Now

8:44

That is one of the most comforting words, “now.” When Milo was small, I used to say “akshav” which is Hebrew for now, meaning, let’s go, do it now, c’mon hurry up. I used “now” a lot like that, then.

Now “now” is different. Now is a beautiful expression of the passing of time. Now things are impossible and hard and I don’t see a way out. But that’s just now, only now. There will be later, and things will be different then. That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway.

Today I did therapy on the couch. I like it. I should have done it before. It’s a very different experience. I was faster, more emotional, more open. My therapist-as-disembodied voice seemed more active, too, pushing me more.  It was excruciating, but I need that now. I need that refining pain. The cross fit junkies say pain is weakness leaving the body.  Okay, I need that weakness to leave my soul.

It was crushingly frustrating, though, to hear myself say and feel myself feel all the old things, things I thought I had exorcised: that I have to be perfect to be loved; that I have to do everything myself; that it’s all my fault; that I have to protect Daniel no matter the cost to myself, that I owe Daniel everything; that my happiness is made up of the leftovers once Milo, Daniel, the rest of the world have taken what they want; that I can’t, that they won’t let me.  All the old stuff I thought I so boldly wrote myself away from, that I have been working on with my therapist for the past five years and though I had escaped. Hah. Not now.  Not yet.  It’s come back (now) that I am especially low and feeling entirely alone.

I re-read old posts last night and saw how many times I have asked for help. So many! Help not coming is an old story. But help does come. In graduate school my friend Avi helped. Right now my friend Lou is being a wonderful help, putting aside lots of time to walk through funding issues. He’s really going the extra mile for me. Sharon, my co-pedicure-recipient helps. My oldest and loveliest friend Leah, and my dear college friend Kat help.  They took me away to the mountains and paid for everything.  That helps.  But the help I’m looking for right now has dollar signs and job titles attached to it.  That’s what counts for me now — Lou is doing that.  It’s good to see what I’m not seeing.  Still, what I’d like to see is the calvary coming hard and fast over the hill, carrying bags of money, waving flags with dollar signs, and with abundant offers of the right jobs in their hip pockets. Not seeing that, sadly. Not now, not yet.

It’s hard to write because Milo is writing his resume out loud behind me and constantly seeking my input and it’s distracting.  Sweet, though.

I had this thought today: if doing my job, or any job, well right now requires 60 hours a week, then that’s not the right job for me– now, or perhaps ever. That is a huge act of defiance in my culture of highly educated, highly honored, high achieving and high earning people.  But I don’t want to, and never have wanted to, work 60 hours a week, and I never have, at least not for pay.  Maybe in college, out of anxiety.  Possibly in graduate school, also out of anxiety.  I can’t really remember. 60 hours a week is a whole lot.  And it’s not what I want. I fear if I say it out loud to people no one will want to hire me.  More for the couch tomorrow.

9:18