The Brass Ring

I'm sharing writer Anne Lamott's Facebook post here.  I have a love/hate thing with her work.  She comes off as incredibly self-indulgent at times, to the point of embarrassment.  And yet...her writing is compelling and speaks to me of how raw and open our hearts are.  Perhaps it is that quality in myself that I struggle with: feeling RAW.  Always reaching for the brass ring of mental balance and peace.  I think I'm alone in this, and then I talk to someone, or read a post like this one.  I am not alone, and I would do well to remember this when I get bereft.  I wish I didn't have "bereft" as the default mode, but there it is.  There is no perfection in this life.  The brass ring is usually just out of reach.  When you do manage to snag it, you immediately throw it into the clown's mouth.

Anne Lamott

"I got to do a once-in-lifetime writerly thing last week, one of those high octane events where you just KNOW you will feel completely better about yourself for the rest of your life in every way, because it means you will have truly 

 arrived...And I got VERY lost. It has taken me four days, two Kissing dogs, church, three hikes, two huggy girlfriends, and two visiting brothers for me to get found.

My entire life I have believed that there was something I could achieve, own, lease or date that would make me feel permanently whole, and I'm pretty sure that this side of eternity, this will be my default mode. If only THIS would happen, or if only that would fall into place, or if I just met the right person, or got the right review, or got to live in a house with a fill-in-the-blank....

But the horrible truth of life is that this whole less, being friends with your own heart, is ALWAYS going to be an inside job.

I so hate and resent this. I DO NOT AGREE TO THIS.

I want it to be out there, where I can go get it, and put it in my car, with the seatbelt buckling it is so I will never be without it again.

Like it would be so much skin off God's teeth to let me track it down in the realms of power, prestige, stature, money, weight, and Macy's.

But nooooooooooo.

Last week, when I was having the experience that almost every writer longs for, I got as mental and confused and low self-esteem as I've been in a while. And everyone I was with was extremely sweet, smart and affirming. It was the damn system that failed, the system I was raised believing in, that I can achieve and impress and people-please SO successfully, that I will finally get the seal of approval sufficient to fill the Swiss cheesey holes in my soul. I will have arrived, finally. Yay

During this pretty high-falutin' experience under the bright lights, w/ kind smart people and FABULOUS make-up, I felt like I'd 9 cups of coffee, two bags of candy corn, a box of chocolate truffles-- Heaven, right? I love being out of my body, tripping on my own fabulousness, mood-altered to within an inch of my life. And then guess what happened? You're going to hate this

It ended. Yes! My turn was over. All the smart kind people--and even my make-up person--TRAITOR!--went on to the next person.

And then there was just me, even more needy, worried, and self-doubting than usual--had I talked too much? Too fast? I had meant to sound like a cross between Gloria Steinem and Ram Dass--but had just sounded like a very caffeinated ME. Regular old human me, beautiful, slightly nuts, flawed. Trying to tell my truth about God and being human, in my own voice.

Sigh. Then I flew home, to my dogs, my life, my writing, church, etc, and I drank a lot of water, and my friends loved me out of ALL sense of proportion, and I got to do the sacraments that save me--plop and putter. Reading to my grandson. 

Radical self-care--lots of rest, Wimbledon, salads, rubbing lotion into my fabulous jiggly thighs. Eating delicious low-sugar life-giving foods, with perhaps an excess of cherries and peaches. Okay, and plums. And that one night w/some See's. Getting a little writing done EVERY day, by pre-arrangement with myself, as a debt of honor. Teaching my Sunday school kids, that they are loved and chosen, safe beyond all understanding, and that to be alive in a miracle. Home! In my funny gorgeous dumb puttery life! Sweeping the kitchen, singing along with the Beatles. Hallelujah, and wow, and thank you thank you thank you."