Endings are tough, even when they are right. I know this. I've had a lot of practice walking away from people and circumstances when the situation required it (and have watched people I love dearly walking away from me as well), so you think I'd be good at it by now. Not so much (said the woman who stayed in a ten year relationship six years longer than she should have, lol). Even endings that seem fairly insignificant can feel like kaka. Endings are just so...final.
So, I quit my little side-job yesterday. I had been thinking about it for awhile, but the stars just seemed to align in an instant, and the message was clear: Time to go. NOW. So I did. You know, if I'm thinking logically about this, it really shouldn't be a big deal. It's a job I didn't need that I took to help my daughter out. She was the manager at the time, and needed more people. In spite of some misgivings, I decided to be good sport and take the job. And hey, I kind of liked it. I liked the people that I worked with, the atmosphere was fun, and I was only there a couple of days a week so it didn't really cut into anything else I was doing. Then my daughter left, then there was more or less a mass exodus of good people, and then everything changed. It sort of reminds me of that movie Legend, when Lily touches the unicorn and it all goes to sh**. Though there are still a few good people there (who will be missed, for sure), it just wasn't the same. It had come to the point where I had no idea what I was going to have face when I showed up in the morning, and that doesn't work for me. Sure, I know; life is uncertain and all that. But there's a limit to the amount of mental anguish I'm willing to subject myself to for no good reason. I'm not a masochist.
So I walked away. Sometimes it's the only choice you have, especially when other people are involved. Sometimes, no matter how badly you want something or someone to be a certain way, to be what you need, or to just WORK, it just isn't going to happen that way. You can try to stick it out (potentially at the expense of your own psychological well-being), or you can walk away. The "walk away" option is still hard, especially when it feels like giving up. I hate that feeling. But sometimes it's the only good choice. The older I get, the the smarter I get about the "when". Go me, I guess.
So then what? Well, something new. No brooding, just forward motion. For me that means connecting with a trainer, running better and running faster (in my sweatpants, because I'm THAT cool). Really, just choose something that you like that pulls you out of a funk (as long as it isn't, like, alcohol or something harmful, obviously). If you're moving forward then you aren't looking back. But leave some space in your life, because nature abhors a vacuum. Sometime when you end something that isn't working, you create space for something good, something that WILL work. Sometimes life has more to teach us than that things have to end. Sometimes the lesson that's ready to be learned is more about beginnings. I wonder what that will be for me? Hmm...
So, I signed up for a three-month food-prep and weight loss class. If you know anything about me, you know how completely out of character that is. I HATE cooking. I mean, I LOATHE it. And I'm horrible at it too. I've actually set my back lawn on fire and had to put it out with a hose, and I wasn't even cooking outdoors. Long story. I used to make waffles once in awhile when my daughter was little, and everybody called them 'awfuls'. It's no joke guys. And weight loss? Please! Lets talk about how much I DON'T care about weight. And then lets talk about why.
When I was little, I felt like I hated most of what it was to be a girl. I never wanted to be a boy (and I thought they were gross, of course), but girls didn't seem to get to have any fun. If I had to wear a dress, it meant I had to wear tights (uncomfortable), shoes that I had to keep un-scuffed and clean. It also meant that I had to be 'ladylike' (whatever that meant) and 'modest', (another word I didn't really get). Essentially, what it boiled down to was sitting quietly and politely, ie; NO FUN. Fun meant digging in the dirt for worms (to bring in the house), looking for frogs (to bring in the house), looking for grasshoppers (to bring in the house) and taking old electronics apart and trying to put them back together. Okay, I was a weird kid. I was also obsessed with horses, rode whenever I had the opportunity, and pretended to be one when I didn't. I liked to be dirty, and outdoors. I liked to follow my grandfather around his wood shop until I was covered in sawdust. In short, any day that ended with me being filthy enough for my grandmother to say "Go clean up before potatoes start growing on you" was a fabulous day. And didn't involve dresses, being ladylike, or being modest.
Another odd bit for me was that the more uncomfortable I was, the more adults would compliment my appearance. I would be absolutely miserable, and my older relatives would be all " Wow! Look at how PRETTY you are!!". Early childhood lesson: Misery = social approval. Okay, and I get it's not like that for everybody and I fully embrace my weirdness here. I didn't get the impression that my sister or female cousins felt miserable at all about dressing up, so it seems like it was more of a 'me' thing. But there it was.
Unfortunately for me I was an early bloomer (and that list of issues is for another day. Maybe.), and that meant an awareness of all the usual social pressures on women to conform to a certain physical type. I wasn't fat, but I wasn't skinny either. For a young girl (especially one that was extremely uncomfortable in her own, ever-changing skin)"not skinny" was the end of the world. Couple that with growing up in a household where weight and appearance were always a priority and a discussion, and the relentless message was "she could be pretty if she wasn't fat" and boy does that lend itself to a whole bunch of self-loathing and trouble.
I very quickly learned that my body wasn't designed for weight loss. I would lose it for awhile , and then it would just plateau eternally. Eventually I was frustrated enough that I just stopped eating altogether. I started to lose weight again, so in my mind that must have been the right course of action. Because nothing was more important than being thin. EVERYBODY knows that. And it started to show. People started complimenting me on how good I looked, started saying things like "It must feel great to start getting so healthy!"So I kept on keeping on. My skin was grey, I had dark circles under my eyes, and the compliments kept coming. Then I got sick. REALLY sick. I had mono, but not just for the usual couple of weeks. I had it for MONTHS. And then I had pneumonia. I missed my freshman year of high school. And I still wasn't skinny! My doc at the time knew what was going on and he threatened me with hospitalization. I knew he meant it. He said if my mom wasn't a nurse, I would already be there. It scared me enough to stop the behavior, but didn't do anything at all about the psychological impact. I thought making myself throw up would be safer. My doc saw the burst blood-vessels in my eyes and threatened me again. He also mentioned scary things like detached retinas, heart failure and blindness. So I gave up. I mean, completely.
I thought things like "I'll never be good enough" and "There's something wrong with me" (and it was JUST me. My sister was thin. Of course she was.) I drank a lot, but I never really liked it. And then I discovered cocaine and what a miraculous weight-loss aid that was. I never really talked about what I was feeling, because what was the point? Wasn't that just another failure? Another weakness? I felt like my inability to be like other young women or to care about the things they cared about made me bad and wrong somehow. I went to hair school, learned to do hair and makeup, and started to really focus on how I dressed. It was always on the wild side and I liked to wear leather (still do), so I felt like maybe I had just found my own unique way of caring about the 'right' things. I would just be a person who cares about such things, and it would be okay. The substance abuse was just for fun. Of course it was. Until it wasn't. I kicked it, but the weight was there, right where I left it. And I hadn't reached "skinny" anyway.
Eventually I got pregnant, and it was right around that time that I started to think: What if I have a girl? How will I teach her about 'all that' when I don't really have a grip on it myself? I thought about it a lot. I would look in the mirror when I was getting ready for work and think: I wish I could look in the mirror and just say "good morning, you", without having to change my face. I wish my very own face was good enough; perfect the way it is. I wish I could wear clothes for of how they make me feel, not how they make me look. I wish I could stop putting my human-shaped feet into pointed shoes; but I have to wear high-heels "because they make my legs look longer and beauty is pain, after all". (Just between us, how f***ing stupid IS that?) I wish I could say those conversations with myself were the beginning of some kind of revelation, of healing, but they weren't. Not yet.
I had my daughter, and then it was all about "Baby weight". For some women it's not a big deal. They get a belly-bump for awhile and then they have the baby and it's gone. I couldn't even get out of my own way, or wear shoes home after work because my feet were so swollen. It wasn't because I was lazy and uncommitted, but because it was just the way it was. The TV told me differently though: If I had a tough time with the baby weight, it was just another failure. I just didn't try hard enough. Never mind that I was an exhausted single parent. I didn't look 'right', and it was all my fault. Now I was not only jilted and alone with a child, nobody would ever want me or love me because I was just a big, fat mommy-blob. The way people treated me confirmed this: according to everybody, I was suddenly no longer me anymore. My whole identity was about being someone's mother, and I should automatically know what that meant because "instincts". Yeah, not so much. But hey, I met a guy who seemed to dig me (my daughter's father had literally left the country), and though he picked on me ruthlessly about my weight (all it takes is effort and willpower, don't be so lazy), I put up with it because hey, maybe I was still human after all. Even though I was fat. And then fen phen (or was it phen fen?) came on the market. It was experimental and maybe not safe, but what the hell.
I lost a ton of weight on the drug. I changed absolutely nothing about what I was doing in terms of diet and exercise, but I lost weight like crazy. I was risking my life, but here came the compliments: "Look how HEALTHY you are getting!" Yeah, I was healthy-ing my way into a smaller coffin, but I was taking up less space, becoming more socially acceptable. A 'real' person. I thought about that thing Kate Moss says "Nothing tastes as good as thin feels". But I HATED how thin felt. I felt weak and frail. I would look at myself in the mirror and see a gaunt (and old-looking!) version of my face perched on an alien body. I hated the knobbiness of my knees, and how bow-legged I looked. I hated the way my bones protruded through my thin flesh. It made me think of death. Once, I caught a glimpse of my backbone and ribs in a mirror as I bent down to tie my shoes and I was so horrified that I burst into tears. (It's funny, I never looked at my thin friends this way, but to me I looked awful). I was cold all the time (which I usually am, so it was worse), I couldn't get comfortable when I slept and even the smallest bump would hurt. I felt terrible. Of course when they took the drug off the market, the weight came back. It didn't matter what I did to stop it (or why). It always came back.
The "crazy" around weight didn't stop there. I starved, I chain smoked, I over-exercised. I still did all of that. I think it's pretty normal for women to accept self-flagellation as just another way of life. We call it other things (because the TV does). We call it 'motivation' or something along those lines. It's not. One day, I caught my daughter watching me. Is this what I wanted for her? Did I want to teach her to hate herself? Did I want her to think that her appearance was the most important thing she had to offer the world? So important that it took precedence over everything else? No, a thousand times no. I knew that if I wanted her to grow up loving herself, I had to love me. I had to show her what self-love looked like.That was a tough one, but I did it.
I finally accepted that I wasn't 'normal' (whatever that means), but that I didn't have to be. I was my own worst critic on that score. I accepted that I'm always going to be a little fluffy, and that means nothing about who I am or my value as a human being. I sent my daughter to a great school with a strict no media policy, and that just made things easier. It eradicated all those twisted media-messages directed at women. She and I would dig in the dirt together, grow things, make things, and joke about how many potatoes we could grow on ourselves. She went through a 'pink' phase, and then a 'blue' phase, and then a 'red' phase. Sometimes she liked to play with dolls and that was cool. And sometimes she didn't and that was cool too. She led the charge in terms of her preferences for toys, colors and activities, and all was well. We hiked with the dogs, we danced it out, we read books. We both dressed in clothes we liked for how they made us feel, we wore comfortable shoes (or no shoes!) and our faces were perfect exactly the way they were. Seeing myself through my daughter's eyes was really the beginning of healing for me. Healing from a lifetime of bullshit messages about how women should look and what they should care about. I needed the freedom from the media messages as much as my daughter, and it was the beginning. And there were many years of therapy (which continues).
It's been a long, slow climb through self-acceptance, and finally to self love. I'm really grateful to be where I am in that regard. I've come to realize that the cliche is true: beauty does, indeed originate within. I started looking for it in other people first. Where once I may have thought "She might be pretty if she wasn't so fat", I think "Wow, her face glows with kindness". And that's not something you will ever find in a make-up bag or a photo-altering app. Now, I can turn that same love and kindness on myself and mean it. It's kind of a big deal. And I now understand that not everything is about goals or climbing mountains. I do yoga because it feels good (Yes, Debbie, it's still your VHS tape!), I let my hair grow because it makes me sad to cut it, and I don't have to. I did add some purple and blue highlights though :-) I dress for comfort and wear comfortable shoes. I look at my face in the AM and say "Good morning you. It's a new day, lets make it a good one" without any thought whatsoever of changing my face. It's flaws are a perfect reflection of a lifetime of sun and smiles. I finally understand that trying to approximate a socially-contrived stereotype is not for everybody, and it certainly isn't for me. But you can imagine how it feels to have someone say "You know, you should lose some weight. It's just a little diet and exercise". Seriously folks, I WISH it was just about willpower, effort and self-control. I starved myself, almost to death, I drove myself to the hospital in labor, I raised a child alone. If it were just about gutting it out, it would have been a done deal a loooong time ago.
And what does any of that have to do with my opening statement? Well, everything. It took a long time to get to this place. I'm taking the class because I want to, without any particular goal in mind. It's about self love. It's an apology to myself for everything I've done; for the starvation and the drugs, for the self-loathing and judgement, for the shitty, dehydrated food and the chemical-laden, meal-substitute shakes. For the abuse, really. Both the abuse I put up with from others, and that which I imposed on myself. And to learn. My daughter and I went from a crushing poverty that meant we had no real choices in terms of food because it always came down to "what is the cheapest thing we can tolerate today?" (FYI, folks who really think poor people are out there buying lobster and steak are so full of willful ignorance that it hurts every ounce of common sense I posses, which is a lot.) , and with very little transition, suddenly went to "Who do we call for take out today?". That was cool for awhile, but it's no way to live. So I'm doing this, I'm taking this class. I'm sure I'll lose some weight, and that's cool. Do I expect miracles? I really don't, and that's okay. Because that isn't the point. The point is, to take better care of ourselves, just to do that. I've spent 2 years studying canine nutrition, and the better part of a year on equine nutrition (I don't even have a horse right now!) and it's time to spend a little time learning about me, a human, who's worth it. And for all the right reasons.
When life would get to a point somewhere past ridiculous, my friend Dawn (AKA "Donna") used to say "Stop the bus, I want to get off". It was silly, but somehow, nothing was quite able to sum up that particular state of mind quite so well as that statement. It just fit. I am currently experiencing one of those days. I wish there was a bus to stop. Figuratively, anyway, the bus I'm currently riding feels like it's careening down some random embankment, driven by a zombie, and I'm its hapless, helpless passenger just trying to hang on until it comes to a stop. My greatest hope is that when it does, it's still upright. Ahh...there are few things I like better than getting overly dramatic about bad days, so if you don't have the stomach for that sort of thing, you may want to get off this particular bus now.
I don't know where my car is. My daughter took it to work last night, and both the car and kid are still AWOL. Some days, I don't even feel like I actually own a car, unless it's time to pay one of the many car-related expenses. I said "You can use my car for work" She heard "You may take over my car, and my need for it will always be secondary to whatever you have going on". This is totally my fault. I hate playing taxi SO MUCH that it was a relief. But it has now reached the point of sublime ridiculousness. I don't like bringing the thunder, but if I don't I'm going to explode. Badness. I just have to keep reminding myself that yes, I actually DO own a car. MY car. MINE.
Don't get me wrong, my daughter has been in touch. This morning, at 4:00 AM. Then again at 6:00 AM. Then again at 9:00 AM. Ask me how fabulously I get on when I haven't slept. To say I feel prickly today is an understatement (and what an adorable little euphemism prickly is). I have decided to remain in my apartment for the safety of others. Well, except when I have to take my dog out, which happens. I will do my level best to NOT unleash the tides of doom on whichever unfortunate neighbor I happen to encounter en route. No promises though.
Did I mention that today was also 'sprinkler-test' day? That means the the sprinkler company is here all morning, setting off the alarms over and over again at random intervals. If that noise isn't enough to do in that last nerve that I hope I have, my screaming Doberman might just do it. When the alarms go off, the dog screams. AWESOME. Dobermans are a big dog and most people will tell you that they have a big, booming bark to go with their large size. But, (and all Doberman owners are very aware of this) they also have what I call 'tea-kettle' mode. They have a high-pitched, piercing shriek in their arsenal of sounds that is simply not to be believed until you experience it personally. It almost has a paralyzing effect on the nervous system in some odd, apparently supernatural way. My preference would be to get in my car and maybe take the dog somewhere until they are done, but ya know, I don't know where my car is.
Today is also one of those days when the folks I need to hear from are not getting back to me, and the folks I DON'T need to hear from won't leave me alone (and somebody keeps leaving voicemail messages on my cell phone, which is kind of new, and I don't know how to retrieve the messages). It's not a super day for chit chat. Trust me, you are SUPER psyched that I'm not answering the phone ;-)
Okay, so here's the game-plan: I'm going to hole-up until the storm passes. I can do this. I know that with a little bit of something chocolate and maybe a mocha latte, this day need not be an utter crisis. I promise I will not call you today, and I will not call my Mom. Her nerves and my nerves have a similar intolerance for utter madness. And yes, you may laugh as I am sure to do myself in a day or two. Until next time!
Productivity means different things to different people. Some folks take it uber-seriously, breaking down each hour in the day for some active task or another. Some bosses ride their employees relentlessly to make sure that every minute they pay for is used in service to something. Some people drive themselves, pushing the limits of their own endurance because...well, I guess I don't know why. I think there is something a little masochistic to that mind set. I've had helicopter-bosses too, but not for very long ;-) It's not that I don't handle nagging/whip-cracking/nipping at my heels well, it's more like I don't tolerate it at all. It's the surest way there is to get me to bail entirely.
Don't get me wrong, I will work like a dog and respect deadlines, I can even work like that for awhile for a specific purpose, but I don't do well with someone standing over me. But long-term, it's like, something short-circuits in my brain and all I can think of is getting away. I get all weird and avoidy and NOTHING gets done. I used to think it was strange, because I've observed people with an (apparently) extreme tolerance for this sort of thing, but I've learned it's actually fairly common. Does that make me feel better or more "normal"? Better, yes. More "normal"? Well, that's a whole n'other topic.
My personal productivity peaks when my mind is quiet. Some of the best ideas I've ever had were in those moments when it appeared that nothing at all was happening. Some of the other most productive moments have occurred when I was going for a walk, or doing some easy but repetitive chore (like mucking stalls). My friend Autumn called those moments of brilliance "muckpiphanies" and it's one of the better words either one of us has made up (and we've made up a few!). I NEED that quiet. without it, I can do nothing. For me, being busy is not at all the same as being productive. For me, it's the quiet that's important.
It's something to keep in mind as I look forward to some of my fondest wishes coming true. I'm grateful for the time between being able to acknowledge the possibilities, and the actual manifestation. I feel like it's not an "if" but a "when" (when, oh WHEN?), and I feel it in my bones. I know that feeling, and I know what it means. So what do I want? Home, of course. But a home that's not a chore-factory. I will never be okay with spending an entire weekend devoted to mowing the lawn. That's just stupid, unless you LIKE mowing. I HATE it (probably because of all those weekends devoted to mowing the lawn!). I will never want a house so big it takes me all day to clean it. I simply don't see the point. What do people do with all that space, anyway? And for me, a lot of space would just make me paranoid. I write HORROR. My brain can conjure up all manner of things hiding in various corners. Do people get big houses to collect belongings? Why? I kind of like the idea of getting a few quality things (or even better, having them made) and then take really good care of them. Like, forever. To hell with what's fashionable. I'm not fashionable. It's not something I think much about. I just like what I like. And how much stuff does a person need? I will admit, I rent a storage space. I rent a space for us, and a space for my stuff. It would seem really stupid to me, but my storage contains outdoor furniture that my grandfather made. it doesn't work in my teeny apartment, but I won't let it go either. Okay, so THAT I get. But otherwise, what's the point?
I always thought I wanted so much but as it turns out, home and a horse would get it done. Lots of folks have both. I (we) deserve to as well. For some, a horse is not a want but a need. That's what keeps me productive and moving forward. Sometimes, when results are less tangible, or time goes by and I feel like I have to take everything on faith, I keep those basic needs in mind. Then I try to find some quiet moments to be productive, and lose myself in the (mostly) peaceful world of the story I'm working on.
My daughter wants me to date. Okay, if I'm being perfectly honest, I've even been lectured by people who barely know me about how important it is to "find that person". I get it, I hear it, but I guess I'm not sure how to fulfill that wish for them. I'm happy alone, genuinely happy. I think I used to believe in the importance of that other person too, once upon a time, but years and experiences change a person. Even so, I'd be open to the idea if I could find a human being who was looking for a human being, to relate as human beings. I'm an Aquarius. That doesn't just make me odd, it means that friendship is the most important thing to me. It means if someone can't connect with me on a mental level and be my friend, it just doesn't work. Astrology aside, that really IS the magic formula for me. And brains are HOT. Seriously.
What's the difference between a friend and a boyfriend? Think about that for a minute; think about the difference between how a person would relate to one vs. the other. It would take a man bordering on magical (Yes, magical. That's exactly right.) to get that difference and even more so to find it appealing. I'm not saying friendship as in a platonic sort of friend-zone friendship, I mean a relationship based on two people actually liking each other as equals, respecting each other, on a human level. It doesn't sound like much, maybe, especially to folks who are happily enmeshed, but for me that connection has been as illusive as Bigfoot. And hey, at least Bigfoot leaves footprints and such to allude to his existence.
I'll admit that growing up in rural Vermont is enough to leave anyone jaded in the dating department. It can be a place where scantily-clad women draped over motorcycles (gross) are actually considered an appealing choice. I have actually had someone say to me "You're pretty, you don't need to be smart" and they were sure it was a compliment. I suppose in a land of cave-dwellers it might be, but in the world where I live (which, admittedly, is somewhere between Shangri-La and Middle Earth most days) it is disrespectful, marginalizing and attempts to diminish the light that dwells within us all regardless of gender. And therein lies the other half of the problem: The way I want to be seen also tends to be the same filter I look through when I see others. I don't even want to begin to tell you how much "bad" has resulted from that situation. It's one thing to strive to always see people as their best incarnation of self, quite another to do so with reckless and hopeful abandon, and a lack of common sense. Yeah, I'm over that. I take full responsibility for my part in the resultant issues there, but will admit to a learned-reluctance to engage because of it. And I haven't seen the need. I also have zero-tolerance far all things patriarchal and misogynistic. And
why wouldn't I? I have had to do EVERYTHING alone, and now I'm going to
let someone step in and direct how I live my life why? Some guys really frown on that, but they aren't the ones who are for me, anyway. So now we have what? A magical and very secure guy? Hmm.
I'm on a trajectory. I have this very clear picture of where I want to go and I'm working very hard to get there. Do I even have the energy to date anyone? I don't know. The right person could be worth the distraction. But I don't have the energy for games, or for the nonsense I've already dealt with. I'm not going to fight with someone to be who I am, and I'm not going to apologize either. The right person would understand that being an important part of my world does not necessitate monopolizing my time and attention. He would also know that I like shiny things, but that a really neat rock collected from a river just for me would mean more to me than something polished and expensive. That I prefer the joyful, upturned faces of sturdy sunflowers to the ephemeral and exotic beauty of orchids. My favorite sounds are of wind through the trees, the rolling of a river and the steady sound of hoofbeats on a dirt road. The moon and the stars are more beautiful than any city skyline; and silence, long and comfortable, can be the most meaningful form of communication.
I know exactly what you're thinking: I should probably just look for Bigfoot. Hey, you never know. Bigfoot might actually find me :-)
Let me tell you a story. It's sort of what I do. I don't make any promises about it's entertainment value, but here goes nothing just the same. Okay, I'm going to make a confession: It's 11:30 AM, and I'm a little (just a little), um, tipsy. I don't drink. Like, ever. I get high on life and the weird sort of awesome of other people and I don't want to miss a single second of any of that. Ergo, I stick to non-alcoholic beverages. But this morning, at a most crucial, time sensitive moment, my printer died. Okay, lame as AM drinking excuses go, but for today it will suffice. In the big scheme of things it's not such a big deal. Yes, there is a bunch of time-sensitive stuff that needs tending to fairly immediately, but what they hell. As my Mom would point out, as long as I can still move my arms and legs all is right and good with the world. I'm doing that right now just to prove to myself that I can and it is, indeed, the sh**. Who needs a printer when you can just get down with your bad self, right?
Oh, but I promised a story. Once upon a time there was a writer who very badly wanted to make her living doing what she loved to do. It seemed quite far fetched; very few are fortunate to be in such a position. But wait...is that really true? I mean, if you WANT to do something badly enough, can't you just DO it? Are we not only limited by our imagination and the strength of our will? Or is that Green Lantern? I forget. Either way, it works for us mere mortals as well. Or so it would seem. So once upon a time I was stressing about car repairs, a roof, food. Yes, boys and girls, sometimes even food was a scarcity in a past so recent I prefer not to think of it. And while I'm not exactly out of the woods yet, I can feel the tenacious tendrils of scarcity losing their grip and getting ready to fall away while I keep my eyes trained steadily (albeit a bit blurrily, currently) forward in my characteristically stubborn way.
So, YES my printer failed me at a crucial moment. YES I need it for some TV related stuff. The point is I NEED IT FOR TV RELATED STUFF. It is a new problem, and one that is indicative of my impending freedom, tangible proof of accomplishment. Even better, I am getting paid to do what I love. Holy Sh**, when did that happen?!
So go ahead Mr. Printer. Do your temperamental thang. You can't throw a damned thing at me that I haven't already survived, for you are merely a tool. Yes, I called you a TOOL. Don't worry, I still love you. I'm just annoyed. And I plan on having a spectacular day just the same!
I don't how I feel about the idea of New Year's Resolutions. I have a pretty good record with them; last year I resolved to get my book published and I did. But I don't like the implication that I have to change something about myself because something is wrong with me, and I have to be particularly resolute about it because well, it's January 1st, dammit. It reminds me a little bit of Lent. I feel kind of guilty if I don't give something up and eat fish on Fridays. It's a thing. The reality is, I have nothing to give up. I already quit smoking several years ago, and coffee isn't optional. But as a woman of a certain age, I do particularly appreciate that all my junk email assumes (naturally!) that I'm desperate to lose weight and to sort out my wrinkles via some miracle cream, creme, serum, etc.
Newsflash, junk-email generators: My resolutions tend to run on a deeper level. The things I would really like to sort out have nothing whatsoever to do with my lumpy little body or my (well-earned!!) wrinkles. I am happy to share these things publicly, and in fact have an innate sort of belief in the idea there's magic in sharing. There's power in words and intentions, and if you put them together and make them public, it leaves room for possibilities that may otherwise just be a wistful sort of inner longing that never amounts to much.
My resolutions this year are all about resources. For starters, I would like to develop some better inner-resources. I'm not a "people person", or an extrovert, and I'm not going to be. I'm okay with that. But like many sensitive people who have been emotionally sucker-punched a time or two (thousand) too many, I tend to avoid all-things-emotional. It doesn't mean I don't feel or don't care (for those of you who openly enjoy harboring that delusion), but quite the opposite. When things get emotionally intense it's overwhelming and I panic, which manifests outwardly as logical objectivity (weird, right?) or me actively running away. Like sometimes literally. Also weird. I know I'm at an age where most of the people I deal with should have the maturity to not emote forcefully at people, but it's not always the case. I think there's some erroneous belief that forceful emotions will somehow get through to me, when in reality the opposite is true. This year, I would like to work on my response and my ability to cope with this sort of thing. I realize that the behavior of other people is really about them, but it still really gets to me in a "please pass the Klonopin" sort of way, and that means it's having a toxic effect on me. It would be much more helpful if, instead of shutting down or running away (or taking Klonopin), I could simply ask that people use their words like grown-ups. THEN I could feel okay about exiting the situation until that is possible. Maybe I could eventually be less avoidy, and more comfortable in social situations? Crazy, right? Something to work on, anyway.
But it's not just the inner-resource thing I'd like to deal with. I have been given a perspective in the last several years that I never would have had just based on my upbringing. I had no idea how sheltered I was or how little information I really possessed about the world around me, and would have remained blissfully ignorant had I not been through hell myself. I used to believe that people who struggled financially were lazy, or that they brought it on themselves somehow. That life is all about the choices we make for ourselves, and if we're struggling it's our own damned fault. Personal experience has taught me that that viewpoint is, well,a crock of sh** if I may be blunt. Perpetuating this fallacy amounts to abuse of the most vulnerable people, and yet it remains acceptable in some circles. Sometimes, doo doo happens that is beyond our control and it's outright hubris to believe otherwise. Now that I know better, I can't help but believe that I went through all that for a reason, and I resolve to work hard enough to have the resources and the position to do something about what I know. The idea drives me. The idea that I might someday be able to do something tangible to help, inspires me. How? I don't yet. But the book is feeling like a good start. It could have a decent run and fade into obscurity. Or, it could inexplicably (with a bit of a nudge) go viral and get made into a movie. Who knows. That's the cool part: Anything is possible, and the odds are much more favorable than buying a lottery ticket. For the first time in a long time, I don't feel like the best days are behind me. I have faith in my future. I want more people to feel that. There's no bad there.
Okay, and the rest of it is to be expected, I suppose. I want "home". For me, that means roots, both literally and figuratively. Something that's mine. And a horse. Always a horse.
So, I won't be buying a gym membership anytime soon, or purchasing some kind of $20 melon-based facial-miracle-in-jar, but I suppose if that's what you're into it's okay. It's just not for me.
Thank you for reading! Wishing you ALL a joyful, successful and HAPPY 2014!
I wouldn't be lying if I said I don't know WHAT the hell is up with the holiday season these days. Chalk it up to a sheltered upbringing in rural Vermont, or to a very real "evolution" into the current...well, whatever passes for holiday spirit these days, but I just don't get it. Furthermore, I refuse to participate. My poor daughter, as a retail employee, isn't quite so lucky. Fortunately she is blessed with a much more sanguine temperament than I possess. If I'm being perfectly honest, while optimism comes somewhat naturally to me these day, there is nothing sanguine about me. If things go to hell, I go to hell. Working on it, but it's a work in progress. Throw me into a grabby, greedy and loud situation and you will get a straight-up, full-on melt down from hell. And why would anybody want to be part of that? Is saving a few bucks really worth all that?
When I was little I will admit that I was really into getting my Christmas presents. I'm not going to pretend that it was all about altruism and the birth of our Lord and Savior for me (Catholic). HOWEVER, that spirit that my family so lovingly passed on to us was certainly what made the holiday magical for me. I know all about the logistics re: the timing of Jesus' birth not being in December, no snow falling in Bethlehem, etc. but it didn't ruin it for me. It was still a day we set aside to acknowledge something special and we felt that presence throughout the holiday season. It was about home and family; a fun and raucous good time. And yes, I was gifted with many toy horses and a few dinosaurs, and it made me a very happy little girl.
I know it's never going to be the same. Too much pain and loss has occurred, and the old saying "You can never go home again." certainly applies to me. But it doesn't mean I can't retain some of that spirit and magic within myself. For me, that means not allowing the more materialistic parts of the holiday to sully the good. I don't mind at all that folks start celebrating right after thanksgiving (especially this year with the first day of Hanukkah coinciding with it...cool!). I'll admit that I kinda dig the whole season, and I'm a sucker for all those colored lights and cheer. Bring it on! But the stores opening on Thanksgiving and black Friday starting at midnight really gets my skivvies in a bunch.
Oh well, there's nothing to be done about it. we all celebrate in our own way I suppose. Which brings me to another point: What is the deal with all the intolerance? Why do we have to be all offended by the different ways people do things? Seriously? I've said this before and I'll say it again: Let's adopt an all-inclusive policy instead of trying to eliminate EVERYTHING. MERRY CHRISTMAS. Yeah, that's right. I F'ing said it. And you know what? HAPPY HANUKKAH. Yup, there you go. And HAPPY KWANZA. I'm on a roll here, and I have yet to explode! HAPPY SOLSTICE. And for my atheist friends, well, YOU HAVE A NICE HOLIDAY. See how that's done? There's never any harm in inclusiveness, in wishing good things for other people. It takes nothing whatsoever away from your own personal experience unless you are an intolerant pri**.
Look at what happened to the South Park Holiday Play:
There you go. Is that really what you want?
Please enjoy the season. Take your time, be kind to folks (especially poor, stressed retail employees!), and try to remember what the season means for you. Till next time!
I spend a lot of time people-watching. I don't mean in a creepy, voyeuristic sort of way, but just observy. I am my daughter's ride to and from work so I spend an inordinate amount of time just sitting in my car and waiting. I pass the time by listening to the radio and watching folks to-ing and fro-ing about their lives. This time of year, I am struck by the large number of people who accessorize their cute, woolen hats and puffy coats with incredibly sour faces. I get it, I really do. The frost sets into my bones right about this time of year and doesn't fully thaw until sometime around mid-May or so despite my best efforts to keep warm. I've lived in Vermont my whole life (except for three years I spent in Maine) so you'd think I'd be acclimated by now. Oh, I suppose I am. But 'acclimated' and 'happily adapted' are two very different vibes. Mostly, I suck it up and deal, just like the folks I watch on an almost daily basis.
Early mornings are the most entertaining time. Many people have yet to imbibe their morning caffeine and the combination of lack of coffee AND puffy clothes is pretty amusing. The usual winter shuffle is accentuated significantly when folks are still half asleep. These slow, lurching and only half-aware folks that I see on a regular basis have given rise to a theory: The zombie apocalypse will not be brought about by reanimated corpses, but by bundled-up, pre-coffee Northerners on their way to Starbucks.
Imagine if you will, the frozen North if not a cup of Joe (not even at Starbucks!) were to be found. It would be disastrous, the casualties immense. It would start at local Starbucks locations, but it would spread from there as even the (usually very caffeinated) baristas join in the desperate, lurching mob. The words "coffee", "tea" and "latte" would be grunted repeatedly with ever-decreasing enunciation as the now mindless hoard overtakes the city. Those few who had stockpiled their coffee and were therefore coherent run screaming in confusion as the slow but relentless mob continues on their tenacious course to find the one thing that sustains them...a cup of coffee. I can picture the scene: Glass breaks as Abercrombie and Hollister employees (who subsist almost entirely on Starbucks) break free from their respective pods and join the lurching mob.
Where will it end? It could end several ways I suppose. The best case scenario is that someone, somewhere is able to provide these "zombies" with their much-needed caffeine before too much damage is done. But the most likely conclusion is all manner of mayhem and shenanigans occur causing much damage and destruction, and then everyone falls asleep because they didn't have their coffee.
I've always had a strange relationship with money. Not only have I long felt like I was courting a lover who really didn't have much interest in being with me, but I felt on some level that money might be an EVIL lover. I didn't care, but I felt guilty for wanting it, anyway. After years of this awkward dance, I've realized that money wasn't really a thing with a life or an intention of its own, but instead a means to an end. It is only as good or evil as its holder, and only as illusive as we think it might be. Yeah, okay. Still working on that last part.
I have seen money used as both a carrot AND a stick. I have seen it used to artificially propel people into positions of power they didn't deserve. I have seen people use it to control others, to amass great quantities of 'stuff', to create a competitive advantage over those who had less. I have seen it withheld as a punishment, and have seen the acquisition of it prioritized over people and the living of life. It's no shocker at all that I see the evil side of money, and no surprise that I have had such mixed feelings about it for so much of my life. None of the usual reasons for acquiring money held much appeal for me, so I didn't really see the point of trying to amass wealth.
Years ago I had friends who tried to hook me into a multi-tiered marketing 'thing' that they were Very Excited about. They were pretty vague about the details for awhile, but ultimately told me the name of the company (I won't say who, but it rhymes with Bamway) when they realized I wouldn't listen to anything they had to say until they did. They asked me if I had time after work to go for a ride with them one day, and I reluctantly agreed to go despite the fact that they refused to tell me what it was about (these were friends, remember). After a couple of exhausting (and utterly confusing) hours of going to car dealerships, high-end clothing stores, furniture outlets and the like, they informed me I had been on a "dream quest", and that if I joined their company I could have all the beautiful things I just saw. All I had to do is pay some amount of money, use some products (sorry, this part was all vague) get friends to join and then PROFIT, and OMG, how exciting was that?! I never laughed so hard in my life. I said "Are you kidding me? WHO'S dream? I don't give a flying F*** about any of that crap! Have we MET?" followed by "Can I PLEASE go home now?" Seriously, anyone who knows me on even the most basic level HAS to know that anything that involves needing some type of disposable income AND the ability to sell stuff on the phone or in person (no online back then) was never, ever going to happen. And the way they came at me couldn't have been more wrong! They were trying to appeal to a sense of greed that I didn't have. If they had taken me to a warmblood horse farm, they may have gotten further, but probably not much :-) All that stuff remind me of South Park's "Underpants gnomes profit plan":
Either they were continuing to be intentionally vague, I was exceptionally obtuse or they didn't really know how it worked, either. In any case, I was not then and am not now interested in earning my money in a way that depends on what somebody else earns. It just feels icky to me.
Having said that, I have grown to see the very happy and uplifting side of money. I have come to understand that money can mean many genuinely good things. It can change and improve peoples lives, it can help the Earth become a healthier place, it can provide stability, help a family member or friend in a time of need and it can help someone go from a complete nobody to the person who eventually cures cancer. Money can be a blessed and beautiful thing, and it feels like it should be shared. I think its only ugly and evil when its hoarded and guarded over by the hunched gargoyle of greed and self-importance. Inviting resources into your life doesn't have to mean inviting the gargoyle. The two things are entirely separate events! What an astounding and liberating discovery that is! And lets be clear here, it was my own potential gargoyle that I feared. I have friends with lots of money who aren't the least bit greedy so I know it's possible.
But knowing and feeling aren't always the same thing. Now, I can keep some room available on my dance card for money, and not feel anything but good about it :-)
I've spent much of my life trying to be realistic. Also, trying to manage my expectations so as not to be disappointed, to find satisfaction in my current situation and to, essentially, 'take it where I can get it' because "life is what it is". I've always believed that magic happens to other people, that I can only fantasize but never realize amazing possibilities. That I simply am not enough because other people are better at anything I could ever hope to achieve. I have always believed that the best I can hope for is the opportunity to work hard enough at doing something I hate, that I can afford at least a taste of the things I have a passion for. Having that psychic baggage has given me a view of reality that isn't realistic at all, but actually PESSIMISTIC. It's not a perspective that provides energy for great things or for change. It is a perspective that has kept me small, kept my thoughts small, kept my expectations small. In short, not helpful in any regard. And I know better.
And what is reality if not perception? What gives us the energy to do great things? Certainly not by believing that great things are beyond our reach. Most definitely not by focusing on managing nothing more than the minutia of our day to day lives. There is a proverb that goes "If you aim for the moon you may reach the top of the highest tree, but if you aim for the top of the tree you may never get off the ground". It sounds about right to me. It also implies that we have some power over the direction we take. That was perhaps the most difficult lesson to learn: I have power. I have been told by so many people in so many ways (some subtle, some not-so-subtle) that I don't have any power, that my opinion isn't worthwhile, that I don't have a right to my beliefs for one reason or another (and how DARE I be offended by that!). Learning where my strength comes from was a real breakthrough, and I had to learn it for myself in my own way and in my own time. The truth is we don't need someone to tell us what we're worth, we don't need pieces of paper to tell us that we're smart, we don't need money to have influence. A truly powerful person, though they may have those thing, doesn't NEED them to own their place in the world. It's a work in progress for me, but I've shed the worst of it.
I believe this idea can be taken a step further. Not only do we create our reality through perception on a philosophical level, but likely in a tangible, physical way as well. Several years ago I was introduced to Dr. Masaru Emoto's research on the effects of emotion on water molecules. It was a unique perspective on how the energy we project into the world acts on the world around us. Super cool :-) It's old news at this point but still sticks in my noggin as a reminder. Again, a work in progress for me.
One of the difficulties in 'changing shape' is that it makes the folks around us uncomfortable. Sometimes those who are the closest have the most difficult time. We don't just see ourselves as singular entities, but by who we are in relation to others, at least on some level. When those others evolve, it can be genuinely difficult to accept and assimilate the changes, sometimes to the point of outright refusal. I've seen this played out occasionally and it's weird, but common enough that it appears to be a legitimate pattern. I feel lucky to be, and to be surrounded by, flexible, secure people who are amenable to positive changes in other folks. I feel all kinds of observy right now :-)
I guess this post was my long-winded way of saying if there is anything you want to do (well, anything that doesn't cuase harm to yourself or another, hehe), do it. Don't wait for the stars to align, align them. Don't wait until you have more time, make time. And I say this as much to myself as to you. I know sometimes the things we want most don't always pan out, but it doesn't mean failure. It means hammer at it some more in a different way. Don't let it go because you are distracted by the day to day. DO IT. :-)
First off, let me apologize for the lapse between the last post and this one. I went off on a related 'research tangent' that was productive and encouraging, and then I actually focused on getting some real work done. All in all, a productive time period. But here without further ado, my latest bit of wool-gathering:
I have spent my holiday perusing the internet for interesting horse info. It's hard to surf properly without running into lots and lots of info on "Natural Horsemanship", the barefoot 'movement', and riding bitless. I may date myself here a bit, but all of this info is new to me and some of it is making for some very interesting reading. I realize that none of this is terribly relevant to my life as it exists currently, but I am a horse person by nature and plan to have horses again as soon as finances permit. I poke around online to stay current and because it's really the only way to get a good horse-fix these days.
Okay, first of all let me make clear that, as a middle-aged woman who has ridden nearly since infancy, I am most familiar (and therefore most comfortable) with a more classical school of thought when it comes to horses. By classical, I mean the slow and steady bringing along of a horse though humane and methodical training, at the speed that makes sense to the individual horse. Of course, the definition and detail are much more complex than my simplified definition, but most people who ride and compete in 'English' sports know what I am talking about (whether they themselves are interested in adhering to classical principles or not). I won't say that I am an expert by any means and have found myself blessed by the help of friends who are much more capable than I, but the point is the same. In my view, correct training has always been humane training that takes the needs and nature of the horse into consideration. I have always been surrounded by people who felt the same. So what of "Natural horsemanship"?
I have never attempted it in practice. I know some folks who swear by it, and I know 'classical' trainers who are frustrated to no end by having to re-train horses who have been ruined by badly-done "Natural Horsemanship". I don't believe any system can be judged by the results of those who f*** it up though, but I guess that goes two ways. I have seen some pretty horrible riders trained in the classical method too (okay, admittedly most of them have been spoiled brats who's mommy and daddy bought them an expensive "toy" that they know nothing about, other than how to ride it around a ring and make it jump) but I know that, done correctly, it's a humane system that works. I think as long as it gets the job done kindly and the results are good, then why not? For some equine-enthusiasts, "Natural Horsemanship" IS the reason they ride. That's cool. I know folks who have a traditional background who incorporate NH to add something new and fun, and they do so with great results. I won't comment on western riding here because I am the first to admit that I know nothing about the western disciplines, but a lot of western folks seem to be really into NH. The one thing that does seem strange to me is that NH folks don't seem to do a ton of riding. I haven't seen a lot of NH folks participating in equestrian sports, at least not that I'm aware of. Is that a 'thing'? Again, I'm no expert.
Next on my confuzzlement list is riding bitless. Even from a traditional perspective, I totally get the appeal here. Less is more in the horse world (or more accurately, more training and skill means less need for gadgets), and it has always broken my heart to see a heavily bitted horse with his head tied down and his mouth gaping open. Even in the dressage ring, it is not uncommon to see an absolutely ridiculous amount of contact coupled with a tight noseband. In fact, both of those things make me NUTS and ruin my experience as a spectator. I would love to see riders in both the aforementioned camps lose their bit-privileges until they learn to ride with some compassion. I especially hate to see upper-level riders hammering on a double bridle. By the time you reach that level, you should know better. I rode saddleseat as a child. A CHILD. My horse wore a very potentially-severe double bridle, but instead of the crank-nosebands used by some of today's dressage riders, all we had were thin, decorative, pinned-ring cavessons. Even so, you never saw one of our horses with a blue tongue or a gaping mouth. I miss having the balance and finesse I used to have. I'll freely admit here that I am no longer a pretty rider. I am old and lumpy and waaaay out of shape. Just wanted to put that out there :-) Even so, I can work hard to be a good rider again when the opportunity presents itself, which is sort of the point. A bitless-bridle is something I could get behind. I spent some time checking out this site: The Bitless Bridle Once I got past the very-strongly anti-bit stuff and the occasionally obnoxious marketing, I found that I really liked Dr. Cook and understood why riding bitless could be a good thing.
It certainly made sense to me that a horse would prefer not to have something in his mouth, especially if that something is attached to an unsympathetic pair of hands that treats it like an emergency brake or something to balance on. I tried to find folks who are sport-oriented who utilize bitless bridles, and there are a few of them. Perhaps my favorite is here: Uta Graf/Le Noir, bitless dressage Oh Uta, if only you were wearing a helmet! Oh well, She is still awesome. There seems to be a lot more folks out there using them on very old, or pet horses though. Lots of pics of helmetless people hugging ancient horses who are half asleep. There is merit here and I don't wish to discount anyone who has and loves their horse and wants to provide them with a positive experience. I just think that it would be nice if these bridles were more commonplace among sport-people (specifically the above-mentioned "brats"). It's certainly something I would consider, though they aren't allowed in dressage competition. Even so, I would imagine that much discomfort could be prevented in training if a bitless bridle were used most often. Something to ponder...
Perhaps the most intriguing thing I've discovered is the idea of keeping a horse barefoot. I can't even begin to post links to all the info out there about barefoot hoofs and all the schools of thought around this type of horse management, but I will admit the scientific information is certainly compelling. If your experience is primarily with sport horses (with the exception of endurance) the idea might be crazy-foreign. But check out this perspective from world-class dressage-folks: Barefoot Dressage with Shannon Peters This is something worth a try too, under the right conditions. I probably would always feel safer sending my daughter out on a cross-country course knowing there are studs in her horse's shoes, but for dressage? There are pretty terrific hoof-boots out there too. Again, not allowed in the dressage ring (the thing I love about dressage is also the thing I dislike about it: it's so darned fussy!) but one could always do what the Peters did, or opt to use a glue-on shoe for competition until the horse is reliably comfortable on all surfaces. I think I will always be the most comfortable with a farrier who also does barefoot trims as opposed to someone who is trained specifically as a trimmer because I have so much respect for the farrier-trade and faith in experience. I have noticed that many farriers here in Vermont actually do both. That is cool!
I would encourage horse people to maybe not just stick to the status quo. By all means, adhere to your principals, but at least consider exploring some of the new stuff that's out there that can actually function to enhance the old stuff you already know about. I'm am trying very hard to keep an open mind. If you know me, you know how tough that can be. I am also not entirely sold on the idea of "natural" anything that involves us working with horses, as there is nothing natural about that from the horse's perspective, horses know we aren't horses, and I think we will do better by both the horses and ourselves by being confident and benevolent human leaders. BUT developing an understanding of the horse's nature and the physiological functions of all his parts is not a bad idea. No surprise there, but here's a newsflash: I am considering trying competitive trail in my next phase of horse-ownership. Is that crazy? I love dressage, SO much, but sometimes the idea of camping with my horse and riding through beautiful (and sometimes not beautiful) country just sounds so...liberating! What do you think?
I'm procrastinating, but just a bit. The truth is, I'm out of spoons (see Spoon Theory if you don't understand the reference) and have been for a few weeks. Normal for this time of year as multiple, big, real-life issues require my immediate and undivided attention whether I like it or not. C'est la vie. I wish everything didn't tend to converge on the same sharp point in time, but it is what it is. Ergo, spoonless. Anyhoo, I thought I might have a little fun addressing one of my pet peeves, and give myself a bit of a brain-break from my stress level. This week's pet peeve, boys and girls, is society's general (and frankly, ridiculous) disdain for the word "no". Perhaps my current spoonlessness was influential in choosing the topic of this post. I'll let you decide;-)
I have been reading SO MANY posts lately on the EEEEEvils of saying "no" to both children and dogs. First, let me give you a heads-up: If your children or dogs don't have a working knowledge of the word "no" and what it means, do not expect me to be around them. And I am a parent and dog owner, so I'm not just being touchy. Since I live in a building full of children that just went back to school after a vacation (!!), let's begin there:
I just read an article that essentially said that putting limits on children and having behavioral expectations is mean and unnecessary. The article then went on to say that if you don't put limits on children and let them have the freedom to do what they want, then they don't get upset, and we don't want to be the cruel sorts of people that upset our children, do we? Okay, seriously. WTF. This idea scares me on a primal level. The REALITY OF THE WORLD is that there ARE limits. You absolutely CANNOT do everything you want to, just because you want to do it. It's terrifying to think of an entire generation of children growing up with no coping skills whatsoever for the reality of limits in their lives and believing that they can just continue to do whatever they want. Maybe it horrifies me so because I was raised to respect other people as well as myself, to not only think for myself but to incorporate the ideas and wisdom of my elders, and to understand what limits are and to learn not only to work within them, but to know when it might be appropriate to bump up against them. I was a very lucky little girl to have the wonderful upbringing that I had, and I've gotta say, being friendly and polite is a pretty powerful way to open doors for yourself, especially when it's innate and genuine. I am shocked by the behavior of many of the kids I encounter these days, and it makes me feel a bit sorry for them too. They are in for an abrupt and bumpy induction into the world of adulthood. Well, provided they survive being a teenager.
My belief on this topic is this: Raise your children to believe in themselves and their abilities. Love them unconditionally and treat them with respect. Teach them, with love and gentleness, how to cope with the natural limits that life imposes, how to thrive within that structure and to ultimately use it as a springboard to propel themselves forward into well-adjusted adulthood. Teach them good manners so doors will open for them, then others, who won't love them the way you do, will want to help them to succeed. Show them how to treat people by being kind and respectful toward others yourself. What you model for them is far more influential than anything you will ever say. If you are a parent with young children and you subscribe to the 'never say no' philosophy, remember that someday they WILL be teenagers. If you don't have their respect (and I mean respect, not fear. I abhor spanking and believe that teaching through fear is failure) and attention before then, it is your child's safety that is at stake, not just your peace of mind. Trust me, as the parent of a young adult, I know what I'm talking about. I have been SO GRATEFUL for the relationship I have with my daughter. It hasn't always been smooth and I'm never going to win any parent of the year awards, but I'm proud of the person she grew up to be and love the continued openness of communication that we have.
As for dogs? Well, they don't speak human so they don't really have any negative association with the word "no" unless YOU have created it. In my household, the word "no" is just communication, not the end of the world. My quick-brained pupper would get incredibly frustrated very quickly if I just stood there staring at him while he threw behaviors at me. He doesn't want to just know when he's on the right track, but when he's on the wrong one too. The word "no" doesn't devastate him and crush his spirit, it just means "try something else". As far as he's concerned the quicker he can get to a reward the better, so he seems to appreciate the feedback! We can use that for games, too. I play fetch with Murph in the park each morning. Sometimes, I throw the ball far enough that he loses track of it before he can get to it. I always see where it lands, and can direct him to it by just saying "yes" and "no", kinda like a game of "hot" and "cold". Murph seems to really enjoy it, and I suspect at times that he loses his ball on purpose:-) It was especially fun watching the faces of a construction crew (there to build a baseball field) as I directed Murph to his ball and he totally understood what I was doing! I get the premise of giving a dog something positive to do instead of just saying "no" to an unwanted behavior, but there needs to be some common sense applied too. Like children, dogs need to understand limits and to learn impulse control. For some dogs a soft touch is absolutely required, but others need something more. All dogs are simply not created equal, they are not robots, they don't all respond the same to the same training methods. And I have 20 years of experience to back that up.
Ultimately, the reality is this: Neither children nor dogs innately know how to behave within the rules, and they need for YOU to teach them and prepare them for life in the real world. Not to do so is to fail them.
I've noticed a new trend in the dogosphere: the promotion of colored ribbons used to designate 'safe' vs. 'unsafe' animals. I suppose the idea isn't so new. When I was young and used to show horses, I knew that a red ribbon in the tail of a horse meant that the horse was known to kick. At first I questioned why I needed to know that. My 4-H leader's response was "So you don't ride up that horse's butt". Well, I had a really good 4-H leader so I already knew not to ride up the butt of ANY horse. Most horses don't like another horse on their heels, so the ribbons seemed superfluous to me. It seemed to me that the horses were being marked for behaving in understandable ways. Having said that, there was invariably that rider who would ride their horse right into another horse, get kicked, and then blame the 'kicker's' rider for not tying a red ribbon in the horse's tail. The incident was usually followed by a bunch of hullabaloo and the announcer providing yet another tired lecture on the importance of red ribbons and understanding what they mean. The point is, the horse who kicked did exactly what horses do when another horse is invading their space, but that horse's rider was always the one taking all the guff. The idiot who rode like she was bowling was treated as an innocent victim. Seriously.
And now there are folks promoting the use of colored ribbons for dogs. Um, okay. I've seen flags, bandannas, patches, badges and most recently The Yellow Dog Project has launched a campaign to promote the use of yellow ribbons. Their message is a simple one: If your dog needs space, tie a yellow ribbon to the leash. If you see a dog with a yellow ribbon on the leash, give it space. I have no desire whatsoever to pick on these folks and what they are doing, but I do have a couple of problems with this system. 1) The folks who most need the reminder to back off aren't the ones who are likely to know what the ribbons mean. Non-dog people are pretty unlikely to have seen the promotional material, as are new dog owners, and 'fur-kid' folks (people who think of their dogs as furry children who can do no wrong). I have used badges and patches (my dog is a service dog) and have STILL
had issues with other dogs and people getting in my dog's space. 2) I think a ribbon system can have unintended, negative consequences. It can lead to the assumption that any dog NOT sporting a ribbon is totally cool with being harassed, and that's the OPPOSITE of public education. In fact, as this movement spreads, I have already begun to see this happening.
If we have the opportunity to educate the public, why don't we REALLY educate them? If folks knew the truth about dogs, signs, symbols, ribbons, etc. would become unnecessary and domestic dogs everywhere could heave a collective sigh of relief. I really like Suzanne Clothier's common-sense approach, and highly recommend reading her blog post He Just Wants to Say "Hi" for an insightful look at what many dogs are subjected to in their daily lives. I also suggest checking out Dogs In Need of Space. They are an excellent educational resource and support system for owners who are feeling challenged or for those who just want to know more about appropriate behavior around dogs.
The truth is simple: ALL dogs should be given their space. A dog should NEVER be allowed to run up to a strange dog and get in their face (outside of a specifically designated dog park). A person, adult or child, should NEVER pet a dog without asking. Leash laws should ALWAYS be obeyed. These are basics here folks. This should be common sense to the point where I almost feel silly having to write it. I mean, how foolish would it be if we had to walk around wearing signs and ribbons to prevent strangers from harassing us? WHY do we assume then, that dogs are public domain?
I think too many people misunderstand what it means to be a 'social species'. WE are a social species, but we would still find it incredibly upsetting to have a stranger running at us and touching us and getting in our face. So it is for our dogs. While I have had a few dogs who tolerated this, I have only ever had one that really enjoyed the attention of strangers. It is more uncommon than people want to believe. THAT is what the public needs to learn. Unfortunately for dogs, most of what the public has learned has come from animated children's films about dogs; all the dogs speak in human voices, share human morality, are endlessly devoted to all people, and by gosh by golly all they want is to just be dogs, free to romp and play and sing songs. And if you happen to be the owner (or guardian, parent, whatever) of a dog who doesn't fit this fantasy stereotype, either you are a failure or your dog has something wrong with it. The truth is that most of the behavior exhibited by dogs who would be considered "Yellow Ribbon" worthy, is a natural and normal response to the rude, inappropriate behavior of another dog/person. I think that's the take-away message here.
We shouldn't need anything special to prevent harassment by people and other dogs. Common sense and hey, just good manners should be all that is necessary. But an awareness of how rare both of those attributes are these days does lend some credibility to the need for education. Since we are attempting to provide this education, I think we should treat the problem instead of just being okay with addressing the symptom.
I had a birthday last week. I love my birthday, even at my age, because I think of it as my own personal holiday. I make it all about me, and the people around me tend to allow and perpetuate the indulgence. I had to do math (never fun for me) to figure out how old I am because I tend to forget at this point. I think beyond a certain age the numbers become less relevant. I remember how excited I was when I turned 10 because because I was "finally double digits", and the excitement of 13 because I was a "real teen-ager". I remember my not-so-sweet 16, and the ambivalence of turning 21; "Yeah! I can drink legally", but big whoopdee-doo for someone who grew up on the Canadian border;-)
I don't really mind getting older because of the learning curve. My daughter asked me once if I missed my 20's...oh HELL no. I've learned a lot since then, not the least of which is how much there is yet to learn, and I wouldn't go back for anything. In our 20's we tend to know it all. Funny how that works:-) To say I didn't have my priorities straight would be an understatement too. Let's just say I logged some serious mirror time between my single-parenting duties. Funny how when I started worrying more about what was on the inside, the outside, and what people thought of it, seemed far less relevant. I think young people almost always have to go through the 'mirror' phase, but I don't miss it.
One thing I will say about getting older is that time seems to move faster. We understand that there is nothing we could own and no amount of money as valuable as our time. It's something nobody can give us, and yet we are so cavalier about how little we sell our hours and days for. We allow ourselves and our time to be undervalued by others because we undervalue ourselves. It's so common that it's largely unquestioned, and we consider ourselves lucky that somebody else is willing to pay us for our time at all. But each hour, each minute, it's OURS and we can't ever get it back. We think crazy thoughts like "sometimes we have to make sacrifices and that's just what we've gotta do". Um, do we? Or could we just stop being all martyred long enough to realize that we are all good at something, we all have dreams and goals and nobody's dreams and goals are greater or less than anybody else's. So if we're selling our time in pursuit of someone else's success, shouldn't that be worth something? If I want to pursue something free or dirt cheap because it has personal value to me (like this blog), that is my choice, my decision to make. But if I am in pursuit of someone else's goal I expect to be appropriately compensated for my time. MY time. On the flipside of this situation, if you can't adequately or fairly compensate someone for the time they are giving to pursuit of YOUR success, then you should probably do it all yourself. If you can't, then you may want to reevaluate the importance of your workforce and compensate them accordingly. I'm just sayin'. There's a karmic bit to this too. And believe you me, I know all about giving my time away for a pittance. Never again. It's amazing how the Universe cooperates when you finally decide that you are worth MORE.
We all are. We each have to take responsibility for deciding what we are worth, and to do so unapologetically. We are each the Kings or Queens of our own time and ourselves, and there's no price worth giving that away for a pittance. Too many times I've heard someone say "I guess that's good enough" or "at least I have a job". I think that's fine-temporarily. If you just need to get from point A to point B until you can do something worthwhile, well, that's life sometimes. Sometimes compensation isn't monetary, and that's okay too if it's giving something back to you. Some things are even better than money if you have what you need. Settling for years though, not cool. Getting comfortable with being underpaid and undervalued is one of the saddest ways to spend your time that I could ever imagine. But you have to believe in possibilities to pursue your own goals, and years of being undervalued by yourself and others can all but destroy that ability. Sometimes years of being told that you work hard and if you're lucky you have what you need, but BIG successes are for OTHER people is the mantra to overcome. But ultimately, this time is yours and mine and the choices are ours to make. Cool, huh?
I'm realizing that it doesn't take much to throw me wildly off my game. I am a creature of routines, and anything that veers off course from the norm has a serious "ooh, shiney!" effect on me that it's difficult to recover from. It's been a couple of months since my car and computer bit the dust, and I'm still reeling from the experience. My car is up and running again, better than before, so that's all right, and a huge weight off my shoulders. My computer though, well, that's a different story.
My daughter generously (if a bit fearfully) allows me to use her laptop. I am uber-grateful for the use of the laptop, but it still feels like trying to make a meal in someone else's kitchen or trying to sleep in a strange bed...it's wicked awkward. My files and programs are notably absent and I'm not super sure about how anything is organized. I just can't get comfortable. Comfy enough to write this blog, perhaps. Comfy enough to re-re-re-edit my book so I can move forward on the damned thing, not so much. Certainly, there are things I can be doing, but my brain derails me. I think "well, I could do that interview" or "I could explore that publishing avenue" but the next logical step always involves having access to the book, which I don't. I feel like I will be stopped dead in my tracks (mentally-BAD brain) until I can put my hands on the subject of my focus. I suppose it makes sense to be frustrated by my inability to make progress on a project I don't have access to, but the more time goes by, the louder my internal clock ticks and the more aware I am of time being wasted.
Don't get me wrong. A waste of time isn't always really a waste. Sometimes 'think time' is the most important time of all. I had to learn that the hard way. Sometimes external action is nothing more than the mechanical manifestation of lots and lots internal work. And hey, that's cool. But right now I AM wasting time. I am idling in park, sitting in limbo, twiddling my thumbs and rattling around my space like a singular pea in a multi-pea pod, and waiting. Unfortunately, the downside of being a thinky-person is that my brain is voracious. If I don't give it lots to do and feed it well, it starts to cannibalize itself. Soon, I fear, I will find myself staring at a wall and drooling. Or maybe it's just because it's February:-)
On the upside, the hard drive is ALIVE (thanks to my talented and computer-savvy step dad). I could have lost the whole works, but I didn't. That alone is worthy of celebration. But there is still something wrong with my computer. If you read my blog you know that I am literally plagued with computer problems, I've lost large sections of the book on two occasions and I can't seem to keep things doing what they are supposed to do long enough for me to make much headway at any given time. Ergo, my daughter's understandable trepidation in allowing me to use her laptop. I see her watching me furtively from the corner of her eye while she prays that whatever computer-killing curse I possess remains directed at only my machines. But I digress:-) (is that possible considering the meandering nature of this particular rumination?)
But it will be okay. Things work out in the end, sometimes better than expected. I just need to find a productive way to utilize my time until it's all sorted out. Till next time...
