I've been on a journey. Not an icy, slippery hike to the top of Mt. Whatsoever kind of journey. Not a time-skipping, Back to the Future kind of journey. More of an "Oh! That's who I am," kind of journey. A bright light bulb that has just begun shining kind of journey. I've spent months getting reunited with myself. I've rediscovered things I always thought to be true about myself, but lost along the cobblestone path of life. I've come to grips with ideas that I've spent years trying to disprove. I've even learned new things that I don't recall ever realizing in the first place. My journey is an internal discovery of myself and those surrounding me. And it's been everything I could possibly wish it to be.
As a child, I remember truly respecting certain ideas of my dad's. Not many, as he is a stubborn, closed minded, grown child of the Forties, but definitely some. More specifically, I respected that he didn't lie. He was always honest and unapologetic. He was who he was, and nothing anybody thought or said put a dent in his attitude or self-esteem. At least, not on the outside. But, in hindsight, any of that was probably shielded by the unforgiving alcoholism. Needless to say, I held on to the idea that "I am who I am" and nothing or no one could break that. And I never felt a need to hide anything, or lie, thanks to this guardian wall.
As a teenager, these ideals inherited from my father stuck with me like a patch that was superglued to my sleeve. I had focused so much on these ideas for years, most likely so I didn't actually have to deal with any of the dysfunction that surrounding me, but probably even moreso I didn't have to deal with how dysfunctional the dysfunction made me. It became my velvet ribbon, so as to tie my head on straight in order to make it through day to day life. It was these lucrative years that I focused on how being independent and self sufficient made me feel, as opposed to being dependent on someone else for my means, esteem, and even sanity. Back then I believed I was smart, creative and talented. These feelings somehow turned to mush and absorbed into the mist of the daily routine once I became a young adult.
At some point, for the sake of anonymity, my dysfunction moved to the fore-front when it was pushed and prodded by other people's insecurities. I lost my common sense, it seemed. Another emphasized needed quality by my dad. I lost my self esteem. I lost my beliefs about myself. I disappeared.
I've had mountains and valleys of growth and recovery over the last couple of years. It's been rocky. Foggy. Clear. Humid. The odyssey, in its entirety, has been one of all seasons and storms. All silences and calms. And the last few months have emerged as the pith of my journey. I've regained my personal independence and been challenged intellectually. I've learned my position among others and how to play well together. I've overcome insecurities and learned that I desire to trudge forward even further to see exactly how far I can go.
I am who I am. I'm not ashamed of it. I am smart. I am creative. I am talented. Each of these to an extent I'm unsure of. Maybe ever growing. I enjoy my alone time - what writer doesn't?? But there's more. I'm dark. Not in the Twilight kind of dark. Not in the emo-goth kind of dark. More in the spooky, passionate kind of dark. The dark that is overwhelmed by light most of the time, but waits there in the shadows, for the perfect time to take over and compel. I'm also funny. Not in the always entertaining physical hilarity Chris Farley is so well known for. And not because I'm awkward. But because I just happen to be genuinely witty and enjoy, myself, to laugh. At least, that's what I tell myself.
All of these newly re-realizations are evolving me into the person I know I was always supposed to be. The person I've been told I was supposed to be. The person I've fought off trying to become. And I am inspired to see what new lands this journey will continue to take me to. I am inspired to see what kind of creativity will emerge. I'm inspired to see what kind of sister I will be. I'm inspired.
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Surf City, USA
I grew up in Huntington Beach. Surf City. The waves are consistent and the tans impeccable. There is a certain smell of salt and a hint of fish around the city, and the wind seems to blow the same way every day. The sun shines about 360 days out of the year, and the rain on the other five days is so refreshing. Its like rubbing chilled aloe on a sunburn; the rain amidst so much sunshine.
I was proud to be a Huntington Beach-ian. I played in the water in the never-ending summer days. I tanned. I went to the beach. I didn’t know any different. I rode my bike in the blazing street. I bleached my hair with lemon. I greased my skin with oil. I would sail down the slip-and-slide, carelessly, and end up in the too-small baby pool at the end, and nobody cared. Activities would ensue with no worries and no conflict. I would play with my friends, or not, and there was never any drama. We seemed to always just do what we wanted, when we wanted, and no one really worried about it.
My street was half filled with kids, and half filled with older people. The kids always played outside during the days, when we weren’t at school. We played together. We got along. The girls against the boys. We’d hide together and talk about the boys and giggle, and the boys would be loud and obnoxious and run by to moon us. And we’d scoff and giggle some more. All the kids went to school together and all the adults knew each other. Neighbors would deliver cookies. We’d look out for each other’s loose dogs. It was the ideal community. And the elementary school was just around the corner.
Lake View was where all my neighbor friends and I attended elementary school. Most of us walked to school, since the neighborhood was so safe. Most people left their cars unlocked, and even their front doors. I, however, was not allowed to walk to school. My mom, I guess, after the experience of raising five other kids, decided she should make sure I actually made it to school. Walking home was a different story. Until I stopped communicating clearly with my mother, I was allowed to play at the park for about an hour before the hike around the two corners and back home. We would tear that park up, until our imaginations couldn’t think of any other use for a spiral slide. No longer could we imagine the now referred to “swiss cheese wall” as a spy bunker hiding us from the enemy. It was time to go home.
As the pre-teen years crept up, we began being bused to middle school, where the kids were far less forgiving. The easy-going, nearly grungy style of Huntington Beach was no longer acceptable. It was all about name brand jeans, expensive shoes, and of course, a trendy and no less fancy shirt. Sure, surf trends were still cool, but only if they were sold on Main Street, at HB Surf and Sport or Tilly’s. I, personally, didn’t fall into this stereotype, somewhat keeping me out of the reality of teenage tensions, but it was always apparent. Sports were a prerequisite, and good grades a necessity if you wanted to fit in.
These adolescent years were spent tormenting Main Street and the beach daily. Whether it be organized ditch days, or just ditch days I took for myself, the volleyball courts would be played, the waves would be body surfed, and the sun would burn my skin to a lobster shade. All the surfer boys would be flirted with. The 10 o’clock curfew would be broken, and the police would try to scare us straight with the threat of driving us home to our parents at 10:15pm. That same smell of salt water, the sound of music and waves crashing, and the incessant need to be around everyone else drove us.
I didn’t know much past school and after school. I didn’t go to any specific church, although I’d attended many nearby. All seemingly the same; God, Christ, and the chosen relatable lesson. I played after school sports, but those were all held on school grounds. My high school, in fact, had no tennis courts or football fields. All of our home game football games were held at a nearby high school. Kind of defeats the purpose.
I’ve moved other places as my life has progressed. I’ve lived in South County. I’ve lived in Pasadena. Fullerton. All with their own wonderful aspects, but none with the nostalgia the scent of salt water and fish bring. The busy hustle of Colorado Street is different than that of HB’s laid back consistent flow of pedestrians. Fullerton’s curvaceous streets were the opposite of Huntington Beach’s graph paper like, grid layout. The surrounding mountains and greenery were found no where around the home city, except for the well-manicured lawns of public parks and libraries. Otherwise, I missed the dirty sand-trod streets. I missed the heavy air. I missed mostly, the waves crashing on the beach in a familiar and persistent form, when I was away from my nesting grounds. I wasn’t able to cruise the streets when I was distressed, because, what I found in other places was traffic and freeways. There was no easy way to the peaceful solitude of the beach. There was no possible way to drink in the moonlight in stop-and-go traffic. The relief of my hometown was miraculous in that it happened only there. The visits to my childhood home. The many nights of prayer at the Jetty. This salty, fishy, grungy, persistent, predictable, fun, easy-going, place was my home. It is my home. It is my life.
I still reminisce in the nights I stay in Huntington. I’ll do a sleepover at my parent’s. I’ll take a drive along the coast. I’ll drink in the sunlight. I’ll drink in the moonlight. The 80 degree weather in January will remain a mystery, but will nevertheless be taken advantage of. The pier, in all of its young, fleshy flare, remains harmless. A place where bums and the wealthy meet in a practically non-judgmental way. Where people can catch their dinner or elegantly dine. Where health is taken seriously, but so is socializing with a cocktail. This is where I grew up and I am still proud to call Huntington Beach my home.
I was proud to be a Huntington Beach-ian. I played in the water in the never-ending summer days. I tanned. I went to the beach. I didn’t know any different. I rode my bike in the blazing street. I bleached my hair with lemon. I greased my skin with oil. I would sail down the slip-and-slide, carelessly, and end up in the too-small baby pool at the end, and nobody cared. Activities would ensue with no worries and no conflict. I would play with my friends, or not, and there was never any drama. We seemed to always just do what we wanted, when we wanted, and no one really worried about it.
My street was half filled with kids, and half filled with older people. The kids always played outside during the days, when we weren’t at school. We played together. We got along. The girls against the boys. We’d hide together and talk about the boys and giggle, and the boys would be loud and obnoxious and run by to moon us. And we’d scoff and giggle some more. All the kids went to school together and all the adults knew each other. Neighbors would deliver cookies. We’d look out for each other’s loose dogs. It was the ideal community. And the elementary school was just around the corner.
Lake View was where all my neighbor friends and I attended elementary school. Most of us walked to school, since the neighborhood was so safe. Most people left their cars unlocked, and even their front doors. I, however, was not allowed to walk to school. My mom, I guess, after the experience of raising five other kids, decided she should make sure I actually made it to school. Walking home was a different story. Until I stopped communicating clearly with my mother, I was allowed to play at the park for about an hour before the hike around the two corners and back home. We would tear that park up, until our imaginations couldn’t think of any other use for a spiral slide. No longer could we imagine the now referred to “swiss cheese wall” as a spy bunker hiding us from the enemy. It was time to go home.
As the pre-teen years crept up, we began being bused to middle school, where the kids were far less forgiving. The easy-going, nearly grungy style of Huntington Beach was no longer acceptable. It was all about name brand jeans, expensive shoes, and of course, a trendy and no less fancy shirt. Sure, surf trends were still cool, but only if they were sold on Main Street, at HB Surf and Sport or Tilly’s. I, personally, didn’t fall into this stereotype, somewhat keeping me out of the reality of teenage tensions, but it was always apparent. Sports were a prerequisite, and good grades a necessity if you wanted to fit in.
These adolescent years were spent tormenting Main Street and the beach daily. Whether it be organized ditch days, or just ditch days I took for myself, the volleyball courts would be played, the waves would be body surfed, and the sun would burn my skin to a lobster shade. All the surfer boys would be flirted with. The 10 o’clock curfew would be broken, and the police would try to scare us straight with the threat of driving us home to our parents at 10:15pm. That same smell of salt water, the sound of music and waves crashing, and the incessant need to be around everyone else drove us.
I didn’t know much past school and after school. I didn’t go to any specific church, although I’d attended many nearby. All seemingly the same; God, Christ, and the chosen relatable lesson. I played after school sports, but those were all held on school grounds. My high school, in fact, had no tennis courts or football fields. All of our home game football games were held at a nearby high school. Kind of defeats the purpose.
I’ve moved other places as my life has progressed. I’ve lived in South County. I’ve lived in Pasadena. Fullerton. All with their own wonderful aspects, but none with the nostalgia the scent of salt water and fish bring. The busy hustle of Colorado Street is different than that of HB’s laid back consistent flow of pedestrians. Fullerton’s curvaceous streets were the opposite of Huntington Beach’s graph paper like, grid layout. The surrounding mountains and greenery were found no where around the home city, except for the well-manicured lawns of public parks and libraries. Otherwise, I missed the dirty sand-trod streets. I missed the heavy air. I missed mostly, the waves crashing on the beach in a familiar and persistent form, when I was away from my nesting grounds. I wasn’t able to cruise the streets when I was distressed, because, what I found in other places was traffic and freeways. There was no easy way to the peaceful solitude of the beach. There was no possible way to drink in the moonlight in stop-and-go traffic. The relief of my hometown was miraculous in that it happened only there. The visits to my childhood home. The many nights of prayer at the Jetty. This salty, fishy, grungy, persistent, predictable, fun, easy-going, place was my home. It is my home. It is my life.
I still reminisce in the nights I stay in Huntington. I’ll do a sleepover at my parent’s. I’ll take a drive along the coast. I’ll drink in the sunlight. I’ll drink in the moonlight. The 80 degree weather in January will remain a mystery, but will nevertheless be taken advantage of. The pier, in all of its young, fleshy flare, remains harmless. A place where bums and the wealthy meet in a practically non-judgmental way. Where people can catch their dinner or elegantly dine. Where health is taken seriously, but so is socializing with a cocktail. This is where I grew up and I am still proud to call Huntington Beach my home.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Webster Has Nothing On Me
Yes, I haven't blogged in a handful of days. And yes, that's not keeping up with my resolution. As a matter of fact, the first week of my year (aka 2012) hasn't gone anywhere near the way I wanted or expected it to. But I'm not going to let that define me.
2012. My Year. Supposed to be the year of opportunity and experience. The year I learn who I am. The year I learn what I want. The year I learn what I want to surround myself with. So, how has the last week and a half gone?? A good friend suffered a brain aneurysm, and is fighting, still, to overcome it. My aunt passed away. My brother-in-law and niece and nephew got hit by a drunk driver while on a bike ride through their neighborhood. Yes, I'd say that's less than a positive start to the year. But I'm not going to let that define me.
Trying to keep a positive outlook through all of my experiences, I continually remind myself to look for the opportunity in each experience, no matter how hard it may be to see. To keep my eyes and my mind open. Because what seems like the end of the world could quite possibly be the beginning of something amazing. At least, that's what I'm choosing to believe this year. So at first thought, I think, "Dang, didn't keep to my resolutions. Of course!" But, that's not true. I have all year to try to maintain these changes; all year to keep trying to do better. Be better. So, I'm not going to let that define me.
I've decided that as I see myself slipping back into the norm; into what's easy and comfortable, that I'm not going to see that as a failure. Instead, I'm going to notice myself doing these things and...wait for it...CHANGE THEM. It's a minor setback, not a way of life. I refuse to let this define me.
So now, I vow, again, to push myself harder and make the resolutions I set become habitual. I vow to make myself the best I can be in 2012. I vow to, even when I feel like I might break, to push on. Which brings me to something I've held onto since the last time I attended church.
Preface: I consider myself to be a Christian. Not a hardcore Christian. Not a Bible-thumper. Not a Jesus-freak. Just a Christian who is spiritual. I believe in God. I believe in ethics. I believe in the Bible. I don't attend church regularly; not because I don't want to, but just because I don't feel like it's imperative to go to church every week to have a relationship with God. Although, I do think it's important to get to church once in a while to be a part of a congregation.
Anyway, the last time I went to church, I was in a hard place. So, accordingly, it seemed as if the sermon was constructed completely around me. What I remember the most from it, was something along the lines of God wants you to push yourself to the point that you feel like you might break, so that in that moment you realize you didn't, in his grace, and you will have proved your faith and become a stronger person. Again, I'm not well-versed in the Bible, but that's what I got out of it. To not quit. To keep pushing, even if you feel you might break. To not let the struggle define you.
At first, I engulfed myself in the message. I repeated it again and again on mile 6 and 7 of Sunday uphill runs. I repeated it when it seemed like there were no answers. I repeated it when I thought I might break. And I felt so amazing when I pushed through the struggle, only to realize that wasn't the end for me, whether it be the run, the fight, the story. There's more. And recently, this message has crept back into my mind. Not as dramatic or extreme, but subtle. The way I think I need to hear it right now. Saying that just because I haven't run in a while, or because I haven't pushed myself to breaking in boxing, or I haven't exhausted myself detailing my home, doesn't mean that I've failed to keep my resolutions. I will not let that define me.
I will, however, let the fact that I am renewing my faith in myself and in God; that I will change today and hold true to who I want to be, define me. I'm determined. I'm optimistic. I'm faithful. I will make sure, no matter what happens, that 2012 will be my year. My year of years to come. I will not give up, and I will push past that breaking point, and prove to myself and everyone else that I can do it. I will prove I can do anything. This is what will define me.
2012. My Year. Supposed to be the year of opportunity and experience. The year I learn who I am. The year I learn what I want. The year I learn what I want to surround myself with. So, how has the last week and a half gone?? A good friend suffered a brain aneurysm, and is fighting, still, to overcome it. My aunt passed away. My brother-in-law and niece and nephew got hit by a drunk driver while on a bike ride through their neighborhood. Yes, I'd say that's less than a positive start to the year. But I'm not going to let that define me.
Trying to keep a positive outlook through all of my experiences, I continually remind myself to look for the opportunity in each experience, no matter how hard it may be to see. To keep my eyes and my mind open. Because what seems like the end of the world could quite possibly be the beginning of something amazing. At least, that's what I'm choosing to believe this year. So at first thought, I think, "Dang, didn't keep to my resolutions. Of course!" But, that's not true. I have all year to try to maintain these changes; all year to keep trying to do better. Be better. So, I'm not going to let that define me.
I've decided that as I see myself slipping back into the norm; into what's easy and comfortable, that I'm not going to see that as a failure. Instead, I'm going to notice myself doing these things and...wait for it...CHANGE THEM. It's a minor setback, not a way of life. I refuse to let this define me.
So now, I vow, again, to push myself harder and make the resolutions I set become habitual. I vow to make myself the best I can be in 2012. I vow to, even when I feel like I might break, to push on. Which brings me to something I've held onto since the last time I attended church.
Preface: I consider myself to be a Christian. Not a hardcore Christian. Not a Bible-thumper. Not a Jesus-freak. Just a Christian who is spiritual. I believe in God. I believe in ethics. I believe in the Bible. I don't attend church regularly; not because I don't want to, but just because I don't feel like it's imperative to go to church every week to have a relationship with God. Although, I do think it's important to get to church once in a while to be a part of a congregation.
Anyway, the last time I went to church, I was in a hard place. So, accordingly, it seemed as if the sermon was constructed completely around me. What I remember the most from it, was something along the lines of God wants you to push yourself to the point that you feel like you might break, so that in that moment you realize you didn't, in his grace, and you will have proved your faith and become a stronger person. Again, I'm not well-versed in the Bible, but that's what I got out of it. To not quit. To keep pushing, even if you feel you might break. To not let the struggle define you.
At first, I engulfed myself in the message. I repeated it again and again on mile 6 and 7 of Sunday uphill runs. I repeated it when it seemed like there were no answers. I repeated it when I thought I might break. And I felt so amazing when I pushed through the struggle, only to realize that wasn't the end for me, whether it be the run, the fight, the story. There's more. And recently, this message has crept back into my mind. Not as dramatic or extreme, but subtle. The way I think I need to hear it right now. Saying that just because I haven't run in a while, or because I haven't pushed myself to breaking in boxing, or I haven't exhausted myself detailing my home, doesn't mean that I've failed to keep my resolutions. I will not let that define me.
I will, however, let the fact that I am renewing my faith in myself and in God; that I will change today and hold true to who I want to be, define me. I'm determined. I'm optimistic. I'm faithful. I will make sure, no matter what happens, that 2012 will be my year. My year of years to come. I will not give up, and I will push past that breaking point, and prove to myself and everyone else that I can do it. I will prove I can do anything. This is what will define me.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Positivity Isn't Just Scientific
I planned out today's posting all night last night. I thought about the positioning of my points so that the reader could emotionally relate, no matter what their life experiences. I thought about the rises and falls. I knew what I was going to say. That is, until today.
Last night, a friend of mine suffered from a serious health altercation, and this morning before I sat to blog, I learned just how serious it was. She is probably THE sweetest person I, or anyone, has ever met. She's one of those people who just radiates positivity, and no matter what kind of mood you're in or what had happened to you in the hours before you crossed her path, she will make you smile, and, even if just for that moment, you will forget all that is bad. And here it is again; another example of shoulda/woulda/coulda. I was with this friend only a half an hour before the ambulance was called. And all I could think was how I didn't say everything I wanted to or that I didn't act as I wanted to, mostly because of all of my own personal drama that happened yesterday.
I decided it's my responsibility to make this horrible and terrifying experience something positive, no matter how hard it is to decipher positivity in any of it. I realize, now, how much of my life experiences I haven't fully dealt with. I realize I've been in this position many times in my life. With the passing of my grandma. With my mom's illness, and basically, the passing of her as I knew her. With my sister's passing. I'm always left thinking how I wasn't able to portray to them just how special and positive they were to me, and then it was too late. Always because I was so wrapped up in the negative drama I just seem to magnetize.
And, then, here I am. Forced to think and re-think every step of my life from the last thing I said or did until now. As if I should have known something was going to happen. But that's not it at all. What it is was that I should have been acting and maintaining myself to the best of my ability. I shouldn't bog myself down with the negativity, so I might be able to really just think back and enjoy my memories.
This is exactly why I'm committing myself to being the best person I can be. So I won't be too consumed to pay 100 percent attention to whomever I'm conversing with. So I will say everything my heart needs to say. So I will do everything my mind needs to do. So I can be just half the positive force my friend always is. So I can help others and change the world, because that is what positive forces do. I don't want another moment to pass that my full potential isn't utilized.
I sincerely ask for everyone's good thoughts, prayers, rain dances; whatever it is in your life that brings luck and wellness, for my friend's quick and true recovery. I hope that the next time I can see her, where she and I are both able to converse, that I will be the person I want to be, and that she will understand just how amazing a positive force like she is can be for the world. And I hope that, through this post, others will realize the importance of detoxing from certain dramatic forces and, instead, substituting them for positive.
Last night, a friend of mine suffered from a serious health altercation, and this morning before I sat to blog, I learned just how serious it was. She is probably THE sweetest person I, or anyone, has ever met. She's one of those people who just radiates positivity, and no matter what kind of mood you're in or what had happened to you in the hours before you crossed her path, she will make you smile, and, even if just for that moment, you will forget all that is bad. And here it is again; another example of shoulda/woulda/coulda. I was with this friend only a half an hour before the ambulance was called. And all I could think was how I didn't say everything I wanted to or that I didn't act as I wanted to, mostly because of all of my own personal drama that happened yesterday.
I decided it's my responsibility to make this horrible and terrifying experience something positive, no matter how hard it is to decipher positivity in any of it. I realize, now, how much of my life experiences I haven't fully dealt with. I realize I've been in this position many times in my life. With the passing of my grandma. With my mom's illness, and basically, the passing of her as I knew her. With my sister's passing. I'm always left thinking how I wasn't able to portray to them just how special and positive they were to me, and then it was too late. Always because I was so wrapped up in the negative drama I just seem to magnetize.
And, then, here I am. Forced to think and re-think every step of my life from the last thing I said or did until now. As if I should have known something was going to happen. But that's not it at all. What it is was that I should have been acting and maintaining myself to the best of my ability. I shouldn't bog myself down with the negativity, so I might be able to really just think back and enjoy my memories.
This is exactly why I'm committing myself to being the best person I can be. So I won't be too consumed to pay 100 percent attention to whomever I'm conversing with. So I will say everything my heart needs to say. So I will do everything my mind needs to do. So I can be just half the positive force my friend always is. So I can help others and change the world, because that is what positive forces do. I don't want another moment to pass that my full potential isn't utilized.
I sincerely ask for everyone's good thoughts, prayers, rain dances; whatever it is in your life that brings luck and wellness, for my friend's quick and true recovery. I hope that the next time I can see her, where she and I are both able to converse, that I will be the person I want to be, and that she will understand just how amazing a positive force like she is can be for the world. And I hope that, through this post, others will realize the importance of detoxing from certain dramatic forces and, instead, substituting them for positive.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Adrenaline Junkie
I woke up early today, as most mothers to one year olds typically do. I was bummed that I didn't get to write yesterday, because I knew exactly what I wanted to say. Basically, yesterday, similar to nearly once a week, I started to feel bad. I felt like maybe I should tell everyone how the Big Man wasn't as bad as it sometimes seems. Like I should explain that a lot of times I'm just emerging from the situation I'm blogging about, so many of my posts are driven by emotion and adrenaline. Like, my situation is really mostly normal and that everyone goes through all kinds of drama in their "relationships."
And, like always, a couple hours go by and I'm reminded why I blog in the first place. Because the good lasts mere hours, if that, and the bad is the rest of the time. My work is discredited. My effort is discredited. My being is discredited. And that is why I write. Which leads me, of course fueled by anger, disappointment, and logic, to wonder if my writing would be anything if I were actually happy. If I was with someone who actually supported my ideas. Who supported my efforts. Who supported me, period.
I do believe the Big Man doesn't want to be the psychotic, immature reactor that he is, most of the time. Until, of course, he says things like, "This is who I am," and "You knew I was crazy when you signed up for this." Doesn't sound like a person apologetic of his words and behaviors. Sounds more like a person who is quite well with the way his life is. He is used to it. He is satisfied.
But, I never signed up for anything! I got pregnant. That's it. Two of the most amazing children, ever, and I'm so proud to be their mommy. And for the most part, I remained in this situation for them. So they could have a daddy. So I could have the flexibility to stay home with them sometimes. Sadly, neither seems to happen. Daddy is rarely around, mostly because he vegges out on his computer or the t.v. while he's home. Or, the latest bragging right, he's become a worldly jet-setter. So pretty much, I'm a single mom who has to do an extra person's laundry, clean up his messes, manage his business, and deal with his tantrums. Yeah, why wouldn't everyone "sign up for this?"
And let's talk flexibility. I get reamed worse, now, if I "call in sick" either because the kids aren't feeling well or I just want to spend some one-on-one time with them, than I would working for someone else. Not to mention, I would get a pay check in any other normal job. What I hear now is, "This is what pays for 'our' life! What do you do to pitch in?" What do I do?? I work from 10am-4pm for no pay. I do more work than the rest of the office combined. I take care of the house. I take care of my kids. I wake up in the middle of the night, every night, with them. I cook. I take care of my health. That's what I do. And, in response to "What? You think you're just going to run out and get a job making barely anything?" Firstly, barely anything is a hell of a lot more than the growing debts his "business" is creating. Not to mention, for the exact same hours away from my kids, I'd actually get a pay check. I wouldn't get yelled at for taking a sick day. And, I have great job experience, so that "barely anything" is a hell of a lot more than what it sounds like!
All in all, I want to take my chances with my writing. I want to see what would come out of being happy. Of being independent again. Of doing what I love. Of being around friends and family without constant negativity and nagging. Of course, I really hope for my writing to take-off at some point so I can ACTUALLY have the flexibility with my kids, but moreso, I just want to free.
And, like always, a couple hours go by and I'm reminded why I blog in the first place. Because the good lasts mere hours, if that, and the bad is the rest of the time. My work is discredited. My effort is discredited. My being is discredited. And that is why I write. Which leads me, of course fueled by anger, disappointment, and logic, to wonder if my writing would be anything if I were actually happy. If I was with someone who actually supported my ideas. Who supported my efforts. Who supported me, period.
I do believe the Big Man doesn't want to be the psychotic, immature reactor that he is, most of the time. Until, of course, he says things like, "This is who I am," and "You knew I was crazy when you signed up for this." Doesn't sound like a person apologetic of his words and behaviors. Sounds more like a person who is quite well with the way his life is. He is used to it. He is satisfied.
But, I never signed up for anything! I got pregnant. That's it. Two of the most amazing children, ever, and I'm so proud to be their mommy. And for the most part, I remained in this situation for them. So they could have a daddy. So I could have the flexibility to stay home with them sometimes. Sadly, neither seems to happen. Daddy is rarely around, mostly because he vegges out on his computer or the t.v. while he's home. Or, the latest bragging right, he's become a worldly jet-setter. So pretty much, I'm a single mom who has to do an extra person's laundry, clean up his messes, manage his business, and deal with his tantrums. Yeah, why wouldn't everyone "sign up for this?"
And let's talk flexibility. I get reamed worse, now, if I "call in sick" either because the kids aren't feeling well or I just want to spend some one-on-one time with them, than I would working for someone else. Not to mention, I would get a pay check in any other normal job. What I hear now is, "This is what pays for 'our' life! What do you do to pitch in?" What do I do?? I work from 10am-4pm for no pay. I do more work than the rest of the office combined. I take care of the house. I take care of my kids. I wake up in the middle of the night, every night, with them. I cook. I take care of my health. That's what I do. And, in response to "What? You think you're just going to run out and get a job making barely anything?" Firstly, barely anything is a hell of a lot more than the growing debts his "business" is creating. Not to mention, for the exact same hours away from my kids, I'd actually get a pay check. I wouldn't get yelled at for taking a sick day. And, I have great job experience, so that "barely anything" is a hell of a lot more than what it sounds like!
All in all, I want to take my chances with my writing. I want to see what would come out of being happy. Of being independent again. Of doing what I love. Of being around friends and family without constant negativity and nagging. Of course, I really hope for my writing to take-off at some point so I can ACTUALLY have the flexibility with my kids, but moreso, I just want to free.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Happy Turkey Day
As I take this time to re-enter the world of blog, I find myself being very introspective, and festively, very thankful. Actually, this is a feeling of the past few months, but the ol' gobble gobble has me feeling a little extra special thankful. You see, I've learned over the last few months, more of who I am and where my breaking points are. I've learned what being a mother to a smart and beautiful little girl will do to me, and more recently, what being a mommy to an adorable little boy will do. And for these things I am thankful.
I have also concluded that Thanksgiving is a time for change. While we decide what it is about our lives that we are thankful for and excited about everyday, it is then which we should vow to change the opposite things in our lives that bring us down. Not two months later, after a long night and a headache. It's the turkey time of year, at least for me, that I choose to eliminate the people, places, and things that don't make me the best I can be. For example, I find myself practically cussing out the drivers every morning on my route to preschool. Every day it's the same story with either the same or different bad drivers. Today, I decided, it is time for me to purge this negative route from my daily routine. I am not a good example when I'm yelling at people where the gas pedal is or that their phone should not be in front of their faces texting when I'm trying to get my kids safely to school. And what will happen when I go to pick Stinkyface up?? I am going to go a different way. I will not be angry or hostile at the same people because I expected the same routine. I will be happy that I don't know where all the cops with nothing better to do are hiding, so it can become an Easter egg hunt of sorts.
This kind of life editing has begun and will continue to occur with things in my life. I've said it before, and hopefully it will be a long time before I say it again. I pick up the same mess everyday. The same toys. The same clothes. The same dishes. And randomly enough, they always seem to be in the same places. These toys, clothes, and dishes are out. If I'm going to be looking at a mess, I want the colors to be different. I want the styles to be different. I don't want it to be so monotonous that it brings me down every day. I want it to be as interesting and exciting as cleaning possibly can be. I've already purged my entire wardrobe minus the workout clothes, and Stinkyface and Dinosaur's closets are open! It's all about being the best me I can be no matter what the circumstance.
Which leads me finally, to people. I was told once by someone who used to be close to me, that we don't choose our families or the people who come with our spouses. I've always agreed and thought that to be true, although recently I was told that was rude. I don't know, I still kind of believe it. The only people you actually choose to be in your life are your friends. And friends, in my opinion, should always be like-minded individuals who bring you up and bring out the best in you. Not people you are comfortable with dealing with or let you fall because that's where they are.
I've been extremely fortunate in my choice of friends. I can honestly say those people I have chosen as my friends are like-minded, and always bring out the best in me. These are not things I can say, necessarily about the people I didn't choose, but in their defense, it's okay. They don't have to because I don't have to be around them. They didn't choose me either, and it's very possible, I don't bring out the best in them, because again, it's about a common ground. People in two totally different hemispheres can't just one day decide to be twinsies and wear the same outfit. The weather will be completely different for each of them. This proves true in everyday life. Two people in two different places in their lives can't pretend to be in the same place. That will create bitterness and resentment in both people. That is why my rule of thumb is, and always has been, when the timing's right, enjoy the moment. Stay away the rest of the time. Sounds rude, but in reality, it saves the folks involved the negative feelings and creates a however tiny, good memory.
So this Thanksgiving, my resolutions are to commit to being the best me I can be for my biggest thanks of all; my babies. I will omit the negative, and embrace the positive. Happy Turkey Day!!
I have also concluded that Thanksgiving is a time for change. While we decide what it is about our lives that we are thankful for and excited about everyday, it is then which we should vow to change the opposite things in our lives that bring us down. Not two months later, after a long night and a headache. It's the turkey time of year, at least for me, that I choose to eliminate the people, places, and things that don't make me the best I can be. For example, I find myself practically cussing out the drivers every morning on my route to preschool. Every day it's the same story with either the same or different bad drivers. Today, I decided, it is time for me to purge this negative route from my daily routine. I am not a good example when I'm yelling at people where the gas pedal is or that their phone should not be in front of their faces texting when I'm trying to get my kids safely to school. And what will happen when I go to pick Stinkyface up?? I am going to go a different way. I will not be angry or hostile at the same people because I expected the same routine. I will be happy that I don't know where all the cops with nothing better to do are hiding, so it can become an Easter egg hunt of sorts.
This kind of life editing has begun and will continue to occur with things in my life. I've said it before, and hopefully it will be a long time before I say it again. I pick up the same mess everyday. The same toys. The same clothes. The same dishes. And randomly enough, they always seem to be in the same places. These toys, clothes, and dishes are out. If I'm going to be looking at a mess, I want the colors to be different. I want the styles to be different. I don't want it to be so monotonous that it brings me down every day. I want it to be as interesting and exciting as cleaning possibly can be. I've already purged my entire wardrobe minus the workout clothes, and Stinkyface and Dinosaur's closets are open! It's all about being the best me I can be no matter what the circumstance.
Which leads me finally, to people. I was told once by someone who used to be close to me, that we don't choose our families or the people who come with our spouses. I've always agreed and thought that to be true, although recently I was told that was rude. I don't know, I still kind of believe it. The only people you actually choose to be in your life are your friends. And friends, in my opinion, should always be like-minded individuals who bring you up and bring out the best in you. Not people you are comfortable with dealing with or let you fall because that's where they are.
I've been extremely fortunate in my choice of friends. I can honestly say those people I have chosen as my friends are like-minded, and always bring out the best in me. These are not things I can say, necessarily about the people I didn't choose, but in their defense, it's okay. They don't have to because I don't have to be around them. They didn't choose me either, and it's very possible, I don't bring out the best in them, because again, it's about a common ground. People in two totally different hemispheres can't just one day decide to be twinsies and wear the same outfit. The weather will be completely different for each of them. This proves true in everyday life. Two people in two different places in their lives can't pretend to be in the same place. That will create bitterness and resentment in both people. That is why my rule of thumb is, and always has been, when the timing's right, enjoy the moment. Stay away the rest of the time. Sounds rude, but in reality, it saves the folks involved the negative feelings and creates a however tiny, good memory.
So this Thanksgiving, my resolutions are to commit to being the best me I can be for my biggest thanks of all; my babies. I will omit the negative, and embrace the positive. Happy Turkey Day!!
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