Here I sit on a rainy Sunday, comfortable with myself. It's an odd feeling, to be content in one's own skin. I don't feel like climbing the walls, nor do I feel like climbing into bed to sleep the day away. I realized, as I was singing to music (sorry, neighbors), sipping coffee, and staring out the window at the clouds, that it's okay to do nothing once in a while. Originally, I wanted to take a bike ride to another town and maybe break out my camera, but Mother Nature said otherwise. It wasn't part of her plan.
And I'm a guy who needs a plan. Everything has to be in perfect order and those elements must be prompt. As such, my plans never work as I envision. Never ever. When they don't, which is always, I assume a mental fetal position and whine to myself that life isn't fair. I very often feel like the world has collaborated to 'move my cheese'. But, with the help of my professional entourage, efforts are being made to change my obsessive need for planning. When my therapist wants to go hiking, she goes hiking rain or shine. When she wants to zipline, she does. When she feels like sitting on the couch, watching movies for a good cry while eating popcorn, she allows it. She has no definitive plans because life changes in the blink of an eye.
My plans changed for the better on Friday morning. I received a text message at 7:14am from my sister inviting me to breakfast and, rather than decline because I was groggy and it was unexpected, I said Yes. It's been a pleasure hanging out with her lately because we haven't gotten along in roughly thirty years. Around the time our step-father came into our lives, we began picking on each other mercilessly. Granted, most of the picking was initiated by me and I think a lot of it stemmed from misdirected anger. Since we couldn't fight back when our step-father was screaming at us or slapping us, we did what most people would do - take it out on someone our own size (or close). Unfortunately, this continued throughout the years. Nothing my sister said or did was right in my eyes and I would jump down her throat every chance I got. I was right and she was wrong. Most of the time, I didn't realize that I was even doing it, very similarly to how our dad acted when we were younger. And this all culminated two months ago when she finally told me that she loved me, but that she's never liked me. Hurtful, yet deserved.
So why the change? We've worked to throw a cookout, hung out for hours on a Friday night, and now we're having breakfast with each other. What gives?? I brought up that I felt like people have been treating me differently since I returned from the hospital. It feels like the diagnosis has spawned empathy. But my sister corrected me. She explained that I'm being treated differently because *I* am treating others differently. She said that she can breathe around me, finally... as if she had to hold her breath because she never knew when I was going to snap.
When a person changes, they are often the last to recognize it. I'm happy to hear that I seem more relaxed and at ease because I don't necessarily see it. I do feel more 'even'. It feels like I can breathe more freely, too. Hopefully, this is the start of many mended relationships. For years, I've wanted a sibling that I could be close to and it stings a little to know that, although I wanted to be close to my sister, I pushed her away. So, here's to many more breakfast invitations.
Enough of that. Entering my man cave again...
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