Fun and Freedom: Two Holiday Gifts

20141207_114236I am a guy who lives to have fun and requires the freedom to pursue that fun. Oh, is that all.

Simple right?

No. Complex.

Fun, that is easy to make happen. Mostly. In many ways, my own ability to have fun, enjoy what life has to offer, play and learn is within my control and capabilities. Even while stranded at an airport awaiting a flight I can learn, play and have mucho funo.

Freedom. A touch more difficult than the fun element. Requires ca$h and a good deal of luck. Mucho of the freedomo is out of my controlo which of course is where the fit hits the shan in my life and then the world turns to shit.

If the worlds were to align, perfectly, I would be able to make enough cash to support a nice life style for my family through the authoring of this blog and books, the production of my podcast and videos and my performances for live audiences.

Yeah baby!

Plenty of FUN. Questions is, autonomy-a fancy word for freedom? If I have a writing deadline, a podcast deadline, video production deadline or travel required to a live performance, workshop or keynote address, am I afforded the autonomy and freedom to have fun? If I am Bob Zima, the brand, and Bob Zima, the person, is there, will there be, can there ever be, enough time for me to just fuck around and have fun for the sake of play?

God I hope so.

Otherwise, all of what I am doing now will be a colossal waste of time.

Living with Reckless Abandon

wpid-img_20140526_103910.jpgI have been to Hell and back.

  • Overcame drug and alcohol addiction.
  • Been homeless. With two young children and a hit sexy wife.
  • Filed bankruptcy.
  • Buried two children.

Yep. I have lived Hollywood’s worst plot lines. Lived them.

So, why the fuck am I thrown into panic disorder or PTSD-I can’t differentiate my own self-diagnosis-by a leaky shower faucet, a squeaky 18 year old truck, and host of other benign and bullshit of life annoyances?

I have spit in the Devil’s face and said, “fuck you, I will survive!”

I walked away from a Hell on earth.

I healed, became sober, survived and persevered in light of legendary adversity. Yet bullshit, mundane annoyances fuck me up. WHY?

One would think that with my life story, nothing would ever phase me. I would be a real iron man, impenetrable by stress and protected by a armor forged through years of trials and tribulations.

Fuck no.

I am weak.

I am susceptible to anxiety.

Why do I experience fear?

What more could happen to me?

Are there any more lessons yet to learn?

So the faucet leaks. What’s the worse that can happen? Higher water bill, flooded basement, flooded septic field? How is that worse than putting your child’s casket into the ground? How is that worse than driving away from the home you can no longer afford?

So the car squeaks? What’s the worse that can happen? A breakdown? New car? Week off of work so that you can locate a new car? How is that remotely close to the time and effort put into gaining sobriety? How is that nearly as high a mountain to climb as moving out of your in-laws house and into your new rental that you can actually afford?

Fuck. I have been there and done that. There is truly very little that can happen to me that I can not survive.

Only problem is…I don’t believe that line of bullshit.

At least, not today.

There is always tomorrow.

My Sunday Nights are Golden

To "Tire"-D to Move On

To “Tire”-D to Jack Shit on Sundays

In my on-going battle to have a hap, hap, happy holiday season, I am now challenged, cognitively and emotionally that is to give up one of my most precious boundaries: Sunday Nights at Home. Yeah. I have fucking boundaries. Deal with it.

Working in the field of counseling, I take care of people all week long.

On the weekends I take care of my children. I attend their games and events. I cook, chauffeur and do all of which an involved and loving parent does. I am completing my twenty-five year sentence of parenting and I am damn near finished.

I also care for my wife on the weekends. I listen. I am just “with her.” I seek to make sure that she is happy…so I can have sex. Just being honest. Not that I don’t believe in the happy wife happy life concept. I believe in sex with a happy wife who is happier when her life consists of cooked or bought dinners, movies and massages.

Does not leave much time for me. And whose fault is that anyway? Mine. I am one fucking looser for putting myself last. Yep. Fucking looser. Jesus. Dumb.

Due to a variety of reasons, too lengthy and boring to get into at this time, and my desire to protect the lame and not-so-innocent, suffice to say that a Sunday Night is now “booked” with a family event. Fuck.

My initial thought: “Yet again I have to give up something that is vital to my recharging in order to care for someone else. I am fucking done caring for others. I need my Sundays to rejuvenate for the week to come.” Fuck. I must have a hidden mangina. Somewhere. Yet my cognition is honest. Reasonable. A touch self-loathing, then again, balanced.

Second thought: “Did anyone think to ask me if this would work or approach me gently knowing that Sunday Nights are a big time boundary for me?” Yep. Definite mangina. Got to find that and have it surgically removed. Yet, my cognition is again, honest. Reasonable. Balanced, perhaps with a touch of arrogance since I think that I would rate enough in people’s lives to be considered before plans are solidified

Thought one and two are perpetuated through years of my own dysfunctional placating: caring for others with the hopes that they will eventually care for me. Most of my life I have always put others first. Placating and years of setbacks, bullshit of life moments and stressors have created an automatic reaction of “fuck, yet again, I have to bend my boundaries to care for others.” I am a fucking pussy.

In reality, thought one and two and the perpetuated and supported belief structure of “ I have to bend my boundaries to care for others” are incredibly rigid constructs that do not allow for variance of any kind and make my life a turd floating in the toilet of life.

It is one thing to have a boundary, to communicate it, maintain it and protect it. It is one thing to have a boundary and hope that others would talk to you about modifying the boundary for a “rare occasion” such as a holiday dinner prior to actually making the dinner plans. And it is one thing to be flexible enough to bend your boundary for a “rare occasion” when not consulted about the boundary violation prior to a “rare occasion” being set in stone.

Life is Complicated. Actually, I make it complicated.

Why can’t I just say, yeah, fine – no problems? Seems simple enough. I NEED people to not fuck me over. People asking me about things that break my boundaries before they break my boundaries is “people not fucking with me” or at least asking for permission to fuck with me before they fuck with me.

Why can’t I just go with the flow? See above.

Why protect Sunday Nights with such vigor? I am not. I am protecting my need to not be fucked with, my need to be included and part of the decision making process, my need for autonomy and control over my already wild and crazy life.

Do I really want control though. No. Cognitive dissonance sucks.

Why be bitter? Years of bullshit, being let down and fucked in the ass by others.

I am not bittet.

Am I? No.

Yep. Trust issues fueled by people messing with me and not including me in the decisions that impact my life.

What a mess. And I have some real ego issues. Like I should be the party planner for all fucking family parties. Family parties have sucked for so long, that I guess being in some form of control might make them more tolerable. Then again, perhaps if I quit trying to control, parties will be more tolerable. Don’t you love double binds and cognitive dissonance?

So, I am going to go with the flow this holiday season. If I am not hosting the party, I am not controlling, planning, organizing or caring for those who are planning.

I will show up.

Be me.

Drink.

Eat.

Laugh and have a fucking good time.

I am gonna be a twig on the shoulders of a might river not a turd in the toilet of life.

Holiday Tip: #201: People’s Presence NOT Gifts

20141206_161146So in my never ending quest, which is not entirely true as this year’s holiday season will eventually conclude, to have a hap, hap happy holiday, I have come to the conclusion that what I want most of all is people’s presence; not their gifts.

And my presence as well.

I want to be in the moment with people.

To be real, genuine and authentic during this time of good cheer and well wishes.

And I want to be mindful and aware of just WHY I and they are so cheerful and grateful.

I want to slow down the pace of the holidays and have coffee.

I want to remove the focus from what did you get me in that cute little package to what are the high and low lights of your year.

I am fascinated with people, their ability to preserve and survive in the face of tremendous adversity. I find, at times, during the holidays, we focus upon, no more robotically, conditionally trained throughout the years of living through the holidays, look at, only the good and the wellness and the blessings. We fail to pause and see the path that has brought us to this point of gratefulness.

We fail to listen to and celebrate the healing work so many of us have completed in order to just stomach the holidays.

I want to be present for people this year in a way that allows them to see the root cause of heir true holiday bliss; not some manufactured cognition of what the holidays are that is perpetuated by media, traditions and universal expectations.

I want to listen to others’ and share my own reasons, the whole ugly truth, the entire bumpy, grotesque and beautiful path of their and my healing process. I want to KNOW why they grateful and feel blessed. I want the story. Not just the phrase we are programmed to say.

I want to be in the presences of my own healing power; and that of others. I want the gift of awareness and insight this year.

I Need A-Muse-Meant to Heal

20141207_114244

My Muse Whispers Into My Creative Mind!

In my various trips to Hell and back, I have lost pieces of my soul, dreams, hopes and faith. Yep, it happens. The highway to Hell is bumpy, messy, dangerous and a killer when it comes to dreams, hope and faith. Crises are like that. They steal from you. And we prevent ourselves from getting that stuff back. Boy, are we dumb-asses.

The road of healing, the path that takes you in any direction away from the gates of Hell, is long and winding.

To find my way back from the gates of Hell, locate and reclaim the lost pieces of my soul, broken and shattered dreams, I need a muse. Yes. I need a muse. A muse meant to help me heal and piece back together my life, dreams, hopes and faith.

I need fun, freedom-the autonomy to live my healing life the manner that feels and is best for me. I need no regret living. I need to manage my fears and heal what hurts so that I can fully live.

I need a muse who will help me create, engage with and complete my Fuck-It List. Who needs a Bucket List? Bucket lists lead to death.

A Fuck-It List leads to life-a life worth living.

Here is my Fuck-It List.

  1. Write a third book,
  2. Sleep when I am tired and play when I am not,
  3. Stop taking so much of life’s shit so seriously,
  4. Get lost in the intoxicating splendor of sexuality as often as possible,
  5. Embrace the chaos of life with full vigor and write about,
  6. Laugh my ass off at least three times a day,
  7. Watch movies on Netflix,
  8. Produce more videos, funny healing videos, videos that simplify the worlds of self-help and psychology,
  9. Be true to my satirical and whimsical voice on my podcast,
  10. Dream and always believe in the power of imagination,
  11. Not worry about being a home owner,
  12. Love my children unconditionally and shower them with optimism and praise at all times,
  13. Love my wife and meet her ever whim and need without being rich – lack of cash means I have to be more creative, spontaneous, aware of her needs-yeah, I like that,
  14. Go on Ellen and dance,
  15. Know that money always takes care of itself.

It is not exhaustive. All Fuck-It Lists need to be works in progress. Updated and maintained. Groomed. Manscaped – ew, no, scratch that image.

I will keep you informed as to if I ever find that muse.