Me

So, I'm trying to land a job and I'm supposed to blog. I find this completely unnatural and difficult; though, I am an English major and former teacher. I've always thought myself more a technical/analytical writer. Give me a piece of literature to dissect, and I can work wonders on it even if I hate the selection. Give me a random topic and I can pull a decent five-paragraph essay out of it in no time at all. But ask me to write creatively or about me and writer's block ensues.

I guess to start I'll tell you about my past. I'm the oldest daughter of three of very young parents. My parents quit school as teenagers to get married, and I was born fourteen months later. They survived the odds and are still married which is more than I've managed to do. They are simply wonderful people! Having quit school and witnessed firsthand the struggles of working without a full education, my sisters and I were always pushed to succeed in school. When I graduated from high school, I was the first girl to graduate on my dad's side of the family. I am currently still the only person on either side of my family to have a Bachelor's degree; though, my youngest sister is currently attending college and will hopefully follow suit.

I am the epitome of the oldest child syndrome. I thrive on pleasing people. I will work extra hard to succeed to keep from disappointing people. My expectations are always much higher for myself than others and I think in the end I tend to disappoint myself more than anyone else. I'm working on recognizing I'm human and will make mistakes. ;-)

I won't lie. I feel a little lost right now. The last six months have truly knocked me on my rear and sucked any self-confidence out of me. In September, My spouse and I separated. I knew it would eventually come, but the timing threw me. I didn't see that coming. So I moved out, a Separation Agreement and Property Settlement and Child Custody Order were made, and I ventured out to live on my own for the first time. (I married young at twenty and went from living with my parents to living with a spouse). Just when I was beginning to feel comfortable with the new arrangement, I lost my job suddenly and with no warning in early December. It was bad enough that I was having to admit defeat in marriage. I didn't care for my job, but it was keeping me going and giving me a reason to get up mornings. Losing my job so soon after losing a spouse, that was the kicker that 2011 wasn't my year. I felt beaten up.

I am a mom. I have two lovely children- a ten year old boy named Matthias and a two year old girl named Vivien. They brighten up my world. And while I'm still struggling with being newly separated, when I look at them I can't regret anything about my marriage. It was meant to be so I would have those two perfect children.

I was a stay at home mom for some length of time with both children. During both I knew that it would be temporary. I was meant to work outside the home. I'm happier, more organized, and a better time manager when I have a job. I'm naturally introverted and won't seek out companions when staying home. Having friends at work are necessary for me. And I love the sense of purpose having a job then coming home to enjoy quality time with my kids.

As such, I want to find a job that gives me a purpose- that makes me feel like I am helping people and perhaps makes a difference in this world. I want not to get rich, but just make enough to provide a decent way of life for myself and kids. I want to *want* to come to work because I love the people who work with me and they appreciate what I do. If I can find those things, my life will be one step closer to being back on track and allow me to find the new me.

Elizabeth Edwards

I wish the weather had been nicer. I felt a bit guilty lugging the kids to a protest on a cold, rainy day, but honestly, I think I'd have felt more guilty later had I not. Something about the Edwards clan always touched me from the moment I first heard their names back in 2004 during the presidential election. Quite frankly, I thought the ticket should have been reversed and if it had, I think things might have gone differently, but who knows? Nevertheless, Elizabeth impressed the hell out of me. I was already considering law school. She helped finalize my plans. I'm not saying the family's perfect. Clearly there were issues, but who among us doesn't have issues? They were dealt some hard blows and lived not only to tell about it but tried to make things better for others so I respect that. So not to go do what I could to help the family of a woman who influenced my life just never really was an option.

It was a balmy 39 degrees and drizzly when we arrived, and the energy in the air was intense. Almost immediately, I could see Matt was pretty interested in the events. I had tried to explain what we were doing and why on the way. Seeing it himself helped a lot. Some kind strangers helped me hoist Matt onto a pillar so he could get a good view of why we were there. I have a nice shot of him perched on the pillar with a gal holding a nice sign behind him. We walked around a while, people and sign watching. When people drove by, they would shout or beep their horns at us, and the crowd would clap and cheer. Vivi joined in on the clapping. Essentially the goal was to be louder than the Westboro group to drown out their hateful words. I think that was achieved.

Shortly after, the bottom dropped out and it simply wasn't feasible to hold a baby, push a stroller, keep a hand on a nine year old, and hold an umbrella to keep us dry so we ducked into a nearby museum to dry off, change a diaper, and have a snack. Unfortunately when we came out, everyone had dispersed. But we were there. We saw those hateful people firsthand. We outnumbered them by the hundreds. And I think that says a lot.

What hit home was when Matt saw the sign "Thank God for breast cancer!" He looked at me and said, "That is the meanest thing I've ever seen." I replied, "That is why we came. We wanted this family to know that most people don't feel that way. We are better than that." Later we saw the equally incredulous "Elizabeth Edwards is in Hell" sign. To that Matt replied, "I know that's not true, Mommy." I know it isn't as well.

Bullies

All this news coverage of recent bullying suicides has stirred up a lot of emotions for me. It doesn't help that my lovely niece is dealing with this issue as a sixth grader moving up to middle school. It's so severe she's had bruises on her arms and she's scared to go to school. Bullies suck! It doesn't matter the reason why a person is bullied; the end result is the same. The victim feels helpless and hopeless, and that is a terrible feeling.

I was a victim of bullying on two separate occasions in high school. Both left me feeling hopeless and inferior and likely led to my issues of low self-esteem which I still grapple with today. Like my niece, the first incident was after leaving behind a comfortable previous school to go to a bigger, scarier school only mine happened in the ninth grade. It couldn't have occurred at a worse time for me. I was already dealing with vast changes in my life. To no longer feel safe at school was like the final straw for me. The girls bullying me made fun of my clothes, my hair, called me a goody-goody tattletale, blamed me for something I never did, and threatened to beat me up virtually every day. They were older- juniors and seniors- and unfortunately in my chorus class so I had to see them on a daily basis. It finally came to a head the day someone threw gum in my hair during the middle of class; I broke down in tears, and a friend had to cut a chunk of my hair out to get rid of the gum. I never told the teacher (or anyone really because I was scared); though, I trusted the teacher implicitly and know she would have helped. Such is the pattern for the victim; they're just afraid to speak up.

The second incident was far more traumatic to me because this time it was friends. To say I was a serial crusher and dater with no long-term relationships in high school would be the understatement of the 80s where I am concerned. But when I fell, I fell hard (for a very brief period of time). After a crush fell through in a particularly ugly way, alliances were created. The ones who turned against me turned hard. They were vicious. Ugly notes were sent. Threats were made. They routinely called me a cow in the hallways- once again, fueling weight/body issues which linger today. They called me other names- like airhead (arguably true but hurtful nonetheless), stupid, ugly, etc. Since, I was a fairly meek person, I rarely stood up for myself. I was truly scared someone was going to beat me up. I suffered from stress-induced asthma and missed school because of it. In addition, I also faked asthma attacks just to get out of going to school. I hated, absolutely HATED, walking the hallways. I never knew when someone might come up to me threaten me or call me names. For a long time, that three-month period was the worst experience of my life. That is no longer the case, but yet it's still a vividly painful period of my life.

So with that, I'll simply say this. Bullies suck ass! It's that plain and simple. If you have children, I hope you teach them that bullying is unacceptable- that they should never do it nor play any role in it. If you know someone is being bullied, staying silent and doing nothing is part of the problem. The only way to end this is to stand united against it.

The Power of Words

I've always known words were powerful. This isn't hard to grasp as a child. I would venture to say that most children learn it on the playground at some point. Oh, there are those special few who stay above the fray and get to do all the taunting, but I think most fall victim to words at some time or another.

Over the course of adulthood, I would see things that reminded me of that power, but it was mostly fleeting. There was the occasional "I wish I hadn't said that" or "God, why did I push ______ into saying that; I didn't really want to hear it," but generally it wasn't harmful to my well-being in any long-term way.

Thanks to the Internets, I became reacquainted with the power of words when I joined my first message board. This was a real eye-opener! I learned a lot about the power of anonymity, trust, and myself. I never thought I 'd be the sort to get sucked into drama, but boy I did. And in the process, I crashed and burned. Perhaps it was partially the timing of it all. It coincided with my law school debacle, and I wasn't exactly in my prime (to put it mildly). I did a few vicious, under-handed things, trusted the wrong people, and got blamed for even more under-handed things I never did. But still, I came out of it smarter, unscathed though with a bruised ego perhaps, and with even more on-line friends than I ever imagined I'd have so it was all for the good.

Lately, with the popularity of Facebook, I'm finding a new power in words, and it mostly has to do with syntax and choice of wording. I am amazed by the authority with which people brand others and things. It's made me even more careful in how I choose words. I think I was pretty considerate of others' feelings before, but I am definitely more so now. I don't know if it's not caring, thoughtlessness, or what, but I find myself having to just ignore the groups people join, the things they "like" or the posts they create or it would truly get to me. Perhaps I care too much about what people think, perhaps I give others too much power, or maybe I expect better and routinely find myself being disappointed by people. Or maybe it's all three. And now, I'll give you a few examples.

I would never ever, EVER, join a group condemning all Republicans. In fact, I am overly careful in making sure I only join groups mocking elected officials or people in the public eye. I have no problem voicing my complete and utter disdain for Sarah Palin. Likewise, I think it's funny that groups like "can this pickle get more fans than Barack Obama?" or "Can this poodle with an aluminum hat get more fans than Glenn Beck?" (I joined that one, heh heh) exist. What gets me is the number of my FB friends who have joined a group (or liked) called something to the effect of "Democrats are stupid." It's not referring only to politicians. I am a Democrat. You are talking about ME when you become a part of that. Likewise, I have never ever been so disappointed in so many people than when I saw people joining or liking that group that prayed for Barack Obama's death. That was insane. Yes, I remember who joined. I doubt I could ever forget. And yes, it forever changed my perception of the kind of person he or she is. I hope the "joke" was worth it. I am an opinionated person when it comes to politics. But I can safely say that I believe I am a better person than many I see on FB. I never once wished for George W. Bush's death even though I couldn't stand him for most of his presidency, nor would I even join anything proclaiming all Republicans are dumb.

Which brings me to my next point: debates. I *love* a few of my more outspoken conservative friends who can stay above the fray and debate me on issues. It has gotten more than a little heated a few times, but it's generally polite. I love that they counter me with facts and reasons for their beliefs and usually don't turn to ridiculous talking points. Conversely, there are at least two that I won't even bother with any longer. They are rude, condescending, and simply not worth my time. For example, during the healthcare debate, one wrote a lengthy post of their views. I countered with a polite view of mine. I wanted a good debate. I got a inane Fox News talking point du jour "Someone's been drinking the Kool-Aid." Ooohh, burn.... There is really no use in even attempting to talk to such people. Their minds are so closed a chainsaw couldn't open it. I know I have better people to talk to anyway.

Lastly, opinions... Everyone has them. What bothers me is the visceral ferocity of some. I don't like ZZ Top. It's really that simple. One day I might have reason to state this on FB, and I will do so just as I just did. What I won't say is "ZZ Top is the crappiest, most worthless group ever created." Why? Some of my friends may like them. Maybe I shouldn't care, but it bothers me a great deal when someone goes off on this diatribe condemning something I like. It makes me feel irrelevant or more importantly stupid because I do like them. But maybe, that's my problem. I don't know... Maybe I shouldn't care. But I do.

Sucker-punched by Song Lyrics

Have you ever had a song that just moved you beyond words? I have one that has haunted me for several years now. The first time I heard it, I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. Each and every time I hear it, I still think about this one event/person. I remember it like it was yesterday and have never gotten over it. I replay that evening in my head and try to imagine how different things might be if I had reacted differently. I froze. It's that simple. I froze and did nothing. I play the "what if" game in my head. It's not exactly about not being happy where I am now or anything like that because in some ways, I know I am where I need to be, and I mightn't have my beautiful children if I had made a different decision. The song just symbolizes a lost moment and the what ifs that resulted from it. It is simply one unforgettable moment in time. I know Linda Perry, the Dixie Chicks, et. al. had one event in mind when it was written, but wow, they nailed me as well. I wasn't exactly a kid as the song starts, but I was young and naive. This will forever be one of my favorite songs, and I doubt I'll ever escape the meaning it holds for me. Does anyone else have a song that gets to them as this one does me? I'd love to hear about it...

Voice Inside My Head

I was only a kid
When I said goodbye to you
Ten summers ago
But it feels like yesterday

Lost, scared and alone
Nothing I could give to you
I tried, I really did
But I couldn't find another way

And I want and I need
Somehow to believe
In the choice I made
Am I better off this way

I can hear the voice inside my head
Saying you should be with me instead
Every time I'm feeling down, I wonder
What would it be like with you around

So I, I made my way
Cold and roaming in the wild
I'm forever changed
By someone I never knew

Now I've, I've got a place
I've got a husband and a child
But I'll never forget
What I've given up in you

And I want, I need
Somehow to believe
In the choice I made
Am I better off this way

I can hear the voice inside my head
Saying you should be with me instead
Every time I'm feeling down, I wonder
What would it be like with you around

And I want, I need
Somehow to believe
In the choice I made
Am I better off this way

I can hear the voice inside my head
Saying you should be with me instead
Every time I'm feeling down
I wonder what would it be like with you around
What would life be like with you around...

Paul McCartney

When I saw Paul in concert in 2002, I cried. When I say cry, I mean truly broke down in tears. After a myriad of concerts totaling at least 30 shows, he is the only one who has ever brought me to tears. I imagine there are two reasons, the first being I have loved Paul and The Beatles since I was old enough to understand music. I grew up with my rock-n-roller dad listening to music every Saturday morning. I didn't always appreciate his selections, but any variation of The Beatles or subsequent solo careers got a thumbs up from me.

The second reason I cried was my dad, and this will require some background history to understand. My disclaimer is you may not believe this story. It seems far-fetched. My grandfather ruefully told me this story when I was quite young. I was skeptical until I asked my dad and saw his reaction. Over the years, the story has been confirmed by my uncles, the facts have never swayed, and my grandmother told me about fifteen years ago it was one of her biggest regrets. So I have no reason to doubt the veracity. My dad was a Beatles fan from day one of their U.S. invasion. When he heard they were touring and coming to Fulton County Stadium in Atlanta, he was an ecstatic thirteen-year old. He listened to the radio for days upon days, won two tickets to the concert, and intended to take his cousin, Carl. On the day of the concert, no one would take them. He ripped up the tickets in anger and never got to see his beloved group. I think he always held out hope he would one day see them. I distinctly remember my dad walking into our living room after the evening of December 8, 1980. He could barely speak. He uttered these words through tears, "John Lennon was shot and killed last night." There was a defeated look to him, and I later realized it was twofold- he had lost his hero, and his dream of ever seeing his childhood idols was forever gone. Then December 1, 2001 less than a year prior to this concert, the world lost George Harrison as well. As I sat next to my dad at the concert and Paul walked out, I saw him crying and knew this was the closest thing he would ever get to realizing those Beatles' tickets lost long ago. Every emotion and memory he held of The Beatles came out at that culminating moment. And I felt it for him because I probably understand his love for this band as much as he.

I cannot define how much music and particularly The Beatles fuel my life. Seeing Paul McCartney for the first time with my father was my destiny. It was a bittersweet memory forever etched in my brain. Last night, I walked into the concert with my husband on my arm. Instead of tears, I had a ridiculous grin on my face as the show began. There was no regret- just excitement. And it was an incredible show- better than the first. However, I get the impression if I ever see him again, it will indeed be better. I think it's the nature of the beast that my rabid delight in all things Beatles will always find the most recent event the best. And trust me, if the opportunity arises to see him again, I will.

Song of My Life

I was listening to some Jimmy Buffett music last night. I ran across an oldie but goody "The Wino and I Know." I often forget how wise and philosophical the man can be when I’m listening to his more whimsical tunes, but he can be quite profound. The chorus contains the lines "It’s a strange situation, it’s a wild occupation. Living my life like a song."

That got me to thinking. What is the song of my life? If I had to narrow it down to one single song, which song would most represent what I stand for and how I’ve lived my life? It’s quite a daunting task! My mind immediately ran through a list of my favorite tunes- songs I can listen to over and over again while never tiring of them.

A myriad of artists crossed my mind: The Beatles, of course, which is no surprise to anyone who really knows me, Fleetwood Mac, Elton John, Dixie Chicks, James Blunt, Eric Clapton, Billy Joel, Jimmy Buffett...

While all of those artists definitely qualify as favorites, none had a song that shouted ME. I had to keep thinking. Then while considering "Someone Saved My Life Tonight" by Elton John, a single moment played back in my mind. I was nineteen and in my first year of college at West Georgia College in Carrollton, GA. I randomly signed up for a psychology class since I have always had a love of the subject. I had this interesting, off-beat professor named Anne Richardson. I found it telling that her name instantly came to me after all these years. We did a lot of writing in her class so I, of course, loved it! Once a week, we met in small groups for more intimate contemplations. My group leader, Becky, had us each bring in our favorite song, and we had to explain why we chose it. I brought in that Elton John song I mentioned above. Becky brought in a song I had just become familiar with- "Closer to Fine" by the Indigo Girls. Upon listening to it more closely that day, it became a favorite of mine as well. I immediately went out and bought the CD and promptly loved the entire album. Well, actually, I believe it was a cassette tape, but the inadequacy of my media of choice at that time is completely irrelevant to the topic at hand!

I’m trying to tell you something about my life
Maybe give me insight between black and white
The best thing you’ve ever done for me
Is to help me take my life less seriously, it’s only life after all
Well darkness has a hunger that’s insatiable
And lightness has a call that’s hard to hear
I wrap my fear around me like a blanket
I sailed my ship of safety till I sank it, I’m crawling on your shore.

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountain
There’s more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine.

I went to see the doctor of philosophy
With a poster of Rasputin and a beard down to his knee
He never did marry or see a B-grade movie
He graded my performance, he said he could see through me
I spent four years prostrate to the higher mind, got my paper
And I was free.

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountain
There’s more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine.

I stopped by the bar at 3 a.m.
To seek solace in a bottle or possibly a friend
I woke up with a headache like my head against a board
Twice as cloudy as I’d been the night before
I went in seeking clarity.

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountain
There’s more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine.

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountain
There’s more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine.

We go to the bible, we go through the workout
We read up on revival and we stand up for the lookout
There’s more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in a crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine
The closer I am to fine
The closer I am to fine

This song screams ME! I’m the person never satisfied with what I’ve got or what I’ve achieved. I’m always searching for the next big thing to make me "better." I’ve spent a great deal of my life looking for something that was in me all along. I’ve looked through education, reading, religion, careers, many, many things. I wanted to be a teacher so I got my B.A. in English Education and started teaching. Then after figuring out that teaching wasn’t my calling, I dove head first into being a stay at home mom. While ultimately a great idea for Matt, I was freaking miserable and unstimulated intellectually on any level. Law school caught my eye, and I jumped feet first into that fire which ended disastrously and expensively. In my life, there has always been something calling to me saying "There’s more. You can do more than you are doing. You can be better. You are meant for more than this." It’s actually quite exhausting to be constantly searching for the single thing that is going to finally make me feel like I have gotten somewhere important, that I am finally somebody important, that I have made my mark on this world.

Jim fits well into this song for me, too. He is the goofy, kind man who above all else has always made me laugh. "The best thing you’ve ever done for me is to help me take my life less seriously. It’s only life after all." He has spent a lot our marriage trying to convince me it’s okay to be goofy, silly, even strange and that it doesn’t matter at all what other people think. I’m the person worried about social norms and not calling attention to myself while he’s standing behing me walking like an ape trying to make people look. It’s pretty ironic really.

And in reality, the kicker in this blog is that it’s all completely meaningless. The source of my happiness is, of course, controlled by me, and no amount of success, money, or stature can guarantee happiness. Ultimately, I have decided that my time will be best spent figuring out what I can do that will satisfy me and make enough money for us to live comfortably and then spend my extra time doing the things that move me. Life is about passon and happiness- not stature. As the song goes, "The less I seek my source for some definitive, the closer I am to fine." That is I- getting closer to fine.