Most of my (9) readers know that my relationship with my family is less than perfect and more dysfunctional than anything else, especially in dealing with my mother. But there's neither enough time nor space to write about her right now.
I just told them all about my upcoming move and am preparing to deal with the raised eyebrows, harsh judgments and incessant questioning that will be soon headed my way. However, I feel extremely confident in making this decision and truly feel it is for the right reasons and at the right time. For the first time I feel comfortable enough to approach my detractors and listen to what they have to say but stay strong to still do what I feel is best. I am (finally) beginning to understand that it's MY life and the individual fulfillment I seek is up to ME, and I can't keep going around doing things to please others.
It's always been difficult for me to follow my heart because so many people have their own opinions to offer on how they feel I ought to live my life. I usually allow this to interfere with my resolve and second-guess my intentions and my goals. But with this newfound confidence and faith I am more apt to disregard unsolicited advice and simply listen to my inner voice, and bravely forge a life path that is as unique as I am.
I know my family hates change. I know they think I am off on some whim, footloose and fancy free, tromping around the world, dancing to the beat that plays only in my head. To them, I am not doing what I am "supposed" to be doing (i.e. finding a husband, settling down, having babies, working harder to climb the corporate ladder) therefore I am the "wild one" of the family. It hurts to know they don't get it or me, but in the grand scheme of things it doesn't really matter. I could wish and wish and wish upon a star but they're not going to change. And it's about loving them for who they are, faults and all. I just wish it was reciprocated.
So it's bound to be an interesting (to say the least) few days with the phone calls coming in and eventually having to tell the one person who hasn't yet been informed: mother. She's going to be LESS than thrilled for reasons I'll never begin to even hypothesize about, let alone understand. Things between she and I are horrendously bad at the moment, so this is going to probably put the nail in that coffin. But what am I supposed to do? I can't live in Columbia and work at the N for the rest of my life just because it makes her happy. The best thing I can do is be honest with her and let the chips fall as they may.
(Disclaimer: This broad generalization of my family does not include each and every person. There are a few who are the greatest supporters in whatever I decide to do, love me unconditionally, and exhibit true happiness for me. Disclaimer II: Only one or two people in the family know about the blog, so this should be safe. If not, oh well. Maybe it's time the cat got out of the bag.)
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
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4 comments:
I agree with you, just because the tune you march to is not like the rest of your family's , does not mean the tune or your head is wrong. The road most traveled leads to the same place and the road less travel. Why not take some detours and switch-backs? After all if columbus hadn't sailed for the indies, we would still believe the world was flat. Did he ever find indies by sailing west?
~S
I agree with you, just because the tune you march to is not like the rest of your family's , does not mean the tune or your head is wrong. The road most traveled leads to the same place and the road less travel. Why not take some detours and switch-backs? After all if columbus hadn't sailed for the indies, we would still believe the world was flat. Did he ever find indies by sailing west?
~S
three letters, an acronym if you will: F.O.R. way to break down the walls baby and channel those energies!!! See you shortly!!!
You could decide not to tell your mom at all. Just move. It's not like she's going to help you pack or anything.
But that's more like what I (coward that I am) would do. There was a long period of years in which I had to pour myself a tall scotch before I could call my dad. This was after the second time that he, in a drunken stupor, was pulled from a burning vehicle by a passerby. And the irony of needing to self-medicate in order to deal with my self-medicating father is not lost.
I'll finish your title with a line from Stephen Wright:
"...can't live with 'em, can't shoot 'em."
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