thoughts jotted on the airplane

I have mixed feelings about flying home...

Of course I am more than ready to be in my own bed, in my own house, with my own dogs. But I hate the emptiness that sets in after spending a week filling up with the familiarity of my sister and the joyful - if manic - energy of my nieces.

There is something about visiting family that pulls me in opposite directions - so far that it meets back again - some sort of circle of dysfunction.

I am amazed at how well my sister gets me - and how well I get her. It makes me almost cry because it is one of the deepest, least complicated, most fulfilling relationships I have ever had. I am grateful that I did not completely destroy it when I was out there destroying everything else.

On the other side of that is being with my mother and her mother (and comparing notes with my sister) often strengthens my frustration and resentment at how insane my family is.

Just when I really think I'm in some sort of acceptance of this insanity - even ready to embrace it, to own it, claim it as my own - I come face-to-face with it and am alarmed. Shocked. HOW DID I SURVIVE CHILDHOOD?

And yet, I did. I more than survived. I understand that my sisters and I are who we are - passionate, interesting, creative, strong, independent women - because of (in spite of?) the way we were raised.

I know that part of my discomfort lies in continuing to compare my version of childhood/youth/family with what is accepted as "normal." Which makes no sense because as much as I decry the insanity I grew up in, "normal" does not seem like an attractive alternative. It would have been soul-killing, at best.

So normal is not ti. Only that I wish there's been a little more of that boundary/limit thing, a little more of that modeling of adult behavior thing. Too many times, I still don't feel "old enough" to do things because I never saw an adult be an adult!

But again, from that came as many gifts as drawbacks, and it now about which I chose to lean on. I really want to focus on the gifts, but every once in a while, the part that's missing gets so big, it drowns everything else out, and I have to tread water for a little bit until I can swim back to the shore of acceptance.

I always come home from visiting family somewhat changed. I think it is in the knowing that there are people out there who share intimately all the worst and best parts of me, who know me, get me, don't get me but want to, and who definitely speak the same language.

audition

This is hard. Sitting, Waiting. Watching. Judging. There are so many kids in there for this art audition. Kids who probably spent months - years - took a class to put together their portfolio.

And A - two days.

And here's the thing: I don't know what's supposed to happen or what the "best" outcome would be or how he's going to feel or how he compares to other kids. Even if I did, none of it is anything that I can make happen, make not happen, change, rearrange.

I'm projecting, really. There are so few things anymore that I regret about my own past. But that I did not pursue my art haunts me. That I stepped off the stage because of fear (as much of success as of failure), addiction and laziness still turns me into an abysmal well of shame, self-pity, regret.

That's what's going on here. I want A to do what I didn't. I want him to want to. Without really allowing him to decide for himself what it is that HE wants to do.

I told him this morning as he labeled his portfolio that I was earnestly going to try to back off and let him grow. That I know that I need to get off his back. That I will probably make mistakes while trying to do that. "It's ok. Everyone makes mistakes, mom," says this kid who's huge behind-the-dirty-glasses eyes are level with mine. (When did he get so big?)

I have to remember that he's taken care of. That I have to stop trying to be mother/father/god to this boy. That I need to let go lest I suffocate him and hinder his growth. I kid myself when I think he 'can't handle' it. He has shown wisdom, creativity, depth, humor that surprises me. Usually when I get out of the way.

How many times must I go through this before I finally get it, I wonder? As many times as it takes, I guess. Pretty sure we'll survive, regardless.

I am proud of my boy. Incredibly proud.

This is not my audition. I'm going to let go of his process. I am. Really. Right now. Whew. Breathing. Ok. There. Released. For now. I'm sure I'll have to release it again. And again.