I'm looking through you, where did you go? I thought I knew you, what did I know?
You don't look different, but you have changed. I'm looking through you, you're not the same.
-The Beatles
At some point you have been, or will be, told a lie by someone you trust . . . . or trusted up to that point.
You will find someone with their hand in the cookie jar, you will point out said hand in said cookie jar, and that person will look you straight in the face and say “It’s not what you think”.
But it is.
It’s exactly what you think because you’re not an idiot. That’s right, YOU are not the idiot. You may feel like an idiot, but you aren’t the one who engaged in idiotic behavior. Unfortunately, you are the one who feels like you’ve been kicked in the stomach. You are the one who feels betrayed. You are the one who is now looking at the person you thought you knew and wondering “Who are you? Do I know anything at all about you, other than you’re a liar? How long have you been lying? What else have you lied about? Was anything you ever said true”? In one fell swoop everything you know, or knew, is cast out the window and the person you thought you knew is a stranger; you throw the baby out with the bath water. You begin to look back in your history with this person, the sniglets of questioning that showed themselves before, they suddenly change from nagging thought you once pushed away to “Oh my God. Then? Did you lie then too?” You want to believe that person, oh my word how you want to believe them, you don’t want to believe what is happening, but it is.
People tell lies to protect others. People tell lies out of fear. People tell lies out of embarrassment or shame. Are there acceptable lies? Sure. Does this skirt make my butt look big? No . . . no it sure does not. Do you like my new hair cut? Yes! Everyone loves a regulation military flat top on a woman, it’s quite fetching! Some lies are just rhetorical answers to rhetorical questions. Other lies truly do protect; without deception no one would have hidden Jewish people in closets and basements and barns during WWII, without deception the abused would have nowhere to run and hide and find shelter from their abusers. But others are just flat out cruel. Few things are worse than the pain of being purposely deceived for the benefit of the liar, and only the liar. Your emotions are not even remotely interesting to the cruel liar. Even the painful truth is nowhere near as painful as the slap in the face that is a lie, it’s not about “you and me and getting through this rough moment”. It’s about ME (thinks the liar) and getting as far away from this as possible with no thought whatsoever of anyone else or consequences.
But as William Shakespeare reminds us, the truth will always out. And it does, the truth is always, always revealed. First, you can tell someone is lying while it’s happening, it’s obvious. Next, people love to talk, good Lord how people love to talk! Either through gossip or the liar’s own inability to shut the hell up, the truth will be told; give people enough rope and they will indeed hang themselves. But last, and perhaps most important, it’s just the way of the karmic fates that preside over our morality. Untruths are always uncloaked. Lies make life unbalanced. They briefly tip the scales in one person’s favor under very covert and questionable circumstances, since that’s not fair the yin and yang of the world won’t keep it that way forever. Lies take away our freedom of choice. When someone paints an incorrect picture for you they have robbed you of your choices on how to proceed. Your own free will in a situation that involves you and your life is taken. You are not given the option of how to handle the situation for yourself. Lying clearly sacrifices the liar’s dignity, but it also sacrifices the dignity of the person on the receiving end. It brings everyone down to a base level. Lying is also arrogant. Lying says “I have the upper hand. This situation is about control and power, not about faith in you or me or our ability to get through this difficult moment so I am going to take control and orchestrate everything my way”. Thus it is decreed, the gavel bangs, all rise, kiss the ring of the controlling liar as you exit.
Arrogance, deception, furtiveness; all dangerous and dicey and slippery. These are the facets of lying that we can look to when we are in pain after having been victimized by lying. These things help us to feel less victimized and gain some foot hold again. We need these power moments of anger to help us swing the pendulum back our way just a bit, we need the shift of power. And we need these moments of strength to give us some respite from the bitter pain of being so utterly disrespected. The crush of knowing you mean so little to someone that they would rather wave you off with a lie than have an above board conversation with you is shocking. It can be destroying to learn this person has no self respect, no respect for you, and no respect for whatever relationship it is you have. Lying is cruel . . . cruel to all involved, be it voluntarily or involuntarily. Lying is bollocks.
As always, I like to bring my real life experience stories around to a positive end, so let’s move on and make with the happy!
Remember, everything really is for the best. Sometimes you need to learn the person you have faith in is absent of integrity and undeserving of your faith. Sometimes it’s the only way to get the muck and toxicity out of your life. It can shake your world and leave a terrible void to lose respect for someone. This person who once stood tall in your eyes is reduced to a simpering mass of timidity. It hurts to see it happen, but it is for the best. This is not a place you should be. Throughout the roller coaster of emotions that occur; anger, shock, devastation, nonchalance, tons and tons of “chalance”; and the physical response of stomach knots, remember this . . . it is not about you, it is no reflection on you, and let me reiterate this is not a place you should be. Get angry, cry, write terrible songs and crappy blogs, then drop it and move on.
One day, when you can, if you can, try to send some good thoughts out to the person that deceived you, they need it. Something is going on inside that person that has nothing to do with you, nothing at all. Their actions are coming from somewhere sad, or hurt, or fearful. They didn't lie to you, they lied about themselves, remember the difference. You don’t have to love what they did, and I’m not suggesting you go back for more (let us harken back to THIS IS NOT A PLACE YOU SHOULD BE), just try to separate the behavior from the person. You will eventually forgive and forget, like the Taoist river flowing over the rock – you will not beat your head against it, your life will move on, you will shine on, leaving their rock of deceit in your wake, but they will still carry the deceit. Now the balance of power has shifted your way, but who wants that? Just as lying is arrogant, so is being didactic, so play nice. Try to keep life balanced, try to be fair and loving.
Nature, time, and patience are the three great healers.
Love all y’all!
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Monday, April 8, 2013
BLAHSVILLE
I quit. I give up. Nothing's good enough for anybody else it seems. And being alone
is the best way to be. When I'm by myself it's the best way to be. When I'm all alone it's
the best way to be. When I'm by myself nobody else can say goodbye. Everything is temporary anyway.
-Edie Brickell
I had a bad week a little while ago. It felt like everything in my life had gone wrong, good things left and bad things stayed, leaving me to dine on stress and shit sandwiches.
I gave up.
I gave up all hope. I had had it with thinking positive, with being positive, with having hope and wishes and dreams and aspirations. I just quit. What good is it anyway? You think positive and you believe in so much good and yet, you get taken to the mat. Why bother with all this positive thinking if it’s just going to slap you around? Better to be realistic or even better . . . to do nothing. To quit, throw in the towel, hoist the white flag and take the last train to Clarksville. As our dear friend and philosopher, Cartman, says “screw you guys, I’m goin’ home”.
During this bleak time I cried, and it showed. I turtle’d at home. I wondered what my purpose in life is and, indeed, the purpose of life at all. Not to the point where I broke out my pseudo intellectual college girl self and delved into Camus readings, but to the point of . . . hmmmmm . . . how do I describe it . . . nothing. Absolute zero. Null. Barren. Not even shoe shopping sounded interesting. Blah.
Generally time heals all wounds, other times it just opens the wounds that have healed. Imagine you want something, no . . . more than want, you believe so strongly you’ll have it that you don’t even consider life without it, but then, the years pass, what you thought would occur doesn’t, and you finally have to be real and say “that ship has sailed”. That damn ship left without me and I could have sworn I booked passage, but here I stand on the dock, watching it leave while I longingly stare at what I thought was mine diminish on the horizon. Wounded. And then, with many years time, healed. But what if the scar is scratched open and once again you have hope? Is it realistic? Does it matter? Do hope and reality always fit like hand in glove? Do you dare hope a second time for something that was so difficult to lose once? During happy times any one of you, and of course me, would say “Oh my yes, never give up hope, you never know, so many possibilities, so many other ways of having what you want, keep your mind and your heart open”. And then there are times when you say “Bullshit and balderdash”.
Bullshit and balderdash are feelings worth having. In this world of Deepak Chopra and Wayne Dyer we are all conditioned to follow the advice of our Python friends and always look on the bright side of life, and for the most part I agree. But it can’t always happen right away nor, I believe, should it. For craps sake, you’re unhappy, it’s ok, be unhappy a bit. Cry your little eyes out and when your friend says “Are you ok? You look like you’ve been crying”, just say "yes". After all, what if the answer was “no” and you truly looked like crap with no excuse? I’d rather be accused of crying. Besides, you have to let it out so you don’t end up with ulcers or shingles or going on a shopping spree you can ill afford. Just keep your tears and credit cards at home for a while and indulge how sad you are. It’s alright.
But what of the feeling beyond sad, the feeling of hopelessness and what if’s and giving up? These feelings are more than just the illness at hand, these are insidious. These are the bigger questions that only relate to the initial pain in an arterial way. You want a new job. You want a house . . . or children . . . or a garden, or a trip to Europe, or to be President of the Justin Timberlake fan club and you recognize they all require work and effort. You put in the work and effort and yet, your wish remains an elusive shot in the dark as your coin pings at the bottom of the well. Then you feel it. Why hope? Why bother? It comes so close and then runs through my un-webbed fingers as though it meant nothing to me. So you go to work, you leave work, you go to the gym, you go home, you go to sleep, you get up and do it all again along with all the other automatons and you wonder, are they happy? Is this it? Am I asking for too much? I don’t know, all I know is what I want isn’t here and doesn’t seem to be on its way, so what now? What path? Did I miss a turn? Did I forget to book passage on yet another ship? Did the ship return and leave without me again?!
I can’t answer any of these questions. But they’re all worthy questions and therein lay the productive catalyst of hopelessness. It brings up questions and can help foster change and growth. What do you really want? Do you really want that ship that you let sail to return? Then call it back, get that thing back here and until there is no hope whatsoever and the last nail is driven in the coffin of that dream then keep it up because now my dear friends . . .
Time has passed.
Now you can buck up buttercup (I love you M.M.!), and move onward through the fog. Along the way there will be setbacks and moments of struggle and that is all well and good, but you’ve hung your head low and contemplated your navel enough to see inside, and what beauty lies within. Life is fraught with sadness, just as it is fraught with happiness. You will lose hope and determination and drop all the spinning plates, but you can get more plates. All the seasons are beautiful, from snowstorm to sun splash.
I began this writing while wondering “is this it”? I’m not going to fill you up with a bunch of dewy crap and say “my life is wonderful and if this is it I’ll take it”! My life isn’t a musical, I’m not going to burst forth with song and dance, truth be told I hate musicals. My life has some great things in it, no doubt about it, and as M.M. and I discussed just the other day, the 21 year old version of me would look at the life I have now and find great success in at least some of it. But I want more. That’s where the question posed in the very beginning comes in; what comes from wanting more? Do you get what you want or do you get a reality inducing slap in the face? I dunno, lately it felt like a slap, but it’s still worth heeding the advice of Journey and “don’t stop believin’”. And listen my friends, it’s ok to want more. It’s ok to want more love, to want more from your job, to want more days on the mountain next Winter, and to want more out of life, there is nothing wrong with wanting all that you can handle. DON’T.STOP.BELIEVIN’.
Let’s go back to our friend, Edie and her New Bohemian buddies . . .
Everything is temporary anyway.
When the streets are wet the colors slip into the sky.
When the streets are wet the colors slip into the sky . . . and you have to look up to see them.
Chin up buttercup.
is the best way to be. When I'm by myself it's the best way to be. When I'm all alone it's
the best way to be. When I'm by myself nobody else can say goodbye. Everything is temporary anyway.
-Edie Brickell
I had a bad week a little while ago. It felt like everything in my life had gone wrong, good things left and bad things stayed, leaving me to dine on stress and shit sandwiches.
I gave up.
I gave up all hope. I had had it with thinking positive, with being positive, with having hope and wishes and dreams and aspirations. I just quit. What good is it anyway? You think positive and you believe in so much good and yet, you get taken to the mat. Why bother with all this positive thinking if it’s just going to slap you around? Better to be realistic or even better . . . to do nothing. To quit, throw in the towel, hoist the white flag and take the last train to Clarksville. As our dear friend and philosopher, Cartman, says “screw you guys, I’m goin’ home”.
During this bleak time I cried, and it showed. I turtle’d at home. I wondered what my purpose in life is and, indeed, the purpose of life at all. Not to the point where I broke out my pseudo intellectual college girl self and delved into Camus readings, but to the point of . . . hmmmmm . . . how do I describe it . . . nothing. Absolute zero. Null. Barren. Not even shoe shopping sounded interesting. Blah.
Generally time heals all wounds, other times it just opens the wounds that have healed. Imagine you want something, no . . . more than want, you believe so strongly you’ll have it that you don’t even consider life without it, but then, the years pass, what you thought would occur doesn’t, and you finally have to be real and say “that ship has sailed”. That damn ship left without me and I could have sworn I booked passage, but here I stand on the dock, watching it leave while I longingly stare at what I thought was mine diminish on the horizon. Wounded. And then, with many years time, healed. But what if the scar is scratched open and once again you have hope? Is it realistic? Does it matter? Do hope and reality always fit like hand in glove? Do you dare hope a second time for something that was so difficult to lose once? During happy times any one of you, and of course me, would say “Oh my yes, never give up hope, you never know, so many possibilities, so many other ways of having what you want, keep your mind and your heart open”. And then there are times when you say “Bullshit and balderdash”.
Bullshit and balderdash are feelings worth having. In this world of Deepak Chopra and Wayne Dyer we are all conditioned to follow the advice of our Python friends and always look on the bright side of life, and for the most part I agree. But it can’t always happen right away nor, I believe, should it. For craps sake, you’re unhappy, it’s ok, be unhappy a bit. Cry your little eyes out and when your friend says “Are you ok? You look like you’ve been crying”, just say "yes". After all, what if the answer was “no” and you truly looked like crap with no excuse? I’d rather be accused of crying. Besides, you have to let it out so you don’t end up with ulcers or shingles or going on a shopping spree you can ill afford. Just keep your tears and credit cards at home for a while and indulge how sad you are. It’s alright.
But what of the feeling beyond sad, the feeling of hopelessness and what if’s and giving up? These feelings are more than just the illness at hand, these are insidious. These are the bigger questions that only relate to the initial pain in an arterial way. You want a new job. You want a house . . . or children . . . or a garden, or a trip to Europe, or to be President of the Justin Timberlake fan club and you recognize they all require work and effort. You put in the work and effort and yet, your wish remains an elusive shot in the dark as your coin pings at the bottom of the well. Then you feel it. Why hope? Why bother? It comes so close and then runs through my un-webbed fingers as though it meant nothing to me. So you go to work, you leave work, you go to the gym, you go home, you go to sleep, you get up and do it all again along with all the other automatons and you wonder, are they happy? Is this it? Am I asking for too much? I don’t know, all I know is what I want isn’t here and doesn’t seem to be on its way, so what now? What path? Did I miss a turn? Did I forget to book passage on yet another ship? Did the ship return and leave without me again?!
I can’t answer any of these questions. But they’re all worthy questions and therein lay the productive catalyst of hopelessness. It brings up questions and can help foster change and growth. What do you really want? Do you really want that ship that you let sail to return? Then call it back, get that thing back here and until there is no hope whatsoever and the last nail is driven in the coffin of that dream then keep it up because now my dear friends . . .
Time has passed.
Now you can buck up buttercup (I love you M.M.!), and move onward through the fog. Along the way there will be setbacks and moments of struggle and that is all well and good, but you’ve hung your head low and contemplated your navel enough to see inside, and what beauty lies within. Life is fraught with sadness, just as it is fraught with happiness. You will lose hope and determination and drop all the spinning plates, but you can get more plates. All the seasons are beautiful, from snowstorm to sun splash.
I began this writing while wondering “is this it”? I’m not going to fill you up with a bunch of dewy crap and say “my life is wonderful and if this is it I’ll take it”! My life isn’t a musical, I’m not going to burst forth with song and dance, truth be told I hate musicals. My life has some great things in it, no doubt about it, and as M.M. and I discussed just the other day, the 21 year old version of me would look at the life I have now and find great success in at least some of it. But I want more. That’s where the question posed in the very beginning comes in; what comes from wanting more? Do you get what you want or do you get a reality inducing slap in the face? I dunno, lately it felt like a slap, but it’s still worth heeding the advice of Journey and “don’t stop believin’”. And listen my friends, it’s ok to want more. It’s ok to want more love, to want more from your job, to want more days on the mountain next Winter, and to want more out of life, there is nothing wrong with wanting all that you can handle. DON’T.STOP.BELIEVIN’.
Let’s go back to our friend, Edie and her New Bohemian buddies . . .
Everything is temporary anyway.
When the streets are wet the colors slip into the sky.
When the streets are wet the colors slip into the sky . . . and you have to look up to see them.
Chin up buttercup.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Commodities
Now the parking lot is empty, everyone’s gone someplace.
I pick you up and in the trunk I've packed a cooler and a 2-day suitcase.
Cause there's a place we like to drive, way out in the country.
Five miles out of the city limit we’re singing, and your hand’s upon my knee
-The Indigo Girls
It is 8:00 on a Sunday night. My house is a mess, piles of laundry both done and undone surround me, the bathroom could use a going over, the kitchen as well, the scones I wanted to make remain but an idea I had on Friday, the material I bought to sew new napkins is in the closet next to the machine that has not been touched, I should have gone in to the office this weekend but didn’t, and once again at the end of a weekend I wonder how on earth one manages balance in this life. Two days a week away from work isn’t enough.
I want to be up the hill riding my snowboard, or trekking on my snowshoes. Soon I will want to hike and camp. I also want to be in town and go out to dinner, go to the symphony, go for a walk, go to the farmers market, and ride my bike. I want quiet down time to read a book or watch a movie or even, gasp, take a nap. I want to take classes, I want to use my sewing machine more, I want to cook more, I want to spend my free time doing things I love, but then who will do the laundry and pay the bills and vacuum and grocery shop? How does everyone do it? Does everyone do it? Is it merely an illusion that the rest of you have it figured out while I am grossly behind and ill equipped to manage my own life? I tell my friend, Dave, I am writing about finding balance and he gives me a knowing look. I’m astonished, he seems to have it all figured out, but maybe not? What we see on the outside is not always what is real.
It seems to all be about choices and priorities. I had a fantastic weekend and it flew by. Friday night I was out with Maura and Kim, Saturday I lollygagged around on the couch watching "Downton Abby", then went out in the snow and played, then came home with just enough time to shower and meet up with my friends for dinner, then the art gallery, then drinks. This morning I slept in, went bike shopping, and now I am on the computer. It was glorious just playing all weekend, but now I see how behind I am at work and in the details of my home. I want to read a book, it seems like so little to ask but every day is work, then exercise, then dinner and dishes and getting ready for work the next day. I’m not a morning person, I must do as much as possible the night before, and I need my 9 hours of sleep, and then the whole thing starts over again. Timing is almost crucial or the entire, precarious house of cards will blow away like so much dust in the wind.
There is work. There is play. There is rest. There is down time. There is social time. There are times when I feel like I fail spectacularly in every area. What is the worth of each? I love when I have a productive day. I sit on my couch and enjoy the splendor of my clean home, my completed laundry, my full refrigerator, the smell of something yummy in the oven, feet up on the table with a book and a drink. I feel content and peaceful. I love when I have a weekend in the great outdoors and I come home smelly and filthy and beat. I feel like I have lived my free time, not just had free time.
I have never understood people who say they wouldn’t know what to do if they didn’t work. Are you out of your fucking mind?!!!!! Forgive the vulgarity, but seriously, you couldn’t find anything to do? In this vast world of so much to do, you go to work 40 hours a week for lack of anything better? What is wrong with you?! Oh my word, the endless possibilities of what to do boggles the mind, the classes to be taken, the volunteer opportunities in which to take part, the time to spend indulgently on a hobby that you love . . . what I would give, my kingdom for more time. Alas, my kingdom does not amount to much and thus far no one has offered to trade it for more time.
Have I ever told y’all the “woot doot doot” story? I feel like maybe I have, but if I did it’s long enough ago that I can’t remember so I’ll bank on you all forgetting as well. This is my friends story, not mine, but I love it so I re-tell it often. When she was a young girl living at home her neighbors had a young son. Every single day of the summer, EVERY single day of the summer, he would get on his bike in the morning and ride it in circles on the driveway screaming “Woot doot doot! Woot doot doot”! C’mon, how great is that, now that is enjoying your free time. I love when I’m happy enough to yell out nonsense. When I am having a good run on my board I often yell “Yayayayaya”! . . . and why not, I feel great! Today when I was bike shopping I test rode a lot of bikes, nothing can make you feel the joy of youth quite like riding a bicycle, and a shiny new bike to boot. I wanted to scream “woot doot doot”!
Let’s get back to the choices and priorities part of this. My job is stressful, very, very stressful. There is no catching up, ever. The only way to catch up is to work until 10:00 every night. I won’t do it. I did for a while but I have put my foot down, I will only work painfully late once a week and I will not go in on weekends, or I will at least do my best to not go in on the weekends. My choice is to have balance and to live my life and let me tell you people, I love my life. I love going up to the mountains to play, I love staying in town to play, I love everything I do in life . . . except for house cleaning, gross . . . other than that I love everything in my life.
I don’t know how to make it all work. There are days I feel like I’m going to explode from the stress of trying to fit it all in. Add in the fact the I'm a singleton and that makes it even harder, there’s no one to help out. I was grocery shopping at 9:00 p.m. last week because after work there’s yoga, and then after yoga there’s grocery shopping, and then putting away the groceries, maybe eating something over the sink, and then washing the dishes from this morning and getting coffee set to go so all I have to do is turn the pot on in the morning. I can’t call Lucy Lulu and Delilah Jane to ask them to pick up almond milk, they’re cute but fairly useless.
As I begin to wrap this months edition up I see that I have no answer. No epiphany . No ding ding ding, you’re a winner winner chicken dinner, bell ringing. I suppose something is always sacrificed and you have to know what is most important. I need to do a good job so I can stay employed and continue to enjoy the lifestyle to which I have become accustomed. So, sacrifice work, yes but not at the expense of work. Sacrifice play time? Rarely, very, very rarely, because play is important. Sacrifice a clean house? Yes, duh. I’ll just get over it. And it can all cycle ya know; work very hard for two weeks before I take one week off of work. Take a day off of work here and there to catch up on my home life. What will I never sacrifice? My friends, family, and loved ones of course. . . never. You all come before funded loans and a clean house and a stocked fridge. I can order food in, I can pay someone else to clean the house, and funded mortgage loans . . . well, I guess I still have to go to work and fund mortgage loan, damnit, but I can choose to limit my hours and just do the best within that.
I haven’t purchased a season pass for my beloved snowboard in some years, and I have missed it greatly. My once okey dokey skills are now rusty at best. I have made a vow with the lovely Maura, we will buy passes again this fall and go up often, for fun and sanity and balance. My old bike is done and I’m buying a new one, I’ll ride it to work on Fridays. I leave work early every Thursday to get to the early yoga class, I go in to the office early on Thursdays to make up for leaving early and that part blows, I believe I mentioned not being an early bird, but I stay true blue to my early Thursdays. You gotta find ways and sometimes, you just have to say no to a clean house and give that laundry pile the Heisman. It’ll still be there when you get back, don’t worry about it.
Get out and play for gosh sakes . . . WOOT DOOT DOOT!!!!!!!
I pick you up and in the trunk I've packed a cooler and a 2-day suitcase.
Cause there's a place we like to drive, way out in the country.
Five miles out of the city limit we’re singing, and your hand’s upon my knee
-The Indigo Girls
It is 8:00 on a Sunday night. My house is a mess, piles of laundry both done and undone surround me, the bathroom could use a going over, the kitchen as well, the scones I wanted to make remain but an idea I had on Friday, the material I bought to sew new napkins is in the closet next to the machine that has not been touched, I should have gone in to the office this weekend but didn’t, and once again at the end of a weekend I wonder how on earth one manages balance in this life. Two days a week away from work isn’t enough.
I want to be up the hill riding my snowboard, or trekking on my snowshoes. Soon I will want to hike and camp. I also want to be in town and go out to dinner, go to the symphony, go for a walk, go to the farmers market, and ride my bike. I want quiet down time to read a book or watch a movie or even, gasp, take a nap. I want to take classes, I want to use my sewing machine more, I want to cook more, I want to spend my free time doing things I love, but then who will do the laundry and pay the bills and vacuum and grocery shop? How does everyone do it? Does everyone do it? Is it merely an illusion that the rest of you have it figured out while I am grossly behind and ill equipped to manage my own life? I tell my friend, Dave, I am writing about finding balance and he gives me a knowing look. I’m astonished, he seems to have it all figured out, but maybe not? What we see on the outside is not always what is real.
It seems to all be about choices and priorities. I had a fantastic weekend and it flew by. Friday night I was out with Maura and Kim, Saturday I lollygagged around on the couch watching "Downton Abby", then went out in the snow and played, then came home with just enough time to shower and meet up with my friends for dinner, then the art gallery, then drinks. This morning I slept in, went bike shopping, and now I am on the computer. It was glorious just playing all weekend, but now I see how behind I am at work and in the details of my home. I want to read a book, it seems like so little to ask but every day is work, then exercise, then dinner and dishes and getting ready for work the next day. I’m not a morning person, I must do as much as possible the night before, and I need my 9 hours of sleep, and then the whole thing starts over again. Timing is almost crucial or the entire, precarious house of cards will blow away like so much dust in the wind.
There is work. There is play. There is rest. There is down time. There is social time. There are times when I feel like I fail spectacularly in every area. What is the worth of each? I love when I have a productive day. I sit on my couch and enjoy the splendor of my clean home, my completed laundry, my full refrigerator, the smell of something yummy in the oven, feet up on the table with a book and a drink. I feel content and peaceful. I love when I have a weekend in the great outdoors and I come home smelly and filthy and beat. I feel like I have lived my free time, not just had free time.
I have never understood people who say they wouldn’t know what to do if they didn’t work. Are you out of your fucking mind?!!!!! Forgive the vulgarity, but seriously, you couldn’t find anything to do? In this vast world of so much to do, you go to work 40 hours a week for lack of anything better? What is wrong with you?! Oh my word, the endless possibilities of what to do boggles the mind, the classes to be taken, the volunteer opportunities in which to take part, the time to spend indulgently on a hobby that you love . . . what I would give, my kingdom for more time. Alas, my kingdom does not amount to much and thus far no one has offered to trade it for more time.
Have I ever told y’all the “woot doot doot” story? I feel like maybe I have, but if I did it’s long enough ago that I can’t remember so I’ll bank on you all forgetting as well. This is my friends story, not mine, but I love it so I re-tell it often. When she was a young girl living at home her neighbors had a young son. Every single day of the summer, EVERY single day of the summer, he would get on his bike in the morning and ride it in circles on the driveway screaming “Woot doot doot! Woot doot doot”! C’mon, how great is that, now that is enjoying your free time. I love when I’m happy enough to yell out nonsense. When I am having a good run on my board I often yell “Yayayayaya”! . . . and why not, I feel great! Today when I was bike shopping I test rode a lot of bikes, nothing can make you feel the joy of youth quite like riding a bicycle, and a shiny new bike to boot. I wanted to scream “woot doot doot”!
Let’s get back to the choices and priorities part of this. My job is stressful, very, very stressful. There is no catching up, ever. The only way to catch up is to work until 10:00 every night. I won’t do it. I did for a while but I have put my foot down, I will only work painfully late once a week and I will not go in on weekends, or I will at least do my best to not go in on the weekends. My choice is to have balance and to live my life and let me tell you people, I love my life. I love going up to the mountains to play, I love staying in town to play, I love everything I do in life . . . except for house cleaning, gross . . . other than that I love everything in my life.
I don’t know how to make it all work. There are days I feel like I’m going to explode from the stress of trying to fit it all in. Add in the fact the I'm a singleton and that makes it even harder, there’s no one to help out. I was grocery shopping at 9:00 p.m. last week because after work there’s yoga, and then after yoga there’s grocery shopping, and then putting away the groceries, maybe eating something over the sink, and then washing the dishes from this morning and getting coffee set to go so all I have to do is turn the pot on in the morning. I can’t call Lucy Lulu and Delilah Jane to ask them to pick up almond milk, they’re cute but fairly useless.
As I begin to wrap this months edition up I see that I have no answer. No epiphany . No ding ding ding, you’re a winner winner chicken dinner, bell ringing. I suppose something is always sacrificed and you have to know what is most important. I need to do a good job so I can stay employed and continue to enjoy the lifestyle to which I have become accustomed. So, sacrifice work, yes but not at the expense of work. Sacrifice play time? Rarely, very, very rarely, because play is important. Sacrifice a clean house? Yes, duh. I’ll just get over it. And it can all cycle ya know; work very hard for two weeks before I take one week off of work. Take a day off of work here and there to catch up on my home life. What will I never sacrifice? My friends, family, and loved ones of course. . . never. You all come before funded loans and a clean house and a stocked fridge. I can order food in, I can pay someone else to clean the house, and funded mortgage loans . . . well, I guess I still have to go to work and fund mortgage loan, damnit, but I can choose to limit my hours and just do the best within that.
I haven’t purchased a season pass for my beloved snowboard in some years, and I have missed it greatly. My once okey dokey skills are now rusty at best. I have made a vow with the lovely Maura, we will buy passes again this fall and go up often, for fun and sanity and balance. My old bike is done and I’m buying a new one, I’ll ride it to work on Fridays. I leave work early every Thursday to get to the early yoga class, I go in to the office early on Thursdays to make up for leaving early and that part blows, I believe I mentioned not being an early bird, but I stay true blue to my early Thursdays. You gotta find ways and sometimes, you just have to say no to a clean house and give that laundry pile the Heisman. It’ll still be there when you get back, don’t worry about it.
Get out and play for gosh sakes . . . WOOT DOOT DOOT!!!!!!!
Friday, February 22, 2013
Kate
Happiness runs in a circular motion. Thought is like a little boat upon the sea. Everybody is a part of everything anyway. You can have everything if you let yourself be.
-Donovan
You want a thing. Oh man how you want a thing. You envision it, you dream about it, you imagine how great your life will be when you get it, oh my gosh you want that thing.
And then you don’t get it.
Pppphhhhhlllllllbbbbtttttt. Two thumbs down. Call the wah wah wahmbulance. Story as old as time, eh? And then you do the whole "if it was meant to be . . . if was right it woulda coulda shoulda, blah blah blah". Yeah, it is an old story, and it’s boring. But how ‘bout this, you want a thing. Oh man how you want a thing. You envision it, you dream about it, you imagine how great your life will be when you get it, oh my gosh you want that thing.
And then, you do get it.
What the . . .? Now what? What on earth will I bitch about? When I go to brunch with the girls what the hell will I talk about? People are funny creatures, aren’t we? What is it about being happy that’s harder to talk about than being unhappy?
Beauty Queen : “How was your week?”
Drama Queen : “Oh.my.gawd., my butt is so big. I got new jeans and I look terrible in them. My boss is a total jackass, they don’t realize how blessed they are to have me, they’re lucky I don’t walk out. I went out for sushi last night with Brad Pitt and he was looking at another girl the whole time. He’s called like 18 times this morning, but I’m not answering, he’s going to have to do better than that, I mean c’mon, flowers please? And my mother, puhleaze, don’t get me started. I broke a nail and my hair is full of split ends. My life is in ruins! How was your week?”
Beauty Queen: “I had a great week! I got those new boots I’ve been thinking about. The book I had reserved at the library came in and so far I love it. I’m looking forward to getting my golf clubs out and practicing my swing.”
Drama Queen: “Oh.”
See? Not much to talk about with Queenie.
Paintings, song lyrics, poems, books, sculptures, dances, are all created from pain. They are certainly created from joy as well, I would not want to exclude Beethoven’s “Ode To Joy” or Elizabeth Barrett Brownings beautiful poems of love from the list of truly inspired works of art, but mostly we think about our gut being eviscerated as a catalyst for art. And pain is so much more glamorous, right? Pain and martyrdom are oh so cool.
I wonder if we feel some small measure of guilt. Your friend is bitching and all you have are good things to say, just makes ya clam up. It’s tough to say happy things to an Eeyore, nothing’s ever good enough, and that gets tiring. And what kind of creepy peep says “Yeah, that sucks for you, but I got the high score on Galaga! Yay!”
When we get what we want it’s almost hard to believe sometimes. So hard to believe that we don’t believe, or don’t believe ourselves worthy, or don’t trust that it really is what we want. Ever met anyone who sabotages the good things in life? Sure ya have, I swear it’s harder for people to just settle in and be happy. When you’re happy your mind can be at rest. Your heart can be at peace and we don’t always feel comfortable with the calm space that brings. It’s a shame, isn’t it? A shame that we can’t believe we deserve such grace and goodness and then just sit and let the calm and surrender waft over us like eider down on a winter day. You want a potato, you get a potato, and then you drop it like it’s hot, “Goddamn it who gave me that f-wording potato?! Who would do that?!”
So then we focus on what we didn’t get, or we focus on the bad part of what we did get; chocolate cake? Yay for chocolate cake! Chocolate cake? Boo for calories. For cryin’ out loud just eat the cake, it’s yummy. Have your cake and eat it too.
I have a friend I’ll call Kate . . . because that’s her name. Kate lives a life so full of great things. I look at Kate and I marvel at her constant happiness, and her belief in her happiness. Kate knows her value and she never feels guilty about the great things that come her way. She never gloats about good things in her life, she never hides good things, she just lives a life she loves. Kate lives in the moment and embraces everything that comes her way. She goes on great trips, she goes to see great bands, she has a really cute pair of brown boots that I love, and she is about to marry such a great guy who completely loves her. Kate does not question for a second that she deserves happiness, and happiness has found her and blessed her because happiness has a home with her. Happiness is welcome in Kate’s world. If you were happiness, wouldn’t you want to go somewhere that welcomes and embraces you? You would probably avoid places that don’t have faith in you and kick you to the curb. I would. I hate being kicked to the curb.
Oh my friends, ya gotta want it! And then, then, ya gotta love it and own it and raise the roof and can I get a “Hell yeah”?!
Chocolate cake rules. Taking a day off in the middle of the week to chase the snow rules. Having a job (even a job you don’t love) rules because then you can pay your bills and take a day off and buy boots and get pedicures.
So listen, when you get what you want, don’t be scared. It’s not a big scary monster with gnashing teeth waiting to bite you, it’s something awesome. Love it. When you find the perfect jeans buy them. When you get perfect weather CALL IN HAPPY and take the day off, life is too short to work all the time. When you get a promotion know you deserve it and others have enough faith in you to see it. When you finally save enough money for vacation don’t spend your fun money on an extra car payment, bleck. Your car and its accompanying payment will be here when you get back, go on vacation. When you meet that special person, and you can’t believe your luck, believe it, because it’s not luck, it’s life giving you a big ol’ hug. A real hug, not a choke hold, a hug to let you know what a marvelous and wondrous creature you are, and you deserve all the happiness you are willing to accept.
And stop messing things up just so you can have brunch stories. You can still have brunch stories, you’ll just have to learn to tell happy stories instead.
We all deserve happiness, and happiness wants to be treated well so be a gracious host and invite her (or him) to come on in and stay a while.
Blessings y’all!
-Donovan
You want a thing. Oh man how you want a thing. You envision it, you dream about it, you imagine how great your life will be when you get it, oh my gosh you want that thing.
And then you don’t get it.
Pppphhhhhlllllllbbbbtttttt. Two thumbs down. Call the wah wah wahmbulance. Story as old as time, eh? And then you do the whole "if it was meant to be . . . if was right it woulda coulda shoulda, blah blah blah". Yeah, it is an old story, and it’s boring. But how ‘bout this, you want a thing. Oh man how you want a thing. You envision it, you dream about it, you imagine how great your life will be when you get it, oh my gosh you want that thing.
And then, you do get it.
What the . . .? Now what? What on earth will I bitch about? When I go to brunch with the girls what the hell will I talk about? People are funny creatures, aren’t we? What is it about being happy that’s harder to talk about than being unhappy?
Beauty Queen : “How was your week?”
Drama Queen : “Oh.my.gawd., my butt is so big. I got new jeans and I look terrible in them. My boss is a total jackass, they don’t realize how blessed they are to have me, they’re lucky I don’t walk out. I went out for sushi last night with Brad Pitt and he was looking at another girl the whole time. He’s called like 18 times this morning, but I’m not answering, he’s going to have to do better than that, I mean c’mon, flowers please? And my mother, puhleaze, don’t get me started. I broke a nail and my hair is full of split ends. My life is in ruins! How was your week?”
Beauty Queen: “I had a great week! I got those new boots I’ve been thinking about. The book I had reserved at the library came in and so far I love it. I’m looking forward to getting my golf clubs out and practicing my swing.”
Drama Queen: “Oh.”
See? Not much to talk about with Queenie.
Paintings, song lyrics, poems, books, sculptures, dances, are all created from pain. They are certainly created from joy as well, I would not want to exclude Beethoven’s “Ode To Joy” or Elizabeth Barrett Brownings beautiful poems of love from the list of truly inspired works of art, but mostly we think about our gut being eviscerated as a catalyst for art. And pain is so much more glamorous, right? Pain and martyrdom are oh so cool.
I wonder if we feel some small measure of guilt. Your friend is bitching and all you have are good things to say, just makes ya clam up. It’s tough to say happy things to an Eeyore, nothing’s ever good enough, and that gets tiring. And what kind of creepy peep says “Yeah, that sucks for you, but I got the high score on Galaga! Yay!”
When we get what we want it’s almost hard to believe sometimes. So hard to believe that we don’t believe, or don’t believe ourselves worthy, or don’t trust that it really is what we want. Ever met anyone who sabotages the good things in life? Sure ya have, I swear it’s harder for people to just settle in and be happy. When you’re happy your mind can be at rest. Your heart can be at peace and we don’t always feel comfortable with the calm space that brings. It’s a shame, isn’t it? A shame that we can’t believe we deserve such grace and goodness and then just sit and let the calm and surrender waft over us like eider down on a winter day. You want a potato, you get a potato, and then you drop it like it’s hot, “Goddamn it who gave me that f-wording potato?! Who would do that?!”
So then we focus on what we didn’t get, or we focus on the bad part of what we did get; chocolate cake? Yay for chocolate cake! Chocolate cake? Boo for calories. For cryin’ out loud just eat the cake, it’s yummy. Have your cake and eat it too.
I have a friend I’ll call Kate . . . because that’s her name. Kate lives a life so full of great things. I look at Kate and I marvel at her constant happiness, and her belief in her happiness. Kate knows her value and she never feels guilty about the great things that come her way. She never gloats about good things in her life, she never hides good things, she just lives a life she loves. Kate lives in the moment and embraces everything that comes her way. She goes on great trips, she goes to see great bands, she has a really cute pair of brown boots that I love, and she is about to marry such a great guy who completely loves her. Kate does not question for a second that she deserves happiness, and happiness has found her and blessed her because happiness has a home with her. Happiness is welcome in Kate’s world. If you were happiness, wouldn’t you want to go somewhere that welcomes and embraces you? You would probably avoid places that don’t have faith in you and kick you to the curb. I would. I hate being kicked to the curb.
Oh my friends, ya gotta want it! And then, then, ya gotta love it and own it and raise the roof and can I get a “Hell yeah”?!
Chocolate cake rules. Taking a day off in the middle of the week to chase the snow rules. Having a job (even a job you don’t love) rules because then you can pay your bills and take a day off and buy boots and get pedicures.
So listen, when you get what you want, don’t be scared. It’s not a big scary monster with gnashing teeth waiting to bite you, it’s something awesome. Love it. When you find the perfect jeans buy them. When you get perfect weather CALL IN HAPPY and take the day off, life is too short to work all the time. When you get a promotion know you deserve it and others have enough faith in you to see it. When you finally save enough money for vacation don’t spend your fun money on an extra car payment, bleck. Your car and its accompanying payment will be here when you get back, go on vacation. When you meet that special person, and you can’t believe your luck, believe it, because it’s not luck, it’s life giving you a big ol’ hug. A real hug, not a choke hold, a hug to let you know what a marvelous and wondrous creature you are, and you deserve all the happiness you are willing to accept.
And stop messing things up just so you can have brunch stories. You can still have brunch stories, you’ll just have to learn to tell happy stories instead.
We all deserve happiness, and happiness wants to be treated well so be a gracious host and invite her (or him) to come on in and stay a while.
Blessings y’all!
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
EMBRACING THE RECYCLING BIN
I'm grounded and rusty, and my dance card is dusty now because I wanted to be what the angels see when they look down, just a couple on the avenue with their feet on the ground. And I'm nobody's angel now
-Nancy Griffith
I haven’t written in a handful of months, I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but here I am again. Thank you to those of you who have asked where the monthly post had gone. Thank you to my friends who have encouraged me to continue writing, and I suppose a small debt of thanks goes out to the a-holes that add fuel to the writing flame.
You make plans in life. You have desires. You work hard. You do all you can to ensure your dreams become reality, but sometimes life takes you down an entirely different path . . . not of your own choosing. Listen, before you start harping on me with the whole “life is about choices” and “you create your reality” crap, I know. I know all that. Life is about choices, yes it sure is. You do, indeed, create your own reality. And sometimes life you hands you a shit sandwich instead of the pastrami on rye you ordered. Maybe it’s lifes way of saying “pastrami makes you gassy and the shit sandwich will fertilize something amazing later on”. If you’re one of those people who can’t tolerate, even for one minute, the thought that life isn’t always puppy dogs and rainbows, then you’re not living in the real world. I know someone like that and I don’t really take issue with the fact that it’s annoying, I take issue with the fact that it’s not real. (and as an aside, in order to avoid things perceived as “bad” this person hides those things and is outright deceptive, which is significantly worse than just serving up the shit sandwich). Yes life is great. Life is wondrous. Life is joyous, and it’s also life people, it’s ok to be a little less than jubilant sometimes.
When I was young I had a vision of what my life would look like. My life now looks nothing like that vision other than the fact I’m breathing and walking upright. I don’t have the home I envisioned. I don’t have the dog I envisioned. I don’t have the car I envisioned. I don’t have the responsibilities of motherhood and the arterial children to go along with that role. I don’t have the family I always wanted. So how does a woman who was supposed to be baking cupcakes for the classroom while making sure the dog doesn’t pee in the house and my husbands shirts are pressed become a woman who cleans the cats barf while ensuring her own cupcake intake stays down and wondering “Why keep the cupcake intake down? For whom”?
I don’t know the answers, and many of you know what I say to the infamous “I don’t know”. That’s right, I say “Bullshit, I don’t know is a child’s answer, you do know”. And so it is, I do know, mostly. As always fate lends a hand. I didn’t meet the right one. I didn’t meet the father of my children and therefore, they do not live in this dimension. I didn’t meet the master of my hearth and heart and home and dog kennel so the dog is living happily with another family somewhere. The son I wanted to name Jack Rogers ended up being born to someone else, as did Ruby Lee (or Grace), my unborn daughter, and I hope they are living blessed lives with the other Laura Ellen “no longer Rogers but different last name”, somewhere. (Yes, I would take my husbands name, what of it?) And the third child, the one I planned on adopting and would probably already be named, I hope he is happy with his other adoptive family, whomever and wherever they all may be. And I’m sure they are because life didn’t have that in store for me. Life did not send motherhood and familydom my way.
And here we come to the point of the story . . .
Some of you are saying to yourselves “you could have had children”. Yes, I could have. Some of you are saying “You passed up a few marriage proposals”. Yes, I did, because I wanted a life of happiness. Because I wanted a family, not just children, and they are not the same thing in my mind. Children are an expression of the deepest kind of love. To me they are not something you merely set out to have and then find your breeder. I wasn’t looking to simply be a breeder, I wanted so much more than that. But the years went by and I began to realize what I thought was inevitable was becoming inconceivable. At some point you make choices because life takes you down a path you didn’t even realize you were on. You have to prioritize then. You have to dig deep in your belly and ask what is the most important to you. You have to embrace one side or the other, and the hour glass sand is sifting quickly.
Many years ago a girl lived down the hall from me, back when I lived in a tiny little studio in Capital Hill. She was smart and young and pretty and funny. I could never figure out why she was single. I have to imagine she wondered the same thing. I saw her going out on dates here and there but eventually I began to see her with the same guy over and over, after a while “she and he” became “we”. Her face lit up and she became even prettier and happier. Then one night, as I walked down the hall, I heard her inside her apartment crying . . . and I never saw him again. Don’t you dare start on me with how other people do not own your happiness. I know all that, you think I’ve wandered around on this planet without learning a thing or two? But I will tell you that with 49 years of life under my belt, many of the “all smiles all the time” clichés of youth are just pseudo-intellectual crap. No, we can’t all be friends with our ex’s, it’s dumb. No, we can’t all be comforted by our own wonder 100% of the time, how would we ever learn anything? Sometimes other people do hurt us, for cryin’ out loud what’s so wrong with admitting it? Maybe he chose to leave my pretty and smart and funny neighbor and it hurt her. Maybe she chose to leave him, which can sometimes hurt worse. Life tossed her a bunch of roses but a hand grenade was buried inside, who knew? Sometimes you amble down a path and it surprises the hell out of you. Oh look! A rose! Oh wait, a hand grenade.
I’m at yet another point in my existence where I look up from the madding crowd that is my life and see that I’ve somehow gone quite far down another path that, it turns out, is NOT the yellow brick road. How will I embrace this newness in my life? How will accept what I never wanted and yet, is happening? I suppose, as I always do, I will pester the crap out of my friends until I’m done yammering about it and I feel I’ve trod on their patience and good nature and loyalty long enough. I will remind myself that yes, I could have made another choice, but it would not have been right for me. I will look at my cats, the only cats I’ve ever had because I’ve always had dogs, and know that some choices, which are seemingly foisted on us quite against our will, turn out to be wonderful and warm and cuddly, you just have to ignore that occasional hiss and scratch. I will continue plodding down my path and seeing the joy and knowing I’m awesome, even when others do not.
And I will take out the recycling bin twice a month, even though it’s a boy job, because who else is here to do it?
-Nancy Griffith
I haven’t written in a handful of months, I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but here I am again. Thank you to those of you who have asked where the monthly post had gone. Thank you to my friends who have encouraged me to continue writing, and I suppose a small debt of thanks goes out to the a-holes that add fuel to the writing flame.
You make plans in life. You have desires. You work hard. You do all you can to ensure your dreams become reality, but sometimes life takes you down an entirely different path . . . not of your own choosing. Listen, before you start harping on me with the whole “life is about choices” and “you create your reality” crap, I know. I know all that. Life is about choices, yes it sure is. You do, indeed, create your own reality. And sometimes life you hands you a shit sandwich instead of the pastrami on rye you ordered. Maybe it’s lifes way of saying “pastrami makes you gassy and the shit sandwich will fertilize something amazing later on”. If you’re one of those people who can’t tolerate, even for one minute, the thought that life isn’t always puppy dogs and rainbows, then you’re not living in the real world. I know someone like that and I don’t really take issue with the fact that it’s annoying, I take issue with the fact that it’s not real. (and as an aside, in order to avoid things perceived as “bad” this person hides those things and is outright deceptive, which is significantly worse than just serving up the shit sandwich). Yes life is great. Life is wondrous. Life is joyous, and it’s also life people, it’s ok to be a little less than jubilant sometimes.
When I was young I had a vision of what my life would look like. My life now looks nothing like that vision other than the fact I’m breathing and walking upright. I don’t have the home I envisioned. I don’t have the dog I envisioned. I don’t have the car I envisioned. I don’t have the responsibilities of motherhood and the arterial children to go along with that role. I don’t have the family I always wanted. So how does a woman who was supposed to be baking cupcakes for the classroom while making sure the dog doesn’t pee in the house and my husbands shirts are pressed become a woman who cleans the cats barf while ensuring her own cupcake intake stays down and wondering “Why keep the cupcake intake down? For whom”?
I don’t know the answers, and many of you know what I say to the infamous “I don’t know”. That’s right, I say “Bullshit, I don’t know is a child’s answer, you do know”. And so it is, I do know, mostly. As always fate lends a hand. I didn’t meet the right one. I didn’t meet the father of my children and therefore, they do not live in this dimension. I didn’t meet the master of my hearth and heart and home and dog kennel so the dog is living happily with another family somewhere. The son I wanted to name Jack Rogers ended up being born to someone else, as did Ruby Lee (or Grace), my unborn daughter, and I hope they are living blessed lives with the other Laura Ellen “no longer Rogers but different last name”, somewhere. (Yes, I would take my husbands name, what of it?) And the third child, the one I planned on adopting and would probably already be named, I hope he is happy with his other adoptive family, whomever and wherever they all may be. And I’m sure they are because life didn’t have that in store for me. Life did not send motherhood and familydom my way.
And here we come to the point of the story . . .
Some of you are saying to yourselves “you could have had children”. Yes, I could have. Some of you are saying “You passed up a few marriage proposals”. Yes, I did, because I wanted a life of happiness. Because I wanted a family, not just children, and they are not the same thing in my mind. Children are an expression of the deepest kind of love. To me they are not something you merely set out to have and then find your breeder. I wasn’t looking to simply be a breeder, I wanted so much more than that. But the years went by and I began to realize what I thought was inevitable was becoming inconceivable. At some point you make choices because life takes you down a path you didn’t even realize you were on. You have to prioritize then. You have to dig deep in your belly and ask what is the most important to you. You have to embrace one side or the other, and the hour glass sand is sifting quickly.
Many years ago a girl lived down the hall from me, back when I lived in a tiny little studio in Capital Hill. She was smart and young and pretty and funny. I could never figure out why she was single. I have to imagine she wondered the same thing. I saw her going out on dates here and there but eventually I began to see her with the same guy over and over, after a while “she and he” became “we”. Her face lit up and she became even prettier and happier. Then one night, as I walked down the hall, I heard her inside her apartment crying . . . and I never saw him again. Don’t you dare start on me with how other people do not own your happiness. I know all that, you think I’ve wandered around on this planet without learning a thing or two? But I will tell you that with 49 years of life under my belt, many of the “all smiles all the time” clichés of youth are just pseudo-intellectual crap. No, we can’t all be friends with our ex’s, it’s dumb. No, we can’t all be comforted by our own wonder 100% of the time, how would we ever learn anything? Sometimes other people do hurt us, for cryin’ out loud what’s so wrong with admitting it? Maybe he chose to leave my pretty and smart and funny neighbor and it hurt her. Maybe she chose to leave him, which can sometimes hurt worse. Life tossed her a bunch of roses but a hand grenade was buried inside, who knew? Sometimes you amble down a path and it surprises the hell out of you. Oh look! A rose! Oh wait, a hand grenade.
I’m at yet another point in my existence where I look up from the madding crowd that is my life and see that I’ve somehow gone quite far down another path that, it turns out, is NOT the yellow brick road. How will I embrace this newness in my life? How will accept what I never wanted and yet, is happening? I suppose, as I always do, I will pester the crap out of my friends until I’m done yammering about it and I feel I’ve trod on their patience and good nature and loyalty long enough. I will remind myself that yes, I could have made another choice, but it would not have been right for me. I will look at my cats, the only cats I’ve ever had because I’ve always had dogs, and know that some choices, which are seemingly foisted on us quite against our will, turn out to be wonderful and warm and cuddly, you just have to ignore that occasional hiss and scratch. I will continue plodding down my path and seeing the joy and knowing I’m awesome, even when others do not.
And I will take out the recycling bin twice a month, even though it’s a boy job, because who else is here to do it?
Sunday, August 26, 2012
UBU
He wants me, but only part of the time. He wants me, if he can keep me in line. Hush hush, voices carry.
-Aimee Mann
I am a Dallas Cowboys fan. I always will be. Being a Cowboys fan is hard for many reasons but mostly because I fear suffocation while wearing the paper bag over my head that being a loyal Cowboys fan requires. Nonetheless, it’s who I am . . . and I like me. I won’t go changin’ for Billy Joel or anyone else.
I don’t have Glamour magazine or Vogue or Cosmo or any other girly girl type magazine delivered to my house. This doesn’t mean I don’t read them, it just means I don’t pay to get them in the mail. Believe me, when they’re plopped down in front of me, I read them, because, you know, they’re chock full of oh so valuable information on how I should live and how I should look. Also, as is readily apparent, I am an internet user which means every time I turn my computer on there is some sort of headline telling me what I need to know about men and what they like, and, again, how I should dress and talk and carry myself. I’m a sucker, I admit it, I’ll read that before I’ll read about the war on drugs, the disappearing middle class in my country, or the latest college football scandal. Let me go on record as saying that I also happen to read Sun Magazine (a non profit magazine for writers) and The Atlantic and The New Yorker, all of which are delivered to my home. But I still read crap too. And sadly, I can tell you way more about the crap I read than I can about the more cerebral things I read.
According to these magazine articles (the crap, not the heady stuff), both hard copy and internet, I fall short in pretty much every area imaginable . . . and according to the world of fashion magazines, so do you, on any given day. It’s ok, just wait until the next day because you will find favor and be approved by the powers that be once again. You can read an article telling you (me) that you should always be dressed in your finest, right down to your underroos, always . . . ALWAYS, do not leave the house if you are even slightly underdressed and you are not wearing make up. You can also read an article, often times within the same publication, telling you (me) that you should be more natural, don’t overdo it, go outside in sweats with dirty hair . . . you’ll be adored! Men love red lipstick! Men hate red lipstick! Men hate needy women! Men love to be needed by women! It can all be so confusing, if one were to take it seriously, and some people really do. Witness the unbelievable amount of eating disorders and anxiety issues in our country. We’re living in an eating disorder and male entrapment learnedness Mecca. God bless America.
When you look down at your cotton Fruit of the Loom granny panties and then read that you’re supposed to be wearing a lace tanga in melon color this season, don’t you go feeling bad about yourself my pet. Now if you want the melon colored lace tanga then get yourself out there and have it . . . but only IF YOU WANT IT. Don’t do it because a Prada wearing devil that you don’t know, and doesn’t know you, said to. And don’t do it because an imagined partner, whom you’ve not met, may or may not come along and have read the same article and get pissy about your not having a melon colored lace tanga. If you’re happy with your cotton wrapped booty, then you just stay that way and be who you are. (I’m starting to regret my decision to go with undergarments here, but I’m too far in to change course now.)Anyway, love your undies.
If we all were to take all the advice we’d been given in our lives, how much of it would be worthwhile? How much of it would be consistent with who we are, on the inside? How much is a crock of crap? I read an article the other day that in one paragraph said “just be natural, be yourself, have fun, it’s all about having fun” and, I shit you not, not two paragraphs later it said “don’t have too much to drink, don’t be too casual, don’t be just the cool fun girl.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry so instead I vomited in my mouth a little. Now see, that was crass and if I was trying to hunt, track, and trap a man that would just be wrong, or would it be? I’m just being me and that’s good, right? Only Glamour magazine knows for sure, or maybe it’s Harpers Bazaar. Who knows? But the bigger question is, who cares? Well I just so happen to have the answer to that question for you; you. You care about who you are and don’t waste your precious time worrying about what others say because someone’s always going to tell you you’re wrong no matter what you’re doing . . . but you can also always find someone who sees what’s right in you.
It’s not just about women and it’s not just about appearances. Got a funny accent? Pronounce a couple of words a little bit goofy? Whatever, it’s who you are. It’s what makes you, you. But people will harass you and tease you about it. That’s fine if it’s good natured. You’re unique! Embrace it! How boring would the world be if we were all so homogenized? What would we talk about? What if I agree with everything you say? What will you know about me then? What will I know about me then? Who will I be? I’d be no one, or more accurately, I’d be everyone . . . and that’s a snore-fest.
I was already writing about being yourself this month and then I read “The Paris Wife”, a novel inspired by Ernest Hemingways first marriage to Hadley Richardson. She was herself. Despite being surrounded by beauties draped in Chanel and sporting the requisite bob haircut of that time, she was herself. She was reportedly plain in her looks, straightforward in her words, and traditional in her ideas of love and marriage. Did I mention she was married to Ernest Hemingway? A guy you may know as being not so traditional in his ideas of social mores and customs. They lived in Paris . . . in the roaring ‘20’s . . . and spent time with the likes of Ezra Pound and Gertrude Stein and Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald. Convention was not abundant. But Ernest loved Hadley. You may be thinking “but their marriage failed.” Indeed it did, as did three more for Ernest, well, only two more failed I guess since he committed suicide during his fourth. Hadley went on to have one more marriage that lasted the rest of her life. I am not pissing on Ernest here, though it may seem that way. The point I’m making is Hadley knew who she was. She knew herself to be different than all the other women surrounding her and while it proved difficult at times and she questioned herself at times, in the end she was true to herself and led a happy life. Ernest was always questioning himself, never sure of himself on the inside, always needing external approval. The same holds true for many artists and our world would be so much dimmer without the contributions that their insecurity, their neediness, and their passion gives us. The artists of the world are who they are and Ernest Hemingway has given us astounding literature . . . and also an illuminating life . . . be who you are. You could turn out to be a quadruple married genius . . . but let’s not see you end your life as Ernest ended his, ok? They were both true to themselves.
And if you are an artist of some sort? If you paint, write, draw, sculpt, play music, any creative venture, you can rest assured you will get plenty of unsolicited advice. What one person finds too edgy, another will not find edgy enough. If you are writing a book you will get plenty of rejection letters. If you take pictures you will hear that your subject matter isn’t interesting. If you write music you will be told it’s too sappy. You will be told this by people who matter to you, you will be told this by people you could not care less about, but your art is yours. It’s yours to share with the world should you care to and someone, someone will like it, and even more than that, some will love it, and even more than that . . . you will love it. Express yourself Madonna.
To be yourself in our ever shrinking world is hard. It’s hard to come here to our country and wear the clothes of your native country because, God forbid, you not look like everyone else. It’s hard to come here and have an accent, because you’re supposed to sound like everyone else don’tcha know . . . unless it’s a very chic accent, British or French or something equally high brow sounding, then you get the stamp of approval. We are not taught to celebrate our unique characteristics. Teeth are straightened, noses are shrunk, accents “corrected”, and the crazy artistic side of you needs to be put away and you should just straighten yourself out and fly right little bird. I hope none of y’all do though. I hope none of y’all decide that just the way you are isn’t good enough. There’s always room for learning new things and growing and evolving so please don’t misunderstand me, always grow and learn. But do it because you want to, because it will fulfill you, because it’s your choice in your life for your happiness. Never, ever, ever, sacrifice who you are for someone else. Have some dignity and take pride in who you are, just as you are. When you do, you won’t even think about sacrificing yourself, and no one around you would even dream ask, because they love you as you are.
And with this I say to all my friends, I love you as you are, and I am deeply blessed that you all love me just as I am . . . and will administer CPR to me when I have a paper bag over my head this fall.
-Aimee Mann
I am a Dallas Cowboys fan. I always will be. Being a Cowboys fan is hard for many reasons but mostly because I fear suffocation while wearing the paper bag over my head that being a loyal Cowboys fan requires. Nonetheless, it’s who I am . . . and I like me. I won’t go changin’ for Billy Joel or anyone else.
I don’t have Glamour magazine or Vogue or Cosmo or any other girly girl type magazine delivered to my house. This doesn’t mean I don’t read them, it just means I don’t pay to get them in the mail. Believe me, when they’re plopped down in front of me, I read them, because, you know, they’re chock full of oh so valuable information on how I should live and how I should look. Also, as is readily apparent, I am an internet user which means every time I turn my computer on there is some sort of headline telling me what I need to know about men and what they like, and, again, how I should dress and talk and carry myself. I’m a sucker, I admit it, I’ll read that before I’ll read about the war on drugs, the disappearing middle class in my country, or the latest college football scandal. Let me go on record as saying that I also happen to read Sun Magazine (a non profit magazine for writers) and The Atlantic and The New Yorker, all of which are delivered to my home. But I still read crap too. And sadly, I can tell you way more about the crap I read than I can about the more cerebral things I read.
According to these magazine articles (the crap, not the heady stuff), both hard copy and internet, I fall short in pretty much every area imaginable . . . and according to the world of fashion magazines, so do you, on any given day. It’s ok, just wait until the next day because you will find favor and be approved by the powers that be once again. You can read an article telling you (me) that you should always be dressed in your finest, right down to your underroos, always . . . ALWAYS, do not leave the house if you are even slightly underdressed and you are not wearing make up. You can also read an article, often times within the same publication, telling you (me) that you should be more natural, don’t overdo it, go outside in sweats with dirty hair . . . you’ll be adored! Men love red lipstick! Men hate red lipstick! Men hate needy women! Men love to be needed by women! It can all be so confusing, if one were to take it seriously, and some people really do. Witness the unbelievable amount of eating disorders and anxiety issues in our country. We’re living in an eating disorder and male entrapment learnedness Mecca. God bless America.
When you look down at your cotton Fruit of the Loom granny panties and then read that you’re supposed to be wearing a lace tanga in melon color this season, don’t you go feeling bad about yourself my pet. Now if you want the melon colored lace tanga then get yourself out there and have it . . . but only IF YOU WANT IT. Don’t do it because a Prada wearing devil that you don’t know, and doesn’t know you, said to. And don’t do it because an imagined partner, whom you’ve not met, may or may not come along and have read the same article and get pissy about your not having a melon colored lace tanga. If you’re happy with your cotton wrapped booty, then you just stay that way and be who you are. (I’m starting to regret my decision to go with undergarments here, but I’m too far in to change course now.)Anyway, love your undies.
If we all were to take all the advice we’d been given in our lives, how much of it would be worthwhile? How much of it would be consistent with who we are, on the inside? How much is a crock of crap? I read an article the other day that in one paragraph said “just be natural, be yourself, have fun, it’s all about having fun” and, I shit you not, not two paragraphs later it said “don’t have too much to drink, don’t be too casual, don’t be just the cool fun girl.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry so instead I vomited in my mouth a little. Now see, that was crass and if I was trying to hunt, track, and trap a man that would just be wrong, or would it be? I’m just being me and that’s good, right? Only Glamour magazine knows for sure, or maybe it’s Harpers Bazaar. Who knows? But the bigger question is, who cares? Well I just so happen to have the answer to that question for you; you. You care about who you are and don’t waste your precious time worrying about what others say because someone’s always going to tell you you’re wrong no matter what you’re doing . . . but you can also always find someone who sees what’s right in you.
It’s not just about women and it’s not just about appearances. Got a funny accent? Pronounce a couple of words a little bit goofy? Whatever, it’s who you are. It’s what makes you, you. But people will harass you and tease you about it. That’s fine if it’s good natured. You’re unique! Embrace it! How boring would the world be if we were all so homogenized? What would we talk about? What if I agree with everything you say? What will you know about me then? What will I know about me then? Who will I be? I’d be no one, or more accurately, I’d be everyone . . . and that’s a snore-fest.
I was already writing about being yourself this month and then I read “The Paris Wife”, a novel inspired by Ernest Hemingways first marriage to Hadley Richardson. She was herself. Despite being surrounded by beauties draped in Chanel and sporting the requisite bob haircut of that time, she was herself. She was reportedly plain in her looks, straightforward in her words, and traditional in her ideas of love and marriage. Did I mention she was married to Ernest Hemingway? A guy you may know as being not so traditional in his ideas of social mores and customs. They lived in Paris . . . in the roaring ‘20’s . . . and spent time with the likes of Ezra Pound and Gertrude Stein and Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald. Convention was not abundant. But Ernest loved Hadley. You may be thinking “but their marriage failed.” Indeed it did, as did three more for Ernest, well, only two more failed I guess since he committed suicide during his fourth. Hadley went on to have one more marriage that lasted the rest of her life. I am not pissing on Ernest here, though it may seem that way. The point I’m making is Hadley knew who she was. She knew herself to be different than all the other women surrounding her and while it proved difficult at times and she questioned herself at times, in the end she was true to herself and led a happy life. Ernest was always questioning himself, never sure of himself on the inside, always needing external approval. The same holds true for many artists and our world would be so much dimmer without the contributions that their insecurity, their neediness, and their passion gives us. The artists of the world are who they are and Ernest Hemingway has given us astounding literature . . . and also an illuminating life . . . be who you are. You could turn out to be a quadruple married genius . . . but let’s not see you end your life as Ernest ended his, ok? They were both true to themselves.
And if you are an artist of some sort? If you paint, write, draw, sculpt, play music, any creative venture, you can rest assured you will get plenty of unsolicited advice. What one person finds too edgy, another will not find edgy enough. If you are writing a book you will get plenty of rejection letters. If you take pictures you will hear that your subject matter isn’t interesting. If you write music you will be told it’s too sappy. You will be told this by people who matter to you, you will be told this by people you could not care less about, but your art is yours. It’s yours to share with the world should you care to and someone, someone will like it, and even more than that, some will love it, and even more than that . . . you will love it. Express yourself Madonna.
To be yourself in our ever shrinking world is hard. It’s hard to come here to our country and wear the clothes of your native country because, God forbid, you not look like everyone else. It’s hard to come here and have an accent, because you’re supposed to sound like everyone else don’tcha know . . . unless it’s a very chic accent, British or French or something equally high brow sounding, then you get the stamp of approval. We are not taught to celebrate our unique characteristics. Teeth are straightened, noses are shrunk, accents “corrected”, and the crazy artistic side of you needs to be put away and you should just straighten yourself out and fly right little bird. I hope none of y’all do though. I hope none of y’all decide that just the way you are isn’t good enough. There’s always room for learning new things and growing and evolving so please don’t misunderstand me, always grow and learn. But do it because you want to, because it will fulfill you, because it’s your choice in your life for your happiness. Never, ever, ever, sacrifice who you are for someone else. Have some dignity and take pride in who you are, just as you are. When you do, you won’t even think about sacrificing yourself, and no one around you would even dream ask, because they love you as you are.
And with this I say to all my friends, I love you as you are, and I am deeply blessed that you all love me just as I am . . . and will administer CPR to me when I have a paper bag over my head this fall.
Monday, July 9, 2012
In Valor There Is Hope
If life seems jolly rotten, there's something you've forgotten
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing
When you're feeling in the dumps, don't be silly, chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle, that's the thing
Always look on the bright side of life – Eric Idle
Sometimes the stars align and everything goes your way. You’ve got “everything’s coming up roses” playing in your head and your heart. Other times, not so much. There really is always a silver lining, but it’s not always your silver lining. For instance, someone else in the world needs a new car, so when they get hit by you, oh happy day for that person, and you? You’re the provider of someone’s new car. Sometimes you have to take one for the team. And that’s ok, be a good sport. I went on a date recently, a bad date. My friend, Kim, noted that it might have made him smile and that was the purpose of our brief, and decidedly singular, encounter. True enough, this mans life is a bad country song and maybe a couple of hours of pasta and non-stop talking about himself, with nary a question about me, was exactly the kind of therapy he needed. I took one for the team. And God bless him, seriously, I wish him all the best.
My life is happy. Lately, a piece of my happiness has come from watching situations in the lives of others and determining “that’s a great idea, I think I’ll try that” or “Yikes. I feel bad wiping my forehead with the back of my hand and saying there but for the grace of God go I, but holy hell, there but for the grace of God go I”. Lesson learned, I’m not doing that . . . ever . . . or in some cases ever again. It’s been said that sometimes your purpose in another persons life is simply to serve as a warning. Perhaps not a goal we wish for, but worthwhile nonetheless. Some people serve as a warning, and I thank you for it.
I have decided on a new course in my life, charted a map, and am machete-ing (it’s my blog, I can make up words if I want) that trail. More on that in the next month or two, can’t disclose until it reaches fruition. But I have a plan and focus and I am working toward the goal because . . . I have hope. It’s hope that can make a less than sunny occurrence have a shiny sun spot buried in it. The hope and the belief that even if this current job, date, relationship, race for first place, or batch of homemade cookies bombed, you can keep going on your path, it’s not over. What may seem like a setback can really just be a piece of the puzzle, a learning piece, a metaphorical walking before running. But you have to have hope. Hope can make you stand up again after a fall. Hope can make you date again after the worst date of your life. Hope can make you continue looking for the right job, going to class after a failed test, and baking yet another batch of cookies. Without the possibility, the belief, and hope, why bother? Before something there is nothing, and before nothing there is EVERYTHING . . . all things are possible.
I knew I wanted to write about hope this month. I got as far as the three paragraphs above and hit a wall. I decided to take a break and watch a movie. I had “An Act of Valor” here at the house, just waiting to be watched and returned to Netflix, so that’s what went in the DVD player. I watched the whole thing, felt joy and sorrow and pride and then, at the end of the movie was the statement . . .
IN VALOR THERE IS HOPE.
I didn’t imagine this was a line made up for the movie so I looked it up. (I have often said the library is one of my favorite inventions, thank you Ben Franklin. The internet on my computer brings the library right into my home at any time of day, thank you Al Gore.) The statement, in valor there is hope, is attributed to Publius Cornelius Tacitus, a senator and historian of the Roman Empire. This statement is most often seen on the tombstones of fallen policemen, but certainly found in other places where heroes have been felled in the line of duty. Valor is to be strong and courageous, most particularly in battle, but also of strong character. Hope is defined as entertaining a wish for something with expectation, to be confident and trust. Hope is what we have at the very base of our beings. Hope gives us the power, the will, the motivation to forge ahead rather than take a back seat and say “meh, whatever”. And I do mean forge ahead. Have you watched or read “The Secret”? I have. I have heard many people say that what they took from it was that all you have to do is mentally transport yourself to Disneyland and wish upon a star, makes no difference where you are, anything your heart desires will come to you. Well, yeah, but you don’t just sit on your ass eating bon bons while millions of Publishers Clearing House dollars rain down on you like manna from PCH heaven. Actually, PCH may work that way, bad example. If you want something, go f-wording get it, but you have to believe and trust and expect and indeed, HOPE, that you will get it. As Julia Cameron notes in her much loved book “The Artists Way”, if you’re going to be late for the bus you must first believe the bus will come, second believe that you can catch the bus, and then . . . RUN LIKE HELL. You don’t just sit on your fat duff waiting for the bus driver to knock at your door.
Hope is valorous, because it does take a metric f*** ton of strength and valor to hope for something that you have not yet attained. And the valor of others, those of us that will sign up to be a Navy Seal and WILLINGLY throw yourself on a grenade to save the lives of many, that persons valor gives hope to us all. (A side note, of all the navy vets I know not one of them was with me watching this movie to answer questions I had. Boo. But I must reiterate, that’s why Al Gore invented the internet).
Hope can change your world. Hope can make the implausible, plausible. I have been guilty in the past of hoping for all manner of things, both tangible and intangible, and in that hope just sitting around waiting for a miracle. Mostly it doesn’t happen. Here and there it does and, at least for me, it’s not nearly as rewarding. I think of the old quote “Give a man a fish and you feed him once. Teach him to fish and you feed him for life.” Does that fit here? Kinda, I guess. Things easily gained are not as rewarding as those things for which we worked, and we would not have ever even fathomed working for said things without hope. Things that you can feel good about and say “Hell yes, that test was hard but I studied and made mince meat of it. Booyah.”
Whatever it is in your life that you want, work for it. Have a plan. Focus. And above all else, be valorous in your hope and believe that you will get it, don’t give up.
"Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me... Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.”
― Shel Silverstein
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing
When you're feeling in the dumps, don't be silly, chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle, that's the thing
Always look on the bright side of life – Eric Idle
Sometimes the stars align and everything goes your way. You’ve got “everything’s coming up roses” playing in your head and your heart. Other times, not so much. There really is always a silver lining, but it’s not always your silver lining. For instance, someone else in the world needs a new car, so when they get hit by you, oh happy day for that person, and you? You’re the provider of someone’s new car. Sometimes you have to take one for the team. And that’s ok, be a good sport. I went on a date recently, a bad date. My friend, Kim, noted that it might have made him smile and that was the purpose of our brief, and decidedly singular, encounter. True enough, this mans life is a bad country song and maybe a couple of hours of pasta and non-stop talking about himself, with nary a question about me, was exactly the kind of therapy he needed. I took one for the team. And God bless him, seriously, I wish him all the best.
My life is happy. Lately, a piece of my happiness has come from watching situations in the lives of others and determining “that’s a great idea, I think I’ll try that” or “Yikes. I feel bad wiping my forehead with the back of my hand and saying there but for the grace of God go I, but holy hell, there but for the grace of God go I”. Lesson learned, I’m not doing that . . . ever . . . or in some cases ever again. It’s been said that sometimes your purpose in another persons life is simply to serve as a warning. Perhaps not a goal we wish for, but worthwhile nonetheless. Some people serve as a warning, and I thank you for it.
I have decided on a new course in my life, charted a map, and am machete-ing (it’s my blog, I can make up words if I want) that trail. More on that in the next month or two, can’t disclose until it reaches fruition. But I have a plan and focus and I am working toward the goal because . . . I have hope. It’s hope that can make a less than sunny occurrence have a shiny sun spot buried in it. The hope and the belief that even if this current job, date, relationship, race for first place, or batch of homemade cookies bombed, you can keep going on your path, it’s not over. What may seem like a setback can really just be a piece of the puzzle, a learning piece, a metaphorical walking before running. But you have to have hope. Hope can make you stand up again after a fall. Hope can make you date again after the worst date of your life. Hope can make you continue looking for the right job, going to class after a failed test, and baking yet another batch of cookies. Without the possibility, the belief, and hope, why bother? Before something there is nothing, and before nothing there is EVERYTHING . . . all things are possible.
I knew I wanted to write about hope this month. I got as far as the three paragraphs above and hit a wall. I decided to take a break and watch a movie. I had “An Act of Valor” here at the house, just waiting to be watched and returned to Netflix, so that’s what went in the DVD player. I watched the whole thing, felt joy and sorrow and pride and then, at the end of the movie was the statement . . .
IN VALOR THERE IS HOPE.
I didn’t imagine this was a line made up for the movie so I looked it up. (I have often said the library is one of my favorite inventions, thank you Ben Franklin. The internet on my computer brings the library right into my home at any time of day, thank you Al Gore.) The statement, in valor there is hope, is attributed to Publius Cornelius Tacitus, a senator and historian of the Roman Empire. This statement is most often seen on the tombstones of fallen policemen, but certainly found in other places where heroes have been felled in the line of duty. Valor is to be strong and courageous, most particularly in battle, but also of strong character. Hope is defined as entertaining a wish for something with expectation, to be confident and trust. Hope is what we have at the very base of our beings. Hope gives us the power, the will, the motivation to forge ahead rather than take a back seat and say “meh, whatever”. And I do mean forge ahead. Have you watched or read “The Secret”? I have. I have heard many people say that what they took from it was that all you have to do is mentally transport yourself to Disneyland and wish upon a star, makes no difference where you are, anything your heart desires will come to you. Well, yeah, but you don’t just sit on your ass eating bon bons while millions of Publishers Clearing House dollars rain down on you like manna from PCH heaven. Actually, PCH may work that way, bad example. If you want something, go f-wording get it, but you have to believe and trust and expect and indeed, HOPE, that you will get it. As Julia Cameron notes in her much loved book “The Artists Way”, if you’re going to be late for the bus you must first believe the bus will come, second believe that you can catch the bus, and then . . . RUN LIKE HELL. You don’t just sit on your fat duff waiting for the bus driver to knock at your door.
Hope is valorous, because it does take a metric f*** ton of strength and valor to hope for something that you have not yet attained. And the valor of others, those of us that will sign up to be a Navy Seal and WILLINGLY throw yourself on a grenade to save the lives of many, that persons valor gives hope to us all. (A side note, of all the navy vets I know not one of them was with me watching this movie to answer questions I had. Boo. But I must reiterate, that’s why Al Gore invented the internet).
Hope can change your world. Hope can make the implausible, plausible. I have been guilty in the past of hoping for all manner of things, both tangible and intangible, and in that hope just sitting around waiting for a miracle. Mostly it doesn’t happen. Here and there it does and, at least for me, it’s not nearly as rewarding. I think of the old quote “Give a man a fish and you feed him once. Teach him to fish and you feed him for life.” Does that fit here? Kinda, I guess. Things easily gained are not as rewarding as those things for which we worked, and we would not have ever even fathomed working for said things without hope. Things that you can feel good about and say “Hell yes, that test was hard but I studied and made mince meat of it. Booyah.”
Whatever it is in your life that you want, work for it. Have a plan. Focus. And above all else, be valorous in your hope and believe that you will get it, don’t give up.
"Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me... Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.”
― Shel Silverstein
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