Sunday, August 25, 2034

 Sunday, August 25, 2034

 

 I woke up early again.  I was panicked about getting back into the hyperbariatric tank. I got up and meditated. I prayed, asking Christ to be with me.  An image of myself as an infant came to mind. It wasn't a retrieved memory. I'm talking about difficult circumstances during the first three weeks of my life. My nose was damaged in the birthing process, causing pain when I cried.

   How do I know this happened to me? I knew some of the details of my birth circumstances as a young child. My dad told me my nose was flattened against my face at least an hour after birth. Men were not allowed in the birthing room in 1940. My mother told me I didn't cry for the first three weeks of my life.  

   I just checked the internet to find out if it's common for newborns not to cry. The answer is no. Most cry two hours a day and settle down after six weeks. I cried a little for the first three weeks and cried more afterward. There are other possible explanations.  

    In my twenties, a boyfriend discovered my nose shape was altered. The septum was crushed. The injury had to be profound to change a newborn's nose permanently.

 Those first three weeks of my life may be the trauma behind my panic.  No one listened to me.  I even had a baby nurse. I've seen her p  picture. I remember my dad telling me she was German. No one recognized my dilemma. That I didn't cry because of the damage to my nose never occurred to my parents.  It wasn't ill will on their part. They thought they had hit the jackpot- a newborn who never cried.  Let's remember they were first-time parents.  

    Truth be told, there would have been nothing they could have done even if they had recognized the problem. If they had, they would have been beside themselves worrying about me. That wouldn't have helped. It would have made things worse. I would have had to deal with their disturbed feelings and my own. It wouldn't have eliminated my distress.  Shit happens! It also has an impact.

 Unfortunately, my mother's subsequent behavior showed the same kind of egocentricity.  I don't mean selfishness.  My mother always considered others; it was just that her point of view was skewed. She couldn't tolerate any contradiction to her point of view. I once told her what she was doing hurt me. Her response? She accused me of saying it just to hurt her.  How's that for a Mobius strip response.  At the end of her life, she declared, "I never needed a therapist; I had children."  I heard her openly declare she used us as whipping boys to relieve her stress. Do I also believe she never meant to hurt us? Yes. Her thinking had some interesting twists.

 My panic subsided when I accepted this as the cause of my underlying fears. I've known about the crushed nose all my conscious life. I've known it was permanently crushed since I was 25 when a boyfriend discovered my collapsible nose.  Not being listened to and not being accurately seen is my life motif. 

 Walking was out of the question this morning. We were on hurricane watch, and it was pouring. I want to praise dear Elsa. She didn't use the lanai rug. I don't know what she did; she must have used the doggy door. The rain stopped at the end of the day, and I took her out. She did a good-sized poop. 

 While waiting to leave for church, Joseph sat on the lanai, and we talked philosophy. Joseph has an actual degree in the subject. I don't pretend to have more than a Reader's Digest knowledge of the great philosophers. I don't study philosophy. I create my own. Joseph seems to cope with my lack of knowledge and style of thinking. Mike couldn't do that. It drove him nuts.

 I left early for church at 8:10. With plenty before Mass, I set my alarm and napped in the car. I had already been up and active for five hours. I brought the bag of limes that Dean gave me to church to pass on to Judy, whose husband loves them. I saw her car parked right in front of mine- at least, it looked like hers. She has a two-tone Nissan; the body is metallic blue, and the roof is white.  I placed the bag on the front seat floor with a copy of the ad I wrote for Fourth-grade L's mom to post for me.  

 Before Mass started, Fr. Lio thanked those of us who attended. The roads to the south and north were already closed due to current or anticipated flooding.

 During Mass, I worried the car might not have been Judy's. If not, I left a bag of limes with a copy of an ad I wrote in a stranger's car. After Mass, I checked. It didn't have the "Keep Christ in Christmas decal" on the rear bumper. Maybe it wasn't hers. I took the bag of limes and returned to the parish center to look for Judy and Paulette. I found Paulette. Judy hadn't come. I shared the drama about the bag of limes. She said, "Of course. The "Keep Chris  in Christmas" isn't on the car; it isn't the Christmas season." Ah. 

 Third-grade C's mom came up to me after Mass and greeted me warmly. She said she had been overwhelmed with guests. Some were 'surprises' who expected to be wined, dined, and driven to see the sights. Not me. When guests come to my house, they're welcome to come and go as they please. They also know they will do all the cooking, not me. I barely cook for myself. 

 I stopped at Target to get enough eggs, cream cheese, sweets, and red raspberry jam in anticipation of road blockages and grid outages.

 I was supposed to have a session with 4th-grade M this morning, but none of my Zoom links went through. I got a Daemon mailer for each one. There were Internet problems at M's grandma's house. Today, the storm added an extra challenge. The storm was more intense on Oahu than it was here on the Big Island. 

 Today, Fr. Lio's sermon focused on the value of sacrifice. This is a trigger for me. It's a conflict of values; which is better to give as an act of sacrifice or out of joyful goodwill?  According to Kant, the person who gives out of sacrifice is the better person. 

  Kant compares two shopkeepers.  One doesn't cheat his customers because it's immoral, even though he'd love to.  The second doesn't cheat his customers because he cares about them and wishes them well.  By Kantian standards, the first shopkeeper is the truly good person, while the other one is . . . . I don't know what.  I can say it's not as good as the restrained misanthrope.  That one was a shock to me.  

 It is a combination of the two.  Where possible, lead with love and joy.  The person who admits he gives for 'selfish' reasons is the one I prefer.  Yes, sacrifice will be necessary at times, but it should not be the driving force of the relationship.  

    Those who judge the value of their actions by their degree of sacrifice are looking for brownie points. They are predators using others to get their merit badges, basing the value of their actions on their degree of sacrifice, not the value of their actions for the other person. I've been subjected to this treatment. These people have no interest in me or what I might need. They're submerged in their own thoughts and never come up for air to take a clear-eyed look at the other person.   

   I can think of an example where 'sacrifice' is applicable in practicing restraint. You practice restraint instead of saying or doing what you would like to do. I think of that more as self-control rather than sacrifice. If I do let loose, I have to deal with the consequences of that behavior. I choose not to do what I would love to do to avoid consequences I would hate. One of the consequences is to feel lousy about having been spiteful. I prefer to think of myself as a nice person. My sacrifice here is as much for me as for the other person.

 All giving is selfish.  Whether that selfishness is positive or negative depends on the circumstances.  I like Lutz's term for the balanced relationship, which is symbiotic. Every act we perform is selfish. We are always thinking of ourselves, even when we think we're not.  It's just that some people take pleasure in being moral, and some don't. Some take pleasure in being loving and compassionate, and some don't. Either way, we're motivated by our understanding of our needs.   The irony is that a person who means ill can do good, and a person meaning well can do harm.  Intention counts big time, but it isn't the whole story. Lutz sees it as I do. We are all predators, pursuing our own interests. The question is, do we seek symbiotic relationships or only one-sided ones?  Some people measure their pleasure by how much the other guy has lost.  That's a good person to avoid.