Sunday, July 12, 2009

I know I'm no astrologist, but...

I manage to find numerous reasons to stay out at all hours of the day and night. Last night's excuse was a new friend, delicious beer, a diner breakfast, and one of the best animations of all time, The Brave Little Toaster.

I do not meet many who understand the sheer magic and nostalgia (mastalgia?) that wells up inside me when I think of this movie. This flick instantly takes me back to the days when I ran around barefoot on the hot pavement, pretending I was some equine-related creature.

All this complicated growing up certainly aids in my need for these nostalgic moments. Not in a yearning for days long gone way. Simply to honor and appreciate what a relatively happy childhood I did have at that time. When all my problems centered around maintaining friendships and whether or not I had enough change when the ice cream truck rolled through.

Ah, and here I sit, typing with an air of sobriety, as though my youthful days have passed me. In reality they are far from over. I have accomplished much in my near 25 years of existence and I'd be short-changing myself to think that there isn't more to do. Silly, Lahnna.

It is interesting to observe how quickly a feeling can change.

Not a moment ago, my mother, who is lending me a bit of money, just called to request that, because she is doing me this wonderful favor, I do everything in my power to ensure I will get one of these job positions. A bit flustered by her quick transition from yesterday's loving acknowledgment to today's sharp skepticism, I bit back my instinctive reaction and replied with a definitive, "Yes." (You have learned well, Lahnna-san.) After some digging, I realized my mother is herself currently flustered with my sister's continued lack of judgement in areas that require considerable financial conscientiousness.

Despite the overall feelings of hurt and frustration that arise when my mother uses me to blow off steam, I have learned to accept it as an inevitable. It is not my job to parent or instruct her on how to behave. I know that her actions do not mean she loves me less, or that I am the source of her anger. Simply put, my mother fails to reflect before reacting sometimes. Despite that, progress has been made. I remember not too long ago her calls used to come in waves of audible panic and worry, inciting my own anxiety. It has taken immense practice in self-control to respond to my mother's worry with a clear head and a calm voice. Since I have made that change I notice our interactions are no longer two hostile beasts clawing for the jugular of the other, but more bent on understanding one another. The very fact that I see all this in such an objective way makes me all the more responsible for my actions.

I enjoy these moments when I can observe my learning and appreciate the progress.

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