That is what counts...

Todd is a small, compact cat on the outside,

but he's big on the inside.
That is what counts.

Magnificent...

Tall, short

Black, white or brown

Rich, poor

Slim; full figured

Straight, gay

Young, old

We are all magnificent.

It is not your time/you have so much left to do…

A dear friend was recently in a severe automobile accident.  It was so severe that his 20+ year old pickup made of steel was totaled.  When he called me today to inform me of the accident, he said that he was fortunate to not have any broken bones.

We picked up on the topic which we had discussed in the not so distant past. He had stated that although he didn’t truly feel he was invincible, he always managed to escape death, sometimes by a very narrow margin.   

Here’s the thing that struck me about his good fortune in escaping the odds. Simply put, I think that it was not and is not his time.  When an individual sidesteps death on so many occasions, chances are that he/she has life yet to live. In a word, there are experiences yet to be undertaken. 

So I told him, it is not your time/you have so much left to do.

A little discomfort, a little unease...

You gotta make that decision to live outside of the bubble.

You gotta feel a little discomfort, a little unease. 

You'll decide that the bubble in which you lived 
wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

Time is a commodity...

Time is a commodity.

Every day you have less of it, so do what you love.

The life of a single parent/alone again, naturally...

I think we all, as a parent/parents really don’t ever stop wanting to take care of our child/children despite their age. We raise them, doing our best and hope they will launch into healthy, happy adults. We have lived this story ourselves and we know that there will be highs and lows.  That is the nature of life.  Our desire for he/she/they is that there are ultimately more highs than lows.

For me, I have been a single parent for most of my son’s life. His birth father, my first husband, opted out of marriage and of parenthood, quite early on.  I remarried when my son was 5.  He was adopted, and we lived as a normal, nuclear family for 7 years.  Normal and nuclear meaning that we lived in an affluent suburb, in a mini mcmansion and drove the cars we were expected to drive: various Volvos, Infinities and the like. We had trips to Costa Rica (2) whereby we stayed in resorts which Americans typically do.  Several vacations to Florida where we experienced what is Walt Disney World; Universal Studios; Banff, Alberta, Canada where we walked on Athabasca Glacier and drove through the Canadian Rockies—wild and quite beautiful. 

My son enjoyed a cadre of close friends in our neighborhood and his schools.  He played football (even had the opportunity to play in the Dallas Cowboys stadium one Saturday). Lacrosse was his love, however, and he excelled at it.

I say these things not to boast.  I do not mean to exhibit hubris. I am relaying this story to provide a context; a snapshot of my life/my son’s life for this 7-year period.  Suddenly, in my forties, this seemingly perfect life fell apart.  Our 2 family friends in the neighborhood divorced.  We divorced.  When people say that divorce can be amicable, I do not believe this can be the case.  Of course, you attempt to put your child/children first.  You can’t repair the loss though, for yourself and for your kids.

So, my story continues. My son and I once again became a single parent household.  I dated a bit but was quite hesitant to do so.  I wasn’t that bitter divorcee that one reads about in articles attempting to define us.  I realized however, that my son needed me, and I didn’t want to spend time away from him.  During the brief time I did date (a movie, dinner out) I found myself longing to be home with my son. 

The divorce from my second husband was particularly difficult, for my son and I in several ways.  The change in our financial status was particularly difficult.  Equally impactful was how society saw us.  Also, how our cadre of friends who had maintained their marriages saw me; saw my son and me.  Single parent with single son—lonely; a sad story.  Here’s the thing though.  We weren't lonely. Previously there was the chaos and drama in our lives of a husband/father that begin acting out the second year of the marriage/fatherhood.  I think now, he felt the pressure of providing for us and the expectation of having a certain lifestyle.  That (outwardly) perfect family.

Don’t get me wrong.  My son and I had some serious bumps in the road as he entered his teens and I entered my mid-forties.  He skipped school and seemed to vacillate between distance from me and anger towards me.  I experienced the most difficult time in my life.  I lost my father from cancer.  I lost my job as an executive in a non-profit.  We subsequently lost our home which I was able to purchase myself in the same neighborhood so that my son would have less change.  Ultimately, however, and much to my shame (I have since come to peace with it), I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.  It was severe enough that I was hospitalized for 5 days.  I was (fortunately) evaluated for medication and subsequently evened out.

So, here we are in the present. My son is 6 weeks away from obtaining his degree in business administration. It hasn't always been easy, but we've made it. When he graduates we will take a 3-week trip to Portugal and to Southern Spain (Andalusia) with a stint in Morocco. After that my son will join the military. I will miss him, but I realize this is what I should want as a parent. Such is the life of a single parent. Alone again, naturally.

Attention all women...

Attention all women! Love who you are, 
love where you are.

The world is wide open. I have so much yet to see...

This drizzly, foggy day…

I am uncertain as to why I’ve recently had a recurring memory from 28 years ago. Perhaps it is because it is the same time of year; perhaps it is the drizzly, foggy weather. The location, however,  is different. Now I am in McKinney, a mother in her 50's, winding down. Then I was in Galveston, a young woman in her 20's, gearing up and leaning in. 

I was working at UTMB in Galveston which was my first job after completing my master’s degree in Social Work.  I had relocated from Cincinnati to be nearer some family and to launch into my first “real” job.  My parents came to visit for a long weekend. We went to the Port of Galveston to site see. It was foggy and misting slightly so that everything was seen in a bit of a haze. I will never forget what we saw.  There was a flotilla of military vessels pulling out of the port carrying the machinery of war: tanks, hummers and the like.  I suspect they might have been carrying young soldiers as well.

I remember this image as if it was yesterday.  I furtively glanced over at my parents as they stared at this site. My parents and I never did speak of what we witnessed. I can’t imagine my parent’s feelings as my brother was serving in Marine Reconnaissance and had been in the Middle East for some time. 

It is difficult to put into words the feelings I had at that time.  It is 28 years later and there continues to be conflict in the Middle East.  If I were to wager, I would bet that it will still be going on when generations from now. People will stand at that port, watching those ships carrying military equipment and young soldiers across the ocean.  

My son will be entering the military after graduating from college in December.  He will most likely be working in psychological operations or something similar. I am quite certain he will be serving in the Middle East at some point.   I am proud of him for making the decision to serve our country.  I am equally proud of him for making the decision to continue our family legacy by doing so.  Every generation has served in the United States military since the Revolutionary War. This included my father, who served in the Army Air Corps in the Korean War.  He lost most of his hearing in his right ear. I am sure he witnessed things which most of us cannot imagine. Despite this,  I don’t recall him ever talking about what he saw or experienced there.   He was part of that stoic generation; that stoic and silent generation. They didn't discuss those things which were painful or images that may have haunted them. It just wasn't done.

The question is, "Do I support the choice my son is making?" The short answer is "yes".  Quite candidly, however, this would not have been my choice for his future. There is risk with anything a young person chooses to do. But there is risk, much more risk, for a young man who chooses to serve in the military in time of war. Here's the thing: I want to keep my son safe.  Keeping your child safe, no matter their age, is what a mother does. This is not reality though, and I realize it is not what I should do.  I know I cannot allow my fears to interfere with my son's dreams for his future. 

Here's the thing though: I am certain those ships will continue to carry the machinery of war. They will carry young men to fight on the other side of the world. I wander when this happens, will it be on a drizzly, foggy day?

Namaste: The divine in me bows to the divine in you...

 Things yoga has taught me:
Live in the moment

Be mindful/be present

Breathe deeply; breathe fully

Let go of those things which do not serve you.

Namaste: The divine in me bows to the divine in you.

It ends with us...

Talking around things instead of speaking the truth. Not dealing with real issues but talking about anything—the weather, our kids…anything except what needs to be addressed. That elephant is in the room.  It cannot be denied.

These patterns are analogous to walking around a cactus but never reaching out your hand to touch it. The barbs are sharp, and they may cause some bleeding and some pain. We avoid them at all costs. We fear those sharp edges as we know the possibility of a cut will cause us discomfort.

We were raised to be “nice” yet we are so resentful/angry/jealous that these feelings are there, just under the surface. They bubble up and spew out at seemingly unexpected moments.  These verbal expressions  which manifest our emotions, our feelings, are sharp barbs. They are hurtful sound bites.

If confronted with this behavior, they are denied vehemently. That did not happen; that did not occur. This is not what a “nice” person does. These patterns are formed over years in a family. They are like a smooth stone which is familiar in the palm of your hand.  Their smoothness and presence offer comfort.

Difficult, uncomfortable, I do not/I will not feelings are brushed aside.  They are buried deep so that no one (except you) knows they are there. I have decided I am breaking this pattern, at least in my life and in my time.  I am speaking my truth as I see it and and am my staunchest advocate. I choose to support who I am:  here, now and then.

Please know I am not resentful nor angry.  I know,  however, that these deeply ingrained familial patterns are not healthy. They may serve to smooth out a moment, but they ultimately lead to those knots in our stomachs. They are manifested in those sleepless nights. 

I have made the decision.  It ends with us. 

When my maternal grandmother was in her 80's, she told me that the one thing she regretted was not returning to visit the home of her family in Switzerland. She said to travel far and never hesitate to experience life. I do believe she was right.

I miss Anthony Bourdain...

I miss Anthony Bourdain. I miss his wisdom. I miss his sardonic wit. Most of all, I miss his wanderlust; his love of travel. "It seems that the more places I see and experience, the bigger I realize the world to be. The more I become aware of, the more I realize how relatively little I know of it, how many places I have still to go, how much more there is to learn. Maybe that’s enlightenment enough – to know that there is no final resting place of the mind, no moment of smug clarity. Perhaps wisdom, at least for me, means realizing how small I am, and unwise, and how far I have yet to go."

A slight shift...

There was a slight shift in me that day.  At exactly 4:35 p.m., at the age of 54 years and 5 months, it occurred.  This shift was sudden.  I am certain it was imperceptible to others. This shift was slight, akin to a second hand moving swiftly on a clock.  If not focused upon, that second would instantly be gone. Yet it was there.  I know this because a second must pass for time to move forward.   

There was no anger, no resentment at 4:35 pm. on that day. There was, however, a clarity in my decision to draw back and remove myself.  It has been 462 days since doing so. My life, though generally peaceful at the time, has become increasingly so. I can trace, month by month since that shift, an up ticking of movement as the days pass.  

I consider “happy” to be an overused word in our culture's vernacular.  Diluted down so that it has little meaning at all. A substitute for “happy” in describing how I feel now is "peaceful". I am light.  I am buoyant.

On rare occasions, past images flutter through my mind. They can be bitter sweet. When I reflect upon the genesis of these feelings, however, I realize the truth. That the thing which I thought I desired, in the way I had desired it,  had never really existed at all.