Ironic Advent 2017 Meditation #2:The Dialectical Behavior Therapy Skills Workbook . . . and Stuff Like That

Ironic Advent 2017 Meditation #2:

The Dialectical Behavior Therapy Skills Workbook: Practical DBT Exercises for Learning Mindfulness, Interpersonal Effectiveness, Emotion Regulation & Distress Tolerance 

and Stuff Like That 

Quite frankly, I have no idea what dialectical behavior therapy is, so I probably have NOT been developing any skills hitherto. Although, on the other hand, I probably didn't know what jumping was called when I first started doing it. Or burping. So maybe I'm good. Maybe my mindfulness, interpersonal effectiveness, emotional regulation and distress tolerance are AOK, right on target, just where they should be. Maybe.

Maybe, I said.

On the other other hand, I probably wouldn't be sitting in my grey Soul, with the seat jacked back just enough to feel like I'm not sitting at my office desk, staring at the bent faculty and staff only parking sign shrouded by a really ugly shrub, listening to really sad music which I wrote myself, and wondering if I will ever get the moral energy to put that parking decal that is sitting on my dashboard in its proper place on the rear window, if all was well with my soul (if I have one other than this car).  I mean, maybe my jumping and burping analogies don't apply. Maybe what I really need is some good old-fashioned emotional regulation. 

My therapist seems to think so. And I like him. And maybe I trust him. Maybe, I said. But for now, let's just say I like him. He wants me to get the DBSTW book and start doing the exercises. Well OK then, I like exercise. In fact, most weeks I work out at least three times. Because I  work out not to build my body but to take my mind off . . . my mind, I usually call it "hurting" rather than working out. There may be an exercise  in the book to cure me of that too. 

Still, I'm probably in better shape than most other writers who write a new just-in-time Ironic Advent Meditation every consecutive day of Advent (fit company though few*). And I used to like math homework. So . . . we shall see what we shall see, as my dad used to say (without the annoying ellipses). That's one of the memorable things he used to say that I can safely repeat in polite company. That you, my dear readers, are actually polite company may, in fact, be a polite fiction, but treating you politely, I'll just bet, is one of the first steps on the pathway to interpersonal effectiveness if not distress tolerance. Bingo! Win/win, as they say. Although if my therapist ever says it, I'm moving on.

Anyway(s), I'm spending most of the afternoon sitting in the car because I can't seem to move. Where is that big freakin' moon from last night? Where is the love for all things bright and beautiful (and dull and ugly for that matter) I felt so keenly not that many hours ago? Also, to quote Roberta Flack and Donnie Hathaway, Where is the love you said was mine all mine 'till the end of time? 

Also see: 

Where are the snows of yesteryear? (Villon) 

Where are the horse and rider? (Tolkien and every medieval writer who ever dipped ink) 

Where are the roses that so sweetened our eyes? (Sidney)

Where the hell are my reading glasses?

Did I mention Sir Philip Sidney? Dude could write. And when I say dude, I mean . . . Sir Philip Sidney. 

I can sense that some of my polite audience may be wondering, even murmuring, about my apparent failure to get into the swing of Adventing. What was all that I said about Charlie Brown attacking the football one more time? What about discerning the signs and looking ahead to the promised kingdom in which burping, jumping, and the love that fills the empty space shall rain (reign?) in our hearts like something something something?

First off, back off. I'm paying attention to the signs. That's all I'm doing. Faculty and Staff Only. And the sign is bent. I am giving it fuller attention than, perhaps it has ever had. Perhaps more than it deserves. And, in the background, just beyond the faded roses (did I mention Sir Philip Sidney?) on my dashboard, is the mostly hidden but still there prayer chapel. Standing proud against the sky like a monument to something something something, although temporarily effaced by a really ugly shrub (which may be just a really ugly young tree). 

And I am not driving off a cliff or hurting myself or anyone else (except to whatever degree I "work out" tonight). I'm just sitting. Having a hard time moving forward, but not skipping out on all the . . . things. Waiting. I'm as hopeful as can be for someone who isn't feeling hopeful. That will have to be enough. For heaven's sake. And for anyone else who cares to know. 

My therapist said I have to learn to live with some of this stuff, going ahead and letting it feel not-so-great (he said something else) but sometimes just sitting with it. I'm not sure, but I think he may have been trying to trick me into doing some exercises before I got the book. No fair. Trust issues, dude.

The lovely candy-cane ribbon on my rear-view mirror is rather scandalously hiding the rosary which always hangs there. Sort of like the ugly shrub hiding the prayer chapel only . . . seriously, isn't that the prettiest ribbon you've ever seen? It was just the wrapping around the wrapping of a gift. The wrapping was pretty too. As was the gift. But the ribbon is saving my life right now. [Oops, there I go again. My therapist says I'm dramatic. Have you ever heard of a histrionic personality, he asked? I laughed like a maniac when he said that. Some of you who know me know why. Uhhhh, yeah. Have YOU ever heard of Holden Caulfield, buddy? Taught me everything I know.]

Advent is not the gift, they say. It's just a time of waiting. Of longing. Of expecting. Of hoping. I think that's great. Maybe someday my Soul will rest, and, maybe love will fill the empty space. Maybe, I said. For now, I have a bleak day, a bent sign, a beautiful ribbon, some sad songs, a comfy car, a crappy view of the prayer chapel, and a book titled The Dialectical Behavior Therapy Skills Workbook: Practical DBT Exercises for Learning Mindfulness, Interpresonal Effectiveness, Emotion Regulation & Distress Tolerance on order from Amazon Prime. 

I may not be the first person to be in this situation. I may not be the last. My therapist seems to think not. Maybe I trust him. Maybe, I said. 

Also, I have full parking privileges in the library lot, from 8:00 A.M.-5:00 P.M., MON-FRI. I'm not sure what I will do with those privileges tomorrow. Perhaps howl for joy if that crazy moon gives a return performance. Possibly just sit here scanning the horizon, reading the impossible words of Isaiah 2:4. Holding on to something. Like a ribbon.