Life is imperfect. I know that’s a ridiculously over-simplified statement that hardly bears saying. But, even so, I’ve fought against that idea my whole life. You see, in spite of life’s imperfections, I somehow thought I was meant to be perfect within it (does that sound familiar to any of you?). Yes, little Jeane Weigel was born to break all the existing laws of physics in order to be perfect. So every time I made mistakes (and you know those times were legion) I beat myself up (again, I’m guessing this sounds all too familiar to many of you).
In fact I’m seriously thinking, now, that this intense need for perfection, my knee-jerk need to be good (which was implanted in my child-psyche along with razor sharp consequences should I fail) may be, at least in part, a significant reason I had a shingles outbreak in the first place (any of you who have been reading the blog for awhile know I’ve been troubled by shingles for roughly 2 ½ years).
And possibly, in part because of this intense drive, I am among one in twenty shingles sufferers who end up with prolonged damaged nerves or Postherpetic Neuralgia, as it’s called. This means I’ve been in serious pain for 2 ½ years. Seriously.
Sometimes the pain has been great enough to test my life view. And, at times, I’ve felt so lost I was prepared to leave this world entirely. I was ready to cut and run. Except for the animals. I wouldn’t abandon them.
Yesterday Kim and I (see previous post A Very Mini Artist’s Colony in New Mexico) headed down the mountain in the dark of predawn…
… (with a stop at The Pantry, one of our favorite Santa Fe breakfast spots)…
… to go to the UNM Hospitals Clinical Neurosciences Center in Albuquerque.
I had an appointment with Dr. Koshkin who was, in my mind, supposed to cure me—to somehow take away or lesson the pain. He was supposed to do this for me. And, instead, he told me to stop fighting—to accept that I’m going to live with PHN for the rest of my life, in all likelihood, and even if he did the last remaining procedure I haven’t yet tried and, even if it was successful, I’ll certainly have to live on pain meds for the rest of my life anyway.
He said I needed to know that so I could stop fighting and accept it. Wow.
That, in a nutshell, is the major lesson of my life being handed back to me. Here is this medical professional, this wonderful scientific specialist, telling me in plain English to get back at learning what I came here to learn: to stop fighting life and, instead, accept it in whatever imperfect form it may take. To stick, no matter how hard that might get. That it is my work to do, not his.
I say it again. Wow.
I live with this little red pit bull named Scrumpy. She came to be with me about 4 months ago, in from the dark woods, covered with deep, infected bite wounds—a real sorry little bundle of a dog. You should know that I’ve been a big proponent of pit bulls for decades now, firmly believing they’re great, intelligent dogs that have been given a bad rap. And I know that’s true. But what I’m also seeing first hand is that breeding does, in fact, dictate something. As my vet said, pit bulls were born to kill. And, while that isn’t exactly true, they were originally bred for blood sports such as bull-baiting and bear-baiting in pits for human enjoyment (aren’t you sometimes just so ashamed to be human?), there is an inherent aggression bred into them. Which is why I suppose human beings have been turning them into guard dogs and fighters.
But here is this dear little lost soul, so earnest in her desire to do right, to be the good dog (that sounds vaguely familiar)…
… but who also has a streak in her that is hard-wired to attack cats—my cats. No, this won’t work. Twice I tried to give her back to my vet so she could be placed in a good home. The last time Dr. Ramsay sent me researching pit bull rescue sites. And the fact is this: in New Mexico anyway, a pit bull is destined, the greatest percentage of the time, to be badly mistreated. And a pit bull with behavioral issues will be put down. It’s as simple as that. So there it is. I’m her last chance.
I looked into those sincere red-brown eyes and decided I couldn’t turn my back on her. She clearly wanted to do what I wanted her to do, so it was up to me to figure out how to make my desires known to her.
She and I, together, would begin the project of rewiring her cat-hostile brain. And, at the same time, I would have to keep my cats safe while she was learning. We would all do the work together.
But the bottom line was that I would stick. Period. No other option.
And then there is my relationship with Kim. You all know how important he and his friendship are to me, how much a part of my life he’s become. But ours isn’t the shape I thought a relationship would take. It’s different. Completely different. And it’s not perfect—there it is again that attachment to perfection—it’s not always easy. So that “quitter” part of me sometimes wants to cut and run.
But something vital I’ve come to know is this: no matter how hard it is to hold on sometimes, we are not disposable. Our selves, our dogs, our relationships, are not to be shunted aside when they become too difficult. We, all of us, have something. Not a one of us gets through this life without our share of sorrow and pain, without the whole of the human experience. I know there are times to let go and times to hold on. Perhaps getting older gives us the grace, the wisdom, to know which is which.
Here I am back in Albuquerque, facing that imperfect news and I look out the car window and up there…
… far up ahead, up in those snowy mountains in the distance, sitting on a ridge line on the shoulder of those Sangre de Cristo Mountains, at 8500’, is my home.
My home. It sits there waiting for me, in the middle of what used to be Nelson Martinez’s family’s alfalfa field, pushed up against the land grant (as if for quick escape), in this rugged little village called Truchas. It is an old and battered village, strong and tough. But she holds my heart in her work-hardened, dirt-cracked hands. And I find she is also kind.
So, carrying this saddened spirit within me, as I reach for her succor, her compassion, I lean into her silence. And I come to know that this wise old one that has known more suffering than I ever will, is welcoming me home. There, also, is the imperfect dog, are the imperfect relationships, waiting for me and it is almost funny how the universe must be smiling at me now, at the (yes, damn it) imperfect me, at showing myself to me.
And I know I will stick. With the village, the house, the dog, the friendships, with me. It is, perhaps, the coming of a wise old time in me, when I know it’s better to stay than go, to not fight.
As Dr. Koshkin said, I need not to fight anymore. And that simply has to be an inside job. I need not to fight anymore.
I am. It is…
… maybe not the way I thought I/it would be, should be, but nonetheless here anyway.
So let me take that next step… imperfectly… into the shared human experience I’ve been struggling so hard to avoid, and leap, this time eyes wide open, and suppose the net MAY appear?
Or not… And, if not, we’ll pick up the pieces and go from there.
Love to you all,
Jeane
XOX, All my love to you Jeane 🙂 You are indeed perfectly you. There is no doubt about that in my soul. Peace and acceptance be yours – along with great draughts of gratitude.
Thank you for your thoughts, your words, your honesty. I needed to read them today, badly I was married for 49 and a half years, me, an imperfect woman to an imperfect man. But we decided we were worth it and that there was no such thing as a perfect marriage or relationship when it involves us humans. But he has been gone eighteen months tomorrow and I still so grieve for that imperfect man who I loved so deeply. I am beginning to realize that this sadness is always going to be a part of me and surrendering to that is a hard one but necessary. It is indeed an inside job. I loved also when you wrote about all that is not disposable…A good, good piece of writing that I for one could identify with in tears of understanding. I pray that as you lean into the pain it begins to lessen it’s grip on you. Good luck with all and especially pup’s and cats relationships!
Hello Carol–I’m so sorry for your loss and these anniversaries can be terribly hard. But I’m glad my words offered some comfort to you. I think it’s amazing that you understand you must surrender to this sorrow of the heart you carry within you just as I must surrender to the physical pain of my body. All pain is the same I think. And, yes, it is an inside job for each of us. No one can do this work for us. It is such a blessing that you and your husband understood, when you were still very young, that imperfect people and relationships are worth holding onto. You had over 49 years. That’s so much more than those of us who are learning this critical lesson late in life have had. Bless you today and please know I carry you in my heart.
Thank you, Jeane for your sensitive and kind response. Your blessing I will hold close to me as I hold him today as I do every day.
As an artist too, I sometimes strive for perfection. Perfection in lots of things – art, life, relationships.
Not there yet, and as I get older, I realize, I don’t need to be perfect. I just need to BE.
I love your little corner of the world. I drive that little road as often as I can, looking for inspiration.
It is truly at the top of the world for me.
I have chronic knee pain that I think can be fixed, but I am stuck – not wanting to take the leap.
Like you, I will stick.
It is such a fine line we walk between sticking and finally knowing when it’s time to let go, if that time ever comes. I know two people who had knee replacements. It was a very difficult surgery, with a difficult period of healing. But their lives were dramatically changed once the healing was done. Blessings to you on your quest to just BE. Such a huge lesson for all of us.
I think you’ve described things here that just about anyone who has reached the mid-life point, and perhaps even passed it, can identify at a heartfelt level. Somehow what you’ve written here seems a perfect (!) companion to your recent description of that other early morning trip to Santa Fe–I’m so glad I’ve had the chance to read both. The Truchas area has meant a lot to me for several decades; now, because of the lovely and sometimes challenging things you share, I know that driving that fantastic road will always mean a whole lot more.
What a lovely compliment, Mark, that driving this road that has always meant so much to you, will mean even more now. Thank you.
I hadn’t drawn the line between those two posts but you’re absolutely right that they are companion pieces, aren’t they? “… a reminder to all of us to take more care, to understand what is precious and to know that our actions have consequences.” Thank you for drawing that correlation.
Jeane, I read this, set it aside, came back a few days later and read it again. It’s one of the most Real stories I’ve had the pleasure of reading in a very long time. Thank you.
It’s funny how we come to a place like this thinking it’s for one reason or another and then, bam! It hits – not always pleasantly and certainly not as expected. The process can be painful, literally and figuratively, but the rewards…a life more fully lived.
All the best to you and thanks again.
Farishtah
PS Maybe one of these Sunday mornings we’ll find ourselves at Sugar Nymphs for brunch at the same time. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee 🙂
Thank you Farishtah. Yes, we can think and think and think we know something about life when a whole new something opens our eyes (hearts) even wider. The only thing I’m beginning to know about life is that we just never really KNOW.
hello Jeane! I read every word! I have been through these feelings even with a pit bull that we had as a pet! I made the same decision – exactly- I was his hope- but it didn’t work out- He got lose and bit a neighbor. I was threatened with 1,000 dollar fine every day he stayed alive / per day! I had to put him to sleep. I didn’t want the risk of him hurting anyone else. Yet in my home he could lick my baby grandson in the face. Sadly – I agree – he was not wired correctly and it was not his fault , nor mine! and I agree with the problem of relationships. I am married to my husband , Rick, and it is difficult at times. but I have endured and it is growing better – and then there are off days! …..and my dearest friend, Tom, just died suddenly in his sleep – and I had hoped to be friends with him into my 80’s . We had been friends since I was 12 1/2 – met January 7th I think – 1967- His birthday was January 14th – and I never forgot it – a month before Valentine’s day- This year – he suddenly died a week after his birthday – on January 21st. Total Shock! We both loved each other the way brothers and sisters do. We had the best conversations. Suddenly life ends. and it is hard to imagine. Well we all know this but we don’t realize it . So I love all that you wrote and please stick it out ! I have pain everyday- yours is probably worse- but you are a very important person to this world. I hope and pray your health improves!! Much Love , Alison DiPietro
I am so very sorry about the loss of your dear friend–and the loss of your dog some years earlier. Both are heart breaking. Yes, we all know we could lose our loved ones at any time. Would that that could help us behave better toward each other. I am endeavoring to love my life, pain and all, a day at a time as they say…