It’s late, and I feel like talking. No one is around, so I’m just going to talk here. Y’all don’t mind, do you?
The name of this blog is Life, Love and Spanking. Much of the time, I talk about the latter of the three. Sometimes about the second. Tonight, I want to talk about life. Specifically, how I struggle with it.
Settle in, grab a beverage. This might take a while.
The old expression goes: “The only things certain in life are death and taxes.” Not so. There is one more thing, a certainty that happens all the time.
The “c” word. Change.
Some of you know this, some don’t. I hate change. A lot. I’m not just talking about the major upheaval kind; I don’t like small changes either. I don’t like the unexpected, the spontaneous, the unpredictable. It’s unsafe to me. It’s scary.
Where does this come from, people wonder? Sure, it could be due in part to a crazily inconsistent and insecure childhood, one in which I couldn’t wait until I grew up so I could control things. (ha!!) But it runs deeper than that. There’s something inborn. My mother has said (many times, many ways) how, even as a baby/toddler, I would get distressed and cry when something was moved, something as simple as a figurine from one end of the table to the other. “Put it back!” I’d sob.
I suppose it doesn’t really matter where it comes from. It is what it is. Some may say, “It’s life; life is change. Get over it.” Well, guess what. I’m going to be 54 next month. I’ve been to more therapists than I care to think about and I’ve been shrunk so many times, it’s amazing that there’s anything left of me. So “getting over it” doesn’t seem to be an option.
Fortunately, I found someone who is a lot like me, and we co-exist in our needs for routine. We’re a pair of misfits who happen to fit together. We tease each other about our various shticks and rituals. When we walk into our brunch restaurant on Sunday, our server sees us and puts in our order. She knows, because it’s the same thing every week. When we go grocery shopping, I know exactly what he’s going to buy. I know he’s going to make the bed the minute we get up. He knows I will do the crossword puzzle every Saturday and Sunday. In ink. I know he will call me each weeknight, and approximately when.
We don’t socialize very often, because we don’t reach out much. Plus, we’re not the types whom people can call/text in the afternoon and say, “Hey, what are you doing for dinner?” or “Want to join us? We’re going to a party; we can get you in.” We plan things way in advance.
Admittedly, John is better at spontaneity than I. He is better at rolling with things. Me? Like I said, the unexpected gives me hives.
Most of the time, I live my life this way and don’t think about it much. But every now and then, when I’m in a down place, it hits me just how challenging my need for things NOT to change makes life at times.
Just for a small example: Most people love to travel, love to see the world, experience other cultures. I don’t like to travel. Not because I don’t like being at these other places, but I hate the stress of getting there. Too many unknowns. Too many things that can go wrong, that I have no control over. Too many disruptions to my regular routine.
What if something happens and I miss my flight? What if my flight is cancelled? What if my flight is delayed and I miss a connector flight later? What if they lose my luggage?
Interestingly, the one thing I don’t worry about it if the plane will crash. I guess the Neurosis Fairy figured I had more than my share already.
This week, John said kiddingly, “Sweetie, the Shadow Lane party is next month. Is it just about panic time?” He can tease me about it. I know he does it with love. And he’s the one who has to deal with my pre-party craziness.
Is it about the party itself? No, not so much, although I’m always nervous before these things. So what’s the problem? We don’t have to fly. Ah, but it’s a long drive to Vegas. Several hours, a few hundred miles. Again, a lot of unpredictables.
What if we get in a car accident? What if there’s a SigAlert on the 15 and we get stuck for hours? What if the car dies? What if, what if, what if.
It’s much easier to just stay local and never go anywhere. Ironically, my stove hood and refrigerator are plastered with magnets, from all over the country, the world. Aside from a few (New York, Connecticut, Las Vegas, and a couple of other states), they’ve all been given to me by other people. I collect them, but I don’t go to the places.
I have a friend who travels a great deal for his work, all over the world. He can be going to the United Arab Emirate, China or England at any given time, often with little notice (and I have magnets from several of those places, from him). He spends (seemingly) half his life on a plane. And he loves it. He thrives on it. It’s all about adventure for him, new things, new people, new foods, new surroundings. I’d rather endure root canal without anesthetic on a daily basis.
I often joke about how I’d like to move to Seattle eventually, because I love the rain and cloudy days, and I get so very sick of California heat and crowds and high prices and so forth. Who am I kidding? I’ve lived in CA all my life. I’ve lived in the same apartment for 20 years. I freak out if my frozen yogurt store closes — like I’m really gonna uproot my whole life?? Right.
Like I said, most of the time, I don’t think about this stuff. But sometimes… sometimes, I wish I were a different sort of person. More adventurous. More curious. More willing to roll with changes, to let things flow, to be open to life rather than afraid of it. A person whose comfort zone isn’t so damn small.
John says I am adventurous in my own way — look at all I’ve done within the spanking realm. True, that. I’ve done a lot of very cool stuff in the last 15 years. But here’s the weird part; it’s ALL within the spanking realm. It’s all Erica Scott.
Last week, there was a thread on FetLife asking, “What’s the most interesting thing you’ve ever done, outside of spanking/the scene?” Hmm. Let’s see. I was a call-in on the Dr. Phil show… no, that was spanko related. I participated in a bullwhip demo with a renowned whip artist. Again, scene. I’ve written two books, written video scripts, performed in them… whoops, that’s spanking stuff again. Outside of my spanking adventures, I could not think of one single thing that was interesting, that was worth relating.
A former spanking model once said to me, “I wish I’d never heard of [her scene name].” How sad to feel that way. I love Erica Scott. She is the best of me. She is motivated by something she loves and craves to be adventurous and courageous. I guess I wish Erica [real last name] were that courageous in day-to-day life, facing the inevitable ups and downs. The changes. The losses. The stuff that is life.
I don’t know where I’m going with this, but it’s a relief to get it out of my head. Maybe someone will relate to me. Thanks for reading, anyway. This is where my mind goes sometimes, late at night.
They say it’s good to be self-aware, to recognize one’s foibles and weaknesses. They say the truth will set you free. I’m still waiting for it to stop making me cry.