When I was growing up, I got it into my head that love was measured by grand gestures. The bigger gesture translated into more love. I suppose this came from hearing all the “damsels in distress” bedtime stories in a modest environment. All those grand palaces, tiaras and Prince Charmings cloaked in the finest duds upon their pristine horses, tend to make little girls growing up in Milwaukee equate the world – a grown up world – with fairy tales. No matter how entertaining the story, I think all these tales should come with a parent follow up at the end; complete with measurable stats that show how important it is to balance a child’s foundation with other tales that promote and celebrate one’s inner strength. But that’s just me.
I think, too, my erroneous affection scale came from observing my parents. Now let me say I know my parents loved each other. I remember witnessing plenty of shared affection between the two of them. Make no mistake, I’ve already been down that road of the bubble breaking and seeing my parents as people, rather than authority. I’m not trying to promote the idea of blaming parents for all your issues (or mine). Adults are fully capable of living out their own dreams and setting their own paradigms based on how much truth they allow themselves to discover. I am merely sharing a disparity that happened in my childhood beliefs to be honest and to get to a point.
Damn those daddy issues…
Some of you old-time Milwaukee aficionados are old enough to remember my father. In the 1960s and 1970s, he was invited into Milwaukee homes via the two daily papers and local television news on a regular basis: first as a reporter, then as Mayor Maier’s right-hand man. He was one of only a few to interview Hoffa; he met Father Groppi on the bridge; he helped survey the land for Summerfest; he made the call to arrest George Carlin (noting that he wanted to be famous, so let’s give it to him); he was invited to the White House to discuss policy; he was one of Bo Black’s early mentors; he ran for Congress against a sitting Congressman of his own party; he left the Milwaukee Metropolitan Sewage District Board after frustrations over his lone, adamant voice against the deep tunnel project (although not an engineer, after reading all the information, he thought it would cause flooding…hmmm, imagine that).
All things pro-Milwaukee, in his day he was a loud bulldog for social justice. He was a good man for the city. But for all the grand political gestures and solutions to help “the little guy,” this larger than life figure in the Milwaukee political scene was not so great at standing up for “the little guy” at home.
As an adult, I have come to see, understand and forgive his shortcomings. He had demons that prevented him from seeing what was what. These demons aren’t any different than those many of us have. A man’s man, he was a pie-in-the-sky dreamer who believed if he said things were okay, then they were. He didn’t let things get in his way, the least of which was becoming a Marquette University walk-on basketball forward with a 5′ 8″ stature.
At the root of his defense mechanisms lay a deep fear of being wrong/looking foolish. I think to him, making a mistake, let alone acknowledging a mistake, made him less than a man. So he often used strong words and a strong voice to make a point (being a lawyer, he had a masters in language manipulation). He would have preferred people fear him in order to get his way, rather than be told he was wrong. If he said things were fine on the Titanic, no one would be able to convince him otherwise. So if he thought our Titanic family was fine…well, you get the idea. While I wish this wisdom would have surfaced before he passed away, I am grateful for the life lessons that got me here. However, growing up with this “little guy” disparity was a source of uneasiness for me when trying to define and set expectations for family and love responsibilities.
Again, stupid daddy issues…
In an earlier blog, I admitted to being a guy’s worst dating nightmare in my past. My expectations at that time were simple: Big love equaled big gestures. My father loved Milwaukee and readily went to the mat for it again and again. Prince Charming brought life back with a kiss. So you want to be with me? Then be prepared to go big or go home.
But this attitude made it impossible for anyone to get too close. I made it so a guy would literally need to offer a piece of the moon to me in order for me to believe he really cared and really wanted to be with me. Anything short was just an obvious attempt to get in my pants. Admitting this, I am now surprised more guys didn’t break up with me sooner in our relationships. I was “that” crazy chick guys talk about.
And while I know this now, here’s the thing: Where in all of this did I stop and ask myself the most important question: “What is it, Katie, that would really make you happy?”
I can tell you this: It wasn’t the pompous guy on a horse I was told would be the answer.
So, after surviving several falling-on-my-face moments, I recognized I needed to rid myself of my ridiculous protecting mechanisms that masked my deeper trust issues. Truth was I set expectations so high in all my relationships, not just romantic, that if you weren’t perfect, you need not apply in my world. And perfect back then held a strict definition. If I would have taken a moment to look at myself in the mirror, I would have seen that under my guidelines, I wouldn’t have been able to qualify as my own friend. But how to begin to put an end to what Niecy Nash would call, “foolishness?” Baby steps.
I first let myself off the hook for being a jerk. I’m not saying I forgot it or that it was easy to do. I mean, who likes to ponder the idea they are not all-that-and-a-bag-of-chips, right? I just try my best to forgive myself and make the conscience effort to reach out and apologize for my behavior to those I hurt or hurt me. Then I let go of the pre-canned idea of what happiness looks like. Everyone doesn’t fit in those square or round pegs society insists on putting us in. Right now my world is an evolving polygon and I like it that way.
Then I started to embrace the idea that if I surround myself with the things I like, the things that make me happy, then I will be happy now. Forget waiting for the big, swooping-you-off-your-feet moments you read about. And please let go of the notion that someone else will come along and solve all your problems, because that is just as much of a fantasy as believing in fairy godmothers. You are a smart and capable cookie and can do it all by yourself – thank you very much.
Take pleasure in, and savor, the everyday things that make you feel good. Don’t discount the power in the little things. Enjoy those just cleaned sheets tonight; sink your teeth into that rich, bacon-y goodness (because as the adage goes, it will make everything better); buy the flower bouquet to put on your table; enjoy making that new taco recipe; buy the dress…and the shoes; take a day off and get in your car and drive; tell that cute guy you’ve never lost the feeling of wanting to be his friend since the day he brought the coffee maker to class (OK that’s a personal one for my Foodie Sunday Boyfriend, but you get the gist). Honestly, nothing makes me happier than having the everyday, shared experiences with great people. And I finally got to the point of realizing I am the one to set the tone to make these little moments happen. Not someone else. Me.
The point? There is nothing better than being comfortable with who you are and what you want in the here and now. Get started on creating your – not a carbon copy of your parents’ – path of seeking out your truth on your terms. Drop the tiara and leave the idea of squared perfection with the singing woodland creatures. Reach out in the world to fearlessly enjoy all the good stuff around you with your Sunday Boyfriends instead. Do it because you recognize you can.
As always, stay comfy and be good to yourself and your Sunday Boyfriends.
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