feelslikehomeagain

[feelslikehomeagain]

Itching

Feels Like Home Again

Entry 3:  Itching

I can’t relate to those who claim they don’t dream at night. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a dream nearly every night of my life. Some are random thoughts made visible, others are a bit more profound, yet only relevant for a day or two. Still, there are those dreams that affect me for the rest of my life: dreams that I’ll never forget. In fact, I still remember my first nightmare. Before falling asleep, I remember walking to my room. I was three years old. My mom and step dad noticed me dozing off during a movie, so they sent me to bed. Moments after lying down, I drifted into dreamland. I remember playing outside in the dream, but not with my usual, happy, care-free spirit. I was anxious. Uncomfortably anxious. In the dream, I could not find the “hider” who was playing hide and seek with me. To make matters worse, it was now starting to get dark outside. I searched the entire playground, to no avail. Then, I stopped to scan my surroundings once more. Suddenly, I noticed a few logs, standing vertically, leaning against the foliage of a couple bushes. Suspicious. I thought to myself, “Why would these logs be standing there?” I went to grab them, determined to find my friend. As I began to tip them over, he ran out laughing. I’d found him! But then, the mood changed.

He turned around and looked down toward my feet. Instantly, he stopped laughing. “You have ants on you!” he yelled. They began to crawl all over me. So much so, that I woke up scratching. Still half asleep, I ran to the family room begging my mom to help get the ants off of me. “You’re dreaming son! There are no ants! It’s just a dream,” she said, consoling me. As I continued scratching my arms, she stopped my hand. Then, she gently rubbed my arms and calmed me down. I looked around, and noticed that I was home. I was safe. The nightmare was over, but the itching had just begun.

Weeks would pass before I realized the residual, psychological effects of that dream. After my fourth birthday, I approached a bunch of flies that were eating some discarded food that’d been tossed on the ground. As I looked closely, I started itching. That’s when it officially started. This time, there was no dream, no unconscious fear. I had no fear at all. I just felt...it. Formication: “The sensation that resembles that of small insects crawling on (or under) the skin when there is nothing there.” For the next three decades, I’d battle this problem. Swarms and nests full of bugs made me itch. Then, it advanced. Clutter made me itch. Later, a few unexpected things triggered it. Even dried glue made me itch once. One day while I was in high school, I sat in traffic, viewing hundreds of cars stuck bumper to bumper, crawling home from work. That made me itch! The sad thing is, it took a very long time for me to even recognize it as a problem. To me, it was just a part of life. I never talked about it. I just...itched. The itching never lasted too long. Moreover, I’d get triggered less and less as I got older. It went from happening once a month, as a kid, to once a year as an adult. Perhaps, I just learned to stay away from things bunched up, things that crawled, wiggled, or simply cluttered. I’m not sure. It had been such a permanent fixture in my life, that I didn’t even realize how odd it was. I didn’t know until a full year into my marriage! I was thirty-two years old. My wife, our two kids, and I came home from dinner. The rain had stopped recently, so the slugs were out. As we walked up the steps on the front porch, we saw dozens of slugs. They were everywhere. “Don’t worry Hunny! Don’t worry girls. Daddy to the rescue!” I got salt, a small shovel, and a plastic bag. I got rid of them all, then came inside and sat down. Unbeknownst to me, I started scratching. I scratched profusely. Then, my lovely wife asked a question that I’d never considered up until that point. She unraveled a knot that I’d been tripping over for years. She unloosed a trap that sneakily caught me again and again, for years. She said, “Papi, WHAT’S WRONG?” What’s wrong? Huh. That’s when it hit me: “This is weird. I’d never been forced to explain this to anyone. I’d never put into words what was happening to me. Yet, now that I’m trying to put the issue into words, I see how unique and strange it truly is. I can see how hilarious it is. Wow.” I told her everything. She smiled, she scratched with me, we talked for a while, then we prayed together. I couldn’t believe how cathartic the experience would be. I couldn’t believe that I’d never thought to pray about it. I hadn’t even acknowledged that something had been wrong. How could I consider myself a deep thinker, yet never realize such a persistent problem? I guess God saved this one for my wife to discover.

After that, I took a shower, and the itching went away. I was home. I was in a place where we carefully guard each other’s blind spots. Hunny brought a whole new meaning to “I scratch your back, you scratch mine.” We constantly observe each other; not that we’re critical or overbearing, but that we want to make sure nothing’s wrong. If there is something wrong, we face it. We fix it. There’s no itch too small to overlook. There’re none too big to scratch away. There’s no such thing as an embarrassing spot when you’re free to be vulnerable. I cleaned the porch to keep her comfortable. She picked my brain to do the same for me. I love my wife. Never be so focused on the finish line that you disregard the health of the other racers Just a little Written Decor from Jay Alexia www.jayalexia.com Mac

[feelslikehomeagain]

Loyalty

Feels Like Home Again

Entry 2:  Loyalty

   More often then not, when a puppy   sits, at its owner’s command, it does so with much anticipation. It plops down with slobbery expectation; the puppy can barely sit still. It’s anxious because it knows that a treat is on the way. As it learns its first few commands, it does not perform them rigidly, then stare straight ahead, focused like a soldier at attention. No.  After hearing and responding to “Sit”, the pup awaits the other side of the transaction. Sit equals snack. Obedience equals reward.    As the dog grows, it becomes better at acting out its commands. Likewise, the owner’s tone and and delivery develop.  His orders transform from a mere list of monotonous, autocratically spoken words into a pet-directed-conversation. I’ve seen owners say “go to the front door”, “wait ‘till I’m finished,” or “calm down”; none of which are standard commands, yet the dog understands perfectly and responds accordingly.      The older the dog, the stronger the relationship.   The stronger the relationship, the more superfluous the treat. The adult dog sits with pride and confidence. It obeys instructions with a calmness not portrayed in its youth. The dog learns to respect and love it’s owner, and it can tell that the owner loves and respects it too. The two become friends. From the human perspective, they become family. From the dog's point of view, they become a pack. The dog listens out of admiration, not greed and expectation.  Treats aren’t a requirement in a pack.    Moreover, the owner doesn’t only wait for obedience to give the dog its favorite food. Favorites come standard in their relationship. Each side simply enjoys the company and companionship of the other, so it’s a pleasure to make each other happy.

   Consequently, all of our interpersonal relationships should imitate the journey of this type of pet owner and his or her puppy. Don’t most of our relationships begin with expectations? Doesn't the baby expect food, care, and shelter from the parent? Doesn't the courted woman expect intimacy, engagement, and uniqueness from her suitor? In all walks of life, we begin our relationships awaiting treats from one another:  treats that are essentially rewards for our own good behavior.  Yet, this type of give-and-take-relationship is not sustainable over time.    At some point, we have to trust that our needs and wants will be met.  We are to become lost in our relationships. We need to be allowed to express our vulnerabilities. Our family is to surround us with such love that our flaws are not constantly met with disappointment and correction.  Our pack is to surround us with such love that we may receive encouragement even when we don’t hold up our ends of the bargain. For my depression, my family shows me love. For my anxiety, my pack boosts my confidence. We support one another through thick and thin, despite perceived inadequacies.  This is none other than the expression of loyalty.      Loyalty is developed. Loyalty is to be cherished, as an edifice of protection that everyone in our circle has erected, together.  Loyalty is the bunker for the marine and the nest for the eagle. It's cornerstone is inscribed with the signature of each member of the pack. We all get the credit for its existence.

During those times of feeling lost, never fail at appreciating the faint footsteps in the distance that guide the way.

Just a little Written Decor from Jay Alexia

www.jayalexia.com Mac

[feelslikehomeagain]

Comfort

Feels Like Home Again

Entry 1:  Comfort

@designecologist

Home is the place where defenses can rest and vulnerabilities can flourish in full expression.  The exterior hustle and bustle shouldn't be welcomed within because it refuses to remove its shoes, and God knows they are filthy.  We'll call everything that should be left outside, work.  From traffic, to cubicles, to shopping, the outside world requires an alertness that should not exist in the our homes.  Not that the cognitive, inquisitive parts of our brains are turned off, when we enter, but rather, our worries and preoccupations are are tabled, for a short while.  

When we reach the welcome mat, even those of us who work remotely should give work a hard stop, figuratively speaking.  Work can have allotted times of the day and designated spaces of the house, but it has no place in the home.  The nature of work is to support the home, strengthen and sustain the home, develop the home.  The two cannot be one in the same.  Would the wings ask the plane for a ride inside?  Do the four tires ask the car to ride in the trunk for the trip?  Outside work is supposed to fuel our inside comfort.  

Moreover the decor of the home should be representative of good feelings.  The decor should highlight memories, loved ones, and emotions, that, when reminisced upon, will flood the mind with a relaxing euphoria.  Such an amazing euphoria; one that all of our senses eagerly leap at the opportunity to activate.  The inside of our homes do not need to be expensive, but fitting.  What makes you smile?  What calms you down?  What is your favorite plant, color, smell, or sound?  The answers to all of the above should be on full display in the place you call home.  

Home MUST be comfortable.   Home is for grins and sighs of relief.  The atmosphere should be so relaxing that even cleaning it alleviating.  Otherwise, it's not home, it's work.  If just being home is hard work, then we'll never have rest.  If it's work, then it's it's trouble, it's sloppy, it's a source of uneasiness, pain, anger, or any other debilitating rock in the sock, flat tire on a road trip, late caterer at a wedding, sneezing waiter at dinner, or clueless professor in school. Uncomfortable Home, is an oxymoron.  Comfortable Home is redundant.  

Never fail at appreciating the cool breeze on a hot summer day

Just a little Written Decor from Jay Alexia

www.jayalexia.com Mac