Uncategorized

We are all but fallen stars

Dropped from the hand of our maker

Into a pool of art we land, our eyes unable to comprehend

The colors and the names are yet to be defined

Magnificent is every strand of hair and every inch of skin

We would be anything, could be more

Yet they tell us what we should be

And now are are no more

I did not always giant eye roll and dramatic sigh when Mothers Day came around. Truly, it used to be a good day with flowers and an expectation of happiness. Mothers Day used to mean that spring was in its full glory and the sun warmed the land and our hearts fully. We would visit our grandmothers and make sure that our mom didn’t need to lift a finger all day long. My mom was incapable of refraining from doing work like things on a holiday meant to spoil her, so I of course am that way as well. You could call it martyr syndrome or a complete lack of trust in others – the result is the same.

When my mom passed away I couldn’t handle anything about moms. I hated commercials with moms and movie scenes with moms and daughters. I hated watching my kids with their grandmothers and I hated myself every time I was angry that my husband had two moms still living. It was bloody awful. This year and this past Mothers Day was the third that I have spent without my mom. Three. I am not much better at witnessing mushy mom stuff now than I was when it was still raw. I have zero desire to acknowledge the day, yet I feel guilty not making the social media posts to all the moms in the world and reaching out to my friends and family who are moms. Its not their fault that I don’t have a mom anymore. Its not their fault that I am still angry with the universe and the cruel existence of cancer. So I write the posts and I send messages to all the moms- its so hard, but it is what needs to happen. They deserve to feel loved.

On top of all the “oh woe is me” feelings, are my own about being a mom. Its such a thankless job- not that we do it for accolades or applause. It would be welcomed however, to know that the people that you have literally been torn open for appreciate your efforts. I personally as little of my people. I have no interest in putting anyone out when I can do what needs done just fine. This thought process is not helpful- I know. Because we take on things that we have no business taking on, our spouses and children so easily take for granted the cooking and cleaning, the worrying and stress, the late nights and money spent to make sure that their lives are the best. We cannot even blame them for the comfort they experience knowing that all the little details are taken care of- we did that. We offered them the ability to live without thinking about all the things we think about, and then we get pissed at them when they don’t recognize what we do. The emotional labor we bear in silence – well mostly, is at some level our fault. We refuse to inconvenience anyone and we lap up the smiles and relaxed breaths that our people take while we sweat and suffocate in our anxiety over creating the perfect moments. It might be the most ridiculous phenomenon – ever. At some point this has to stop.

I have mentioned my expectations before- they are high, but not unreasonable. I don’t want to plan my own birthday- unless I am being sent to the beach. Then I will gladly take over. I do not want to have to plan Mothers Day nor remind my people that it is in fact a day where I am not doing shit for anyone except myself. I also do not want to recognize the day that is a corporations pleasure dream- Why is it that we need a date on the calendar to recognize the incredible lengths that mothers go to for their families? I know.. not all mothers are great at it, but we can all think about the moms in our lives who are, and who deserve to be thanked, hugged, and appreciated every single day. Every Single Day- You don’t to treat people like work horses all year long that then try to make up for it on a holiday like some heathen looking for forgiveness on a Sunday. These incredible humans include step moms who jump in even when all they receive is hate and misunderstanding. Sometimes they are aunts who are not biologically mothers, but have stepped up to share something beautiful. Maybe they are grandmothers or family friends – all nurturing figures who deserve to be given the same outstretched hand. Instead they are walked on, they are abused by your selfishness, and they are left feeling like they are never enough. Why? Must moms everywhere just quit? Should we sit on the couch with a novel and eat the whole bag of chips while ignoring the dishes and the baby crying? Should we let the laundry pile up and shrug our shoulders when the refrigerator is empty. Do we stop tracking appointments and extra curriculars? Should moms everywhere just stop giving and giving, letting their cup run dry when the rest of the world lives carefree?

Families are complex and each one is unique. Interestingly, the truth about moms is the same regardless of where they live. We work so hard while ignoring our own needs day in and day out. We never wanted a single day of the year to be honored or appreciated- we want our every day to matter. We want to have children who see us and our efforts. We want to be able to teach that the family who works together will work less. We would rather not be full of regret or animosity. We want to raise daughters who when they become moms feel like they have the power to communicate better with their partners about what they need and what their limits are. We want equality of emotional labor. We want to see empathy from our people and not watch you suck the life out of us every single day- especially not this ” Mothers Day”. Kindness & Awareness makes all the difference.

All of my scribbling and tears turned into a book. I am still somewhere in between shock and pride at the thing that I created. How something awful, like an abusive childhood can turn into something positive still baffles me. At first writing was like journaling meets remembering- I have learned so much about how trauma and grief can alter your ability to recall the things that hurt and even the good stuff too. Slowly and sometimes vigorously typing out each memory as it came to me, a sort of emptying out process began. As each significant event of my life left the depths of my mind and spewed out my fingertips I knew that I was not writing just for me. I was writing for anyone who lived through something and would benefit from letting it free from its residence inside them.

Many of the memories I shared I know most people wouldn’t dare out into the light and I am finding it easier every day to accept that I not only let them out, but I am saying ” Here! Take this.” The shame that we feel when we are victimized is as much the problem as the damage done to us in the first place. The human experience is often met with pleas to stay silent and expectations to not show the ugly things that happen every second of every single day. Our society is one of beauty and elegance and we throw up a hand to anything that might reveal the truth, the pain, or the horror that would suggest that we are not perfect, not beautiful, and not elegant. What a joke it is to assign one format for such things. Is survival not beautiful? Is pain and the ability to thrive after it leaves us not elegant? Is truth not the whole truth, and not the parts that others can stomach to pick out and view?

I wrote for me and then I wrote for you. I know that my book is heavy and raw, and I hope that the sharing of these harsh bits gives someone permission to do the same. We are living in a time where being who you truly are is attempting to be celebrated while others still try to find the wrong in said truth. But we are trying. We are trying to find a place of truth and acceptance in all our many forms- all human. We forgot while we were labeling each other that only we the individual can place ourselves in boxes, never others. We can be anything we want to be and the world thinks that the goal isn’t to be more authentically ourselves, it’s to teach others to allow us to be such a thing. We are forced to take steps in the wrong direction to find our way forward. Our tires are buried in the mud barely moving, but the engine is roaring strong. Our hearts pound with desperation to obtain one inch of decency back from the masses. The belief that we must be accepted by others to love ourselves needs to be extinguished forever. We must instead accept and love ourselves so that we can accept and love others.

I hope that you read my story and it helps you come to terms with yours. I hope you live everyday with purpose and find joy. I hope that someday we stop hiding the ugly things and are able to recognize each other as real people, not societal expectations. I hope that you take the time to come to grips with your past and can take charge of your future. Don’t let anyone or anything drive for you- remain awake and aware. Time is not unlimited and neither are you.

I feel like the ball just dropped on the new year. I have zero understanding of how we got to June and 90 degree weather. I feel like the days have begun to blend together and the structure that we had in another lifetime is gone. Do I blame the pandemic or grief? It is hard to decipher what changes make lasting impressions or if maybe, they all do.

The unmistakeable cycle of life is all so completely unaffected by our unhappiness. Loss is not something that nature, for example, lingers on. She keeps moving forward with her energy on creating more and new life. This slow festering wound we must live with is man made and dangerous. I am easily defeated by my own thoughts -forget about the thoughts of others. To be more like mother nature would be ideal, however I am certain that there is a purpose to the pain. Recently a friend shared the news of her friends cancer diagnosis and the devastation at knowing that this could be the end of a young woman’s story. It is so cruel to be the one left behind. To be the one wondering what could have changed the script.

In this season of life so much is uncertain. What will our children grow up to be? What will I grow up to be? Are we doing enough for ourselves, each other, the community? What does it actually take to survive the death walk? Oxymoron I know. What does it take to survive society and the constant new “normal”. Did we create anything beautiful from the madness that was 2020? We have the ability to change the world, to end hunger and homelessness, to begin to correct the damage to the planet. Yet …instead we focus on control. Controlling women and gender, and sexuality. It’s maddening. How did the land of opportunity and unlimited possibilities become so stifling? I know.. it’s always been this way and worse for different people at different times. I am not a fan.

In this overwhelming season of life I have had some interesting conversations. A new friend made a comment to me about my leadership abilities. She said she was really excited to work with someone who was a natural leader like me. I admit that I have always been comfortable with leading things if only because I like to control the outcomes. Unfortunately, I feel like my reach is so small. I spend my work life helping people structure their finances to invest in real estate, and at night I volunteer for my daughters show choir board, and for myself I try to write my book. I also teach yoga and spend time monthly earning my next designation. When I write all of the things I do down, I recognize that there is not much time left for anything else. So often I find myself both overwhelmed and bored. There is not enough time for the things I need to do, let alone those I want to do. How do you switch the focus and give yourself a life you are proud of without letting anyone down or seeming selfish? Is it a case of “life is too short” or perhaps we make life too complicated doing things that we think we are supposed to do and not necessarily what we want to do.

Deciding who we want to be and what the story of our lives looks like seems to be a journey that takes your whole existence. Most of us come to our end thinking of all the things that we did not do or should’ve done differently. I refuse to go out like that. My plans are big and ridiculous and I hope that you also have plans that seem far fetched. I want to swim in every ocean, I want to hold sand from the floor of the colosseum in Rome, I want to stand at the door of St Peters and take in all the history, both its beauty and its horror. I want to spend months in England reading dusty books in quiet shops while sipping tea, I want to stand on a balcony off a cliff in Greece and eat the daily catch, I want to dance around a fountain in Positano, I want to feel like a speck in the presence of the mountains of Switzerland, I want to fish in a Norwegian village of my ancestors, I want to own a home in the mountains and garden barefoot and free, I want to keep bees, I want to walk Culloden Moor and feel the power of the brave men who fought and died for their freedom, I want to visit Oregon for my mom, I want to spend time watching whales in Washington, I want to enjoy Lobster Fest in Maine, and I want to feel like I lived every moment for freedom, for education, for adventure. Time may not really be on my side, but hopefully there is time enough to be happy with how I have used it.

I will plan and I will do. In action we give others the permission to act themselves. Is anyone paying attention to what I do? Who knows? Is anyone actually capable of living their life to the ” Fullest”? I hope so. Heres to making all my desires come true before I am too old to enjoy them!! I feel like I should double dog dare you to make your desires come true. Wait… triple dog dare you. xo

I have thoughts all day. Thoughts regarding what to write and how I see the stories told. I write poetry off of one line because I am inspired. Once the moment has passed, I often stare in awe of my creations. I am overly frustrated when I sit and think of nothing. In the nothing I am nothing. I know that is false, but I think it anyway. When I reread from a moment of wisdom or passion I am angry at the current moment and how it presents to the world that maybe she who put pen to paper only yesterday was someone else. Like most things writing tends to ebb and flow. My thoughts power resides not in my belief in them, but in my patience in understanding that they will at some point return to me. It is a hopeless and hilarious thing to be at the mercy of creativity. I always thought that my brain gave me words to explain things with to others, but I am convinced now that these words are for me and me alone. Yes, I share the with you, but I am the one learning the lesson of them first. I am reconciling the world that I have lived in or perhaps live in still.

I want so badly to pause when each of the thoughts come and immediately write them down, but life has other plans for me. I think of all the writers before me and wonder if they too felt this unease as they navigated their drafts. I bet this challenge is similar to all of life’s challenges. We are at the mercy of something most of our lives. As children we are at the mercy of our parents and siblings. As teenagers we are at the mercy of our peers and our skin, weight, and hair texture. As adults we are at the mercy of our bosses or our coworkers. We then find that we are at the mercy of ourselves. Ourselves might be the scariest of them all. There is always a force beyond our current comprehension isn’t there? Incredible how well we are able to adapt, modify, change, and redirect for happiness. Subconsciously we are molding ourselves and our thoughts to fit better into the picture we want to see. The picture we think we see. Currently, I am working on two thoughts that seem to have caused a complete mental block. I cant move on without moving through them.

Completely off topic is the fact that I recently officiated a wedding for one of my oldest friends. The wedding happened in a place very dear to me in the heart of northeast Georgia. This place was my home away from home. When I didn’t want to be at my own home as a teen I could escape here. All of my friends escaped here too. There were as many as seven of us piled into the living room on a Saturday night, junk food at the ready and laughter so rich it fed all of our souls. We loved and fought with passion. We were available for each other through thick and thin. Once high school was over and most of us went our separate ways we all had a spot reserved in our hearts for this home we built together.

When I found out that my friend was getting married and I would be marrying him it was like being teleported back 20 years. I was puzzled at how it was possible that the boy I ate ice cream sandwiches with, and watched adult swim with was able to get married. The joy I felt at being the one to perform the ceremony was exactly like the feeling of going home after a long absence. I sat down to write the ceremony and was never bogged down by a writers block of any kind. I knew what I wanted to say to my dear friend and the woman who had his heart. Every word flowed with ease from my mind to my typing fingers. When I read it to my self for the first time I wept. Sharing words with someone is something I have always enjoyed. I had two months notice to prepare for this wedding. The time flew faster than I could’ve anticipated and I went from a concert the night before to the airport, and then the venue. Every moment moving faster than the last.

As I arrived to this home on a beautiful spring morning,I knew I would have strong feelings. I hadn’t laid eyes on this place in 17 years. I also hadn’t laid eyes on the woman who treated us like her own in as much time. I stepped out of the car and saw the trees beginning to bloom, the grass was green, and everything was it is place, just as I remembered. Walking in the front door she greets me with a warm embrace, her home smelling just like I remember. Overwhelmed with joy and sadness simultaneously. Joy over being there and sadness over the time lost. The relationships set aside.

Seeing all but a few friends of old we fell quickly into our easy conversation, each of us doing what needed done to make the day a success. It was time for the ceremony and everyone was in their places. I spoke their ceremony directly to the bride and groom forgetting ( mostly) that anyone else was there. I watched as they confirmed their vows, tied the knot, and I rejoiced with the crowd when they kissed for the first time as husband and wife. I truly had no idea how beyond magical it would be to perform a wedding. For the record, I hate talking in public in front of people. My brain tends to work a few steps ahead of my mouth and things get scrambled. Once it was finished I was awash with the high of the moment. I immediately wanted to do it again. Could we just relive the moment over and over?

The wedding was a gift. The warm and sunny Georgia day was a gift. Reminiscing and laughing with some of my most favorite people on earth was a gift. Seeing love shared was a gift. Being wrapped in the warm embrace of my youth again was a gift. Being able to write about it is a gift. Heres to finding the gifts in all moments, even those moments where I am clouded by writers block. Heres to the belief that the block is not preventing me from finding the words to share- its just forcing me to take time away to find more moments to write about.

You may have noticed that I took all of my posts down. Sorry about that. I am working towards writing a book and I didn’t know what that would look like until I was ankle deep in it. I have decided to change directions and so – yay you my dedicated reader, you get to reread everything from a new perspective. Are you so excited? I know I am. I will be spending the next several weeks working on my manuscript as a whole and I will be rereleasing parts to you soon.

There are so many things that I want to share but they must wait! In the meantime know that I will be spending my March writing, seeing Tool live for the first time since 2019, (thank god for real life blood pumping creativity in the form of sound), and officiating a wedding for some dear friends of mine. Keep an eye out for new posts. xo