Unspoken

Words unspoken 

Haunt you like 

the lingering whispers 

of energy 

left over from whatever 

isn't finished. 

Are you okay? 

Did it hurt? 

Do you need help? 

Why are you saying what you're saying? 

Why do I feel as if I'm in danger?

with that look, those eyes

that keep holding me as if

you had already decided

what was going to happen.

Am I in danger?

I'm frozen, can't speak

can't think, this is all

too overwhelming

confusion too bright, 

to nonsensical, too much to

take as truth.

I'm sorry this happened.

Is there anything I can do?

Can we talk?

about that day, those years, those times, why you were so mean.

Are you sad?

Are you going to hurt yourself?

Are you in danger, like me,

from your own mind?

Does it make a difference

that I'm here

or am I simply wasted breath?

Foregone, forgotten, forbidden.

I don't know what to say now. 

I walked away

because there was nothing left.

No words

Simply empty. 

Resurfaced

Sometimes I think of who we used to be,

And I remember those moments 

that could have become more,

The moments that

were more than I expected,

And the moments 

that were exactly

how they should've been,

And those moments

we wished we could've erased.

I know you're here still

Though I no longer see you 

Every day.

I wonder if you feel me

Like I feel you

Sometimes 

whenever I ask

Or need you with me. 

Do you see me in your dreams?

Do we have the same conversations?

Do you wonder if some of it was real

When you wake and start to remember

Or know that you've seen me

And heard my voice

Asked the questions we never said

Started down that road

We couldn't here.

Do you wonder if it was love

Or something else?

A bond built on a toxic mingle

Of separate histories that intersected

For a flash, a moment, a breath,

A piece of darker blue sky.

I still don't know exactly what to say.

Do you?

Could we even speak

Or would the words get in the way?

Would it be better to speak with silence?

Would it get through?

Would it matter

Enough to change the ending?

Or would it remain the same?

Reflections in the Time of COVID-19 Continued...

Reflection #3

Better times could come tomorrow, if we hope enough. If we strive enough. If we do something enough.

Does closing myself off from the world become more than an emotional or psychosomatic survival technique and morph into a physical one?

As I sit in my ability to see my privilege surround my daily moments, I know it stems from socioeconomic structures I still can't fully see. Yes, I have worked hard. But so have others who aren't here.

So, why aren't they here?

That's a question we don't ask enough. Or maybe we already know the answers and don't want to acknowledge them. Because our "normal" would be no more and we could no longer see a world created on a foundation of lies and half-truths.

Masks. We're supposed to wear the physical ones now. The ones you can touch and see.

But the ones that people with privilege like myself don't see until it's pointed out is that wearing the physical ones, even to save lives, can put some of us without privilege in danger of being harmed or worse, killed.

As the majority of those in my mostly white, middle-class, suburban neighborhood continue to not wear the physical ones out of defiance, ignorance, or the masks we can't see, those without privilege who wear them are being escorted out of stores, looked at even more suspiciously, and targeted out of fear. Those without privilege aren't choosing to not wear masks because of blindness or out of the inflated sense of security privilege affords, but because they see and experience a different set of rules.

If we're going to learn, if we're going to build a new "normal" that works for everyone, we need to ask the questions and we need to look at the answers without masks.

No, not the physical ones. The ones we can't see until we realize too late that privilege won't protect us from our interconnectedness.

Reflections in the Time of COVID-19

For as long as I'm able, I've decided to start documenting my racing thoughts, anxiety, anger, and sadness regarding the COVID-19 outbreak. As someone who has three family members on the frontlines in healthcare and as someone who is still considered an essential worker, I am having difficulties sleeping and processing the weight of what is happening around the world right now. I'm not sure if these reflections will help any of you, but it might make us feel less alone.

I cannot promise that certain portions of these reflections will not be political, as I firmly believe that this is partly a political issue. #stayhomesavelives #doyourpart

Reflection #1

What's on my mind? Today I managed to work from home and get most of my lawn work done, but without much concentration. People are dying because the hospitals are already having to make the tough decisions of who lives and who goes without a ventilator or a bed. Don't believe this? Ask a healthcare worker you know on the front lines.

While our president accuses them of stealing PPE and I see people making posts that the media is lying and blowing this out of proportion, our healthcare workers are loading bodies into refrigerated trucks, running out of Tylenol for patients, reusing masks and wearing garbage bags, getting infected and dying, isolating themselves from their own families in hopes they don't bring the virus home, and wondering if they will be next to die at 26 or 39 or 55 or 65. As they cry after and during shifts as they care for patients who have to die alone or say their goodbyes over FaceTime to their loved ones, I hope if you still think this is fake or a media hoax or a Democrat hoax, or this administration is doing a good job or prepared our country for this appropriately, that you don't end up saying goodbye or not to your loved ones this way.

As our cases keep growing due to a lack of a coordinated response and people think things are going back to "normal" some day, I hope you get to see a "new normal," where we fix all the things that have been broken for too long with our country and our society. As more people lose their jobs without a social safety net and as more people can't get the health care they need because our system is based on only profits instead of human welfare, please look at who is advocating for humanity instead of things that are subservient to that. Please realize that the public sector, the government is not a business, is not the private sector and for very good reasons (some of which we are tragically seeing now) is not supposed to be. Nor is it supposed to function like a business, as even econ 101 teaches.

Please let us choose more competent and humanistic leaders who understand the basics when this is over. As people like myself continue to feel disingenuous in professions like marketing during this time when we'd rather be on the front lines helping, we have to find solace in the fact that there are other ways to help if we do a little research or start small with what we can do. I don't know what's going to happen, but I know I don't want my family to die or get sick, but the odds might be against that. I'm making my will in case it turns out to be me. To be continued...

Reflection #2

1. A sign on the store's door begins with the exasperated plea of "please buy only what you need." It's a stark reminder that our overvalued system of capitalism is missing the value of empathy.

2. Signs on the floor remind us to stand back and practice social distancing, but it doesn't stop some from pushing forward too fast and too soon. They are stopped with an annoyed and concerned look and step back. A reminder that this is no longer just about "you."

3. Telling the truth and advocating for others' well-being instead of lies that protect the failures and smokescreens of those at the top sometimes means retaliation. Some of us have known this all too well, but we aren't sorry for doing what was right.

4. More Americans will die or sustain permanent scars than what had to. Examine South Korea's response, see, and learn.

5. Many of us are scared. Some of us feel betrayed. Some continue to hold onto the lie, the con, because it's easier than facing the fact we were manipulated. Some of us were bracing for the day the ominous feelings of 2016 raised, but we had hoped it wouldn't be something like this. No, not the virus. The lack of action/deliberate inaction/inability to understand/lack of cooperation between ideologies/lack of real structural change that nearly ensures this will personally impact us all.

6. We will survive as a species, but will we listen? Will we learn?

7. While I respect the human need to believe in something "bigger than ourselves" and a "guiding force," please be sensitive to the fact that there are many interpretations of what that means and there are those that do not believe in a "guiding force" at all. Prayer and meditation (the spiritual equivalent of prayer) have its place, but as a nation we need to examine our collective actions and choices instead of abdicating responsibility for those actions to an unseen force or higher power. Quite frankly, we are living in a cause and effect paradigm and we are experiencing collective effect. With all due respect, science will provide the answers. If we are to turn to the Holy Bible, perhaps we need to take a hard look at whether Jesus's example would have matched with our collective choices and the choices/characters of our chosen leaders.

8. Differences may exist, but many of them are fabricated social constructs. The similarities we all share are human fragility, vulnerability, and the need for interdependent solidarity.

Getting Past the "What-Ifs" - Part Two

If life gave us easy answers, there wouldn't be any heartache, what-ifs, and regrets mixed with relief and the wisdom of knowing we made the "right" decision.

The other day as I was watching one of my favorite shows, I was reminded of the dangers of ruminating about the "what-ifs" in life. One of the funny things about collective consciousness is that it's everywhere and can show up with answers and messages in places you weren't looking for them in. Anyway, two of the characters on the show were having a conversation that ended with the words "two of the most dangerous words in the human language are 'what if.' Other people made their choices and you made yours."

In the moment that I heard those words, I reacted with a feeling of wisdom as I smiled a little in profound "knowing." In less than two years, I've made difficult choices to leave environments that had turned toxic for me. These were environments where I once felt safe, comfortable, cared for, appreciated/valued, and enjoyed. I had made investments in each, grown in these environments, had achieved something within each, and both contained aspects that I did not want to let go of.

One of those environments was my place of employment. The other was my first home.

Of course, for years I had known that it was time to let go of each and take the next steps in embracing a different kind of "what if." The kind that fits and embraces who you are now, who you are becoming, and the different needs that have surfaced as a result of growth.

I let go of my employer first, in the spring of 2018. Since then I've debated about whether I should or could have communicated differently. I've wondered if it would have made a difference, while knowing deep inside that the outcome wouldn't have been any different. After all, I'd observed some co-workers with similar issues communicate in more "forceful," "direct" ways with the same results. And - one of the resolutions I had made after leaving my previous employer before this one was to not escalate disagreements, problems, and frustrations in this way. I had wanted to be a better person. Unfortunately, I think that some people will make choices to either intentionally or subconsciously take advantage of those who want to "be the better person."

So, while I'm aware that people around me made their choices that led me to ultimately make mine, I now realize we were in two different stories. I wish that other people's choices had respected me as a person who likes to make her own choices, who doesn't want to be controlled, who values open and honest communication from the get-go. Yet, I also understand the other version and that people are ultimately people, with their own flaws, Achilles' heels, inner struggles, and difficulties. Someday, I hope everyone can move past their inner demons, find purpose, happiness, and the ability to breathe.

At the end of 2019, I finally decided to let go of the home I purchased when I was 31. It was a good first home that I had made several upgrades to in the past three years. However, the noise from the neighbors, the shared walls, and the changes to the neighborhood had become a constant source of irritation. As a quiet, reflective and sensitive person, I need my home to be my sanctuary. This one no longer resembled anything close to that. Despite the sharp increase in CO home prices, I knew I needed a different set-up. That meant letting go of the work and progress I'd made and having to face the reality of starting over on some things in a different house. But as soon as I stepped into my new environment, I knew I had made the "right" decision. It was the same sense of elated relief I felt on the first day of my new job in 2018.

Yet, if I want to be completely honest that second decision of "letting go" has been easier in the moments afterward. I've had to learn that unraveling your heart from a place where you invested your heart in the first place is a process. I'm not sure if I'll be able to do that again. While I'm reminded by one of my own character's voice that "there are no destinations. Only steps. And time," I don't really know if I'm moving. That's the hard part of choices. You make them without knowing what's going to happen. You can't see if you're moving forwards, backwards, or simply stuck on a wheel that gives you the illusion that you're going somewhere.

That part comes afterward, as your choices mingle with others. Producing effects that no one can see until they become a lesson, a chapter, an obstacle, a blessing, a way out, a revelation, or one of the countless moments that make up our existence.

The thing about "what-ifs" is that all choices contain them. And while each of us will probably spend moments of our lives wondering about the effects of alternative choices, the paths and "what-ifs" we made were chosen for good reasons and with the knowledge we had at the time. And, if we had to make choices to respect our boundaries and needs, the real "what-ifs" are the costs of relinquishing who we are and need to be.

A Story in Progress

I don't know what you're thinking

Out there alone

Or with everyone you claim

Is important to your breath

But what is this now?

Are you here

With me

Speaking whispers of yesterday

That day, that look, that smile,

That time when you

And I

Almost

Release and Goodbye

As I approach my 42nd birthday this fall, I've been doing a lot of mental and emotional processing. You could say I've had a lot to process the last four months, besides the normal reflections of middle-age. This is the time where people normally decide to either start living or continue the process of figuratively dying. Middle-age is also a time where people usually decide who they're going to be for the second half of their lives, evaluating what's worked, what hasn't, and what they need to do to embrace the changes they've decided to become. Some of us more reflective types have been doing that for decades, but why not take the time to do it when it you've accumulated enough wisdom to make it seem more real?

That's what I'm going to attempt to do here. Those of you who have been reading this blog for years or who have gotten to know me well enough in person realize this "reflection thing" is a core part of who I am. You also know how easy it is for me to oscillate between choices because I see, value, and am so many different things. Well, approaching 42nd birthday aside, for the past four months I've been processing a lot of mixed emotions and difficult choices. There's been resolve, resolution, relief, frustration, longing, sadness, some happiness, some regret, confusion, a desire to hold on to people, a desire to let go of people, a desire to let go of falsehoods, identities, and tasks, a desire to be honest, a desire to keep being the better person, self-examination of my contributions to the dynamics, compassion, empathy, forgiveness, and hurt. A lot of hurt.

During the past four months, I left an employer I didn't really want to, but I let go of a job and an environment that had become toxic for me. I'd felt for years that it was time for me to move on, but someone always ended up leaving before I decided to put it in writing, or a big project and a lot of work was looming, or I was needed to do something else or support someone else.....everyone else except me. It's a long-winded way of saying I made decisions based on my perception of what others needed, not what I needed.

I also tolerated years of mistreatment - from bosses, peers, subordinates. When my fuse would finally start to spark, it was too much too late. And people didn't understand why nice, overly compliant, overly supportive, and overly agreeable me would be any different. Actions I took seemed unacceptable for me, but they certainly were acceptable for everyone else. I could be yelled at, demeaned repeatedly (often in front of others), misunderstood, interrupted, dismissed, and talked to condescendingly without consequence. But if I even started to resemble those things, it was game over. I didn't feel human anymore. I couldn't agree, I couldn't disagree, I couldn't take the time to think. There wasn't any support for my mistakes. In fact, it felt as though there wasn't any support at all. I was a punching bag and a dumping ground, and as long as I continued to fulfill those roles everything was okay.

Others who worked with me (some of them not even in the same department) pointed out my unhappiness and mistreatment long before I was willing to admit it to myself. I'm grateful for that and for the opportunity to take other jobs in the organization, even though I ended up not following through because of the nature of the job itself. I wanted to stay and I wanted to work with the people I would have worked with, but I didn't want to end up with a potential misalignment with my true interests and the responsibilities of the position. I'm also grateful for those who forgave my less than ideal (re)actions, and for the talks that validated my perceptions of what was happening. Thank you for offering to go to bat for me, even though I wanted to have the conversation myself with the people who were at the core of my feelings of betrayal and hurt. I never did have that conversation. I always felt as though I were walking on eggshells and I let my desire to please/avoid confrontation override the need to be honest and to honor myself.

I wanted to be honest, but the trust was long gone. And I didn't know if it would come back. Three years ago it was blown apart and I was hurt. Not the first time, but I was hurt to the point where I couldn't speak because what I felt as a result was so overwhelming. I couldn't process or identify the swirl of negativity that had happened. I knew what had happened was bullying - mobbing to be more exact. But I chose to say nothing because I wasn't sure if it was part of some sort of misguided, bizarre ritual that took place with everyone, if I had become a target because true to my conscientiousness I was a "model employee," or if this was retaliation for thinking for myself and choosing not to go along with what someone else wanted me to do at the time. Plus, when I'm shocked, uncomfortable, or a past trauma is triggered, my mind and entire body freezes. I lose my words, can't make decisions, and I can't act. I suppose a professional might call this an effect of PTSD or post traumatic stress disorder, but since it's been with me since I can remember I consider it "normal." I had made a mistake, maybe several, yes. But the instructions I was given were to try and someone else would fill in the blanks, if needed. I didn't realize I was being set up to fail and then publicly humiliated for it, among other things that I did not have knowledge of and/or were beyond my direct control. At that moment, I stopped trusting. I stopped being completely honest. And I stopped wanting to continue trying.

I knew from life experiences that people hurt others because they themselves have been hurt or they're carrying angst they don't know how to process in a healthy manner. I also knew at that point I started to disengage and thought of leaving. I started to line up possibilities. I was ready to leave, but I didn't because someone else beat me to it. And once again I chose to put the needs of others before my own. Looking back, I should have left anyway; regardless of what my absence would have meant, because I was only prolonging the inevitable. I carried the hurt and the shock of that experience for three years. I wondered why someone would choose to publicly humiliate and berate someone for making mistakes without clear direction. If you set someone up to fail, it isn't fair to punish them for not meeting your expectations. Why not use it as an opportunity to coach or mentor in private? Why not ask why certain directions and choices were made, and then explain politely and constructively why other directions and choices were more optimal?

But as humans, we often model what we've been shown or what has been done to us without realizing we're doing the same thing to others we told ourselves we wouldn't. After that "incident," I was no longer able to trust some of the people I needed to trust; people I was supposed to be able to trust. So for three years I wasn't fully authentic. And of course making that type of decision cost me a piece of who I was. And the job and its environment started to mirror the same experience I had separated myself from in 2011. It was more or less the same lesson given from a different angle. When will you listen? You matter. Your needs matter. What do you really want? It matters. Not what others think or what they want you to do. It's about you.

It seems selfish, but the truth is authenticity is the foundation of being able to give. And if you sacrifice your passions, your needs, your wants, who you are, you simply can't be anything to anyone else. And those who are around you or asking and needing things of you because of a mask, shouldn't be there. It's not healthy and it's better to let go.

Suffice it to say that letting go of an employer I didn't want to (but had to) is only one of the changes I've been processing. As my forty-first year of life comes to a close and my forty-second one begins, I'm hoping I can take better care of myself. I'm hoping I no longer tolerate toxicity and actually stand up when it happens, not when it becomes engulfing. I'm also hoping I learn to say "you hurt me. can we fix this if you're able to give me what I need." If not, I release and forgive you, but goodbye.

Reinvention and Time

When it’s time to let go, it may not be obvious that the string has unraveled at its ends, or the stream has been trickling in a different direction. We often look at our surroundings, at our present moments, and process that we’re here and that here is all we can know. Sensing change and the need for change is different for all of us. Some of us get a feeling long before we decide to walk a different path – mostly because the path hasn’t appeared yet. Some of us experience dreams that later become symbols and re-enactments of the decisions we’ll eventually make. Others find ourselves having seemingly random conversations with those whom we share a karmic connection from the past and those who serve as reflective guideposts along our journeys. Sometimes we get all the above – as if the universe and our higher selves are trying to push instead of pull those who are particularly inclined to become content with what is, rather than what has the potential to be.

I believe karmic connections either emerge or blatantly announce their existence through reflections. At times those can be pieces of yourself seen in another, whether those pieces are current or are those left behind in exchange for a different life. Of course, we all share connections with each other – the shared experience we call humanity makes us all potential mirrors. But sometimes those uncovered similarities we share make us realize there is something deeper at work – that our reinvention process does not occur solely in a cocoon.

Many of us possess an awareness that time does not consist of a straight line. Past, present and future are simultaneous, interchangeable, and constantly in flux dependent upon our choices – both individual and collective. Synchronicities that “shouldn’t” be there can help us catch a glimpse of this phenomena, but more often than not synchronicities are puzzles of truth meant to steer us in a direction we were doubtful we should take or help our “thinking” side merge with what we already felt was real.

The pilot of our experiences is always us – not a mystical being, not someone else, not someone we admire or fear, or someone who has temporary authority over what we do. Who we are is up to who we want to be. No one controls our destiny, but our sequential choices reflect what we value, what we’re willing to accept, what we’re willing to exchange, and whether we want to risk the time and potential ups and downs of visiting who we really are, separate from what we do and what others have come to expect us to do.

Perhaps a piece that was us continues to pilot the plane. And although the plane will land safely, the choice of whether to exit or continue the ride is dependent on the degree of pain one feels over leaving versus staying. We often ask ourselves how much is broken and whether that brokenness is worth continuing to live with. We also often ask ourselves if the person we’ve become (or becoming) is the reflection we want to give to others. If those answers are no, perhaps we ask if we’ve buried or not fully committed to a piece of ourselves we’d rather be. If that answer is yes, we disembark, leaving behind pieces of our reflections and releasing their imprints to a turned-backwards place.

Our pilots take on many identities. They are fragments, strewn like leaves. Seeds blooming in another’s soil, they can become flowers we once traced with our fingertips and embraced with our nose’s skin. They can also become blackened shadows, a set of wilted petals strewn beyond the zigzag of time once called “Me.” Which ones do you want to leave?

Roots

There might be many reasons to write. To establish one's thoughts, to know what one thinks, to get something out that you can only really tell yourself, to relive a piece of your history over again, to release the portions of your feelings you can no longer keep contained. Today it is a little bit of everything - kind of like my resume. I spent the day at a funeral for my brother-in-law's father, who was killed in a car accident while I and a portion of my family was back in Chicago for a holiday visit. While we were there, I saw things I remembered and things I didn't. I was in places where the only proof I had of existing there in a previous time was a feeling. The strange feeling one gets when something seems familiar, but one cannot recall the actual memory in one's mind. I also saw some places that I recognized from other dimensions - a recent vivid dream where I didn't exactly know where I was, but I know now. Whether astral projection, a repressed memory from this life, or a memory from a previous one, I'm not sure. Nevertheless, I now know I was in the place where my current existence originated. I still don't know what my spirit was trying to reconcile or reveal, but that will come with time.

I saw things about my roots that helped me understand what has shaped me, and things that I have moved on from. I wondered what my life would have been if my family had stayed, if I would have turned out differently. Or if I had gone back to the area to attend college or moved back as I've thought of doing. The house on Liberty Street didn't look as big as I remembered, neither did the river, or the parks, or the roads. A city changes, whether you're there to become engulfed in the details or existing somewhere else in space and time. A part of it seeps into you, once you've become a part of it, spreading its influence through the veins that carry life to each part of your body. It mixes with whatever else is there, whatever else the veins pick up as they carry what your fragments need to live as a whole being. I'm not surprised now when I reach for rye bread, listen to jazz and the blues, feel drawn to old houses and architecture, feel the rush of the L and the sounds of trains, carry out the strong work ethic of my family, honk my horn at drivers on the road, feel drawn to the water and the sounds of a pier, and display the sarcastic irritation (and sense of humor)a lot of the area's residents do. This place is a piece of me and I am a piece of this place.

My father may be at the bottom of that infamous lake. Somewhere along Lake Shore Drive, lined with expansive city towers and expensive hi-rise condos, Lincoln Park, the Zoo, Michigan Avenue shops, St. Joseph's, and memories that are hard to recall. My father could be anywhere and that I will not know. I couldn't say good-bye, because what is there to say good-bye to? If everything happens simultaneously, then he is still there. There isn't a grave to visit in a cemetery, like the ones for my great grandparents or uncle. There isn't someone to pick us up at the airport, like my aunt. All I have are stories, scattered memories, a voice, and the unknown. So when someone else's father suddenly vanishes, I get it. I've been through it twice. One I have ashes for. The other...air.

The truth is, it seems as though it's chance as to why some of us get to keep our parents for longer than others. It's never fair and it always hurts. Those of us who lose them early enough to accumulate only scattered memories (if any at all) have it entwined into our roots. It's a piece of our identity, a piece that can't be released, something that branches off into something bigger than what we realize until a reminder is in front of us. Perhaps that's why it's covered, unseen, forgotten until it becomes important. Until we realize that who we are is who someone else is, too. Part of who we are is unique, but part of it originates from the same beginning; unseen, until we dig up what has held us in place.

Orientation to Asshole U

It's been awhile since I've visited myself here. Myself meaning who I think I am and my perceptions of the environments I live in. There are things about these environments I have yet to fully understand. On some level I understand the need to vent frustration; the need to be (for lack of a better word) an asshole. What I don't understand is why humans do what we do to each other once we realize what we're doing is not the optimal way to handle things. Is it easier to rely on habit and pattern despite having the desire to try a different approach? Do we really, as some would suggest, punish others for what we believe are our own shortcomings? Can we only interpret others as we see ourselves? Maybe, but I'm still not sure.

For all that I've written on this blog, all that I've read, all I've reflected on in my mind, I still take things personally. I'm not sure there's a way around that. Things seep into me - a harsh tone, a slight hint of unhappiness, a hurried demand, a negative response based on little substance. At times I break down. I cry. I wipe away the tears and start over. Sometimes I hold on to that energy, I let it boil and steam, and eventually it seeps out into my own display of frustration and "assholeness." It's not my intention, but the fact I'm human takes over. At times I think I'm not really being an ass. I mean, after all, I tend to equate firmly stating the truth and what I need to being an ass. Is there something in my DNA or my learned predilections that prevent me from seeing this simple thing others seem to take for granted as "okay"? Maybe. Maybe that's an HSP thing or maybe it's a combination of environmental cues and nature. I don't know for sure, but I do know it's something I can't quite master.

Unhappiness. I guess that's what it boils down to. People can't contain the anger, the frustration, the sadness, the "whatever" boiling beneath the surface. So they let it out. Because it can't stay in anymore. It's got to leave. And the rest of us around them become sponges for the energy. It's transformed within us, carrying its anger, its upset damage, its torture, even its darkness. Then it becomes us. A part unseen until something else triggers its "too-muchness." What did I do to invite this?, we ask. Somewhere inside we know it's not us, it's something we can't control but want to grab and release into the unseen.

It's not the way to give a voice to our injury, our confusion, our inadequacy, our underlying fear we contain no significance. Being an asshole is the easy way out; an externalization; a tool of dismissal and relinquished responsibility. This past week it came in a few forms - some conventional, some straight out of a Hollywood blockbuster. When a 70s plus man wearing yellow shorts, tube socks, and a printed tucked in tee stands in your office yelling about how his circa 2004ish Verizon cell phone no longer works and his government account is preventing him from buying a new one, all you can do is imprint the laughable story. But it makes you wonder.

Have I acted this way? I probably have. Without reason. Without justification. Without thought as to who it was that was receiving this energy. This destructible energy that does nothing. It sits there, hanging like black heavy rain clouds that won't spill because they're too busy rumbling. It seeps, like a poisoned elixir that starts out with the promise of bloomed petals and ends in a dried up stem. And it doesn't end. It continues. Until we learn there's a better way. Until we realize humans can't treat each other as if someone else, something else is the reason.

Not until we realize this doesn't feel good. Not until we realize what we've done; what we do. Then it's a whispered I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know. I realize. I can't. I must. Do something else. Something different. Something called respect. A little something called kind-ness.

Blind

I see you
walking there
without something
I have

I know I'm selfish
for thinking
I have problems
I know I'm selfish
for thinking
I'm justified
in having sympathy
for something
I don't
understand

You navigate your life
without knowing
what you touch
or what
this world
appears
to be

In many ways
I too
see nothing
but darkness


The other day I'm at work thinking about how my job really sucks. Not all the time, of course, but today it really blows. I'm doing the job of two people. No one has filled my former boss's position yet and no one probably will for some time. I'm down a technician and that position probably won't be filled until sometime after the new year. I can't possibly abandon my organization to pursue my writing full-time now. I could, but I won't do it. I won't leave someone else or my team with that mess. I'm rushing, rushing, rushing so fast every day that I can't think, I can't process, I can't really make the decisions I would like to make. People complain, people are antsy. They want everything done now and there just isn't enough "nows" for a team of four and a leader who really needs to not be interrupted continuously and called into senseless meeting after senseless meaning on a whim more than she'd like.

What my team is going through is not fair, but it's not completely impossible. And my woes? Well, they're still nothing compared to woes I've been through in other places, in different times, when life was lived under the illusion that it could actually be planned.

If I've become enlightened at all about the notions of "planning," "analyses," "technique" and "methodology," I know that it doesn't really work. When it comes down to just about anything, you have to fly...by the seat of your pants. You find out that you don't know what you thought you knew, that knowledge is really a bunch of current opinions mixed in with a grain of collective truth, and the best stuff comes from just doing things, feelings, "accidents," and what we don't know for absolute certainty.

That's where we're all "blind," right? We walk in darkness about who we are, who we'll become, where we'll be, and what our decisions and choices will teach us. A part of us knows - the unspoken part, the part that doesn't think in words, or contemplate what-ifs. Sometimes we do things because we want to stretch. Other times it's because it sounds good, feels good, it's what we want, it's what we think we want, or it's what someone else wants for us. Complicating matters is the fact that no one really knows with 100% certainty what is true and what is real.

It's one aspect of blindness - walking into things and making choices without knowing how we're going to feel about those choices, their aftermaths, or who those choices will shape us into being. The other aspect of blindness is not seeing and embracing with gratitude for what you do have and for who you are right now. Because really I have no right and no reason to complain about my hectic day, my hurried environment, my demanding users who need it done now (if not yesterday) exactly according to their needs. This is what I signed up for. This is the decision I made and the path I set out on, with all its rocks, dangerous inclines, seemingly impossible hills, twists, turns, valleys, rest stops, beautiful valleys, and exhilarating sense that I am doing something.

Maybe that "something" is important, maybe it makes a difference. Not in an imagined theoretical way, but in a way that doesn't seem obvious. It looks like something else. It's work and it's hard and it seems like you're going nowhere because you can't win. And that's the truth - you can't win. Not by someone else's definition. Not even by what he or she sees. You only know what you feel. One single unguided grasp at a time.

No Looking Back, No Regrets

I recently read a novel where one of the characters comes to the conclusion that she chose the life she would regret the least. Her voice acknowledged that one tends to romanticize the life (or lives) one doesn't choose. She goes on to say that all choices contain regret, but the one we can live with...that's the one we end up "sealing the deal" with. As I read this, I had to stop. You know, because it's one of those moments in a novel that end up hitting home in a poignant way and pack a subjective powerful punch. The words convey some abstract meaning you've felt or "known" but you haven't quite expressed it verbally to yourself yet. And...there it is - a form of synchronicity; a whisper saying "here's your answer."

I grew up hearing the saying "no looking back, no regrets" from another fictional tale. I've weaved the theme and words into one of my own fictional stories. I've tried to live by its meaning and sometimes I do. But at times I do what most of us humans do. I reflect and ponder about the "other" choice I didn't make and the life (or lives) that could have been. I romanticize those lives, thinking of the "good stuff" that would have been and the feelings of fulfillment I might have felt. I imagine I might have been "happier," whatever "happier" really means. Then I realize I couldn't have made that choice. In fact, I didn't make it for a very good reason - regret. I chose a different life, a different path I felt would be less regretful. I experience my current life, my current choice and realize "happiness" is here, too. It comes and goes, like it would with any existence and path. But what matters is that I can live with my lessons and the choices I make feel good. Not the type of "feel good" that gives you an exuberant high; the type you can wake up with and go to bed with every night. It's the type you feel no attachment to. It's different than contentment and freedom, but they're the closest words I can find.

Whatever it is, I feel it. I feel it with my life as I choose to remain in my current position at work, while continuing to pursue my writing the best I can. I feel it with my choice to remain close to my family and start working on the rooms in my basement. I feel it as I teach myself a new writing form in preparation for an internship application. I also feel it as I continue to implement my life's "project period contract." I feel it as I let go of expectations and begin to feel comfortable saying "no." I feel less regret over not choosing the "other" and realize with very little doubt that the choices I make are what I would have chosen anyway.

So even though the saying of "no looking back, no regrets" is just an understanding of a desired state, the edges of its meaning are still a possibility. Maybe we accomplish it. And maybe we see awe in what we're conscious of without wondering why what couldn't be isn't real.

Eventually

I'm not a big believer in "destinations." Not anymore. The reasons are simple. And some of them are complex. We think of life's "ultimate destination" as death. But that's just another way of saying we transition into a different form of existence. So it's not really a "destination" in the concrete sense. If we think about our life's journey, we never really "end up" somewhere. Not if we value growth - whether that growth is internal, external, or a combination of the two. Four years ago, I made the decision to explore a different possibility of who I could be. I had my ideas and my "grandiose notions" of how it might turn out. As I started actually walking the journey's path instead of just visualizing it, I came across a few things I wasn't expecting. I didn't expect to feel out of place or find myself more connected to an employer (and job) I took as a "back-up" plan. I also didn't realize I was going to start feeling and recognizing the full impact of the head injury I incurred at the end of 2009. I certainly didn't expect to be asked to take on a leadership position with my employer or know what I would feel when I was asked repeatedly to apply for my outgoing boss's job.

But here I am at my last residency, feeling the same thing deep within that I felt last year. I've applied for a position I will do my best to succeed in, but it's not going to be where I feel the most at home. Though this time around there is one difference. I wanted to apply for the position I'm currently in, but I do not want to take on the responsibility of being a department head. Although I've been given the reasons why I'm the "one" they have in mind (MBA, "softer" with people, I don't have a "black & white" perspective, detail-oriented), I never once received an "intuitive hunch" that this was coming. Last year, I did. I knew (felt) strongly that I was going to be asked to take on my current position. And I felt I was ready, I could do it, and it was something I needed to do. So now I have to wonder...is this year a "test" I've given myself? Now that about to graduate with my MFA, knowing that now I feel at home with the "idea" of being a full-time writer, and even with being "here," is this choice a "test" of what kind of life I'm going to choose?

If this is indeed a test of which "destination" I'm going to head towards, then maybe it's not a "test" at all. Life has a way of bringing you back to your deepest (sometimes unconscious) desire. In the "end" it doesn't matter what you choose. Eventually you get to live out pieces of whom you've wanted to become, as long as you decide to start taking the step of chance.

To be continued.......

Acceptance

Most of us forget that our lives are intangible. It's easy to forget when we're in our physical bodies and see things we can touch all around us. October is a month of anniversaries and illusions. The anniversary and illusion of my birth and the anniversary and illusion of my second father's death. It's also the illusion of nature's death. It appears to be dying, shedding its skin, but really it's just another stage. Another cycle before it begins a new life again.

A lot of things whisper to us, if we're willing to listen. Some we can't explain. Some we think we see. Some we only feel. The dance between truth and illusion is thin. I think both of them last, especially when you can see both. And sometimes it takes someone else's voice to remind us of what we already know.

When I'm not here, I'll still be with you. You won't see me, but you'll hear my voice and you'll feel my light. It won't be hard. Just wish, or don't wish. It doesn't matter because I can't leave. You might see me at night, the way you knew me. You and I might sit down and chat like old friends. We might walk together under these branches, sipping the nectar of orange-red tulips and watching the petals drop to the ground in random ribbons. Sometimes it's a garden, full of lushness and mountains we've already climbed in the distance. Sometimes it's arid and bare, overgrown with prickly weeds and nothing's pretty or manicured. But see the dandelions? Still yellow and bright? Showing their beauty in darkness? That's you and me.

Dandelions? Really? I can hear your words speak to me in breaths hidden in pockets of air. It isn't like you to question what I say. Where is the voice who admired everything and wrestled with sadness and tears when she thought I left. Your heart was heavy when you knew I was gone. But what you didn't know was that I never left. I was always inside you, waiting for you to wake up; waiting for you to see who you really were. You finding me - you thought it was an illusion. A vivid dream of chance that took you away from your pain. I was never the illusion. The illusion was what you wanted to see.

Now you see both. Truth and illusion. Truth is you stopped seeing me. You believed in what you could touch and what seemed real. But the illusion only seems real because what's underneath is truth. You could always see that about me. What was beneath my dream and why I dreamt what I dreamt. There are no excuses here, and if I hurt you, I hurt myself. Courage was my battle. I think yours was acceptance. Not of what you saw, but what you could have and who you could be. Potential isn't something we strive for, it isn't something "out there" we can't touch. It's here, always. We just have to learn how to see.

Courage. I talk about it a lot. I judge people for not having it. For not picking up everything and following your dreams, or your heart, or whatever it is that you want. But the thing is, you always had more courage than me. You never fell in love with shiny, pretend things. Or kept lying when the truth was so obviously unhidden.

She said once. I said once. We all have to have our dreams. But it’s nice to be here in reality. Reality can be the dream, too.

Checking Out

I arrive at the airport early. Mostly because I have nothing else to do, no hotel room to go back to, and I don't want to risk the chance of getting caught in an afternoon traffic jam coming back from the beach. It's only a few hours to waste and I can write or I can sleep or I can find a character among the people I'll be watching.

I decide to eat lunch, but can't find anything I want so I settle for what I already know. Mocha frappuchinos and overpriced deli sandwiches. In front of me are college-aged kids and behind me is the typical Beverly Hills yuppie couple, complete with their Paris Hiltonesque dog. They don't bother me - they look almost normal. I help them pick up the coffee sleeves they spill out of the container on accident and we all laugh.

Someone else steps in front of the line, gazing intently at the menu. He is serious and determined. Not unapproachable, but you can tell he does not want to talk. At first I stare a little, because I recognize him and yet I'm not sure. It is his eyes that confirm my suspicion, not anything else. I look away and go on with my day. I don't approach him. I don't say anything. He is just a person, like me. Trying to get a bite to eat. Trying to catch a flight. Someone asks for his autograph and I see him give it somewhat begrudgingly. She smiles gregariously after she gets what she wants. Thankfully she is the only one I see approach him. Everyone else pretends to ignore him or they don't recognize him or they don't care.

I don't flinch or feel anything when he stands by my chair, looking for a place to sit. He sits down, eats, reads his Rolling Stone, waits for his flight and then leaves. I am somewhat desensitized to seeing people from television and the movies in real life. I am used to having to treat them like a "normal" person. I have seen them "backstage." Some moody, some acting like the characters they play, some acting like they are above everyone else, some viewing their place in life as no more "special" than the rest of the universe.

I am used to walking among people who have Wikipedia entries and archives of interviews on famous talk shows, Internet sites and magazines. No one is the same in person as when they are performing their chosen persona(s). No one is the image you see in their pictures. People forget that the hype and the illusion are just that - hype and illusion. These are just people who have chosen a certain job. A job that puts them in the public eye. But when they step out of the eye's glare, all some of them want is peace. To be "normal," if there is such a thing. An invisible life, stripped of everything that's not real.

Father

All the time, I see you in dreams
Before me, behind me, beside me
Can you see them too?
Do you know how they hurt me?
Eating inside
Forever
Go away, I can say
How I wish it were true
I don't know who you are
Just because we share blood
Kin is still an empty word
Love is absent, and love exists
Maybe you didn't know
Nothing would be left of you and me
Of all things you became my mystery
Part of something I can never touch
Quiet and whispering echoes
Reeling scene by scene
So lost, so buried and forgotten
This isn't my choice, it's yours
Undeniable and unreal
Victory isn't possible here
Why I don't know
Xeroxes of who I thought you were
Yellowed and black
Zipping like a kite on air

Four and Counting

So here we are. Two years later. Here I am at another residency for my MFA. I still don't know what I'm doing here and I still find I don't have much to say. Maybe it's because I spent so much of my life learning other things that have nothing to do with this world at all. Maybe it's because I don't spend as much time analyzing as I do exploring and enjoying. I absorb and let it rise. I don't want to know how, why, or should. But I'm finding that some things are the same. No one really wants to take risks here. And the people that do --those who let themselves feel & explore & move beyond the conventions - they question and interrogate like the paparazzi and the media do to those with famous faces. No one wants to own up to making something their own. They say one thing and then pick apart the people who do what they say they are looking for.

I don't fit in here. I never have. The work that gets praised is the boring stuff. The stuff that colors within the lines, but has nothing to hold it up. No one wants to work. No one wants to think. No one wants to feel. They want it handed to them and they want it easy. They don't realize that no one ever handed me anything. I had to learn to find my way in the darkness, and out of the darkness, and back into it, and then out again. For me self-navigation and feeling without knowing is the only way I know. I'm not going to write according to a plan, an outline, a structure, a convention, an easy-does-it recipe. That's not my voice. And that's not who I am. As a person or as a writer.

If you want something plain and simple, go live with the Republicans you say you can't stand. You are not so different from whom you hate. You are the same.

There are two reasons why people question who you are and what you do. They don't understand because they don't want to. Or they don't understand because they think you're beyond their reach.

If they only realized it's not about tearing down what you think you can see. It's about finding and discovering all the goodness in what you can't see.

Character Lessons - Part Two

Seth used to surprise me. At least he tried to. I've never liked surprises. I get bent out of shape because my plans have been ruined. I used to think surprises were best to be avoided. The midnight walks along the beach, the pink azaleas on Sundays, the dinners in Boca Raton - they were all his way of keeping me alive. Of keeping us alive. He used to warn me, "don't let your life get too stale, babe. Go after the moment, not the ending."

He and Sal had that in common. There wasn't any time for worrying about the future. It would come whether you wanted it to or not. The biggest surprise he gave me was dying. I'd gotten so used to him being beside me when I needed him that I'd forgotten we can never use anything as a crutch forever. It's sad, really. You find something you love and then you have to let it go. But as Sal would tell you, a journey isn't about a destination. It's about the experience of who you are. And that means facing anger, pain, happiness, exhilaration, and everything in between.

It's never easy to start a new life, she told me. And it's true. Constant renewal brings constant suffering. There aren't any answers except the ones in your heart. And those answers are always floating around you, like pieces of a puzzle that need to be put together to make any sense.

Eventually the crutch is no longer useful. It simply doesn't make any sense. And time shows you what you need. It gives you space and dignity to be yourself. You alone make the decisions for who you are. The question to ask isn't where should I go, but why am I leaving? The truth about any journey is that you can always go back. You just can't turn around.

Seth, if I could tell you what I realize now, it wouldn't do us any good. You'll always be gone and you'll always be right beside me. I didn't want to leave you. I didn't want to leave us. You were part of my plan, Seth. For better or worse, did we say? I spent so much time worrying about the better that I forgot it's the worse that makes us shine. When I found out you left me, I wanted to run. So I did. I let Sal lead me to the edge of something I once dreamed of. But then I realized I was more than that dream. It was one of the things I had to let go because I was someone else now. Someone who knew she wanted to live beyond the voice of her former self. Someone who wanted to experience all the dreams she'd hidden since she decided she wasn't going to leave anything beneath sand anymore.

It's why I came back, Seth. Not to you. Not to us. Or the crutch of your memories. Or even the gold band that sits on top of the jewelry box you made for our anniversary. I still miss you sometimes when I trace the wings of the butterfly you carved into grooves on the lid. I used to think we were like that. Half full, half empty. Fulfilled and yet searching for something we couldn't find because it didn't exist.

There are no destinations, Seth. Only steps. And time.

Validation

Meisms: If you feel your cause is worth it, then that's all the validation you need.

Yes, I know. I'm not really writing in this space anymore. But tonight I felt like popping in. Mostly because I was picking up on something and decided I needed to put it down. Mostly for other people, but perhaps a little bit for myself too.

Sometimes you have a dream or you feel called to do something - strongly. It speaks to you, it moves you, it consumes you. It may taper off every once in awhile or almost extinguish itself for a long time. But then you're back to it and you feel like this is really what you need to be doing. The problem is, no one else seems to see it that way. You're not getting the green lights, you feel like you're not getting the feedback you wanted or the feedback you are getting makes it obvious that others just aren't "getting" what you're trying to do (just yet). Or maybe you're not in the "ambitious" stage and people don't understand. Why would you even take this journey if it's mostly because you want to do something on the spiritual (rather than material) level? Who does this to be artistically ambitious rather than ambitious in the "careerist" sense of the word? The truth is you're both, but you're not willing to put one before the other. Your priority is to make a difference, to inspire change, and to uplift people. So that means you're doing this differently and people misunderstand and misjudge, and you're never quite validated by your peers the way you should be.

I'm not being arrogant here because I'm not really just talking about myself. I see it a lot. I have seen it a lot. There are a few who get the external validation they should or reach that level of "careerist success" the material world has defined for us. But quite a few of the most inspiring, the ones with the brightest inner lights, and those striving for the "cause" rather than the "career," get overlooked and dismissed. Okay, so maybe some of those striving for the "career" instead of the "cause" get overlooked too, but it may not hurt as much. They don't have a calling at stake, or a soul contract to fulfill, or a bunch of obstacles they're trying to overcome in order to accomplish what they feel is their destiny.

I recently read a book called Behind the Mountains. It's based on the proverb "behind the mountains are more mountains." What that's really saying is you're always going to face obstacles - no matter how many you've overcome or stood at the top of screaming "I did it." Someone or some set of social forces is not going to support you or "get" you or even want to see your ambitions from your eyes. So what? If you feel what you're doing (and how you're doing it) is what you're supposed to be doing, you'll keep climbing. And if the only mountain you keep climbing is the one no one else can see, then you're succeeding. You're validated. Because it's the only one that will teach you how to overcome the Self others want you to be.

Project Period Contract - The Life One

1. Work only 40 hours a week. You don't have to make more than you need. Keep reducing what you can.

2. Continue to live simply.

3. Read for pleasure.

4. Write because you enjoy it. Only revise and share if you wish.

5. Wake up with the sunrise.

6. Take care of your body.

7. Find more ways to connect. Develop relationships. Invite more people in.

8. Travel. Keep exploring. Keep seeking the new.

9. No more "careers." No more pieces of paper. No more striving. Relax and be.

10. Smile and enjoy what is free.