Last week, we had a Thanksgiving pie feast for Emma's class. I was in charge of it and happy to do it. The older the kids get the fewer opportunities there are to participate in the their school lives and I miss it. It's all part of the natural letting go process and it's healthy and normal, blah blah blah, but it also kinda sucks. So I organized with gusto and also happily made two pies to contribute. A mud cream pie and a pumpkin streusel pie.
The big day arrived and as I was standing at one of the two tables full of pies getting ready to serve the kids, Emma's math teacher sidles up to me and whispers in my ear, "Which ones are yours? We're going to steal them." I was so stunned but thought it was funny so I burst out laughing. How flattering! Of course, I thought he was kidding so when he just stared at me with a completely deadpan expression while I was laughing I was taken aback. I quickly realized that he was serious.
Well, when your daughter's math teacher asks for your pie, you give him the pie. I pointed him in the direction of the mud cream that was sitting on the other table and sure enough, he wanders over to it and while the other moms are busy serving the kids he snags it. I just stood there and shook my head laughing. What could I do?
About ten minutes later Emma's science teacher walks up to me and whispers, "Which ones did you make?" I looked at him with my eyes narrowed becoming very suspicious. He laughed and said, "Okay, I might as well tell you - I want to steal one to serve my family on Thanksgiving." What the...?! But again, what could I do? I told him that he better go get it immediately because the other one I made had already been taken. He scurried off and promptly took the pumpkin streusel and hid it in his classroom.
All reports later were that the pies were a big hit with those that consumed them, which is frankly a huge relief. All of that hoopla and then what if they sucked? So much pressure my baking reputation has created....
Emma better get an A in mather and science.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
A Better Day
Okay, so Saturday was kind of a bad day. Someone really pissed me off. But Sunday was better. And I hold out high hopes that today, Monday, will be even better still - and the week ahead too for that matter. I have much to be thankful for. A customer has a brand new condo on the beach in the Florida panhandle and they have given it to us for free (FREE!) for the long holiday weekend. 2008 will always be known to me as The Year of Florida Beach Condos and the luxury of it is not lost on me. The next couple of days will be quite hectic but by Wednesday morning I'll be headed south and towards the sunshine.
Yup. Much to be thankful for. (And I haven't even scratched the surface.)
Yup. Much to be thankful for. (And I haven't even scratched the surface.)
Saturday, November 22, 2008
No More
No matter how much life - and the people in it - try to chip away at you, I've realized that they can't control what happens inside with your heart and mind. There's comfort in that for me. That I can decide what my inner resolve will be about myself and my life and what I eventually want for it. Not knowing how to get where I resolve to get someday is the hard part but it doesn't change my decisions about it. And that makes me feel strong. No one can hurt me more than I let them and I make the decision here and now not to let them and their hurtful behavior eat away at me any longer. It stops here.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Passing on the Nuts
I went for a walk the other day at a local mountain park. It's beautiful here right now with the fall colors at a peak. I found a nut that was whole and intact (as opposed to all of the other partial nut pieces I saw along the trail) so I picked it up for Emma. A WHOLE nut! Boy, was she going to be excited!! So excited!!!
An hour later, I picked her up from school and, after listening to her tell me about her day, I gave her the nut. "Emma! I found a whole nut for you on the walking trail today!" She politely accepted it, but behind her smile I glimpsed a strange but familiar expression on her face. I recognized it immediately....
She thought I was crazy.
I was suddenly whooshed back in time to the many car rides with my mother when she would hand me some sort of treasure from her nature walks. A nut or a leaf or a pretty rock. I remember one time I went to my dorm mailbox in college and found a single, perfect pine cone sitting in there. (My mother worked at the college I attended - free tuition! - and she got the mailroom guy to put it in there.) I distinctly remember shaking my head and laughing about how crazy she was.
I don't know when I morphed from that girl into the woman I am now. One who picks up nuts that are whole and feels excited about them - and even more excited to give them to my daughter. Or that goes on for ten minutes about how the mountains look like they're on fire and, "Isn't it beautiful Emma?!" while she replies, "Um, sure." Or one that mourns when all of the leaves finally fall off my favorite tree because I know I won't get to see its beauty again for a whole year. And one that, when asked by a friend going to France what I'd like him to bring back for me, says, "A leaf. I want a French leaf." Not French wine or French chocolates, but a French leaf. I think he thought I was a little crazy too but he did bring me a leaf and I loved that leaf. (Note: He also brought back the wine and chocolates too and I thoroughly enjoyed them as well.)
When did I become my mother's daughter? Something I vowed never to become? I really don't know...but I'd like to think that I took the best of her and carry those threads of her quirkiness and goodness with me as I mother my daughter. And you know what? I still have that pine cone my mother gave me. I treasure it now because she's gone and it's nice to have a reminder of her funny ways of showing me that she was thinking about me during her day - and that she cared enough to give me the perfect pine cone she'd found.
So I'm going to continue giving Emma my weird nature trail finds. Maybe some day she'll find one of them in a box somewhere and she'll fondly remember how crazy I was. And that I loved her enough to give them to her.
An hour later, I picked her up from school and, after listening to her tell me about her day, I gave her the nut. "Emma! I found a whole nut for you on the walking trail today!" She politely accepted it, but behind her smile I glimpsed a strange but familiar expression on her face. I recognized it immediately....
She thought I was crazy.
I was suddenly whooshed back in time to the many car rides with my mother when she would hand me some sort of treasure from her nature walks. A nut or a leaf or a pretty rock. I remember one time I went to my dorm mailbox in college and found a single, perfect pine cone sitting in there. (My mother worked at the college I attended - free tuition! - and she got the mailroom guy to put it in there.) I distinctly remember shaking my head and laughing about how crazy she was.
I don't know when I morphed from that girl into the woman I am now. One who picks up nuts that are whole and feels excited about them - and even more excited to give them to my daughter. Or that goes on for ten minutes about how the mountains look like they're on fire and, "Isn't it beautiful Emma?!" while she replies, "Um, sure." Or one that mourns when all of the leaves finally fall off my favorite tree because I know I won't get to see its beauty again for a whole year. And one that, when asked by a friend going to France what I'd like him to bring back for me, says, "A leaf. I want a French leaf." Not French wine or French chocolates, but a French leaf. I think he thought I was a little crazy too but he did bring me a leaf and I loved that leaf. (Note: He also brought back the wine and chocolates too and I thoroughly enjoyed them as well.)
When did I become my mother's daughter? Something I vowed never to become? I really don't know...but I'd like to think that I took the best of her and carry those threads of her quirkiness and goodness with me as I mother my daughter. And you know what? I still have that pine cone my mother gave me. I treasure it now because she's gone and it's nice to have a reminder of her funny ways of showing me that she was thinking about me during her day - and that she cared enough to give me the perfect pine cone she'd found.
So I'm going to continue giving Emma my weird nature trail finds. Maybe some day she'll find one of them in a box somewhere and she'll fondly remember how crazy I was. And that I loved her enough to give them to her.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Sur-Real World
Emma had a sleepover Saturday night so I went to see The Duchess. (Which was really good but a bit depressing. I mean, I know of course, that women were treated horribly back then but it sucks to see it played out and to know it's a true story.) After the movie I went to Keegan's Pub - a local Irish bar - to have a drink.
Now, in order to tell you about this, I have to reveal something pretty humiliating about myself. I've already outted myself about my addiction to MTV's The Hills but I have failed to confess that I also watch The Real World sometimes. You know, "Seven strangers picked to live in a house and have their lives taped..." It's been around for 20 years or so and it's basically a romp of twenty-somethings who drink, fight, have sex and occasionally work.
Anyway, two years ago, in season nineteen the gang was in Sydney Australia and it was the usual mix of characters - a couple of slutty girls, the ex-frat boy, the recovering alcoholic, the somewhat sheltered often conservative country boy, the artistic girl who "just wants to work on her music", etc.
Most of the episodes disintegrated into a drunken brawl (or a drunken sexcapade) which is both fascinating and rather gross to watch. They also often talked about how hard their twenty-year-old lives are. Poor kids.
Back to Keegan's Pub! So I walk into the bar and I immediately notice some guy looking at me and smiling. He looked really familiar so I wondered if I knew him from somewhere. I'm such a lameass about remembering people so I figured it was a good possibility that we've met and I just couldn't place the where or how or when. I smiled back and found a seat at the bar. Then suddenly, it came to me! I KNEW who it was! It was none other than this guy....
It was Cohutta! COHUTTA!! That's right folks, good ol' boy Cohutta's ass filled that bar stool and he did it quite nicely too. He was the "somewhat-sheltered-often-conservative-country-boy" and one of my favorite characters that season. And no, I didn't talk to him. I'm not one to gush over pseudo-celebrities but it sure was one fun to watch him a few seats away. What he was doing in that bar in the middle of god-forsaken Georgia is beyond me. Going from months in Sydney, Australia back to fricking nowhere land is madness as far as I'm concerned but that's his decision I suppose. I guess you can take the boy out of the backwoods of Georgia but not the backwoods of Georgia out of the boy.
Too funny!
Now, in order to tell you about this, I have to reveal something pretty humiliating about myself. I've already outted myself about my addiction to MTV's The Hills but I have failed to confess that I also watch The Real World sometimes. You know, "Seven strangers picked to live in a house and have their lives taped..." It's been around for 20 years or so and it's basically a romp of twenty-somethings who drink, fight, have sex and occasionally work.
Anyway, two years ago, in season nineteen the gang was in Sydney Australia and it was the usual mix of characters - a couple of slutty girls, the ex-frat boy, the recovering alcoholic, the somewhat sheltered often conservative country boy, the artistic girl who "just wants to work on her music", etc.
Most of the episodes disintegrated into a drunken brawl (or a drunken sexcapade) which is both fascinating and rather gross to watch. They also often talked about how hard their twenty-year-old lives are. Poor kids.
Back to Keegan's Pub! So I walk into the bar and I immediately notice some guy looking at me and smiling. He looked really familiar so I wondered if I knew him from somewhere. I'm such a lameass about remembering people so I figured it was a good possibility that we've met and I just couldn't place the where or how or when. I smiled back and found a seat at the bar. Then suddenly, it came to me! I KNEW who it was! It was none other than this guy....
It was Cohutta! COHUTTA!! That's right folks, good ol' boy Cohutta's ass filled that bar stool and he did it quite nicely too. He was the "somewhat-sheltered-often-conservative-country-boy" and one of my favorite characters that season. And no, I didn't talk to him. I'm not one to gush over pseudo-celebrities but it sure was one fun to watch him a few seats away. What he was doing in that bar in the middle of god-forsaken Georgia is beyond me. Going from months in Sydney, Australia back to fricking nowhere land is madness as far as I'm concerned but that's his decision I suppose. I guess you can take the boy out of the backwoods of Georgia but not the backwoods of Georgia out of the boy.
Too funny!
Friday, November 7, 2008
Sarah, Sarah, Sarah...
I don't know about you but I've had people in my life that drive me crazy but I often can't seem to pinpoint what it is about them that makes me batty. Then one day they say something or do something that makes it all crystal clear to me - explains what it is in a nutshell. And all you have to do is tell someone else that story and they go, "Oooooohhhh...." and immediately understand what I'm trying to explain about the person and why they drive me nuts.
Well, that happened to me last night with Sarh Palin. The woman just cannot catch a break. I saw her on CBS Evening News. She was in a hotel lobby somewhere and was mobbed by reporters. One asked her about whether or not she was thinking about running in 2012. She waved her hand dismissively and replied: "Twenty-twelve? That sounds like years away."
'Nuff said.
Well, that happened to me last night with Sarh Palin. The woman just cannot catch a break. I saw her on CBS Evening News. She was in a hotel lobby somewhere and was mobbed by reporters. One asked her about whether or not she was thinking about running in 2012. She waved her hand dismissively and replied: "Twenty-twelve? That sounds like years away."
'Nuff said.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
The Audacity of Hope Indeed
Emma got a text message from a boy in her class yesterday morning. He sent it at 5:30 a.m. He had just found out that Obama had won and was so very excited and happy. It touched me because he's black and it got me imagining what this must be like for him. So many Americans feel hope and pride and excitement for the first time in a long time right now, but I'm not sure that white America can have any idea what this means to so many black Americans - especially to a twelve-year-old black boy.
I remember back a few years ago when Joe Lieberman was the vice presidential nominee and there was all of this discussion about a Jewish candidate and how it would be the first time we'd have a Jew in the White House. I felt so embarrassed and ashamed that it was even an issue. That it was even being discussed. What should it matter? Has America not come further along than this? Apparently not.
The same was true for me this go around. I felt embarrassed and annoyed that there was so much discussion about Obama's ethnicity - having an African father and Caucasian mother - why should it matter? The question really needed to be, Who was best for the job? We shouldn't be making a big deal out of it no matter if we thought his particular race was a good thing or bad thing. I know that this is idealistic thinking on my part but I feel like it's something that should be strived for, even if it is considered unrealistic.
But I didn't think about it through the eyes of a twelve-year-old black boy. A boy that has probably been taught about his ancestors who were slaves. Who has surely experienced racism himself many times over. Who could never picture himself as the president of this country - ever. It matters to him. It matters to him that the new president is half-black. It means something profoundly positive to him in a way he's never experienced before and maybe never thought he would in his lifetime. It's no small thing to him.
I heard a black woman senator talk yesterday of the slaves that were used to build the Capital and the White House and how they never, in their wildest dreams, could have ever imagined that someday a black man would take the oath of the highest office in the nation on those Capital steps that they were laying. Or live as chief resident in the house that they were building. It is amazing. It does matter. It gives us all hope that we have come a long way and we will successfully go a long way still in the coming years, whether the issue is racial equality, or the economy, or healthcare, or war or whatever other issues we have to deal with. We'll find our way.
I remember back a few years ago when Joe Lieberman was the vice presidential nominee and there was all of this discussion about a Jewish candidate and how it would be the first time we'd have a Jew in the White House. I felt so embarrassed and ashamed that it was even an issue. That it was even being discussed. What should it matter? Has America not come further along than this? Apparently not.
The same was true for me this go around. I felt embarrassed and annoyed that there was so much discussion about Obama's ethnicity - having an African father and Caucasian mother - why should it matter? The question really needed to be, Who was best for the job? We shouldn't be making a big deal out of it no matter if we thought his particular race was a good thing or bad thing. I know that this is idealistic thinking on my part but I feel like it's something that should be strived for, even if it is considered unrealistic.
But I didn't think about it through the eyes of a twelve-year-old black boy. A boy that has probably been taught about his ancestors who were slaves. Who has surely experienced racism himself many times over. Who could never picture himself as the president of this country - ever. It matters to him. It matters to him that the new president is half-black. It means something profoundly positive to him in a way he's never experienced before and maybe never thought he would in his lifetime. It's no small thing to him.
I heard a black woman senator talk yesterday of the slaves that were used to build the Capital and the White House and how they never, in their wildest dreams, could have ever imagined that someday a black man would take the oath of the highest office in the nation on those Capital steps that they were laying. Or live as chief resident in the house that they were building. It is amazing. It does matter. It gives us all hope that we have come a long way and we will successfully go a long way still in the coming years, whether the issue is racial equality, or the economy, or healthcare, or war or whatever other issues we have to deal with. We'll find our way.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Get Over It Rachel
I just re-read yesterday's post and I'm a little sick of myself. All that I wrote is very true and real for me but I'm a little tired of the heavy heart and "insightful" ramblings. It's time to lighten up and start laughing a little more. Sooooo, here's a joke for you:
What's the difference between a pit bull and a hockey....What's that you say? You've already heard that one? So sorry. I got nothing else. No worries though. I'm sure something ridiculous and funny will happen to me sometime today, it being Election Day and all. Go vote!
What's the difference between a pit bull and a hockey....What's that you say? You've already heard that one? So sorry. I got nothing else. No worries though. I'm sure something ridiculous and funny will happen to me sometime today, it being Election Day and all. Go vote!
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Day Thirty and Beyond - Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity-Jog
I've been home since last Saturday night but I didn't have internet for a few days and things have been pretty busy since I got back - unpacking, catching up, making phone calls, doing laundry, getting organized and oh yeah, SHIVERING. It's fricking cold here! I went from high 70s/mid-80s in Florida to high 30s/low 50s in Georgia. It's just not right. The other night, I told Greg that I missed having my balcony door open to listen to the crashing waves and feel the warm breezes. He promptly got the blow dryer out, turned it on and pointed it in my direction while making ocean sound effects. "Better?" he said. (Um, not so much, but I appreciate the effort.)
I've had a bit of a hard time since I've gotten back. Just stupid stuff. I feel a little disconnected - trying to get my head back into Emma's school activities and such, working, cleaning, paying attention to bills (Bills? What bills? HA!), details details details....And I keep dropping things, spilling things, tripping over things. I've also felt overwhelmed with the house again. Almost immediately upon my return, all that has to be done around here to make it a home that I'm proud of - one that reflects who I am and is a safe haven from the world outside - seems only a distant possibility. Actually it mostly feels like an impossibility. Everything just feels so hard again and it's discouraging. After dropping a bunch of garbage as I tried to take it out to the curb - on the heels of dropping the groceries as I dragged them into the house - I had to lecture myself, Just stop Rachel. STOP! Stop resisting it. Stop fighting it. Still not being sure what "it" is. But I know I have to figure "it" out and make this life back in reality work. It's part of the biggest lesson I learned while I was away. An important lesson. The lesson of Letting Go.
Letting go is hard for someone like me. I wouldn't say that I'm a super scary type-A, but I'm a little scary. I like things a certain way and my mind works in a categorized, methodical manner. (but I'm also really lazy about cleaning and such so I'm a bit of a dichotomy I think.) I want things orderly but I feel too lazy, paralyzed and outnumbered to make it happen in any consistent, long-term way. I still like to have my hands heavily involved in the things in my life - the house, raising Emma, the business, my creativity, various relationships, etc. It's hard to let go of so much of what I need to let go of. To walk away from trying to control so much. Letting go of some of my dreams, letting go of having things done my way, letting go of old hurts and grudges, letting go of so much of my fear, just....letting go....it can be stressful. But necessary.
When I was away, I realized how much my heart has been broken by so many things. So many people. It's been broken into tiny little pieces - almost to dust. How do I put dust back together again into something whole? Something complete. Something functional even. How do you put "shattered" back together again?
Honestly, I really don't know, but I think that Letting Go plays some part in it. Not just forgiving but being able to walk away from what I can't control and having faith that I'll be okay. That the ones that I love will be okay somehow. That the ones that I love but don't love me back will be okay - and knowing that it's a good thing to want that for them even though I'm so hurt by them. It's hard to love and not have it returned whatever the reason is. To miss people. So many people. So many goodbyes and not enough hellos in my life. I'll need to work on that.
I learned while I was away that my daughter still very much needs me. That twelve years on the earth is not enough time to prepare someone for not having their mama around day after day. She needs me in ways that I don't think either of us even realized that she needs me, and being back home, we have started to get some things back on track for her again. The flipside of that is that although I know going away was selfish of me, I also know that, as hard as it was, it was good for all involved in ways that we couldn't have anticipated, which is what I hoped for.
I learned while I away that I really don't want to live next to, across from or even nearby, people that are unkind or rude or uncaring. People that have no interest in me or my family or what I care about. I had no idea how much living near such people affects the day-to-day quality of life until I went away from it all a bit. I'm not sure what can be done about it right now with things being what they are economically but I have the goal to create a better living situation sometime in the near future.
I've learned that I also don't want to hang out with people like those mentioned above anymore either. I don't want to settle for friendships that are less than what I need or deserve just to have so-called "friends." In the last few years I have let friends - one or two in particular -be unkind to me, and those around me, primarily because they made me laugh. Laughter is very seductive for me and I'll have to watch that as I set out to meet new people and forge new friensdships. Heads up, and I know this seems obvious, but if someone is being unkind to the other people around them, they'll eventually be unkind to you. Don't think you're immune. This is who they are and they'll zing you right in the ass before you know it and when you least expect it.
I've learned that living near the ocean will change the quality of your life remarkably. I knew I loved the ocean. I knew I enjoyed the ocean. I knew the ocean was calming and beautiful and spectacular. But I had no idea being able to touch the ocean every day, see the ocean every day, watch the ocean every day would bring about a peace that I'm not sure I've ever known. None of the major stressors in my life particularly changed while I was away (some new ones were even added!) but being near the ocean made it all less stressful somehow. Made it feel more manageable. Put things in perspective.
I miss the ocean very much. I think about it all of the time as I move through the days of my "back-to-normal-life." I wonder what the sunrise looked like this morning or if the winds were high or if the shells plentiful. I brought some of the sand back and put it in several bottles displayed around the house. It reminds me of my adventure and all that I learned and all of the good that I got out of it.
I've learned how important it is to still believe in the things in your life that have always mattered to you - God, family, friendship, grace, love - even when you haven't been given much reason to believe them anymore. You have to dig deep and find that flicker of a flame that used to be the inferno of how strong your faith and belief used to be. That is called hope. You have to have hope.
I went to St. Augustine a fearful person. I came home a braver one. Not as courageous as I'm going to be but more than I was before. There's a song titled: "I Just Showed Up For My Own Life" and it helps sum up how I feel....
Spending my time sleep walking
Moving my mouth but not saying a thing
Hoping the changes would take by working their way from the outside in
I was in love with an idea
Preoccupied with how a life should appear
Spending my time at the surface repairing the holes in the shiny veneer
There are so many ways to hide
There are so many ways not to feel
There are so many ways to deny what is real
And I just showed up for my own life
And I'm standing here taking it in and it sure looks bright
I'm going to live my life inspired
Look for the holy in the common place
Open the windows and feel all that's honest and real until I'm truly amazed
I'm going to feel all my emotions
I'm going to look you in the eyes
I'm going to listen and hear until it's finally clear and it changes our lives
There are so many ways to hide
There are so many ways not to feel
There are so many ways to deny what is real
And I just showed up for my own life
And I'm standing here taking it in and it sure looks bright
I've had a bit of a hard time since I've gotten back. Just stupid stuff. I feel a little disconnected - trying to get my head back into Emma's school activities and such, working, cleaning, paying attention to bills (Bills? What bills? HA!), details details details....And I keep dropping things, spilling things, tripping over things. I've also felt overwhelmed with the house again. Almost immediately upon my return, all that has to be done around here to make it a home that I'm proud of - one that reflects who I am and is a safe haven from the world outside - seems only a distant possibility. Actually it mostly feels like an impossibility. Everything just feels so hard again and it's discouraging. After dropping a bunch of garbage as I tried to take it out to the curb - on the heels of dropping the groceries as I dragged them into the house - I had to lecture myself, Just stop Rachel. STOP! Stop resisting it. Stop fighting it. Still not being sure what "it" is. But I know I have to figure "it" out and make this life back in reality work. It's part of the biggest lesson I learned while I was away. An important lesson. The lesson of Letting Go.
Letting go is hard for someone like me. I wouldn't say that I'm a super scary type-A, but I'm a little scary. I like things a certain way and my mind works in a categorized, methodical manner. (but I'm also really lazy about cleaning and such so I'm a bit of a dichotomy I think.) I want things orderly but I feel too lazy, paralyzed and outnumbered to make it happen in any consistent, long-term way. I still like to have my hands heavily involved in the things in my life - the house, raising Emma, the business, my creativity, various relationships, etc. It's hard to let go of so much of what I need to let go of. To walk away from trying to control so much. Letting go of some of my dreams, letting go of having things done my way, letting go of old hurts and grudges, letting go of so much of my fear, just....letting go....it can be stressful. But necessary.
When I was away, I realized how much my heart has been broken by so many things. So many people. It's been broken into tiny little pieces - almost to dust. How do I put dust back together again into something whole? Something complete. Something functional even. How do you put "shattered" back together again?
Honestly, I really don't know, but I think that Letting Go plays some part in it. Not just forgiving but being able to walk away from what I can't control and having faith that I'll be okay. That the ones that I love will be okay somehow. That the ones that I love but don't love me back will be okay - and knowing that it's a good thing to want that for them even though I'm so hurt by them. It's hard to love and not have it returned whatever the reason is. To miss people. So many people. So many goodbyes and not enough hellos in my life. I'll need to work on that.
I learned while I was away that my daughter still very much needs me. That twelve years on the earth is not enough time to prepare someone for not having their mama around day after day. She needs me in ways that I don't think either of us even realized that she needs me, and being back home, we have started to get some things back on track for her again. The flipside of that is that although I know going away was selfish of me, I also know that, as hard as it was, it was good for all involved in ways that we couldn't have anticipated, which is what I hoped for.
I learned while I away that I really don't want to live next to, across from or even nearby, people that are unkind or rude or uncaring. People that have no interest in me or my family or what I care about. I had no idea how much living near such people affects the day-to-day quality of life until I went away from it all a bit. I'm not sure what can be done about it right now with things being what they are economically but I have the goal to create a better living situation sometime in the near future.
I've learned that I also don't want to hang out with people like those mentioned above anymore either. I don't want to settle for friendships that are less than what I need or deserve just to have so-called "friends." In the last few years I have let friends - one or two in particular -be unkind to me, and those around me, primarily because they made me laugh. Laughter is very seductive for me and I'll have to watch that as I set out to meet new people and forge new friensdships. Heads up, and I know this seems obvious, but if someone is being unkind to the other people around them, they'll eventually be unkind to you. Don't think you're immune. This is who they are and they'll zing you right in the ass before you know it and when you least expect it.
I've learned that living near the ocean will change the quality of your life remarkably. I knew I loved the ocean. I knew I enjoyed the ocean. I knew the ocean was calming and beautiful and spectacular. But I had no idea being able to touch the ocean every day, see the ocean every day, watch the ocean every day would bring about a peace that I'm not sure I've ever known. None of the major stressors in my life particularly changed while I was away (some new ones were even added!) but being near the ocean made it all less stressful somehow. Made it feel more manageable. Put things in perspective.
I miss the ocean very much. I think about it all of the time as I move through the days of my "back-to-normal-life." I wonder what the sunrise looked like this morning or if the winds were high or if the shells plentiful. I brought some of the sand back and put it in several bottles displayed around the house. It reminds me of my adventure and all that I learned and all of the good that I got out of it.
I've learned how important it is to still believe in the things in your life that have always mattered to you - God, family, friendship, grace, love - even when you haven't been given much reason to believe them anymore. You have to dig deep and find that flicker of a flame that used to be the inferno of how strong your faith and belief used to be. That is called hope. You have to have hope.
I went to St. Augustine a fearful person. I came home a braver one. Not as courageous as I'm going to be but more than I was before. There's a song titled: "I Just Showed Up For My Own Life" and it helps sum up how I feel....
Spending my time sleep walking
Moving my mouth but not saying a thing
Hoping the changes would take by working their way from the outside in
I was in love with an idea
Preoccupied with how a life should appear
Spending my time at the surface repairing the holes in the shiny veneer
There are so many ways to hide
There are so many ways not to feel
There are so many ways to deny what is real
And I just showed up for my own life
And I'm standing here taking it in and it sure looks bright
I'm going to live my life inspired
Look for the holy in the common place
Open the windows and feel all that's honest and real until I'm truly amazed
I'm going to feel all my emotions
I'm going to look you in the eyes
I'm going to listen and hear until it's finally clear and it changes our lives
There are so many ways to hide
There are so many ways not to feel
There are so many ways to deny what is real
And I just showed up for my own life
And I'm standing here taking it in and it sure looks bright
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