inspirational

Mary Widdicks is an incredibly hilarious, very successful fellow blogger who’s topics are family and kids. She has generously agreed to allow me to guest blog. How cool is that? Please check it out. Thanks Mary!

Xox Janet

http://outmannedmommy.com/2014/05/26/motherhood-calling/

Mary Widdicks is a 31 year old mother of two boys. Once a cognitive psychologist, she now spends her time trying (and failing!) to outsmart her kids. She is the writer behind the humorous parenting blog Outmanned (www.outmannedmommy.com), where she turns for entertainment when she can’t take any more fart jokes or belching contests. Her work has been featured on parenting sites such as Mamapedia, Mamalode, and Scary Mommy. She is a regular contributor on BLUNTmoms, has been honored as a 2014 Voice of the Year by BlogHer, and is currently a finalist for The Indie Chicks’ Badass Blogger of the Year award.

*This is a reprise of five posts I did starting in October 2013. We all have our shit, and sometimes that shit can facilitate a huge life change. I’ve formatted them back to back, to be able to read them all at the same time. It’s longer than usual, but hey, it’s a three-day weekend. Cheers!

Epic Fail or Epic Win?

I owned a business.

It was several years ago now.
I left a good job that I had been at for close to 20 yrs.
I put all my proverbial eggs in that one basket.
My money, my creative juices, my blood sweat and tears.

I was excited at the prospect of being my own boss,of displaying my wild ideas for all the world to see,
using the skills I had acquired throughout my life.
I felt vulnerable, really vulnerable for the first time in my life.
I was putting myself out there on the big stage, with no excuses.
This was going to be a reflection of me, curated by moi, everything I loved, cared about, and thought was cool.

This was it! I was 50 and this was the beginning of my beautiful “second act”.

The first year was awesome!
It was tons of hard work with no days off, but I was okay with that.
This was my baby.
It needed me to nurture it, to make it my only focus, and all was well.

The following year was 2008.
Things got dicey.
There was a feeling of dread in the air, like everyone was silently waiting for the shoe to drop, holding their breath.
Money slowed waaaaaay down.

Then it was 2009 and the entire closet of shoes dropped.
It was loud!
The bottom seemed to fall out of everything.
People were scared. Fear reined supreme.
I did my best to stay out of the fray, knowing that the people who had money would still stop by and shop; but they confided that even they didn’t want to be seen walking out with bags of new purchases.
It was like nothing I’d ever seen in all my years in retail.

Everything that was creative and wonderful and fun was gone.
Replaced by unpaid bills, days of not a single customer, and sleepless nights with me wondering how I got myself into this! How had I taken such an abundant, wonderful life and created this perfect shit storm?

Then in September of that year God took pity on me.
She heard my prayers.
But God has a wicked sense of humor, and a flair for the dramatic.
She sent a flood. A random, urban flood to sneak up in the middle of the night and wipe out my store.
I’m serious.
The fireman at the scene told me he had never seen water make a hard right turn. But it did, and it all collected around and inside my sweet little store.
The one that was trying so hard, but just couldn’t stay afloat ( sorry for the pun).

This is the first time I asked myself the question:
Epic fail? Or epic win?
What do you think so far?
Janet
(To be continued)…

Epic Fail or Epic Win Part II

Sometimes we have no idea what the Universe has in store for us.
We can have our sails aimed into the wind, sailing full speed ahead, when in an instant, lightening will strike, and a giant rogue wave will capsize us and shred our boat.

We think we have it all figured out. I KNOW I did!

But life took me by the shoulders and spun me around, just like my mom did when I was a kid and told her I had washed my face, when it was evident by the smear of chocolate, that I needed to be sent back to the bathroom.
It shook me a little and sent me packing….in the exact opposite direction of where I thought I should be going.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I can tolerate, even appreciate, a little course correction at times.
But I don’t like drama, and I like to think I don’t draw it in.
This was something so ridiculously out of left field, 
It was a total loss of my business. Overnight.

I had plenty of insurance, so I wasn’t worried……in the beginning.

With the other stores having 12 inches of water damage and my store having 4 feet, recovery mode looked different for me.
It wasn’t clothes and shoes that had gotten wet, or the cosmetic damage the restaurants sustained.
I had furniture and art, lamps and leather chairs and stuff that just shouldn’t sit immersed in four feet of filthy water for six hours.

I heard everyone saying: “at least three weeks to get back up and running.”
That seemed like a long time to be closed up.
Did I even want to get back up and running? Things really hadn’t felt like they were running at that point, more like a slow stroll, or a pathetic commando crawl.
Was it a possibility? Would I even be able to repair the inventory?
Lord knows, I didn’t have the capital to buy more.
That’s when the first of two miracles occurred.
I even knew they were miracles at the time, THATS how “In your face” they were.
(To be continued)…

Epic Fail or Epic Win (Miracle I)

The dictionary defines a miracle as:
A surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency.

I’ll agree with that.

A miracle also makes your hair stand on end and your heart beat faster.
Or a least it does that to me.

The first miracle occurred not too long after I arrived at my store to find it ankle-deep in a slimy, sludgy, mud, which was the lovely parting gift the flood had left me.
I was walking around in circles with my mouth hanging open. Oh…I mean I was professionally assessing the damage.
You really do go numb, like the people say on the evening news when something awful has just happened. You CANNOT believe it is happening to YOU.

The file cabinet behind my desk had filled with water, so I was peeling apart my insurance papers to find the number to call, to get the adjuster out quickly.
This was 6:30 am the Sunday of Labor Day weekend. Good luck with that!

When I did finally reach him, he said he was away for the weekend and he would get back to me Tuesday, like my toilet had overflowed or something.
I told him to watch the news. News Crews from every channel were crawling all over the place, waiting to get in.
Now, the fire department had caution taped the shit out of the entire block,and they were doing some cleanup on the street, so we had to prove we were the owners to even be allowed near the place.

I was inside for about 30 minutes when a scruffy, middle-aged man walks into the store and starts looking around. He’s shaking his head and doing that tisking sound.
I’m on my phone, looking for a flood cleanup company, but I ask him what he’s doing. He keeps looking around with his hands on his hips. Then I ask him nicely to “get the hell out”.
As he’s leaving he mumbles something like “your insurance is never going to understand and pay you for your this stuff, it’s too esoteric”. My husband and I both do a double take, and at the same time yell out: “hey, what did you say”?
He explains: They’ll deny the claim because flooding is subjective, and even if they don’t, they won’t pay. Pennies on the dollar….maybe. He shakes his head and says I’m in for a long fight. He recommends I call a Public Adjuster. “They will take over everything and deal with the insurance company. For a fee of course.”
What?! It’s now after seven and I’m starting to feel panicky.
I’ve never even heard of such a person, and I ask him for a recommendation. He used a certain company during his own personal calamity and gives me the name, but he says there are several, and I should call a few.
I’m writing furiously on some wet muddy paper, and when I look up……he’s gone.
I run out to get him so he can tell the other merchants what he just told me.
He’s nowhere to be found. When I describe him to the fireman they have no idea who I’m talking about. Several friends I’d called to come get a load of what’d happened, had to call my cell for me to come get them past the security line; but somehow this guy showed up and gave me the information I needed.
I enie , meenie, miney, moe’d and picked one company out of the three names I found.

Gary was there in an hour, fired the cleanup crew that was walking around clueless and overwhelmed, hired some pros that specialize in art and antiques and got the whole thing under control. He was professional and comforting, and knew exactly what to do. Ten percent sounded like a bargain, I would have paid him a million dollars at that point.

For the first time that day I took a deep breath, and started to cry.

Oh, and my scruffy, middle-aged angel? He was exactly right! When the adjuster came on WEDNESDAY!!….he denied the claim. He said “flooding” was open to interpretation, and I didn’t have flood insurance anyway. But that was okay, I had Gary.
We were in for a long fight.
(To be continued)

Epic Fail or Epic Win , Miracle II

The second miracle occurred during cleanup.

We were about four days in.
The mud had been cleaned up, but the floors, walls, windows and merchandise, were still covered with a layer of smelly slime.
We covered our faces with those cloth masks, and plugged on.
Oh yeah, did I mention it was over 100 degrees?

This was the day I was told that the walls of the building had to be cut open up to 5 feet in order to air them out and avoid the dreaded black mold. I don’t know why that hit me so hard, but it did, and I went outside and sat on some hard concrete steps across the way and cried while the sawzall carved up my beautiful little store.
This felt serious…….and sad.

Gary came outside and put his arm around me, and we sat silently watching the carnage. When he finally did say something, he asked me if I wanted to go in and box up the things in the bathroom storage closets that hadn’t gotten wet.
Since the walls would be wide open, someone could potentially get inside and help themselves to whatever was left behind, so he suggested I go take a look. I think he also just wanted to keep me busy, so he didn’t have to look at my big, sad, soggy face.

The bathroom was pitch dark as I poked around in the back closets with a box and a garbage bag, waiting for my eyes to adjust. It felt weird to me to be salvaging windex, paper towels and toilet cleaner. It occurred to me I could just leave it for the salvage crew. I was numb, just going through the motions, trying not to feel too much. Tucked in the back was a box of Tampons with the top torn off. All my good customers knew it was there. I would occasionally bring a handful from home to refill it. All the women reading this know what I’m talking about. There were several left in the box, so I tucked them into my pocket, and tossed the empty box in the garbage bag. But it wasn’t empty….There was something heavy that was sliding around the bottom of the box as it hurtled toward the trash. I reached inside and pulled out the expensive watch my husband had given me for our 5th anniversary.

I stood there in the dark, the hair stood up on the back of my neck, and I started to shake, then I started to scream!
That watch had been “missing” for about 2 years.
My husband had just recently mentioned how disappointed he was that I hadn’t yet found it. We both knew I wasn’t someone who lost my jewelry. In my previous life as a jeweler, I had worn the watch a lot, but since opening the store, it seemed too fancy, and I only took it out of the safe for special occasions. I NEVER wore it to the store.
One day I had gone into the safe to get it……and it was gone.

Did I mention I found the watch on September 9th?
Our anniversary is September 9th.
The missing watch had mysteriously appeared after 2 years, on a sad but significant day, in an impossible place.
It was a sign. Don’t lose hope. Miracles occur.
I couldn’t call my husband fast enough.
(to be continued)

Epic Fail or Epic Win Part III

The claim was denied. Then it wasn’t.

Then the insurance wanted to pay me $10,000 to settle.
They sent a letter basically patting me on the head and sending their best wishes on my “fresh new start”.
I was advised not to settle, and I didn’t.

The 100-year-old pipe that ruptured was called a “trunk line”.
It is 6ft in diameter and carries water from the reservoir into the city. That night, I was told by a DWP official, 30,000 gallons a MINUTE had burst through the asphalt and formed a flash flood that took out my store. It took them over 6 hours to get the water off. DWP said to have my lawyer file the paperwork, and they would get back to me in a year and a half.
After all, they were busy, they were having water-main breaks almost daily. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months.

Now, I know life isn’t fair.

I once had a snarky t-shirt that said something to that effect.
But I did everything right, and I trusted the system. I carried the big insurance policy, with the giant monthly premium, I kept meticulous records. I had every receipt. My books were completely transparent, But somehow that wasn’t good enough.
Somewhere the tables had turned and I was the villain in this drama. They asserted that I somehow had a direct line to God, and had arranged for a flood to come and wipeout my store because business wasn’t great.
It was 2009. Lehman Brothers, Washington Mutual Bank and Circuit City were among the over 200 big businesses to file bankruptcy that year.
They could have just asked God for a flood and saved themselves a lot of trouble.

After 18 months it was clear, I had to lawyer up to get any real money from the insurance company AND DWP. Oh yeah, and a third one because my landlord was suing me for every dime of back rent.

Realization number one:
Well, life isn’t fair is number one, so…
Realization number two:
Insurance companies will do ANYTHING …NOT. to. pay. you.
They will drag their feet, and lie and be just awful. And that surprised me.
Realization number three:
You still have to pay all the bills on a flooded, cut up, closed business.
No slack…no kidding. That STILL gives me a stomach ache.
Realization number four:
Next time ask God for a fire.

It’s feeling pretty Epic Fail right about now, isn’t it?
(To be continued)

Epic Fail or Epic Win Part IV

Let’s get to the Win, Right?
I’m gonna tie it all up now, in a nice neat bow.
Readers digest version. Get the Kleenex.
Kidding….sort of.

I sued and was sued every which way you can imagine.
And it is really not my nature. I’m not the litigious type.
I’m the artsy fartsy type. I’m a lover not a fighter.
I was a fish out of water…swimming with sharks.
I found myself wanting to blurt out in one of the numerous depositions, “Can’t we all just get along?”

Some of the people who worked with me were great. Gary and his company were great. Others were not. Let’s just leave it at that. You know who you are.

There were no more miracles.
God had shown off early in the game, with two back to back.
I was lucky to have those.
But the quota had been met, and now, she was uncharacteristically quiet.
She must have been working on more important matters…..Like world peace.

So I prayed for an answer. Why me? Silence
I prayed for relief. There was none.
I felt ignored and alone.
When I felt emotion at all, I felt rage. 
Now I realize she WAS there, she just wanted me to go inside.
To pull up my big girl pants, and find my own courage there.

After three years I eventually recouped 80% of the COST of my merchandise. Then the lawyers took 40% of that.
I owe everybody in the world money, and I’m slowly paying them off. I probably owe you some money…….get in line!

I’m normally an optimistic, happy person. My sister used to ask me “who blew sunshine up my ass.” This had turned me into a sad sack. I became super serious, with absolutely no sense of humor, (Which really COULD have saved me). 

I had absolutely NO coping skills whatsoever.

Some people handle adversity with strength, wisdom and grace. Yeah. That was NOT me. I wanted to go live under a bridge with the trolls. I hated answering the phone or looking at mail. It always seemed to be bad news.

But…I’m SO lucky!
Honestly!
I always had a roof over my head and plenty of chocolate to eat. My husband never left me, which was a miracle, given my disposition and the fact that 2009 sucked for his profession, construction, as well. We made it through with our deep un breakable love. Oh, come on! Let’s get real! That and copious amounts of wine.
My friends and family have also been there for me, helping me feel like I wasn’t a total deadbeat. “Look, you took a shot at your dream” they said.
Secretly grateful they still had their day jobs.

The bottom line is this:
I know things always work out for me.
I WILL pull a rabbit out of my hat!
This transition feels big, and beautiful and perfect.
So I’m now looking forward to the next chapter,
And I’m starting to believe that the best times of my life are ahead of me.
I’d say that’s an Epic Win!
(To be continued)

Epic Fail or Epic Win Finale
My reasons for sharing all of this are two fold.
The first is purely selfish I must admit. I still have a dark pocket of pain around this situation that still holds me down.
And I’m finally done.
I’m done with the shame.
I’m done being scared.
I’m done feeling unworthy.
I’m done not trusting myself because I think I led ME astray.
I’m done punishing myself 
And I’m done being diminished.
And by that I mean living a small and non abundant life, because I’ve listened to the peanut gallery, I think that’s what I deserve.

Here’s where the Epic Win comes in.
I NEVER would be writing this blog had things stayed the same. This energy has been wanting a conduit for 20 years and I wouldn’t allow it. Not as a jeweler, because I felt safe, and not as a store owner because I never had a minute.
But the real reason was: I wasn’t in enough pain.
There! I said it!
The pain made me do it, and it’s been such a gift.

So now that I’ve found this outlet of writing, 
I wanted to share my feelings at the same time I was processing 
all the curious things that happened around the loss of my business. It has been cathartic…and extremely uncomfortable.
Re living these events can bring me right back to the smells,
the sounds, and most importantly now, now that I’m finally able to really process them……the feelings.
I was in “get it done” mode, so I stayed pretty numb.
I’m done with numb!
When you numb the sadness you also numb the joy.
That is a price I’m no longer willing to pay.
I’m not certain if it was just that it’s the same time of year, 
or that four years have passed, Wow, It can seem like a million or the day before yesterday.

Maybe it’s my newfound commitment to vulnerability,
But I felt compelled to share this story via my blog.
What I know for SURE is we all experience a wake up call in our lives. It can be disguised as an accident or an illness, A panic attack at three in the morning, a divorce or break up, the death of a loved one or another profound loss.
It leaves us open and raw and ready for change.

So there you go!
That’s the second reason.
Everyone’s life looks so shiny and perfect from the outside.
Mine does. But here’s the thing, we all have our shit.
Really. You are not alone. Here’s MY expensive, crazy, messy, miracle inducing, Wake up call.
It’s changed me in ways I can’t even express.
But it didn’t kill me.
I’m a grown up now, my eyes are WIDE OPEN, and that’s a good thing. I feel endless empathy for people going through their hardships. “Been there, done that” big hugs. I’m kinder, more compassionate and thoughtful. I’m over pretending things are great when they’re not, so I’m an open book, (much to my husband’s chagrin, because he’s still pretty private).
I’m reaching out and helping people, at least that’s my intention.
Thanks for indulging me.

Now tell me your Epic Fail/Epic Win stories.

Xox 

* I’ve always loved this quote…Happy Sunday!

“An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life. ‘A fight is going on inside me,’ he said to the boy. It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil — he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.”
He continued, “The other is good — he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you — and inside every other person, too.”
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?”
The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”
~ Cherokee legend
Excerpt from the book Thrive by Arianna Huffington

Intimacy
I invite you to read the word “intimacy” as “into-me-see.” We create intimacy with others when we allow ourselves to be seen.
~Christine Hassler~

Who sees you clearer than your friends?
Not the acquaintance at the office, or the barista who makes your coffee every morning.
No.
Your REAL friends. The ones that you can’t even remember not knowing.
The ones that GET you. I mean get you, in the deepest, most soul stirring, tear jerking way.
They know every hair style you’ve ever had, and they told you you rocked it.
But, they wouldn’t let you leave the house in those God awful green pants.
They are brave enough to tell you he’s not good enough for you, and almost more thrilled than you are, when you find someone who is.
You’ve had dinners where you’ve talked until the candles burned down, and New Years Eve’s that were hilarious disasters and days on vacation that were magical. Those experiences are etched with a permanent groove in your brain and make you weepy when you replay them.

Intimacy is the capacity to be rather weird with someone – and finding that that’s ok with them.
~anonymous~

They are on your speed dial (now speed text) for those three in the morning, pillow punching, holy shit, “will you just talk to me until I fall asleep” nights.
You’ve shared clothes, bathing suits, a toothbrush in a pinch, recipes, even candid details of the fight you had with your mom on her birthday, or the bad sex you had with that someone who you thought was “the one.”
You hold hands at funerals, weddings, baby showers and the Sunday farmers market.
When they lost the baby, you were there, to hold their hand. When they had the baby, you were in the room, to hold their legs.
When you’re an ass, they feed you, because they know how you get when you’re hungry.
When they hurt, you hurt.
When you laugh, they laugh louder, and longer, which makes wine come out your nose.

In-to-me-see is earned.
It is doled out judiciously. We are not transparent to the casual observer. Not to the blabber mouth or the revealer of secrets.
This kind of friendship, this kind of bond feels ancient and epic, almost older than time.
We carry it wherever we go, even into death.

Cherish these people. Hold them close to your heart, no matter how far away they may be. They’ll feel it. Then consider yourselves lucky to be accepted and loved that way.

Xox

When I was working in Estate Jewelry, we had a bench jeweler, David, on the premises.
He had a set up, kind of like the glass blowers have at Disneyland. He worked in a veritable fishbowl. There he sat, in a glass enclosed booth at the front of the store, working his alchemy with his torch and tools.
When people would drop off their repairs, especially a badly damaged engagement ring, David would put his other jobs aside and get to work. The woman would then press her nose against the glass to watch. I would walk over, put my arm around her shoulder and gently shepherd her away. 

“Oh, you don’t want to watch this.” I’d whisper. “Go get a coffee and come back in an hour or so. Better yet, I’ll call you when it’s ready.”
She’d kinda look at me funny, wondering if I was serious, and then, when she saw the look on my face, she’d hand me her number, grab her purse and go.
I knew that while she was gone, all hell was going to break loose on that bench.

I was being kind. I was sparing her the horror that watching the process would undoubtedly cause her. I also didn’t want to pick tiny pieces of broken glass out of David’s hair, after she jumped through the window to strangle him.

What I knew, from years of observation was this: During the process of fixing, rebuilding and restoring the ring to its former glory, it was going to get ugly. And by ugly, I mean the catastrophic results of the biggest shit storm you’ve ever seen. There would be broken bits and diamonds scattered everywhere, as he deconstructed it. At a certain point it wouldn’t even resemble anything close to a ring. It would look like a pile of platinum scrap with some shiny bits. It used to horrify me, in the beginning, when I would walk over to check on the progress of a repair. I’d gasp and stop dead in my tracks with my hand over my mouth and tears in my eyes.
And I was a jeweler.
No one should have to watch that kind of carnage. It’s cruel.
I wanted to save clients THAT experience.
David explained that in order to build it stronger, he had to tear it down and basically start over. Not just anyone could get away with that. He was a sorcerer, my Merlin, he preformed feats of incredible alchemy and he was a master at antique jewelry restoration. When I eventually handed the ring back to the client, it looked good as new, actually….better.

No civilian is allowed to watch a surgery, that is reserved for other doctors, and the reason is the same. During the “putting you back together” portion of the procedure, there are blood and guts all over the place. It doesn’t look like the patient could possibly live.
It appears that there are too many guts OUT of the body, to go back IN the body. Too much blood loss to survive. We would puke, and then faint in our own puke; so they save us the stress and humiliation and hand us back a cleaned up, sewed up, repaired, person…… Better than new.

I was having lunch today with a friend, and I told her I feel as if lately, I’m at the jewelers bench or on operating table, and I’m watching the carnage of the rebuilding of my life. It’s in the ugly stage of reconstruction, with bits lying everywhere. It looks NOTHING like my former life. And I’m not being a pro about it today.
I’m the novice, gasping with my hand over my mouth and tears in my eyes, in complete terror.
I know better.
I would tell YOU to avert your eyes.
I need to look away.
It seems like a shit pile right now, but it will be good as new soon……..probably better.
I AM a pro and experience is on my side.

*What happens if you have something left over after you put all the guts back into someone? Is it like the two extra screws that remain behind, and don’t seem to belong anywhere?
Just wondering…….carry on.

Xox 

Live life as if everything is rigged in your favor.
~Rumi~

OMG. THAT is my new mantra. What if we all did that?
We’d walk differently in the world. I know I would.

Like a card shark at the Blackjack table. If he knew the game, the deck, was rigged in his favor, he could just sit back, and relax. No more counting cards, no more strategy running though his mind……..no more fear of losing. He’d know, that no matter how it seemed, as the cards were dealt, that the game was rigged in his favor, and he’d bet…….BIG.

There would be an ease, a facility to things. Life would have a lovely flow.
We wouldn’t worry about each day so much, or how shitty things may appear in the moment. “It’ll all figure itself out”. We’d say “you know, it’s rigged in my favor.”
“Well, that’s funny, because life is rigged in my favor too” the person next to us would reply. And that would be okay. Because there’s enough good, enough money, enough love to go around. No one else has to lose when we win.

Using the Blackjack analogy, the player would win big, but the house could cover the bet. It makes money on food and shows and liquor and such.
There’s enough. There’s always enough.

So live life like its rigged in your favor. Bet BIG on your success.

Question: Would that take the fun out of the game (life) if you knew it was rigged for you to win? Interesting huh? Maybe the challenge isn’t so bad. I’d really love to know what you think, tell me!

Xox

“If you’re looking for sympathy you’ll find it between shit and syphilis in the dictionary.” 
― David Sedaris, Barrel Fever

Once upon a time, I hung out with a shaman. 
He was my own personal “pocket shaman.”
He went everywhere with me, and helped me through all the wild things that were happening back then, with his wild eyed magic, his herbs and teas and his amazing energy work.
I was NOT having a good time with my spiritual awakening. I was a sick, whining, complaining, crying, hot mess.

He did love me, so he was somewhat indulgent. But he was so much further along on the spiritual path than I was at that time, that after awhile, he wouldn’t tolerate my behavior.
He would not continue to hear my complaints, no matter how valid. He could not bring himself to listen to my stories of victim hood for one. more. second.
He would just turn and leave the room…….while I was in mid sentence.
With my head in my hands, weeping, I’d beg for his advise about a situation that was causing me intense emotional pain, and his response would be: “We’ve discussed this, you know what I think you should do, I’m not talking about this again with you.”
WTF?! “Don’t you want to help me?”
“I’m not helping you by continuing to talk about it. If you want to stay there, if you want to summon a co-complainer, someone who will join you at your pity party, go call a girlfriend.”

I started to hate him. (I don’t want to say hate….. but I’m being honest here). 
I remember screaming at him to listen to me.
“You’re NOT my friend, you DON’T love me!”
“I DO love you! but you’re right, I’m not your friend, I’m your teacher, I’m here to help you. I will not come join you in your pain. A true friend would not keep you in this misery”
I remember slugging him hard in the arm as he turned and walked away.
Not my proudest moment.

“It is terribly rude to tell people that their troubles are boring.” 
― Lemony Snicket, The Blank Book

My friend Wes is similar. He wouldn’t commiserate with me when both my cats were killed by coyotes within a week of each other, and it almost ended our friendship. He just wouldn’t go there. He listened with compassion, when I cried about it in the beginning; but he wouldn’t indulge my need to keep talking about it, and stay in the “why” of it. He would get quiet, make a joke, or change the subject all together.
God, that was annoying.
He did it again when my business went south. I remember being at dinner with him and feeling so hurt and angry, because he seemed bored with my plight. He listened, but he wouldn’t engage. It was so freaking frustrating; like standing at the net with my racket and my opponent won’t return my serve.
Over and over and over again.
I felt ENRAGED!
The rage inside felt familiar; very similar to what I had felt toward my shaman friend years before. I had to restrain myself from hurling my body across the table and stabbing him in the neck with a fork.
Note to self: I am a pacifist ONLY if you indulge me, by listening to endless hours of my sad, sucky stories.

Staying in wounded victimhood has it’s own special high. With all the words of encouragement and people trying to help, it keeps you from having to stand on your own two feet, move forward, and take some responsibility.
Sympathy can be addictive.

Here’s the thing. They both loved me a ton, and they reacted in the most loving way possible. They wouldn’t stand with me in the energy of my pain for any longer than necessary. It’s a kind of spiritual “tough love.” I get that now.
And they did it at their peril. I felt abandoned and betrayed, and I lashed out accordingly. I strung together tirades of four letter words that would have made a drill sergeant blush, and there were long periods of time where I didn’t see either of them. I wasn’t ready to move on. I wanted to beat the dead horse and then some.
They would not meet me there. They stood in the place of my healing, of my wholeness, not my woundedness……….and they waited for me there.
It took awhile to join them, but eventually, I did.

I want to caution you: Please, Don’t try this at home. It may not go well. People want a shoulder to cry on, and if you take that away; they may punch you.
Be advised, there will be hurt feelings. But it IS the more loving act.
Maybe someone is loving you this way right now.
Food for thought.
Carry on.

Any thoughts? I’d love to hear ’em.

Xox

When I was a kid, I walked a mile straight up our street, to my little Catholic Grammar school, St John The Baptist De La Salle. When I wasn’t struggling with my overstuffed, fifty pound ( my mom weighed it) book bag, the one that was covered in the same blue plaid as my skirt (groovy, I know, don’t be jealous) I was looking at all the houses that lined my path.

It was one of the residential neighborhoods deep in the recently developed, middle class, suburban sprawl of the northern San Fernando Valley in the early 1960’s. Where once there were only orange and lemon groves, now stood, one to ten year old tract homes. I remind you it was the sixties, very cookie cutter; they lacked imagination and color. Some were ranch style with big lawns in the front, the garages in an alley around the back. Others had driveways with some generic plants in the front. They alternated, with the floor plan switching up every so often. Every few blocks the pattern would repeat itself.
It was new families, new sidewalks, sprinklers and the hum of “central air conditioning.” 

As an eight or nine year old I was already full of opinions. I knew which of the houses on my walk, I liked the best. Being the anal, Type A, control freak that I was, I preferred the ones that were well maintained, and I actually felt sorry for the ones that weren’t.
If the lawns were perfectly manicured, mowed and edged, the bushes clipped and the roses in bloom, I figured all must be well on the inside too. If the paint was peeling, the lawn needed weeding, and the place was a wreak, well, I thought maybe life wasn’t being so kind to those occupants. I noticed the screens that were brown with nicotine at the corner house, where the man smoked like a chimney, and I actually got frustrated when people chose bad window treatments, like beads, which were all the rage, or kept foil or sheets pulled up over their windows.
Couldn’t they see how that screwed up their curb appeal? Didn’t they care?

That was when I learned two very important life lessons: Things are not always as they appear, AND, some people pay more attention to what’s going on on the outside, than on the inside.

There were two houses that I can still remember loving. One was a light yellow, with white and yellow roses in the front. I approved of their window treatments and I even thought the decorative screen door was charming. It also allowed me to catch snippets of music, TV or conversation as I walked by. A nosey eight year old’s dream. I still love to catch a candid glimpse of how other people live. Although…..
One morning as I walked by, I heard an augment. It sounded bad. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but a man and woman were definitely yelling at each other. It stared happening on a regular basis, and went on for years. It was like, “okay, it’s 8:15, and in this corner, wearing the pink housecoat and slippers and weighing in at one hundred and forty pounds, the middle class champion…..” 
I began to pick up my pace, speed walking, just to get past without getting any of that vitriol on me.

Interesting observation number one: Life on the inside seemed to be a hot mess, while outside from the street, there didn’t appear to be a leaf out of place.

The second house was white with blue trim. It had the driveway in front, with two cars parked side by side. I watched the slow steady climb to prosperity that the house revealed on the exterior. It had a very fancy dichondra lawn, which required ridiculous maintenance. My mom tried one once. She was out there every afternoon with cuticle scissors and tweezers. I’m not kidding. It makes maintaining a bonsai tree look like a walk in the park. Anyway……beautiful house, stunning, professionally landscaped yard, a gardener and two cars that got nicer and more expensive every couple of years. I never heard any yelling. I really never heard or saw any people or signs of life. It was the perfect picture of suburban utopia, and I LOVED it.
One day, miss nosey pants here, noticed there had only been one Cadillac in the driveway for a couple of weeks. After that, the lawn started to get overrun with dandelions, and the flowers that seemed to magically appear in full bloom every couple of weeks were dried up and dead. Signs of human occupation appeared now on the crispy brown front lawn. A bicycle haphazardly discarded, like the rider had just flown off in a full sideways skid and disappeared. Trash and old papers collected on the porch. One afternoon I noticed a reddish curtain hanging, like a velvet tongue, out through a newly broken front window.
Not long after, a For Sale sign appeared. Divorce had beaten the shit out of my favorite house and apparently the family inside. That was shocking to me. Everything looked like it was going so well for them. I never saw any signs, there were no arguments for public consumption.

Interesting observation number two: Sometimes the exterior circumstances can reflect SO perfectly what’s happening on the inside. Mimic the slow decline. It can be unexpected, no yelling, no shot across the bow, and it’s heartbreaking.

Which one am I? Do I put up a good front when the walls are crumbling down?
I used to. It was exhausting. When I divorced my first husband, people were SHOCKED. No one saw it coming. Not even him.
But I’ve changed. I’ve become pretty transparent.
Ms. Cellophane.
I’d like to say I hide things. Save face. Maybe for a day or two, but I’m more like the second house. When my shit hits the fan, I don’t think anyone around me, who sees me, is surprised. If I were a house, MY big red velvet tongue would be hanging out a broken front window.

Which one are you? Have you encountered both? Were you surprised?
Tell me, I’d love to hear about it.

Xox

Pain can only feed on pain. Pain cannot feed on joy. It finds it quite indigestible.
~Eckhart Tolle~

You will touch joy and suddenly realize that you have never felt joy because it requires abandon. It grows from gratitude and cannot exist where there is mad cynicism or distrust.
You will touch this joy and you will suddenly know it is what you were looking for your whole life, but you were afraid to even acknowledge the absence because the hunger for it was so encompassing. 

—Eve Ensler, In the Body of the World

Loose your fear and touch joy today…..Happy Sunday!
Xox

Sometimes, no, often, nope, daily, I get overwhelmed inside my wonderful life.
It’s wonderful on paper, and I juggle as fast as I can to keep up the charade.
It’s nothing that is overtly obvious, but I know that this house of cards could come crashing down at any minute. That, or my head will explode. I’m not certain which will come first, so I think I’ll just out myself, with the knowledge that I’m probably not alone.

Are you waiting for some epic admission? Too bad.
It’s nothing major, just SO MANY little things that add up. Like dripping water on my forehead.

I have many addictions. Thankfully, they will NOT be the death of me……unless I slip and fall on melted chocolate.
But some of them frustrate the hell out of me.

I have a coffee table book addiction. I have since before I owned a coffee table.
Between those and all the novels and best sellers, it looks like a freaking library in here. Here’s the thing. If I divide how many hours I’ve been alive by the hours it would take to read all these books….it’s never gonna happen. Most are partially read. I can see scraps of paper sticking out that I grabbed and used as a bookmark, half or three quarters of the way through.
I will need to reincarnate to get caught up.

I also confess to a magazine addiction and I have the good fortune to have numerous subscriptions. I’ve even culled the lot, trying to be realistic about what feels relevant enough to take the time to read. No more Allure or People for me. Alas, the stack still grows larger and more daunting by the day. It’s like they posses the ability to reproduce. One Elle Decor turns into three, and when I look again; there are five. Same with my O magazines. I have every unread issue back to January, which I briefly scanned and became aware of the fact that I hadn’t lost that “pesky ten pounds of holiday weight,” because I hadn’t yet read the article.

Why do I even continue to get the decorating or “shelter” magazines? My lifestyle store closed, and my house is decorated within an inch of its life. It is not realistic for me to lust after a house in Marrakech or to muse over a $4000 toilet. My favorite shelter mags were Domino and Better Homes And Gardens, and they went out of business. So now I’m left with House Beautiful and Elle Decor. House Beautiful still has too much chintz for my taste, and Elle Decor can be annoying. Like a super model telling me she can eat whatever she wants and never work out or diet. They make fabulous look too easy.

To further prove my inadequacy, there is a stack of unread books on my night stand.
It includes Fifty Shades of Grey. Sadly, I can’t even find time for the lady porn.
All I’m going to say is: I start out with the best of intentions. I want to stay current, and sound smart at parties. I can’t remember the last time I read the book BEFORE I saw the movie. Sometimes I lie.
There must be 25-30 partially read books on my iPad. If I start reading one of those before bed, the others, on the nightstand, stage a mutiny. There must be some kind of seniority or Union I’m not aware of. 

When I really want to rub salt in my wounds, I glance over at the pile of unopened mail. Nothing important, really; no checks or anything. I have a way of sniffing those out.
Nope, the pile consists mostly of health insurance notifications. If Anthem doesn’t have a check in its hot little hands on the first of every month, they send me a notification that I’ve entered a 30 day grace period. It’s my little game.
I have an automatic payment set to pay them on the third.
Fuck em. I like living in a state of perpetual grace.

The rest of the pile is just stuff that needs to get filed…….when I’m good and ready.

I realize these are “white people problems”. I’m too busy writing to read.
Oh, Boo Hoo.
It makes me laugh when I get plugged up about this stuff because I realize how fortunate I am to not have to worry about clean water or my immediate survival. That is, until the nightstand books, that unsavory bunch, figure out how to kill me while I sleep.

What are the things that pile up around you and drive you crazy? Do YOU have stacks of unread books ,magazines and mail? Any suggestions to quell my addiction? I’d LOVE some suggestions!

Xox