Developing Soul

Swimming

2009-11-21T11:16:00.002-05:00

I am swimming.

After plowing through the water for weeks, I am suddenly swimming.

I really thought I would be plowing forever, splashing inefficiently and forcing myself to stare at that damn black line...I really thought it would never be more than that. I have taken up swimming a few times before, and I've never progressed beyond that. It has never flowed, I have never glided.

I just needed to accept it.

I used to think that if I really worked at something in life, I would get better at it. At some point, life would begin to flow, and it would feel like gliding...it would feel right. Then experience, and other people, convinced me I couldn't, and shouldn't expect that. Things in life are hard and they only get so good, and you need a formula to muddle through.

But...I am swimming now.

It was so sudden, it just clicked. One day I found myself reaching farther with every stroke, feeling stronger with every lap. It shocked me--I had quit expecting things to "click."

So, there is my proof. Sometimes at least, life works the way I thought it should. I was right. Contrary to all those rule-following naysayers who said I shouldn't expect things to flow, sometimes they do.

When I decided to take up swimming this time, it was really just a resignation. I have a beautiful pool a couple blocks from my house--I should throw myself in there a couple times a week for cross-training. I never expected to be gliding within a few weeks...

Well, gliding is too strong a word, but I am swimming. I am pulling myself through the water and getting stronger...can gliding be far off?

I'm expecting it.

New Mexico

2009-09-22T09:06:00.007-04:00

Well, regular life has resumed, if at a much slower pace. Unlike D.C., people in New Mexico are not rushing around trying to conquer the world, or save it. It seems they are happy to just be here...this is one quiet, sleepy town.

It's cool. I haven't waited in a line since I've been here, traffic and parking problems are non-existent. I've met a few locals, then run into them a couple times since--it's that small of a town. We've been saying that we have to allow an extra 20 minutes if we're going to run errands in town, no one is in a hurry and they love to shoot the breeze.

There's been something to do every weekend. There's a little park in town where all the festivities take place--the pancake breakfast, the Cottonwood Festival, the Wine Festival, the Balloon Festival, the Fiesta--and as you might imagine, once you've been to one, you've pretty much been to them all. There's always a few booths with a few artists and vendors, and a stage with a local band playing...that's pretty much it.

The weather has been nice since we got here, and it's true, the sunsets over the desert mountains are worth a look every night. I do a lot of dogwalking/running out there, it's giving me a quiet, big sky, God-must-exist perspective. Plenty of air to breathe and horizon to vent to--I do not feel hemmed in living on-base.

Apparently it's hunting season. I've overheard some locals talking it up and even saw a guy carrying a rifle downtown--we are in the West. Lots of pick-up trucks, ball caps and a few cowboy hats. I had my first rattlesnake encounter--it was the sound that was more startling than the snake--he gave me a nice warning I took to heart.

If I'm home, or near home I get to hear music every day, a couple of times. Each day at 4:30 loudspeakers all over base play the national anthem. Wherever you are, or if you're driving, you are to stop in your tracks, face the direction of the flag, and listen. I find myself trying to work around it if I'm withing earshot--not that I don't like the anthem, it just feels a little...staged. And, because we have a German squadron based here, on Wednesdays they play the German anthem first, then ours. It's only hospitable I suppose. The whole thing reminds me of the organized way of living in Japan, where every little town had their loudspeakers play a song at 6pm. We would make up our own words to those.

So I'm not sure about the 4:30 call to patriotism, but what is growing on me is the 10 pm playing of "Taps," every night. At first it was a little startling--I felt like I was living in a movie and was reminded that any of our people could be called away to fight and die at any time. Now I'm finding it painfully quieting. It is a reminder of what could happen, is happening, and of our purpose here, and that is just, well, true.

Back On the Horse...

2009-09-17T19:58:00.002-04:00

Well I got bucked off the writing horse.

I think it was the move, the traveling, the adjustments to a new life and place--I'll even blame feeling under the weather for a few days. It takes some time to even figure out what I feel about a new life and a new environment, and I don't feel quite like myself here yet.

There are a couple of ways to get back on a horse you've been thrown off...I know this from experience.

You can jump on, grab that mane and hang on, hoping you stay on and gain control before you're thrown again...OR, you can take your time, try to manage the horse close to a fence, be still and quiet, climb up the fence and slowly ease yourself back into the saddle. Maybe the horse won't even know your back on until your set and ready to deal with the beast.

Anyone who knows me knows I'm going to take my time...

On Writing

2009-09-05T19:05:00.006-04:00

"Artists never thrive in colonies. Ants do. What the budding artist needs is the privilege of wrestling with his problems in solitude--and now and then a piece of red meat."

Henry Miller

"For Christ sake and don't worry what the boys will say nor whether it will be a masterpiece nor what. I write one page of masterpiece to ninety-one pages of shit. I try to put the shit in the waste-basket....Forget your personal tragedy. We are all bitched from the start and you especially have to be hurt like hell before you can write seriously."

Ernest Hemingway, in a letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald (1934)

"There's no one out there waiting for it, and nobody's going to scold you if you don't do it."

Lynne Sharon Schwartz

"It's easy, after all not to be a writer. Most people aren't writers, and very little harm comes to them."

Julian Barnes

"Writing is easy. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein."

Red Smith

"The most solid advice...for a writer is this, I think: Try to learn to breathe deeply, really to taste food when you eat, and when you sleep, really to sleep. Try as much as possible to be wholly alive, with all your might, and when you laugh, laugh like hell, and when you get angry, get good and angry. Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough."

William Saroyan

Sacrifice, Sweet Tea and Western Skies

2009-08-18T13:21:00.003-04:00

I was ready to leave the beach…it was a nice break, but it wasn’t real life.

We left there and headed directly north to an Army base in Georgia. An Army Ranger friend was having a party and participating in an event so we decided to make it our first stop.

Many of the people at the party just got back from Iraq or Afghanistan, and our friend is heading over there next month. He’s been over there a lot, even been shot a few times. He has a titanium plate in his leg for crying out loud…

The event was a Change of Command ceremony. I’ve been to several in the Air Force, they’re always a little moving as one commander leaves his leadership position and what has consumed most of his time the past two years, and another one takes charge. In the Air Force it typically happens in a hanger…the squadron of 20 or 30 pilots and a few others stand at attention in front of jets. It’s a picture of our war-fighting capability—a few people and multimillion dollar tools.

At the Army Ranger ceremony there were no tools of war. Standing at attention behind the outgoing and incoming leaders were just men. There were of course no jets, but also no tanks, no artillery, no helicopters--no tools. Just 1500 well-trained, highly-fit men, all of whom would rather be fighting the fight than standing on that parade field. They are the tools of war...their well-trained bodies, their minds, their willingness and whatever they can carry on their backs.

It was a stunning picture.

The outgoing commander choked back tears reciting the names of the ten men he’d lost in his two years of command. Then he apologized to his kids for not being there, and complimented their mother’s raising of them.

Wow. Our Air Force people are gone some and work a lot, but we don’t lose many and our people don't typically have to concede they haven’t even raised their own children. We are feeling this war, but not at that level of stress and loss. We are removed from it with our outlying bases and our multimillion dollar airplanes flying high above the fray. Army Rangers are over there all the time doing America's bidding, and I could feel the sacrifice.

I was struck by the clear knowledge they were giving their lives for this. It’s always interesting to see what people do with their lives, but usually it isn’t so clear. People are into their jobs and families, just living their lives and getting by, maybe not thinking too hard on what they are spending their lives.

Those are the exactly the words that came to mind watching those men—They have decided to spend their lives on this. They've done all the work to be fit, strong, willing and able to do whatever it takes, whatever it takes, over and over again. And with all their battle scars they are not crushed, or even weakened, they are strong and fired-up and itching to go again. It was obvious to me it’s just what they do, like there is no other option. Everything else falls into place behind this mission--no compromises--family and even religion get in line behind it.

I’ve heard a lot of prayers in my life, but the one at this event about knocked me over. In the Air Force we have chaplains of all faiths, saying prayers that tend to be pretty generic and politically correct. This chaplain pulled no punches. He basically called for a holy war—in Jesus’ name, of course. He not only prayed the Psalm of David asking God to “Prepare their hands for war,” but he also called down God’s "fury upon our enemies."

Wow again. No love of Jesus? No mercy? Yeah, no F-ing way. You know the other side is praying the same thing, not realizing God bleeds red, white and blue. Yikes. I wonder what God is thinking about all this...

I hate it when people mix patriotism and God…like he’s blessed us and is on our side because we’ve been so good following him. It was one of the last straws weighing down my Christian camel’s back a few years ago. I gave this chaplain a break though…I don’t know how many dead or injured Rangers he’s prayed over, he might deserve to be angry. I suppose the Rangers appreciated the prayer, and truthfully, I actually thought to myself, “Whatever you guys have to think to get the job done.” I’ll let them have it. I'll let them have whatever reality they live in that fires them up to give their lives to this...

Why? Because I’m sleeping in a safe bed and driving around drinking a Starbucks with my radio blasting, that’s why. And although no one is making them do it, they’ve chosen to give their lives to going to war for this country. They might not even be doing it for noble reasons, they might just be good at it and get a bang off it, but they can have that too...

Why? Because someone has to do it.

The next day in the car traveling across the South we were listening to country radio and I had to fight back tears when I heard a pro-military, patriotic song bragging about how we can rage at our enemies and silence them easily. Yes, I suppose we can, but there is a heavy price. Are we even looking at the bill?

I for one, am tired of paying it.

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We had to cross Alabama, and ended up in Montgomery at lunchtime. Ummm, fried chicken and sweet tea one more time...

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We didn’t have time for much sightseeing, but wanted to take a little downtime every day, so we decided to stop at Vicksburg National Battlefield and Cemetery in Mississippi. We’ve visited a few battlefields from our wars, and it always takes some imagination to understand how things went down. Here the battle was over the river, control of the Mississippi was imperative to both sides in the Civil War. President Lincoln himself mandated that Grant clear the Mississippi of Southern strongholds.

Well he did easily, except for here at Vicksburg, where the Confederates were dug in deep. It took several attempts, a months-long battle, and finally a siege before Grant finally succeeded. The National Cemetery there has 17,000 Union dead...13,000 of them unknown. Countless Rebels are buried a few hills over, they apparently don't deserve the honor of the National Cemetery. The details were brutal. I guess it's always taken a lot of sacrifice to make this country what it is.

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I found that the farther west we drove the more comfortable I became. I know that is crazy and I didn’t give any state its due time, but I liked Mississippi more than Alabama, and by the time we drove into Texas I was feeling more like myself.

It doesn’t make a lot of sense, because really, how much does it really matter where I live in the USA, but I am such a Westerner. Every time I move back west after having lived east I am struck by it. I do not fit in the cities of the East, nor in the South. I am more relaxed and comfortable, the farther west I get.

So when we crossed the Mississippi Texas just felt plain good to me. The terrain started to open up, and I saw the big Texas sky. That’s why I know New Mexico will be okay…it’s the West. Since there is open sky, mountains, and a quick hop to the Pacific I'll be fine. It’s fun to live other places, but there’s just no getting me to change stripes I guess.

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One reason Texas is great is because people who are from there love it so much--they are all believers. We have several Air Force friends from Texas and it’s like it’s bred into them…they are proud of Texas and always plan to return. Why would they want to live anywhere else? Kevin always says he wishes he was from Texas and thought it was the greatest place…then he could buy a million acres for next to nothing, settle there, and actually believe he was in the best place.

Instead…we know better. Unfortunately so does every other Californian...hence the price difference.

I do like Texas…it’s just open, bright and BIG. It had to grow on me though, it was our first stop on this Air Force journey when we were first married and I was not impressed. I think I couldn’t get why it wasn’t more like California. Now I just let it be Texas. This time I got so carried away with it I bought a pair of boots.

We spent three nights getting across it, and after Ft. Worth there wasn’t much to see but beautiful sky. We left green behind and embraced the desert...again. But about an hour or two before we got to our new home we entered some surprisingly beautiful, green mountains, and the temperature dropped 40 degrees. Nice. It jumped right back up though as we descended to our new town, and I decided I needed an ice cream to deal with my new reality.

So far New Mexico is working for me, partly because those cool mountains are always in view. In only 30 minutes I can be there.

Delusions

2009-08-08T11:55:00.003-04:00

I watched the movie “A Beautiful Mind” the other day.

The brilliant man in the movie went a little crazy, he saw and heard people that weren’t there. Those delusions became his mechanisms for getting through life. His mind and its dysfunctional patterns got away from him.

Finally at a desperate point he was forced to look hard to find the flaw in his reality—he was about to lose everything. He then made the incredibly difficult choice to every day pass on what he felt and saw, on what seemed to be working for him, the alternate reality that for so long comforted him and made him feel important.

It’s not that different than what we all have to do if we want to get past our bunk and dysfunctional mechanisms--discern what is real, then choose to pass over and over on things that aren’t. Like the man in the movie, we have to say “no” to our own delusions; else we too are carried deeper into our own dysfunctional patterns, our own brand of crazy. It doesn’t matter that we can see and feel them, that they make us feel important or that they seem to be getting us through this difficult life.

That’s faith—believing there’s something worth that painful journey…There is hope for change, it matters what we do, and there is more to life than what we see.

The man in the movie also added healthy patterns to his life: He became part of a community, developed some attachments to people to “elbow out the delusions.” He had to quit treating his delusions as real; quit talking to them, quit giving them his time and attention…quit feeding them. He replaced time spent on them with real, hard work. He also had the love and care of someone who believed in him and affirmed his right steps. Maybe no one does it alone.

He never got completely free of his delusions, we rarely get miraculously healed, although we're taught to pray and wait for it. No one tells us instead we have to face down the delusions and “elbow them out."

Every damn day.

Restlessness

2009-08-05T10:23:00.005-04:00

I'm restless.

I often feel restless here, during my writing hours. I'm restless to become, to feel, to connect, to see a little clearer, to move past my bunk. And although writing here alone is my way past it, or through it, it is hard to sit here.

Sometimes I think it might be the caffeine from the couple of cups of coffee I down first thing, that I'm just physically amped up. That might be adding to it, but really it's just this incredibly deep need to get my thoughts and feelings out.

When I'm restless I'm impatient for movement, progress, interaction and distraction. I want it all to happen now, I want it to be easier. I want someone to bang around my thoughts with me and help me through my pain, I don't want to stare it down myself.

But for me, it doesn't work that way, that's too easy--No overcoming there...

Although, I could use an easy day every now and then....

I also feel grateful to have found a way to deal with it all. The questions, the tough answers, the loneliness, the dysfunction--sometimes I can write them off me. Sometimes I get to rise above it, break free for a bit or get a bit of light on the path. It soothes my soul.

Sometimes a little miracle happens here...I write it all off me and I walk away relieved, lifted and just a little freer.

It's a great feeling, and that's what brings me back--Hope.

Maybe it will happen today.

Non-rank and Privilege

2009-08-03T14:39:00.008-04:00

So I'm a little lifted about life, moving and being back in the Air Force community, I'm feeling up for it. I think it was watching Kevin fly again that did it, it was such a beautiful thing. It's sinking in I have only a couple more days on the beach, and it's really okay. This vacation at the beach has been a tonic for me, but I'm mentally moving forward now, just in time.

I heard the joke about the "beach" in New Mexico three times when I was at the squadron the other day, and I managed a little laugh every time. It's painful to have everyone tell me how we're going to have such a good time there. When you're going somewhere good they don't have to try so hard to be positive.

I saw one of the guys who moved out there and got settled before he came here for training. He's actually from my hometown and was in Japan with us, so he might have a similar perspective on good places to live. I looked him right in the eye and said, "We're going to have a good time out there, right?" He met my gaze and seriously waited a full five seconds before launching into all the positives.

That's fighter-pilot talk for, "It sucks." It's like when they don't like a guy...they'll start by saying how great he is, list all his good qualities and only drop a hint there might be a flaw. If they like someone they just say, "He's such a good dude." Enough said.

So yeah, I know what we're getting into. I also know how to find the best in a place and take advantage of it. There will be some cool mountains nearby for hiking and biking, and I can get into that. There are no great restaurants, but there has to be some kick-ass Mexican food there--has to be--plus I plan to get back into cooking. And the sunsets are apparently enchanting--to what else could the license plates be referring with that "Land of Enchantment" emblazoned on every one? UFO sightings? Alien encounters?

Really I haven't been worried about living in New Mexico, I'm pretty much always up to live somewhere new for a year or two. It's the living on-base I've been worried about.

We've never done it. We've always tried to keep the USAF as a job, not a life, but when you get to this level there's no getting around it, I'm afraid it's going to be pretty all-encompassing. We're going to have some regular social obligations--I'm going to have to perfect a non-awkward version of the "smile, stand up and wave" as we're introduced at every event.

Hell, I'm not sure I have a version of that in me...

The house is big, beautiful and new. There are enough bedrooms for me to have my own office in one and a Pilates/yoga gym in another, with still a spare. The garage is huge if we needed to re-buy all the yard tools we've sold, but we won't--get this--Someone is going to do our yard for us. I feel like I have to whisper it. Okay so there is a perk I can get comfortable with...I guess I'll be taking that one.

I will not, however, park in a "Colonel" parking space at the gym, BX or commissary. I am not a damn Colonel. This is just principle and a point that needs to be made over and over to every officer's spouse--WE DO NOT WEAR RANK. This will be my way of restating it every day...I'll walk across the parking lot like every other non-handicapped person in the world.

The gym is supposed to be one of the best in the USAF, so I've got that going for me. The pool is new, so I'll take up swimming again since I suck at it, and there's a little Starbucks-ish place in the Officer's Club for when I need a good coffee.

Perfect, right? It's all right there, so incredibly convenient and close--Which is why I'm afraid I'll want to escape it. It's okay, we aren't moving to Stepford...right?

I can ride my bike to everything--Except I'll be required to wear a helmet, and maybe a safety vest--DORKY, if smart. I'm afraid that's enough of a deterrent though. So maybe I'll get my scooter going--Except I can't drive it until I've taken the "Motorcycle Safety Course" (actually a good idea for me); I'll have to wear closed-toed shoes (okay, can do...), a helmet (again, smart, and not that dorky on a motorcycle), long sleeves (okay maybe, but in summer?), and gloves. Whew. By the time I get all that on I'd be halfway through my workout if I'd have taken the car.

Living on-base will be super-convenient for Kevin, he'll be working long hours. There will be zero commute time, he can run home for lunch, and I might be able to watch him fly from the back patio. Cool.

It will be like the smallest of small towns and I like to be anonymous. I don't want to be that crazy "Colonel Robbins' wife" that's known for riding that wacky scooter or walking her dog at all times of the day and night. Or, and I can hear it now, "Is that Colonel Robbins' wife? Wow she sure runs slow...I think she's put on weight. Maybe she should pick up the pace..."

Yeah? Well maybe you should...

Just kidding, no one's going to care what I do, it's just I know I might be a bit of an oddity wearing my sun hat and walking everywhere with my ridiculous-looking, fox-like dog. I was one in DC, but there oddities are the norm.

Our next door neighbor is the Wing Commander, which sounds horrible and intimidating, except he and his wife are long-time, easy-going friends, so that part will be fine. Actually it will be more than fine if I get into trouble. I've recently realized if I get a ticket for having my dog off-leash or for speeding maybe I can run next door with a bottle of scotch and apologize instead of having to have my husband "notify his commander" of my "violation." Not that I'm asking to get around rules or consequences...I DON'T WEAR RANK.

I can't be reminded too often, I might start to get used to my husband's special treatment, it's human nature. For crying out loud I'm already taking the yard work for granted and I haven't even crossed Texas yet.

An Addict

2009-07-31T11:47:00.007-04:00

I had a friend for awhile who was an addict. I would never call him that, it seemed like such a bad label, but that is what he called himself. He was a full-up addict who had been through it all.

I met him at the dog park. Dogs can have great connections with other dogs, just like people, and my dog was absolutely crazy about his dog—the two of them were fast friends from the start. That first day my friend said when he watched dogs, especially the ones that herd sheep, it made him think there must be a God. I knew then this was someone I could talk to.

We did talk often while the dogs played about God and philosophy and how life works. I remember I told him I was coming out of 30-plus years of hardcore Christianity and he was a little fascinated, “What’s that like?” he said. Although we were both Californians our backgrounds could not have been more different.

He said he started getting into pills in elementary school. When he realized there was something you could take to make you feel different, it was all over, he always chose to take it. I’m pretty sure he tried everything. He was a musician for many years, and told me only a few stories of his hardcore drug days in that life, when he started every day with vodka and a few other things. He always took something. When I worried my crowd was drinking too much he asked me to describe it. I did and he said, “You're fine.” It didn’t touch where he’d been.

He said it ended, and clean life started, when he met his wife, whom I also met at the dog park. She was a natural, outdoor girl who worked with horses and was like fresh air to him. For the few years he’d been with her, he'd had a clean and stable life. He said she was the reason, although I think there was a little more to it; she represented his only hope of life and health. He didn’t claim to be doing it alone--he let me know he went to meetings and had people he talked to all the time.

I never could figure out what he did for a living. Every time he started to describe it I’d get lost in all his details and business buzzwords. It had something to do with internet technology and he had some plans for a business of his own. He was a big talker, he always had some crazy idea to share and his mind was always spinning fast. I had a hard time following him--he’d get on certain topics or authors and get a bit ethereal. I remember asking him if his mind ever stopped, if it ever really got quiet. He thought about it for a second and then said no.

We had a few good discussions about God and life philosophy, I could hang with him there. It was like we were coming to the same non-answers from opposite sides—he from extreme addiction, me from Christianity. He was less frustrated than me though, less accustomed to having answers.

He drank ridiculous amounts of coffee and went through Advil like candy. When I asked why, he said he had headaches, but really I think it was because the alternative was bad…it was like he was saying, “Believe me, you want me to be taking half a bottle of Advil and drinking 16 cups of coffee a day. Really.” Maybe he just had to take something.

I remember telling him about my travels to Ireland. He said he always wanted to check out that music scene but would never be able to. I was puzzled…Heavens, why not? He said it was because the music all happens in pubs there and is tied to drinking. I asked him if he could just not drink or have just one Guinness, and he said no, he could not. Didn’t I get it? He was and always would be an addict.

No I didn’t get it, to my naive self it seemed he was only addicted to Advil and coffee. I felt like it was such a bummer his addictions so defined him, like it was something he could never get free of. It seemed horribly unfair and wrong to have to live with that label. Wasn’t there always hope for change? That's what I learned in Christianity, we can all be healed from our troubles, "addicts" could be freed. Well, not in his reality. I didn’t realize that in that label was his freedom…freedom from all the using.

One day he was talking about his sobriety, his job, his house, his “stable” life and he said, “Come on…how long can I really keep this up?” I got my Pollyanna on and pointed out that he had done it now for years and why not? I told him I thought he could do it, and really, I had little doubt. He had this great life now, he certainly knew how to live it. Wouldn't he choose this life over the drug life he had described? Of course he would, it only made sense.

Well, addictions are irrational, I had no idea how hard healthy life was for him. And isn’t it just easier to think everyone is normal and functioning well, even if all evidence is to the contrary?

The dog park was a phase for him, he quit going. We still got the dogs together a few times, but we lost touch. After about a year he called and asked if I wanted to meet with the dogs again sometime. It took weeks to get together but we finally did.

I think it was huge for him to make that call, he had to look our number up old-school, he no longer had a cell phone. He apparently fell off the wagon one weekend there in Vegas. He didn’t elaborate, but it resulted in him losing his job and giving up the house. He was not working, but living a somewhat isolated life helping his wife on a horse farm she worked. He gave up his phone, his internet work, all his big ideas, and maybe even the coffee and Advil. He just wanted a simple life. That was his big talk now…living a good and simple life.

I did wonder if he'd be able to keep that up, his mind seemed no quieter.

Eagles, Raptors and Gargoyles

2009-07-30T11:03:00.010-04:00

I love being on this beach watching the jets fly over.

Almost exactly 20 years ago I was right here, doing exactly that. On one particular day I was hoping for a little wing-rock from one before I rushed to the Air Force base to take pictures of Kevin landing from his first solo flight in the F-15 Eagle. It was a big deal then, we were on a huge adventure. He was studying hard, always “two rides from busting out…” and very excited to be doing what he was doing. He didn't dare to hope he would still be doing it 20 years later.

Today I know better than to look for the wing-rock--he can't give it to me--but I will drive to base and take some pictures of him flying and landing the F-22 Raptor for the first time. And it’s still a big deal, I'm pretty excited. For crying out loud he’s still flying, and it's the hottest, latest most fearsome jet in the world.

Admittedly, since he’s now logged close to 4000 hours of fighter time, we aren’t quite as worked up as we were back then, we’ve done more than a few photo-ops by cool jets. I’ve seen my share of fini-flights, I even had tears at a couple, thinking these days were done, that the fun was over. I’ve helped his buddies drench him, and him drench his buddies with champagne and the fire hose many times.

Still, this will only happen once, and these moments should be even a little sweeter at this age--it's a bit of a charmed life, and it can't last. (Although, we've been saying that for a lot of years...) He’s incredibly fortunate to still be doing this. It’s also good for me to get out there and try to understand what it is he does. Every time I’m still amazed, I still have some trouble getting my head around it.

It feels a little like home to have him flying again—to see him a little lifted by it, to live where I can hear the sound of jets. I’ll start checking my watch again when I see one--would he be up right now? Might that be him? And I love hearing how the dogfight went down when he gets home.

But then this morning, a reality check.

In a rush to get out the door he hands me a questionnaire I have to fill out and sign before he can fly. Standard, I have no time to give it any thought, it is just a square that has to be filled, and it’s not like I haven’t seen this before, I know exactly what it is.

It’s a form that goes in an envelope only to be opened by his commander if he doesn’t make it back from one of these missions. It lists all my preferences on how I’ll want things handled—who I’ll want to bring me the news, who I’ll want the Air Force to notify, and who I’ll want flown in to help me deal with it all. Do I have a clergyman I’ll want around? Will I need someone to help out with kids or pets? What kind of funeral will I want? Cremation?

Somehow I forgot about this part, and in the five minutes I had to fill the form out I couldn't get my sleepy brain to think straight. I already want to change my answers.

Yeah, so that old, tiny, undermining feeling of fear I used to be so familiar with just came back... I’m surprised I didn’t miss that bastard in the past 18 months, I'm so accustomed to him. He's a feeling I want to shove aside because the worst can’t possibly happen, but...since it actually can, he never goes away. I’m great at ignoring him though, we have a highly dysfunctional relationship. He's like a gargoyle that lives in the darkest corner of my brain..."Not one peep," I tell him. "I don't want to hear it." Mostly he stays quiet and just looks scary. I do not ever want to hear him roar.

I guess I’ll get back to checking the clock on flying days, waiting for Kevin's landing time to pass. I know if I haven’t heard anything by then, it’s all good and I’m still running my life...

Apparently I'm running it now, because I'm really looking forward to being out on the flight line again.

Things

2009-07-29T16:59:00.004-04:00

Fear is so irrational. I wonder if it is something you can’t really explain to someone if they aren’t afraid of the same thing…it makes no sense to them, they have to take it on faith.

I mean, what the hell was that yesterday when I was trying to get down to writing about some real stuff? I was acting like my dog when she really doesn’t want to be caught, really doesn’t want that bath—anything but this--like it was some kind of torture. It’s irrational.

I want to write about real stuff, I know how to organize information and get started on a writing project, so, why so scary? Why the distractions and the having to force myself to stay in this room until I got something started? Why the ridiculous antics?

Because it’s my thing.

We all have a thing. Whether we know it or not, we all have an irrational problem it would be so easy for someone else to solve, but we can’t seem to quite get on top of it. It’s the overweight person who just needs to move more and eat less—it’s so easy, so simple, why can’t they just put the fork down and take the stairs? It’s the addict who only has to keep from reaching for that bottle, it’s that super-successful person who doesn’t know what to do when he’s off-work.

So…overcoming this work issue, getting connected to my creativity and dealing with my bunk so I can write about the stuff I need to write about is definitely my thing. The fear and other barriers to it are the hardest things for me to face.

That’s where I have to go, right to that pain. I'm afraid it’s the only way forward. I realize it sounds stupid, if not sadistic, to go where you feel the most pain, but…You want to be full and healthy and live a deeper better life? You need some truth to go on? You want to overcome? Go find your pain and stay there awhile, it will tell you some truth.

It’s absolutely counter intuitive and the last thing we want to do, but I don’t think there’s any other way. No three-steps, no formula, no belief system is going to help us skirt it…it’s still just going to be there, our thing, staring us in the face. For me, there’s no re-doubling my efforts and putting together a fluffy research article that any old person can do. I could do it, and maybe even sell it, but I wouldn’t feel a thing and it wouldn’t be real. No, I have to sit, stick it out, focus and deal with the expectations, the insecurity about my potential, and the fear that I won’t pull out my real self and show up every damn day.

That’s the part that takes courage--the “every damn day” part.

People think courage is rushing into a burning building to save someone—and it is. But what I’m talking about is courage too; maybe it’s a different kind. It’s that decision to really live life every day instead of using easy mechanisms to skate through it.

We all have these mechanisms--charm, busyness, entertainment, television, accomplishment—stuff we’re good at or buzzes to get us through and make us feel okay. I think it’s absolutely heroic not to use them. It’s also hard as hell. It takes incredible courage to instead decide feeling some pain is better than not feeling and just surviving.

I’m not saying we live in the pain all the time…we all get to decide our pain threshold. I’m a big believer in a couple of Advil, some ice cream and a little TV when I’m dealing with a headache. I’ll also toss aside the writing for a big, fat breakfast some mornings when it's just too hard. But maybe we should forego the preemptive Advil, the one we pop daily because we’re afraid we might feel a twinge if we take a hard look at life.

Well, maybe not, maybe some of us need morphine, maybe life is too much—I don’t want to judge. Most of us won’t feel pain unless we’re forced to anyway.

So I might be wrong, and I’ll accept this might just be true for me, but don’t we all want more life? Don’t most of us need to admit the skating isn’t really working for us?

I think it’s built-in. I think we’re supposed to want life to be deeper and richer, and I think we’re supposed to feel the wanting--It pushes us to greatness and forces us to hope. We need to hope there is more to life and pain has a purpose. That’s how it works…at least for me. It’s the only way I can see to live real.

And when I see someone else doing it--showing up every damn day, facing and feeling their pain--I feel so proud and inspired.

It’s something you almost never get to see.

Denial

2009-07-28T18:42:00.004-04:00

We leave the beach in a week.

I guess it's time to start working on that vision for life in New Mexico. As good as it's feels to walk on this beach every day, it turns out we don't really live here.

As with so many things, we don't get to hang on or stake a claim, we just try to enjoy the moments and then keep on passing through. This time has been good for me.

Someone pointed out to me the other day that there is plenty of beach where we are going in New Mexico (we'll be right next to White Sands National Monument where there are unexplainably huge dunes of "sugar sand"). Unfortunately, there's just not any water...

Somehow I don't think that's the last time I'm going to hear that joke.

Wants

2009-07-23T18:38:00.005-04:00

Last night while walking the beach, I was doing some out-loud talking to God...and it was to God, I wasn't just talking to myself, I made sure of that.

I have a hard time talking to God because I'll start to fall right into some of my old Christian patterns of prayer, and I hate that, so the "out-loud" conversations are good, because I'll catch myself. It's happening less, as time goes by, but it still happens.

I started to do it last night. I was just talking and I started to say something like, "God help me to want to..." I stopped talking and instantly had a revelation.

I used to pray all the time asking God to make me want the right things, to give me a desire to be like Jesus, to make me want to please him, to make me want to love people, to make me want to be a good Christian, etc. I was supposed to want these things, but did I? Did I enough? Couldn't he make me want to do all the stuff I was supposed to be doing? If I wanted it, then I could do it more easily and we'd both be happy, right?

It rarely crossed my mind to think about what I actually already wanted. Whatever I actually already wanted would be, by default, not good enough. Much of the time I didn't even know what I wanted...didn't get that far.

Everything I allowed myself to want had to first go through the filter of what God might want for me. And, finding out what God wanted then justifying going after it was a difficult process.

And I never got a clear answer, you had to go with stuff like..."I feel peace about it," or "I sought Godly counsel." You might be able to find a verse to directly apply, but that takes some creative thinking...not that I haven't seen it done.

Oh, wait...it's afterward you get the clear answer...that's right. "Well God must have wanted you to do that because look how well it's all turned out," and "God really used you in that situation so you must have been in his will."

There is always an illogical explanation to fill in the blanks.

So...Where did I want to go college?

Well, that wasn't the real question. The real question was where did God want me to go to college? Finding that out required listening to pastors and teachers and parents who all said I could use a "good foundation" of Christian college before hitting the real world. It was just good advice, probably the best way forward...it certainly wouldn't hurt God's feelings for me to go to Christian college, and spiritually, and it would of course be better than going to a secular school where I'd have to battle off all those worldly ideas.

Isn't that why I went to Christian high school? When was I ever going to test myself in the real world? Could I ever have a good enough "foundation" of belief to keep me out of trouble? Apparently not...look at me now.

What did I want to do with my life?

Again, not the real question: Instead, what was God going to have me do, or let me do with my life? Instead of connecting with my internal self and finding out what I actually wanted, there was always instead, the undermining question...Yeah but, what does God want me to do?

Seriously I put most everything through this filter, and if I didn't, I was being rebellious. As I got older I became an expert at it. I did not spend much time figuring out what I wanted or who I was...I was always trying to become who God wanted me to be, and if he could help me want to become who he wanted me to be, then I'd really be on the right track.

Wasn't the purpose of it all to "Glorify God?" and "Please God?" Wasn't I always trying to get in "God's will" so I could live right and make the right decisions?

I know I sound like a heretic, but there is something so wrong with what these words have come to mean. Wasn't Jesus about freedom? What if there is no "God's will" and "right answer?" What if things just...are?

It really wasn't okay to just want things outright, all desires had to go through the manipulative, justification process to make them okay with God and the Christian community.

I don't remember just asking for a lot of things...that surely wouldn't please him, not with missionaries in Africa for crying out loud. So...it was just better for me to want things his way and get on-board. Plus, and this is another thing I don't like about myself, then I wouldn't have to fight through all the do-gooders and the lecturers quoting chapter and verse. It was just safer, and easier, to stay within the Christian circle of thought.

Look, I'm not saying I regret any decisions I made while in Christianity...in fact, I don't at all. I'm happy about where I went to school and how I've lived my life...I made my own choices. But, I'm also happy to have come out of Christianity. And I do regret the way I made decisions. I didn't learn how to know myself, trust myself, or listen to myself, and now my wants and desires are buried so deep they're hard to find.

Well, in the past year or two I've been figuring out who I am and what I want without "God's" influence clouding my vision, and I don't think he minds...he knows I need to de-tox. So, last night on the beach, I told him all this--or, maybe it's more accurate to say he told it to me, I'm not really sure--and I started mouthing off about the things I want.

(I kept from asking him for them...I'm not quite there. There is way too much baggage associated with asking him for anything...That is quicksand right into Christian dysfunction...)

I got on a roll about what I want out of this life, out of myself, and, as it turned out, it was okay. None of it was bad stuff, or sinful...I guess some of it could be described as selfish, but it all seemed okay. It's actually okay to want stuff, and I know it's really enlightening to know what that stuff is...really helpful. I wonder...is it even okay to want big stuff? Well, I'm not sure, but I do...and, well, God knows about it.

Truth. It's a Mystery.

2009-07-22T11:28:00.012-04:00

The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day. Never lose a holy curiosity.

The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science.

Albert Einstein

Beach Life

2009-07-21T14:41:00.004-04:00

My dog and I would love to live on the beach full-time. Every day here we go on two outings: After a morning of writing I take her for a run and a swim, and at night we’re back out there trying to catch the sunset with a long walk and another swim. We practically own this stretch of beach, once we pass a few people by the parking lot we have the place to ourselves. Running in the hot desert again without an immediate swim to cool-off afterward is going to take a lot of commitment.

Yesterday a dog died while we were at the beach.

At the beginning of our run a big Boxer curiously and boldly approached my dog, but ran back into the waves with his owners after they called him off. I quickly let my dog off-leash so she could get away from him if she needed to, but she wasn’t afraid, she’d met him before. I’ve seen that couple out there with their two dogs a few times in the past days.

At the end of our run and swim the Boxer was laying in the sand covered up with a towel. His lady-owner was curled over him, holding him and crying. The man-owner was sitting right beside them, one hand on the dead dog and his other on their other dog, an older, fattish collie mix. It was a sad day for their family, probably a sad vacation.

I don’t know what happened…heat stroke? They were walking him slowly in the water to cool off, but maybe he drank some salt water and was dehydrated?

Some bystanders told me about the dead dog. First a dad with a boy—he stopped me because he didn’t want me to walk my dog too close. He mentioned he knew CPR, but not for a dog. I suddenly remembered in my last CPR class I did learn how to resuscitate a dog, so I did walk close to the people so I could tell them how to do it if he was still alive…he wasn’t.

A big, fat, short, older lady in a one-piece walked over to me and told me so. (I’m now used to talking to people of all body shapes who feel no need to cover up—I’m not going to describe the old man who I thought, by how little he was wearing, must be European, but he spoke to me in a thick, southern accent). She is the one who said heat stroke…I don’t think she knew, I think she just thought it was too hot for us to have our dogs out there. She was kind of lecturing me, but trying to be helpful at the same time. She’d already rounded up a little trailer from some other people to haul the dog off the beach and was asking everyone where the nearest vet office was. I'm not sure the owners were thinking about that stuff yet.

I was saddened by the scene on the beach. Dogs should last a little longer than they do...I know I'll probably have to endure a couple more dog-friend deaths in my life. Apparently I think it's worth it.

------------------------

Living in a little vacation beach town, we get new neighbors often. Friday a couple of noisy families moved in next door. They have a lot kids they yell at, and who yell back while they ride their big-wheels up and down the street to the beach. Are they still called big-wheels?

The people have a huge boat and a couple of ski-doos parked outside, they’re taking up half the street. They’ve set up a tent and are partying in their driveway. Like many people outside in Florida, they feel the need to have music on all the time. They’re just using their truck speakers, but it’s loud enough that although I’m inside with the AC on, I know exactly what song is playing right now…partly because it’s a country song I hear every damn day down here (I know, my fault), and partly because it’s just plain loud. For some unknown reason they also like to leave that truck running for 30 minutes or longer. Why do truck owners do that?

The good news is I’m betting they leave Friday, everyone only stays a week.

----------------------------

Last night by the time I finished walking it was late, dark and no one was left on the beach. I still wanted to swim, I wanted to see the phosphorescent lights in the water. Kevin said he saw them the other night, but he had to go out quite a way. I left my things and my dog on the beach, and went in. I was in about waist deep when I saw some lights coming over the dunes, and I imagined I heard motorcycle engines. I ran out as fast as I could, picturing a bunch of rednecks cornering me, only to see that it was just a little family of four walking with flashlights hoping to catch some crabs. No motorcycles.

I waited until they passed, and went back in. I was still a little edgy about being in the water alone after dark, but, I wanted to be in the water alone after dark. Suddenly a 16-inch fish jumped about three feet out of the water and slapped back into the water right next to me. It caused me to about have a heart attack. Again, I raced out.

I thought I’d give it one more try. I was imagining sharks, sting rays and all manner of Florida creatures swarming around my legs, as I went back out. (We did see a dead baby shark on the beach one day...they are in there.) I was too chicken to go under…I saw a couple little phosphorescent lights and got the hell out of there. Kevin’s going to have to go out there with me on another night. Then if a shark gets hold of my leg, at least someone will know how I went out.

We walked about 50 yards off the beach and I heard a deafening sound from the nearby swamp. It sounded spooky, like a bunch of radio voices all confused, or how you might imagine an alien language sounding. Kevin said it must be frogs, but it didn’t sound like any frogs I’d ever heard.

Again, there was, unusually, no wind, and I felt a few tiny, strange bugs flying around me for the first time since we’ve been here. They were landing on me and stinging a little. It reminded me that we’re actually in the flat, marshy, insect-infested, alligator-filled South, and there's no reason to venture more than 50 yards off this nice, breezy beach.

Turning the Corner

2009-07-20T13:03:00.003-04:00

It feels good to turn the corner on something--to get over it, or through it, or even just past it. It means that even if I'm not successful in conquering it or figuring it out, I'm ready to move on anyway. It means I've embraced a new reality.

This time on the beach between lives feels like a good time to turn the corner on a few things. I've closed the book on DC, am starting to envision my life in New Mexico, and am taking some time to evaluate my outlook. Maybe I can get rid of some bunk I've been carrying around...I'm still working on the country music kick...

Sometimes what's around the corner is harder, scarier, or more painful. Still, it's a new stretch of road to cover...a different mountain to attempt to climb. At least the scenery is new.

I think my life is a constant repeat of this process. I spend most of my time bumped right up against the corner, but not turning it. I'll typically dawdle awhile, not sure I am really ready to leave where I am, or face a new reality.

The acceptance part is where I get stuck--staying in one place has to get more uncomfortable than proceeding before I'll take the first shaky step, and I have to allow myself to feel that pain. If I'm not paying attention or if I'm somehow numbing myself, I might stay there forever. I have to get sick and tired of the old scenery, of my old self before I'll move.

I've been in the same thought process about a writing project for a long time...stuck in confusion of how to proceed. I broke it out again, faced it, and this time, I can see a tiny bit of the way ahead. Still, it looked too daunting so I turned around to maybe head back, but I couldn't see where I had just been.

I turned the corner. Actually I feel relieved, the decision has already been made, I'm re-attacking. The only way to go is forward. I just wish I could see more than a couple feet in front of me.

Boomers...

2009-07-17T17:50:00.007-04:00

I heard a comment from someone in the older generation that everyone my age is complaining that life was supposed to be really great and we're disappointed wondering, "What the hell?"

Well, yes it was and yes we are...Thanks for noticing.

Damn baby boomers....

They were there, when we were young, they were the adults. They talked about how they had lived too freely and made their mistakes but we wouldn't have to. Listening to them, especially to those in the Christian community, we thought we could have it all. We had the advantage of "knowing the Lord" from an early age. We were blessed already, life could be perfect, we could ace it.

I believed them, that's for sure. I had all the advantages, I had the Christian thing down from the start--that was the golden ticket--and adults flat-out told me I could avoid all that pain sin caused them. They were giving us the gouge, the low-down, and they knew what they were talking about.

Hey, what about the pain of NOT sinning, NOT living...any thought given to that?

No, there was no warning on that side of things, no encouraging any scary experimentation or free thinking, we had to guard ourselves from such things proven faulty in the '60s and '70. Boomers were ready to settle down and live right.

We heard the message countless times, at least I did, in church, school and elsewhere: "Live right, obey the rules and not only will you avoid all the pitfalls and heartache we went through, you will get all these blessings." Throw in the capitalist American myth that we could do and become whatever we wanted and...well, of course we're perpetually recovering from disappointment.

I remember an article in Time Magazine saying we were the generation that would surpass all others...our conservative outlook and our opportunities were just that good. Come of age in the '80s and you were bound to achieve and succeed.

So yeah...We--me and my generation--we just might have a thing or two to say about how life is not quite how it was cracked up to be. I don't hear anyone saying it's all bad, we've all done okay, we're all right...

It was supposed to be awesome.

Maybe we shouldn't have believed it, that we could have it all and do it "right," but we did not come up with this notion on our own.

No one wants to say it--it's un-American and it won't win any souls--but the truth is there is no formula for life and no one can do or achieve whatever they want. The sky has limits, the American dream has plenty of limits...

It's funny to hear from the generation behind us, the X-generation of latch-key kids. They never thought it was going to be that great, they have an easier time with acceptance.

And what are we telling kids today? They're the "Z-generation," characterized by how they've never had any filter on their information--Is it really doing them a favor to let them think there is a framework to live by, that the sky is the limit and they can have it all? Don't worry, they know better already...plus they're being raised by a bunch of disappointed cynics.

All of us who thought we could do and have it all, that we would be blessed and it would all just happen for us if we did it right...aren't we a little ridiculous? I know we are. I know I am at least, and sure, it sounds lame in today's world. I take responsibility, I own it.

But hey, Boomers, you guys need to take a little blame too for raising expectations.

Then again, maybe you actually thought we could do it. After the rebellion of the '60s and '70s maybe you actually believed a more conservative, upright, formulaic Christian approach to life would pay off. Maybe you didn't know any better either....

In that case...Sorry to be such a disappointment.

Hope and Affirmation

2009-07-15T09:07:00.008-04:00

"Life seems glorious for a while, then it seems poisonous. But you must never lose faith in it, it is glorious after all. Only you must find the glory for yourself. Do not look for it either, except in yourself; in the secret places of your spirit and in all your hidden senses."

Wallace Stevens
---------------------------

"It requires internal work that may demand unanticipated heroic efforts. Men and women sometimes go through a painful sorting out of their beliefs and values as they discover a deeper and better world. They have to deal with the people around them who haven't gone through that shift in vision.

"...I'm not talking about something simple and easy. It may be the most challenging thing of all to crawl out of the pleasant unconsciousness that has been your womb for many years and enter life as a grounded, thoughtful individual.

"If you wake up to your soul, you may have to stand apart from the crowd and dare to be unique. The soul is your depth, like the rich earth nourishing a flower. It is always there, and it has always been there. From it your life emanates and blossoms. You glimpse it in your deepest emotions and the very roots of your thinking. It is hidden in your past and not yet fully visible in your actual life. As it shows itself, you realize how much of an individual you are, even eccentric and sometimes mad."

Thomas Moore

Fear

2009-07-10T12:02:00.002-04:00

Just when I vowed to be unafraid...

Last night I didn't sleep too well. It was warm, and I was restless, so I just let my mind wander and process the happenings of my life. Finally I feel asleep.

Lately I've been thinking how great it is here, how safe I feel. It's the kind of place where people don't lock their doors and wave at you when you pass.

I was feeling this in my sleep I think, all relaxed and with my guard down when suddenly someone was after me and I wasn't ready. It was a powerful nightmare. I couldn't scream, run or fight--my standard response in these rare dreams, and the scariest part; scarier than who is after me.

See, I'm pretty afraid that might be my response in real life too if someone were after me--fear would paralyze me and I wouldn't be able to muster a fight or a flight. Only once in one of these dreams did I fight back; I woke up punching the covers, feeling incredibly empowered. I thought maybe I had kicked my paralysis for good--but no, here it was again.

I woke up in a full-body, fear-stoked, adrenaline rush. That nightmare was ten times more real than the actual safe, quiet, reality of my bed. I had to work pretty hard to battle away the fear and convince myself I was being irrational. It took awhile, but I finally fell back asleep.

In no time it happened again...another, equally harrowing nightmare. Again, I woke to waves of adrenaline tingling my fingers and toes, stealing my breath.

Some things, like fear, are hard to tame.

My night taught me that I don't get to just decide, "Hey, I'm not going to be afraid anymore." It doesn't work that way, I don't have that kind of power. Fear can hit hard and without warning, and I am an unwilling victim.

I only get to decide how to deal with it afterward.

So, am I going to be able to muster a fight?

What I Deserve

2009-07-08T14:13:00.003-04:00

In Christianity I was taught that I was basically evil and deserved to go to hell. Only because God was gracious was I not already there.

I deserved it even though I had no control over my presence in the world. I did not ask to be here.

I also learned that I had an incredible need for Jesus--to keep me out of hell, among other things. Again, I didn't deserve it, but he came to earth to die for me, and I was to be incredibly grateful.

I didn't deserve God's love or his blessings, shouldn't expect them, but at the same time, they were promised to me...so maybe I could expect them, would expect them, if I had a lot of faith.

If good things happened, it didn't mean I deserved them, it meant I was blessed by God. He was keeping his promises. Maybe I pleased him. I was supposed to be trying to please him.

If good things didn't happen it meant, well, I didn't deserve them anyway, so I should have known better than to expect them. God must have some better plan for me. It did not mean he was welching, that's for sure.

If bad things happened, God allowed them for some reason, clearly he wanted to teach me something, he knew best. Again, there's no blame on God.

The bottom line was I deserved hell. I didn't deserve anything good...I was evil and needed God and should be incredibly grateful to him for everything, even the bad stuff and unanswered prayers.

The logic was always a little off; it never made complete sense to me. I figured that was what faith was for; none of us can understand God. I was always left guessing. I'd pray and I'd hope and I'd ask for guidance, then I'd have to explain God to myself when things didn't make sense.

Is it any wonder I am messed up? The mental gymnastics are exhausting.

None of this sits right with me anymore. Don't I deserve at least a few things? Don't I deserve to know how it works and what I can expect?

Apparently not.

I'm only expecting to have to keep working to make my own way forward.

Well, maybe that's what I deserve.

Unafraid

2009-07-07T13:51:00.006-04:00

Fear is a big motivator.

When I was in Christianity, it was a very effective tool. I was pretty afraid of messing up, of losing things, of sin, of myself and of God’s opinion. Even more powerful was the fear of what might not happen: I might not get the promised blessings, might not become more peaceful and joyful, might miss out on the “abundant life,” might not ever be like Jesus.

Fear is still a big part of my mindset, but I want it out of there. I’m tired of being afraid, living afraid.

I think I’m on to how to stop.

I have to go all the way there, to answer the what-ifs. What if I lose it all? What if I never accomplish anything? What if I slip-up, quit caring, become a big, fat loser who can’t muster for anyone or anything? What if already am that and just don’t know it? What if I embarrass myself in my attempts at life?

The answers just aren’t that bad. When I take a look at the worst-case scenario, it takes the kick out of fear. I used to need the kick--I’d try to use it, afraid (again) I’d lose motivation without it. Now I'm seeking a higher motivation. It’s hard for me to keep hold of though, without the scare tactics.

I want to aspire, to become, to live bigger. Why? Because I’m afraid life will have gone by and I’ll not have lived it. Is there a way to change that thought process? Isn’t there a more positive reason? Can’t I learn to lean forward and go offensive instead of always playing D?

I am only just starting to get the feeling of turning offensive, moving forward, accessing some aggression and going for the win. I’ve not trained this way, I’m out of shape.

So I need to develop a belief in, even an addiction to, the feeling I get when I’m really living life. I want to know that feeling so well, go after it hard, and accept nothing less. I want to be in the moment, be me, feel like me and live off that buzz, if you can even call it a buzz.

I haven’t felt it enough to know for sure, but I have hope it’s possible—it’s just hard to keep it in front of me…Fear will often crowd it out and I’ll quit making progress.

I don’t suppose I can get rid of fear altogether, and a healthy dose is probably a good thing. No one needs to go crazy fearless and start living for the adrenaline rush, doing the emotional, mental or spiritual equivalent of bungee jumping….

But for me, that “healthy dose” needs to stay tiny…just enough to be a little careful and smart. I’ve lived with too much fear…I’ll feel it, adjust too much and end up stepping way around it. Before I know it there’s no space to move forward.

And, not only do I have to face down the fear, I also need to learn to trust myself.

This is where Christianity does its worst damage.

As a Christian you cannot trust yourself because your SELF is sinful, weak, deceitful and bound to mess everything up. Instead you’re supposed to trust in God and Jesus--blindly, if necessary. They, and unfortunately their “representatives”, (whom you’ve placed yourself under and are to be in “submission” to), know best. So automatically, what you’re thinking or wanting is probably off. You need to listen to these people, and their interpretation of the Bible, and live life their way, the best way. They promise if only you’ll get on-board, the benefits will be huge.

So in Christianity the only way to succeed, to not mess up your life, to enjoy all the benefits of being in the club, is to become a rule-follower. Soon you don’t even have to think for yourself.

Trying to unlock the effects this has had on me can still put me in a spin.

Now, knowing and trusting my SELF is the answer, it is all I am working toward. I am learning to go inside and ask what I really feel, want or need. If I can connect enough with myself to answer those questions I find incredibly enlightening truth to go on. That’s right, TRUTH…truth I can trust.

Now that’s a great feeling, one I haven’t felt often enough. That’s the buzz, the energy and the motivation off of which I want to live and...it kicks the hell out of fear.

So today, I want to face life unafraid…I'll trust myself and not be afraid.

I’ve gone all the way to the worst-case scenario and faced the worst. The truth I found there is that I really have nothing to lose: If I lose the things I’ve been afraid of losing, maybe they weren’t what I thought they were to begin with. If I give my all and never write anything great, then maybe I’m just not writer-material—I’ll have to find something else to do. If I get to a place where I realize I’ll never become who I think I can become, I’ll have at least lived life on the journey, and not let fear steal any more time or confidence from me. If I end up alone… guess what? Everyone is…life is not a team sport.

Life is not that scary. It sure feels like it a lot of the time, but now I’m seeing it’s just that dogged, dysfunctional, Christian shadow that follows me around.

I’m working pretty hard to shake it.

A Friendly Nudge

2009-07-06T12:24:00.003-04:00

Sometimes it takes a friend to bump me out of my dysfunction.

For instance, my friend Gregg sent me downloads of the music I most wanted this weekend...two CDs worth of the best of MJ, AND the new Rob Thomas album.

Sweet. Now maybe I can get off this ridiculous country music kick I've been on since we entered the South--especially since the stations play the same five songs over and over. It's like a bad addiction, I can't seem to change stations.

Now if only I can get someone to help me out with a few other things...

I know, I know...ultimately only I have my finger on the iPod.

What It Takes

2009-07-02T13:33:00.003-04:00

I just happened to catch a little Wimbledon this morning.

It was the women's semi-finals; Serena was down a little in the third set to a strong, stoic, cool-looking Russian. It caught my attention because, although I’m not a huge tennis fan, it’s rare to see Serena down. Usually she's picking apart her opponents while practically smoking a Lucky.

Apparently it had been a close match the whole way. Serena was not playing her best, and with the Russian’s mental edge, I thought she was going down.

What I saw was what the commentators called one of the best, if not the best match in women’s tennis.

Serena knew she was in trouble, but at this stage of the game, this stage of her life, she knows a few things, and I could see it.

I could see the mental and emotional battle she was having right there on the court. She was working unbelievably hard to keep her cool, not give into fear and dig deep to play her game. She was pulling out focus, determination, knowledge of her self and confidence in who she is and what she can do. She was buckling down, preparing to bring it.

I felt the tide turn her way in two points. On the first she took an incredible risk by charging the net early—so even though she'd been faltering she wasn’t playing it safe. It worked for her.

After that came a long rally. With every shot the tension built. Serena rose a little higher with each return, realizing every time it still hadn’t been quite enough yet--she’d have to take it up another notch on the next hit. Well she did and on her last shot forced the Russian to, literally, take a knee.

Serena let out an almost primal scream…it had taken all her game, all her SELF to turn the tide. She wasn’t quite done yet, but her opponent got flustered and started ranting in Russian.

Match over right there.

I’m just now seeing, just now learning that it takes that focus and mental work to access that passion, that strength, that fire that gets us to live bigger. Yes, you have to do the work ahead of time, be disciplined and prepared--blah, blah, blah--I know how to do that, I’ve done that my whole life.

But that’s not enough because even after all that, being yourself and playing your game doesn’t happen naturally. Isn't that unbelievable? It doesn’t just flow as I’ve always thought it should.

Instead, it happens in the moment, on the day, at game time. You don't let up, you stay in there, you focus and fight. You know who you are and what you've got, and you call upon that true, inner self and you make it show up, every bit of it.

These days just living life as myself takes all I’ve got…I’m having to dig deep. But also, from time to time, I’m getting a feeling when I’ve come through a little something, that makes me, like Serena, let out a roar of victory over everything that tries to throw off my game.

It's new for me.

After the match, in a quiet, smiley voice Serena talked about her relief in winning, because she wasn’t on her game today. She said she even had to look up to her family in the stands, rallying to get a little help.

Serena Williams, one of the top five women in the world I would NOT want to throw down with (wait, she's actually number one), was scared, shaky, worried and unconfident. But, she didn't deny her feelings or shove them aside, she felt them all, was dealing with her whole self, and her whole self won.

I have only a little experience, but when I have to bring it, I’m left with feelings of lightness and crazy-freedom, but also some scary instability. I'm learning to deal with that fear, it tells me I’m up out of my conventional methods of life and rising above somehow.

I'm seeing it and feeling it but I still have a hard time believing this is what it takes. I always thought a bigger life of passion and abundance would somehow come to me if I did all the prep work, but it doesn’t.

It takes grit. It takes endurance and grit and a willingness to live without the comfort of being right or sure or even acceptable. I didn’t think it worked this way. I’m glad to see it does though, it gives me a little hope and some new things to think about...

So I don’t have to wait for things to finally click to live a bigger life...But I do have to fight to bring it real every day...every damn day.

Actually, that's kind of asking a lot...

Stuff Happens

2009-07-01T18:45:00.012-04:00

It’s an illusion we all live under...that we have some kind of control over our lives, over what happens to us, and that we have any understanding about why things happen.

Our lack of control is an ever-present insecurity we'd rather shove to the back of our minds.

I guess this is why so many people feel the need to explain circumstances in light of what "God" does or does not do. Anything that does not make sense can be credited to the Almighty.

And, isn't it funny how he always comes out on top?

We've all heard these explanations:

--God "used" a car accident, or a cancer to bring about this or that good.

Really? You sure about that? Shouldn't I try to get in an accident then? Should I pray for cancer?

--God "allowed" a horrible thing to happen to make someone a better person.

What if I already was that better person, would he then not have had to do it? Can I not then preemptively strike and become really good?

--"Things could have been so much worse…God must really have been looking out for you."

Yeah? If he was really looking out for me wouldn’t he--since he can--have kept it from happening altogether?

--"God really used you..."

Did he? He has some master plan I'm unaware of? Did I then have anything at all to do with it? Or, did he then, need me? Now that I've accomplished his "purpose," I'm just supposed to move to some other project?

--"Everything happens for a reason."

WHERE DO WE GET THIS? Does it? Or does believing it just make us feel better about all the bad stuff?

--"God must really have wanted to teach you something."

Please...you know this?

--"God really had his hand on you."

Hmmm. Maybe.

These statements not only assume we can know the "why" of it all, but how things would have gone down without his intervention....

I say again, isn’t it just a little convenient? Since God must always know best he can be explained out of every bad circumstance.

Shouldn’t we then go around thanking him constantly for all the car accidents we aren’t in? Or shouldn’t we pray to get the cancer and get into the car accident if it does so much good in our lives?

Instead, how about we just say WE DON’T KNOW. We just don't know how or why...

Why is that so hard? Why do we so hate to say we just don't know?

I mean, these things might be true, but to go around holding that belief up all the time is exhausting, and sometimes takes some serious mental gymnastics.

I know, I used to do it.

How about we not only let ourselves not know, but we let God be the bad guy? If he’s God, can’t he take it? Does he really need us to give him the 'out' or the credit?

Yeah, the credit. We do it for the good stuff too--out of superstition if nothing else..."Without God I could not have won this world championship..." Yeah? No kidding. Without God Katrina couldn't have happened either....

Look, there's only one person who is happier than me Kevin’s accident wasn’t worse, but I don’t pretend to know how or why, or what would have happened if God did or didn’t intervene.

Several people have said how fortunate, blessed or lucky he is. Yes, I think so too, it could have been worse, but I have to leave it at that.

When a Christian friend pinned me down and said I HAD to agree that God had his hand on Kevin and protected him from a worse outcome, I could not.

I just don’t know, and neither does she. She thinks she knows God works that way. She throws the accident into her belief-system machine and out come these statements that roll so easily off the tongue.

Good for her, I'm glad life works that way for her. Maybe she just has more faith than I do...In fact, I'm quite sure she does. Maybe I just need more.

Or maybe some of those who so easily explain the world this way just can't, or don't want to, live with pain they can't explain. Maybe some people accept these explanations too easily, or maybe they have a lazy thought process that doesn't even try to see gaps in logic.

Or, maybe they (and even I sometimes), need a "catch-all" God to get them out of scary places...

I'm certainly not going to judge.

I'm just saying...Don't we just so badly want to have some way to explain this life?

Then we can rest...thinking we get it, that we know the "why" of it all...

Guess what? We don’t get to know.

I know...I know..."All things work together for good to those who love God..."

Careful. Be very careful how you interpret that...

If all things don't work out for good do I not love God enough? Am I then not "called according to his purpose?"

Nuh Uh. Nope. Don't throw that out there like we can even know exactly what that means....

Please--help me let some things be unknown. Can't we just let some stuff float out there? Do we really have to pin it all down?

What if, sometimes, there isn't ANY reason something happened...

WHAT IF STUFF JUST HAPPENS?

Thunderstorms

2009-06-30T11:27:00.003-04:00

This afternoon the weather was building for about three hours--it just kept getting darker and darker. I started to hear the thunder in small rumbles at first, then the wind picked up and out of nowhere it got really loud.

It was a huge thunderstorm—at least to me. I could see big bolts of lightning touching the water, sometimes for several seconds, then the thunder would crack and it seemed like the sky was splitting open right overhead.

The rain started suddenly—I’m guessing we got a couple of inches in the two hours it lasted. With all the water hitting the windows I couldn’t even see out to watch it after awhile. I hunkered down inside with my dog and hoped the power wouldn’t go out.

I texted Kevin that the dog didn’t like thunderstorms…He accused me of being the scared one...

The storm finally rolled through and it stopped raining, but it stayed so cloudy there was almost no sunset when I finally got out on the beach to walk. There was just one thick red streak in the midst of the super-dark, gray sky.

Beautiful, but a bit ominous...it wasn't quite over.

And now, in the middle of the night, I was just half-woken up by flashes of lightning and the rest of the way by another text from Kevin. An hour behind, he’s in New Mexico this week getting the heads-up on the new job and checking out the new house.

I lay in bed trying to go back to sleep but the weather wouldn’t let me…at least I think it was the weather. The flashes outside are constant, like natural paparazzi cameras trying to get pictures of something out over the Gulf.

What is it that is demanding all this attention, creating all this energy?

I’m up for a snack and hopefully a little peace of mind after I write a little and the storms settle down--Maybe I need to get some stuff off my chest before I can get back to sleep....

The truth is thunderstorms do scare me. I love them when I can sit somewhere safe and watch the show with someone, but when alone I just want to turn inward and I find myself wishing they would get quieter and calm down, that I didn’t have to feel the unsteadiness in the atmosphere.

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to them…they are just so loud and dominating, requiring all my attention. There’s nothing to do but hold steady and wait for them to subside, wait for the feelings to subside.

Is there something they are trying to tell me?

Thriller

2009-06-26T11:44:00.002-04:00

I remember, when I was in high school, sitting in the living room watching a TV special called "Motown 25." We only had one channel, so there was either something to watch on NBC or there was nothing to watch.

The Motown special was certainly something to watch that night. I was sitting in the gold velour chair with my feet up, homework spread on my lap when Michael Jackson came on stage. He was wearing that black suit, white socks and, of course, the glove.

He had me from the first notes of "Billy Jean" and from the second he threw his hat into the audience.

He was the coolest thing I had ever seen.

Michael Jackson had been around my whole life. I remember watching the "Jackson Five" on Saturday mornings from the time I was a teeny kid, but this was a whole new Michael Jackson. I certainly had never seen dancing like that.

It was my "Ed Sullivan" moment...you know, the one everyone from my parents generation has--when Elvis shook his hips on TV for the first time.

They have that...we have that first moonwalk.

The music from Thriller was everywhere--I thought anyone who had the tape was cool.

When I watch those black and white clips of Elvis I'm pretty sure I don't get it--the impact it must've had. Neither do my "nieces" when we tell them how cool Michael was. They only know the weird stuff, and they can't see what an influence he had on their Usher and Justin Timberlake.

So I'm just enjoying the replaying of all his music on radio and TV, and skipping all the tabloid-type coverage of whatever caused his death. It's just sad and a little startling, he and Farrah--both huge in my youth--dying on the same day.

The lesson seems to be that we might get to be incredibly special and beautiful for a time in our life, if we're lucky, then we'll probably go a little crazy and die too early. We're all too human to stay in the beautiful phase.

Well, his troubles here are over at least. I'm suspecting his music will re-surge and be around forever. I've got the BET MJ marathon on today--all the old videos.

And, I know what's going on my iPod next.

Sugar Sand

2009-06-25T16:49:00.008-04:00

So we made it to the beach.

It’s even better than I remembered.

We’ve lived on this beach a couple of times before…once when we were first married for six months, and once in 2003 for eight weeks.

Now the Air Force doesn’t mean for it to be such a great break, but we’ll take it…or I will. Kevin will actually have to do a lot of studying and flying, but for me, Air Force life doesn’t really get any better than a few weeks in Mexico Beach, Florida.

Yesterday we drove through flat kudzu-covered forest for 3-4 hours before we finally saw the Gulf of Mexico. I caught a huge lift when I saw it. I looked at the temperature on the car and saw it was still in the 90s, and I knew there was still crazy humidity, but I was hoping for some better air. The second we got out of the car and I caught that gulf breeze, I breathed a huge sigh of relief and my spirits went even higher. Ahh.…

Five weeks from now I’ll worry about driving across the heat of Texas and making a life in New Mexico. For now, for the next six weeks I’ll either be on the beach or gazing at it from my third-story deck, thank you very much.

------------------------------------------------

This small beach town we always come to is about an hour east of what Florida claims is the world’s “most beautiful beaches,” sugar sand and all that. (I’m a Californian, so I’m not going there…) They are very crowded (especially during spring break), and there’s lots of clubs and that horrible, standard, East Coast-style putt-putt-golf beach strip.

There’s none of that here, except for the sugar sand. Even if we didn’t need to be by the Air Force base I’d pass on those popular beaches to spend my time in this small, slow, sleepy, town where the beach is not crowded with hot bods or lined with hot clubs.

It’s a difficult place to get to, but still somewhat unspoiled (I am happy to see), even in high season.

So, for the next six weeks—except when we have dinner obligations—I will not miss a sunset over the Gulf.

-----------------------------

We’re about 40 yards east of the Central Time line. And, as always when we come here, I’m never sure which way the local businesses are going to go. All the locals know how it works, they were explaining it to me this morning at the coffee shop. The biggest town in is CST, but local folks get irritated following that if they don’t work there--Why should they have to? To the east, is the second-biggest town and it’s definitely EST. Mexico Beach is mostly CST, but not all of it, nor are all little places in between. Businesses will either post it on the door, or you’re just supposed to know.

The locals call EST “fast time” and CST “slow time.” We stick with CST since Kevin has to show up at the base every day, we can’t afford to get confused…but I’ll have to give it a thought if I’m going to be anywhere but on the beach.

----------------------------------

We’re partially incommunicado. We have sketchy cell coverage at best, and no internet unless we go sap it off the one big hotel in town. I got that heads-up at the local coffee shop this morning…It was a great tip. There are covered picnic tables near the hotel, so I’m outside watching the waves, feeling the breeze, and checking email. Very enjoyable.

I have nothing on the schedule but running and walking this beach, watching the sunsets, taking a few daily swims and trying to do a little reading and writing every day. Also, we’ll see a few friends.

I could not be happier.

------------------------------------

I stuck my feet in the water last night and went for a swim this morning. Because of where I was raised, I’m always shocked when the water isn’t freezing cold…I automatically brace for it every time. The Gulf is at a great mild temperature right now, and very clear.

I get a little skittish in this water though, they have creatures here I’m not accustomed to…stingrays, jellyfish, horseshoe crabs and, oh yeah, sharks that like warm, shallow water. Yikes.

You’re supposed to shuffle your feet to scare off the rays…they say they’ll only sting if you step directly on one. I’m shuffling all right…the sting is supposed to be bad.

I remember when I took Kevin, who is from Florida, swimming with me in California for the first time. He couldn’t believe how cold the water was, and that we were out there right near otters and seals not thinking a thing about it. He was a little freaked out by them popping up nearby to check us out.

(This is from a man who grew up water skiing in lakes that had alligators in them….)

My pro-California argument was, and is, that you don’t really hear of many seal or otter related deaths and the likelihood of losing your life to a shark goes down drastically in water under 80 degrees. And, I’m not even thinking (well, trying not to), of the occasional alligator that makes its way into the Gulf. Double yikes.

It’s all what you’re accustomed to.

I’m using the “Big Ocean” theory, (also known as denial) where gators and sharks are concerned.

What are the chances?

Until Justice Rolls Down Like Waters...

2009-06-25T11:54:00.006-04:00

The civil rights memorial is beautiful.

It’s small and simple, but you get such feeling from it.

It makes you think about what had to happen there in the South, in our country, to get the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence to mean what they actually say.

It took unspeakable courage, wrenching pain, the loss of many lives, and an incredible stick-to-itiveness. I realize I have no concept.

It’s a calm little respite there on the hot sidewalk of downtown Montgomery, just a couple blocks from the big, beautiful, marble-white buildings of the establishment.

The symbolism is huge.

It's really a fountain, there’s water flowing on both parts of the memorial…the wall with the quote by Dr. King and the circular table that documents the big moments of the civil rights struggle—the date of each one carved in stone. But the drops of water falling off of it reminded me of all the small moments it must have taken, of every person who wasn’t heralded like Rosa Parks, who maybe wasn’t the “first” to do anything, but still did it. There were thousands that didn’t get on the buses during the boycott, but walked miles instead. Every drop of water is representing the courageous, un-guaranteed act of every person who said…like Ms. Parks, "Not today. Not anymore.”

I knew the MLK words came from the “I Have a Dream” speech at the Lincoln Memorial, but I couldn't remember in what context he used the Biblical quote, and I couldn’t remember the last time I watched the whole speech. I Googled it, found it online and watched the whole thing. Tears came to my eyes, it was so inspiring.

Freedom. It’s the highest thing. It's the greatest gift, the greatest right, the greatest privilege. It may be the one thing worth whatever it costs to attain.

http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/mlkihaveadream.htm

Southern Comfort

2009-06-25T10:50:00.005-04:00

I know why they call it soul food.

I’d heard from friends and read online about an old house in downtown Montgomery where they served some really good, homemade, southern food. I stopped by there twice and they were closed, and it didn’t look too promising…a rundown two-story house where the sign, apparently always said open, even when they weren’t, which was often.

I decided I didn’t need the experience or the calories, but some friends who had lived there said it was a must, I absolutely had to hit it.

So the day before we left I decided to make an event of it. I’d go to “Martha’s Place,” then go to the Montgomery Fine Arts Museum, the last thing on my to-do list.

Well, I walked into the old house and before I knew it, I had a tray of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, collard greens, black-eyed peas, lima beans (!), cornbread and a couple of other things I wasn't sure about…oh yeah…and southern sweet tea. (I always say “unsweetened” when I rarely order tea, but I thought I’d go huge and stay authentic.)

So to the question, "Lemonade or Sweet Tea?" (those were the only choices) I said, “Sweet Tea please,” before I changed my mind. No dressing on the side, no “leave off the butter,” no boneless or skinless anything. Full-up…Full on.

It was absolutely the best…the exact thing I needed. I sat there and let the Southern lady care for me, call me “baby,” ask me if I needed anymore chicken, and tell me dessert WAS included—-it wasn’t an option. There was no perky little 20-something blonde with the “Did you leave room for dessert?” That's easy to decline.

The comfort of it all was too intoxicating…there was no question about dessert…if you go to Martha’s Place, you are so getting dessert.

On my day, the choices were…lemon meringue pie, bread pudding or red velvet cake. I went for the red velvet…how often do you get that choice?

It was SO bright red…not pink…RED. And the frosting was white. It was really good, although I could only take a couple bites because I DID have a second piece of fried chicken--more on that later. The cake wasn’t sweet at all…almost unsweetened, but the frosting was crazy sweet, good combination.

So I sat in that little old house built in the early 1800s sweating like crazy and loving it for over an hour. AC? I’m not sure…if so, it wasn’t able to hang with the 99 degree temps, but it would have almost seemed inappropriate. What did seem appropriate was a nap on the front porch, which, I probably could have done. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have batted an eye.

I was comforted by the southern food, the southern care, and that incredible sweet tea. I was up to my second knuckles in grease eating that fried chicken, I couldn’t put it down. Now I typically eat a piece of fried chicken maybe once a decade…but I couldn’t stop myself here. I ate all the skin, all the dark meat and went for seconds.

Actually this is an unusual decade--I just remembered I did have a small piece of fried chicken a year ago when we drove through Amish country at one of those Pennsylvania Dutch home-cookin’ places...

Sorry but those Yankees shouldn’t even be allowed to call it the same thing. That fried chicken, I could take or leave, and actually regretted even trying it…This Southern-comfort-on-a-plate (yes, and a heart-attack also), I couldn’t get enough of. I left wishing I could fit in a few more bites.

I finally rolled my sweaty self out of there and back into my car wishing I had let the sweet southern lady refill that sweet tea one more time for the road (what’s another 400 calories?). I set out for the Fine Arts Museum. It was just across town, but by the time I got there I was fighting off a serious food-induced coma. Combine that with the heat and I had to whisk through that museum and get myself back to our room for an afternoon nap.

It was the perfect way to finish my Alabama time. Of course yesterday, just before driving out of the state, I did get one more large glass of Southern Sweet Tea. A girl can’t afford to drink that on a regular basis, but I needed one more taste of the real thing.

Sweet Home Alabama

2009-06-21T19:46:00.007-04:00

I don’t even know where to start….

I keep saying to myself, “Who lives here?” Then I look at who lives here, and I feel like I don’t know these people, and I say again, “Who lives here?”

I’ve been trying spend my ten days here like I always do when the Air Force puts us in random places…I get to know the place, I go exploring, see the sights and do the things I do, but in this new place.

I always say I could live anywhere…but here, that belief is being tested.

Well, to start with, I went looking for a place to run with my dog. I found a park called—and I’m not joking-- “Cooters Pond.” It’s not a pond, it’s a lake, and when I ran down to it to let my dog cool her paws, I saw about 15 American made pickups with boat trailers in the parking lot and lots of good ol’ boys pulling their boats out of the water after early morning fishing.

What a scene…

Men (there were no women), all of whom were 40-plus pounds overweight, were wearing either NO SHIRT or the Alabama standard t-shirt-with-sleeves-torn-off, shorts and--get this--CROCS. They were being very serious about the way they handled their boats and trucks…all of them shined to a high degree.

Now I’m sure Crocs are entirely practical for boating, but really, should anyone over the age of six really be wearing them? Really? And why is it that people latch onto the worst fashion that comes along, hang onto it for 15-plus years, and let all the good stuff just float down the river?

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There seems to be two competing major radio stations. Of course they play only country music. They talk each other down constantly, but play exactly the same songs. There are other stations, most of them country, some specializing in 90s country, or classic country...you get the picture. And as for the title of this post, I've heard that song, either the classic or the Kid Rock version at least 10 times since I got here.

I've also listened to a little talk radio, and local TV. There's definitely, a bit of racist dialogue you would absolutely not hear anywhere else…it's kind of scary.

When visiting the civil rights memorial I can so feel the contrast of its small footprint next to the big, powerful, white buildings of the Alabama government a couple of blocks away. It's very strange…almost eerie, like race is the elephant in the room no one talks about.

Black churches and white churches are in sight of one another, each worshiping God their own way.

It’s so easy to imagine the bus boycott and the marches taking place here.

We came through here in 1990 and drove the 1965 Selma to Montgomery march route. I am thinking of doing it again, I want to get the feel of how much things have changed. Then I felt everyone in Selma knew we were there to look at their bridge where the beatings took place and to gawk at their backwardness. I want to know if the town has a different feel now, if it has healed...or if maybe my perspective has changed.

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The weather has been unbelievably sweltering…the air is thick and hot, and running takes all I have, even at 8am. I get Okinawa flashbacks with the Cicadas singing in the trees, and I find myself wondering if a California girl like me is equipped to deal with such conditions…And with all the bites I’m getting, I wonder if someone like me should even have to wonder what a “chigger” is...

However, the biggest problem for me in Alabama, is that every day I have to go on a search for good food.

On the first day, for lunch, I went to a Mexican grill hoping for my skinny, Baja/Chipotle-like rice bowl. What I got was rice that had been tossed with butter I think….WHY?

On the second night we tried for Asian…our standard healthy “go-to.” I told the Chinese man we were concerned about the amount of oil, and asked three times that the chicken not be fried. What we got was not Chinese food, but an Alabama-ized version of Chinese food. There was a heavy, almost gravy-like sauce on our supposedly stir-fried chicken.

Of course there was.

My foodie friends in DC advised I just go for the fried catfish..."It's what they know how to do," they said. "Worry about the calories when you get to Florida." Well, I'm over most chain restaurants and I do love to try local cuisine when I'm visiting a place, but I can’t quite do the catfish.

I have, however, gone for the BBQ.

Where I was raised barbecue is a verb…it’s the way you grill out and cook your steak. Here, it’s a noun. It's a slow-cooked, put on a sandwich with coleslaw noun. They do it pretty well actually, and I’ve embraced it twice. If I could only leave the fries it really wouldn't be that bad, should they have a whole-wheat bun. But, of course, I can't and they don't….

-------------------------------------

I was super-jazzed when I saw online there was a Thai restaurant not too far away. I thought surely, like most Thai restaurants, it would be run by a Thai family and have a menu full of veggie dishes. I went on a mission to find it that took some serious work, ending with me stopping at an Irish pub to ask directions.

The Alabamans who owned the pub absolutely charmed me. They took a lot of time to tell me where the restaurant was, so I asked about their establishment.

“Do you guys have live music?” I asked.
“Sometimes,” he said.
“Tonight or tomorrow night?”
“DJ this weekend, but you’ll like it…it’s not your younger crowd, it’s all classic and 80s music,” he said.
“Oh, so you’re thinking that’s what I’ll like?” I countered.

There was only a smile, and no comment from the Alabama man who was raised NOT to talk about a woman’s age….

I found the Thai restaurant and took my husband there for dinner Friday night. The menu was only partially Alabama-ized…we were fairly happy. The place was not owned by a Thai family, but by an Alabama lady who sat and chatted with us awhile. (I have to say, I almost already have friends here…would only take a week or two, they are so friendly…) She said she loved her military customers, we are so much more “cultured” than some of the “bumpkins” she gets in there asking whether or not they serve “dog.”

Wow...In DC, military people are considered the bottom of the “culture” totem pole, I learned (painfully), from my work at the wine bar. Here, we are freakin’ cream of the crop?

-------------------------------

We decided to hit the Irish pub after dinner…since alcohol wasn’t available at the restaurant. (It’s hard to decipher the liquor laws in these states...)

Now I’ve actually been to a few Irish Pubs in a few countries. They are kind of a little western oasis in places like Hong Kong, Bangkok or even Paris. You always know exactly what you’ll get: Irish stout on tap, a bar menu of food like stew, shepherd’s pie and fries, probably some live music, and an American and European crowd.

Not in Alabama.

In Alabama, “Irish Pub” is apparently just another word for “Redneck Bar.” There was no Irish beer on tap, the menu had no Irish items on it (but included “fried crab claws”), and, as warned, there was only a DJ for music.

It wasn't quite what I was hoping for, but I have to admit, I quickly got pretty comfortable there and sang out-loud to almost every song. The DJ was mixing country, classic rock and '80s music, showing videos to many of the '80s tunes from our high school years I wasn't then allowed to watch.

We were having a great time.

Kevin knew I wanted to dance, so limped out onto the floor with me for a few songs…that is until I bumped that bad knee….OUCH. We decided to leave and he stepped into the restroom.

A half-toothless old guy pushing at least 60, possibly 70, wearing a t-shirt with the requisite no-sleeves, a ball cap and white Reebok tennis shoes came up to me and asked if I wanted to—and I’m not kidding--“Shake a leg.”

I replied that I simply could not because, regretfully, we were leaving. He said he was crushed because he had surveyed the bar and I was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman in the bar. He added that he was an ex-Marine, and he knew women….an expert no less.

Did I mention that he had only half of his God-given teeth??

And I'm not going to describe the size of the other women...

When I told Kevin on the way to the car, he was slightly bugged that the guy waited until he was in the bathroom to talk to me, and added that if he wasn’t crippled he’d have had to throw down. He also said he noticed I was getting a lot of play across the bar from a ‘roided-up guy with a receding hairline and another guy wearing--at 10pm--TWO pairs of sunglasses…one on the visor (who, besides golfers, wear visors these days?), and one on the neck of his sleeveless t-shirt.

I was, apparently, the bell of the ball.

When I got back to the hotel I called my friend who lived here for a year, and relayed my impressions of the Sweet Home state. She said I need to get the hell over to the new side of town where all the fancy shopping is, stay in one of the new “master-planned” neighborhoods, and hang out with all the “normal” people.

I asked her why the hell I would want to do that? I can do that in any city in the US, and, not only that, I would miss out on observing all this true, local culture. Besides…there’s no way I’m getting the compliments over there I’m getting on this side of town….

When I first got here I was second-guessing my plan. Why didn’t I stay in DC 10 days longer, let Kevin come down here on his own, then meet him at our beach house in Florida on Wednesday?

Now, the truth is, I’m kind of getting used to my days of working out (twice on some days to counter the calories), hitting the pool and observing and exploring the true South.

I suppose I actually could live here...for awhile.

So far my favorite part is the obvious head-nod I get from all the males over 14--It's no compliment to me, just the way they're taught to respect women I think. It’s not quite as awesome as that hat-tip you get in Texas or Wyoming, but it’s very close, and awfully nice.

Actually everyone in Alabama has been, if nothing else, awfully nice.

"I've always depended on the kindness of strangers."

2009-06-15T00:35:00.008-04:00

Blanche DuBois

It just doesn't stop...it's unbelievable.

Since the missionaries visited on the worst day possible, an unbelievable amount of things have gone horribly wrong.

I'm not even going to mention the dozens of small frustrations than have accompanied this move (lost wallet, lost watch, rooms reserved for the wrong night), I'm only going to mention the biggies....

Actually, let me just cut to the chase and go right to the grand finale....

This morning in a random South Carolina town, after an early morning jog with my dog, there was a knock on the hotel room door. When I opened it an unfamiliar man uncomfortably asked:

"Are you Kristine?"
"Yes."
"Your husband has been hit by a car on his bicycle..."

Well...he, in his friendly, Southern, Christian way, didn't want to lead me astray about what condition my man was in, but confirmed, at least, that Kevin had told him my name, so was somewhat coherent. I jumped in the man's car and soon saw in the distance fire trucks, ambulances and police cars holding up traffic.

Apparently a car to bicycle accident is big news on a Sunday morning in Carolina...not many other disasters going on since most folks are in church. My heart sank when I saw my man with his shirt cut off strapped to a back board with a neck brace.

He seemed pretty unfazed, telling me how okay he was, and instructing me to get a picture of the car that had hit him. It was like he had a black eye from a nasty fight but was saying, "You should see the other guy..."

Well, I didn't look then, distracted by the pool of blood on the pavement and the grimaces he was making, but the car did, in fact, look worse than he did. And the old man who had been driving, well he looked absolutely beat up and very distraught. In truth my husband didn't get hit by a car, he did the hitting, traveling at about 40 mph. The car is practically totaled.

Even laying strapped to the board he seemed to think he had come out on top. Of course this was before hospital personnel spent 30 minutes gingerly picking windshield glass from his back...and before the shock and adrenaline wore off. I'm not sure he'd agree with that assessment now....

So I soon found myself riding in a firetruck, clamping a destroyed bicycle to our car then wandering around a strange town trying to find the hospital where the ambulance had taken my man, not sure what condition he was in. There are times when you feel lonely, and then there are times when you are lonely....

Fortunately for me we were in the heart of the southern Bible belt. There were more bystanders doing their Christian duty than you could shake a stick at, we were blanketed with helpfulness. I for one, was happy to have the friendly assistance, although I cringed slightly when a hospital worker wanted to pray with my husband...not sure what words would come out of his mouth at that point. However, in his broken state he totally let her do it, and we all said a collective "amen" at the end.

For me it was more a sigh of relief because we knew we were lucky--or blessed--however you want to say it. He did come out on top. No one comes out of a crash with a totaled car, buckled bike frame, cracked helmet but not one broken bone or internal injury. Oh there's plenty of external injuries...I'm wincing every time I look at them, but they'll all heal with time...and, to quote one of my husbands mantras:

"Wounds heal...Chicks dig scars...Glory is forever"

Well, we had to get where we were going, and I figured there was no time like the present--Kevin in a comfortable, fairly happy, drugged condition--I'm pretty sure tomorrow he'll feel worse. I made it my mission to drive straight through the rest of the way to Montgomery, Alabama. It was not without incident, but we made it and are finally settled in.

The whole way we were inundated with friends calling and texting...offering to fly out or fly us wherever we needed to go...What could they do to help? It was nice to feel everyone rally.

I've just been told by a doc friend that I should wake up every two hours and check on him and have been implored by two other friends to get him the hell back to a hospital for observation. They're worried he may start going down like Natasha Richardson--"He was fine and then he suddenly dropped dead..."

So I have that to sleep on...

Hopefully I can get a quick 911 call out should things go south...or maybe I'll just yell for help--after all we're still in the Bible belt, presumably helpful Southern Christians are everywhere.

Thank God.

Losing It

2009-06-09T13:24:00.002-04:00

I called in an order to Subway to buy sandwiches for the movers.

"Can't you just come in?" the lady said, unhelpfully. No, I could not, I said, and asked her if she wanted me to go elsewhere.

"That's up to you," she said. Of course I didn't want to go elsewhere, they are the closest, so I sucked it up and made her take my phone order.

I called to cancel our internet service. The Verizon man canceled it that second without asking WHEN I wanted it canceled...which would be Friday. "Well you didn't say that," he said. He didn't ask. Isn't it his job to ask? And everyone knows that once the cancel order goes in there's no taking it back....I got transferred to India and back three times trying to get it back on...40 minutes later I gave up.

I let some stuff get packed that shouldn't have gotten packed.

I can't seem to communicate with my husband without a misunderstanding...he finally said, "Are you feeling really stressed about this move?" I tell him no, it's very possible that he, the Subway lady and the Verizon people are all giving me a hard time...It's not me.

Then there was the jackass driver who wouldn't go even though he got the the four-way stop before me, and the other one who was holding up traffic while cruising for a parking spot...oh wait...that was me.

Later, while sitting outside in denial about the four men of color who were breaking their backs to move my stuff, two young twenty-something men (not of color) in short-sleeved, white shirts and ties came walking up--Of course they did.

They sat with me in the shade and played with my dog while I told them I was de-toxing from religion. I suggested maybe they could relate...but they couldn't really, they were so cool and comfortable with their "truths," even on a hot day like today.

One of them asked me how we find truth--I told them we have to battle for it. They asked me what our purpose was on earth and I said to become ourselves--they agreed. Apparently that philosophy fits in some tiny way with the "pre-earth" lives we all had....Wow.

They suggested the "Holy Ghost" would lead me to truth, and I wouldn't be frustrated forever, not knowing the answers.

"God I hope so," I said.

This day needs to end.

Thoughts From A House Full of Boxes....

2009-06-09T09:55:00.004-04:00

Funny how I spent all this time and effort making a good life here, and now I can't wait to just get the hell out of this town.

I've either gotten really good at moving, or I'm getting really bad at it....

This time I've felt that I've been exactly on schedule, mentally and emotionally. I thought it was going to be hard to leave, but I turned the corner on that when I saw my Air Force friends, quit my job early and went to NYC. Life is bigger than Old Town, and I've got other places to go.

So, let's wrap it up, don't belabor the goodbyes, let's all just move on.

On the other hand, that's a bad sign...that's not like me at all. Maybe I'm not dealing with it all, not realizing what it took to live well here, not thinking about the relationships I worked at developing...maybe I'll get all wrenched about it when we drive away...yes, chances are I'm kidding myself.

Damn, I wish it was easy.

Most relationships are fleeting, maybe I don't need to put so much into all these lives I build...but I can't help it. I do, then they end, and I am there in the car, on my way to a different place, trying to make sense of what just happened, trying to hang onto the good and let loose of the rest.

Life is hard, then I move. I start over, it gets hard, I make the best of it, then I move.

Or, maybe it's really cheating that I get to kind of start over all the time...most people have to deal with the same people their whole lives. I get a new batch every now and then, and I get to present myself without history.

Either way, we all have to do it...deal with life that is. There's no quitting....

Baggage

2009-06-09T09:19:00.003-04:00

So the movers came yesterday and packed everything up. The idea is they pack one day, then come the next day with a big truck to pick it all up. I'm waiting for them to show up now.

We're supposed to have everything that we don't want packed set aside, then make sure they get every single other thing in a box.

It's never a clean process...they always miss something, then we miss it too, and then we're toting some damn family heirloom around with us in the car because we can't throw it out....

So when we get in the car Friday--eight weeks from when we make a new home--it will be just the man, me, the dog, everything we need (I hope), and, I guarantee, some old dysfunctional item that keeps getting in the way.

We'll just have to work around it.

Too Much Wine

2009-06-05T08:51:00.003-04:00

I hate this feeling....

Last night, with my Pilates people, I was warm, funny, skinny, the best teacher ever and I had great posture.

Today, in the daylight of truth, I am clammy, grouchy, puffy, horrible and hunched over.

That's how it goes.

And tonight, there's another big finale event...

I hate these going-aways...

At least in the morning I do.

This I Believe

2009-06-01T11:34:00.004-04:00

I believe it is all about me.

The fire, the spirit, the heart, the soul within me—whatever you want to call it—my true mysterious self…that unadulterated “me” is where all the power, all the love, all the beauty, all the greatness, and all the life I’ll ever find lies.

I believe that “me” is allowed by God, if not created by him, to be something great in this life—itself.

It’s all about becoming. The way to life, love and God is through developing and following my heart, soul and spirit down the pathway to whom I really can become. I have to know myself, my entire “me,” and acknowledged and develop every part so it balances with the others and becomes whole.

That is the challenge, the meaning, the purpose in life…to become who I truly am. The pain of life means something because it shoves me toward becoming “me,” and in being fully “me” I access creativity, live life and feel love, freedom and passion. People with great personality and great achievements have, either naturally or through work, let more of their “me” out.

So far, I’ve only caught a glimpse of it, but if I continue to become “me” I believe I will find life worth aspiring to.

I’m getting the payoff in small doses now, with the tiny truths I find daily and with the otherworldly moments I experience--for the sunsets, the belly laughs, the art and beauty that take my breath away, they are evidence of the better life.

But I believe it will pay off even more. The more I develop and throw my weight behind becoming, (and get help with the parts I’m stuck on), the “me” will be the payoff because she will be able to really live life--feel it all, see it all, hear it all and love it all. She will be better able to commune with and love others, maybe even the other that is God himself....

What if I’m right? What if, contrary to what I learned in 30-plus years of Christianity, it really is all about me? What if instead of holding to a bunch of guidelines to keep myself in check, it’s really about becoming, well…just me, and letting more of myself out?

It works the opposite of what they told me.

I am the thing. I am it. If I am God’s creation, greatness lies within me. Why wouldn’t I then be beautiful, powerful and creative with potential for a full, unique and interesting life? Why wouldn’t I even expect it?

That’s the deal. That’s the way it works. That’s what I believe and what keeps me from grasping shallow things that feel like life…might pass for life for a lot of people…but don’t fool me for long…

No, that ain’t life…not my life, not the one I’m here for...no way.

Mine, in spite of what anyone else thinks, is in becoming me.

It's going to be great.

A Little Confidence....

2009-05-29T15:22:00.012-04:00

Recently a friend with whom I often argue religion and philosophy told me he was sick of hearing about what I DON'T believe--all the Christianity I've discarded, all the myths I've de-bunked...He wanted to know what I actually do believe, if anything...

He asked what governs my actions, informs my decisions and spurs me to action? What keeps me from giving into temptations that are detrimental to the life I want?

Well, I don't believe in much--it's too much of a burden on my decision-making process to believe too much these days, I want to keep it light. But I do know I have taken a couple leaps of faith in the past year or two, so I decided I should answer that question, if just for myself.

It took a bit of work to figure it out but I was able to follow my thoughts and nail down a couple of things...

I can't even relate how good it felt to see I do have my own faith. I've done the work to find it and I know it's my own. For the first time in a long time I'm not totally frustrated not knowing how things work.

I think I do know how life works...at least for me, and it feels amazing...

Take it with a grain of salt though...it might only work for me.

"Back in the USAF...."

2009-05-18T10:21:00.006-04:00

Our year out of the Air Force is ending. Soon we will be right back in the center of fighter-pilot life, probably deeper than ever before, immersed in Air Force culture.

I’ve been kind of worried about it because I’ve so enjoyed a regular life here…I’ve only seen Kevin in uniform a few times, gone to few military events, and we have not built our life around a flying schedule….

Life has been “normal,” and has had a nice, even pace.

Well the USAF Thunderbirds were in town this weekend, and on Saturday night one of them coaxed me out of my planned evening of wine and a movie alone at home (Kevin is out of town), to the Irish pub down the street where they were all meeting. I told myself I’d have a quick Guinness, see them all, and get back home and in bed at a reasonable hour. As soon as I walked in I knew that wasn’t going to happen….

Say what you want about the Air Force, we do know how to take care of our own. Those guys were up out of their seats, loving me up in two seconds. We shut the place down chatting about their careers, wives, babies, my life, our plans and, of course, catching up on gossip. I got some care, gave a little, and had some real conversation.

It was great, and felt a little like home, a little like family, and well, I needed it.

I needed it to remind myself that along with all the stuff I’ll have to deal with in the next assignment, the stuff I’ve been worried about, there’s a whole bunch of stuff that I’ll want to deal with, that I’ll enjoy. Without a doubt I will get to once again be a part of a really great circle of people.

It also reminded me how I got through our own difficult Thunderbird assignment…by connecting easily and often with these friends who came through town who get the lifestyle, who know it can be difficult, and know it's standard to take care of each other. We always at least have that in common....

So…I will enjoy the next month here, absolutely savor our five weeks on the beach in Florida, and then on the drive west look forward to knowing and caring for all those who will also know and care for me, because that's a given.

It will be okay. It might even be more than okay…it might be a really great time.

No Words

2009-05-17T19:20:00.003-04:00

DC Quotes

2009-05-07T08:03:00.004-04:00

Great spirits have always found violent opposition from mediocrities. The latter cannot understand it when a man does not thoughtlessly submit to hereditary prejudices, but honestly and courageously uses his intelligence and fulfills the duty to express the results of his thought in clear form.
Albert Einstein


You can't separate peace from freedom because no one can be at peace unless he has his freedom.
Malcolm X

Shake off all the fears of servile prejudices, under which weak minds are servilely crouched. Fix reason firmly in her seat, and call on her tribunal for every fact, every opinion. Question with boldness even the existence of a God; because, if there be one, he must more approve of the homage of reason than that of blindfolded fear.
Thomas Jefferson

Homesick

2009-04-24T11:27:00.004-04:00

Yesterday, after a morning of introspective writing and a run with my dog in amazing spring weather, I was driving to pick up a little lunch. I was already in a bit of a low mood, feeling how difficult life is when I embrace reality, stand on my own two and try to grow-up--all things I've been working on as a late-blooming 42-year-old....

Well, call me shallow and sappy, but a country song came on the radio that absolutely grabbed me. It was from the perspective of someone already gone, what they would say from the grave to the ones they loved. The singer described being buried in the cemetery at the edge of his hometown, and wanted everyone to know his soul had found it's home in heaven.

I got unbelievably, overwhelmingly homesick--and not just for my home in California...

Yes, first I saw in my mind's eye the cemetery on the edge of my hometown, the one on the road to the house I grew up in, the one I used to pass a couple times every day. I'm guessing if I died today that's where I'd go. I thought of that place, my parents, my home, and suddenly, I so badly wanted to be there.

Then I got sad and wistful, because I realized that place might not be my home anymore. I still say it is, pretend it is, because I love it so and it’s the only place I really go back to, but if my parents weren't still there, what would I really have in that place? How often would I go back? When they are gone, won’t it be so sad if it isn’t my home anymore?

I get twinges of homesickness every now and then, but I’ve always been very up for this vagabond life: traveling, living in new places, seeing the world. I’ve made my home wherever we are because I know that home isn't really a place on the map, it's my place in the world...my place with God, and my circle, so it has never really mattered where I lived.

So I tried to comfort myself with those thoughts...but then I realized that even my place in the world isn't so sure.

It was the part in the song about the soul's home that really got me--that's when the sobs really started and I had to pull the car over. I suddenly felt deeply, strangely and fearfully that my soul had no home.

I was homesick for Christianity. For the feeling of security I used to have in Christianity.

I just don’t get to walk around knowing where my soul belongs anymore, believing and being so damn sure that I am being taken care of, now, here on earth, and later in heaven.

I guess I just hit me really hard--I am homeless.

How painful this is--being out in the world, re-thinking everything. I’ve learned in recent years that nothing in life works as I though it did, and that has left me a bit thrown...

Is this what people feel when they’re really being grown-ups, when they're really thinking and embracing reality? Is this how freedom feels sometimes? It this the price of it? Is this why people decide on religions, keep routines, become workaholics, and go from buzz to buzz? Is it so they can feel at-home? Comfortable? Secure?

I wanted to tell everyone that this is too much, that if they haven't seen or felt this yet, they shouldn't. They should just stay there, where they are--don't question, don't move. Religion, Christianity, living in the box of one's choice isn’t so bad...it's good. It's safe and comfortable. I wanted to warn them that it is way too scary out here, way too painful. Stay home and take comfort, whatever the cost....

But, I've also recently learned, since I've been working at being my own person and have given up trying to live within a belief system, that the worst feelings...the scariest feelings, they just have to be withstood.

I can't fold, I can't give in.

Right now, everyone is suspect for getting me off-track. I'm working really hard to find my own true thoughts and opinions about life, and no one is intimidating me into feeling or thinking anything. I'll decide. I'll stand on my own two and go toe-to-toe with everyone and their ideas.

That's how you do it...that's how you live life. I just learned that. At 42 I just learned this very basic thing about how to live. Have confidence in your own thoughts, and don't fold.

And, after I withstand the worst--the fear, the intimidation, the loneliness--it eases, and I can see that I've made it through. That happened yesterday. I sucked up the sobs, wiped the tears and continued on. I went to my job and worked hard until late--thinking and feeling all the while.

I woke up today and saw, or felt, that I had gained some valuable ground. Yes, yesterday's reality was scary and painful. Yes, I used to have an easier life. I'm still sad, and a little homesick, but I had to move. There's no way I could fit my bigger life, my bigger thoughts, back into that house. The questions got too loud.

You know those crazy homeless people who choose to be homeless because they enjoy the freedom of living off their wits? Could that be me?

Work

2009-04-22T10:07:00.005-04:00

Work is good.

It makes me show up and get my mind on something besides my big fat self, the fight with my man or my eternal spiritual issues.

It’s good for me.

It keeps time moving at an appropriate pace.

Even when it’s hard to get there and I find it tiresome, it’s occupying some of my space and keeps me from thinking so hard about things, about what else I might be doing, should be doing. I’m being paid to be there, so I can't expect myself to do anything more. I have to stay engaged, and sometimes I get lost in the work.

It’s good.

It’s healthy, I guess.

It’s like exercise.

And, like exercise, afterwards, I get that feeling of accomplishment I’m somewhat addicted to.

And another day has gone by....

BUT HAS IT BEEN LIVED?

Men. Again.

2009-04-21T11:31:00.007-04:00

I have such a problem with men right now…with all the men I’ve ever known…all the teachers, preachers, friends and relatives….

I love them…I do. And I love to hang out with them, talk to them, push them to give me their take on life, but…they only see the world their way. I know they can’t help it, they’re men, and they see the world as men. As a woman, I feel I have to get them see it my way, or let them go and be unconnected with me. It seems they don’t feel as obligated to get me to see it their way...to them, their way is obvious.

It feels like men are only really willing to connect with women when they feel they need them.

And I was raised to please men, make them happy, and to be low-maintenance around them—after all, I was raised in America. I’m supposed to look pretty, be alluring and work around their important lives. I've been so affected by their view. Yes, I’ve always been able to voice my opinion around them just fine, but I’ve realized it doesn’t change how they see things—even if they agree with me, even if I’m right. And, although some of them can speak my language, none of them see the world as I see it. I’m not talking about chauvinism or even doltish short-sightedness, I’m talking about culture and genetics and…well, they just are what they are, they can’t help it…they’re men.

I understand all this so I go their way. Often, I cover that ground, for relationship, for friendship…it’s worth it to me because…well…don’t get me started on women. Given the choice….

And I know the men sure as hell probably aren’t coming my way, since often they don’t see the need.

Okay, yes, sure, men try to make women happy. But don’t they often do it so they can get by without having to really deal with their women? They placate them, and a lot of women are happy with that. The men are happy feeling they’ve played it right and gotten off as easily as possible, and the women think they’ve gotten what they wanted. A lot of men and women think that’s the way it works.

Well it ain’t. Not in my world.

Those men that try to do things to please women, but not really deal with them? Uh uh. No thanks. I’m not pleased…at all.

But a lot of women are pleased, and this is all they want, all they expect. And in return they use all their manipulative skills to get their men to do the placating, showing they too have power. I recently sat at a dinner party and listened to a couple argue that this is how marriage works--men and women are just that simple. He does the things that please her, and she fulfills his basic needs for happiness, because that’s all either of them want. I didn’t even try to hold back my “Bullshit,” response to that. Sorry, call me high-maintenance, but I’m expecting a little more in my marriage and even my friendships than that…

In my world, I don’t want any placating…I’d rather have the painful space between us…just sitting there, like a dry, hard-cracked desert, than be made to feel like we are close with all the shallow gestures couples learn in couples counseling. I’d rather have men not even try to cover the ground if they aren’t up for it--Just be who you are…at least I then know who the hell I’m dealing with and what to expect. Of course you’ll hear some complaining about how you aren’t bringing it real, but…that’s the price for sitting on your ass with me. At least you get to do it….it’s your choice. I’m not going to make you do anything.

I know my male boss won’t cover any ground, he doesn’t have to…he actually does have all the power, it’s non-negotiable and very clear. So at work I’m biting my tongue where he’s concerned—we do not speak the same language, and I don’t get to be understood. Got it. Noted. I’ve caught a glimpse of what a glass ceiling must feel like.

But the other men in my life? Well, they have to hear it from me--and, since they are in my circle, we can at least have that out. But, I’m left wondering, how good of friends can we ever really be? How close can we really get? Is there always space between us? Even when we seem close and happy with each other, we just aren’t seeing it--don’t want to see it--but the space…it’s still there, isn’t it?

I remember listening in college to older, feminist women talk about men with anger…and I didn’t get it, just didn’t see that problem with the men in my life, who at the time, I was so easily pleasing. Life was still working the way I was raised to think it did.

Well now, I see it a little. Women are raised to please men, yet men can be unpleaseable. So really, can we succeed? Not while keeping all our integrity and our SELF. Women aren’t always going to get that A+ from men…and really? It’s not their fault, men don’t have the power to give it, yet, women are raised to look to them for it. The structure is so flawed--they’re just being the men they were raised to be…they’re in a lose-lose as well.

Well I’m just being a woman, and probably a troublesome one at that…but for the love of God, can’t we do better than this? Can’t we see how beautiful it is when someone with power doesn’t use it to manipulate and get what they want, but gives it away? Shouldn't we give someone else the freedom to cover the ground on their own, however they’d like to do it, if they even want to? Yes, the ground is difficult to cover, but we don’t want anyone covering it because they have to, do we? And, what is life with others about about if not figuring out new ways to cover that ground, to relate with one another? Shouldn't that be motivation enough?

Real relationship… isn’t it worth it?

Doesn’t anyone want it?

Are we all just trying to get by as easily as possible?

On Friendship

2009-04-15T09:48:00.007-04:00

It’s hard to be my friend…let me get that out there first…

I know a lot of people, and I love chatting and socializing…but close friends? I can probably count them on one hand…Sometimes, one finger, and that’s counting my four-legged friend.

And that’s life I suppose…I mean, how many people can I expect to want to be with me and listen to me and share with me all the time…whenever I want or need it? C’mon.

Plus, as I said, I’m a difficult friend to have. I’m not high-maintenance but…I expect a lot from my friends...there are just certain things I require…

Sincerity. Honesty. Realness.

Don’t hang with me because you have to or it seems like the thing to do or what we’ve become accustomed to…only if you want to. Just be real. You’re tired of hearing my bunk? You can’t deal with me tonight? Just say it. That’s a hundred times better than me realizing you’re trying to muster the energy--I don’t want you to have to put out so much effort…

But, if we are going to hang…bring a little real conversation and insight, since you have it. Even if no one else is requiring it of you…I probably will. I’m not polite when it comes to this, I’ll probably ask too many personal questions…and give you more opinion than you’ve asked for…

And, you need to be able to roll my way a little. I’ll see things from your perspective, do things your way, come into your world and roll with you…You might have to see things from my side for a time and let that be okay instead of us always having to speak your language, do things your way, so that you feel all comfortable.

Apart from that, it's all easy.

Lately I’ve been feeling a little lonely, but I’m embracing it. Yes, I just had a long conversation and dinner last night with a friend—-all real and honest and great. But, it's not like I’m going to call her or require anything of her just because I'm feeling a little lonely…we’re friends and we can talk on a dime, but we’re not besties…

No, all my besties are all currently unable to roll with me…either because of how I am or their own dysfunction… or because of life...they’re just busy. They aren’t free to love me, be with me, hear and listen…or maybe I just require too much from them and they need a break. And they get to be that way…sometimes it’s like that.

I could certainly rouse them if I really needed them….

But really…should I need or want them as much as I do? Shouldn’t I be a strong, independent woman, a whole person on her own? Gosh I used to do that so much better when I had Jesus in my backpocket…

But, no one’s needs are fully met, right? We all walk around incomplete. Why do I even expect someone to always be there for me…and then sometimes wait for it? ‘Cause I’m a big fat baby? ‘Cause I don’t want to deal with my bunk and grow the hell up? Shouldn’t I be able to be fine feeling alone for a time?

Yes, and I am.

It just is what it is…life and friendship. You enjoy the moments when you have them…and let them go, embracing and learning from the in-between times.

We just don’t get to hang onto anything, do we?

Acceptance?

2009-03-30T11:03:00.009-04:00

"Happiness depends on being free, and freedom depends on being courageous...But the man who can most truly be accounted (courageous) is he who best knows the meaning of what is sweet in life and what is terrible, and then goes out undeterred to meet what is to come."

Thucydides

Don't Get Me Started...

2009-03-15T23:55:00.003-04:00

I hate to stay on this theme, but in thinking of hymns and what messages they send, I thought of another one I learned very early...Unfortunately it's been going through my head for the past few days.

When we walk with the Lord in the light of His Word,
What a glory He sheds on our way!
While we do His good will, He abides with us still,
And with all who will trust and obey.
Trust and obey, for there’s no other way
To be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey.

Is there any wonder I can't get my head around God's unconditional love? So it's only if I "trust and obey" that I get the benefits?

You just gotta love (or hate), cause and effect Christianity.

A Big Fat Lie

2009-03-11T09:34:00.006-04:00

Don't get me wrong, I am loved and I am cared for. Nothing really bad has ever happened to me, I have a good life and I should have no complaints. It's just that I never, ever thought that I would be in a place of pain, that I would ever feel more than a twinge of loneliness, fear or any other negative emotion.

For sure I never thought I would ever be lonely--I had Jesus. And it never crossed my mind that I would ever be anything but adored and loved and cared for by my friends and family...anything else was, and still is, inconceivable to me. I still can’t get my arms around it.

I was raised to think that as long as I was honest and my intentions were good, I would be, if not loved and adored, at least respected by any thinking, feeling person and would always have friends and people with whom to share life and love--it's just how it worked. Even if the world went crazy and didn't think I was great, OR even if I really messed it up, I would always, at the very least, have God, Jesus or the Holy Spirit to be with me and to make me be okay and happy. One of the three would always be there. After all, this is one of the first hymns I learned...

What a friend we have in Jesus,
All our sins and griefs to bear!
What a privilege to carry
Everything to God in prayer!
Oh, what peace we often forfeit,
Oh, what needless pain we bear,
All because we do not carry
Everything to God in prayer!

Now I'm done thinking I just didn't carry everything in prayer quickly enough, or earnestly enough...that I forfeited my peace and am needlessly feeling whatever pain I feel. Now I'm just thinking, as sacrilegious as I feel writing it, that instead, it is all a big fat lie. It just doesn't work that way. Jesus might be here, but I don't get to bypass pain and automatically get peace because I've counted him as my friend...

I'm also wondering if I'm ever, EVER going to be free of the damage I allowed Christianity to cause me and just MOVE ON, in spite of the fact that it is NOT "well with my soul."

Restaurant Week

2009-02-23T15:24:00.002-05:00

Someone stop me...or schedule me 4 hours per day in the gym.

It's Restaurant Week in DC, and you know I'm celebrating that. Kevin and I hit an amazing lunch at an Indian restaurant plus met some friends at a stuffy DC steakhouse on Saturday for amazing bargain three-course meals. It's such a great chance to try all the expensive, pretentious DC restaurants we don't normally frequent.

Unfortunately, when you add a couple of glasses of wine and some gin-and-tonics, it's really not that much of a bargain...

BUT STILL...

It's awesome. And I just found out a few restaurants are extending for another week...and, tomorrow a friend and I were going to have lunch anyway, so why not the full, three-course lunch?

But get this...I asked the "restaurant people" I work with where we should go and they totally scoffed it.

"Amateur Week," David said.

"It's for the hoards and you don't get the full restaurant experience," Dustin said.

Can you believe that...scoffing Restaurant Week? The greatest idea this city has had since they decided to finish the Washington Monument?

The "full restaurant" experience? Please. The one that costs $300? Thanks, I'll take my twice-a-year, low-end restaurant experience with the hoards for a third of that...thank you very much.

I've been waited on before...it can only get so good.

Beyond the Pale

2009-02-20T11:22:00.005-05:00

Recently I was working with a soft-spoken Christian co-worker on a Saturday and her brand-new husband came in. It was very slow, so the three of us got to chatting.

What a perfect, fresh-faced, quiet Christian couple they are. I had to turn the music down to hear him, he was so humble and careful with his words and I'm always having to repeat what she says to customers, they never hear her.

We were talking about church and I gave a very cursory explanation about why I don’t do church anymore. It always does get me a little shaky, talking to Christians about why I no longer am one, because I know they aren’t going to get it. I wouldn't have a few years ago either.

They gently agreed that many of my points were valid, but then said all the things I would have said, a few years ago, about how it isn’t about works and how you can’t do it alone and how I must not be viewing it right.

Basically they didn’t hear a thing I said.

I’m used to it, but it’s a little hard to take--being outside the pale now with so many people I know. I remember explaining it to my brother--we were outside around a fire for hours discussing it. I was trying to keep my voice from shaking, as I tried over and over to get him to understand me. He did not.

The shaky feeling comes from knowing they'll never get it, stepping out there and explaining it anyway, and knowing where I'll be at the end in their minds--beyond the pale.

And, because I used to be in it, I know that it’s worse that I was so involved and then left, instead of just being a life-long, full-on heathen--I used to be able to quote the scripture that supposedly says so. And I know my co-worker and her man have taken me to their small group as a prayer request. I know they are looking for opportunities to bring up the services they provide over there at the church, the ones that would meet my “needs,” since now I've admitted I have some.

I guess sometimes I wish I could go back, when it all feels so difficult and unclear out here, and it used to be so easy to view life through that lens--especially when I'm messing up. I used to be able to confess, get forgiven and start building a record of good behavior to make myself feel better. Now I just have to feel the reality of my weakness.

But I don't really want to go back. Couldn't live with their mindset anymore. I see them working pretty hard at doing the "right things." They're heavily involved in church, going to events they don’t really want to, going to Bible Studies, trying to get people to progress, trying to make themselves better people and trying to be super-nice to everyone in a really sincere way. I bet when they feel they've messed up they go through a whole cycle of guilt and condemnation before swearing off sin for awhile.

I don't miss any of that.

Truthfully, it pains me. They think I just don’t see it how it is because of my experience and I think they just haven’t come to the end of it yet, and probably never will. We’ll never truly meet.

If we could talk about things of God, life, love and philosophy apart from Christianity, I bet we’d have some amazing discussions and not even realize we are far apart, if we even are. But the parameters of Christianity, the language I know all too well, the buzz words, the stuff I know they’re really saying, my gut reaction to it all--all these things prevent it.

It’s a shame really, when Christianity comes between people.

Found It--II

2009-02-16T08:51:00.002-05:00

So I yelled at Dustin about my key.

He says he didn't move it, but please, it's been months...like he's going to remember.

I told him he was ruining my look because now I have to keep my phone and my keys in my pockets while at work and he said,

"I know. You look like a lesbian now."

Too Much

2009-02-15T22:18:00.010-05:00

I always say I don't mind being alone, and most of the time I don't. But sometimes I get the feeling I want someone else's take on things I'm dealing with, things people don't just talk about in easy conversation.

I spend a lot of time and effort being low-maintenance to people in my circle. I'll share my bunk with them, but usually it's after the fact, if we happen to be talking about real stuff. I typically won't pick up my phone and call a friend when I'm really feeling the need. I still have that old "you gotta be low-maintenance" attitude.

So, I'm very aware--and recently it struck me again--that even my best friends and loved ones shouldn't have to deal with all of me and all my bunk--and, truthfully, they probably don't really want to. Even though I know this, I'm shocked every time this realization hits me in the face--Remember, I was raised to think I was "the shit." My bunk is damn interesting and I am super-deep and fascinating when I'm working on my problems...

Yeah, well, maybe not.

I think it may be a part of growing-up to realize that all my shit...all my SELF...all my bunk, well, maybe it's too much for anyone. No one wants to hear it all, no one wants to have to deal with too much of me. It crushed me the first time I saw it, when I realized even my own parents were worn out listening to me. Now I just have to be reminded every so often that's the way it works, and I'll quit wearing on my people, buck up and deal.

(In fact, it's surprising you're still reading this--Feel free to quit anytime.)

That's why now, when I feel alone, I know I'm actually growing up. I have people who love me and are absolutely there for me, but I've learned I have to have that lonely feeling, I have to deal with my bunk, alone, in my own way, if I'm going to progress and develop my soul.

I don't get to have someone understand all the ins and outs of my thoughts. I often am tempted to connect with a friend instead of deal with my self--Wouldn't it be so much easier to have people and friends to deal along with me? I used to think this is what Jesus was supposed to do for me...make me healthy and okay, never needy and absolutely fine on my own. With him, wasn't I supposed to never be alone?

Turns out it works a little differently than I thought, and, I might be a little too much to handle.

That's okay. I understand the deal, and I absolutely know how to do low-maintenance.

Measured Hope

2009-02-12T10:55:00.006-05:00

I have a friend lying over in Bethesda Naval Hospital who is surrounded by people who will be ecstatic if he survives today...If today, in his fight for life, he doesn’t lose ground.

In recent days they’ve been hoping for more than that. They've been hoping to see him open his eyes, to see recognition dawn on him. They've been longing to see him smile one more time. Wouldn't it be something to hear him laugh again?

Hopes can soar if we let them, but when we're scared and desperate, we don't dare.

Right about now, he's undergoing brain surgery.

So today, they’ll hope for a lot less, and they'll be so thankful if they get it.

Today they just want his heart to keep beating...
They want his chest to continue to rise and fall...
They want all the numbers on the monitors to stay in a range he can live with.
That’s all they’ll ask for, all they’ll hope for, all they'll look for.

After today, when tomorrow comes, they just might allow themselves to hope for a tiny bit more...but not too much...we don't dare hope for too much...let's not even think about tomorrow yet.

Why do we think it works this way?

Are we all just walking around hedging our bets? Cutting deals?

It sure feels like we are....

His daddy told me he'd switch places with him if only he could...anything to trade to see his boy up and healthy again. Actually anyone who knows my friend would pitch in for that....

It's gotta work differently than we think it does, than we act like it does. There's got to be something more to it, more of a reason, more of a purpose, more of a plan.

Still, even with my penchant for hope, I'll be ecstatic today to hear he's still in the fight.

Hope

2009-02-10T18:12:00.002-05:00

Some people have to be reminded to keep hope alive, reach for it out of the mire, believe it’s there even when they can’t see it...

Not me.

I’m a sucker for it, an idiot over it and will bite at the first hint of it.

I am addicted to hope, and I search for it everywhere. I assume there will always be a big fat bunch of hope around. When it gets thin and scarce I get a little edgy and start scrounging for more, demanding for it, begging for it...

When I finally give up (if I every really do), and convince myself I can live without it I’ll see some tiny evidence that there's still some reason to hope and I’ll lunge...

I don’t even wait for it to actually show itself...a shadow is good enough to keep me going....

Problem is, I'll hold on in spite of all evidence to the contrary. It can be a crushing adjustment when I have to deal with reality.

Maybe it's because (as my husband recently reminded me when talking about how perhaps I was expecting too much at work), I was raised to think I was, in his words, "the shit." So since I'm "the shit", won't life the hell work out for me?

Well, a girl can always hope.

Found It

2009-02-06T10:24:00.009-05:00

Last night I found something I lost months ago. What a great feeling.

We have only two keys to our car. One is an electronic clicker, and one is just an old-school, stick-in-the-lock key that doesn't even open the trunk. We keep them in a dish by the front door, so whoever is using the car can have their pick. If I'm driving somewhere to go for a run, I will often take the old-school one. It's smaller and will fit in my glove or tied in my shoelaces. Otherwise, who wouldn't want to take the clicker?

I think it was in October or November, that I misplaced the clicker key. I knew it was me, but I didn't feel it was really lost. It seemed like I went somewhere, realized I had both keys and stowed the clicker somewhere safe, maybe in a bag or pocket...I knew I hadn't dropped it or really lost it. Surely it would turn up.

I always have that attitude. My husband will lose something and say, "Chances are slim-to-none we'll ever see it again." I always say, "I bet it'll turn up", and I'm usually right. I especially felt that this time, I really felt I had put it in a responsible place...

Over the months we've had to use the old-school key, and it's been a pain. I searched every pocket, bag and the inside of the car thoroughly, still feeling like it wasn't really lost. My husband has gotten irritated with me about it a couple of times...especially when we drove the car to NYC, with only one key, and once when I couldn't produce it for a few minutes.

I decided yesterday to order him a new one, to the tune of around $300, and give up hope. On my way out the door to work he asked me where something else was I was responsible for, and I couldn't find it either. It reminded me of the lost key, and I was tired of feeling bad about it. I drove to work vowing to get the new key and to be more detail-oriented instead of driving my man crazy...

We had a long night at the wine bar. It started out really slow--only a few regulars. Then a friend sent a text asking if I was working, said he was on his way...so I had him to chat with awhile, then suddenly we got very busy. I almost recruited him to open a couple bottles for me, and I know I gave him the worst service of anyone...but that's what we do to the ones we love, right? Ask them to suck it up when it gets tough on us?

Anyway, I had to kick people out after 10pm (we close at 9), and finish cleaning up. The owner was at a party across the street, so I was alone and searching through a basket of wine stoppers we use to save the open bottles. We'd opened so many bottles we were one short, so I thought I'd really search through the whole basket before asking the owner where to find more. (He always finds stuff in plain sight I can't seem to see, and I'm tired of THAT feeling as well...) As I got to the bottom of the basket I saw it. The car key.

For a second I was too afraid to hope that it could really be ours, but sure enough, it was. Unbelievable. It had been there all these months. Not out where someone could see it, or claim it, but in the bottom of a basket of corks and stoppers.

Even in my incredible elation I knew who to blame...

Dustin. The Saturday night bartender. He is so getting an earful from me...not that that is unusual...

First of all, I absolutely love Dustin, he is funny as hell, great at his job and reminds me of my beloved Greggy. We overlap for about an hour every Saturday. I open the coffee shop early, then he comes in to set up for the wine bar in the afternoon. It's usually a pretty busy time, we still have my coffee customers who want to zone out and take their time over the paper, and there are always a couple people trying to get a glass of wine early.

Typically Dustin blazes in there late, with his nervous energy, rushing around trying to set up candles and menus. He is anxious to get his tipping wine customers settled and clear the coffee drinkers the hell out of there. He gets especially irritated when people have the audacity to buy a cupcake next door, then bring it in and eat it with a cup of coffee.

Apparently he had to clean up the outside tables of icing and crumbs once and claimed there was a Starbucks cup there too, that the people hadn't bought anything from us, just used our tables. He was an absolute Diva about it, threw a fit so that the owner went next door and caused trouble, and put up a sign saying not to bring in outside food. If people bring in cupcakes, we're supposed to say something and blame some health department rule.

Whatever. People absolutely love our coffee with a cupcake and it doesn't bother me. I overlook it, but I know I'm going to have to run interference with Dustin should he see this act when he comes in.

We argue about it constantly...he says it's like bringing McDonald's into a nice restaurant...I say it's not the same thing at all and it's not hurting anyone...he says I'm wasting my work-energy having to clean up crumbs and icing...I say I'm here to serve customers, who cares...he says I'll give away anything for free, that I might as well be out on the sidewalk inviting cupcake carriers in...He says I'm from California, too laid-back and all about "free love" and who knows what else...I say he's damn right...He says, "It's like you're saying, 'I'm Earthynia--feel free to bring in your cupcakes...It's free, like the earth, water, air and your spirit.'"

(They do think I'm a California wacko...I suppose it's true, next to them...people are so worked up here. Why do they call me Earthynia? Not really sure.)

The truth is Dustin is a restaurant person, and a Diva. All the restaurant people are so over this cupcake craze, they think it's a fad, and they go around saying the cupcakes aren't even good. I think the whole thing makes us look like we think we're the precious, fancy wine bar that's above everyone else. It's always better to compliment others and be easy-going, we should just roll with it a little and be gracious.

Anyway, all this to say when he comes in he bustles about all perturbed, moving everything and everyone out of his way so he can set up, and he MOVES MY STUFF. Last week I realized it--"Dustin, where is my cell phone and checkbook?" They were on a top shelf practically out of reach. I would have never seen them.

So, months ago, while I was trying to leave work and get out of the Diva's way, he put that key in the basket of corks and stoppers...It's lucky I ever found it, and it was ONLY because the other bartender quit and I'm dealing with the wine now... ONLY because we were as busy as we were and opened so many bottles...ONLY because I stayed late while the owner was across the street at a party....

Thank heaven, I was right all along and it turned up. And, bonus, it wasn't entirely my fault. Whew. Apparently I did have both keys that day, and did put one in a safe place behind the bar.

It does seem that in my life things finally change when I'm forced to give up on them, let loose of them, quit fighting for them and let them be what they are. Only then, and when all the stars align, the key finally turns up.

I wonder if there's some kind of universal law about that?

Who Knew?

2009-02-05T11:34:00.007-05:00

Who knew I could still be this jazzed to be living the lifestyle I have built for myself here?

I feel pretty great about my life right now, I’m kind of amazed because I'm not fulfilling any dream or accomplishing anything. I’m NOT in the perfect job feeling my perfect passion and role in life, I'm just living a small, normal everyday life. I’m actually surprised that the vision I got when we pulled into town is still working for me and feeling so right. The other night I got a huge lift riding home on my bike, reflecting on my day of writing, working-out and a full shift on my feet...

I’m still not making much at the coffee/wine bar, but the Thursday night bartender quit so I’m getting more experience talking wine, pouring wine, chatting with customers and almost being a bartender…plus I’m making more in tips, so that’s a bonus. Regardless, I do my three-plus shifts a week over there and I work hard and stay engaged and time usually flies by. I don’t know why I like it so much...maybe it's because I’m so engaged with people and I'm learning about wine, business and my adopted community. Or maybe it's because the work there is so clear and doable, and I see that I have an effect…

Also, I’m in a New Year’s boom with my Pilates sessions…I have a bunch more people and classes, and am suddenly bringing in respectable cash, which makes me feel good (see "Money" below). I’m enjoying it right now as all the new people are so excited and motivated, and, again, I am having an effect…

Who knew that these jobs would actually "buy" me this writing time here each morning? It is such a great feeling, one I wasn't expecting. Call me dysfunctional, but I think if I wasn’t working these jobs, I could not sit here for 2-5 hours each morning spending this time on myself…wouldn't happen. I would always be thinking I needed to be producing here to show it was worth something, or I would be needing to get some things done around the house or our lives since I wasn't producing anything.... But somehow, because I work actual hours somewhere else, and earn actual cash, I feel I am earning this time. And whether I procrastinate, get distracted, just journal or actually get some writing projects accomplished, this time is gold for me. It’s absolutely the place where I am growing, changing, dealing and getting centered (or at least working at it) for the rest of my day.

I’ve learned that at least--I must have time--quiet, alone time, to live bigger and better. I’ve always felt it and have taken it when I was frazzled and feeling the need--in fact,I used to do it every day just to try to get right with God. But now, to come here every day, regardless, and sit and at least try to engage with God, self, life, love, ambition, marriage and relationships is so what I need to do to move forward in life. I don’t even care what, if anything, comes of it, writing-wise…I really don’t. The feeling I have walking away from this desk every day is more than enough.

Of course it doesn’t feel this good much of the time…often it’s like pulling teeth to get me to sit and focus, and other times it’s like watching paint dry, and sometimes I blog about nothing just for the sake of keeping in it (kind of like yesterday and today actually...). It’s very much like going to yoga class—it’s hard to get there, it’s mostly un-enjoyable, but I know the strengthening and stretching is good for me, if painful. It often brings me close to tears...but walking out of there I always feel a little relieved, open and unbound.

Just a Day

2009-02-04T09:42:00.008-05:00

Today should be good, just regular life. I'm expecting no big highs, but also, hopefully, no incredibly sad lows....

This morning I built a fire since we were both going to be around awhile--and because it was snowing. Snow always make it seem like it’s worth building a fire. Kevin made breakfast and I did some journaling.

Now I'm squeezing in a little writing time, but I’m about to go walk that little dog of mine…I should run her really, but we’ll see--I’ve slacked a little this week working out…Then I’ll have to make a quick turn to get to work.

It’ll just be me and owner today I think, tidying up and chatting with customers and each other, shelving wine and filling the coffee bins. We’ll crank the music a little if it’s slow. I like chatting with him, I always learn a little something. He has such a great vision for the place, he always has new ideas. It takes a little work to understand him though, we don't really speak the same language or have the same sense of humor.

I need to make a quick sandwich or something to take in and sneak bites of in the kitchen. Wouldn’t want to take a lunch break or anything….

I don’t think I’ll bike there, even though it's sunny now, it could be slippery…plus my brakes have frozen up I think! I only know they aren't working too well.

I’ll hit the library on the way home…I'm going to read “Life of Pi” again. I suggested to the girls I work with on Saturday mornings that we do some reading and have discussions when we’re slow. We’re all three masters-degree educated, you'd think we could bring a little something to the table in discussion while we're working in a damn coffee shop. They were all for it. I'll probably end up checking out about 10 other books as well. Always happens.

I’ll enjoy walking the dog again when I get home...It gets me outdoors and thinking and breathing after being inside all day.

I have two Pilates sessions tonight. And yes, it’s still on apparently, the New Year’s resolution madness at the gym--I am busy with lots of new people. Usually I say people drop out by Superbowl Sunday, but not when you spend a bunch of cash on Pilates sessions apparently…

Dinner, will be late, at least after 8:30…I should have some kind of plan, maybe I’ll pull something out of the freezer before I leave, or maybe my man will put something together when he gets home. Whatever it is it'll be warm and good and I might have a glass or two of wine with it. I'll sit awhile, then I'll probably have to spin the block with the dog late, which I probably won't enjoy, (only because it will be freezing but I won't feel like bundling adequately), then I might do some reading before we all fall into bed.

To me, that's a good day.

Yesterday

2009-02-03T11:23:00.010-05:00

Yesterday I woke up working on life, and how to connect with it, trying to figure it out, trying to acknowledge my own feelings and not cover them up--acknowledging the ache, pain, disappointment and the joy….accepting it all...it was hard, but it was real, and I was moving forward....then, after awhile, I vented and raged about life, how it doesn't work how it should…then I was exhausted and locked up, like I was in need of a big fat crying session, which I didn’t want…and I found I was suddenly fading and about to nap…but I got a call and heard some incredibly sad news about a friend--incredibly sad…and I found myself clutching at the pain and breathlessness in my chest, trying to resist it….then I felt pity and compassion, and the presence of that hard, dark dysfunction my friend must have been wrestling with, and I hated it…and I felt how it is too much to ask some people to deal with it, how they are no match for it….and I thought how I need to know this and be compassionate and love more and be prepared to freaking kick it in the teeth when I see it, because I'm the type that can, and not let it win…yet, sometimes, there’s not a damn thing I can do about it, and I fearfully have to let it be, hoping it will run off when the sun comes up…that the landscape will look at least somewhat as it before the darkness….then, surprisingly, after some time went by, and I had to think about other things, and fulfill obligations, something struck me funny and I ended up laughing….I was laughing and laughing, and for a few minutes I couldn’t stop, I had to let it out of my system….then I was good, then I was just me….then I was just being, living, and not working on anything…and I was satisfied that I had felt it all, all the day had for me.

Snowflakes

2009-02-03T09:34:00.005-05:00

Really...No two are alike...?

In the entire history of the world, every snowflake that's ever fallen from every snowstorm or flurry is different from every other one?

I'm wondering if anyone ever checked more than just a few.

Where did we get this? Science class, wasn't it?

No way that's science...that's faith.

And why can't anything ever be both?

Today

2009-02-02T11:09:00.007-05:00

Today I know better.
Today should be great.
Today I don’t have to be anywhere.
Today it is not too cold.
Today is sunny and beautiful.
Today I get to decide almost everything.

Today I should feel free, good and alive…

But...

Today I know better.
Today I feel wistful, wanting.
Today there’s an ache in my chest.
Today I am fearfully inadequate to make my way through the dysfunction and delusion.
Today I’m dragging my feet.

Today I just want to stay here, on the fringe of life and hole-up.

But...

Today I know better.
Today I’ll take a step or two--
Today I’ll thrown down a little with life.
Today I'll write a little something.
Today I'll let tasks and busyness carry me.
Today the view will change and the ache will ease.

Today I will try not to expect too much.

Honesty

2009-01-30T10:09:00.017-05:00

How much can we really take?

How much should we really share?

Full honesty is more than anyone really wants I suppose...I’ve always said I wanted it, those types of relationships, totally free and honest...but could I really take it? Could anyone? I think it might be impossible.

Those that love me see what I can take, and only give me that much. They protect me. They pat me on the head and let me stay in my comfortable world, or, sometimes they like me to be a party to theirs. I can’t blame them really, I guess I'm the same with those I love. I have a little compassionate awareness about what they can handle, or, more selfishly, what I’m willing for them to handle. Just like every time I visit my parents--I shake them up just a little with all my thoughts and feelings, but not enough to freak them out.

And so it goes...we work around the honesty. We deny it, talk ourselves out of it and don’t allow the difficult truths to be true.

But that takes space, not to mention energy. Next thing you know there’s something there beside the truth--there are arguments and explanations and near-truths where honesty used to be. I think we work around these things, and try and live in the in-between space.

It's not anyone's fault, it's just how it is. We try to make some truths not-truths, we demand everything fit within our worldview and we protect each other and ourselves. It's not a bad thing, but sometimes that protection clouds our vision and knowledge about how to proceed. We keep truth at arms length until we're ready to see it and even then we have to be convinced. That’s what I do. I fight off Truth until he gets his bigger friend Reality to stare me down.

But I'm finding that when I man-up, get some guts and decide to accept difficult truths I’m moving forward, changing a little. It's hard and it takes courage, but when I catch a glimpse of it, and when I quit trying to stop it, I feel a bit of a rush. Hey, I might actually gain some ground and get to go somewhere new....

But wait...not at the expense of my well-being, my comforts and my...it's not going to cost me that is it? That can’t be right....

I've even tried to take some discoveries back. It’s like I want to take my new clothes back, and go back to wearing my old comfy ones. These jeans aren’t that out-of-style, I felt skinny and great in them for a long time--they were my go-to pair...I can certainly still fit into them, right? These new ones cost too much, I can’t possibly really need these...

As it turns out, life is damn expensive. At this point I have no idea what it’s going to cost, and I absolutely hate that I’m required to pry open my wallet and throw down the card without knowing the bottom line.

I feel like I’m on the horribly uninteresting New Jersey Turnpike and I’m at the toll booth. Now I’m from California where freeways are actually free, so I hate that I'm even having to stop. What? More money? Just to drive on this road? Through New Jersey? Haven’t my taxes already paid for this?

It doesn’t feel right--making my way forward is costing me. I don’t like it, and there's no guarantee there's anything better ahead...although...isn't New York City at the end of the New Jersey Turnpike?

Shouldn't life be free...thoughts, feelings, dreams? Well, I suppose they are, but it’s in the living up to them, the owning them, that the price gets high. I never even like to look at things I'm not sure I can afford. And, I always want someone else to see the same value in it as I do, to reassure me that I haven’t paid too much. I hate buyer's regret.

But that ain’t how it works. There’s no return policy, and you can't just spin around on the turnpike. You have to pay the toll first, then you get to see where you go. Never the opposite.

But I am catching a glimpse of something...even from here...a spire...

Isn't that...is that...the Empire State Building?

Money

2009-01-29T10:52:00.004-05:00

What is it about money that makes it such an issue?

Is it control? Is it power? Is it freedom? Does it buy these things? Can it buy peace of mind or can it ease stress? Can it bring happiness? It sure seems like we think it can. Sometimes I feel like it has some crazy power--that we shouldn’t look directly at it, that it might corrupt us. Just live with it, but don’t really acknowledge it, try not to really want it...

I thought for a long time I didn’t really care much about money, and most days I don’t. From when I was a tiny girl I always had some in my pocket. Not a lot, but always enough for what I really wanted to do that day, enough for the movies, and even some popcorn there. Of course, I’ve never had to make it on my own, I’ve always been provided for. I’ve contributed, but never had to feel what it’s like to really earn my own keep, or to have to keep the lights on for a family, so I appreciate that I might not know what the hell I’m talking about. I might not even have enough respect for what my lifestyle costs.

It’s not that I haven’t wanted bigger things, better things, or more likely, some relief from an expensive worrisome crunch on our finances...I have, from time to time. But typically, I don’t feel the pull to have more money, I’ve never been someone who wants a lot of things.

However, every now and then, money suddenly becomes something I really, really want. Again, not to buy anything, it’s not about things at all. Instead, I’m wanting to have made a bunch of money. Past-tense. It’s status that I apparently believe will give me a better standing in this culture, in my life or in my relationships. It’s about power.

Weird isn’t it? When it doesn’t, or shouldn’t really matter? Yet somehow, it sure seems like it does. I feel not only like it would silence my own inner doubts about what I can do, but also show everyone else a thing or two about me. But then, I’m not sure it really would, it’s deceitful, isn’t it?

I have a couple of guy friends, already very financially successful, who have recently told me how much they’d like to make more money. One, risking it all on a new venture, even though by most standards he was already off-the-scale successful, said he wanted to really “ring the bell” for his family. I’d argue it was more for his own self--again, not because he wants anything but he just wants to see if he can do it, and I’m sure his family would appreciate him and be very proud. Some people want to see if they can run a marathon, others want to see if they can make few million in a year. Maybe it’s just that.

The other friend just told me he’d really like to make some “fuck-you” money, that it would give him room to breathe and relax, buying him out of stress and worry about the future—college for the kids, retirement dreams, bills, etc. Knowing him, I’m really not sure it would...but he got me thinking about my own “fuck-you” money dreams--what could such a thing buy me? Could I get motivated by such thoughts? I try not to think about it.

I also have a couple friends who get giddy when they find ways to stash private, unaccounted-for cash--not that it's very much or that they’re going to do much with it, but it makes them feel free and powerful.

And more than one woman from my mother’s generation pulled me aside when I got married and told me it was okay to skim a little off the grocery budget for my own mad money. Perhaps this gave them a taste of power or freedom in their time, and they thought I might need permission to do the same.

Another friend insists that she had a different relationship with her husband when she was bringing in full-time cash--he had more respect for her, she says, when she was working. It’s like she was speaking his language, the one of the world, the one I have never been fluent in.

Even now I’m working close to full-time, and enjoying it, but I’m not making much. I’m making crazy too much per hour for a few hours and not nearly enough in the rest. What am I worth? Why do I not care most of the time, but then really wish I had found out every now and then?

It’s scary powerful...maybe I shouldn’t look at it.

Maybe I should be thankful I don't have to.

Closely-held Beliefs

2009-01-27T12:19:00.004-05:00

What happens when life doesn't work as it should?

What happens when the buildings crash--When the beautiful, amazingly-constructed buildings I have built and lived in crash--What then?

What happens is I have nowhere to stay. I'm a wandering, homeless person, on the move instead of staying inside.

The buildings are my closely-held beliefs, the unshakable ones in which I've lived my life. They are the no-kidding values and truths that tell me how life works.

I thought those would never change, thought I was safe there.

Yet one by one they've toppled, leaving me alone in the open air.

What's true now? How does it all work? What about shelter? What about fierce weather? From where am I going to get my view? If I want to see beauty and greatness, shouldn't I get back to building again? Won't I find that life will have gone by and I won't have anything to show, I won't have anything figured out?

Am I to have nothing but my wits to get me through another day?

I don't know the answers, but I do have my wits, along with my mind, my heart, my gut--along with my small jobs and routines, the day-in and day-out of life. These things are going to get me through the day, the month, the years, and that might just be okay. Holding up those buildings--the maintenance alone--was getting exhausting.

I'm just going to live. I'm going to do the small things, the ins and outs, it's my only option, it's all I can do. I'm going to show up. I'm going to be there. I'm going to be all-the-way there. I'm going to be in the moment. I'm going to look at the view from down here, instead of from skyscrapers. And I'm not going to let all this rubble keep me from moving, trudging if I have to.

And, although it's a little chilly, I find I'm breathing a lot easier out here--my vision just got a little clearer.

Inspired to Aspire....

2009-01-20T22:11:00.000-05:00

Pacific Standard Time

2009-01-16T22:24:00.005-05:00

It's where I belong really, the west coast. I've lived in every US time zone and in one crazy Asian one, but, when it comes down to it, I sleep best in PST.

Just got home from a trip west two days ago, but have only slept a couple hours since. Slept like a baby while out there, though only there a few days.

Yes I can adjust to wherever I am. Yes I can live anywhere.

But maybe I'm tied to a place more than I think. Not only do I speak the language and feel the vibe, maybe I actually relax more when I'm truly home. Maybe I exhale and really rest.

This east coast thing is fun, but I have a feeling I may breathe a big sigh of relief when I head west this summer...not unlike the last two times I lived out here. Maybe the east coast knows I'm just a visitor and will never fully embrace it....

Maybe it's holding it against me.

The Shack?

2009-01-16T22:17:00.003-05:00

No less than three people offered up their copies of this apparently latest Christian buzz-book to me this holiday season, and at least two additional people I know told me they were reading it...

What the hell?

All of these people know I hate over-hyped, bunk, Christian literature...so I'm hoping it's better than I think....or they wouldn't have mentioned it to me.

Damn.

It's short enough, and I made a promise to one friend...so, here goes.

Back To Work--II...The Inauguration

2009-01-16T19:55:00.013-05:00

Yeah, not so much on the writing work these past holiday weeks.

Instead, I jumped on the buzz of flying west to see family, did some wine tasting and hung out with beloved friends.

Maybe I needed the lift.

Now, I actually have nothing to distract me and nothing to look forward to. Maybe I can sit here all night and finally bang something out...

OH YEAH, WAIT--the inauguration.

Now there's a buzz I can work for a few days...AND, not only that, we've got TICKETS.

Tickets might not mean that we're that close to the swearing-in, but it GUARANTEES, I think, that we get to at least hear it. That means I'm going to get to hear every single inspirational, hopeful, yes-we-can word, and hear it live. It's almost bringing me to tears now.
I need it. I need to hear all of it.

I don't go to church, I don't get the emotional lift of being a Christian anymore. I'm hoping for a spiritual lift about my country (if not my religion) that will launch me into the next few years of being an American. Ain't nothing going to change my being an American, and I'd love to catch a new vision of what that can mean. I voted that Obama is just the man to lay it out for me, so I'm going to listen.

PLUS, I'm excited because the city is all hyped-up and full of people who are jazzed to be here and in a great mood. I'm working all weekend and we'll be slammed at the coffee/wine bar. We were today--we sold out of some things and wine flew off the shelves. It's fun to be in the mix.

Absolutely NO ONE I know here is going to the inauguration. Everyone, I'm sure, thinks we are crazy. It seems the locals are staying off the roads or leaving town--Republicans as well as Democrats.

Losers.

Cynical, seen-it-all, nothing-surprises-them, losers.

Get on-board and get hopeful about something for crying out loud, this is history-in-the-making. Yes the crowds are a big fat pain and it will be difficult to get anywhere, I realize that. But we get to have a beautiful, hopeful, talented, young, new president and I for one am going to listen to every word of his speech. I am so hopeful he will be all he can be and do the best he can over there in that lonely house across the river, just a couple miles from here.

God help him.

We're going to bicycle to the capitol, it will be the fastest way. Barriers are already up, roads are to be closed, there's no parking, and the subway is supposed to be hours behind schedule. They're expecting 2-4 million, at least twice as many as have ever congregated on the mall. 10,000 tour buses are expected to park at RFK and Redskins Park--sounds like they're not sure they can even get everyone in.

Maybe we should have rented out our place for a few thousand like some of our neighbors. Maybe we should have taken the money, flown west, watched it on CNN with my parents in Paso, with friends in Vegas, or in a cabana in the Bahamas for crying out loud....

Not a chance. I'm not going to miss this one. I was here for W's first inaugural and that was even cool, if almost too easy. We only had to bike a few blocks from home, brave some freezing weather and a reasonable crowd. We saw him easily. This one should be about ten times cooler--according to the weather forecast and the buzz. It will probably cause me to buy some cheesy Obama coffee mug and sweatshirt once I get there, I won't be able to help myself. I've resisted so far and have only bought them for my out-of-town friends, but it might be required. I get a little crazy about my American history, especially when I get to witness it. That poli-sci/history degree raises it's ugly head at times like this, especially after my civil rights studies....

Anyway...after all that, then, maybe, I can focus on doing some writing work and progress in my own life. After. OR--and this is a stretch--maybe I'll learn to write WHILE buzzed on Obama and history. Maybe I can jot down a thing or two between now and then...

What a concept.

Back To Work....

2008-12-26T22:53:00.002-05:00

Well, it was nice while it lasted, the time off.

I still have more fun to look forward to--some fun friends are coming to stay for a few days for New Year's Eve and we're going to party up, plus I have a bit more time off from my jobs--but the real work needs to begin again. The work of sitting here and dealing with my bunk and writing every day.

I can so feel it, that I've been playing, living off the buzzes of life: celebrating, traveling, eating and drinking. I feel disconnected and un-centered, and I'm looking around for some more easy, fun ways to get through the days...C'mon, another reason for celebrating? Another holiday? Another big meal or present to open?

I know better than to fall too far into this. I know how to get through the days and how to make progress toward where I'm trying to go. It's just that when I take a break from doing that work it seems so difficult to get back to it. It's like running. When I let too many days go by since my last run fear starts to creep in...it's going to hurt, I might be in worse shape than I think, I might fail.

The only answer is to hit the road and get a run under my belt. Same here. After a shift at work tomorrow and paying a mountain of bills, I'll have some time to myself the next couple of days. I intend to sit here and not get up until I get back into the swing of thinking and writing and feeling--doing the hard work of living this life, not just trying to skate through it and live off the buzz.

A Fun Few Days...

2008-12-18T22:58:00.012-05:00

Today was a fun day.

We got to officially let out where we are going next, and it was fun to hear from everyone who heard. I spent a couple hours fielding texts and calls from friends--Most because I texted them and basically MADE them respond, like "Hey we're moving there, aren't you jazzed?

After that I went to work, and my friend Dawg, who we've been stationed with three times and has flown with Kevin a lot of years, well he dropped by with a gift and to say congrats. He gave me a guidebook to our new state, New Mexico Off The Beaten Path. Oh, we'll be off the beaten path all right...way off. It was very fun of him.

"Enjoy this," he said. "No wine bars where you're going." I know it, and I am. Not a wine bar or Pilates machine within 500 miles of our new town I am sure, but the flying will be great for Kevin. They love to fly the best jets over deserts... I'll have to find some other things to do...like maybe WRITE more?

Then Kevin, who is free for three weeks for Christmas break and has that whole "I'm out of school" attitude, came by and invited me out for a drink at the super swanky place on the next block after work. I've been wanting to go there since we moved here, they are the hottest place around and have an awesome reputation with the prices to match. We had a great time. The bartender there recognized me from my work and gave me some professional courtesy on the bill--maybe I am a part of the club now after all? She was so cool at her job, she made me kind of want to work up to bartender in a swanky place--but as I've said, that won't be available for at least the next couple of years. It was easy to see why they are the best place in the whole area--very nice drinks, great food, easy atmosphere and some conversation...my place is like the little sister to this accomplished locale.

It was slow tonight at my wine bar--surprising, since it's been busier and busier during the holidays--but the weather is chilly and there are a lot of holiday parties. Apparently people are staying in.

And last night Kevin and I went for a great anniversary dinner at another of Old Town's amazing restaurants--we got four courses with the wine pairing. It was very fun and very delicious. We're headed to NYC in a couple days to continue celebrating, and I am getting all kinds of recommendations for places to eat and drink from my co-workers, all of whom know food and drink better than anyone I've ever hung out with.

I reserved a dog-friendly boutique hotel near Central Park--Yes, I think the whole family is going, I like us to all be together. I hear they're getting a "wintry mix" snow storm Sunday during our drive up--it could be ugly. Who cares once we get there, we'll be in NEW YORK CITY for crying out loud! I'll wear a hat and gloves, and I might even put a jacket on the dog. We'll be fine. The night prior we're going to a fundraiser in Georgetown that doesn't even start until 9pm, and we're advised to bring dancing shoes...haven't worn those since we left Vegas. I'm looking forward to it, but it might cause us to get a late start....

So we're moving again in June, it's very soon. There's some pain in that. Yes, that part hasn't sunk in yet...it seems like we just got here and I just got my life together. I'll have to deal with that soon, yes I will.

But THAT is a post for another day....

Highly Functional

2008-12-05T10:17:00.012-05:00

All this time I thought that I was just really dysfunctional.

No one else sees life as I do. I've spent my life trying to either get someone else to see it like me or change the way I see it so that I could be like other people and fit in.

Well I've had a little help seeing it, but now I accept that no one is ever going to get me, no one is ever going to completely understand. Maybe everyone has this realization and knows this already about themselves, but I come late to such things--I've held my dreams tight. I bet everyone else figured this out at about eighth grade, but I've had a difficult time accepting this. I so want, need, like and still hope to be understood.

But, there is freedom in acceptance.

Once I brought myself to it, much of the frustration I am so accustomed to lifted right off of me, it was such a great feeling. No one is going to get me, and it's okay. I can quit trying so hard to bridge the gap between myself and everyone else, quit trying to explain everything, quit leaving half of myself out of the conversation because it's the half that's not going to be understood.

Plus, here's another great realization that came along with it...

Maybe--and I had a little help seeing this too--just maybe, I am not all that dysfunctional. Maybe the way I see life and love and God and relationships and the way I wrestle with truth is NOT the bane of my existence--maybe it's the key to my expression. Maybe I'm not only NOT dysfunctional, maybe I'm highly-functional. Maybe I'm like an idiot savant, crazy talented and gifted in this one teeny, tiny niche, and a bumbler in every other area. Ah, what a thought.

Maybe artists and accomplished people have put in the work to really explore and know this part of themselves, the part that makes them different, not fit in, weird. Maybe they develop it and express it and maybe that is what makes their uniqueness shine.

Because of my strong Christian upbringing, and my actual dysfunction, I have not done a lot of this work. I have not gone there or searched and worked there, nor have I let that part of me be released. I didn’t want to be that different from everyone else. I wanted to be the best Christian so I forced myself to get on-board with all of that, self-editing and withholding to stay between the lines and get that A+ grade.

And, maybe I too easily pick up on the vibe of what other people are thinking or understanding, then curb myself to get along with them and make them feel better. I know I do this. Of course I gravitate toward people with whom I don’t have to do this so much, then I deal with the rest so that I can fit in a little. I only allow myself out in small doses where I am understood, and the rest of me? Not even I know her, she stays shut up and put away.

Well, the light is shining on her now, and I need to figure out how to get her up and moving—she’s all paralyzed from being locked in the basement in the dark all these years. But, she’s the valuable one now, she’s the one who holds the keys to my insight and I need to hear from her.

I remember when I was a child, before I started to change to fit in, I had a little pretend friend. She used to wear a red, hooded cloak and swing with me on the swingset. I put her away when I was told she couldn't possibly exist....

See? No one is going to understand me--I'm a freak-show. But, maybe, just maybe, I'm a highly-functioning freak-show. Maybe I'm seeing colors (and people), that you cannot see.

You would think....

2008-12-01T10:53:00.010-05:00

You would think that with clear eyes and a full heart you couldn’t lose, but as it turns out, it might take a little more than that.

I’ve decided this is too hard. This whole writing thing is just ridiculous. Instead, I’m going to find something else….yes, I'm just going to be like other people and choose something to do, and then make it a big deal.

I’m going to become a wine expert. I have a venue in which to learn, I’ve researched what it takes to become a certified sommelier, and I can easily follow that formula. Memorize, taste, learn to spit, and I’m there. That should help me get through the next couple of moves, the next six, and if I'm lucky, 10 years or so. Then I’ll probably come to the end of it and have to find another interest, but, well, maybe that’s okay, anything is easier than this….

I ran this past my husband...he said he doesn’t think it will work for me. I’m blessed and cursed, says he, to be the way I am, wrestling with issues all the time, trying to write about them.

Damn.

He’s probably right. Because after that ten years I'll probably still have that underlying feeling that I should be writing or doing something real, and a few more decades will be staring me in the face--not sure how I’m going to make it through them all.

Saturday I had a customer tell me that kids get you through the mid-life issues—they pull you through because you have to keep life relatively stable for them. Even though you know life doesn't work the way you thought, you act like it does. (I'm wondering what’s going to get me though the next 60 years since I only have a dog....)

Plus, he pointed out, we used to only live about this long—only in the past couple hundred years have we been living past 40, dealing with what to do with so much time.

So what the hell are we supposed to do? We can’t escape into the fresh-faced youthful projects of raising kids, building a career, or, if you're me, being the perfect Christian, so….what matters now? What rules define the edges of life now?

Shit. And I’ve got a long way to go. Might as well get the writing thing figured out now....if I can.

Clear Eyes. Full Hearts. Can't Lose.

2008-11-24T09:29:00.009-05:00

We just finished watching season one of Friday Night Lights, a really great series about the culture of high school football in small-town Texas.

Right here, right now I need to think like I’m playing high school football in Texas, where they make moments of greatness out of playing your heart out on a football field, and where it matters if you give your all.

I’ve never had an experience like that, but now, I need to make it happen here, on my own. Right here, right now, I decide what I’m bringing to this game, and whether or not I can set aside all my bunk and move and fight and play and WIN.

Clear Eyes. Full Hearts. Can’t Lose.

I don’t think it’s all about winning, but I'm seeing it is about the same thing that you have to do when you go after a win--the all-out, suck-it-up, shove-everything-aside-for-the-moment focus and drive. In my day-after-day life I don’t know how to win, I don’t naturally see life that way. But I need to start figuring out how to see it that way, so I can win here, so that my life is not about running just for the exercise, practicing for more practice. When does the exercise ever pay off? Sure, in the day-to-day quality of life, but can’t it be for something else too? For something more? I mean I do that discipline thing physically, running yet knowing I’m not going to win any races, so in this, my writing life, can I shoot for, expect it to pay off bigger?

It has to at some point. Practice, discipline, writing exercise, whatever you want to call it, the lifestyle of exercise and hitting it hard every day here has to pay off, in some way more than just in the quality of the everyday. My life cannot be just about the process and the exercise forever--the treadmill effect. Writing everyday looks and feels great, but am I getting anywhere?

At some point, it all needs to come together for a game, a moment, a time where I have to rise to the occasion and freaking DO MY THING. Get it out there, live, love, dance, run, play, write. Be engaged in every way and just do it.

Clear Eyes. Full Hearts. Can't Lose.

When is, what is, how is that going to be me? I’ve felt it many times, that it was time to show up and play, but I was nowhere near a game. Now I’ve been here, on the practice field and it’s time to show up for a damn game and just damn play--to love the game and just play it. I know there’s a great feeling there, even though I’ve not had it—-that’s what makes me cry when I see it. I know it’s true, and I know it’s great and freeing, and I want to be out there on the field, run my heart out, play the game, do my thing. I’ve never gotten to do my thing, and do it well--haven’t had a thing. Haven’t ever had it all click and work and come together. I have done plenty of things that weren’t completely me and done them well enough, but I haven’t done my thing, been me and just played my heart out and won. Done it all and left it all on the field? Naw.

To do that I’d have to get out of my own head and my own dysfunction and just run, PLAY--not just be. I actually know how to do that, just be. A lot of people don’t. I know how to be fine just being, I don’t have to be doing something, don’t have to be in the arena, I enjoy very much observing the game—I’m very comfortable in my own skin doing that. But now...

Clear Eyes. Full Hearts. Can’t Lose.

Can’t lose because clear eyes and a full heart are all you need. All you need to play, do your thing. That is winning.

I’m in a difficult place. I don’t know how to take any more steps from here. I’m not playing with abandon—-running, scoring, loving the moment and working my ass off—-I don’t know how to do that. I’m still practicing, running laps, preparing for something I don’t know will ever come and something I don’t know how to get to...I don’t even know how to get there.

So, right now I’m tempted to back off this drill, but I bet this is the place where the real work might actually get done. I’ve got to dig in, push that sled across the field with all I’ve got. Push, pull--practice with more than I’ve got--with so much that I’ll be crushed and disappointed if I don’t win, don’t play well,or if I never get to play. Crushed and disappointed--not looking forward to that.

Here I am trying, practicing, working, getting in shape for a game I don’t know, and I don’t know what is going to be required of me. I don’t like that, I like to know what is required of me, and what it’s going to cost before I even think about playing. But I’m here now, already, and, well, I’ve got to keep going, I have a lot of practice time in already. I need to love it though. I need to love this game to play it freely and live it and have it be mine and me and to ever hope to get in the zone, to ever hope to have a great game.

Clear Eyes. Full Hearts. Can’t Lose.

I’ve had that underlying feeling of dysfunction every time I’ve tried to do anything I didn’t have wired, didn’t know I could do, was perhaps above me. Nothing was supposed to ever be above me, it was all going to be cake. So, when I have to put up and not instantly get it right—I start to feel dysfunctional. I get that hollow feeling, the undermining insecurity, doubt, regret...all that. I know it well. That’s why I’ve taught school, aerobics, why I work in a coffee/wine shop. Teach me to do something and it’s already beneath me. Show me a formula—no problem. It’s this other stuff—LIFE—where there is no instructor and no manual, that’s where I get dysfunctional, unconfident and paralyzed. Not that much in life does it to me anymore, I probably choose from things that won’t make me feel that way, won’t require things of me I don’t already know how to give.

That’s why this. That’s why writing, that’s why the incredible difficulty here, and the impossible way forward. It’s the decision to let something matter so much that if I survive it, let alone succeed in it, what an incredible thing I will learn...to make something a priority, to work on it and practice, then shove everything aside to pull it all out and play and fight and work through it all and leave it all on the field.

I don’t know how to do that...but I’m going to figure it out.

Clear Eyes. Full Hearts. Can’t Lose.

And That's Not The Half Of It....

2008-11-21T18:22:00.005-05:00

SO...

I locked myself out of my house. Fortunately I wasn't still in my pjs. I had just decided to put a couple logs on the fire before taking my dog for a walk. I stepped out onto the deck for some wood, and the door shut. That was sometime around 3:30. Now it's 6:30, and the locksmith just let me in and is fixing the door.

It's been a heinous three hours. I spent the first one trying to break in, and trying to get my dog to put her paws on the handle--she was inside. Just that weight would have opened it, I thought. She's smart, but couldn't master that without opposible thumbs.

Then I banged on a couple neighbors' doors that I sort of know and feel comfortable with, and they weren't home. Then I went to a neighbor I wasn't comfortable with, but was home, used the phone, but did not want to stay there, plus I had a Pilates session I was due for, but no cell to call to cancel. The locksmith wasn't due for an hour, so I ran to the gym--in freezing, windy weather--used the internet and phone to let one of my students know the deal. She picked me up, brought me home and waited with me in her car until the locksmith showed up. I was to have dinner with her and the other student, sort of friends now, after Pilates anyway. They said just forget about the session, and come over as soon as I can.

When I called the locksmith company at 4:30, they said it would be an hour, maybe a little longer. When I called again at 5:45 they said if he gets there after 6 they'll have to charge me more. The guy got here at 6:02. I tried to fight that battle but he threatened to drive away.

"How do I know you just didn't take your time driving over here?" I asked.

"You don't," he said.

He is so right, and he has all the power. It's bitter cold out.

Well the guy had to drill out the door handle, so it's taking awhile to fix. I have to walk the dog before I can go to dinner, and I've been out in the weather for most of three hours and am freezing, and starving, so I don't feel much like doing that. Neither my dog, me, or my Pilates people got a workout in.

Did I mention my heat is out?

Air Force Law

2008-11-21T13:55:00.005-05:00

Wives of Air Force pilots pretty much count on everything going to hell as soon as the guys leave...something always happens.

Sure enough, Kevin left yesterday, and I came home late last night after work to find I could not get the heat going. My warm little beast and I crowded together in the bed with lots of blankets, and slept well, but the house was freezing this morning. I like being reminded of my childhood and everything, but it would be nice to have a little help with the heat--we are in the middle of a cold snap. I checked out the heater but I don't know what the hell I'm looking at. Good thing I have all that pioneer-like fire-building experience...I've kept the fire going all day.

Snow just started falling. I hope it keeps up. I think I have enough wood to last until Thanksgiving.

Home Fires

2008-11-21T13:23:00.009-05:00

Nothing reminds me of my childhood or makes me feel like home, more than a fire in the fireplace.

When I was a kid, it was the only heat we had in our little house. Yes, we were in California, but we got freezing temperatures often in the winter. I remember my brother and I would hear the fire being built early on a school morning--we didn’t have to get out from under our electric blankets until we heard the crackling--then we'd scamper out in our jams to warm up and eat breakfast in front of the fire before venturing back into the cold bedrooms and bathroom to get ready for school. We had to stack firewood and chop kindling every day when we got home, like some kind of pioneer children, we thought.

When I was in high school my parents put in the central heat (and air thank God), and, although we still had a fire most mornings, we’d sometimes hear the click of the furnace and knew we had to get up--not nearly as cozy as the crackling. My parents still have a fire most days in the winter, it’s more of a lifestyle thing now, I suppose, they enjoy camping out there in front of it and the big screen. I love going home and feeling that radiant heat soak into my skin until I have to go outside to cool off. It’s common to venture out onto the porch in barefeet and pj’s when I’m home to grab a couple of sticks, just like when I was a kid. You know those feet will warm up quick once your laying back in front of that fireplace next to a lazy dog.

Well here, for the first time in a few houses, we have a real fireplace, two of them actually, in our tiny three-story rowhouse. Yesterday I decided not to turn on the heat, but to move my writing space downstairs next to the fire. I ventured out to the deck in pjs barefooted, grabbed a couple of sticks and got one started quickly. After I get the coffee going I was so jazzed with myself and my space—I felt like me, smelled like me (smoke), and decided it was going to be a great winter here. I’m thankful for these chilly days, and for the gray skies. With the cold I get to feel the heat from the fire, and the flames shine brighter next to the window when there’s no sunlight.

Anyway, the toothless man who knocked on the door and sold me the wood a couple weeks ago is going to have to come back soon--I’m burning through that first stack quickly. My salary goes to all my indulgences--better wine, better cheese, better bread, better coffee, dark chocolate (for my dog), and wood. Lot’s of dry, easily burnable, instant warmth and comfort.

I'm happy when I’m not having to do anything but dress in jeans and a sweater, boots and a scarf, walk among the fallen leaves out in the cold, then come home to build a fire for the evening. It’s where I’m from, and maybe where I belong. The desert? The tropics? The city? Even a foreign country? Sure I can do them, love and enjoy them, but to feel like me I need some kind of outdoors not unlike central California, and a season with some chill so I can follow up an autumn walk sitting before a crackling fire with a sleepy dog.

So, I'm feeling at home here.

Addiction

2008-11-19T09:52:00.003-05:00

Well, it turned out okay—my bad night’s sleep didn’t totally wreck my writing time, and my little beast’s scarfing of an entire chocolate bar hasn’t killed her. It made her antsy all night and demanding of an outing this morning--she just went crazy in the backyard, racing around like she never does in her own yard, running fast figure-eights and kicking up leaves. Usually she’s still in bed at this time. But today she’s feeling the effects of a hangover—a chocolate hangover.

Last night she got a hold of an expensive bar we just opened from my work, and ate the whole thing--The whole, 74%, $5.25, large, dark chocolate bar. Her nineteen-pound self ate it all.

We finished dinner and I cleared the table except for the bar. We both left the room, then Kevin found her a few minutes later smacking the wrapping. Not a bit left, but evidence all around her.

So we had to endure her ramping up last night before bed, pacing a bit in the night as she tried to rest, and her absolute craziness this morning. She went in the backyard a couple of times and ran circles, but only to demand back in with an aggressive yelp and an almost verbal insistence that we go out for a run. I’ve endured the stare and she’s finally settled some, but the second I get up or move a chair she’s all amped up again. I am going to have to get her out big before I go to work—else she’ll be inside bouncing off the walls until we get home. I’ll try to work the caffeine out of her little system with a quick 30-minute run off-leash—that’s about all I can do for her.

It’s not the first time she’s poisoned herself on chocolate, she’s done it a few times. We had her only a week or two—still hadn’t decided if she was going to make the cut, if we were going to bring her home to the US with us from Okinawa—when we left her in the car with a few purchases we had made while we went into a restaurant. I forgot about the dark chocolate bunny I had hidden from my husband, his Easter treat. It wasn’t a large one but it was solid.

She couldn’t even eat it all. We came out of the restaurant and she was all sleepy, laid out with chocolate smeared all around her, bits of wrapper and the bunny ears nearby. She was drunk, completely wasted, on chocolate. We couldn’t blame her then, she was a street dog, accustomed to having to find whatever she could to survive, not yet trusting the always-full bowl of food at home, still on the scrounge.

But now? She should know better now. Today she’s all hungover with no excuse of need or necessity but because, like me, she just needed some good chocolate, dammit. Can I really blame her? I’m also perfectly provided for yet I sometimes orge-out on things that are really comforting me--food, wine, chocolate, a really hot shower…

A year ago it was the Halloween candy she got into when we weren’t watching, all the tiny Snickers and Milky Ways we bought for the neighborhood kids--only the wrappers were remaining. Yes, we know her hangover routine well—it means a bad night’s sleep for all of us as she paces and we keep waking up to ensure she hasn’t gone into a chocolate-induced coma.

It’s just chocolate really, that she gets into trouble with—she doesn’t do the trash much or beg at home—she snags an occasional chicken bone she finds on our walks, but again, who can blame her? It was her living, now a dysfunction from her past. It’s unseemly, embarrassing and ridiculous with what she now has provided for her, but still, are any of us any different? I reminded my husband of this (he was still verbally berating her hours after the incident), she was curled up next to him, he was petting her and sipping a gin and tonic.

It’s not good for her, but she cannot help herself. So, we recommit to keep the chocolate up—not just up now, but away, tightly away. No enabling.

We must remember we have an addict in our midst.

Flurries

2008-11-18T15:36:00.008-05:00

Yep, a few snowflakes blew past me when I was walking my dog today in the cold wind out by the Potomac. Not enough to stick, but still, very cool to see after spending the last few autumns and winters in the desert and on a tropical island. Finally we have weather that suits the season--kind of helps put me in the mood for the holidays. Also, the red berries are out on the two-story-tall holly tree outside our house. It's just begging for holiday lights after Thanksgiving, unfortunately I can't figure out how I'm going to get them up there....

I'm going to try out both of the little fireplaces in our house tonight and make a big pot of soup to warm me up. I'm not used to these temperatures, can't seem to bundle up enough....Walking my dog at night is now an act of courage and an isometric workout. I'm guessing I'll get used to it by about March.

Elasticity

2008-11-17T10:49:00.010-05:00

I can keep the weight off, I can color my hair (although, haven't had to yet), I can keep up-to-date with trends and accept all kinds of new ideas. I can keep learning and get smarter, better, wiser, stronger and more flexible, but....I can't seem to keep my lifelong partner, Elasticity, from running out on me. He sneaks out and then lies about it--like I'm not going to catch on.

Where is he going? No one said he could leave....none of us get to just leave....we have to stick it out to the end....I suspect he's running off with someone younger who is easier to live with--fat in the cheeks, plenty of sub-cu and all of that.

You know what E? Go ahead, I can hack it, I'll be fine, I have other friends. But, odds are she's going to get tubby you know--you won't be happy when you have to carry all THAT around someday....

Proud

2008-11-16T19:11:00.003-05:00

Someone recently told me they are proud of me.

I don't really know how to handle that, don't know what to do with that information....don't know if I deserve it, if I earned it, if it's okay to just let that lie....

Regardless, I felt it. It was a tiny affirmation, a bit of help. Someone, who I thought wasn't noticing, took notice of my fight for a second and said "good job," when I didn't think I had any approval. It was unexpected. I don't know what to think about it.

Proud of what? My working so much? Working so hard? My struggle to find some truth? My efforts to figure out life and continue even when the answers I find aren't answers at all and I get nowhere? The fact that I keep banging my head up against a wall to be understood, kind of get that it ain't ever going to happen, but keep banging anyway?

Proud of me. I've got people who love me, think I'm or fun or a great friend, but proud?

Since I've never, ever, lived up to my supposed potential in any area of my life, I've never even been proud of myself. I've always known I could and should do more, but, for whatever reasons, have not done it. Now, after a long wait, I've taken a couple steps, finally, on my own, to be more me, and someone is proud of me. I'm not sure I've done enough. A couple of people have been proud of small steps I have taken along the way, and have said, "keep going," but I'm not sure anyone has just been proud of me. Not sure anyone has really seen what the hell it has been like for me to get here, yet I'm not even close to where I need to go. Naw, I don't deserve it. It's not time to say those things, I'm not sure I can even reach any of my goals or become a better person--probably won't, actually....

I recently read that the only thing worse than having people say, "You'll never amount to anything," is having them say, "You can, and should, be able to do it all and it should be easy for you." That's what I heard starting in kindergarten. It quit being easy at Fifth grade, and I figured it was my fault I never did it all. I was supposed to do great things....

But, now, someone is proud of me? It sure was interesting to hear.
I'm not quite sure what to do with that information....

Just Regulars

2008-11-14T09:49:00.006-05:00

It was rainy all day. I went for Vietnamese soup instead of for my run, and decided to take the car to work--10 blocks away. All the spaces in the back were taken, so I parked on the street in a 2-hour spot--I'd have to remember to move it.

Inside, it was slow as we transitioned from coffee bar/retail wine store to wine bar. We dimmed the lights, changed our online radio to something cooler (Estelle), and turned it up a smidge. We sold a few cups of coffee, got prepared for the evening we all guessed would be slow, and had some time to chat.

The owner decided we should do a little tasting, said we need to bond a little. He said it was a full moon, that it felt like a weird night, that everyone was in a weird mood. I said I wasn't, and he said the moon had the opposite effect on me, that I would be normal tonight, for a change. It was the rain, I think, not the moon that set the tone. We tasted a white blend from France--"light and buttery up front, but with a spicy, dry finish." Are they just making this crap up? Maybe, but when I taste, I'm starting to be able to call it--but with the whites, I'm never sure.

I'm getting better with the reds though, I'm crazy about Petit Verdot, and Malbec blends now--big and juicy. And last night I did sell a red I love to one of my Saturday regulars. He came in just after a 12-hour flight from Tokyo visiting his fiance. We talked a lot about Japan, how baffling things are there, and how cool. He was our only customer for an hour or so, tasted the white with us, then I sold him the last bottle of the Vietti Italian Barbera, guaranteeing he would love it. I've got to quit doing that....After the taste and a cup of coffee he was fading from the jet lag--bet we'll see him on Saturday for his usual coffee fix.

At 6:30 the bartender started scrambling--she saw parking enforcement out the window. After assuring me I didn't need to move my car, that they'd never ticket us in the rain, she got a big fat ticket. Thankfully I didn't listen to her, remembered to move mine to a meter, and had six minutes left. Whew. Still I scrambled for quarters and dashed out in the rain to secure my spot until 7 pm--free parking time. This is why I usually don't drive....

Then a woman wrestled a stroller up the steps and inside. I recognized her from Saturday and Sunday, when she came in for coffee. She looked distressed and said loudly--"Does anyone in here have Alaska plates?" Of course that's me, and she said, almost tearfully that she had hit my car. She was shaking and upset--I said no big deal, we'll take care of it later, sit and relax--I don't get worked up about these things, and she was all right at least. I sneaked out to look at the car, and, no-kidding, she hit it EXACTLY where I scraped it a couple months ago. Not much further damage, although I haven't looked at it in the daylight yet. I said I'd give her a call, but probably, we'll just let it go, I already need to get it fixed....She settled down, met her friend for coffee and chatted for an hour or two. I got her info of course. Maybe I shouldn't have moved the car after all....

It did finally pick up a little, if only with regulars. In the back, a table of four women, moms, who are making that table their usual Thursday stop. Usually they head to dinner elsewhere, but tonight, they got a couple flatbreads and a cheese plate and stayed all night. They drank bottles and bottles of wine, then, when we practically had to kick them out, they asked for cigarettes, as if they could smoke them inside. I overheard their conversation about raising children, managing their images and elusive happiness. We clearly are a part of their coping time away from the men and kids, a place where they let loose a little....

As always on Thursday, the important food lady and her man sat at the bar. I haven't caught where she works yet, but I have learned that she is a chef and food connoisseur and we are apparently proud and happy to be one of her stops. Her man picks out their wines, typically they try three or four. They're happy to discuss the intricacies of the French bleu we serve in comparison to our domestic, and any other food or restaurant gossip going around. They're great but after all the recent discussions at work, I got a little nervous when I noticed her watching me, serving, opening and pouring wines....maybe I don't know what the hell I'm doing. The owner says soon we will get a big critic in, who could make or break us--we'll never get our first impression back. Anyway--they come in every Thursday and drop a lot of cash.

Our single guy came in, well, he's not really single, but might as well be, he never has his wife with him. He's a Wednesday regular, but decided to try Thursday after we spoke to him at the pinot tasting Tuesday night and talked up Thursday. (Lots of pinots Tuesday--seven actually, higher end. My favorite was from Monterey, or maybe I'm just loyal to whatever comes from closest to home). Anyway, he likes to chat with the bartender, get chummy with all of us, and tell stories. He recommended several restaurants to me, which I'm anxious to try. He hopes we don't get too popular, else he'll have to find somewhere else to go every week. Apparently it used to be the Irish pub down the street, every Wednesday, for years and years and years.

The bartender I work with each Thursday is an interesting person--down-to-earth, a little rough around the edges, in her late 40s. She has been through some hard things. She got some relief from her demons, she says, after she gave up drinking for 15 years (she's back now), left the Catholic church and "came out." She sculpted a very cool gargoyle named Balthazar and brought him in to watch over the bar. It doesn't matter that the owners keep hinting he doesn't belong, she's now got all the customers on his side, and I think he's staying. He is great, and represents how she affects the place--they both keep it from becoming too pretentious and perfect....Balthazar has such a pleasant look on his face, not a scary gargoyle at all. I can't help from petting his head when I'm dusting, he has a great feel. Anyway, she also finds a new name for people she likes--and you don't get to pick it. Our food girl is now named Roxy--not even close to her given name, but I have to say it suits her. Me? I'm Earthynia (Earth-In-EYE-uh). It's sticking--at least I'm answering to it.

I was fading at about 8 pm, and I would probably never stop or ask the kitchen to make me anything, but she decided to split a salad with me--amazing--I have to have food to keep working! It was the best spinach with fancy cheese and truffle toast. Truffle toast--incredible. We took turns quickly eating in the back hallway, there's no space for breaks and we don't really get to take them. Those laws about 30 minutes for six hours and breaks every two? They mean nothing. Six to eight hours on your feet, unless I'm managing, then I make sure everyone takes a break and has something to eat. Again, Norma Rae....

A new, young, beautiful couple came in to look at the menu--I greeted them and they decided to stay. They've just moved in a few blocks away, and I can tell they'll become regulars. The owner came out and hung with them quite awhile, having them sample some new meats and cheeses we have. They've both lived out west and know San Luis Obispo, although by his accent he's a Londoner. We welcomed them to the neighborhood, they are now part of our community.

Earlier, my young, Christian co-worker had dinner and some wine with his artsy girlfriend. He comes in every day, that's why he started working on Saturdays with us. Since he's going to come in anyway, the owner convinced him, he might as well help us out and offset the price of his coffee/wine consumption. He works for a big mega-church I once attended for a short time. He said the policy is they aren't to drink where they're likely to be seen by church members. Please--he's working in a wine store! He laughs it off, but I would have had a big dilemma about that in my church-going days--probably why church still works for him. Ah--he's young yet. We are destined for some great conversations he and I. The two of them are adorable of course...living their easy Christian lives where everything makes sense....

So we ended up being pretty busy. At the end of the night, when we sip a little wine while we finish up, people sometimes get a little philosophical, and someone might tell a story. Last night it was the owner. He told me about some DC clubs and restaurants I need to try, where the soul food is good and big people like him are comfortable. As always, he thanked us for our work, asked us our impressions of the night, and wanted to hear our feedback.

He says regulars won't be enough, but that we're lucky to have some already.

The Road

2008-11-12T09:01:00.012-05:00

I feel like I am at a dead end in every area of my life....except with writing I guess.
Plenty of blocks, and potholes, but no dead end.
Here, supposedly, I get to decide everything, and no one can stop me--except me. It doesn't feel like that, but I have nowhere else to go.

Maybe it's supposed to be that way.
Maybe that's the only way to get where I'm going.
Maybe it's by design.
Maybe I'll start making great time.

Or, maybe it's all just hard.
Maybe instead of flying down this road, I'm meant to trudge.

Seems that way.

Squashed!

2008-11-10T16:20:00.006-05:00

Chalk one up for the restaurant professionals....I got rolled.

But, I was heard and I did get some concessions--and some for the people I manage. All part of the experience I suppose....

Now, time to reassess my goals and expectations there.

Power

2008-11-10T09:27:00.012-05:00

God knows I don't want to become the standard loud, unattractively opinionated woman in her 40s talking about power, but...is that it?

Is that what this--my mid-life crisis with religion, relationships and work--is about? Power?

Power--my current definition? The ability, the strength, to really live life fully realizing it's full of pain. I need to feel empowered and to do that I need to express myself about it--maybe that's my base need--expression, and beyond that, I need to be heard. I can write or talk myself blue in the face, but it goes only so far unless someone hears it and kind of gets it.

And maybe that's the empowering part, the part that says I'm at least half-right. That's the part that soothes the rash, dulls the ache and tends the sucking chest wound of need I apparently have. So yes, I want someone to see it, hear it, get it. Why would I want anyone to know my need? Why would I write about it here? Isn't it kind of stupid to be so vulnerable? Shouldn't I put a band-aid on that wound--cover it up for God's sake?

It's not that I think anyone can fix it--that's for sure. It's just truth, me being honest about where I'm at. Maybe someone else will admit it, that they feel it too, the pain, the shit of it all, then I can settle down, feel it and know I'm not crazy looking at all these people who say life is phenomenal all the time. I need to take life in, process it, not just endure it but allow myself to be thrown--yes, thrown--by pain as well as by joy.

Why do we think we're powerful or "smart" when we know what to expect and then are prepared, having adjusted our expectations? Is that kind of control "power?" We assume it's better to be prepared, to not get thrown, than to go through a painful experience. We try not to let anything get to us, we brace ourselves and think ahead, preparing for every possible disappointment, settling for the lowest denomination of feeling so the pain won't affect us. And we do it alone. That's being "smart." Well what if that's an illusion? What if we're actually more empowered when we feel, reel and let ourselves get hurt by life? Of course we're battered, but we promise to get back up, as hard as that is, and to keep living. At least we'll know what it feels like, this life.

So I'd rather not be so clever, or alone. I'd rather get rolled, taken advantage of and worse, disappointed, and other people will know it. Yes, I'll feel low, but there, knowing, learning, feeling the real truth, I know I'll have more real knowledge and, maybe power, than when I'm smartly steeling myself--not feeling, not learning anything except that I was right, yet again, to expect things to be so hard.

Street Smarts

2008-11-09T20:22:00.009-05:00

I broke the code.

It's taken me all these weeks to figure it out, but I now know why I didn't get that job at the cool speakeasy. I didn't get the job because I am not a proud, self-important, restaurant professional. I went in there interested in the concept of the place and willing to learn anything and work hard, but I didn't use the right language, didn't have the right credentials, and didn't flaunt them. I am not, by trade, a restaurant person, and they figured it out right away. I didn't speak the language, so to them, I didn't even deserve the promised call-back after the interview.

Serving, apparently, isn't as easy as you think. Somehow, you need years of training, and you need to be able to work into conversation constantly that you've worked at a famous restaurant, preferably with a famous chef. I walked into this industry thinking hard work and a steep learning curve were enough to make it, but I was wrong--if that were true, then that would undermine the credentials of all the servers who are making it seem like it takes more. Do they have some secret skills I am not aware of?

Yes. Passing themselves off as the only ones able to do the job, getting hard working people to believe in and support their supposed vaulted position, and constantly name-dropping. Now I am all about people striving for excellence in their jobs--no matter what the job is--and taking pride in it. It is one of the first things that wowed me about a couple of these restaurant people--that they took it so seriously. One of them taught me a lot on my first day at my coffee shop/wine bar. After espousing all the famous chefs he'd worked for in all the major US cities (I was supposed to be recognizing all the names), he dove through the trash to find a spoon a customer had accidentally thrown away. This impressed me, because it showed, I thought, that we all jump in and do whatever needs to be done. Only partly true. They only do side work when they can't get someone else to do it. They're usually too important serving, then they give up only a tiny portion of their tips....

Fortunately the owner of the wine bar/coffee shop where I work is a creative, open-minded person with nothing for pretense and everything for helping his employees help him make the place the best it can be--he likes to hear all my insights and ideas after a long shift. So until now I've been really happy knowing I'm being appreciated and thinking I can learn about wine. I thought I might even move up, learn the business and grow a little.

Not so fast. The problem is, along with hiring me, and my ilk of people with degrees that for one reason or another want to do a shift or two at a cool place and learn a little something along with their normal jobs, he also hired some restaurant people. The clash has begun. Now I don't want to be Norma Rae, but I can't help representing my type with the owner against the strong culture of restaurant people in this city. I will probably go down, I am out of my element.

My point is that I think I can damn well pour and deliver a glass of wine or a plate of food as well as anyone. Yet, I'm either not supposed to do it and only let the restaurant people do it, or I'm going to do it when we're busy along with all the other side work they don't do, then only get a small percentage of what they get in tips. I had no idea. Of course they did, when they took their jobs as "bartender" or "server." I did not when I took my job of doing whatever the hell needed to be done--which is how all the jobs were described to me in the beginning.

So, I'm out to either change it or become less invested and lower my expectations. Maybe I won't work the wine bar, I'll just work coffee. I'll reduce my hours, quit working so hard, and quit giving my feedback to the owner--he probably doesn't need it anyway. Oh yeah, and I'll ask for a raise, which I'm pretty sure I'll get.

I'm meeting with him tomorrow. I've already approached him about some of these inequities--he got very concerned. He likes my attitude and work ethic, doesn't want me to lower my expectations, and he wants the place to be one where all of us can grow. I'm just not sure he can please us all, even though he's the type to listen and try to do the right thing. He's against the pretense, but I'm not sure he can change the culture of the service industry--too many divas.

Who would have thought the educated would be held down by service workers? Maybe there's justice there somewhere and I need to suck it up. The truth is, now I'm getting a real education. Now, finally, I'm learning street smarts.

I knew this job would be good for me.

Success?

2008-10-22T09:10:00.006-04:00

I’ve been going around with myself for months trying, for the first time, to write. I’ve set aside time, I’ve read books, I’m taking a class, I’ve forced myself to stay in the chair when I want to leap out of it and get a third breakfast, and I’m doing it. I think.

However, if true success can be measured by results and production, I’m failing for sure--I am not writing great works. But, I almost don’t care if anyone else reads what I write, the process is so good for me. It’s difficult, but exactly what I envisioned when I decided to live a writing life--Engaging with my self, my God and my world on every level—emotionally, psychologically, spiritually, soulfully—using writing as my tool. Whatever results from that life might be worth reading, might be “art,” but it might not. Regardless, it will be mine, and that is enough for me, at least for now. My purpose for delving into creativity and producing my own work is to help me get closer to who I can be, to become more myself, to discover and explore, to engage.

I’m finally appreciating that it’s the process, the journey, and not the destination or the result, that is valuable. So in that, I am succeeding.

Unprepared

2008-10-03T09:15:00.005-04:00

You know that feeling you have when you show up for a test and you suddenly realize how unprepared you are? How you could not get the reality of that test into your head, could not bring yourself to care, until the moment the teacher hands it to you?

Well that will be me feeling that, Sunday morning, 8 am at the Army 10-Miler. I am not remotely prepared. I've only been running 3-4 miles, a couple times a week. I do other exercise and I'm in reasonable shape but I've only been running 3-4 miles. Not 5-6, no 8 mile preps, just 3-4.

I'm in trouble.

I have great excuses--I just moved for crying out loud. I've been settling in, getting jobs, working on more important things, and I have this achilles tendon issue.... But really, I couldn't bring myself to care, couldn't accept the reality of race day actually showing up this soon. Damn. This is going to hurt. Why? Because it's a RACE, and I should be prepared. It's not a "fun-run," I'm not supposed to WALK only because I couldn't bring myself to train.

Truthfully, I'm not sure how this is going to go down. Today I'll go pick up my packet and all the runners who are excited to beat their "personal best" times will be all hyped up. That's where I'll start to get the sinking feeling I'm in trouble. Then I have a busy Friday night and Saturday planned, so I'll kind of remember to drink a few glasses of water here and there, but only in the back of my mind will I even be aware of the race. Not until the alarm goes off Sunday and I'm out there in the crowd of bouncing runners itching to get started will I really get the stomach drop you get when the teacher hands you that test. Yikes.

Then comes the unknown. I don't know if I'll decide to give it my all, gut it out, and endure all manner of suffering for 90-ish minutes, or if I'll even be able to. Hey, maybe I'll feel great, all my cross-training will pay off and my body will rise to the occasion. Yoga is good for increasing speed and endurance, right? Yeah, sure.

Or, and this is sounding better and better, maybe I'll realize I'm not being graded on this test and I'll just enjoy the day. Maybe I'll even be thinking what a great day it is for an autumn walk.

A Truly Great Performance

2008-09-26T10:58:00.008-04:00

When she told me what the doctor said I dreaded the months to come. Knowing her sensitivity, her bend toward depression, her obsession with the tiniest bodily miscue, I figured she'd live out the worst-case scenario even if it didn‘t happen. With her ballet and showbiz background she'd play out the surgery and treatments to the height of drama, an excuse to become the ultimate diva. She'd isolate herself, her mood would plummet and she'd pull everyone down with her.

In the hospital, under lackluster care, she hung in there with no complaints. She surprised me the day after surgery when she asked for gum and wanted to take a walk. I thought it funny that she got her hair and nails done before surgery--as if for a big performance. So now, her hair still looking great, she grabbed the IV pole and chomping her gum we ventured down the hallway, laughing at hospital indignities and at the backless gown she wore. I won't forget that image of her, she was at her best, anxious to get better. No self-pity, no drama.

In the following months I watched her mood, fearing she'd mentally spiral in the daily grind of this disease. I was still waiting for a big episode, and I thought she'd hole up for six months rather than let anyone see her carry that med-pack around her waist.

I was wrong. Depression may be her natural way to deal with such a trial, but this time she chose to rise to the occasion. Except for days right after treatments, she was up and functioning, making the best of the day, although I could tell she was weary, her eyes cloudy.

Early on, somehow, she understood what it was about. She never saw herself in a battle, but as a participant in life's toughest ballet class. It was about doing the work, getting through the class with style and being better because of the practice. Somehow she turned the ordeal into something graceful, beautiful and strengthening.

Of course I know she had her private moments loathing the cancer and questioning God's tasking of her, but she did not let these thoughts take hold. No big drama, no irreparable breakdowns, no classless self-pity, just rising to the occasion--rising with dignity and a little humor.

I think her whole attitude was a throwback to her showbiz years--Be prepared, don't complain, don't let them see you sweat, then nail it. It served her well. Head held high she walked straight out to her most difficult performance, and nailed it.

It makes me proud to know her.