I walked Elsa first thing when I got up, just to the end of the block once I turned right out of the driveway. When I got home, one boiled 1 kettle of water for weeds, did my oil rinse, and washed my dishes.
I went to Bikram. Yesterday, Heather, the instructor, had made a few comments about my practice. One about the misalignment of my left leg in the separate leg standing head to knee pose, and the other about my right knee being smaller than it was the last time she was here. I said no to the first and gave her some other explanation for the second. Then as I always do about anyone’s comment, I thought about both. I apologized for to her for my responses and thanked her for being aware of me and any suggestions or observations she might make. I find them invaluable and will always think about what she has to say. I hate to make someone feel uncomfortable about sharing their insights with me. While they may not make sense at the time, I will remember them forever. Sometimes when I work, I find myself thinking, “Ah, that’s what Pam (or whomever) meant with that observation 20 years ago.”
My leg and hip have been causing me more discomfort at night. Discomfort that lasts more than one day makes me think that maybe the time has come to have my hip surgery. My back is pretty straight. That’s what I have been waiting for. Then in Bikram today, did a lot of rolling on my tennis ball. Again, I rediscovered all the muscles that are not directly related to the hip are still causing problems. I need to make sure the problem is isolated to the hip alone before I have THR.
I showered, hand washed my Bikram stuff and hung it on the line. I did one more kettle of boiling water for the weeds before I had my therapy appointment with Shelly. I wound up working on my relationship with my dad. His insinuating way of probing me felt like a violation. I was Anna to his Freud. He probed inappropriately without concern for my boundaries. I doubt he thought I had any. But I know a friend told him not to do what he was doing. I was afraid to set boundaries. Theoretically, because there was no other basis for the relationship. He used me to explore his own concepts without regard for me. He didn’t think it would be a problem. There is no way he would have deliberately violated me. But the idea that children could be affected by childhood experiences wasn’t commonly understood in those days. The thought was that children always bounced back and could survive everything.
In the therapy session, I did posthumous family therapy, I finally told him to back off. I felt disgusted with him. I remember feeling disgusted when I was a child as much as I also loved him and depended on him for kindness. My mother wasn’t big in the kindness department. She actually felt it was bad for children. In my imagination, when I finally told him to back off, he became enraged, which he never, and I do mean never, manifested when he was alive. He buzzed around the room like a deflating balloon. In the end, he was a lump. I was furious then. I kept calling him a lying sack of shit. Lying because he was pretending to be doing one thing when he was really doing something else. He had nothing to say in response. He was literally deflated and depressed.
I remember him being depressed when I was young. He called it Weltschmerz. He was saddened by the human condition. He had lived through two world wars, was thrown out of the courts as a lawyer for being a Jew and left his homeland, which he loved, because life as a Jew had become untenable in Germany. He had seen and lost a lot. By the end of the session, I envisioned myself as having moved a little closer to him and kneeling by him. I still feel repulsed, but I have a little more compassion.
After the session, I sat down to play FreeCell and work on the blog. While I thought nonstop about the students at school that I worked with yesterday and was planning to see today, I then forgot to go. I was too tired and could only think of sleep. It was my last opportunity to work with them.
I got up from my nap by 1:30 just as Jean called. I got the laundry off the line while talking with her. She spoke about how her foot is doing and that she is still dealing with sadness about the loss of Mike. She saw the picture of me with Sidney on my lap that Shivani had taken. She said I didn’t look happy. I didn’t feel unhappy, focused perhaps, but very happy to be with Sidney. I find him an exceptionally delightful child. He seems to like me. Wow! After the call, I worked on the blog.
That’s all I remember of the day. I take notes as the day is going on, but sometimes I forget to keep up and then the day is gone. I can be sure I walked Elsa twice, once before dinner and one before I went to bed. I can be sure I watched TV as I cataloged more of his books. I can be sure I washed my face, brushed my teeth, got in bed, and said, “Goodnight, Elsa. Goodnight, Mike.
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Musings: I’m putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.
C.S. Lewis talks about being touched by the reality of another person. Someone who breaks your conceptual bubble and reminds you that there are others out there. Having our bubbles broken also reminds us that we are different, helps to get us to know ourselves better. Back to TS Elliott and his quote, “Always greet your loved ones as strangers every day.” I know that it’s not only others I can learn more about, but I also surprise myself. I think the capacity to be anyone, good or bad, is in us all. There’s always more to learn about any human being, including ourselves by ourselves. I think the human condition is just fascinating. But I’ve said that before.
Lewis wrote that his first concern was his devastation over his loss of his wife and only what she had lost second. My first preoccupation was with Mike’s loss. His life here was so rich; he was so happy. I thought of all the joy that he would no longer have and all the pleasure he could have brought to others. I don’t think this makes me particularly unselfish. It must be something else. I mourned his joy, and the joy that he might have experienced in life had he lived. I have no idea why it’s working that way for me. I’m not in despair as Lewis was. I think I still feel Mike’s presence. Lewis lived his life as a bachelor alone. He lived alone, and his work as an academic and a writer had him isolated from other humans. He allowed his wife into his life and enjoyed as she ruptured his contained sense of self. It was new for him; he experienced it as liberation. I had Mike for 45 years, and we were both committed to learning from the other.
Some don’t want their conceptual bubbles burst. That form of self-containment reminds me of solipsism. When I first learned about it at18, I concluded it was a horrible view of the world. It meant there were no boundaries. We know ourselves partially because we know what we’re not. We’re not the chair we sit in. We end where the other guy’s nose begins. There are consequences when we try to walk through walls or people. In solipsism, there are no consequences we don’t design ourselves. I couldn’t think of a logical argument against solipsism. How can anyone prove that there is truly a world beyond their own imagining? That the world they see around them only exists while they think of it? They believe they don’t perceive anything they haven’t mentally created. It sounded like a horrible way to live. I decided to live as if there was an objective reality; that the world I thought was out there was really there, and there were consequences to my behavior. I would get injured if I attempted to walk through walls or through people. I preferred that view of reality to the one of pure subjectivism of solipsism.
