Brick Walls

Republish: Originally posted May 15, 2009

I was drop-kicked into yesterday morning by a bad dream. After tossing and turning for a bit, when it became irkfully apparent that I would not be falling back to sleep, it dawned on me that if I were to get out of bed that very moment I could expect to have roughly ONE hour to myself. ONE hour! I could network. I could blog uninterrupted. I could think deep thoughts. I could lounge on the toilet and read Better Homes & Gardens. High on life, I ripped off the covers and flung myself across the room and into the hallway.

On my way to my computer I noticed that Joe had opened his door and turned on his light in the middle of the night. Giggling at the rhyme of it all (remember, I was still high on life) I crept over to his room, turned off his light, and closed his door as gingerly as any human can hope to gingerly close a door. Not quite two seconds later Joe exploded into a highly vocal crying frenzy so fierce I expected to find him literally caught by the toe by a tiger.

Just then, my bowels churned and threatened to erupt, and left me with no choice other than to dash into the bathroom. After a few very unpleasant moments, I made my way back to Joe's room to save him from the tiger. My bowels churned again, and so it was back to the bathroom. (Bad chicken???!? Damn that chicken!) From the bathroom I heard Lily working herself up to a crying frenzy as well. Is it possible there were two toe-grabbing tigers? As I sat there on the toilet I almost began to cry myself. One uninterrupted hour had been so close I could almost taste it! Alas, it was not meant to be.

My bowels behaved long enough to allow me to make it to Lily and Joe's rooms, save them from those blasted tigers, and hoist them by the teardrops onto the living room rug. Bleary, I decided I was not ready to be entertaining and thus went searching for the remote. I pressed 8 for PBS only to be greeted with the Spanish version of "A Place of Our Own". I tried to explain to Joe that they were speaking a language called Spanish, and that we spoke English, but that someday hopefully he could speak both English and Spanish, but he just stared at me, his face devoid of any hint of future bilingual prowess.

I flicked the channel button up one notch and was greeted with some seminar footage. A man named Randy Pausch, may he rest in peace, was sharing childhood photos of himself at Disneyland. He went on to detail his efforts to secure a position as a Disneyland Imagineer after having obtained his PhD. He read to us from one of many rejection letters he received from The Land of Disney. He had, in fact, hit a brick wall.

And then he said it!

"The brick walls aren't built to keep you out. The brick walls are built to keep out the people who don't want it badly enough. They're built to keep other people out."

Wow. If only that notion had dawned upon me years ago! I've always been painfully apologetic of my existence in the world. As though my mere presence was an irritation to the people who really deserved to be existing. And loving. And laughing. And succeeding. Every now and then I'd poke my little chipmunk nose around the corner and give something a try. Expecting rejection, I was never surprised when I hit a brick wall. I was overstepping my bounds, after all. I would apologize to the brick wall and scurry back into the safety of the shadows that were meant to be my home.

It never occurred to me for one moment that brick walls were golden opportunities! If they were keeping me out, isn't it possible they were keeping other people out as well? That I could net myself an advantage simply by deciding not to be discouraged—to give it another try? And maybe even another? Dare I? Who do I think I am, anyway? In the past all this uppity thinking would have had me scuttling back under a rock. But not today. And not ever again. I've got brick walls to climb!

Let's get it back!

Image by miss_blackbutterfly via Flickr

You know how it is.

You accidentally kick out a light bulb while dancing on the ceiling.

Your mini Dachshund rips out an oak tree in the back yard leaving a gaping, potentially dangerous hole.

You drive into a gated community and stop to read a sign on the gate, dumb to the fact that the gate is slowly closing on you, until you shock into life and peel out to the sound of said gate scraping along the side of your van, faintly reminiscent of the Loch Ness Monster being strangled by Mothra.

You fix none of this. You want to. The visual reminders niggle at you every. single. day. But who has the time? The money? The energy?

It's the same for me. I've been letting things slide lately. To be specific, I've been letting myself slide. I haven't been tending to my physical, mental or spiritual fitness. My body is in a state, and it's not one of the cool ones shaped like a boot. Oops, that's Italy.

My hair is in a tizzy, in the mornings slightly frizzy, and way too dark. I look like a vampire with carpet bags under her eyes. My body resembles a hairless older cat sitting atop a bag of battling birds. I'm lethargic. Can't concentrate to save my life. My nails, undone. Toes, unforgivably untended. Spirit, vacant and scooped out by the giant melon baller that is everyday life.

Mismanaged your money and can't pay the auto bill on time? Scoop, splat.

Wondering if you've made a horrible mistake by uprooting part of your family and moving half way across the country? Scoop, splat.

Best friend from back in the day scheduled for neurosurgery in early February with "a good chance of survival"? Scoop, splat. Can't breathe.

I've been spiraling away from the light. I know so many have it so much worse. This isn't about realizing how lucky I am. This is about faith. Faith in the rightness of The Universe. Faith in oneself.

Do I have the ability to put things back the way they ought to be? To scrape my hope and confidence off the sides of the microwave, where they exploded away from me sometime mid-December, and plop them back into the bowl of me?

Like you, I want things to be good. Heck, even great. So I will do it. I'm starting to learn that picking up the pieces of ourselves and having another go at it is a necessary part of life if we want to be whole.

Starting small, of course. I started taking prenatal vitamins again. I bought a horse hair brush to coax my hair into growing. I purchased some grapes, and an eggplant. Eventually I will eat them.

When the weather gets better I will rise with Dennis' alarm and take a bike ride, then come back and shower and put on a nice outfit and full hair and makeup, regardless of my plans for the day or lack of them.

Like a car revving behind the checkered flag, I will be ready.

I will get strong and stay strong because there are so many people I love, and so many I want to love, and there is so much to do.

Those of you who are my friends on Facebook who haven't blocked me out of self-preservation know that I used to post LIVE videos all the time. Now I'm going to inflict them upon you here. Because today is a good day for LIVE.

Operation Spirit
by LIVE

Heard a lot of talk about the ocean
Heard a lot of talk about the sea
Heard a lot of talk about a lot of things
Never meant that much to me
.
Heard a lot of talk about my spirit
Heard a lot of talk about my soul
But I decided that anxiety and pain
Were better friends
So I let it go
.
Did you let it go?
Let's get it back
Let's get it back together
.
Heard a lot of talk about this Jesus
A man of love, and a man of strength
But what a man was two thousand years ago
means nothing at all to me today
.
He could have been telling me about my
higher self
But he only lives inside my prayer
So what he was may have been beautiful
But the pain is right now
And right here
.
Let it go!
Let it go!
Let it go, my friend
And let's get it back
Let's get it back together

The Internet

Image by seizethedave via Flickr

What's it like to be a normal person on the internet?
To break away from your goings-on and make the occasional comment?

To not like it as much as I do?

I distinctly remember my first computer.
I was well over 30.
And trapped.
And silent and zombiefied and submissive.
I remember pressing that button.
I remember feeling something new. Something BIG.
I didn't know what it was but I was as sure as my next breath that it was going to change my life.
I can still SEE it. A big swirl.
And it did. It changed everything.

It exposed me to the outside world.
People were there. Kind people.
And they had dreams. They were poetic.
It didn't compute.
Until it did.
One poem by one friend not even meant for or inspired by me reminded me of kindness and life and love and everything that didn't exist.
Until it did.

I'm not casual about the internet.

This post irritates me

Am I the only one who spends too much time thinking about irritating people and being irritated by it? I don't mean people worthy of being hated — deeply mean people, abusers, etc. Just irritating people.

What irritates us about others is supposed to teach us something about ourselves. What's more irritating than that?

Case in point....

1. Image by sokaris73 via Flickr

   
   Penélope "How you say...?" Cruz. The "Spanish enchantress" exudes a certain, "I'm a little girl and I need you to help me. *pout*" quality that makes my skin crawl. She also apparently inspires me to overuse quotation marks. Unforgivable! Yeah, yeah I can see she's gorgeous but that's beside the point.
   
   Sub-category: Feist's "1234" bugs me for the same reason.
   
2. Agenda Thumpers. People who aren't just passionate about a cause, but consumed by it to the point where it's all they can talk about. They're past the point of listening and reason. Everything is black and white.
   
3. Pompous Elitist Asses. They're better than you and consider it their responsibility to make sure you know it. Get uppity and they'll give you a public lashing so fierce you'll wish you were in diapers.
   
4. People Who See Right Through You. You know these people. They could be the cashier at the supermarket who completely ignores you and talks to the bagger, or the workmate who looks away and hurries past you when you meet him with a direct question.
   
   Sub-category: People who like you in private, but ignore you in public.
   

5. Image via Wikipedia

   
   John Basedow. What is his deal? It's okay to be small, John. You don't need to work out to within one inch of your life, spray-tan and highlight yourself shamelessly.
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
6. The kids need me. I reserve the right to add to this list at a later time.
   

I realize you have your own opinions about my irritators. I don't claim to be right or rational. What is simply is and I can't will it not to be so. What am I supposed to learn from all this? Am I like these people? The mere thought of that irritates me to no end.

Did you hear that?

Image via Wikipedia

Mairzy doats
and dozy doats
and liddle lamzy divey.
A kiddly divey too,
wouldn't you?

That song makes me smile. It also reminds me that my ears can't always be trusted. It's important to engage as many senses as possible as often as possible — to overlap them. This helps me to perceive the hidden notes and experience things more fully.

I went many years without. Without music. Without candles and incense. Feeling the sand and water on my skin. Eating quality food. Drinking fine wine. I wonder what I missed during that time? What was supposed to be heard that didn't get heard?

I believe the universe re-plays certain themes until we finally "get it". I must believe that. Otherwise I'd have to think of those missed opportunities as lost forever.

Want it.

Image by julkastro via Flickr

We watched The Answer Man last night. It was a cute but not fabulous romantic comedy in the spirit of As Good as it Gets. A little overacted by Jeff Daniels, but I digress...

A conversation took place that went loosely along these lines:

Kris: I have all this potential but I never do anything with it. How can I get past the crap and do what I want to be doing?

Arlen: At any given moment we are doing exactly what we want to be doing. There is always a choice. Everything is a choice.

This got me thinking. In order to change our lives for the better and live up to our potential, could it not be a matter of actively changing our wants? Maybe we really do want to be lazy. Maybe we want to remain in the shadows because it's safer there. Maybe we want to be ignored. Unfulfilled. Misunderstood.

Because if we really put ourselves out there and give it a shot — and I mean the shot, the one golden bullet we were all blessed with, and are met with failure or rejection, we will have to let go of the notion that sustains us — and I mean the notion, "If only I had done it, I would have been great".

New Moon Over San Diego

Cover of New Moon (The Twilight Saga, Book 2)

Hi all! We're back from the San Diego area where we spent the better part of the week happily sucking in Eucalyptus fumes and having our bodies caressed by warm air and cool breezes that leave me wondering why we ever hopped into the van and allowed it to drive us back to the angry heat of the Southern California Desert.

We reserved a suite with a separate kid room. I carried in my suitcase visions of putting the kids to bed and having the rest of the night alone with my husband to revel and drink tequila and jump on the bed and make crank calls via the computer to overly-serious hybrid drivers wearing eel-skin Euro sandals. Painting the town red was out of the question, after all. But as soon as I stepped into our suite I realized it was not to be. The kid quarters, as it turned out, were positioned between the master bedroom area and the bathroom. Hel-LO? Who was the rocket scientist who devised this brilliant schematic?

I pitched a mini-fit that ended with me on the bed, hotel phone in hand, interrogating the dial tone as to what good it does anybody to position the kids in such a way, why the upper lip on the headboard was at head height, procluding the possibility of sitting in comfort, let alone nursing without throwing out my back, which carried even more importance given the fact that the only chairs in the room were two uberadorable toddler stools. I wanted a screwdriver to remove the staircase leading up to the second bunk on the bunk bed lest Joe should let his curiosity get the best of him at 3:15 in the morning. No amount of reasoning could make me understand why my husband didn't have a swiss pocket knife as a keychain the way I assumed all men did even though we've been married since 2005 and I know he is not the perky keychain type, so I steadied myself by stacking tiny suitcases and books on it instead.

Don't even get me started on the bathroom and VMS. You know how it is when you're away from home and the different lighting flagrantly highlights all of your flaws, pointing out flaws you didn't know existed and making it clear that you should not go out in public wearing anything less than a mascot costume and an apologetic expression. Yes, I was deep in the throes of Vacation Mirror Syndrome for our entire stay. But I didn't let it get me down. I simply picked out a pair of benign black pants and a t-shirt thick enough to cover my bumps, yet thin enough not to add to their thickness, and painted it to my body.

We had a blast with the kiddos. The San Diego Zoo on Tuesday was a delight for the senses. The boardwalk and beach on Wednesday were fun, but would have been more fun if the barn tent we'd picked up for Lily had actually worked. Mission Bay on Thursday was a joy. We all felt light and free and have plans to return as soon as is possible. We'd like to rent a kayak or two.

I need to take something back from my vacations. Besides the realization that a vacation with small children is not a vacation after all, but rather a chance for more family togetherness and to revel in the looks on the kids' faces while they gaze upon new sights and smell new smells. From the very first realization that I was pregnant with Joe Joe my life has primarily been about them and with this I am quite satisfied. However, I did pack back with me a new resolve. Since we had to go to bed so early so the kids could sleep, I got in a lot of reading and am well on my way through New Moon, the sequel to Twilight. A sentence on page 106 resounded in my head, reminding me of what I had been trying to say in my blog post about Twilight (the movie), And This is the Twilight of my Life.

"It was depressing to realize that I wasn't the heroine anymore, that my story was over."

I've been feeling for quite a while now not like a bit player or even a character actor in my own life, but rather like a set decorator. I've been hiding in the shadows doing my best to lift my children into the light, stuffing my own hopes and desires and anxieties with chips and chocolate. I have never known how to be a healthy heroine. To me pleasure and excitement have always walked hand in hand with living on the razor's edge of good and bad judgment. This is not a side of me I cared to introduce my precious children to. Perhaps I have been doing my best to bury her. I have in fact been successful in morphing into somebody I barely recognize.

My new resolve is to once again become the heroine of my own story, a story that now includes my husband and my beautiful children. A story where I don't have to hide different parts of myself sporadically, exhausting myself by choosing carefully what to reveal of myself and to whom. Where I don't have to pick at wounds to feel alive and punish myself out of misdirected anger at the universe, nor must I deprive myself of love and of loving. A story where I accept the light and dark within myself, and in all that surrounds me as being natural and healthy. A story where my fractured self becomes fully integrated and happy and cranky and above all things gloriously whole and full of life. This is the me I will share with my children.

I am starting a healthy eating plan on Monday. It's going to be a very long and painful road, but a year or two from now I will resemble myself again, inside and out. I will have more energy for my family, and I will be able to express my retro sense of style by actually fitting into clothing designed back when large cheeseburgers were the size of today's kids burger and people were too sensible to sit around and indulge every whim and craving with the easiest possible source.

Here are some photos of our trip. I look forward to catching up with my online friends tonight and over the weekend. Wishing the best of all worlds to you.

Affirmation Danger!

Image via Wikipedia

You know those rare moments of comprehension that creep into your consciousness when you're least expecting them and slap you in the face? I was white-gloved by one yesterday after reading an article called "Words of Wisdom: Positive thinking's negative results".

The article basically states that if you are trying to self-improve by making positive affirmations about qualities you do not possess or qualities that are false or overstated that the affirmations will be met with resistance and doubt by your subconscious thereby reinforcing your negative self-image.

I'm not sure if this is entirely true, but I think I might test it out in the next few weeks. I've always been a strong believer in dressing for the job you want not the job you have. One might extrapolate that affirmations are similar in nature. Couldn't repeating to ourselves that we possess qualities that we in fact do not train our subconscious to believe that we do in fact possess said qualities and in turn cause an active shift in our behavior thereby reinforcing the desired quality until the lie becomes the truth? That's what I've always thought. But according to the article, I may be doing more harm than good.

Where does it all lead? Where can I take this? Should I stop wearing a track suit in hopes or morphing into a runner? Or a rapper? Does it now make no sense to wear my hair like Sarah Palin on Sundays in hopes of becoming a strong-willed firm-belifed power-suit harboring force of nature?

I want to alter my eating behavior. Perhaps I will no longer say things to myself like, "I have willpower. I have discipline. I have thin yet creamy thighs." Apparently even my subconscious knows that's a crock of sh*t. However, I may instead mentally utter phrases like, "I have a strong desire to eat less. I feel vigorous and alert when I eat raw vegetables. My thighs are big but they're smaller than those of that mean lady at the DMV."

It seems to me that the key here is to do a little Easter egg hunt for my positive qualities, even if they don't burn brightly, instead of focusing on my negative or nonexistant ones. Find them and fan them until they do.

Either that or stop obsessing on myself, do a little freaking good for humanity, and become a happier person out of positive action rather than simply willing it to be so.

One for My Guy

My husband married a fun, spontaneous, one might even argue sexy on a good day party girl and ended up with... wait for it... Mommy.

It's true. I almost feel sorry for the guy. It all happened so quickly. We met in 2003, married in 2005, and by the time I had Joe Joe in 2006 I'd gained 70+ pounds from pregnancy-induced hypothyroidism and had stopped doing my roots. I was so tired all the time. It was a huge effort just to do one load of laundry. I cried daily. I was fearful to take my son to the store lest a car should swipe him in the parking lot. I hovered like a bear. I eyed our dogs with steely suspicion. I felt immense pressure to make every moment magical. I thought I should be cataloging his every breath with photographs, baby book entries and emails. I felt guilty for staying at home and racked my brain 24/7 for a way I could be at home with my boy, my heart, and still contribute to our household. Yes, I thought that being a stay at home Mom meant that I wasn't contributing. I had to find a way to justify my very existence. I tried lots of things only to find that it was my son of the thing. The thing always lost out. I failed. Miserably. And often.

Hypothyroidism slows down your body functions, including your metabolism and thought processes, and basically slowly drives you insane. For real. I could barely hold my son up at six months, or walk twenty feet down the street without panting for breath. I was fearful all the time. When asked my middle name I sometimes could not remember. To make matters worse I turned to food for comfort and to quell the anxiety I was feeling.

Then, when Joe was nine months old, I was able to become pregnant with Lily. That was the plan. I We wanted anther child, and at the age of 37 the advice was to start trying when your baby is nine months old. What can I say, we got lucky or blessed or both. Standard pregnancy blood tests ensued, and miracle of miracles one day my doctor sat across from me wide-eyed with disbelief as he read me a three digit TSH number. Vindication was mine! I'd been complaining for months that I was dieting but still gaining weight and he always gave me the "Uh-huh, sneak another cookie while you're at it" look. Shortly thereafter Levothyroid became my new best friend.

It's been a long process but I'm slowly becoming me again. I want the time back with my son. I want to run with him and play and sing to him without a voice tinged with love but also sadness and desperation. We don't always get what we want.

I've decided to stop beating myself up for having been sick and tired and to start living with vitality. I tossed out a hook and snagged myself and started reeling me in. For a long time I thought that any time spent on myself was time stolen from my children. I'm beginning to realize that time spent on myself is a gift to my children. I'm taking morning walks and eating better. I'm wearing makeup. I'm brushing my hair.

Time spent on me is a gift to my husband as well. What? I have a husband? Oh, that's right! When I became a Mom I grew so focused on my children that I forgot to be fun. I was a good Mom, but a lackluster wife and partner. You see, any time spend on my husband was time stolen from my children. Little did I know that time spent on my husband was one of the greatest gifts I could give my children.

It has been said that the greatest gift you can give your children is to love their mother. Isn't the same true of ne'er oft thought of dear old Dad?

Last night Mom watched the kiddos while my husband Dennis and I went out for margaritas and tacos. We talked. About the kids. And then a miracle happened. We started talking about him. As he began to share with me his hopes for the future I saw him come to life. It was like watching a train huff and puff and rattle and screech, eventually working up to a smooth and proud glide. It was beautiful.

We finished our food and checked his watch and determined that if we were to head home right then and there we would arrive just as Mom was putting the kids down. That's a big no-no. The distraction would have them in a frenzy and they wouldn't be able to go down for hours. So we did what any couple would do. We went to Target and picked up a t-ball stand and a twelve pack of beer. As we got back in the car and realized that we had failed to kill enough time for an uneventful re-entry we decided to stop by the driving range just down the street from our house and have a beer. Dare we? We dared. I asked Dennis what might happen if a policeman discovered our folly. He said, "You're right, officer. You got us. Two middle-aged people sitting in a parking lot at a driving range on a date night having a beer." I giggled. We hadn't done this since we were teenagers. He began detailing some teenage exploits of yore. A friend had scaled a fence and stolen a keg. Another had punched his cousin in the face. I asked if these friends were on Facebook so I could tease them. We smiled and laughed. And it was good.

As Father's Day approaches, I'm going to make a point to remember my husband more often. Not as a partner in parenting, we've got that one nailed, but as a partner in his dreams and in fun.

I love you Mr. Snugglepants.


Photo credit: hhttp://www.retroland.com/retrotalk/userfiles/10081561_gal.jpg

Brick Walls

I was drop-kicked into yesterday morning by a bad dream. After tossing and turning for a bit, when it became irkfully apparent that I would not be falling back to sleep, it dawned on me that if I were to get out of bed that very moment I could expect to have roughly ONE hour to myself. ONE hour! I could network. I could blog uninterrupted. I could think deep thoughts. I could lounge on the toilet and read Better Homes & Gardens. High on life, I ripped off the covers and flung myself across the room and into the hallway.

On my way to my computer I noticed that Joe had opened his door and turned on his light in the middle of the night. Giggling at the rhyme of it all (remember, I was still high on life) I crept over to his room, turned off his light, and closed his door as gingerly as any human can hope to gingerly close a door. Not quite two seconds later Joe exploded into a highly vocal crying frenzy so fierce I expected to find him literally caught by the toe by a tiger.

Just then, my bowels churned and threatened to erupt, and left me with no choice other than to dash into the bathroom. After a few very unpleasant moments, I made my way back to Joe's room to save him from the tiger. My bowels churned again, and so it was back to the bathroom. (Bad chicken???!? Damn that chicken!) From the bathroom I heard Lily working herself up to a crying frenzy as well. Is it possible there were two toe-grabbing tigers? As I sat there on the toilet I almost began to cry myself. One uninterrupted hour had been so close I could almost taste it! Alas, it was not meant to be.

My bowels behaved long enough to allow me to make it to Lily and Joe's rooms, save them from those blasted tigers, and hoist them by the teardrops onto the living room rug. Bleary, I decided I was not ready to be entertaining and thus went searching for the remote. I pressed 8 for PBS only to be greeted with the Spanish version of "A Place of Our Own". I tried to explain to Joe that they were speaking a language called Spanish, and that we spoke English, but that someday hopefully he could speak both English and Spanish, but he just stared at me, his face devoid of any hint of future bilingual prowess.

I flicked the channel button up one notch and was greeted with some seminar footage. A man named Randy Pausch, may he rest in peace, was sharing childhood photos of himself at Disneyland. He went on to detail his efforts to secure a position as a Disneyland Imagineer after having obtained his PhD. He read to us from one of many rejection letters he received from The Land of Disney. He had, in fact, hit a brick wall.

And then he said it!

"The brick walls aren't built to keep you out. The brick walls are built to keep out the people who don't want it badly enough. They're built to keep other people out."

Wow. If only that notion had dawned upon me years ago! I've always been painfully apologetic of my existence in the world. As though my mere presence was an irritation to the people who really deserved to be existing. And loving. And laughing. And succeeding. Every now and then I'd poke my little chipmunk nose around the corner and give something a try. Expecting rejection, I was never surprised when I hit a brick wall. I was overstepping my bounds, after all. I would apologize to the brick wall and scurry back into the safety of the shadows that were meant to be my home.

It never occurred to me for one moment that brick walls were golden opportunities! If they were keeping me out, isn't it possible they were keeping other people out as well? That I could net myself an advantage simply by deciding not to be discouraged—to give it another try? And maybe even another? Dare I? Who do I think I am, anyway? In the past all this uppity thinking would have had me scuttling back under a rock. But not today. And not ever again. I've got brick walls to climb!

Hyenas and Secret Cheerleaders

Here are some fairly "new to me" concepts that I'm going to blow by you. I've only recently had light bulb moments with regards to some time and attention-related issues.

If people give you a "can't put your finger on it" creepy-crawly feeling, trust your instincts.

I've finally learned to pull the plug on relationships with people who make me feel odd sensations. Hyenas. Jellyfishers. Possible predators. Stalkers. Haters. People who want to use me. Weird people who imagine a closeness and intimacy that does not exist and try to tell me what to do. Or people who think their own situations would be better if I were not around. And I don't feel guilty about it. I owe no explanations. No guilt. I've got other projects to pursue, other people to give my attention to. I will no longer waste my time and my energy on people who give me the feeling that they are either misrepresenting themselves or have hidden agendas. I'm not going to get paranoid. I'm not going to make dramatic scenes. I'm going to quietly slip out the back door.

People who have good intentions do not give you creepy crawly feelings. It's just that simple.



I will give my time and attention to those who are responsive to me.

I'm from the old school of people pleasers. My numero uno rule was to slosh my attentions all over people who did not deserve them. It was partly about being accepted. It was partly about "saving" people. And the more I needed to be saved, the more I ignored my own needs and tried to save others. I think the real intent was to save myself by proxy without having to admit that I had a problem, and to avoid spending any time thinking about myself. If I didn't see myself, I could pretend that I didn't exist. And if I didn't exist, it was easy to drink too much, stay up too late, put myself in dangerous situations, abuse my body, compromise my principles and be generally unkind to myself.

I didn't know it, but I was angry about some things, and took that anger out on myself instead of an appropriate target, or better yet - letting it evaporate into the light. I ignored those who were consistent in liking me, in being responsive to me, and in just "being there". I already had them, so there was no work to be done there. And who wants to be a part of any club that will have me for a member, anyway? Why do they like me? There must be something fundamentally wrong with their character. Better to be around people who cared nothing about me and allowed me to harm myself. As a numbed-out zombie, at least in harming myself I could feel something, anything, as proof that I was in fact still alive.

STUPID! No more. I'm going to give my time and attention to those who are responsive and reciprocal. They don't have to be a major part of my life, but I will no longer chase the attentions of people who ignore me or who are not good for me. If you've been friendly and supportive and kind to me and I've ignored you, I am so incredibly sorry. It was no reflection on you. It was a reflection on me. To those who responded to me, like The Bitter Half, when you showed me myself I became someone else—myself. Thank you for seeing me, and for illuminating my reflection in your mirror.

I will thank my lucky stars for my secret cheerleaders.

I'm beginning to realize that we all have secret cheerleaders. They root for us and pray for us behind the scenes. Either intentionally or incidentally, they fly under our radar. We might be alerted to the presence of our secret cheerleaders during a conflict or personal challenge. It is during these times that we fully expect our best and closest friends to step up to the plate and support us, or to gently get in our faces and tell us the honest truth. We may be surprised when instead, people on the periphery of our lives, about whom we never thought much or expected to be thought of by, are the ones who poke in their heads, uplift us and point us in the direction of the sun.

If only there were a way to identify them when the chips are still up.

Thank you secret cheerleaders. I'm going to be somebody's secret cheerleader too.

Women know that stuff is just stuff

The Bitter Half just brought me the latest (12/22/08) issue of Newsweek and pointed out Anna Quindlen's latest "The Last Word" editorial called "Stuff is Not Salvation". He knows that I feel the same way and was thinking that I might want to blog about it. Am I a lucky woman or what? Thanks, Mr. Snugglepants.

"The drumbeat that accompanied Black Friday this year was that the numbers had to redeem us, that if enough money was spent by shoppers it would indicate that things were not so bad after all. But what the economy required was at odds with a necessary epiphany. Because things are dire, many people have become hesitant to spend money on trifles. And in the process they began to realize that it's all trifles."

"... he covets. That's his nature. And how do we begin to covet, Clarice? Do we week out things to covet? ... We begin by coveting what we see every day ... don't your eyes seek out the things you want?"

There you have it. We are in the midst of a period of enlightenment. Due to economic necessity and the cyclical nature of things, more and more of us are starting to "get" the mentality of the generations of Americans that came before us. Credit is evil (think Lindsey Lohan). Idle hands do the devil's work (think Lindsey Lohan). Less is more (think Lindsey Lohan). Self-indulgence is wrong (think Lindsey Lohan). Waste not, want not (think - okay, you get it).

We're beginning to feel a little foolish and to wonder how and why we ever consumed so conspicuously. When I was making a lot of money and had few expenses, I used to go shopping all the time. Malls, discount stores, boutiques. When I wasn't out shopping, I was in shopping on eBay and Amazon. I saved nothing. And you know what? I can't think of one thing I purchased during that period that I still have today, that I still use or value. Not one thing. I've moved a few times, so what wasn't loved or useful went to charity or friends. What a sobering thought. Nothing that I purchased was loved or useful. It was a massive, pathetic, orgy of waste. None of my purchases filled the deepening hole inside me for longer than an instant. One might even speculate that they added fuel to my fire. I picture myself back then and see flashes of credit cards, last minute eBay sniping, back rooms piling with stuff. Sitting in the dark buying more and more, lonely and wasted like a flaming oil field off in the distance.

I wasn't trying to be better than anyone else by amassing so many useless things. I was shooting for par. I thought if I wore the right suit, had the right jewelry, the right shoes with no scuffs, the right fake highlighted hair, the right fake nails, and a good enough fake tan to hide the fullness in my thighs that I could sit down with the rest of you and not feel ashamed and unworthy. It was a losing battle when fought with things. A battle that was better fought by loving so deeply that everything around me melted and fell away until all that existed was love. Children can do that for a person.

How can we further quell our desire to amass? To keep up with the Joneses? The problem is complex, and I don't think there is one answer. I'm one of the worst offenders myself and need some re-schoolin'. But we can start by working together and walking the talk. Why is it so important to work together? To quote Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs (yeah yeah I know, just hear me out lol):

"... he covets. That's his nature. And how do we begin to covet, Clarice? Do we week out things to covet? ... We begin by coveting what we see every day ... don't your eyes seek out the things you want?"

We watch television. HGTV to be specific. And we see twenty year olds buying massive, gorgeous first homes. We see all manner of people remodeling and "upgrading" their homes, ridding themselves of counter tops that aren't cookie-cutter granite, throwing out anything that does not fit the current and very specific ideal. We see real estate appraisers curling their lips with disgust and pointing and gasping and telling us that our homes, which look so much like those in the "before" scenes, are all wrong and even pitiable, that they simply must be changed and be changed NOW. We feel shame.

We watch The Food Network and see Giada, a professional chef who is a size negative zero, whose curiously large head is always perfectly coiffed, her upgraded nose and cleavage gleaming with perfection. Out of the corners of our eyes we catch our husbands innocently gazing at the television and we feel inferior. Everything about us is wrong. Don't our husbands deserve better? Time for an expensive gym membership. Better run out and buy new cooking gadgets, the most expensive virgin olive oils and serving platters, and lots of hair spray. Aren't the men we love worth it?

We are flooded with images of gadgets and wazoozles. Images that bend us and twist us and fill us with a hunger for things. Because only these things, these very specific new things, will allow us to express ourselves and present ourselves in the desired manner, to create the lifestyle and feel of home that we desire. Only these things will make our children feel loved, our husbands valued and appreciated, only what that guy has will do for them. They see it, they want it, they must have it or I will have failed them. They are so wonderful they deserve only the best.

Time to rip the needle off the record, ladies. As long as we keep buying what they're selling they're going to keep dishing it out. Time to stop letting people with a vested interest in making us feel shame and less than we really are dictate our realities. I don't pretend to know the right way to proceed. For each of us it will be different. But I think a good place to start is by giving ourselves some breathing room. Time to take an inventory of our lives. Get rid of people and things that are not necessary, sentimental or useful. Think ten times before making a purchase. And if we really do need something, let's see if we can repurpose an item we already own, or find it used at a thrift store, or buy it used on Craig's List from a family who could really use the money, or handmade from a stay at home Mom.

And one more request: Please stop buying your kid those $200 designer jeans. She doesn't need them to be loved and accepted. By buying them for her you just might be feeding into her suspicion that she does. And if your daughter is wearing them, then my daughter just might see them and want them because she will want Jordan or Brent to think she's pretty too. And it will never end.

Women seek the greatest gifts

There are some days when the words just won't come. I stare at the screen wishing I could imprint my emotions upon it. But since I can't do that, which is probably for the best, I'm going to post a quote sent to me a couple of weeks ago by somebody special. (to the right)

"This Christmas, mend a quarrel. Seek out a forgotten friend. Dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust. Write a letter. Give a soft answer. Encourage youth. Manifest your loyalty in word and deed. Keep a promise. Forgo a grudge. Forgive an enemy. Apologize. Try to understand. Examine your demands on others. Think first of someone else. Be kind. Be gentle. Laugh a little more. Express your gratitude. Welcome a stranger. Gladden the heart of a child. Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth. Speak your love and then speak it again."

~~~Howard W. Hunter

To my family—my nutty, wonderful, wacky family—I love you all so much. I am grateful to God for placing you near me down here on Earth. I shudder to think how I would have survived had I been set down in a wicked or unkind pasture. I know that many of you were and that you've managed to survive so that your gifts and your sweet souls may bring comfort, joy and inspiration to the lives and hearts of others. Please don't make the mistake of thinking that the magic and the hope and the promise of the best of life has passed you by.

To a dear old friend, thank you for your honesty and for taking that baby step.

Look and see how many beautiful flowers emerged from that bed of manure.

Women do unto others as they'd have done unto them

Thanksgiving has me thinking about my fellow man. (Man of course meaning mankind, not the man fellow next to me). I'm not the biggest humanitarian you'll ever encounter. Sometimes, usually while driving, you'll hear me yell out, "Peeeople! AAAAAAgh! PEOPLE! That's it. I'm building a cabin in the woods and I'm going to live off the land."

I would never do that, of course. And not just because I don't have the required carpentry and survival skills. Not that I've seriously looked into it. I would never do it because I believe that we need a sense of community to thrive. We need to feel as though we are a part of something bigger than ourselves. We need to feel included, needed, helpful and appreciated. By other people.

Interactions with other people are going to be as tricky or as simple as we choose to make them. Here are some things I've learned that you might find helpful.

1) You are not better than anybody else. ANYBODY. But here's the good part. Conversely, nobody else is better than you. NOBODY. You will be happier if you relate to all people as peers and equals, with the exception, of course, of children, who need to be treated with respect but are not to be treated as peers.

2) There is no free lunch. No free selfish or nasty deed. I'll even venture as far to say no free selfish or nasty thoughts. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Yes, it's better to think a bad thing rather than to actually act on it, but better yet to train ourselves to purge negative thoughts at the bud stage. They hurt and poison us, and they also have the power to effect those around us.

Taken from Ralph Waldo Emerson's Essays: First Series (1841), Essay III: Compensation:

All infractions of love and equity in our social relations are speedily punished. They are punished by fear. Whilst I stand in simple relations to my fellow-man, I have no displeasure in meeting him. We meet as water meets water, or as two currents of air mix, with perfect diffusion and interpenetration of nature. But as soon as there is any departure from simplicity, and attempt at halfness, or good for me that is not good for him, my neighbour feels the wrong; he shrinks from me as far as I have shrunk from him; his eyes no longer seek mine; there is war between us; there is hate in him and fear in me.

When we are in the throes of negativity, whether it be self-induced or inflicted upon us by another, we are presented with a choice. We can choose to take it in and let us poison us. Or we can brush it off of us like metal shavings from a magnet and remain light of heart and free to love and be loved.

3) When you're feeling pretty good about yourself and things are going right and you're receiving back-pats and accolades from people you admire, choose humility. Don't believe your own hype. It is an illusion. You are just you, the same you you always were, warts and all. You still poop. You still sneak a Dorito every now and then. You still think negative thoughts about your friends and beat yourself up over it. A choice to be humble is a choice to be happy. A choice to be humble frees you from fear of falling and the curse of perfectionism.

4) Do not share your good deeds with others. Keep them to yourself. This is a lot harder than it sounds. But if you know ahead of time that ain't nobody knowhow going to find out about that wonderful thing you're about to do, you will be less likely to step into the bear trap called self-pride. And this can lead to more struggles with humility. You know this already and don't need me to tell you. I'm only reminding myself publicly, not telling you what to do.

Also, as goofy as it sounds, we sometimes stop ourselves from giving to others or doing good deeds because we are subconsciously afraid of the attention we will receive because of them, and the embarrassment that attention will bring to us. People will tell us how wonderful we are, and because most of us really think we're less than wonderful, the guilt and shame will creep in, effectively punishing us for doing a good deed. This of course will cause us to be less likely to give and help and share in the future. Best to keep your trap shut and your heart open.

5) Don't ever give up. EVER. If you give up, you will die inside. Remember that with love all things are possible. Your dream is worth it. You are worth it. A better life must be had. And yes, you can fly.

Christmas is approaching. I love Christmas and Hanukkah time. People are a little nicer to one another. Family suddenly becomes more important to everybody. I'm lucky enough to have people I love around me, and I do not take that for granted. I'm going to keep on working on becoming a little less of a selfish, self-obsessed ninny so I can have more to offer them and you. If you see me acting up, please do call me on and give me a chance to make amends rather than writing me off completely. I promise to do the same.