Longing

Longing is having a moment.

I conceptualize longing as desire stretched across distance—across time, space, or impossibility. People, today, seem to be resonating with the feeling of reaching toward something absent. Something not here. Something not yet.

I notice that societal emotional waves often get encoded onto romance and sexuality. We feel something collectively and assume its locus is sexual or romantic desire. But what if longing is not really about the object at all?

Longing feels object-oriented. It feels like longing for something—A person. A fantasy. A memory. A future. A god. But I’m not sure the object comes first. Perhaps longing is less I want that and more simply I want. A wanting without a clear object. A reaching before we know what we are reaching for.

And only afterward does the mind go looking for somewhere to place it. Romance often becomes the vessel. But the longing may have existed before the vessel arrived. Which makes me wonder whether what we are missing is not necessarily a romantic “other half,” but something within ourselves. A neglected part of ourselves. Capacity left unused. A form of life we have not yet built. A sense of belonging or meaning we have not yet oriented around.

Or perhaps longing is not about what is missing at all. Perhaps longing is about appetite. About becoming aware of desire itself. Feeling one’s own want.

I also wonder whether longing has been culturally associated with women for this reason. Historically, and in many places still today, women’s appetites have often been constrained, redirected, moralized, or made to serve others. Not only sexual appetite. Appetite broadly. For pleasure. For ambition. For solitude. For food. For autonomy.

When wanting is constrained, perhaps longing is where desire goes. Desire suspended. Not necessarily desire for something. But desire itself seeking expression. The desire to feel one’s own appetite. The desire to exercise desire.

Maybe longing isn’t a problem to solve. Maybe it’s information. A signal. A piece of ourselves.

Maybe when we notice the feeling, we can normalize it. Normalize wanting. Allow space to grow. Step into agency. Care for ourselves in the ways we desire.

If we take longing as information, or as orientation rather than deprivation, longing becomes useful. It becomes something we can listen to.

And it translates into action when we pair it with agency.

What is like to want, to desire, to be hungry?

What am I longing toward? What am I hungry for?

And how do I move myself forward? How do I feed myself?

An Ergonomic Life

We all know about ergonomic workspaces. They involve things like lumbar support, a fancy keyboard, one of those pillow things that goes under your wrists, maybe a standing desk. 

But what an ergonomic workspace really comes down to is this: a set up where you don’t have to strain your body to be able to do the things you want and need to do. 

A workspace within reach.

One where you are not constantly twisting, overextending, bracing, or holding tension just to function. One where your skeletal frame and large muscles support the body the way they are meant to. One that allows both rest and movement. A workspace that physically centers you.

How might this apply to life beyond the desk? 

How can I arrange a life that is within my reach? A life that doesn’t require me to hold my heart or mind in chronic contortion just to participate? Where my own values, goals, and sense of self anchor and drive my actions. A place with community and belonging. A human existence where need is expected and planned for. A life that is safe and supported enough for my body, mind, and heart to let go. 

An ergonomic life is not a life without work. In fact, good ergonomics often allows greater effort, focus, and endurance. It reduces unnecessary strain so energy can be used meaningfully.

A life with space to strive and stretch, along with places to rest.

This is an ergonomic life. A life built around a human being. A life with your human life at the center and as the anchor.

Language

Let’s talk about language.

Language is a construct. One that, in order to be useful, we must collectively agree on so we can understand, communicate, and coordinate with one another.

The idea that concepts and social structures are “constructs” has become a frequent topic of conversation in recent years. Often this word is used dismissively, as though calling something a construct is the same as calling it false or illegitimate. But that’s not true. There is nothing inherently wrong with a construct. Just as there is nothing inherently wrong with rules.

We need constructs. We need rules. Without them, life becomes incoherent, too loose, too uncontained. We lose our footing.

The problem arises when constructs are obscured, rules are unspoken, definitions unstable, and meanings contradictory.

Within the construct of language, certain words are especially prone to confusion. Words such as:

Shame, Anger and Rage, Deserve, Forgiveness, Desire and Pleasure, Gratitude, Jealousy and Envy, Attachment, Loyalty, Karma

These words often carry multiple, conflicting meanings at once. Emotional meanings. Moral meanings. Social meanings. Relational meanings. Their imprecision clouds the concepts, needs, and desires that underlie them.

To be clear, I am not suggesting there is purposeful or malicious intent behind this confusion. But I do believe that we, as groups of humans, unconsciously cultivate confusion in service of maintaining peace, cohesion, and social order. Regardless, semantic fog leads to disempowerment.

The cost is real.

Language is our most fundamental construct. When language becomes convoluted, confusion spreads to all other constructs. When words are left muddy, we can no longer locate ourselves accurately inside our own experience, navigate the world, or make decisions.

Unspoken rules and obscured constructs create confusion. Confusion invites distortion. And distortion shifts us from the functional into the moralizing.

When confusion abounds, we lose agency.

But we don’t have to give into that. We can opt for clarity. And where semantic clarity is not available—where the language we’ve inherited is too loaded or too distorted—we can construct our own.

This is not rebellion. It’s taking responsibility.

Clarity leads to agency.

Agency allows choice.

Choice leads to an ability to construct our lives in a way that is humane and functional.

Trust

What does it mean to trust if we separate trust from the object? Trust can’t be about the object alone. Because the object will for sure eventually fail and not meet expectations. Even our own bodies fail us. I think trust has to also be about the subject who is doing the trusting

I conceptualize the act of trusting as a movement away from anxiety. Maybe it’s like faith. Or maybe it’s about trusting myself to cope with whatever may come.

I always find it confusing when someone tells me that they trust me. I wonder…for what. You trust me to what?

I notice in myself, that the issues for which trust is the biggest deal for me—as the subject of the trust sentence—are the issues for which I have personal childhood anxiety. Trust is about me in acceptance, overcoming that anxiety as much as it is about the human object of that trust.

I suspect that trust is a partner emotion— Trust : Anxious

Just as— Brave : Scared

I can only feel brave when I feel scared. Brave partners with scared to help it. Trust : Anxiety :: Brave : Scared

A helper emotion to help me manage the difficult emotion.

Another possibility for trust is we experience trust when there is a lack of certainty. I have found a lot of comfort in “I don’t know.” There’s so much space and opportunity there. Opportunity to ask and learn and grow.

Maybe then the opposite of trusting would be attempting to control.

Perhaps trust is an active belief in the unknown and acceptance of not knowing, with minimum anxiety. That sort of trust is without attachment or expectation. Maybe with this sort of active trust, there is less disappointment because I realize ahead of time that I don’t know and I am not attempting to control it. I am open to unexpected possibilities.

I trust you.

As in…I allow space in my mind for you to do you. I make no attempt to control or confine you. I don’t know exactly what you will do, and I’m okay with that. In fact, maybe, I’m eager and curious to see what you will do.

Marriage and the Date Night

The reality to long-term partnerships and marriages is that there is a certain amount of obligation. My husband and I are bound in a legal contract. We have important shared commitments to our children, our families, our household finances, and our community.

Two relationships exist simultaneously and in tension with each other within the marriage. A friendship and a co-working relationship. They can be complementary, but they can also be a source of conflict.

It’s so easy, especially after having children, to get caught up in the obligatory aspects of relationship. I call it “The Business of Being the Lerners.” And if we are not careful, the business relationship can dominate our time and interactions. To counter that natural tendency, we have to be mindful to maintain and prioritize our friendship. And I say friendship—not romance—because it is possible, and it does happen, that even the sexual aspect of relationship can become business-like, obligatory. It is the friendship that needs to be protected and honored.

This is why, paradoxically, I am opposed to the date night. To me, the need for a date night implies that we exist in a mostly business relationship. The date night is something set apart as unique, special. I don’t want that. Often, the date night itself can become obligatory, a chore.

I prefer the business meeting. I would rather corral as much of the business aspects of our relationship (budgeting, scheduling, discussion of chores, parenting strategy conversations) into a meeting that is set apart in the calendar. This practice leaves the default relationship one of friendship. One where our default conversations are for connection and comraderie, and our everyday interactions can be that of play.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

On Choosing and Being Chosen

We long to be chosen. To be worthy. To be valuable. But to be chosen, is to be an object. It is a position in which we have given up our own agency. To choose, on the other hand, is to listen to oneself, to hear our own voice of desire, and to speak what we want. A person who chooses has agency and is the subject. Do we always get what we want? No. Might I be disappointed? Maybe. Can I trust my ability to withstand difficult emotion? Yes. Because it is through choosing that I have the opportunity to construct my own life.

On the other side of choosing is discernment. Discernment is not avoidance, though it might appear that way from the outside. Discernment means waiting, asking questions, watching, learning. It is strategic patience because it understands that not all decisions are easily reversible and some wrong matches carry heavy costs. Within that patience is an awareness of what is coherent within me and an intention toward the place I am aiming. It also holds a capacity to tolerate prolonged uncertainty so I can actively make the choices that are healthy and in alignment with my Self.

When I am able to recognize that a relationship is special, meaningful, important, and useful and choose to prioritize and bring that person closer, I am able to have agency in building my relational and community life. Same can be said for a path of study and a career. When I can recognize the joy and ability I feel and the utility of a particular labor and I choose to invest time and effort, I am exercising agency. Without committing to active choosing we are rudderless, at the mercy of the choices of those around us, a side character in other people’s story arc.

The act of choosing takes us from being an object to a subject. Through choosing we are more likely to get what we want. Whether it be a career path, today’s dinner, or a partner. In the process of choosing, we have the opportunity to learn about ourselves. To affirm and adjust our desire, preferences, our ability to love. Sometimes this happens proactively in examining my thoughts and emotions while making a choice. And at times retrospectively, when I realize that I did in fact make a choice, and I wonder why I made that choice. That after the fact curiosity, is so important.

Choosing and considering my choices is an act of standing by my Self, owning my history, and valuing my desires. I must have chosen it for a reason. It must have been important. My choices and my actions are meaningful, and I want to know more about them. Because I’m interested in me. Taking the time to wonder about the choice of a particular boyfriend, or living situation, or diet, or job. I must have done it for a reason, what was that reason… This line of inquiry expands my universe and the realms in which I have agency, opening more and more possibility for me to be me.

Self-Care

I want to say something about self-care. I don’t do self-care. 

I don’t do one random healthy or indulgent thing for myself while living the rest of my life at my limits. I don’t treat myself to a bath or a face mask to compensate for a life structured around depletion. I am not a machine to be optimized, not a resource to be mined. When I live as a human, I don’t need to schedule humanity.

Because I am human too. And I live a regular human life.

A regular human life that takes up all of my time. A regular human life filled with taking care of myself and connecting with my community. A regular human life that is me being me. A regular human life that is me doing me.

Today’s society does not cooperate with us on this. In fact, today’s society actively works against our human nature and human needs. Not all of us have the option or agency to live our human selves. To care for our full human lives.

But it must, at least, be stated.

I have no need for self-care when I remember that I am human and I live a regular human life.

I love you

I’ve been thinking about the phrase “I love you.” People get really hung up on that sentence. People stress about when to say it. Many of us long to hear it. It’s a phrase imbued with so much meaning and import. I recently sentence diagrammed it (remember that from elementary school) and broke it into two parts. “I love” and “love you.”

People often use “love you” as a shorthand for “I love you.” It feels lighter, breezier. But “love you” is not a complete sentence. It lacks a subject. A complete sentence contains a subject and a verb. A subject and verb are all that is needed for a sentence to be complete. “I love” is a complete sentence. “Love you” is not.

When it comes to emotion verbs, we have a tendency to put the emphasis on the object. We put significance on that idea the object is loved, trustworthy, chosen even though the object is in the passive position. In the case of “love you,” we downplay the subject. You are loved…but by who? We cloud that information. We don’t want to own up to the fact that I am the one loving you.

The subject is the one doing the action.

I love. I trust. I choose.

In a way, it almost doesn’t matter who or what the object is. The significance lies in the subject doing this thing—loving, trusting, etc. And what an incredible act that is!

There are so many actions that we are more comfortable claiming. Even when they too are riddled with ambiguity.

I cook. (Certain things well, but not very often.) I run. (In my way, in stops and starts.) I work. (Yep.) I drive. (I’m a good driver.) I swim. (I enjoy it, but only in warm water.) I dance. (I enjoy it so much.) I learn. (I hope that I do.) I think. (I probably spend too much time at it.) I speak. (I like to, though I should probably try to listen more.)

Happy relationships and situations are ones that affirm that I love. Where I can love eagerly and with ease, in spite of occasional challenges. Where generating love is part of my sense of self.

I love can co-exist with respect for my own Self. Loving doesn’t require self-sacrifice. The fact that I love does not mean that I need to be everyone else’s mother. My love can stay alongside the boundaries that protect my ability to be myself in this world.

I love is simply a statement of my action. A recognition of a thing I am capable of doing. An ability in which I feel pride.

Life Happens in Relationship

Life happens in relationship—whether romantic, friendship, family, or community.

Wounded people can heal together. Emotionally immature people can grow up together.

We don’t have to know before we start. We can learn from one another’s histories. Through our curiosity, we can broaden our perspective. By asking questions, we expand our understanding. In quiet listening, we can grow.

We can show up for one another’s struggles. We don’t have to be perfect.

We may hurt someone, and we may be hurt…accidentally, inadvertently, and sometimes even on purpose. But that doesn’t have to stop us from participating.

We are human and flawed. We trip. We fall. We miss the mark. We forget the turn.

We can always circle back. We can always change our mind. We can always try again.

The Child Self

When people refer to their child self. It is not a singular, fixed child. Childhood is an evolution. We have all the ages we have ever been inside of us. We have many different child selves. All those different ages have needs, desires, and wounds. Some ages, some versions of ourselves we find off putting. Some versions we hide and disavow. It is those versions of us that need the most attention.

So how do we begin? Usually, it starts with a feeling…perhaps a bothersome feeling. Sadness, grief, anger, rage, maybe arousal, maybe shame or disdain. Our impulse is to push away that feeling. To rise above it. To be the bigger person.

It’s scary to feel the feeling. It’s upsetting. It’s a distraction from our busy lives. It is potentially damaging to the people around us. That’s why we swallow it. To protect ourselves and others. And sometimes that is the right thing to do. We might not have the budget for a breakdown or even a cry. We may not be in a safe place in life. We might not have the support we need or a soft place to land afterward.

But maybe, maybe it’s okay. Possibly we are in a more secure place in life than we give ourselves credit for. Perhaps we could give the people around us a heads up. Maybe we could simply own the fact that we are sad or angry or sexual or ashamed or judgy. Stand proud beside it, and not shrink from it.

Then what? If I say I’m sad, then what? Well, for most people, that would mean I cry. I cry and cry. And I say, “Oh I’m crying because I’m sad. Because I just realized there is a great sadness within me. Because I’m feeling my four-year-old self and she is sad.” Seems reasonable. People will either understand or they won’t. If they don’t understand, how wonderful for them that they get the opportunity to witness someone claiming and working through a difficult and painful emotion.

An interesting thing happens once all the crying is complete, witnessed, and your young wounded self is received. You stop. You stop and you might notice that you are still sad. What if you embrace the sad? What if you even go so far as to enjoy the sad. What might you do? Don’t worry. We are talking about the pure, earnest sadness of your young self. It’s not the same as a depression. Your young child self doesn’t desire a bender or any other adult metabolism of suppressed childhood emotion. Your child self wants to do something child-like. Maybe child-you wants some quiet time. Maybe you take up a cozy activity or surround yourself with soothing and nurturing people. Maybe you slow down and take care of yourself. Maybe you go to bed on time. Maybe you tell your friends with a laugh “I’m in my sad era” as you serve yourself some mac-n-cheese.

As you indulge your child Self, you may find that she not only holds difficult emotions. Your child self also holds wonder and playfulness. And that is the amazingly beautiful thing. If you can open yourself up to tolerating and even celebrating your young self’s pain, you may very well find yourself taking pleasure in your child-like play.

The Voice in My Head

I am my longest-standing, most present relationship. I am my forever companion. The voice in my head is the voice I hear most often. My self-talk has more impact on me than anything else. I am my closest friend. Unfortunately, for many of us that connection is actually more of a frenemy or maybe just a plain old enemy than a friend. Reforming the relationship I have with myself is my most important task if I am to move forward in a happy, productive life. If I enjoy my own thoughts, if I enjoy my own company, then I am never lonely. I can always entertain, encourage, and brainstorm with myself.

Somewhere around eighteen we move out of our parents’ home. But still a parent remains in our mind. That parent in our mind is not our actual parent. It is referred to as the internalized parent. The internalized parent is a version of my parents and is perhaps woven together with other real and fictional parental figures I have known. This internal parent is the way through which I continue to parent myself for the rest of my life.

Every time the voice in my head speaks to me, I imagine I am saying that to a small child. Many of us would be shocked at how cruel and abusive we can be. In real life, we would never speak to a child that way. Yet, many of us speak abusively to ourselves all the time within our minds. Remember, we are each a child of the moment. Every moment I am facing something new, struggling to learn something I didn’t know, trying to be brave.

My parent-self is speaking to my child-self. How does the loving parent in me speak to a child? Hopefully, I would reach out and hold that child’s hand. I wouldn’t berate her, and neither would I make false promises, lying to shore that child up with untruths about her capacity. I would say something along the lines of “I’m here. I’m next to you. Just try. You can decide how you feel. I’m with you.” Am I always such a perfectly kind parent? No, not at all. But I try. Again and again, I try.

From this vantage point of a loving parent is how I try to connect with and speak to myself. I hold my own hand. I talk to myself as a loving mother. I let myself know that I am always with me and I am on my side. And through that conversation, I create possibility for my existence and my growth.

Reasons

You’re not an idiot.

As an aside--I wondered about using that word...idiot. Perhaps it’s too harsh, too judgmental sounding. But these are the words I hear in my office. These are the words people use inside their heads.

“Am I an idiot?”

“Why am I so stupid?”

You’re not. Everything you do makes sense. Everything you do is for good reason. Sometimes the reason is not obvious. You—individual, unique you, is the product of thousands of years of learning, adaptation, evolution, and practice. This moment is a culmination of your entire life experience and cultural learning. To recognize this is the beginning of trust. The slow realization that there is some reason, I just don’t know it yet. Sometimes the reason is not conscious. Sometimes the reason is historic. When we have empathy, we might continue with curiosity, which may lead to understanding the good reason for what we do. Following this gentle path of open-minded inquiry into ourself, we can gain awareness and conscious purposeful agency in our future process and decision making.

Home

What constitutes home differs profoundly from person to person. For some it is an oasis, some a roving caravan, others a portal, and others a network connecting multiple points. And of course, for many, home is a traditional-type place or person.

The idea of a constellation particularly appeals to me. It’s a network connecting multiple points across vast distances. Not everyone can see it, giving constellations a kind of magic. They point in a direction. And it is always there, even if sometimes you can’t see it. 

Even more, I think of creating a home as making a parachute. Like there’s this huge expanse of cloth. And whenever I find something—a concept, an idea, a person, a place—that resonates, I put a stitch in it. The location of each stitch is a deeply personal decision made under careful consideration that needs no justification beyond the resonance I feel within me. 

Each stitch is placed mindfully and always with love. In my mind’s eye, I see the fabric and feel myself holding the needle and pulling the thread, my love wound in every turn. This way, the strength and security flow both ways. The people, places, and ideas provide me with safety and stability while I imbue each with love and resiliency. 

A long strong rope connects all the spots where I put a stitch. I can hold the rope and I can leap. The fabric becomes a parachute, and I am always safe.

Let me share what might seem both a radical and utterly everyday example. I was a home once. Me. My body. My body was my daughter’s first home, the place where she first lived and grew. Interestingly, I didn’t provide her that home alone. My daughter and I built her abode together.

I gave her a womb. And she made inroads into it. Using hormones, amino acids, and cytokines, she sent signals to direct our shared growth. Together, we collaborated on creating the placenta, both of us contributing cells and blood vessels to facilitate our constant communication. This communication included boundaries—the maternal-fetal barrier—that protected and sustained us through her first home until it was time for her to move. When that time finally came, my womb contracted and her legs pushed.

Whatever your image of home, home is something built together. A home isn’t found. A home is created together through feelings and acts of love and care, through presence and tradition, even including the conflicts and repairs made by the people within it.

The Time to Celebrate is Now

Life will give us hardship. Rents need to be paid. Bodies age. People pass away and we suffer loss. Mouths need to be fed. Exams have to be passed. We need make no effort to find reasons to work hard. Relaxation…on the other hand. Celebration…does not happen unless we make time for it. Without us remembering to take the deep breath. To pause for our shoulders to come down. To take the silence to feel into our expansive hearts. We must set aside the time to bake the cake and light the candles. To gather and sing in celebration for a single person for no other reason but that they are alive on this Earth. To mark a day as holy and make it a holiday. We have to choose to do these things because life will not force us. These acts make our life our own.  

Every season has its own reasons to celebrate. Life events, the turning of the Earth and planets, school accomplishments and conclusions. Even times of hardship like the loss of a job or a medical leave can offer time to recalibrate, rest, and reconnect. Loss can be a chance to come together to remember in celebration and mend wounds.  

People are always reminding us to “put your own oxygen mask on first.” But I think that it’s more than that. Life flows through us. We don’t give to others from a bucket that is different from ourselves. We are not inhaling from some mythical oxygen tank. I think we breathe one another’s breath. That is what air is, is it not? When someone says “my bucket is empty” or “my bucket is overflowing,” she is not actually holding a bucket. She is talking about her own self. To that end, I cannot give you anything but myself. So I have nothing to do, but live my life. Live my joy. And as I do that, you can partake in it. Just as I partake in yours.  

Whether as a quiet secret in one’s mind or as a planned community effort, we can notice and claim each and every moment possible for love, for celebration, for relaxation. This is my moment. This is my life. Breath into it.  

Happy Summer!

I am human too

I am human too. For those of us who have been accustomed to putting the needs of others ahead of ourselves or who were parentified as a child or whose vulnerable self was neglected, we need to remind ourselves that I am human too. I am human, and I have human needs. Normal human-sized needs. Not small needs and not big needs. But regular human-sized needs just like everyone else.  

There is a math problem you probably learned when you were in elementary school. It is the most important math problem of all time, and I want to remind you of it. 

You have 20 M&M’s and 4 friends. How many M&M’s does each person get? 

How many of you answered 5? That’s the trick answer and a wrong answer. The correct answer is 4 M&M’s each because you must remember to count yourself. Twenty divided by 5 is 4 M&M’s per person.

And for those of us who may feel guilty counting ourselves…notice the difference to the group when I count myself and when I don’t. The difference to me is between nothing and 4. The difference to the group is just one.  

We can afford to count me.

Need

I need. By virtue of being alive, I need. Every living creature has needs. The most low maintenance plant has needs. Even bacteria have needs. I am a living human. I need.

Friendship

I believe friendship is the perfect relationship. It is voluntary, and a source of comfort and pleasure. A friendship is the basis of any other type of happy relationship.  

A friendship is the difference between “I love you” and “I like you.” There are so many people we love out of obligation—great aunt Margaret—for example. I don’t actually have a great aunt Margaret, but you know the situation. You love her because you are supposed to, because she is a relative, because it is expected. You love her because of the relationship that binds you. But you may not actually like her.  

“I like you” is special. You bring a smile to my face, and you feel good in my life. I am under no obligation, but when I’m with you I feel pleased, interested, and joyful. “I like you” is the basis of friendship.  

Acceptance is also fundamental to friendship. Because there is no obligation, I have no choice but to accept you. I am not trying to change you. I also accept myself as I am. I am not going to change myself for you. We are who we are, and we are kindred and/or complementary spirits.  

To be in the “friend zone” is the ideal zone. A boyfriend or a girlfriend is simply a type of friend—a romantic friendship. A husband, wife, spouse, or partner simply continues along that trajectory of a friend with romance, sexuality, shared projects and commitments. If any relationship is to be a good one, it is because at its core, and at the end of the day, it is a friendship.  

When we were children, before we started thinking about sexuality, romance, or dating, we thought about friends. We focused on cultivating friend groups, best friends, and playing. Sometimes as adults, we might find ourselves romantically struggling. This is a good time to pause and ask ourselves, how am I doing in my friendships. Do I have real friends? Do I have people I actually like?  

If I don’t, let me consider a rewind. Let me cultivate friendships first. Let me notice who and what I like. Centering myself in my feelings. Not getting caught in the push-pull of anxiety and avoidance or the pressures of social messaging and competition. A simple feeling and thought of “I like you” with no expectation or even movement. Let me also accept myself as I am and celebrate being accepted by others who like and enjoy me as I am. Let me take joy and pure pleasure in being a witness to the people I like—my friends. Let me make a habit out of creating love and experiencing joy.

Dating and Staying Connected to Myself

Many people actively dating, and on the apps, ask the question, “how do I know if he is interested in me?”  

I don’t know. And honestly…it’s not your problem. That’s a him problem. He needs to be figuring out and communicating his feelings. You need to be figuring out your feelings. 

An alarming number of people date without keeping close tabs on their own feelings and interest level. Am I interested in you? Am I drawn to you? Do I like you? Do I want to be near you? Do I feel safe and comfortable around you? Am I curious about what you are going to say next? Do I believe in you and trust you as a person?

Texting seems to be the main vehicle of communication for daters today and the means by which an in-person meeting is decided on. There are now social media pages, blogs, and books dedicated to helping people text the thing that is going to “make him miss you” and secure the date.

Again, I’m not super concerned about whether he misses me. The more important question for me is do I miss him. 

Additional questions often raised are regarding text response time, being left on read, and whether or not to wait for him to respond before texting back.  

We each have different processing and communication styles, relationships to our phones, and wordiness. It’s not uncommon that there is a gender difference in communication and texting frequency between heterosexual people.

I, for example, am quite a wordy person. My whole career is built around communication. Furthermore, because of my personal obligations, I always have my phone on me. I can out text anyone. I enjoy the written word. I don’t want to have to hold myself back or feel bad because someone else communicates differently from me.  

What if I texted the way and amount that feels comfortable to me without expecting to be matched? What if I received the other person’s communication, accepting it as genuine and authentic to them, without worrying “what it meant?” And I simply notice, in myself, whether what he said is interesting to me. And notice whether I have a genuine desire to say something in response. Making sure my communication is with him (that’s the connection) and not with my anxiety, ego, or self-talk. And if so, then I can respond with as many words and texts feel right to me.

As we engage on dating apps or dating in real life, there are two different things going on for me to notice. One is the other person’s current general relationship to dating. Second is the feeling of connection between us.  

There are many people present on dating apps or at singles events or even who go on dates who are not committed to dating at this time. This has nothing to do with me. This is a general state of mind for them. Maybe they are busy with work, or stressed with family issues, or dealing with a health crisis, or just not really ready. I don’t need to take their lack of commitment to dating personally. I also don’t need to be angry with them for engaging before they are ready to commit to the dating process. We are each here on our own journey. We can make space for each of us.

The second item to track is the most important. It’s the feeling of connection between us. Since I’m not in other person’s mind or heart, I can only gauge the feeling of connection on my end. So as we text or talk or meet up, I need to stay close to my own feelings and notice them. Ideally, the other person is doing that for himself. As it feels authentic to each person, we may communicate our feelings. I can also notice the negative: is this boring, is this burdensome, is this offensive. If any of those are true, I can leave.  

The connection to another person begins with and is modulated through the connection with oneself. A step inward can be a step toward another. And getting to know someone else can deepen my knowledge of myself.

Returning

I don’t believe in change. I know that this is a funny thing for a psychiatrist and therapist to say. But I don’t. I believe in Self. I believe in returning.  

As we move through the world, things attach themselves to us. Pollution, expectations, customs and rules, other people’s values, post it notes. Sometimes under the weight of these things, our Self can become contorted. Like sleeping in a weird position and waking up with a crick in your neck.  

I have not changed. But I have become cluttered. And perhaps contorted. Usually these things happen unconsciously, ideas and objects gather and stick to me mindlessly and carelessly, starting from the moment I step outside my door and engage with the world.  

This collecting of external effects is not necessarily a problem. There is a constant tension between Self and Society. This tension is neither good nor bad. It just is. We all do many things to function in society. To fit. To pass. To accommodate. To support. These things we do are not wrong or bad. In fact, they are often necessary.

We need Society, and Society needs certain behaviors to be able to function. To grow and distribute food, to dispose of waste, to sustain memory, to safeguard the village, to nurture the children, and honor the elderly. At the same time, I need my Self. It is my essence, my vehicle, and my life experience. The world, our community and even Society, our friends and even humanity at large need my Self. The Self is the divinity, the sparkle, the drive, and the hope to Life.  

When we mindfully pursue what feels like positive change, it is very often not change but returning. A returning to my Self. The closer and closer that I return to my Self, the more I feel happy and secure. The things that bring me into my Self feel good. 

This returning is mostly a process of removing, brushing off, and ungluing the various items, concepts, beliefs, emotions that have become attached to me. One by one until I am positively glowing.  

This is a lifelong process because the world is crowded and life is often chaotic and Society is driven and things are immediately, automatically bumping into and becoming reattached to me. It is on our individual Selves to remember the Self. For myself and for each other. To remind one another. My capacity to be me.  

Once I feel grounded in my Self, how do I maintain?  

Boundaries. Boundaries are how I protect my ability to be my Self. Boundaries tell me to excuse myself. That it is time to go home. That I need rest. That it’s not safe for me here. Boundaries allow me to retain my Self while I participate in the world.

Maintaining the Self is like washing the dishes. The dishes are never done. Because even when they are all washed, a dish must be dirtied to be able to eat again. A dish must be dirtied to carry out the most basic act of survival.

I must engage in the world. I need Society, family, community and they need me. So, I must tolerate messes landing on my Being. And I must make it my practice to regularly clean, to sort through what is mine and what is not.

Because I value my Self.

People Pleasing

There has been a growing awareness around people pleasing, and a push back against it. Much of the frustration around people pleasing is because it is looked at in isolation. But people pleasing is not a sole endeavor. It exists in partnership. It is only half of a complex interaction.  

We live in community. We share spaces. Though we are each on our own individual journeys, we need to constantly work together in navigating shared spaces to be able to proceed on those journeys. Pleasing one another is part of how we negotiate the communal space. Because of the interdependence of life, most of us are people pleasers. It is instinctual because from the time we were born we were dependent on others. And as we grew, others became dependent on us.  

Imagine a dance hall with a group of dancers weaving between each other, pivoting off one another’s bodies. Maybe everyone is dancing the same dance. Maybe the dance is pre-choreographed. That makes it simple. But maybe we are improvising and some of us are dancing something slightly different. Or maybe even totally different. Now it’s more complicated.

The gracefulness of the space is kept through people pleasing. People pleasing is an interaction involving someone acting to please and someone being pleased. In complex spaces, every individual is playing both roles simultaneously with multiple partners. The dancers don’t just crash into each other, indiscriminately stomping on each other’s toes. There is a pause, an acknowledgement, a negotiation, a desire spoken, a request, an acquiescence. For the flow to happen, both halves need to occur. The request and the acquiescence. The act to please and the being pleased.

I cannot be a people pleaser in a vacuum. There a someone—a specific someone—I am aiming to please. That person is my dance partner in this interaction. They have a role to fulfill. Their role is to be pleased. And when I am playing the role of someone whose pleasure is being sought, it is for me to fulfill that role. In this crowded, busy dance hall of community, I am in many such negotiations. Constantly internally, emotionally moving between seeking to please and being pleased, asking and satisfying, giving and receiving. These exchanges keep the whole dance space moving.

This doesn’t mean one doesn’t have standards. But it means that I carry optimism that you can meet my standards. I want you to meet my standards. And I’m willing to help you meet my standards.

It’s okay to ask. It’s okay to gift. It’s okay to want to please others. At the same time, pay attention to your partner. Is your partner playing along? Are they helping you please them? Are they reasonably easily satisfied? When someone aims to please you, are you reasonably satisfied?

People say, “honor your parents.” I don’t disagree with that. But that statement is only half the equation. Parents need to cooperate with being honored. Parents need to be honorable. Parents need to delight in their children. People say, “happy wife, happy life.” I don’t disagree with that. But again, there are two halves to that equation. Someone offers happiness and someone receives it. People teach saying “please and thank you.” They are a pair, capstones. Both are important.

Practice saying thank you. Practice giving your love away. Practice being pleased. Practice sharing your pleasure with others to let them know the gift they are to you.

Know that you don’t people please alone. There are partners who can and want to receive you.

Happy Thanksgiving