clarity feels good

In the past few days I've initiated 3 difficult, awkward and potentially painful conversations. I felt the need to be direct and honest in order to preserve the relationship that I had with each person, and to give them information they needed to be able to make decisions for themselves.

It's always so hard to bring up difficult subjects. Fear of what they'll think of me or the damage that it might cause to what we have so nearly stops me. It certainly has stopped me in the past. But I learn over and over that it's so much better to be clear and direct -- and that generally my relationship is improved. If not, if they're not someone who I can be open with, then perhaps they're not someone that I want to have personal conversations with at all.

This impulse towards honesty is moderated, however. As I talked about with one person this weekend, honest is different from brutal honesty. Honesty that comes from a place of love, from caring about the other person, is very different from "I'm going to tell you this because I want to talk no matter whether or not you can hear it." I strive to stay away from the selfish version of honesty.

I didn't know how or when to bring these topics up, but knew that they had to be discussed. I gave up trying for the perfect time in favor of not causing undue delay. I was, in each case, afraid. But then I was rewarded with excellent conversations and a deeper closeness afterwards. Today I feel weights removed from my shoulders and smiles coming easily.

I am amazed by how much my life is changed by trying to consciously surround myself with people who want to have this kind of clarity and openness in their lives. I feel very lucky to be in the world that I'm in right now.

Clockwise. Counterclockwise. Destroy.

This morning I irreparably damaged one of my nicest pans by turning the burner on to "high" when I was finished instead of "off." I was alerted by the pungent smell of plastic -- which I initially dismissed, attributing it to the ever-present construction next door. I finally realized what was happening and dashed into the kitchen to see the sad sight of the handle forlornly slumped over, bleeding out its toxic innards onto the once-clear glass cover.

Yesterday afternoon I was telling co-workers that my brain has become too fragmented. I recalled H's insightful comment that my life was understaffed. It is becoming clearer that my being a solo act in all things is not optimal.