BB Webb as BB Webb!

Exploring the Possibilities

When is loving just not so… September 21, 2009

I have something I’m wrangling with today…the notion of how to really love well. I was thinking today about how mothers or fathers, husbands, wives, in an effort to ‘take care of’ each other, children, often love ‘too well’ or really not well at all when they steal the opportunity for another to find their way.


I’m sometimes summed up, mostly by male people, as, ‘you don’t need anyone, you’re independent’. Well yes, I am independent, but not needing anyone…certainly not. I’m human….to the core and marrow. I know how to take care of myself, and, when I’m being a savvy leader, provide for myself and take care of my debts, but not needing anyone, hardly. Ask my friends. They know. Good God they know.

Though here is where I tilt my head with quandary. I like the idea of interdependence. We need one another to thrive, to become further who we are. We need others to help reflect who we are back to ourselves. I know this. I have good reflectors in my life at this point in time, that was not always so.

However, I see parents, and spouses, ‘caretaking’ and that is different. Only the needy, the ones disabled, the sick, babies, small children, animals we adopt, need caretaking. A wife who is provided for may never learn if she married young, how to provide and discover her abilities for herself. And what a sad thing that is. And as she grows older, not feeling at home in her skin, it is her spouse she will reflect anger toward, not even knowing why. Please consider my intent with this thought and example…

I am aware of the keen difference between ‘caretaking’ and ‘supporting’ another. I choose to be supportive though choose not to care-take those whose right it is to learn how to care for themselves. That to me is more loving. Co-dependence serves no one.

I’d fuuuuume when my mother would dive into the brownie batter just as I was struggling and near to getting the lumps out. She would take over and I’d miss my chance to find out how good I could be, how able I was.



We do this with our children, don’t we! In an effort to move things along, get the job done, hurry along…we mess with their process of ‘becoming’. A good teacher is a rare person to find. I’ve had only a few REALLY good teachers…masters, despite their perfect flaws, which they all had. (And that was good for me to experience as well. Their humanity made the teachings more relevant).

It feels good to earn our stripes, to test our meddle, to become exhausted with our efforts to do well. It is essential for growth.

I am earning and have earned many stripes and I imagine will until I’m gray headed, (though you’ll never know I am as red will be my badge of courage).

There is something to be said for the struggle. There is no adventure without struggle. And, I must remind myself that I am all for adventure. So, tally ho indeed.

I’ve quoted, (paraphrased) Mr. Jung before, ‘love is the process of GENTLY guiding someone into themselves.’ I relish the ‘gently’. That is loving. There is enough harshness in our world. Gently is good.

Love to you and those you love and peace to my tormenters, always. You make me more of who I am becoming and I thank you for that…I deeply thank you for that.

BB Webb


So Tell Me, What Was It Like For You?

I am considering that I might need to embrace rather than scorn the sleep that won’t come to me. Perhaps I’m supposed to lie awake to hear something which I can’t hear in my sleep. Maybe I’m like a new mother, having just given birth or about to give birth to something new and spectacular in my life….with sleep being temporarily a distant memory.

The storms in Atlanta have been dogged and meaningful of late. I adore weather, all kinds. I miss the smell of snow in the air and the first flakes which always, ALWAYS to me held mystery and delight. They beckoned free days from school as a kid, a lightness of spirit as an adult and certainly awesome ski runs and high flying powder on the slopes. I don’t miss the shoveling in Boston or the interminable winters I’ve weathered in Maine, though I’ve chased a snowstorm or two in my day, to be a part of the mystery, the grandeur of how heavy, white precipitation can in the right setting create a fantasy world fragrant with possibility and certainly fun! And I’m all for that.

So, sleep deprived again, this time from the worried pacing of my dogs and alarmed ‘meows’ from the felines in my house over the rattling of thunder and bright beacons of flashing light through the tall Wuthering Heights-like windows of my home. My animals become frightened with storming. ddc.JPGI become quiet and soak it in like elixir. I love the rumbling that shakes and rattles each of my cells. I like the stirring that I feel, the movement, as though the storm is bringing in new energy, new thought, new consideration. I like movement. I like change…positive change.

With this, I am here in my safe bed just outside of Atlanta, thinking of the many places I’ve visited throughout the world. I recall adding pence to the heater unit in London to keep warm in January. I remember the very small flat I stayed in overnight in Paris where I took a photo of myself in the mirror to show I was there, or the photo of my shadow on the beach in Lanai, a quiet, small Hawaiian island and former pineapple plantation, (before Rupert Murdock overtook it). I’ve danced for hours on end with Dutch people in Normandy, eaten goat head with executives in Monterrey, Mexico and tried mightily to swallow fatty duck in Hong Kong offered to me by my gracious host. I’ve camped in the Wyoming Mountains, swam topless in the Italian surf, slept on floors, buses and small planes which I wasn’t sure were going to make it to the ground. I’ve done most of this as a solo adventurer.

And though I prefer at this point in my life to share a cab, train seat or car with a fellow traveller, I’m glad to have seen the world through my eyes. And though there is more to see, the view inside my head, or heart, is more full than any trip ’round the world might allow.

And so, with all the people and customs, differences and opinions, I still hold my head at a tilt, much as my dog Ernie does when he hears a strange noise, ‘what’s with all the intolerance’ I wonder. Why can’t we all just get along? Why can’t two opinions sit on the same plate, or my friend believe one thing and me another? Can’t I experience one thing and he another and it be okay? I didn’t see green and he didn’t see red. So? So what?

‘So tell me,’ I long to ask, ‘What was it like for you?’ And rather than debate why my vision is right or her sensing impaired, how enthralled I might be with,

‘What BB dear did you sense, feel, see, hear, fathom when you crossed the river, when you tasted the soup, when that stranger admonished you, the kind woman put her arm around you, that man told you he loved you….tell me, I want to know YOUR experience.’

There is more to share….my heart is full, my mind sodden with the falling rain and the sleep that won’t come.

BB Webb