Our Rules of Engagement
(I am being ironic here, if you didn’t guess)
Life Unfolding, photo by The Absurdess, Jennifer Bunny Keterman
Dear Fabulous Reader,
I request that we establish some basic ground rules, some agreements, about how we are in each other’s presence and how we move about the world:
1. You and I will be unapologetic about who we are and what we have been through.
2. You and I will not put up with other people’s shit.
3. You and I understand that we have very little control over most things in life. We will not fret about these things and waste our precious emotional energy on conjecture and speculation. However, the things that we do have control over, our actions and our responses to other people’s actions, in those things we will be positive, forthright, determined, and fierce as fuck.
4. You and I will be fearless and brave in the face or our oppressors and we will strive to be understood, even if faced by the ignorant, uncaring masses.
5. You and I will not do woulda, shoulda, coulda (“I wish I would have done…..,” “I should have done…..,” “Well, I could have …….”). Strive to do things, thoughtfully, the right time the first time. It is nice to rest our heads on the pillow with a clean conscious every night.
6. You and I will accept full responsibility for our words and our actions.
7. You and I will give credit where credit is due.
8. You and I will admit when we do not know something or if we have made a mistake. No one drops out of the womb knowing anything and mistakes are part of learning. (But if you keep making the same mistake over and over, time to REALLY check in with yourself!!)
9. You and I will make space for our self-care. We acknowledge if we do not take care of ourselves, we cannot be our best selves and we cannot care for others.
10. You and I will love unconditionally, viewing the world with soft, compassionate eyes, and be givers of the benefit of the doubt (while still honoring Rule # 2).
11. You and I acknowledge we are not our trauma. Our trauma is not our entirety, but a part of us.
12. You and I will look for the gifts that come from our trauma and experiences.
13. You and I will not be bitter and angry.
14. You and I are responsible for our own healing.
15. You and I will go from merely surviving to thriving.
16. You and I, when given the chance, will laugh with abandon, not at others, but at the situation, and when The Universe gives us the ironic nod, we will say with deference, “Well played Universe!”
17. You and I acknowledge that this is the life that was given us—Now we just need to decide how to react and to act within this life, and decide what we are going to do with it, in a constructive manner.
18. You and I will be a little less mystified, lost and numb about what we are going through/have been through and a lot more in awe of life and its beauty and its wonders.
Choice: So Life Has Given You Some Shit?
So, Fabulous Reader, Life has given you some shit. Shit you didn’t ask for. Shit you didn’t need. Shit you didn’t want. Maybe Life’s given you a steady diet of shit for a really long time. Maybe you’ve just had a ton of shit dumped on you like moldy manna out of the ass-end of heaven. Maybe your parents handed you the shit with a smile on their faces and wiped the excess on you back as they patted you on the shoulder, or your ancestors bequeathed it to you. Maybe your spouse gave you the shit, wrapped in a pretty box, with a perky, deceptive pink bow. Maybe your best friend just gave you a shit-eating grin because behind your back that shit-eating grin has been eating your wife’s pussy. Maybe you walk into your toddler’s room and he has his diaper off, shit is streaked across the sheets, bed, walls, and his teeth. Maybe your boss left a slice of shit on your desk at work with a perplexing post-it saying, “Come see me in my office,” with a smiley face on it. Maybe it was the delivery van that splashed it on you or the carload of idiots who flung it at you as you were walking down the street, minding your own business. Maybe it was your doctor, giving you a shit diagnosis of some lethally shitty disease. Maybe it’s the dog shit you stepped in, in the middle of the night, in bare feet. Maybe you feel like the sewer pipe of life just happened to open up in your home. Do you sometimes feel like God is using you as His personal toilet paper? Shit, shit, shit. Shit happens. Yes. Yes, it does.
So let’s have a serious talk about this shit and choice. I would like to say that in all things you have choice. “No Bunny,” you say, “No, there are a lot of things in which we have no choice. I didn’t want to go to work today, but I have to feed my kids and keep a roof over their heads. I had no choice.” Yes, you are compelled to do certain things, things you do not feel like doing. But ultimately, you do have a choice. You can fuck it off and not go to work and risk losing your job. Really, you can. But yes, then there are the consequences of your actions, so you don’t “feel” like you have a choice.
The most dramatic instance of having a choice that I can think of is this scenario (many thanks and much love to Viktor Frankl, for what he went through and what he shared of his life and thoughts): You are in a concentration camp, starving and fetid. Piles of emaciated bodies are being stacked like cord wood in a wagon to be taken away and cremated, a job that has been tasked to you. Your parents are probably dead, perhaps some of the ash that is now falling on you is their remains. What choice do you have? Laws were made against you. Your neighbors turned on you. The Nazi’s came in the middle of the night, at gun point and with snarling dogs, forced you and your family and friends into the streets, herded you on to trains. And days later, standing with no breathing room, with no food, and one pathetic bucket for the bathroom needs of 100 people, and people crying in agony, you arrived at the concentration camp. You had hardly any choice in this, this tidal wave of inhumanity and insanity. But I say you do have a choice. Do you do the littlest thing to step out of line, knowing that the guards will shoot you dead? Do you, knowing you will walk close the electric fence on the way to your assigned job, throw yourself against the fence and hope it is not painful but certain, death this way? Or do you find just one more moment of will to live, perhaps driven by the need to survive this so you can tell the world what happened? All of those choices are agonizing, but nonetheless, you do have a choice.
Now, let’s get back to the shit that Life has thrown your way and let’s consider the options of what you are going to do with this shit.
#1—You can eat the shit, all of it that is given to you. You can fool yourself that it tastes good. You can eat it because something inside of you is telling you that you deserve it. You can ask for more servings because this is some punishment that you are willing to take. So you eat it, smile as it slides down your gullet and say, “More please,” as you wallow in this total misery. And you do this for the entirety of your life, so that you no longer know where you begin and the shit ends. You can choose to be a miserable shit-eater.
#2—You can be a mean, bitter, angry, fucking asshole and take all the shit that Life has given you and you can throw it at your kids, your partner, your friends, your coworkers, your neighbors, and innocent people at the grocery store and when you come home you can kick the shit out of your dog. You can shove it down their throats, this shit of yours, or smear it on these poor people, who didn’t ask for it, who don’t need it and who probably have shit of their own to deal with. You can let this shit seep into your soul, emanate from your pores, infuse every aspect of your personality, and color your world, and then you can inject it into every moment of your waking life, terrorizing all who cross your path with your shit. You can choose to be a shit-terrorist.
#3—You can decide that with all the shit Life has given you, that you would like to fertilize a beautiful garden. You can plot out your garden, taking delight in planning every inch of it; some areas for fruits, vegetables and herbs, some areas for fragrant, colorful, beautiful flowers. You can lovingly place bird baths, toad abodes, bird feeders, and nectar stands to attract birds, frogs, bees, and butterflies, and you can welcome them into this peaceful space. You can add a park bench so you can take moments to contemplate your beautiful efforts and sit in gratitude that you had the shit necessary to feed, nourish, and fertilize this sacred space. You smile when you know you had the choice to take all that shit Life gave to you and to transmute it into something so delightful and wonderous. You can choose to be a shit-transformer.
A please take this pledge, to kinda quote Harry S Truman—“The Shit Stops Here.”
Do yourself and everyone else on this planet a favor, and choose to transform your shit into fertilizer and plant a useful, nourishing, beautiful, peaceful garden. Please. There is choice in everything you do, in every action you take. You have a choice. You have a choice. You have a choice.
Photo by Pixabay
SO WHAT DO WE CALL IT? THIS THING THAT IS OUR “ISSUE”?
Being a wordsmith I am all about picking the correct word to convey a thought or a feeling, or I am trying to paint a picture of a time, a place, or an event. I love words and their usage means a great deal to me. I am keenly aware of the power of words: to destroy or to uplift, to wound deeply or to offer succor. I know that words can unite people under a common umbrella or can ostracize one by use as a label; labeled people become “the other,” someone unwelcome and not part of greater society. People can be self-limiting when they accept the labels of others or label themselves.
Words such as “depression” can describe a state or can be useful as a diagnosis. For me having a diagnosis was useful in that I could look at the criteria for the diagnosis and say, “Yes, that describes the experience I am having.” When my world was spinning out of control a diagnosis served the purpose of letting me know I was not the only one to have such an experience and as such, then I felt less alone. Having a diagnosis calmed the spinning and meant, finally, things made a little more sense. I still had a rough road ahead of me, but a diagnosis was the beginning of the journey of recovery, a starting place.
I have multiple mental and physical health “issues”: depression/dysthymia with onset at age 12, fibromyalgia/chronic fatigue with onset starting at around age 25 and was full-blown at age 32, and complex PTSD (the creep of the PTSD started for sure around 2009 at age 43, picked up serious speed in 2014, and was full-blown in 2018 with my career and then became complex PTSD with the Paradise Campfire). Has having these issues altered my life, caused loss (job, money, friendships, memories), messed with my quality of life, diminished the ability to pursue things other than working and sleeping for the majority of the past 25 years, made everyday life exceeding difficult—yes. But I have never warmed to the concept of “disability,” because that word is telling me that I can’t do things, and although it is true and I do less things, I still do things. I definitely have limitations in my life and if I focus on them too much, they cause me immense grief, so it is best to focus on my strengths, my fierce determination, my resilience, and my functional characteristics that help me manage my conditions and get me through my life. I embrace accepting the life that I have and I am grateful that I have mastered the tools that help me manage my life: reframing, chunking, needing to conserve my energy and planning my week to help me do just that (so I can fully enjoy activities when I participate in them), and being open in communicating with others how I have to manage my needs and energy with no apology about my lessness. And lessness it not a bad thing, it is just a true thing as I will always have to pay the piper when I expend energy. But I am so adept at managing the less life that I have, when I am present in an activity, I am fully present, I have energy, and I am enjoying it to the fullest. I am not dragging the anchor of my limitations, bringing a negative vibe to the situation, or poisoning the atmosphere with bitterness, anger, or a grey cloud. Parts of my life profoundly suck, but that is not anyone else’s issue. And then I am easy on myself and manage my expectations when I need to sit in quiet repose, with no demands on my mental or physical energy, so that I may recharge my batteries. With my attitude and tools, how can I consider myself “disabled?”
I also have never related to the term “victim.” Again “victim” feels to me like someone cowering, afraid, and powerless and that definitely is not me for I am courageous and shake my fist at The Universe for what it has foisted upon me. And then I laugh and slap The Universe on the back, knowing there is a partnership there and I accept the lessons and gifts It has given to me.
I guess I am a “survivor,” which means “to continue to exist or live after; to continue to function or prosper.” But when it comes to the fire, I can hardly say I am a survivor, as to me, that brings up the thoughts and feelings that I was actually burned by the fire or minimally that I was one of the people who had to drive through the flames, which, thankfully, I was not. I prefer “thrivor,” as “thrive” means “to grow vigorously, to flourish; to progress toward or realize a goal despite or because of circumstances”—YES, that is it! I am a thrivor!
We can think of ourselves, Fabulous Reader, as having “issues” or “problems,” or we cannot. This is not a denial or minimizing thing here. This is a refusal to accept our “issues” and “problems” as such, for they can be so heavy, so burdensome, to ugly, so limiting, so degrading, if we let others, or ourselves, beat us down with having “issues” and “problems.” Every time I need to write, or think about the fact that I do have things traditionally considered “issues” or “problems,” I struggle with those words because I will not let them define me, define my ultimate capacities, or hinder me in any way. But I do not want to flounder as I am trying to convey an idea or state of being and I do not want to project that I am incapable or offer a label to others so they can see me as less than and broken and pave a path to let them misunderstand me and see me as a burden or useless or someone who needs to be coddled or fixed. So what do I call these “conditions” or “issues” that have inexorably affected my life? What word can I use to state that I do indeed have limitations but that I have not become crippled by them?
When pondering this conundrum I found the word “muddle,” which means “untidy and disorganized state.” This is a word I like because it implies that something being untidy and disorganized can be made tidy and organized. This is not a permanent state, but an ongoing process that can be made better. “Issue” and “problem” seem static with tinges of negativity as they are used in today’s society. No thanks.
About five months ago (April 2022) I stopped thinking and saying “I don’t need anymore issues and problems in my life,” and instead started saying, “I prefer not to have anymore interesting experiences in my life.” What I have been through has definitely given me a very interesting life, one that bears examining and certainly to have a sense of awe and wonder about it, for I have come though these things and I am thriving.
Sometimes I need to write or say “I have mental and/or physical health __________,” “things” (what the fuck does that mean?), “issues or problems” (most certainly not!), so I think saying that I have mental and physical health muddles is the best way to describe what is going on with me.
Choose your own state of being Fabulous Reader, define yourself, do not limit yourself and certainly do not let others label you. Find your best descriptor and embrace it! How you think about yourself will affect your capacities and abilities. This is your voyage, you choose your journey and your destination.
