The Holidays Of Me

Awareness is a key element of growth.
And what I need to elevate most is the awareness of myself.
Developing further this quest to help unlock the expressions of my feelings, desires, excitements, drives, beliefs, and even sorrows.  It's not all rocks, but it should be way easier to ramble out this shit because I'm me.  right?  But it's not that easy.  This concept is still one of the hardest, most taxing exercises I go through almost daily.

Just imagine, you've experienced or thought of something and you want to share it with your spouse/friends/social media.  It's exciting or scary or observant - doesn't matter.  You identify this thing happened because you were there and saw or could touch it.  Now imagine you've rushed to your person or phone, describing the scene in detail. All the facts come flooding onto screen.  You re-read the entry because you wanna capture it perfectly.  Now you're at the point of writing how you felt in this moment.  and you're silent.  You re-write then erase line after line because it's not right.  you stare.  There are sensations rapidly hurling throughout your body, reinforcing that yes, you absolutely are feeling something.  But the words are stuck behind some doors you can't unlock.  You beat on them, demanding their release... nothing.  just clicks of the motionless handle from both sides.  You try and ignore the strong laugh of defeat because you know you have made progress and some stupid story shouldn't unravel your hard work.  But it takes everything not to walk away, forgetting the whole idea, wishing it didn't happen again.  You think back on all the dumb things you hoped to share, and then all the way more important stuff you needed to share, and somehow seek encouragement you'll try again.  until next time... That's what the other side of me faces.  sucks.

beat.

So now imagine how stoked I am when I get it.  When after all the struggles and doubts subside and I finally understand & can express this manifestation of an idea!  Holly ballz, it's like I baked myself a personal pumpkin relief loaf and went to town.  How delicious the joy of seeing those confined words come out and play and being totally connected to them because it's truthful, real.  Like almost crying because yes, I did it!  That's the other side of emotional hill.  And over the last 18 months, through talking, journalling & more confessions at the puppy park than I care to count, I've uncovered probably the single most personal component I needed to figure out - the relationship between me & my parents.  or lack there of.


"Here, I made you an emotionally neglected sandwhich."

While obviously there is my lifetime of more to share, here is a side of context chips.  My parents have no malicious intent.  They said I love you, taught me practical lessons about money & death and do care I haven't been bothered by demons or whatever.  Sure, there were many lean years, but we always had food, some sort of clothes, and I never faced inflicted harm.  But for as much as my basic needs were met, they were also empathetically inattentive.  These figures weren't the ones who could show me the world, who could challenge my thinking and at all costs protect me from the bad ones.  Other adults in my life were filling that role.  They became more like the nice, but odd folks at the grocery store.  Cool, let's exchange methodical pleasantries for a few minutes, then I gotta go down the cereal aisle because I'm in a hurry.
  

They were the humans that brought me here, but are not the people I depend on.

~~~

Just like the leaves of fall that don't live in southern California, it's inevitable conversations are transitioning from how much Halloween candy did(n't) you eat, into are you traveling for Thanksgiving, to what are your plans for whatever you celebrate in December.  The underlying orchestra playing along to those exchanges bring to mind some random setlist of youth, laughs & cocktail filled songs shared among the people you love most.  Life is a show and when you pop in the cassette is usually reads MY FAMILY.

Which for most people happily means the show you're born into.

But for me, it's delightfully the show I choose.

~~~

"And for dessert, I also made you a seasonal apathetic cranberry tart."

The holidays are clearly defined in Brandi's Almanac as October, November, December.  And despite my views on religion, politics, and conforming to your definition of normal, that will probably never change.  Sure it's driven by a corporate machine, and yes my parents bought into it and to some extent so have I - although don't get me started on the fact that it's way important for me & Travis to celebrate in our own unique way thus not allowing ourselves to become part of the ugly & conventional engine.  obviously.

But c'mon - making foot ghosts & pipe-cleaner spiders, having your pops simultaneously smoke, curse & carve the giant pumpkin you wanted, frequent try-ons of the plasticized face mask/smock thingys that your mom insists you can't wear until the big night, drawing hand turkeys, spending the day propped up on your elbows staring at the Toys-Я-Us catalog, decorating the house with the same tired paper cutouts your mom suggests go in the place as last year, smelling freshly unfrozened pumpkin pies, having your pops smoke, curse & carve the giant turkey when there's only three of you, feasting in a plaid sweater & red corduroys, making popsicle stick reindeer and wreaths made from those weird acrylic triangle beads, staring up at the decorations inside Bullocks, driving around seeing the warm C9 lights, your pops smoking, cursing & actually cutting down the too hilariously tall for the living room tree, listening to Bing Crosby LPs & country Christmas tapes that your mom insists had to run from beginning to end because don't you dare stop/rewind/flip sides... and of course your favorite animated TV specials.


That was a replay of my 80s Childhood Holiday Spectacular.
Some of it was spent with my parents doing things they liked.
Most of it was spent alone doing the things I loved.

~~~~~

I've spent many years closely gripping those childhood impressions that deep down I still wrestle with leaving behind.  Seems odd, given the history huh.  What about it?  Why do we keep this romanticized curtain in front of youth?  I wish I had that answer because if I did, I'd totally win the helping others jackpot.

But guess what, I let most of that go this year.

Well before I started understanding my relationship with them, I started feeling more and more like I didn't matter.  I wasn't thought of, they weren't curious or seemingly interested in getting to know me.  Either then or now.  And for the holidays, for too long there was an implied obligation when it came to the time I spent in their presence during gobbles and red suits.  They never once offered to come to me, I had to ask.  They didn't want to spend time experiencing newer traditions I enjoyed, it was about their legacy ones.  I'd made exceptions to my happiness in order to appease someone else and that took me away from my dude who means beyond the moon and eventually the puppy that stole my heart.  And that's not ok.

So I was kind, but direct when I told my parents I wouldn't be seeing them for these events.  Halloween no big deal, in 2015 I told them no for Thanksgiving so I'm sure they expected it again, but this year I put the boundary I needed a Christmas for myself.  I'm done playing to this imaginary audience that insits I'm supposed to just accept this behaviour because they're my mum and dad.  You wouldn't allow that from a bunk friend, would you?  The powerful act of declaration was one of the most trust-in-myself presents I've ever given myself.  And having trust with yourself is fucking incredible.

I get to create my own memories with people I love.
I get to make things alongside people I choose. 
I get to say what I need.
I get to be happy.


Now if you're excuse me, I'll be listening to my fucking random playlist of Christmas albums with my two favourite boys and eating my delicious vegan treats.