This is usually my favorite time of year, and I'm working on it. I think of where I was just a year ago, and I don't even feel like the same person. Last year at this time, I had no idea that I would be moving, that the year would bring so much strife and loss. But I'm still standing, as I always do. We can never really know what's coming down the pike; life does what it does despite how well we plan. And I DO plan. I'm not a huge fan of surprises unless they are really good ones, but it is what it is. I learned a lot this year.
I learned that the people you love and trust can turn on you in a second if they don't get what they want from you. I learned that people can think they know everything they need to know about your situation, without ever talking to you, based on nothing more than the word of someone who's trying to hurt you. Okay, that was hard. But I also learned how to recognize who I am, independent of somebody else's flawed characterization, how to finally stand up for myself, to say "No more", and to accept that people don't always make sense. I also learned that I have a lot of friends, a LOT of support, and that I'm okay and surrounded by love. Nothing is more valuable than that. I may not have learned that otherwise, or maybe I wouldn't have been so aware of the blessing that it is. It's all good.
Moving wasn't something we planned. If you had asked me last year, I would have said "No way". The idea was completely overwhelming. The nasty dog down the hall was the catalyst, and as unpleasant as that situation was, it compelled a change. The move was awful (though the help of friends made it less so). Planning the move was awful. Packing and cleaning sucked. It WAS overwhelming, the timing was financially terrible, and all the last-minute complications around logistics were a nightmare. But we're here. We're glad we're here. My daughter and I are both still kind of marveling at how awesome our new space is, and so, no regrets. Just more gratitude.
I didn't know I would lose Murphy this year. I suspected I might, but he was such a big, solid guy, such a presence in my life, that he felt kind of immortal, I guess. I knew when he turned 12 that every day was a gift. I knew it on a logical level. But even when you know, it's impossible to prepare. Of all the major changes that occurred this year, this was by-far the toughest. But I'm still standing. I'm still planning. I'm fighting like hell to find my equilibrium, but I know that I will. It's the first time in 25 years that I haven't had a dog (my daughter does, but I don't!) It's kind of weird. I pretty much come and go whenever, and I don't really know how to handle that. I hurt too much to get a new dog right now, but I have a plan. I'm sort of going with the flow on that one I guess. I'll know when I'm ready.
As the year wraps up and I sit here drinking my same coffee but looking on an entirely different (and much nicer) view, I feel how lucky I am to have managed each of those hurdles, only to discover a new opportunity or something better on the other side. Okay, I can't really say that about losing Murph, but otherwise it's true. I've always known it to be true. Sometimes the most terrifying and/or difficult experiences can lead to the most unexpected and amazing things. I'm keeping that in mind as it applies to all areas of life right now. I'm looking forward to Halloween (always! Spooky season is my 'thing'!), and it looks like Christmas might be pretty cool, too. Thanksgiving is still up in the air, but we'll figure it out. My daughter and I have done it alone before, and it was still an awesome day.
I feel like my world has been turned upside down and inside out, but I landed on my feet. I feel like there are surprises yet on the horizon, but I suspect that they will be good ones. I wish you all the same <3
It's been a week today. This evening, actually, if I want to be picky. It feels like yesterday, and it feels like last year. Either way, I'm sitting here drinking coffee, and picking a scab on a wound that's already trying to heal. I owe him that much. I owe him much more, but it's a debt I can never repay. Murphy was the center of my universe for 12 years, and now he's gone. I feel like a piece of my soul died with him. I know that more than a few of you understand completely. You are the people who have kept me afloat this week, and I love you for it. We are not casual pet owners, but dog (and cat) people. Many of us have built our lives around our animals in one way or another, and have devoted a great deal of time and attention to our understanding of them and our care of them. We get it.
I can't speak for everybody, but for me, I've often been closer to the animals in my life than the people. They are more honest; they "say" exactly what they mean. They aren't afraid to share their affection for you or to ask for what they want or need. They aren't afraid to give, either, and do so tirelessly. I've always been around animals, from the time I was very little. It's a central part of who I am. Now, for the first time in 26 years, I just have me to worry about. I'm not happy about it. For 26 years I've had a baby to take care of, then a kid and dogs, then a kid and dogs and horses, then a kid and dogs again, and then, for the last few years, just my dog needed me. Murphy has seen me through the loss of two other dogs, having to get out of horses for financial reasons, a horrific relationship, quitting smoking, a major move, my daughter's teen years, and finally my daughter's adulthood and independence. That's a hefty chunk of my life. He was my rock, the thing that kept me anchored no matter who came and went and no matter what else was going on. He provided that consistent companionship, and caring for him was a steadying influence on me. So now, folks talk to me about freedom, but it feels like anything but. My dog friends get it: "Use this time between dogs to your advantage" is the message. That I get. But freedom isn't the right word. It's more of a Janice Joplin/Bobby McGee kind of freedom, the line in the song that says "Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose". For me, it's not freedom, but a shallow kind of emptiness; meaningless days stretched out in front of me without purpose. I know that it will sound odd coming from somebody who is probably the most awkward, reclusive person on the planet, but it's connections that give life meaning. Everything else is secondary. And my powerful connection to animals has always been central to my existence.
Murphy taught me a lot about dogs and myself, too. He was "that" dog. The one that humbles you, that knocks you out of your comfortable ideology and expands your way of thinking. He's the one that gives you a choice: Change your ingrained assumptions, or fail. He was attacked by an off-leash dog when we first moved into town, and it was the beginning of a very trying two years of rehab. When you live in a situation where you literally cease to have any control over outside circumstances the moment you step out your door, it changes a lot about how you can and can't handle things. Endless advice from folks who's entire protocol is dependent on controlling any and all outside influences becomes entirely useless. Add the layer of blame that inevitably comes with failure (despite impossible circumstance) and you have a formula for all manner of bad. I wish more trainers understood that. But being in that situation creates priorities: Keep my dog safe, keep me safe, keep others safe, and do the best we can. I read on a web board somewhere that a woman was upset that she was being sued by a neighbor because her 80 pound German Shepherd bit a child. She thought it wasn't her fault "because you can't expect a small woman to be able to hang on to an 80 pound German Shepherd". You're damned right you can, and that absolutely IS the expectation. I was never going to be *that* person. Moving to town made me all too aware of the crappy boundaries people have when it comes to dogs, and it made Murphy's rehab take much longer than it otherwise would have. It also meant I was very aware of my responsibility to control my own dog, since nobody else was. Our safety meant I used a prong collar on Murphy to mitigate the strength differential. I lost friends over it (no, seriously) but Murphy's needs and Murphy's success were my priorities, not bending to ideologies of others. It was the first time I lost friends for putting my dog first. So be it.
I've known Murphy his whole life. I loved his parents and his grandparents, and he himself was loved before he was even born. People gave me grief because he wasn't a rescue. But he was born to be healthy and strong, and to have a great temperament. There are never any guarantees with living beings, but by being careful and conscientious, you can stack the deck in your favor. So we did. I heard about how unhealthy Dobermans were supposed to be, how unstable their temperaments were. But I knew better. Murphy lived to be 12 years old without ever having a breed-related issue. He got his CGC when he was a cheeky, nine-month-old puppy. He never bit anybody. He never snapped at children. In a world of good boys, he was the best. I made sure to tell him that every day. I can look back on Murphy's life without regrets. He ate fresh food and had a healthy diet that was carefully researched and balanced just for him. He had a lot of training, which for him was fun, one-on-one time. He knew everything, and a trained dog is a free dog. He used to go hiking with me. He ran around Shelburne farms with me, off leash. He traveled with me. He hated water, he didn't swim, and he didn't like the beaches here in Vermont. He LOVED to run on the soft, white sand on the beaches in Florida though, and he had opportunity to do just that. We played fetch at the park until we were both ready to drop (and sometimes Murphy would be left covered in mud!), and we would go snow shoeing. Sometimes, Murphy would jump on the back of my snowshoes to get out of the deep snow (he was no fool!), and I would do a (not) graceful face-plant. Only if there were people around to see it, though. We had a couple of memorable (and public) moments involving ice and squirrels, too. Murphy had a sense of humor, for sure. But I always made sure that he had plenty to do, and plenty of time to rest as well. When he started to slow down, we adjusted. I let him choose the pace. He spent hot, muggy summer afternoons snoozing in air-conditioned comfort. We changed his diet to accommodate his changing needs. As his ability to exercise diminished, his toys, games and treats became more important. We made sure he had plenty of all. He was walked everyday, brushed everyday, and had his teeth brushed everyday. Every morning, I told him he was beautiful. Every night, I told him that I loved him before we fell asleep. When folks ask "would you have done anything different if you had known it was his last day?" I can truthfully answer "no". I cared everyday. Every single one. Murphy wasn't a rescue dog, but he was a healthy dog who never knew a single day of fear, of loneliness, of being unloved. If I had a one wish for dogs, it would be that they all could be so fortunate. I think it's as important to support people who actively promote that ideal as it is to support rescue. The point is the well-being of the animals, always.
I saw it coming, but I didn't. Some of you know what I mean. Murphy was a 100 pound, 12 year-old Doberman. The fact that he existed was kind of miraculous, and I knew that every day with him was a gift. His well-being was prioritized right up to the end of his life. When an aggressive dog moved in down the hall from us and kept going after Murphy (twice very memorably, and requiring animal deterrent), we decided to move. We tried everything else first because we had lived in our home for 10 years, but it became clear that nothing was going to be done and we didn't really have a choice. It took weeks to prepare, and a grueling few days to execute, but we did it. Murphy was safe, and our new place an upgrade from where we were. It took a couple of days to settle in, to unpack, to put up shelves. And finally, last Wednesday, I woke up knowing we were done, and I was in total celebration mode. I was messaging a friend to that end and getting ready to pour myself a glass of wine when I saw that something was really wrong with Murphy. He couldn't get up. Over the last few months I had noticed some potential spinal degeneration, and he had vet appointment scheduled. But even that very day, everything was normal. He went for his walks, he ate his meals, just like any other day. And then suddenly, he lost the ability to use his hind end. My daughter's boyfriend was here, and the two of us tried to lift Murphy, to help him to his feet. Murphy couldn't stand at all. My daughter came home, and I called Tommy. Tommy was a boyfriend for ten years, a friend for even longer and the owner of Murphy's parents. He helped deliver Murphy into the world, and handed him over to me instead of insisting we sell him for some real money. He's always been an "animal first" kinda guy. His heart was as broken as mine. Tommy and Taylor (my daughter) carried Murphy, on his bed, to the back of my station wagon. We drove to the emergency vet. They put him on a stretcher, and laid him and his bed on the floor of a room. Taylor stayed on the floor with Murphy from the moment we arrived. We were all there. Taylor, Matt (my daughter's boyfriend), Tommy, and my dear friend Debbie even showed up, too. He was a very popular pinscher. Tommy and I knew the prognosis wasn't great from the moment we saw that Murphy couldn't stand up. The vet confirmed it. No matter how much money we spent or how much we did, there was no good outcome.
I don't remember much beyond that. It's funny how our minds work. I remember my daughter losing it because it's so odd for her. I remember saying goodbye to my best friend at 9:45. I remember my dear friends being there. I remember crying hysterically on Tommy's shoulder. I remember waking up in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by familiar things, but with someone important missing. I never did have that glass of wine. I know it sounds odd, but it still hurts too much to drink. It's been a week. One week. I still feel oddly disconnected from everything. I went for a walk in my old area just for some grounding and familiarity, but all I did was cry. Maybe I needed to. I might for awhile. I know how this goes. I have the Chase Away 5K this Sunday, and my daughter and I will be there. I feel like every step forward that I take is a good one. My friends are amazing people. The support and kind words have meant everything. I don't say that casually or lightly. I love you guys, more than you can ever know. And now, there's nowhere to go but forward. I'll take Murphy with me, always in my heart, always a part of me, wherever I go. I'll love you forever, big guy.
It's been a day, and I'm tired. The full moon is kicking my butt, and there is a lot going on in my life. Some of it makes sense, some of it doesn't. I'm going with the flow (well, as much as I do, anyway). I'm not alone here. There seems to be more than a few people going through some stuff right now. I see you, I feel you and I love you, so know that. It is what it is, and we'll all get through our collective stuff, but I had a conversation today that was sort of a touchy one for me, and even relevant on a broader scale. Sometimes what I do when I don't know how to process something is to put it here. I have the time and the need, so here goes.
Today, I was blamed for being verbally abused. Well, maybe not blamed, exactly, but it was implied that I had some part in it (I didn't). I was told that if I couldn't just pretend it didn't happen and move on in order to keep the peace, that the issue was my fault and I was hanging on to a victim mentality. It seems like a good time to be clear about this over-used (and often IMPROPERLY used) phrase, and define what a victim mentality really is.
I can speak to this personally, and without hesitation. Folks who know me know that I've been through some sh**. My trauma history isn't for the feint of heart. But it is just that: history. And there's a reason for that: The reason is that I stood and faced it, I talked about it, I dealt with it and I had the balls to put things in perspective and to hold people accountable. Some of it took me a really long time to deal with, mostly because I didn't want to look at it too closely, but eventually I DID deal with it. I still do that, and I'm smarter about what I allow into my life as a result. Facing things directly and head on is NOT the easy route, it's not the simple or painless route, and it isn't without consequences. But IS the only way forward. Sometimes that crap (and please forgive the graphic imagery here) is like a big boil that isn't going to get better until you open it up and let all the goo out. Only then will it heal. And yeah, breaking it open is going to hurt like hell and cause a big mess, but that's nothing compered to the discomfort of continuing to live with that boil. Anyhoo, dealing with the ugly sh** head on and refusing to accept further abuse is the OPPOSITE of victim mentality. Standing up for yourself is the OPPOSITE of victim mentality. Refusing to allow abusive people to continue to abuse you is the OPPOSITE of victim mentality. Holding people accountable (in whatever form that takes) for the way they've treated you is the OPPOSITE of victim mentality.
Shutting up to keep the peace, pretending the abuse/assault/bullying/whatever never happened so you don't make waves, that's staying a victim. Being afraid to advocate for yourself, that is victim mentality. No, no, and FUCK no. It took me a long time to learn how to stand up for myself. Part of me needed to learn how to believe that I had a right to. How messed up is that? And to be here, at this place in my life, and to STILL be expected to shut up and take it...no. Never again. I am a lucky human to have awesome, loving people in my life. I love them dearly, and they love me and I know that. Nobody is perfect, but we know how to treat each other with kindness and respect, even when there is conflict. None of us has to jump through any hoops to prove anything to each other. Love is unconditional. If your excuse for abusing and threatening people is "I was mad", then you have a problem and a lot of work to do. But it is no longer my problem.
For the first time in ten years, we are moving. It used to be something we (reluctantly) did a lot, but it's our choice this time, and it really IS time. When we moved in ten years ago, it was a pretty perfect situation. It was affordable, safe and located just where we needed it to be. We've really liked it here. I'm not going to go on with a laundry list of complaints, because it's been a comfortable home, and there's been a lot of awesome here. It was the first place I lived that wasn't a chore factory, it was close to a really awesome rec path, close to school, and my neighbors (most have them) have been pretty great. Hell, I even wrote a book here! We were able to have cable for the first time in forever, and we got to experience the joy of having food delivered. I know it sounds like little stuff, but my daughter and I have spent a lot of time in the middle of nowhere, so it was an exciting new experience.
But life moves on. Things that used to matter, don't anymore. Priorities change. And sometimes, life gets so outrageous that you just need to hit the reset button. I'm there. And yeah, I have specific complaints about the area (not the least of which is the aggressive dog that continues to live down the hall, despite multiple complaints and two police reports), but it was time, anyway. So after a particularly nasty encounter with the dog down the hall, I just said to my daughter "Let's move", kind of on a whim. When she came back with "God, yes", I knew it was happening. And what an overwhelming (but exciting) proposition that has been.
I'm not a materialistic person, like, at all. But I have a stupid amount of stuff. There was a time that that gave me a feeling of security, now it just makes me feel like I'm suffocating under the weight of it all. Most of the stuff that I have was somebody else's stuff that was given to me. I could always say no, but the combination of being raised by frugal people and coming from a personal place of scarcity has made it difficult to do that. I am SO over it! I've given away everything that could be of use to somebody, and I've mercilessly tossed and purged anything else that wasn't immediately useful. It's long overdue, and the more I get rid of, the better I feel. It's a tangible representation of what is happening for me psychologically, too. I'm done taking on other peoples' sh**. I won't own it, take it, accept it or take responsibility for it. It isn't mine, and it's gotta go. Even moving; the physical act of moving on, feels absolutely right. What once was has value, has taught me what it needed to teach me, and will always be important in that way, but it's done. Everything is different from now on because it has to be. Old patterns are no longer acceptable. It feels like freedom.
I'm still a bit thrown by the reality of getting our stuff from point A to point B. Financially, the timing is pretty crappy and we really need more muscle, but my daughter and I have done a lot more with a whole lot less. Struggling sucks, but it's made us extremely resourceful and pretty philosophical about it. We've got this, even if we feel like we don't, we do. And our new place is AWESOME. It keeps a lot of what I like about our current home: Proximity to necessities, security, and it's clean, and well-maintained. But we like it's specific attributes even better (flooring, kitchen space, etc.) and it's a much quieter area. That's a biggie for me. It's been tough for me to live in proximity to so many people and so much traffic. In my ideal world, I live in a sturdy little cabin in the woods surrounded by trees and sky and stars. In the real world where I can't afford that, I at least need home to be a haven. I think the new apartment is a step closer to that.
I remain grateful to our current space for holding us so well all these years, I'm grateful for healthy closures and the strength to initiate them and move on. And I'm SO DAMNED EXCITED to see what the next chapter brings!!
I walk toward peace, a sea of green, an explosion of summer abundance. My footsteps on the path, leading me away from the noise and chaos of my day. Gradually the sounds of traffic fade, and my path narrows and softens. I see birds, some brown and black; others bright yellow, red, and even blue. they argue back and forth above my head the way birds do. The sun filters to the soft forest floor, all shadows and glitter. I feel the warmth on my skin and take a breath. I can feel the tension begin to leave me. Nothing is important here except right now. A light breeze kisses the back of my neck, raising goosebumps. It whispers in my ear. It says "You belong here". It says "You are home". My soul recognizes that truth. I hear the brook, water gliding over stone. I send my cares with it, to be washed away and to dissipate. I can hear my breath, and the woods breathe with me. My mind is finally still and calm. I take my time and linger in this healing space. Eventually I walk home; grateful, renewed and reminded of who I am.
My birthday comes around at a time of year that, for me, things go a little 'groundhog day'. I don't mean the actual day, I mean the movie. It feels a bit like I'm living the same cold, grey day over and over again. I'm really not a fan of winter. I love that my birthday is a day to look forward to in the midst of an otherwise relatively dreary time of year. I love that I'm an Aquarius, because weird is the best way to be. And I really DO look forward to my birthday. I see so many women flipping out about getting older, and I guess I don't get it. It's like they're ashamed or something, when getting older is a gift. It means you're winning!
I have been asked SO many times if I would go back to being 20. That would be a loud, resounding F*** no! Give up what I know, the depth of my understanding, the perspective and wonder of experience, and all the people I've met along the way, just for something as ultimately useless as smoother skin and a better body? What a terrible trade that would be. And let's face it, I can still do everything I did back then (and more), but I'm a whole lot better at it ;-) I can listen to people argue passionately about things that experience has taught me are irrelevant, and not get involved. Things just don't get to me the way they used to, because I can see a bigger picture. Here's the cool thing though: I'm still teachable, maybe even more than I used to be. I think that's a choice, because I know folks my age (and older) who won't/can't hear anything that doesn't gel with what they already know. It makes me sad, but I've learned to not engage and that brings me peace. But I had to learn that. I think it makes more sense to just do what you know is right. Just don't be an a**hole. That's my goal. Well, one of them, anyway.
My goals have evolved and changed as I have. In my 20's I thought I had it figured out, then in my 30's I started to understand that maybe I didn't know sh**, but I would work on fitting into a persona that felt comfortable and right. In my 40's I was freed from all of that. I've found some authenticity. Now I KNOW I don't know sh** but it's okay because learning never stops. I know that we aren't here to be anything but who we really are, and that evolves and changes with experience and that's okay. I sort of feel like a kid again, knowing that there is so much out there to explore and so much to learn.
Sometimes, I get bummed because I feel like I haven't done anything with my life. There are a lot of things I want to do that have thus-far been out of my reach, but I'm not done yet. I need to remember the awesomeness of my life sometimes, just to get some perspective. I had the simplest and coolest small-town upbringing, I had horses. I was raised by educated and decent people who taught me to be kind. My family rocks. My friends, the new ones, the ones I've known my whole life, and everyone in between are some of the best people, and in that way I'm incredibly blessed. I'm super picky about who I 'friend' on FB, but the vast majority of them are my real friends. My mom did her masters thesis on the benefit a sense of humor can have on your health. My step-dad is a kind soul who can do anything, and does it quietly and without need of fanfare. My dad is a rock hound who lives in a 5th-wheel. How awesome they all are. All of them moving forward and searching in their own way.
Sometimes, I've felt like I've stood still, but I haven't. I've done so many things, from working in a shoe factory to making guacamole. I had a sculpting business, my horse-sculptures sold around the world. I've worked on farms and in dog kennels. I sang, I danced. I went to school and met new people and learned new things. I've struggled, and I haven't. I've published a book, I've been on television. I've had entire phone conversations with movie producers. I've met so many famous people through music. My daughter is half Russian. Sometimes, it feels like my life has been so small, but it hasn't. I feel like I'm just getting to the good part. There are things left to do, and dreams yet to be fulfilled.
I still have a horse to look forward to. What I've wanted has changed over the years, and maybe that's why there's been a delay in the fulfillment of that particular dream. As much as waiting sucks, it's been educational and the perspective it's given me has been very valuable. I haven't found love yet. Oh, there's been plenty of "love", but not love. And that's cool. Love knows where to find me. If he wants me, he's going to have to come and get me because I'm not going to chase him (whoever 'he' may be). My daughter turned out to be an amazing human being, and somehow that makes me feel like I deserve to have my life back and to live it to the fullest. I know what I need to do, and there are steps I can take to build on the success I've already worked for. I just need to pull my head out of my a**, remember how much my dreams mean to me and FOCUS. As the sun comes around again and marks another year in my life, I look forward to another pink cake and celebration with loved ones, and all the experiences yet to be had.
Yeah, I know it's the middle of January, but it's okay. I actively don't do new year's resolutions, anyway, so the timing isn't super important. I guess I feel like if you or something in your life needs to change, then you change it at the RIGHT time, and not wait for a specific date. If the two things happen to coincide, well, groovy :-D I'll admit, too, to not feeling particularly inspired to say anything specific, anyway. And sometimes that's really when I should, so we'll give it a go.
I thought that reading some posts by other bloggers might inspire me with something. Every once in awhile I'll poke around into the insights of strangers (folks who I don't usually read), just to broaden my perspective a bit and hopefully gain some insight. People are interesting! Most of the time it works, and today was no exception. Though today inspired me in an entirely different way. Today, the posts I ended up reading were long, dry rants around obsessive viewpoints. They read like a college dissertation. Informative about a very narrow, specific point of view? Sure. Interesting and engaging? Not so much. As someone who often hails from the overthinky tribe, it was eye-opening. These long-winded diatribes (some, complete with bullet points, ffs) were a reflection of how I think at times. I work very hard at not allowing that into my writing, because...BORING! But it was an excellent reminder to do more to shut off that largely unhelpful part of myself. Overthinking the sh** out of everything is an attempt at control that we don't really have. I know that's why I do it. But the idea of control is illusive. We can plan, we can do, and we can set our intentions, but reality is almost always stranger (and more interesting) than fiction or belief. You know what they say about the best laid plans, and all that.
It was also a reminder that perfection doesn't exist, and thank God. It's a construct of the ego (much like thinking the sh** out of everything). Even if perfection was attainable, it would be boring and predictable as sh**. Also, consider the kind of pressure involved in striving for perfection; what an exhausting waste of the finite amount of time that we have. I'd rather have 'awesome', 'fun', and 'real' any day! Flaws are interesting and unique. And believe me, I had a lot of work to do to get to that place. In terms of a preference for writing styles, I love the storytellers. I want to be drawn in, to feel like I'm there. I want to care, to feel something. Everything else is of lesser importance. So when somebody does the literary equivalent of talk at me about something, I tend to tune out and turn off. Obviously, I read for pleasure and entertainment most of the time :-) I'm not in college anymore. I can read what I like and write in my own voice. I guess that's it: When the reading is dry, the writer's voice is lost. The story isn't there, and there's no reason for me to be, either.
It would seem that (as usual) I've meandered a fair distance off-topic, but I actually haven't. This last year was a suck-fest, no matter how much I thought things over or how strongly I applied the considerable force of my will. But I learned a lot. Learning by immersion and living is the way to go, and that in itself was a learning experience. And learning never stops. I've seen what inauthentic looks like, and it isn't for me. I've watched others put on a show, and no thank you. For the first time in a long time, I'm happy to be who I am and where I am, because it's the real deal. In 2018, I have nothing to prove, and authenticity is the order of the day. I don't want to be perfect, in fact, I don't want to be anything or anyone except what and who I am. I know what I want and I know what I intend to strive for, but I'm also willing to surf the uncertainty of taking a few risks. I don't want to think the sh** out of everything. I want to be and I want to feel. I want to do things just because I want to do them. I want to throw my heart over a cliff and have faith that somebody will catch it. I want to run just to feel my heart pumping and hear my breath. I want to walk in the woods and get lost in everything happening around me. I want to take the time to count the f***ing stars. This year, I want to ride the highs and the lows as though they were a carnival ride, and I want to lose control.
Sometimes, being a writer with a global audience has it's temptations. Just lately, I've been biting my proverbial tongue so hard I've damn near bitten it off. I'm going to be grateful, dammit, even if it requires me to do the psychological equivalent of sticking my fingers in my ears and singing "La la la" as loudly as I can to muffle all other *sounds*.
There are things in life we don't choose. Sure, there's a faction of folks who are aggressively "positive" (It's a thing), who like to talk about how all things in life are a personal choice. I have theories about them that range from them being in total denial at least some of the time, to thinking maybe they've never really dealt with anything beyond the average, human-life kinds of stuff. Who knows? I see the value in the full range of human emotions, but obviously prefer to feel calm and happy, so I get the motivation here. Having said that, I come from an understanding that some of the most truly sh***y things that happen are the results of bullsh** actions taken by other people, or circumstances beyond our control in general. There's been an awful lot of the former going on lately, and it's forced me to make some choices about how to respond. That's something we always have control over: our own behavior. Sometimes I BARELY have control over that, but kudos to me for at least trying :-)
So what if my building manager wants to have my car towed (out of the parking space that I pay for) right before Thanksgiving because my registration is two weeks late? That's HER karma, not mine. (FYI, I just parked elsewhere until I can deal with it on Tuesday, neener, neener!) I seethed and thought about it awhile, and considered that maybe it was worth a satisfying, politely-scathing email that cc'd her boss and sarcastically wished her a Happy Thanksgiving as well. Nope. Her Karma. I'll just deal with it Tuesday.
Annoying, sure. But it's the work drama has been the really sticky bit for me, and my real challenge in terms of disconnection. It's not even my *real* job, just my side hustle, but the dysfunction is hurting people I like. That makes it a little tougher to ignore. They re-hired an ex-employee who was a terrible employee on their first go-round, and who has an alarming criminal history. I'm very pro giving people second chances. We all screw up sometimes. But they didn't just hire this person back, they made them an assistant manager, giving this person some degree of power over their good and loyal employees who have put in the hours and done a good job. Does this person have any people skills whatsoever? Hell no. They have also chosen to speak badly of good people who have worked hard for them (which backfired, because literally everybody else knows the truth). They've lost good people already as a result of both of these situations. Is this my Karma? No, it is not. I know what happens next (I just watched a similar thing happen to another business. They lost all their qualified employees, had to shut their doors and have since declared bankruptcy. They are also under criminal investigation as we speak). But I care, so I want them to change course. I want to scream "YOUR BUSINESS IS YOUR EMPLOYEES, PRIORITIZE THEM!" from the top of my lungs, but to what end? Can I do anything about it? Nope, not a damned thing. What I can do is surround myself in an imaginary hamster ball of solitude, and go in, do my job, and leave. I will do that until the business collapses or until I can't do it anymore. And I'll cash my checks.
I know by now you're thinking "But where are the gratitudy parts? Where is the giving of thanks?" No worries, I'm getting there. I'm grateful that I can take a step back and not react (well, not react-ish. This post is arguably a reaction). Sometimes good things can come from a whole world of stupid. Who knows? Maybe I would have been given a big ticket on my way to the Thanksgiving festivities had my building manager not so kindly reminded me of my late registration. And in trying to distract myself from all the crazy at work, I found a way to finally tame the fire in my left butt cheek! (I have piriformis syndrome. It is literally a pain in the a**). I am calling that a major *good*. I was getting ready to sit on a tennis ball (again, some more) when I found this blog: Duncan Sports PT
So sometimes, things just work. Sometimes, there's peace in letting things go, and wisdom in knowing when that's appropriate. I've been doing it a lot lately. And I'm grateful that I know how and am able to. It's been a frequently repeated theme in my life, and I've had a lot of practice :-P
Moving on, I have a big turkey-day brouhaha to look forward to, family that I'm excited to see and an enormous pile of delicata squash to make into something yummy. Delicata is my FAVORITE squash, so I'm super stoked (Yeah, I have a favorite squash. It's not weird.) I have running to do, a posterior to rehab and Christmas crafting coming down the pike. I love this time of year, and it's that bigger picture that I'm choosing to embrace. The rest of it is out of my hands.
On that note, I wish you all a truly gluttonous, indulgent and awesome day filled with fun, good people and gratitude. I don't say it to my friends nearly enough, but I really do love you guys! Happy Thanksgiving!
I recently had a discussion with a health professional about why I run. She was all about the obvious: The health benefits, the endurance, weight loss, etc. How wonderful that I care so much about my physical health! I didn't have the heart to tell her that all that was secondary. Yes, I enjoy all of those things...it counts even if you don't emphasize it...but my reasons go so much deeper. Actually, I never intended to run at all. It just kind of happened.
I've walked for years. I've walked so much that I can walk just about forever. I love walking, especially when it's hiking someplace peaceful and remote, but I felt like I needed to do something more. It started with intervals/hill sprints. I had forgotten how much I liked to run. I used to run all the time when I was a kid, just for the fun of it and to see how fast I could push myself to go. Sometimes I would pretend I was a horse, galloping hell-bent for leather through a field. I loved the wind in my face and my hair blowing out behind me as I pushed myself faster and faster. It was freedom; it was everything. And then I stopped. I had my reasons.
My intervals led me to more running. It felt so good. It became a type of escapism, the only one I had. I don't smoke, do drugs or drink (well, usually), and I so desperately needed something. Life is tough sometimes. Like, really tough. People like to tell me how emotionally guarded I am, and I really do try to be (yes, I know it's not a 'good'). But most people have no idea how miserably I fail at that (I am astounded that my emotional squishy-ness isn't obvious to all and sundry!) Sometimes, existing in the world feels like an act of outrageous vulnerability. Sometime sh** just hurts. No, I'm not always so tough. Ergo, escapism. Running is my out.
When I'm confused, when things feel stuck in my real job, when my (supposedly simple, easy) side-hustle becomes a chaotic, clusterf*** of dysfunction, when my heart hurts, I don't have to just sit there and take it. I can go and I can do. Nothing makes me feel more anxious than helplessness, so it's a relief. I can metaphorically run away while building myself up, making myself stronger. I can focus on breathing, moving. I can feel the wind in my face and become a carefree kid again. I can sweat it out and leave it all on the trail. Yes, running can hurt too, but it doesn't take anything away. It isn't unfair or senseless. There is a point to it, and it builds and strengthens. It adds something positive and uplifting. Even when it sucks (like Thursday, when I got soaked to the bone), it still makes the day a better one.
I spend a lot of time living in my head. Sometimes that's fine. I need my imagination to be functional, creative and vivid in order to work on the things I'd like to pursue. Sometimes, it gets away from me and that's less fun. I desperately need the physical outlet that running provides, that groundedness to counteract the mental activity. Being physically tired manages a lot of mental mischief. My busy brain functions best on days that end with me being sweaty, dirty and exhausted. Those days are always the happiest, too.
It love that running is a solitary pursuit. It doesn't require anybody else's support, help or permission. It's mine, and the only thing standing between me and a happy outcome is me. Success is guaranteed if I just keep going, and I know how to do that. I've always HAD to do that, and this time it's for me. I can make myself a promise, and know that I will keep it. Sometimes, just having one sure thing in my life is what gets me through the day.
I know I've put a lot of not-necessarily-traditional reasons out there for doing this particular sport. I've come to accept that my reasons for doing most things are not usual. I'm okay with that. I DO have a few more obvious reasons though. My friends run. I don't mean that they run like me, I mean that they REALLY run, they 'train-for-marathons' run. It would be fun to do 5-Ks with them if I can screw up my courage and deal with the crowd (and hey, T-shirts!) The more I run, the more of a hiking machine I will be, and that's something I really look forward to. And I can, because the only person it depends on to be successful is me. I guess having that control is the bottom line.
If you know me at all, you know that I am much more comfortable in the realm of thought than I am with feelings. My ability to think things through and mentally pick things apart and make objective assessments has been a really powerful survival mechanism for me. It's true that sometimes my thoughts get away from me, but usually because of feelings. Ergo my discomfort. Feelings always seem to be something that happen TO me, something I don't have much control over. They range from warm and pleasant, to intense and unstoppable. Sometimes those feelings are a tidal wave that turns my life upside down. But what choice is there, really? I spend time on my computer, using the internet as a buffer, as a way to disconnect. Sometimes the internet is a compassionless and ugly place.
For the last couple of weeks I've felt as though I was walking around with my heart outside of my body. I don't run from my feelings because I don't have any, but because I do. The human suffering in this world doesn't go unnoticed by me, the losses don't go unmourned. Whether those losses are natural and at a distance, whether they are needless and directly effect someone close to me, or whether they are the result of gratuitous and thoughtless violence. There have been a lot of them, and the cracks in my carefully constructed, personal armor are widening and visible. I know what it feels like to suddenly have the rug pulled out from under you with catastrophic consequences for you and your loved ones. I know all too well what loss feels like. Having said that, I would like to take a moment to express gratitude for the security I currently enjoy and the loved ones my life is blessed with. As a friend recently said, "Life can turn on a dime." It's a fact I know all too well.
I had occasion to go back home recently. It was for a funeral, but as I embraced my old friends, the people who shaped my childhood, I realized how much I missed them; how much I miss living in the real world, even when it's painful, or chaotic, and even messy. In spite of this realization, I need desperately to retreat and process. The world has been a painful place just lately. But that isn't new. Today I'm supposed to be at the Chase Away 5K. I'm on the planning committee, and it's a cause near and dear to me. I've never missed a year. But I've got nothing left. So I do what I do to heal. I do this, and I walk/run.
Sometimes, It's about running TO something instead of from it. About being in the moment. Sometimes it's my own desire to overthink things that gets in my way, so I run. I allow my thoughts to fall away, and focus on the thud of my footfalls and the rasp of my breath. I revel in the ache of working muscles, and the trickle of sweat at the small of my back. I always take the detour through the woods. Where the path dips over the brook, I speed up; I run down one side and up the other until I feel like my heart is going to burst. And then I stop and I listen. I feel the wind and the sun on my face. I hear the brook and the birds. I am reminded of my own humanity, that we are all flesh and bone, animated by spirit. We are a part of this world and each other. Any harm we do affects it all. But by the same token, any good that we do ripples outward indefinitely. That's the part I need to hang onto. I need that constant reminder, a connection with the gritty and real. I give myself time to watch the squirrels and enjoy the earthy redolence of fallen leaves, and I let it all go.
Today is my birthday. I usually wake up happy, and shamelessly make the entire month of February all about me. I'm generally insufferable on my actual birthday, but it seems to be more amusing than annoying. Sometimes. You would think I was a four year old child instead of a lumpy, middle-aged woman. I say that without any of the implied self-deprecation. I don't happen to believe there is anything at all wrong with being either lumpy or middle-aged. I'm forty eight today, actually. And it's cool. But I woke up in kind of a sad space, and that's less cool.
There are several legitimate reasons, I suppose. It's cold, it's grey, and it's the time of year that I am SO sick of winter. Some dear friends of mine lost a really great dog yesterday, and that's heartbreaking. Our country is a sh**show, and there's nothing I can do about that (if you disagree with me on that point, please keep it to yourself. For me, even more depressing than the sh**show that our country has become is the number of people looking straight at the situation and thinking its just awesome). And you know, I still don't have a pony. That last bit is in part my fault. I know what I want, I know what I want to do and it's an area of my life where I'm not willing to settle. It's also an area of my life where I have more than paid my dues, and it's time for a new experience.
I did come to a realization that brings me closer to that goal, though. There was once a time that I wanted nothing more than a house of my own in the middle of nowhere. I could keep my pony at home and I would feel 'free'. But my daughter, in her infinite wisdom (I swear that girl is a magical unicorn, and I have no idea how or why), reminded me that I could have a horse without "all that". She reminded me what it was like to live in a home in the middle of nowhere (which we did for many years) and asked me how I got 'freedom' out of that. She's not wrong. I think of the work and the responsibility, and the reality of living (single parenting, no less) in what is essentially a chore factory, and that really isn't where I want to spend my money or energy. Like, at all. It was definitely the right way for a child to grow up, but now it's my turn. Do I miss mowing the lawn? Shoveling snow? Cleaning off/repairing the roof? Or really, fixing ALL the things? Do I miss injuring myself repeatedly, dealing with getting water to the barn in the winter? Do I miss how impossible it is to go anywhere, or get anything else done? I'm forty eight today, and no, I do not miss all those things that beat me up when I was younger. Maybe someday I will, and I'll revisit the idea then. For now, I like the singularity and simplicity of my greatest financial goal: Pony.
It's a good feeling to be content. I love my neighbors. It was a thought that occurred to me only recently, but there it is. I like that I can make a phone call when something needs to be fixed. I like that my car lives in a garage filled with security cameras. I like that when I couldn't start my car, there were several friendly faces around to offer me a jump start (of COURSE I have cables). If I had the money, I would refurnish my place so that it's a little more 'me', but I have all my parents' furniture from their condo, so I'm not exactly hurting. They don't buy junk, and home is super comfy, so it's all good. We're actually okay, and it hasn't always been the case. I feel some pretty genuine gratitude around that in spite of my cruddy mood.
But this is a post about wishes, and I do have a few. Obviously, a pony and the resources to accessorize, support and show said pony are always in the front of my mind. My friend Autumn wants me to do mounted archery with her too, and that is also a loud and resounding HELL YES. I would like to have the time/focus to finish my new book. It seems to be writing itself, which is great, so if that could just keep happening I would totally dig that. I also wish for it's success. There's never a guarantee there. All I can do is hope that I'm writing something that people will want to read. Speaking of success, I wish that one of the movie producers who's been in touch with me would do more than talk to me about how awesome it would be to work with them. Option the damned book already! Yes, it WOULD be an awesome movie! Yes, I would LOVE to help with the screenplay! Let's do it! (See above re: Mama wants a pony). Here is where I completely acknowledge that I have entirely different problems than I used to, and I'm grateful as hell for that too.
Speaking of holy (we weren't, but let's pretend), I've been praying a lot. I know many of you don't believe in God, and that's cool. I don't know how I would still be alive if I didn't, and that's no exaggeration. You know, the question I get asked the most is "How can a loving God allow so much suffering?". No clue. You might as well ask me "How long is time?" and "How big is the Universe?" because I think they are all equal in terms of how far beyond our human purview they are. Faith is certainly at odds with my logical mind at times, but I have more reasons to believe than not. I've been to some dark places I'll probably never talk about. But faith makes me think of humanity. I'm struggling with that a bit just now. I know all the wonderful things we're capable of; space exploration, medical breakthroughs, art, music...it's endless. I hear our divinity in a singing chorus, or see it in an abstract sculpture that reaches me in spite of it's intangible yet somehow familiar form. I don't think we understand fully the best of what we are, but I wish we could at least try. I wish we could see in each other our naked humanity, free from whatever form(s) of groupthink we personally subscribe to. I wish we could remember who and what we are and love that in each other and treat each other accordingly. It's how we came into the world and it's how we're going to leave it. In the end, it won't matter who told you to think or feel what. In the end it's just you. Who are you?
Yeah, that last wish was a doozy. Unrealistic, yes. For now. But it's my birthday, dammit, and I had to ask. So off I go to enjoy the day, and may there be many happy returns for all of us.
It's been a loooong time since I've posted anything. I loved where I was at when I wrote my last post, and I wanted to be there again. It was the sort of energy I like to put out into the world. But let's be real here; things aren't okay. You would have to be a pet rock to be unaware of that (not that I have anything against pet rocks!). While this post is certainly inspired by the women's march, it isn't entirely about that. But the record numbers of participants and the ensuing (albeit feeble) attempts at discrediting the event provide an accurate representation of the general goings on.
I don't want this to be angry, and I don't want it to be political. But I do want to make a few points: 1)This wasn't a "liberal temper tantrum". It was widely attended by folks of all ideologies, and it was a GLOBAL event. 2) If you are a woman and you've never felt discriminated against, I think that's wonderful, I genuinely do, and I'm happy that you haven't had that negative, insulting and demeaning experience. You need to understand though, that many, many more of us have had a far different experience, are STILL having that experience, and it's an ongoing problem that needs to be addressed (have I mentioned the GLOBAL participation?). 3) Failure to allow inclusion by pro-lifers was far from hypocrisy. "Pro-life" sounds nice, but it essentially functions as anti-choice. Trying to insert yourself into a group of people who are fighting for their rights, when your whole raison d'etre is to impose legislation on that same group of living, breathing, sentient human beings in order to deprive them of their fundamental right to their own phyisicality...yeah, it might not be the venue. 4) Stop trying to discredit the event. It's a waste of energy, and it's coming off as desperate. I've seen everything from "They're burning the flag!", to "It's Muslims!"(the two most popular propaganda/manipulation tactics, which took me less than ten minutes to check out and dismiss), and "Why aren't they at work?"memes (seriously?) and headlines that essentially read "Large crowd makes messes". Funny how that last one isn't newsworthy when it occurs at literally any other widely attended event. Come on, PLEASE be smarter than this. When you subscribe to a certain point of view, will only listen to things that support that point of view, and won't do your own objective research, and actively reject everything else as lies, you are going to miss out on some pretty hefty chunks of reality. When that happens, there are going to be many, many people who live that reality who are going to disagree with your point of view. Pretending problems aren't real just because they don't fit into your ideological box doesn't make them go away.
Feminism came about for a reason. The word Feminism gets a lot of bad press because people misunderstand it (due in no small part to misleading propaganda). They think "I can't be a feminist because I shave my legs and I like being a stay at home mom". But they've missed the point entirely. It isn't about escaping the conformity of artificial, socially-contrived gender expectations just to arrive within a new kind of conformity. People who are used to thinking in boxes have a really tough time with the idea of no box at all, but the point is equality and choice. If you choose to be a housewife and a stay at home mom because that's what you love, GREAT! It's about embracing what makes you happy, whatever that looks like.
And let's talk about ideology. Once upon a time, it used to be nothing more than subtle differences in priorities. Not so much any more. I'm an independent, so I get bombarded by correspondence from both sides. One side is being emotionally manipulated, the other side is being actively and relentlessly lied to about the other (emotionally manipulated as well, but with anger instead of a sense of compassion). And they'll never know, because they won't bother to check it out (one side is better about that than the other, for sure). An artificial duality of thought is being created; this idea that if I believe in one thing, the other side must believe the opposite. If it isn't one way, then it must be another. It's a limited way to think in the extreme, and it's terribly sad. It's the idea that "Me and people who think like me are the only ones plugged in to the universal truth". Newsflash: If you really believe that, then the only thing you're plugged into is your own ego.
We have to stop relating to each other this way! Look at what we've done to our country. We actually have people fighting for the right to be disrespectful and mean to other people (anti-PC), while lamenting how disrespectful today's children are. Really?! You really don't get that?
In the real world, as it used to be, if somebody came to you and asked you to stop hurting them, any decent person would apologize and rethink their behavior. If your reaction to someone else's pain is to dismiss it as irrelevant and then call them names, YOU have something fundamentally wrong with you. If you think opinions are as important as facts, you need to go back to school.
I know people have a lot of different perceptions about 'the way things used to be', but let me share mine with you. When I was growing up, I learned that it was important to have respect for yourself and for others. I learned that being mean and hurting people was wrong. I learned that you treat ALL people with respect, not because of who they are, but because of who YOU are. I learned that it is not our place to judge other people, but God's. I learned that different people have different ways of doing things, and that's okay. I learned to respect my elders. I learned to feel sorry for bullies, because they probably aren't very happy people. I learned that the well being of a person (especially a family member) always, ALWAYS comes before financial considerations. I learned the difference between value and cost, and to always buy the best I can and then take care of it. I learned not to be wasteful. Boastfulness and self-aggrandizement are undesirable qualities. If I see something that seems wrong, speak out. If somebody needs help, help them. If somebody is being bullied, defend them. God is the only creator I worship. Never believe in gossip or speculation. Think for yourself, always. BE. AWAKE.
None of that sounds appreciably like the way things are heading, but I feel hopeful just the same. The worldwide movement against subjugation was certainly inspiring. We have tough times ahead for sure, but this time period feels very much like the dying gasp of a prehistoric beast. We just need to hold on to our knickers for a bit, and it will be okay.
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 I first started this blog, my intention was to keep it light-hearted. I wanted it to be a place where I could focus on the fluffy side of life; I wanted to make it primarily about animals and silliness. It hasn't exactly worked out that way. See, the thing about being online, about being part of any online community, is that it has a fairly pronounced dark side. I get that we all know this, and it isn't exactly the latest news. But it's easy to get caught up, to get dragged away and to be distracted by all the noise. For me, the worst part has been finding out about some of the horrible things that people believe in, even people I know and love. The feelings fall somewhere between a helpless kind of melancholy, and the realization that something with teeth is standing next to your bed at 3:00AM. It is what it is. And apparently, we're all about labels these days. We're all about making assumptions about large groups of people based on speculation, about passing judgement, about forgetting there is a difference between opinion and fact. Propaganda is propaganda no matter the source. Wanting to believe something doesn't make it true, but people believe just the same.
People believe nonsense about others simply because someone told them to. A failure to distinguish between opinion and fact compounds the issue. It feels heavy. It feels like negotiating an unpredictable landscape where logic and compassion no longer mean a damned thing, and anger, prejudice and greed are acceptable. Everybody is competing to see who has it the worst, and those who have it good feel fully entitled to exploit the desperation of others. It's so in my face every day, and it makes it hard to stay fluffy. Everybody is looking out for number one. I want to talk about what I believe, and why it makes the rest of it so difficult.
I won't deny the importance of the individual, but here's the deal: Each and every one of us is unique. We are all "different". Even so, unless you live alone in the middle of nowhere, build your own house, grow all your own food, make your own clothes, create your own energy, etc, you are connected to the rest of us. Our fates are inextricably bound. But it goes deeper than that.
The reason I love circles isn't just because I abhor straight lines and the sharpness of angles, but because they accurately depict our relationship with everything. Circles are inclusive. They are found in nature in a perfect state. They hold us all within them; they accurately reflect the reality of how even the smallest act can create a far-reaching ripple.
Taken spiritually, the idea of the sacred circle has been embraced by many, many cultures, and not for nothing. I'll focus on the Native American medicine wheel pictured above (items like this beautifully quilled medicine wheel are available by clicking the link under the image, and benefit Native American cancer research. A site which I'm not affiliated with in any way). While the symbol has been adopted by many tribes, I am most familiar with the Lakota understanding (my great gram was Sihasapa, though I didn't know much about her). Even so, there are still a lot of holes in my personal understanding to fill in, so please feel free to comment if I'm missing something.
I love this symbol. It is the epitome of inclusiveness. It doesn't just represent the connection of all people, but all of nature. Nature doesn't place humanity above anything else; we are all one in nature. It is only humanity that tries to see itself as above everything. It is seen in small ways, like assigning morality to feeding oneself (veganism for the sake of the animals, which is a fine thing to do but it implies immorality of all flesh-eaters; and being anti-farm gets extra silly when you have dogs and/or cats), or the need we have to assign human emotions and judgement to animals in order to describe how great they are ("my dog felt guilty when he dirtied the carpet", "my dog feels sorry for the abused animals on the TV","my dog is like a little person"). The truth is, every dog is a perfect dog. Every horse is a perfect horse. Every animal is perfectly and wonderfully it's own being, and not human. That doesn't make it any less, just different. The idea that 'not human' is less than us is so ingrained that we look for ourselves in everything to prove it is worthy. There's rarely ill-intent, but it's disrespectful just the same. I know I've said that before, but it can be really difficult to fully appreciate what the idea of inclusiveness means without acknowledging our human tendencies. Even so, we are perfect humans, all of us, and a natural part of the circle.
We, as humans, tend to make our spirituality separate too, as though it is something outside of ourselves. But it is a part of nature too, and a natural part of everything. We argue and fight about the different ways we perceive our spirituality, and don't stop to realize that nobody has the whole story, and that we all do. It doesn't belong to anyone more than anyone else. Our divinity isn't dependent on our financial place in the world, it's part of who we are. It's the very energy of our beings. Before you think I've gone all religious, you need to know that my understanding of spirituality goes beyond religion (my religion is Catholic, which is neither here nor there for the moment). Even the greatest minds in history acknowledge the force of energy: The law of Conservation of energy is absolute, and says essentially that energy can neither be created or destroyed. Tesla has been quoted as saying “The day science begins to study non-physical phenomena, it will make
more progress in one decade than in all the previous centuries of its
existence.” That's for those of us who need a little logic with our spiritualism. Having said that, my personal experiences have shown me a reality that many people have to take on faith. I know life doesn't end, because I've seen it. We are energy, and that energy is in all things. In that most profound, fundamental and unequivocal way, we are all connected. We can embrace it and live through it and with it, or not. But real separation is impossible, and the desire unhealthy. The individual is best able to manifest and thrive when that natural connectedness is acknowledged, and even more importantly, respected. For the more religious among you, for whom the Bible holds the most sway (or the curious), follow this link to multiple Bible passages that offer more incentive yet to support this point of view.
The problem arises when we need to be reminded of our connectedness. When we convince ourselves so thoroughly of our own self-importance that we become unable to see the validity of anything but our own priorities and our own point of view. As humans, it's something we need be aware of. Our big brains can be wonderful things; they can allow us to be stewards of our world, they can help us connect with the divinity of all things. Or they can give us a false sense of superiority and infallibility. Most of our biggest issues today come from trying to impose artificial priorities (like the acquisition of money and things) on a natural world that doesn't share or acknowledge our contrived values. The further we get from our natural state, the sicker we get. "We" meaning all of us and all of nature. That is a fact, Jack. There are ways to make it work, but the imposition of money on everything has functioned like a sickness in and of itself. It makes us hateful, paranoid, greedy. In our desire for a sense of control, we oversimplify everything; we make things so black and white that we fail to see the myriad of solutions that fall somewhere in the middle. The middle has become a blind spot. You think we would have noticed by now that the desire for money and control does nothing at all to make us better people or to improve our circumstances. We think having more makes us better. We get covetous and paranoid about our resources. It's ugly and it's violent. We use our big brains to justify it. We forget why we are here and what we're really about. We lose our magic in persuit of the trivial and insignificant.
So, those are my thoughts. I haven't found a way to adequately shield myself from the awfulness that exists, or to not get caught in it myself. We are going through a period of time when it's financially beneficial to play on peoples' prejudices and to exploit the worst of human nature. Our conversations are nothing more than hatred, name-calling, divisiveness and blame. It's so bad that we can't even see what we are doing to each other and to ourselves. We've forgotten the connection. All we can do is try to remember, and do our best to stay out of the fray.
I recently had the surreal experience of being featured on an episode of Paranormal Witness. The episode was based on my book In Stone, which was an account of a real-life event. I expected a lot of things. An acquaintance of mine said he doesn't do TV anymore, because they can edit it any way they like, and there is nothing you can do about it. I was a little bit terrified of what we had loosed into the world, but I had resigned myself to it in any case. When I finally watched the episode (Season 4, episode 11,When Hell Freezes Over) I was somewhat relieved. The only thing that was really contrived was the way it ended: With us fleeing to our Mom's house. I get why they did it. The episode needed to have a clear ending and our real story didn't end until three months after the ice storm. In reality, our Mom's place wasn't an option. We had three dogs (also left out of the episode) and our Mom lived in a condo where dogs weren't permitted. Seriously, if we could escape to Mom's, we would have done it a hell of a lot sooner.
I think it's interesting to see the TV version of our story. They actually left SO much out in the interest of time. I think they did a great job with the over-all feel of the experience, a great job portraying the cold, and the actors were pretty great too (wow...that little girl playing my daughter!), but some things are notably different. For one, it was a bit crazy-making to see everyone sitting around in the dark. NEVER would we have done that! We left lights on all the time, even overnight. We were terrified! Also, the house on the show looked pretty run down. Our house was really nice! Having said that, I fully understand how the dark, run down house would contribute to the aura of the story. It's funny though, how many people take TV so literally. I've noticed in some of the comments, people saying really nasty things about us for things that were actually artistic choices made by the show (like the low lighting) and had nothing to do with what really happened. It's a strange world! Of note, we also didn't share a car, and my daughter went to a Waldorf school, not a Catholic school. All irrelevant details, but examples of the difference between TV and real life.
All in all I think they did a pretty decent job. The toughest part for me was the absence of the dogs because they were such a big part of our lives and so much a part of how we coped with that experience. It felt a little empty without them there. I was concerned that the show might try and make things up, but they didn't, not at all. They did have to focus on only one aspect of what was happening though, and that meant a lot that we went through was excluded. Of course, that was necessary and expected. One of the things that TV doesn't tell you about real haunting is that it doesn't always make sense, there isn't always a tidy ending and people almost never behave rationally. It's an entirely irrational situation.
The episode was definitely an interesting step on the journey. When I wrote the book, I felt so responsible for telling the truth. I felt responsible to the people who lived the experience, the folks who so kindly helped to do research, the current resident of the home, so much responsibility to everyone involved. It was difficult to trust someone else with the story. I'm glad I did. I read comments about the book, about the episode, and so many of them are kind and supportive. I love that people have sent me messages on my author page and told me their stories. Sometimes I'm the first person they've told, and it's really emotional for them. I get it! I'm really grateful that I had the opportunity to do the show, and that the book has been so well-received. It's been such a healing process. I hope that by sharing my experience, I will continue to encourage others to do the same. It was a really difficult thing to hold on to. Oh, and for your viewing 'pleasure', here is a photo of the real me in the real house in '97 :-)
