Ordinarily, Ordinary

I have yet to come across anyone in this lifetime who did not feel that they were extraordinary. From plumbers to cops, from judges to homeless criminals…everyone’s story is the story they like best.

Fortunately or unfortunately – whichever way you want to look at it –we as human beings are obssessed with ourselves. The most amazing thing I find is that people with the most basic lives still have the ability to see others as less important. I was lucky enough to wake up the other morning and realize just how ordinary I was.

Sometimes it seems as though I think about sex way too much. The ironic thing is, that when I stop thinking about sex I wonder where my sex drive went. I can have both of these thoughts during the same day and believe that both of them are correct. Not only that, but I will do the same thing with food, exercise, money, or just about any of the other things that life requires.

The fact that I can be on both sides of the debate that takes place in my own mind would ordinarily lend to the idea that I have schizophrenia. The reason that doesn’t take place is because the rest of the world appears to be in the same unfortunate boat. What is this split that we as humanity are suffering from? I mean, doesn’t it make sense that one should just be able to have a thought, follow through with that thought, and get on to the next thought?  How is it possible that an individual can be on more than one side of a debate in his or her own mind? The unfortunate answer is we are not individuals. The word individual implies an “undividedness.” But I have yet in this lifetime to meet anyone who is not divided against themselves. When this behavior is taken to an extreme people are medicated, hospitalized, or placed in therapy. The problem is, who said that the therapist themself was not divided?

Having worked in the mental health field for many years and being on both sides of a locked therapeutic door, I say from my own experience that those who we believe have our best interests at heart do not have the ability to do so. In other words, a 350-pound chain smoking psychologist is undoubtably more screwed up than any patient she sees. Now she may say that she is wearing her psychologist hat and that the way she feels personally doesn’t show in her treatment of clients, but it takes very little intelligence to realize that is untrue. Her fat miserable ass is going to see the world through her fat miserable eyes and she is going to make recommendations based on how she feels.

Since the day we are born, society begins to put ideas in our minds. They treat these ideas as though they are the “truth” and then begin to shove those ideas down our throats even before for we begin to speak. We are given names, nationalities, religions, families, towns, beliefs and all sorts of other nonsense and told this is who we are. Underneath all of that is a silent knowing, an animal instinct which humanity has not trusted for millennia.

Psychologists and psychiatrists are your new priests. They are your moralists and your politicians. They believe in an ideal which is unachievable and has never been achieved by humanity. And when placed against the ideal there is not a human being alive who does not fall short. It is a nonexistent set of ideas lending toward a perfect human being. Sigmund Freud said that the best humanity can hope for is that we can take man from a state of abnormal unhappiness and bring him to a place of normal unhappiness.

Here comes the point. We as human beings spend a lot of time and a lot of energy trying to adjust to an abnormal society. It is always the individual that is questioned and never the society itself and this creates a misery and an unneeded easiness inside of us as people. The only way I can see to move toward a direction of real freedom is to undivide one’s self and return to that state of quiet knowing. Otherwise we are forced to just chase our tails and to live forever underneath the weight of other peoples control.

Receiving

So lately I have been learning how to receive. When Eben, my mentor, first mentioned this concept in he said, “I think the most important skill to learn for success in business or any other area of life is the ability to receive.”  “MOST important,” I thought, “he must be out of his mind, I have been receiving all my life.”

I am very familiar with receiving.  Receiving charity, receiving pity, receiving welfare checks and holiday meals at the Rescue Mission.  The price paid for such “gifts” was payment of dignity, integrity, honor and self-esteem…with full payment demanded at the time of service.

So needless to say I was shook when Eban suggested I learn how to receive fully, especially lately as I have been really focusing on giving away as much value as I can through my various blogs, articles, e-mail marketing, reports and newsletters. Even now I am searching for the words to describe the meshing of colored emotions that consumed me.

Inside, at the very core, I am sure there is helplessness, powerlessness, hopelessness and a whole host of other LESS-NESS-ES that are not even nameable, so I tried to shake it off as an idea that just didn’t really apply to me. I figured he was speaking to some of the other members of the virtual class and I left it at that.  He went on to explain the difference between “getting” and “receiving” and things began to make more sense. “Getting” in the way I am talking about it here implies a lack of concern about how you acquire something. In other words, a thief with $100 may exchange his money to “get” something, or he may simply steal in order to “get” the very same thing. In this way the acquiring of the object is primary and the means of acquiring secondary.

To “receive,” on the other hand, requires ”presence.”  It requires one to allow themselves to fully be with the exchange and fully experience the emotion as something is acquired. Sounds easy enough, right?  Until someone says,” thank you” and I say, “don’t mention it.” Or someone says, “what you wrote was amazing,” and I act as though I did not hear them or even worse say something like,” yeah but I have to get my typing speed up, my spelling/grammar better,” or any of my other standard ways of not “receiving.”

What’s my point?  I am, as promised, celebrating Thanksgiving alone. I have some ground turkey defrosting on the stove and I’ll make some rice. I think I can turn it into tacos, only I don’t have any seasoning.  Oh…wait, I have ranch dressing and tortilla wraps, it can be like TEX-MEX!  Anyway, earlier I walked across the street in my sweats with sandals and socks on to this little bodega for a cup of coffee. As I approached the door I saw a sign that says, ” Happy Thanksgiving-Free Coffee!”  Now the owners of the store are of an Eastern decent. Chances are they do not celebrate traditional Thanksgiving, but here they were giving everyone ME free coffee.  My goal then became not to say anything dumb like: “Are you sure you don’t want me to pay” or ” hey, do you guys celebrate Thanksgiving?”  I was also tested with not DOING anything dumb like leaving and going to another store where I had to pay or buying a candy bar so I felt like I paid. Nope.  My job was to receive. So I made my coffee, added hazelnut cream and made it delicious just as if I were going to pay.  Part two of receiving is to show appreciation. Not, “hey, thanks” and keep on moving.  No. I was to stop, look them right in the eye, connect with them and say, “thank you, I appreciate this.”

I did a good job. I felt it, he felt it, it was cool. I almost cried walking back across the street. But I did not…because I am still REALLY FUCKING COOL!  

It is good to be in this life experience. THANK YOU for taking the time to participate in my life.

“DIP”

They would sit around cursing for days about all the extra effort it was. ” I still have to go to the store, I still have to clean the house, I still need to cook the turkey.”

“Who are we trying to impress,” I used to wonder.  I mean, I can never recall anyone of any importance coming by for Thanksgiving, or any other day for that matter. If anyone did come by, I can assure you that they did not stay long.

We were not a family of football lovers. We were not Indians or pilgrims. And we didn’t really even like each other, but every year we did the same ritual as every other family. The only difference was, our routine was tempered with an air of misfortune and discomfort for all those involved.

There was one thing that my brothers and I could count on that would add delight to the day.  It was a homemade “dip” for chips, veggies and just about anything else you could slather with an onion, mushroom and cream cheese condiment.  The “dip” itself was a holiday miracle since my three least favorite ingredients in all the world are onions, mushrooms and cream cheese.  However, when added together — blended and refrigerated overnight, it created the most wonderful food of the year! I did not require turkey, stuffing, ham or cranberry sauce, but I would go to bed on Thanksgiving Eve with a rumble in my belly ready to wake up and eat as much of the creamy, white deliciousness as I possibly could.

So while other families did whatever they did, for the next 30 days I ate dip. From Thanksgiving to Christmas as much and as often as I could, I would stuff my little fat face with my mother’s homemade secret. Chips, wheat-thins, pretzels, broccoli, carrots, bread, cauliflower and my tiny, greedy, little fingers were the perfect pallet for the delicious madness.

I will “celebrate” tomorrow alone. Finding myself surprised that all the stores are closed, just like I have for the years that have passed.  I will peer out my window and watch as cars pull up to my neighbors’ homes with smiling passengers bringing gifts. I will wonder if they are really as happy as they appear to be. I will already know the unfortunate answer without having to ask.

I WILL wish I had a huge bowl of my mother’s dip all to myself that I could eat until my stomach hurt.  However, I will remember I am no longer a child and for that I will be grateful.