The River

Couples fight. If you are half of a couple, chances are you know this already. This is no groundbreaking observation. To the Newlyweds, my cherished recently paired, it is not an 'if' but a when. There will be a rip-roaring fight in your house and more than one. It doesn't mean your relationship is over. Once the dust settles following some verbal tornado that just plowed through your living room, you will realize that you learned something new about each other and you've likely grown stronger for it. Hold that thought.
I turn now to the couple who is, by most accounts, relatively happy. Life is good, as far as it goes, and things are floating along the current of time without rock or branch. WHAM! Something bumps you right out of your boat. Now, having plunged into the frigid, fast moving water, you surface to try and find your mate. In panic, once your eyes meet, you swim hurriedly to one another. Problem is, one of you is swimming upstream. The other trying not to float by and miss the opportunity to find the nice dry boat you were both in. Where is the solace of that boat? Can we ever get back in the boat? Will the boat be lost to the rocks ahead?
I am not talking about the hiccups of losing a job, although that can be pretty serious. My focus is on when one of the two gets sick, or gets devastating news about a close family member. My marriage encountered just that when my husband was diagnosed with Congestive Heart Failure. The name suggests exactly what it means. My 37 year old husband's heart was failing. We had all the Hallmark card moments you'd expect once we got over the initial shock of the news. We vowed to make the best of it, be grateful for every day, make lots of memories, not take anything for granted. We didn't know what our marriage had just been submerged in. We couldn't appreciate the emotional gravity of what it is like to find yourself with life as you know it together being put into a whirlpool and spun around like a fallen leaf onto top of the water. It wasn't as simple as a conscious decision to "make the best of it". The daily living, him accepting his illness and me having to get my mind around the idea that our relationship suddenly had a timeline was crushing. We were pounded against the rocks of life with every test, surgery and disappointing report from his doctor. Like it or not, this thing, this upending was weighing on us. It was on our minds and in our hearts everyday even if we wanted to pretend we were back in our little boat of 'Happy Couple and New Family of Three' we were still soaking wet. The every day tasks in life were becoming more and more daunting. For my husband, just getting up to face his day was a purposeful task, rather than an automatic response to the sun rising.
When your relationship sustains such a shipwreck, try as you might, there is always something in parentheses in your conversations. When this happens, it is the marker that underlines the most simple of annoyances between you. Forgetting to take the trash out, again, becomes an all out war over who does more around the house. It's the noticing the usual things that your other half does that irritate you that have you now pondering divorce. Take heart, your relationship is over. For us, we needed to acknowledge openly to each other that this situation was affecting us, individually and corporately. We had to become open with each other about our emotional frailties about his illness and honestly speak about what was baring down our minds. In order to avoid the rapids and not see our little boat be busted to ruins, we had to say "Hey. there is something coming. I am scared, I am not sure how I'll survive. I don't know if I can keep swimming. I am afraid you'll let go of me". We had to state the obvious. It was the only way. Avoiding what is and not talking about 'it' for the sake of the other will kill you. It will kill your relationship and rob you both of the life preserver you need. Each other.
Married life is not about pretending everything is okay. It's about being able to be open, honest and you, no matter what. This person is the only one who will ever know you better than anyone else. Your shipmate. For those who are directly effected by what has now come between you, be gentle. You are not alone. There is someone every bit as right there in it with you and they are in pain too. For the other half watching your partner suffer, know that depression and preoccupation comes with this trial. Give each other a break. Talk. Remember, love endures all things and keeps no account of wrongs.

What Thanks Do I Get?

This will not be one of those "what am I grateful for" Thanksgiving commentaries. I avoided this article specifically for the day after for that reason. I am grateful, certainly. I feel so gifted by God it is unbelievable. I have more than I asked for and more than I deserve. If you don't feel that way then nothing I write is going to change that so I spared myself the typing energy.

I wanted to focus the event of receiving thanks from someone. I wanted to spend some time on what it feels like to hear "thanks". Getting a "Thank You" can be a great experience. It can also be an emotional one. I guess it depends on what I am being thanked for that generates a given emotion. An unexpected acknowledgement of a job well done or a thoughtful gesture makes me smile sheepishly and makes me feel a little embarrassed as well. I used to spend time creating explanations for why I did what I did or dressing down a compliment because I didn't feel worthy of the nice comment. I felt awkward. I probably even felt like I was being humble in countering with a reason why there was no need for attention. One day, my grandmother had heard me do this one too many times. In response to watching my behavior when receiving a compliment she curtly exclaimed "just say 'Thank You', Brittany". Then I really was embarrassed and for the right reasons. No one wants to hear why you don't think what they should have complimented you or thanked your for something. Dumbing down what they considered worth mentioning is like telling them they are wrong. I didn't realize that until my grandmother pointed that out. Thanks, Betty!

I have also had my moments where I expected a "Thank You" and didn't get it. I used to stew in those moments. Aren't they just ungrateful? I would also label the offenders as selfish or entitled. I happened to mention this to a friend one day. This man is a very wise presence in my life. I actually call him 'Yoda' for that reason. He isn't afraid to point out where I am misguided. He listened to me and asked me what my motive was for doing what ever it was that I did that I thought should have elicited some praise. What was my motive? Well, I wanted to either do something nice, or I thought I should have done something out of charity or duty. After waiting for my reply he retorted. "If you did what you did for purely selfish reasons then why do you feel bad about not getting something in return"? Ouch! That stung but he was right. Why did I think I deserved something in return if I thought I should be doing what I was doing? If I knew ahead of time that I would not get what I perceived to be the proper response, would I have withheld action? No, of course not. I had no reason to go away sore for not getting my just desserts if I wanted to do what needed doing. I then set out doing matters of charity anonymously on purpose. I did things in such a way that would ensure I couldn't be thanked. You know what? It was very freeing. It became a game. What good could I do for others without their knowing? The first time I heard someone tell me the wonderful or helpful thing someone did for them and how much they appreciated it without them knowing I was the giver was elating. That is the trick, to feel the gratitude without blurting out "it was me"! That way, it stays selfless. Give it a try, you'll see what I mean.

I have had the awesome experience of doing something completely unimaginable in terms of helping a wonderful family with a pain in their lives that they could not solve alone. I was able to help fulfill an answer to prayer. There is no way I can describe what it feels like to have someone tearfully say "Thank You" when you know those two words couldn't possibly cover the emotions behind it. I was speechless to say "You're welcome" because that didn't even come close to an appropriate response. In this case, I'd like to think our souls just do the talking for us when language can't cover it. I pray that one time in your life, you'll be able to have that experience. It is a definite game changer in how you will go on about your living after that. I promise. Want to know what it was? Forget it, I'm not saying.

What of giving thanks? Well, I thank everyone who helps me. It cultivates the feeling of gratitude in my heart. The cashier, the mailman, the person who opens the door for me as an act of courtesy, the person who let's me into the lane I should have been in when I am late to the trigger in figuring that out. I thank everyone I can. I look them in the face, smile and say it. I want my daughter to see me doing it. I want others to see me doing it and to see the response the hearer has. I think thanking is contagious just like hiccups and smiling. I thank everyone who reads my work. I cry when I get heartfelt emails saying they can relate and telling me how much they enjoy my writing. Whether or not you realize, I keep doing what I do because of you. If not for the "thanks" I might have gone back to being in Business. You never know who you'll impact or how just by two simple words that take no effort at all.

Anchors Away!

I have a lot to say about Encouragers and the wonderful affects they have on the lives of the people around them. I do spend a lot of time with my friends and family that cheer me on. Who shouldn't? They make you feel great and better for knowing them. As a matter of record, I seem to distance myself from those that don't leave me wanting more of their presence.
I had a reader ask me about their counterparts. These are the people that seem to leave us drained and tired. What do I have to say about them? Have I had any experience with them? Sure I have! I call them Anchors.

Anchors, bless their hearts, are a different entity. We all have them around us. Sometimes they are family members, sometimes coworkers. Many of us have at least one friend who is an Anchor. We love them. What we don't love is the barrier they put between themselves and others. You can't see this barrier but you sure can feel it. I know I often get a low level headache as soon as they start bellyaching. These are the ones that seem to always have a problem, a situation, or anything that requires a lot of time for you to listen. Sure, I've given it my best shot to try to help. I have listened intently, taking in the details. I have done this because I instinctively want to encourage or to offer a solution or perhaps something I have done in a similar situation that had yielded positive results. Take it from me, they don't want to hear it. I've tried too many times and left feeling depleted of energy.

So what is with Anchors anyway? Do they know they have this skill? They don't. I call them Anchors because they weigh us down. You don't feel lighter and happier for having time spent with them. They themselves are heavier from their burdens. Whether these are real or imaginary, big or little issues is irrelevant. They need to share them. They want to take the weight off by having you listen. Who could blame them? If you feel as bad as you do at the end of another session with an Anchor, you can imagine how they feel living with it every day. Anchors don't see solutions. Why that is I just don't know. You'd thing they'd want help with all the reaching out that they do. Try as you might, an Anchor is likely to come back at your loving guidance with a reason why your solution or suggestion doesn't work. I stopped trying.

What does an Anchor want? Mostly, they just want a listener. If you can, just indulge them. I let them go on, offer an ear and tell them I don't have an answer to their problem. This takes the load off of me to be the hero, the savior with the answers. They get to drop the off their cares and my lack of offering anything lets me off the hook not to pick them up.

Don't get me wrong, sometimes we all need a shoulder to cry on and we have friends who are willing to let us. They let us whine, cry and offer us tissues. We feel better and they get to share in our pain. There is nothing wrong with that. What else is a friend for? I am talking about the one who is always asking us to be there, who never has anything positive to say. They are the ones who when you need a caring ear will almost immediately change the subject to their own problems. They have almost a talent for it. No one wants to be "one upped" on their life's pains. They don't get it. It's okay. They aren't going to either. Pointing out to an Anchor that they are an Anchor is a friendship ending conversation. You have to decide on whether or not you want that to happen before you take a position like that.

Anchors need love too but how much of your time and attention you want to spend on them is up to you. I do find myself spending less time with them than others. I can withstand chronic complaining for only so long. When I feel my patience wearing thin, I take a break from them. That way I can still be there and not do any damage for having overdone it with an Anchor.
Handle an Anchor carefully. They are that way for a reason. They have a lot of emotional baggage. You aren't going to fix that. Find a place of sympathy in your heart for them. They are sick people, they just don't know it. If you carry an Anchor too long without putting them don't you are likely to drop them and usually right on your foot.

Dispelling the Demons

I consider myself a relatively confident person. Sure, I had my insecurities in teenage years and early adulthood but I thought I was well passed that stage until recently. The last year and a half have been trying for me. Major life changes have left me a bit weary and pondering the future. I weathered them well or better than I expected and I am grateful to say that. However, there were scars and I have recently acknowledged them.

This period of time has definitely had its positives. I was isolated enough from friends and family so I could get my head around my past and what I would like my future to look like. Much time was given to prayer and contemplation, even dreaming of the next chapter in life. There was also a lot of mourning and tears. Truth be told, I suppose I had a few too many counseling sessions with Dr. Haagen Daz. In short, I gained a bit of weight. In fact, I needed to lose a good fifteen pounds before I gained this weight so the effects have been a bit disappointing to look at in the mirror.

I have taken some positive steps. I have a diet plan that I have been following well and I joined a gym and have been faithful to go and follow a workout schedule. The momentum is there and so is the motivation. Still, especially when I am in the gym with lots of full-length mirrors, I catch glimpses of my new body and I don't like what I see. I don't like it at all. It is tough to not look too long. When I find myself lingering in the mirror I turn away and go on to something else but there are demons. Demons are those little voices that discourage you. At times mine spend a lot of time talking to me. It all depends on if I want to listen or not as I have come to understand. It seems when I give ear to my demons, even just a little, they decide to pull up a chair next to my mind's ear and go on talking even when I don't want to. Or do I?

I have long said that we have to invite negative thoughts to participate in our lives. We have to listen in order to hear those voices that say "It's not that you've failed, it's that you are a failure". Intellectually I can tell myself that isn't true but when I invite the demons to go on with their reasoning for why I am a failure they are all to happy to give examples. They even bring up other failures, even if they are not related, to back up their story.

I don't want to listen any more. I have had a taste of what it was like to be a teenager again and rate myself according to my inner voice and I am firing my demons. They don't own me. They don't tell me the truth. They want me to be sad and give up. Then they win. When I feel this way, I talk to those who build me up and encourage me. They tell me to go on when the demons want to beat me up. They tell me I am great when the demons tell me I am a fraud. I know who my encouragers are. I keep mental note of those that seem to make me feel good just by a word, or a chat over coffee. Most of my encouragers openly share that they pray for me. They make it a point to check in with me either by phone or email and just see how I am doing. With encouragers in my life, I can move on quickly. Thankfully, there is another inner voice that reminds me of what my encouragers say when the demons want to speak to me more often than not. I am so glad that I have learned that. It took training. It took a conscious effort to do but I learned to do it purposefully and regularly until it was automatic. Sometimes my training needs a refresher. I really don't like being my own "Debby Downer".

Do you have encouragers in your life? Who are they? Make a list, check it twice. Even better to be an encourager. It makes you feel terrific. I make a habit of smiling at others, asking how a cashier's day is going in the grocery store or telling toll booth operators to "have a nice day". Think of it, trying to cheerful will actually make you cheery. I love that. It takes more muscles to frown than smiling and frowning too long will give you a headache.

Integrity. Honesty. Discipline. Kindness. Bravery. They are some of the components that make up character. I don't hear a lot about character but I have spent some time thinking about it recently. Character isn't really something that is said about someone so much as it is an observance that is often described in pieces rather than the whole.

We can exhibit aspects of good character even emulate them if they are not actually part of our inherit being in some situations. A person who is not necessarily giving can sporadically donate a lot of time or money to a certain cause that seems to spark their interest and ignore or reject other requests for the same without hesitation or explanation. A fearful person can overcome their anxieties if prompted to do so by a set of circumstances.

These examples can be mistakenly used by observers to measure character only to disappoint when the person of whom they so highly regarded before has fallen short of the lofty expectations that were slapped on them like a label for one given shining moment in their life. It happens all the time. It has even happened to me. I've often done it to myself. I have given into the hype of what others have to say and become remarkably ashamed when I don't feel like I am living up to the pedestal I have been put on. I cringe when others tell me that I am their 'inspiration' or they admire me so much for all I have done. I sit silently in the wake of their smiling glow and ponder, would they say the same thing if they knew about all the things I have done unbeknownst to them?

"Character is what you do when no one is looking". I think that is mostly true, or it tends to be, but I think from my own observances and study of people historically regarded as having great character that it is more of an engrained pattern of behavior. Character is built, not something you are born with. Character comes from, I believe many failings, hardships and the person's abilities to learn from those things. I have done some pretty stupid things when I thought no one would find out about it. Funny thing is, people usually do find out about it and then of course you know the rest of that story. I wouldn't have said and still don't that those individual situations were the result of my character. They were bad decision making based on a specific chain of events. If you didn't know me, you would naturally make an assumption that the scenario and the cascading results were exactly who I was. That is not true but try and prove it in court. Get it?

Israel's King David from biblical history tells us that he was "a man after God's own heart". That is some title! King David did some really wonderful things and he overcame mighty opposition even within his own family. If you were to not really know anything else about him, you'd think he had to be something close to perfect given the incredible sentiment he is known for. King David also did some really lousy things to people very close to him. For one, he slept with the wife of a close associate of his. When he learned that she was now pregnant he arranged for her husband's execution and involved others in this mission. He was successful in what he set out to do. He did a great disservice to his country, his family and his God with this decision. Was this the true nature of his character? Not at all. Thankfully, this travesty doesn't immediately come to mind when most think of him. He was lucky.

Tiger Woods is an unfortunate example. When news broke of his first affair I thought to myself, "okay, he screwed up. Let's not throw the baby out with the bath water". After about a dozen women also came forward my thinking changed to "he is a lying cheat". It wasn't because of the one but the many. He had a pattern of behavior not one time of indiscretion. Now, this is what he is known for not his amazing golf playing and the brunt of many jokes. His character has been reduced to one of laughability. What a sad state.

When judging someone's character, one must be very careful. Judging is something none of us have any room or merit for since we all fall short of who we really are truly. I believe that most people are basically good at the core albeit incredibly selfish. We set out with the right intentions but may factors come into play in our lives that drive what the result is in the end, our nature.
What I've learned in all this is to take a person and their behavior for what it's worth and factor in my past experiences with them and decide if this is someone who possesses the character that I'd like to be associated with. For we are not only judged by our own character but that of our known crowd. To be totally blunt, if you don't like any of your friends you might want to evaluate who you really are while you are complaining about them. Water does seek its own level.

The good news is that people can change. They usually want to change when they have had a heartbreaking realization who they are and a great desire to be something else. I've had the privilege of witnessing hundreds of literal transformations of life. What a wonderful thing to witness!

The Greatness

There is one in every circle of friends and associates. The one that when their name gets mentioned, someone will inevitably say "they are amazing" or "they are an inspiration", something to that effect. There are less of them than the others, unfortunately. They usually know that as well. There is something that stands out, maybe it is a dignity or a comfort about life. Their aura can be almost mystical sometimes. You don't know what it is about them but there is something that draws you in. What is that? Some kind of super power? I have a theory.

I love to be around these kinds of people. I like to sit and talk to them, really hear what they say. I observe how they are to others and what they say, or rather do not say about other people. I study their demeanor. One of the ones that comes to mind is a woman I went to church with. She is one of those people who would not stand out in a crowd, literally and figuratively. She is a petite woman of conservative dress, simple hair and no makeup. She is a seasoned mother and grandmother. She is a wife and a good, loving friend. She speaks softly and deliberately. When she does voice her opinion, it comes from knowledge of the subject and wisdom in experience. She has earned the respect of those in our church and they love to confide in her and seek encouragement. There is an ominous, quiet dignity about her. She is not boastful or proud. You wouldn't call her outspoken but when she has the floor, you are paying attention. She glows in her silence sometimes. There is a beauty in her presence that Chanel and Lancome could never put in a bottle. I believe what produces that is restoration through suffering. What you wouldn't know about her until you get to know her is how difficult her life was at points along the way. To be sure, she has been through quite a bit. Destructive relationships, financial hardships, unkindness at the hands of others at times made her broken. These trials though, did not kill her spirit. They were used somehow in a way that fortified her and made her a better being than she was before. These scars healed into something beautiful and useful and in ways she could have never imagined at the time.

Another personal example are two women that I know that suffer great physical trials. Their stories are different. They do not suffer from the same illnesses, have the same lifestyle or even know each other but I think of them every day. Endless doctors appointments, medications, treatments and sometimes little hope and no real answers can weigh on them. For both of them, the cure and the next chapter in health is not foreseeable. They both go on though. They go on in victory anyway. To speak to them you will hear the same types of things, what they are grateful for, how much they love their families, appreciate their friendships and that they care deeply for others around them. They love to encourage. How could two people who can struggle to meet the day sometimes be so willing to cheer others on and tell you what they love about life? Their struggles have taught them well. They could have both just lain in their beds and called it a day when it came to life. I don't think anyone would have argued with them but we would have missed out on a lot for not having them around to be introduced to us and teach us to be glad to be well and pay attention to what is going on around us. To them, they need others to understand how beautiful life really is, regardless.

Conversely, I have met more than my fair share of whiners. They are constantly gnawing at my time and peace with how much they hate their job, their living situation, their financial situation, andwhat is wrong with their friends. They love to talk about other people and criticize them. If you ask them how their day was it is more or less "I'm breathing" or "It was a day". They groan every Monday and tell everyone around them about how miserable it is to start a new week. They might go on to say other things but generally that is where they lose me. It seems as though not much is going on in their lives but man, do they have a lot to complain about! What brings that on? Why so little peace in their lives? Some will even try to make up their minds to be more positive but the efforts produce little if any fruit in most of them.

I submit that the wisdom and peace in life is earned. In my observances, the satisfaction of life flows more easily through those that have been wounded by it. Such a paradoxical thing to think about it. Peace comes from trial and dissatisfaction from too little of it? Seems to be true. Of the "Greats" in my life, they have been forged from raw metal into a precious work of art. Have you ever seen a sword being made? It starts out as dull looking, dark, plain metal. It is heated, hammer and bent. The process causes great stress to the metal but it has to be melted and pounded until it reaches its desired length and shape. Next it is soldered and etched leaving permanent marks on the metal. Once that is done, it is doused in water and buffed and polished until it shines. A sight to behold. You would not recognize the finished product from the raw material that it started as. You would want to have the finished one, not the piece it was before it was crafted. I look at life the same way. We are crafted by it with the trials and the sufferings we endure. Those who are fortunate enough to endure become something greater than they once were. The magnetic draw they have is a product of the process. We seek to be as they are and we get the gift of having them share with us what they learned in the forging. What a treasure it is to be around such people. If only more of us would seek to retain the knowledge and be humbled by it instead of trotting off, unaware of what we have been given in search of our own answers.

The Art of Discouragement

It's an amazing and fragile thing, the human ego. We verbalize that we need encouragement, await kind words that let us know that something we are doing measures up with our family and our peers. Encouragement from a perfect stranger seems to be even more welcome because they really have no stake in bringing words of approval, like maybe our mom would. Giving encouragement to another is like speaking life into their dreams especially if one is taking on something new. There will always be that small voice in the back of our minds, whispering in our ear that we can't do what we set out to or that we are not good enough. It's just a fact of life. It is amazing how attentive it is to what others say to us if we don't know how to manage it.

I started noticing an interesting phenomenon with myself over the last 5 years or so. I started paying attention to how I reacted to what people said and situations in which others would speak "words of wisdom" to me, particularly discouragement. Why I honed in on discouragement is easy. It stands out because while you may be encouraged far more than discouraged, negative comments seem to have far more weight and a bigger effect on your outlook on things. Close your eyes and think of something that you were working on, something you were proud of. Maybe you were making a career change or trying something new. Perhaps you started a new business venture. Think about how excited you were. You wanted to tell everyone what it was that you were working on. It was special to you. I want you to think of a time when someone said words to you about that dream you had that were damaging. Maybe they told you "that business is hard to break into" or "I knew a friend or had a brother who did that, it didn't work out". Ponder the feelings that were attached to hearing those words. Chances are you will feel them quite readily. You probably recalled them more than once and possibly the same words when you took on another challenge. Now think about all the people that encouraged you along the way in your venture. What did they say? Can you think of more than one? How do those feelings resonate. Not the same I am sure.

The way discouragement effects us is something of an art. Why is it that hundreds of people can give us hugs, smiles, life-giving words, help us realize our dreams, listen intently while we talk about something important, all those people that want us to feel good about ourselves and yet one person can say one thing that could completely change our outlook on the outcome of our goals. One person? Yes, one person. One person can get us thinking and recalculating our plan in an instant. Reverifying our plans to make sure we hadn't missed anything based on their observations or negative experiences seems in order as we think about what they said. We will repeat those words back to those that have always encouraged us and they will say "don't pay attention to them" but we do. A discouraging remark from a second person can send us doubting our abilities. What about the others who have been standing by us, bringing us along with their support? What about them? Doesn't what they say and do for us matter?

Here is where my analysis comes in. I started paying attention to the people that would say things to me when I would speak of my dreams or what I projects I had been working on. I began to slow down the conversation in my mind, not react and try to gain some perspective as to why they would say the things they would say. One recent exchange was a stranger that I met at a party on the beach. Since I don't know a lot of people where I am currently living, when people meet me they usually have a lot of questions such as where I am from, what my marital status is and what I do for work. I was speaking with one woman about my career change from Sales professional to writer and the first book that I have been working on. A man that had been walking by to the food table stopped and stood behind my listener as I was telling her about the context of the book, what my plans were for its completion and how far along I was. As we were conversing, the stranger interjected. Barreling himself into the conversation unannounced, my listener spun around to see who was talking. He began with the statement that his brother had written a book and he had no success in getting it published. He continued to say that I shouldn't count on my book being a success since I was a new writer. It is just too hard to debut a book from an author no one has heard of. He wrapped up his expert advice to me by saying he was just trying to help me be realistic with my plans. With those words, he walked away. Why on earth would someone want to do that to a person they had never even met before? What benefited him in bringing his brothers experience to my attention and then following it up as proof that my dreams would folly? There can be lots of reasons why his brother's book was not a success. Content, context, writing style, timing and type of publisher can all be the make or break of a new book. It may have been that his brother only approached one publisher or that he might not have sought the help he could have used to get his manuscript read by the right people. I'll never know but someone's bad experience doesn't mean everyone else's dreams are doomed to fail. The problem is, I think about what he said a lot. Thankfully I can dismiss it when it comes to mind but it is looming in the back of my brain somewhere, pricking at my optimism.
People with negative outlooks on life usually tend to cause a lot of their own failure. They are easily turned away from what they pursue because they are always looking for evidence that what they are doing is going to fail. They tend to almost overlook their successes. They try to temper another's ambitions with negativity disguised as "being realistic". They like to discourage because it makes them feel better about the times that they've missed out on success. They don't even mean to be so damaging. Perhaps they grew up in a home with other negative people and discouragement was served as routinely as breakfast before school. Negative people tend to like to be around like-minded people so they are usually being fed the same messages, over and over again. Do you know any really successful negative people? I don't.

I have had the great experience of doing some work with the MIT Sloan School of Management in my Sales career. They have a club and a contest every year for their MBA program that teaches these candidates concepts and skills with Sales that they will need to be successful in likely founding their own businesses. When I have helped with their annual International Sales Competition with other renowned business schools that span the globe, I have had the pleasure of spending time with some of the best and brightest minds in business. We come together to judge the competition of the candidates. I sit shoulder to shoulder with people who hold executive positions with some of the largest and most successful international businesses out there. You would readily recognize the logos on their business cards. I tell you this because their outlook on life and pursuit of dreams is markedly different than that of the "Negative Nelly/Ned". These individuals to be sure have had many failures. They've been fired, had businesses fail, had key projects implode and invested in things that didn't pan out. Given their stories, some would have wondered why they kept going. Maybe business or invention wasn't really for them. Isn't that what our negative friends would say? I am sure they heard plenty of those words. I am positive that they remember them as well but they didn't let it deter them from what they had set out to achieve. They are positive people. They are not fixed on the failing but looking for the keys to achieve the goal in mind. They have learned that failing is part of success and there is no need to fear or turn away, it is more or less just a part of the process not a marker for abilities or outcomes. When you talk to these folks about ideas and goals, they get excited. They want to encourage and impart wisdom in the right way. They will be all too willing to point you to people they know can help you be successful. It is like as a rite of passage for achievement. They have a duty to help others be successful in any way they can and they do.

So it comes to this. Do you want to listen to a person who has perfected the art of discouragement and who is likely not successful in their goals either or do you want to learn from positive people who have failed and persevered to come out shining in the end? How will you let the comments of others affect how you pursue your career, realize your dreams or your future? I encourage you to spend some time with a successful person this week. Someone who has done something you admire and just take in their being. If you don't know any, I have plenty of numbers to give you. They'd be happy to talk.

Trash Day

After my usual routine of dropping off Carli at pre-school yesterday, I had the occasion to catch a bit of a sermon from one of my favorite broadcasted pastors, Dr. Stanley. I like Dr. Stanley because he always says one thing that fixes my attention on what he is saying, "listen". He says this word very often during his sermons and with my attention span of a cocker spaniel puppy, the redirection of hearing the word "listen" when he is about to make a point is a welcome interruption to my ever wandering mind.

Of what his main point was in yesterday's delivery, I don't know. What I do know is what he spoke of for the last five minutes of his address, resentment. I know that resentment is a poisonous affliction that many of us have fallen ill with from time to time. I have struggled with it like everyone. I have let things go with others, thought that I have forgiven only to find myself simmering in the same old feelings all over again. I get upset with myself for the exercise of rehashing, chide myself for once again choosing to feel hurt and unjustified in my pain when I know that I don't have to. No one is making me relive the events and feel the feelings. I am electing to do it. Why? I am not telling you I have the answers. I am just telling on myself so you know that you are not alone.

What Dr. Stanley said was this and please allow me to paraphrase "carrying around resentment is like dragging around a bag of garbage with you all day". When he said that, I put my mind to the task of really picturing that scenario. I thought of a big, green plastic bag full of trash. I thought of what it would be like to sack around with me. I've taken out the trash at my house plenty of times. A full bag of trash weighs a lot. For a 5' 3" woman like myself, it is awkward to pick up and carry out of the house, never mind lift into the barrel outside. On a hot summer day as we have had lately, trash smells really rotten. When I have to lift the lid to put another bag inside, I hold my breath and pray that I can get the chore done and close the lid before I have to inhale again. No matter how long I have held my breath, I can still smell that awful odor as I walk away. You can't escape it. No other smell comes close. It has it's own unique odor. If you say "it smells like trash" everyone knows what you are talking about.

I thought of this trash scenario and what it would be like if I didn't put my trash in the barrel. What if I left it in the back of my car and drove around with it all day? What would my car smell like on a sunny Floridian summer day of almost 100 degrees if I left my trash in the back of my SUV? Would anyone want a ride in my car? Would I want to get in? How would my drive be if I had to sit along side my rotting, smelly trash every day? I pondered as Dr. Stanley spoke. Wrinkling my nose automatically at the thought. It made my throat feel tight.

I love his analogy. It fits perfectly when I think of resentment. By choosing to relive hurt and conjure up feelings of anger and hurt towards another, I am volunteering myself to carry around a big bag of trash all day long. I am choosing to drive around with it in my car, sit along side it in my house and lay down next to it in my bed. When I want to vent my resentment to others I am really lifting the lid to my trash barrel and asking people to stick their head in and grab a big whiff of the smell. Is this really what I want to do, to make my day full of refuse? That's what it really is. It is the aftermath of a situation or conversation that you can do nothing about. It is over and it is too late to change the results. You can decide to throw the effects away or carry it around with you. Problem with carrying it around is that with each passing day, it starts to stink. Failure to dispose of it leaves others around you to start to notice the stench every time you speak of your offender.

The Lesson in Less

I live in America. Being a U.S. Citizen, I have great opportunities and over the years I have learned to take advantage of them. I have gone from someone who made a minimum wage after school to an income I was well-satisfied with. I was able to afford things I never dreamed of and had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle. Of course, you'd think that made me very happy but it didn't. When I went from married woman to single mom suddenly, the pace and the effort it took to keep up with my appetite for living made me grow weary. I wanted more free time, I wanted less stress. I wanted less bills. I wanted less results of wanting more.

The pinnacle came as I was driving my brand new Mercedes into the city where I worked. My office was in a prestigious building right in Boston's financial district. I wore beautiful tailored suits and ate nice lunches with my coworkers. As I sat in my latest purchase, staring at the traffic and being frustrated by the wait I started to cry. I called my mother and told her that I just wanted a simpler life. I didn't want all that I'd worked for any more. It was making me miserable. If this was "it" then life could have it back. I wanted to quit my job and write a book. Her unexpected reply was "so do it". And, the next day, I did. I packed up my desk, had a few long meetings with my supervisor and Vice President and left with a box and a smile.

The time I have spent in shorts and flip flops since then has been great, mostly. I don't have to be up before dawn, I spend time with my daughter in the morning making breakfast, putting together puzzles, discussing what we'll do today, fixing her hair and leisurely getting her off to pre-school. I come home and eat breakfast and fire up my laptop to get writing. Sometimes, I don't even shower until after lunch. Easy, some would say. I sit in my tiny shoebox of a condo on the second floor in a small Key West neighborhood. I call it The Tree House because my balcony is surrounded by flowering trees and palms. My condo could have fit 4x into my old house. There is no lawn to worry about mowing, no landscaping, no nothing to do maintenance wise. I was doing okay financially. I didn't have the freedoms to spend like I did before but it was kind of a novelty to not just buy anything on a whim. I think I was playing with the idea of having less but actually seeing it in action was going to be another story.

Fast forward to two weeks ago. Getting a lesson in less was coming. It is a long story but with the social security benefits I am living on plus the proceeds of my investments that I have used, I never gave a second thought to money being tight. I had enough and that was all I cared about. I was still able to get pedicures and massages, that mattered to me. I needed to get the car washed once a week, it's an unwritten rule. You need to get your car washed regularly or people will think badly of you, didn't you know that? One thing led to another in my checking account. Money went this way and that and a cash out on my investment proceeds somehow never ended up being sent like they said they would the day I called and I didn't realize that the check they were sending me wasn't coming and it had somehow been mistakenly voided and couldn't be reissued for another 30 days. Did Mr. Customer Service on the phone just say 30 days?!

I immediately logged in to my bank account to see what cleared and figure out what I absolutely needed to spend in the next week and a half. That left me with a whopping 40 dollars. I had 40 dollars to my name, for the next 10 days. How in the world does anyone live on that for what seemed to be an eternity. Impossible I thought. It can't be done. I moped, I complained to God, I felt sorry for myself, all kinds of negative things. I started to resent my decision to quit my job and be down here at the very end of Florida.

What was I going to do? I decided to give it a try. To live on my 40 dollars and not use my credit cards until my next deposit. It was great challenge but I was willing to see how little I could live on and still put food on the table and gas in my car. I took inventory of what was in my cabinets and freezer. I determined that we'd probably be okay. Instead of just going to the grocery store because it was Wednesday and that was grocery day I decided to use what ever we had to make meals. I couldn't just make what I felt like having. I had meal plans and had to stick to them. Carli wasn't getting her choice of what to have for dinner. She had to eat what I put in front of her. Quite a feat for a very picky little toddler. We had a couple of nights of crying at the table but she rallied quickly when I didn't relent and told me she was "better now" and got down to eating. Who knew? She could overcome her finicky eating habits.

The gas I had in the tank of my over-priced crossover was going to have to do. I had to fight the urge to bust out the American Express and just drive by the gas station. Gasp! I couldn't wash the car for two weeks. To top it off, I had to park my car under a tree for a couple of days and we all know what birds in trees do to cars that are underneath them. I had to drive around in shame. You know what? No one pointed and laughed. No one looked at me in disgust. It was okay. I did it but the morning my deposit hit, I was right to the car wash, no questions asked.

So where are we in my lesson? I didn't go to Starbucks, walk to the corner to get Carli ice cream or pick up any trinkets. I did go to the dollar store for trash bags and to the grocery store for the essential things that couldn't wait like milk, bread and vegetables. I had seven dollars left over after my trips to the store. The last part of the lesson came when I pulled into a gas station with my last 7 bucks and put what I could afford in cash into my car. No one starved over the last two weeks. I got to where we needed to go. I consolidated trips to places and we walked when we could. Where I ended up was leftovers in my fridge and a little less than a quarter of a tank until I got to the gas station this morning and twenty six dollars still in my checking account. I lacked nothing I needed over the last two weeks. No one went without and no one suffered anything. When we ran out of convenience breakfast foods we made pancake batter. It was fun, Carli loved it and she ate pancakes almost every morning. That is heaven to a 3 year old. When we ran out of snacks, we made sugar cookies. Fun times had by all and what beats homemade cookies anyway? I invented entrees with unlikely ingredients that I will definitely make again.

My life is much simpler. The lesson in less was not easy but it was very necessary. Even with the less that I had, I had so much more than other people right here on this very island I am hanging out on. I am blessed, still. I don't mourn the loss of shopping trips and online purchases any more. I am happy with what I have and content to make great and appreciate what I call mine. I have too much. I am thinking of ways to trim what I can to make it easier and not worry about trivial things that don't really matter and excess is definitely one of those trivial things.

Love Thy Neighbor Part 3 -Forgiveness

Forgiveness is something everyone wants. I know I do when I mess up. Oddly, it is something that most are very slow, if at all, to give away. If we all want it so badly when do we hesitate or deny it to others? Some would say, "I do forgive". I would question, think of someone who has wronged you that you think that you have forgiven. I mean someone who has really wronged you, it caused damage to the relationship. Think of them, bring them to mind. How do you feel? Pain, sorrow, anger, frustration? Anything like that? If you don't have any emotion other than the good, fuzzy feelings of friendship or love I am sorry to say, there is something between you that hasn't been forgiven. I know first hand.

Studying myself in situations of asking for and extending forgiveness I have noted a few things. First of all, asking for forgiveness is very hard. It is, if you are sincerely looking for reconciliation rather than an "I'm sorry too" in return. I know it is nice to get the other side to admit fault but it doesn't always happen. Sometimes they even apologize for something else that wasn't even what you had in mind! Oh, the complexities of relationships. In any case, the first times I earnestly sought forgiveness were and remain, very powerful and humbling experiences for me. In all but one case, there has been reconciliation on some level, meaning the relationship continued on either immediately or eventually in some way.

One example that comes to mind most readily is one that was not only hard but the recipient challenged my motives, I would say now to that person, good for you! It was someone with whom I worked along side who eventually became my supervisor. The thing between us was, as peers, we had differing views on how my program within the company should run. I created our program and he had run a successful, similar program at another office within the same company. My program was also successful. I was not very open at all to his trying to mentor me when I hadn't asked for it. Honestly, I was pretty full of my own ego and didn't appreciate him trying to deflate it either. Tensions progressed and further down the road our boss informed us that he had too many managers reporting to him and that I would roll up under this man's team. You'd have thought that our boss had punched me in the face right then and there. I was resentful. My relationship with this then peer and now boss continued to deteriorate. I was indignant, disrespectful and openly critical. I should have been fired but for some reason he didn't. I had come to a place over time where I needed this office distress to end. I hated going to work and I didn't want to find another job. I sat down, went over where my faults were in this relationship and humbly presented them to him after a regularly scheduled business meeting and asked him to forgive me. I went on to say, which I think is most important in these situations, to define what my plan was to not let this behavior continue. He surprisingly pushed back. He asked me to state examples of what I felt were my trespasses against him. I was caught off guard, took a second and then gave him one or two. He asked for more. I swallowed and pressed on, giving him more detail and some others. Something most interesting happened. His face changed. It softened, he looked almost emotional and informed me that no one had ever put him in this situation of asking forgiveness before. He thanked me and we left the conference room. Our relationship changed immediately and for the better. We went on to have many great wins in business together. It turns out, we were a very formidable force together and we remain friends and I hold him as one of my best supervisors, mentors and role models in business. Imagine that.

Harder though is extending forgiveness, mostly to those who are not seeking our forgiveness in the first place. This is my "all but one" person I referred to earlier. I find that this is so common among us. It is so hard to get through and although it causes us so much pain and emotional scarring, it seems we'd rather allow it to reek havoc rather than heal it. I am in fact, still working through this myself with this individual. This person is a family member. During a great trial in my life, this person extended help and the security of help and undying love for me and my daughter. I didn't know this person well in an up close and personal sense but I took the emotion to be genuine and accepted. Public and private promises were made and almost immediately were reneged on. Resentment welled up in me and two more disappointments lead to me, very publicly, announcing this person's wrongs and letting everyone know who I thought he really was. I don't even need to detail the extensive damaged that did to our relationship. I was angry, rage-filled and vengeful. I felt completely justified in my actions at the time. I still believe that this person did wrong me. The sticking point is, I have humbled myself to see my errors, presented these to this individual on more than one occasion not only to have my asking for forgiveness rejected but even harsher words hurled back at me. This person is not open to any communication from me or my daughter at this time. Rejection of me is fine, I've had to live with that before but when it comes to my daughter that is another thing entirely. The "Momma Bear" in me rises and I want to swipe my paw at anyone who dare harm her. I considered this person's actions to be an affront to the emotional well-being of my daughter and I couldn't let it go. The mere mention of his name, the thought of this person made my blood boil over. My jaw clenched, I never turned down the opportunity to voice how hurt and disgusted I was with this person's behavior to my family and close friends. Truth be told, I hated how I felt about this person and I wanted to let it go but I couldn't. I prayed about it, resolved to not feel this way any more, only to be disappointed to find myself angry and discussing how I felt about the situation, again. The crossroads came recently when I had to contact a company my late husband had an annuity with to find out how to close it out. I called and was informed that the paperwork for the beneficiary would be in the mail in a week. Not really paying too much attention, the mail came and to my utter shock, this individual was named as the beneficiary, not me his wife. Ironically, after I felt like I was punched in the stomach for about an hour, this pinnacle helped me let it go. I took the paperwork, put it in an envelope along with a note explaining what this person had to do, stuck it in a mailbox and walked away. Why did this bring about change? I really don't know. Maybe God was pressing me to put my prayers into action and decide if I really wanted to stop carrying around this baggage any more. Will this bring about change in our relationship? I really don't know but I am finally able to think of this person and wish them well. When the thoughts reappear of me talking to this person again and what I would say, I immediately changed the subject in my mind. I can't entertain the "who's right" argument any more. It doesn't matter. This was initially a miscommunication that needed to be resolved followed by someone not meeting my expectations and my reaction toward that. It could have been easily settled but now it may never happen. That's okay. I can leave it there without needing to open old wounds every time someone brings this person up or I think about it.

I've learned that forgiveness is an action. I need to decide to forgive and be committed to the forgiveness regardless of what happens. Easier said than done but I feel so much better having put this into practice. I have wronged people and I have had to ask for forgiveness and they have graciously extended that to me. They, I believe, have moved on and allowed our relationship to continue. If I would expect that from others, why shouldn't others expect that from me?

Love Thy Neighbor Part 2 -Relationships

Loving thy neighbor in action rather than thought takes a lot of work. Admittedly I am not all that great at it but I have decided to try. Maybe you are like me, thinking "that sounds nice...in theory". Loving everybody as myself is a great ideal, like world peace. What can I do? How can I impact anything? I still find myself passing my own silent judgment on others based on what they look like or the situation I see them in. I see people on the street and the moment is a snapshot compared to their whole life and yet, I sign myself up to be the judge, jury and executioner even without thinking about it.

My example? A taste of my own medicine I am afraid. I would often walk around my favorite shopping center back home. It was an upscale complex with store fronts outside and classical music piped in. I always felt lighter in spirit being there, usually with toddler in tow, strolling around taking in the scenery and window displays. Being that I am a person who likes to people watch and literally notices every minor detail, I often took notice of younger women with small children who didn't appear to be married. My assumption, of course, was that these children were A) hers, B) born out of wedlock and C) had broken homes. Pretty harsh judgment huh? Heard yourself say that in your mind a few times? My "backatcha" came a few months after my husband died. My daughter and I would go out to lunch after church and this day we selected one of our favorites, Burton's Grill. We sat at a corner table, right next to an older couple. The woman was instantly entranced with my Carli. They were talking, she was smiling at my daughter intently and taking her in. I was smiling too. People are often very taken with Carli. She easily engages with people and her brilliant smile and gigantic blue eyes make it easy to forget what you were doing a minute ago. I was enjoying the exchange and the woman was looking over at me smiling back, until I put my left hand on the table. I wasn't wearing my wedding ring that day. She took notice and abruptly ended the conversation with Carli and turned her body away. I was very shocked. I wanted to scream at her "I am a widow"! How did it feel coming back the other way to me? Not too good. I don't know anyone's situation and anyone I pass judgment on based on what I see can easily not be what it appears at all and even if it is, is it mine to decide what is right or wrong?

Loving thy neighbor has more impact at home as I have come to realize. I have taken stock of my relationships and how I interact in them. How loving am I to my friends? Well, if you have known me long enough you already know the answer to the question. The truth is, I make a great associate, a pretty good acquaintance and a lousy close friend. Why? I am sure there are a lot of reasons but none of that really matters because the results are the same. I am hard to get to know. Oh sure, I will banter on for hours at parties, chat you up when I have the time, most people say I am funny and easy to talk to. If you are waiting for me to call to say "hi" you might be waiting a long time. I am very slow to return calls. I often don't ask about things or follow up on conversations like I should. I am standoffish, aloof and removed. The ones that are closest too me are the ones who have just too much persistence every time I try to deflect something that is too intimate or personal. I give them a lot of credit. They have just accepted me after all these years. I have even been mean and harsh with my words to a few. Thankfully, I have sought forgiveness and it has been received well although I would say those relationships bare scars. Loving? That could use some work.

What does it mean for me to love my friends then? My family? It means I have some work to do. Being in a relationship means there are two people working toward a common goal, a deeper intimacy. Both sides must be willing to be vulnerable and take a risk. I've been burned in the past, haven't we all. Not every experience is going to be the bad ones we've endured. Honesty, that's a big one. I have learned that I just have share what's on my heart and mind. Chips fall where they may. I have gone through so much in the last year that the pain of keeping to myself just hurts too bad to not let my friends have the opportunity to be there for me. The results? Well, they have taught me that it is okay to be open. In return, they have been more open to me with things that are hurting them. Interesting, isn't it? We get to bond and to be completely on the level, the best friendships are forged in fire anyway. I have been more willing to make phone calls rather than wait for the phone to ring and most importantly just letting people know what's going on with me and being real. It is so freeing to just be yourself and not really worry about "appearances". Even if it doesn't work out that way and you find yourself in a relationship with someone who is less than loving as a result of sharing yourself, at least you know what you've got between you and you can plan accordingly without any false pretenses.

I've learned to give people a chance. I've met some really, really nice people lately. Some I had met a long time ago and have recently let them get to know me. I participated and showed interest in them and they returned the favor. Amazing how that works. It's okay find out if someone you know, even very little is a great person to share in your life. Make no assumptions, that is my new motto. I was always resistant to letting myself get passed my own preconceived notions to get to know someone. What bondage. I held myself prisoner in my own judgment of others, what a shame. I am glad I am getting through that.

I've learned to say "I'm, sorry" a long time ago. Mostly, now I try to acknowledge my shortcomings with people. I try to share my knowledge of my limited communication. I tell them I am working on it. Although, telling someone you are working on something means you really have to be working on it or it just feels like a lie, for both of you. I am trying to be better. Why? I want the people in my life to know I love them and I do value the time in my life that they have been with me. All of them, no matter how little I know them, they are in my life for a reason and that reason is for me to love them in whatever way I can. Maybe it is just sharing photographs of kids, saying a kind word, wishing well, offering to pray for something. Maybe it is an occasional coffee or lunch. I can be much more in depth too. The important thing is to love the people in your life in whatever way they will let you and be ready to do it.

Loving my neighbor starts with the ones closest to me, my family and friends. I love you guys!

Love Thy Neighbor

Everyone has heard the quote "Love Thy Neighbor" or at least The Golden Rule "Do unto others". Interesting that when people quote these two phrases that they will inevitably leave off the rest of the sentence "as yourself" and "as you would have done unto you". In a world of bumper stickers, T-Shirts and banners that all scream for us to "Celebrate Diversity", "Give Peace a Chance" and be "One Human Family" you would think we would be doing a great job of this. I mean, people seem to be buying into the hype. They are putting these things on their bodies and cars. How are we really doing? Honestly, I would say not too well. Let me explain...

I am living on a very small island right now, 2 miles by 4 miles to be exact. I get the benefit of seeing society operate on a micro-scale. It's pretty interesting considering Key West considers themselves such an open community. What I see a lot of is passivity and tolerance, not too much in the way of love. Recently we had Pride Fest. A 5-day, yearly celebration of being gay I guess. There really is a more meaningful event behind this festival but it seems to be lost down here into something else. What I observed during that week about how people treated others is really what got me thinking about our two "mottos". Hundreds descended on this tiny island to celebrate. If you weren't downtown, you didn't really see too much going on but that is very hard to avoid and people came early on in the week to make a vacation out of it. Seems logical. The descent came with an undertone or an attitude by a lot of vacationers. Kind of a "it's our town" for the week and a sense of entitlement that came from being there for the celebration toward the locals and others. It gave pride a new meaning to me and not in the good sense. But not to leave out anyone else in the non-love was a man that seems to creep up on busy intersections pretty regularly around here, the "God Hates Fags" guy. His guy repulses me on so many levels. The biggest one is that he wears the banner of Christianity while holding his signs "God Hates Fags" and "God Brought The Oil Because He Hates Fags". First of all God doesn't hate anyone. In fact, Jesus was the one quoted in "Love thy neighbor as thyself"! Second of all, there are no oil spill effects in the Keys at the time of this writing thing so the other sign he carries is just silly. I want to make my own signs and keep them in my car so I can stand next to him when I see him. My signs would say "Love Thy Neighbor As Thyself" and "Let He That Has Not Sinned Cast The First Stone" and make arrows that point to him. I wonder how he would feel about that?
Adults behaving this way toward each other is having effects on our children in how they behave toward each other. I call this the "Me First" syndrome. Since we aren't loving each other, we are loving ourselves more. We are getting our due, exercising our rights, putting ourselves first. My next example is two children at the zoo while I was there with my mother and Carli. We were wondering around looking at alligators and crocodiles. The dad had reached the pen of alligators first and he was calling his children to come look. We were walking over as well. One child shoved my 3 year old out of the way while the other one ran right into me without so much as a glance back as I stumbled to regain control of my knees. The look on Dad's face was one of "they're just excited". I understood. This is how it is in their home. His permission for his children to assault people and not apologize told me everything I needed to know about him...Me first. His kids get it. When you want something, you want something and you want it first. Meanwhile, I tell Carli we have to wait our turn and everyone needs a turn. That's just me. I know that she knows that because when children shove her out of the way or step in front of her view of something, she looks up at me and says "We need to wait our turn, Mama?". I say yes and silently think about shoving those children out of her way. Where has the love gone?

My final example is one of a waitress in a breakfast place recently. I was having breakfast and was being waited on by an older woman who, in my mind, should have probably chosen another career given her lack of friendliness and courtesy toward me and my daughter. Nevertheless, I was kind to her in the same way I would have if I had been given good service. She didn't spill anything on me and she got the food to the table hot. As I was eating her manager was barking an order at her. I heard her reply "Stop talking to me that way!". What she said make me think. Stop talking to me that way implies that this attitude toward her was ongoing, not a one time thing this morning. Her frustration in her voice told me she'd had enough. I guessed her attitude toward me in the form of her customer service was not about me but about her work environment. I suddenly felt sorry for her. Who wants to be barked at while they are trying to do their job? I am glad I slowed my mind down enough to assess the situation rather than react. If I had said something quick and sharp or complained to the manager about the lack of customer service I would have made a bad situation worse for her just because I wasn't getting a smile with my coffee. Not really a big deal in comparison to the situation. I could definitely argue that I was owed a good attitude while I was there, I was a customer after all but none of this was about me in the first place. Why make it about me? Would it have made me feel better to see her berated? Would my omelet have tasted better? I doubt it and I would have further ruined someone's morning.

It's easy to love and to give to those we like and those we know well. It really takes no effort at all. After all, our friends and family members are our neighbors. Everyone who isn't you is your neighbor, or at least that is the intent of the quoter. But what about the neighbor who we don't agree with? The neighbor that we think lives a life that is not in accordance to our own values. Do we love them anyway? Do we talk badly about them in front of our children or to others?
These quotes are made because they really are hard. Loving thy neighbor and doing unto others takes us out of the equation. That means to love everyone, I have to consider everyone as important as myself. It takes a lot of self sacrifice and forgiveness. That is what I see that is lacking, in my own life and certainly how I witness the treatment of others. How are you doing with that?

I wish we were a society working towards "doing unto others" but I don't really see that at work. I see this only being conditional to being like-minded rather than just well....doing it. Challenge yourself. Extend forgiveness and a clean slate to that coworker you can't stand. Let someone cut you in line go without getting mad or saying something about it. When you want to tell your spouse about the next door neighbor who has done that thing that drives you nuts one more time, stop. Who is hearing this and what's in it for you to complain about anyway? When your children want to treat others with disrespect, make them stop and say "I'm sorry". Strike up a conversation with someone who is much different than you. You just might learn something and they may learn something from you. You would be amazed how good you will feel when you just let yourself go and put others first.

The Importance of Discipline?

I have always understood that good boundaries with children will help them understand that rules need to be followed, kind of like "good fences make good neighbors". It was my natural and logical understanding that a child couldn't obey rules they didn't know they were there to be followed. Made sense to me. If they know them, they will adhere. Right? Anyone who has endured toddler hood with one of their own knows the answer to that question.

The problem with young children as they mature into little people who start to think for themselves is they start to follow a simple decision making process when they run into a fence, a rule if you will. It is called selective hearing. I have seen this played out several times with my 3 year old, Carli. Being someone who can't stand repeating herself, it amuses me and annoys me to no end when I find myself giving the same instructions at least 3 times before she stops what it is I have asked her not to do. For instance, she loves to take everything out of closets, namely the bathroom. We have been over this bathroom boundary 100 times and yet it does not stop her from doing it again. Did she forget about the "no bathroom" rule? I doubt it. Was she just so overcome by her own compulsions that it didn't occur to her? I hesitate to think that is the case more than she made a decision to do what she wanted over the wishes of her mother. She wanted to "get away with it".

For most of us who do administer some sort of discipline or handing down consequences for actions, we begin to realize this is not a one time thing. Telling your children to get off the arms of your sofa seems to be a regular reminder rather than the obligatory "time out" followed by the steadfast adherence to the "sit right on the sofa" policy. It is tiring, all consuming, frustrating and sometimes seemingly hopeless to discipline. Especially for young children where the discipline for today's infraction is a success and it will subsequently be a dismal failure the next time. I have found myself sometimes wondering if all this is really doing...anything at all. Do the parents who just seem to not really do much in the way of setting boundaries have it better than those of us who are insistent on setting rules and limitations and thus following that up with a consequence? Do "free range children" have it better? Is there more harmony in those homes? I say no. They have dire consequences. They create children who grow up to be adults with no concept of laws, moral code and a sense of doing the right thing. They are the people we meet who are always thinking they are the exception to the rule. You have met them over and over. No accountability, and always shirking responsibility. What makes me so sure? See an example.

Joran Van Der Sloot. Any of us who were not familiar with his involvement in the Natalee Holloway disappearance are familiar with him now. He is a killer. A callous, unrepentant predator. So far he has been connected to two murders of young women he met in casinos, there could be more. I am not going to recount his ghastly deeds. What I want to dissect is his parents' reactions and his behavior during the investigations he was a person of interest for. I think it sheds a lot of light on how he was raised and what came of him as an adult and the apparent absence of discipline and direction as a child.

Joran was arrested for the disappearance of Natalee Holloway in Aruba 5 years ago. What astonished and infuriated me while watching the news of him was his attitude toward the police, investigators and even the very crime he was charged with. Most people, faced with being charged with a murder they didn't commit would be very scared, anxious and completely willing to comply...unless they had something to hide. People who are innocent but know something will usually tend to tell something that is as close to the truth as possible, leaving out the information they do not want to share. People need to tell the truth in order to remember pertinent details. Joran not only lied about his whereabouts, Natalee's involvement with him in the wee hours but he changed his story countless times. He enjoyed sending people on a wild goose chase only to find out he was not telling the truth. His reaction? A smile. He enjoyed toying with the investigators. His reaction to them was one of dimissal. It gave his ego a great boost to frustrate the people in authority over this situation. He was letting them know he was in control. He saw them as below his level of intelligence. He has had a lot of practice with this. You don't come about this type of behavior, at this level over night. He was too confident in what he was doing. He more or less did the same thing with the investigators in Peru but his charade didn't last long and he soon unraveled. Why? Something was missing. The key piece of his game was no longer there. His father.

During the Aruban murder investigation, Mr. Van Der Sloot was right there. He, at first, appeared to be the kind of dad anyone would want, to be there come what may for their child. To see my point in how Joran got to where he is today, you need to look further. Joran's father did a lot for him in those coming months. He was tireless in helping the world see that his son was innocent. Who wouldn't, right? I'd spend every last dime I had and probably not sleep if Carli were in a situation where she seemed to be the sacrificial lamb for a terrible crime that had been committed...if she were innocent. Mr. Van Der Sloot did something else. He tried to work the system to get his son exonerated. He threw money at it, he used his political clout in Aruba, he hired the best lawyers, his own investigators, but he wasn't really trying to prove Joran's innocence. He was trying to get him out of the trouble he was in. There is a big difference. You see, Joran knew that is exactly what his father would do. He had a lot of confidence in that. Why? Because Daddy had done that before, many times I would surmise. He didn't for one second, question whether or not someone would help him. He knew whom he could count on....only now his father is dead. The Peruvian government is not anything that anyone he knows can circumvent, no one is throwing money at this, no one is in front of a camera, tearfully pleading on his behalf. In fact, at the time of this writing, I don't believe his mother has been to Peru nor has he spoken of her. Interesting...the Joran of today is afraid for his life, scared and left on his own. That must be terrifying if you've never had to live out the consequences of your actions before, especially as an adult having to do this for the first time.
The relationship with Joran and his parents, his coming to know how they would react came from a long history in his upbringing. These behavior patterns start very early. I can clearly see how this all started in the Van Der Sloot home. I see how this can start as I observe children interacting with other children at the playground and their parents' reactions to their behavior toward others. The culprit? Passive Permissiveness.

Passive Permissiveness is easy. I find myself contemplating it often, to be honest. I am tired, I am often sick of saying 'no'. I even try to count in my mind how many times I've told Carli that word in a given day. I think it is the most commonly used word I have uttered as of late other than the word 'yes' when I hear the name, Mom, coming from my daughter. I can hear the name Mom at least 50 times before lunch, I swear. Point being, maintaining order is a great task when it comes to our children's behavior. Sometimes, it is easy to just overlook an infraction because you just can't "go there" one more time. Passive Permissiveness is an easy pattern to fall into because it's easy. What's the harm, right? Well, easy patterns are of course easy to fall into, especially when working parents come home from a long day at the office. You had meetings that ran late, your boss was unhappy with your report, coworkers and employees misbehaving. The last thing you want to do, over dinner, when sitting down for some peace and quiet is to have to dole out instructions for something you have told your children not to do for the one millionth time! I understand it all perfectly, I was there. I came home one night after a long day. My then toddler wanted to play with the salt shaker. I had told her countless times not to play with it. I always took it away from her when she did. This time I handed it to her to keep her quiet. I just wanted to be left alone. I knew what I was doing but I didn't care. It became very hard to train her not to reach for and play with the salt and pepper at the table after that. In later, similar situations involving condiments for entertainment at the table it became a battle of wits and tempers with her when I said no. Why? Because she had learned in certain situations I would relent and she wanted to find out how to make that happen again.

Does it really matter? I would submit, it does. Not keeping our children in check and holding them accountable creates grave behavior patterns that cannot be reversed over time, either by them or by you. Not holding children accountable means you are going to try to make situations go away, like trying to explain to a teacher why your child's report isn't done on time. What is the harm in that, really? Your child doesn't understand that when you don't do what you need to do on time, you get an "F" and you teach them that it is okay to lie and get around rules if given a set of circumstances. Do you really want to model behavior that you would usually punish them for? It's so easy to spackle over things rather than deal with them but over the long haul, both you and your children will pay for it. Joran's parents never intended to create a monster. Little chips in the mortar, one at a time, over the years make the brick wall crumble.

The Ugly Dream

Last night I had a nightmare. I don’t often remember my dreams, never mind have nightmares. It woke me up out of my sleep at a little after 4AM. Struggling to go back to bed, I couldn’t help but analyze what it meant. It was a very graphic dream, in many way revolting and repugnant but the analysis proved worthwhile even if I lost some sleep.

The dream started off at night. I was out with some friends at a rock club seeing a band play. Not real friends, dream friends. The kind where you are best friends in the dream and you wake up realizing you have no idea who they are in real life. It was very dark, kind of Goth-like. We decided to leave the club and walk around the city. That brought us to a subway. We descended the stairs onto a dank subway platform. The walls were streamed with condensation and the lights were dim. Grime lightly coated the walls from floor to ceiling. There was no one there, just me and my dream friends. We decided to jump from the platform onto the tracks. We started walking away from the subway station toward the black tunnel of the underground subway system. Surprisingly, I was not afraid. It felt exhilarating. Into the dark we went. We found a dimly lit hallway to the left of the tunnel. As in most dreams, suddenly my crew of friends disappeared and I went into the hallway by myself, curious by the noise I heard down the corridor.

Wide-eyed, I walked toward the noise. I realized as I was walking that the walls had turned to dirt. Everything was dirt. The sides, the ceiling, the floor, all dirt. As if someone had just started digging and made this hallway. The scene never changed. The entire cavern was dirt and it was lit by construction lights all the way through. The noise was getting louder. I started passing people. At first they looked disturbed and possibly homeless. Not unusual I thought for a makeshift hideaway in a subway system. I kept walking, a little on guard but still eager to see what lie ahead.

What I encountered as I came to a room at the end of the hallway was, to say the least, unnerving. There were people everywhere in this large dirt room. In fact, the hallway wasn’t really a hallway but a passage way to an integrated system of hallways and rooms. I looked around the room at people in varying degrees of decay and death. Some grotesquely injured, eyeless, horribly wounded but they were still living. I know this as they were all talking but I couldn’t make out what they were saying over the collective noise they were making. It looked like a battle scene after a bomb explosion. I kept walking onward down the hallway. The corridor system only went one direction, downward. It got darker and dirtier as I went. Dust hung in the air and I somehow lost my shoes. Barefoot, I went on trying to avoid decaying people, blood and human excrement. I was horrified by what I was witnessing but I needed to see what lie ahead. It was like a bad car accident, you want to look away but you can’t.

As I walked on the hallways got narrower and darker. The construction lights were farther and farther apart and it was hard to see. The rooms got more and more crowded with people. This time they were not decaying, they were angry. Posters and defaced pictures of families hung on the walls. The posters were scrawled with accusations and profanity, hastily written and fastened to the dirt walls. The pictures of happy families had similar writing on them and images written over the faces. The people were yelling at me, pleading their case for why they were there. Their behavior was disturbing, they chaotically ran about, yelling, trying to be heard and pointing to the posters and pictures for me to see. I was trying to read them, to take it in and hear their complaints but my mind was rushing about. The hallways and rooms were so small, it was hot and I was starting to panic. My head turned right and I saw a teenage boy, hair black as pitch and dirty trying to play a broken black electric guitar.

My mind slowed down and I came to. I had to get out of there, a girl was yelling at me as I turned around and started running. I had to find my way back. The people and the very walls of the caves were telling me that I couldn’t get out. There was no way but I didn’t listen. As I found hidden stairways, I went up. I knew if I went down, going up would get me out. I was desperate to find my way back to the city streets. As I found stairs, I used them, ignoring the voices that told me I couldn’t leave. Desperate to be spared I cried out to God, “Lord, please save me! Please get me out of here!” My last staircase brought me to a train station but I was not on the platform, I was in a baggage room and I had to squeeze through a tiny door where your luggage comes out to be free. It didn’t look like I’d fit but I was desperate to try. I was not alone others had found their way out and they were getting through. I scrambled to the doorway and stuck my head in. It was a struggle but I made it. The next thing I knew, I was in a courtyard of an outdoor shopping center. It was filled with tourists on cruises who had ported for the morning. They were all walking around discussing how great their vacations were going with one another. I walked up to a vendor selling wind chimes and bought a gigantic wind chime made out of kitchen utensils and pot lids. (Okay, this is a dream don’t forget) I took the wind chime and started walking home, barefoot and dirty, toward my parents house. I was anxious that they would be worried as it was now 8AM in the dream and I had been gone all night without so much as a phone call.

I woke up feeling unsettled. What could all that mean? I was so glad that I was able to get out in my dream. Most dreams like that involve running in circles and into dead ends until you awake with a start but in this one, I saw it out to completion. I was saved by God. He showed me the way out. I lay in bed, eyes open, wondering where all this came from. The decaying, disfigured people, the posters and pictures, the shouting. What did it all mean? I started to drift off again when my mind began sifting through the images like a shoe box of postcards. I saw what was there and I heard what the people were saying. They were grief-stricken by their lives. The accusations on the posters were about them and what they thought their loved ones had done to cause them such pain. The defaced pictures were their families, and the writing and the images on them was a constant reminder to the people in the caves that the smiling faces of well put together families, to them, was a lie. The injuries and decay I saw was the outward manifestation of how the dying people felt on the inside. The cave was their hell, their entrapment in their pain. There was a way out but they didn’t know it was there. They never bothered to find it. They had resigned themselves to the dark, dirty cave. They sealed their fate in their own mind. Prisoner to their grief.

That really is just it. So many people do this. I see them every day. They create internal, mental “hells” for themselves and almost subconsciously imprison themselves. As they stay in it, they get worse, never better. Downward they go, angrier and sadder they get. Unable to understand, there is a way out.

Grief comes in all forms. Deaths of loved ones, lost relationships, dysfunctional families, innocence of childhood lost, all kinds of grief. It is as simple as people mourning something they can’t have back or fixed. I found the way out in my dream and in my life. I cried out and asked God for help.

I find myself in the barrenness. Hot, solitary, looking for rest. One foot, the other. The sand scorching with every step. No matter what direction I look, it all looks the same. No view is different. I lose my sense of balance and orientation. I keep walking, where is the end? It will be a long walk. I prepare my mind. I sit down and ponder. If it's all the same, what direction is one better than the next? Out of the darkness of night it comes. I am walking, I can see it. At first it doesn't seem real. I look, take it in and smile. If it is real, just a drink. I can't stay long. I sip, pour it over my body and feel it run. Every line and corner it finds. Cooling, comforting. Another sip and then I must go.

I need to find the way out of this vast emptiness.The water, it feels so good! I take more in. Another splash to my parched face. A trickle down my neck, it finds my heart and seeps in. The refreshing is almost too much. Surely I will awake tomorrow and find it gone. If it will be gone, should I dive in? It looks so peaceful. To feel the water surround me, saturating, taking the heat and the sting of sun away. What will happen when I have to go? Walk on and find a way out of this desert? Walk on to find the end or is the end, the way out through the water? Oasis or new life?

Without thinking, I sit down at the water's edge. The moon's reflection ripples with the wind. Dazed by it's beauty, I put my feet in. The water feels better than I hoped. I"ll walk in just a little I think. It feels as though the water and I become one with each step forward. I want to lower myself in but I wonder, what is beneath the surface? I can't see the bottom. Should I turn back? Get out while I still can? I think it's not too late but I can't move. I need the water. Frozen still, I stand. Contemplating a dive, I try to weigh the outcomes. The hot breeze and walking on or a swim in a beautiful pool of water in the middle of all this nothingness. In mid thought, I dive in. I plunge beneath and almost inhale. The cool tingle of the heat leaving my skin and a long exhale under the water. I don't want to surface.

Why I Hate Norman Rockwell

For the second time in one weekend I found myself in maternal bliss, fawning over my beautiful daughter and being mesmerized by her smile. Not just any smile but a grin so big that it takes up her whole face. She was having a great time. I love those moments. They are the memories that you want to capture in a thousand pictures and the feelings you have that say "this is why I became a mother".

The first time was at the Miami Children's Museum. We took a long ride up to Miami from The Keys of Florida on Friday afternoon. She did beautifully in her car seat in the back. She watched her DVDs, chirped questions to me as I drove and in no time we had made our 3 hour journey. We checked into the hotel and Carli was thrilled to press the buttons on the elevator and see our room. She ran around the hotel room very excited about her "Special New Building House". I told her we were going to the Children's Museum in the morning and that they had big toys that we could play with. She was over the moon. So over the moon that she didn't go to bed until 9:45 PM and woke up at a startling 5:30 AM. I tried to talk her into going back to sleep and gave up at 6. I knew that without enough sleep her mood could go either way. We got to the museum and she was so happy to play in their playground on the swings until it opened. As soon as 10 AM came we scurried in the front door. Paying our fare we started in. She was in heaven and I was snapping pictures as fast as I could and as long as she could sit still. A Norman Rockwell moment, we were playing and talking like we were a harmony in a song. Maternal bliss.

As we were winding down our tour Carli wanted to take pictures in the instant photo booth. I am not sure what happened between paying for the pictures and sitting down but my special little angel turned into a fire breathing meltdown of a dragon. Thankfully her screaming in the booth looked like smiles in the photos and my toothy grin was actually a grimace trying to hold my flailing dragon still during the photo op. I waited impatiently for the photos as she was crying and screaming that they were hers and she wanted them. I gave her half and kept my half which made her shrill so loud you'd have thought I slapped her across the face. I grabbed my little monster by the wrist and told her we were going home. This seemed to jar the tantrum loose but by then I was done. We left 5 minutes later and she cried and whined aside from a brief 45 minute nap in the car, all the way home. I parked my car in front of my landlord sitting on her porch while I practically dragged my over tired, crying, screaming dragon up to the apartment so I could quickly get her bathed and to bed. What a day. How did that Norman Rockwell picture look again?

Today was going to be a good day. It is my late husband's birthday and I wanted to keep things upbeat. Church started earlier than usual for us because I wanted to go to bible study. A new and dear friend was teaching and she had text messaged me about coming. I hurried into the shower with my little buddy close on my heels as usual. I scarcely shower by myself any more. Not that I mind, at least I know where she is and what she is into! I ran some shampoo through her hair, a little soap, shaved my legs and we were off. The class was wonderful, service was great. I picked up a beaming Carli at Sunday school and we went off to the grocery store, which is our favorite errand to do together. Next we planned to make sugar cookies. Carli had been nagging me to make them with her since she keeps seeing this recurring commercial of a little girl making cookies with her mom. Why not? This will be great! Some of my fondest memories of my mom and me are baking in the kitchen. We made pretzels once together with my little brother. It took a while but we had a great time doing it and it seems that baked goods are always better with a little extra love in them from your mom. I ferreted out all the necessary cookie supplies and started off creaming butter and sugar. I was explaining everything as I went. Next was mixing the dry ingredients. I gave Carli the cup of flour and told her to pour it in the bowl. The first cup went great but the second cup went everywhere when I took too long handing her the cup and she jerked it out of my hand. I cleaned it up, handed her another one and decided this would be a great lesson in cooperation and working as a team. That went right by her as by now we were rolling out dough and cutting out cookies when she yelled at me for cutting one without her. I sternly informed her that if she couldn't cooperate, she'd be done helping mom make cookies. Next were the sprinkles. I told her she could put the sprinkles on the cookies. Multi-colored sprinkles like you would put on ice cream. She was very excited to be the "Sprinkle Girl". The first sheet went well. There were more sprinkles on some and not on others but mom quickly fixed that. I can't help it, I have Monk-like OCD sometimes. Everything has to match and be level and symmetrical. I am trying to let that go, but I digress. The second sheet happened so fast I had no time to react. I put the second sheet down in front of the Sprinkle Girl and she took the top of the sprinkles off and dumped them on the first cookie. Sprinkles rained everywhere from the jar. I grabbed the container from her and tried to pick up sprinkles and evenly distribute them to the other cookies, never mind what was on the floor and counter. A terrible thought shot across the bow of my thinking. Without warning the statement "she ruins everything" came to mind. I thought of her lack of cooperation during cookie time and the meltdown and car ride home yesterday. I stopped myself mid-thought. Why would I think that? She doesn't "ruin everything" she is 3 years old, a baby still. She is just doing what people her age do. Then I got to thinking, what was it about her behavior that caused me to think like this? It was my ideal that unfortunately a lot of us try to live up to. These picture-perfect, June Cleaver moments where everything is pristine, wholesome and good. No one acts up, spills anything or has meltdowns because they are over tired. In the Norman Rockwell paintings everyone is exactly the way perfect would be. Lovingly looking at each other, happy. A captured time forever framed in glass in a gallery. Wouldn't life be wonderful it were just like that? A frozen perfect moment on a canvas that everyone could look up to and say "why can't my life be just as it is in this picture?" Because it isn't. Life is full of bumps, crying, and unexpected things. Tired kids, traffic, that appointment you forgot about until just now, that bill you forgot to pay happens to everyone. No one in a Norman Rockwell painting has these problems because one moment is stilled by paint into an ideal for us to admire.

My black -and-white thinking is the bane of my existence. It isn't all bad because one unexpected thing happens. Sometimes it takes an ugly thought to pry open my mind into looking at my own behavior. Carli loved the museum, the hotel and the ride up to Miami. The cookies came out great, she told me they were good and we had a lovely dinner after we baked them. Near-perfect, precious time spent with my daughter and a splash of life thrown in. Just like it is supposed to be. I hate Norman Rockwell.