Thursday Afternoon

Let's take a minute to recall the debate/conversation between a fellow government employee and I.  I'll call him Spanky, juuust, ya know, for the fun...  The good ol' IRS was kind enough to extend to it's Ogden employees one hour of leave last Thursday for Labor Recognition Day.  The idea is to encourage support for local commerce as vendors set up in a local park to showcase their business.  This seemingly innocent conversation quickly went into something more deep for me.  I also need to explain that Dearest Spanky can be quite the snarky asshole.  This is fine... he definitely entertains me at times, but if I seem a little harsh with him... he absolutely needs to get checked every now and then.  I think a lot of people are intimidated by him because of his position and his intelligence, so he's used to not being questioned or challenged too often.  

But.that's.what.I.do.

Spanky: What time are you going to the labor thing? 

Me: 2:30.  I don't want to come back after, so I'm just leaving here an hour early.

Spanky: I don't think I'm going.  Denise said it's just a bunch of vendors and I don't have any cash with me anyway.

Me: You realize that they're just giving us this hour.  It's like a little gift-wrapped package for you to take.  You're not obligated to buy anything.

Spanky: So, am I supposed to just show up there and walk around and think about how these poor saps will be out of business in a couple of years?

Me: ... says the bitterest man in the room...

Spanky: Seriously.  I don't need oils: Doterra, essential, or snake.

----------------------pause before continuing just to let it be known that this was a very direct  personal jab toward me--------------------------

Me: Good to know.

Spanky: Why go there and pay 80% more than I could elsewhere anyway?  Why support people who are ultimately going to fail?  Just so I can sneer at them?

Me: I know, right?!  Why didn't they just deaden that part inside of them that had dreams and passion and get a job at the IRS like us?

Spanky: Meh, at least I don't have to lie to people for a living.

-------didn't reply------

Spanky: "Here's this transformational product that will change your life!"

-------still him----------

Spanky: I never was any good at sales. 

Me: Yeah, to be honest, you do sound a little bitter.  I'd rather support these small businesses and people who aren't playing it safe, but are providing goods or services they probably really care about.  Good for them for following their passions.  That's what I encourage my son to do and I hope he will.

----------this is where he started to take things very personally and, although he didn't admit to it, I think it's clear that he feels unsatisfied with his own ability to follow his dreams-----------------------

Spanky: Okay, great, so just tell him it's okay for him to let his family starve while he goes out and tries to be a comedian, but guess what?  He's not funny and he sucks at stand-up, but at least he's following his passion.  I always wanted to be a comedian, but what was I supposed to do... just watch my family go hungry?

Me: I would rather see him focus on finding himself and figuring out what he wants to do and how he's going to go about it before he has the complication of worrying about providing for others.  And if you want to be a comedian, but aren't good at stand-up, then find another way to engage in the comedy world that may be a better fit.  I know there's a price to pay when you give up that part of yourself and it's much harder to get it back later in life than it is when you're young...  Regret is a bitch.  

Spanky: Why are we throwing stones at each other's glass houses?

Me: Here's a quote from Roosevelt I like.  I love Brene Brown and her books on courage and vulnerability.  She has included this quote in each of her books.  

It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.  The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; ... who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly.

Spanky: Okay, fine, I'll go give them all gold stars.

Me: I don't know any of the people who will be at this labor thing.  For all I know, they may hate their lives and what they do.  The "arena" in the quote can be any moment or circumstances in life where you find yourself in a challenging, difficult situation where you feel like you are at risk.  Risking failure, rejection, heartbreak, uncertainty...  I appreciate when people risk something and show up for the challenge.  When people are just trying... that's enough.  So, go or don't go, but don't tear them down for trying.  

---------And we never spoke again... THE END------------until next week when we debate organic farming.  Stay tuned. 

Magic

A Gift:

My son, Finn, was born with the Gift of Making Everything Magic.  Of using his huge imagination to create unlikely stories without hesitation.  From the time he was a baby, he could entertain himself with the most simple things like a piece of paper, or a rubber ball, or his own fingers because he would see them with eyes that turned them into interesting creatures or dream up what they could be used for.  This is what I love most about him, yet some days I worry.  I know too well the world can be a harsh place for those who see things not as they are, but as what they can become. 

I know, because I was born with this Gift too.   

........

Another Side of Me:  

As a young girl, I was an optimist.  I remember feeling happy almost all of the time.  I loved easily, sang and danced my way through my days.  I was surrounded by friends, lost myself inside of a book, laughed a lot, and lived in my imagination.  I believed the world was full of Good and Beauty, and I believed I was going to become someone amazing when I grew up.  

Little by little, I began to change.  Vividly traumatic moments, cruel words, lies, hypocrisy, anger, and volatile tempers taught me to bury this Gift, replacing it with Fear into my world. I tried to hold on and trust in the Good, but with each passing year, as the circumstances remained and continually broke pieces of my optimistic heart, this became more and more difficult.  

I became an anxious, insecure, and wary version of myself, but kept these things hidden.  I could no longer sing or dance in front of others on my own, I had to have the safety of a group.  I hated the spotlight being on me, I was too insecure to stand in it.  The friends I had I believed deserved better than me, so I worked to become someone who could make them laugh, so at least I could contribute something and distract them. 

My anxiety and low self-worth exhibited itself as not setting goals I felt I was not good enough to achieve.  I felt comfortable in allowing myself to sit in the path of least resistance when it came to academics, dating, jobs, and plans for college.  I no longer dreamed big dreams for myself.

I longed for affection, but was taught and grew to believe that anyone who showed me attention only did because they wanted something from me, and would take advantage of my easily trusting heart. So, I trained myself to stop searching for love built from respect, and allowed myself to fit this role, to be used for another's purposes. 

I formed an outer shell called “Prepare for the Worst.”  This became my protection from pain, contention, and the Dark parts of the world I had come to understand too closely.  This shell served as the way I separated from the Darkness and did not allow it to drown me.  If I was prepared for it, it could not hurt, or disappoint me.  This is what I told myself.

Then, I met someone. 

I met him during a time when I really needed to believe in something.  I was searching.  We were both searching.  For ourselves, for something real.  I was searching for some way to be who I had been born to be--who I had protected inside for so long with the Shells created to survive.  

It’s taken time and a lot of awakening circumstances, but eventually my “Prepare for the Worst” shell began to crack.  I've found that Light can not only survive Darkness, it can overcome, and shine through it.  

So, I have worked to find myself again.  Habits are hard to break though, and I have stumbled and fallen backwards in my climb.  But I have found my footing, and not stopped climbing.  

It has been tricky at times.  The shell that once protected me was no longer needed, but I knew there was no going back to my naive childhood.  I had to find a balance of a thicker skin while keeping a soft heart, of seeing through the broken pieces of others, while still being wise to not let their broken pieces take me down with them.  And lately I've been really working on a balance of using common sense and knowledge of the World and its Dark and Ugly, combined with an adult-sized Faith and optimism that regardless of any circumstances, I trust things will be okay.  

As a mother and individual, I am still working.  Right now I really want that optimism back, that Gift I pushed down and buried so long ago in order to protect it.  

I've been thinking about this, as I've been accepting changes in my life. I feel like, emotionally that protective shell is trying to return, out of fear.  New situations always add a piece of overwhelming for me.

Protect, protect, protect. 

Some form of protection is good, healthy, and necessary.  But I want to be my best self.  My best real, vulnerable self.  

I may never be the carefree child I used to be, but I still have that Gift--I still believe in the Magic.  I'm surrounded by it every day, when I'm out of my shell and looking for it, I always find it.

And so, I’m documenting the times I see the Magic.  Even on the hard or overwhelming days--especially on those.  I don't want the time that I have to go to waste in the land of fear, guilt, stressing, and insecurity.  I've given too many of my good years over to those anyway, they don't deserve any more.

I do believe life is beautiful. 

Here's to Finding the Magic.  

My boy

Finn.  I guess I've always secretly hoped he'd be the "Cool Kid." The one other boys would want to hang out with, girls would have crushes on, and who would always be invited to birthday parties.  Lately I've been reading a lot of valuable books to him about self esteem, creativity, bullying, being unique, and friendship.  It put me in a frame of mind to where I wonder how he'll acclimate to public school and being a worrying mom, I want to protect him from any painful circumstances by drumming it into his head that he's a spectacular person and that it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks of him, as long as HE knows his value.  He hears me say it and he believes it.  

 

Sooo... you know you're awesome, right?  And that you're the one who controls how you feel about yourself?  No one can take that away?

 

Yep. 

 

Oh, okay, good!

 

I realized I wanted these things so that he would feel good about himself  and know how awesome he is, which he currently already does. Without meaning to, my intention was setting him up to fail--needing others to admire him so he felt likeable.

 

When I think back to the "Cool Kid" during my school years, I remembered many times where his cool factor came at a cost, usually at the expense of others. There was an edge--a self confidence that was built on feeling better than those around him, and when he felt bad about himself, he lashed out, usually at the underdog. Every now and then there was one "Cool Kid" who wasn't like the others, who was just a genuinely nice person and lucky enough to be recognized for that. 

 

This year has been great for Finn in many ways and a little difficult in others.  As much as I've wanted to shelter him from the cruel moments of childhood, I can't. And I'm realizing... slowly, sloooowly, realizing... as I've grown as a mother, that I wouldn't shelter him from those even if I could. Each time I see another child act poorly toward him has been a moment where I can offer support, perspective, and teach him how to combat the actions/words of others to believe in himself. He is learning the foundations of compassion, empathy, and self-worth that can only come from within.  Don't get me wrong--it's hard to resist the mama bear urge to take the child who is being hurtful over my knees and give him a spanking (or something equally exciting and humiliating), but that's a lesson for the "Cool Kid" to have to learn on his own, not one for me to teach. 

 

Ugh. 

 

To be "all in" this motherhood business--to feel the weight of the fact that I am in charge of shaping this incredible little being--can almost undo me some days.  Life is hard, and so beautiful. I love my son.

 

 

 

This picture is before the Holi Festival where he was lovingly splattered with color.  The way his creamy arm is tucked between his legs makes me crazy!!!

Have you met Baby Cutes Cutes?  His... son? 

After the festival... check me out.

 

I don't usually write about this kind of thing, but...

 

I'm very concerned at Ted Cruz's presumption that America would be crazy enough to elect him as President.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Also he's Canadian.  I wonder if Donald Trump will be requesting his birth certificate...

 

That is all.

 

 

 

Date a Girl Who Reads

I came across this beautiful essay the other day.  I love it...especially the last line.  It's interesting to see my personal thoughts reflected in such a way.  I love books.  Love reading and writing.  I get lost in books.  I smell the pages.  A familiar scent can bring back a time and place.  I moved into my new apartment one month ago and I couldn't help but take deep inhales from my older, secondhand books as I placed them on my bookshelves and, damn, if that didn't bring up vivid memories. 

 

 

 

 

 

You Should Date a Girl Who Reads

 

-Rosemarie Urquico

 

“You should date a girl who reads.  Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a secondhand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

 

 

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.”

  

 

 

 

Talking to Strangers

A lot of the time (okay... MOST of the time) I want to avoid other people in public.  Put on my game face and go get shit done so I can return to my peaceful bubble.  That need for a bubble is often unnecessary when I’m with Finn because I have a joy in my heart and connecting with strangers at the park or the store is fine.  I tend to get a lot of smiles and compliments on my little man when I’m out as well, so that helps. 

 

Anyway, I was in Ogden taking some pictures this day.  It was raining very lightly that late morning.  It was a misty, gray day.  I was walking along 25^th street, shooting photos as I walked down the sidewalk.  Not many people were out.  A Native American man was standing outside the seediest bar on the street.  I tried to look busy and started fiddling with my camera as I passed and avoided eye contact.  He called out to me:

“Hey, what kind of camera is that?” 

This is usually my cue to feign deafness and speed up, but I caught a look at him.  He had a laid back pose as he leaned his back upon the building and took a drag of his cigarette.  He certainly didn't look predatorial, ready to attack, but rather, casually interested.  He was as cool as they come.  I stopped and told him it was a Nikon.  He asked a couple of questions about the features and I stumbled through some answers, not being an expert in photography, but doing my best to answer.  He explained that he once worked as a photographer when he lived in New Mexico.  I asked if he’d ever taken photos of Santa Fe.  He looked at me with more interest and asked if I knew Santa Fe.  I explained that I’d never been, but that something about the city is really drawing me to it and I want to visit very badly.  He looked a little sad for a minute and grew quiet.  I was about to take my leave and avoid the awkwardness... I didn't owe anything to this stranger, but then he said:

“It’s magical...  Go there.  Take pictures.” 

 I told him I would. 

 

I found myself intrigued with this man.  This man outside a bar at noon in Ogden.  Probably only a handful of regulars in the bar at that time.  I wanted to know more about his life and what events had transpired to bring him to this place and point in life.  He asked:

“Ever notice how much better photos turn out when it’s raining?  It’s kind of like life, isn’t it?” 

I asked what he meant by that.  He looked at me like he was really studying my face.  He said:

“You’re beautiful” and took another drag from his cigarette.  “You have a good soul, I can tell.  Glad to have met you.  You don’t look like the type to stop and talk to someone like me.  So, thank you.  Life’s short.  I regret the times I said ‘no’ more than the times I said ‘yes.’” 

And with that, he stubbed out his cigarette, nodded at me, and walked back into the bar. 

 

Now... this man was clearly three sheets to the wind.  Dah-runk.  However, I felt a warmth in my chest and a calm, good energy as I walked away.  I continued walking down the street and felt very connected.  There were more people on the streets by now and the sun was coming out from the clouds.  I stepped back to observe and felt very present in the moment. I noticed people hurrying by, not really seeing their surroundings.  Many couples walked by with their focus on their phones, rather than each other.  Pressing buttons, rather than holding hands.  I saw a little boy and he saw me and he gave me a big smile.  I smiled back.  I almost felt like an observer, rather than a part of this.  I heard every noise and felt the light on my face.  I felt very light and peaceful that day.  It’s a struggle in life.  That feeling isn’t with me most of the time.  But I’m getting to a point where I can kind of stop the noise and tune in to things more.  I remembered that everyone has their struggles, but that life is good too.  And we can help each other.  This stranger saw something in me and we connected and I felt better having had a moment with him. 

 

 

 

He really was sick, but I love the dramatic hand placed across the forehead.

 

 

I found him like this the other morning.  He usually wakes up long before I do.  But I found him lying on the couch, rather than having every single toy he owns gathered around him. I slipped down next to him and quietly asked

 

Hey, buddy, how are you feeling?

 

Not good, not really.  I sick.

 

You don't think you could eat any breakfast?  You're too sick?

 

No.  I can't eat.

 

After laying next to him and watching an episode of SpongeBob, he started to stretch and smile a little more. 

 

 

He said

 

Mommy, guess what?  I feeling better.

 

Oh good! Let's have some oatmeal then.  Sound good?

 

Yes, it'll be the best I ever had.