Hi! I'm Patricia. Unless the site gets hacked, all entries are written by me. Which is said neither with a whole lot of pride nor much embarrassment. Like many a personal blog, the entries revolve around me. And let's face it, if you can't be vain on your own blog then where can you be vain? All to say, if you're looking for the latest on world news, celebrity gossip, or the next election, this probably isn't where you wanted to be. But thanks for stopping by! A little more about me...
A photo posted by Patricia Elizabeth (@lunanina) on
I turned 43 yesterday. For as long as I can remember, I have enjoyed my birthdays. Even when I didn’t have anything planned and spent the day alone which made me a bit sad, I still managed to feel generally happy about the day. This year there was no anticipation, there was no joy, just sadness.
It’s a strange place to be in to have to feel grateful that the fertility assessments were the things that made it possible to catch the endometrial cancer. There’s no way to know if I’d feel any less sad, any less lost and grief stricken if a regular doctor’s visit had caught the abnormal results. I just know that I spent a long time thinking that maybe this year would be the year that I’d have a baby or be trying for a baby. Instead, I’m just one year older, infertile, and living under a cloud of sadness. Which isn’t to say there aren’t good moments. Oh, there are. Thankfully a good many of them. Underneath those moments, however, are always the undercurrent of grief, sadness, and this vague sensation of being without purpose.
But, I’m still here, right? I’m a few months away from paying off a ridiculous amount of debt I’d racked up in the last decade and by this time next year I expect to be living on my own again. In the summer or early fall I’ll make appointments with the appropriate people and start exploring my adoption options so that too is something to be hopeful for. So there are things to look forward to. I just have to keep reminding myself of that and things will be - if not fine - at least okay.
Years ago I had to park my car on the street for a good stretch of time. You’d think that that would have made me an even better parallel parker but it did not. Unless I could easily steer my car into the spot I would bypass it and go in search of something that wouldn’t cause me to have visions of bumping into all the cars ever made. Sometimes I ended up far away from home but that was preferable to struggling to park the car.
I saw nothing wrong with this habit. My father, however, did. On the way back home from lunch one day we drove past a spot he deemed perfectly acceptable. “No way I can get my car in there,” I said and drove on. We circled back around a few minutes later and the spot was still there. “Park there,” he said. “I can’t,” I replied and drove past it.
You’re smart cookies so I know you know I ended up circling back around and of course the spot was still there. Are you getting the picture of how tight this spot was? With obviously very limited parking in the neighborhood this spot had been left empty for a good while. “Park there,” he said. “I-”
He interrupted with, “You’re parking here.” The tone of his voice made it quite clear that despite my 30-some years he was pulling the dad card.
It took a lot of inching back and forth and a lot of careful watching as he guided me into the spot but I managed to wedge it in there.
“See,” he said, “it wasn’t that hard and now you know you can do it.”
Now that I have a car again and am back to having to parallel park the car in the city, boy, am I ever so grateful that my dad took the time to force me to improve my driving. That lesson comes in handy often.
Someone was telling me recently that he felt an obligation to attend a social function.
“Why?” I asked.
“Are you friends? Do you care above the normal ‘I wish everyone well’ level of caring about this person’s future? Because if you don’t, then I don’t see the need to go. And by going you’re actually giving the person the impression that there is a friendship here and you shouldn’t do that.”
There was a little bit of back and forth which ended with, “Patricia, you’re mean!”
This is not the first time I’ve heard this. It likely won’t be the last. I know how I am perceived, I know I’m not perceived as the nicest apple in the playground. I am okay with that because I am not actively mean. I do not actively seek to hurt people. I take pride in not being a “mean girl”.* However, because - like any good introvert - superficial connections are something I dislike and avoid, I don’t see the need to push myself to do something when there isn’t a true established connection.
But, Patricia, you’re saying, what about social niceties? You’re right. We can’t ignore them, they’re important in a civilized society, if you don’t want people acting like narcissistic heathens. I encourage people to behave in mannerly ways. I hold the door open for someone if they’re immediately behind me. I put my hand in harms way to stop the elevator doors closing if I see someone rushing to get in the elevator. I give up my seat for someone who seems to need it more. These things I do because they should be done but I don’t for one second imagine that this has established a connection, the person I just gave my seat to are not suddenly BFFs. Why do we feel this need to label everyone as a friend? Does this mean we can only be nice to friends? What’s the harm in doing something nice for a complete stranger knowing that you’ll probably never see them again?
Having and using good manners does not mean you have to try and be friends with every single person you’ve ever met. Who has the time and energy for that? Plus, there’s an authenticity to simply doing something for the sake of doing it and not because it may win us popularity points. Which is why I balk at pretending to be friends with someone who I’m not friends with. If I do that, in my mind, I’m diluting my true friendships. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just trying to rationalize being selfish with my time. Maybe deep down I mind that people label me as mean or bitchy.
I’ll ponder that some more later when I’m home enjoying my time and not out forcing myself to have superficial interactions that don’t add positive energy into my life.
*Though, of course, anytime I write that I take pride in being something or not being something, I immediately think of several examples of moments when I was or wasn’t the thing I’m saying I take pride in. But, hey, I’m human, I am flawed. I am a work in progress. I can aspire to be something while at the same time acknowledging that there are areas of improvement. Moving on, or, since this is a footnote, moving back.
Several jobs ago I was asked to draft a contract amendment. I’d never drafted a contract amendment and there were none in the office to look at so I turned to your friend and mine, Google, and searched for something that I’m sure resembled, “how to draft an amendment for a contract.” I remember (why do I remember this so vividly?) that the very first link gave me exactly what I needed. I drafted the amendment, the boss was happy with the work, and life went on.
Nearly a decade later I still sometimes turn to Google to help me with my job. While other people worry about inappropriate links showing up in their search history I worry about the powers that be looking at all of my “how do I do xyz?” queries and wondering why exactly they pay me to show up every day.
When Confessions of a Shopaholic came out in 2009 it included the scene above. Upon seeing it, I laughed much harder than the other folks in the theater because it was entirely way too familiar for me. So now, each time I find myself doing one of these searches I think of this scene and the line, “Yes, I Googled” pops into my head.