Category Archives: Observations

Get the BLA’s

I went to the mall the other day. In one of the junctions there is a Starbucks kiosk with umbrella-ed tables (indoors which I thought odd) on the backside four seats per table. As I passed by, I saw an older woman sitting with her husband. She was wearing white pants that had china blue floral print on them, a blue button up shirt, navy sandals, and white pearl jewelry. He was wearing a blue plaid shirt and khaki pants with sensible brown shoes.

“Your pants are fabulous!” I commented to her.

“What?” She asked while leaning forward to engage in conversation with me and my friend.

“Your pants. They look like they belong on a tea pot. I really like them.”

“Oh yes. I think I got them,” She looked at her husband searching for the answer. “at Kohl’s. I think I gave $13 dollars for them.”

“No kidding? I just really liked them. Your outfit is very well done. I admire good style when I see it.” I smiled at her. “And your outfit fits nicely with hers too.” I comment, including her husband in the mix.

“After 55 years of marriage, it’s kind of a given.” Despite our gasps of appreciation and admiration, he continued. “She has better taste than I do. What she buys, I wear.”

“Oh stop! He hates shopping. That’s the only reason I buy the clothes.” She chuckled and ribbed him with her elbow to the amusement of my friend and I.

My friend struck up a conversation about long term relationships with the woman while I stood rather awkwardly. I stepped over to be a bit closer to the husband.

“Fifty-five years? That’s pretty impressive.” I said.

“You know what I learned?” He waited. I realized he expected a response.

“What did you learn?”

“I worked my whole life. I spent weeks away from home making a living for my wife and family. I completely forgot to live my life. And now I’m old and I don’t know who she is other than I married her.”

I panicked. Had his wife heard that? (No, she had not.) Had anyone else heard that? (Apparently, just me.) I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to say so I nodded my head as if I understood. It was a bubble that only he and I belonged in at that moment.

“If I had to do it all over again, I’d have vacationed more and learned more about her. Now I just follow her around because she knows how to live better than I do. I’ll probably die before her and I know she’ll just keep on living.” He said with a sense of regret and remorse in his voice.

At the table next to theirs, a younger man, college-aged maybe, paid attention just long enough for the bubble to burst and then we were being drawn back into the wife’s conversation with my friend. With a pat of hands and a parting smiling wave, we left the couple sitting in the mall and carried about our shopping.

There are conversations we have with a variety of people in a variety of situations on a myriad of topics, but every once in a while there is a message given by something…bigger than us. It’s so powerful that it can take weeks to chew about and identify the flavors. They are never without the spice of truth seasoning the breath of omen.

Breathe. I hear it. Breathe. Live. Breathe. Act. Breathe.

I work in a factory right now. It’s a means to an end. I like the people I work with, the work is not difficult, the hours are long, but I know this isn’t my way of life. This is how I can support my family while working towards living my life. But I see the people I work with accepting this as if it were their only fate. Others are exactly where they belong and want to be without questioning whether there is more to life or not. It baffles me why they never ask the questions I do. Is there more? Is there a meaning to what we’re doing?

Live your life right now. Could you heed his warning? Right now, could you just begin living or would you have to figure out how to do that like he seemed baffled about learning how to do? Could you take a deep breath and jump into the pool of understanding that your destiny may not be where you currently find yourself? I have and I could, but I wonder just how many others couldn’t do that because they have no idea how deep the water actually is in the Life End of the gene pool.

Breathe. I hear it. The steady inhale/exhale that is necessary that so many take for granted until they can’t any more. There are more ways than one to quit breathing life.

I’ve seen people who have negative thing after negative thing happen to them in constant battering waves of despair against their psyche. They do not seem to realize that it is life attempting to guide them towards another direction. They just keep plodding along, heading the wrong way and wondering why everything seems so dark. If you find yourself walking on this path or feel like you are, what is it you’re missing? Are you following your destiny or plodding along? Are you working for a living or are you living? Breathe. Listen. Act.

Who you are and what you’re supposed to be doing has been whispered into your soul all your life. Heed the wisdom of your own knowledge. Embrace the path that’s destined to be yours. Believe that with the changes you’re making, things will get better. If you feel yourself wanting to make a right turn because that’s how you’d normally go, turn left. If you find yourself wondering if you should still be in this relationship, you probably shouldn’t be. Whatever questions you’re posing, if you’re unhappy, truly unhappy, with whatever is going on in your life, change. Take YOUR life by the reigns and guide it instead of reacting to circumstances that you probably created for yourself. Act.

You don’t need the drama to remember that life is now. You need to be able to actually live it. Get rid of the negative that surrounds your thoughts, your relationships. And you say, “I can’t do that because…” then you’ve already lost. Don’t be afraid. You already know what you’re supposed to do. One step to the right and you’re moving a different direction.

I’ve heard it said that life begins just outside of your comfort zone and have tried it enough times to realize that it is indeed. Live. Step a bit to the right of where your path would normally go and discover something new that you’d not noticed. Take a different route home from work. Try a new restaurant that you’ve been meaning to. Today is some day. Some day is today. Right now is your chance to live.

I’ve seen people with brilliant minds come into a place where they seem to accept that this is life. It’s not that they don’t know there is more out there, they just give up fighting for it. They resign themselves to the mundane.

There is something to be said about stability. I know, for example, that I can depend on myself for at least a chuckle during the day no matter how badly the day goes. I know that when I see my husband, I feel better and have come to depend on his just being around me. But when those things become taken for granted. When these events are just how things are without change or fluctuation other than minor differences, I feel like I’m missing out on something big, don’t you?

One step to the right and the perspective changes. Bringing flowers home instead of the empty lunch bucket makes a difference. Sending a random message to a loved one to remind them that you’re thinking of them makes a difference. Writing an article to remind others to act is making a difference. Whatever you do, do something. Don’t just talk about it, do.

Breathe. Live. Act. It’s just one step to the right to change the direction.

Invisible Divinity

curtains

“Even with all my loud, I can feel invisible. When that happens, my first immediate thought is, “OH NO! Everyone hates me. There must be something wrong with me.” Then I remember, I’m my biggest fan and sometimes I’m an audience of one. And when I still feel insecure, I give myself a round of applause like the lone clapper in a movie and for some reason, the angels agree and begin to clap along and I remember I’m loved, worthy, cherished, and beautiful. Coincidentally, just like you.”

It is no secret that I’m bawdy, opinionated, loud, and if I were born in the 1800’s I probably would have worked in, if not run, a house of ill-repute simply because wild people are fun people most of the time. But I also know from personal experience that loud people, funny people, brave people are usually born through the anvil and hammer; Cleansed in the fires of abuse and neglect.

It is my understanding that we are all Divine creations. Every one of us. Every aspect of God is in every face, breath, and life everywhere. When there are abuses suffered a soul that cause so much damage that it strips the Divinity down to the gnawed bone, there are still bones. There is still a skeleton on which to reattach the courage. The femur can meet once again with the pelvis with the first steps towards healing which can be as easy or as complex as the sufferer requires.

Before I’d reached a point of realization, I was still loud and bawdy but I was also incredibly self-destructive. I tried my darndest to erase the gifts I was born to use. I fought against destiny to the point of estranging myself from all of those I loved because I wasn’t loveable. At least, I didn’t act like it nor did I feel worthy of that love. But, as with everything meant to be okay, I woke up and understood after many years.

I’m not saying that I sat bolt upright in bed exclaiming myself healed. I had to finish off the sinew of shame, bite through the tendons of guilt, and shred the reluctance towards abundance. There had to be nothing left, rock bottom some call it, before I could try on new muscles with ancient memories. It’s how I got so comfortable in my God-sized skin, I grew into myself.

Each step on my path to self-discovery has been another step closer to embracing the love and light I was born to share with the world. Your gift may be as a financial whiz, or a teacher of basketball, or as a nature enthusiast, all or none or more. Whatever your gift is, it’s there waiting for you to pursue it full force with the passion it deserves. Don’t be afraid. It will be okay. You’ll be fine. Grow the necessary muscles to rebirth the parts of yourself that you remember as your favorite parts because those, old friend, are righteous. Expect there to be growing pains as the comfort levels stretch to accommodate your full beauty. It can get quite uncomfortable, but with each new muscle firmly established, the power you can offer is astounding. Those places are where your soul calls you. Heed them.

The cool part about being a manifestation of the Divinity, realizing it, rebuilding yourself, is that you get to choose what you keep and what you discard. If you don’t like it, you can reject it, save it for later, or implement it immediately. If it doesn’t work out, then that’s not the right fit. That’s okay. A guest speaker at my church said, roughly, that we’re so afraid of imperfection that we have other people around just in case WE make a mistake. He was right. We’re supposed to be without flaws if we’re Divine creations, right? We’re supposed to be perfect, right? The only thing we’re supposed to be perfect at being is who we were born to be using the gifts we’ve been given. Everything you need is right now.

So what does that have to do with feeling invisible even when I’m loud to the outside world? That’s when I normally forget that, looking back from the mirror, I AM that divinity. I owe myself a round of applause for remembering I’m loved, just like you owe yourself the gentle reminder. When I fall into the doubtfuls and the I-can’t-do-this traps, I remember to bow and try again. You, like me, can achieve what you need to do. Your Divinity, my dear friend, is precisely who I look forward to meeting so that I can join in the applause with you.

The Morning Drive

When the murky morning fog come shifting through the mists
The light devours the shadows in stunted slickery lisps
When the streetlamps and the stoplights paint impressionistic on rainy roads
The ozone stenches the oxygen with lowered transportation modes
When the Doppler whizzes past me through the lowered window of mine
The colors surprised to appear on the vehicles from out of shadows blind
When I slow to prepare a turn at the corner to accelerate to speed
The faithful runners slap the asphalt path with faithful runner’s feet.
And I drive through the rising sun to not see the break of day
Except when the working whistle blows and I’ll reverse my way.

Women’s Immortality

HeLa: The Immortal Henrietta Lacks (1920-1951)

HeLa: The Immortal Henrietta Lacks (1920-1951)

Where are the women who are unafraid to be the equal of men? To stand as their creators? To be burdened with their mortality? For we, as women, as mothers, are immortal. We have been granted a power that all humans must acknowledge, particularly the men who use oppression and tyranny to impose their version of self-righteous piety while pillaging villages, pockets, and people who birthed them.

We were blushed into passivity through vile and violent means. Our voices taken by violations against our bodies, against our spirits, against the essence of our glorious contribution. The Patriarchy discounts their birth by denying the truth of their own creation. They refuse to honor, as Maya Angelou sasses, that we dance like we have diamonds at the meeting of our thighs.

We are their creators. We are their equals. We are the Light of the Goddess; the vessels of her beauty in all of her forms with billions of names sprung free from the lips of our tribes, our people, our neighbors and families. We are immortal by the generous fruit we produce in our tree of life. We are the basis for their power, the support for their child-like steps.

They are not cruel and unforgiving of us because we are women, oh no. They know we are without end. They know we last longer than they. Their deaths will come before our own. Their genes become as muddied as their jeans, but the Matriarch will be the crown of their history. They want to hide her away as, according to the Mormon’s beliefs, God does his wife. So sacred is her name, or so I’ve been told, that even God will not speak her name to anyone else for fear they would desecrate that which he loves above all others. He holds her sacred, not as a less than in the equation.

My sisters, take heed the power of your name as the Matriarchs of ancient history have spoken. You are the power of the Universe embodied in physical form, freed of your heritage, embraced by your sister-kin, released from the shackles of Patriarchy if we choose to leave in unison.

We are not meek and mild. We are fierce and protective. We have allowed ourselves to become divided into separate distinctions instead of unified. We have been torn down to be seen only as ornaments, only as decorations, only as status symbols but not valued for our true selves. Our strength, our courage, our power, our voice, our very being is to be embraced, celebrated, lifted up in the arms of our sisters standing proudly by our sides.

We are the Alpha and the Omega of their mortality. We are the embodiment of The Goddess.

Dude, your pants are too small

On white people it's called plumber's crack

On white people it’s called plumber’s crack

If a white man had not done it, there would be no attention to it. It was fine and dandy when it was just “those” people. It wasn’t an issue either when it was with “those” people, weed and the old west gunslingers with AK-47’s. Eminem said, he wasn’t wrong, that it wasn’t a problem until it hit middle America in reference to the epidemic of drugs, but add in a tiny addition that includes fashion trends, particularly I’m referring to sagging.

Although I do not personally wear it and I’m not fond of how it looks, that’s a petty thing to pass a law against like they did in the backwards one horse town of Pikeville, TN. What a waste of time, taxpayer’s dollars, and a reversion to the 1950’s ideals of what “those” people are allowed to wear, be, do, and where “those” people are allowed to roam (but not after dark).

This is not difficult. If you’re going to get all outraged and up at arms, why not try being upset that your neighbor is without food? Or a job? Or comfort? Why not be upset about abuse, rape, people with drug addiction, homelessness? What? Oh. Those don’t affect you directly, so we can ignore that. Besides, “those” people need to be kept in their place, bless their hearts. Nobody taught them manners or propriety because we all know that’s our job as the good KKKrischins we are.

Walk down the street nearly anywhere and suddenly the biggest problem you have is someone’s clothing? Not the Veteran on the sidewalk with a cardboard sign that dives for cover any time a car backfires? Not the woman with her children huddled next to her on a park bench where they clearly live? Not the neighbor who sits alone without company because nobody visits?

What in HELL is wrong with you? Pull that plank from your eye. Use your eyes to see a problem. Use your mind to find the solution. Use your hands in the name of your God to improve the world. I’m not claiming to be perfect. I’m not claiming to be better than anyone else. I want that clear. I’m not throwing any stones. I’m holding up a mirror.

P.S. Although I’m using the term “those” people, I do not wish to have this taken out of the context it is intended. This is meant as a mirror towards people who think skin color is something to use a divider between who can and who can’t do something.

Lumpy Bumpy boob job?

We all look the same on the inside, ladies.

We all look the same on the inside, ladies.

Tonight I went to the gas station to get an energy drink for the morning. On the counter was a large baby bottle with the words, “Help Jenna get a BOOB job” in glittery stickers. It was for the girl behind the counter. This young woman has the most sparkling eyes, kind spirit, and white straight teeth that light up her face when she smiles. I’ve not heard her ever say an unkind word to even the jerks that come into that place regularly.

When the store was clear, I asked her why she wanted a boob job.

“Well I kind of want it, my boobs are too small. And my boyfriend wants bigger boobs.” she said with a shy smile.

“What’s the matter with your beauty now?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I guess I just don’t see it. It’s a carry over from childhood.”

“You can choose not to buy into that any more, you know that right?” I inquired.

“I don’t know. It just followed me into adulthood.” She said as she waited on the next customer.

When she was done with the customers I stepped back up to the counter. “I do speeches on body image,” I stated to her astonishment. “I don’t understand how you can’t see your beauty.” She actually blushed. I described her kindness, her friendliness, her smile, her compassion, her vibrancy to her. She refused my compliments with a gentle hand set up in front of her.

“So I, and everyone else that compliments you, are liars?” I asked.

“I think so.” She answered me plainly.

“Don’t you think it odd that so many people would tell you the same lie, but you still can’t believe that it’s true?”

“I didn’t think of it that way.” She said while helping someone else. After the customer left, I stepped back up to the counter.

“Your body is just a shell,” I tell her with passion in my voice. “Who you are is not what your boob size is, or what size pants you wear. Beauty is found in the love, compassion, joy, and kindness found within your shell. You are beautiful just the way you are. Nobody can change that about you but yourself. A boob job isn’t going to do what you think it will for your self esteem. If you find love for others, then you must love yourself first. You can’t give someone an empty plate and tell them it’s a steak dinner.” When I realized she was shocked, I stepped back and said that I would see her another time.

What is wrong with women? Seriously? Your body, your temple, your shell, whatever you want to call it, is going to die. It’s not real. The labels of mother, daughter, sister, aunt, friend, cousin…professional anything…those are just titles given when you’ve unlocked a new level (geek speak there). The truth is found within, not on the outside.

Think of it this way, I read a quote that asked the question, “Of all the thoughts that race through your head, who is the one that observes those thoughts?” Who are you really? You are perfectly you. That’s who you are. Love yourself. How? By looking past what you’ve been told or how someone spoke to you you can find the truth in yourself. Everything that has happened to you is your history. It doesn’t have power over you unless you give it power.

I was told that my nose was too wide. I was told I had kind hair; the kind that belonged around a dog’s ass. I was told I was a slut. I was told I was pregnant all the time. I was told I wasn’t worth anything but sex. I was told I was worthless. I was told I wouldn’t grow up to be worth anything. Lessons of my imperfections repeated over and over again. For many years, I bought into that pack of lies. I believed myself to be a bad person. I hated everything about who I saw in the mirror. I began a cycle of self destruction trying to quench my own spirit.

Here’s where the cool part comes in: I woke up one morning and thought, “Mare, this isn’t who you are or how you need to be living your life. You will no longer need anything like that.” And I quit everything, just like that. I just didn’t need it. With the help of a kick ass therapist, I waded through the bullshit pond that had accumulated over my true self. I found the plug, let the water of sins wash down the drain. Then I began cleaning up the mess I’d left behind myself.

Those words I was told so many years ago no longer hold any power. I forgave the people who hurt me with them. Until I see another woman where I was, I don’t even think about them any more. The problem is, I keep seeing women who think that having the perfect nails, tan, car, or whatever is going to bring them the happiness they need. There is nothing in this world that will make you happy but yourself. You are responsible for your own happiness. If you’re not happy, change what you’re doing, get rid of the negative talk in your head by hearing your spirit. How? Just be still. Listen. Let the rest of the garbage flow down the drain. Allow your true self to shine through. Find peace. Find love. Find compassion. Find joy. Revel in your perfection and imperfections that are truly unique to you.

Namaste.

GO LOVE! Stop the Hate

As I’m scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed each day, I noticed an unusually high ratio of hate. Hate Justin Beiber? That’s okay. Hate Westboro Baptist Church? That’s okay. How about Democrats? Republicans? Atheists? Gays? Women? Men? Goldfish? That’s okay too.

I am all about personal freedom. I believe that every person is entitled to their own opinions, beliefs, and ways of doing things. What I don’t understand is why the hate of such ridiculous things? If you want to hate something, what about poverty? Hunger? Rape? Acid Attacks? War? Human Rights Violations?

These are things that should be hated. These are things that should not be tolerated, but we do. We allow it because it isn’t in our own backyard. It’s okay because it isn’t directly affecting most of us, thankfully, on a daily basis.

STOP HATE! GO LOVE!

STOP HATE! GO LOVE!

If you’re reading this, you at least have electricity with pretty good odds you have clean safe water to drink. If you’re reading this, you’re probably not worrying about soldiers breaking into your house, killing the man/men and raping the women. If you’re reading this, odds are you have at least a rudimentary education that taught you how to unlike the millions of children who will never witness these words. If you’re reading this, odds are you’re using some sort of electronics device that cost enough to supply an entire village for an entire year clean water, food, and/or medicine needed for survival.

The generosity shown by the United States when 9/11 happened, when Katrina hit, when, most recently, the tornadoes hit in Oklahoma, is amazing. That’s because it happened where we couldn’t ignore it. We couldn’t walk away because the victims of these tragedies are our neighbors, friends and relatives. They have faces like ours.

Think about this: The people in a remote village in South Africa, in Russian States, in China, in Singapore are someone’s neighbors, friends and relatives too. They have faces, but they don’t look like our well fed American selves. They don’t have the resources we do. They don’t have what we do, but that doesn’t make them any less of a human being.

Hate is such a nasty thing. It takes away from our compassion. It takes away from our kindness. It blurs love into a meaningless statement of favorites instead of being the action it is intended to be. Think about what you dislike. Now think about all the wonderful things we could be doing for each other right now in the name of love. Do not tolerate the abominations against humanity. Find a way to change the hate speak into love speak. It’s the only way the human race, humanity, will survive.

Division will Multiply and Add to our Subtraction

It is my hypothesis that we’ve forgotten our communities. We’ve forgotten, as a whole, that we’re in this together because the lines of division have been drawn between liberal and conservative, African American and White, White and Hispanic, old and young, healthy and sick, poor and rich. We’re told we have no common ground and that it’s every wo/man for themselves. With rare community exception this appears to be the “norm.”

We’ve forgotten our addresses as places to be charitable. We depend on the faceless churches to do what we do not want to do which is know our neighbor and lift them up with loving hands as we know in our hearts is right. We deny it because it’s easier to look away than to look poverty in the eye. We see the problem but rarely solve it because surely someone must be doing something about that already, right? You know, those faceless people that occasionally get a shout out by “DoSomething.org” or “Upworthy” or “Because I said So”.

We don’t have to be human, we just have to do what we’re told. We shouldn’t look at those homeless, starving, unhealthy people because they’re the problem. They’re lazy. They’re alcoholics and addicts. They’re people who deserve what they get because if they’d only tried a little harder, got a better education, given up the booze they would make it in this world. They wouldn’t be littering our streets with their hollow eyes, freezing hands and feet, or spitting blood onto the concrete covered in our garbage they took sustenance from for dinner.

But my further hypothesis of why we commonly look away from instead of towards a solution is that many of us know we’re but a paycheck or two away from the very same fate. Seeing our futures reflected back at us from the eyes of a hungry child is not something we wish to see in our own families. Seeing a homeless Veteran sitting on the sidewalk with a cardboard sign is not how we want to believe we treat our soldiers. Seeing a woman angry at her dire circumstance allows us the right to look away so we don’t have to see what we may become should the fates not smile on us anymore.

I have been working in my own community to establish a garden where the people I live next door to and across the street from can work elbow to elbow with me to create sustainable food for our families despite circumstance. It is my belief that if we work together we can make a difference in our lives. But sadly, there is little hope here. Without a torch to light the way, without strong voices calling them out to join the fray, we will remain in the darkness of poverty, starvation, homelessness, and the stigmas that are attached to those solvable issues.

FOSTER: “Y’all just get my compassion thing a throbbin’ but you forgot the one thing that drives EVERYTHING in America, MoNeY! God love you for your innocence but if already rich old white men can’t get richer it ain’t gonna fly.”
•
CHAPIN: “Need way more people like u around”
•
ERRETT: “You should write a book Mare… Excellent writer”
•
BAKER:

Lilo & Stitch – This is My Family.
•
MARTELL: “CHAPIN, the thing is, we’re all these people. We just need to do the right thing. You’d not let your own child starve, why someone else’s offspring. We all bleed red. We’re all one.

FOSTER, you can’t eat money, you can’t house someone in coins.”
•
FOSTER: “Oh I couldn’t agree more, I’m just saying the prevailing feeling amongst the right wing is “I don’t care about a bunch of brown kids” “lazy old vet should get a job” “I got mine, why should I care about you” it is a shame money becomes an issue when the subject is basic human dignity but to so many it is.”
•
MARTELL: “There are 535 members of Congress. There are 317 million Americans. Allowing this to continue is an abomination to humanity. We the People of the United States, not who has the most money. If we stood united and refused to allow people to destroy our unity and humanity, we, ALL of us, could make the changes necessary without violence, without anger, without hatred, but with love. Love won’t feed a child, that’s fact, but the hands that make that food with love can.”
•
FOSTER: “From your mouth to God’s ears my good friend. I am not cynical just resigned to the level of cruelty that about half the people in this country are capable of. You can find them every Sunday morning in pews across the country, right next to the ones who would wish things were different.”
•
MARTELL: “Wishing doesn’t solve anything. Waiting for someone else to do it doesn’t solve anything. Claiming good heart while your neighbor loses everything in foreclosure because of family illness or loss of employment doesn’t solve anything. It’s only when we use our hands with love towards one another that we’ll be following any common sense. If it happens to one of us, it can happen to all of us. We need unity back in our community. Without it, we’re no better than those 535 members of Congress, or the VA that allows our soldiers to go without care, or the family services that allows children to go hungry or the department of immigration who destroys innocence because of an imaginary line drawn on paper. This should outrage us. This should piss us off. This should be addressed by We The People because I don’t want to wear the label of executioner of humans. It’s morally wrong.
P.s. I don’t care which religion you follow or don’t follow. This has nothing to do with that. It has everything to do with love.”
•
LOONEY: “Read this entire conversation, I couldn’t say anything better. I’m proud of the spiritual aspect and the integrity that you’ve grown into, my daughter. A wholeheartedly agree that the loss of community is a symptom that plagues us. Families no longer live in the same house or even in the same town/city. Therefore the so called breakdown of the family -IMHO-has as much to do with geography as much as lack of commitment to many things.”

Graphic Language: Safe for Work

After an injury left me unable to walk at will for over a year (first I broke the foot then the nerve grew around the artery), I became a vicariously alive person because I lived on Facebook. It became my window to the outside world. I commonly spent 8-10 hours a day more or less monitoring the lives my friends with greater mobility were experiencing. I watched, commented, thought, read, and digested their lives like a good bowl of popcorn with occasional seeds to be discarded. As time passed, I noticed patterns.

I noticed the trending topics by the shared news stories, quizzes, videos, and other miscellaneous clutter. For clarity, I do visit traditional news sites, but honestly world news is hard to witness without me feeling bad about my first world problems and shame that I find them so important when I’m not on day 15 without food or fresh water.

Doctor Who and the T.A.R.D.I.S.

Doctor Who and the T.A.R.D.I.S.

I check about once a day on the world news and I subscribe to a local news site for more immediate happenings. The patterns, because I’ve been watching for over a year are pretty obvious to me. For example: Normally, if there is a death of a beloved public figure, how long they remain in my feed is usually an indication of how widespread their actions are revered. Maya Angelou stayed in my feed consistently for nearly two weeks before the fervor died down. That dude from the Fast and the Furious…Paul Walker, stayed up for about a day, minus one of my friends who is a dedicated fan of the F&F franchise. Trends, although sometimes disturbing, helped me to gauge topics of conversation when I did get to go out in public.

One of my primary complaints against Facebook are quizzes. Quizzes are popular because most people that take them religiously are usually working on who they are, who they want to be, and in order to do that, they need definitions of their starting point. I won’t sit here and shallowly say that I don’t take those ridiculous quizzes that were probably written by junior high school students (Yes, I’m mocking myself here), but they aren’t psychological evaluations. There is no reason on this earth I need to know what type of cheese I’ve been in a past life according to my aura color that I learned by discovering which animal I was murdered by when I was a fish.

Another strike against Facebook are the graphics (that I also shamelessly share). If I feel they apply, I normally don’t even think about why, I just share. It started me thinking how I really see myself. If I strip away my bravado, my superhero cape, my wild clothing, my humor, and my (I hope it is) clever writing, who am I? How would I be described if I dropped off the face of the earth tomorrow? What will be my legacy?

My Mama says I am

My Mama says I am

I remember in a writing class I took where it was drilled into our heads: Show don’t tell. Over and over I’d get papers handed back to me with red marks screaming that insult at me. I hated that teacher with the keen passion that only a young student can despise said instructor. But those words held far more wisdom that the murdered works of my lame attempts at writing in junior high school.

Those words have become more of a life lesson for me. I can tell you all day long who I want you to see me be. I can wave my fancy feathered fan in front of my naked body allowing you glimpses of who I really am. I could rip off my spiritual bindings while groaning with effort and continued fear that I’ll not be seen as I wish but through someone’s eyes that perhaps doesn’t see me in as kind of a light as I shine on myself.
Show me who you are. Don’t just tell me with cutesy graphics and clever slogans because those are the thoughts of someone else. Using them to describe who you are limits a person to mediocrity, labels, and acceptance of someone else’s beliefs. Quotes help us to understand how things work to some extent but that’s accepting that the author thinks like each of us does. One thought may match but that doesn’t mean it’s the very definition of who you are.

I don’t want to be remembered with someone else’s words on my lips (ironic, isn’t it?) but with my own actions a reflection of my spirit. I do not intentionally set out to change the world, it just happens because my intent is to be like a firefighter, fully engaged in whatever I’m doing. I require blazes of activity to spark up via conversations, actions, laughter, outrage towards injustice, or by committing random acts of kindness (again with the irony!) I want to be remembered as someone who mattered to someone else as much as I matter to me.

Wave it and bring it

Wave it and bring it!

I’d like for someone to make a graphic about me that reads, “Man, if only you’d known her. She was a fireball like none other. She’d crack jokes so fast you’d swear she Googled the answers then turn around and poke your conscience into action regarding a noticed injustice. And even though she gave up a lot, she wasn’t a quitter. She’d fight to the bitter end if she believed in it and without even realizing it, you’d be right there with her not questioning because she was trustworthy in action and word.”

P.S. I just posted another graphic I identify with and just completed a quiz about how bitchy I am. My intentions are good, I swear!

Unexpected actions from injury

Last night I went walking through my neighborhood in an effort to exercise. The night was cool, punctuated by firecrackers and painted with darkness where the streetlights don’t quite reach. The route I’d chosen has a medium grade hill which I wanted to take advantage of so my thighs would tune more to my personal music. I was having a text conversation with my mother-in-law and walking fast enough to hear the groans of protest in my muscles.

When I got to the corner of my street, within eye-shot of my home, my ankle decided to throw me forward onto the asphalt tearing a nickel sized dime deep chunk off my knee, slicing my thumb, and wrenching my back. As I rolled over to sit up, I held my knee and breathed a Peter Griffin for a good while as tears rolled down my face.

A car pulled up in the intersection and two young men asked me if I was okay. Through my tears I explained that I needed to get to my husband. They asked if I could stand. I wasn’t sure since I hadn’t attempted it yet. I was still trying to get my breath. Then they got out of their car and as if approaching an untamed animal they said, “We’re not going to hurt you. We’re just going to help you up.” One on my right side, one on my left, and they lifted me rather easily to standing. A few test steps and I thanked them as they walked back to their car and left.

Other than a nasty gash and a wobbly ankle, I was okay enough to walk to my house and get doctored up by my husband and neighbor. I’m no worse for wear but, in my world, walking and chewing gum are not recommended.

The only thing that really bothered me of all that was their approach of me. They were non-threatening Samaritans reassuring me as I sat in the dark on the street huddled with injury but that they had to even identify themselves as such felt wrong. It felt like they shouldn’t have to introduce themselves as if at a job interview just to help an injured female party.

Yes, I understand why they did it. Yes, I understand society’s rules about approaching another human when you intend to touch them. Yes, I see all of that, but they were reacting appropriately to a fellow human. They weren’t invasive, just cautious. I hate that it were necessary.

I’ve struggled a lot with Love Thy Neighbor on a personal level lately. I’ve written, spoken, and thought less than stellar horrible reviews of where I live. With snipers on my birthday descending on a gun wielding neighbor in the next building and bandy rooster posturing about who is the biggest and strongest among the children and the adults, while adding in a sprinkle of drug addicted/using/dealing people and the imagery is stark.

But.

The young men who stopped to help me get on my feet, my young neighbor who saw me crying and immediately called for his mom to help me, his mom who came jumping over the wall when she saw my injury and her subsequent doctoring, with the assistance of my husband, of my body demonstrates to me that Love Thy Neighbor isn’t just a phrase. It’s a purposeful direction of a human’s attention that creates a supportive network of kind hearts helping one another in times of need.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe there is hope hidden in my neighborhood, I just haven’t unlocked that door yet. I’ll just have to keep trying.