Jump to content

Author, Historian, Storyteller

Live and LearnLeave a comment

I tend to have a pretty fast trigger finger when it comes to unfriending or unfollowing people on social media. If someone is perpetually negative, offensive or vexatious in some other way I will press that button to sever our contact and never look back. Because of this, I’m connected to virtually no overtly religious people. Not that I’m discriminating against the religious, but all it takes it one post or meme saying my gay friends are going to hell and you’re gone. I have no tolerance for that. Therefore, those people get weeded out in short order. I don’t need three strikes. One and done. This means that you are much more likely to see Star Wars pop up in my Facebook newsfeed, then you are anything about god.

unfriend_cartoon

Then, the other day, I commented on a post of a woman that I rarely interact with. After this comment, the Facebook algorithms decided that I was clearly interested in EVERYTHING that she posts, and I started to see a whole lot more of her in my feed.  That’s when I realized that she is overtly religious in her posts. At least one per day, sometimes more, will have something to do with her faith. My trigger finger started to itch, ready to unfriend her, but I soon discovered that I had no need. While she clearly has more god in her life then I find necessary, it’s just that, in her life. Any religious sentiments were geared toward herself and her family. The comforts and guidance that her family gains through faith.

I was intrigued. I started seeking out her posts almost like it was too good to be true. It was refreshing to find someone who is unabashedly religious, someone who clearly celebrates that religion, but feels no need to impose it on others. As this particular woman is Mormon, I found that even more amazing. It’s been more than a week that I’ve been watching her posts and I have yet to see any vitriol, damnation or judgment of others. Simply a love of her faith and her god.

Do I share her particular beliefs? No. Do I find the same comfort in god that she does? Definitely not. If we were to have a conversation in real life and delve into religion and politics would we most likely wind up in a heated disagreement? Probably. Would she walk away from that discussion thinking that she needed to pray for my immortal soul? Most definitely. Would I still be willing to have that conversation? Yes.

There’s the difference. I would be more than willing to have that conversation with her, because unlike every other extremely religious person that I’ve encountered, I have never once felt judgement from her. 99% of the time I am uninterested in discussing religion or politics because, in my experience, those conversations wind up in harsh judgements, and sometimes name calling. People enter those conversations unwilling to entertain any viewpoint but their own, so instead of a discussion it becomes an attack to get the other person to concede and come over to their side. If both people have the same mind-set it turns into a lot of screaming at deaf ears.

Yelling

That’s not to say that the same thing wouldn’t happen with her. It might. But her non-judgmental approach to religion, makes me believe that maybe that white whale does exist. Who knows? If we ever find ourselves sitting across cups of coffee from each other, perhaps I’ll ask.

Live and LearnLeave a comment

They say that the behaviors you dislike the most about yourself are the behaviors that you dislike the most in others. Last week I wrote a post about how it has been driving me nuts lately when people complain. Well, after writing that, it occurred to me, that I personally have been complaining a lot lately. Therefore, I have reached my “complaint patience” limit before I even leave the house. So it makes perfect sense that I want to bang my head against the wall when I run into other people that are complaining. I’m full up with my own, I don’t’ have room for any of theirs.

Puppy

This revelation, doesn’t not negate the point that I made though. Complaining is pointless and achieves absolutely nothing. This revelation, does however, mean that I need to take my own advice – assume responsibility for my own life. So in that vein, here are the things that I’ve been complaining about lately, and what I can am going to do about them.

  • I never get the things on my to-do list done and therefore always feel behind.
    • I have a two-pronged plan of attack for this one. First – I need to start making my to-do lists realistic. Most days I have more on there then is actually possible to do in one day. So I need to get more realistic about how long certain tasks take. Second – Prioritize my list. Should I fail to be successful with my first attack, or I throw caution to the wind do something that isn’t on my to-do list (gasp!) I will know which things absolutely have to get done today, versus what can be put off. As long as the high priorities are completed, I’m good to go.
  • I hate that I have to spend so much time at my day job, when I want to be working on my own business.
    • On one hand, this is a frustration that I need to live with. I am actively working toward my goals, and when I started I knew that it was going to take time. On the other hand, it would behoove me to start implementing the part of my plan that will make money in the short-term, versus only working on the long-term aspects. I’ll need to revisit my to-do list . . .
  • I always feel like I’m broke.
    • Number 1 – I am not broke, so I need to break myself out of that mind set. I don’t have to go grocery shopping with a calculator, play the “which bill can be paid late this month” game, or decide between adequate food or gas for my car. I’ve been there. I’m not there now. Number 2 – I do however, have a budget. If I actually stick to that budget then balancing my checkbook will be a lot less traumatic. Note to self: instead of complaining, start paying attention to my budget again!
  • I’m horribly disappointed that the only way my body can be healthy is with the intervention of daily supplements and drugs and even then I’ll still have bad days.
    • This is one that I need to learn to live with. I have lost track of how many different things I have tried and how much money I have spent to try to get away from this. It is not possible. So I need to become okay with that. I’m working on it . . .
  • I’m frustrated that nine months later, I’m still having pain which makes implementing an exercise routine difficult, and because of the meds I’m on, I’m still gaining weight.
    • I can’t do the exercise that I want to do. That does not mean that I can’t find exercise that I CAN do. So my new goal is to find exercise that I can do, so I can finally start moving my body again. Oh, and as much as it pains me to say this, I should probably cut back on the amount of pizza I eat . . . I’ll probably try the exercise first. After all, I should get to keep one vice, right?!?!?

So there’s my game plan. What do you need to stop complaining about? What’s your game plan?

Strategy-A-Plan-of-Action

Happiness, LifeView all 2 comments

I don’t know why, but lately I have had absolutely zero patience for complaining and negativity. Not that I’ve ever had a ton of patience for that, but lately I’ve been having to bite my tongue to keep from saying things like, “Then fucking do something about it, or quit bitching!” Which I’m sure we can all agree, would not go over well, so I will continue to bite my tongue. Or at the very least use a filter so that sentiment comes out as, “Is there something that you can do to fix the situation?” However, the danger of that approach is that when they respond in the negative and then it spurs them on to complain more, the odds of me banging on my head on the wall go up precipitously. And yes, I appreciate the irony that I am currently complaining about people complaining. And yes, it makes me want to bang my head against the wall.

bang head

The problem is that I will never understand how or why someone can be unhappy and not do anything and everything in their power to fix the situation. I, of course, lump myself into the group as well. For years I was absolutely miserable, and while I can’t remember complaining a whole lot about it (my friends might beg to differ, though) I also don’t remember doing anything to fix whatever it was that was making me unhappy. That baffles me. I don’t know if it was due to fear or an inability to pinpoint what the real problem was, but I did nothing. I woke up, went through my day like every day before, and went to bed. At the end of the week I bemoaned the fact that nothing had changed. Of course it hadn’t! Complaining is not an active verb!

Seriously how often does complaining solve anything? Maybe at a restaurant if they get your food wrong. But even here, I have a feeling that you’ll get better service if instead of complaining that it isn’t right, you ask them to fix it. As someone who has worked in food service, there is a huge difference! Complaining that it’s wrong, is a passive aggressive way of asking for it to be fixed. Think about it. You are putting the onus of coming up with a solution on the server, which of course runs the risk of them not coming up with the solution that you wanted, which will inevitably cause you to complain some more. How much easier would it be to simply ask that your burger be cooked longer, instead of pointing out that it wasn’t cooked properly?

Quarter

Assume responsibility for your lives people! If something is making you unhappy, take actions to solve the problem. If the problem can’t be solved and you are stuck, then find some way to accept the situation and be at peace with it. Complaining and being negative accomplishes nothing . . . except perhaps annoying the crap out of me, and other than my sister, I don’t know of anybody that intentionally annoys me for sport. Or maybe that’s me that annoys her for sport . . . either way there are better ways then constant complaining! My job now is to figure out PC ways of pointing this out to the people around me. Starting with my coworker who has class tonight and complains about having to go every single week . . . wish me luck.

Theater, WritingView all 6 comments

For almost four years, I was a theater critic here in Los Angeles. During that time, I saw A LOT of theater. Sometimes 2-3 shows a week. Last year I decided that it was time to hang up my critic hat, for two main reasons.

  1. It was extremely time consuming. The average play, with intermission, is 2-3 hours. Plus the travel time to get there, which in LA can easily be an hour each way. Then the time to actually write the review, 3-4 hours. Then multiply that by the number of shows that week. I was spending way too much time and energy on something that wasn’t a part of my long term goals.
  2. I was tired of the negativity. Over those years I saw some really incredible theater. The sheer amount of talent in this city astounds me, and I’m not just talking about the big houses that have money for elaborate sets and famous actors. There are some smaller companies, with no budget to speak of, that do absolutely marvelous work. However, I also saw a lot of really bad theater, and for some reason that bad theater always seemed to come in waves so I’d get smacked with 10-15 bad ones in a row. As I didn’t feel comfortable writing reviews that glossed over just how bad the play was, i.e. lying through my teeth, I wound up writing quite a few uncomplimentary reviews. This weighed on me. I didn’t want to be negative anymore.

hh2

So I stopped reviewing. I have not, however, stopped seeing theater. My frequency is significantly less, but I still go, and every now and then I see a play that either the script, or the performances speak to me and I wish that I was still reviewing so that I could tell everybody just how amazing the production was. Then it occurred to me, I still can. I can use my blog instead of a newspaper. I saw one such production this weekend, “Verdigris” by Jim Beaver at Theatre West. This play first appeared 30 years ago on the same Theatre West stage with the same director, Mark W. Travis, at the helm. In the playwright’s note, Beaver describes that first production as the catalyst for what was to become his successful career, as it landed him several writing jobs in Hollywood. After seeing this production I can see why.

Taking place in a small backwater town in Oklahoma, it would be very easy for a writer to slip into two-dimensional, stereotypical characters that get laughs, but have no substance. Instead, Beaver takes these outlandish personalities and infuses them with such depth that anyone who has spent time in a small town has to smile, because they have met at least one of those people. Whether it’s the invalid Margaret running multiple businesses out of her dilapidated home, her obstinate son, Carl, and his dotty wife, Bonnie Fern, who wants to send her to a nursing home, her inebriate brother, or the rag-tag group of employees – that Margaret both loves and verbally abuses at the same time – that are constantly coming and going. Travis’ direction accommodates the ingress and egress of all of these characters, creating a busy chaos, without ever losing sight of the focus of the scene. It’s an impressive feat.

Even more impressive is the assembled cast. Sheila Shaw, as Margaret Fielding, is a powerhouse, acting as the eye of the storm that all of the activity revolves around. (She is also the only member of the cast, who appeared in the original production, but as May Bee in the first run.) Adam Conger as Richard Muldoon, Jim Beaver as Jockey Farrell, and Dylan Vigus as Ben Bo Burley, all turn in memorable and nuanced performances. However, it is Corinne Shor, as May Bee Burley, who brought me to tears. May Bee, sister to Ben Bo, is one of Margaret’s employees. She is ridiculed for her weight throughout the play, and is generally seen as stupid and ugly. She is so painfully shy and beat down by life that she largely keeps her mouth shut, taking whatever abuse is flung at her, and when she does talk, she struggles to string words into sentences when around Richard, because she likes him. For much of the play she is a door mat.

Sheila Shaw and Corinne Shor

Sheila Shaw and Corinne Shor Photo by Charlie Mount

It is in the second act that she finally works up the courage to truly speak with Richard – a conversation that is heartbreaking to watch, both because of the bravery it takes to stammer through and the obvious cost of that bravery, which is written across her face when the inevitable end comes to pass. It is then, on the tail of this wave of emotion, that May Bee finally stands up for herself to Margaret, and everyone else, declaring that she is a person too. A good person who doesn’t deserve to be made fun of. *It is a beautiful moment of triumph that has clearly come from a lifetime of degradation. Shor plays it perfectly, and just when you think you can’t feel for a character any more, she comes back for her final scene. Her goodbye to Margaret is so strikingly painful, that you just want to fold her in your arms and tell her that everything is going to be alright. But you don’t, because you can see in her eyes that she already knows that . . . and because it’s a play and that would be awkward.

That right there is the true beauty of this production. It doesn’t feel like a play. It feels like an interaction with people that you might know in real life. So I tip my hat to you. You moved me enough to draw me out of retirement.

 

*In the talk-back after the show, Jim Beaver revealed that this moment was written as an apology to his sister. She struggled with weight problems, and growing up he relentlessly teased her, making her life “a living hell.”

VerdigirsPosterWebVerdigris runs through April 26th – www.theatrewest.org

Inspiration, Live and Learn, WritingView all 2 comments

I ran across this phrase – My work has yet to live up to my standards – and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. On the one hand, I think it is very good to have standards, especially high standards, for your work. It helps to push you to always be better, and to strive for more. If I had been content with mediocre, had set my standards lower than I have, I never would have accomplished what I have so far. Not to mention that I wouldn’t be as happy as I am with the work that I have done and am doing. That being said, in the last couple of years, I have definitely lowered my standards.

perfectetsyart

I feel that amongst artistic people* there is an excruciatingly high prevalence of perfectionism. I think to a certain degree, it is that very perfectionism that makes a master stand out from an amateur. It is that perfectionism that drives them to keep working on their craft until it is just right. I would wager that even DaVinci winced at an imperfection or two on the Mona Lisa that he couldn’t get quite right. However, I also think one of the main differences between a master and an amateur, is that the master has learned to let go of a piece before its perfect, because they have learned that perfection is impossible.

I am surrounded by incredibly talented people. Being artistic/creative I tend to be drawn to that type. But it breaks my heart at how many of them don’t share their work, or don’t value their work. And inevitably, the reason that they don’t share it, or value it, is because it’s not good enough, or they didn’t get it quite right. Trust me, I can sympathize with that feeling. I definitely know the horror of letting something out into the world when it isn’t perfect yet. This is why it took me until I was 25 to start sharing my writing with people. So I know how that feels! What I never realized though, is how much I would grown as a writer and how much my writing would improve, by the simple act of lowering my standards and letting it go before it was perfect.

perfectionistwriter

Is it still hard? Absolutely. Do I still cringe when I read something and realize that it could have been phrased better or more eloquently? All the damn time. But the flip side is that I am much happier with my work, and quite frankly, happier in general as well. I have also learned to be much more gracious with myself when I do make a glaring error. I was supposed to release my second children’s book last week, but within an hour of turning on my online store and announcing that copies were available for sale, a co-worker pointed out to me that there was a misspelled word. And not just any word, one of the vocab words, which means that it appears twice . . . misspelled. FUCK!!!

I immediately turned off sales, announced an apology that it wasn’t available and began beating myself up. How in the world did I miss that? I was the one who did the final proof, and I thought that I had gone over the entire thing with a fine-tooth comb so that it was perfect before sending it off to the printer. I had even spent 10 minutes on one of the pages with the misspelling, deciding if I had the rhythm of the phrasing correct. How in the world could I have possibly missed that?!?!? Easy. I’m not perfect, and neither is my work. It never will be, and quite frankly I’ve lost track of how many professionally published books, by famous authors I have read that have misspellings in them. So as far as errors go, I’m in good company. But here’s the real kicker. The issue was discovered before I had sent a single book out. That’s when I stopped beating myself up.

That error had become a non-issue. Yes, I now have books that I won’t sell on the open-market and have had to get creative in an attempt to recoup some of the cost – Speaking of which, if anybody is interested in a limited run “White-Out” edition of 10 Cheeky Monkeys, at a highly discounted price, let me know. Seriously, I’ll even sign it. – but, I was easily able to make the needed correction, as well as a few other tweaks, and get a new run of books started. In the grand scheme of things, that mistake is pretty damn minor. But 5-6 years ago, it would have crippled me. I don’t know that I would have been able to bounce back from something like that anytime soon. It is amazing what a remarkable difference has been made in my work/life/psyche since I decided to lower my standards. Don’t get me wrong, they’re still really damn high, just not as unrealistically high as they once were.

perfectionism

So I guess what I want to say to all of my artistic/creative people out there, and anyone else who needs to hear it, if your work, after years of working and practicing, has never lived up to your standards, maybe the problem is with your standards, not your work. Let the world see your gifts my friends. Life can be an ugly place without art.

 

*I’m sure this is true in any field, but as I have the most experience with those of the artistic persuasion, that’s what I’m focusing on.

Humor, LifeView all 3 comments

This past weekend I went to a BBQ, and upon walking into this family’s yard my first thought was not, “Wow, what a gorgeous house.” Or even, “cool, a pool.” It was, “Holy mother of God that’s a tiger!!!” Now mind you, there was not actually a tiger. There was however, an almost life-sized stuffed animal of a tiger that one of the kids had left on a lounge chair. Now notice, I said almost life-sized, therefore not actually big enough to be a real tiger, and I don’t know that anyone else would have mistaken it for the genuine article. Especially since who in their right mind would have a pet tiger and let it roam around free during a BBQ without warning your guests of its presence! This did not matter. My brain saw it, refused to acknowledge the absurdity of it being real and immediately began to freak the fuck out. I’m actually amazed that I didn’t run over my host trying to get out of the yard. Instead I completely missed the names of everyone that I was being introduced to while trying to stave off a panic attack, and wondering why everyone was so calm with a mother fucking tiger in the yard! Eventually, probably a span of ten seconds but it felt like half an hour, my brain calmed down enough for me to register that it was indeed a stuffed animal, not a real tiger, at which point I blurted out, “Oh my god, I thought that was a real tiger.” Which I’m sure helped to explain the absolutely terror-stricken look on my face, but did nothing to calm the look of “We’re in the presence of a crazy person” that was on everyone else’s face. What can I say, I make quite the first impression.

Plush-Tiger

And quite frankly, I blame this entire reaction on my childhood which has instilled in me an irrational fear of large cats. I know what you’re thinking, there’s nothing irrational about being afraid of lions and tigers, which is true. But the irrationality of my fear comes from the fact that I’m afraid of them to the point that I expect to see them in completely nonsensical locations … like poolside at a family friendly BBQ. This is because I grew up a couple of miles from the western entrance to Rocky Mountain National Park, which is an absolutely gorgeous tiny little spot, that also happens to have the highest population of mountain lions per square mile in the entire Rocky Mountain region. That means that if you look all the way from Canada through the US and down into Mexico, the frickin mountain lions find Grand Lake, CO the most hospitable spot.

Dorothy

Therefore, when city kids were learning about stranger-danger we were learning about what to do should you encounter a mountain lion in the wild. Which if you spent anytime outside the odds were pretty good that you might, whether you knew it or not. Needless to say, this made quite the impression on me, and formed a very healthy respect/fear of the creatures. Because of this, at night when I had to get up to go to the bathroom, it wasn’t the boogie man, or monsters that I feared, okay I was afraid of them too, but mostly, it was the mountain lion that slept at the end of the hall at night. So whenever I had to go to the bathroom, I had a set procedure.

Step 1 – Jump off the bed landing far enough away that the monsters underneath couldn’t swipe my ankles.

Step 2 – Open the door then run as quickly as humanly possible across the hall to the bathroom.

Step 2.5 – Glance quickly down the hall while crossing to ensure that the mountain lion isn’t there yet.

Step 3 – Slam the bathroom door shut, while simultaneously flipping on the bathroom light, making sure that the light turns on before the door is fully closed or the boogie man will jump out of the mirror and get me.

Step 4 – Go pee.

Step 5 – Repeat process, but in reverse, to get back into bed.

To be honest, I’m amazed that I didn’t just wet the bed to avoid the hassle. But I didn’t, and as long as I followed my procedure all was well. Until one night, when I did the mountain lion check and saw a sleeping mountain lion curled up at the end of the hall. Okay, it wasn’t actually a mountain lion, but we had just gotten a new dog, and it is amazing how similar a golden retriever/golden lab mix resembles the coloring and size of a mountain lion in the dark. I, however, was unable to make this distinction, racing across the hall in the middle of the night, checking to make sure that the coast was clear. As the coast was most definitely NOT clear, I lost my shit, and ran down the hall screaming into the living room. Of course, hearing one of her people screaming, the dog jumped up and chased after me. Now I was being chased by the mountain lion at the end of the hall and once in the living room, still screaming, I started to climb up on and across all of the furniture. Apparently in my addle-pated state, playing lava seemed like the thing to do.

Mountain Lion

By now the dog was thoroughly concerned and had followed me up onto the furniture and was trying her dead level best to catch up to me so that she could protect me. My poor father, hearing the ruckus and probably assuming that his daughter was being axe murdered, arrived in the living room to find a berserk child practically climbing the walls to get away from a very concerned and worried dog. After that, I don’t really remember what happened, although if I had to guess, I probably didn’t sleep for a week. Needless to say, I had a bit of an over-active imagination as a child, and apparently that hasn’t changed much. Hence, my belief that there could be a tiger at a BBQ. Good grief!

Live and LearnView all 2 comments

I am a pain in the butt to feed. Not because I am a picky eater, but because I have severe reactions to a LOT of different foods. The easy ones to talk about are dairy and gluten, but then there’s a whole slew of fruits and vegetables as well. Needless to say, the thought of trying new dishes or going to a dinner party makes me break out into a cold sweat. And a cook who uses “Secret Ingredients” are the bane of my existence. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve had someone let me look at a recipe or labels, ascertain that I can eat something, then as I’m taking the first bite they remember their “secret ingredient,” which inevitably will have gluten in it making it necessary for me to spit out my half masticated bite and then rush to the bathroom to rinse out my mouth. It’s good times.

Side note – Most Worcestershire sauce, which seems to be the “secret ingredient” for about 95% of all people, contains gluten. So make sure you speak up about that one!

do-not-feed-the-bears

I know what you’re probably thinking, why don’t I just make sure everyone knows about my food restrictions, or simply always bring my own food. While the second option would indeed be smart, and much safer, let’s face it, I’m not that organized. Okay, I’m totally that organized, I’m just too lazy. Not to mention it’s really nice to have a meal that you didn’t prepare every once in a while. As for the other option, the only way for that to be successful is if you make a BIG deal out of it. Which again is safer, but I hate, loath and despise that tactic. I have also lost count of how many times a BIG deal has been made at a restaurant or dinner party, which results in the entire group at the table staring at me and then for the next half hour discussing my food restrictions and what happens if I eat those foods. Which I HATE for a number of reasons. I understand that people are curious, but would you like to openly discuss your medical history in front of a group of people that you may only know as acquaintances? People wonder why I’m so comfortable talking about poop. It’s because I’m forced to do it on a regular basis! News flash! If someone has digestive issues, then at least one of the symptoms is going to be poop related. So if you ask, you’re not allowed to get affronted!

Cluseau

However, the biggest reason, is because from that point on, I am now known as the woman who can’t eat anything. I have actually had people introduce me and instead of saying that I’m a writer, or a dog owner, they’ll announce that I have Celiac disease. Or am lactose intolerant, or that I’m “allergic to everything.” Which sucks! I don’t enjoy being known for my deficits. I don’t know anybody that does, or people would go around introducing themselves like, “Hi! I’m Jane. I failed out of college the first time that I went.” That’s ridiculous! And don’t get me wrong, I have no problems discussing these issues with people I know, because I understand that they care and if they’re going to be spending time with me, they want to help keep me safe. But it’s not the first conversation that I want to have with someone that I’ve just met.

Therefore, I have come up with a new game plan. I am going to a dinner party this weekend, which I was invited to by a friend. Therefore, I don’t know the hostess or anyone other than my friend. The exact situation that makes me break out in a cold sweat. So instead, I had my friend get me in touch with the hostess so that I could write her a quick note. I told her that I have a bunch of food restrictions, but that she should not feel any pressure whatsoever to cater to them. (Yet another thing I’ve lost track of, is how many times people have tried really hard to provide food that I CAN eat, but missed the mark just enough so that I can’t eat it. When I tell them I can’t try it, they inevitably get really frustrated. Sometimes with me, but usually just in general. Either way, it’s not a fun moment.) Then I explained that my friend and I were bringing a dish, so I would for sure have something to eat and then I could just pick and choose amongst whatever else was there. I gave her my list of most common “offenders” and said that I would be more than happy to look at recipes/labels if she wanted to make sure she had something for me. But again, not necessary. I am very low-maintenance in my high-maintenance-ness.

She got back to me right away, thanking me for letting her know and included the ingredients for a recipe that she said she would throw in if it worked for me. It does – lentil bruschetta with rice crackers, which also sounds amazing! So for the first time, probably ever, I’m actually looking forward to a dinner party, composed of entirely new people. It’s kind of awesome.

Depression, Happiness, Live and LearnLeave a comment

I was having a bit of a stress break down this weekend, when a friend said something to me that really hit home, “Happiness doesn’t have to be hard.” What a novel concept. Well, at least it is for someone who battled untreated clinical depression for 15+ years. Being happy was never something that came easily to me. How could it? Environmental factors aside, I didn’t have the right chemicals in my body – or if I had them, they weren’t be used/absorbed correctly.  Add to that, the fact that I spent many of those years hating myself, and it becomes very clear why, in my mind, happiness is something that you have to fight for. Something that you have to overcome obstacles to achieve.

I was set-up to be miserable, and therefore I was miserable. I had to consciously retrain my inner monologue to focus on the positive instead of the negative. I had to recognize self-destructive habits or situations and avoid them. I had to learn how to set boundaries and respect myself. I had to learn to say no, and to stand up for what was important to me. I had to learn how to set realistic expectations for myself and for others. The list goes on and on, and then is topped off by medication that allows my body to actually experience happiness and contentment. So you would think with all of that work behind me, I would be able to sit back and bask in pure bliss.

71262-Happiness-Is-A-Choice

Nope. That’s too easy, literally. I don’t think my brain knows how to recognize happiness unless I’ve done something to earn or deserve it. I finished cleaning my house, therefore I get to feel happy. I completed everything on my to-do list, therefore I get to feel happy. I did a favor for a friend, therefore I get to feel happy. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. How ridiculous is that? Everyone deserves to be happy, and you don’t have to do anything to earn happiness. It is a state of being, not a destination. Yet in my mind I have it set up as a quid pro quo.

So now, I am making the conscious decision to be happy without qualifications. To recognize happiness because of the current state of my being, not the state of my to-do list – happy should be easy. Which, granted, is significantly easier said than done. I feel like I can’t be the only one that does this though. What roadblocks do you put in the way of your happiness?

PoetryLeave a comment

Marching swiftly toward the end of time,
Day by day,
Night by night.
Waiting for the end of work,
The end of the task,
The end of a phase.
Biding our time til things get good,
Til the timing is right,
Til the planets align.
But what if they never do?

What if we spend our lives waiting?
Just one more hour,
One more day,
One more month.
Until finally we’re old and gray,
And have waited our whole lives.
For what?

There is no more time.
There is no perfect scenario.
No ideal situation.
So all was wasted.
While waiting,
Always waiting.
Afraid to act,
Afraid to live,
Live our lives.
But what if we had the chance to try again?

To live fully,
Throw caution to the wind and try,
Try for our goals,
Try for our dreams.
Work harder than we ever knew it possible to work,
And be happy along the way.
Embrace the journey,
Take the leap,
Have faith,
In ourselves.
Could we do it?

And if we did,
Would that instill meaning for the end of our days?

image

Body Image, Dating, Live and LearnView all 6 comments

I will be the first to admit that when it comes to relationships I am a bit of a commitment-phobe. Okay, I am very much a commitment-phobe. The reasons for that are long winded and a couple of different therapists have been paid good money to hear all about them. I’m working on it. Part of working on it, is identifying things that I do to sabotage relationships, like dwelling on every little thing that I might not like about a guy, instead of looking at the good things. Or not bringing it up when he does something that drives me nuts, instead letting my annoyance fester and then eventually breaking things off because he never fixed the behavior. I don’t do this with friends or acquaintances, only romantic (or potentially romantic) relationships. Crazy right! Totally crazy train. I’m much better than I used to be, but I still find myself slipping into old habits at times.

Crazy Train

So recently a guy came up to me while I was out walking my dogs in my neighborhood saying that he’s seen me around, thinks I’m very beautiful and interesting, etc., etc. Which to start with is not the best approach for a woman who has seen every Criminal Minds episode ever made – not that I’m paranoid or anything . . . okay I’m totally paranoid. So that first day I basically said thank you, then quickly headed home with my dogs. The next time I saw him, I decided that maybe I should give him a shot and at least talk with him. So I did, and he asked if we could exchange phone numbers so that we could text. So I did.

Which is all well and good, except that every time that he texts me, he always starts off with “Hey beautiful” or says things like, “Looking good today.” In fact the majority of everything he says is some sort of compliment about my appearance. Which is nice I guess, but to be completely honest, I’m starting to find it really annoying. Every now and then is fine, but every frickin time we talk is getting old! It’s as if he either doesn’t have any interest in anything other than my appearance, or he thinks all I want to hear is compliments. Or some other male reasoning that is beyond my understanding. Whatever the reason, I’m annoyed. I actually had the thought after the last text of, “I don’t give a crap if I look good when I’m out walking my dogs. I’m picking up dog shit for god’s sake!”

pooperScooper

That’s when it occurred to me. I would so rather a guy compliment my personality, my creativity, or something along those lines. That’s great that you think that I’m beautiful, but if that’s all I am to you, then I’m not interested. Or if that’s just what he thinks that women want to hear, and he’s looking for a woman who wants to hear that, then again I’m not interested. So, instead of letting this fester, I finally asked him why he was so fixated on appearance. Thus began a whole different conversation. Apparently, I’m taking a break from the crazy train . . . and I learned something about myself. I don’t need somebody to tell me that I’m beautiful, because I already know that I am, and have decided that that isn’t one of the top criteria that I want to be known for. So the money I spent with therapists talking about that particular subject has also paid off. Good to know.