divinewrites

You know, I hate cling wrap. The plastic stuff that comes in the yellow box with the little saw teeth thing on the side…You’re supposed to rip off a perfect sheet of clingy stuff and wrap it neatly around whatever left over is sitting before you. Screw that. I never rip off the right amount, it folds itself in a weird configuration, never seals the stupid leftover, and I throw the damn stuff on the floor…instead I go in search of at least one plastic lid that will fit the blasted butter container I have repurposed. I hate cling wrap–it distracts me from the task at hand, making me concentrate on something I am never going to master. I wind up pissed at the wrap for not fitting, myself for being sucked in to the madness again, the leftovers for not being consumed, and the junk drawer for not having the needed lid.

Quite productive, eh?  NOT.

So, cling wrap, what are you smokin now?  Well, in recent reflection I discovered another addiction which I admit I am not fond of admitting.  I cling, cling, cling to the past–with everything that I have.  I also cling to a supposed future that I cannot see, touch, feel, admit, or understand.  Yet, cling I do.

Just like the stupid container….I know darn well that no matter how many times I wrestle with cling wrap, I will never get it to do what I want.  BINGO.  That just hit me.  No matter how many times I hash, hash, and rehash a past, it will not change.  The outcome has come and gone, it was what it was….move on?  Uh, no—not me.  I bring the damn container full of its contents..sometimes spilling over the rim–sometimes barely enough to save, and try to fit another lid or another strip of flimsy plastic over top.  Will this change it?  Will it change the current situation?  No, not in the least.

I shove the container into the fridge, unwrapped and open to the ravages of the chill of the environment, believing that it will survive.  Next time I go looking for it to satisfy my hunger in the here and now, I find it cruddy, crusty, and crude.  There is nothing that can resurrect what it once was.

Just like past hurts, ideas, philosophies, or ways of living; I dredge them up, trying to apply the same systemic sickness to a current situation, and find it ill-fitting.  Why should I be surprised?  It did not fit well in the first place.  I hated it then, what makes me think that today, decades later it would be any different?  Bang my head, I continue.  The answer is irritatingly simple–or not so simple exactly.

If I can continue to dredge and mull, trying to remake the past, I don’t have to concentrate on making today fit.  Scratch that.  I don’t have to examine how I might fit in this time and in this place…I don’t have to confront the fact that what I am doing may not cover the container either.  I can relax (huh?) in knowing subconsciously that when I look for the leftovers later, they will be spoiled.  I can nod my head, satisfied (sickened) that what has always been will be the current outcome.  I don’t have to admit that things could be any different.  I can cling to what I know to be true, whether it is spoiled or not.  How sick is that?

One example I can readily think of is the tradition of Holidays.  It is no secret that I hate Holidays…most of them actually.  I hate the getting dressed up, (even tho I am a snazzy dresser) waxing poetic and smiling–oh so glad to be around throngs of family who may or may not be putting up a fantastic act of fakeness.  Let’s forget the fact that I am doing the same thing….fake it till ya make it, right?  Well, one thing that I do not carry into the here and now is that of tradition–or even an excitement for celebration.

Note that I have 2 young boys, my family that I can teach, love, and tailor any way I believe–(as long as it does not destroy everyone in its path)  Because in my past, there were few if any traditions, this forces me to slip an ill-fitting cover over the present and what a holiday could be.  Be aware that I said COULD be….(note that ME!)  So, instead of embracing creating a new reality, I sit, mucking in the past, refusing to move myself forward toward a new reality.  Not only do I get smug satisfaction that what was has now visited the present, I do not have to risk anything new.  Realize too, that my children know nothing different from what happens for them in the here and now.  Forget that I have the chance to create new traditions based on who we are as a family and focused on what we believe is important.  Thus I can continue to stir the embers of a past that pissed me off then, and still pisses me off today…because the stupid wrap never fit.

Why pissed?  I knew the container held or could hold something wonderful—a chance to share something not only now after consumption, but in the future–if well-preserved.  Since that was never the case, I resign to the fact that it would never be.  Addicted to clinging to a past that never fit, and will never fit…and truthfully, I never wanted it to.

DUH!!!  So, I push away anyone who might be offering a new main course, challenging me to discard leftovers which have long since dried out or gone moldy.  Really?  I want to pick up the green fuzzy bowl and ingest spoiled remains?  I want to subject my children to the same?  NOOOOOO!!!! I scream inwardly that was never my intent.  It wasn’t?  Isn’t it easier to leave things as they are, not venturing  into foreign land?  Isn’t it easier to stay safe behind a spoiling crumb of past than to feast on turkey and all the trimmings?

This year I attempted a couple moments…they did not fail dismally.  True, I do not have much of a frame of reference to change tradition..but I made an effort.  I worked on building gingerbread houses with my children and my neighbors ( their children are like kids of my own).  After taking a spill on the ice, I proceeded to break into pieces the makings of our house.  The fear of failing in that moment was so present, I almost turned around and went home.  There stood my children, waiting to head toward what I had promised.  Do I let them down, resorting to that which is comfortable for me?

I walked into the unknown and the outcome was not horrendous.  I did not create perfect houses, we made a mess, but there was laughter….a new container was offered to me and I accepted.

Cling to the mold?  Wrap up the scraps of a meal previously consumed?  Accept and feast on a new reality, offered warm, comforting, and in the present?  This time, I feasted.

Shalom,