February 23, 2013. We're all something special.

So, I know I talk about it a lot, but in a moment last night, I was thinking again about how we all have a common need in our lives to feel worthy, and to feel special.

Movie star sunglasses--stalk me please. 

It came up in a silly way. A friend was apologizing for asking about my Instagram account, because she didn't want to seem like a stalker. Oddly, it occurred to me that there is something reassuring about being stalk-worthy. I think we all want to feel special and important, but we spend most of our time thinking: "hey, would someone just listen to," or "look at me?" Maybe I should feel a little sheepish about it, but I know I feel that way a lot of the time.

It probably seems at least a little narcissistic, but I want to be known and recognized for my value in everything I do. I think most people identify with that feeling. We want to feel like we're either uniquely qualified, or like we have earned a meaningful place.

I'm a little late to the dance, but I recently started watching the HBO series "Enlightened," and while I think Laura Dern's character Amy is a little nuts, I completely identify with her quest for meaning. I identify with the idea that she is suddenly awakened in her life. She suddenly looks at her life and wonders what she's been doing.

I don't necessarily feel good about how she attempts to transform her life, because while she spent two months in a glorified group therapy commune, she is still trying to change external things without really working on herself at all. And she doesn't accept responsibility for her role in reaching this place of despair. She blames it on the company she works for, and a man who humiliated and dumped her.

Sure, the guy she had an affair with is a complete jerk. And yes, the company she works for is unethical, and couldn't care less about the little people. But in the end, her position in life is really about her choices. She made the choices that kept her at the company for 15 years, without reaching her goals. She existed in poor relationships with men and her mother. If not for a mental breakdown, she probably would have been content to blindly follow the same path for the rest of her life.

But, for all of her bad choices, Amy is strangely endearing. She touches that part of my heart that recognizes the desire to feel like we either matter, or that we do something that matters.

Another HBO series recently explored the other side of this coin. In Lena Dunham's "Girls," Hannah has a "few day stand" with a complete stranger. He's recently separated, well off, and has nice things. Hannah fancies herself a writer, and maybe she is, but it's almost as if she throws herself in to dramas and misery for the sake of having experiences that make her seem important or real. In the course of the time she spends with this well off stranger, she realizes that she wants something she hasn't allowed herself want--happiness. She doesn't want to be constantly struggling and poor. In a weird way, she wants to be just like everyone else.

What she doesn't realize is that she doesn't have to be in the gutter to be special. What most of us don't realize is that we don't have to do anything to be special.

I think a lot of us fail to realize that we are special in our own rights, even if nobody else notices. A friend wanted to "stalk" my Instragram photos. It doesn't quite rise to the level of having a published book on someone's shelf (besides my own), but considering how I feel most days lately, I'll take it. 

It's hard sometimes to understand that commitment and time investment don't always translate to the success we hope for, or think we deserve. We don't always get to be special to the great big world. But there are moments in which we are special to someone. And there are moments when we have to really think about what we want, and we have to choose it. We have to choose it above everything else--even if what we want may seem simple and mundane.

Special, Garbage

What are the real 50 ways to leave your lover? February 14, 2013

So, on Valentine's Day, it seems appropriate to think of relationships.

Hopefully today's a day you celebrate a wonderful partnership, with someone who accepts you for who and what you are, and actually would be upset if you were any other way. With some of us, I know that can be a tough sell. If not, I'd like to challenge you to think about the long and short of life, and consider what you need to do to make your partnerships more meaningful, or to find new ones. I know, that's a pretty bold and almost inflammatory statement, but hang in there, I have a point.

When we think of relationships on this Valentine's Day, we're thinking mostly of the ones that garner us flowers, obnoxious balloons, and maybe even a dazzling new rock. But we are involved in many different relationships within our lives that have nothing to do with romantic love, and often times, those relationships have as much or more to do with our contentment and satisfaction in life as the ones we share as part of a couple.

It took me many years to realize that while I have a connection to my mother, having a relationship with her is impossible. I haven't interacted with her in three years. When I made the break with her, it was particularly painful because of the trigger, but in the years that have passed, I have had time and distance to aid me in viewing my relationship with her as it really was. Toxic and harmful.  I now equate the anniversary of this break as many substance abusers do--it's like a chip ceremony. It's one more year that I have not been abusing myself with the toxicity of a relationship that was uneven and in most ways, inappropriate.

I know that most people would argue the importance of forgiveness, and I understand  that in some situations, forgiveness has a place. If I looked at this break with pain and bitterness, I would be able to conceive that my decision not to forgive was causing mutual harm. It's not.

I also know that it's a lofty and narrow view, but I believe that our relationships and partnerships in life should be mutually beneficial. We should receive as much from each other as we give. But sometimes, we get lost in a moment. And sometimes moments last a very long time.

Everyone has heard of the woman who falls in love with a man she cannot have--a man that strings her along with false hope.

I remember in third grade I was madly in love with Gary Dykes. He was in fourth grade and, understandably, he liked fourth and fifth grade girls. They always seemed prettier than I. But I was undaunted. I passed him notes at recess. I chased him on the playground, and I started playing soccer during those recesses because he played. Over my two-year one-sided love affair with Gary, he occasionally talked to me and acted like he might like me too. We were even "going together" for, like, two days. I remember getting a cheap heart charm engraved with his name and putting it on a chain when we were "together." Halfway through our brief "relationship," I caught him flirting with someone else. I was so hurt, I dumped the necklace down the loose back of his jeans while he chatted this other girl up on the swings. I swore we were through. But, then, he apologized. The very next day, he did the same thing. My heart was broken. Again, I swore I was done. But there was just something about him. I couldn't shake him--not even when we were particularly rough with each other during a game of soccer and I fell down, ruining my brand new, cream colored carpenter jeans. And not when he kicked my right thumb so hard I thought it was broken.

Why would anyone be stupid enough to continue with this senseless infatuation? Sadly, he wasn't the last infatuation in my life, and he wasn't the last thing that I fell in love with that let me down.

Many people ask the same question about women in hard-core abusive relationships, in which lives are in danger. And today, we realize that some men find themselves in similarly abusive relationships, either with women, or in the case of abusive same-sex relationships. Currently up for debate is the renewal of the Violence Against Women Act which is intended to protect a broader set of individuals in situations of domestic violence and sexual violence. Legislation like this is needed to give individuals in abusive relationships an ounce of courage when they need it most--the security to know that if they have to run away in the middle of the night, the legal system is supposed to be a help, not a harm to them.

The same mother I broke with, was in an abusive marriage for sixteen years. She believed she had no other choice, and that she would end up on the streets. She never realized that every moment she remained in that marriage was a moment I believed we would all die. I would rather have ended up on the street. These "bad romances" impact everyone and everything around us. The pain she suffered from the bruises, black eyes, and finger prints around her neck were the visible evidence of the hereditary disease of believing she deserved nothing more.

I believe people who find themselves in relationships or partnerships--of any kind--that are abusive or not mutually beneficial do so because they somehow believe they aren't worth anything better, or because there might not be anything else out there for them. This is true of romantic partnerships, friendships, family relationships, and even our relationships with work.

I was fortunate enough not to end up in an abusive marriage, but I still sometimes find myself in the rabbit hole of believing that things that aren't working can't be changed. It's hard to completely break out of that pattern. What we often don't realize is that, while yes, the situation is harmful, we are also harming ourselves. Every moment we fail to hope, we doom ourselves to an endless entanglement of continued and future harm.

Breaking away from relationships that put us in danger, hurt us emotionally, or assist in the diminishing of our self-worth, is easier said than done. Sometimes, it is through these relationships that we have financial stability. Other times we remain in relationships due to family or social obligations. And in many cases, the devil we know seems safer than the devil we haven't met yet.

Every time we are beaten down, lied to, misled or taken advantage of, a piece of us is damaged. The building blocks of our hope and ability to believe in something better are compromised. If this "loving" situation can make us feel so horrible,  imagine what it would be like to take the risk of involving ourselves in something new. And if we aren't even worthy of a mutually beneficial relationship with this person we are so attached to, how could we be strong enough to make it on our own? 

I think the only way to start building the ladder out is to look around for the people and things in our lives that become lifelines. Maybe it's a best friend who offers you help, or tries to remind you that you are worth more on your own than you're allowing yourself to believe or be. It could be a spiritual leader you trust recommending viable resources. In the case of a non-romantic, toxic and harmful relationship, you might turn to a spouse who will sit in a hot tub and let you cry on their shoulder at the end of a hard day.

Maybe you're not brave enough yet. Courage is hard. When you have trouble believing in yourself, learning something new is really hard. The longer you've been in the situation, the more entangled you have become. The answers don't seem easy, and the risk seems much bigger.

I Want to Break Free--Queen

Life Balance: The Silly and Serious Wasted Time, February 8, 2013

So, today is one of my three days off this week.

Sunday, I watched a lot of television and I put a few things in a Smash Book. I'm sure I did a few other mundane things, but I honestly don't remember half of them, and the less mundane things I did are unmentionable.

After a restless Monday night, and tense morning, I was encouraged into a shopping quest Tuesday. Jeph and I have a potentially hot date tonight, and the plan was that I would find something awesome to wear. I fixated on one specific item, and spent about four hours driving all over the city in hopes of securing it. The sad thing--if I'd actually pulled the trigger faster on the store's website, I would have gotten the specific item I wanted without ever leaving the house--it sold out while I hemmed and hawed. Because of my uncertainty, I ended up settling for my third choice, and I didn't really accomplish anything else with my time.

As I sit here today, at nearly 11 a.m., I have bathed the dog and tended to one of her immediate health needs, but have otherwise accomplished nothing else.

I think it's perfectly acceptable to occasionally spend time doing nothing. I think it's even healthy. The problem? While I'm trying to be at rest, my brain is almost never at rest. And that has me thinking. Why do we worry so much about wasted time? And what does that even mean?

I remember during my college days that I was a woman obsessed--obsessed with finishing college and starting life. Time in school felt like a boulder around my neck. Things were never going to start until I could get through this one stage of life.

When I ultimately completed this level of "the game," I was immediately disappointed to figure out that finishing school didn't automatically translate to magically finding the path to the kind of success I sought. At the same time, I was starting a new stage of my personal life with Jeph.

As I looked forward to building a home with him, I picked up little knickknacks and housewares that I imagined we would both care about--things that would be the face of my home. My mom made fun of me. She told me that I was ridiculous for thinking that I could create some kind of fancy and perfect life with Jeph. She was enviously cruel. I was wasting my time dreaming.

I was raised to be focused. I was taught to work hard. I wasn't encouraged to dream big. I believed, and in many ways still do believe in the first two things, but I never bought into the last one. Unfortunately, focus and hard work aren't always enough to make dreams come true. Sometimes, you have to make the right connections with people, and you have to take giant leaps into the unknown. Being raised to focus, and taught to work hard doesn't always help you make connections, or give you courage to take risks.

Most of us feel pressure to "get it together," and pick a path quickly. If you don't have a purpose or a solid career, how are you going to survive? It's a little like "The Hunger Games," if you think about it.

I lost my second job out of college, and my fear of not "having it together" crushed me. I felt compelled to scramble and find my way. And I decided the way I had originally chosen must be wrong, since I had "failed." So, I decided to refocus, and find solid ground to stand on.

John Lennon said "Life is what happens to you when you're busy making other plans." He was a smart man.

When giant things happen in your life, they change you. And I don't just mean emotionally, and sometimes physically. I think they may change your chemistry and what you are. What I could accept before is different from what I am willing to accept now. I know the same is true of people I care about, who have lived through life-altering events. I've watched that change occur in my closest friend.

I know about the fire that rages inside of me. I know about that annoying, and nagging part of me that quietly whispers "dream bigger." No matter how quiet that whisper is, it's never been quiet enough for me to escape. And at times, it is deafening.

Life is Timey Wimey.

When I've reached different points in my life that lead me to question the decisions and paths I've taken, I often wish for the chance to either go back in time and do everything all over again, or that I could just take a sabbatical, or go on walkabout. I don't know if I would have the courage to do anything differently, but as I sit at middle age, I wish I could find out. 

I envy the people I encounter who don't "have it together," either by choice, or by accident. I envy the freedom of not knowing what tomorrow will be like. I envy the option of picking up and moving halfway across the country, or even the world to take a chance at something at which I might be a complete failure. I envy those who are just starting out, because they have a chance to get it all right, even if that means sometimes getting it wrong. I envy people who "get it" before they lose it.

I don't think being focused and working hard has given me the balance in life that I'm looking for now. I have always mistaken balance for a choice between stability and feeding dreams. Stability always has won out over the deafening whisper of dreaming. Stability has become a synonym for fear in my life. I am fearful of what it would take to really feed my dreams.

I sit, and I think. In the moments when that whispering voice is the loudest, I try to focus on something else, and I try to believe that what I'm focusing on is more important and meaningful than the whispers and the dreams. I try to believe that I can apply my values and my fire to the things that are already a part of my life, instead of trying to find something new, or even trying to recapture the things I put away as if they were silly toys.

Meanwhile, my very best friend works harder than anyone I know, and constantly tries to "move the needle." Jeph pours every moment of his existence into acquiring the stable freedom to dream.  He does this while I sit and think. Sometimes I wonder if the whispering voice that sometimes makes me want to go mad is so loud that he can't get away from it either.

I know that Jeph and I aren't the only ones our age, and maybe even a few years both directions, who have hit this place--this place where life finally has to mean something, and we finally have to be awake in our skin. I don't know how all of us who are in this "moment" got here, but I wonder if it is how we've used our time--how we've been successful in achieving our goals and plans in the time frame we foresaw, or how we have wasted our time on things that seemed more legitimate and real than what was in our hearts. It's as if we were too busy to seek our own souls.

It strikes me that Jeph often wakes up after nights of vivid dreams--usually nightmares. He often asks what I dream about, and most of the time, I can't remember. He works so hard to push the needle to get to dreams that don't terrorize him, and I sit and think to push my own dreams away--maybe because I'm too afraid they can never come true. And I in everything I don't do, I ensure that they won't.

John Lennon also said: "When I was five years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down 'happy.' They told me I didn't understand the assignment, and I told them they didn't understand life." This is what I someday hope to teach my own child, because it's the lesson I wish I had learned much earlier, when it was easier to turn the ship. 

For now, there's a bag of laundry, a nearly finished scrapbook, and a skein of yarn within my reach. There's dust on the coffee table and stuff strewn about. There's a finished novel on the laptop I'm using, but I've barely done anything about it. There's a third of another novel here that I seem to be afraid of. There's a poem in the Notes app on my iPhone, that I wrote weeks ago but haven't shared, and the lines of at least two others in my mind that I haven't built upon.

Where does all of the time go?

Tired of Me--Live

Why May Not Matter, But the Hurt is at the Heart, December 16, 2012

So, I'm finding it even harder than usual to entertain the theory that there is a higher power. Many of us have been searching our hearts and minds over the last few days and coming up with nothing--nothing that makes sense; nothing that quiets the grief.

In the days since a very ill individual ripped away the lives of so many children in Newtown, Connecticut, many of us have been looking for answers to questions that even if answered would not satisfy the hole left behind by this tragedy. And many of us have been arguing over solutions and ways to prevent killings like this one from happening again.

No detailed manifesto or note that Adam Lanza could have written for us would make the pain of this event any less, and knowing why doesn't help. No matter "why" he did this horrible, horrible thing, we can never unknow the horror he left us with. Having the answer to "why" doesn't keep me from being in my car and thinking about what has happened and openly weeping. And for those of us so indirectly affected by this killing field, fathoming the grief of these families and their community is impossible. We barely have a right to be as grief-stricken as many of us are.

I want a child. My husband and I have spent the better part of a year trying to have one. Many of my friends either have young children, or have children on the way. Events like this make you pause. How can anyone in good conscious bring a child into a world where there are people who could do something so horrible?

I have a very strong opinion when it comes to the debate about gun control, but I understand that if someone is so troubled that they want to commit this kind of act, they are going to find a way to do it, no matter what laws are in place.

I don't know what the answers are, but I do know that most of us are starting to feel that we live in a world gone mad, and by mad, I mean angry and filled with hurt.

A couple of my good friends talked about this on their Facebook pages. They talked about how mean spirited we have become as a society, and how media perpetuate this spirit. And with social networking sites like Facebook and Twitter, we all participate in that media now more than ever, no matter how much we might also complain about it.

People have been argumentative and mean for as long as people have been walking the face of the earth. It's at least part of our nature. But before we all had the kind of access we do now, if you wanted to be argumentative with someone, or mean to them, you had to do it in a more personal way--you had to say it to them directly. It's just not that way anymore.

Social media emboldens all of us to say things to and about each other that we otherwise would never say. And I think feeling so emboldened in that way almost makes us feel more emboldened in our everyday lives too. Sometimes, when I think of things people have said to or about me or others, I am just stunned.

It's amazing how a snide remark when you're already having a hard time can quickly knock you down even further. When you're doing the best you can in life, and someone reminds you that it's not enough, it can be hard to feel like trying harder. 

I was picked on throughout my childhood. Elementary and junior high school were the worst.  I wasn't a popular kid, and my parents didn't see the importance of keeping me in trendy clothes. I was kind of studious. I wasn't an ugly kid, but I was probably more than a little awkward at times. I grew up in an abusive household. It was a tough time.

Sure, I never snapped and lashed out in violence, but I hurt a lot, and often. I can't begin to imagine how much that hurt would have been multiplied if I had grown up in this era of Facebook, YouTube and Twitter. Someone like me would have been a target for sure.

The kind of mean-spirited behavior perpetrated these days is disheartening. Kids who already feel like outcasts become the targets of social media attacks that drive them to take their own lives. Bullies little realize or care how their victims feel, and only when something terrible happens does anyone face accountability for their actions. 

Some people might say that making it through tough times should help you develop a thicker skin or character. And for some people, that may actually work. But for others, constantly being attacked with little stabs and pokes is like being torn down every time they try to build themselves up. If it happens often enough, they eventually give up trying. 

But for those individuals who are deeply troubled--mentally ill, the meanness of everyone around them who pokes at them and reminds them of their failure to fit in, that hurt is a ticking time bomb. It's waiting for that moment when all the light goes out, and darkness is all that is left.

I'm going to say something horrible, now. I don't care how much Adam Lanza was hurting, or even why right now. So whatever people did or said to him as his mental illness evolved doesn't even matter to me now. I think it would be very hard to find many people who could muster sympathy  or understanding after what he has done. But, I do care about how easy it is for us all to be the sharp sticks that poke at these sleeping monsters, contributing to their awakening.

When you see someone hurting or struggling, no matter how ridiculous they might seem to you, think of the last time you were hurting and struggling and how much better or worse the actions of others made that situation. Is it so much to ask that we try to reach out to each other with compassion? Is it so much to ask that we try to understand each other and help each other, even if only in small ways?

We have choices everyday. We can be small people committing layer upon layer of small terrorist attacks on each others' hearts, or we can be giant people committing tiny acts of heroism to heal each others' hurts. It may not prevent the kind of heinous acts that people like Adam Lanza commit, but it's surprising how little it can take to "save a life."

If God Will Send His Angels--U2

Objects Are Cooler Than They Appear, December 1, 2012

So, there was one night in Dublin when Jeph and I ended up having an argument. It's not really that unusual that a couple would have a disagreement during a vacation, but on this particular evening, our argument was about spending a night out on the town, and living it up. Silly, right? Who wouldn't be up for spending a night out, eating fancy food and drinking up all the city has to offer in the "hippest" part of town?

Well, the truth of the matter is, kind of me. I had dressed to the nines, strappy heels and all. We'd had an elegant dinner at the Tea Room in our hotel, and the night was young. We stepped out into the night, and the cobbled streets of Temple Bar to people watch and see what the craic was. For my non-Irish affiliated, the craic is an Irish term for "what's happening."

On this particular Saturday night, like most, the Bar was chockablock. Most of the crowd was comprised of twenty-somethings, or maybe even a few thirty-somethings. I looked good. Jeph looked good. That said, my footwear didn't exactly leave me as nimble and agile as I wanted to be. I'm sure it's just that I don't wear heels everyday, but it was annoying to me that I was having so much trouble and that half of the women around me were tromping around the Bar like freaking gazelles in similar footwear and worse. It hurt my pride.

We stopped and watched a couple of guys who were playing some blues outside a restaurant. Jeph was stoked. I'm not personally a blues girl, so we watched for a bit and moved on. We thought we'd duck into another bar in the district, and we followed some fairly cool looking people into a club that sounded to be hopping. As soon as we walked in, we quickly realized we didn't belong there--not to mention the fact that there was a fairly foul odor I don't think I could describe.

I didn't want to give up, so we pressed on. Every step I took was more precarious than the last, and I knew that I was sacrificing my feet for style. I felt like a fool.

When we finally decided to give up the fight, we still had to make it back all the way to the hotel--through the throngs of people, and the same distance of cobbled road my pride had made us traverse in the first place. We tried to hug the sides of the cobbles and stick to the sidewalks to spare my already blistered toes any little bit of skin they had left. Unfortunately, these sidewalks were jam-packed with people, and most of them were waiting outside of clubs or bars. We tried to walk around these crowds, and politely excuse our way through. At one point, a lippy young woman mouthed off to me, and surprisingly I was the one who felt mortified.

In that moment, I felt so out of place, and so old, I just wanted to rip my pretty shoes off and race back to our room.

When we did get back to the room, Jeph was bummed about coming back early, and frustrated with me for what I'd done to my feet in the process. He was sad to think that this was the last night we'd have in Dublin that wouldn't be followed by a day of travel, and I'd squandered it.

As we discussed the situation, the one thing that we could agree on was that we weren't young hipsters, up for spending the night out partying and hanging out anymore. Truth be told, we probably never were quite like that, but now we really weren't (aren't) full stop.

It led us to think about our age--something we've done a lot of this year. When forty rolled around at the end of last year, I didn't give it any weight. So what? For the first time in years, I wear what I want. I do my hair however I like. I feel like I reflect more of what's inside than I have since I was much younger. I don't care that some people still give me a sideways glance since I colored my hair. I don't care that some people don't like tattoos. I am who I am. Being forty didn't seem to matter. I didn't think about the number putting any kind of limit on me. I know that Jeph had approached this year in much the same way. For him, it started with growing some sideburns, scoring his first pair of Doc Martens and a handful of pearl snap shirts.

Nearly a year down the road, I know I was wrong, in some respects, to be so half full about everything. Things I want to do physically just aren't as easy as they would have been at another time. And I know Jeph feels the same way. While his pulmonary embolism was definitely not age related, the limitations that go hand in hand with his risk factors make him feel tied and bound--like someone much older.

A common theme in our society is that once you get to be a certain age, there are things you just have to accept. Maturity dictates that you don't throw fits when you want to. Responsibility means that you shun frivolity. Stability means you embrace habit. Maybe you used to be able to touch your toes and you no longer can. Maybe you're afraid to mountain bike on rough trails in case you cut yourself and your blood thinners that save you from dangerous clots, make you bleed like a stuck pig.

We saw the new James Bond movie this afternoon. One of the undercurrents of the plot was the idea that Bond and operatives like him were a thing of the past, easily replaced by the new and the technologically proficient. Anyone who's a Bond fan can surmise that 007 proved the naysayers wrong. His wealth of experience and long term connection was the foundation for a perspective that was much broader than up and coming techie geniuses who mocked his methods. Years of injuries and physical abuse certainly made the job harder for him, but it's who he is that makes him so invaluable.

Now, Jeph and I are certainly not as cool as James Bond--few people are. But, in our hearts, we also aren't forty-something. We're probably not twenty-something either. I think we're some mystical, non-existent age that just isn't fortyish. In our hearts, we're still dreaming and trying to find a way to live the life we want. And maybe it's not about our age. It's about who we are, and where we fit and where we don't. Some days, who we are imprisons us. We're the solid, reliable souls among our peers. We don't always let everyone know that we're in the gutter, because we're trying to remind ourselves not to forget to look at the stars.

Jeph frequently refers to himself as a cog in the machinery. Just a piece within the equipment that other people use to get the job done. I know I often identify with that feeling. And maybe that's what we really are. But maybe it doesn't matter what everybody else thinks. He may be a cog, but when I look at him, he's the cog that isn't covered in the grease and grime of overuse, because he's what tries to make the machinery of dreaming for more work for me. 

At the end of the Saturday night, these objects are cooler than they appear--blistered feet, bent dreamscapes, tears shed, and all.

Stay Young, Go Dancing--Death Cab For Cutie

Affordable Comfort, December 1, 2012

Light weaves in and out of vision,
Interfering, then darting away.
Time wastes itself in the cover of night,
And drowns in a bottle of sand.
Consternation is my nation, my ethnicity
Leaving no mark or color on my skin.
But my mind knows my address,
And my heart sees its landscape.
As miles of time pass, I wonder how,
But fail to choose, to stop.
Enfolded in the lulling warmth,
Fashioned by my own hands,
                                         All from dangerously affordable comfort.

Grateful and Naming Names, November 19, 2012

So, a lot of people are doing the daily gratitude thing on Facebook and other places this month. I get it, but up until today, I just wasn't into it.

I frequently find myself aware of moments and people that I take for granted. When I realize my mistake, I feel sad if I've missed a chance to acknowledge those moments or those people. But, I like to think that I make a point of letting the people I care about know how much they mean to me whenever I can.

Every once in a while, someone really surprises me. Every once in a while, the people I love, love me back.

I know I have written about the low points of this year, but mostly those low moments have been coupled to amazing affirmations that there are lovely people looking out for me, and for my family. It sometimes feels impossible that we can be digging our way out of a terrible dark hole, only to find a bright and shining sun lighting the way out.

I usually make a point not to mention any names in my blog, because I always figure my friends and family don't ask to be the subject of my creative outlet. But if I'm going to talk about gratitude, I can't do it without naming names. 

It started in February this year, when we had to say goodbye to our Blue. I work in a profession where I frequently have to help people deal with the loss of their pets. I have some great friends at work who helped us get through our own loss this time around, particularly Kat Hodes.

The card Kat Hodes made for us

I once told Kat Hodes that she practices expensive veterinary care, and that hers was the kind I would always be glad to pay dearly for. If people had to pay her what she's really worth, they could never afford it. She cares for every patient she meets as if they were her very own pet, and she offers their owners every bit of hope that might be possible. And when it doesn't go the way everyone hopes, she's just as disappointed, if not more. There is no good way to say goodbye to a family member, but she made one of the worst experiences of this year the most loving and compassionate moments we could have given Blue, no matter how painful for us.

If that wasn't enough, a short time after saying goodbye to Blue, we got a card in the mail that Kat had personalized with Blue and our dog Scrubbs having a conversation about heaven. It was an amazingly sweet gift that I could never have imagined anyone would give us.

When I drew a work assignment this year that I didn't ask for or want, I didn't know how I was going to get through it. I'd spent the previous couple of years in work related-angst, and my faith in my professional world had worn pretty thin. I had just started to believe the corner had turned when this assignment came up.

A short time before this difficult assignment, I got a new boss. In the past, that had been a scary change. This time, it has been one of the best things that could ever have happened. Becca Forbis is a manager. She defines the word. She knows people, and she knows what they need to be successful and to keep putting one foot in front of the other, even during difficult times. She could not have any idea how much our weekly lunches meant to me over the summer. She helped me believe, again, in things I had given up on. She helped me believe that someone in my work world really cares about us, and that she will go to bat for me. She's an amazing person, and continues to mean so much in my life. 

It seems like those couple of things would have been enough. But June packed quite a punch this year.

When Jeph ended up in the hospital with a pulmonary embolism, we were immediately surrounded by friends, some of whom traveled a great distance to be with us. Sheri Rohrbach, and Jeph's mom Jill, came running. They were there to sit with him, and to keep me distracted for the three days he was hospitalized. And anyone who couldn't come sent messages and offered up any other kind of help we might want.

A short time following Jeph's adventure, our late start to a non-furry family didn't go so well. We're still waiting for another chance at that.
 
But when things started to go so sadly awry, I leaned on someone who knew what I was going through pretty hard. Meg Kaemmer is one of the brightest, most sparkly people I know. I don't think she knows how amazing and beautiful she is. I don't have any idea how many texts I received from her in the days leading up to, and immediately after my miscarriage this year. On a day-to-day basis, I realize we aren't the most obvious friends, but every time it has really mattered, she has been there behind the scenes when I can't keep myself together. She's my stormy weather friend.

And she wasn't the only one.

The first day back at work, Cory Bassett knew I wasn't doing the best. She rescued me away to lunch so I could get all of it out. It seems like a little thing to take someone to lunch, but it was huge that day, and proof that sometimes the tiniest gestures have the greatest impact. Not unlike another tiny gesture from Kat Hodes, when she sent me some of Bono's mojo.

All those "Fever" books from Julie Moyer Lancaster

Every day was difficult for a while, and looking for bright spots was hard. But Julie Moyer Lancaster not only was the voice in my head in the emergency room, reminding me to advocate for myself, she was the package from Barnes and Noble on the kitchen counter containing at least a week's worth of escape.

Ginnifer Smith Jobgen was there when I got my first massage in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. We had been friends for a long time, but we hadn't been able to hang out in ages. She had been a comforting voice in my storm as well, and in August, I got to escape to Indiana to be with her for a few days just to slow the world down. I was reminded of why it had meant to much to me to fight for our friendship when she and Jeph's brother broke up all those years ago. She continues to understand me on levels that few people do.

I have been grateful to all of these women this year for showing me in small and giant ways how easy it is to make a difference for others. I don't think any one of them would consider what they've done for me this year to be extraordinary. But that's exactly what they are--extraordinary, because it's just their way.

Ginnifer Jobgen knockin' on my heart's door

And it doesn't end with the difficult times. At the end of last week, my fellow Twilight tribeswoman Julie surprised me with a "Breaking Dawn" mug and hot chocolate. Just a small gesture to acknowledge the end of something we have shared together, that has meant so much to both of us.  And today, Ginnifer sent me a tiny piece of Ireland in the form of a door knocker just like the one at my favorite place to stay there. She knows I've felt pretty homesick since coming back, and seeing this arrive in the mail would brighten my day.

I think taking a month aside and dedicating a moment to share gratitude everyday is a good thing. Maybe I'm not into it, because the level of gratitude I have for these amazing women in my life leaves me speechless. I don't know how to be worthy of the love I've been shown by all of them during this most difficult year.

There are always going to be moments that get you down. It's easy to spiral downward with it. At times, I have let myself be sadder than I should have been. But sometimes, that's when people give you the most to be grateful for. It's because every tiny thing they do lifts you up, when you find it difficult to lift yourself up.

Kind and Generous--Natalie Merchant