Showing Up

Things are good.  Well, my things are good.  Other people’s stuff is not so good.  Those other people are my people. 

My tribe.

My folks get tough when the tough gets going.  We rally.  We show up.  We hug and eat hotdish in church basements.  Just being there is highly valued.  You visit the sick and bury the dead.  Period.  End of sentence.

When shit goes down, you show up.

My life is very happy and mellow in Colorado.  I have a good job, a few good friends, and Bobaloo.  I get to be alone quite a bit.  I feel detached from the place I am from, but not the people.  I welcome the autonomy and calmness of my life.

I go back and emotions get triggered.  Being around the people I love most is overwhelming.  All of my awkwardness creeps out and to ease it, I have a few cocktails.  Traveling, too many cocktails, and not enough sleep can bring on mania or at the very least tremendous anxiety.

By the end of the trip I am in shutdown mode.  It is exhausting being on the airplane and knowing you have to pick up the pieces again once it lands.

Showing up.

Showing up means losing my shit.

Shit I’ve worked really hard on.

Is it selfish not showing up to preserve your own peace of mind?