Showing posts with label santa monica pier. Show all posts
Showing posts with label santa monica pier. Show all posts

Saturday, March 15, 2014

GIMME, GIMME, GIMME

It has taken me over two weeks to write this damn essay, and I am still up in the air as to whether it is interesting enough to publish or not. That is not a plea for validation, just a confession. You have been warned. It is long, and it does not make me look very good. So be it. I tried to make it funny in places. I do think I succeeded at that task. Don't you wish I were still writing about leaving Los Angeles?? As a token of goodwill I have decided to intersperse recent pictures of my visit to Santa Monica and Venice beaches on a day that was, as we like to say here, "picture perfect". Well, have at it.

                                                                 ***
There is a British show called "Doc Martin" that I love to watch. It stars Martin Clunes, who you may know from the British sitcom "Men Behaving Badly". The character he plays is a general practitioner in a small English village where there is socialized health care. Doc Martin is assigned to this village because he started experiencing hemophilia (fear of blood) while working as a top surgeon in London, necessitating a reassignment. As a G.P., he is brilliant, as he was as a surgeon, and his knowledge and application of medical expertise is responsible for repairing many of the health calamities that plague the townsfolk. He is, without a doubt, what I would call an ability carrier (explained later). He is also, without a doubt, a major class curmudgeon and an all-out unpleasant grouch. So even though the town can't do without him, they don't really like him, and they often feel resentful of his arrogance and dismissive manner.

The quality that makes this nasty character likable at all is that he is so totally clueless to how off-putting his behavior is. He is not trying to be difficult, he is just trying to do his job, and the people don't heed his instructions or respect his stated boundaries. He simply cannot understand why everyone insists on "chatting" with him during visits to the surgery, or why they want to be friendly out in town, when he would just rather get his job done and then retire for the night, alone. They are upset at him because he is not like them. He has a task to do, which he seems to get satisfaction from doing well; but I am not sure if he enjoys what he does, or if he realizes that the task involves working with actual living human beings. Yet he does the task because he has a medical mind and he views everything as a problem that can be solved with the proper intervention. He views "people" as simply the conduits through which he gets to apply medical procedures. I often suspect that the character of the doctor suffers from a form of Asperger's Syndrome. The townspeople take his gruff demeanor rather lightly, and are often amused by his ways, and in truth they rarely hold a grudge. "That's just the doc!", they would say, and they would be right. They alternately fear and admire him.

I know that response.

***
Busy as a summer day, in March
The other day, I stopped in to check on my neighbor Georgette because her phone had been giving me a busy signal all day. I manage the building we live in, and I was checking on a repair issue she had mentioned to me. When I knocked on her door that evening, I was hoping to find her doing okay, and I just wanted to let her know that I was attending to the issue--I wanted to have the entire activity performed in less than two minutes, max. But it didn't go that way--not at all. She invited me into her apartment and proceeded to describe how her phone service had been shut off after the recent storm (hence the busy signal), and then she explained the initial repair issue all over again and kept me there for close to ten minutes. She then offered me chocolate, coffee, and I think a package of tortillas. It was a blur of blab and bling and my mind went into a coma.

As she was talking, and talking, I noticed my patience running right out of the apartment, as if to catch up with her lost phone service. I noticed this because it is something that tends to happen a lot when I feel that others are taking advantage of my time and attention. The thing is, Georgette is 82 years old, and it would behoove me to have a little more patience with her in the way that you have patience with an older person--but you must believe me when I tell you that she has always been this way with my time, and I have known her for 12 years!

It takes patience to have your picture drawn
Anyway, it does seem that I have a history of losing my patience with those who come to me for some sort of assistance, whether they are older or younger. It would be fine if requests were just stated without verbal "backup documents" and half hour discussions, but that rarely happens! Don't people realize that I am smart and catch on really really quickly? Fortunately, over time my patience has improved (if not my humility), and since I left my day job last year I have more time to myself (and conversely, more time to respond to others). The one place where I rarely ever lose patience is in my therapy office (unlike Doc Martin!)--because the exchange is time-limited and paid for--so both the client and I benefit (even-steven)! And therein lies the crux of my issue--the lack of equal exchange in most circumstances outside of the therapy office.

***
Slack-lining. I do NOT have this ability!
There is, believe it or not, a downside to having the ability to do most things really well. When one has this ability (as I do, by the way), it tends to invite others to then want things from the "carrier" of that ability (me).
The downside I refer to then is only felt by the carrier, since it is easy to conclude that the others benefit immensely from their fulfilled requests. The downside is that there is always an other who wants something--there is always an other who wants something. To whom does the ability carrier turn when he or she then experiences want?

There is a second downside, not mentioned earlier, which is that ability carriers frequently do not experience want themselves. This "desire deficiency" in the carriers is the catalyst that turns others' requests into the initial downside. Empathy cannot develop toward those seeking assistance when the one with the ability to assist has little personal experience with desire. Carriers are not completely devoid of desire, though. They usually just want just one thing: to be left alone.

If there is one thing I have learned about people, it is that they do not like to leave you alone, especially if you are recognized as an ability carrier.

Not all ability carriers suffer from Asperger's Syndrome.

It takes great ability to do the rings. No Aspergers necessary.
The secret about ability carriers, which I will generously share with you, my non-demanding readers, is that we are really good at most things because we tend to only do the things that we are really good at! The things that we are not really good at, and there are several, are quickly identified and left in the hands of others. If there is anything that we know, it is how to keep ourselves from looking deficient, since the original motivation for our quest toward ability mastery is usually overcompensation. (You can fill in the blanks--gay shame, guilt, blah blah blah...) This in itself is a skill that sets us apart from the others.

Most people seem to have no idea what they are good at and what they are not good at. If you don't believe me, the evidence for this is all over the place, but you could hasten your research by observing American Idol contestants or Piers Morgan.

Over the years, I have not only become more aware of my own desires, but I have developed the ability to ask for what I want and need. At the beginning, this was limited to exclaiming, "LEAVE ME ALONE!!!", but in time, I graduated to more pedestrian requests, such as, "Can you make me a sandwich, please?"
Cycling alone, like me
You may not see the progress, but trust me, that is a huge leap! For ability carriers, the slightest of desires often triggers anxiety, guilt, and fear, and those feelings are not entirely unjustified. You see, ability carriers are not born, they are made. Somewhere along the line, usually in the midst of childhood, these people get the message from someone that their needs will not be met, or worse, that they are not even valid. Since a child has a natural tendency to expect needs to be taken care of, you can see how confusing this must be when it does not happen. Children, as we all know, are resilient little creatures, so they simply do what is best for them in the situation: they suppress their needs. Flash forward to adulthood and you get the picture.

I wonder if this dude is "overcompensating" with his body
As I like to say in the therapy room, though, it is unwise to throw the baby out with the bathwater. If you are going to move into adulthood with an issue, you could really pick worse. Ability carriers are advantaged by the silver lining of becoming really good at what they are really good at.
Drum circles require patience and skill
So in the spirit of progress, why not "add to", instead of "take away" (another thing I like to say in the therapy room)? Why not add awareness of needs, why not add vulnerability, why not add trust? Why not add patience? And therein lay the work, folks. But the results are worth it, enabling one to move from "LEAVE ME ALONE!!" to "Can you make me a sandwich, please?" Progress.

***
Georgette does not mean to be all gimme gimme gimme, she has a right to be self-involved since her world has been mostly reduced to an 800 square foot apartment. She also gives back, as evidenced by the offer of bling. It may be as hard for her to ask for help as it sometimes is for me to give it to her. But it is getting easier. The difference is understanding that nobody is trying to "take" something away from me (like time). I am realizing that when I give to others, I don't actually "lose" anything. In fact the opposite usually happens. Usually. Not always...if I can make the perceptual shift. Then the opposite usually happens. I can handle those odds.

And hey, I can always use another package of tortillas.

The magic of a beach day in March

Sunday, September 8, 2013

leaving non-fiction

no place like the beach in the summertime...
"I wrote this short story earlier in the year as a contest entry--I didn't even place in the contest, but I still think it is a decent story!  Plus, we are exactly in the time of the year when the story takes place, so I thought it would be interesting to take a "Fiction Break" from my usual essay style of writing and give you something different.  I have populated the post with pictures that I took when I was at the beach just after Labor Day--in other words, the exact setting and time of the year for the story.  How great is that??  Enjoy!"


"The Non-Endless Summer"

The most perfectly melancholic paradox I know is the phrase “Endless Summer”.   

He was in love again.  Shit.  No, he wasn’t.  Yes, he was.  Fuck!  Where was S---- now?  It had taken until September this year for it to happen, but at least it had happened.  Fuck!  Where was she?  He wandered north on the boardwalk with more purpose than that demonstrated by the people surrounding him.  He made good time on the stretch just below the pier that veered toward the water only to retreat back to its original path.  He then entered the cool darkness of the tunnel running under the street that dead-ended at the pier entrance.  


He had always liked this short tunnel—the darkness inside a striking contrast to the bright-white heat of the late afternoon pushing in at either end.  He always suspected (hoped?) that upon exiting the tunnel on the other side, he would emerge in another time— a time most likely in the past.  

This never happened, of course, and this never failed to make him just the slightest bit sad.  He walked out the other side into the sunshine and scanned the surroundings, blinking back the light as his eyes re-adjusted.  Then he saw her—riding on her old cruiser bicycle as if she didn’t have a care in the world besides whether to bring potato salad or coleslaw to a bar-b-que.   “S----!!!” he screamed, startling her a bit.  As she saw him standing there she smiled and gently applied the brakes. 

S---- walked the bicycle across the pedestrian boardwalk, then between the cushion-like walkways traversing the child and adult play areas, and eventually onto the actual bike path; oddly, it had just as many people walking on it as the pedestrian boardwalk—a fact she has never understood.  The tunnel where she was supposed to meet 
R----, the one he had just emerged from, was not so far away that S---- needed to ride the distance, but she felt somehow ridiculous walking a bicycle on a bike path.  So she mounted the cruiser and pushed the pedals for a couple of revolutions—just enough to get it going—and then let it coast easily toward the tunnel. 

Her thoughts along the way were a jumble, a contrast to the ease of the short journey.  She crinkled her sunburned nose while imagining what she would say to R---- when she saw him, the possibilities shifting each time she considered how he might open the conversation.  She only knew one thing for certain, and that is that she would tell him the truth.  The truth.  


The words dissolved in the late summer sun as soon as she thought them.  The difficult thing about the truth is finding our way there, she thought, noticing how the truth of the coastline was imposed upon by the pier, by the boardwalks, by the play areas, by the parking lots, by the people.  What is a beach other than the place where the ocean meets the land?  And yet, here in Southern California, on this hot, hot August afternoon, it was a million things more. 

***

When you grow up near the beach, it becomes a part of your personality.  You become a “beach person”, of sorts.  And yet it is not the same thing as being a “mountain person”, or a “city person”—it is not the same thing at all.  To grow up near the beach, to have it become a part of your personality, is to ingest a mood, not just an environment.  Mountains and cities can be said to have moods as well, but unlike beaches, these environments affect us by their sheer power—one has no choice.  We become affected by mountains and cities.  But beaches, well.  Beaches have perhaps more power than either mountains or cities, but beaches don’t force themselves on you.  Beaches seduce.  And therein lays the difference.  And it is during late summer, that time stretching from right before Labor Day up to late September, when the beach is at its most seductive.  As the tourists slowly leave, its attention is no longer divided.  There are times, especially during early morning or late night, when a person can feel that they have the beach all to themselves! 


And yet, even then, there is tension in the relationship.  To understand this you must first get that the thing about late summer is that it is, well, late.  We can track the days getting shorter, the sun setting sooner, the crowds thinning.  In some ways, during this time of year, our beach love affair is on borrowed time—we can never be certain when the weather will turn to a chill—when those early mornings or late nights will be better spent inside where it is warm and bright.  The joke of it all is that we know this, yet we carry on as though it will be endless—an endless summer. 


It is a beautiful truth that the loveliest of things always come to an end. 

***

R---- watched S---- glide toward him on her cruiser, and it took all he had to keep from running to her and bridging the remaining distance.  But he stood his ground and waited, ignoring the stomach knot that indicated restless emotions, knowing that if he were to release any movement at this time, more than just movement would be released.  S---- hopped off the bike and walked the last steps until they stood facing each other in the sun.  She looked at him, saying nothing, waiting.  And then it came from him, all at once.  “S----, it’s over.  He is gone…this morning…with his family…back home.  He’s gone.  He’s…”  Then he stopped, falling into her arms, and she held him as she knew she would when this moment came.  “I know, sweetie.  I know.  He had to go, and it had to end.  I’m so sorry, sweetie.  He loves you, but summer is over.  Summer is over.” 

The crowds continued past them, meandering either north or south on the boardwalk, while R---- and S---- stood still together like the axis point of a compass, pointing the way to the inevitable change of seasons.  Nobody paid attention. 





The sun may shine.  The waves may crash.  But summer on the beach…summer…is not endless.  That is why it is so lovely a time.



my summer feet