My last real drama was stepping out of my delusional comfort zone in the workforce, taking a chance to take control by giving up control, and subsequently finding myself on a "StoZenTao" path of introspection and alignment, connecting dots of lifetime intuition to ancient wisdom that has afforded me a chance to relate it all to something more substantial than my own limited life experiences.
I have a few inclinations and guesses, but a good story is unpredictable. I suspect the writers are already working on the impending upheaval ("Yes, we are," say the inner voices). And I, in turn, have to be ready for and accepting of anything. I don't have a choice.
One anticipated plot twist revolves around my kids unearthing some great family secret before I tell them myself, which is the easiest to imagine, given the breadth of opportunities they have to do so and the significance of a few buried skeletons. Another is my success or failure (not to imply failure is an option) at finding that elusive, fulfilling, and financially sustaining career option. Then there is Jen or I falling seriously ill, neither of which would be welcome or expected, followed by the inevitable passing of my mom.
My mom is aging. She's 84 and has recently started to wrestle with sporadic memory issues and increasingly limiting physical capabilities. Things historically effortless for her have become taxing at best. Her frustration is heartbreakingly genuine. I get it, and I empathize deeply.
For example, not realizing how something simple, likely done by mistake and without knowing she'd done so, might have caused all of her emails to seem to have disappeared is not isolated to her generation. It's happened to me, too. And it's frustrated me, too.
With her age naturally increasing and her faculties gradually declining, I am aware, as is she, that there's likely only a handful of years left. Maybe two handfuls, perhaps, but beyond that, no. It's just that simple, that imminent, and intensely intimate.
As I listened tonight to Peter Gabriel's beautiful tribute to his long-deceased mother, "And Still", I choked up. I said to Jen, "I need to show my mom more love". Jen replied, "You don't think you already do?". "No, not as fully and compassionately as I should."
I wrestle a good deal with my own emotional vulnerability. It's a generational gender-based dilemma. I tend to throw humor or a topic change at moments of intensely genuine and honest exchanges with friends and family because it just gets uncomfortable. Plus, I always fear they'll lean in for the kiss. Awkward. And yet, I'm the guy always pressing for emotional awareness. Oh, the irony.
That being said, I have made consistent and direct efforts with my mom to express my gratitude and love to her. I believe that she's received it clearly and recognizes the genuine value she holds in my life as a primary and ongoing influence. Whenever lies ahead for her, I intend to face it head-on, with her, as I did with Linda, yet with even greater intensity and awareness of the significance this will have in my life each day and beyond her last.
Over the past few years, I have found that a deeper layer of venerability has yet to be fully experienced. Two or more people connecting at a level of raw emotional recognition, beyond surface identities and boundaries, with full recognition of our shared humanity during this experience we call life.
I know that might sound like "whoo-whoo," but if you objectively consider this, you might understand how it can make sense. We selectively share only a small percentage of our thoughts, fears, beliefs, and feelings with even our closest relationships. We're protecting them or ourselves from the pressures felt when exploring the depths those feelings go.
My aspiration is to connect more confidently with others without the default barriers, fears or discomfort. With my mom as she ages, my kids, Jen, friends, everybody. It's like a mission or a purpose for me at this point as I await the forthcoming plot twist and dramatic intersection.
I'm deeply grateful for this 'bridge' time and these latest experiences. Whatever the next drama turns out to be, my understanding that the experience of a lifetime is the cumulative experience of numerous events of all kinds, helps me maintain a healthy perspective.