I was raised by a mother who cared quite intensely what the neighbors thought.  Inside the house, when it was just us, there were some hair raising fights and some ugly scenes.  Outside the house, where other people could see us, we appeared to be the perfect American family.  The disparity used to make my head spin.  How could we all scream horrible things at each other in private and be loving in public?  It didn’t make sense.

What the neighbors or other people would think became the ruling mantra of my life for a number of years.  It didn’t matter whether you were happy or healthy or functioning at all in private, as long as you could put on a facade in public and fool everyone who might be looking.  I became very adept at hiding who I was and what I thought, mostly because I thought who I was would never be good enough and what I thought would never matter.

Finally, when I was in my early 20’s the facade and I both came crashing down.  During my lost year I didn’t care who saw the pain I was in.  It sounds strange, but letting people see what a mess I was felt liberating.  I was finally showing years of hurt, and it wasn’t pretty but it was honest.  I gradually realized that it was a little honesty that I’d most wanted all along.

For the most part, since that year, I’ve stopped worrying what the neighbors think.  I do what I do and let them think what they will.  While I still sometimes find myself wondering what this person or that person might think about something I’ve done, most of the time I just remind myself that most people are too preoccupied with their own lives to worry about what I’m doing with mine.

I haven’t completely shed the “what will the neighbors think” syndrome, but I’m getting closer to that goal.  The more I like myself the less it matters what anyone but me thinks about what I do.  I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to be able to say that.

I’ve never been someone who likes making choices. It might be more accurate to say that, up until recently, I wasn’t someone who made choices. I kind of fell into things. I took a job because someone offered it to me. I moved to a town because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I settled into an apartment because it was cheap and seemed relatively quiet. I took what was presented to me and made the best of it.

Over the past year or so I’ve realized that making choices is part of having the life you want. You have to say yes to this and no to the other. You have to know what you want so you can choose the path that will get you there. Stumbling blindly from pillar to post isn’t going to get you where you want to go. Only calm, deliberate choice will help you achieve your goals.

I guess I’ve always been a person who wants a guarantee that the choices I make will be the right ones. I’ve made a lot of wrong choices in my life. I’ve said yes when I should have said no and no when I should have said yes. I trusted the wrong people. I stayed in situations I knew were never going to get better because choosing to leave seemed like too much work. My life hasn’t been so much a series of plans as it has been a series of accidents. There are days when I’m still not sure how I ended up where I am, or if I’m entirely happy to be here.

A friend of mine, who I am coming to realize is very wise, tells me that you have to trust that the universe is pushing you in the right direction and that you are making the right choices. He tells me that even choices that turn out badly are better than no choices at all. Most of the time I believe him, but part of me doesn’t really trust my ability to make decisions, and is afraid that all my choices will turn out to be the wrong ones.

I guess the thing I need to learn is this: no choice is forever. If I make a bad choice I’ll most likely get a chance to make another choice at some future date. I’m also pretty sure that the more I learn to like myself and the more I learn to trust myself, the more likely I am to make better choices about my life. At least I hope that’s what will happen. Because like it or not, if I want to settle for more I have some choices to make.

When I first started contemplating the idea of this blog my main concern was whether or not it would conflict with my professional life.  I wasn’t worried about my employers reading my blog, I don’t talk about work here very often if at all.  I was more concerned because part of my professional life involves writing and I am known and identified with the companies for which I work.  My concern was that what I write here could bleed over into what I write there.

Eventually I decided that my name was my name and I had a perfect right to write whatever I wanted to write under that name.  The company pays for my expertise and not my name or my persona.  I also figured I could keep the two worlds fairly separate.  Those who read me in my professional life most likely wouldn’t find the personal blogs and vice versa.

Well, it turns out I was wrong about that.  A few people who read what I write professionally have found this blog as well.  On one hand it doesn’t worry me.  There isn’t anything I’ve discussed her that I’m ashamed of or don’t stand behind.  Still, there is the professional Kristine and the personal Kristine.  Professional Kristine doesn’t discuss her concerns and fears and past anger and pain.  Personal Kristine does.

I guess, in the end, I have to believe that anyone who reads what I write here and doesn’t understand why I’m writing it is not someone I wanted in my life anyway.   I also have to believe that those who know me professionally would be able to separate out the personal, which I write here, from the professional, which I write elsewhere.

I suppose it comes down to whether or not I’m going to choose to own what I write here or not.  If I don’t choose to own it, than I probably shouldn’t be writing at all.  Like it or not, all the things I discussed here have played a part in making me the person I am, both privately and professionally.

Given that, it seems like the two personas should be able to mix.

I’ve been stressing myself out a lot lately.  Mostly the stress has been over health issues, which doesn’t make a lot of sense because, right now, everything seems to be going well.  So, basically I’m just making myself nuts for the fun of it, and that has to stop.

I’ve talked about the fact that afib is giving me trouble because there don’t seem to be any solid answers.  No one can tell if and when it will happen again.  No one can tell me that it won’t happen again.  No one can really tell me why it’s happening in the first place.  This is, of course, a recipe that is practically guaranteed to drive my stress levels into the stratosphere. 

I’ve decided that’s not going to happen any more.  My life is much better when I’m not obsessing every second over what my heart is or isn’t doing.  If I’m going to have another episode of afib there’s nothing I can do to stop it.  Worrying certainly won’t prevent it, and might even make it more likely.  So, it’s in my best interest not to worry and stress myself out over something I can’t control anyway.  I need to be relaxed.

I researched some relaxation techniques on the Internet and I’m going to start incorporating some of them into my daily routine.  I think this will be of real benefit.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

I’ve never owned a home. I’m going to be 40 my next birthday and I’ve never had a mortgage or looked at a plot of earth and the dwelling that sat on it and thought “I own that”. Truthfully, up until recently I’ve never been sure owning a home was something I even wanted to do.

Most of my life I’ve ended up in the places I’ve lived by a sort of random fortune. The town in which I was born was one that my parents picked. The town in which I went to college (the first time) was a compromise. I wanted to go to Boston University, my parents didn’t want to pay for that. I ended up enrolling in a specialized program at one of the state colleges in Michigan. I didn’t much like the school (too big) and I really didn’t much like the town of which it was part. I still stayed several years.

After that, at the tail end of my lost year, I had no place to go and no real motivation to make a decision on my own about where I should land. I had relatives in the basic area where I live now, and so I came here. It seemed, to me at the time, at least as good a choice as any other I could have made. Besides, I told myself that I would only be here a while and then I would get on with my real life.

It is now over a decade later and it appears, at least right now, that my real life is here. I have a decent job here. I have friends here. Cute Cardiologist and a hospital with a first class cardiac wing are here. My Dad is relatively close. I know where the grocery and the drug store and the hairdresser I like are all located. While I wouldn’t say I’ve exactly put down roots, I’ve settled in. There isn’t anywhere else that I feel motivated to be, at least not at the moment.

I’d always clung to renting my current apartment for two reasons. One was that the rent was ridiculously cheap. The second was the idea that I might suddenly decide to go elsewhere. The rent is still ridiculously cheap, but the apartment is getting older. It also doesn’t appear that I’m in any hurry to go elsewhere. It appears it’s time to buy a home.

I started looking yesterday. Right off the bat I found a few places that would suit. I have a whole stack of other possibilities I need to go through today. While the prospect of owning a home terrifies me in some ways, it also makes me giddy with excitement. At last I’ll have a living space of which I can be proud.

That, to me, is truly settling for more.

The afib flared up again or showed up again or did whatever afib does when it screws with my heart.  I spent last night and part of today in the hospital.  I had to be cardioverted.  My meds were changed.  Now I’m home and tomorrow I will go back to work as though nothing happened.  The only thing I’ll have to show will be the bruises on my hands from the IV needles. 

I think one of the reasons I’ve had such trouble making decisions lately is the fact that I don’t know what my health will do.  We could get the combination of meds right and I’ll never have another problem.  We could have to explore several options, up to and including surgery before we find a method of stopping the problem.   It could decide, as I diet and exercise, to go away on its own.  There’s simply no way to know.

So I guess my choice is this, I can live my life in spite of this problem or because of this problem.  Of the two the in spite of option appears to me more.  As I envision it, this scenario requires me to pursue my life to the fullest, making accomodations for afib when I’m forced to do so.  Afib doesn’t define me or become who I am, it is simply a medical condition with which I deal.

The other option is to live my life because of afib.  That means I never push too hard to get too tense or eat that slice of pizza simply because I want it.  In this life I’m always worrying.  I take my pulse a million times a day and fret incessently about how things are.  I don’t, at least not in this life, trust the universe or myself.

Of the two, the former sounds like a better choice.

I’ve been faced with a lot of decisions lately.  Where to live, what I want to do and am willing to do to earn money.  How I want to go about getting healthier, and how much work I’m willing to do to stay healthy.  What sort of relationships I want to have, and what I’m willing to give to have those relationships.   The last few months have been chaotic to say the least.

I’ve always been an either/or sort of person.  When my back is truly to the wall I can always find an alternative and pull myself out of the abyss but, when I’m not in such a precarious position I tend to feel as though I only have one choice.  Stay or go.  Yes or no.  All or nothing. 

The problem with thinking I only have one choice is that it often leads me to feeling trapped.  Feeling trapped is one of the things that led to my lost year.  I know, sure as I know anything, that hopelessness and feeling as though I have no options can drag me to the bottom faster than anything else.  That’s just a fact of my life.

A very wise friend of mine helped me reframe some of my decisions and it’s made all the difference.  I was lamenting whether or not I should buy property where I live given that I’m not sure I like the current circumstances of my worklife and I’m not sure what I’m doing now is what I want to continue to do.  My friend pointed out that buying a house only obligates me to come up with the money for the house payment every month.  It doesn’t necessarily tie me to my current employment or my current lifestyle.  He made me see that I’m not trapped unless I choose to be trapped.  It made a lot of difference.

I now understand there’s a difference between no choice and a choice that comes with consequences.  If I don’t like where my life is going, I can change the path, but I have to accept that every change will bring its own set of issues.  My job is to decide which issues I’m prepared to deal with and which ones I would prefer to avoid.

One of the things I’ve always found annoying is people who make choices and then lament the consequences or people who won’t make choices at all.  As much as I’d love to have a guarantee that every choice I make will be the right one, I know there isn’t any such thing.  I also know that I’m tough and I can survive through pretty much anything.   So, I’ve decided I need to start making choices, and dealing with the consequences as they come.   This, of course, means I’m not trapped, and I never was. 

That’s a notion I find very comforting.

I’ve made some spectacularly bad decisions in my life.  I’ll be the first to admit that.  I chose to put the needs of the wrong people ahead of my own needs.  I chose to push people away when I should have pulled them closer.  I chose to go when I should have stayed and to stay when I should have gone.  I know, probably better than most, that decisions have consequences.  I also know that not making decisions has consequences.  In the end, it comes down to which set of consequences you want to deal with least.

Take my recent health issues.  I didn’t make the right decisions there.  I knew I had a heart condition, I knew my heart had already been compromised twice, and I chose to not exercise, not lose weight, and not get help when I was feeling as bad as I ever had in my life.  I could make a lot of excuses for why I made those decisions,  I listened to my doctor, I work long hours, I was under a lot of stress, I hate exercising, the list could go on and on.  It doesn’t really matter why I made the decisions I made, the consequences that resulted were still less than optimum. 

One of the things I’ve learned is that even not choosing is a choice.  It doesn’t matter if you simply choose to drift through life, letting the current take you where it will, you’re still making a choice.  I’ve come to realize that making conscious, well thought out choices is better than letting the luck of the draw or circumstances make the choice for you. 

One of my favorite quotes has always been this:

People are always blaming their circumstances for what they are.  I don’t believe in circumstances.  The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and, if they can’t find them, make them.  ~G.B. Shaw, Mrs. Warren’s Profession, 1893

I’ve made up my mind I’m going to go out and look for the circumstances I want and if I can’t find what I want I’m going to make it happen. Yes, decisions have consequences, and I think the consequences of this decision will be good ones.

For about the past year and a half I’ve been saying I’m going to buy a house.  If you want to get precise, I’ve been saying I’m going to buy a condo, but whatever the property, the expressed intent has been the same.  I want, I tell people, to put down a bunch of money, assume a mortgage and buy a place to live that will eventually be mine forever and ever.  I really do.  I mean it.  Except, perhaps, I don’t.

For the past few months I’ve been trying to figure out why, if I keep saying I want to buy a condo, I’m not doing anything about buying a condo.  I make a reasonable living.  My job is, so far as I know, secure.  I like the area where I live well enough.  Still, in spite of the fact that I keep saying I want to put down roots and buy property I don’t seem to be doing anything about it.  I apply online for mortgages and then don’t make a follow-up appointment.  I contact realtors and then don’t go look at condos.   I keep setting deadlines on my current apartment lease and then keep extending those deadlines just a few more months.  Luckily I have understanding landlords.

For those who believe that actions speak louder than words, it would probably seem evident that I’m ambivalent at best about buying a condo.  There is some truth to that.  The thought of assuming a mortgage and being tied to a home gives me pause.  I’m also not entirely sure this is where I want to spend the rest of my life and, while I know that condos can be and are sold all the time, there is considerably more hassle involved than would be involved were I to leave an apartment. I’m also having trouble with the idea of owing that large a sum of money.  Financial security is still somewhat of a new thing to me. The prospect of going into debt that far causes me more than a little anxiety.

My rational side tells me that buying a condo is the logical thing to do.  I’ll be building equity and getting tax credits and will have the privacy that apartment living, however nice the apartment, just can’t provide.  My irrational side is telling me that I’m not ready to commit to staying here, that my financial security could fade away tomorrow and that my life could change in an instant and then I’d be encumbered with a house.   Even though I know my rational side is right, something still keeps stopping me from making the next step.  Maybe the thing stopping me is just fear, in which case I could power through it.  The problem is that it doesn’t feel like the only problem is that I’m afraid.  It feels, to me, like right now I simply don’t want to make that commitment.

As I’ve said before, part of the hardest part of settling for more is holding on to your idea of more when practically everyone around you is telling you to do something different.  In this case, at this point, my idea of more doesn’t seem to include owning my own home.  My problem is that I don’t know if my reluctance is simply because I’m afraid of the responsibility or because my “more” genuinely doesn’t include owning a home right now. 

Guess I’ll have to do some thinking about that.