Today I decided to cowboy the fuck up.
I don’t know which queue I was in when the powers that be were handing out the tough, resilient, never-say-die genes. I know I got my fair share of brain cells as I was able to be relatively lazy with my studies but still get good grades; fast muscle cell twitch allowed me a measure of fame due to my swift sprinting ability; I am almost always the life of the party (that combination of good looks and quick wit never fails...), and when I put my mind to it I can cook up a good feed and have even been known to produce an edible pavlova (the REAL measure of a successful woman!!!)
However, I appear to be spectacularly deficient in the balls department. That is not to say I can’t negotiate my way out of a tricky situation, stick up for myself and anyone else in need of protection, argue proficiently, or be a right bitch at times, but the automatic ‘tragedy’ button in my brain seems to be triggered at the merest hint of trouble. To say my coping mechanisms are disabled is an understatement.
I have pondered long and hard about this phenomenon. My two younger sisters aren’t complete wimps like me, so does this mean that my individual genetic makeup is responsible for my character, or was I parented differently from them? There is interesting research about birth order dynamics, and to some degree this offers an explanation about my character. There is the dethroning of the first born when the next child comes along; there is the inexperience of the parents with the first child; there is the fact that the first child takes their cues from adults, while the younger kids look to the older sibling/s as role models. Feeling that they never measure up to the adults can lead to low self-esteem and self doubt in some first born children. It’s all very interesting and to be honest, it is sometimes comforting to pin your multiple neuroses on some logical and evidence-based explanations.
So how does all this waffle tie in with my Politically Incorrect Guide to Step Parenting? Well the fact is that my partner’s nick-name in his family is The Grinch. The Grinch swats wimps in the same manner one goes at a persistent mosquito. And likewise, after being shunned or scorned or ridiculed for my emotionality, I find myself vanquishing the desire to commit violent crimes upon his tyrannical person! It is difficult to imagine that this man wasn't raised by the devil himself such is his capacity for cruelty and spite. The rule in our house is 'no tears unless there's blood!' Thank god I am still menstruating...
Now while the Buddhists tell us that in order to attain nirvana reincarnation will continue until we have learned all our lessons, one has to question when exactly do we draw the line between struggling on in order to learn these lessons, and when do we say enough is enough. To what degree do we as individuals compromise our sanity and happiness in the hope of reaching enlightenment? Or am I approaching this all arse about face?
One of my favourite quotes (enter Buddhism again)... is
"There is no way to happiness. Happiness is the way.
There is no way to peace. Peace is the way.
There is no way to enlightenment. Enlightenment is the way."
When I think about these words, I find myself having an ‘ah-ha’ moment. An epiphany. At last I can finally cowboy the fuck up! I am not supposed to run from my lessons and challenges. I don’t accomplish anything by whingeing about my situation and wishing things were different. Lessons are everywhere and constant and perfect. I need to embrace them, stop pushing against the laws of nature and the universe, and most importantly, getting frustrated with myself, and my living situation. Mental peace and inner harmony are more forceful than any stern words and scowling face.
Q. How do I know I have cowboyed the fuck up?
A. I feel stronger already!
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