Ask

Posted on March 23 2012 by J.W. Richmond

I’m not good at asking for what I need
                                          or want.

I don’t want to intrude on other people’s time
                                                       energy
                                                       resources.

This is an issue that keeps surfacing in my life.
I keep getting little jabs
                           from books
                                  songs
                                  Jeff
                                  movies
                                  (The Holy Spirit?)
                                            that I don’t think I should ignore.

Lisa: So I was just wondering if there’s one general thing that you've found over the years to be generally true in a general way that would help anyone, with any situation?

Psychiatrist: That's a great question. Yes. I’d say, figure out what you want and learn how to ask for it.

Lisa: Okay… Those are both really hard.*

I just want to be able to figure out ways to do whatever it is I need so I don’t have to burden someone else.

“I immediately realized, however, that I didn’t want to be served. I didn’t want to be in a position where I had to ask for something and receive it as a gift.”**

I don’t expect others to suddenly read my mind and know what I need, but I also don’t want to appear lazy if I ask for something I could have figured out how to do myself.

“We’re lost ‘til we learn how to ask.”***

 I suck at this.

 

*How Do You Know, James L. Brooks, ©2010
**The Meaning of Marriage, Timothy Keller ©2011
***In the End, Snow Patrol, ©2012

Cobalt

Posted on March 17 2012 by J.W. Richmond

Forget rose.

I think the world looks better
          through cobalt.

                    Ocean-colored.
                    Cool.
                    Refreshing.
                    Reviving.

                    Vivid
                         but not blinding.

Greys are brighter
     greens even greener
               creating a
                         depth
                    of intricate calm
                         and mesmeric clarity.

A thin
   transparent glass
         that transforms
                   stifling
                   monotony
                         into tangible
                                     inspiration.

Recharge

Posted on March 16 2012 by J.W. Richmond

I am constantly the subject of a push-pull
                    between
          people and survival
                    between
          needing relationships
                    and needing to be alone.

People who stereotype a Dreamer*
     tend to think
          I could be alone for days
                                    months
                                    years
                                       and all would be well
                                       or maybe I would never even notice.
That’s not only unrealistic,
     it’s also not even remotely true.

People do tend to drain me – over time.
     Some people a lot more than others.

I need a regularly scheduled time-out.
I need time to be able to recharge.

If I get desperate and severely drained,
     I may do need
                        a lot
                           of time to recharge.

But when I do finally get that chance,
     and I am able to get there
          or even get close
               and approach a level that is more full
                                                       than suffocating,
     I don’t just want to be with other people.
     I need to be.

Hang-outs
       visits
       texts
       emails
       even phone calls
            become more frequent and lengthened.
Conversations get deeper
     because I have the capacity to engage.

I seek people out.

I talk Jeff’s head off
     right before bed.

And I drain much more slowly
     because I am energized just enough
          that I enjoy it
            and pursue more.

I have the hard conversations with friends
     and take the time to call my mom and dad
                         just because
           even when I have absolutely nothing to say.

But I don’t know how to stay in that place
                       how to balance that time
                                remain there
                                       before life pulls on me again.
     Even the thought of emailing a friend
          seems so daunting
                and overwhelming
                      because I really do have no energy left
                                                  and no time to recharge
                                                                       refresh.

And the recently vibrant colors
     slowly start to blur
                    back into greys.

 

*Your Unique Design: Originally Developed by Taibi Kahler; Adapted by Dr. Bob Maris and Dr. Jerry Richardson. Dreamer: imaginative, reflective, calm.

Dive

Posted on March 10 2012 by J.W. Richmond

It’s not that I won’t have that dreaded conversation…

I have it over
      and over again
                in my head.

I start
  listen
  respond
      and anticipate the expected response.
Then I start over
          say what I need to say
          anticipate an alternate response,
                   and change the wording
                                      or tone
                                      or adjust the content.
Repeat.
Repeat again.

Eventually I (usually) dive in for real
              and say it
                     even if it isn’t worded
                                      or refined well.

Usually by then,
           it is time
           (or past time)
                        to say it.

I get to the point
        where I have to just throw it out there
                    and hope.
                          Hope that I say it okay-ish.
                          Hope the friendship is strong enough
                                        to survive the conversation.
                          Hope I don’t come across as a moron.

I just want to say it right
               the first time.

I’ve had enough of these conversations
                          explode in my face
              that it makes me hesitant to have them
                          without thinking them through – enough.

And I know,
       I know,
       I tend to overthink things.

But I don’t want to screw things up even worse.
And whatever reaction I get,
      I want to be able to receive it well.

Tunnels

Posted on March 3 2012 by J.W. Richmond

The questions only lead me
          to more questions.

I crawl
     deeper
          into the cavern
                       wind my way through tunnels
                                                and chasms,
                                following trails
                                          that circle over
                                                       each
                                                    other.

Answers remain scarce
                       elusive
                       broken
                       blurry
                       empty.

Climbing on queries,
      slipping on
                  theories,
         pondering concepts,
                 I pry open the systems,
                             throwing
                                          pieces
                                                        aside.

Scraping my knees
     on sharp rocks
         and dead ends,
                       I head further in.
The cold walls hide clues
                               and bury them
                                         in the dark corners.

I chase the shadows
       as I trip
                over
                    suspicions,
    smack my head on a stalactite
                           and
                           fall
                               into another question.

Cover

Posted on March 2 2012 by J.W. Richmond

I know.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

I’ve heard it.
I believe it.

But do I do it anyway?

She was just another girl in the dorms, friends with my friends.
We knew each other peripherally,
                    but we weren’t really friends.

A year later, I was living in another apartment complex, and she moved in next to me. Mutual friends lived downstairs so we ended up interacting. A lot.

Somehow we started to become actual friends.

We couldn’t have been more different.

Different values
            priorities
            views
            looks
            clothes
            lives
            everything.

We got to know each other
                                     beyond
                                            all the initial reactions
                                                        and responses.

That apartment complex was short-lived since I ended up moving away to go to school. I had no idea she had already applied to go to that same school, and a few months later, she moved there too.

In another strange twist of weird reality, we ended up as roommates. And we didn’t hate each other!

Through graduations
           moron guys
           broken relationships
           questions about life
           relocations
           long distances
           job changes
           eventually marrying great guys           
           kids
           surgeries
           everyday life
           tragedies…
                we have been there for each other.

She has remained my friend
    and has gained the right – and privilege
          to call me out when I am an idiot.

I don’t usually think of myself as judgmental,
                    but maybe I can be.
Maybe I disregarded her as a friend
                    too early on.

Fifteen years after we originally passed by each other in those halls, she and I are still friends – the kind of friends who catch up in an instant, like no time ever passed in the first place.

I would have never pegged us as being friends in the first place, much less lifelong friends.

She was unexpected.

And I’m so grateful we both took the chance
                        to get to know each other
                                                despite ourselves.

Doll

Posted on February 24 2012 by J.W. Richmond

My sister used to dress me up
                                like a doll.

Big fancy dresses,
      tons of make-up,
      and extravagant props,
           using backdrops specifically for the photos,
                                 of course.

I thought dolls were boring.

How do you build something with a doll?
     Or make a doll move
           with gears
           and pieces that fit together
                    so you could make them do something
                                        interesting?
Even a blank piece of paper had more potential than a doll.

And the way my sister pulled my hair –
                    trying to curl it
            putting it up in some fancy-schmancy way – hurt.
                                              A lot.
      It was always too big,
            and the hairspray stunk.

Not to mention it was a      l       o       n       g     time to sit still.

                                    Complete torture.

And I hated dresses.

Ech.

When I was older, she wouldn’t even let me leave the house until she approved of my outfit.

If When I came out of my room wearing something she didn’t approve of, she would actually make me go back to my room and change, which drove me crazy.

Whatever sort of style I had was probably due to Punky Brewster* not any fashion trend you would find in a magazine. No color-coordinated outfits, heels, fluffy dresses, little skirts, blouses… (Blouses? Really?)

And that drove her crazy.

My sister wanted me to have style and
             believed I had to match.
                         I couldn’t clash;
                         I had to be presentable.

I played along for a while because I cared about her –
                                     and it was important to her.
She loved me and
      took the time to try to help (my helpless self).

Eventually I had to learn how to gracefully say no
                   (I said learn),
            and figure out how to be me – whoever that is.

I didn’t – don’t – do outfits.
I still hate dresses.

If I could, I would wear shorts and a t-shirt every day. Shoes if necessary, I guess. Done.

I could never be that doll.

I’m sure there are a lot of pictures of me in those photo shoots where I was upset or crying that never made it into the family albums, but I guess I have to admit some of those pictures are memorable – even if they aren’t really me.

If nothing else, I guess they deserve a good laugh.

​

 

* Punky Brewster ©1984-1988

Puppet

Posted on February 21 2012 by J.W. Richmond

                                                     Pushed
                              pulled

                     d r  a  g   g    e    d

             to the starting
X

    strings
           catching
        as they

               t
                 a
             n
                   g
            l
              e

        into

        k
         n
             o
    t
       s.

Fiction intermingles
    with intent
        until only questions
            seep
            through.

Choices
    have been

                      removed

        from what’s next,
    forced instead

            into
            specific
            slots,

              ignoring many years
                  that have been spent,
    pulling out      motives
                  from what’s true.

Differences
    leaving others perplexed,

        yet pervasive

            in
            every
            thought,

    careful not to misrepresent
        the majority disguised as
                    the few.

Misunderstood
    as confused or complex,

                  design
                                               pushed

            into something it’s
                 not –
        going against
            what they said they meant,
        yet cutting off

                everything

                that
                grew.

Customer

Posted on February 18 2012 by J.W. Richmond

Her husband was always so busy
     that he didn’t seem to notice her anymore, she said.

He had school
           work
           sports
                  and she was an afterthought –
                                    if he thought of her at all.

They had a great love, once.

But.

But someone else had been paying attention – to her.
      Someone else had told her she mattered.
      She was important to him.

That was all she ever wanted.

This new guy barely knew her,
     but he had noticed her.
                       And that was significant.

It had started out innocently.

Since she was a customer,
     it was his job to notice her.
                         Nothing was inappropriate.

Until she went back there. Again. And maybe again after that.

He remembered her.
Smiles were exchanged.
They laughed and talked about the weather.

It hadn’t taken much.
She was finally important to someone
     and their conversations
                                   lengthened.

Coffee?
Why not?

They could just be friends.
They could get to know each other.

He paid attention to her,
         and she felt like she could talk to him
                 about anything.
                     Even about her husband
                              and the difficulties they had been having.

He listened
    offered advice
    comforted her
    reached out and
           touched her hand
                 as he looked into her eyes
                                and didn’t move his hand away.

She never meant to sleep with him.
She never thought it would go that far.
She never meant to be that person.

It had all seemed so innocent.
Where had she crossed the line?

How did she get here?

Judged

Posted on February 17 2012 by J.W. Richmond

She said – again –
       I know.
       I know what you’re going to say.

What had I actually said?
What was I saying?
What was she picking up on
               that I had never actually said
                                                   out loud?

And was that a good
                    or bad thing?

She moved in with her boyfriend and told me
                   she knew what I would think,
                               but she had made her decision
                                                      and
                                     he was already living there
                                                            with her.

Would I
      do I
      still love her?
Would I still be there for her?

Of course!

I don’t think I had ever said
                                  I would
                               or wouldn’t [fill-in-the-blank].
      But whatever she got from me was clearly inferred
                                                                assumed.

In one sense, I am glad that I have been communicating
                                 what I believe
                                     and live (I hope)
                                             about marriage
                                               and love
                                               and relationships.

But those small bits of conversations with her
                               are also so sparse
                                             small
                                             minute
                                                  that they feel so
                                             incomplete.

I don’t think I have ever said – out loud to her – that I believe a live-in relationship outside of marriage isn’t the best decision.

But she got it anyway.

Have I said to her that if she chose to do [whatever] – that it would cause issues between us? Or that I would somehow break off the relationship with her if she chose something different?

No.

But maybe she heard something I didn’t say
                                                   or mean.

I can go back over
             and over
                    what I said.

As far as wanting to convey that a particular decision wouldn’t be good for her, that came across to her – somehow.

Did I mean it to be taken so emphatically
                                      strongly
                                      powerfully?

Yes.

And no.

Did I mean to judge her
               or for her to feel judged?

Absolutely not.

And since this entire conversation
                         or conversations
                   seemed to happen
                           without my actually saying anything,
                       how do I communicate in the future
                           what I really meant to say,
                                     or need to say
                                           in actual words?