Not all plans are well-made.
This move was very well-planned, for the most part. Pretty much everything unfolded as it was meant to-- and I'd have to say that things have gone smoothly, as major moves go. And I have been part of quite a few major moves.
The part of the move that was not planned was the "what happens at the other end" part. That part was pretty much limited to a combination of "looking around and finding something, once there," and my deep-rooted belief that "The Universe Takes Care of it's Own." It's an approach that has worked for me most of my life, but not one I would recommend for most people, especially those who get nervous at the idea of not "being in control."
So I am sitting here, pondering whether it was a stupid move to come to a place with no greater plan than to just "look around and find something" in a new part of the country.
After some driving around (currently living in a school bus-converted-to-RV, and staying at state parks), I am now writing this from the small historic hamlet of Port Townsend, WA.
On some strange level, I have felt "drawn" to this town, for many years. On a similarly strange level, I find myself here, more or less purely based on a huge intuitive leap of faith. Based on a sense of "knowing" that I should be here, no more.
And, as it seems to be turning out, this hunch has been right on the money.
HSPs tend to be deeply intuitive people. Most HSPs tested by the Myers-Briggs sorter turn out to have preferences for the iNtuiting fucntion. I myself am an INFJ. Many of my HSP friends are INFJs and INFPs-- even though these types are quite rare, in the general population.
Some years ago, I attended one of the annual HSP Gatherings in California. One of the workshops offered was about intuition, and working with intuition. I think we often forget that our intuition is right, most of the time. Whereas we want to intuit our way to something, we tend to fall back on the "scientific method" used by greater society.
Sometimes you just have to listen to the little voice inside.
Because it tends to be right.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Friday, September 29, 2006
Moving: More Notes From The Road
I am sitting in Eastern Oregon, having travelled 2000 miles across the country.
As I look outside, I see mountains, and the air is cool.
The journey to here has been very long, very exhausting, and very "overstimulating," in that way HSPs tend to experience the world. Moving is basically for the birds; moving yourself across the country even moreso.
And yet, I sense the beginnings of a sort of inner peace spreading through my consciousness.
Change is a funny thing. For many HSPs, change means upheaval and disturbance... and yet, change is also something that that can work as an invitation to pursue something better. Most HSPs I have met don't seem to like change very much. Well, maybe that's not entirely true-- they like the effects of change, once it has happened, but dread the overstimulation that often goes with the actual change process. As a result, they often allow themselves to get stuck in situations-- jobs, relationships, locations-- that don't honor their authentic inner needs. Change becomes "too much of a hassle to deal with," and thus is avoided.
Change does take courage, because it often requires us to abandon old ideas and situations that have become familiar to us. Not because they are "right," merely because they are "familiar." With time, we simply get used to the small irritating rock in our shoe... it would be relatively easy to stop and remove the rock, but instead we choose to walk on, telling ourselves that we have learned how to "deal with" our discomfort.
However, sometimes the only right thing to do is stop, and get the rock out of our shoe.
As I look outside, I see mountains, and the air is cool.
The journey to here has been very long, very exhausting, and very "overstimulating," in that way HSPs tend to experience the world. Moving is basically for the birds; moving yourself across the country even moreso.
And yet, I sense the beginnings of a sort of inner peace spreading through my consciousness.
Change is a funny thing. For many HSPs, change means upheaval and disturbance... and yet, change is also something that that can work as an invitation to pursue something better. Most HSPs I have met don't seem to like change very much. Well, maybe that's not entirely true-- they like the effects of change, once it has happened, but dread the overstimulation that often goes with the actual change process. As a result, they often allow themselves to get stuck in situations-- jobs, relationships, locations-- that don't honor their authentic inner needs. Change becomes "too much of a hassle to deal with," and thus is avoided.
Change does take courage, because it often requires us to abandon old ideas and situations that have become familiar to us. Not because they are "right," merely because they are "familiar." With time, we simply get used to the small irritating rock in our shoe... it would be relatively easy to stop and remove the rock, but instead we choose to walk on, telling ourselves that we have learned how to "deal with" our discomfort.
However, sometimes the only right thing to do is stop, and get the rock out of our shoe.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Moving: Feeling Tired (Notes From The Road)
The last few days have gone by in a blur.
I am sitting here, typing this, on my portable computer... inside a school bus that has been converted to an RV (and quite comfortable, at that, not just a "hippie bus"), parked at Brady Lake State Park, no more than 100 miles from what once used to be "my house."
I cannot even begin to explain the amount of work it is-- even with willing friends and neighbors to help-- to pack a 28-foot semi trailer with household goods, in 90-degree Texas late summer heat. I had to keep reminding myself that the trailer self-move was costing $5,000 and the cheapest moving company estimate was $16,000.
A part of me feels slightly guilty about the fact that I am not "missing" what used to be my home. But I am not. I just feel a lot of relief that a large phase of the process is over. I feel relief that I no longer have to worry about a $2,000-a-month mortgage payment, and $700-a-month electric bills to keep myself cool enough that I don't go insane.
(Yes, the bus is airconditioned. It's like an RV. You plug it in, and it becomes like a portable living room.)
Although I don't feel a sense of loss, am occasionally gripped by brief panic feelings along the lines of "What have I DONE???" As I sit here, I realize that a lot of planning and effort went into the process to this point, but much of what lies ahead is open and unknown. Let's face it, I didn't even have an address to give the company in charge of renting out and driving the trailer to the Puget Sound area. That's right, I am moving to a new place without even having a destination. In a sense, that's part of the joy of doing your move with an RV. I highly recommend it. It removes part of the stress of deadlines, finding hotels and worrying about finding housing by specific dates. If I had to do this again (God forbid!) I would definitely rent an RV and tow my car-- it's also great if you are moving with pets; they are less freaked out by having a "house-like" device to travel in.
What I realized, earlier today, is that there has been a subtle change. I am no longer talking about wanting to change my life. I have changed my life.
That's both exciting, and scary.
And for what it's worth, I am not a "High Sensation Seeker" HSP.
I am sitting here, typing this, on my portable computer... inside a school bus that has been converted to an RV (and quite comfortable, at that, not just a "hippie bus"), parked at Brady Lake State Park, no more than 100 miles from what once used to be "my house."
I cannot even begin to explain the amount of work it is-- even with willing friends and neighbors to help-- to pack a 28-foot semi trailer with household goods, in 90-degree Texas late summer heat. I had to keep reminding myself that the trailer self-move was costing $5,000 and the cheapest moving company estimate was $16,000.
A part of me feels slightly guilty about the fact that I am not "missing" what used to be my home. But I am not. I just feel a lot of relief that a large phase of the process is over. I feel relief that I no longer have to worry about a $2,000-a-month mortgage payment, and $700-a-month electric bills to keep myself cool enough that I don't go insane.
(Yes, the bus is airconditioned. It's like an RV. You plug it in, and it becomes like a portable living room.)
Although I don't feel a sense of loss, am occasionally gripped by brief panic feelings along the lines of "What have I DONE???" As I sit here, I realize that a lot of planning and effort went into the process to this point, but much of what lies ahead is open and unknown. Let's face it, I didn't even have an address to give the company in charge of renting out and driving the trailer to the Puget Sound area. That's right, I am moving to a new place without even having a destination. In a sense, that's part of the joy of doing your move with an RV. I highly recommend it. It removes part of the stress of deadlines, finding hotels and worrying about finding housing by specific dates. If I had to do this again (God forbid!) I would definitely rent an RV and tow my car-- it's also great if you are moving with pets; they are less freaked out by having a "house-like" device to travel in.
What I realized, earlier today, is that there has been a subtle change. I am no longer talking about wanting to change my life. I have changed my life.
That's both exciting, and scary.
And for what it's worth, I am not a "High Sensation Seeker" HSP.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Moving: From Beginning to Ending to Beginning...
The room around me is mostly empty; a few packing boxes for "decoration," a desk with a few books and papers, a phone, a computer from where I write this. Actually, I'm writing this from the portable; the regular desktop machine is in a box.
A phase of my life is at the verge of coming to an end. I arrived in Austin on January 9th, 1981. Now I am leaving. Within a couple of days, I will leave this chapter, closing the book on more than a quarter-century of existence.
I have lived in five different residences, while here-- not counting a couple of previous attempts to move away. I started out in a tiny 1940's efficiency apartment that hadn't been updated since the 60's. I didn't really expect to stay, so I never viewed it as much more than a glorified hotel room. It was "furnished," meaning that it had the bare-bones necessities you find in inexpensive living spaces. But it was cheap, and within walking distance of Safeway and the municipal golf course. It had lovely orange shag carpet. It reminded me of the description of "living in digs" sometimes found in English literature.
Once I'd accepted the fact that I was going to "be here for a while," I moved into a new condo project down the same street-- with K, my girlfriend-later-wife. It was a nice space, and not too horribly expensive-- unfortunately, it was bought near the top of the 80's real estate boom in Texas. A few years later, aformentioned wife said "I can't stand living in this little box," so we moved to a house, still within the city-- a "nice" house, in a "nice" neighborhood. Bigger than I would have wanted, smaller than she wanted, more expensive than we could really afford. We lived there for quite a few years, and I stayed on there, even after she moved to Dallas.... but we ended up selling it after she took a job in Oregon, and "the writing was on the wall," as far as the marriage was concerned. I developed a "bad" relationship with real estate-- selling the condo for $30,000 less than the original price, and selling the house for about $15,000 less. Not out of "hardship," or needing to "fire sale," but simply because they had been bought at two market tops and sold near two market bottoms.
After that, I moved into a swank one-bedroom apartment in the booming northwest growth corridor of town-- in many ways, those years were my happiest, as my "load" felt lightest. It was weird. Everyone I knew sympathized with me about "how awful" it must be for me to be living in a 680 square foot apartment rather than a house-- yet, I loved it. I started to become "me," rather than a reflection of someone else. In a sense, it marked a starting point in my awareness (which many HSPs share) that life feels best when it is fairly simple.
Then I met A, and eventually we moved into this house, in 1998. And now, that house has been sold. I am glad to say, for more than it originally cost-- although it feels crazy that in the 20 years I've owned real estate in this otherwise booming Sunbelt city, the general average market price has gone up by 230%, while the properties I have owned (on a net basis) have about allowed me to break even. Adjusting for inflation, I have about 30% of the value I started out with, in current-day-dollars. What once was $100 is now $30.
Interestingly enough, this is also the story of two "migrations." One migration is the journey to myself-- with each subsequent move, I left a little of my cluelessness and "false self" behind, and found a few more nuggets of authenticity. And, with each sequential move, I went from living virtually in the downtown core, to close-in city, to near suburbia, to edge city, to out in the sticks. And there's an odd dichotomy in that-- with each move I got closer to myself, but further away from "being in the world." I have learned (for the second time, actually) that the further I get from a city, the more "disconnected" I feel from the essential energy of the world.
It's an odd thing-- I'm basically a nature nerd, a solitary soul and an HSP introvert, yet I need the energy of the "hive" (city) to help me feel connected to life. But some part of me is aware that maybe I needed to "disconnect," in order to truly get in touch with my introspective self. The process of "finding ourselves," is perhaps more difficult when we are surrounded by too many other voices, telling us what we "should" be. And now, as a more grounded human being, I feel more able to reconnect with the stuff of life.
Of course, there's a third "migration," too. The migration that will take me from the city of Round Rock, TX (basically a northern suburb of Austin) to the city of Port Townsend, WA (roughly across the Puget Sound, northwest of Seattle). Although this migration is happening "now," it actually began in the fall of 1987-- the first time I went on vacation in the Puget Sound area and "felt" something; a sense of "belonging"
It's a very long story which I won't share here (if you care, you can read it here on my web site), but as I sit and write this I have a feeling that I have finally completed my training in "something," and am about to go forth into uncharted territory.
I feel very quiet. There is a great silence in my soul. There's a tiny seed somewhere, "trying" to feel sadness, or loss, at this point of closure. That same tiny seed showed itself when I graduated from college, when I shut down my business, and when I left the courthouse after the final divorce papers were filed. I am vaguely troubled by the fact that these watershed moments only seem to offer a profound sense of relief, not loss, nor sadness or regret. A part of me examines the possibility that I was never "invested" enough in any of these life events to feel sadness when they passed-- leading to the deeper implication that I have "observed" most of my life, rather than "lived" it. Then again, maybe it's normal human nature to not be deeply invested in situations where you largely feel like a fish out of water. Ultimately, it leaves me with an unpleasant aftertaste, questioning why I have spent my life so ready to "just accept" many things that have fallen so short of my expectations and genuine wants and desires.
Sometimes I think I am nuts.
And I wonder why I am doing this.
But some part of my essence understands that I have never really had any "good old days," and this whole process is about creating something that can become my "good old days."
Some part of my essence understands that-- possibly for the first time in my life-- I am doing something (major) because it represents what I truly want, not just some "accident thrown my way."
Wayne Dyer calls it "living with intent."
Some part of my essence understands the rightness of the new chapter that's about to start-- a chapter based in intuition and gut feel, rather than intellect and logical thought.
My common sense hasn't always served me well, maybe intuition will serve me better.
Now I am going to toss the last few things in my office into a box, and dismantle the bookshelves. Tomorrow-- or the day after-- the truck will be fully loaded.
A phase of my life is at the verge of coming to an end. I arrived in Austin on January 9th, 1981. Now I am leaving. Within a couple of days, I will leave this chapter, closing the book on more than a quarter-century of existence.
I have lived in five different residences, while here-- not counting a couple of previous attempts to move away. I started out in a tiny 1940's efficiency apartment that hadn't been updated since the 60's. I didn't really expect to stay, so I never viewed it as much more than a glorified hotel room. It was "furnished," meaning that it had the bare-bones necessities you find in inexpensive living spaces. But it was cheap, and within walking distance of Safeway and the municipal golf course. It had lovely orange shag carpet. It reminded me of the description of "living in digs" sometimes found in English literature.
Once I'd accepted the fact that I was going to "be here for a while," I moved into a new condo project down the same street-- with K, my girlfriend-later-wife. It was a nice space, and not too horribly expensive-- unfortunately, it was bought near the top of the 80's real estate boom in Texas. A few years later, aformentioned wife said "I can't stand living in this little box," so we moved to a house, still within the city-- a "nice" house, in a "nice" neighborhood. Bigger than I would have wanted, smaller than she wanted, more expensive than we could really afford. We lived there for quite a few years, and I stayed on there, even after she moved to Dallas.... but we ended up selling it after she took a job in Oregon, and "the writing was on the wall," as far as the marriage was concerned. I developed a "bad" relationship with real estate-- selling the condo for $30,000 less than the original price, and selling the house for about $15,000 less. Not out of "hardship," or needing to "fire sale," but simply because they had been bought at two market tops and sold near two market bottoms.
After that, I moved into a swank one-bedroom apartment in the booming northwest growth corridor of town-- in many ways, those years were my happiest, as my "load" felt lightest. It was weird. Everyone I knew sympathized with me about "how awful" it must be for me to be living in a 680 square foot apartment rather than a house-- yet, I loved it. I started to become "me," rather than a reflection of someone else. In a sense, it marked a starting point in my awareness (which many HSPs share) that life feels best when it is fairly simple.
Then I met A, and eventually we moved into this house, in 1998. And now, that house has been sold. I am glad to say, for more than it originally cost-- although it feels crazy that in the 20 years I've owned real estate in this otherwise booming Sunbelt city, the general average market price has gone up by 230%, while the properties I have owned (on a net basis) have about allowed me to break even. Adjusting for inflation, I have about 30% of the value I started out with, in current-day-dollars. What once was $100 is now $30.
Interestingly enough, this is also the story of two "migrations." One migration is the journey to myself-- with each subsequent move, I left a little of my cluelessness and "false self" behind, and found a few more nuggets of authenticity. And, with each sequential move, I went from living virtually in the downtown core, to close-in city, to near suburbia, to edge city, to out in the sticks. And there's an odd dichotomy in that-- with each move I got closer to myself, but further away from "being in the world." I have learned (for the second time, actually) that the further I get from a city, the more "disconnected" I feel from the essential energy of the world.
It's an odd thing-- I'm basically a nature nerd, a solitary soul and an HSP introvert, yet I need the energy of the "hive" (city) to help me feel connected to life. But some part of me is aware that maybe I needed to "disconnect," in order to truly get in touch with my introspective self. The process of "finding ourselves," is perhaps more difficult when we are surrounded by too many other voices, telling us what we "should" be. And now, as a more grounded human being, I feel more able to reconnect with the stuff of life.
Of course, there's a third "migration," too. The migration that will take me from the city of Round Rock, TX (basically a northern suburb of Austin) to the city of Port Townsend, WA (roughly across the Puget Sound, northwest of Seattle). Although this migration is happening "now," it actually began in the fall of 1987-- the first time I went on vacation in the Puget Sound area and "felt" something; a sense of "belonging"
It's a very long story which I won't share here (if you care, you can read it here on my web site), but as I sit and write this I have a feeling that I have finally completed my training in "something," and am about to go forth into uncharted territory.
I feel very quiet. There is a great silence in my soul. There's a tiny seed somewhere, "trying" to feel sadness, or loss, at this point of closure. That same tiny seed showed itself when I graduated from college, when I shut down my business, and when I left the courthouse after the final divorce papers were filed. I am vaguely troubled by the fact that these watershed moments only seem to offer a profound sense of relief, not loss, nor sadness or regret. A part of me examines the possibility that I was never "invested" enough in any of these life events to feel sadness when they passed-- leading to the deeper implication that I have "observed" most of my life, rather than "lived" it. Then again, maybe it's normal human nature to not be deeply invested in situations where you largely feel like a fish out of water. Ultimately, it leaves me with an unpleasant aftertaste, questioning why I have spent my life so ready to "just accept" many things that have fallen so short of my expectations and genuine wants and desires.
Sometimes I think I am nuts.
And I wonder why I am doing this.
But some part of my essence understands that I have never really had any "good old days," and this whole process is about creating something that can become my "good old days."
Some part of my essence understands that-- possibly for the first time in my life-- I am doing something (major) because it represents what I truly want, not just some "accident thrown my way."
Wayne Dyer calls it "living with intent."
Some part of my essence understands the rightness of the new chapter that's about to start-- a chapter based in intuition and gut feel, rather than intellect and logical thought.
My common sense hasn't always served me well, maybe intuition will serve me better.
Now I am going to toss the last few things in my office into a box, and dismantle the bookshelves. Tomorrow-- or the day after-- the truck will be fully loaded.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Moving and Life Changes
Normally, I don't write too much about my personal life on these pages. It wasn't ever really my intention to make this a "personal blog," except to the extent that my own experiences are somehow helpful in an "HSP Context." I do have several other blogs that approach my life from a more "personal" angle-- but that's not my point, here.
I am moving.
Actually, I have been moving for a very long time.
I came to Texas in 1981 to go to college, and have ended up living here for 25 years. "By accident." That may sound absurd, but I really do feel like a quarter-century of my life has passed by as little more than "a coincidence."
Maybe "coincidence" isn't exactly the right word. I think the "coincidental" feeling of my existence here is more the result of never having given serious thought to "place" as part of my personal formula for contentment.
As human beings-- whether we're HSPs, or not-- I think it's something we tend to do. It seems to be popular societal more that "we create happiness wherever we are." There are lots of "experts" and motivational teachers who tell us that we just need to learn how to be "happy with what we have." Whereas I do understand the underlying intent behind this philosphy, I believe it also has a "shadow side." That shadow is that we are at risk of getting lulled into the relative comfort of "not reaching for more."
It's ironic, in a way, how we can be encouraged to "reach for our dreams" and in the same breath be told that those same dreams are "just wishful thinking" based on some false notion that "the grass is greener" somewhere (or somehow) else.
I am moving, because I want "greener pastures." And I have been "moving" for a long time-- more than a decade, to be precise. I am putting together some thoughts about the deeper implications of moving, and what it perhaps means to "move for the right reasons." Hopefully I will find some time, between packing boxes and feeling overwhelmed by the whole thing, to get to the bottom of that idea.
I am moving.
Actually, I have been moving for a very long time.
I came to Texas in 1981 to go to college, and have ended up living here for 25 years. "By accident." That may sound absurd, but I really do feel like a quarter-century of my life has passed by as little more than "a coincidence."
Maybe "coincidence" isn't exactly the right word. I think the "coincidental" feeling of my existence here is more the result of never having given serious thought to "place" as part of my personal formula for contentment.
As human beings-- whether we're HSPs, or not-- I think it's something we tend to do. It seems to be popular societal more that "we create happiness wherever we are." There are lots of "experts" and motivational teachers who tell us that we just need to learn how to be "happy with what we have." Whereas I do understand the underlying intent behind this philosphy, I believe it also has a "shadow side." That shadow is that we are at risk of getting lulled into the relative comfort of "not reaching for more."
It's ironic, in a way, how we can be encouraged to "reach for our dreams" and in the same breath be told that those same dreams are "just wishful thinking" based on some false notion that "the grass is greener" somewhere (or somehow) else.
I am moving, because I want "greener pastures." And I have been "moving" for a long time-- more than a decade, to be precise. I am putting together some thoughts about the deeper implications of moving, and what it perhaps means to "move for the right reasons." Hopefully I will find some time, between packing boxes and feeling overwhelmed by the whole thing, to get to the bottom of that idea.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
HSPs and Forgiveness
Forgiveness is something I have struggled with fully understanding, over the years.
What does it mean? What does it mean to ME? When is it authentic and releasing, and when is it just like the infamous "solicited apology" in disguise? When is it healthy, when is it not?
In the world of the tolerant and empathic (such as HSPs tend to be), I think there's an unhealthy tendency towards "over-forgiveness," often born out of low self-esteem. We "forgive" people a million sins, not because we truly forgive their transgressions, but because we fear we'll be rejected and abandoned if we don't. Or we have persuaded ourselves that our empathy "demands" that we forgive people, no matter what.
In my opinion, that's hardly an emotionally "healthy" response. But it is one I have seen a lot. I observe HSPs squeeze themselves through the eye of a needle with words like "I forgive him/her because he/she can't help... (fill in awful behavior of your choice here)."
When someone "transgresses" against us, it usually means that some kind of boundary has been overstepped. There may be a one-time event, or a pattern of behavior leading to the broken boundary. Either way, it is a natural human response to feel anger or range... and it's my observation that forgiveness serves to "release" those feelings. Is the inner anger and rage truly released, when we automicaticall "forgive" everything, without a second thought? Or are we actually "selling out," and telling ourselves a fairy tale designed mostly to feed our self-identities as "gracious and sensitive people?"
For me, the struggle has been in closing the "gap" (my perception) between truly forgiving someone, and accepting that I can "forgive" and still "not like" something.
I may forgive my neighbor-- who's elderly-- for letting his dogs poop on my lawn because he can't control them... but offering said forgiveness doesn't automatically imply that I am "required" to either like or embrace the dogs pooping on my lawn. Even while forgiving both my neighbor and his dogs-- I can still put up a fence to keep the wretched things out.
One of my Teachers once said that in our efforts to be compassionate and open minded, we must also take care not to slip too far in the direction of a sort of "spiritual idiocy" that renders us victims of our own tolerance. There is nothing "noble" in forgiving a bully for bullying us because "he had a hard childhood" and then allowing him to continue to bully us because "he can't help it." In a sense, that is no less toxic than holding a grudge and not forgiving. It's merely a "different extreme." And, in BOTH extremes, we run the risk of "losing ourselves" and losing our authentic voice.
So what does "forgiveness" really mean?
I can only speak to my personal impressions. To me, forgiveness is about an "opening" of sorts. It's a "release;" what I am letting go of is the power I am allowing a person, idea, paradigm or situation to hold over me, because I am still holding onto "what happened."
In forgiving "Bob The Bully," I release the power his past negative words and acts hold over me... while not necessarily feeling any obligation to suddenly "like" Bob. Bob is still a bully, and he's completely unwelcome to bring his toxicity near me, even though I have forgiven the past.
Although it's unlikely that Bob will even be aware that he did anything warranting forgiveness, he might whine and claim that I haven't really "forgiven" him, since I don't want to hang out with him anymore. That's his prerogative. But at least I feel a measure of peace, in releasing Bob's "hold" over me. And I think forgiveness is ultimately more about appeasing our feelings, than someone else's.
What does it mean? What does it mean to ME? When is it authentic and releasing, and when is it just like the infamous "solicited apology" in disguise? When is it healthy, when is it not?
In the world of the tolerant and empathic (such as HSPs tend to be), I think there's an unhealthy tendency towards "over-forgiveness," often born out of low self-esteem. We "forgive" people a million sins, not because we truly forgive their transgressions, but because we fear we'll be rejected and abandoned if we don't. Or we have persuaded ourselves that our empathy "demands" that we forgive people, no matter what.
In my opinion, that's hardly an emotionally "healthy" response. But it is one I have seen a lot. I observe HSPs squeeze themselves through the eye of a needle with words like "I forgive him/her because he/she can't help... (fill in awful behavior of your choice here)."
When someone "transgresses" against us, it usually means that some kind of boundary has been overstepped. There may be a one-time event, or a pattern of behavior leading to the broken boundary. Either way, it is a natural human response to feel anger or range... and it's my observation that forgiveness serves to "release" those feelings. Is the inner anger and rage truly released, when we automicaticall "forgive" everything, without a second thought? Or are we actually "selling out," and telling ourselves a fairy tale designed mostly to feed our self-identities as "gracious and sensitive people?"
For me, the struggle has been in closing the "gap" (my perception) between truly forgiving someone, and accepting that I can "forgive" and still "not like" something.
I may forgive my neighbor-- who's elderly-- for letting his dogs poop on my lawn because he can't control them... but offering said forgiveness doesn't automatically imply that I am "required" to either like or embrace the dogs pooping on my lawn. Even while forgiving both my neighbor and his dogs-- I can still put up a fence to keep the wretched things out.
One of my Teachers once said that in our efforts to be compassionate and open minded, we must also take care not to slip too far in the direction of a sort of "spiritual idiocy" that renders us victims of our own tolerance. There is nothing "noble" in forgiving a bully for bullying us because "he had a hard childhood" and then allowing him to continue to bully us because "he can't help it." In a sense, that is no less toxic than holding a grudge and not forgiving. It's merely a "different extreme." And, in BOTH extremes, we run the risk of "losing ourselves" and losing our authentic voice.
So what does "forgiveness" really mean?
I can only speak to my personal impressions. To me, forgiveness is about an "opening" of sorts. It's a "release;" what I am letting go of is the power I am allowing a person, idea, paradigm or situation to hold over me, because I am still holding onto "what happened."
In forgiving "Bob The Bully," I release the power his past negative words and acts hold over me... while not necessarily feeling any obligation to suddenly "like" Bob. Bob is still a bully, and he's completely unwelcome to bring his toxicity near me, even though I have forgiven the past.
Although it's unlikely that Bob will even be aware that he did anything warranting forgiveness, he might whine and claim that I haven't really "forgiven" him, since I don't want to hang out with him anymore. That's his prerogative. But at least I feel a measure of peace, in releasing Bob's "hold" over me. And I think forgiveness is ultimately more about appeasing our feelings, than someone else's.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Thoughts on and HSPs and "Overreacting"
I recently observed a discussion among HSPs, on the topic of "overreacting." Do we, in fact "overreact" in response to stimuli? Do we exaggerate the seriousness of an event or experience, when it happens, as a result of our more attuned nervous systems?
I have always felt that communication is really a small miracle.
As we wander through life, we run into so many problems because of miscommunication. Most often (and most confusing) trouble arises when we actually genuinely "hear" what someone is saying, but we filter the intended meaning through our individual lenses of perception. We might "hear" that someone is hurting, but we give them an aspirin when what they wanted was a hug.
I contend that one person's exaggeration is another's normal. What IS overreacting, anyway? If I find myself standing near a wasp's nest, I almost panic and have to get out of there. People look at me with puzzled expressions and say "Get a grip! They are just bugs!" But my reality is that I am extremely allegic to the stings and will end up in the hospital, if stung. Am I still "overreacting?" Or is it a "proportional response," given my particular sensitivities? Or is the underlying Truth that everyone responded appropriately to the situation?
I think we do ourselves a disservice when we try to clamp too narrow definitions on stuff like "how we should react" in a specific situation. As HSPs, we observe and perceive more deeply, and since most HSPs are also intuitive/empathic, we also respond to "things unseen" by most people. Yet, for us they are very real. I feel that sensitivity and the appearance of overracting (in the perception of non-HSPs, especially) are quite consistent... and thus neither something to feel concerned about, nor something to apologize for. We see the metaphorical 18-wheeler bearing down on us before others, and so our immediate "let's get out of the way" response is seen as "hysterical" by those who don't perceive the speeding truck till it's right in their face.
That doesn't make us wrong, merely different.
I have always felt that communication is really a small miracle.
As we wander through life, we run into so many problems because of miscommunication. Most often (and most confusing) trouble arises when we actually genuinely "hear" what someone is saying, but we filter the intended meaning through our individual lenses of perception. We might "hear" that someone is hurting, but we give them an aspirin when what they wanted was a hug.
I contend that one person's exaggeration is another's normal. What IS overreacting, anyway? If I find myself standing near a wasp's nest, I almost panic and have to get out of there. People look at me with puzzled expressions and say "Get a grip! They are just bugs!" But my reality is that I am extremely allegic to the stings and will end up in the hospital, if stung. Am I still "overreacting?" Or is it a "proportional response," given my particular sensitivities? Or is the underlying Truth that everyone responded appropriately to the situation?
I think we do ourselves a disservice when we try to clamp too narrow definitions on stuff like "how we should react" in a specific situation. As HSPs, we observe and perceive more deeply, and since most HSPs are also intuitive/empathic, we also respond to "things unseen" by most people. Yet, for us they are very real. I feel that sensitivity and the appearance of overracting (in the perception of non-HSPs, especially) are quite consistent... and thus neither something to feel concerned about, nor something to apologize for. We see the metaphorical 18-wheeler bearing down on us before others, and so our immediate "let's get out of the way" response is seen as "hysterical" by those who don't perceive the speeding truck till it's right in their face.
That doesn't make us wrong, merely different.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
The Pervasiveness of Abuse: Denial of Voice
In one of the HSP groups on Yahoo, one conversation has recently been going on the topic of abuse-- most specifically, verbal and emotional abuse.
Based on talking to 100's (maybe 1000's?) of HSPs via email over the past decade, and from message boards and listservs and online communities, as well as from Gatherings and workshops... it seems to be a sad fact that an alarming number of HSPs end up being part of an emotionally/verbally abusive dynamic I can best describe as "denial of voice."
It may be that everyone who has something "a little different" about them (HSP or not) is subject to having their reality questioned by the mainstream, but with the typical HSPs' soft spoken and accommodating demeanor, they seem more likely to have their voice "walked on" by dominant (but usually insecure) personalities. In isolated incidents it might not really constitute "abuse," but as a pattern in primary relationships/friendships it quickly does cross over into abuse. Invalidating someone because you feel threatened by their not thinking like you is-- at the very LEAST-- a form of bullying. Bullying as a long term pattern is abusive.
I was raised with this pattern, and have become rather "intimately familiar" with it, as I worked through my large "valise" of old baggage. My typical memory of childhood would be making statements like "Mom, the label in my shirt is scratchy," and getting responses like "Oh, what absolute nonsense! You can't feel a thing;" or if I expressed sadness over some roadkilled animal at the side of the road my dad might say "Rubbish! People don't feel sad over such things." Quite literally, your voice is "denied." And in the process, you gain a feeling of being "defective." For me, it became my "truth" (false, rather than my Authentic Truth) as I reached adulthood that my feelings had "no value." Thus, I "learned" to not HAVE feelings.
Most people don't recognize this type of dynamic as "something" because it doesn't look abusive... there's no yelling, and to most people it just looks like "friendly bantering" between spouses/family members. In fact, most mental health professionals (except emotional abuse specialists) will semi-brush it aside and say stuff like "You just need some assertiveness training." Useful as that may be (and I certainly don't deny that it has its place), fighting fire with fire doesn't actually remove the fire. The situation is generally self-perpetuating, because the abuser paints themselves the "victim" of someone's hypersensitivity.
Abuse is wrong, no matter what form it takes.
Based on talking to 100's (maybe 1000's?) of HSPs via email over the past decade, and from message boards and listservs and online communities, as well as from Gatherings and workshops... it seems to be a sad fact that an alarming number of HSPs end up being part of an emotionally/verbally abusive dynamic I can best describe as "denial of voice."
It may be that everyone who has something "a little different" about them (HSP or not) is subject to having their reality questioned by the mainstream, but with the typical HSPs' soft spoken and accommodating demeanor, they seem more likely to have their voice "walked on" by dominant (but usually insecure) personalities. In isolated incidents it might not really constitute "abuse," but as a pattern in primary relationships/friendships it quickly does cross over into abuse. Invalidating someone because you feel threatened by their not thinking like you is-- at the very LEAST-- a form of bullying. Bullying as a long term pattern is abusive.
I was raised with this pattern, and have become rather "intimately familiar" with it, as I worked through my large "valise" of old baggage. My typical memory of childhood would be making statements like "Mom, the label in my shirt is scratchy," and getting responses like "Oh, what absolute nonsense! You can't feel a thing;" or if I expressed sadness over some roadkilled animal at the side of the road my dad might say "Rubbish! People don't feel sad over such things." Quite literally, your voice is "denied." And in the process, you gain a feeling of being "defective." For me, it became my "truth" (false, rather than my Authentic Truth) as I reached adulthood that my feelings had "no value." Thus, I "learned" to not HAVE feelings.
Most people don't recognize this type of dynamic as "something" because it doesn't look abusive... there's no yelling, and to most people it just looks like "friendly bantering" between spouses/family members. In fact, most mental health professionals (except emotional abuse specialists) will semi-brush it aside and say stuff like "You just need some assertiveness training." Useful as that may be (and I certainly don't deny that it has its place), fighting fire with fire doesn't actually remove the fire. The situation is generally self-perpetuating, because the abuser paints themselves the "victim" of someone's hypersensitivity.
Abuse is wrong, no matter what form it takes.
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