling for someone else’s.

Love,

Dad