Life. . . been a heck of a year so far. 2020. The year we all stayed home. I had plenty in mind for this year, and though it's not over yet, it's certainly different. So, I'm editing my 2020 accomplishments. . .
Instead of my list of resolutions/goals/wishes for 2020, I thought I would share a list of everything I accomplished in 2020. It's been an amazing year! I ended 2019 with many hopeful aspirations, and I accomplished all of them!
1) Wrote, edited, rewrote and published a book - working on it!
2) Won a short story contest and was published in a magazine - didn't win my first submission, but I'm still working on it!
3) Traveled to Italy to see Valentino Rossi make the podium in Mugello for MotoGP - canceled, this will happen in 2021, but Valentino will likely retire so. . .
4) Took writing classes with Paige and we impressed everyone with our creativity - did it. We attended four classes, then all was canceled. We'll go back in the Fall.
5) Walked and went to the gym religiously and now I fit in my favorite pair of Levi's - um, yeah, quarantine happened and food/drink/lounging (not lunging) has ruled. There is still plenty of time, so I'm working on it!
6) I saw so many live musical performances, I cannot even list them all - streaming live counts, so I'm still working on it!
7) I volunteered for public speaking events and did a great job - 2021 here I come!
8) I stayed in constant contact with my sister through writing letters, texts and phone calls
9) I started each day doing something that served my soul --- prayed, jumped, walked, laughed. . .
10) I won the lottery!
How was your 2020?
Friday, December 27, 2019
Monday, December 23, 2019
Papa Day
It's my Dad's birthday today. He would be 82. I can imagine him at 82. Still sharp, still funny, but maybe a little slower, maybe a little less inclined to cook for 30 people.
It's been 10 years since he died. I was mad at him on the day he died. I lived with the guilt of that for some time, yet despite my anger at him --- not even sure why I was angry --- I didn't discount the love we had for each other.
Oddly, I've grown closer to him in the past 10 years --- as I've grown and matured, I've been able to see what a good Dad he was, how he gave and gave and gave.
I think of the song Forever by Rascall Flatts every once in a while. I feel it was written to my dad from me --- It wasn't long enough, we were just getting started. But it was long enough to last forever.
My kids tell stories about my dad that I've told them, or that they've heard from their Aunt and Uncles. He lives on.
I walk with him every day. This morning was no exception. I put in my headphones and walked, noticing the stars, then the opening of the day, the birds, the dogs, the leaves. . . sometimes Sinatra belts a song to me and I hear his voice and see him dancing; sometimes I see an errant dandelion in the winter grass; sometimes the smell of his sauce wakes me up at night, and my stomach growls.
He lives on. He lives on in my brother's eyes, in my sister's laughter, in my mother's gaze.
I think that if he could make a wish today, he would wish goodness for all of us. He would wish that we let go of the things we cannot control, that we stay in the present moment, and that we are grateful for what we have. He would want us to take a big breath, and blow out all 82 candles --- blowing away the things that do not serve us in this lifetime. He would want us to know his love in our hearts, and lead our days with it.
I miss you Dad, but I'm also pretty amazed at how you are still so present in my life. Thank you.
It's been 10 years since he died. I was mad at him on the day he died. I lived with the guilt of that for some time, yet despite my anger at him --- not even sure why I was angry --- I didn't discount the love we had for each other.
Oddly, I've grown closer to him in the past 10 years --- as I've grown and matured, I've been able to see what a good Dad he was, how he gave and gave and gave.
I think of the song Forever by Rascall Flatts every once in a while. I feel it was written to my dad from me --- It wasn't long enough, we were just getting started. But it was long enough to last forever.
My kids tell stories about my dad that I've told them, or that they've heard from their Aunt and Uncles. He lives on.
I walk with him every day. This morning was no exception. I put in my headphones and walked, noticing the stars, then the opening of the day, the birds, the dogs, the leaves. . . sometimes Sinatra belts a song to me and I hear his voice and see him dancing; sometimes I see an errant dandelion in the winter grass; sometimes the smell of his sauce wakes me up at night, and my stomach growls.
He lives on. He lives on in my brother's eyes, in my sister's laughter, in my mother's gaze.
I think that if he could make a wish today, he would wish goodness for all of us. He would wish that we let go of the things we cannot control, that we stay in the present moment, and that we are grateful for what we have. He would want us to take a big breath, and blow out all 82 candles --- blowing away the things that do not serve us in this lifetime. He would want us to know his love in our hearts, and lead our days with it.
I miss you Dad, but I'm also pretty amazed at how you are still so present in my life. Thank you.
Thursday, December 19, 2019
Mind, Body & Spirit
It's been a long time since I contemplated the relationship between the mind, body and spirit. I suppose it's because I got caught up in the web of the mind for quite awhile, and simply forgot about the spirit and disregarded the body. Believe me, it's an evident fact.
This morning, I rolled myself out of bed, sleepy but determined to throw on a scarf, hat, gloves and heavy jacket for my morning walk. And I did. I got about a quarter of a mile and realized I never put Tony's clothes in the dryer, and without dry clothes he would 1) go to school in shorts or 2) rationalize that it was a reason to skip school. I sighed and turned back home. Women multi-task. That's the point of that paragraph.
Back outside, I started to walk. I thought about the characters in my book --- where I want them to start and where I want them to end up. The voices, the stories, the looks, the laughs and the music played inside my head, weaving in and out of each other. When I finally came back into reality, I had already walked a mile.
It got me thinking. I can say that my mind took me on that journey through the characters, and that because I was using my body at the same time, I was able to fully engage in the process. Yet, and this is the important part, I wasn't fully engaged in the process. Something else took over.
I think that anyone who writes, plays a sport that requires focus, draws or builds plans can relate. There is a period of time where your mind is not conscious of its actions or thoughts, it just does things, and next thing you know, an hour has passed and you're so excited that a product came out of it.
I am addicted to that part of things --- when my conscious mind turns off and I just exist in the area where I can float. Sadly, when the mind, spirit and body are not connected, that area where I float is often occupied by an escape mechanism --- doing puzzles, playing games on my phone, scanning the web, drinking. . .
Today I recognized myself inside that mix of mind, body and spirit, and realized that when all three are connected in a healthy way, it's an amazing experience.
I always believed in "gut instinct" and listening to that voice inside of you, but I never put it all together. Now, I believe that my "gut instinct" is really my fundamental self speaking to me --- the one that cautions me, kindly, against doing something I might regret later; the one that tells me to turn down a different road because the car on the side of the road looks suspicious, the one that checks in on my daughter and finds that she needed me to call her in that moment.
I realized that I am so lucky because that little voice --- that little me --- is my best friend. It's like meeting someone who knows your entire past, your entire present, all the people you know, all the memories that made or broke you, all your fears, and all your thoughts. She can then move between the good things, the important things, and advise you on where to go and what to say. She's that spirit part of me. My voice. The one that gives me words. My brain gives me the ability to put them in order, but my voice tells me what to say, what emotion is tied to whatever I am thinking, and then we move and float until it's there. I imagine it's a lot like putting a symphony together.
That's addictive.
The floating sensation inside is what is truly real --- the actual truth. Here's an example: There is a small house cat that that stops in front of you, stares directly in your eyes and hisses.
Your brain: Fuck, that cat's possessed. Your body: tense, ready to run. Your spirit: it's a scared cat.
I know that's basic, but it's how I see it. Your brain creates a story or a belief or a lie in order to rationalize the actions of the cat.
I don't know if any of this makes sense. I really don't care either, if I'm honest.
Just feels good to physically sit here, let my brain work the keyboard, and write whatever comes to me.
This morning, I rolled myself out of bed, sleepy but determined to throw on a scarf, hat, gloves and heavy jacket for my morning walk. And I did. I got about a quarter of a mile and realized I never put Tony's clothes in the dryer, and without dry clothes he would 1) go to school in shorts or 2) rationalize that it was a reason to skip school. I sighed and turned back home. Women multi-task. That's the point of that paragraph.
Back outside, I started to walk. I thought about the characters in my book --- where I want them to start and where I want them to end up. The voices, the stories, the looks, the laughs and the music played inside my head, weaving in and out of each other. When I finally came back into reality, I had already walked a mile.
It got me thinking. I can say that my mind took me on that journey through the characters, and that because I was using my body at the same time, I was able to fully engage in the process. Yet, and this is the important part, I wasn't fully engaged in the process. Something else took over.
I think that anyone who writes, plays a sport that requires focus, draws or builds plans can relate. There is a period of time where your mind is not conscious of its actions or thoughts, it just does things, and next thing you know, an hour has passed and you're so excited that a product came out of it.
I am addicted to that part of things --- when my conscious mind turns off and I just exist in the area where I can float. Sadly, when the mind, spirit and body are not connected, that area where I float is often occupied by an escape mechanism --- doing puzzles, playing games on my phone, scanning the web, drinking. . .
Today I recognized myself inside that mix of mind, body and spirit, and realized that when all three are connected in a healthy way, it's an amazing experience.
I always believed in "gut instinct" and listening to that voice inside of you, but I never put it all together. Now, I believe that my "gut instinct" is really my fundamental self speaking to me --- the one that cautions me, kindly, against doing something I might regret later; the one that tells me to turn down a different road because the car on the side of the road looks suspicious, the one that checks in on my daughter and finds that she needed me to call her in that moment.
I realized that I am so lucky because that little voice --- that little me --- is my best friend. It's like meeting someone who knows your entire past, your entire present, all the people you know, all the memories that made or broke you, all your fears, and all your thoughts. She can then move between the good things, the important things, and advise you on where to go and what to say. She's that spirit part of me. My voice. The one that gives me words. My brain gives me the ability to put them in order, but my voice tells me what to say, what emotion is tied to whatever I am thinking, and then we move and float until it's there. I imagine it's a lot like putting a symphony together.
That's addictive.
The floating sensation inside is what is truly real --- the actual truth. Here's an example: There is a small house cat that that stops in front of you, stares directly in your eyes and hisses.
Your brain: Fuck, that cat's possessed. Your body: tense, ready to run. Your spirit: it's a scared cat.
I know that's basic, but it's how I see it. Your brain creates a story or a belief or a lie in order to rationalize the actions of the cat.
I don't know if any of this makes sense. I really don't care either, if I'm honest.
Just feels good to physically sit here, let my brain work the keyboard, and write whatever comes to me.
Tuesday, December 17, 2019
The Power Inside
Many squats, push ups and planks later. . .
My body is screaming --- inner thighs, inner rib cage (there's muscle there?), shoulder blades, biceps. . .
Ah. Feels good.
I listened to an Eminem song and he talks about exorcising his demons, having them do jumping jacks. It's a nice play on words, and as my lungs fill and release, I understand.
I've spent many years feeding the demons, making them stronger, and giving them a voice. We've all got them, unfortunately, and we let them grown inside us, overtaking our heart and our soul.
Good news for us. They only live in our tiny brain, on a couple of circuits that seem to hold all the power. I'm no electrician, but I know that you can break a circuit and rewire it so that a light shines somewhere else.
In an unabashed way, I am going to mix metaphors and say that I pulled the plug, I plucked the weeds, and stomped on the badness. It wasn't too hard either. If you read my posts previous to this one, you'll see that I told negativity to beat it, and I dropped my need for escaping into my phone --- playing games and counting likes or dislikes.
It's refreshing.
For the past three mornings, despite my chest cold and raw throat, I've gone to bed before 9:00 p.m., set my alarm to wake before 6:00 a.m. and I've been entertained by crazy dreams that wake me, force me to take a couple gulps of water, snuggle in with the cat, and endeavor in some more. Yesterday I dreamed of a recipe for grilled cauliflower --- it looked delicious, and I can hardly wait to try it.
When my alarm goes off, I wake up without hesitation, throw on my sneakers and get out the door.
I've settled for gazing at the stars instead of shooting for the moon because sometimes life is just about that. Life is just about gazing at the stars. . . taking a moment to relax and just be.
I'm not all that big into meditation, but I did it a few times over the past couple of weeks and man, hearing a voice that isn't the voice of one of those demons that I created, is quite powerful.
I'm sure I have a couple demons lurking in my brain somewhere, hiding like a coward until it can prey on me in a weak moment, but for now, I'm fine. I don't think the demons like me gazing at the stars, and breathing deeply and telling them to fuck off, but they can be strong in a weak, cowardly sort of way, and so they'll be back.
But I'm ready to electrocute them. I have power inside, a fire inside and a short attention span for stupidity.
Plus, I have a pair of old Levi's in my closet that aren't going to where themselves. . .
My body is screaming --- inner thighs, inner rib cage (there's muscle there?), shoulder blades, biceps. . .
Ah. Feels good.
I listened to an Eminem song and he talks about exorcising his demons, having them do jumping jacks. It's a nice play on words, and as my lungs fill and release, I understand.
I've spent many years feeding the demons, making them stronger, and giving them a voice. We've all got them, unfortunately, and we let them grown inside us, overtaking our heart and our soul.
Good news for us. They only live in our tiny brain, on a couple of circuits that seem to hold all the power. I'm no electrician, but I know that you can break a circuit and rewire it so that a light shines somewhere else.
In an unabashed way, I am going to mix metaphors and say that I pulled the plug, I plucked the weeds, and stomped on the badness. It wasn't too hard either. If you read my posts previous to this one, you'll see that I told negativity to beat it, and I dropped my need for escaping into my phone --- playing games and counting likes or dislikes.
It's refreshing.
For the past three mornings, despite my chest cold and raw throat, I've gone to bed before 9:00 p.m., set my alarm to wake before 6:00 a.m. and I've been entertained by crazy dreams that wake me, force me to take a couple gulps of water, snuggle in with the cat, and endeavor in some more. Yesterday I dreamed of a recipe for grilled cauliflower --- it looked delicious, and I can hardly wait to try it.
When my alarm goes off, I wake up without hesitation, throw on my sneakers and get out the door.
I've settled for gazing at the stars instead of shooting for the moon because sometimes life is just about that. Life is just about gazing at the stars. . . taking a moment to relax and just be.
I'm not all that big into meditation, but I did it a few times over the past couple of weeks and man, hearing a voice that isn't the voice of one of those demons that I created, is quite powerful.
I'm sure I have a couple demons lurking in my brain somewhere, hiding like a coward until it can prey on me in a weak moment, but for now, I'm fine. I don't think the demons like me gazing at the stars, and breathing deeply and telling them to fuck off, but they can be strong in a weak, cowardly sort of way, and so they'll be back.
But I'm ready to electrocute them. I have power inside, a fire inside and a short attention span for stupidity.
Plus, I have a pair of old Levi's in my closet that aren't going to where themselves. . .
Sunday, December 15, 2019
Simplicity
Because I woke with a full chest, a raw throat and no voice, I decided to take the day and live it simply. Tony was feeling lousy too, so we each had a cup of tea, and watched a Family Guy at wake up. My throat was still raw, and my eyes were drooping in exhaustion. So a half hour after waking, I went back to bed.
I woke a couple hours later, jumped in the shower, had a piece of pizza for lunch and walked over to the salon for a pedicure. I didn't pull out my phone and check Facebook or play a game, I just sat in the chair and talked to the woman who was doing such a sensational job on my feet. We giggled some, I paid and walked back home.
My brother is in town, and he said he'd take care of dinner. Perfect.
Tony and I sat on the sofa and put on Shrek. I fell asleep five minutes after it started and woke five minutes before it ended.
Dinner was ready. I ate and watched shows until it was time to pick Paige up from her friend's house.
When she got home, we sat down and she shared the happenings of her day with me while we played a game of Aces Wild. She beat me by 250 points. Whatever.
We laughed some. Then bed.
No make-up, no stress, no worries - just tea, pizza, a good dinner, a few great laughs, a sore throat and a lot of sleep. Easy.
Today, when I awoke, I felt refreshed. I threw on a pair of sneakers and walked a couple miles, stopped to get some coffee for myself and my brother, sat down and decided to write. In a couple hours, I will make Lasagna with Paige.
I'd mark this weekend as a good one. Simply a low-key couple of days for a body that needs to heal.
How was your weekend?
I woke a couple hours later, jumped in the shower, had a piece of pizza for lunch and walked over to the salon for a pedicure. I didn't pull out my phone and check Facebook or play a game, I just sat in the chair and talked to the woman who was doing such a sensational job on my feet. We giggled some, I paid and walked back home.
My brother is in town, and he said he'd take care of dinner. Perfect.
Tony and I sat on the sofa and put on Shrek. I fell asleep five minutes after it started and woke five minutes before it ended.
Dinner was ready. I ate and watched shows until it was time to pick Paige up from her friend's house.
When she got home, we sat down and she shared the happenings of her day with me while we played a game of Aces Wild. She beat me by 250 points. Whatever.
We laughed some. Then bed.
No make-up, no stress, no worries - just tea, pizza, a good dinner, a few great laughs, a sore throat and a lot of sleep. Easy.
Today, when I awoke, I felt refreshed. I threw on a pair of sneakers and walked a couple miles, stopped to get some coffee for myself and my brother, sat down and decided to write. In a couple hours, I will make Lasagna with Paige.
I'd mark this weekend as a good one. Simply a low-key couple of days for a body that needs to heal.
How was your weekend?
Thursday, December 12, 2019
Beautiful You
I spent some time over the past few days reflecting on the things in my tiny, little brain that keep me from opening up my gigantic and loving soul. It took me some time to discover a few things, but only seconds to get rid of the one big one: Negativity.
Negativity about myself, about my capabilities, about my looks, about my truth.
Fuck that negativity.
It was an ironic truth that in order for me to get rid of the negativity, I had to get really negative -- raging mad at it, to the the point that I held my head up in defiance, clenched my fists at my sides, puffed my chest and even had shaking legs as I tightened my jaw and stared forward --- such determination, such anger!
Fuck that negativity. It doesn't serve me. It has never served me.
Imagine a girl, nineteen or twenty years old, clear skin, dark beautiful thick hair, curvy and smart. Imagine the dimples on her face, and an incredible smile that lit up the room when she lived in heart and not in her head. Imagine her getting ready to go to a party with her girlfriends --- Bon Jovi or the Scorpions blasting loudly as she and her college roommates fixed their hair and make-up for a night of laughing and dancing. Imagine that girl grabbing a pair of size 4 or 6 or 8 Levi's, putting them on, grabbing a sweater, flipping her hair and then looking into the mirror with a smile.
She sees her true self, and looks great.
Then her stupid mind decides to chime in --- you're fat, you're ugly, that zit hidden behind your ear is gross, your dimple sizes don't match, your eyes have bags, black circles, and you're stupid.
Fuck that negativity! It does not serve you!
She spends the next half hour crying, trying on different clothes, removing and reapplying her make-up, and more time. . . it passes.
She works at her outside. Her friends tell her she's gorgeous, "come on, let's go," but she doesn't believe it. She goes anyway and is so inside her head that she doesn't even know what's happening around her, doesn't remember to this day how that night was, just remembers how shitty she felt inside her tiny little mind.
Fuck negativity. It does not serve you.
What was the reality? She was beautiful! So very pretty. So very blessed. That smile? Magical.
When did it come out? It came out when she shut off her brain, had a 25 cent beer, relaxed, and ah. . . smile, more smiles, reciprocated smiles, dancing, laughter. Beauty reigned. She could have been wearing Halloween make-up with blacked out teeth and she was still gorgeous because she lived through her heart; she tapped into her soul in those moments and made herself and everything around her beautiful.
Fuck negativity. It does not serve you. It darkens everything, so fuck it.
Fast forward twenty plus years. Twenty years later and she plays the same record, feels the same way. So she silences it with a glass of wine, a movie, a shot, a nap, a game on her phone, Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat --- likes, dislikes, likes. How come I don't get more likes? Oh God, why am I so fat, so old, so wrinkled? New negativity. Bad habits. Please silence the voice --- have a drink, write a post, pay money for more coins on your game, more drinks, more tweets, more likes and dislikes. . .
See the pattern?
Fuck that negativity. Fuck its power. Fuck it.
The woman now? Amazing. Free. Free. Free. Empty of the darkening thoughts but full. AMAZING.
So fuck those bad thoughts. They do not serve you. Beautiful you.
Negativity about myself, about my capabilities, about my looks, about my truth.
Fuck that negativity.
It was an ironic truth that in order for me to get rid of the negativity, I had to get really negative -- raging mad at it, to the the point that I held my head up in defiance, clenched my fists at my sides, puffed my chest and even had shaking legs as I tightened my jaw and stared forward --- such determination, such anger!
Fuck that negativity. It doesn't serve me. It has never served me.
Imagine a girl, nineteen or twenty years old, clear skin, dark beautiful thick hair, curvy and smart. Imagine the dimples on her face, and an incredible smile that lit up the room when she lived in heart and not in her head. Imagine her getting ready to go to a party with her girlfriends --- Bon Jovi or the Scorpions blasting loudly as she and her college roommates fixed their hair and make-up for a night of laughing and dancing. Imagine that girl grabbing a pair of size 4 or 6 or 8 Levi's, putting them on, grabbing a sweater, flipping her hair and then looking into the mirror with a smile.
She sees her true self, and looks great.
Then her stupid mind decides to chime in --- you're fat, you're ugly, that zit hidden behind your ear is gross, your dimple sizes don't match, your eyes have bags, black circles, and you're stupid.
Fuck that negativity! It does not serve you!
She spends the next half hour crying, trying on different clothes, removing and reapplying her make-up, and more time. . . it passes.
She works at her outside. Her friends tell her she's gorgeous, "come on, let's go," but she doesn't believe it. She goes anyway and is so inside her head that she doesn't even know what's happening around her, doesn't remember to this day how that night was, just remembers how shitty she felt inside her tiny little mind.
Fuck negativity. It does not serve you.
What was the reality? She was beautiful! So very pretty. So very blessed. That smile? Magical.
When did it come out? It came out when she shut off her brain, had a 25 cent beer, relaxed, and ah. . . smile, more smiles, reciprocated smiles, dancing, laughter. Beauty reigned. She could have been wearing Halloween make-up with blacked out teeth and she was still gorgeous because she lived through her heart; she tapped into her soul in those moments and made herself and everything around her beautiful.
Fuck negativity. It does not serve you. It darkens everything, so fuck it.
Fast forward twenty plus years. Twenty years later and she plays the same record, feels the same way. So she silences it with a glass of wine, a movie, a shot, a nap, a game on her phone, Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat --- likes, dislikes, likes. How come I don't get more likes? Oh God, why am I so fat, so old, so wrinkled? New negativity. Bad habits. Please silence the voice --- have a drink, write a post, pay money for more coins on your game, more drinks, more tweets, more likes and dislikes. . .
See the pattern?
Fuck that negativity. Fuck its power. Fuck it.
The woman now? Amazing. Free. Free. Free. Empty of the darkening thoughts but full. AMAZING.
So fuck those bad thoughts. They do not serve you. Beautiful you.
Sunday, June 2, 2019
Lead With Love
It wasn't too long ago that I was on the phone with a woman who worked at the city government office in Virginia Beach. My job has me calling or visiting the government centers daily, and I've visited or spoken with someone in over a hundred similar offices on the East coast.
When I read the story of the Virginia Beach shootings, my heart broke a little. That is not to say that the other mass shootings across the country - - there have been 150 this year already -- aren't also heartbreaking. But this one hit a little closer to home, only because as I've sat in some of the city or county offices, and worried that it could happen. I've had the thought that the city offices are prime areas for someone to lose their wits and take down innocent people because of the darkness and brokenness in their souls. It hits close to home because I've been to that office and I've had coworkers at that office, and I know people at that office.
I took a long walk this morning. After two and half miles my feet started to hurt so I stopped to let them rest for the walk back, as I often do.
This was my view:
I stayed on that bench and cried for those people and their families. I said prayers for them but still felt helpless.
Then I reflected on my yesterday with Tony -- walking around the paths near my house and collecting Pokemon and fighting battles, all the while interacting and sharing. I thought back to a conversation I had with Paige last night when she and I were talking about Utopian and Distopian societies and she said "there really is no perfect society - there is no way to get one." And sadly, I agreed with both statements but also offered that if more people lead with love, there would be less tragedy.
When you lead with love there is no room for dishonesty, greed, fucked-uped-ness. If everyone lead with love and really did it, then kids wouldn't be getting abused by their priest, their scout leader, their coach, their uncle, parents. . . sadly, the list goes on. . .
If everyone lead with love, their would be growth and giving and kindness. The loss of a life would cause grief, but not fear and anxiety. The loss of a life could be celebrated because we would know that the person lived giving and receiving love.
I know that the community in Virginia Beach is living its worst nightmare, but I also know that there is so much love right now in that community. Love that I hope prevails so it never happens again.
I hate that I have to wear a fanny pack (or as my daughter calls it: "your anti-Milf outerwear") but I need somewhere to put my pepper spray as I walk along the paths behind my house collecting Pokemon and enjoying nature as beautiful music plays in my ears. I walk with a tinge of fear every day because I don't know if there is a broken person I will encounter who decides that it is his/her day to kill someone.
Of course, there is "ikigai". This is a concept that means "a reason for being." The word ikigai is usually used to indicate the source of value in one's life or the things that make one's life worthwhile. In Japan there is a community where the people live with ikigai and grow to be 90, 95, 100, 110 years old - -active elders too. They live as a community - - planting gardens, sharing meals, sharing stories and sharing love. There are no mass shootings because people are living worthwhile lives, and aren't caught up in the likes/dislikes of social media or trying to bury the hurt with drugs and alcohol.
It does exist.
I get on this blog and I talk about love and giving love, and being honest and kind, and smiling. It's not easy though. I try to live by my words, but I fall into the fear and anxiety. I live with insecurities that I don't even know about, and they are dredged up when I'm tired or scared, and I lead with fear instead.
I took this picture on Friday evening as I collected Pokemon with Tony. The fountain and pond are less than 300 feet from my house. We stopped to catch a Pokemon and I happened to look up and was in awe of what was in front of me. I closed the Pokemon Go app and opened up the camera, and snapped it. Everything about it is beautiful and Tony and I sat on a bench, our phones in our pockets and watched the sunset in silence. He's fourteen and likely wanted to go back to the Pokemon, but he saw what I saw and he felt what I felt, I think. So we sat there for a few minutes and I put my arm around him and said, "I love you, buddy and I'm so happy you're home again." (He and Paige had just returned from their dad's house).
He smiled and said, "I love you too, daddy." Always calling me daddy. . .
It was an ikigai moment - - a reason for being, a sense of value, a worthwhile activity. On that walk, I had nothing but love. I didn't think about my pepper spray or my mortality. I just sat in that moment.
Since Friday evening, I have looked at this picture at least a dozen times. It helps, especially after reading the news and feeling the break in my heart.
Sadly, that break in my heart has me saying Rest in Peace.
When I read the story of the Virginia Beach shootings, my heart broke a little. That is not to say that the other mass shootings across the country - - there have been 150 this year already -- aren't also heartbreaking. But this one hit a little closer to home, only because as I've sat in some of the city or county offices, and worried that it could happen. I've had the thought that the city offices are prime areas for someone to lose their wits and take down innocent people because of the darkness and brokenness in their souls. It hits close to home because I've been to that office and I've had coworkers at that office, and I know people at that office.
I took a long walk this morning. After two and half miles my feet started to hurt so I stopped to let them rest for the walk back, as I often do.
This was my view:
I stayed on that bench and cried for those people and their families. I said prayers for them but still felt helpless.
Then I reflected on my yesterday with Tony -- walking around the paths near my house and collecting Pokemon and fighting battles, all the while interacting and sharing. I thought back to a conversation I had with Paige last night when she and I were talking about Utopian and Distopian societies and she said "there really is no perfect society - there is no way to get one." And sadly, I agreed with both statements but also offered that if more people lead with love, there would be less tragedy.
When you lead with love there is no room for dishonesty, greed, fucked-uped-ness. If everyone lead with love and really did it, then kids wouldn't be getting abused by their priest, their scout leader, their coach, their uncle, parents. . . sadly, the list goes on. . .
If everyone lead with love, their would be growth and giving and kindness. The loss of a life would cause grief, but not fear and anxiety. The loss of a life could be celebrated because we would know that the person lived giving and receiving love.
I know that the community in Virginia Beach is living its worst nightmare, but I also know that there is so much love right now in that community. Love that I hope prevails so it never happens again.
I hate that I have to wear a fanny pack (or as my daughter calls it: "your anti-Milf outerwear") but I need somewhere to put my pepper spray as I walk along the paths behind my house collecting Pokemon and enjoying nature as beautiful music plays in my ears. I walk with a tinge of fear every day because I don't know if there is a broken person I will encounter who decides that it is his/her day to kill someone.
Of course, there is "ikigai". This is a concept that means "a reason for being." The word ikigai is usually used to indicate the source of value in one's life or the things that make one's life worthwhile. In Japan there is a community where the people live with ikigai and grow to be 90, 95, 100, 110 years old - -active elders too. They live as a community - - planting gardens, sharing meals, sharing stories and sharing love. There are no mass shootings because people are living worthwhile lives, and aren't caught up in the likes/dislikes of social media or trying to bury the hurt with drugs and alcohol.
It does exist.
I get on this blog and I talk about love and giving love, and being honest and kind, and smiling. It's not easy though. I try to live by my words, but I fall into the fear and anxiety. I live with insecurities that I don't even know about, and they are dredged up when I'm tired or scared, and I lead with fear instead.
I took this picture on Friday evening as I collected Pokemon with Tony. The fountain and pond are less than 300 feet from my house. We stopped to catch a Pokemon and I happened to look up and was in awe of what was in front of me. I closed the Pokemon Go app and opened up the camera, and snapped it. Everything about it is beautiful and Tony and I sat on a bench, our phones in our pockets and watched the sunset in silence. He's fourteen and likely wanted to go back to the Pokemon, but he saw what I saw and he felt what I felt, I think. So we sat there for a few minutes and I put my arm around him and said, "I love you, buddy and I'm so happy you're home again." (He and Paige had just returned from their dad's house).
He smiled and said, "I love you too, daddy." Always calling me daddy. . .
It was an ikigai moment - - a reason for being, a sense of value, a worthwhile activity. On that walk, I had nothing but love. I didn't think about my pepper spray or my mortality. I just sat in that moment.
Since Friday evening, I have looked at this picture at least a dozen times. It helps, especially after reading the news and feeling the break in my heart.
Sadly, that break in my heart has me saying Rest in Peace.
Sunday, May 26, 2019
Keep Punching
I saw a picture of myself from a couple years ago.
I remember the moment it was taken, and I remember dreading how it would turn out because I body-shamed myself daily at the time. When I saw it today, I thought, "Wow, I looked good in that picture." I wasn't fat or wrinkled, I wasn't beautiful or stunning in it either. I was just me. Hidden behind my eyes was an insecure girl, of course, but anyone looking at it wouldn't see that, wouldn't imagine that I tortured myself daily with negative thoughts about myself.
Not smart enough, not thin enough, not pretty enough, not young enough --- but worse because I used words like stupid, fat, ugly. . .
WTF?
Things change. That's the beauty of life.
Things change and I don't even use negative words to describe how incredibly naive I was in my head, how much I didn't understand about life, how much I didn't recognize the difference between living and failing.
I'm done failing. Maybe because I'm closer to fifty, closer to death, closer to looking back on a life filled with many pockets of regret.
I thought about my divorce a few days ago. It's been 11 years or so since it happened. It was my greatest shame and it was my greatest victory too.
The pain, the love, the hatred, the opportunity mixed in a big bag of remorse and courage, fear and excitement. . .
I am better than I was 10 years ago. Hell, I'm better than I was 10 days ago. I can take the mixed bags of emotions and look at them tenderly now, gingerly pulling each emotion out and studying it. Yet, I cannot stay there. I know that now. I can only study the emotions long enough to learn something from them. Any longer and I end up lost.
My best friend Bruce has a line in one of his songs: You can't shut off the risk and the pain without losing the love that remains.
Having written what I wrote above, I can now fully understand the line. The risk and the pain -- the negative emotions -- they'll always be there. Life cannot exist without the pain. Gratitude and love cannot exist without the pain.
I am going to take a picture of myself today and I am going to put it away for a couple years and pull it out to study it. Hidden behind my eyes will be a sparkle of joy.
I'm ever hopeful I will reflect the joy back when I see it. I like to think that now that I've found it, now that I've been a victor over the pain, I won't be able to let it go. Now that I've captured the joy, it will remain.
I tell myself things like this now, and I punch the negativity in the face every time it creeps forward. It's a work out for sure.
Punching, punching, punching. . .
It's much better than hiding inside of it.
I remember the moment it was taken, and I remember dreading how it would turn out because I body-shamed myself daily at the time. When I saw it today, I thought, "Wow, I looked good in that picture." I wasn't fat or wrinkled, I wasn't beautiful or stunning in it either. I was just me. Hidden behind my eyes was an insecure girl, of course, but anyone looking at it wouldn't see that, wouldn't imagine that I tortured myself daily with negative thoughts about myself.
Not smart enough, not thin enough, not pretty enough, not young enough --- but worse because I used words like stupid, fat, ugly. . .
WTF?
Things change. That's the beauty of life.
Things change and I don't even use negative words to describe how incredibly naive I was in my head, how much I didn't understand about life, how much I didn't recognize the difference between living and failing.
I'm done failing. Maybe because I'm closer to fifty, closer to death, closer to looking back on a life filled with many pockets of regret.
I thought about my divorce a few days ago. It's been 11 years or so since it happened. It was my greatest shame and it was my greatest victory too.
The pain, the love, the hatred, the opportunity mixed in a big bag of remorse and courage, fear and excitement. . .
I am better than I was 10 years ago. Hell, I'm better than I was 10 days ago. I can take the mixed bags of emotions and look at them tenderly now, gingerly pulling each emotion out and studying it. Yet, I cannot stay there. I know that now. I can only study the emotions long enough to learn something from them. Any longer and I end up lost.
My best friend Bruce has a line in one of his songs: You can't shut off the risk and the pain without losing the love that remains.
Having written what I wrote above, I can now fully understand the line. The risk and the pain -- the negative emotions -- they'll always be there. Life cannot exist without the pain. Gratitude and love cannot exist without the pain.
I am going to take a picture of myself today and I am going to put it away for a couple years and pull it out to study it. Hidden behind my eyes will be a sparkle of joy.
I'm ever hopeful I will reflect the joy back when I see it. I like to think that now that I've found it, now that I've been a victor over the pain, I won't be able to let it go. Now that I've captured the joy, it will remain.
I tell myself things like this now, and I punch the negativity in the face every time it creeps forward. It's a work out for sure.
Punching, punching, punching. . .
It's much better than hiding inside of it.
Saturday, April 27, 2019
This Moment
I have no idea what I am going to write about today, but I feel as though whatever it is, it's going to keep my heart in the same place it is in right now.
Grateful and comfortable.
I took a long walk along the James River today in Richmond, VA.
I walked about a mile and then turned around so I could take the river in from the left. Magnificent and beautiful.
After my walk, I texted my siblings and shared the first picture with them - telling them that I felt joy and gratitude today and I wanted to share it with only them. My brother texted back that it was snowing in Buffalo.
I probably could've found some joy and gratitude if I were there too.
I don't know if they know just how much I love and adore them. I assume they do, but I try to tell them as much as I can.
There are days when I get so consumed with insecurities, so consumed with work, so consumed with keeping the house clean that I forget about things like a long walk along the river. I forget about how easy it is to turn all of that off. I forget how wasteful it is to concern myself with trivial matters, things that just don't matter. I forget that love and gratitude is actually the answer to everything. Don't believe me?
Go back to a memory of complete embarrassment --- did you fly off a treadmill? Run into a screen door and watch it fall to the ground in front of you? Have a coughing fit in front of someone that was about to ask you on a date? Trip and spill wine on a stranger on your first date with a man you now adore?
I've done all of these things. I was mortified for some of them - - completely inside my head for hours after they happened. Then I shifted my thoughts. I sat inside each memory and saw them objectively. Then I giggled. I giggled until I belly laughed.
I still recall the coughing fit scenario and I cannot do anything but laugh now. I was 27 years old, working at a law firm in Baltimore, on the 23rd floor of a high rise building. Across the street was a coffee shop. I hustled over there at lunch time, started chatting with a handsome man who was about the same age. He got his coffee, but waited for me to get mine so we could walk out together. He held the door for me to get into our building, pushed the buttons on the elevator for me and let me go in first. We smiled at each other. It was inevitable that he was going to ask me out on a date. I took a sip of coffee, swallowed wrong, and then proceeded to cough for the entire ride up to the 23rd floor. The coughing fit was so bad that I had tears streaming and I burped at one point. He just stood there and watched me. When we got to my floor, I just walked out, waving good-bye as I coughed and coughed. I saw him a couple weeks later, and he averted his eyes.
Ah well.
But my point is that when I embrace the memory from a place of love for myself and my awkwardness, I cannot help but laugh.
I think about how the guy running next to me felt when I face-planted and flew off the back of the treadmill. He stopped running and tried to help me up, but you could see the laughter in his eyes. Of course, I giggled too, but I thought about it for days, so embarrassed until one day it struck me as completely hilarious, and I cannot bring back the feeling of shame anymore.
Life is good most of the time. I try to remember that whenever I can, and I try to breathe in the gratitude as much as I can, knowing that hard times will come --- they are inevitable --- but remembering that I cannot control them. I can only control what I know, what is in front of me now, what matters now, today, in this moment.
Gratefulness and comfort.
Grateful and comfortable.
I took a long walk along the James River today in Richmond, VA.
It's 70 degrees with no humidity. I walked with the river on my right and smiled as people jogged past me, or as dogs slowed to sniff my knees. I laughed out loud when one of the dogs ran up to me and sat down. When I put my hand out to pet him, he jumped up and spun around then ran away. His parents laughed too, as did two girls sitting on a bench nearby.
I stopped to touch a humongous river birch tree.
I walked about a mile and then turned around so I could take the river in from the left. Magnificent and beautiful.
After my walk, I texted my siblings and shared the first picture with them - telling them that I felt joy and gratitude today and I wanted to share it with only them. My brother texted back that it was snowing in Buffalo.
I probably could've found some joy and gratitude if I were there too.
I don't know if they know just how much I love and adore them. I assume they do, but I try to tell them as much as I can.
There are days when I get so consumed with insecurities, so consumed with work, so consumed with keeping the house clean that I forget about things like a long walk along the river. I forget about how easy it is to turn all of that off. I forget how wasteful it is to concern myself with trivial matters, things that just don't matter. I forget that love and gratitude is actually the answer to everything. Don't believe me?
Go back to a memory of complete embarrassment --- did you fly off a treadmill? Run into a screen door and watch it fall to the ground in front of you? Have a coughing fit in front of someone that was about to ask you on a date? Trip and spill wine on a stranger on your first date with a man you now adore?
I've done all of these things. I was mortified for some of them - - completely inside my head for hours after they happened. Then I shifted my thoughts. I sat inside each memory and saw them objectively. Then I giggled. I giggled until I belly laughed.
I still recall the coughing fit scenario and I cannot do anything but laugh now. I was 27 years old, working at a law firm in Baltimore, on the 23rd floor of a high rise building. Across the street was a coffee shop. I hustled over there at lunch time, started chatting with a handsome man who was about the same age. He got his coffee, but waited for me to get mine so we could walk out together. He held the door for me to get into our building, pushed the buttons on the elevator for me and let me go in first. We smiled at each other. It was inevitable that he was going to ask me out on a date. I took a sip of coffee, swallowed wrong, and then proceeded to cough for the entire ride up to the 23rd floor. The coughing fit was so bad that I had tears streaming and I burped at one point. He just stood there and watched me. When we got to my floor, I just walked out, waving good-bye as I coughed and coughed. I saw him a couple weeks later, and he averted his eyes.
Ah well.
But my point is that when I embrace the memory from a place of love for myself and my awkwardness, I cannot help but laugh.
I think about how the guy running next to me felt when I face-planted and flew off the back of the treadmill. He stopped running and tried to help me up, but you could see the laughter in his eyes. Of course, I giggled too, but I thought about it for days, so embarrassed until one day it struck me as completely hilarious, and I cannot bring back the feeling of shame anymore.
Life is good most of the time. I try to remember that whenever I can, and I try to breathe in the gratitude as much as I can, knowing that hard times will come --- they are inevitable --- but remembering that I cannot control them. I can only control what I know, what is in front of me now, what matters now, today, in this moment.
Gratefulness and comfort.
Thursday, April 25, 2019
Apophasis
My 16 year old daughter, Paige, and I are in love with the same man.
He's Scottish-Italian and talks to us like we are number one in his life. He's sad and confused, he's hip and sexy. His voice is like water in the desert, like a good cleanse before vacation, like soothing balm on a sunburn. . .
His name is Paolo Nutini. He is 16 years older than Paige, 15 years younger than me. I am fond of his voice. Paige, at 16, is fond of his voice and everything else. She thinks he's hot.
I would never say that I thought of him that way, shirtless and singing breathlessly into the microphone, directly at me. I could never say that the video of him sitting on a stool, smoking a cigarette and singing soulfully into the microphone - directly at me! - had any impact on my feelings for him.
He's a great singer. Truly.
This morning Tony said he wanted Swordfish for dinner. I've never made Swordfish, but I figured that butter and garlic and basil makes anything taste great, so I said yes.
I won't say that Swordfish sucks. Tony loved the Swordfish and Paige liked it but was feeling sick (hack, hack, cough), so I disregard her opinion. I'm not going to say that dousing the Swordfish in garlic and butter and basil didn't work. I won't say I hated it and that I ate the steamed broccoli and rice instead. I won't even say that I fed my portion to the cats.
I like fish. Truly.
I adopted two kittens a couple months ago --- a male and a female. The male's name is Goose and the female's name is Megaladon (Tony named her). They loved the Swordfish too.
I would never say that kittens/cats are dirty, filthy animals. I won't say that their sounds are different or irritating or even annoying. It wouldn't be right if I said that when they run up my leg and hop on my shoulder to look into the same mirror I am looking into as I put on make-up is painful and annoying.
They're really cute and lovely, and I love them. Truly.
*************
I love dogs. I miss Gracie.
Gracie would look me in the eyes and with just a look she would let me know that Paolo is way too young for me and way too old for Paige. She would let me know that a Ribeye works better for my tastes and that Swordfish is better left for the filthy animals.
I would never say I am a dog person.
But I am.
I miss my girl.
He's Scottish-Italian and talks to us like we are number one in his life. He's sad and confused, he's hip and sexy. His voice is like water in the desert, like a good cleanse before vacation, like soothing balm on a sunburn. . .
His name is Paolo Nutini. He is 16 years older than Paige, 15 years younger than me. I am fond of his voice. Paige, at 16, is fond of his voice and everything else. She thinks he's hot.
I would never say that I thought of him that way, shirtless and singing breathlessly into the microphone, directly at me. I could never say that the video of him sitting on a stool, smoking a cigarette and singing soulfully into the microphone - directly at me! - had any impact on my feelings for him.
He's a great singer. Truly.
This morning Tony said he wanted Swordfish for dinner. I've never made Swordfish, but I figured that butter and garlic and basil makes anything taste great, so I said yes.
I won't say that Swordfish sucks. Tony loved the Swordfish and Paige liked it but was feeling sick (hack, hack, cough), so I disregard her opinion. I'm not going to say that dousing the Swordfish in garlic and butter and basil didn't work. I won't say I hated it and that I ate the steamed broccoli and rice instead. I won't even say that I fed my portion to the cats.
I like fish. Truly.
I adopted two kittens a couple months ago --- a male and a female. The male's name is Goose and the female's name is Megaladon (Tony named her). They loved the Swordfish too.
I would never say that kittens/cats are dirty, filthy animals. I won't say that their sounds are different or irritating or even annoying. It wouldn't be right if I said that when they run up my leg and hop on my shoulder to look into the same mirror I am looking into as I put on make-up is painful and annoying.
They're really cute and lovely, and I love them. Truly.
*************
I love dogs. I miss Gracie.
Gracie would look me in the eyes and with just a look she would let me know that Paolo is way too young for me and way too old for Paige. She would let me know that a Ribeye works better for my tastes and that Swordfish is better left for the filthy animals.
I would never say I am a dog person.
But I am.
I miss my girl.
Wednesday, April 24, 2019
Keep Walking
For the past couple of years I've grown to love walking. I put in my earbuds, strap on my fanny pack (yes, they're cool because I make them so), and walk. I've discovered various paths around my neighborhood and walk for hours sometimes. It helps my brain reconfigure after a long day of work, before a long day of work, or to calm a hangover or a heavy meal on the weekends. Zero negativity associated with it.
There are times when I begin a walk full of anxiety over work or the craziness of my schedule, but by the time I'm on the second song, I find joy in it. I often get hit by a memory or two of my younger days and I allow my mind to drift with the thoughts. I often don't have anything specific to remember about these walks, just a feeling of something greater than me.
I remember walking on a cold November day, bundled up with my phone on shuffle - - sometimes it was Bruce playing, sometimes it was J. Roddy Walston & the Business, sometimes something else. . . but on this particular day I heard one Sinatra song, then another, and close to the end of the second I thought, "Hm, Dad must be here. Wonder if I'll hear another." Indeed another played, and I said (in my head) "Hi Dad," feeling elated that he was in step with me. I allowed my mind to drift with some memories of him & I, but of course they were interrupted by other thoughts, and so I tried to focus again on having my dad beside me. I didn't hear Sinatra for a while, so I thought about something really unlikely - seeing a flower in the grass on a cold November day - and thought that if I saw that, I'd know he was still with me. So I walked, and I scanned the grass all around me for about 30 minutes - meandering through thoughts about the kids, my life, my face, my siblings. . . but didn't see a flower.
I continued to walk, and was a bit bummed as I made my way down the path toward my house. I started to think about what I would make for dinner, and how I would fold and put away laundry. As I stepped onto the sidewalk near my house, I looked down and saw a yellow dandelion standing straight up in the grass. I smiled. The song on my phone ended and Sinatra's My Way began.
Yes, of course I cried.
That's stuff's magical.
I set out for walks daily, never knowing what gem I might discover ---- even if it's a smile or a friendly greeting from a golden retriever.
The nuggets of joy that are available to us daily astounds me. Unfortunately, sometimes they elude me too. But I know for certain that they are there --- ready to be plucked and dried in a heavy book, like a dandelion found on a cold November day.
Tuesday, April 23, 2019
Carrie Balboa
What am I going to do if I don't do this? That's the question I just asked myself.
I'm sitting in front of the blank screen and I'm like, "I can't do it." But I can and I must, if I'm honest.
I've been thinking back on the last nine years or so. I recall going for a week to the top of a mountain in Asheville, NC and working my novel with a bunch of novel geek writers like me. This was probably the best week of my life - personally, a "for me" kind of week; and I came back so happy and excited.
I was pretty heavy into writing this blog, and I was hearing the voices of my characters all day, every day.
About a month after returning from the mountaintop, my father died unexpectedly.
That was the last time I had any sort of passion for writing. I lost the muse?
Not likely, but I think it was more of a "Shit, every time I pick myself back up, something shitty happens. I have to stay down." Actually, I know that's what it was.
It took me nine years to discover the reason for my failure to stay with the dream, stay in the ring, stay passionate and listen to the voices.
Since then, I've had other characters knocking on my door, and I am fifty-six pages into a novel that I think can be good with time, much more character development, many more words and a lot of editing. I started it in January of 2018.
Fifty-six pages. Wow! Not really - it's been almost a year and a half. It equals less than a quarter of a page per day.
Just writing that sentence sends a pang of regret through my heart, because once you realize the cause of the stopping, you have regret for stopping. And that, my friends, is yet another hurdle to overcome. But overcome it, I shall.
Fact is, I'm sick of not writing. I'm sick of feeling sorry for myself for not writing. I'm sick of being afraid to write.
So, I write. I am happy. I have joy again. And something bad happens. Is it because I'm happy and joyful? Hell no. God doesn't work that way.
I am reminded of when Rocky lost to Clubber Lang in Rocky III. He and Adrian (Yo!) are arguing on the beach and she prods him for a few minutes, yelling into his face as the wind blows through her hair and the waves crash on their ankles.
She asks him, "Why'd you come here?" And then they talk - "you're not a quitter," "what do you want me to say?," "what's so bad?". . .
Finally, the argument climaxes and it finally comes out!
"What's the truth, dammit?"
"I'm afraid!" And then he blames himself for Mickey's death.
And Adrian says, "get rid of it. It's going to bother you the rest of your life. You do it for you, just you alone."
"And if I lose?"
"Then you lose, but at least you lose with no excuses. . . no fear."
Then he finds the eye of the tiger and beats Clubber Lang.
I want to be Rocky.
I'm sitting in front of the blank screen and I'm like, "I can't do it." But I can and I must, if I'm honest.
I've been thinking back on the last nine years or so. I recall going for a week to the top of a mountain in Asheville, NC and working my novel with a bunch of novel geek writers like me. This was probably the best week of my life - personally, a "for me" kind of week; and I came back so happy and excited.
I was pretty heavy into writing this blog, and I was hearing the voices of my characters all day, every day.
About a month after returning from the mountaintop, my father died unexpectedly.
That was the last time I had any sort of passion for writing. I lost the muse?
Not likely, but I think it was more of a "Shit, every time I pick myself back up, something shitty happens. I have to stay down." Actually, I know that's what it was.
It took me nine years to discover the reason for my failure to stay with the dream, stay in the ring, stay passionate and listen to the voices.
Since then, I've had other characters knocking on my door, and I am fifty-six pages into a novel that I think can be good with time, much more character development, many more words and a lot of editing. I started it in January of 2018.
Fifty-six pages. Wow! Not really - it's been almost a year and a half. It equals less than a quarter of a page per day.
Just writing that sentence sends a pang of regret through my heart, because once you realize the cause of the stopping, you have regret for stopping. And that, my friends, is yet another hurdle to overcome. But overcome it, I shall.
Fact is, I'm sick of not writing. I'm sick of feeling sorry for myself for not writing. I'm sick of being afraid to write.
So, I write. I am happy. I have joy again. And something bad happens. Is it because I'm happy and joyful? Hell no. God doesn't work that way.
I am reminded of when Rocky lost to Clubber Lang in Rocky III. He and Adrian (Yo!) are arguing on the beach and she prods him for a few minutes, yelling into his face as the wind blows through her hair and the waves crash on their ankles.
She asks him, "Why'd you come here?" And then they talk - "you're not a quitter," "what do you want me to say?," "what's so bad?". . .
Finally, the argument climaxes and it finally comes out!
"What's the truth, dammit?"
"I'm afraid!" And then he blames himself for Mickey's death.
And Adrian says, "get rid of it. It's going to bother you the rest of your life. You do it for you, just you alone."
"And if I lose?"
"Then you lose, but at least you lose with no excuses. . . no fear."
Then he finds the eye of the tiger and beats Clubber Lang.
I want to be Rocky.
Saturday, April 6, 2019
Lonely is the Night
I finally gave into Amazon and got a subscription for Music Unlimited.
I'll tell you why.
I watched a movie and though the movie thoroughly sucked, the opening scene played Emotions in Motion by Billy Squier, and it has been years since I heard the song, or any of his others.
After the movie was over, I searched and found that I couldn't listen to it, or any of his other songs unless I got Music Unlimited, or checked it out on YouTube. So I am now a member.
I put on his greatest hits and the song Lonely is the Night came on and I actually listened to the words. "Lonely is the night when you find yourself alone, your demons come to light and your mind is not your own. . ."
I found myself alone quite a bit this week. The kids were with their dad, and LOML had some work stuff to do so I found myself alone.
I've been lonely, and I've had my demons come to light, and I've had a mind that is not my own. I didn't have any demons in the light, and my mind was my own, but this week was one where I felt lonely.
It's my own fault, really. I have friends to call, siblings to text, walks to take and words to write. I have characters inside my head screaming to say something.
Yet I fell into the loneliness this week and "I was lazin' around the TV."
I've been feeling sorry for myself. I interviewed for a position at my company that I thought was the perfect role for me, and many others in the company thought the same, but I didn't get the job.
Rejection. Its teeth broke the skin, and I don't like it.
Yet, it just doesn't matter.
It took me some nights of lazin' around the TV and a few words to get here, but I got here. I pulled rejection's teeth from the skin of my forearm and turned up the music.
No more sleepin', wastin' our time
Midnight creepin's, first on our minds
No more lazin' 'round the TV
You'll go crazy, come out with me
So the lyrics aren't that great, but I heard them so they're awesome.
Billy Squier - a healer. Who'd a thought that?
And don't get my started on The Stroke. I'm 47 years old and I just figured out what he's referencing. . .
I'll tell you why.
I watched a movie and though the movie thoroughly sucked, the opening scene played Emotions in Motion by Billy Squier, and it has been years since I heard the song, or any of his others.
After the movie was over, I searched and found that I couldn't listen to it, or any of his other songs unless I got Music Unlimited, or checked it out on YouTube. So I am now a member.
I put on his greatest hits and the song Lonely is the Night came on and I actually listened to the words. "Lonely is the night when you find yourself alone, your demons come to light and your mind is not your own. . ."
I found myself alone quite a bit this week. The kids were with their dad, and LOML had some work stuff to do so I found myself alone.
I've been lonely, and I've had my demons come to light, and I've had a mind that is not my own. I didn't have any demons in the light, and my mind was my own, but this week was one where I felt lonely.
It's my own fault, really. I have friends to call, siblings to text, walks to take and words to write. I have characters inside my head screaming to say something.
Yet I fell into the loneliness this week and "I was lazin' around the TV."
I've been feeling sorry for myself. I interviewed for a position at my company that I thought was the perfect role for me, and many others in the company thought the same, but I didn't get the job.
Rejection. Its teeth broke the skin, and I don't like it.
Yet, it just doesn't matter.
It took me some nights of lazin' around the TV and a few words to get here, but I got here. I pulled rejection's teeth from the skin of my forearm and turned up the music.
No more sleepin', wastin' our time
Midnight creepin's, first on our minds
No more lazin' 'round the TV
You'll go crazy, come out with me
So the lyrics aren't that great, but I heard them so they're awesome.
Billy Squier - a healer. Who'd a thought that?
And don't get my started on The Stroke. I'm 47 years old and I just figured out what he's referencing. . .
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