Saturday, January 30, 2010

Finding the Bottom and Working Your Way Up


I was thinking about how I have had to work my way through being unemployed, and what's that meant for my personal, emotional state. I have 2 someones close to me, very close, mind you, who have been going through something very similar. I have watched these young adults get creamed by the economy and some attempts to help others, who have taken advantage of them. The inevitable phone calls are gut wrenching and I listen as they tell me the latest saga of getting wiped out by an other's inability to understand the importance of money. Money is power, but it is also energy. Those who do not have money realize very quickly how drained they are just to stay afloat. People who are not living in fear, are quick to tell those who are that money isn't everything. It's true enough, but when you on the bottom, it's hard to feel anything but terrified about living day to day. Money buys food and shelter. It buys insurance for your car, lights for your home and communication for the outside world. Money isn't everything, but it's not nothing. It's to be respected for the power that it yields. To me that is the lesson. My young people are finding out the hard way, that not everybody gets that they are supposed to show respect and gratitude for what they have and what they are given. As others take and take and take, without any forethought to what might happen to the person they are taking from, I watch my young ones fall further and further down the rabbit hole, all because they wanted to help someone they thought was in dire need.

I know why folks get cynical about helping anybody, because we have all been taken at one point in our lives or another. We have these really good intentions that somehow get twisted and distorted and bent so badly they are no longer recognizable. Becoming cynical and jaded is not inevitable, however I do think it's important to step back and look at where everything went horribly wrong. Finding out what is helpful and what is is going to be the equivalent of tying an anchor around one's neck needs time to be figured out. I don't think "The road to hell is paved with good intentions". That makes charitable people sound naive and slightly stupid. I think the road to hell is paved with good intentions with no plan, follow through and ability to see clearly who it is you are trying to help. I am more of a "God helps those who help themselves", kinda girl. Don't get me wrong I am all about the charities and generosity, but in the event of a plane crash or personal crash, one has to put their own oxygen mask on first.

My fear for my young ones is not that they will not recover, that is why this old relic is still around, to help them back onto their feet, but rather that they will from this point on view the world and the people in it through dark glasses that won't allow the light to come in. I feel compelled to prop them up long enough for them to see not everyone will "screw them over". Not everyone will take advantage without conscience and leave them for dead. For one of my young ones that is exactly what has recently taken place. My job is to try and get them turned around, so they realize it is not selfish to care for one's self. It is not selfish or childish to be mindful everyday to do what is necessary to re-fuel one's mind, body and soul. The lesson for folks who are natural givers is a tough one. I don't know of a single person in my life who hasn't gone through it. I can honestly say I know some really lovely people who never recovered from being "taken" and now live very guarded lives. It's heartbreaking because all they wanted to do was help someone out of a bad situation and they got drug under the sea of crap the other person was living in.

I have no advice as to how you know who is going to receive the help and one day show the respect and gratitude they should. Here's what I do know: I know that not everybody knows what to do with help they get and if you can't afford to give it free and clear, then don't. I know that I cannot be changed by others bad behavior and will continue to do what I can for those who are in dire straights. And I know that the folks who are takers will have their day when all they have been given will fall firmly on their heads and they will receive exactly what they dished out. In the mean time, I will prop up my young ones and keep my hand extended to them as they fight their way out of the dark waters of heartbreak. So I may be unemployed, but I have a job as a flotation device and I am more than happy to do it.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

Changing Faces


I am in the process of changing my facebook page to my maiden name. It is the name I use as my author name and the one I use for this blog. I am changing more than my page, I am changing internally, too. I feel the shift as if I were having growing pains, the kind I felt when I was a child. The twangs are similar, but I am not going to get physically taller, unfortunately. I will however grow spiritually, emotionally and intellectually. In the end, just as when I was a child I will benefit from the pain I feel now, but it is hard to see the end result when I am in the midst of the process.

I have been asked, "Why change pages?" I don't have a pat answer for that except to say things weren't working as I would have hoped and it was time to do something different. Why use my maiden name? Because the truth is, I miss my name. I have given it up a couple of times now, and I really miss being mind, body, soul and name who I was when I started this journey forty six years ago. I had the audacity to say I wanted to be the person I was born to be. I took my husband's name because it was important to him. My love for him is bigger than my own need to feel authentic. This change gives me the chance to have my cake and celebrate it too. I love being Michael's wife. I look at it as if it were a privilege, because ultimately it is. He is the kindest man I have ever known. It was unthinkable for me to turn down his request to be his wife in every aspect including his name. I feel honored that he is wanting to share his his name, home and life with me. How could I refuse?

But what about me? I am no different than anybody else when it comes to marriage and family. I have lost myself multiple times while I took care of those I love, living day to day, doing what is necessary for them and attempting to keep my family intact. This feeling is not male or female. Every person I know regardless of gender has battled their way through a mine field of what is right to sacrifice and what is too far. What I am certain of is I needed to feel myself in my own skin with my own name, the one I was born with, the one I grew up with, the one that makes me feel the most like me.

It's ironic to me to feel this way now, when not that long ago when I was in my twenties I was willing to be anybody else, but me. I hated who I was and thought being anybody else was so much better. I thought everybody had answers that I failed to find in every aspect of life. I felt like a failure. It was not the first time I felt like that, and I found out, that it would be a recurring theme for me through years later. It wasn't until I was in my late thirties that I discovered that I missed being the dorky, goofy, ridiculously verbal me. I liked the fact that I blurted out things that were always honest and mostly inappropriate. I liked the fact that I loved to my bones and much to my younger self's dismay remained open and vulnerable to a world that often times squashed me like a bug. I found that I could revel in my optimism without fear of recrimination from my cognitive self. I discovered that I could be exactly who I was born to be, without the utter embarrassment that I had known as a child. I am not even a little perfect. I am just me and that is good enough. Finally, that is good enough for me.

It has taken all the years I have been a beating heart for me to be comfortable in my own skin. I still work diligently on being a better person, kinder, more forgiving, more loving, more accepting of others even when I disagree with what they think or I don't understand. I don't always need to understand. What I need to do is listen, openly, with my heart in full gear before my ears ever start to do their work. I try and remember that today is all I have for now and that my job is to say, "I love you" while I still can, because there will come a day when I will no longer be around to do it. Being on the right side of my own history is my number one priority.

Changing my facebook page to my maiden name is not earth shattering, it will not cure cancer and it won't change the world even in the slightest. What is does do is give a little back to me. It will be daily reminder that I am who I was supposed to be and now is the time for me to embrace it, cherish it and use all my experiences as a positive force in the world around me. It's my way of saying I am still here.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

It's a Dog's Life.




I have a doggy dynamic in my household. They let us live here and pay all the bills, all the while being petted, bathed and pampered. We get to walk them, feed them and occasionally get to use the living room, their primary domain. We are definitely at their beck and call. Mike, back when he was single didn't have pets. He felt unsure about having dogs and cats and whatever else was living in the cages at the time. After all these years, he's a complete sucker for the animals and spoils them as much as I do.
I have officially rescued the Shepard /whippet mix, and the cha-wienie in the first picture, the two bratty cats and adopted the sugar glider that resides in our house. The wiener in the second picture was bought from a breeder for my 40th birthday. My daughter has a wild rabbit named Tuvia, that she got in a pet store when he was way too young to be there, but his mother was no where to be found. She had had rabbits all her life and felt compelled to rescue him. He is better trained than most dogs and definitely smarter.
I am not a dog owner, I am owned by my dogs. There is not one aspect of my life they don't willingly or willfully intrude in. I love animals, so I am OK with the fact that they will interrupt my sleep, get fed first and have trained me to give them doggy treats at their every whim. I have been trained well by my animals. They took the time to be repetitive, rewarding me with tail wags and open signs of affection. I think this is the true meaning of Pavlov's dogs, they are the ones who do the teaching, while I am ringing the bell as fast as I can.
I am watching my older dog, Asti, begin to show real signs of age. She( the large mix breed) has been with me now for almost 14 years. She is part of me now. We know each other's mood and idiosyncrasies. We forgive each other our faults and allow the other room to grow and grow older. We are both moodier and handle chaos with lessening grace. We require increased quiet, better food and a sterner schedule. She gets me.
I was recently referred to as a bitch. I was dutifully insulted and was about to take the head off of the person who accused me of such behavior. That is not an acceptable word for any woman, and I have been very quick to point out to anybody who dares utter it, just what I think. The person said they meant it in a good way and then they smiled. "Hmmm" was all I could say. I decided not to waste my breath educating a rock, so I left it there. Afterward, I sat down trying to think of how being referred to as a bitch could ever be a good thing. I felt my blood pressure begin to rise, when it occurred to me that Asti, my darling and most loved dog is a bitch. I have never called her that, but it is the correct label for a female dog. I thought about her character, her sense of loyalty, her guardianship over me and my family. She has never once let me down.
If the word bitch means anything like my dear dog then I will let it pass. I realize that lately I have been a little moodier. I know I have been less patient and somewhat surly. I get the fact that my inability to listen to B.S. right now makes me seem less tolerant. Truly, if there was any real bitch in the house, it would probably be me, since Asti doesn't have a cross thought or intention in her.
I think I have a better system for categorizing my moods. When I am in a loving mood, I am all Asti. When I am needy and pathetic and hard headed, then I am Schnitzel and when I am completely befuddled and child like, then I am BoBo. Those are the only names that really OK with me. Anything else just feels mean.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Humilty or Humiliation?


I just reread my last blog. It made me cry. Not because I am still feeling sorry for myself, but rather that I felt so bad about being me. It hasn't been easy these last few months and yet I can't help but feel there is something bigger at play here. I feel as though I may be in a defining moment. That is what hard times for me are-defining moments, where I have to choose to be better or be gone. Being gone has never been something I have actively wanted for any real length of time. I have wanted to run away a few times, like a hobo with a sack at the end of a stick getting no farther than my driveway, but I have never really wanted to be permanently gone from my life no matter how weird things got.

They have make-up now where you can buy hope in a jar. The idea is cute. We have asked for it for years and now we can have it, or so they say. Real hope comes from times like what I am going through right now, where I am having to redefine my life professionally and it is affecting my personal life dramatically. Starting over isn't easy. I have started over a few times now and I can honestly say, it is not easy, but it is so worth it when I get to the other side. My hope is to be patient and not do anything incredibly stupid while I am in flux. I feel my bones and muscles stretching one more time as I wait for the clouds to part. I am definitely having growing pains. One thing I have learned is that I am not 100% sure I was as grateful for my crappy jobs as I should have been. I got cocky and didn't take the time to be grateful that I had a job, even if it was a crappy one. Of course, hindsight is 20-20. Now I can see how very clearly that I should have been more grateful at the time. That isn't to say I should have stayed longer than I did. Had I altered that course, I would have never wrote the book and the outlines for the next three books to come. Writing would have remained a distant dream and the notebooks would still be covered in dust. Also, I wouldn't have the opportunity to be writing a blog, something I had originally never aspired to. Who knew I would like it so much? It is the Butterfly effect. One domino falls and the rest go in time. Grateful for the crappy jobs means at the time, being immersed in the moment at hand.

Here's what I am grateful for today: I am grateful I have two hands that still work. I am grateful that although my eye sight is fading I can still see the faces of the people I love and watch the dogs and bratty cats play. I can dream another, bigger dream if I so choose, and I so do! It ain't over until the fat girl sings and I am not yodeling yet. Today I am all about Sunday, full immersed, bathing in the hours as if they were sunlight. I am going to watch the clock and will the minutes to feel like hours. I am going to sit my butt down and make a list of all the things I want to do today that will make me happy. Today I will remember that being humble is something I need like air, but humiliation is a waste of time, when I could be doing something I love, say, like writing.

Saturday, January 9, 2010

How Grateful Can One Person Be?


I watched a movie tonight about a writer. Actually, it was a blogger who got published and then made into a movie. I watched "Julie and Julia" and then I promptly burst into tears. I felt ridiculous of coarse, for wanting so badly what others have. Jealousy is not my usual modus operandi, however tonight I felt weak and pathetic and it poured out of my face like a rushing river.
Today was not a good day. I didn't feel like I could turn the day around with my usual good humor, or ability to see the sunny side of things or even grasp at my normal straws of trying desperately to be patient until the bigger picture took shape. No, today, I snapped, crackled and popped off at anyone who got in my way and began looking at things through a warped glass that was not only half empty, it was shattered and on the floor. Today, I could not for the life of me see the light at the end of the tunnel.
I have been moving my small stacks of my book around from room to room, as we continue on our renovation in order to sell our beloved house. We are selling because I am unemployed and unable to get a job. It is a subject that brings me to tears every time I think about it and I am unable to stop the pity party that inevitably ensues. I look at the books I have been unable to sell and berate myself for trying something so extraordinary when clearly I am not. I question what in the hell I thought I was doing setting out to try and write a book that anybody in their right mind would want to read. I have been having these conversations in my head for some time now. They kicked into high gear when it became clear I could not find work and was for whatever reason unemployable. My job status has been a constant kick to my ego- filled crotch. My employment is what saved me and my kids so many times. My ability to work kept me sane when Danny died. Work paid our bills and gave me purpose to get up in the morning, when just the night before I prayed to die in my sleep so I wouldn't have to face all the endless crap I was going through. It made me feel as if even if I was a bad daughter, wife, ex-wife and mother, at least I was good at my job. But now I have no work. I don't even have the dream of the book anymore. It is done and rather stagnant. So today, my darlings, was utter crap.
It happens, these days that kick our asses and leave us for dead. I don't have them often, but make no mistake, they come and when they do, they come with a vengeance. I have a right to cry like anybody else, that I would naturally empathize for and sympathize with. I have the right to feel vacant and hopeless and bereft of any good will toward anything at all. I have the right to question why things have turned out the way they have and shake my fist in the air as if I was going to fight to the death all of my invisible demons, especially the ones in my head that tell me how worthless I am.
Am I grateful today? I mean, that is my thing isn't it? Gratitude no matter how much crap is sitting on your head? Right now I have volumes, giant heaping, steaming piles of dung covering every inch of my psyche. In spite of how angry, hurt, devastated, crushed, and just plain SCARED I am, I still have a very small bit of gratitude left. I didn't want to have it. I wanted to be pissed off and stay that way until something big happened that showed me a way out of my mess. But that is not what happened. What happened is, I thought about how much I wish the book would sell and how lucky I was to have it done and in my hand, so that selling it was even an option. I thought about the letter I just got yesterday from the woman who wrote me and said she loved the book and though she borrowed the copy she just finished reading, she was in the process of buying her own copy. The evil side of me said, "It's only one copy" only to be drowned out by the hopeful side of me that continues to pray that the book will grow in it's own time like a fine wine, one book, one reader at a time.
How grateful can one person actually be? Sometime s not very, but if given the chance to cry and take a moment to fall apart there is undoubtedly a shred of gratitude there somewhere amongst the balled up pieces of tear stained tissues.