Goals and Your End Game

Goals

 

The other day I met a very lovely lady on the plane ride from Atlanta to Portland. Before getting into our conversation let me preface it by stating that typically I ignore my traveling companions unless I already know them. I'm not a plane, train, bus or tram chatter. I am just that way. But for some reason I decided to ask about her line of work.

 

You see the woman beside me was an airline attendant and was on her way to Portland, her home based city, after two exhausting trips to Tokyo for her work shift. The only reason I even knew that was because the working attendant had made a passing comment regarding the lady.

 

I started with the casual conversation starter of, "How long have you been an attendant?"

"40 years," she replied, "And I feel every single one of them." She laughed and I laughed because while she was laughing about the length of time that had flown by, I was laughing about Holy Crap! There is no way in Hell I could last even a month.

We talked about her favorite runs. She loves the Asian stops and hates the UAE. But the conversations became deeper. I asked her why she had chosen that particular line of work and one thing led to another and her statement was, "You have to keep your eyes on your goal."

 

That really spoke to me because lately my eyes have become focused on my long term goal once again. I had forgotten what my End Game was going to be and what I hoped it to be. I am certainly not condeming myself for losing sight but I am a bit perturbed regarding this lack of sight. I am tired of floating through day to day. I do understand that I'm limited in what I do and how fast I do it. That was very evident by my trip home.

 

The trips back East to my childhood home were hellish. It took me at least two days to recover the going to Arkansas and it will probably take three now to recover on the return flight. I'm not going to gripe much because the pain was worth the reward of getting to spend times with some very near and dear friends as well as beloved family members. I just wish I had more time. But it always comes down to that. Time.

 

Is Time on my side with my goals? Am I clear on my goals? The older lady sitting next to me was very wise. She talked to me of being given what I can handle and how I should go about handling it. We both agreed on the Buddhist Philosophy and we both agreed in how unfair it was that two women, or two men, could not marry when it is everyone else can. Every single one of you knows my take on homosexuality and the need for equal rights. It isn't about religion. It is about laws and defending rights.

 

As I sat there waiting to de-board I really reflected on that conversation. How many of you have lost sight of your End Game and your ultimate goal? If you have then don't sweat it but do get back on track. If you haven't then get busy on the rungs of the ladder that will lead you to that goal. I know I have. Lately I have been extremely devoted to finishing my novella. It may not be published. Many of you may not like it but it is something that I must do.

Namasté

Loss of Innocence

Loss of Innocence

 

Life is funny and I am definitely one who has learned to find the humor whenever possible. Even when things are grim, the circumstances are tragic...I've always been the one to try to use humor to help lighten the situation. I guess it has always been that way. Don't get me wrong. There have been and are times in my life when I can't find the funny side. Times when I have fallen and felt like I could not get back up. But with the help of friends, family and a strong will that was genetically passed down to me (and learned) I rubbed some dirt on it and moved on.

 

One of the things, or should I say many things, is when you stop being a child. The exact moments when parts of your innocence is lost. For some people a jaded place takes root. For some it becomes a black tarnish on their soul, aura, and very being. It becomes a hated spot deep inside because the blinders come off.

The first loss of innocence, for me, when a very, very close friend was diagnosed with Leukemia as a teen. I didn't understand it and I didn't cope with it very well. I never visited him in the hospital because I could not face the fact that someone not much older was sick. He died and I still was in denial. At the funeral I sat at the back row of a very packed church. I got up and left because I STILL was in denial. There was NO way someone close to my age, that I loved as a friend and spent a great deal of time with.

I realized that people close to you die but it truly had not hit home yet. That came with the loss of my Papa. I worked at the hospital in the kitchen as my college job, and my mom was my boss. He had been admitted. We knew it was bad but I didn't realize how bad until my mom pulled me into her office and told me that the doctor had given him 6 months to live and it was a brain tumor.

I walked into the hallway, saw my big, burly, larger than life, Paul Bunyan Papa in a wheelchair. I broke down crying. One more piece of innocence lost. They took him home and that is where he remained. For about a month I avoided going to visit which was a RARE thing for me. This was the home I had spent EVERY summer, all summer and every vacation and every weekend I could. This is where I went between college classes to hang out, have lunch etc. I had even lived there for a time. I couldn't face the fact that a man I loved so very, very much was leaving me. I was angry. I was SCARED. I didn't know how to talk to someone who was going to leave and never return.

Another piece of innocence was lost.

I finally did muster the courage to face myself and my fears and I went to him. I went into the bedroom, sat down, and started crying. I apologized for leaving him. He wasn't as big. He had already given up. I hadn't deep inside. There was that spark of hope that this was a mistake on the doctor's part. He waited for me to stop bawling, pulled me close to his hospital bed and said, "I understand. I love you." He forgave me for something that to this exact day I have never forgiven myself for. I didn't miss another day with him until he died. I wasn't there when he died though. I had driven home hurriedly to shower and change. He passed while I was not there. Courtney called me and said, "Shon...get back here now." I knew what had happened.

 

Another piece was gone but this time much, much bigger because mortality hit at that exact moment.

 

If my mom had just lost her father, and later her mother, then....I was going to lose them some day. I cried even more at the funeral. I mourned my Papa leaving me. No more creek trips. No more tractor rides. No more rice hauling trips in his big red semi. No more me fixing him lunch. No more watching baseball with him. But I suddenly realized one day I would lose my parents.

That was the hardest piece of innocence I have ever lost.

 

My Granny died years later and I mourned that I hadn't spent more time with her but I lived hours away, had two kids, a husband, a household and a full time job.

 

My father passed away 11 months ago today. For some reason I did not have my phone next to my bed that night before. But I woke up around 4:00 am. I had many missed calls and tons of text messages telling me to call home. I knew what had happened. I called and Courtney said, "Come home now. Dad is gone." My response was, "No. No. No. No he is NOT gone." I crashed to my knees and Dave came running out. I screamed and I cried. I was over 2000 miles away and I had NOT been there again.  I had visited in August and we had talked but once again we had not really had "THE" conversation that hangs over anyone's head who has a terminal illness. I avoided it. I teased him and we laughed. We watched TV together. He hugged me so many times and I never wanted to let go. My larger than life dad was going to leave me but wait! I still had that spark of hope.

 

It hasn't gotten easier. In fact the last 3 weeks have gotten worse. But today the last of my innocence died. I realized that one day I would lose the woman I love the most in the entire world. The woman who I am more like than anyone else. My sister, Sasha,  inherited Dad's demeanor and ability to dazzle people. I told people at his visitation that I got dad's figure and she got his personality. Courtney is mini-Stan except quieter.

 

But me...I get mom. I understand how she works because I work like her, well except physically because that woman gets stuff done. Oh and she cooks better than anyone I've ever known. I love this woman with my entire heart. There is NOTHING I would not do for her. But eventually I will lose her. Part of me is selfish and wants to go before because then I wouldn't lose that part of my heart and soul.

But then I remember a blog I wrote a few months ago. I pray every single night that I NEVER have to bury one of the girls. I could never survive and would not want to survive if I lost them. So I find myself torn between selfishness and knowing someday my heart will break.

 

My mom will read this and probably tell me she will whip my ass for even thinking that thought.

It is a loss of innocence and a conundrum. You know as you start to grow older that your parents begin to get older as well. No one escapes time. No one. Life moves on.

Next month will be the hardest of the 8th's. It will be one year. I will grieve quietly here 2000+ miles from the rest of my family. I am going back, no matter how painful it will be, on Thursday because I have to go back. It will be hard physically. It will be hard mentally. It will be a very short visit because of doctor visits, more tests and physical therapy that I will immediately return to,  but it is something I have to do for myself.

So if you talk to me next month on the 8th...understand if my voice catches and tears come to my eyes. Just nod but don't tell me you understand. Just let me know you are there for me if I need you. Hug me. Pat me on the shoulder.

 

For those that know what I've been dealing with these past 3 weeks or so, and who actually believe me and don't think it's the medicine, I leave you with this:

"Just when the caterpillar thought her life was over...she became a butterfly."

Namasté

A Letter to Other Parents (or Potential Parents)

A Letter to Other Parents (Potential Parents)

 

I have realized, as my daughters have gotten older, that there are three types of parents. Others will argue that this is a blanket statement but they can shut it. If you disagree then prove it. Otherwise I'll stick to my guns on this one. There are three types of parent categories that a parent can unwittingly fall into.

1) The Friend

This is a DANGEROUS category of parenting. It means to know all the details of your child's life and you'll say, do, or be anything they want just to show you are the "cool" parent. You are the parent that lets your kid and her friends drink at home (because it is better to drink at home than out on the road...right?) You let them do whatever they want because you do not want them to dislike you. You're their buddy. You're the parent that attacks other kids, and often encourages it, on social media. You are your daughter's bestie for the restie.

My answer: Fuck that shit. (Excuse the language for those that do not know I cuss like a sailor on shore leave in Bankok) It's okay, to a reasonable degree, to let your child break loose at home on occasion. To let them break the boundaries and be able to tell you the important things. But you do not want to know all the details and you shouldn't. There will, hopefully, come a time when they want to be your friend and can talk to you about the important things. The reality is that no matter how close you think you are to your daughter or son...you aren't. You don't look cool hanging out with them. You look desperate. Remember that mom on "Mean Girls?" That's you. Ya...pathetic. You are a grownup. Act like one and don't try to be the best friend of your child.

2) The Absent Parent

This is the saddest parent of all. I'd much rather see a #1 than this category. This is the parent who just doesn't care what their child does. Or this is the parent that wants to punish all the time simply because they do not want to deal with the kid. They want to live their lives and forget that they have replicas living under their own roof that will someday be the same way to their children unless they are able to break that vicious cycle. This parent doesn't care if the kid drinks as long as they don't get busted because they don't want to take the time to educate the child on waiting and being responsible. This parent is out partying, living life, driving a two seat sports car because they want more for themselves than they want for those symbioses mooching off them at home. They just want them out.

3) The Parents who will get their Heart Broken but eventually have great kids.

This is the category that most, if not all, my friends and family fall into. It is the parents that love their children enough to say "No" and to mean it. These are the parents that will watch their little Tinkerbell grow up into a petulant teen that will lash out and hurt you to your very core. These are the parents that are strict enough that they will eventually hear "I hate you." Teens that will swear you know nothing about what they are going through and that you never listen, that you don't know the pressure they are under or even the slightest detail of their lives unless it is something they have done wrong. Even when the parents can silently list every single boyfriend/girlfriend, class load, friend, etc. These are the parents that will cry at night because they are afraid they aren't doing something right, can't give their children more than they had growing up or that they have lost their children. These are the parents that worry about their child's friends influencing them. They gripe about the kids that want to party because they are afraid of losing their child in an accident. These are the parents that once said, "My child is not going to be that way" and then later have to eat their words. These are the parents that get so mad and frustrated that they call their own parents and apologize for everything they did as teens and say, "You were right and I was wrong." These are the parents that start out with lofty goals of having a prodigy and teaching them the "right" way only to find out that parenting is a learned skill.  There is NOTHING in a book that will prepare you or give you the guidance you need. These parents have to be accommodating and flexible. Things never go as planned.

 

I've met parents in the 1 & 2 category and unfortunately there is nothing you can ever say to make them change their mind. That is their way. I've met some that are so over protective that the children eventually rebel as soon as they are able and become walking/talking terrors to the rest of the world.

 

The point is that there is no happy medium. #3 category is where most people fall. It hurts when your teen becomes her/his own person. It hurts to see them cry over a crush and to experience their first heartbreak but it has to happen. It hurts to see them fail but it has to happen. That is life. Life is about falling and having the will power and courage to stand right up again. "Rub some dirt on it." The greatest thing about being a parent, though, is knowing that no matter what your child does...you will always love him or her. Nothing can ever change it. You may not like them at times, and that is TOTALLY normal. You may want to lock them in a cage...just don't do it because CPS might frown on it but it is totally okay if you want to lock yourself in your bedroom to escape. Don't feel bad about wanting a vacation by yourself. Don't feel bad about needing a night out on the town every once in a while. Don't feel bad about needing that glass (ahem...bottle sometimes) of wine to combat their whine. Get a hobby and don't center your life around your kid's life. Don't limit yourself to friend's that only interact in some way currently, or in the past, with your child. Don't spend every moment of your free time with your child, unless they are a newborn (and even then get some alone time or you'll go freaking nuts eventually).

 

You are going to mess up. You are going to say the wrong thing. You may even lash out and say something you don't mean. All it takes is an apology.

Want to know my secret? I slip notes into my daughters' books for them to find at a later date. Notes that let them know I love them and that I do notice their achievements along with their failures. Notes that mention a certain boy. Notes that remind them of something funny they once did as a little kid. Or they are notes that just let them know how much I love them. Notes are my way of communicating, as evident by the fact that I am far more eloquent writing than in real life. I do my best but I'm learning as I go. And as I've said many times...I may not survive the teen years. Namasté my friends.

 

 

Why Me?

Why me?

Many times when I am doing something else, like let's say...playing Farmville 2 (hey don't knock it. It is an absentminded game where I can actually make something grow) and I begin thinking of something. That something pings around in my mind for a while. It begins to grow and sentences begin to form and I begin to ponder those sentences. Before I know it, that little thing has become something I need to write.

It happens quite a lot with me. This entire setback has had one perk and it is that I came up with a new story. Unfortunately I don't have my laptop so I've been handwriting it and will have to eventually try to decipher my handwriting and put it into a readable format.  It may only make it to a few people, I may submit it, eh...who knows. But it will finally be out of my mind and the voice will be silent. That's how my stories work. I hear a phrase or see a scene and then the characters begin clamoring to tell their story. Sometimes, in the case of Maggie, the story goes silent for a long time. Even when I am being pressured to finish. I just stop hearing her. I still know her story but it isn't time for the rest of it yet. She will eventually pipe up again and this time I'll keep listening until her story is finished.

So back to the title "Why me?" I have been told recently that I am a drama queen. I didn't realize this but hey, give me some slack, I have been in a tremendous amount of pain, isolated almost 20 hours a day and on heavy narcotics with a side shot of enough antibiotics to keep me sufficiently sick most of the time. I'll let that drama queen remark slide. I'm not a pleasant sick person. I don't know of anyone that is and that is okay. When you don't feel good you earn the right to be as icky, bitchy and whiney as you want. Those same people that call you drama queen and roll their eyes are the same ones that tend to be even worse when they are ill.

So "Why me?" This year has been rough on me physically. First I break my big toe in a completely freak, and random, way. No big deal. Then I have to have a total hysterectomy with the big "C" scare. That was a big deal and I had to cope with it emotionally, financially and physically. It took much longer than I thought to bounce back from that one. I'd take one step forward and three steps back. I would feel good and then I'd rip something internally or develop a staph infection. Not good on any front. But I overcame it and thought life was headed down the easy street for the rest of the year.

Then a simple twisted muscle/charley horse feeling lead to immediate spinal surgery. Okay...I start to get better and then I plummet into far worse. The type of worse that makes a world renowned neurosurgeon rush you into surgery on a Saturday night at 10:30. It wasn't until I was out and recovering that I found out how bad it is, and even how rare it is, for someone to develop a full blown infection along their spine and throughout their back.

Who did it? Ya. (Pointing finger at chest.) This girl. Please hold the applause until after the show.

Why me? Why was I the one lying in the hospital bed with a drain pump coming out of my back, writhing in absolute agony? Why had I endured my leg being completely paralyzed and now only partially working when it wanted to work? Why? Why? Why?

This always leads to other "Why's" in life. Why did I move so far from my family and friends? I wanted them more than anything. My mom was coming out in a week but I wanted that to be a well-visit. Not a Shonté can barely move, barely walk and is heavily medicated with gross nylon stitches coming out of her back.

Then came the pity party of "Why's". Those are the best. (I'm saying that completely with a stone cold face so you know that I'm being absolutely sarcastic.) Why did my dad die last November? Why did I feel abandoned by my husband? Why did no one come to visit me? Why was I even on this planet? Why did these things keep happening? Why is my insurance being one gigantic dick?

Today it hit. Why not me? I'm not any more special than anyone else on this planet. Bad things happen to everyone  and there is absolutely NO exception. If you think you are special...sorry cupcake but you aren't. You are not special. You may be unique. You may be interesting.  But you aren't the kind of "SPECIAL" that warrants you a hall pass against bad things happening. No one on this planet is that kind of special.

I've learned it is often a dog eat dog world. I've learned that many people lack empathy. I've learned that it is easy to forget those that are not directly in front of you while you go about your day.

 

The hardest thing I've learned is what loneliness can do to a person.  My father was sick for many years before he passed away last November 8th. Before he became ill to the point he could not look after himself, he stayed by himself. I can tell you now, from personal experience, that it is a living hell. The first day after I was discharged I was so sick I could barely crawl down my stairs. I tried for two hours to boil some eggs to eat anything to take away the nausea from the medications. I could barely stand. I had to rest for every few steps. I dragged myself to the couch and slept for two hours before trying to get anything into me. I struggled to open my medication just to get any relief from the agonizing pain shooting down my spine. I couldn't sit comfortably. I could barely walk. I could not make out my phone enough to text or call anyone. I finally managed to call Dave and he came and made me some soup. I took about three bites and, with his help, got back into bed.

 

I learned since then that loneliness is what kills people. When you want anyone to come sit with you and visit but at the same, very weird time, you begin to NOT want people to see you like that. The days when you do not have the strength to shower and you don't know the day of the week. When walking down the stairs and sitting down is all the power you have and you know you wouldn't be able to visit with them.

My mom coming and helping me was a godsend. She didn't expect me to entertain her, even though I felt guilty that I couldn't. She helped do things around the house. She kept me from trying to do things my Dr would have an apoplectic fit over. She talked to me and she listened. We talked a lot about my dad and what changes had happened in her life.  I sat in awe of my mother and all I could think was how fucking strong this woman is and how she has carried on in a way that I never would have been able. It is coming up on 11 months and I am just barely able to even talk about him without breaking down in tears. Thinking about him has me bawling.

 

Being alone gives you a LOT of time to become a drama queen, throw a huge ass pity party and it allows you to take stock of your life. Even this simple blog today has taken over 12 hours to write. Not because I had to stop and think of it but simply because I can't sit in a chair for more than 15 minutes without the shooting agony to begin. So I get up and I try to walk and when my leg starts to go...I kinda find a weird position on the couch.

Why me? Because I can do it. That is why. This, pffft, this isn't the end of me. It may change how I do things but it isn't changing me in a bad way. It is making me stronger. I KNOW I can take care of myself when I don't think I can, when I'm sick, when I'm weak. I KNOW I can overcome. I KNOW that "Why me" has become a way of thinking that it is simply another hurdle in life. The day you let yourself drown in the "Why me's" and you don't stand up and chuck it under the chin, is the day you lie down and give up. Maybe there will eventually be a "Why me" that does beat me but it isn't today. It isn't tomorrow.

 

If there is anything to take from this blog it is this: any single kindness to someone who is down is one of the greatest things at that moment in his/her life. It is easy to forget when someone is not direct in front of you. When the "Why me?" starts getting you down just remember that you are strong enough to say back, "Why not me? I can take it."

Letter to my Daughters

A Letter to my Daughters

 

Dear Daughters,

I wanted to take a moment and talk to you. Well, not literally talk to you, but more figuratively. Sit down and let me impart a bit of my knowledge. I know you are at the age when you think you have it all down pat but humor me for a bit.

As I was tending the yard, I had an epiphany. Once upon a time I hated doing any type of housework. It all seemed futile. The grass would just grow up again. The dishes and laundry would just pile up. It was a monotony of the same chores over and over each week. I wanted to do something with my life. I wanted to have a fabulous career and be someone special.

Children do not, necessarily, make someone special. There are some fabulously special people in the world that do not have children, either through choice or circumstance. Did you make me special? No. As hard as that is to believe, I do have a life outside of you. But here is what makes me special, and one day I hope it makes you special as well, I developed understanding and empathy.

So here are some lessons I learned that I pass to you. As you know, the 8th of each month is special to me. It is a reminder that life is fleeting but the knowledge and memories you leave behind are monumental and immortal.  My parents, grandparents and friends have left indelible marks on my life. It is especially my parents and grandparents that have left the greatest. My dad left me the ability to stop and think. My mom is showing me, every single day, what true love is and how to be strong when others would crumble.

·         Your job is not what defines you. You define your job. This may seem confusing but it really all comes down to your ethics. Everyone answers to someone. While you may at times think a job is beneath you, it really is not. You are learning something each and every time you go to work. You are learning how to meet new people. You are learning new things. You are learning responsibility. Whether it is flipping burgers or running a billion dollar company...you are defining your job. Never disrespect those individuals you feel are working dead end jobs or service industry jobs. Without them, society would cease to function.

·         Tasks you think are a waste of time...actually do have purpose. I hated doing yard work or housework. Yet I saw my parents enjoy doing them. Why on earth would anyone like getting dirty or cleaning? I understand now. It is a task that has a beginning and an end. It is an accomplishment. Strive for the highest goal you can imagine but keep those small tasks. Each one checked off is an accomplishment. They may not mean much at the time but they will be satisfying later.

·         I am not your friend. A parent makes a horrible mistake the moment they want to be their child's friend. A friend implies that they will understand and encourage certain behavior and, at the same time, tolerate certain behavior. Friend's are not responsible for your actions and are not always going to guide you in the right direction. Get back to me on that when you are in your 20's. I want your respect. I want your trust. But I don't want to be your friend. I don't want to know every single thing you are doing. It would drive me insane. I will later be your friend. I want to eventually be your friend. But we are not at that point in our lives.

·         One day you will experience grief. You do not understand why I cry so much at the loss of my father. The loss of my grandparents. One day I hope you do grieve for me because I certainly do not want to be left grieving for you. That may be selfish of me but a parent's worst nightmare is having to see their child out of this world. From the moment you both came into this world, I was plagued by nightmares of losing you. Every parent has those thoughts. Strike that. Every GOOD parent has those thoughts. The "What If's" drive new parents crazy. I once actually panicked at the thought of a wolf breaking into the house and attacking you. Laugh all you want now but irrational fears are what drives a parent to be protective. My heart breaks when you cry but I never want to have mine broken by losing you. You two mean that much to me. You are my life.

·         Pain is a part of life. There will be times when pain brings you to your knees. When life seems futile and hopeless. Just remember that all things fade with time. The wounds that are raw at the moment will eventually heal and leave a scar. Don't cover the scar. Don't stare at it daily either but make sure you know it is there. It is a reminder that you are alive and will keep fighting back.

These are just a few things that I want you to know. You will make mistakes and that is okay. You will learn. My dad, very often when growing up, would just look at me and shake his head. When I eventually figured it out he would say, "Red, now you are being smart. Use your head." My mom's best advice came to me by watching her and seeing her actions. Her mantra is, "Just get it done." It is simple but extremely powerful and effective.

I love you both and hope one day you will understand what I am trying to say to you. I want you to fulfill your dreams, no matter what they are. There is nothing that you will ever do that makes me not love you. I may get angry at times but I always love and support you. You will stumble. You will fall but hopefully you will have enough of me, your grandparents, your aunts, cousins, and friends, in you that you will stand back up and keep on going.

Love,

Shonté (aka Mom)

Just a little...

It has been a little while since I last posted a blog. It isn't because I did not have much to say. On the contrary, at times I have had too much to say. Life throws us curve balls and often keeps us busy. So much so that you begin to lose track of the moments and it blends into weeks before you have realized that so much time has passed.

It happens to the best of us and often at the worst times. We set out to do something and then, somehow, become distracted with the daily, mundane chores of life. It becomes a cycle of alarm clocks awakening us at dawn, showering and then moving on to work.

Work, in and of itself, is a cycle. You work, take a break, work, take a lunch and then continue on in the same pattern for a set number of days. Each evening you come home, depress and try to relax but your eye remains on the clock. Each tick of the hand reminds you that you need to wind down and get ready for bed so that you can begin a new day.

It is called life.

When I was younger I was always thinking about what lay ahead. When I was 17, all I could think about was graduating and moving on into the life of a grand 18 year old. Then it was my 20's. 21 was a passing day on the radar and wasn't something grand to be celebrated. I had two children by the next roll of the calendar and life then became about watching their age milestones.

As the girls have grown, and I've weathered life, things are starting to shift again. Yes...my days are still ticked off to the sound of a second hand but there are moments now when I stop and think. I ponder the things that really make life meaningful.

At one time I believed that a career is what "defined" who you were. I was wrong.

At one time I believed that money was what brought happiness, and I was only partially wrong, because money allows you the time to enjoy the things that you want. I'll never want a big mansion with luxurious items because I'm pretty dang content with what I have and have never been a cumulative type of person. I just want enough money to easily pay my bills, allow me to put some in savings and still have a recreational "fun" fund.

But back on the subject of time and life. Tomorrow marks 8 months since I last talked to my father. Seeing his marker today, through pictures, brought all things home once again. It hurts. I won't lie. But what struck me the most is that there will eventually be a day that I don't count down each month from the last time I spoke with him. The last time I saw him. And the day he died.

Don't get me wrong. November 8th will always stand out for me just as my parent's anniversary, my father's birthday. Christmas. Thanksgiving. Easter. 4th of July. All of those days become very significant once someone passed on. It is the little things you take for granted previously that suddenly become incredibly important.

Ah...Life. What a fickle bitch she can be. Or a bastard. Whichever gender you prefer works the same as the other.

Life can screw you over if you don't pay careful attention. And attention is what most of us never pay enough due. When is the last time you paid attention to the sun as it beamed through the trees and simply stopped for a moment? I'm not talking about when you are out relaxing or doing something recreational. I'm talking about when you are at your busiest. Such as when you are racing to the car to beat traffic just in order to make it to work with a few minutes to spare.

Sometimes when I am alone at night I wonder when I last looked up and took that moment. That moment when my daughters are trying my patience. That moment when a customer has gotten snippy with me. That one brief opportunity to notice the sun when it counted the most.

I wonder what my coworkers think of me. I probably come off as goofy and silly most of the time. And there is good reason for that. I'm greatly influenced by the emotion around me. I want people to laugh, to be carefree when they have every reason not to be. I want my time with people to be joyful. To some I might seem flighty and superfluous. I'm not by any stretch of the imagination. My mind is constantly analyzing and examining things from many perspectives.

But I learned 8 months ago that time is a precious commodity. One moment you are here and the next you are gone. That's far too much a roll of the dice on such a fickle lady such as Life. I might get bitchy at times. I might become short and be in a foul temper. But those moments do not last long. I've learned that I can only control myself.

I cannot control my family. I cannot control Dave, Kennedy, Maesin or any one else. I can only control my actions and reactions. I still fight my fear of other people. I still am a people pleaser that secretly quakes each time I have to talk to someone else. But I'm not changing. I can adapt and look at the situations in a different light.

Here is an example: I know there are people that dislike me intensely. I cannot change that. I do not want to change that. That is their problem and not mine. All I can do is be me. I may think I'm am the most awesome, super cool chica on the entire planet but there are a few that disagree. (I know that is hard to believe but yes...some people are turned off by my incredibly demeanor.)

I guess the root of all this is this: life is about moments. Moments become the sum of our entire existence. One day I will no longer be here but the moments I share with others will always remain. Somewhere, someone will reminisce with a smile and think about something we shared. One day I will become a reminder on the calendar and that is fantastic. It is fantastic because I will mean something to someone enough that they never forget a special day.

But until then, I will keep reminding myself to be happy. It really is that simple. Count your blessings all you want but it is often by counting the less fortunate things in life that we truly appreciate what we have right in front of us. If you get mad at someone...get over it because ultimately it is your own anger you have to deal with and reign in. Frustrated? Take a deep breath and take a look up at the sunshine as it comes through the trees.

Namasté

ME

A Day in the Life of Me

I’ve had a LOT of time on my hands for the last month, and I’ve done quite a bit of thinking. Who am I? What makes me…well me? How do others view me? How do I view myself? Am I a good person, or someone who simply goes through the motions of appearing good?

These are all legitimate questions, and probably should be questions that everyone asks himself or herself throughout his/her life. In fact, I’d wager, that these are questions that should be pondered a least once a month. It keeps us in check. It keeps us on the greatest adventure ever: life.

So enough about you, let us progress to me! J I’m kidding. I am completely NOT narcissistic in any way, shape or form. I will say that at one time I used to be a spelling whiz, which seems to be a skill that is deserting me lately. So if you find mistakes – live with it. The same thing applies to any grammar skills. That is what editors are for and I’m definitely not an editor.

I perceive myself as: shy, withdrawn, anti-social, problematic, conflicted, and completely consumed with OCD and Anxiety. Anxiety and OCD  to a level that I know exactly how long everything takes and I cannot be remotely close to an appointment time or work time. Even when I do not have a “set” schedule…I still have one set in my mind. It drives my husband and kids nuts. If I’m not at my workplace at least 30 minutes (I prefer an hour) before time to clock in…I’m a nervous wreck. Appointments fare the same. I know exactly how many minutes it takes to walk out my front door and check my mail and come back in. Yeah…that’s how bad it is. The fact that the rest of the world is not consumed by this tedious and draining behavior baffles and irritates me.

My anxiety is pretty bad at times but I’m slowly getting it under control. I realized long ago that emotions trigger my anxiety. When I’m nervous I feel out of control. When I’m confronting someone, big issue or small one, I tense up and my anxiety skyrockets and I cannot control my emotions. I have to completely walk away until I can meditate and bring myself back to a certain level. Fighting sends me spiraling. Don’t get me wrong…I’ve learned to stand up for myself and for others without breaking down but the conversations will eat at me for a long, long time. And once I’m angry with someone it takes a very long time for me to move past it. I get irritated but that passes within minutes, but real anger trigger events will NEVER be forgotten and take me a while to get past.

Anti-social: I think that I’m very anti-social. Around people that I know, and like, I can relax and kinda be myself. Large groups make me extremely nervous. New people make me very nervous and I often keep very quiet. People who really know me are shocked that my motor mouth can remain zipped tightly. That’s another thing that bothers me…I can’t stop. I don’t like dead silences when I’m around others. I fidget and move constantly. When I’m at home, work or anywhere besides my bed reading, I am in constant motion doing about three other things at the same time. Watching a movie at home without doing other things…almost impossible. Dave is a sit quietly, speak when he needs too or absolutely must, and hates interruptions during television shows and movies. He uses the pause button quite a lot in our household.

My life has never been smooth. It seems to be marked by constant struggles, strife, happiness, sadness and confliction. But I’m learning that is what life is about. People who say their life is constantly great and they LOVE LIFE at all times are hiding what is really going on. They want to give the appearance that they have the perfect life. It is a defense mechanism. I’m definitely not like that. My life is pretty much an open book. Some chapters are humorous, some are sad and some are quite dark. There are also chapters sealed up because I don’t want to revisit those. It is why I do not read past journal entries. There is no point in reliving the past. I have, hopefully, learned from it and moved on.

So am I a good person? What makes me…me? I think I am a good person. I do suffer from anger, irritation, jealousy at times, and sometimes I’m completely not observant. I doubt my faith and my beliefs almost daily. I don’t need affirmation though and that is a bit weird. I am who I am. I do try to better myself through learning, watching others and listening. There are very few things said or done around me that I don’t pay attention to and log in my brain. There are, however, many times when my brain completely fogs out and I don’t remember a thing. Most of my childhood, teens and even up to my early 30’s are in the fog. Not through drugs! But through just moving on and putting them in the mental closet.

I’m a wanderer and a gypsy. I love visiting new places and I’ve moved a WHOLE lot in my life. I don’t always want to move but circumstances have forced those moves. It makes me feel horrendously guilty for my daughters but at the same time I see the strength it has given them. They are outgoing, unique and not uncomfortable in new situations. Up’s and down’s do not seem to bother them in the least for more than a week or so. That is a great thing. For people to feel “sorry” for me and my daughters really, REALLY pisses me off. Don’t take pity on me for your inability to get out and see the world. Don’t feel “Sorry” for me because you can’t leave the pond for the ocean. There is so much world to explore and so many new, great people and adventures to be had. I want my eulogy to be read proudly and my friends to say, in awe, “She was an adventurer. She constantly strove to see and do new things and wasn’t afraid of the unknown.”

As for ponds…I sometimes miss my hometown. It is small, it is diminishing and it is comforting at the same time. It will always be my first home but it isn’t for me. I could never go back and live there. I wish I could see my family and friends more often but living there would kill my spirit. It would destroy everything that makes me…me. I’ve visited a few times since moving and after about 2 weeks I am very ready to get on the plane and come home. This is my home. Oregon will not be the last place I move too. There are other great cities that someday I want to call my home. My home comes with me to all of these new places.

To wrap this up: I don’t know how others perceive me. I like being in my own space and I retreat there often. I shouldn’t all the time but it brings me comfort. I am trying to get out more and experience more that life has to offer. I stand in my yard, in parking lots, on trails, on the beach and just take in the beauty that surrounds me. I’m always in awe that this is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. Mountains capped by snow all year round. The Pacific Ocean with its huge, crashing waves that seem to make the world stop. The forests with trees taller than I’ve ever seen but surrounded by lush ferns, bushes that stay green and a silence that rings down to your soul. Rivers that seem so fast and wide flowing over huge falls and surrounded by adventurers staring with reverence.  I go downtown to watch people walk, bike and even sleep near me. They each have a story to tell and I try to think of what their story is and how it has played out in their lives. I look at the incredible architecture while I munch on one of the best doughnuts in the US. I peer, peep and fondle books in a bookstore that is as big as a city block.

That’s my life and who I am. I guess I’m an adventurer, of a sort, that never ceases moving.