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Zen and the Art of Self-Maintenance

Several months ago I went to this awesome sort-of book club, a group of about 100 people broke out into a few separate rooms and talked about one or two of their favorite books.  I kept a running list of ones I wanted to check out and walked away with 15 new recommendations.  The dangerous part of this is that I added 15 new books to my already towering “To Read” pile.  Sigh.  It’s a never-ending battle, me vs. the irresistible novel.  At any rate, at this book-a-thon, there was a particular title that was raved about by several intelligent, witty persons I respect: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.  It came so highly recommended I excitedly ordered a used copy and waited somewhat impatiently for the Big Brown Truck to deliver the booky goodness to me.  I started reading.  I stopped. I made a sandwich.  I started again.  I stopped.  I watched an old episode of Project Runway.  I started reading.  I stopped.  I flipped through the J. Crew catalog.  I started reading….this went on for a solid three months before I gave up on the book completely, I read about 80% of it and haven’t picked it up since.  I tried, really I did, but I just couldn’t get over the pages and pages of philosophical ranting:   quality over quantity.  I get it, can we skip to the end now? 

There is only one bit of this book that I really liked, the author is talking about going on long cross-country motorcycle trips and about how important it is to tune his bike every time he uses it.  To check all the gauges and wires and everything and make small adjustments to prevent big problems later.  This is an idea I love, it is a practice I can respect and one I would like to incorporate more fully into my life. 

I am a work in progress.  I have flaws, lots of them.  I make mistakes, lots of them.  I have hurt people unintentionally and I am ashamed to admit that at times I have even hurt someone intentionally; I am not proud of that, but it is part of who I am/who I was.  Sometimes, I’m a complete mess.  Sometimes I have breakdowns and emotional meltdowns and sometimes I can blame it on PMS and other times I can’t.  Most of the time I feel pathetically inadequate for the task at hand and can see these huge gaping holes where I am found lacking.  I get scared and balk at change, I get scared and run away, I even get scared and lash out.  Sometimes I am aware of this fear while it is taking it’s toll, and sometimes it isn’t until after the fact that I can point out where I went wrong.  And sometimes I can’t point out where I went wrong. 

So let me try and apply the idea of making continuous small adjustments to myself in order to prevent a big, messy, emotional clustercuss.

…

This is actually harder than that first nonchalant sentence would lead one to believe.  The fact is I have not been taking care of myself for quite a while and I have found myself smack dab in the middle of an enormous clustercuss one that seems unmanageable and scary  and all-around impossible.  (Isn’t that, by definition, the case with any clustercuss?)  I have spiraled to a place I can no longer control, and if you’ve seen my color-coordinated closet and alphabetized spice shelf you’ll know I can be a complete control freak prefer having a firm grasp on the situation at hand.  When I find myself in a place where I am no longer in control, I tend to panic.  I don’t act rationally, I don’t think logically, I don’t behave in any kind of linear way.  I have had the fortunate experience to be in that place of internal chaos with someone who has the inexplicable skill to defuse the situation and infuse my frenzied brain with a sense of calm.  I have also had the misfortune to be in that chaos with a someone whose own sometimes irrational or illogical behaviors can push me over the edge of sanity. 

I am not pinning my emotional spin on him, I am as much to blame as anyone else.  I knew I was spinning, I didn’t walk away.  Well, I did, literally, but then I kept turning around.  He kept asking me to turn around and I didn’t say no.  I could have, but I didn’t.  Without exception, I am one-hundred-percent accurate in identifying when I am headed towards a collapse.  Ninety-eight percent of the time I walk away ages before I reach that precipice.  Ninety-eight percent will get you a raise, ninety-eight percent will get you a 4.0, ninety-eight percent is awesome in most areas of your life.  But in this particular case it is not enough.  I feel like 98% is a fail.  The simple fact is I lost control.  I had gone too long without a tune-up and I lost it.  When a motorcycle breaks down you may be stranded, you can get caught in the rain or the blazing sun and you may get wet or sunburned or be uncomfortable.  When a person I break down you I end up sitting in the bathtub reopening old scars I swore I’d never touch. 

The theory behind cutting is that the person feels they must be in control of their own pain, so when they are hurt by an “outside” person or situation they then hurt themselves to feel like they are the one in control.  I am not a cutter, never have been.  But when I felt so stuck and helpless in my abusive marriage I started to scrape the skin off my legs with a pumice stone.  It was never a rush, but it was oddly therapeutic.  As soon as I moved into my own apartment I stopped, I didn’t need to manifest my own control anymore.  I was no longer a victim.  As much as I may regret admitting this on The Internet for God and strangers and everyone to read, I feel like I need to get it out to prevent it happening again.  Heidi, take a deep breath and do this.  It will help.  I promise.

Last night I sat in the shower and scraped the skin off my legs with a pumice stone that is usually reserved for the callouses on my feet.  I sobbed.  I felt embarrassed and ashamed.  I let the hot water run until it was luke-warm and then I toweled off, bandaged myself up a bit and crawled into bed.  I am not looking for sympathy.  This is my beast and I have to deal with it, and I have already set up appointments with Professional Beast Killers to help me do that.  I cracked.  I made several mistakes and ignored several blaring warning signs and ended up in the bathtub.  I am better than this.  I am going to take better care of myself to prevent this from happening again.  This will not happen again.  I am flawed and I make mistakes, but I do not have to be flawed like that, and I don’t have to make that mistake.  I can control this; I have controlled this for five-plus years. 

I don’t want to sound bossy, but if you feel the inclination to comment please tell me something positive, something empowering, or even an experience where you have regained control.  Please, tell me something that is not “I’m so sorry.”  If you can’t think of anything else, tell me your favorite kind of pie.

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