Why I do the things I do

I've been feeling really introspective lately...more so than usual, and it is tiring. I suppose it is an emotional closet cleaning thing. It seems to be necessary every few years. I've been giving my self a good going over, cleaning out, re-arranging a thing or two.

One of the things that's been part of it is questioning my true reasons for doing some of the things I do. (Some things I really just HAVE to do - part of the jobs that are mine).

My friend Christine prompted me to think about this again tonight. She was asked why she paints her nails - and she said, for herself (good answer, in my opinion).

I have gotten so wrapped around the question that I even question why I pet the dog. Is that for ME? Is that for HIM? Mostly it is for both, but on occasion it is ALL ABOUT ME and he could give a shit.

My daughter and I volunteered to assist a disabled man who lives nearby with some basic stuff around his house. I have talked to him about this. I realized that I decided to do that as much for me and what I get out of it as for him. Maybe I get more out of it than he does. I don't know. He and I have decided it is fine, and we won't worry about it either way on any given day. He says I am the blessing in his life - it might be the other way around though.

I've always thought of myself as a pretty unselfish, giving sort of person but I wonder.
How much of what I do in that name is really about feeding MY ego....my sense of self.
Most of what I do is done without condition, or so I think. Maybe more of it is about what I want and need afterall and not so much about others.

I do believe I think way too much some days.

My daughter

I just read this on her myspace and was a bit saddened. She said...

' I still feel inferior to pretty girls. Since my parents split up I have become pretty independent and self-reliant. There are some people I'd kill for, less that I'd die for. You know who you are. "

I responded to her in writing. That was my first reaction. This was my response...to her myspace thing.

"You are quite independent, in some ways. And self-reliant in some as well. Not enough though. Cooking, cleaning, doing laundry and taking out trash do help and count.

You ARE one of the pretty girls. I never was. I know how that feels. But YOU truley are pretty. Ask Mike, ask Stedman. As Becca, she is pretty, and honest. You are not a cheerleader, you are not all fancy pants, priss pot, look at me.
And there are lots of lovely girls in your school. I think Kamika is stunningly beautiful, for example.

But so are you.
You are a pretty girl. Ask anyone.

What matters more chicka is this - you are kind, thoughtful, generous, patient, smart, a citizen of your community in all ways.

THAT will get you through life. Being pretty is a bonus.
A bonus that you have.

I love you,
Mom

At the moment I finished writing that she walked into the room, searching for printer paper, and I decided to chase her back across the house and make her talk about this a bit. She cannot explain why she feels inferior. So I wrestled with her physically and verbally and threw all the dog toys I could find at her as she shut me out. It is what we do to each other.

Next verbal exchange will be about who she would kill for. That disturbs me as well.
And who she would die for. And I wonder which list I fall into.