“Love is of all passions the strongest, for it attacks simultaneously the head, the heart and the senses.” — Lao Tzu

“The heart has reasons that reason cannot understand.” — Jacques Benigne Bossuel

 

def. Splendor: –verb (used with object)  to make splendid by decorating lavishly; adorn.

The hearts are strange things.  I say “hearts” because there really are two, at least.  There’s the physical heart, with all its functioning and definable purpose.  And then there is the metaphorical heart, full of hidden agendas and feelings.  They are two very separate entities, but are still somehow so closely tied that they are often mistaken as one.  But it’s the solitary, metaphorical heart’s power which holds the physical under its whims so effectively it seems as though it’s the physical heart’s doing in the first place.

Love.  So totally owned by the metaphorical heart.  The physical has absolutely no functioning reason to get involved.  It’s far too busy pumping X amount of blood through the body every Y amount of time, there is no room for feelings and metaphors.  It’s kind of like math and literature.  Logic and emotion.  Science and religion, if you will.  But love, in all its mysterious glory fills us up so much, metaphorically of course, that we physically feel something, and mistake the two hearts for one.  The flutter at the sound of his voice.  The skip at the sight of her.  The heat we feel under our skin.  Even the easily measurable increase in our pulse screams that this is a physical reaction by our stoic and indifferent central organ.  But, really?  Is it any wonder that there is so much intertwining confusion of the origins of these physical and emotional feelings? 

Love itself is a frustratingly confounded endeavor, and yet we strive for it, believe in it whole-heart-edly, yearn for it with all our being.  But what is it?  How many people have gone into a relationship believing it’s love, and yet coming out the other end believing it never really was?  How often is it said: “I’ve never really been in love,” and yet equally said: “I’ve been in love so many times”?  Love is neither measurable nor quantifiable, yet we insist on giving it a solid body with which to represent itself.  We try to quantify our love as “so much”  or grant it a time measurement of “always and forever.”  But what measures are those?  Non-measures.  Fake numbers.  Even the “imaginary” numbers we learned about in algebra hold more real value than any sort of measurement we tout in the name of love.  Yet we give credit to our physical heart and all its well functioning logic, as the metaphorical heart sits back and grins while pulling the strings of our lives. 

And then there is the pain of love lost.  The burning in the chest, where the physical heart resides.  The fast or hard beats of the physical heart.  The shortness of breath, again in the chest.  The loss of blood to the head or limbs, brought on by a malfunctioning heart perhaps?  Not at all, but as someone who has felt these very symptoms, I can attest to the all-encompassing power of the metaphorical heart and to it’s complete control over the physical body.  It’s not logical.  It’s not a scientifically sound argument that something that doesn’t even exist except in the “hearts” and minds of we humans to have such a profound physical effect on us.  And yet it does. 

So this metaphorical heart.  This invisible force that drives us to feel emotions, and especially to yearn for, seek out, feel and dread love, all at the same time.  What is it?  What gives it its power?  Why do we, as logical, soundminded, intelligent beings allow something so intangible hold such utter control over us?  Because the heart wants what the heart wants?  But as a non-entity, how can it want? 

But it does, and we do, and a-round-and-round we go!  Wanting, desiring, yearning, searching, reaching, loving, hurting, hating, and even dying in the name of love.  What silly animals we are!  But is there a choice in it?  Is it an unbidden torture we endure, or is it a self-inflicted condition which we happily maintain?  Either way, I for one don’t think I would ever step away, if the ability existed.  Of course, my hearts are “full of love” at the moment, so I may not be the best source of reason. 

The boy is gone for the summer.  My heart feels as empty as our new big house, my heartbeat echoing in my chest in tune with the leftover echoes of little running feet across the hardwood floor.  I feel empty, no less than empty.  I feel almost like I don’t exist at all.  Is it possible to exist when your heart is 4 states away? 

I go to bed with a pounding headache.  Not enough water?  Too much sun?  I can only hope that is the case.  And then, as I lay there, a familiar sensation washes over me.  I used to be scared of it when I was young, but now I savor it as feeling something physical that is stronger than the emotions that are wracking my heart and mind.  It starts with mild vertigo, spinning, tilting.  I’ve never felt it standing up, but I’m sure the result would be me crashing to the ground.  As the bed tilts around me, I shut my eyes tight and ride it out, savoring each sensation almost as if I’m on a carnival ride.  As the vertigo subsides, new feelings sweep over me.  I read once in some magazine that it’s known as “Alice in Wonderland Syndrome.”  I always loved that story.  I feel parts of my body begin to grow, while others shrink down to twigs.  This was the scariest part as a child.  I used to look at each growing or shrinking body part while trying to convince myself that my eyes were wrong.  I used to move each body part in an attempt to regain my sense of appropriate dimension.  It never worked.  Terrifying may be a better description.  But now, I find myself concentrating on the sensations, marveling.  I feel my head swell to three, maybe four times normal size, inflating like a balloon.  My arms shrink down to shriveled up pencils protruding from my normal-sized shoulders.  My hands become the hands of a giant with ridiculously long, skinny fingers.  Then everything reverses.  The terror is long gone, and I’m left with wonderment of the power of my mind over logic and physical truth as I drift off to sleep, knowing I’ll wake with a migraine. 

If only my dreams would actually take me down that rabbit hole…it would be a nice escape from the emptiness at least.

I am really, entirely unhappy with being the token “skinny girl” for all other’s comparison.  Really?!  Does it have to come up everyday?  Do all insecurities have to be compared to me in a way that makes me both ashamed of my looks/body/whatever, while also ashamed of my own insecurities?  Yes, I said it.  I have insecurities.  Amazing, I know. 

Yes, I am generally easy on the eyes.  Yes, I am moderately thin-ish.  Yes, I am mildly intelligent.  Should I be ashamed?  Should I feel bad?  And what do I do when compared to others in that, “oh you can wear anything,” or, “you can eat anything,” or, “it’s all so easy for you.”  Am I supposed to thank them or apologize, or maybe some jacked up combination of both…but then which comes first?  Ladies, there is no genuine compliment in the statement: You are so skinny.  Really.  Not a drop. 

Everyone has insecurities.  Everyone.  Whatever you see when you look at me, I probably don’t.  Unfortunately, because those around me feel the need to push their insecurities on me in some unfair comparison, I am not allowed to talk about my insecurities in 0pen public.  And I know it’s not just me.  I’m willing to bet anyone blessed with something has to deal with similar comparisons and guilt.

But what are my insecurities?

I’m out of shape, severely.  Mostly due to my recent struggle with Lyme disease, but also because I’m lazy.  I know it.  I deal with it daily when I’m winded going up the stairs, when I can open a bottle, when I’m so tired I want to collapse, when I can’t run or do a sit up or lift a heavy object.  And I’m insecure about it.

I have small boobs.  They’re deflated and odd and just small.  Skinny girls tend to, but not all.  It sucks.  I wouldn’t dream of wearing a bra without padding.  And even then, on my more bloaty days, my tummy still sticks out further than the girls.  I’m insecure about that too.

Speaking of my tummy…I float somewhere between a size 4 and size 8 (depending on the brand and cut), but usually settle on a size 6 and a longer than normal shirt to cover the inevitable muffin-top situation.  Oh, and you don’t see that particular pleasant feature on me because I spend most of my time holding my breath and/or sucking in my gut.  Yeah, I’m insecure about that too.

My hair rarely cooperates.  My skin rebels like a teenager.  I have wrinkly hands and rough feet.  I have varicose AND spider veins, increasingly, on my legs.  I normally have dark circles under my eyes and less than white teeth.  My upper arm flab lets me do the “double wave” thing that is oh so pleasant to watch…so I just don’t extend my arms very often in any sort of wavy motion.  And I can’t find a decent razor to save my life, so there are bumps and missed spots and ingrowns galore, all the time. 

I realize I don’t have as much to complain about as some.  I realize I’m blessed in many ways.  I realize that most people don’t even see a third of the imperfections we see in ourselves.  I can handle my own quite solitary brooding in the mirror each night.  What I can’t handle is the barrage of backwards-ass compliments that do nothing but throw others’ insecurities in my face while making my own feel unworthy and petty.  I don’t thank you and I’m not sorry!  I love all my friends dearly.  I adore the ladies I work with.  Strangers, I could mostly give two shits about.  But I will do anything to lift the spirits of those around me.  I see all of your beauty.  I envy those things that make you sparkle and shine, but I refuse to deny you the right to revel in it.  No one should be made to feel bad about the things they don’t have; but also, no one should be made to feel bad for what they do have, so just stop already!

I have been desperately trying to map out some sort of career path for myself, oh, for the last 23 years or so, and so far? I have no idea!  In my younger days it was a teacher (of course), the president, a marine biologist.  I’ve dabbled more than once in the idea of being a cop or deputy sheriff.  In high school, when I actually gave some small amount of thought to my future (not very often), I vaguely remember an interest in psychology.  In college, I went down the ROTC path and wanted to be a pilot…oops, can’t due to my vision, so ok, how about a flight surgeon: the doctor in the Air Force who treats those on flying status.  But then I got pregnant, dropped out of college, had an abortion, went into a deep depression and enlisted in the Air Force instead, which brought me to my first real career direction: Air Traffic Controller.  Awesome job!  But various life choices have left me in a place that doesn’t suit Air Traffic Control well, military or civilian. 

Since separating, I’ve been falling  back on my military training as my “this is what I can do” thing.  The problem is, ATC training prepares you to be a controller…and not much else.  It’s not really a transferable skill set.  Sure, in college I did early childhood learning and data entry for an insurance company.  Since the Air Force, I spent a little over a year doing background investigations for a county public safety office (another fun interesting job).  But now I’m back in an ATC-ish job with a little light engineering and data processing on the side, and no expansion potential.  While the job is easy, and occasionally mildly rewarding, I’ve been struggling with the question: “is this really where I want to be?”  And I think I’ve determined the answer is a resounding “NO!”

But what do I want to do “when I grow up?”

My answer changes every month or so, it seems.  A year and a half ago when I was contracted to do some photography work, I thought, “this is it!  This is my in to a career I’ll really love!”  Yeah, no work since or besides that one job.  And would I really want to be a professional photographer?  Well, yes and no.  I would a la Ansel Adams.  Taking pictures of what I want, how I want, and selling them by the dozen to faceless masses?  That works for me.  Portrait work or anything that involves more than minimal interaction with actual people?  Not so much.  I don’t play well with others and it shows.  I’ve considered getting a math degree, but really, what do you do with that?  A physics or other science degree, but a research scientists (I would totally love that) gets paid basically nothing, and that’s if you can get in with a company like NASA (double love!).  Stay at home mom sounds better and better every day, but even with our recent jump in income, our equal jump in spending (yeah, we’re kind of retarded that way) has made that a total pipe dream.  So what to do?

First step is education, right?  I’ve achieved my Bachelor’s degree, albeit in a kind of BS way (no pun intended), but it doesn’t get me anything except a pretty piece of paper and a pat on the back.  So on to my Masters…but in what?  The smart choice is some sort of Management; Project Management, Business Management, Choose-Your-Own Management.  There are so many to choose from, but one problem is true to all: I would end up being a manager.  Did I mention I don’t play well with others?  While I can lead others, I am almost positive I don’t want to.  I like to be more hands on, more involved, and I like to work solo.  Depending on others is definitely not a strong suit with me.  Gee, don’t I just sound like a peach to work with?  So while I have achieved a BS BS degree, I really have no where to take it.  Don’t get me wrong.  It’s not totally BS.  It did educate me in the multiple facets of my current job, and after all, that is the goal of education, right?  To educate?  But it doesn’t move me forward.  It doesn’t open any doors of opportunity.  I learned stuff and got a feather in my hat.  Sweet.  Now what?

With a little bit of self-exploration (not that kind, you perv!), I think I may need to work on a second Bachelor’s rather than a Master’s, at least for now.  But options are limited by college offerings: must be all or mostly distance/online learning; by work intensity: I’m still working full time, commuting 1 1/2 hours a day total, and have two kids to worry about…oh, and I tend to go through lazy periods; and by financial feasibility: why spend the time and money on a degree that I can’t use to get a job after and that doesn’t even remotely apply to my current job? 

Top of the list at this very moment? Graphic Design.  Ok, so I may not be 100% familiar with all that Graphic Design is, but I think I would enjoy it.  And, ok, so I have no certainty at all that I will be able to find a decent paying job after, but I think I would enjoy it.  And, ok, so I’m only actually 60% sure that I would even enjoy working in that industry, but I think I would enjoy it.  I have a small amount of talent in design and art.  I enjoy artistic creation in almost all mediums.  And in an ideal world, I could work at home, with my family, on my beautiful Mac, and life would be all sunshine and roses…theoretically.  So I sent away for information from the Art Institute of America, and we shall see.  But, if any of you readers out there have some sort of experience or insight in this area of the career world that you are just dying to share…please feel free!  I could definitely use it. 

And in the meantime…more soul searching, self exploration, dreaming and hoping, while plodding along in this thing called my life until some sort of answer comes my way.  *sigh* and ho-hum.