Parents

It's still amazing to me how my feelings about my parents change over time. As a child, I idolized my father. He was the one that could save me from any monster, any bully... could deliver any prize no matter how difficult to win... could perform any feat of magic to make my dreams come true... could give the best hugs... he could make the stars fall from the sky just to make me smile. He was the only Knight In Shining Armour... the Hero... the Gladiator willing to Champion me no matter what.

Over time, he became "the enemy". We are a lot alike, he and I, and looking in that mirror isn't always easy or pleasant. You learn, with mirrors, that not only the good things are reflected. You see your own faults right in front of your face as well.... your own shortcomings... and when reflected like that, you can't ignore them. Well, you can pretend to, but you know inside what's really there. And, when you don't want to see what's in that mirror... you turn away instead of accepting what is right in front of your face.

After having my own child and growing up a fair bit myself, my perception changes once again. I see the challenges he faced and understand them at a personal level. I feel the conflicting emotions he felt as a parent, and share similar burdens as a person. I also experience the same joys he experienced at similar places in his life, though the ultimate source of those joys differ... they are still relevant... comparable at a human level.

I am now at a point where I will have to confront the same grief he has faced as the child of an aging parent. I hope to God I never have to face the daily challenge he overcomes as the husband of a terminally ill spouse... but at some point I know I will have to deal with the mortality of someone I love intimately... and I hope I can do it with even a quarter of his grace. Now, he is my Hero again. He is the man I see for who he is, off the pedestal, his strengths and weaknesses clearly displayed. He is driven... sometimes misguided, sometimes gullible, but never stupid...he is loving, kind, a control freak, a hard working provider, a man who is understanding his limits (but still wants to surpass them)... he is tired. He is stressed. He is worried... and he is afraid.

This morning, I went and looked at an Assisted Care facility that specializes in Alzheimer's patients. We are at the point where my mother requires more than my father and her caregiver can provide. Yesterday, she locked him out of the house because he wouldn't give her the 3rd candy bar she wanted inside of 2 hours. His keys and the garage door opener were inside. He either had to climb a fence, or wait. He waited, she came back and opened the door. She's not able to manage her medication, but he's not able to be there every second of every day to manage them for her. She can no longer bathe herself, wash her own hair or deal with other personal hygeine issues all the time. She can't communicate beyond a few simple words or phrases, and she knows only a few limited people. Sometimes, she doesn't know who I am. She has no memory of my brother and sister at all. She needs 24 hour care, and he and one caregiver can't do it. I can't help enough to make a difference.

I was very impressed with the facility. Having a friend that's an RN that specialized in Alzheimer's care helps... she told me when this started what to look for when the time came... what to be leary of... and what to run away from with all haste. This place is as good as I've seen outside of a patient's ability to stay at home. I think she would adjust to it, and it would allow him to have a functional life as well... his health isn't perfect at 73, and the stress of all of this is impacting him - how could it not? With others in her situation around her all the time, she also would have a level of social interaction she doesn't have now. Constant attention, constant mental stimulation, the ability for her caregiver, friends and family to come and visit as we please and take her out as much as she and we want... and it's close. Within 10 miles of both my dad and I, and really halfway between us.

He asked what I thought about it... he planned to keep her at home as long as she knew who he was... but it's obvious with the way her condition has deteriorated in just the last week that he can't maintain the level of care required in their home. He doesn't want her to live elsewhere, and he's having the same struggle every person that has to make this decision has. I told him what he needed to hear, and gave (unnecessary) permission for him to do what needed to be done. For his health and sanity, and for her well-being. It's time.

So, now we move forward with the gradual process of getting her into this facility. We will have to wait for a few weeks, most likely - they are currently full (only 16 units in the facility), but have a transfer occurring within the next 6 weeks or so that will empty a room. It will be my mother's room.

I suppose it's hard to understand if you've never been faced with this type of situation. My mother was gone a year ago, at least. We now have to deal with a person that is still functioning, but she's not the person we have always known. We don't even see glimmers of good days versus bad days... they are all the same. Progressively, alarmingly worse. Gone are the things she took the most joy in: reading, playing golf, cooking, entertaining, visiting friends, supporting her family, traveling, shopping, driving, laughing until she cried at silly or dirty jokes... just being the beautiful, fun-loving, family oriented, infuriating woman that she has always been.

Over time, she has been the miraculous nurse that healed all wounds with a simple kiss... the Valkyrie that would battle the school, another mom or anyone else that would DARE do harm to HER child... the Confessor to whom all secrets were told and with whom they would be kept to the grave, no matter WHAT... the Advisor on matters of men, life and children... the Conspirator with whom trouble could be sought... and now the child who needs care in return. I have run the gamut of emotion with her as well... she's been the only one I could turn to, the one I trust in all things... the one in whom I could never trust... and the one I miss.

Inspiration

Today I ponder inspiration. Having just been inspired as thoroughly as one can be... akin to being hit upside the head with a sledgehammer creatively, I wonder what type of inspiration others find in their lives.

There are most definitely people in my life that have inspired me. My father is probably the most impactful source of inspiration. We didn't always get along very well... too much alike, I'm sure, in some ways. But he has shown me the true meaning of patience, tolerance, forgiveness and love more than any other human being in my life. I never would have thought that possible ten years ago. Well, ten years ago, it wasn't possible. We all learn and grow, and that has no time limit.

My son was one of the earlier sources of that inspiration. I was constantly in awe of him ... and to a point, still am. My awe is now tempered with heaping excesses of reality, but when I look past all of the teenage/young adult angst, he is still an amazing combination of intelligence, sensitivity, creativity and love. He is the perfect combination of all of his father's and my best (and, unfortunately, worst) traits. My mother always said that she hoped I'd have a child and "it" (since this was long before we knew what gender this child would be) would be just like me. LOL So, yes, he inherited my good points... and my awful ones... to remind me that patience is something one must practice... eternally. I only assume that his father has had the same realization, though I don't think his mother ever threw that particular "curse" at him.

There have been people in my life that have been muses, as well... those that have inspired songs, stories, poems, dances... that will always be the case, I suspect. :) Where would artists be without their muses, regardless of their medium?

What about the more mundane sources of inspiration? A sunrise/sunset... a stormy sky... color... movement... sound... rhythm... music... a photo... a painting... a piece of fabric... muscle... contour... the soft curve of skin... the list is indeed endless.

Mine, right now... well, it's that music I've been talking about. One of Antoine Dufour's pieces has reached out, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, shaken me up and DEMANDED a response. LOL How can I possibly ignore something like that?? A new veil piece is in the making from this... a blend of styles to suit the music... both smooth and frenetic in its movement... again, what is required by the percussive guitar and the silky violin. If all goes well, this will be a combined effort with another of the people that inspires me.

This week, it's all about Dufour, creatively. Hmmm.. well, that's not quite true after all. I did some nice photoshop work today for another D that turned out pretty well. :) Multi-musing... interesting. LOL So, let's hear from someone ... what inspires you?

*check, check.. testing, 1...2...3... is this thing ON?*

Guitar

Sorry for the delayed post... I think I shot my blog wad for a while, so to speak. I don't really have anything deep or earth-shattering to share this time. The subjects that are deep are too deep at the moment, and I've had enough earth shattering to last a while.

So, I'm going to stick to a topic close to my heart, so that it's something I'm still passionate about... music. More specifically, today - guitarists. I play several instruments, guitar being one... but I am not a guitarist. My son - he's a guitarist. The boy has serious skills. I am a hack at best, able to strum a bit in front of a campfire kinda thing. Kevin thought at one time that he'd never be as good as me, when I showed him a little of the classical guitar I knew... I told him then that his vision was limited, and he'd be far better than I. Now, he's so far surpassed me that it's not even funny. He is more committed to his instrument... guitar was my 2nd instrument - piano always my "home". Off topic, off topic.. get back on track!!

The guys I'm going to talk about today completely blow my mind. These are the kind of musicians that make me sit back, jaw hanging somewhere around my chest... all my senses on full alert, synapses firing as their fingers hit steel and wood... as my brain processes the harmonics, the melodies, the percussive elements and the overall composition that brings every emotion I've ever experienced to the surface... and a few new ones, too.

Those that have known me for an extended period of time know of my love for the music of Michael Hedges. One of my biggest musical regrets is that I never got to see him play in person when he was alive. I'd never heard anything like his music, or the way he played. I played his record (yes, I have him on vinyl!!) constantly when pregnant with my son - probably why he's such a great guitarist, though the acoustic fingerstyle of Hedges isn't his way of playing. So, I was looking for new music yesterday... and while on Amazon, I ran across guys I'd somehow managed to miss all these years. OMG... they are just incredible. Different from Michael Hedges, though their style is very similar. I will confess to a bias... nobody does it like Michael... but oh, these musicians are just phenomenal. Two of these guys are Canadian... what is it about Canada and this style?

Don Ross. Wow. WOW. I can't pick a favorite song yet. I've ordered 2 or 3 of his CDs, and will most likely end up buying every one he's made. He takes me to amazing places with his music. My soul is happy when I listen to him play, which is the kind of reaction I had to Michael Hedges. Check him out, I promise you won't regret it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YkidVP0AcQ8&NR=1

Andy McKee. Another WOW player, but from Kansas. He's actually the first one I came across. If I had to choose between he and Don Ross, I think I'd just have to shoot myself. I can't do it. They are very different as composers, yet their music also compliments the other's so well. However, Andy plays the Harp Guitar... which Hedges played, and that's an instrument whose sound I fell in love with. His vids on YouTube are some of the most watched EVER. You'll understand why when you hear him.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ddn4MGaS3N4&feature=related

Antoine Dufour - the new kid on the block. Again... I'm just stunned at the talent. I think I would have to say that Antoine is more reserved than Don...he's as clean of a player as Andy, technically as skilled as both... but he has a different style, too. Love him. I want to see him really cut loose... I think I could handle it, though I might have to be picked up off the floor when he was done.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1GZC0GQKOA&feature=user

So, check these guys out, and buy their CDs. You won't be able to resist, really. I didn't find Antoine until today, so I have yet to order his music, but you can bet your bottom dollar I'll be doing so. You can find them at: http://www.candyrat.com/ Go now.

This is the kind of music that speaks to something deeper... I don't know how anyone could listen to the music of these three artists and be less than profoundly moved. They will wring emotion from you, against your will. You can try to resist, but it's impossible. They'll own you. Believe it.

Gardening

The weekend was just gorgeous - perfect weather. Never too hot, never too cool... just clear blue skies with an occasional wispy cloud... the kind of weather that makes gardeners get outside. Now, don't be fooled. I don't consider myself any kind of real "gardener". I'm a chick that loves flowers and growing things, even though at times my thumb is most assuredly black.

I would love to be one of those lucky souls that just have an innate ability to make things grow like crazy... my dad can put a half dead twig in the ground and in two weeks... voila... a beautiful plant. How does he DO that?

Me? I have a few plants that have been with me for a while, but I need tolerant foliage. I need flowers that practically take care of themselves. I need low maintenance plants. I happen to adore roses. Always have. They are beautiful, the ones that aren't over-hybridized (that may be a new word, but you get what I mean) smell really good... and they make me happy. I would fill the house with cut flowers constantly if I could grow them well enough to keep up.

I've always wanted an herb and vegetable garden, but I know I don't have the time to invest in it. If I weren't required to work all day, I'm sure I could... but hey, the bills have to get paid. Maybe someday when I find a ridiculously rich sugar-daddy that just wants to support me while I dance, garden, play music and buy sexy lingerie, I'll be able to do that. I cook really well, too, so that might be a good bargaining chip. LOL Back to the point...

In the lovely weather yesterday, I visited my local garden center (photo above - taken with my cell phone). I picked up loads of flowers... Impatiens, Daisies, Marigolds, Verbena, Moss Roses... I thought I'd gotten purslane, but evidently not. I also got herbs... Sage, Dill, Thyme, Oregano and Basil. And then... I saw the roses. *sigh*

I got two varieties - Mr. Lincoln and Hot Cocoa. The Lincolns smell SOOOOOO good... lovely red blooms. The hot cocoas don't have as sweet or strong a scent, but they are this inredible russety/cinnamon color with a red center... wow, they're just lovely. Here's a pic (I'm diggin' this new cell phone camera):

The damn things scratched me but good when I was picking out the ones I wanted... trust that I wouldn't go for the easy to reach one on the edge... oh NOOOOOooooooo... I had to get one 3 plants back, that required moving the others and getting bloody from thorn scratches. No pain, no gain, right??? Sooo... the flowers, herbs and 200lbs of soil, and I'm outta there... after, of course, I wandered around for an hour just ooh-ing and aaahhh-ing over the flowers, wishing i could just go home and turn my entire yard into a flower bed.

Anyway, today I finished teaching class and went to Home Depot to pick up a few remaining items. Oh, I forgot to take extra clothes, so I was walkin' around Home Depot like a chocolate tart in my skin tight, brown spandex, gold flower-design-on-the-left-leg bellydance pants with attached chiffon half skirt and brown spaghetti strap camisole... but I was NOT going out again once I got in the house, so it was go or go home. Yeah, I got a few looks... but they were all attached to smiles, so what the hell. A couple were blatant chest checks, which I found damned funny when the lookers realized they'd been caught in the act. I just smiled right back... I thought about doing a shoulder shimmy at 'em, but didn't want to cause a scene. LOL

I got the things I needed, and came home, changed into shorts and a tank top and was ready to bust some gardening ass. Problem One. Not enough potting soil. Big containers. Couldn't get everything planted today. But, that's not too difficult to remedy. I got the herbs and the Impatiens potted, so there. Problem Two. I couldn't get a freaking hole dug in the ground to save my life. There must be some sort of manly trick to digging holes that my female genes simply don't contain. I used a big 10-tine fork and a shovel, and couldn't even get below the damned grass. I'm a wimp. Despite my chest-puffing I AM WOMAN routine, I can't dig a damned hole in the ground. I STOOD on the shovel, jumped up and down... wiggled side to side... jumped again... nothing. Good thing I wasn't in the front yard... it would have been quite a humorous show for anyone walking by. I even tried soaking the ground a bit to see if that would help... evidently I didn't do it long enough.

So, no roses planted. DAMN IT. I need a shovel-wielding, testosterone-ridden, manly, macho type... which believe me, I do NOT like to admit. I suppose a manlier woman than I might also suffice, but I ain't got one 'o those, either. Hopefully it will rain this evening, since it's now cloudy and overcast... which will soften the ground enough for me to get these damned things in the ground. Other than that, I'm going to have to see if the yard guys can do it... how silly that I have to ask them!!!

Hmmm.. my son has just arrived home and is going to see if HE is more successful. He is male, therefore he should have the gene. Keep your fingers crossed, people - I WANT these roses planted!!!

One hour later.... SUCCESSS!! The boy can DIG!!! Not only did he dig the holes for my rosebushes, but he dug an extra so that I could put my formerly potted hibiscus in the ground. Long Live the Boy King!!! I'll even take that as my Mother's Day present a week early, since I know he won't remember next weekend... LOL.

Words

**DISCLAIMER** No dictionaries were utilized or (by extension) harmed in the creation of this post. While some mischievous metaphors may mix (alliteratively), participles may dangle and infinitives are quite often split, no serious lasting harm was inflicted on nouns, adjectives or verbs when avoidable. It's Gerund season, though, so no helping that. ;-) Creative license, however, is liberally applied. This implies, during certain moments, that strict rules of grammar may be thoughtfully sacrificed in favor of making the greater point or defining the bigger picture.

Today, I revel in the glorification of the English language. More specifically, I bask in the glow of the individual words that comprise the greater verbiage. Each syllable is a note in a musical composition, the initial verse sung for the auditory receiver with the delicacy of a tender, whispering kiss from a shy lover.

You have undoubtedly noticed, from my brief yet illustrative opening paragraph, that I have a fondness for stringing words together. I have been told by some, over time, that I have a measure of talent in this area. The final judgment is always delivered by the reader, of course, though the weight of the opinion must be measured against the relative etymological intelligence of said reader. One not having insight into the true sense of the words "penned" may have a skewed sense of understanding, thereby coloring their interpretation.

I have had lengthy discourse with those who share my fondness for vocabulary, though I might humbly state that few of my acquaintance can (or would want to) stand toe to toe... and less than one hand's count can surpass my usage. Granted, there are indefatigable numbers whose abilities far exceed my meager grasp... I simply do not have the pleasure of counting them among those with whom I am acquainted.

During these disquisitions, I am confronted with moments when my own edification is the focal point, as opposed to my enlightenment of others. I find these singular points in time significant, as I am ever eager to enjoy the absorption of a previously unused utterance. And, in the midst of one particular soliloquist's clever musings, I find my head oft-turned by his unique parlance.

There are multitudinous methods utilized to express thought through language, though I will only concentrate on the two most in opposition. Unlike present company, there are those for whom the niggardly approach to communication is most efficacious. Those misers only release a fraction of the beauty that could be enjoyed by employing our most beloved adjectives and adverbs. An occasional preposition is as flamboyant as they may attempt, and only when transition is required.

Then, there are those with whom I share a common bond. Those with a predisposition to verbosity, who love nothing more than the ceaseless combination of perception altering descriptives... the heightened sense and flavor of patois that nears orgiastic proportions when exhibited with unrivaled expertise. I am atingle at the very consideration of such a state.

For today, I will conclude my dissertation with heartfelt thanks if you have continued to imbibe my contemplation of vocabulary. Do not hesitate to provide comments in kind to express your own feeling on the subject. ;-)

Emotions

Welcome to my whine party. Want some cheese?

There are times when the phrase "emotional female" is far too accurate a description for me. I have been accused in my life of being cold, unfeeling, an Ice Queen, a Bitch, unyielding, invulnerable, unapproachable, uncaring, unemotional... and while I can be those things at times, most often it is simply a cover.

I actually wish that I was unfeeling. I tend to feel things TOO deeply, which is why the unfeeling mask comes down... to disguise vulnerability. I am "The Strong One". The Strong One is not allowed to crack, can't break, must maintain at all times. Being a mother, I also must maintain for my son. He has to have a strong example, to understand that when adversity hits, you can't just curl up and crumble... you have to face the problem and find away to deal with it... that's what we call survival.

In that scenario, one also finds that one must guard severely. Can't let someone get too close, because they might find that chip in the porcelain that allows them to get in and see the turmoil beneath the paint. Once that happens, well... it can all come pouring out. Who the heck wants to deal with THAT??? Hell, I don't!! That's why it's all so carefully locked away, thank you. But... what happens when it's all too close to the surface, and it starts to "leak" out? What do you do when something just hits you... a dream, a situation, an incident... that just makes it impossible to shield?

Well, when you're "The Strong One", people don't really hang out thinking that you NEED them to help. You've got it under CONTROL... it's all wrapped up with a tidy little bow, in order, in place, neatly categorized and labeled... right? Not so much... not all the time. And The Strong One can't ask.. can't stand there and yell HEEEEEELP!!! Nope.. that would be... "weak*. (Oh, I never said it was logical, did I???)

So, the last couple of days have been chipping at my porcelain. My emotions, normally so masterfully controlled, are right at the surface. I feel... raw. I'd like to be able to chalk it up to PMS, but that truly inconvenient time frame has passed and is not scheduled for the next arrival for a while yet. I suppose it's just the things I've been facing lately, building up to a boiling point... I'm not letting myself really deal with some of these feelings fully, because they're deeper than I want to admit (and I can't do anything to change them), or they are simply too overwhelming to handle in the time I have available and allotted for emotional meltdowns. *snort* Oh, I could go there... I could cry, scream, pound on the walls... throw a gloriously emotional tantrum that will turn my nose and eyes all red and puffy, give me a headache and make my son think his mom has finally gone completely 'round the bend...

...or I can move on to the next "thing" I have to do, put a patch on the chip and deal with it later, when I have no choice but to face the reality of love, loss, pain, fear, grief, anger... in the meantime shielding those poor unfortunates around me that have to actually speak to me on a daily basis from the truth... that "The Strong One" is a sham.

So, somebody tell me a freakin' joke or something to get me out of this funk, ok?? I hate days like this... they do come on occasion, and I'd really like to just get it over with and move on to the laughter. It's almost "the Lusty Month of May", and that sounds like a hell of a lot more fun. Shouldn't we be talking Lust instead of this deep crap? Sheesh, what's WRONG with this blogger that she can't lighten up for a dang second, huh???? :)

Dreams

I have been pondering dreams. Maybe one day I'll narrow scope on some of these subjects to make things easier on myself, but today obviously isn't that day. I don't mean sleeping dreams in this... I mean the definition related to an aspiration... the realization of something one wants. It may seem out of reach, but is something profoundly desired.

I have had many dreams in my life. The first was that of a music career. I spent years learning to play several instruments, training my singing voice... all with the hope of that elusive "recording contract" that would take me to stardom. As things go, I was thrown a few curve balls that interrupted that dream. In the end, I understood that my dream was more the ability to play music... sing songs... than it was the actual professional career of it. I played with bands, played the clubs, actually recorded some original tracks in the studio... and then a bad first manager and the understanding of what the music business can really be taught me some lessons. There came a time when I realized that it was time to put aside that dream... or accept an alteration of it... because it no longer fit in the construct of my life. As it has turned out, I have the ability to compose, play or sing as I choose... when I choose... and for whom I choose. I don't take the time to do it often enough, but I'm not unhappy with the choice I made.

My mother, on the other hand, did not have the same sense of peace about leaving her dream behind. She wanted to be a singer, but didn't quite have the pipes... did some modeling, but didn't have the height. However, she never let go of those dreams. She lived hers vicariously through me for a long time, not one of those militant stage moms, but definitely one that would not hesitate to take an opportunity for me to perform anytime, anywhere. Even today, as her mind is slipping away from us, she will still ask if I want her to teach me how to put on makeup... a kickback from her modeling days. It was something that never left her... she felt that her life was interrupted by marriage and children, and that she was unfulfilled because she didn't live her dream. She always had the attitude of "I Could Have Been".

As a child, I always wanted to be a dancer. I watched the ballerinas and thought they were beautiful... loved their grace, their fluidity, their apparent ease of motion. As I got older, I learned about modern and jazz dance, and loved the energy... saw Bob Fosse's work and loved the sensuality of it. I absorbed and reveled in every form of dance I saw... tap, ballroom, bellydance, flamenco, Irish... the very idea of dance appealed to my music-driven soul, because I could see the ability to express myself through music. But, I was not built like a dancer, had not done it.. that was a dream beyond my ability to grasp... or was it? Since then, that is a fully realized dream. I've been dancing for 18 years (OMG - it's really been that long), mostly Middle Eastern, then Israeli, then ballet, now salsa... with more coming. I still want to try Flamenco really, really badly! I can't make a living at it yet, but I do make a fair bit of money from it.

I loved to cook as a kid as well. As I found myself being a stay at home mom trying to save money, I discovered that I seem to cook well. People complimented my cooking regularly, and the food became the center of conversation at parties. When the food was served, the room got quiet... people were too busy eating (with an occasional appreciative moan or groan) to talk. Gotta love that, right? It was suggested that I consider that as a way to make money... and up springs The King's Table, my catering business. Another dream realized.

Now, in the last couple of years, I've felt a professional restlessness. I enjoy technology, but I often can't abide the way businesses are run... poor, thoughtless decisions being made... employees overworked and being taken advantage of... customer service becoming a lost art... nothing positive being done, no impact being made. My creative endeavors are growing... taking more focus... and I'm feeling like I'm wasting precious time not fully utilizing those talents. However, there are bills to pay, so a full time job is necessary to bring the cash in to pay them.

As things were getting worse at work and my frustrations were mounting, an idea was born. It's also how this blog was born, in its original form. A multicultural center for the arts, downtown. Theatre, Art, Food, Dance, Music... all together in one place, with a great concept. Long story short... while the concept was good, I couldn't raise the money to make it happen. I was a nobody with a great idea, but no real history or trail of success to make anyone confident enough to invest that much money. So, the question became, and one of the points of this overly long blog post... is this a dream to give up? I've modified my approach to achieving the dream by concentrating on different aspects separate from the original idea. The hope is that I can get my name known well enough that I might have a better shot at getting investors.

But... how long do you give a dream? Is there a time limit? Is there a realization that it will just never happen and it's time to throw in the towel? Is passion (there's that word again), determination and willpower enough to see it through? Is patience really a virtue??

I'm stubborn. Hard headed. Can be incredibly focused. Tunnel vision is, sometimes, my nemesis. I don't like to let go. So... when I'm facing a dream that I want badly to be realized... when is enough enough? I've been fortunate in my life and realized more than one dream I had. This has taught me that all is within reach, given the perseverence, dedication and drive to make it happen. But, I'm a reasonably intelligent woman and I understand that some things are out of my control. I can't make this world a perfect one in which all of my dreams come true. Sometimes, I will lose... or I will have to settle for less than I want.

That's not intrinsically bad... but it does teach a lesson. And that's what life is about, right? Learning lessons through which we can evolve.

My nature says... if you have a dream within reach, don't let it slip away if it is important to you. Fight for it, make it happen. Life is too short to waste a moment of happiness...whatever the reason for denying yourself that fulfillment, in the end, you are left with regret if you waste opportunities.

I'm sure you can guess what the answer to my own questions are... you give it as long as it takes. There's no time limit... and though you may reach a point where it's obvious that you've done all you can do and still can't make that dream come true, life may throw you a curve ball that makes all things possible. Patience as a virtue... I hate that saying... I'm not terribly patient (though some friends seem to think I'm incredibly so - go figure), and I can't answer that question... it is a virtue I lack.

Passion... perseverence... determination... dedication... willpower... focus... drive... ambition... all powerful words, all a part of my mindset... whether or not they will be enough? Time will tell.

Beauty

Another complicated subject, because the picture of it is different for everyone. But, it's been on my mind at a personal level because of all the changes in my life... losing weight, getting in shape, aging, blah, blah, blah...

Do any of us really consider ourselves beautiful? There are many kinds of beauty... physical, mental, spiritual... innocent, sensual, raw... one quality can overshadow others and based on an individual's perception, everyone is beautiful to someone else that values that quality. We may not value that quality in ourselves, or even notice it's there... but someone will.

Physical beauty is the one that is the most easily recognized, of course, and what most often sets flame to the spark. Not always though... sometimes it's a voice... a turn of phrase... a clever response... a funny joke... and then the physical follows. When meeting someone in today's technology driven world, it might be through email, on the phone (that archaic device), or in a way that doesn't allow you to see them first. Not that this is a new phenomenon... people have been attracted to each other over the phone for a long time - that's how my parents met, actually. My father heard my mom's voice on the phone (she was a receptionist at the time), and made a point to meet her when he had to go into the office where she worked, because her voice was sexy. I wonder if that's why I'm so keyed into voices? It's genetic... who knew??

Anyway - back to the dang point. As I've been going through these physical changes, I notice the difference in the way I'm treated, as well as the way I feel. I still firmly believe that what you project is how people will perceive you. I felt horrible before I lost this weight... it didn't matter what anyone else thought, because I hated the way I looked. I didn't want to look in the mirror, didn't want to have to buy clothes, stopped buying lingerie for anything but pedestrian necessity (which had me missing out on huge fun, damn it, because it makes me feel good!). While people didn't treat me horribly, they didn't go out of their way to be friendly, either. I was... overlooked... by those that weren't already friends. They responded to my intelligence or wit, but it was different.

Now, I will go on record as saying that I've never considered myself a beauty. I try (now) to look my best, and sometimes I do pretty well... but I've never looked in the mirror and thought, "My God, you look gorgeous". The very idea makes me laugh. Of course, like just about every woman, I love the fantasy of a man being so gaga over me that he thinks I'm the sexiest, most beautiful woman walking, will go to inordinate lengths to romance me (room full of roses kind of romance, you know?)... but I think I'd proabably fall over if it ever happened. I'm not that kind of Audrey Hepburn, Marilyn Monroe beauty that inspires that kind of behavior, y'know?? I've learned over time that things like that just don't happen in real life to the average woman, by the average man. It's a shame, really... a lot of marriages would probably be different if a few above average things like that happened - but I also think it takes two. One must give as good as one gets. A roomful of roses would certainly require a reciprocal event, equally special. But, I digress. My penchant for fantasy will get the better of me.

So, now, I'm feeling better about the way I look. I still have a ways to go before I think I look as good as I possibly can, but I'm definitely on my way. I'm noticing that other people are also picking up on that extra confidence, and responding to it. Sure, I'm getting more flirtatious comments passed my way... get more glances from the opposite sex (and a few from the same sex!)... but in general, I have opened up a little... become a bit more accessible... and others seem to respond in kind. I'm more comfortable in my own skin... so others are more comfortable seeing me in it.

When I tried to project that confidence before, it didn't come off as genuine... well, it wasn't, because I didn't feel it. I could project "Goddess", but only believed "Hag". People sense the disparity. There are times when people act well and project a false bravado... but if you talk to them for a few minutes, you can catch them at it. They overcompensate and end up seeming arrogant, cocky or insincere. More often, it's just insecurity.

Then, there are those that truly confuse me. Beauty inside and out that is completely unrecognized by the one who has it. They seem oblivious to their own impact on others, and the value they themselves have. You can tell them it's there, but chances are they won't believe you. It's not false modesty, either - that's also easily identified. All I can assume is that there have been so many years of conditioning: self doubt, negative input or unstated validation that the person never understands the truth of what others see in them... or what they themselves have to offer.

It's as if we, as a society, have made it more acceptable to wallow in our faults than to celebrate our assets. We've adopted some sort of aversion to feeling good about ourselves... what kind of crap is that??? I can't help but assume that it's in large part because of what we're fed every day through media and choose to believe... we won't buy beauty products unless we feel that we lack something requiring that product to make us perfect. As consumers, we're too fat, too thin, too old, too young, too lazy, too energetic, too lacking in general style to be the epitome of beauty, so we'd better keep trying until we get it right. GEEZ!!! No wonder women hate the way they look. It's not just women, either. Men go through the same struggles, they just don't get as many freaking magazines and commercials dedicated to it.

So, my goal? Not to be "beautiful" as a magazine describes it...that's a goal I can never achieve, no matter how hard I try... but to be the best me I can be, so that I like myself and can feel confident in my own body, mind and spirit. That's when I might be able to look in the mirror and say, "I'm beautiful". If others think so - that's great... but it has to start with me, or no one else will believe it.

So, how do you define beauty, and where do you feel you fit in to that definition? Talk amongst yourselves. ;-) That's what the comments option is for, y'know. You people are way too quiet.

War

I'm on a rant. A tear. I'm fit to be tied (hmm... ok, well let's just let that one pass, ok?). I'm all riled up again. This time? The Corporate Culture... the jungle. Here, there be monsters!


After an approximate 4 year absence from the Mega Corporation environment, I'm right back in it. As is usually the case, I REALLY like the people I work with - my own team members in particular. My boss, most definitely.


It's not always easy to find a good boss... and when I am in a position of leadership, I try to remember that. Nobody is perfect, but I think that as a person in Management, you have a responsibility to the people that work for you. You look out for them. You back them up... or catch them before they make a mistake from which you can't protect them. In the end, the Manager is held responsible anyway - so it's also the Manager's job to take the shit, and dole out the praise and give credit where it's due. Make sure you provide opportunities for growth, make sure you express appreciation... and your team will be less likely to kill you when you have to ask them to work ridiculous hours on something none of you wants to mess with.


I've been lucky - over the years, I've had some excellent examples from which I learned. Some were very positive examples, and some were just miserable - but some of the most important lessons were gleaned from the most miserable leaders, because I learned what NEVER to do. Ok, I'm rambling... back to the point, woman.

I am a consultant at a really, really large company. One of the largest. In a recent activity for which I was the PM, an incident occurred - a technical resource installed an approved piece of software on a production server without following the letter of the process. The client took exception to this, and wouldn't let it go, despite the fact that the entire thing was done to fulfill their request for help, outside of the scope that was agreed upon. In other words, the engineer went above and beyond the call to help, and they were going for his jugular. I didn't want that to happen, and escalated to my boss... who made sure that the engineer wouldn't get his ass in a sling over it.



Then, they took aim at me. Great. Gotta love that. The client says that I said something I flat did not say. It wasn't in any of my correspondence, it wasn't stated in a phone conversation... nothing. I have heard that this is not the first time it's happened, that this is the MO of this particular client. Bastard. So, I get pissed off when this guy says that I've lost credibility and trust for my team because of a statement I never made. I kept my cool on the phone with him, then called and told my boss what happened. Fortunately, he said, "Don't worry about it - you didn't do anything wrong - fuck him." Ok, I now love my boss in a completely unromantic, "I love ya man" kinda way. LOL


The whole thing left me feeling rather... naive. As I am wont to do when these types of things happen in business, I call a friend and mentor. I tell him what happened. He, bless his big, soft heart (though I'm one of very few that knows he has a big, soft heart), puffs his chest up like a Warrior (ok, it's over the phone, so not really, but it's an attitude thing). He's worked with me, and knows how I operate. "I know you don't need my protection, but now I'm pissed off at the way this guy is behaving and feeling overprotective of you." Ok, when I'm really angry like that, support is what is needed. I love him too. However, he comes through with what I REALLY needed, that my boss couldn't give me because he doesn't know me well enough. A reminder and some sage advice.


"You're back in the big corporate jungle again, honey, and they don't play fair. I did it for years, and I hate that shit." Then he asks the big question: "Remember I told you a couple of years ago to read "The Art of War"? Did you buy that book? Have you read it?" Shamed, because for the first time I didn't buy a book and consume it, I had to tell him that no, I hadn't.


"Well, it doesn't say any of the shit that Michael Douglas says in Wall Street, but you need to read it. If you don't buy it, I'll buy it and send it to you. It's worth the $7. It sounds to me like this guy either has an axe to grind, or is trying to save his own ass because they had to ask your guys to help save the day in the first place. Could be both. Either way, he's trying to deflect attention away from his problem by moving an issue over to you. If you do your job too well, he might not keep his."


I didn't see how that could be possible - there's no way I could impact this guy's job... he pointed out that while I'm not in a position to take his job, I can certainly have an impact on the perception of how good he is at it. And, in the current market, keeping one's job is increasingly important. Ok, true... I wasn't looking at it from that point of view in my anger-clouded brain. I let my temper get the better of me, so I wasn't seeing as clearly as I should have. Glad I called him. But then, I usually am. He's an incredibly smart guy, though he'll rarely admit it. I found out some information today that completely validates what he said. I'm a believer.


Now, I haven't gotten it yet (but I will by Friday, I can guarandamntee you) but I've read some information about it. The thing that really blows my mind is that I would need to read a book with the title "The Art of War" to be better prepared to succeed in a big company. Sheesh. But, it's true... a respected team mate told me that the only people that get up the chain here are the ones that are willing to stab their way up. I paraphrase, but that was his meaning. So, I'm back in a place where to anyone outside my department, I have to be the Ice Queen. Damn, I thought I was through with that, mostly. I mean, I didn't gain the nickname of Her Majesty The Queen in the corporate jungle for nothing, but it's been a long time since that was the way I operated by default. *sigh*

Ah well... at least I can be myself with my own team members. That's a boon, right? And, in the meantime, I sharpen my teeth and claws, read a book....and prepare for war. No more Nice Lady. The Bitch Is Back.

That Bastard had better watch his ass.

Mortality

The events of the last week bring me to this place...a place of questioning mortality, the importance and order of the things in my life, and the fear of total upheaval certain events would undoubtedly create.

So... my father was hospitalized last week (my heartfelt thanks to those that prayed, called and listened) after having trouble breathing when walking to his truck at a client site. He'd just gotten a signature on a substantial order, so he was in good spirits... but he'd been feeling odd for a couple of days and when he couldn't get his breath, he called his cardiologist. The Doc instructed him to go straight to the emergency room, which he did.

He called me to let me know - scared the devil out of me, but he was talking, so that was a good sign. They were looking at his heart, and were admitting him overnight. His main concern, of course, was my mother. The disease that has taken over her brain (Alzheimer's) has progressed at a truly alarming pace. That can be seen as either a blessing or a curse, depending on the mood, time of day and direction of the wind.

I did as we had planned months ago... went to the house, took care of my mother... took her to the hospital to see my dad, took her to dinner, spent the night with her, etc. She can't be left alone anymore, and can't function on her own. And, this was the first time that she didn't know who I was right away. She's lost the ability to associate me to my name... I am simply "the youngest daughter". Other than that, all went according to plan...almost.

My plan is slightly different than my Dad's I'm sure. I discovered how utterly unprepared I was to face the loss of either of them, and moreso the loss of him in my life. Completely selfish... we have a relationship that has, in the last year, just become what I always hoped it would be. I'm not ready to lose that yet. The part that clenches my gut, however, is the thought of being left alone to deal with my mother. Oh, I'm capable of doing what needs to be done, though I don't feel up to the task. I know I would follow my father's wishes to the letter, no matter the emotional cost... that's what you do for your parents.

Oh, but wait... I'm one of three children, and neither of the other two are doing anything. One can't - he's too far away, and has been gone and out of touch too long - I accept that, and understand. I have no expectation there. But, my sister... well, she lives within a few miles of my parents and I, and refuses to be involved. Now, that makes me angry. I should be an adult and not let it get to me... she is the one that will be hurt by her disassociation the most... but in that moment of realizing what the loss of my father at this point in time would mean, I resented her more than I ever thought possible. And then, in that next breath, I realized fully what my father is having to deal with every day of his life. I'm still removed from it in comparison.

How incredibly small I felt... the size of the burden grew to immense proportions, engorged with my fear of not being up to the task... and I wondered how my father does it. There's only so much that I can do to ease his heart and mind... but I'll do it if I can. He must fight that same immense battle every day he draws breath.

I am as prepared as I can be to deal with the loss of my mother... she's the one who is sick, and I've made peace with that, to a point. My dad? Well, no, he's not supposed to be the first to go. Thankfully, that wasn't something I had to face in reality.

But... it definitely makes me look again at priorities. How much time do any of us have, really, and what do we want to do with that time? Who HASN'T asked that question? I wish I had an easy answer. Right now, I am simply thankful to have more time to figure it out with both my parents living.

Passion

Something I've thought about in recent days... passion. When did it slip away from me? Oh, I am passionate about many things... music, dance, life... even work. I throw myself headlong into endeavors for which I have a passion, working very hard to accomplish the goals I set.

But what about the more human side of passion? The pulse-quickening, stomach-fluttering, knee-weakening, palm-tingling, and even predatory feeling when meeting someone with whom you have immediate chemistry. I don't mean just the sexual kind of chemistry... that's not passion, that's lust. I mean a chemistry that sparks the fire...gets you interested enough to delve deeper...physical, mental and emotional. Someone with whom I can be in sync.

I'm not ready for that yet, I know. I need time to pack away the emotional remnants of my last relationship, and get to a place where I can feel strong enough to offer my heart again. I don't know if I'll magically know that the road is clear, or if I'll just meet someone that will set off fireworks. I look forward to finding out one day... and hope that I actually DO. I've wondered for a long time if I've just lost the ability for it... my imagination certainly has no trouble with the concept... but my heart isn't in it. Too much time spent guarding, questioning and doubting.

Perhaps that's really it. I think to have that passion, you have to be able to open yourself up... you have to have mutual trust, respect, strength AND vulnerability. Without those elements, there is always a gap... and if trust or respect have been compromised, it's incredibly difficult (if not impossible) to get back. Oh, you can try... but it's human nature to doubt where doubt has been considered justified before.

So, I remain hopeful in the moments when I miss having that connection with someone... when I miss shared intimacy... laughter... travel... FUN... just "being".

In the lyrics of an excellent song by Dionne Farris, "Passion":

Everything's so crystal clear now
All I needed was time
Everything's so crystal clear now
I've cleaned my mind
Now the sky has opened
There are no limits to this
Let me feel the passion
That I know exists when you're with me
Cause I can feel it when you look at me
...
Passion is with me
Touch my heart, touch my soul
Lead me into the light of a new day
Touch my heart, touch my soul
Lift me up into the wonder of ecstacy

Music...

On nights like tonight, I find myself wondering how people hear music. That's not as obvious a question as the average smartass would imagine (...through yer dang ears, woman!!) Perhaps it's the way it's phrased... I should ask... how does music affect people?

I've just watched the Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds concert from Radio City, recorded almost a year ago in NY. While I was sick, I watched a great movie, "August Rush". I think that these two presentations in combination reminded me once again what a personally powerful force music can be, but I wonder how many people think that, really.

My father, for example... I love him dearly, but we simply do NOT hear music in the same way. For him, it is a background...something to fill the silence, or cover the noise of the car's engine. Perhaps, on special occasions, a vehicle for conveying a particular feeling or emotion... but more to make someone else happy, not because he himself is deeply moved. In rare instances, perhaps... but not as a general rule.

Others I know enjoy music very much... they love a good beat, enjoy movin', singing or playing in the groove... have that "special song" that reminds them of someone... they have definite opinions on what they do and do NOT like.

Some have a natural talent for playing it... interpreting it... or even hearing the layers in it, I suppose. But I've even seen those with a tremendous talent for it seem jaded or uninterested... it becomes something mechanical instead of moving.

And here I sit, completely awed by those like Dave Matthews, Tim Reynolds, Peter Gabriel, James Taylor, Michael Hedges, Davy Spillane... and vocalists like Sarah Brightman, Josh Groban, and even though I don't like to watch her sing, the voice of Celine Dion is an amazing instrument... whether they are classical musicians, rock, jazz or blues artists.. the style isn't important as much as their ability to tell that story... evoke emotion...

Whether instrumental or vocal, I find myself enthralled... I hear the textures... can almost see them moving through the air, and can certainly feel the phrases brush over my skin as I listen... sometimes find my soul laid bare, my heart split open or my joy overflowing... I want to lay my head back and open my mouth to capture every nuance, as if I were a thirst-starved desert wanderer feeling the season's first raindrops hit my upturned face... it can be a purely divine reaction... or a deeply carnal one... or somewhere in between - the invocation of nature's grandeur, of renewed life, purpose or spirit... then I feel the tears roll down my cheeks... and I wonder... does everyone hear it like this?

Success

Success: The achievement of something desired, planned, or attempted

So, today's topic is rather obvious given the Title, picture and definition you've already seen. Yet that is a gross oversimplification of a term that lends itself to shades of grey and every other color known to mankind.

Mr. Man (a former co-worker and friend who was given this nickname because he's a Gym Rat... and because Macho Man was taken by Richard Pryor with a FAR different meaning than was appropriate for a platonic friendship!!) asked me recently about defining success when discussing the "Fear" topic. Not in so much as how we define success for ourselves, but how we as a society define success within our peer groups... and my follow-up question: how do our peer groups change as our level of perceived success changes?

Being the narcissistic female that I am (of course it's all me, me, me!!! It's my damned blog, isn't it??) I start with my own background. Well, I have to start somewhere, and my personal experience applies. hmph.

I grew up in a home where I never had to really think about what things cost. We weren't what I'd call rich (though that's relative - there were many of my friends that thought we were), but we were most definitely "comfortable". My summers were spent at the country club swimming pool, on the golf course, on the tennis courts or going to camp. Our social lives really centered around "The Club". When I walked in the clubhouse or pro shop, everyone knew who I was... because they knew my family. Not like that was some big thing - it wasn't a huge community at the time, so if you spent time there, people knew you. We spent a LOT of time there. My father was considered a "successful" business man. He was (and still is) in the Oil business... a Salesman that closed big deals worth a lot of money (and a big commission)... and entertained as was appropriate for that time and that business. So, we had a lot of parties, went to a lot of golf tournaments, traveled.... he associated with "movers and shakers" at his level. They were not all nice people... actually, I'd say most of them weren't.

So, in every external way, people considered my dad to be very successful. And, he was.. he is. He believed himself to be successful as well, as he defined it. He had a good job, worked hard and did it well, provided for his family - we wanted for nothing... in a time when success was corellated to money, he was a very successful man. From a personal perspective, though...? I barely saw my dad because of how much time he had to spend traveling. His work was his passion, and it took a great deal of his time to be that successful - and he has always loved what he does. Over time, our relationship suffered for it, because it was taken for granted. Oh, I knew he loved me... but it became easier for him to show that love with material things than with emotion, because emotion required an investment of time that was simply lacking.

Now, we jump forward 20 years to my own adulthood, and how my generation defines success. The mad rush of the 80's to constantly strive for the almighty dollar hasn't gone away, but it has softened. The truly wealthy still work hard to remain that way, but those of us that are "comfortable" have found that there's more to life than the almighty dollar. Life circumstances and value changes are big contributors to that... we now value time with our families more, and "life/work balance" is a buzz phrase never even considered in the 80's. We look at our peers with a wider view of success... not just how much money does he/she make, but how much time is spent enjoying the life portion of the balance in contrast with the amount of money earned.

So, to look at myself? Well, I don't really ask myself the question, "Am I successful". I assume that I am because I can pay the bills, I have a roof over my head, hold a steady job and have a loving family. If you ask my friends? Well I actually never have, so I don't know. LOL I can say that I am constantly humbled by the opinions of certain friends for whom I have a high level of respect. I will confess to both amazement and warmth that they hold me in such high regard for my accomplishments. One or two in particular, having met me about 12 years ago when I was just getting back into the job market as a secretary, express their pride in my progress. Of course, they never take any credit for being my mentors, being unwilling to recognize their own gifts in this regard. Without their sage advice and encouragement, I might not have had the guts to make certain career choices. I consider their roles in my life irreplacable because of the things I've learned from them. The people I associate with are as diverse as my interests, and are equally as partitioned. I have "artsy" friends, "personal" friends, "business" friends... and a very, very few that can cross those boundaries at will. Some are most definitely "movers and shakers", and others are either categorized by society as "normal", "freaks" and even a couple of "trailer trash" types, as my dad would say. That does not, however, speak to the person behind the label, or what I value in them.

So, given these thoughts, how would I measure success? Hmm... let's see...not necessarily in order of importance:

1. Quality of Life - doing a job you love, and making the time to enjoy the results of hard labor
2. Quality of the people around you - I don't mean net worth here... I mean values and goals. Do you get good advice that is in your best interest from those around you? Do the people you count as friends and mentors support your efforts without a hidden agenda? Do they share your basic values? Do they try to evolve as human beings?
3. Quality of Relationships - Do the people in your "inner circle" help you or drain you? Do you find it easy to love and support them in return? Is the energy you invest in your relationships returned in equal measure?
4. Understanding of Self - I used that phrase to encompass a larger ideal. Call it spirituality, self-esteem, being in touch with yourself, understanding your own limitations and talents, and making sure that you don't undervalue yourself personally or professionally. Don't shortchange yourself or "settle", ever. Stand up for what you believe in, even with others don't agree... sometimes ESPECIALLY when they don't.

Now, if I apply that to myself and ask "Anne, are you successful"? I'd have to say yes, but not to the level at which I want to be. Strangely enough, I won't be truly successful in my own mind until I can make a living doing what I really, truly love!!! It won't make me nearly as much money as I'm making right now, but it will make my heart happy. :-) On all other fronts... I think the people around me and the relationships I've built are positive ones. Those that aren't positive don't last, frankly. My understanding of self is a constant process, as it is for everyone, but I think that is improving.

So, once again - what have I left out? What do you consider a measure of success? I know for my son, at his tender 19 years, it would simply be - I'm breathing, Mom's paying the bills and I can eat when I'm hungry. LOL He will improve (I will beat it into him, trust me), but right now, that's where his head is. He still has some growing to do, as we all did at that age. Crap, I still didn't get into Fear of Success. That will have to be another day's topic. It's too big to tack at the end of this!!!

Dumbassity

I've had my moment for the month. I'm surprised that it was only one, really, given my life in recent weeks.

I have contributed to the Dumbass pool by executing my own brand of Dumbassity... Dumbassishness... either works. I dumbassterfully locked my keys in my car this morning in the parking garage. Greaaaat. Well, hey - that's alright I have a spare in my purse.... which was also sitting on the seat inside the LOCKED car, holding the spare as well as my primary key ring. FABulous.

I was on a conference call for work, so I couldn't even say a few choice words to express my extreme dismay and bewilderment at how this occurrence could befall me at such an inopportune moment. I always keep a few of those choice words at the ready for just these types of circumstances. Alas, potty-mouth inhibitors were firmly in place. *sigh* No expletive relief for the intensely frustrated.

So, I kept my mouth shut and with great aplomb and maturity, stomped through the parking garage THINKING every nasty word I've ever learned, in new and inventive combinations. I discovered something about myself. In extreme moments of dumbassishness such as this, I can be exceedingly creative. Invite me to your next Navy party - I promise not to disappoint. I can cuss like a sailor with the best (or worst) of 'em. I practiced. Alot.

I know this already, and you'd think I'd have learned by now, but evidently I need more time to absorb this lesson: When I break my pattern, bad things happen. LOL

I suppose I do have a bit of the obsessive/compulsive in me. While I'm no "Monk" (tv reference, for the uninitiated) by any stretch, I do have certain things that I do the same all the time. It's more to make sure that I don't succumb to dumbassity than any real emotional imperative. For example: when I turn off the car, I immediately put my keys in my purse (so that I don't leave them in the ignition and lock them in the car - the last lesson I learned of this nature). Well, that's great until I get out of the car to get my laptop out of the back seat, having locked the doors from the front... then close all the damned doors leaving my purse on the seat!! I had my cell phone in one hand, which kept me from grabbing my purse as I normally would. Geez. I was distracted by the call and deviated from my normal pattern... and see what happened???

Fortunately, I called Pop a Lock, and within 30 minutes they arrived and retrieved my keys for me... for $44.95. Cheaper than replacing glass from a fury induced explosion of laptop-through-window syndrome.

So, what's the habit/pattern that keeps you from joining the suffering Dumbass horde? Everybody's got at least one... what's yours??? Just click on the comment link below and entertain me... make me feel better about my own contribution for today. ;-)

Fear...

I must not fear.

Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.

(Frank Herbert, from "Dune")



So, a friend I hadn't heard from in a while led me to this topic (thank you, Mr. Man), through his email response to former posts. ;-) Fear. One of the BIG things I've had to deal with in my life... and most of us let it rule us far too often, I suspect.

One of those aforementioned cathartic moments brought the danger of letting fear rule me into focus. I was 21 years old... single... and I found myself, through a series of poor choices, pregnant. That was exactly 21 years ago. Certainly not the first time I'd been afraid... and not the last, either. But, it was the one that made the biggest impression on my life. I lost my job, moved back home to my parents' house and didn't tell anyone that I was pregnant. I was in complete denial from an external point of view... though mentally I knew it, and emotionally felt my heart breaking a little more every day because of it. I was terrified. Too terrified to terminate the pregnancy, too afraid to admit and face the reality. So, I was quiet. I disguised my growing girth as best I could with clothing until the fateful day I had to talk to my mom about it. I was an adult - a wise old 21 year old who should have known better than to get in that situation - yes, I used birth control, but it failed. So, even at 21, I was afraid to tell my parents. If I didn't talk about it, surely it would just go away? Not quite. I think I was a bit insane during that time.

Anyway, I told my mom. Told her that even if I wanted to, it was too late to terminate. Told her my worst fear... that I had no idea how I could ever be a responsible mother when I couldn't even be a responsible HUMAN with only myself to worry about. I wasn't ready for that at all, and was terribly afraid of the damage I'd inflict on an innocent child (not physically...emotionally) because of the resentment I would feel at being in a situation I KNEW I wasn't capable of handling. And, through that conversation, I reaffirmed the decision I had already made... to give the baby up for adoption. Lord, how that hurt. Feeling a total failure, still completely frozen with fear over how I would be able to handle it all, we went to the adoption agency and began the process.

It all turned out as good as I ever could have hoped or imagined. My daughter was adopted by a wonderful family that was incredibly generous with me (and I don't mean financially - that was never a part of the process beyond the agency requirements). They sent me photos and kept communication open with me LONG after the requirement was fulfilled. I am still in contact with them today, though my daugher has not chosen to open contact with me, she knows who I am. Her adoptive parents have saved every letter, email, photo and scrap of history I've sent over the last 21 years, ready for her to see should she ever have the desire. I found strength through this process that I never knew I had. Once I had faced my fear and made a decision, I felt strangely at peace. I knew I was doing the right thing for both myself and the baby, even though it hurt like hell. That got me through some challenges that I never expected to face.

So, that brings me to the topic... fear. What is it that we really fear in the deepest, darkest parts of our minds? What holds us back, cripples us, immobilizes us to the point where we can't function without denial of some sort or another? Fight or flight ... those are the natural responses to fear. More often, I think we choose flight if not faced with mortal peril. What is it?

Fear of: the unknown...exposure... rejection... ridicule... disappointment... pain... commitment... failure...or that one I never understand - fear of success. What the hell is THAT, anyway??? That's another topic all on its own.

We fear that people will learn something about us that will make them think less of us in some way... find us less intelligent, not as sensitive, not as strong, less responsible, less beautiful/handsome, incapable or simply not willing. And the more we care about the person we're hiding from (or the more we believe we have to lose), the greater the fear. And, to put it more simply... we're afraid someone will move us from the category of "good" to the category of "bad" or "evil". We put so much stock in others' opinions of us... basing our own self worth on THEIR image of us, that we forget the most important thing... each of us has to face only ourselves and our own actions in the mirror each morning. It begins and ends there. If we are happy with ourselves, others can be happy with us. If we look in the mirror with self-loathing, no one else will ever be able to change that... and THAT is what will be understood as truth eventually, by anyone that digs deeply enough beneath the facade we construct to discover it.

So, back to Frank Herbert... his message, even though written for a work of fiction, makes sense and is one I understand... identify the fear. Understand where it comes from, and face it head on. Once that is done, it can be dealt with, so that you can move past it, never to have it darken your mind again. You will be stronger because of it. Only when you ignore it will it get the better of you.