#gratitudeNow: In which I read the grapefruit

So sometimes my daily contemplation sort of happens to me, instead of being something I go out of my way to do. Today it happened in my kitchen, a few minutes ago.

Red grapefruit, a couple of bowls, and a ridiculous amount of spoons, along with my trusty digital scale

I decided I wanted some red grapefruit along with the lovely poached egg breakfast sandwich I had made myself. So I get out this big plastic bottle of red grapefruit (not pictured), which had the dregs of the last of its contents, from my fridge. I put the bowl on the scale, and get my first spoon, the one I plan to eat said grapefruit with, out of a drawer, and begin scooping the grapefruit into the bowl, so I can weigh it.

This is so I can get an accurate calorie count, because I journal my food.

Well, this is a pain in the ass. So I decide to trade up to a big old ladle size spoon, to make the job go quicker. This is when the beginnings of my contemplation begin to form.

“Huh,” I think to myself, “part of being mindful is paying attention to how you’re doing things. Because the right eating spoon in this case is not the right serving spoon. I get those last bits of grapefruit into the bowl. It’s not nearly a satisfying amount of grapefruit. So I go grab the new smaller bottle of grapefruit from the fridge.

But of course, the big ladle size spoon doesn’t fit. So I set it aside, laughing. I get a larger-than-the-first-spoon size spoon out, and go to serve out some more grapefruit. Only to find that the bowl has sat on the scale too long, and NOW, it’s switched itself off.

Which means I need a second bowl to weigh empty, and pour the contents of the first bowl into. Ridiculous. But I do it.

So, now I’ve got my bowl of grapefruit. (157 g, if you care. Even if you don’t.)

I go to put the other bowl, the other spoons into the sink to wash them off, and return the grapefruit to the fridge. I zap the barcode of the new bottle, which finds the food in my app quite handily. Except in the app, there’s no setting for measuring in grams.

I begin to laugh.

Based on the estimate on the nutrition label, about serving size, calories, and yes grams of weight, I estimate that the portion I’ve spooned out is roughly .75 cups.

Close enough.

That was when the rest of the contemplation slid home, with a solid THUNK into my brain.

Here’s what I see about this whole silly endeavor:

First, that part of mindful practice is doing the best with what you have. Sometimes, that means you absolutely can tinker with the tools you use, the goals you have, the situation in front of you, to get the most optimal outcome.

But second, that even with all that bending and adapting, sometimes, you just arrive at a circumstance where you give it your best effort, and move on.

That’s not just true in measuring red grapefruit: I think that it’s true universally. It’s true in efforts, relationships, arguments. Because to do otherwise is to become mired in expectation.

Third though, is that no effort, no experience is wasted. Because who I am right now is in part informed by everything I’ve ever done before.

Maybe that means that the next time I spoon out grapefruit, I’ll just eyeball it, and call it good.

I’ll see when I get there.

#gratitudeNow: Cloudy with a chance of clear skies

So, a while back I wrote a post about a troublesome former friend of mine, Storm.

Not too long after I wrote the post, I bumped into Storm at a social event.

I gave them the most awkward of hugs, what I call a “mailbox hug”. That’s the sort of hug you give someone you are deeply uncomfortable with.

At the time, I didn’t bring up my feelings. It just was not appropriate.

But a few weeks later, their spouse, whom I’ll call Cloudy, reached out to me over the internet, and we had a conversation.

Cloudy asked me if I had a problem with Storm. And I said that yes, indeed I did. I said that while it was no secret that we had different politics, that wasn’t it. I explained that I have no place in my life for people who glory in cruelty, who enjoy being unkind to others and watching them suffer.

Cloudy said they understood. That it didn’t make them happy either. We ended our chat, and that was that.

Until a few months later, when I saw Cloudy expressing and condoning attitudes that agreed with Storm, and enabled them, really. I realized that Cloudy’s dislike for Storm’s attitudes was sort of hand waving, and enabling. And I made the choice to quietly not follow them on social media any more, or have them in my life.

Then… I saw them. We attended a multi-day event together. I nodded politely to both of them at various points. Then at one point, I actually ran into Cloudy, and we had a very awkward conversation.

At first, we spoke about trivial things. Life events, small talk, minutiae. At one point though, Cloudy asked me earnestly, “Have I offended you in some way?”

I shook my head, and offered to sit down for a few minutes and speak with them about things. I explained that in the past, since I’m a human being like anyone else, I had made the choice to give a pass to people who did some Very Bad Things™, because I liked their partner, and wanted to see them.

But I wasn’t comfortable with that anymore.

I explained that Storm’s attitudes and actions aren’t okay. Not even a little bit. And that while I understood that some terrible things had happened to them, that was not a pass to act so cruel, to enjoy others suffering.

Cloudy said that “I am not my spouse” and I agreed. But I said, there was simply no way for me to have Cloudy in my life without it being a tacit approval for Storm. I said that I don’t chase people, and that I don’t see that I have any right to ask anyone to change in any way. Not Storm, and not Cloudy for being with Storm.

I said that I didn’t mean to cause Cloudy any harm, that I didn’t want them to be sad, that the whole thing was unfortunate, but that things are just the way they are.

Cloudy cried. And said that they would stop bothering me then. And walked away from me.

I can’t say I’m happy about that. I understand that it’s a terrible thing to lose a friendship.

But I do have peace. I’m firm in my convictions. I’m grateful that I was able to be clear, and make as compassionate a break of it as I could.

#Important: Hi, Fidelity

So I have a daily practice of meditation and contemplation. I thought I might share with you my contemplation for today. It’s about fidelity.

Let’s start with a definition and how I interpret it.

Fidelity: noun

1. strict observance of promises, duties, etc.: a servant's fidelity.

2. loyalty: fidelity to one's country.

3. conjugal faithfulness.

4. adherence to fact or detail.

5. accuracy; exactness: The speech was transcribed with great fidelity.

6. Audio, Video.the degree of accuracy with which sound or images are recorded or reproduced.

In my head I sort of munge together all six of these definitions .

To me, fidelity requires me to understand my own values, my own moral and ethical requirements in order to keep to them with conviction.

And that’s kind of a big deal.

Lately with Donald Trump in the White House, with the pandemic raging out-of-control, with institutionalized and systemic racism more virulent than ever, with police brutality running largely unchecked, fidelity is crucial.

As anyone who knows me well will tell you, I’m kind of a pain in the ass.

I constantly question everything. I’m not a fan of the status quo. I don’t do things because anybody else does them.

So I have this strongly held belief in non-duality. I believe that every living thing is part of the same thing. Harm done to you, is harm done to me as well. Harm done by me, same deal. I am the universe expressing itself in this place in this time in this body. So is everyone else.

That puts me squarely in the place of trying to reduce harm. I can’t eliminate it. That’s just not possible. But I can do my best to reduce my “harm footprint“ as much as I can.

How that manifests itself has to do with my own fidelity to those values. I tend to be kind and compassionate as a default. I favor inclusion over exclusion. I am 100% willing to be called on my own shit. I always recognize there’s room for improvement.

I’m not perfect. I also sadly embrace the truth that there isn’t any such thing as perfect in the human condition.

I can be lazy, self-centered, sometimes thoughtless. It’s okay though. Part of my mindful practice, part of that discipline is recognizing I’m going to fall down and that it’s up to me to pick myself back up again .

Part of my contemplation about fidelity has to do with that part of the definition about clarity and detail. It takes time, effort, and energy for me to understand my own values. It also takes time, effort and energy to absorb those of other people around me.

And let me be clear about what I mean by that.

I mean that I need exposure to a person, to what they say and do to get a sense of who they are and what their values are. I also mean that when someone demonstrates a quality that is in line with my values or which I admire I tend to move toward them and try to emulate them.

But there’s another definition too. I also mean that I need time to figure out when there is a disconnect between myself and that person. That last part it’s often really hard for me. I have abandonment issues and I don’t like goodbyes. As I have gotten older I am learning that goodbyes are OK, often necessary.

Which brings me back to the whole fidelity thing, and to the current state of affairs in our nation. I don’t wish ill upon anybody. I’m generally not an “us and them” type.

I remember when Osama bin Laden was killed and people were parading in the streets celebrating. I didn’t celebrate. He was an inhuman monster, and should have rotted in a jail cell for the rest of his life.

I don’t believe in the death penalty for anybody.

I recognize that this makes me quite separate from most people, and an oddball. There are circles in which it would make me a pariah.

I still stick to it though because of fidelity to my values.

Here’s the deal: there are people who are pro-Trump for all sorts of different reasons. I don’t care what any of those reasons are.

Well that’s inaccurate . I care greatly. I figure the people who support him are either ill-informed, fearful, biased, selfish, or have been duped. I have this shortlist of people who I keep in my life who are pro Trump. They’re on the list because they have great meaning to me as people and the pain of losing them in my life outweighs my discomfort at their choice.

It’s a very small number.

Generally, when someone identifies themselves to me as pro Trump, or their actions reveal that this is so, or they even give Trump supporters a pass saying that it’s just politics I turn away from them. I don’t wish them harm, I just remove them from my life.

Because that choice to enable the great harm that that man and those who support him do is contrary to my fidelity. It’s not that I’m a Democrat and I want my side to win. I don’t have a side. There are no sides, to me. Sides are for contests and sporting events.

In my opinion people often treat politics like some sort of intellectual exercise. I’m known to have a fondness for food metaphors. People often treat politics like picking a restaurant. Do you want sushi or to go out for steak?

And sometimes politics are like that. What should we spend the county budget on?

But certainly not this time and certainly not in this place. This is more like asking does everyone deserve to eat? Or who gets food and who dies?

Let me be as clear as I can here too.

This is my contemplation that I am sharing with you. I’m not trying to convince you of anything, not trying to persuade you, not threatening you with the consequence of being booted out of my life. I’m taking a process I do daily and sharing it where you can see it. That’s all.

Over the past almost 4 years I have slowly but surely turned away from many people. I’ve also taken the time, focus, energy, and even money I would have spent on those people and put them towards other things, other efforts, and other people whose values share fidelity with my own.

#gratitudeNow: I'm not everybody's cup of tea

Or mug of coffee or whatever.

Actually, this particular blog post isn’t even about me, per se, but a dear friend.

Several months ago, this friend approached me about a problem. They were finally feeling their best self, living their authentic life. They felt in touch with their kinks, were getting social in the best ways, and feeling great about it.

And then, some “well-meaning” person broadsided them. In the interests of anonymity, I’m not going to reveal anything about either party, even gender. So let’s call my friend Oolong, and the well-meaning person Pekoe.

Pekoe said something to Oolong to the effect of, “you’re being super creepy and objectifying people, and everyone thinks so but won’t tell you.”

This devastated my friend Oolong. Who is sex-positive, feminist, compassionate, and kind.

It was also, as it turns out, completely untrue. Pekoe was having some sort of moment. They had come completely unhinged, and proceeded to make a whole lot of accusations about a whole lot of people, all in one go.

Okay, so why am I writing about this then?

Well, Oolong and I sat down for a virtual cuppa this morning (because Covid) and they revealed this truth to me.

“Ever been relieved and angry at the same time? That was me last night and still a little this morning.”

So we sat down and we talked it out.

And here’s what I said to them about it.

“First, and most importantly I’m relieved, sorrowful, and angry right along with you.
Second, this just doubles down my position on kindness and compassion as my default.
Third, this thing cements what I have been saying for a long time, about not chasing people. Looking for vetting, benediction, validation, or blessing from another human being is a brittle strategy.

Because people are fucking broken And in their dysfunction often do some pretty grievous shit to one another So a huge problem with chasing is that you’re reaching out for something you need from a source that may not have it Because people are messy bags of slop.

Some days I am in the zone, and got it going on. Other days I’m a damn mess So getting hard and fast guidelines from another bag of slop, to help me be less of a bag of slop... Probably not my best choice

So… I’m not saying to not seek out validation from others. Just to be selective and judicious about it. It’s what Brené Brown says.  Being vulnerable to somebody else, that’s an earned thing. People have to show their worth to me to be worth wanting to be vulnerable to them.”

The whole exchange left me feeling good about helping my friend, and just more resolute about my positions on things.

Yes, it’s nice to be liked. But I don’t require it. I’m not for everyone.

That’s a comfort.

#gratitudeNow: The Top Bag... for my friend Manuel

“You come home from a relaxing vacation and realize you have the wrong suitcase.”

So this morning, my friend Manuel messaged me, something he often does. Today it was with a writing challenge.

Well, this was just what I was looking for.

I’m deep, deep into working on my behavior app, WeMinder, and getting to a really tough part.

So I could use a small distraction. I’ve had sudden fiction (short-short stories, 500 words maximum) on my mind lately.

So when he messaged me about this prompt, asking for a word count, I suggested 500 and I was all-in.

Here’s what I came up with:

---

The Top Bag

— by Mako Allen

The mistake had started with that last strawberry daiquiri.  The ship was forty-five minutes out of port, his bag was packed, and despite it being the last morning, the bartender manned his usual post near the breakfast buffet.

“What the hell,” he’d thought.  Then had not one, but two for breakfast.  His shoulders were a little crisp with sunburn.  As the cool drinks ran down his throat, that sharp ache receded into a dull murmur.

He’d lumbered off the ship, pulling his black, cloth, wheeled suitcase behind him.  After a short cab ride, and an uneventful flight, he’d arrived in DC, and waited blearily by the carousel along with everyone else on the flight from Miami.

Maybe it was the dehydration, the sunburn, or the nap on the plane, but Leo was definitely feeling the beginnings of a hangover.

He grimaced as a loud klaxon sounded, and a whole flood of bags tumbled onto the carousel.  Including two cases which were nearly identical, stacked one atop the other.  Of course, he thought, that pattern of scuff marks made it clear which bag was his.  So he took the top bag.

It was only after a $47 Uber ride, only after he had carefully unbuttoned and peeled off his Hawaiian shirt, that he realized he had made a mistake.

There was no luggage tag.  And the bag was locked, with a combination lock.

Well, shit.

He called the airline, after fishing in his pockets for his bag check receipt, and spoke to someone in lost-luggage.  They assured him they’d track down the case, and get back to him.

Leo sat on the bed, idly fumbling with the lock.  On a whim, he tried a few combinations.

0-0-0-0 was a bust, as was 1-2-3-4.

He snorted immaturely, and tried 0-0-6-9.  The lock popped open with an audible “click!”

Knowing he was only compounding his mistake, he unzipped the bag, and looked inside.

And gasped.

If this had been his bag, the top part would have contained his dirty t-shirts, nestled around a bottle of coconut rum.  But in this bag it held… whips.  Well, some were whips.  They had long stringy tails, and thick braided handles.  There were also paddles, and some sort of split thing that looked like a tongue.

The bottom of the case held very shiny black clothes, a corset, fishnet stockings, and impossibly long high heeled leather boots.

Deep inside one boot was tucked a pair of clearly-not-clean panties.  Leo held them to his face, sniffing in deeply, and felt himself grow painfully erect.

He fished around inside the other boot, and came up with a business card.

“Mistress Jacqueline” it said, listing a Virginia phone number.

He grabbed his cellphone.

After one ring, a woman answered.  “Hello?”

“M.. Jacqueline?” he asked.  “I think I got your bag by mistake.”

“How did you get this number?” she asked.

Oh, fuck.