Look out She's Gonna Blow!!!



"... love dares you to care
For people on the edge of the night

And love dares you to change our way

Of caring about ourselves

This is our last dance

This is our last dance

This is ourselves under pressure."
~Queen/David Bowie~

 Lack of patience begets frustration. Frustration is akin to a spiritual pressure cooking disaster resulting in all kinds of weird outbursts.

I have been told I'm a very patient and calm person, that I lend balance to conversation, and offer a very deep sense of calm to any issue at hand. Oh wait. WAIT! Nope. Wrong person. I think that was something said of Gandhi, or the Dali Lama, or Maya Angelou. Yep, pretty sure that wasn't about me.

I have been trained to listen, trained to mediate, trained to crisis intervene. Alas, it is all in direct opposition to my natural persuasion to be; Passionate! Creative! and  Fearless!, and an  it's-ok-everything-is-just-fine-I-have-it-all-under-control leader.  When I feel helpless to affect the change I want to see in my own life, I withdraw, focus inwardly, and think...think...think...and not always that rationally. Like Winnie the Pooh, sometimes I am a bear of very little brain. Usually, after some thought, some bubbly, and the inevitable,what-the-hell-I'm-going-to-jump-in-with-both-feet moment, I feel better.

Business studies have shown that effective people are not necessarily those who make the "right" decisions, but those people who can be decisive. It is said that those folks who  think things through to the best of their ability, and regardless of equally weighted benefits, drawbacks, and the great number of what-ifs, can make a decision and take action. In work and in life I have been known to take great leaps of faith, and as my great kiwi friend says, "Trish, I don't think it matters what you do. You're like a cat - you always land on your feet".

However, every once in a while no amount of decisiveness, planning or drive can make a dent in my  frustration.  I briefly did the math, and I've decided that about once or twice a decade the lid on the pressure cooker of my frustration blows high enough and hard enough to architecturally rearrange my life. 

This weekend the lid went through the roof. Metaphorically speaking the skylight that it created gives me a great view, and a fresh perspective on the sunshine I need in my life.

Feeling misunderstood at work and home at the same time is a great stress. When words are exhausted, time has passed and there's no solution, movement or resolution in sight.....frustration abounds and multiplies exponentially.

Despite my four dharma classes, deep breathing, and silent commitment to myself to just carry on along my own path and let the aftermath fall where it may, I completely lost it a few days ago.  I mean snapped. I mean completely snapped.  I'm surprised my head didn't spin, my eyes didn't pop out, or that I didn't begin speaking in tongues with the dulcet bass tones of satan.  The damage is done. Sorry doesn't take it away. Repeating what's been repeated in an effort to be understood is useless, and what led to the whole damn mess anyway.  But boy oh boy do I feel better.

Like the pathetic sounds of air coming out of a bagpipe after the last hurrah, I cried for almost two days after my lid popped.  Tears rolled down my face during meditation, and again in dharma class. Some lovely fellow whom I don't know came over and handed me a most unceremonious gob of tissues,  for which I was (and still am) sincerely grateful.  Thank you, thank you, thank you. Omitofu.

My adopted mom spent an afternoon with me being made up at MAC cosmetics and lunching. She had to suffer through me trying not to cry. Which of course is an awkward process of intermittent silence and verbal spewing.  Kind of the weird mood that goes just right with fish tacos and bananas wrapped in sugar-coated, deep-fried tortillas.

The victim of my totally-blowing-my-cool (and whom shall remain nameless), had a chance (I think) to clear their mind and have their say afterward, and I had to just let it all be. I was wrong. Ewwww....I hate having to admit that.  Wrong?  That's worse than being the "B" word.

Let me be absolutely crystal clear here; I was wrong to snap, but not wrong to feel the way I felt/feel.

Causes and Conditions eh?  Dependent Origination you say?  Absolutely. The conditions were perfect for the perfect storm as it were.   As I told my story to my friend Tish over a delicious sampling of a premium Belgian beer and blowing out a candle on a giant cupcake, I realized that feeling badly about the situation was going to do me no good.  An apology was all I could do to try and repair any damage.   Patience, and learning from my mistakes and past transgressions would take me much further. After all, it wasn't a total loss; the new skylight created by blowing my top provides a much needed new perspective. Cheers to that. Now make a wish and blow out the candle.