Don't Let Your Fears Decide Your Fate

If y'all are hip and savvy like me, you know that the title of this blog comes from a song called "Kill Your Heroes" by Awolnation.

I like it.  It's a good lesson.

But alas, I often let my fears decide my fate, or a more truthful statement might be that because of my fears, I self-sabotage and the things I fear become self-fulfilling prophecies.  A prophet.  But not in a good way.

I'm an idiot a lot of the times.  I sit back and worry that my friends will think I'm fat or unkept (unkempt? I think that's a word), or that my family judges the job that I have, that good things happening to those I love mean that they'll see me in a different light, and believe that I am the fraud I often think I am.

It's all a crazy eight that I spin around, high around the circle, then a plummet, then high again, and oh look, I'm where I was two weeks ago!  Fortunately, now that I'm older, I can control the spinning before it becomes a seemingly endless loop.  I hear a song by Awolnation and they say "don't let your fear decide your fate" and I'm like,  "Yeah, I can't do that!"

I recognize that kindness to others helps me with my fears.  When I'm kind to others --- smile at a stranger, write a love note, make a phone call or send a text, I don't have that fear.  I just do it because I know it will make the other person feel better somehow.

I've spouted off in my younger years, righteous and pompous and a know-it-all.  It stemmed from fear.  I'm better, your worse, I feel better because I made you feel worse.

Now that I'm older, I try not to do that.  Yet, there are still millennials in the world, so it's a battle.

Ever since my children could understand words (or recognize that I was saying words, even if they didn't know what the words meant), I've been telling them to be self-aware.

Be self-aware.

Show your kindness, it comes back to you.  If you're spouting and pompous, check yourself.  If you're walking through a grocery store and you're on a call, and it's on speakerphone, and someone gives you a dirty look because they just don't care what color the salon painted your nails and how you told them that it wasn't the color you picked but they said it was and you said you wouldn't pay and they said you had to pay. . . pay attention!  Hang up the phone and call when you're not surrounded by groceries and angry women. Or an angry woman.  Or me.

I guess if you're kind and self-aware, the fear doesn't get in as easily.

The crazy eight spin --- I think I just wrote myself off that ride before it even started.

It's nice to be able to do that now that I'm older with hip and savvy music tastes.

Sometimes the World Hurts

There have been many times I've heard the phrase, "The world doesn't revolve around you!"  This might come from a parent telling the child for the 100th time, "Because I said so," as an answer to the 100th, "Why?"  In a last ditch effort, the parent might say in aggravation, "Because the world doesn't revolve around you!"

Two teens might say it to each other.  Siblings might yell it at one another.

"The world doesn't revolve around you!"

But it does.

The world revolves around you.  The world revolves around me.

And sometimes the world hurts.

If you've ever had the great fortune to hear the song Jungleland by my best friend Bruce, he is able to articulate this feeling in the lyrics and magical orchestration of the song.  The story he conveys is one of hope, despair, connectivity, excitement, anxiety, and love.  The solo by Clarence carries with it such emotion that the listener might close his eyes and feel the pang of it in his chest.

That's what I mean when I say the world hurts.  We have our own lives that convey hope, despair, connectivity, excitement, anxiety and love. It keeps us up at night and knocks us out of bed early in the morning, with stomach pains, a faster heartbeat, and some nervous pacing.

We are the center of everything spinning around us:  a stressful job, a divorce, selling a house, buying a car, a car accident, an accidental pregnancy, a pregnancy lost, a lost cat, a sick relative, a new marriage, a new car, a lotto win, laughter with friends and cousins at a restaurant that serves the best crab cakes with someone you know is the love of your life and it takes you back to when you were a child and the world that spun was one of glee, and excitement.

I call this the inner world.

Throw into that mix, everything that is not directly connected to you (the outer world) and that world offers an even greater field for hope, despair, connectivity, excitement, anxiety, and love.

I have a bad habit and it's messing my world up.

I read the news stories every day upon waking.  Every day there are stories of someone getting shot, every day there are stories of child abuse, tragic accidents and new strains of disease.

And my heart hurts because I think that there are people where the shootings, the child abuse, the disease, the accidents have become part of their inner world.  That inner world, where the intimate relationships are touched by the massive actions of the outer world.

And it happens to every one of us.

The only possible redemption from the collision of these two worlds is that when the matter settles, the affected person may have learned something from it --- maybe they learned to love harder, to live with more gratitude, to listen more closely, and be kinder.

I am writing this now, and I hear my best friend Bruce shouting lyrics in my ear:

I've done my best to live the right way
I get up every morning and go to work each day
But your eyes go blind and your blood runs cold
Sometimes I feel so weak I just want to explode
Explode and tear this whole town apart
Take a knife and cut this pain from my heart
Find somebody itching for something to start

I imagine this is how people feel and how the pain from their inner world drives them to affect the outer world in some way.  The lack of control in the inner world --- the focus on the pain rather than the gratitude --- causes the turmoil, weakens the control and pushes the pain into the lives of others.

It's such a sad dynamic in this world --- especially given the polarization that has occurred in politics, religion and varying lifestyles.  

We are all one, yet we are all alone.  

I want to end today with a sense of hope.  Yet I know that tomorrow morning I will wake, I will read and I will be saddened yet again.

Maybe my best friend Bruce's solution to the pain would work if everyone in this world truly followed his solution.  Maybe the solution will come if, in our despair, we screamed these words:

Well there's a dark cloud rising from the desert floor
I packed my bags and I'm heading straight into the storm
Gonna be a twister to blow everything down
That ain't got the faith to stand its ground
Blow away the dreams that tear you apart
Blow away the dreams that break your heart
Blow away the lies that leave you nothing but lost and brokenhearted

I distinctly remember hearing these words for the first time.  By hearing, I mean allowing them to sink into my soul.  It was shortly after the decimation of my marriage and my inner world was a shitty mess.  I heard these words and they became my mantra.

I came out on the other side of them with appreciation for myself and those I loved.

Sometimes the world does indeed hurt --- most of the time --- so that's why gratitude for even the smallest things helps.  I read the news every day on a computer I purchased without thought, using the internet access I pay for monthly, reading words that are allowed by the free speech rights of the Constitution in my democratic country.  

Our politics may be shit and polarizing and in a sad state today but I'm sipping coffee and listening to head phones and trying, trying to blow away the lies that leave me lost and brokenhearted.

Seventeen Years Later

We went from reading books and talking about them every month, to reading wine labels and talking about everything.  We started back in 2001, when book clubs were a thing.  In the seventeen years we've been together we've witnessed babies being born, divorce, death of a loved one, remarriage, more babies, toddlers, pre-teens and now teenagers.

And we still laugh like we did way back when we were still so young!

I am up late for a Tuesday evening, but that's because I had this Tuesday commitment.  I often feel tired and uninspired when I leave for book club, but after five minutes of being with these women, I am just fine.  We've been doing this the first or second Tuesday of every month for seventeen years!  There are no plans to stop it, either.

Not much else to write about today.  I awoke, read the news stories, got a little sad/disheartened/scared from all the news (fake or not fake, it still sucks), worked my ass off all day, made dinner, went to book club.

Sleepy time. . .

Teenagers, Um. . .

They're cool.  They're not millennials, for sure.

I am sitting with the head phones on, playing Thunder Road to drown out the giggling teenage girls that are scarfing up Hamburger Helper, and giggling.  They're sipping root beer, swiping on their phones and giggling.

They're yelling to get my attention, but I won't look over at them.  I act like I'm engrossed.  I like writing, sure, but I'm not quite engrossed.  I'm ignoring them because I need a break from the giggling.

I asked them for some words that they use.  Half the time, they talk to each other and I don't know what the eff they're saying.

They will ask each other "Do you want to make prank calls?" and I will hear the response, "Bet."

Bet = Okay/deal/sure

They make the prank phone call, giggling they will hang up and say, "that was "Lit" or "Bruh" or "Bluff".

Lit = fun/cool

Bruh= you're an idiot

Bluff = you're a liar

If they're not eating my food or giggling, they will call a friend and say, "Come through" or "WTM".

Come through = come to my house
WTM= what's the move/what's the plan

What else?  They taught me "other" words/phrases too.  Sadly, alcohol and drugs still exist with teenagers.  I haven't witnessed any of them partaking, especially Paige (Tony has no interest in anything but XBOX), but I know how I was as a teenager so I am not a moron.  Weirdly, there are no phrases or words for drinking.  There are only phrases for pot.

Here are some:

Who's good = who has weed
I'm good = I have weed
Boufin = you smell (this could also be used for stinky feet or armpits)
420 = weed
Gas = weed

Ironically, "dope" means "that's cool".  Like, I think it's dope that you don't smoke pot.  They might also say "I can't fade" meaning, "I'm not going to do it."  And someone might say, "Sice", meaning, "that's a great plan."

Dope = that's cool
Sice = exaggerated happiness, that's a great plan
I can't fade = I'm not going to do it

They have party lingo too.  Like, this party is "turnt" and the food "smacks" or "strikes".  They might say, that girl has "tea" or "beef" because she's full of drama and yelled at me and someone might say "you can't go like that!"; or in the instance that the party was a bust, an attendee might say, "that party sucked, I "took an L".

Smacks/smacked = the food is good
Strikes = smacks
Taking an L = it's a loss
Turnt = in the moment fun/party  This party is turnt.

Beef/tea = drama

I can't fade = I'm not going to do it

Can't go like that = you have to get them back (instigate)

And finally, you ask them to clean their room and the response, if they're nice, is "ard" or if they're not nice, "that's beat".

Ard = okay/allright
Beat = that sucks

They're cool.  They're not millennials.

"For sure".

For sure = for sure, but they say it differently. 

The Weekend Six

Inevitably, on Monday morning, someone me will ask me how my weekend was and I answer, “Every weekend I have is great.  How was yours?”  For the most part, over the past seven years, what I say is a true statement. I’m either spending the weekend with the kids, or spending the weekend with LOML.

In the current teenage world in which I reside, some weekends are better than others. Those are the weekends when I get a couple hours of quality time with Paige and Tony —- not chauffeuring, without an endless stream of friends, and without competing with their devices. I reserve the “great” part for Sunday evening and by Monday morning I am able to answer honestly.

On the weekends I don’t have the kids, LOML and I are out on adventures —- walks, bike rides, motorcycling, drinking, eating and laughing. Always laughing. So “every weekend is great” just rolls off the tongue.

Yet, over the past seven years, I have also had “awesome” weekends.

This weekend was one of those.

When LOML and I met, our kids were all under 10 years old. Now, they are all teenagers. Each one of them is very unique, with very unique humor, personalities, insecurities and tastes. We started introducing them to each other every once in awhile —- testing the waters to see if the personalities would meld together, but not forcing it on them. LOML and I agreed that this was how we wanted it. And we prayed (well, I did) that even if they didn’t get along, they would tolerate each other and respect our relationship.

We did well. LOML’s son is 16, and works double shifts at a restaurant. So, our expectations in seeing him were low. Yet, in between shifts he stopped over. The kids put down their devices and the six of us hung out together —-laughing and telling stories. No one wanted it to end, so prior to the start of the second shift, we decided we’d have s’mores and junk food around the fire pit when the shift was over. We asked each kid if that was what they wanted and each kid said, “hell, yes!”

I am so grateful for the love all six of us have for one another. Our children love our relationship, and dare I say it, they love each other.   I have a vision from this weekend that will forever be engrained in my memory. After the s’mores, and some of the laughter had died down —-when it was dark enough to see the stars as clearly as we could —- Tony laid down on the ground and looked up.

He called out to me first, “Come here, mom.  Look up.”  So I laid down next to him. Then Paige came over and laid down, then LOML and his son and his daughter. The six of us laid next to each other and looked at the stars.

Let me rephrase that. Four teenagers on a Saturday night with social lives and other friendships, stayed home and hung out with their parents —- willingly. And then these teenagers looked up at the stars with us.

I teared up while we lay there, telling each other to shut up, and lobbing insults back and forth.   This morning, my eyes watered with thankfulness and love.

Yes,  our children are products of split families, but what a wonderful alternate family we’re creating. We may not get another moment or weekend like this again —ever—- so it falls under the category of one of the best weekends of all time, filled with laughter, lots of swearing and an immense amount of respect and love between all six of us.

Yay us!

Two Wheels, and One Extra

Technically, it is not a motorcycle, but I need a motorcycle license to ride it.  And I wear a helmet and gloves, and a leather jacket and I feel like Pinkie Tuscadaro when I ride.

It's not a scooter or a snow-mobile either.  It's a CanAm Spyder and I bought it for myself.

Two summers ago, I was riding my bicycle and I got my speed up to about, oh, 3 miles per hour on a straight, paved path, and crashed.  Seriously.  I fell over and smacked my head on the pavement.  No, I wasn't wearing a helmet.  Bad move.  But also, I was only going 3 miles per hour on a straight, paved path.

I ended up with a concussion.

I am no Lance Armstrong, in a nutshell.

Fortunately, the part of my brain that was concussed did not break the cautious part, and I recognized that if I wanted to ride on a motorized vehicle, it would have to be small, slow and training-wheeled motorcycle (which they don't make, I checked), a snowmobile (which is hard to ride in the summer, I checked) or a three-wheeled motorcycle.

I settled on this:

I don't think I will end up with a concussion.  And it sort of does have training wheels.  And I can shift gears like a pro now (sort of).   I have been told, on many occasions by motorcycle riders that this is not a motorcycle.  I have been spit on by motorcycle riders (not really) because this is not a motorcycle, and many motorcycle riders yell at me (not really) because this is not a motorcycle.  I know!  But it's fast, and it keeps up and I am out on the open roads, and I am singing in my helmet, and I am happy.  Given my skills on a bicycle, and the doctor's urging that I never ride one again (not true), this is the perfect vehicle.

Time to ride.  

The Sneetches

How long ago do you think Dr. Seuss wrote his story of the Sneetches, portraying the star-bellied sneetches as racist pigs against the plain-bellied sneetches who shared the island and resources, and political/religious/social climate with those racists?

That's right, it was 1961.  Dr. Seuss wrote it as a lesson for children.  He envisioned that the children who read it would grow up with an inkling of non-discrimination, that the polarization for being different might become a thing of the past.

Fast forward to now.

Every day there is a headline that details discrimination--- the drunk dude harassing a woman in the park for wearing a shirt with the Puerto Rican flag on it--- telling her to go back to her country (hmmmm. . .).   A woman in Staten Island being harassed for wearing a scarf, and being told she is no good because she, she, she...

Because she didn't have a star on her belly?

As simplistic as the story is--- it was written for children!--- the lesson is still being taught.

I often try to simplify things, compartmentalize them, and envision them on a smaller scale.  Back in the day there was always a Wednesday in March where I would head to church and get ashes on my forehead to start the Lenten season in the Catholic Church.

There were many times I would walk into the office, and someone would inevitably say, "Hey, you got dirt on your head."  I'd say, "Yeah, went to church."  Some would get it and say, "Oh, I forgot about Ash Wednesday", and others would ask about it and maybe learn something about my religion.

Could you imagine if they spit in my face?  Pushed me down?  Yelled at me?

With their snoots in the air, they would sniff and they'd snort.  "We'll have nothing to do with the plain-belly sort!"  And whenever they met some, when they were out walking, they'd hike right on past them without even talking.

It wouldn't be tolerated in the work place.

Imagine the day the company/store/government facility hired a new boss and the boss was all about segregation.  "Blacks?  They have to sit behind this wall because they're taking all our jobs and they weren't here when this company started.  The Jewish people go there, the pregnant women go there, the pregnant, non-white women go over there, the non-married blue-eyed blondes go in my office... and I'm hiring my friends, my son, my father, my uncle, cousin--- none of them are experienced, but it doesn't matter, they're white. . ."

Then one day, seems... while the plain-belly sneetches were moping and doping alone on the beaches, just sitting there wishing their bellies had stars. . .

I don't have the ending as it plays out in modern-day.

Maybe, like the children's book, Sylvester McMonkey McBean will show up with a star removal machine and will talk all the money from both sides, thereby uniting them against the machine, and peace will reside.

Maybe not.

I am not big on quoting atheists but with a little italicized tweaking, Joseph Lewis' quote on inhumanity is fitting (and true).

Man's inhumanity to man will continue as long as man loves God [atheism, money, self, race, religion, things] more than he loves his fellow man.

Harassing someone for the clothes they wear, the God they pray to, the color of their skin. . . it's inhumane.

Love.

That's the rule that parents and leaders and children must be teaching and be taught.

That's it.