Bird by Bird

The books that sailed the seas to my front door arrived today. 5 days earlier than expected. Isn’t that awesome? “Bird by bird” by Anne Lamott is one of the books sprawled over my desk, thanks to Amazon. Mere touch tells me this book contains hidden treasures just for me. Treasures I haven’t even dreamed of. Oh, I can’t wait to dig my nails in to uncover them.

On the back cover she wrote this: “Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to a get report written that he had three months to write. It was due the next day. We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books on birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him, put his arms around my brother’s shoulder and said, ‘Bird by bird buddy. Just take it bird by bird.’”

These beautiful words brought two things to mind. Unfortunately these two thoughts are on the opposite side of the spectrum. My first thought was, why couldn’t my parents understand that I had to make mistakes to grow and learn life‘s lessons. Instead of been given this loving response, I was nearly always rebuked. Stressing out is what I did (do) best. That itself was punishment enough. I remember so well all the times I was rebuked for something, stressed about it, needed support, and when the results came, I got reprimanded all over again. The entire, lengthy speech was repeated.

My second thought was far more pleasant as it involves something I’m striving to be. I want to be the kind of parent that will do what Anne’s father so lovingly did. It takes a special person to realize that he (Anne’s brother) had already learned his lesson and what he needed was support. At the age of ten you cannot expect a child to have the same degree of responsibility of an adult. Lessons are valuable and so darn necessary, so is support. I can gladly say today that I’m married to a wonderful husband who is entirely selfless when it comes to my need for support. I’ve seen him do many things most women only dream their husbands would do. He is not without his faults, otherwise he wouldn’t be human.

I married a gem. A bright, sparkly, shinny, and extremely precious gem.

I’ve made many mistakes, but the learning process got diverted and I didn't get the opportunity learn the lesson appropriate to the mistake. All I learned was that if something isn’t perfect or done correctly that I can only expect hardship and suffering. I even managed to so wrongly believe that if I do something wrong I will be punished every time and that forgiveness doesn’t exist. I’m still reminded of many things I did wrong. I wish I could say that these brief 'mentionings' are done in a loving, caring and humorous spirit, but alas.

Today, I carry with me this debilitating fear which origin is mainly unknown. I wish I could stuff it in a box and send it packing, but it always escapes me and bite me in the ass when I turn my back.

Love can heal this fear. And only I can tap into the kind of love that exists somewhere in abundance. My husband’s love for me is food for my soul, but the love I need so desperately is water for my soul. And right now, I’m parched.